Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Clue Ch 02

Master game designers travel for research

All characters described in this story, whether game “pieces” or players, are over 18. Parts of the story attempt to duplicate the stream-of-consciousness, freedom from the rigors of sentence and punctuation grammatical rules– popularized by the Irish novelists of the post-war period, like James Joyce. Cam and Dec met in Clue 01, but this story is more or less standalone. Copyright ©2024, Brunosden. All rights reserved.

Background: Cam, a towhead graphic artist from South Carolina, with a gym-toned bod and a talented 8 incher had mated up with Dec, an Irish ginger, glib and profane, a great vers apparent newcomer to homosexuality, but an enthusiastic and very vocal partner. Anyone within earshot knew he was enjoying that fuck!! They have just graduated from a college specializing in AI graphic arts, coding and gaming. They had spent a year perfecting their passion for each other, and had finished Gailord–planning to live and work together in Silicon Valley–assuming Dec was able to extend his stay and convert his student visa into a green card.

Cam is the story teller.

A day after graduation, Dec and I were waiting in the Business Class lounge of Aer Lingus at Logan. Our flight had been delayed by two hours, but we had been upgraded by a ticket agent. We had dressed to fly in comfort since we had booked the cheapest economy–in tees, hoodies and oversized sweat shorts. Many heads turned as we walked through the terminal to the check in desk–we were commando (it was pretty obvious), our tees were old enough that our packs peeked out, and we were pretty good looking dudes (and we knew it). Many, I guess, thought we were a couple of models heading to Europe for a photo shoot, maybe for A I’m a towhead and he’s a ginger; both of us are in shape, clean and shaved. And yes, we are a team–a creative team in the computer labs designing AI-assisted games and a hot pair on the sheets. I’m Cam Clay, an artist from South Carolina; he’s a poet from Cork. I had seduced him after he transferred in to Gailord. (He was acting the virgin at the time, but after a short time together, I began to suspect that he had had some experience–he was that good.) After a few months of pursuit and a few weeks of intense sex, we moved in together. We are vers, although I tend to top more often. I’m a quiet lover. Dec is, to say the least, not. He maintains a running commentary of every feeling I produce in him. And CJ, my eight inch uncut dick, gives him a lot to talk about, if I do say so myself.

We had a light supper and several drinks in the lounge, and our flight was called. We boarded and found seats in the “second” business compartment where only eight seats were found, 1-2-1, in two rows. Curtains would be pulled over the entrances fore and aft, plunging the compartment into almost total darkness. We had the back two center sets. They reclined to full flat beds–and the armrests and privacy screen between them could be removed (which of course we did). High seat backs blocked the video monitors from the seat in front of us and high cocoon-like sides gave limited privacy from the aisle and adjacent window seats. Dec’s smile broadened as he and I recognized the potential. I recognized the pregnant leprechaun grin immediately.

Soon we were aloft and climbing for the six and a half hour flight to Shannon. Before we took-off, a flight attendant had brought us bottled water, amenity kits with eyeshades and large fluffy pillows and duvets. “We leave this cabin alone for our guests who want to sleep. Come forward if you need anything.”

I whispered to Dec, “We’re both joining the mile high club tonight–that is if you can muzzle yourself!”

“Isn’t that what my blindfold is for?”

“I hadn’t noticed you used your eyes with your commentary. But, maybe one of my sox…..”

We stripped off the hoodies and settled in under the overlapping duvets. His hand was inside my shorts and on my cock before the seat belt sign was off, signaling that we had reached cruising altitude–both his hand and the sign, that is. “I guess I didn’t tell you that I’m a timid flyer. I really need a comfort pet to get me up.”

“Anytime, Dec. CJ’s there for you–to help you get up,” I snickered quietly. “That hasn’t seemed to be much of a problem before.”

He fisted it tighter. Then his palm scooped up my balls. Fuck maybe he was scared. He was gripping me very tightly in a death grip.

“Let up a bit, Dec. You’re going to emasculate me. And you certainly don’t want that.”

