This is a little 'story' that was in my mind for ages and I finally started to write it. Though story is a bit of a stretch. It's really nothing more than a string of one-shots that are vaguely related and revolve entirely around smut.

I had to make some modifications to Kurt's character to make the idea work, but they're all explained and everything else is the same. So hopefully that OOC-ness won't bother you too much.

Kurt Hummel had a very unique quirk. No, it wasn't his love of designer brands, his ability to sniff out bargains from a mile radius or even the fact that his hair always had to be perfect. Kurt Hummel had a very high sex drive, higher, even, than that of your average teenage boy.

In retrospect, being gay was probably an important factor in this quirk. There weren't many gay men in Lima, Ohio; in fact the only ones Kurt was aware of were Rachael's fathers and the very idea of getting it on with them was almost repulsive. He wasn't Puck, he could not handle the age difference, FILF (Father I Like to Fuck, it sounded so much better to him than the DILF most people used these days) or not. Therefore, when every other sixteen year old in the state, in the country eve, was getting it on with a cheerleader or a MILF or the principle's hot secretary, Kurt remained virginal and pure.

Not to say that he had never been penetrated or touched, Kurt had quickly become an expert in manipulating himself to ensure the most satisfying completion possible. He had merely never been touched by another's hand and, as cliché as it may sound, he truly believed that one day he would find someone who would complete him entirely. Someone who was perfectly willing to cater for all his needs and was happy to satisfy all Kurt's desires, a person, he realised, that would be easy to find as a teenager (teenage boys were insatiable after all). Yet, when he graduated, and if his libido hadn't decreased, Kurt knew it would get harder to find someone.

Everything would be fine to begin with, all relationships had their honeymoon period, that time when sex was all that consumed their thoughts, but after that, as the relationship moved into commitment and marriage, most couples slowed down, had sex less, and Kurt knew he couldn't survive that. His libido did not allow him to go for days or weeks without release, many could manage this, even teenagers, but not Kurt. If he went more than a day without stimulation he found himself aroused in the most inappropriate of places. So yes, he would not survive without sex. Well, maybe that was a little dramatic, he could survive it, but the trips to the bathroom would be frequent and much less satisfying than the warm hands and body of a lover.

In his dream relationship, the nails of his lover graze down his chest, gently scratching through the shirt fabric (yet still careful not to damage it, it was Prada after all) and teasing across his nipples, an action that caused a very slight hitching of breath from the slight teenager. The hands then move on, slowly unbuttoning the shirt from the top, and, with each button, softly caressing the soft and supple skin beneath. The shirt unbuttoned would then be neatly hung up and put away before the hands moved on (one cannot mistreat couture after all).

Kurt's pants were next. The hands rubbed him firmly, with an underlying strength, through the coarse fabric and Kurt groaned as the skin-tight denim, not made to stretch, pulled uncomfortably at his crotch from the movement beneath. A deep chuckle sounded through the room as the other noticed his plight; a throaty and purely erotic sound (yet oddly ethereal and disconnected) that sent shivers down the boy's spine and caused the pants to tighten even further.

This tightening caused problems for the hands, which now struggled with the button, a mechanism that was normally easy to unhook, but that the added tautness made much more difficult. Kurt sighed in relief as he was finally released from the tight confines and relaxed slightly. The hands however, didn't allow him to do that. They palmed him through his underwear; the thin black fabric tented even further, the thick outline of Kurt's cock clearly visible, straining as it was to be free.

When Kurt tried to spread his legs, to allow better access for the hands that were stimulating him, he realised that his skinnies were confining him, having only been pushed to the top of his thighs. His penchant for skin tight pants which was usually such a good thing, they made his ass look absolutely fantastic after all and few men could rock the look (Kurt liked to be unique with his fashion choices, unique and fabulous), now became a hindrance, the tight fabric only restricting his current pleasure and the potential for more.

