Souchard

By: Will B
(© 2009-2010 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 5 

The Souchard Hotel, April 6, 10:00 am

Erhon and Willy were in their cottage, doing some minor housekeeping chores. The computer went ‘ding,’ signifying that they’d ‘got mail.’

“Hey, love, look at this,” Willy said. “It’s from Sandy.”

“Great,” Erhon said.” How’s he doing?”

“He and his partner for life are going to Egypt on an archaeological dig.”

“Do you remember the first time we met Sandy?”

“I sure do,” Willy said. “I remember it well. I remember how…”

* * * * *

It was a hot muggy evening in August, and a thunderstorm earlier in the evening had knocked the lights out. Erhon was in Willy’s apartment and Willy had lit some candles.

“Is the ‘super’ coming up to fix the lights?” Erhon asked.

“No, he says he can’t come until tomorrow, “Willy replied.

“Oh, well. I kind of like these candles. They make such a romantic atmosphere. I just want to take our clothes off and have some hot wild sex, right here in the living room.”

“Erhon, you are a horny guy, and … I love you. Come here.”

Slowly Willy began to pull Erhon’s tee shirt over his head. Erhon’s lightly tanned, muscular, chest with its two dark brown nipples gleamed in the candle light. Willy ran his lips and tongue over Erhon’s neck and shoulders, and made sucking motions on his lover’s nips.

“Aah! That’s good, so good,” Erhon said as he returned the favor for Willy. Erhon ran his fingers up and down Willy’s chest and abdomen, twisting the nipples and licking Willy’s armpits.

“I love your man smell, my sweet,” Erhon whispered.

“Kick off your sandals, Erhon.”

Willy pushed Erhon down on the couch and began kissing and sucking his lover’s toes. Then he reached up from his kneeling position and began to ease Erhon’s slacks down over his hips. When they were on the floor, Willy used his lips to pull Erhon’s shorts down…down…down so that his bush came into sight, and then down…down some more so that Erhon’s organ popped out, standing straight out from his body.

Willy began to kiss the helmet, running his tongue over Erhon’s slit, and then ran his tongue around the corona.

“Aaahhh, Willy. Not yet. I don’t want to cum just yet.”

Erhon got up and pulled Willy into a standing position. He reached below Willy’s waistband and began to play with his lover’s goodies. He rolled Willy’s cock between his two palms as if he were rolling a piece of clay to make a tube or a snake.

After a minute or two of this, Erhon said, “Willy, I want you in me. I want your rod in my hole. I want you to flood me with your man-milk.”

Willy rimmed Erhon’s butt and his ass cheeks. He licked his way into the cleavage between those two-bubbled cheeks and then attacked Erhon’s hole, pushing against the rosebud with his tongue so that his lover was writhing in pleasure.

“Aaaahhhh.  Aaaaahhh. That’s it, Willy. Your tongue is so good, but now I’m ready for the real thing! Shove it in me.”

Willy took the lube, which earlier he had put on the table beside the couch, and covered his fingers with the lubricant. He rubbed Erhon’s hole with his finger and then inserted it.

“That’s one,” Willy whispered. Erhon just moaned.

Willy inserted another finger and said, “That’s two.”

As he inserted the third finger, Erhon’s sphincter clamped down as if it didn’t want Willy to withdraw his finger, but Willy pulled it out, and said, “Now.”

Willy slouched on the couch with his legs splayed out and Erhon stood over Willy’s rampant pole and slowly lowered himself onto Willy’s throbbing hard-on. Lower and lower he sat, thrilling to the sensation of that seven-inch spear sliding, gliding into his innermost being.

Now the two began the dance of the writhing waltz, the lambda of lust, the mazurka of moaning and groaning.  So lost in the moment were the two that they heard neither a knock on the door nor the door open, until they heard a voice say, “Super here. Is anyone home…. Oh, whoah, excuse me!”

Willy and Erhon opened their eyes, and saw Sandy, the building superintendent’s nephew, standing there, with his eyes wide open and a wide grin on his face. He was a well-built nineteen year old male. He had blue eyes and a reddish blond hair.

He was wearing dungarees with a bib that was held up by only one strap. The other strap hung loose allowing part of the bib to drop down revealing part of his well-developed chest.  The dungarees were cut off at the knee and his muscular, slightly hairy legs reached down to his sandal-clad feet

For a moment, everyone remained as if frozen in time. Willy might have lost his erection, but the sight of this blond hunk held his attention and kept his pole rock-hard, especially when he saw Sandy’s hand beginning to fondle his crotch.

“Hi, y’all,” Sandy said. “My uncle sent me up here to see if I could help you in any way….<and  his grin seemed to get wider>....in ANY way I can.”

“Oh, no,” Willy said. “We’ve got the candles, and … we’re fine, just fine!”

“Yeah, I can see y’all are handling yerselves, re-e-al well. I just wish there was sump’n I could….”

Sandy turned and started to leave, when Erhon called, “Wait, Sandy. There is ‘sump’n’….”

Sandy turned and said, “Anythin’ ya want, just tell me. Anythin’ at all.”

“Sandy, you’re a growing boy, and I know growin’ boys like to eat,” Erhon said, “And I have this sausage that might taste good to you.”

Sandy smiled and said, ‘Wa-a-a-ll, just let me get comfortable,” and  he kicked off his sandals and slid the one strap of his dungaree bib off his shoulder. His dungarees slithered to the floor, and he stepped out of them.

