Biff Geller makes the mistake of skinny dipping within the view of two horny guys in this hot little short by Horny Old Fag!
Popping Biff’s Cherry
by Horny Old Fag
Any guy who goes skinny dipping alone in the wilderness is asking for trouble. Especially if he’s only five-feet, six-inches tall and weighs a mere one-hundred-forty pounds like Biff Geller. We knew the little prick’s name and stats because we snatched his clothes when he dove under the water. Biff splashed around the pool and frolicked under the falls, oblivious to the danger his cute ass was in. His unruly bush almost obscured his tiny pecker.
“I’m going to screw that faggot so hard he never forgets me,” Jake said. My burly buddy slipped his hand down his pants.
“Little Biff is going to remember this day on his deathbed,” I said.
Biff crawled out of the water and shook like a wet pup. He plopped down on a rocky outcropping and beat off. We waited until he was in the throes of ecstasy to jump his ass. Jake snatched the little prick under the arms. I grabbed his legs. We lugged our kicking and hollering prey behind some tall scrub brushes.
“Get off me,” Biff shouted, as he spurted jizz willy-nilly. “Put me down, goddammit. What the hell do you want?”
“Relax, Biffy buddy,” Jake said. “We just want to have a little fun with your cute ass.”
“How do you know my name?”
I held up Biff’s wallet. He spied his clothes piled at my feet.
“You were watching me?”
“That’s right, Biffy buddy,” Jake said.
Biff noticed Jake had his hand down his pants. His dark eyes bugged.
“If it’s money you want, take my wallet. Use my debit card. I’ll give you my pin. Take my keys. You can have my truck. Take whatever you want. Just let me go.”
“Afraid we can’t do that,” Jake said. “But, we’re gonna take what we want all right.”
Jake wrestled Biff to the ground and bound his arms behind his back from wrist to elbow. I sat on Biff’s calves and tickled his little feet. Size five according to the faded label inside his hiking boots. The squiggling prick chuckled between curses and pleas for mercy. Jake grabbed Biff’s feet and bound his ankles to his arms.
Hogtied naked, Biff sniveled, “Please don’t do this.” The little prick looked like he might cry.
We went into every snatch blind. Some cornered pricks fought like alley cats, others cave like frightened pups. Biff fit into the latter category, but his mood could shift in an instant, so I kept up my guard.
“Do what, Biffy buddy?” Jake asked, as innocent as could be.
“Kill me.”
“We won’t kill you, Biffy buddy,” Jake said. “But by the time we finish raping your cute ass, you may wish you were dead.”
“No, no, no, no, no.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
Jake punctuated his words by smacking Biff on both buttocks. Biff yelped and whimpered for my brawny buddy to stop spanking his ass.
“Bet you’d rather I fucked you, wouldn’t you, faggot?”
“I’m not gay. And, no—.”
“Oh, please, bitch. Parading around naked in broad daylight. You were cruising for a fuck.”
“What? No, wait. It’s not like that. I thought I was alone.”
“Enough chit-chat.” I wadded Biff’s faded cotton briefs into his mouth and tied his gag in place with strips torn from his checkered flannel shirt. Biff screamed for help. I could barely understand his garbled cries. No one passing by would hear the little prick.
Jake pulled out a quarter. “Heads or tails.”
“Tails, I said.”
Jake tossed the coin into the air, caught it, and flipped it over onto his forearm. “Heads.” He smacked Biff on the ass. “Guess I get to pop your cherry.”
Biff pitched a fit. Flopped around like a fish out of water, screaming his fool head off, and strained to break free of his bonds, which would not happen. Jake had worked the rodeo circuit for years. Calf roping was his specialty. He knew a thing or two about tying knots.
Jake snapped several shots of Biff on his phone. He spat on his hands and wriggled his middle finger up Biff’s clenched butt. Biff squealed and fisted his fingers and toes. Jake worked a second finger in alongside the first. Biff bucked and groaned. The pressure of a third finger set Biff to howling and a fourth drew tears.
Rolling Biff onto his back with his trussed limbs pinned beneath him, Jake guided his bulging boner inside the protesting prick. I thought little Biff’s eyes were going to pop out of his skull. Jake buried his boner and spanked his hips against Biff’s ass. Biff sobbed for Jake to slow down. Jake answered by hammering Biff so hard his head bobbled. Biff squealed and sprouted a stubby boner. Jake fucked the little prick until they both came and collapsed atop his conquest.
Biff whined into his gag, “I’m not queer. I swear.”
“Let’s test that theory,” I said.
