Beautiful Boys: Gay Erotic Stories (13 page)

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Authors: Richard Labonte (Editor)

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Kris seemed not to notice, however. He stood and peeled off his shirt, taking care to keep his baseball cap on. Chris stifled a gasp. The boy’s torso was the cliché of a stereotype of an ideal—smooth, just lightly defined, with small, but not too small, pink nipples.
 
“So what do you want to do?” Kris asked.
 
Everything,
Chris thought.
 
Everything.
 
Waiting for an answer, Kris smiled uncertainly. For the first time, Chris saw his young companion as something less than his seemingly unattainable dream made flesh, achingly accessible flesh. He was just a young man, somewhat unsure of himself, with a symmetrical face crowned by a shock of cornflower-colored hair, a lucky accident of genetics. Chris wondered what it would be like to be him. Was he aware of how much an object of desire he was, how he possessed the power to break old men’s hearts, or at least
one
old man’s heart? It was, Chris knew, a question he would never, should never, ask. The boy would, like all things of great beauty, remain a mystery.
 
Chris, with just a bit of hesitation, began to unbutton his own shirt.
 
“No,” Kris said. “I’d prefer if you kept your clothes on.”
 
Chris couldn’t decide whether he should take that as a relief or a mild rebuke. But as soon as Kris began pulling off his sweatpants, it seemed irrelevant. The boy wasn’t wearing underwear—something of a disappointment to Chris, who preferred his spankings to start with a boy wearing jockey shorts before progressing to bare bottom. Still, Kris apparently knew what he was doing. He edged the waistband of his red sweatpants partway down—low enough to reveal the top curve of a smooth ass, a heartbreakingly lean belly hairless all the way down to a fringe of pubic hair—then stopped.
 
If there were a mirror around, Chris was convinced, he would see on his face the look of a starving man.
 
“So, you going to spank me or what?”
 
Too abrupt. But what was Chris, jolted from his reverie, going to say?
No
?
 
“Sure. You like it over the knee?”
 
“If you do.” This was not the way the most beautiful boy in the world was supposed to behave. Too curt, too matter-of-fact. This was the way a somewhat impatient, horny twenty-year-old would act. The way, face it, Kris was acting. He wanted the boy to have a soul as beautiful as his body. But it was what it was; he’d make do.
 
“Sure.” Chris rearranged himself on the bed so Kris could lie on his lap. Fortunately, the boy didn’t pull his pants any farther down. His hard crotch was pressed up against Chris’s lap, his pale ass half-exposed and waiting.
 
Chris raised his right hand, wishing he weren’t feeling that the next few minutes would probably be the crowning moment of his life. But there it was. The crowning moment of his life. His hand trembled slightly.
 
“Go on, spank me,” the amazing young man whispered, slightly impatient.
 
Chris’s hand came down. The blow struck the thick cloth of the sweatpants, resulting in a muffled
whap.
Kris said nothing, didn’t moan. He pushed his butt up for more.
 
Another slap, then another. Chris would have liked to expose the beautiful boy’s entire ass, but he hesitated, afraid the perfect moment would come and then be gone.
 
A few blows later, the boy beat him to it. Kris reached back and pulled down the seat of his pants.
 
His ass was every bit as gorgeous as Chris had expected, had hoped. More so. The flesh was flawlessly formed, pale, smooth. There was just one small blemish, like the flaw a Persian rug-maker purposely leaves in his carpet to acknowledge that only Allah can make a perfect thing. But blasphemy or no, the boy was perfect: fantastic, unforgettable.
 
Chris stroked the boy’s butt, his palm gliding over young skin. He gently parted the cheeks, exposing the crack hairy with blond fur, the hole pink and relaxed, gateway to some eternal secret.
 
Chris shook his head.
Listen to myself. What a pretentious load of bullshit.
But, thoroughly besotted by the half-naked boy slung over his lap, he really had no choice but to forgive his own excesses.
As I forgive those who excess against me,
he thought, almost giggling inappropriately.
 
He bent over and inhaled deeply: just the slightest intoxicating hint of musk. Left to his own devices, he would have leaned down and kissed and tongued the dangerous wrinkle of flesh. But Kris had been quite clear, very definite: “You can spank me, from medium to pretty intense, but no sex, though you can milk my cock if you want.” Chris was a man of honor, sure, but more than that, a creature of practicality. Now that he had his hands, quite literally, on Kris, he wasn’t going to make some stupid move that might endanger the whole thing. With one final, deep inhalation, he straightened up. His dick was throbbing, hard.
 
“You can spank me some more if you want to.” It sounded less like a suggestion than a command. Chris found himself wondering whether he wouldn’t feel so powerless if he were paying. His hand came down on the boy’s ass.
 
“You can go harder.”
 
Chris knew when he was licked. Yes, he almost wished that money
had
changed hands.
 
Still, he was supposed to be the Daddy in all this. Time to assert himself. “Stand up and take those pants off,” he said. “Then I’ll spank your ass some more.”
 
To Chris’s delight and mild surprise, the boy stood up and gracelessly lowered his red sweatpants.
 
The boy’s hard dick was unexpected. Though it was satisfyingly long and thick, it had a pronounced, almost freakish, downward curve.
 
Chris adored it.
 
He didn’t ask for permission, but fished out his own swelling cock. Kris had stepped out of his sweatpants and stood waiting, naked except for half-length white gym socks and that stupid, iconic baseball cap.
 
“Get back on my lap.”
 