“But, I need something big and warm in my hand.” It was his turn to smile. He bobbled my balls a few times and tried to get beşiktaş escort bayan the entire package in his hand, but soon gave up. A few minutes later, we were at altitude and the lights dimmed. A short while later, when it was obvious that our fellow passengers were bedding down or engrossed in movie entertainment, Dec whispered, “Turn toward the aisle, Cam. We’re going to do this.”

I tried, but smiled back at him helplessly. Finally, he released my jewels. I flipped on my side and pushed my right thigh as far forward as the seat allowed. Seconds later I felt the cold lubed fingers massaging the rim and penetrating the hole. His position was a little awkward, but possible. And he had me already aroused. The gentleman in the aisle seat that I was facing, rolled over toward the window and pulled his duvet high. He had on eyeshades and ear plugs, oblivious to all others in the cabin. He was headed for dreamland already. I don’t think he had any idea what was about to happen in the adjacent seats. I thought we were golden–for at least a little while. So I let Dec continue.

Two fingers went deep, found the prostate and started to stroke and massage. He had no trouble finding the treasure–or taking possession of it. His fingers were almost as talented as his tongue. I had all I could do to avoid murmuring in pleasure. I was being finger-fucked, deep and expertly by someone I loved at 30,000 feet. Now that’s a high! He opened me slowly and quietly, re-lubing several times, as I gripped the duvet to give us a little cover–although I was so hot that I didn’t need the warmth. His fingers on my prostate were stoking all the heat possible.

He pulled out and reached around to hold my gut steady as his tip pushed through the ring. He froze. Actually we both froze as we heard rustling in the seats in front of us. They quieted.

He adjusted his position so one leg could separate my thighs effectively, and slid most of the way in, crowding my nut and filling me. His hand slipped down to my dick as he rolled one of the airline sox down over it like a condom–to catch my soon-to-be-spurting cum. Dec got into a nice slow rhythm, raising my temperature and pulse with each stroke. I knew he was close as his fist tightened around my cock feeling the moist precum through the fabric of the sock, pressing fingers against the sensitive vas on the underside. I felt his first spasm which punched my nut and sent a shiver up my spine. Fuck, he was going to give me an anal orgasm in flight! He didn’t need to stroke my dick. Just hold on to it. I was going to cum from just his repeated jabs and the excitement of our surreptitious adventure.

He rolled just a little over me and deepened his thrusts. Another spasm. Another punch. And my autonomic reflexes took over. I squirted hard, several times into the sock as he filled me with his cum with shot after shot. We had been silent and careful–but there was no hiding the aroma of musk and cum. But, Dec must have been a boy scout. He was immediately ready with a barf bag to hold the sock, a small aerosol spray from the amenity kit and another sock to plug his cum inside me. He rolled back into his bed but left his hand holding my cock. I had joined the exclusive club. The perfect way to begin a vacation.

Later we repeated, but switched roles. He rolled onto his side facing the opposite aisle where a huge guy seemed to be engrossed in a violent film–we could tell from the screen lights, not sounds, as he was buried under large earphones, a duvet and concealed by near darkness. Fortunately we had two more sox–one for his mouth, one to catch his cum. It took a little longer this time, and we paused often when we thought we heard a sound. The pauses served to increase the arousal–like a deliberate bit of denial. Finally, I could take no more. I plunged deep and filled him with my spunk and caught his in yet another sock. It is indeed fortunate that we each had two feet–and the amenity kits had conveniently provided flight sox. Within an hour, both of us had joined that special club. We had a barf bag filled with our precious fluids which we placed like a trophy on the pullout tray. We had been undetected and were quite pleased with ourselves.

(I’d have to say that making love while surrounded–within a few feet–by a half dozen other people who were not there for the show–is both a very strange and dangerous adventure–the seat configuration was really not perfect and the requirement that we maintain rigid silence was daunting. So it wasn’t the best sex we had ever had, but it was nevertheless exciting. I realized how I had become accustomed to Dec’s stream of conscious phrases of praise and istanbul escort encouragement. We were really falling into a very comfortable routine. Maybe we’ll try the lav on the way home.)