“Oh, wow,” Erhon said, “You’ve gone commando, and you’ve got a gorgeous cock and balls.!”

Sandy slid to his knees between Willy and Erhon’s legs, and bent his lips to sample Erhon’s sausage, which by now was beginning to exude pearly drops of pre-cum.

The three guys got into a rhythm which elicited ‘ooohs’ and ‘aaaahs’ of pleasure. All too soon, it seemed, Willy shot his spunk into Erhon’s anal canal, and Erhon gave Sandy a long satisfying drink of his own elixir of orgasm.

Sandy lay on the floor wiping stray drops of  cum from his chin and swallowing them. He looked at Erhon and Willy and said, “Y’all may as well know, back home in No’th Ca’lina, I’m known as the village slut-boy. I’ll take it any way I can get it as often as I can, so if either of you want to…”

With that Sandy raised his legs in the air, presenting the pinkest, ‘blinkinest, rosebud’ imaginable. Erhon and Willy stood up and Willy said, “You know, Sandy, I’d like to pack your hole with my pole. On your knees, slut!”

Sandy was quick to oblige, and Willy mounted him from behind and Erhon lay down so that his cock, still semi-hard, was close to Sandy’s mouth.

“Hey, Sandy, you want some more of this?” Erhon asked, and while Sandy was  getting it in the rear he went down on Erhon, licking and tonguing Erhon’s man meat.

* * * * * *

Sandy remembered another time when he had come up ‘to try to fix a leaky faucet’ (which is what he told his uncle). The three guys were all in a state of nature (naturally), and Sandy knelt between them, and putting his hands on the ass cheeks of the two he drew them closer together, close enough that he could kiss and lick the two cocks at the same time. …

* * * * *

“Hey, Willy. Are you nodding off? You’ve been very quiet,” Erhon hugged his lover.

Willy looked at him and said, “Oh, no, I was just thinking about Sandy and the times we had together!”

“When you answer his e-mail, tell him I wish him well,” Erhon said.  “You know Willy, he was the second best cock-sucker I’ve ever known.”

“Oh, is that so! And just who was the best,” Willy asked.

“He’s sitting right here beside me,” Erhon replied, and he leaned over and kissed Willy.  “Hey, Willy, want to play three times twenty-three?” he added with a leer.

“You betcha,” said Willy.

The Souchard Hotel, April 16, 10:00 am

“Jerry, come here,” Trace said. “Read this email I just got from Tad.

Jerry came into the office and looked at the e-mail. His face split into a grin, and he said, “Great! Wow!”

“Tad writes that he has been in contact with Rod McElroy, the social worker, and we have all the papers we need,” Trace said. “I’m going to take Ricky, and you’re going to take George, and we’re going to North Carolina where single men can adopt children. We already have legal custody of the boys, plus recommendations from Sheriff Joe, Rev. Chet and Gerald.”

“I have to sit down,” Jerry said. “What great news!”

“There’s more, my love.” Trace got very serious and pulled Jerry back to his feet and into a hug. “Do you…. would you….will you marry me?”

“Trace, do you have to ask? <pause> “Why can’t we get married and then adopt the boys?”

“As Tad explained to me, single men can adopt children, and same-sex couples can get married, but same-sex couples are not yet allowed to adopt children,” Trace explained.

“Huh! That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know, my dear Jerry, but that’s the way things are in Carolina.”

Trace and Jerry talked to Ricky and George and explained that each of the boys would be adopted, and then Trace and Jerry were going to be married in a civil ceremony and would immediately take steps to ensure that both boys would be the legally adopted sons of both of them.

Ricky and George looked at each other and punched fists. “Yay, way to go, Dads.”

At 12:00 noon, Trace and Jerry called a meeting of all the staff, the guests, and all the boys at The Residence and told them the news. There was a lost of cheering and applauding, but Erhon looked at Willy, and said, “What’s wrong, Willy? You’re crying!”

“Oh, <sniff> <sniff> I always cry at weddings, and since we won’t be there I thought <gulp> I would get started now!”

So it was that Trace and Jerry took Ricky and George to North Carolina, and Trace adopted Ricky, and Jerry adopted George. The next day Trace and Jerry were married in a civil ceremony.

When they returned to the City, they made an appointment with Tad and had him draw up papers, so that the two boys were the legal heirs of both men. If anything would happen to Trace or Jerry, both boys would be well taken care of and would be placed in the care of the surviving partner.

London, May 22: A private room in a hotel

It was the hour of evening prayers and five Moslem men knelt on the prayer rugs facing Mecca. When they had finished, they stood up and the oldest man turned to the youngest.

“Are you ready, Ahmed Fazhi, my son?”

“Yes, Father, I am ready.”

“I am proud of you. I know Allah will bless you. Now when you approach the place appointed, I want you to drink this. It will strengthen your resolve.”

The father handed his son a small vial that contained a ‘liquid tranquilizer.’

“Go now, my son. The rest of us are returning to our native land.” The father embraced his son, and the lad, an eighteen-year-old, went out into the evening to carry out his sacred mission.

To be continued.

Author’s note: The last few weeks have been hectic ones in my life and I just could not do any writing. Things are calmer now, and I am able to think about dipping my quill pen in the ink jar, putting a new ribbon in my Smith-Corona, and booting up my computer.

I thank my reader, A. Nony Mouse, and Chuck for their patience while I got through this rough patch.

Thanks also to those readers and friends who sent me words of encouragement. Thanks to all of you.

Posted: 05/28/10