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I parked my car in the guest area and hurried down the walk to the building, tucked away a few miles up the canyon road. The whole area was beautifully landscaped and the entry area was a real class act. I had been offered a job as a personal trainer by Michael, the owner of this exclusive men’s spa and training center. Today was my starting day, the day Michael would set me up and explain my duties. I had been here twice before and was so impressed with the quality and caliber of the place.

Michael was one of the patrons at the French restaurant where I waited tables. He had been in a half dozen times and always asked for my table after I had served him the first time. This last time, he had opened up this new world to me.

” Corey, you are really in trim shape. You must work out pretty regularly to keep that kind of muscle tone,” He said..

“You bet I do, I answered, “…. Every morning, down at Gold’s Gym..

Keeps me in shape for both the job and my own personal attitude.”

That’s when he told me about his spa and asked if I would be interested in filling a new opening for a personal trainer. I snapped at it fo two reasons.. First, it sounded like a dream job and secondly, this guy was so hot himself and his eyes were telling me that there was more to this job than he wanted to share at the table. His eyes had locked on mine several times recently and I could just feel my juices stirring when he looked at me `that way.’

“Corey, Great to see, you,” Michael shouted as he came to meet me at the entrance to the exercise room. There were only a few men working out on the weights and we spent the next hour or so going through the routine, as he led me through several series of workouts. Several times he caught me checking out the large bulge in his shorts and he just smiled. One machine has you spreading your legs out and I all but jumped his cock while I stood in front, watching him flex out with each full stretch.

By the time we were done, we had both worked up a sweat and I was trying to keep my mind on the job, not his cock. We went into the locker room and Michael quickly stripped and stood there with his meat hanging halfway to his knees, semi hard and so, so very suckable. I stripped down and my own cock sprung out of my shorts semi hard and all but dripping precum. I thought we were headed for the showers, but he stopped near some lounge chairs..

“Corey, Come over here and let me check you out,” he said as he as turned to me. I obediently stood in front of him and let him work his way slowly through all my muscle groups, stretching and testing and, at times, softly massaging different areas of my body. It wasn’t long before both our cocks were rock hard.

” Wow, look now what you have done to my cock.” He laughed softly and led me into one of several small steam rooms. He stepped up to the top bench and sat there on the edge, with his cock standing straight out.

“I know you want to suck this,” he said. “I knew it from that first time in the restaurant that you had a first class hard-on for this. So get over here and start sucking,” he ordered. I didn’t need a second invitation and got on my knees on the lower bench in front of his spread out legs and fell onto what had to be a magnificent 10 inch cock.

“Oooh, yeah,” he moaned as I worked more and more of it into my mouth. He grasped my head with both hands and began to face fuck me, impaling me on his rod. His cock had reached more than half way and I was beginning to gag. Michael held me tight and stepped his thrusting.

“Relax, breath now and relax,” he said, as he held me in his solid grip.. We just held there for over a minute..

Suddenly, my throat muscles released and the cock slid in to the hilt, his balls hitting my chin.. Then he began to stroke my head up and down as he humped into me. I had all I could do to hang on, my hands grabbing his ass to keep from falling off the bench.

Michael began to take deep strokes and I could feel his cock getting thicker, his breathing shallower and I knew he was ready to explode into me…… Suddenly, he arched his back and all but lifted me in the air and let burst spasm after huge spasm of thick fire down my throat, so deep that very little was oozing out of my mouth….until he pulled his still hard cock out most of the way…Then I was flooded with it, spilling down my chin and onto his balls. Still, he kept me fastened to his cock.

“Keep sucking, my little cocksucker. You have a long way to go this morning before we are done.” It was then I realized that there were two other men in the thick mist of the steam room and they had been watching. One came up behind me and poured several cups of the heated body oil kept there for oiling up open pores…. The man began to massage it over my back and then my ass… I could barely concentrate on the cock in my mouth and was wiggling against his onslaught of my unprotected ass….

Slap! I leaped in the air as he laid his hand across my ass. Slap…

Again, Slap! Dear god, it hurt and I struggled to get off this cock and away from the pain, but Michael held me tight by the back of my head.

“Hold still, you little bitch and let the man have his fun..” he yelled into my ear. Slap! Another assault and then more oil and suddenly the pain shifted as he dug two fingers into my ass and began to rim me….

Michael suddenly began to fuck my face in earnest again and then the real pain came as the guy in back replaced his fingers with what had to be his horse sized cock.