Spent, we drifted into several hours of sleep–until the ceiling lights brightened–announcing our arrival at Shannon. We straightened ourselves out, pulled hoodies back on, stroked our fingers through our bedroom hair, buried the cum-laden sox (still in the barf bags) in our backpacks and readied to disembark. Really quite proud of what we had pulled off.

We stood in the aisle waiting for the doors to be opened to gangways, excited about our coming adventure and pleased with our cuming out on the Airbus 350. A middle-aged, good-looking businessman, with just a tad of grey in his “Black Irish” hair and obviously in shape–the guy who had occupied the aisle seat near Dec’s apparently watching the film–stood behind me, probably a little closer than necessary. He whispered into my ear as he massaged my butt cheek surreptitiously, “Welcome to Ireland. Looks like you guys enjoyed the flight more than any of the rest of us. If you’d like a little more adventure, I own a castle B&B in the west, near Galway, on the beach, not far from the airport. Here’s my card. I’d love to treat you guys to a few days of authentic Irish hospitality before you head back to the States. Just call me.” The card named him as Peter Blake, the proprietor of Rainbow Castle, and sported a multi-colored arch in the lower right corner, looking a little like an arching dick, with an oversized pot of gold under the business side. Not exactly subtle.

We hadn’t been as discrete as we thought. But, at least our voyeur was a decent guy. He seemed to have enjoyed our airborne activities (almost) as much as we did. But, we were about to begin our real Irish adventure.

Immigration and Customs were routine and quick. We only had backpacks and were obviously impoverished students. Dec’s brother met us and drove us to his family farm, almost two hours south of the airport. We would spend three or four days there–not as boyfriends yet–but enjoying the castles, pubs and sights of the South of Ireland, taking day or overnight trips using the family truck. Then we planned to head out on a perimeter journey by bus–leaving them with the pickup for the farm and chores.

I was introduced to Dec’s folks–who were much older than I had expected. It turns out that he has seven sibs–and he was the baby of the family. All the others were married, four with kids. I was a “classmate,” a “fellow graduate,” and a soon to be “apartment-mate” in California. The Harleys were informal and friendly–and Catholic. The house was raucous and full with family and neighbors. And I got to sleep in the “other twin” in Dec’s former bedroom–which was obviously on its way to becoming Ma’s sewing and craft room. They obviously didn’t anticipate his return home for good. I don’t think anyone sensed the intensity of our relationship, or knew that Dec had discovered his gay side. But, crowded quarters meant sex in the shower, even quickies, was not going to be possible–even though most of his sibs had already left the nest. The narrow twin would have to do–and Dec would need to muzzle. We might have to buy some Irish knit sox.

On the first few days we explored nearby small towns, Limerick, Killarney and paid the requisite visit to the Blarney Stone. Yes, it is true. The Stone is not guarded at night. Heteros and gays alike had found the true “position” to do homage to the Stone. To reach it, one had to lie on one’s back, shimmy out through a hole to kiss the Stone above, while a partner, held one’s legs (and at night, unzipped and “kissed” your genitals). And if there is time, he (or she) completed the visit with a surreptitious blowjob. Now there is luck! Just think of the promise for the future!

It wasn’t yet cold, but the night was dark and quiet. We were alone. Dec pointed to the stone and indicated that I hd to lay on my back and shimmy into the gaping hole. I slipped under as he unbuttoned my jeans and grasped my shaft. Soon I felt his lips on CJ as my own touched the cold inanimate stone. Guess which experience was more satisfactory? He was quick with suction and hand massage–so I prolonged my commune with the Stone until I jerked into his warm mouth and filled him with my cream. Quickly he buttoned me up and I pulled out. I was prepared for a reciprocal treatment, but Dec merely smiled and said he’d done it before. Just then another couple could be heard climbing the hill for the experience. He preferred the warmth of the bed awaiting us at the nearby B&B.