Kurt was annoyed at having to do this (it would not only result in a loss of contact with his lover, but also wrinkle the pants in a way he knew would be hard to rectify) but knowing it was necessary, rolled over to better get into a position to remove the offending garment. Lying face-down on the bed, his face buried deep into his pillow, Kurt struggled to remove the tight material. Oh, the trials he went through for fashion. Wiggling his hips, in the hopes it would slide the material down, Kurt gasped, a sound that was muffled into his pillow, as a jolt of friction flared out from his crotch. The smooth material of his sheets (high thread count and pure cotton, thank you very much) combined with the not-so-smooth material of his underwear (he had looked, but high thread count underwear was almost impossible to find) creating an odd feeling, not unpleasant at all, that made him begin to leak precum, a substance he knew would be hell to clean up later. He kept wiggling, all thoughts of preserving his sheets now gone from his mind entirely, each wriggle affecting him in a way that made him gasp and perspire in a way that he was sure, had he not been so preoccupied, would repulse him. Luckily he was preoccupied, and therefore there was no revulsion, although there was a sense of loss at the conspicuous absence of the hands that had been so pleasurable before. He wriggled one final time, before he was finally able to pull off the jeans and boxers simultaneously (a task he was secretly very proud of). The jeans then joined the shirt, although they were folded much more haphazardly, the boxers were thrown into the bathroom, to ensure no irremovable stains could spread onto the carpet.

Next time he vowed to remove all restrictive clothing in advance, it could have – but luckily hadn't – ruined the mood.

His legs now freed Kurt rolled over once more and propped himself up against his headboard, in the perfect position to be ravished by his amazing lover. He spread his legs out further; his cock now free from all coverings lay rigid and shining in the dim light of his room, a single bead of precum dripping down arduously from its tip. He was rewarded for his wanton act when the hands finally returned. The hands massaged Kurt's thighs and the boy watched as his member swells even more, a slight curve appearing as the organ now aims towards his chest and not midair. The hands then move to stroke Kurt's dick itself before hesitating and instead moving up his chest to his mouth. Each finger entered individually and didn't emerge until they were fully coated in a slick layer of saliva, before trailing slowly down the teen's chest, an icy path being left in their wake.

Kurt groaned quietly as the hands grasped him firmly, wrapping around him and slicking him in the hot saliva. When they moved away to reposition themselves Kurt's breath becomes more laboured, the saliva had rapidly cooled, creating an odd sensation, rather like being stimulated by an ice cube or an ice cream, that caused a bolt of feeling to travel straight to his brain. But, just as the feeling occurred it vanished again, the saliva warming up once more to body temperature.

The hands moved back again. Well, one did, the other moved back up his body and began rubbing circles onto Kurt's chest. This hand continued its action until the other began to move, softly caressing the damp skin and stroking the underside of the sensitive protrusion. Kurt's head fell back, his neck no longer able to support its weight, his brain too busy trying to process so many other feelings. He let out a breathy gasp as the hand finally, finally, grasped him fully around the base and started to caress it. His breath hitched entirely when the other hand began to tease one of his nipples simultaneously in time to the movement of the hand on his cock.

The hands continued their actions for a while and Kurt felt himself falling deeper and deeper into the pleasure of the moment, his thoughts no longer as sharp and clear as they were and the actions of the hands were no longer quite as smooth and controlled.

Kurt let out a slight squeak as the hand on his chest pinched his nipple once more; a bolt of pain shot through him, not the sharp pain of a fall, but the pain of an area of skin that has been so over-stimulated everything feels almost too intense. The hand quickly retreated, before moving down the teen's chest, a whispered apology hanging in the air.

The hand on his member, although it had hesitated from the sudden pain, continued its action, each movement lighting the nerves on fire and building Kurt up for the end. He wouldn't cum yet though, he knew that well enough. He had had this happen to him far too many times to cum from just simple stimulation of his penis, maybe if he abstained for a week, or 2 weeks, and the simple touch would be enough, but right now he needed a little more.

The travelling hand had reached its destination and it softly touched the silky skin of Kurt's balls, tracing the path from them to the small, puckered hole. A single finger ran over the ring, the sensitive muscles clenching slightly, and probed the entrance, not entering, merely exciting the many nerves that were located there. Done with its exploration, the hand moved back the balls, avoiding the still continuous movements of the other hand, and started to massage the sack smoothly and in time to the movements of the other hand. It was a gently movement, a soft squeezing of the skin that increased slightly with each circle made by the thumb.

Kurt's vision was now starting to blur around the edges and the tell-tale tingling in his toes had begun. Hoping to prolong the pleasure Kurt instructed the hands to slow and they gladly complied. The movements were no different, no softer or gentler, just slower. Kurt felt his vision return marginally and his toes remained the only part of his body to tingle, the feeling almost relaxing, whilst still being slightly pleasurable.

