## Archive-name: honey-rock

From: an179397@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Al)

Subject: FRIDAY 13" #3 honey/rock COMPLETE! (M/M)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Hi again. Some thoughtful alt.sex.stories reader solved the problem of this fragmented story for me: I had ended a line with a double hyphen and the message was automatically ending at that point. In this version I've eliminated all double hyphens and am trying to post it all in one piece again. If it doesn't work, I'll just scrap this story and focus my energies on new ones. Thanks again for your patience. Stroker Al

(M/M, M/M, love, sex, disgust, fighting, bondage,involuntary penetration, reconcilliation)

To the alt.sex.stories reader:

This is the 3rd in a series of stories dealing mainly with male to male sexuality, though the series will contain some male/female sex and the thoughts, fantasies and activities of bisexual characters as well

Foreword:

Camp Christopher counselor Jim Strait has now paid up: -in more ways than he realizes. Not only has he submitted to the blackmail demands of his five cabin boys (all "18"!) by hosting a jack-off party (see Friday 13" #1 PHOTO FINISH), and not only has he just finished telling the first story as a penalty for being the first in the group to ejaculate (see Friday 13" #2 : SMOOTH OPERATION), but he has also been made a cuckold by the subject of his tale! However, it will be some time before Jim discovers this fact. For now, all he knows is that he and his girlfriend Beth, through the manipulations of his cabin boys, have just had their first and only session of cellular phone sex. Even that fruitful encounter, though, has been all but driven out of their minds by the hair-erasing tale Jim has just completed.........

"Hey, man, that was a wild story," grinned the long-haired Mickey, who in the circle jerk happened to be the current stroker of Jim's dick. "Is it true?"

The luxuriously naked counselor shrugged, his eyes narrowing and droopy with the increasingly pleasurable sensations his erect cock was experiencing from the guitar player's nimble teenage fingers. Not being a rock fan, it was his opinion that Mick's arpeggios felt better on Jim's instrument than they sounded on guitar.
"I don't know, " he answered finally. " I heard it from one of the other counselors over a camp fire. I assumed it was made up. But now..." he opened his eyes and glanced around at the guys, smiling, " I'm not so sure."

"So who's next?" piped up Chad, who needed to use both hands to jack the enormously hung Mark. Mark looked over at the bespectacled blonde Tom and freckled, red-haired Eddy, who were trading jack the enormously hung Mark. Mark looked over at the bespectacled blonde Tom and freckled, red-haired Eddy, who were trading Vaseline-slicked handjobs. "I'd say it was you, Eddy. After Jim came wasn't that you who pitched him that first big wad right under his chin?"

"Yeah, 'Fast Eddy'," giggled Tom. "I saw him shoot first." The other boys nodded in agreement.

"Okay, okay. Yeah, I'll go next," said the lanky youth, still clad in his boxers and backward baseball cap. He agreed to tell the next story even though he didn't actually believe he'd been the next one to come. He'd definitely seen three shots of his own high-flying jizz splatter Jim's post-orgasmically contorted face, but doubted this had happened first. Still, he hated stupid bickering, so he just went along with it.

"Good man, " said Jim, who distinctly recalled feeling the first floods of teenboy jizz on his thighs, probably from the dicks of Tom or Chad, but said nothing, in order to encourage Eddy's good sportsmanship.

Tom continued pumping the softball pitcher's erection that rose up stiffly through the fly of Eddy's boxers. Eddy closed his eyes and thought over the endless stream of legends, rumors and innuendo he'd heard over the past few days while discussing Friday 13" with his cabinmates and overhearing the claims of other boys and counselors at the camp.
"I've got one," he said at last.

Friday 13" # 3 : Sweet Honey and the Rock

By Stroker Al

Greg and Andrew had not been assigned any kids that week at Christopher Lake Camp. That meant they would serve as support staff, and like the other support staff, they were free to do whatever they wanted after 10 p.m. each night, when the campfire was doused. What they chose to do, beginning on Sunday, was hike up to the top of Seminole Hill, a large wooded ridge just south of the main camp, where they pitched a tent that they ended up sleeping in together every night that week through Thursday.

