~ Depraved Days of December 2018 ~
***Trying this again. A story every day, for the entire month of December.
Or at least up till Christmas, I guess. Weâll see how far I get.
Kicking off with a sweaty summer story - after all, December means summer for half this planet. Enjoy.***
Just another summer afternoon. Hot, sweaty, and exhausting.
The sun had been burning down on everything and everyone for the entirety of the day. Even now, as it sank back toward the horizon, the heat persisted with an overpowering tenacity.
I was sat on my back porch, sheltered slightly in the shade of the house.
Even here, it was too hot to move, too hot to think. Too hot to do anything other than sit and feel my insides being cooked to mush.
At least I had some beers to cool me off.
That, and a very enjoyable view that helped take my mind off this brutal heatwave.
See, my house was built on a little bit of a hill, with the backyard sloping down toward a creek. Itâd been constructed together with just one other house, at the end of a long driveway, quite a way off from the rest of town.Â
Two lone buildings, in the middle of nowhere.
And since the houses were elevated above the rest of the terrain, I could see everything in my neighborsâ backyard when I was sat here on the porch. Currently, I was very thankful for that feature.
My neighbors were lovely people. Your perfectly happy, all-American couple. Friendly, neighborly, always ready to help. He had a great job, and she was a great cook. Stereotypes ran rampant, in that household.
But they truly were nice people, and I knew I was lucky with them living next to me.
This entire summer, they were off traveling through Europe. They had always talked about wanting to see the world, and had finally taken the big leap overseas.
Their only son, Michael, was home from college for the summer, and would watch over the house while his parents were away.
Michael was my neighborsâ pride and joy. He was handsome, athletic, intelligent too, and blessed with a big heart. The kind of son anyone would wish for. Through the years, I had watched him grow up, changing from a small, lively bundle of energy that would run round the yard, into a confident, popular high school jock, into the beautiful young man he was now.
These days, Michael was the star quarterback for some grand university in the Midwest, and only returned home a couple weeks a year - during Christmas, and during summer break. Every time I saw him, it seemed like he had managed to get even prettier, rocking even more muscles on his sculpted body.
Right now, he was the reason I couldnât take my eyes off my neighborsâ yard.
The stud was working out in the sun; running laps, doing pushups, taking sprints, the whole deal. He seemed impervious to the heat, although his entire body was visibly drenched with sweat.
I could see the outlines of his abs, his bulging pecs through the wet fabric of his mesh shirt. My eyes were stuck to this boy like glue.
Iâm sure he knew I was watching, the lilâ tease. Every now and then, his eyes would wander in my direction, and the corners of his mouth would curl up in amusement.
After a while, he walked onto his own porch, his big chest heaving up and down as he took a moment to catch his breath. Michael looked at me again, and I found myself unable to stay quiet.
âMy, my, son,â I said, loud enough for him to hear, âWorking real hard again, huh?â
The muscled jock walked to the end of the porch that was closest to me, and gave me that adorable smile of his.
âYeah, mister Adams,â he laughed, still panting slightly, âGotta get ready for when the season starts!â
âIn this heat, boy? Look at you, youâre soaked!â
The stud looked himself up and down, and gave me a sheepish grin. He really was soaked, from head to toe. Every inch of his young body was wet and sticky with sweat.
âYou oughta take a break, Michael,â I suggested. âNo good pushing yourself too hard. You donât wanna be getting a heatstroke, so close to the start of the semester.â
He chuckled, and stroked through his damp, golden hair.
âI guess youâre right, sir. I think Iâve run enough laps for today,â he said. Then the stud turned his back to me, and seemed to be headed inside - probably to take a shower. Before he disappeared, I quickly called for him once more.
âMichael, why donât you come up here and have a beer with me?â
The boy stopped in his tracks, and turned back round.
âSir?â
âYouâre 21 now, ainât you?â I continued, âCâmon, boy. You deserve it, after all that running âround.
His boyish grin had vanished, as had his usual air of confidence. He clearly wasnât too sure about this.
