MyJockStrap
05-25-2005, 06:09 PM
Trick?
Stepping onto the front steps of the his apartment house, Steve was disoriented by the front door being open until he noticed it was propped open by a pumpkin with a long black taper sticking out from a hole carved in its top. Black writing covered the pumpkin’s front: Third Floor.
The new guy must be into Halloween: Steve thought as he remembered he forgot to buy candy on his way home. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he rushed through the open door before being caught empty handed.
Ascending the first landing, he realized it was too late, as he flattened himself against the wall and waited for a princess, a cowboy, and a very small rabbit to make their way down the stairs. The princess and cowboy passed without stopping, but reaching Steve, the rabbit paused and extended an open bag: “Trick—or—treat!”
Steve’s face reddened as he muttered, “Sorry, I don’t have any candy.”
The rabbit withdrew the bag and scampered down the stairs and out the door, passed the princess and cowboy, who stood staring at Steve. Steve locked eyes with the pair for a moment before the princess waved her middle finger like a magic wand and the cowboy pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it squarely at him. Yelling “Faggot!” in unison, they turned and ran out the door.
“Very original, you walking stereotypes!” Steve yelled after them, but all he heard in response was the chatter of approaching trick—or—treaters.
Steve leapt up the flight of stairs. Reaching his apartment door, he fumbled with his keys but managed to open it just as the next round of candy collectors entered the stairwell. Pulling the door closed, he sighted a sailor leering at him from the third floor banister: “Trick—or—Treat?”
Caught between the approaching children and his new neighbor’s Halloween mood, Steve managed a slight smile before pulling the door closed and responding: “Have fun.”
Relieved, Steve leaned against the interior of the door as footsteps, laughter, and a chorus of “trick—or—treat” permeated the hall.
Tossing his backpack to the floor, he ran the past few moments through his mind as he flipped on the light switch: Just my luck, no candy and the new guy Vince is probably handing it out by the fistfuls. His car will never get keyed. He’s totally into—
Steve stopped in his tracks and pondered Vince’s greeting: No, he couldn’t have meant that. He couldn’t--
Deciding he could, Steve quickly made his way into his bedroom and began pulling his clothes off. Standing in his boxers and socks, he stared into his closet. Flipping through the hangers, he turned to the laundry basket and fished out a pair of ripped jeans and a threadbare gray thermal shirt.
Standing before a full-length mirror, Steve examined the loose fitting and strategically ripped jeans. Half moons of skin showed from each ripped knee, and when he turned, a triangle flap of torn denim revealed an alluring mixture of cotton and skin. Yet, he thought, something was missing. He dropped to the floor and peeled off his black socks and replaced them with white. Crawling to the closet, he pushed two pairs of sneakers aside and retrieved a thick black leather belt and a pair of hiking boots. Sliding the belt around his waist and pulling the boots on, he left the belt unbuckled and the laces untied. The belt dangled from his waist and the laces trailed behind him as he crawled to the nightstand.
Opening the bottom drawer, he rifled through it. Pushing aside a tube of lube and his pocket and dug deeper into the drawer’s contents. Forcing his fingers between vintage issues of “Mandate,” he found what was he was looking for.
Slipping it over his head, he positioned himself before the mirror. The black mask lent him a degree of mystery, but he knew surprise would prove the better accoutrement.
Waiting for the last thud of feet to exit the stairwell, Steve opened his apartment door, but before he could step into the stairwell, another round of maskers entered it. He retreated behind his hastily closed door and listened as the latest group climbed the two flights of stairs to retrieve their sugary booty. Shortly after their ascent, they descended with bags fuller than when they entered.
Fingering the vial in his pocket, Steve waited for the last audible footsteps to fade before opening the door. He surveyed the first flight of stairs and raised his eyes to the second. The stairwell was empty. Steadying his nerves, he stepped forward: It’s now or never.
Within moments, he knocked on the treat giver’s door; the door opened promptly, revealing Vince holding a heaping bowl of candy.
Steve withdrew the vial from his pocket and held it before him: “Trick?”
“I see you brought your own treat,” replied Vince. “Maybe I can offer you something to go with that.” Vince dropped the bowl and lowered his pants. His erect cock sprang free as the candy spilled over the landing and rained over the stairwell beneath.
Steve pressed the vial to his nose, and as the welcome aroma of gym socks filled his nostrils, he passed the amyl to Vince. His heart raced and deflected the constraints of gravity with a flood of heat that surged out from his chest and through his skin until it cleaved the air from his body. Shaking his head as he shook off the remembrance of the world, he followed the flow of his sensitizing skin from his chest to his cock to his lips as he dropped to his knees and sucked Vince’s head between them.
Steve sucked the firm and spongy head into his mouth and slid his tongue beneath it to tickle Vince’s taut foreskin. Releasing his own thickening cock from his zipper, he began to fist himself as he slid Vince’s cock to the back of his throat. Surpassing his usual gag reflex, a guttural hum rose in his throat as the itch of orgasm threatened to climb from the center of his groin to the tip of his cock.
Meanwhile, three children, dressed as the three blind mice, had entered the stairwell and discovered the stream of falling candy. They immediately began to stuff their bags with it, and as it continued to fall, their gleeful cheers failed to reach Steve’s ears as he laced Vince’s shoes with cum.
