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I had been happily serving Linda as her toy boy for a few months.
That we were bonding beautifully, that I was pleasing him very much-but that we could bond even closer.
Did I want to bond even more fully?
Yes, oh yes.
It would hurt at first, but only at first, he was saying. There, could I feel that?
Ohhh, yes I could. I'd never had anything going in there, only coming out. But, maybe . . . Oh, yes.
He parted my lips with two of his fingers and told me to suck on them. And while I did so, I felt a finger of his other hand moving underneath me, circling the rim of my hole, before moving a bit inside again. And rotating around. Urging me to stretch out.
He stopped this, but only for a moment, as he stripped off my clothes and then his, and we were both naked, skin sizzling on skin underneath the encasing woolen blanket. He had my butt cheeks at an angle against one of his hips. He was holding my side close to his with an encircling arm and the two fingers I had been sucking on were now at the rim of my hole. He put his chin on my shoulder and kissed me in the hollow of my neck. I lurched in a slight, sharp sense of pain as the two moistened fingers slowly pushed into my passage, deeper and thicker than the previous exploration.
I was trembling and whimpering now, and he started speaking to me in low, melodic tones again. Telling me the story of a mountain man and his best friend, out alone for months in the mountains, in a camp not unlike this one. Of how much they depended on each other and how grieved they were at the death of a mutual friend. How they needed to comfort each other. How they need to bond. To bond closely. To become one so that they could face the elements together. To express their love. To do so in natural ways, the ways of time immemorial. Of how wonderful they felt when they had bonded. How there was pain at first, but quickly great joy and release of all their grief and fears.
One of my legs had been coaxed to lay astride his thighs, and I could feel the insistence of his manhood laying hot against my own thigh. I was trying to listen to him, but my attention was increasingly going to what those fingers were doing inside me. Moving deeper. Moving in, separating, spreading me inside, and then coming back out. And then moving in deeper than before. The pad of one had found a very sensitive point, and what it was doing to me made me tense up-and I felt like I had to piss and to jack off all at the same time. I was groaning and moaning, trying to let J. Harvey know that something was happening that he might want to stop if we didn't want to be embarrassed.
But then I jacked off. I tried covering myself with my hands, ashamed, hoping he hadn't noticed. But he just laughed and cooed at me and told me that this was exactly what I needed to do. That this was all a stop, a necessary milestone, toward ultimate male bonding. A good reaction. A very good reaction.
To show he wasn't angry or upset, he lowered his mouth to my penis and licked me clean from what I had shot off there. All the time he was telling me this was exactly what was supposed to happen. That this is what happened to those men in the mountains as they moved toward perfect bonding that ended their grieving.
Could I feel as those men did, he asked.
Yes, yes I could.
Was I man enough to pass through the pain of the initiation into the bonding?
Yes. I was as much a man as either of those he was talking about. I was my father's son.
Yes, yes you are, he said. Did I trust him? Did I love him? Did I want to get beyond the grieving and would I let him help me do that? Was I ready to move into the bonding?
Yes. Please. Now.
While still encircling my chest with one arm, he lifted my pelvis with the strong hand of the other arm and centered my hips over his and slowly lowered my passage on his throbbing tool.