size and weight advantage, though, he seemed submissive to the younger Brent.
He ducked his head and looked at Brent through dangling bangs. “He did.”
Brent leaned in, placing his elbows on his spread knees. “And . . . ?”
Shaggy shook the hair out of his eyes and regarded Brent with a quizzical shrug. “And . . . what?”
Brent bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “And . . . did you . . . like it?” He idly let his right hand drift halfway up his thigh.
Shaggy’s chest rose and fell more rapidly as he started to breath heavier. “Kind of. It was all right.” He dropped his hand to his crotch and squeezed.
“Oh, yeah?” Brent scooted forward on his cot, till his knees touched the other boy’s. Shaggy was almost panting now.
“Watch this,” Freddy said.
The boys touched nowhere other than at the knees, unless you counted the heavy eye contact, a come-fuck-me stare from Brent so intense you wouldn’t be surprised if Shaggy spontaneously combusted. They stayed there almost a full minute, silent and motionless, until you wondered why the director was still holding the shot.
Then you knew. Under Brent’s unwavering gaze, an expanding, twitchingly jerky elongation grew and snaked down Shaggy’s leg. Shaggy was wearing a pair of thin cotton drawstring pants, almost like hospital PJs but white.
Seeing Shaggy’s dick stretch and grow was like watching one of those stop-motion shots of a flower blooming, but in real time. Soon, Shaggy’s casual confession was betrayed by the untouched but massively throbbing hard-on that now pointed upward, trapped in his pants but with enough room to rise upward and point accusingly at his chin. Shaggy looked at his own lap in surprise—how did that get there?—and Brent’s eyes followed.
“Yeah,” Shaggy answered, looking at Brent again.
“Looks like you liked it a lot.” Brent’s tongue flicked across the lip he’d just chewed on. Shaggy’s cock gave another leap and, at its tip, a tiny damp spot leaked through the fabric. It was clear whoever chose Shaggy’s “costume” for this scene knew what they were doing—the pants were loose and sheer enough to conceal the details but hide nothing.
Shaggy’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack as if he was being hypnotized by the irresistible sexual pull of his friend. Although he was probably a foot taller than Brent and had fifty pounds of muscle on him, he appeared completely at the younger student’s mercy, spellbound and lost in a fog of thickening lust. The dichotomy of this little Brent so completely dominating the muscular, older stud only made the scene more thrilling.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Freddy said. For once, he wasn’t talking about the ice cream.
He was right. I’ve seen the “behind the scenes/making of” extras that come with adult films, and they always show the actors “prepping” for their scenes by getting themselves hard just before the camera starts rolling. Either they’re only gay for pay, or they just find it difficult to get excited on the artificial, uncomfortable environment of a movie set. In any case, there’s always a cut before the pants come off to reveal an erection.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing someone get excited “before your eyes” like this. And it wasn’t just the boner, which now pulsed with a steady intensity that matched Shaggy’s increasingly loud breathing. It was everything—Shaggy’s glazed but somehow alarmed expression, his half-open mouth, the way his body tensed as if about to spring forward or leap away.
Brent reached out and put just the tip of his finger against Shaggy’s knee. “Did they make you jerk them off?”
Shaggy nodded.
Brent’s finger traced a fraction of an inch higher.
“Did they take off your clothes?”
“Yesss . . .” Shaggy hissed. His cock gave another massive lurch and the spot at its tip spread wider, the stain now the size of a quarter.
Still just teasing with the tip of his finger, Brent slowly ran
He ducked his head and looked at Brent through dangling bangs. “He did.”
Brent leaned in, placing his elbows on his spread knees. “And . . . ?”
Shaggy shook the hair out of his eyes and regarded Brent with a quizzical shrug. “And . . . what?”
Brent bit his lower lip thoughtfully. “And . . . did you . . . like it?” He idly let his right hand drift halfway up his thigh.
Shaggy’s chest rose and fell more rapidly as he started to breath heavier. “Kind of. It was all right.” He dropped his hand to his crotch and squeezed.
“Oh, yeah?” Brent scooted forward on his cot, till his knees touched the other boy’s. Shaggy was almost panting now.
“Watch this,” Freddy said.
The boys touched nowhere other than at the knees, unless you counted the heavy eye contact, a come-fuck-me stare from Brent so intense you wouldn’t be surprised if Shaggy spontaneously combusted. They stayed there almost a full minute, silent and motionless, until you wondered why the director was still holding the shot.
Then you knew. Under Brent’s unwavering gaze, an expanding, twitchingly jerky elongation grew and snaked down Shaggy’s leg. Shaggy was wearing a pair of thin cotton drawstring pants, almost like hospital PJs but white.
Seeing Shaggy’s dick stretch and grow was like watching one of those stop-motion shots of a flower blooming, but in real time. Soon, Shaggy’s casual confession was betrayed by the untouched but massively throbbing hard-on that now pointed upward, trapped in his pants but with enough room to rise upward and point accusingly at his chin. Shaggy looked at his own lap in surprise—how did that get there?—and Brent’s eyes followed.
“Yeah,” Shaggy answered, looking at Brent again.
“Looks like you liked it a lot.” Brent’s tongue flicked across the lip he’d just chewed on. Shaggy’s cock gave another leap and, at its tip, a tiny damp spot leaked through the fabric. It was clear whoever chose Shaggy’s “costume” for this scene knew what they were doing—the pants were loose and sheer enough to conceal the details but hide nothing.
Shaggy’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack as if he was being hypnotized by the irresistible sexual pull of his friend. Although he was probably a foot taller than Brent and had fifty pounds of muscle on him, he appeared completely at the younger student’s mercy, spellbound and lost in a fog of thickening lust. The dichotomy of this little Brent so completely dominating the muscular, older stud only made the scene more thrilling.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Freddy said. For once, he wasn’t talking about the ice cream.
He was right. I’ve seen the “behind the scenes/making of” extras that come with adult films, and they always show the actors “prepping” for their scenes by getting themselves hard just before the camera starts rolling. Either they’re only gay for pay, or they just find it difficult to get excited on the artificial, uncomfortable environment of a movie set. In any case, there’s always a cut before the pants come off to reveal an erection.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing someone get excited “before your eyes” like this. And it wasn’t just the boner, which now pulsed with a steady intensity that matched Shaggy’s increasingly loud breathing. It was everything—Shaggy’s glazed but somehow alarmed expression, his half-open mouth, the way his body tensed as if about to spring forward or leap away.
Brent reached out and put just the tip of his finger against Shaggy’s knee. “Did they make you jerk them off?”
Shaggy nodded.
Brent’s finger traced a fraction of an inch higher.
“Did they take off your clothes?”
“Yesss . . .” Shaggy hissed. His cock gave another massive lurch and the spot at its tip spread wider, the stain now the size of a quarter.
Still just teasing with the tip of his finger, Brent slowly ran
Similar Books