Stepping onto the front steps of the his apartment house, Steve was disoriented by the front door being open until he noticed it was propped open by a pumpkin with a long black taper sticking out from a hole carved in its top. Black writing covered the pumpkin’s front: Third Floor.
The new guy must be into Halloween: Steve thought as he remembered he forgot to buy candy on his way home. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he rushed through the open door before being caught empty handed.
Ascending the first landing, he realized it was too late, as he flattened himself against the wall and waited for a princess, a cowboy, and a very small rabbit to make their way down the stairs. The princess and cowboy passed without stopping, but reaching Steve, the rabbit paused and extended an open bag: “Trick—or—treat!”
Steve’s face reddened as he muttered, “Sorry, I don’t have any candy.”
The rabbit withdrew the bag and scampered down the stairs and out the door, passed the princess and cowboy, who stood staring at Steve. Steve locked eyes with the pair for a moment before the princess waved her middle finger like a magic wand and the cowboy pulled his gun from its holster and aimed it squarely at him. Yelling “Faggot!” in unison, they turned and ran out the door.
“Very original, you walking stereotypes!” Steve yelled after them, but all he heard in response was the chatter of approaching trick—or—treaters.
Steve leapt up the flight of stairs. Reaching his apartment door, he fumbled with his keys but managed to open it just as the next round of candy collectors entered the stairwell. Pulling the door closed, he sighted a sailor leering at him from the third floor banister: “Trick—or—Treat?”
Caught between the approaching children and his new neighbor’s Halloween mood, Steve managed a slight smile before pulling the door closed and responding: “Have fun.”
Relieved, Steve leaned against the interior of the door as footsteps, laughter, and a chorus of “trick—or—treat” permeated the hall.
Tossing his backpack to the floor, he ran the past few moments through his mind as he flipped on the light switch: Just my luck, no candy and the new guy Vince is probably handing it out by the fistfuls. His car will never get keyed. He’s totally into—
Steve stopped in his tracks and pondered Vince’s greeting: No, he couldn’t have meant that. He couldn’t--
Deciding he could, Steve quickly made his way into his bedroom and began pulling his clothes off. Standing in his boxers and socks, he stared into his closet. Flipping through the hangers, he turned to the laundry basket and fished out a pair of ripped jeans and a threadbare gray thermal shirt.
Standing before a full-length mirror, Steve examined the loose fitting and strategically ripped jeans. Half moons of skin showed from each ripped knee, and when he turned, a triangle flap of torn denim revealed an alluring mixture of cotton and skin. Yet, he thought, something was missing. He dropped to the floor and peeled off his black socks and replaced them with white. Crawling to the closet, he pushed two pairs of sneakers aside and retrieved a thick black leather belt and a pair of hiking boots. Sliding the belt around his waist and pulling the boots on, he left the belt unbuckled and the laces untied. The belt dangled from his waist and the laces trailed behind him as he crawled to the nightstand.
Opening the bottom drawer, he rifled through it. Pushing aside a tube of lube and his pocket and dug deeper into the drawer’s contents. Forcing his fingers between vintage issues of “Mandate,” he found what was he was looking for.
Slipping it over his head, he positioned himself before the mirror. The black mask lent him a degree of mystery, but he knew surprise would prove the better accoutrement.
Waiting for the last thud of feet to exit the stairwell, Steve opened his apartment door, but before he could step into the stairwell, another round of maskers entered it. He retreated behind his hastily closed door and listened as the latest group climbed the two flights of stairs to retrieve their sugary booty. Shortly after their ascent, they descended with bags fuller than when they entered.
Fingering the vial in his pocket, Steve waited for the last audible footsteps to fade before opening the door. He surveyed the first flight of stairs and raised his eyes to the second. The stairwell was empty. Steadying his nerves, he stepped forward: It’s now or never.
Within moments, he knocked on the treat giver’s door; the door opened promptly, revealing Vince holding a heaping bowl of candy.
Steve withdrew the vial from his pocket and held it before him: “Trick?”
“I see you brought your own treat,” replied Vince. “Maybe I can offer you something to go with that.” Vince dropped the bowl and lowered his pants. His erect cock sprang free as the candy spilled over the landing and rained over the stairwell beneath.
Steve pressed the vial to his nose, and as the welcome aroma of gym socks filled his nostrils, he passed the amyl to Vince. His heart raced and deflected the constraints of gravity with a flood of heat that surged out from his chest and through his skin until it cleaved the air from his body. Shaking his head as he shook off the remembrance of the world, he followed the flow of his sensitizing skin from his chest to his cock to his lips as he dropped to his knees and sucked Vince’s head between them.
Steve sucked the firm and spongy head into his mouth and slid his tongue beneath it to tickle Vince’s taut foreskin. Releasing his own thickening cock from his zipper, he began to fist himself as he slid Vince’s cock to the back of his throat. Surpassing his usual gag reflex, a guttural hum rose in his throat as the itch of orgasm threatened to climb from the center of his groin to the tip of his cock.
Meanwhile, three children, dressed as the three blind mice, had entered the stairwell and discovered the stream of falling candy. They immediately began to stuff their bags with it, and as it continued to fall, their gleeful cheers failed to reach Steve’s ears as he laced Vince’s shoes with cum.