Page 30 of Sure as Shooting

All right, that did it! The challenge was accepted as Huntley abruptly collapsed to his knees and inhaled the massive horse cock into his mouth.

For something that Huntley would have found abhorrent and unthinkable as recently as a month ago—or perhaps last summer—he found it oddly satisfying to gorge on another man’s pulsating meat. The submissive way Whit relaxed his thighs and directed Huntley’s skull by using his ponytail as reins imbued Huntley with power. Knowing he was creating such colossal satisfaction in the man who was probably his closest friend, well, there was nothing wrong with that, and Huntley fell into a natural rhythm.

In fact, it was delicious, to use Whit’s term. The hot cock was so taut Huntley felt the shininess when the glans rubbed against his upper palate and filled his throat. He found if he breathed in and loosened his throat muscles, he could take the appendage almost all the way to the base, where his lips brushed the thicket that nestled the amazing prick. He could constrict his throat around it, pumping it as he ran his tongue about the underside in a zigzag pattern that caused Whit to gasp and twitch. A method he had enjoyed when Whit had been sucking on his own tool.

He palmed the ball sac while sucking, not unlike the boys’ game wherein they tried to rub their stomachs with one hand while patting their heads with the other. It required great concentration and Huntley was shocked to hear Whit gasping out various coarse and lascivious filth that was decidedly unmedical.

“That’s right, Hunt, suck my giant prick. You love filling your mouth with my savory meat. You’ve been dreaming of sucking on such a hulking, masculine tool for a long time. Admit it. Admit it!”

But of course Huntley could admit no such thing with his mouth full. He was surprised by the force of the stream of semen that spouted into the back of his throat, and this time he nearly choked. Whit made strangled sounds as he discharged down Huntley’s gullet, spout after spout of warm, pungent jism. Huntley managed to swallow, as Whit had earlier demonstrated to him, and Huntley had learned from hookers it was an insult to spit it out.

“Do it, Hunt. Suck my big Indian cock. Eat my hot load of tasty jism until you’re full.”

Huntley made one last heroic gulp and detached himself. He kneeled as though defeated, wiping off his mouth with the back of his hand while the enormous panting prick bobbed in the air above him. When he looked up, he saw Whit was equally as devastated, gripping the boulder as though it were the only thing holding him up, and Huntley had to grin.

“That’s right,” Huntley said confidently, trying to regain the upper hand. But he had to struggle to get to his feet, and clear bubbles swam before his eyes.

Exhausted yet self-assured, Huntley braced his elbows against the boulder on either side of Whit’s wobbly neck. “That’s right,” he said again. He knew he’d gained new stature in Whit’s eyes, and this meant the world to him. “You didn’t think I could swallow such a hot load of jism, did you?” He wanted to kiss Whit as Whit had done to him, to deposit some of the jism back onto his partner’s tongue. Let him taste—as Whit had probably done hundreds of times before.

Whit had a weak hand on Huntley’s shoulder, but he was looking at some distant point behind Huntley. Probably another one of his natural wonders. Huntley slapped him affectionately on the cheek.

“Enough, Whit. Am I not one of God’s holy temples too, aside from your mountains and gorges?”

“Belle,” it sounded as though Whit said, and his eyes looked glazed and shocked.

“Yes. Belle.” Huntley chuckled and thought he needed to slap the surgeon harder. “You do promise me, you’ll give me a chance to prove myself to her?”

“No. Belle’s here.”

“I’m sorry.” Belle’s high piping tone came from about twenty feet behind Huntley.

He spun around in time to see her stepping quietly, obsequiously, toward the men.

By Saint Michael! How long had she been standing there?