Surprisingly It was Greg who came up with the plan, which was the kind of thing most of the other counselors would have expected from Andrew, who was far quieter and more of a loner.

"Why should we stay in the bunkhouse if we don't have to?" Greg said to Andrew. "That dump is the only thing I hate about non-counseling weeks. Whaddaya say you and I get back to nature this week and stay in the woods?"

Andrew feigned indecision for a few moments before agreeing, but the truth was that he was hot enough for Greg that he would have followed him anywhere. Greg was a tanned, muscular stud who'd been flirting with lean, lanky Andrew all summer, under the guise of poking constant fun at his "nature-boy" habits. Andrew's environmentalism, his passion for resource conservation and recycling, his vegetarianism and rejection of artificial foods and preservatives, his constant search for edible plants: -all of these provoked endless public razzing from Greg, who presented himself as a gleefully wasteful consumer and proud meat and junk food eater.

But almost from the beginning, whenever they happened to be alone, Greg started to show Andrew a private side of himself, demonstrating a genuine questioning interest in, if not a incipient embrace of Andrew's way of life. Greg and the kids from his cabin often ended up tagging along with Andrew when he led his kids on nature hikes. During those walks he revealed to Andrew a softer, less combative side and a little boy-like desire to be appreciated and understood.

Greg, meanwhile, saw in Andrew's sensitivity the possibility of getting both emotionally and physically close to someone who he was beginning to find uniquely and surprisingly appealing. That Andrew wasn't into the kinds of sports or workout routines that Greg's usual fuck buddies participated in began to matter less and less to Greg as the summer wore on. He came to appreciate Andrew's natural physique (slightly pale and unworked though it was) as well as he came to love the man's sharp mind and clear vision of life.

He also noticed Andrew discreetly studying his body more and more attentively with each passing day, as though Greg's hunky frame were a particularly rare and tasty morsel from God's garden whose prime moment of its ripeness he was hungrily awaiting.

So although Greg was far less of an outdoor man than Andrew, he was a much hornier fellow, and it made sense that he would be the one to seize the first opportunity to get Andrew alone overnight away from the others. But by the time the two of them headed out toward the ridge with their gear Andrew had pretty much the same hopes for connecting sexually with Greg.

They were both too nervous to do anything the first night except toss off in their own sleeping bags as discreetly as possible during early morning hours when each felt certain the other was asleep. But all it took was the hot, pungent scent of hot camp counselor semen escaped into the air of the tent to clue them in to what was on each other's mind.

"How'd the meat beating go last night, Veg?" smirked Greg as he squatted by the morning campfire sipping sugar-saturated coffee. Andrew's face reddened as he laughed and stirred honey into his herbal tea.
"It was hot, sticky, wet and messy, " he replied, meeting Greg's eyes. "But not as loud as yours, I hope."
"Damn," Greg grinned. " Did I wake you up strokin' off? I'm sorry, dude. Why didn't you say something to me?"
"I almost did, but I was uh...too tired. Don't worry, I'll say something next time - or do something," Andrew chuckled.
"Next time?" Greg's brown eyes grew huge. "So there'll be a next time, Andy?"
"For an all-American boys like us? Of course! At least once a night."
"At least." echoed Greg, reaching over and clanking his enamel cup against Andrew's in an unspoken toast to the habits of all-American boys.

The next night, Greg, who normally wore his Jockeys to bed, strutted naked outside the tent to make sure Andrew would see that he was going to sleep in the raw like his nature boy buddy always did. Andrew took notice, and also noted the beginnings of Greg's erection starting to curve up as he crawled into the tent.

He took a breath before stripping and crawling in after him buck naked and already hard himself, only to find Greg reclining on the outside of his sleeping back, jacking on his fully erect uncircumcised cock and grinning from ear to ear. Andrew stared slack-jawed at the bulbous, foreskin-enfolded head of Greg's cock as he began to examine and touch it.

"A rare species these days, the un-cut prickweed, but entirely edible," Greg said, imitating the scientific nerdspeak Andrew sometimes slipped into on his nature walks. At the word "edible" he saw a flash of what looked like either fear or repulsion appear in Andrews face and disappear just as quickly.

"And this is a particularly large specimen," Andrew joined in finally, as a dirty smirk curled his lips. He began to stroke Greg's dick and feast his eyes on the other magnificent features of the body sprawled out next to him.

