Bad Slash Challenge: Honey & Oatmeal
by Les GS
He'd worked himself into quite a lather. It wasn't his fault this time. Really. How was he to know how evocative, how erotic, how... dangerous Wild Heaven Farm's Honey & Oatmeal Goat's Milk Soap would prove to be? Perhaps he should have ordered the Peaceful Patchouli instead. But, on perusing the web-site, that had triggered thoughts of the '60s and images of Lacroix in that Nehru jacket, with that high, tight collar one longed to loosen, revealing the taut, smooth, silky-skinned column of throat... No, no, no, better to go with the Honey & Oatmeal, despite the risky memories the smell of honey could drag him into (and what didn't drag him into risky memories these days?). But (and how was he to know?) he had not considered those lust-inciting goat-pheromones - undetectable to the mortal nose - that permeated the lactic ejaculations of the fertile nanny.
Condensed and intensified in the steamy, hot confines of his shower, the scents of his new bar of soap beguiled him into greater and greater wantonness, as it ran slick and creamy over his chest, foaming in the curling fuzz, then hard and firm over his perking nipples, then down over his belly with a daring little foray into his navel, and that wasn't him whimpering, oh no, as a solid smoothness ran itself around the base of his already rigid shaft - don't go there, not yet - then over the heavy hang of his balls, contracting with his excitement, and then, as he bent and spread his knees slightly to run the rigid corner of the stiff bar over his pulsing anus, then shoving up and in...
A large, cold hand abruptly grabbed his wrist, forestalling these fundamental explorations, and a cool, solid nakedness pressed itself against his hindquarters. "We must have skipped that lesson," a deep, supple voice insinuated into his ear. "Never, ever insert an object into your anus without a flared base or a cord with which to retrieve it."
Nicholas opened his mouth to utter all the required umbrage-rich protestations. All he managed was a low groan as his new toy was pulled away to be replaced by one far older. Lacroix's engorged glans nudged impudently against that sudsy, tender cleft, and Nick's hips tilted automatically to allow the best angle of entry. Never slow to pick up his cue, Lacroix popped through that tight, slippery sphincter and slammed deep into Nicholas's bowels, his loins slapping up against his son's wet buttocks with a meaty smack.
The shock of that abrupt entry wrenched a choking gasp from Nicholas, the challenge of containing that huge shaft as it plunged against his swollen prostate sending shudders through his limbs. An arm clamped around his chest, crushing his breath from him even as it supported him, the desperation in that grasp hinting that his maker wasn't quite as in control as he liked to be. It didn't matter; Lacroix's massive tool began pistoning into Nick's moist, hungry hole, hammering with machine-like precision against that sweet, secret spot deep in his core. The sound of sharp, rapid claps of wet flesh spanking against wet flesh bounced about the narrow, tiled confines of the shower, suggesting an invisible, yet highly appreciative, audience.
Nick's guts and then his joints went hot liquid under the punishing pleasure of Lacroix's iron hard rod plunging again and again into his greedy ass. A hand cupped his aching testicles, scooping suds from them before wrapping, slick and swift, around his rigid cock, jerking him off ruthlessly. A volcano of bliss erupted in his groin, shooting wave after wave of scalding delight through his pulsing prick as thick, sticky ropes of cum squirted from him, spattering the shower wall with pink vampire spunk. Lacroix roared in his ear, shuddering against his back, pumping load after load of viscous joy juice into Nick's insatiable bowels. Then his maker's razored fangs thrust viciously into his jugular, Nick's fevered blood spurting into Lacroix ravenous maw, and Nick ripped Lacroix's arm from around his chest to sink his own rampant canines deep into the eager flesh of Lacroix's wrist. Then all that dissolving, One-With-Each-Other-and-the-Universe vampire crapola that no one really cares about because it means the Good Stuff is over happened and Nicholas swooned.
He finally came to himself, curled on the shower floor, now chilling water sluicing over his face and up his nose, his maker's voice ringing impatiently in his ears from above; "Pass the soap, will you, Nicholas? You've gotten me all over sticky."
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This page was created Tuesday, November 18th, 2003
Most recent revision Tuesday, November 18th, 2003