Late Two
By Systematic

“Did he really cum that much?”

“I don’t exaggerate that stuff.”

Sandy put down his tablet; he’d just read my doctored account of the slightly awkward, but basically pretty good sex from the young couple that had interrupted my nap that afternoon. “Do you know their names?”

“Would you actually want to know their names?” I turned away from my computer and looked down at him. He was sitting in my bean bag chair.

“I’m curious. You always change the descriptions.”

“But then if you actually saw them, what would you think? It would be awkward.”

“More awkward than seeing everyone at school and wondering which ones were having great sex in the art room?”

I folded my arms and leaned back in my chair. “I wouldn’t call it great,” I said finally. Sandy waved a hand at me and picked up the tablet.

“Were they anyone that I know?”

“I doubt it.” Sandy was in my class, and I didn’t really know those two, so it seemed like a fair thing to say.

“Maybe I’ll have a look in the art closet some afternoon.”

“You’re not tall enough to see through the window in the door,” I reminded him. That wasn’t actually true; he probably could, but I like to poke him about being small. He made a face at me. I ignored him and turned back to the computer.

“Why is this stuff always happening around you?” he asked, looking at the tablet again.

“Because God forbid I get to sleep for five minutes,” I said.

“She really wasn’t shaved?”

“Not even trimmed.”

“It didn’t bother him? It didn’t bother you?”

“Of course it didn’t bother him, it was his first time. And her skirt was in the way; I don’t think he even got to see it.”

“Was she really that wet?”

“She was running like a river,” I said. “And why would hair bother anybody?”

He shrugged. “I think smooth is better.”

“You’re a closed-minded bigot.”

He snorted. “I guess. What’s your problem over there?”

“She thinks she stands a chance.”

Sandy groaned in disgust. “Who cares?”

“She’s not as good as I am.”

“It’s hard to believe you don’t care about that stuff when you get so competitive,” Sandy said.

“This was your idea.”

“It was Edie’s idea. I just told you to put it online.”

“If it wasn’t for you guys I could be doing something productive, like writing about people not having sex.”

“You didn’t have to put it online,” he pointed out. “I didn’t make you.”

“How am I supposed to know if people like it or not?” I asked, taking a drink of tea.

He shrugged. “I like it.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “Edie likes it.”

“Edie likes everything.”

“You get too bent out of shape over this girl – it’s probably not a girl, anyway. There aren’t any girls on the internet.”

“Her pen name is Celestial Eros Oracle. If that’s not a teenage girl that watches too much anime, then I’m not a teenage guy,” I said.

“Well – maybe you’re right.”

“Besides, I can tell from the writing.”

“Is she good?”

I hesitated. “Passable,” I said after a moment.

“Oh, so now you’re judging erotica?”

“No – no, I’m judging it according to my standard. I’m not claiming to be objective, just making an observation. No, I am judging it – I’m judging hers. But only hers. I don’t give a damn about erotica, I just write it to prove I can write anything.”

He got up and looked down at me. He only got to do that when he was standing, and I was in a chair. I arched an eyebrow and looked back. He put his hands on his hips. “I finished reading it. Have you got it posted?”

“It’s up.”

“Did you send it to Edie?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s play some Gears.”

“Yeah, all right.” I closed out my internet and writing stuff and handed him a controller. He pulled over the bean bag chair, and I started up the game.

“If they ever find out you watched them, they’re going to think you’re creepy,” Sandy said as we started.
“I am creepy,” I replied. “I watched them.”

“Oh, please. You’re just lazy. You stayed because you were hoping they’d be quick and you wanted to sleep some more. You think I’d hang out with you if you were creepy?”

I didn’t reply to that; it was true, but I didn’t want to encourage him.

“The guy’ll probably beat you up,” he added after a moment.

“I don’t like violence,” I said, throwing a grenade.

“I know, right?”

A message popped up at the corner of my monitor. “Son of a bitch,” I said, pausing the game.

“What is it?”

I closed it out and pulled up Chrome. “She’s posted a new story. I have to write a scathing review now.”

Sandy rolled his eyes. “Without even reading it?”

“I don’t even need to read them anymore. Two implausibly handsome men meet, initially dislike each other, end up having tender and loving sex with lots of flowers and sparkles.” I shrugged. “Oof.” Sandy had gotten up and dropped into my lap.

“I’ll help,” he said.

“Fine.”

“If you write scathing reviews, nobody’s going to believe you don’t care,” he said, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“I do care about Oracle,” I admitted. “I just don’t care about the rest.”

“Oh?” He leaned back into me, turning to smile. His hair smelled good, and he knew it. He wiggled his backside a little in my lap. I was still in my slacks and shirt, but Sandy had already changed into cotton pajamas. “If you don’t care about the rest, why do you troll them so hard?”

“Troll? Me?”

“The bait and switch. You wrote a straight story, then a gay one. Just to make the straight readers mad.”

“Hold on a minute,” I protested, but I had to stop there because my breath caught. Systems or no systems, there’s only one way you can react when there’s a round, firm bottom going out of its way to be active in your lap. Sandy had put his legs together, placed his knees on my thighs, and repositioned himself to put pressure on the bulge in my trousers between his rump and my stomach. I managed not to groan, and kept my hand on the mouse. “That’s not trolling, that’s variety – the stories are clearly marked, and just because I do one kind today doesn’t mean it’ll be the same kind tomorrow. The fourth story was straight again. They made a game about it in the comments – placing their bets about if the next one would be straight or not.”

“I guess,” Sandy said, still looking over his shoulder at me. He wouldn’t break eye contact for anything. He flexed his bottom, then relaxed it, and I had to suppress another groan.