That night, Monday, they were up late confessing at last their weeks of lust for each other and jerking the hot spunk out of each other's stiff rods several times. From then on, every morning they would get up, dress, boil water for coffee and tea, and over their hot drinks recount together the pleasures of the night before. It was all they could do to keep from giving into the temptation of doing each other all morning instead of hiking back into the main camp and resuming their support staff duties.

By Tuesday they'd unzipped their bags to make a bed with a sleeping bag cover and had fallen asleep in each other's arms after French kissing for hours and giving each other slow, ecstatic hand jobs with Andrew's Aloe-vera gel.

By Wednesday, Greg was unable to resist the magnetic force that drew his mouth down to Andrew's crotch, and with a huge sigh, he parted his muscular jaws and began passionately sucking his nature loving friend's dick. Andrew moaned and writhed with pleasure for some ten minutes until he came in Greg's mouth and Greg swallowed the hot sweetness of his cream.
"All natural, no preservatives, and sweet as the honey in your tea, " chuckled Greg, smacking his lips.
Andrew laughed in gasps, trying to catch his post-orgasmic breath. "So does that mean your come tastes like the white death you spoon all over everything?''
"Dunno. Only one way for you to find out., " Greg replied, eyeing his buddy lustfully. Andrew rolled Greg onto his back hovered over him, closed his eyes and then leaned down to stuff the head of Greg's big, hard prick into his mouth.
But only an inch or two in and a few seconds later, Andrew began to gag and sputter. He pulled the cock out and tried again, but the same thing happened.
"What's wrong?" asked Greg sitting up. and putting his hand on Andrew's shoulder.
"Nothing" he said, staring down at Greg's hard on.
"I know I'm hung, buddy, but I'm not THAT big, am I?" Greg chided him.
"No," replied Andrew. "It's not the size. I like big dicks."
Greg frowned. "Then what is it?"
Andrew hung his head, looking ashamed. "It's your foreskin. I've never gone down on an uncircumcised cock before."
"Oh," Greg said. "Well, you'll get used to it...with practice."
"I don't think so," Said Andrew weakly. " You see it's as much the way it looks as the way it feels in my mouth. It's really embarrassing, Greg, but your dick reminds me of one of those big fat kilbasa sausages they serve in the mess hall with the skin peeling up around the end. You know, the kind that make me dizzy just from the smell alone?"
"Well, for cryin out loud, don't LOOK at it then!" said Greg.
"I tried. It didn't work. I've seen your prick and I can't forget what it looks like or what it feels like in my mouth. I'm sorry, Greg, I wish I could but I can't suck you off. Tell me what else I can do to get you off."

Greg was crushed. His hottest fantasies about Andrew had involved the guy down on his knees in front of him worshipping his dick, or 69ing with him. To think those things weren't going to happen with Andrew was a real downer for him.

Even fucking Andrew the next night didn't end up being completely the consolation that they'd both hoped for Greg. Both of them understood anew that fucking was fucking and sucking was sucking and neither act could ever be a substitute for the other. Nevertheless, in his frustration, Greg let slip a nasty remark while ramming Andrew's ass and rocking the tent over their heads.

"So Andy," he grunted, "if you like my Kilbasa up your butt so much, how come you won't let it pass through your lips?" At this, Andrew stopped rocking and was silent. Greg tried to apologize, but was too late.

"You're right, Greg, I'm being hypocritical. So kindly take your fuckin' meat out of my ass!"
Thus they began to argue until in mutual anger they canceled their plans to camp out again on Friday night.

It was the noise of this aggression, passion and frustration that attracted Friday's attention to Greg and Andrew as he stalked through Christopher Woods. Friday listened outside the tent first to their fucking and then to their arguing, and both turned him on enough to cause him to unzip his dusty blue jeans fly and start jacking on his legendary 13" cock. Then, as a sinister plan to exact poetic revenge on the pair formed in his head, he climaxed and splattered his nasty, bitter come all over the side of the canvas tent. The remarks he'd overheard had given him all the information he would need to set the boys up for a night they'd never forget.

