Robert John Larkin III and Stanley George
For Robert John Larkin III, it was always a little weird having his cock sucked by Stanley George. There was always some vaguely inherent subconscious insinuation of incestuous subtext ... even though Stanley wasn't related by blood and wasn't even any longer Robert's guardian, although he had been for five years. Maybe, it had to do with how Stanley, the closest friend Robert's father ever had, and much beloved by Robert's mother, still remained Robert's mentor; although the younger man had legally come of age. None of which had prevented Robert from initiating their first sexual encounter, having long sensed what Stanley wanted but would likely, at the rate he was going, never have asked for. Certainly, their sexual liaisons, since that first one, hadn't loosened their long-standing bond, but had only made it stronger.
Robert sat in one of two wing-backed chairs that faced Stanley's desk, just enough space between the chair and the desk for the older man to have knelt on the Persian rug. He unzipped Robert's trousers, fished in through that breach and through the second one provided by Robert's underpants, to manhandle the younger man's hard dick out into the open, scoop out the accompanying large balls to join it. Hoisting Robert's legs, one bent knee over each of Stanley's broad shoulders, Stanley chowed down on the whole eight inches of revealed hard meat...up and down, up and down...from bulbous circumcised cockhead to blond-haired scrotum.
Always, at such times, Robert wondered if his father's cock had ever been subjected to the same kind of wondrous workout. Maybe had even contributed to Stanley's obvious cock-sucking expertise acquired during all of those years Stanley and the elder Larkin attended the same boarding school, university, fraternity, and founded the very successful Larkin-George Investment Firm. Robert could have come right out and asked about any sexual involvement between the two, still might, though he hadn't gotten quite so gutsy yet. Who knew but that, somewhere, up the line, Stanley might even volunteer the information, without needing to be asked. Certainly, there had never been any clues, at least as far as Robert had picked up, that his mother was ever aware of any homosexual hanky-panky between her husband and his best friend. Robert's suspicions of Stanley's interest in Robert's dick came about only after all of Robert's trust funds had been handed over, and Stanley's official fiduciary responsibilities were over and done.
Robert settled back, watched, and enjoyed the rhythmic bounces of Stanley's head over and on the younger man's lap. There was something about the way the man's thick strands of silvery hair moved and shifted that was reminiscent of a well-remembered patch of Mediterranean Sea, one moonlit night off the coast of Capri, Robert leaning over the railing of a yacht, his ass being fucked by Freddy Conklin. When Robert touched Stanley's hair, however, his fingers all the way through to anchor their tips against Stanley's scalp, the strands weren't like water but like pure silk, exceedingly sexy in their caress of the younger man's knuckles. Robert's hands rode Stanley's bobbing head as a basketball player's large grip sometimes rode a bounced ball without seemingly ever losing touch of it.
It wasn't all that long before Stanley's cock-sucking talent, as usual, accompanied by the man bringing Robert's contracting scrotum into play by pinching portions of it, that Robert lifted his arms above his head, and hooked his hands over the back of his chair. His hips' automatic fuck-bounces coincided exactly with the continuing up-and-down of Stanley's head.
It wouldn't be long now, and Robert was looking forward to conclusion. There were few pleasures greater in his life, at the moment, than his dick letting go its forceful loads into the vacuum provided by Stanley's mouth which always had a way of having eaten all of the way down to the cock-base at the exact moments Robert's dick commenced orgasmic explosions.
"I'm close," Robert said. It's what he always said, although likely, as always, superfluous, in that he suspected Stanley never really needed to be told. Obviously, there were other telltale signs without Robert's verbal affirmation. Robert's ass bounced all the more emphatically against the seat of his chair. His scrotum contracted more tightly about his enfolded nuts, so that his testicles looked like two separate eggs, in flesh-colored, hairy, plastic wrap, attached to the base of his sucked dick. His ankles suddenly hooked, one over the other, against Stanley's back. His knees went even more vise-like in their parenthesis of the older man's rising and falling head.
Robert shut his eyes, pressed his head more tightly against the back of his chair, and raised his chin toward the ceiling so that his Adam's apple was thrust into high relief. He clasped his handholds tighter against the upholstery, lifted his hips farther, with a follow-up downward burrowing of his ass deeply into the seat cushion where, suddenly aided by the sudden press of Stanley's head, his butt remained.
"Oh fuck!" Robert said, and his nuts, right on his cue, erupted. With each succeeding hearty suck of Stanley's mouth, locked down and around the whole uplifted prick, the dick erupted again ... again ... again. Stanley still sucked for more cum when all that was immediately available was gone. For Robert, Stanley's last gulps were always as masochistically painful as they were chockablock with pleasure.
Robert went completely limp. Stanley came up for air, licking his lips, and punctuating with a wide smile.
"Delicious as always," the older man said, getting to his feet with the speed and agility unlikely duplicated by many men his age. He walked to the mirror that hung a nearby office wall, took an ever-at-the-ready comb from the inside pocket of his suit coat, and, with a few draws of plastic teeth through his silver hair, put razor-cut strands back into such perfect alignment that not even Robert could tell how tousled they'd been just seconds before.