ButtyBoy
05-04-2009, 09:36 PM
Copyright © IstanBoys.com (http://www.istanboys.com/tour1.html)
The Fine English Laird in Constantinople
The fine English Laird in Constantinople, to see the world he said, to meet the boys, he also said in private letters to friends. He reported much fine intercourse, enjoyed and sought out on both sides, the fine laird being an exotic to beautiful Turkish young men, the beautiful Turkish young men an exotic to the somewhat jaded, even in his youth, young Laird.
The Laird was blessed with dark, curly hair in abundance, cropped short, and a complexion passing fair. His beauty was such that men admired him and women swooned. His clear blue eyes spoke with a twinkle and a hooded lid of sexual delights and passions that brought lovers begging to his bedroom door. His appetite for the erotic being excessive, none were turned away and thus his reputation grew and more came or were sent to him in every possible way.
The undeniable draw of his passions was not his experience and talent for the game (although he had bottomless wells of both), nor his prodigious appetite and stamina (although it was legendary), but that he had the touch of a lunatic, an artist, an impassioned lover who made each and every partner feel as if they must be the only one, his true and dearest love, even if they should pass the passion of the next hour in the hall as they came and went.
Let it not be thought that I was some mere street urchin, those as are sold by slavers from the bazaar, some lowly petitionant begging at his street side door. I was a professional in the art of love, trained from my earliest days, it was my pride and my pleasure to be as sought after as a sexual companion as was the young laird himself, with reputation and pride and a long list of suitors who begged, indeed, for my attentions.
And so, we met as equals, the fine English laird and the beautiful Turkish love boy, both eager to meet, yet pride kept us formal as we were introduced. Of course, it was taken as a given that we had arranged to attend this gathering in order to meet, and to meet in order to take each others measure, taking each others measure in the sport, the art, in which we both excelled.
From behind my pretense of pride and aloofness I regarded the young laird. I longed, already, to run my hands through those thick curls of dark hair, to kiss that flawless creamy skin, to delve the mysteries concealed yet flattered by his closely fitting European dress. My eyes traveled his body, up and down, then met his own sardonic light gaze, the smile showing in his eyes, the knowledge glowing from the depths, and even as my own, his speculated as to what lay concealed beneath my costume of gold thread and fine silk.
As if by previous agreement, we slipped away from the gathering to the upward rooms of the great house he guested in at that time. Quietly, with dignity and yet an undercurrent of thrumming desire he led me up to his room. I followed; noticing his proud carriage, his slender body, his athletic way of moving and already my mind was painting pictures of the things I would do to the young Laird.
We stepped into his room. The door closed. He turned and the gaze of his eyes was like the fire of brilliant sapphires. His hands came up to cup my face gently and as if we were always lovers, my own dark eyes closed and my lips parted for his kiss.
First gentle, then demanding, then pleading and impassioned his lips caressed mine. His tongue probed, and teased. Hearing his breath quicken, my own body responded with a tingling rush from my lips to my toes and I felt my staff of love quickly swelling with desire.
My arms wrapped around him and my body melted against his. I could feel hard muscles under the cloth. His hands ran over my body and cupped my buttocks, pulling me hard against him so that I could feel his sex hot and throbbing with desire.
We broke apart, panting. I could see his eyes roving over my costume and thought, he will not know how to remove this, this foreigner. Still, he did not disappoint, his hands moved to my finery and began removing it, slowly, seductively, pausing to explore each inch of sleek brown skin as he exposed it with breath, lips, and gentle fingertips. He undressed me as if he had been doing so every night for all of our lives.
Before I could become embarrassed in my turn, for my unfamiliarity with the fastenings and workings of his strange European dress, he stripped for me, making of it an exotic dance, a tease, as he slowly revealed to me the hard muscles I had felt before, creamy skin with pink tipped nipples and…at last…a fine, hard cock, pearlescently pink as my own was dark chocolate, like nothing I had ever seen before. It was strange and yet beautiful, an exotic pale lily of an organ yet throbbing with strength and of an impressive size.
I fell to my knees and reached for him. He smiled and stepped within my reach, closing his eyes and sighing as I touched him lightly, exploring gently, running my fingers through such fine, soft public hair, cupping and covering with kisses balls the color of ripe plums from the Far East. His very scent was different, strong and feral, like a wild beast, dark and earthy. I ran a finger from the tip to the base, and then grasped him hard in my hand. He moaned and arched his hips towards me.
As if dying of hunger, I consumed his pale staff of life, sucking it deep into my throat, feeling its stiffness and heat I bent all of my considerable talents on pleasing him as if he were my one, dearest, truest old love. He has that effect on lovers.