âGo on, Michael. Just one. You ainât gonna leave your poor old neighbor here all by himself, are you?â
I could tell that he knew this was wrong. He was a smart kid, after all. But he was also a college student, bored out of his mind here in the country, of legal age but too broke to go out and buy his own booze. The idea of an ice-cold beer was too appealing right now.
He hesitated for a moment more, then shrugged.
âAlright. Guess one drink canât hurt.â
So there I was. Sitting on my porch in 90ÂșF weather. Sharing beers with the hunky, sweaty boy next door. Michael was sat on the landing, looking out over the yard while I watched him from my chair. I could smell the testosterone on him.
We talked about his football career, for a while. He was doing very well as the Universityâs varsity quarterback, better than anyone had expected; the jock proudly shared how his coaches were thinking about naming him co-captain, even though he was only a sophomore.
He talked about his classes, his friends, his dorm. We both sat and relaxed in the scalding heat, drinking our beers, enjoying the quiet of the woods around us.
Maybe I spiked his beer with a little something to help him unwind, maybe I didnât.
Either way, Michael soon laid back on the porch, resting on his forearms, clearly feeling very chilled out. I made him feel comfortable. Just the two of us, on a summer afternoon. Not a care in the world. His beer quickly emptied, and a nice, dazed look appeared on his pretty face.
âSir, do you mind if I take these off?â the stud asked, touching his sweat-soaked shorts, âItâs so hotâŠâ
âBy all means, boy. Iâll get you another cold beer, too. Thatâll help cool you down.â
I walked inside for a moment, barely able to hide my raging boner. When I returned, two fresh beers in my hands, Michael stood on my porch in his underwear. He was just taking off his shirt, too. I waited, and looked his chiseled body up and down. His smooth, golden skin gleamed perfectly in the afternoon sun. Little beads of sweat trickled down the trenches of his abs, down his thick legs. He pulled the mesh shirt over his head, and I saw the bulging muscles of his arms and chest work and move. Soon enough he was half-naked, and the boy gave me a sheepish grin.
âThatâs quite the revealing outfit, Michael,â I said, handing him the beer. He looked at his crotch, and realized he was standing in nothing but a jockstrap. The outline of his big cock was clearly visible. Blushing, he chuckled.
âOh. Yeah, I always work out in my jock. Hope you donât mind, mister Adams.â
More beers, more talk, more relaxing on the porch. Michael sat half-naked at my feet, and didnât think twice about it. He told me about girls he liked, about encounters heâd had with teachers. He told me how it bothered him that everyone always wanted him for sex, even when he was just trying to be friendly.
Before we knew it, the sun was starting to go down, and Michaelâs stomach rumbled loudly. At least ten empty beer bottles stood beside us.
âWhat were you doing for dinner, boy?â
He frowned, and took another sip. âEh⊠I think I got some leftovers, from last night.â
âWell, why donât you eat here? I bought way too much, anyway. What do you say we fire up the grill, have ourselves a couple steaks?â
Some sense seemed to flow back into the quarterbackâs pretty little head, and he frowned. There was probably some voice in his head trying to convince him heâd had enough beers, and that he really should be going before things got out of hand.
âI.. I dunno, sir. I donât wanna be a bother. But thank you for the beers, I-â
âNo, no, Michael, I insist. Come, help me get out the grill. I could use a strong boy like yourself.â
He nodded, and followed me to the shed. It seemed pointless to refuse, anyway. His old neighbor was insisting they have dinner together, probably with a couple more beers, on this hot summer evening - why would he pass that up?
A little later, I stood on my porch again, looking out over the yard. The handsome quarterback next door was half-naked in his jockstrap, grilling our steaks with a hand on his hip. Just the two of us, enjoying our freedom. What could get better than this?
âI think theyâre almost done, mister Adams!â Michael said, throwing me an adorable smile.
I put my empty bottle with the others, and walked toward the golden stud. At this point, I was rather intoxicated myself. The closer I got, the better he looked. That broad, glistening back, rippling with muscle. That slim, tapered waist. And then those beautiful, rounded glutes, trapped in a sweat-soaked, see-through jockstrap. I felt like I had Hercules himself, standing in my backyard. This boy was just too gorgeous for his own good.