No foreplay with this guy. He slammed his cock deep into me and his balls slammed against my ass as he raped my butt, slamming and grunting, slapping my ass and thighs as he rode me into Michael with each animal thrust…….. and then he began to arch and moan and the explosion of cumm jetted deep into me burning like boiling oil. His spasms soon slowed down and finally he pulled out, just as Michael unloaded another series of shots into my mouth… He pulled out and let the last few shots hit me in the face….

I slid off the bench onto the floor, so fucked and used that I couldn’t move. Michael stood up and stepped over me. “You can have him now,” he said to the two men. “Break him in good for me.” He walked out, through the swirl of the steam, closing the door behind him.

I looked up and number two was standing over me, with another thick cock I knew was going to hurt me. This guy had to be 6 foot 10 in bare feet and was 90% muscle. . The other guy poured more oil onto me, so that my whole body was glistening. Big guy picked me up bodily and threw me face down on the lower bench , then grabbed me by the hips and lifted my ass to his cock and without much effort, slid it in, massaging my hot spot so that I started to ooze cum myself. He swung me out and sat down with me mounted on his cock.

“Ted, suck this pussy cock for me,” he said and Tom, the first guy, dropped his mouth onto my cock and roughly began to suck me, keeping time with Big Guy’s working of my ass…. I was already over the edge and came quickly, screaming with the great release and Tom swallowed each shot of cumm.. It was drooling out his mouth and he yanked my head up and brought his mouth to mine, giving me back much of my own juices.

Then his cock was at my mouth and his hands grabbed my head and somehow big guy was standing and Tom was seated on the bench and I was in the air, my hands straddling Tom on the bench and my monster ass fucker was holding me by my inner thighs, pounding his meat deep into my swollen and cumm filled ass.

The power of his strokes and the intense steam made me light-headed and I think I passed out for a few moments. I don’t know what happened to Tom and his cock, but my face was covered with cumm and I down on the floor, on my back, my legs up in the air and still being ass fucked by this giant, ramming his cock to the hilt with each stroke..

Strange sounds were coming out of my mouth with each slam into me and then the pace picked up as he began a deep rumbling groan and started shooting hose bursts of fiery cumm into me. Soon his jerking stopped and I knew he was finally finished. He pulled out and stood over me, stripping the last few ropes of cumm onto my chest.

I lay there gasping, until they picked me up and had me on my knees on the bench. Tom began to work more oil onto my ass and started to ass fuck me with several fingers, slopping all the oozing cumm around my ass and thighs. Slap! Slap! Slap! He began to beat my ass and in between, work his hand into me. Slap! Slap! The pain was killing me as he worked 4 fingers in and worked my asshole to let him have his way.

Holy shit, He is going to try and fist me, I thought in terror. I had never been fisted in my life.

Then suddenly, with a scream of pain from my lips, he slipped his thumb in and I was impaled on his arm, his fist all the way in. I kept blacking out as he flexed his hand deep inside of me and began thrusting into me. I finally backed out all the way and woke up laying on the bench, watching my giant ass fucking Tom. I kept quiet and pretended I was still out, until they finally finished their own private fucking and they pulled me up to a sitting position, my legs hanging over the side, feet on the floor.

Tom brought his softened cock to my mouth. “Open your cunt mouth, bitch.

Take my cock in…I need to take a piss.” I started to fight away from this final degradation but Tom slammed me across the side of my head and yelled, “Open, bitch and lift my cock into your face and don’t lose a drop or I will beat the shit out of you.” I opened my mouth and took his soft cock in, holding it there as it hardened with the piss and suddenly, hot, saltly fire shot in, burning my mouth and throat already so raw from sucking so much cock. I held on and must of taken in a quart of his yellow fluid.

“Suck it dry.” I did what he said and finally he pulled away and they went out the door.

I laid back on the bench and fell asleep, my body aching everywhere, my ass was still so numb from the fisting, I couldn’t feel it. I don’t know how long I slept but was awakened by Michael, who was using a cooling massage cream and was caressing my body with gentle hands.

His hands were smoothing my ass and he inserted a large wad of the cool stuff into my ass and I moaned as it burned. Michael laid me on my back and gently inserted his cock into my very widened asshole and slowly and gently sank it to the hilt and held it there.

`I am so sorry you had to get broken in this way, Corey,” he crooned, “

Those two are my roughest clients but now you belong to me and the spa all the way. You will be servicing my clients in any way they want….rarely like this ever again, but any way they want. And they want it every way. Some want you to ass fuck them, others will want to ass fuck you….but now, you will give and take like a master.”

“You have any problem with this?” I shook my head. There was nothing left to give up.. They took it all. I wanted this cock in me. I wanted to be part of this man I now knew I loved and I began rocking into his still silent cock, letting him know I wanted to give him my all.