Little vegetarian sissy's gonna be piggin' out on the meathead's dick cheese by this time tomorrow when I catch his ass in my trap, he laughed to himself.

Friday morning Andrew and Greg drank their tea and coffee in silence and wordlessly packed up the tent. Back in camp they avoided each other all day, each dreading the coming night in the bunkhouse when they would be together again but separated by bitterness and their bunkmates.

That night, during the final sing-along campfire for the kids, Greg slipped into the bunk house to get a sweatshirt. Friday, who'd been hidden behind the door lurched up behind him and knocked him unconscious with a rubber mallet. Then he stripped the stud bare, gagged him with a tightly tied bandanna and tied ropes around his wrists.

Looping the ropes over a wooden crossbeam a few feet in front of the door, Friday then hoisted Greg up about three feet into the air and then secured the ropes around the beam so that Greg hung there by his wrists facing the door. Then Friday tied Greg's ankles together with a smaller rope, leaving a length of extra which he picked up and carried with him as he climbed into the rafters above. He then straddled a beam that ran perpendicular to the door and pulled the rope up until Greg's legs were pulled curved backwards up to the beam and his body hung there in a descending arc.

Friday secured the rope in a slip not and then stretched out flat on his stomach and on the beam directly over Greg. He reached down and pulled Greg's hips up to the beam so that his body was hugging the beam straight and parallel to Friday's. Next, Friday looped Greg's belt around the stud's waist to hold him in position. Then Friday reached over to another cross beam where he'd hidden two jars. One contained smelling salts, which he then passed under Greg's nose, waking the muscled beauty up instantly. Finally Friday reached under Greg's hip and grabbed ahold of his dangling penis. Greg cried out through his gag, but Friday ignored him.

For the next ten minutes or so Friday stroked Greg's dick up and down until the bound man's fear gradually changed to confusion, wonder and then pleasure, as his flaccid schlong erected into a huge, stiff hard on. When Greg's cock was on the verge of a throbbing orgasm, Friday stopped pumping him and snapped a black leather studded cock ring around the base of Greg's prick, assuring that the fucker's hard on would stay up for hours if necessary.

Finally, he unscrewed the lid of the second jar and lowered it down under Greg's hips, where he positioned the mouth of the jar around the head of Greg's cock. Then he lifted the jar up towards Greg's bush, plunging his prick inside it so that the warm sticky contents began to overflow as it was being displaced by the fat prick. Greg looked back to his crotch and saw that his prick was being dipped into what looked like the thickest grade of motor oil he'd ever seen. He could feel the golden liquid enveloping his cock and seeping up under the fold of his foreskin. It was so slow and thick that he wondered if the lunatic who was doing this to him would be able to get his dick back out of the jar. As it happened, it took nearly half a minute to do so, between the vacuum effect of Greg's cock coming out of the narrow jar combined with the high viscosity of the contents.

Friday then set the jar aside and unbuckled Greg's belt and let his middle lower down again in an arc. Then Friday climbed down and stood looking at his handiwork. He walked below Greg's slowly dripping dick and caught a drop of the golden liquid on his tongue. Then he set the jar on the floor to catch the rest of the drips, and the sticky spots where drips had already struck the floor held the jar in place. Friday looked at the rope in his hand and up to the beam where Greg's ankles were being supported only by a slipknot.

Twenty minutes later, Andrew sauntered over to the cabin. He was so exhausted that he decided to leave the campfire early. It would be the first night in a week that he was going to sleep alone, and he was now almost as glad about it as he was sad about it. His desire for Greg had never ceased, but his anger and frustration at the man's intolerance of his little "meat" problem had him still riled up and determined to stay away from him.

When Andrew pulled open the door he was yawning. The door seemed heavier than usual as though it were stuck on a rug or something but he couldn't see anything underneath it as it opened. In fact all he could see in the darkened room was a glass jar on the floor a few feet in front of him. In the split second he saw it he recognized it immediately as a jar from his own private stock of organic Wisconsin honey, but what it was it doing there opened on the floor he never had the chance to wonder.

