Finished by Hand (4 page)

The Age of Indolence
by Lynn Lake

I knew I was in for quite an evening when the four young men greeted me at the front door of my friend's home and promptly stripped off my clothes. They were starkly naked, themselves.

‘Clive, how good to see you!' my friend, Bertrand Toddy, exclaimed, rushing out of the parlour to warmly clasp my hand in his. His lips found mine, as well, wet and writhing.

‘That's quite the welcome!' I gushed, nodding at the four young men who had now assembled behind my totally nude host in the hallway of his home.

‘They
are
a delight, aren't they?' Bertrand responded proudly.

He swung an arm around my shoulder, clapped a hand to my cock, and gently tugged on the swelling appendage, both of us admiring his new men. ‘I discovered them in the country, not far from here. They were working on a farm – well, sunning themselves like Grecian gods around a pond, truth be told – and I knew for certain they'd be perfect for my next play,
Gaily Go the Boys Through the Countryside
. They're all of legal consenting age, I assure you.' He licked his lips, mine, smiling broadly.

I returned his smile, and his lick, just as excitedly, the man's hot, tugging hand on my cock hardening me to pulsating proportions below the waist. I well knew that Bertrand Toddy was skilled with his hands, being an erotic playwright, equally adept with his mouth, being an erotic orator. His skills as a pornographic photographer were renowned, as well, especially in the more open societies of Greece and France.

Victorian Britain embraced him too, mind you, though on the sly; which only served to make things naughtier. A big man, with a shock of red hair and a rubbery face and expressive body, he had an absolute passion for the finer, perverted things in life. Which I shared with him, as often as my work as an MP allowed.

‘You shall have to invite me to the opening,' I declared, planting the seed. The sensualist's homoerotic hospitality was notoriously legendary.

He nodded his head, as we stared at the naked young men, his hand swirling the length of my pulsing rod.

The boys were of almost uniform height and weight: that is to say, lithely built, slender, and supple. Their youthful bodies were bronzed from the sun's caresses, their pretty faces blushing immodestly from the caress of Bertrand's and my combined gaze. Two of them had dark hair and doe-brown eyes, the other two were blond and blue-eyed.

‘Allow me to formally introduce you!' Bertrand suddenly ejaculated, releasing my cock and springing in behind the young men. He examined their derrieres, then winked at me.

‘This is Thomas,' he said, grasping the shoulders of the brown-haired lad at one end of the line-up. He caressed the slim neck of the blond next to Thomas. ‘And this is William.' He stroked the smooth arm of the black-haired boy standing to William's left. ‘And Everett.' Bertrand moved over and playfully slapped the ass of the young man at the opposite end, then cuddled the blond's cock with his hand. ‘And this is George,' he informed me happily.

I received the information joyously, though I dare say I had a difficult time memorising the names, what with those glowing, nude reflections of young manhood all in a row right in front of me, dizzying and delighting my senses. My cock twitched from my loins as if I were aboard the male express from Donnybrook, my pink-hued nipples protruding, body warm as though before a roaring fire.

‘You will get to know them better, fear not.' Bertrand further heated my ears and harkened my heart. ‘But first, we dine!'

We supped in style, for sure. Garden salad, beef barley soup, battered cod and rice, roasted game hen and potatoes, fresh fruits and hand-poured chocolates, rich, steaming coffee. The food was salivatingly satisfying, the sight of the boys serving us even more so. My erection rattled the dining board almost continually, watching the young men enter and leave, hungrily eyeing their clean-cut, bobbing cocks, their rippling, mounded buttocks, the rest of their sinuous, sensuous bodies and pretty, pleasing faces. I ate with ferocious appetite, till my belly and balls were both full to bursting at the conclusion of the awesome repast.

We repaired to the parlour, where, clutching glasses of fine brandy in one hand and fully engorged cocks in the other, Bertrand regaled me with scene descriptions from his new play, had the four young men act out what he intended. My attention was riveted, my cock in my pumping hand aroused to epic proportions, as the boys playfully wrestled with one another in the “discovery” scene; then tentatively kissed in the “awakening” scene; and, at last, intensely stroked and sucked and frotted in the “coming-of-age” scene.