Slowly we rocked and held each other close until he began to get to the edge. He rolled us over so he was on his back and I was sitting on his cock.

“Show me what you can do, Corey, show me how bad you want me” That was all I needed to hear and I began to pound up and down on him, feverishly crying out, “Fuckmeee, give me your hot juices…..”, tears streaming down my face…Then the explosions of cumm hit me and I rammed down all the way, taking each rip of his burning hot lava until he finally went soft. I fell onto his chest, exhausted like never before, sobbing for what seemed like an hour.

Michael carried me out of the steam room and held me up and cleaned while I showered. After I had dressed again and slept on a lounge sofa in his office for awhile, I found out that I would be getting

$150 a day and all my tips and would handle 10 to 20 clients a week…..Michael gave me $500 from my two friends.

Strange as it sounds, I was happy and glad to be owned by someone like Michael… I knew I belonged here for good.

write me at [email protected]

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HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?

Part of the ‘Butt Monkey’ series of stories by Robert Furlong

[email protected]

Find my older stories at screeve.org

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As I lay in Debbie’s bed, listening to the sounds of her sleeping, I thought about the sex we’d just had.

Parts of it had been nice, I mused, but perhaps that was because I’d abstained for so long from being in a woman’s bed. It had certainly been a treat to climax inside a woman after all these years and yet, now that it was over, it bothered me that there had been more wrong with how we’d been together than right. Like lying too long in a bath that had grown lukewarm, I had been left feeling distinctly dissatisfied.

I was finding it difficult to get to sleep because, in spite of the fact we’d made love and I’d released an almost embarrassingly copious load into the condom I’d been wearing, my cock was still achingly hard and feeling painful as the head of it chaffed against my underwear. A persistent erection after having sex with a woman for the first time could be seen as either a very good sign or a very bad sign. I thought, in my case, it was probably the latter.

To start with, Debbie had made a lot of effort both in cooking us a very nice meal and in decorating her bedroom with candles and scented oil burners to give our first pairing a sensual and romantic quality.

We’d got on well – we’d had a lot to talk about and had made each other laugh as we ate – and our kissing and fondling in front of her TV afterwards had seemed like a natural fulfilment of a pleasant time spent together rather than feeling forced or hurried.

Also on the plus side was that she looked beautiful naked – a lot better than a lot of the women I’ve made love to during my life – and had an exquisite pair of firm, supple breasts which, after so long of being without a woman, I was quite simply captivated by. I’d spent ages playing with them, licking them and massaging them, and I was amazed at how much I’d missed the presence of two such apparently innocuous mounds of flesh from my life.

The first problem we’d discovered was that, while she clearly liked me and there was an undoubted sexual attraction between us, what was lurking between my legs held far less appeal to her. Even while we were on her couch, nuzzling into each other and working our hands into increasingly intimate places together, she became agitated when she got a feel of my awakening organ through the front of my trousers and had gasped, groping at my thickening shaft through the material with disbelief, “Oh my God, Rob! Is that your penis?!”

I’d pulled back self-consciously, putting a hand over my bulge. “Is it… er… a problem?”

I suddenly felt about fifteen; like I was having to conceal my disproportionate development from my mother’s puritanical gaze.

“How big is it?” she’d asked in horror. “I mean, how big does it get?”

“I don’t know exactly,” I’d replied with a blush, before going on, “maybe a touch bigger than average,” grossly downplaying my size.

“But you’re such a quiet guy,” she’d said with incredulity. “I had no idea were hiding something like that!”

“It’s not like I’m a serial killer,” I said, trying an empty-sounding laugh to lighten the mood. “It’s just my willy.”

She frowned at the mound in my trousers and I felt myself soften in my discomfort. I’d encountered quite a few women who’d seemed intimidated by the size of my erection, but I’d never had one who had shown such affront.

“I hoped you might like it,” I went on rather feebly. “It can be quite affable when you get to know it.”

“Look Rob… penises aren’t really my thing,” she coldly informed me. “I can cope with small ones, but big ones… well… I’d better be straight with you from the start…”

“What’s the problem with them?” I asked. Although it had never occurred to me before, as women didn’t have penises of their own, it was – I supposed – fairly understandable that some of them might find them strange in their unfamiliarity, perhaps even to the point of being distasteful.

“With yours,” she said, glancing suspiciously towards my crotch, “does the skin of it pull right back from the head of it when you get aroused? So you can see the purple helmet underneath?”

