Summer's Lease

Chapter 2-4

John had no sooner laid a booted foot on the crooked bottom step before the door was flung wide open and Mitch stood there, his bearded face grinning from ear to ear.

“You been gone a mighty long time, Ben Mitchell,” the mountain man said, racing down the porch steps and engulfing John in a bone-crushing hug. “Too fuckin’ long.”

John opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, and why was Mitch calling him Ben? But Mitch took that opportunity to plunge his tongue into John’s mouth and deliver a kiss, the depth and passion of which John couldn’t ever remember receiving before.

The kiss finally ended, leaving John so dazed he wasn’t sure any more what his name was.

Mitch released one of his arms and guided John inside. Feelings of warmth and an odd sense of familiarity washed over John, bringing back his confusion. A quick look around showed a single room, bare floors with rag rugs, sturdy and heavy-looking wooden furniture that appeared to be handmade. A fire blazed in a stone hearth, its warmth beckoning John toward it.

“There’s some stew in the pot,” Mitch said, breaking into John’s thoughts.

John turned to the man, about to ask him again what was happening, where they were, and why was he speaking in an American accent? But again Mitch stole John’s breath and thoughts with another long kiss.

“Missed you, Ben, so much.”

Oddly, the name seemed to fit him. John wondered if Mitch was still Mitch. This was answered when the guy said, “Yep, ole Jack Humbolt here has been a complete mess without you.”

Where had he gone? John shook his head.

Obviously forgetting about the food, Mitch said, “You must be tired. Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Before John could protest, Mitch’s huge hand reached for his. John looked down. His own hand looked larger than he remembered. As they moved toward the bed, John caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. He was a lot bigger, broader and hairier.

Mitch sat on the bed, and, seemingly without effort, lifted John to straddle his lap so they were chest to chest, John seeing Mitch’s blue eyes up close. They really were beautiful.

“Don’t know what I ever did to get a guy as perfect as you, Ben Mitchell.”

“You’re the perfect one,” John found himself replying, backing the comment up with a touch to Mitch’s cheek.

John wanted to run his hands over Mitch’s broad shoulders, so he did.

Next, John undid a few of Mitch’s shirt buttons before bending to nuzzle in the man’s rich, soft pelt of chest hair. Sniffing Mitch’s scent, John felt safe, protected, and at home. This all began to seem less weird.

Blindly, his face still rubbing in Mitch’s chest hair, John undid and pulled down his trousers and underpants.

“Need you,” John said, kissing and licking Mitch’s left tit.

“Got me,” Mitch groaned, applying pressure to the back of John’s head.

John needed more. He needed Mitch’s d**k. Reluctantly pulling away from the heaven that was Mitch’s chest, John worked at the man’s belt, finally managing to unbuckle it.

Mitch lifted his bottom off the bed enough for John to slide the man’s coarse denim jeans down the powerful thighs. John spent a moment admiring the amazing strength that those limbs must possess. But like a siren, Mitch’s d**k kept calling to him and he could ignore its entreaties no longer.

John gave his undivided attention to the monument to masculinity that stood, large and proud, in front of him. Without a doubt, it was the biggest and most beautiful d**k he’d ever seen. His mouth watered and his hands shook. He needed to taste and touch that d**k.

John took hold of the heavy organ in both hands. Yet again, feelings of familiarity spread over him. Somehow he’d been here before. As he watched, a pearl of clear fluid appeared at the c**k head that peeked out from its collar of foreskin. Dipping his head, John lapped up the precum, its taste bursting on his tongue, encouraging him to dive down for more, Mitch obliging with a steady supply of the delicious stuff. Truly nectar from the gods.

But John felt driven to do more to please this man-god. Opening his mouth wide, he leaned forward and took in several inches of Mitch’s tool. When the oversized head hit the back of his throat, John expected to gag and was surprised when he didn’t. Taking an experimental swallow, his muscles somehow knew what to do to accommodate the impressive girth.

Pulling back to draw breath, John turned his eyes up and took in Mitch’s magnificence towering above him. The man was smiling, and John was overwhelmed with joy that he was giving pleasure to this man.

Setting up a rhythm on Mitch’s pole, John also began to play with the man’s huge, egg-sized balls that churned with c*m in their loose sac.

Feeling his own need to c****x, John reluctantly ceased his exploring of Mitch’s scrotum and began to wank his own d**k.

Within moments, John felt fingers combing through his hair. This act of tenderness sent him over the edge. Spending himself on Mitch’s bare feet, John glanced up, but Mitch’s handsome features had been replaced by those of a bear.

John came awake and found the sheet and blankets tangled around his legs. He was panting, his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

“Jesus,” He rubbed at his face, only to discover his hand was covered in c*m. “What the…?” He’d been in secondary school the last time he’d had a wet dream. What the hell was he doing having one now?

As he came around, the dream remained sharply focussed in his mind. And what a dream. It had felt so real. He could recall every sight, touch, smell, and taste. He couldn’t ever remember having such a multi-sensory dream before. This brought on a deep sadness. John, or Ben as he’d been in the dream, felt like he’d had a deep connection to Jack/Mitch.

But Mitch wasn’t his partner. George was. “George!” John let out a sob and curled in on himself, allowing his tears to fall freely.

His legs starting to cramp, and feeling he’d cried himself out, John wiped his eyes, climbed out of bed, and padded to the bathroom to clean up.

He knew there was little chance of more sleep. John wasn’t sure he wanted to sleep anyway, just in case he was returned to the log cabin. The events inside the cabin left him with mixed emotions, ones he wasn’t sure he was ready to examine. Walking back into the bedroom for his dressing gown, John realised he hadn’t packed it. Spying Mitch’s shirt still draped across the back of the chair, he decided to use that instead.

Instantly upon shrugging into the oversized garment, John felt that now-familiar sense of longing mixed with comfort wash over him. He had to be imagining it. Padding barefoot downstairs, he convinced himself he’d been under a lot of strain recently and suddenly having that strain released, his mind was playing tricks on him.

Looking out of the kitchen window as he filled the kettle for tea, John thought he saw something large move in the bushes at the end of his garden. Shaking his head, he dismissed it as more foolishness and carried the kettle over to the cooker.