Their gleaming pink tongues twined eagerly together, their urgent young hands excitedly exploring their bodies, their impassioned, wet mouths consuming swollen, hard cocks, using those cocks to superbly shift up and down downy cracks between divinely piled-up golden buttocks. Their acting was strikingly realistic, hitting me hard in the groin, as they truthfully captured the wickedly intense emotions and movements of blossomed gay lust.

I mouthed “Bravo!”, fisting my manhood, as Thomas and William, and Everett and George, curled up in separate 69 positions on the parlour floor and sucked one another's cocks with obvious pleasure for one and all. Their plush, red lips pulled pneumatically on swollen shafts and swelled-up hoods, silky hands grasping firm young buttocks and thighs, gilded heads bobbing with the erotic enthusiasm of youth.

I applauded with one hand, stroking my vibrating dong and squeezing my boiling balls and tingling nipples with the other.

‘This will surely be your finest play yet, Bertrand!' I exulted.

He tilted his head modestly, jacking his own towering erection with breathtaking speed. Then he arose from his chair, set down his snifter, and set free his cock. He walked closer to the huddled, sucking young men and looked down at them. ‘Yes, I think so too.' He turned to me, his cock meeting my eye a split second later. ‘Shall I recite my latest poem to you –
Cock of the Walk
? I'm afraid it's the boys' bedtime.'

I feared that. I slowed my hand on my raging hard-on, and swallowed with equal difficulty, as the four young men disengaged and stood up. Their succulent pricks glistened with saliva, their beautiful faces were flushed with the fever of performance. ‘Yes, yes … Of course, of course,' I gasped.

‘Bid the gentleman goodnight, then, boys.'

They swarmed around me in my armchair, kissing me on the forehead and cheeks and lips and nipples, the cock and balls. Tongues flashed wetly around scrotum and shaft, the naughty young sprites. I surged and shimmered, filling my grasping hands with as much hot flesh and heated appendage as I could, before Bertrand slapped their bubbled bottoms and sent them scurrying off up the stairs of his home.

The eroticist then assumed a position of oration by the mantelpiece, his new poem in his hand. I assumed a position of aural posture at his cock, the better to suck on his member as he mouthed his latest explicit creation.

He began reciting, and I took his cock in hand, stroked the turgid, purple-headed tool, gripping its heft and groping its length. And as his obscene rhymes rattled in my head, I twirled my outstretched tongue around his cockhead, lapped at his shaft; then sucked up as much of his massive manhood as I could and tugged with my lips and mouth and licked with my tongue.

I must confess, however, that even as I rejoiced at his words and cock, my addled mind was still upon the four young men, replaying in my brain their erotic entreaties of earlier, picturing their perfect young bodies and faces and maturely hard dongs. The stunning scene I'd witnessed was one I just couldn't shake, no matter how in how bellicose a fashion Bertrand spoke or how belligerently I sucked on his throbbing cock and twisted his shaven balls and jutting nipples.

The man soon read my dirty, dizzy mind, being the pornographer par excellence, empathetically realising that my mouth and hands were just going through the motions. He broke off his seductive soliloquy to shrewdly observe, ‘My boys made quite an impression on you, eh? Perhaps you would like to wish them a more intimate goodnight in their room?'

I popped his cock out, licked up some of the stringing slobber. ‘Oh, I say, Bertrand, I'm terribly sorry if –'

He waved his hand and his cock. ‘Go ahead, old boy. Go ahead.' He bobbed his wise head and wettened dong. ‘We'll be waiting for you down here, fear not.'

I sprang up out of my crouch and turned tail and raced up the stairs. Gaining the second floor hallway, I streaked down the carpeted length to the open bedroom door at the end. The young men were not in the blissful grip of the sandman at all. Rather, they were grappling with one another again, naked on the spacious feather bed, their bronze limbs flinging and flailing, bold cocks bouncing and banging against each other, pressing into hot flesh. My sharp intake of air caught their ears, and they instantly flung themselves inert upon their stomachs, four golden boys with four sets of cheeky buttocks all in a row.

‘I – I just came to – '

‘Kiss us goodnight!' they chimed as one, giggling into their pillows. They all then reached back simultaneously and sunk their slender fingers into their taut buttocks, spread the caramel mounds, revealing four pert puckers.