I blushed again slightly; this was a very personal question. Nevertheless, as I was hoping she might be willing to see exactly how it worked quite soon, I replied, “Yes… yes, it does.”

She winced. “Well, that’s what I don’t like: the feel of the skin, all tight and pulled back, against the hardness of the stem. And the really strong smell of the helmet – that horrible, venereal stink that men give off when they’re horny.”

“I don’t think mine is especially smelly,” I said to try and pacify her, although I was well aware that my cock had its own distinct masturbatory odour.

“Once the skin’s pulled back, they all are,” she retorted. “Or maybe I’m really sensitive to it.”

“Well, perhaps you’ll find my scent less offensive than some of the other men you’ve made love with. It could be that you’ve had a few unlucky encounters until now…”

She looked distinctly unconvinced but nodded. “As long as you know from the outset – there’s no way I’ll be able to suck it!”

“That’s okay,” I smiled, trying to be reassuring. “I don’t really like that, anyway.”

Was that what this had been all about – her aversion towards giving men blow jobs? That was understandable: perhaps she’d tasted a guy with grotesquely unwashed cock; or perhaps someone had climaxed in her mouth with a gush of particularly obnoxious semen.

She’d kept her hands well away from my crotch during the rest of our time on the couch, and as long as I did my best to conceal what was going on in my trousers, her shock seemed to abate and she started to relax back into our interrupted cuddling. Indeed, things were starting to look more promising until we got up to her bedroom.

There, in the flickering light of the candles, we undressed each other and kissed again. Once my trousers were off, and as I was kneading her breasts and licking at her peaked nipples, she threw suspicious glances towards the abundant mound stretching the front of my underpants in stark contrast to her tiny lace panties.

When it came to be her turn to remove my briefs and my partially-aroused cock flopped out of them, rising outwards from my body and as thick as her forearm, she grimaced up at me with an expression approaching disgust.

“It’s okay,” I said, struggling to muster a smile. “If you’re worried about penetration, we don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not that,” she said, “I don’t mind that. It’s just how obscene it looks – hanging there all bloated. Like something you’d see on a farm animal.”

“Thanks,” I said tersely. “Your body looks nice too.”

Needless to say I hadn’t told her of the body issues I’d grown up with so, in fairness to her, she was totally unaware of how much she was contributing to them.

“Sorry,” she muttered and pulled down my underpants completely, seeing for the first time how large and heavy my balls are and how low they stretch my scrotum hanging down between my legs. “You’re just such a nice guy, Rob. So reserved. And yet you have these… well… completely disproportionate genitals.”

I threw her an embarrassed smile, trying to lighten what was for me turning out to be an excruciating development in our first evening together. “I didn’t actually choose them.”

She’d cupped my balls in one hand, like one might do to a stud bull to see how much seed it would produce. Then she grabbed at my cock and pulled the foreskin back and forth a few times. Finally, she sniffed inquisitively at the air between us.

“You have a really strong scent coming from down there… very manly.”

Apart from the slightly disdainful way she’d said ‘manly’, the observation could, I thought, be interpreted hopefully.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I find it really off-putting. Especially the smell of the helmet when it’s exposed… on a small guy it can be just about tolerable, but on you – once you get fully hard – it’ll be really strong.”

At this rate, I thought, that isn’t likely to happen any time soon.

I did what she’d done: wanked my cock a few times and sniffed at the air to see if I could discern the reason for her aversion. I couldn’t: there was, I admit, a slight tang to the air which might have come from my glans or my foreskin, but it could equally be from the dribbles of piss which had accidentally seeped onto my balls, or from the sweatiness between my legs.

Nevertheless, I tried to appease her, her mention of ‘not minding’ penetration offering a promise of better things to come.

“I try to keep myself very clean,” I said. “But if you’d like I’ll… you know… wash myself down there…?”

I would be offended if she said she would, but with my sights firmly set on what might be on offer on the bed, I’d be prepared to give it a shot.

“It won’t help,” she countered. “It’s something men produce from their glands, I think. It’s probably your testosterone, or something in your urine, but I really don’t like it. It reminds me of the male rats at school.”

That’s nice, I thought. Likening me to a rat is really going to get our night of passion back on track.

She went over to one of her oil burners and poured some liquid into it from a tiny bottle. The smell of patchouli wafted over, pleasant at first but quickly becoming cloying. I’d assumed, when I’d first spotted the oil burners, that she would filling them with liquids known for their aphrodisiac qualities; it seemed she’d actually scoured the shop for those which could neutralise male pheromones.

She came back over to me, her breasts and the small growth of hair between her legs looking delightful in the shadowy gold light from the candles. She threw me an apologetic smile and reached over to kiss me on the lips.

