Page 77 of His Hungry Wolf

Getting into bed, my mind raced thinking about what he would say when he saw it. I almost got back up to play video games to wind down. But then he wrapped his arms around me and I was out. Turns out that Claude was the only drug I needed.

Waking up the next morning and finding him gone, I remembered my work of art and scurried out of bed. Having gotten up late, I had missed his run. He was already in the shower.

Not knowing what to do with myself, I headed towards the kitchen before changing my mind and hurrying back to bed. I wanted to be as casual as possible when he got out. What was more casual than still being asleep?

“You gonna sleep forever?” He asked me when he returned to the bedroom in a towel.

“Huh? Sorry, I was sleeping.”

“I saw that,” he told me as he dropped his towel and stood naked in front of me… that bastard.

Immediately aroused, I now definitely couldn’t get out of bed.

“I was thinking that we could practice a few intentional fumble plays today,” he said, slowly walking around instead of getting dressed.

“They wouldn’t work as well in NFL play as they did in Division II.”

“Maybe not. But it’s good to have a few just in case,” he said, turning around and presenting me with his perfectly rounded, half-moon ass.

“Whatever you want.”

And by that, I meant that he could have anything he wanted. When he looked like that, I was ice cream in his hot hands. It was a good thing he got dressed. I was five seconds away from throwing myself at him; friendship be damned.

When he was fully clothed, and I could again stand, I got out of bed and headed into the bathroom. Expecting to see my masterpiece in the fogged mirror, I didn’t. I had drawn a man with his head up his ass in two parts. On the right side of the mirror, I had drawn a naked ass where the person was leaning forward with their torso cut off by the edge of the glass. On the left, I had drawn the continued torso with shoulders and arms butt up to the ass cheeks. Like I said, it was a work of art.

But that wasn’t what I found this morning. There was still a naked ass on the right side of the mirror. However, on the left was the picture of a head that kind of resembled mine. And it was kissing the naked ass.

Was that why he was walking around the bedroom naked? And why he clearly showed me his butt? Was he telling me to kiss his ass?

Oh, this was on. That night I drew a picture of a guy with his head stuck up a donkey’s butt. You know, in case he missed the head up his ass reference the first time. Then when I got into the bathroom after him, I found the same donkey, but this time the guy was lying beneath him with the donkey’s extended member fed into his mouth.

“What the…?”

This image was straight-up pornography. Yet, somehow still impressive. How did he get so much detail on a foggy mirror? It was crazy. I was clearly going to have to step up my game.

That night, redrawing the donkey, I extended its dick to circle back around into its own ass. In other words, I was telling him to fuck himself. Let’s see him beat that.

He did. He drew a naked guy that miraculously resembled him, fucking a guy that resembled me. Was he telling me, “Fuck you”?

Oh, that was good… and super hot. Relieving myself to the thought of it, I held back my moans when I came. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made me cum. He didn’t deserve it. And to be honest, I was a little mad at him.

Was it fair? No, it wasn’t. But neither was torturing me with the thought of having sex with him. Didn’t he understand how hard this was for me?

Of course, I wanted to have sex with him. Of course, I wanted to feel his large hands around my waist as he manhandled me like a ragdoll.

Spreading my legs apart with his feet, he would force my naked torso forward, spreading my cheeks. With my hands against the wall, he would take hold of his oversized cock and brush it against my hole. He would tease me until he knew I couldn’t take it anymore.

Then, when my knees threatened to crumble from lust, he would push into me. Throwing my head back from the painful pleasure, he would stick his finger in my mouth. Caught on his hook, he would fuck me. I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

Drilled into the wall, I would groan until my legs shook. He would know just how long to hold on until cumming. Then, when he did, it would be an explosion. I would cum along with him. And still unable to take my palms off the wall, I would cover the floor like an animal.

Needing to relieve myself for the second time thanks to Claude’s mirror drawing, I finished my shower and returned to the living room defeated. Staring at him, he clearly had no idea what he did to me. That was probably my fault. When I told him how I felt, it was always in the past tense. That was in part because I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. But was that the only reason?

After driving my best friend away and failing to make things work with Jason, it was safe to say that I had issues. Was it wrong not to want to be hurt again? How far back did my hurt go? I know it didn’t help seeing the disappointment on my father’s face when he realized I was different. He even acted differently toward me after that.

Part of the reason I had started helping Papa with football was to show him that I wasn’t a disappointment. I could be the child he wanted. Maybe I was still trying to be that for my father, but luckily enough, somewhere along the way, I began to enjoy what I did.

I liked guys that looked like Claude, and where could I find that type? On a football field.