At that moment the naked torso of his estranged lover swung so hard against him that he would have been knocked off his feet if he hadn't instinctively thrown his arms around Greg's waist. That is how Andrew's body reacted but Andrew's mind had not yet perceived that the thing hurling toward him from out of the dark was Greg, or a naked man, or even human. All Andrew saw was an engorged fleshy looking banana shape that was covered in some golden sticky wetness. He was terrified not only because it was hurtling directly toward his face, but also because the only mental association he was able to manage by the time it slammed into his gaping mouth was that it resembled a giant oozing earthworm like those he'd been frightened of even touching as a child.

With his nose and brow plunged into musky cloud of wiry curls like that of a brillo pad, his chin butting up against a bobbing pair of hard boiled egg sized lumps in a wrinkled, leathery sack, and the back of his throat smarting from the thrust of the sticky, fat pole-like thing that was now practically choking him, Andrew identified in the same instant both the taste of his favorite condiment and the first erect dick he had ever been unsuccessful in sucking in his life, complete with its gag-inducing foreskin.

But even as he recognized Greg's Dick in his mouth, the surprise combination of food and sexual penetration caused him not to dwell on "how" or "why" this was happening, but instead to focus on the memory of Greg's flattering post-fellatio description of Andrew's semen : "Sweet as the honey in your tea. "

Now Andrew knew damned well that his jiz had never tasted anything like honey, but because of all the bad feelings the pair had exchanged in the meantime, he had forgotten the labor of love that Greg had performed for him by swallowing his rank, crawly load not only without complaint, but with such endearing grace. What an ingrate he felt like for giving up so easily in his attempts to blow Greg that night. He'd thrown away a chance to transcend temporary discomfort and reinforce the shaky structure of his caring for this man. But now, with Greg's dick back in his mouth actually tasting like honey, What better opportunity could he hope for to make things right? Warm, dreamy affection for Greg flooded over him and dissolved all of his skittishness about meat and worms. Then, Andrew proceeded to suck his lover's cock as blissfully as a babe at his mother's breast.

As Andrew slurped on Greg's hose he ignored the sound and feel of handcuffs being applied to his wrists and trapping his arms around Greg's waist, indifferently assuming that it was all part of the set-up that Greg had arranged with some accomplices from among the other horny counselors in order to get Andrew back. And who cared? He was busy sucking cock now and didn't want to be distracted. He concentrated instead on probing the recesses of Greg's foreskin with the tip of his tongue, and savoring the flavor of honey mixed with sweat and precome. Days later he'd detect the same wet mansex flavor of Greg's permeating the honey that remained in the jar.

Rather than give into the distraction of putting up a struggle, he allowed some guy in a goalie mask to wrap Greg's legs around his back and cuff them together the same way his wrists had been Andrew was vaguely aware that this now meant that neither he nor Greg could be disengaged from the other without assistance. Strangely, the awareness of being observed by at least one other person if not a whole cabin full of guys, did nothing to deter Andrew from giving Greg increasingly passionate head, fueled by the wild desire to finally taste his lover's manseed cream. One other thing he noticed was how Greg's curiously inarticulate groans from above him had changed from confusing, muffled sounds resembling speech through a gag, to regular, satisfied moans.

It was only Friday who was watching, though, to see the culmination of his evil plan. He chuckled to himself how the fastidious wimp had gone from prissily refusing to even kiss his boyfriend's meaty dickhead, to practically fucking his own face down to the root of the now helpless stud's fat prick. And all it had taken was for Friday to get the honey-dipped dick shoved down his throat.

And if muscle boy up there doesn't particularly like being tied up and gagged, well next time he shouldn't wish for things if he doesn't want them to come true, he laughed to himself. Fact is that nature boy never would have come around any other way.

Friday gloated. Look at muscle boy now, thrusting his hips and groaning while his candy-assed boyfriend deep throats his tube steak and swallows the sweet milk of male horniness! From now on that stud's come is gonna be all the honey the greedy dick-sucker needs.

Now what are they gonna do for another hour until the other punks come and rescue them? Looks like hungry's managed to pull the stud's gag off. What's he gonna say first? Tell what I did to him? Describe me? Start a search party?
Ha Ha. Nope. He says "Do me again quick, before the others find us! It might be our last chance for weeks!" And just look at those queer boys go!

Look for further tales of Friday 13"

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Last modified (12/24/96 14:21:13) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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