âHowâs that meat coming along, Michael?â I asked, placing my hands on his shoulders. The stud froze, tensing up a little - but he didnât push me off. I brought our bodies nice and close together, and massaged his muscles to calm him back down.
âItâs alright, boy. You can put the steaks on that plate, over there. They look good to me.â
He did as he was told, and removed the meat from the grill. I let my hands run up his traps, up his neck, feeling the masculine features of his face. He was nervous, I could tell.
I brought my lips to his ear, and kissed his skin.
âJust relax, handsome. Thereâs no one around. Just you and me, doing what feels good. Doesnât this feel good?â
My fingers brushed over his nipples, and he gasped. The heat of the grill was pushing into us, making the sweat drip down our bodies, relaxing our muscles. My shirt was glued to his back, my bulge pressed against his ass. I tasted the salt on the skin of his neck, and took his massive pecs in my hands.
âM-mister Adams, this⊠this is wrongâŠâ
Finally, he resisted a little, and I backed off. It took all my strength not to dive upon him right there and then. My body longed for his warm hole with the fury of a predator - but I had to be patient. Soon, the quarterback would be under me. Soon, I would conquer that sweet ass.
I took the plate with our steaks, and walked to the backyard table. Michael seemed to hesitate, for a moment; after all, Iâd just made my intentions very clear. But he was hungry, I had food, and there was a tiny, tiny part of him that was too curious to steer away. Without a word, he followed, and sat down in the chair opposite of me.
We ate in silence. Heâd asked for water - quite a smart move - but Iâd spiked it with a couple more relaxants. Unknowingly, the jock gulped down the entire glass.
By the time our plates were empty, he was slumped in his chair, barely able to keep his eyes open. His head hung, chin resting on his pillowy chest, and his arms dangled uselessly at his sides. The big, hunky quarterback suddenly looked a lot less intimidating.
My foot found his, started playing with his toes. Everything about this boy was so warm, so supple. These feet, which carried him across the field as the star player, felt soft and damp like theyâd never even been used before.
I moved my foot further up his leg, and placed it on the warmth of his thigh.
âI-I⊠should⊠go homeâŠâ he stammered, trying to get up.
âSit down, Michael,â I said. Obediently, he fell back in his chair.
âI want you to relax. Just enjoy what your body is feeling. Let yourself get hard. Can you do that for me, boy?â
âHmm? Whatâs that?â
With a grin, I leaned back further, and put my foot on his bulge. He was semi-hard already, clearly enjoying the intimacy of my skin on his. I took the shaft between my toes, and gently rubbed it up and down. A soft moan let me know how well I was doing.
âFeels good, doesnât it, Michael?â I grinned, stroking his dick all I wanted.
The young buck let out another groan, shuddering in his seat, unable to fight the feelings I was sending through his loins. Spit was drooling onto his pecs.
âF-fuckk, sirâŠâ he whined. Clearly, that fat cock of his hadnât seen pussy in a hot minute. Just the slightest touch drove the quarterback insane.
Soon enough, Michaelâs rod was painfully stiff, and the tip of his bulge had gotten wet. As much as I loved the idea of rubbing a load from the straight quarterback with my foot alone, I really wanted to save his climax for later. That sweet, creamy pleasure couldnât go to waste.
I got up, and told the boy to follow.
Awkwardly, Michael stumbled out of his chair. After only two steps, his knees gave out, and the college athlete fell in the grass.
âS-sir⊠I-I donât⊠feel so goodâŠâ
Poor thing. The gorgeous jock groaned and writhed on the ground, clearly drunk and drugged out of his mind. His muscles had been rendered useless.
âItâs alright, Michael,â I said, crouching down beside him. âDonât fight it. Just let me take care of you.â
I placed one arm under his knees, the other under his impressive back. With a grunt, I lifted the stud from the grass, and started carrying him inside. Michaelâs head rested on my chest. His bulbous pecs were squeezed together like a beautiful set of tits, and the scent of his precum made my head spin.
He was heavy - but I was determined.
I carried the quarterback inside my house, up the stairs, into my sweltering bedroom. There, I laid him gently on the bed. Finally.