We spent that night at a B&B escort bayan rus which we had found in the Pink Guide (“the Gay’s Companion to Europe”). The room wasn’t much, but the shower was a dream and the cushiest and softest mattress meant that we were rolled automatically into each other’s arms immediately upon relaxing on the bed. The walls of the B&B were paper thin. And the sounds of the night were a constant aphrodisiac. We rolled and bounced in the soft cushiony bed, enjoying being in each other’s arms again, in various wrestling poses. We were both rigid and full. Out of necessity and choice, we slept joined together. I think we got about two hours of sleep, with repeated fucks. So at breakfast, we were both totally “full” yet surprisingly hungry. And Dec had not exactly lost his voice.

Limerick was a small town nearby, filled with young men and women just out of University and not yet toiling in summer jobs. It was definitely a young party town. The pubs were wild. It was early summer and the parties spilled out into nearby gardens and even the street. I fell in love over and over with the young slim boys speaking in the most romantic lilt in the world. It and they were so cute. Blue eyes, freckles, rosy curly hair (or black disheveled “bedroom” hair if they were “Black Irish” with creamy smooth skin), broad smiles, tight jeans displaying promising baskets, tighter tees showing light slim muscles. Exactly my type. If Dec hadn’t been in the booth with me, I think I could have picked up many. But, he was putting on his dom, ownership routine–which turned some of them on, perhaps imagining a three-some, and scared a few away, after a not-so-innocent dance or two. It seemed that ass massages were fair game, typically with hands on bare skin.

That night, pumped by the pub crawls and the dance floor foreplay, we enjoyed another powerful evening together. It was my turn to ravish and I did, taking Dec hard and long–and more than once. CJ was getting used to beginning his night in a tight squeeze, like a full-sized dog in a too-small house. I guess I sort of appreciated it too. Then I pulled him into a spoon as my cock semi remained planted deeply inside. Absolutely my favorite sleeping position. CJ’s too.

Then, after returning to Cork to recharge, we left for Dublin by bus, another young vibrant city of the future, filled with street-shows, pubs, dance halls, retail shops–and sex.

(Was all of Ireland under 30? It seemed so, particularly on the streets–perhaps because the houses were small and for adventure, many took to the public spaces for entertainment. It was intensely social, musical–and vocal. Fuck the Irish love to talk. And PDAs were everywhere.)

The eccentricity of dress seemed to suggest complete tolerance of any sexual lifestyle (or none at all). We found a hostel near the famous College, visited a few museums, were enthralled with Trinity–and partied late into the night at one of the residence halls which had converted its refectory to a party room in the evening. Dec had done two years at Trinity and was still known by the “inmates” although he had “gone Yank” for two years.

It was here that I realized that Dec had had some experience–and had a reputation–as a talented lover of lads and lasses. I guess he’s as good an actor as he is a coder and vocalist. Many of his conquests were expecting more. And so I became his wingman. And his protector-guardian. I wasn’t sharing.

Our partners were various and indiscriminate–teasing, engaging in foreplay, dancing–although we always went home together. It seems that Dec is quite the troubadour (particularly with bawdy bits)–but I would have guessed that from the time we had spent together doing dialogue for our animes. And I was the tireless “Yank” on the floor of various clubs, surrounded by handsome young lads and hungry young lasses, pawing my pecs and my glutes, as I explored hot young bodies myself. What a great place to be young! I certainly reciprocated and enjoyed the free-wheeling atmosphere.

Our hostel mates soon knew we were gay. Dec’s non-stop play-by-play commentary on my technique and what it was doing to his “boy cunt” or his “boy pussy” had several asking to share. From his comments, many assumed that I was generously endowed (which I thought I was anyway) and talented at fucking guys’ asses. At breakfast, a number of guys let it be known that they were available if I wished and even more displayed suggestive leers. It was like a candy store–and I definitely have a sweet tooth. Cj was ever at the ready. So Dec provided frequent relief. CJ was in his ass or his mouth several times a day.

And typically Dec was ready for a flip. Ireland had definitely turned on his dom-top tendencies. Many days, my ass was so sore that I could barely walk. I think Dec enjoyed every second of my pain. Certainly, he told me often and loudly enough–tapping my butt or massaging my inner thigh when we sat to eat or drink.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32