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not your fault and you can’t help it. I told you things were complex for me. This is… well… part of it, I suppose.”

“Have you had a bad experience?” I asked.

“Nothing like you’re probably thinking of,” she said. “Let’s get on the bed… come-on… let’s enjoy our time together.”

I smiled back, the feeling of being the stud exhibit at a cattle market easing a little.

We climbed onto her bed: her with all the grace of a cat; me clambering behind her with my balls slapping around between my thighs and my thick floppy member catching her duvet and making a sticky smear on it. I positioned myself in front of her so that my shin was covering the stain; I didn’t want to freak her out by letting her see a splodge of penile precum on her bedding.

We kissed gently at first and caressed each other’s bodies. I focused on her breasts, of course, and she ran her fingers across my chest. I wondered if she was thinking I was too muscular for her – compared to a lot of men, I’m almost scrawny – but her negativity towards my male physiology made me almost paranoid about anything she could interpret as macho.

As she rubbed my chest, she said she liked the fact I wasn’t very hairy but, even when she was saying it, the reproachful glance she made towards wispy sprouts between my pecs made me wonder whether she would, if we made this a regular thing, petition me to wax or shave what I had.

We kept kissing and I thought it best to keep her attentions directed towards my upper body for a while, to give her time to come to terms that she had an especially well-endowed man on her bed with her. She seemed comfortable with me – attracted to me, even – above the waist and I wanted her to focus on that, not the perceived monstrosity between my legs, as we smiled together and explored each other’s bodies.

Every time she tried to sneak a look down there, I guided her head back upwards and smiled into her eyes. I wanted her to see me – that sweet guy Rob – who she’d met for a meal and who she’d invited over for the evening, not the overgrown rod of flesh that was slumped on her duvet in front of me.

We kissed more deeply – I drove into her with my tongue and she offered little resistance – and soon my cock was starting to lengthen and thicken again. Again, I took care to keep it away from her, so as not to alarm her with how large I knew it would soon grow, and kept urging my foreskin forwards to cover the fattening head of it, hoping to spare her any stray wafts of the masculine odour which she found so offensive.

Eventually, though, I let her look at it again, hoping by now she was more ready to accept me. She stared at it intently, emerging like a third leg from my pubic bush, before looking back up at my face.

I smiled, trying to be as reassuring as I could and hoping she might begin to like what I was offering her.

“It’s so big, Rob,” she muttered uneasily. “And your balls… Jesus…”

Feeling a flush of self-consciousness which I struggled to hide, I looked down at myself. She was right: my testicles looked grotesquely bloated in my tight, red-looking scrotum. They were being pushed outwards on either side of my organ like two, fat, hairy cricket balls.

Why did they have to look so swollen and pumped up with semen on a night like this? Was it being with a woman that had done it; were my sperm factories running on overtime tonight? Did a guy’s bollocks always grow so massive at the prospect of impending sex?

I smiled at her apologetically. “It’s been a while since I had a release – I think they’re a bit full.” I tried a rather desperate chuckle.

She tried to smile back but I could see her distaste. To her I was like some Neanderthal, who could just about dress himself up to pass as a civilised man. Once naked I was revealed for what I really was: a crude savage with an unspeakably monstrous phallus and a scrotum pumped-up and ready to burst forth with thick, dirty spunk.

She looked back up at me and I leaned forwards to kiss her lips. She complied and opened her mouth, and I entered her with as much tenderness as I could muster. She put her arms around my back and caressed my shoulders and I did the same to her.

Perhaps this was what she really liked with a man: gentle affection; a more sensuous connection.

But soon she pulled back. “Your skin is so rough,” she informed me. “There are these fine, coarse hairs.”

I smiled. “Well, to me yours is so smooth. I think that’s how it’s supposed to work – we’re supposed to find each other’s differences attractive.”

She shrugged. “That’s a very male way of thinking. Everything so black and white.”

We kissed again and, while our tongues were wrestling softly inside her mouth, I reached forwards and worked my fingers between her legs. Finding her lips pleasantly large and her opening surprisingly generous, I worked my middle finger into her, gently tickling her plump clitoris with my thumb and pleased that, unlike some women, she seemed to enjoy direct stimulation. Given how large she was, I couldn’t understand why she didn’t like big men more: she could certainly fit a big organ inside her with no difficulty. I worked three or four fingers in and out of her, feeling her moisten quite copiously at my touch, and sniffed appreciatively at the thick vaginal odour that started wafting up from her.