Jake helped me free Biff’s feet from his arms. I folded his knees against his chest and hooked his trussed ankles behind his neck. Bent double, his sloppy second’s asshole winked up at me. I mounted the little prick and screwed his sticky bussy nice and slow. He groaned with each thrust and whimpered as I withdrew. Jake snapped shots of the distressed prick’s anguished mug. I stabbed my boner deep inside Biff several times in rapid succession. Biff squawked I was too big. His twitchy boner oozed. I pulled out and massaged his swollen prostate. He squealed and blasted wad after sticky wad of cum up across his slim, furry torso.
“What was that you said about not being queer?” I asked.
Jake rolled around on the ground, laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes. “Another successful cherry popping.” He flashed his bait knife in Biff’s wary mug. “If I cut you lose, are you going to be a good little faggot?” Jake ran the jagged blade down the quivering prick’s flushed cheek. “Or are you going to run away?” He untied and tugged out Biff’s gag.
Biff stretched his jaw and mumbled, “I won’t run. I promise.”
“Are you going to be a good little faggot?”
Jake raked the blade over Biff’s pert nipples. Biff squealed.
“Yes, yes, anything. Don’t cut me.”
“Say it. Say, ‘I’ll be a good little faggot.’”
“I’ll be a good little faggot.”
“I’ll suck your dicks and let you fuck me as many times as you want.”
Biff whined in protest, but stammered out Jake’s words.
Jake freed Biff’s arms and sliced off the ropes binding the little prick’s feet. Biff sat up and rubbed his abraded wrists and ankles.
“Let’s go, cocksucker,” Jake said. He snatched Biff by the hair and shoved the little prick’s face into his crotch. Biff swallowed Jake and choked several times before finding his rhythm. Jake grabbed Biff by the back of the head and pumped his mouth up and down. Biff gagged and gurgled drool.
“My turn.” I yanked Biff off Jake and shoved my dick into the horrified prick’s mouth. His lips strained so wide their corners cracked and bled. “Bite me, bitch, and Jake will cut off your balls.”
“Damn straight I will,” Jake said. He poked Biff’s nuts with the tip of his blade. Biff shrieked.
“You better suck like you give a shit,” I said. I pinched Biff’s nostrils shut. “Or, I’m going to end your ass.”
My threat did the trick. Biff lapped his tongue up and down and all around my throbbing shaft, and tickled my piss slit. Suckled the bulging head of my engorged boner and nibbled at my hairy balls. I humped his strained mouth. He choked and sputtered and spat up drool, but stayed the course.
For an hour, Jake and I passed Biff back and forth. The little prick showed a latent talent for sucking cock and made the most of his small mouth, stubby tongue, and tight throat.
Dusk fell.
Jake tied Biff’s wrists behind his back, winged his arms upward, and bound his wrists off to the branch of a mesquite tree. The little prick wobbled forward on the balls of his tiny feet with his pert ass hiked, whining for us to let him go. I explained to Biff the only time his mouth should be open is when he’s got a dick down his throat, and drove my point home by choking the little prick until his bloated cheeks turned blue.
Following a dinner of ham and cheese sandwiches washed down with cold brewskis, Jake and I took turns screwing Biff. The joggled prick whined his arms were about to pop from their sockets and begged us to go easy on his ass. Jake joined me inside Biff. The added pressure of my buddy’s girth against mine inside the screaming prick sent me over the edge. I blasted load after load.
Biff slouched in his bonds. I tickled his nuts. With a feeble groan, he spurted a watery fourth load and passed out. We untied the floppy prick, posed him face down atop a large boulder overlooking the water, with his arms laid at his side, and tucked his knees under his chest, with his cum crusted ass hiked for passersby to admire.
Jake dipped his finger in mud and wrote, “INSERT DICK HERE,” across Biff’s sweaty back, and drew an arrow down his spine, pointed toward his gaping asshole. I scrawled a note saying his keys and wallet were in his truck and crammed the paper inside his butt. Throughout our maneuvers, the fucked senseless little prick neither stirred nor uttered a peep.
Gathering Biff’s belongings and our own, we trudged up the cliff side and hiked to the parking lot. The only other vehicle in the lot aside from our van was a battered pickup. Sure enough, Biff had a key that opened the door. I tossed the keys and wallet on the seat and slammed and locked the door. Jake dumped the little prick’s clothes into the trunk of our car and we sped off.
As we cruised down the highway, chugging brewskis, we speculated over how long it would take Biff to break into his truck. What I wouldn’t give to see the look on the little prick’s mug when he realized he must drive home in his birthday suit. I hoped he got pulled over and charged with indecent exposure. His cute ass would be popular behind bars.