Michael watched through heavy-lidded eyes as I stripped the clothes from my body. He lay there, completely powerless in the sheets, spread out like a tender slab of beef. For me, and me alone. My underwear fell to the ground, I climbed onto the bed with him, and positioned myself between his legs.
First, his jockstrap. I peeled the sweaty piece off his crotch, down his thighs, all the way down until I held it in my hand like a trophy. I brought it to my nose, and made sure Michael saw me inhale his musky scent.
âW-what.. are you gonna d-do with me?â the hunk whispered.
Nervous. Excited. Terrified.
I grinned, and started jerking myself off with his jockstrap.
âIâm going to fuck you, Michael. Iâm going to fill your ass with my sperm, just like you fill your girls with yours. Iâm going to breed you.â
He gulped, petrified. Like a tiger stalking prey, I climbed on top of him, feeling that young beauty underneath me. His abs, his pecs, his beautiful cock, all pressing against my skin. I brought the precum-soaked jock to his mouth, and pushed it past those submissive lips. With a gasp, Michael tasted both his and my crotch on the fabric.
âBut Iâm sure you remember what it feels like, boy,â I said, stroking his face, his torso with eager hands. âAfter all, this isnât your first time in my bed, is it?â
Ashamed, the boy shook his head. For months, he had repressed these memories. Buried them deep, deep down, just so he could bear to go on with his life as an alpha stud. But right here, right now, with his neighbor on top of him, it was impossible not to remember.
A little over a year ago. Heâd just turned 20.
In the middle of the night, I found him in my front yard, waiting for his parents to go to sleep. He was drunk out of his mind, probably just came from a house party, and clearly didnât care for his dear folks to find out heâd been drinking.
I told him I wouldnât rat him out, and that he was more than welcome to wait inside with me. The jock gratefully agreed.
I gave him a couple beers - spiked, of course - and quickly convinced the boy to take off his clothes. Something about how his parents would smell the alcohol on him, or whatever. Within minutes, I had my hunky neighbor quarterback in his underwear, too wasted to know what was going on.
I took him upstairs, put him in my bed, and stole his virginity away.
That night had been one of the most magical nights of my life.
And now, here we were again.
Michael was bigger, stronger, more beautiful than ever. His muscles were thick and seasoned, his skin was flawlessly golden, and his cock was ripe with cum. His face bore all the masculine ruggedness of his father, and the delicate prettiness of his mother.
Finally, after more than a year, I took the studâs torso in my arms and lost myself in his beauty.
I kissed his neck, and Michael gasped softly. My hands clawed at his pecs like ravenous beasts, tickling his nipples and leaving scratches on his smooth chest. My legs pushed his open, and I rubbed our cocks together with a moan.
âS-sir - please,â he whimpered, weakly trying to pull me off. âI-Iâm not gayâŠâ
âHmm⊠I know that, boy. But you are so goddamn beautiful. Donât keep this little pleasure from your old neighbor⊠itâs all I haveâŠâ
I tweaked his nipple nice and hard, and Michael quivered in response. This was what Iâd dreamed of. The feeling of that young, Herculean body underneath me once again⊠writhing and gasping like a whore, muscles pushed against my flesh as our sweat melted togetherâŠ
I grabbed his arm, forced it up, and licked from his wrist to his armpit. I licked his delts, his pecs, those washboard abs I loved so much⊠down his treasure trail, around his shaft, onto his thighs. I licked him like a lollipop.
Michael whined - he wanted me to taste him, to take his massive cock in my mouth and bathe him in pleasure. But I was no cocksucker.
I licked further down, across those magnificent quads, over his calves, onto his feet. Then I moved to his other limb, and started going back up. I would not rest until every inch of him gleamed with my saliva. From his fingers to his toes, from his forehead to his crotch. This was my way of claiming him.
When Iâd finally tasted enough of his sweat, I flipped the quarterback on his stomach. Fuck. I nearly came from the sight of his ass alone.
âStay,â I ordered. Michael didnât dare move an inch.