“I like your smell,” I whispered to her. “It’s extremely attractive.”

She looked uncertain as to how to respond and I smiled to show her that I didn’t share her misgivings about how different our bodies were.

I pulled my fingers from her and sniffed at them, smiling more broadly to show her how excited I was by her most intimate scents, and then put one of them to my lips and ran my tongue along it. She tasted exquisite – the large size of her opening seemed to imbibe her fluid with a strong, intensely feminine, flavour, and I leaned back to let her watch my cock visibly lengthening and rising upwards further to express its own gratitude.

I thought she’d like to see how aroused I was becoming by the juice from her vagina – most women I’ve slept with have become turned on at the sight of my cock hardening at the taste of their pussies – but Debbie almost flinched when she saw how erect I was becoming.

Nevertheless, I flaunted myself to her. She had to accept how I was built between my legs if there was to be any hope for us as a couple.

She stared at my organ as it rose up from the bed like she was watching part of the mating ritual of some repellent but morbidly compelling animal. My foreskin was retracting a little, exposing the purple head which seemed to so offend her, but I let it. She had to get used to whatever male odour she thought I had, and perhaps – given time – grow to enjoy it the same way that I relished her smells.

I returned my hand to her pussy and resumed gently fingering her opening and lightly caressing her clitoris. I could see from her face how much she enjoyed it: in spite of her reservations about my penis, she was clearly a very sexual person with the right stimulation.

She closed her eyes as I worked my fingers deep inside her, but I told her to open them and to look at my cock. I wanted her to feel pleasure while she was looking at my genitals; for her to start associating them with nice things to overcome the issues she so clearly had about men.

Whatever she thought of my extreme proportions, surely she had to like something about what I had down there? However distorted they were by my size, these were, after all, pretty standard male genitalia: a cock sticking out from my pubic hair with two balls hanging down in their scrotum beneath it. Surely there must be something between my legs that was attractive to her as a woman…

She did as I asked and for the first time I saw pleasure in her expression as she looked at my cock. That made it continue to grow: the sheer fact of her seeming to like what I was parading for her made my excitement build and my organ readily respond.

As it grew, my foreskin continued to recede and the fattening mushroom underneath began to emerge in all its odoriferous glory. Debbie seemed to accept that I was now aroused enough to expose my swelling cock-head and I fingered her more intently to try and enflame her passion in spite of her deeply-felt reservations.

I could tell she was enjoying what I was doing and she began to work her hips with my rhythm. I could hardly believe how much fluid she was producing, my fingers and the palm of my hand felt like they were dripping with it and the air between us seemed to be filled with its potent, sensual bouquet.

If my cock really was reeking with my sharp odour of my maleness – and I can’t say that I could really smell it myself – I was pleased that it was now joined by Debbie’s more succulent feminine scents. I worked my fingers in and out of her with increasing vigour, fascinated by how much vaginal juices she was releasing and enjoying the gentle gasps she was starting to emit.

Abruptly I pulled out of her – I like the element of surprise – and told her we were going to do something she’d enjoy.

I sandwiched my erection between her breasts and then held them together and slid it up and down between them. She had indeed liked that at first, smiling up at me in pleasure from the feel of my cock sliding between her breasts and the way I was circling her nipples with my thumbs as I held her firm. She didn’t even seem to mind the way my balls thumped heavily against her stomach with each thrust or complain about the sweaty smell from between my legs as I straddled in front of her.

I thought, as I held her like that, pushing myself up and down against her, she was finally starting to appreciate my large organ. I thought she was realising how much fun a man’s cock could be – especially a big one like mine – as a plaything during foreplay.

But then I guess I got carried away and my foreskin must have retracted right back from my cock-head on one especially powerful thrust through the middle of her cleavage.

At that point she’d pulled away, repelled once again.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, still breathless from her exertions. “It’s just that your helmet’s so big when you expose it like that… it smells so sharp… like a gents toilet.”

I pulled back, trying to hide how upset and annoyed I was starting to feel.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “It’s just that my last boyfriend was really small down there and his foreskin wouldn’t pull back. You must be like four times his size. I just… I dunno… I must have forgotten how overpowering a man can smell.”

I sat back down on the bed, my cock softening once more.

“So is size really important for you?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry… but it is.”

I nodded. “It’s funny, because a guy’s size makes no difference to me.”

She’d laughed at that. “Well, it wouldn’t, would it? It’s not like you’re going to be doing anything with what he’s got down there!”

I’d smiled back. “No, I suppose not.”

