Page 70 of Bobby Green

Oh, how embarrassing.

But Bobby rewarded him.

First he held Reg’s cock up and out of the way, and then, using his other hand, he helped Reg spread his ass so he could lick—and then drill—with his tongue.

Reg made a sound, gut deep and chest long, welcoming the invasion, the pressure, the everything. He wanted more. He wanted fingers. He wanted cock. He wanted Bobby’s mouth on his dick and something up his ass and…

“Yes!”

Two fingers, not smooth but manicured, slid right in and scissored. Reg’s whole body washed cold, and when Bobby sucked his cock in again, he spurted some more.

“Lube,” he managed. “Fuck… fuck me….”

Bobby must have kept the lube in his pocket, but Reg didn’t care where it came from. It was warm and silken around his hole, and Bobby—oh!

Reg’s eyes widened as Bobby positioned himself, as he remembered Bobby’s biggest attraction on the porn set.

“Jesus God,” he said in wonder. “I’d forgotten how fucking big you are!”

Bobby grinned at him shyly and then moved back from Reg’s asshole and dropped his head to take Reg’s mouth.

Ah… spit-sloppy and come-flavored. Raw and animal, Reg suddenly felt very much at home in his own skin, returning that ravenous, all-consuming kiss.

Forever.

That’s how long they kissed. Until Reg needed again, like a wound, he ached so bad inside for Bobby’s cock.

“Please,” he half sobbed, pulling away from the kiss only because he hurt for possession. “Please—oh God. Oh God—keep coming.” Because he was huge. Ginormous. He stretched Reg’s asshole beyond burning or stretching, into Reg’s heart, lungs, and diaphragm. But Reg begged some more, his breath coming short, while Bobby took over his body, like Reg was his other skin.

“Ahhh… yes.” All the way. He was all the way inside, and Reg shook from his toes through his heart, just trembled with all the pleasure, all the sensation, all the awesomeness of having this boy, this beautiful boy inside him, driving out sadness, pain, and fear.

“C’mon, Bobby, don’t make me beg.” Because he needed it. Needed the pounding and the pain. Needed it all.

“Never,” Bobby whispered, and he pulled back and slammed forward, so big Reg saw stars behind his eyes.

“Keep going,” Reg ordered. “’Cause that—that’s fucking beautiful.”

Oh God. Yes. Yes. Beautiful. That tremendous, beautiful cock inside Reg’s body, until there was no room for anything but the stars and the shaking, the hot and the cold, and his helpless screams into the palm of his hand as his own cock flopped brutally against his stomach and shot stream after stream of white against his chest.

Bobby fell forward, trembling. Reg expected him to pull out then and stroke himself off. That’s what they did in the vids—you were taught that. People wanted to see dicks spew stuff—it was magic. But Bobby was rutting inside him, grunting, eyes closed, lush lower lip bitten in concentration. He hit Reg’s button, and again, and again, until Reg cried out and convulsed, this second orgasm taking him by surprise, the nerve endings still raw and sensitive from the last one.

Reg contracted hard around Bobby’s cock, and Bobby gave a soft “Ah… ah… ah God, yes…” before coming.

Reg groaned.

He could feel it.

Bobby’s come. Hot and pulsing, inside him.

He’d never felt that. It always spattered his ass, or his chest, or his open mouth and his face. Even his hookups came on him like porn stars.

But Bobby didn’t.

Bobby filled him, warm and sticky, until he finally collapsed, breathless, still mostly dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and tee, on top of Reg’s chest.

Reg squeezed against him, still huge and only slightly softened, wondering… oh God. Yes. He was still magical there.

“Stay,” Reg asked breathlessly. “As long as you can.”