With pleasure I felt his grip on my shoulders, his fingers running through my long, black silken locks, his breath catching in his throat, his buttocks trembling under my dark hands, flexing with desire and need.
Exploring I slid a finger, slick with my saliva, into the opening of his tight, hard ass. He gasped as if this were the one thing he was waiting for above all others and I felt his cock flex and surge in my throat with his pleasure before he pulled it away from me, falling to his own knees to bring himself level with me.
Face to face we knelt, and his lips fell on mine again, demanding, consuming, burning with the fire of his passion and need even as our cocks, one dark, one pale, both turgid with blood and sperm touched and throbbed against one another between our taut bellies.
He made clear to me his desire, kissing his way down my dark chest, rubbing his face against my hairless belly to the dark thatch that surrounded my pounding member, finally taking me in his own mouth so that I, in my turn, gasped and moaned and leaned back to thrust into his hot throat. Time seemed to stop, the world narrowed to nothing but the sensations he was bringing to my cock and balls with his tongue. His fingers traveled, explored, probed, tickled and brought me so near to orgasm I shuddered with the effort to hold myself back.
The warm mouth disappeared. I opened my eyes. He knelt before me, his legs spread and creamy white ass high. I ran my slender brown hands over the porcelain skin, fascinated with the contrast. I laid my hard, heavy dark dick up the crack of his ass, sliding it up and down, rewarded by a groan of passion and need. He leaned forward, pleading with his body, exposing a trembling rosebud of desire, begging the fulfillment I could provide.
I moistened my ebony staff and penetrated that soft rose. His moans told me of the ecstasy he felt, as his dark tunnel convulsed and tightened around me, sucking me deeper inside him, he rocked against me, demanding, pleading.
At last releasing my control, my body responded, slamming my hard cock deep into him violently, screaming for release, my mind blanked away and let the animal in me that desired only my own satisfaction take over. Harder, deeper, faster, now, now now. I know I howled in release and passion as I felt my orgasm crash through me like a torrent, a wave that crashed in heat and pleasure around my cock, buried deep inside of him.
Dimly, as if from a great distance I felt him shuddering, his body shaking as his own pale pearl of a prick poured gouts of hot, creamy cum, as white as his skin, across the deep rug where we still knelt, having never even made it to the bed. On it we fell, still connected, clinging to one another, most beloved man.
Copyright © IstanBoys.com (http://www.istanboys.com/tour1.html)
The Fine English Laird in Constantinople
The fine English Laird in Constantinople, to see the world he said, to meet the boys, he also said in private letters to friends. He reported much fine intercourse, enjoyed and sought out on both sides, the fine laird being an exotic to beautiful Turkish young men, the beautiful Turkish young men an exotic to the somewhat jaded, even in his youth, young Laird.
The Laird was blessed with dark, curly hair in abundance, cropped short, and a complexion passing fair. His beauty was such that men admired him and women swooned. His clear blue eyes spoke with a twinkle and a hooded lid of sexual delights and passions that brought lovers begging to his bedroom door. His appetite for the erotic being excessive, none were turned away and thus his reputation grew and more came or were sent to him in every possible way.
The undeniable draw of his passions was not his experience and talent for the game (although he had bottomless wells of both), nor his prodigious appetite and stamina (although it was legendary), but that he had the touch of a lunatic, an artist, an impassioned lover who made each and every partner feel as if they must be the only one, his true and dearest love, even if they should pass the passion of the next hour in the hall as they came and went.
Let it not be thought that I was some mere street urchin, those as are sold by slavers from the bazaar, some lowly petitionant begging at his street side door. I was a professional in the art of love, trained from my earliest days, it was my pride and my pleasure to be as sought after as a sexual companion as was the young laird himself, with reputation and pride and a long list of suitors who begged, indeed, for my attentions.
And so, we met as equals, the fine English laird and the beautiful Turkish love boy, both eager to meet, yet pride kept us formal as we were introduced. Of course, it was taken as a given that we had arranged to attend this gathering in order to meet, and to meet in order to take each others measure, taking each others measure in the sport, the art, in which we both excelled.
From behind my pretense of pride and aloofness I regarded the young laird. I longed, already, to run my hands through those thick curls of dark hair, to kiss that flawless creamy skin, to delve the mysteries concealed yet flattered by his closely fitting European dress. My eyes traveled his body, up and down, then met his own sardonic light gaze, the smile showing in his eyes, the knowledge glowing from the depths, and even as my own, his speculated as to what lay concealed beneath my costume of gold thread and fine silk.