“Yes, Daddy.” It was the first time Kris had used the
D
-word, which they’d used when they’d set up the date, but had so far today only been hovering in the background like some chronological ghost.
 
Now that the naked boy was back across his legs, bare dick against bare dick, Chris reached down and knocked the cap off his head. It tumbled to the floor. Chris grabbed a handful of the shock of honey-colored hair. Rather than objecting, Kris moaned softly. Chris pulled, bending the beautiful boy’s head slightly back, as he brought his other hand down on the naked, pink ass. Kris spread his legs, his downward-curving cock showing hard between his smooth, nearly hairless thighs.
 
Chris couldn’t resist. He swatted Kris’s ass a few more times, ramping up a little, turning the flesh a darker pink, then moved his right hand down to the boy’s dick, grabbing hold of the shaft. Kris moved his ass a little higher so the older man could get a better grip. Chris let go, spit into his hand, then reached down and starting “milking,” as Kris had said, the boy’s cock.
 
Heaven. It was absolute heaven to watch the naked young man squirm.
 
 
When he awoke, the half-finished story was still on the desktop of his Mac. Reading it over in the clear light of morning, it seemed more than a bit florid. How to make the theoretical reader understand, empathize? How to hint at the ineffable, the transcendent, without lapsing into pretentious twaddle? Ah, well, he’d have to work on that.
 
He checked his email.
 
When, the night before, he’d first started working on the story, he had, of course, thought back to the real-life boy who’d inspired him. The kid’s name wasn’t Kris though, it was Kyle, and the boy might not have been quite as perfect as the narrator, with his literary license, was making him out to be.
 
And musing on Kyle, he’d realized he really wanted to spank someone. Truth to tell, it had been months, and now just thinking about reddening a younger guy’s butt had made his dick swell. He’d opened up Craigslist and posted an ad.
Dad wants to spank you,
the headline read, and it went on predictably from there.
 
The first response he’d gotten was, maybe surprisingly but probably not, from Kyle; since the ad had no pictures, the kid would have had no idea who’d placed it.
Spank me, Daddy,
the email’s subject line had read.
 
Hi, Kyle,
he’d emailed back.
It’s me. I’d love to get together again.
And, for identification, he’d included a photo of his face.
 
But—not entirely to his surprise—there had been no response from Kyle. And although there had been a few more emails from other potential spankees, none of them panned out…pretty much par for the course for Craigslist. Fortunately, he was able to multitask, and he cruised online while he worked on the short story, and, eventually, jacked off. Finally he hit SAVE one more time and went to bed.
 
And now, the next morning, still nothing from Kyle, the putative “most beautiful boy in the world.”
 
But the story, half-finished, sat there as a somewhat overwritten reproach:
If you’re going to obsess over spanking an impossible object of desire, dude, don’t be surprised if you come up empty handed.
 
He sighed and got back to work.
 
 
Chris tried to memorize every detail.
 
The sound of Kris’s voice. Every inch of the boy’s creamy flesh, every gleaming curve. Even the boy’s smells; Chris ran a hand along Kris’s armpit, then brought it to his nose and inhaled. Not bad: no deodorant, but another couple of days without a shower would have made things even more heady.
 
And then he wanted, simultaneously, two contradictory things.
 
He wanted to worship the boy, to prostrate himself before the impossible glory of the kid.
 
And he wanted to hurt him.
 
And yet, since Kris
wanted
to be hurt, wasn’t spanking him in fact serving him? Wasn’t his turning himself into a sadistic monster a sacrifice to Kris?
 
And then Kris said, with a definite undertone of impatience, “What’s the problem?”
 
Chris looked down at the boy’s big, perfectly formed feet. He longed to grovel at those feet, have them rubbed in his face, to live for nothing but those feet. And to beg for mercy.
 
Instead he slapped Kris’s ass. Hard. Much harder than before. And then harder still.
 
Now it was obvious that the spanking was no longer just some game. Kris had turned down the offer of a safeword, and Chris had assured him that he knew how to read a bottomboy’s body language, that limits would be honored. Now all of that was not anywhere near so clear.
 
Because if he couldn’t possess such beauty, he would hurt it.
 
Kris was squirming for real now, crying out in pain. His ass was red, not pink, and burning hot to the touch, its surface mottled by a network of busted capillaries.
 
Was Kris sobbing?
 
“You…little…cunt,” Chris gritted out.
 
And then he brought himself up short. What did he want out of this? And he wondered whether he was asking this about the boy or about himself. Or both. His hand hurt.
 
“
Now
what’s the matter?” Kris complained.
 
“Fuck you!” Chris yelled and hit the perfect boy’s ass again. Now Kris
was
sobbing, and Chris didn’t care. He hit him until the boy tried to squirm away, to escape the pain. Chris held him down, though, and kept pummeling the boy’s abused butt.
 
“Okay, enough,” Kris said, firmly.
 
Chris snapped out of it and backed off, staring down at the boy’s bruised and battered ass. Everything was spinning. He wondered if he’d gone too far. He
had
gone too far.
 
And then Kris slid off the older man’s lap and looked up at him, the boy’s face flushed, his eyes brimming with tears. He smiled, his lips quivering, and then put his face to Chris’s and gave him a gentle, lingering kiss. Just one. Then he stood shakily up, grabbed his own curved cock and frantically jacked himself off until he’d shot streams of cum all over the place.
 
Chris looked down. Almost without noticing, he’d shot off, too. His pants were a mess.
 
“What’s funny?” the boy asked.

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