The hands continued their stroking for a few minutes longer, until Kurt knew he could no longer build it up, and he allowed one hand (the one on his cock) to tighten its grip and roughly pull. This action tipped him over the edge and the tingling rushed up his legs to his groin. The feeling then moved straight from his groin to his brain and completely short circuited any thoughts Kurt may have been having. A tight sensation started to appear in his stomach, his stomach muscles clenching. His balls tightened and created an odd feeling for the hand that was still massaging them and then his vision fully faded, a static of white and black spread rapidly across his eyes.

And then it was all over. His eyesight cleared as his muscles tightened and released repetitively, the spasms sending ribbons of thick whiteness across his stomach and thighs and continuing long after there was no more cream to release. The hands stopped their work and his lover vanished with one last fading chuckle.

Kurt slumped, almost fully spent. Yes, this may be a daily occurrence, more than daily on some occasions, but he rarely got time to ravish himself this much. His father had the annoying habit of walking in without knocking and, ever since Finn moved in with them permanently, Kurt had even less privacy. The other boy liked to monopolise Kurt's room because "It's like the best gaming space in the house dude. No one can yell at me for being too loud in here." Kurt, of course, had many arguments against that logic, the main ones being that the living room would be more than adequate and who needed to yell at the TV anyway? And of course, not to call him "Dude". But of course, Finn being who he was never listened to such logic.

Kurt, realising how distracted his thoughts had become, a common side-effect of a great orgasm he knew, but still not acceptable by any means, began the task of cleaning up. He may have the house to himself right now, the rest of the Hudmel family were out watching football, or cricket (Kurt wasn't sure and didn't really care, he just knew that ugly pants were involved and that was truly a torture he wished to spare his poor eyes from enduring) but they would soon arrive home.

He first entered his wardrobe. The Prada shirt was fine, he had removed it before anything damaging could occur but the pants were in dire need of some tender loving care. His rushed folding had created creases in places creases were not supposed to be and a slight damp patch was visible on the front, pre-cum luckily, wasn't as hard to clean off of clothes as actual cum (although it could still be problematic), but jeans were always a challenge to clean fully. The bed sheets were fine, he had managed to splatter himself impressively, but not one drop was visible on the bed. With two less jobs now to do, Kurt headed to the bathroom to retrieve his underwear and, with both clothing items in hand he headed updaters to the washroom, still completely nude.

Kurt loved clothes. He was Kurt Hummel fashionista extraordinaire, he could recognise a quality piece of cloth when he saw one and strived to collect as many as possible. He collected clothes like other kids collected Pokémon cards and he was damn proud of it. However, in the videos of his childhood Kurt only looked truly free when naked, as soon as a clothing item was offered Little Kurt would instantly put it on, but the playing was never quite as liberated and the smiles always seemed more restricted. People often looked down on nudity, so Kurt rarely got a chance like this; a chance to walk around and experience it all with no limits and no scorn. His father, he knew, would be incredibly uncomfortable if he saw his son in the nude (Finn would be mortified). An action that is cute at the age of five is a little different once the child becomes a teenager and honestly, Kurt had no wish to showcase his body to everyone. He wasn't self-conscious as such (all people have some insecurities of course) but he didn't want people to see him either. Really, it wasn't about being visually nude, it was the feelings he got: the freedom, the lack of restriction, the peace.

So Kurt went about his business in the nude, fully prepared to stay that way until he had to greet the rest of the family as they returned home. He headed upstairs, not caring about the smears of fluid that were spreading from the soiled clothes in his hands onto his skin. He was sticky enough as it was, covered in a potent mixture of sweat and ejaculate that, if he was honest, was not the most appealing mix in either appearance or smell. A shower was definitely in his future.

He wasn't worried about being questioned for his small load of washing, he had had the argument with Carole often enough about his clothing and the proper etiquette when dealing with them, and she wouldn't question what he was doing, not now, she had learnt fast. All he had to do was set the machine up and leave it (no one dared to touch Kurt Hummel's clothing on account of his wrath, he was like a mother lion with her cubs when it came to his clothes) and it would all be clean and shiny and good and there would be no incriminating evidence left over. He was a little sad that he had to place his jeans and his underwear in the same wash, in an ideal world the two would be separated, but he was pressed for time and he couldn't risk the stains being found.