Perhaps aware that things weren’t going too well from my perspective, she’d suggested that I masturbate for her and had even offered to play with my balls as did so. It wasn’t my favourite activity with a woman – there were, after all, a few other things belonging to her that we could be having fun with – but, eager to please her by doing anything she might enjoy, I’d complied.

She’d seemed to enjoy seeing me when I was stimulating myself, and smiled over at me as my hand pumped up and down my shaft. I worked up a fast, steady rhythm for her and smiled back at her, aroused once more; this time by the fact that she liked seeing a man wanking himself.

I pushed myself up so I was squatting in front of her, my fat hairy bollocks bobbing about in time with the rhythm of my hand. Again, she seemed to like seeing me pleasuring myself in that way, although she kept a safe distance from the slick, fattened head as my foreskin slid back and forth across it.

“Did you masturbate like this when you were a boy?” she asked.

I smiled. “Sometimes. But there was rather less to play with when I first started.”

I was beginning to enjoy the performance I was giving her and pumped my organ more quickly as if showing off for her what I’ve done to myself since puberty. I craned my neck downwards so my face was just above the head of my cock as a dribble of clear ooze seeped from my slit. I sniffed hungrily at the smell of my own sex. It had a subtle but undeniably sour tang and went well with the more odorous smell of sweat from my pubic hair and balls. I enjoyed the flavour and smiled at her as I sniffed at it to try and demonstrate its idiosyncratic appeal: it was a celebration of my maleness which at least one of us was able to appreciate.

Perhaps encouraged by seeing me like that, she reached forwards and put her hand on my swollen balls, steadying them as they bobbed up and down in time with my rhythm. She rubbed them gently and I quickened my wrist, pleased she was at last showing some interest in my genitals.

I pushed my free hand between her legs again and worked a few fingers back into her. I wanted her to enjoy this; to feel pleasure as she touched me, to try and rouse her to go further. She gasped at the sensation and then worked herself against onto my fingers, matching her speed and rhythm with the more dominant pacing of my hand beating up and down the thick shaft of my cock.

I think we both enjoyed that: harmonizing the very different elements of male and female masturbation. The delicate sliding of my fingers in and out of her contrasting spectacularly with the powerful thumping of my swollen erection. The fragrant balm of her wettening pussy mixing so beautifully with the sharp bite from my cock being wanked.

I thought I would surprise her in the middle of us fondling one another, by straining my neck further downwards and licking the oozing purple helmet of my erection. At first she’d been shocked – I’d expected her to be as most women are – but after the initial surprise, I thought she would laugh and marvel at my unusual gift. I knew well – after developing the confidence to reveal my talent to a few of my early girlfriends – that it’s something most men can’t do and that most women have never seen anything like it.

But Debbie didn’t even smile but instead had stared at me, incredulous, as I’d gently tongued my own organ by making circles back and forth across its throbbing and straining head.

After a few moments, she’d quietly commanded, “Don’t do that, Rob,” and I’d withdrawn my face sheepishly, feeling like a teenager who had been caught by his mother doing something improper.

I concealed the discomfort I felt at her reaction, and had instead kept masturbating the two of us while she fondled my balls, yanking my foreskin up and down and sliding my fingers back and forth between her legs.

Still squatting there, pumping my shaft in front of her, I suddenly knew what would really arouse me. I wanted to grab her wrist and push her hand behind my balls; to shove her fingers along the hairy, sweaty ridge between my splayed legs and then to force them up towards my areshole. I wanted to make her feel my sticky opening and see her shock as I grabbed a couple of her fingers to thrust them upwards through its delicate ring; I’d drive them deep into my hot, squalid bowels as I squatted there, bobbing up and down on her squelching hand.

How would that be for a contrast? Male and female penetration in stark opposition: her gently sliding herself back and forth against my fingers; me roughly slamming my own less refined orifice up and down onto her hand.

If she was so offended by the smell of my cock, I wondered how she would react to have her fingers slurping in and out of my arse; how appalled she would be when she sniffed my strongest and brashest odours. If she was so appalled by my genitals, how would she feel to watch me anally pleasuring myself, holding her hand steady as I frantically rode it, jerking my cock wildly in my unbridled excitement?

But of course I didn’t do such a thing: I would never be so inconsiderate or sexually aggressive.

I did try gently to guide her hand between my legs but she misinterpreted my motives and briefly touched my inner thighs instead before declaring them too hairy for her. I squatted lower down, trying to angle my bum towards her, but she was already a little apprehensive about fondling my balls and showed no inclination to explore what was behind them.

My backside clearly held no appeal for her. What was there out front was challenge enough.

“If you don’t like me licking my own cock,” I said, directing my organ towards her, “I assume that means you don’t want to lick it yourself?”