“I can’t be the best if I can’t write all kinds,” I said stubbornly. He wasn’t listening, and I wasn’t expecting him to. He reached up and touched my face.

“You want to beat her boy-boy stuff, you have to have inspiration.” My left hand had slipped off the desk and gotten onto his thigh. He was warm through the cotton of the pajamas. My right was on his waist. I’d wanted to play more video games before we got to this part, but Sandy had his own agenda. He leaned back farther to give me a peck on the cheek, then undulated his hips like no male should be able to do, forcing me to exhale, and put my arms around his torso. That was all he needed. He reached up and back to tilt me down for a longer, better kiss, as he continued to work his backside over my bulge.

I couldn’t even focus on the kiss, the sensations from his bottom were so intense, even through layers of cloth, the pressure was hard to deal with. I could feel muscles down there starting to tighten. My penis was twitching and swollen. The awkward and imprecise stimulation from Sandy was gaining momentum.

My chair started to squeak a bit as I pushed against him, feeling his taut backside on my clothed erection. “How’s that?” he asked, breaking away to kiss my collarbone for a moment.

“I never thought my first lap dance would be from a guy,” I gasped, holding him tighter. He smiled, then locked his lips to mine and swirled his bottom a new way. He could tell I was close, and he was anxious to get me off. I was looking for a way out. Sandy was already too proud of his shapely posterior; if he made me cum using nothing else, through clothing no less, his ego would get almost as big as mine.

I had to stop him. He’d been kissing me, but now I kissed back, trailing one hand down his chest. He’d been hard ever since reading my story. I’d barely brushed against it, but it seemed to electrify him, and he arched against me, his firm rump jammed against me, and I couldn’t take it. I held him close as I came, my pelvis jerking as my erection, pinned between my stomach and his backside, released gobs of very hot semen in my underwear. My face was pressed into his shoulder, and I was still groaning.

Sandy kept moving his soft rump against me, getting a few more throbs out of my aching groin as I rode out the orgasm, shaking.

Finally I leaned back and took a deep breath. He came back with me, resting his head on my shoulder.

“Okay,” I said. “You win.”

“I know.” He waited a moment, then got up. The tent in his pajama bottoms had grown, and there was a spot where pre-cum had leaked through. He pulled off his top, then pushed down the bottoms, making sure I got to appreciate his smooth, slender nudity. He climbed back onto the chair and straddled me, starting to undo the buttons of my shirt. I didn’t have the strength to stop him. Once he’d gotten it open, he moved down and undid my belt and pants, then pulled them down, revealing the sticky mess of my underwear. He pulled those off too, and ran a hand over my semi-limp penis, smearing cum.

He took me into his mouth, his tongue swirling up and down the shaft. I couldn’t stop another groan; the head was still sensitive. Sandy didn’t apply much suction, just enough to make sure I could only react one way. I started to swell again. He took my penis out of his mouth and started to lick the base of the shaft. In moments I was as hard as I had been a minute ago, and fresh pre-cum had beaded on the tip. Sandy put his hand around it and rubbed it up and down, then took my hand and pulled me to my feet.

I pulled him close, but had to lean down to kiss him. Our erections were pressed together, mine big and slick, his hot and quivering. His fingers clutched at my buttocks as I steered him toward the bed, and laid him down. He turned onto his front, and I lay beside and on top of him, reaching underneath him to tweak his nipple with two fingers. He squirmed. My penis lay against his rear, and I rubbed against it. He pushed toward me, and I nibbled his ear as I slipped up and down his backside.

“Come on,” he said, his eyes closed and his face red. The pre-cum was dripping from him now, and I reached between his legs and touched the tip of his penis, making him hiss. I slipped my fingers between his cheeks and rubbed at his entrance with his own lubricant. His buttocks tightened, and he pushed his hips against the bed, rubbing his erection on the sheets.

I ran my penis up and down his rear for another moment, then positioned it, but didn’t go any farther. Sandy looked over his shoulder at me, and opened his mouth to say something impatient, so I pushed in hard to cut him off. He was too shocked to cry out, he just let out a choked breath and grabbed the sheets. He was unbelievably tight; I was too big for him, but he didn’t care.

I lay down on top of him and put my right hand over his mouth; we couldn’t let anyone hear us. His hot, moist breath was on my palm as he took deep, ragged breaths. I withdrew and pushed in again, not fast, but deep. Moments later we were in rhythm. My left hand slipped under him to press on his trembling stomach, and I felt his slick erection bump against my wrist.

I bit his shoulder. He moaned into my hand, squirming beneath me as I forced my way in and out of that incredible tightness.

Sandy had been nursing a hard-on since he’d read this afternoon’s story; he couldn’t last. His pushing against me got more frenzied, and his hands gripped the sheets tighter. I sped up as much as I could without being heard outside the room, and he shuddered, then clenched around me, his entire body stiffening.

I felt ropes of hot cum cover my hand and the sheets beneath him. I pushed in all the way and let go, letting out an absolute torrent deep inside him. It went on for several seconds before I collapsed on top of him. He tensed and relaxed around me, and I twitched inside him, now fully as spent as I’d felt after his lap dance.

In time he rolled over and climbed on top of me, rubbing our soft, sticky privates together for a little more kissing and cuddling. He ran his hands over my chest, and I absently caressed his smooth, firm bottom.

Eventually he went back to the guest bedroom; we couldn’t have the maids or my parents finding us in bed together. I lay there on my back, exposed to the air, which rapidly cooled and dried the semen pooled and smeared around my pubic region and stomach. I’d have to cover up in case a maid barged in the next morning, so I reached for the sheets and thought about how I was going to write this up.

Next: A maid barges in the next morning.

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