While I went to grab the lube, he just lay there, petrified. Mister perfect, draped over my sheets like a sultry whore. His tight, round buns were just begging for attention, begging me to split them open.
I climbed back onto the bed, and grabbed his cakes with both hands. Hmm. The juicy, muscly glutes of a college football player. Christmas mustâve come early this year.
âGoddamn, boy. I canât believe no one else has tried to fuck this before,â I said, digging my fingers in those cheeks. âYour ass would turn any man gay.â
I spat on his crack, and the slut gasped softly. I added a little lube, then traced my fingers down the crevice, across the peach fuzz of his buns, circling the pink little pucker that was his pussy.
I felt it quiver at the touch. So anxious. So eager.
With a grin, I pushed inside, and made the quarterback whimper in discomfort. He was just as warm and tight as I remembered.
âNngh⊠m-mister AdamsâŠ. it hurtsâŠâ
My finger lubed up his hole, gently loosening that tight sphincter. His cunt had nicely healed since last time, so it was like a deflowering all over again. I added a second finger, and Michael whined. He looked so fucking good like this.
That broad, muscular back⊠those massive arms, clinging onto the mattress⊠those thick, powerful legs, trapped under my weightâŠ
âYeah⊠you like having that pussy fingered, donât you?â I said, slowly increasing my pace. I was driving both fingers in and out of his hole, fucking the stud with my hand. He arched his back, and gave another moan.
When the jock shook his head, I laughed.
âNo? Youâre not enjoying this? What do we have here, then?â
I reached under the sweaty slut, and found a thick, stiff boner, leaking precum uncontrollably. Beautiful. Michael really did seem to enjoy getting fingered.
I pulled his cock back, letting it lie behind him like a tail, and stroked the purple glans a little.
With just the slightest touch, I pushed him over the edge. Michael shuddered, backing his ass further into my hand, spurting nice big wads of cum onto the bed.
âThatâs a good boyâŠâ I grinned. âCream for your old neighbor, Mikey. Thatâs it, get it all outâŠâ
The quarterback groaned until heâd squirted every last drop. Then he collapsed onto the mattress, panting like a madman. Everything smelled of sweat and spunk.
I probably shouldâve given him some rest - but I was too eager.
Heâd had his fun. Now it was my turn.
Hypnotized by his gleaming muscles, I climbed on top of him. Grabbed onto his triceps. Let him feel my hardness between his ass cheeks.
For several minutes, I listened to Michael beg. His words were slurred with alcohol and drugs, but they still sounded like music to my ears.
He was so scared. So weak.
When the first tears started trickling down his face, I rammed my cock inside of him. Almost tearing his hole apart with one motion.
No one could hear him. No one could help him.
It was just me and the boy next door, stuck in a hot summer night, somewhere at the end of a lonely driveway.
I grabbed the hunkâs wrists, pinned them down on his back, and fucked his bubble butt with no holds barred.
He was an athlete, after all. Boy was used to taking a good pounding.
In fact, I could go as hard as I wanted, really. Michael was the perfect cocksleeve. I grabbed his skull, buried it in the mattress, slamming my hips into his with the force of a sledgehammer. My dick was stretching his poor hole, drilling its way into his ass, pummeling his prostate. No matter what I did, Michael would take it. He would take it all.
It wasnât long before I came - but I kept fucking. And fucking. And fucking.
My cock filled the golden stud with my seed, but I just pretended like nothing happened. I wasnât ready to stop yet.
Michael moaned and quivered as he felt my sperm shooting into him. That was the first load the muscle boy had taken in a while. His eyes rolled back into his head, and a second load exploded from his fat tool.
He didnât even struggle anymore. The quarterback had surrendered to my dick, to that blissful pain and pleasure. All he did now was buck his ass into my hips, helping me ruin his pussy. How beautiful.
An alpha boy turned cumdump.Â
âThatâs my boy!â I laughed, still mercilessly pounding his cunt. âThatâs my little slut! I hope you got some jizz left in those big fat balls, Mikey! âCause you and I, weâre gonna be doing this all fucking night!â
âNnghh⊠f-fuckk y-yesss, s-sirrrâŠ.â
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