It was a sight to put starch in the sturdiest of even a straight man's phallus. The boys' smooth, slender, sunkissed bodies laid out on the bed side by side, bum to bum, their cute, curvy feet and tapered, tender toes tilted upwards, their stretched back-hillocks clasped between burning white fingers, their bared, blossomed buttholes ablaze with virginal pinkness. I swallowed the lump in my throat and trembled to the thump in my chest, my cock snapping almost straight up into the air, rigid as the flagpole on the
HMS Himafore
.

I approached the bed of boys on quivering limbs, mounted it, straddled my weakened knees in between William's legs on one side and Thomas's on the other. Then I relieved the pressure, somewhat, of William's hands on his buttocks with my hands, bent my creaking neck and blood-thundered head down and kissed the lad's delectable starfish. He shivered and whimpered. I sent my tongue in after my lips, rimming his adorable bumhole, squirming my wet appendage inside his anus, exploring the young man's ass-tunnel with writhing excitement. He responded with rapid shaking and breathing, his fingers flaming beneath mine on his quivering rump-rounds.

I lifted my head and licked my lips, ogling the young man's rosebud, which I'd made glisten. Then I thrust down my head and stuck out my tongue a second time, targeting Thomas's pink manhole this time. I painted the outer pucker and inner tunnel with my tongue, delighting in the taste and tremble of this boy. He pushed his bum back, burying my eager, flaming face between his hot, wholesome cheeks. I burrowed as deep into his sexual depths as I could with my licker, worming it around in his rectum to his obvious pleasure and mine.

Everett and George were next, anxiously awaiting my most intimate kiss. I tongued Everett's asshole, making him spasm with joy, his pucker wink round my pink probe. Then I gripped his hands on his cheeks still harder and licked up and down his bum crack, lapping the soft, sensitive cleft between his buttocks, bathing the zone with my tongue over and over again. Until his impudent young globes shivered spasmodically in my damp clutches, his downy butt valley gleaming with my ardour. I tongued all along one final time, deep and dragging and achingly true, from the base of his fuzzy balls to the tip of his cute little tailbone; and then, at last, moved over to George.

The boy tensed when I tickled his opening with the tip of my tongue, then bucked up into my glowing visage when I buried my oral appendage right into his bottom. I stuffed his rectum with warm, wet tongue like I had Thomas's. Only now, I quickly, tantalizingly withdrew it, stuck it back in, pumping the boy's bum with my slippery sticker.

My mouth-organ was formed into a hard, pink spear that stabbed into George's spread asshole, struck deep, reeled back up. I fucked the young man with my tongue like one would with his cock. He squealed and thrust back, to the rhythm of my thrusting down. I must've delved into pink delight three inches or more, repeatedly, plugging willing young bum with a wicked pleasure I was only too happy to mete out.

‘There's lubricant on the nightstand, sir,' William informed me. ‘Bertrand's own concoction.'

I furled my tongue out of George's gaping, wet anus and smacked my lips. My friend, Bertrand, was a sexual aid inventor of some note, as well as an accomplished all-male smut purveyor. I reached over and grabbed up the indicated jar, uncapped it, dipped two fingers into the gelatinous substance inside. It smelled of something, was as slippery as the devil himself. I coated my erection in the goop, stroking strong and thoroughly, my orbs full of the waiting young asses and unblinking, shining pinkeyes.

George was the first to feel the full impact of my manly lust, as I went up the row of buttocks in reverse now. I plunged my gleaming hood into his bumhole, burst through his deliciously resisting ring, shot glistening shaft into his chute with a hearty, heady outpouring of my hips. I half-draped over top of the flaxen-haired boy, pressing my thighs into the trembling hills of his buttocks, spraddling my hands out on either side of his curved back, filling his anus with my immensely engorged cock.

I wallowed in the wonderful sensations of stuffing a man's ass full of meat – a young man's hot, gripping ass. Then I pumped, bouncing the bed and the boys, banging into George's buttocks with my body, plugging his bung with my dong. I shafted to the hairy balls and back out again, back in again full length and width, stretching, stroking the young man's anus. He convulsed his ass muscles, whether deliberately or instinctually I know not which, so his bum was actually sucking on my plunger even as I plumbed it. I shimmered with an ecstatic warmth, boring into that furnace-hot, screw-tight back-tunnel of love.