As if by previous agreement, we slipped away from the gathering to the upward rooms of the great house he guested in at that time. Quietly, with dignity and yet an undercurrent of thrumming desire he led me up to his room. I followed; noticing his proud carriage, his slender body, his athletic way of moving and already my mind was painting pictures of the things I would do to the young Laird.
We stepped into his room. The door closed. He turned and the gaze of his eyes was like the fire of brilliant sapphires. His hands came up to cup my face gently and as if we were always lovers, my own dark eyes closed and my lips parted for his kiss.
First gentle, then demanding, then pleading and impassioned his lips caressed mine. His tongue probed, and teased. Hearing his breath quicken, my own body responded with a tingling rush from my lips to my toes and I felt my staff of love quickly swelling with desire.
My arms wrapped around him and my body melted against his. I could feel hard muscles under the cloth. His hands ran over my body and cupped my buttocks, pulling me hard against him so that I could feel his sex hot and throbbing with desire.
We broke apart, panting. I could see his eyes roving over my costume and thought, he will not know how to remove this, this foreigner. Still, he did not disappoint, his hands moved to my finery and began removing it, slowly, seductively, pausing to explore each inch of sleek brown skin as he exposed it with breath, lips, and gentle fingertips. He undressed me as if he had been doing so every night for all of our lives.
Before I could become embarrassed in my turn, for my unfamiliarity with the fastenings and workings of his strange European dress, he stripped for me, making of it an exotic dance, a tease, as he slowly revealed to me the hard muscles I had felt before, creamy skin with pink tipped nipples and…at last…a fine, hard cock, pearlescently pink as my own was dark chocolate, like nothing I had ever seen before. It was strange and yet beautiful, an exotic pale lily of an organ yet throbbing with strength and of an impressive size.
I fell to my knees and reached for him. He smiled and stepped within my reach, closing his eyes and sighing as I touched him lightly, exploring gently, running my fingers through such fine, soft public hair, cupping and covering with kisses balls the color of ripe plums from the Far East. His very scent was different, strong and feral, like a wild beast, dark and earthy. I ran a finger from the tip to the base, and then grasped him hard in my hand. He moaned and arched his hips towards me.
As if dying of hunger, I consumed his pale staff of life, sucking it deep into my throat, feeling its stiffness and heat I bent all of my considerable talents on pleasing him as if he were my one, dearest, truest old love. He has that effect on lovers.
With pleasure I felt his grip on my shoulders, his fingers running through my long, black silken locks, his breath catching in his throat, his buttocks trembling under my dark hands, flexing with desire and need.
Exploring I slid a finger, slick with my saliva, into the opening of his tight, hard ass. He gasped as if this were the one thing he was waiting for above all others and I felt his cock flex and surge in my throat with his pleasure before he pulled it away from me, falling to his own knees to bring himself level with me.
Face to face we knelt, and his lips fell on mine again, demanding, consuming, burning with the fire of his passion and need even as our cocks, one dark, one pale, both turgid with blood and sperm touched and throbbed against one another between our taut bellies.
He made clear to me his desire, kissing his way down my dark chest, rubbing his face against my hairless belly to the dark thatch that surrounded my pounding member, finally taking me in his own mouth so that I, in my turn, gasped and moaned and leaned back to thrust into his hot throat. Time seemed to stop, the world narrowed to nothing but the sensations he was bringing to my cock and balls with his tongue. His fingers traveled, explored, probed, tickled and brought me so near to orgasm I shuddered with the effort to hold myself back.
The warm mouth disappeared. I opened my eyes. He knelt before me, his legs spread and creamy white ass high. I ran my slender brown hands over the porcelain skin, fascinated with the contrast. I laid my hard, heavy dark dick up the crack of his ass, sliding it up and down, rewarded by a groan of passion and need. He leaned forward, pleading with his body, exposing a trembling rosebud of desire, begging the fulfillment I could provide.
I moistened my ebony staff and penetrated that soft rose. His moans told me of the ecstasy he felt, as his dark tunnel convulsed and tightened around me, sucking me deeper inside him, he rocked against me, demanding, pleading.
At last releasing my control, my body responded, slamming my hard cock deep into him violently, screaming for release, my mind blanked away and let the animal in me that desired only my own satisfaction take over. Harder, deeper, faster, now, now now. I know I howled in release and passion as I felt my orgasm crash through me like a torrent, a wave that crashed in heat and pleasure around my cock, buried deep inside of him.
Dimly, as if from a great distance I felt him shuddering, his body shaking as his own pale pearl of a prick poured gouts of hot, creamy cum, as white as his skin, across the deep rug where we still knelt, having never even made it to the bed. On it we fell, still connected, clinging to one another, most beloved man.
Copyright © IstanBoys.com (http://www.istanboys.com/tour1.html)