Reaching the laundry, a room that was now only used by Carole, Burt no longer washing his own clothes since he now he had a wife to do it for him (after she caught him placing delicate silk items in the same wash as his flannel shirts and banned him from the room) and Finn wouldn't even consider going near a room that signified work in any form, let alone housework, Kurt was easily able to locate all his own cleaning supplies, he had argued vehemently that whilst Walmart brand washing powder was wonderful for flannel and Target T-shirts, it was not of a good enough quality for his own designer clothes and so had his own collection. He couldn't bear for anything to become unwearable due to dissolved stitching from overly powerful cleaning agents.

Placing the clothes in the washer, a top of the line front-loader known to be gentle on fabrics whilst still giving a thorough clean (thank you very much), he loaded the two items inside and set everything up. Once done with that, he left it running and moved back to his room, ready for his shower, and hopefully his washing would be done by the time the others got back.

Kurt was just casually lounging in the living room (whilst looking fabulous in designer tracksuit pants and a brand name shirt, of course) and watching reruns of America's Next Top Model when the rest of the Hudmel's got back. His clothes had been done by the time he was finished in the shower, he had to do many moisturising and cleansing routines, cum was awfully bad for the skin, so it took much longer than usual, and Kurt took long showers anyway. Having cleaned, dried and placed his clothing in the appropriate places Kurt had finally allowed the fatigue to slip in and just enjoyed slobbing (fabulously) about the house for an hour or so.

Kurt knew they were back home even before the car had stopped as he could hear Finn's excited whoops from inside (he almost felt sorry for the neighbours). He hoped that meant his father's team had won, although he wasn't sure if Finn and his father supported the same one. He was fairly sure they did, but then again he had thought that Celtic and the Dolphins played in the same league...tournament...whatever. His father was always in a foul mood when he lost, he wasn't a small man either, so each heavy footstep seemed to shake the entire house when he was mad and his rage was, although not threatening to anyone in the family, not conductive of a peaceful atmosphere.

"Kurt!" Finn's yell echoed through the hall even as the door opened and the freakishly tall boy barrelled into the living room, where Kurt had just stood, ready to greet the returning family members. "We won Dude!"

"That's great and all Finn," Kurt said, sarcasm not light in his statement, "but don't call me Dude. Ever!" He emphasised the final word with a sharp nod of his head and a swift turn on his heel, not the most manly of moves he would admit, but it got his point across. Flopping down into his chair again he turned his head slightly towards the other boy, "How many goals did they score?"

Finn just looked at him incredulously, as if someone that clueless about sport shouldn't exist or should be educated, fast, "Touchdowns man, touchdowns."

Kurt sighed exasperated and flopped his head back against the chair. "Touchdowns, great. And Finn, substituting 'Dude' with 'man' does not make it ok. Don't call me that."

Finn's look of incredulity morphed into one of confusion, "substitu-"

"Replace, Finn." Carole amended for him gently, "It means replace."

Kurt rose to greet his mother figure with a hug, "Did you have a good night. These two brutes," He gestured at Finn and his father, who had just entered (and luckily didn't look mad, that must mean his team had done ok), "weren't too insufferable were they? You should have stayed with me; we could have done something more suited to our interests."

"No, I had a good time sweetie." Carole smiled gently. "They were a little loud, but it was to be expected." Leaning in much closer she stage whispered, "Your father's temper tantrum when his team was losing was truly impressive though, his looked like a tomato."

Kurt looked in shock at his dad, who was currently looking mock-annoyed at his wife, "Dad! You shouldn't get worked up. You know it's bad for your heart."

Burt cut his son off, as he looked like he was about to continue into a full-blown rant. "It was fine Kurt, getting worked up is the whole point of football."

"Then you shouldn't be going then. We can't have you getting worse!" Kurt retorted. "You're sick dad, you have to take care of yourself!"

"Don't worry about him sweetheart, looking after him is my job. I'd have taken him out of there if he was getting too bad." Carol placated. "Now Finn on the other hand..."

Finn looked up from where he was lounged on the couch, motor magazine hanging limply in his grip (he got bored and distracted very easily), "I didn't do it! Whatever it was it wasn't me."

There ya go. Like it? Smutty enough?

There will be more, eventually. I have about 50 chapters planned out, I just have to find time and motivation to write them up.