I wasn’t very keen on oral sex, but I was happy for her to use her tongue on me.

She said that she wouldn’t – she said there was already, just from its hardness at being masturbated, a spermy odour wafting from the slit – but she offered to lick my balls.

I was a little surprised, but readily agreed. I usually quite enjoy it when a woman does that to me.

She leaned forwards – I could see her wincing from the heavy lacing of sweat on my scrotum – and gently licked my fat, hairy balls as I continued masturbating.

Suddenly, again, I knew what I wanted to do to really excite me. I wanted push her face underneath my balls until her it was deep between my legs. I would hold her head there and straddle over her until her nose and mouth were level with my most delicious and odoriferous part. That would really get me going: feeling her snorting into my hairy, sweaty crack as my hot, sordid hole pressed down towards her mouth. I could probably climax with her face down there; especially if her tongue were to upwards and lick the straining rim of my anus.

I pushed myself forwards, hoping she might be willing to lick behind my balls so that I could gently, almost imperceptibly, work my arsehole towards her mouth. Although the smells of my genitals – indeed any such evidence of my male biology – seemed repugnant to her, I had a faint hope that she might somehow enjoy the more carnal and robust tastes I was able to offer her. There was a distant chance that, even though the combined odours of sweat, testosterone and precum were so offensive to her, she might be curious enough to push herself forwards and appreciate fully the most pungent and uncouth part of my body.

But she was oblivious to such attractions: however I repositioned myself, she moved with me to keep her focus on my balls; the darker and more animal flavours between my legs seemed, as I’d expected, totally devoid of any appeal.

Later, after I’d worked my tongue between her legs and had been enthralled at how strong she tasted in the flesh and how freely her juices seeped into my mouth, we’d made love gently in the light of the candles and with the scent of patchouli heavy from the oil burners. It was great to feel my cock inside a woman again – especially one whose vagina was so spaciously accommodating to my size – and to feel that there might, perhaps, be hope for the two of us: that this could be the real beginning of what could become a burgeoning romance.

But even then, in that most intense of states, part of my body was feeling left out. Although I’d never involved my backside in sex with a woman my whole life, right then it had never felt more neglected. Perhaps I’d grown so used to thinking of my bum as an extension of my genitals, it now felt profoundly remiss not to include it in our lovemaking.

I wanted Debbie to reach round and finger me as I fucked her. She was grabbing at my back and I kept trying to push her hands down towards my buttocks, but she was determined to avoid my rear at all costs and would persistently reach back up to my shoulders.

So instead, I began to construct fantasies of my own as we worked up a rhythm together, our bodies moving in unison to the beat of my cock sliding in and out of her. I imagined that she’d lied about being divorced and that her husband would walk in and catch me on top of her. Enraged and compelled to express his dominance over this man who was ravaging his wife, he’d pull his erection out from his fly and climb on the bed behind me. His cock would be huge: it was as if he was the one who had turned her off well-endowed men. Still thrusting in and out of his wife, my flexing arse would be roughly impaled by his long, thick phallus as he forced my shins apart with his knees. Then he’d grab me by the shoulders and ram himself in and out of my obscenely stretched hole, buggering me as his wife’s adulterous lover until even the patchouli couldn’t cover the profane stench of my debasement. And I’d grin at her as my gaping arsehole was so brutally ravaged by her husband’s tree-trunk cock, filling her with my seed as his own massive balls released spurt after spurt of his thick, burning cum into my bowels.

I’d climaxed with that thought in my head and had kept pumping, sloshing around in my own copiously-filled condom, until Debbie had achieved her own orgasm or at least had pretended to.

As we’d cleaned up, Debbie had asked me if I could put my underwear back on before we slept.

I said it would be nice for us to sleep naked together but she’d muttered, “Sorry, Rob, but your sperm smells so strong.”

I’d offered to wash it off – I’m well aware of how powerful my semen smells, but she went on, “And… you know… when you’re asleep you’ll get hard-ons… and… well… your helmet and your dribble… I’ll smell it on myself all tomorrow…”

So I’d silently pulled on my dirty underwear, wishing I was less fastidious about cleanliness so there’d be a dirty great skid mark on the back of them to offend her sensibilities.

And now I was lying awake, mulling over the sex we’d had, wondering if there was any point in us meeting up again.

She’d admitted she had issues, but what could they be? She’d enjoyed it when I’d made love to her – had cried out with the feel of my cock inside her – so why was so uptight about my size and my male odours? I don’t see myself as a particularly whiffy man – except for my semen, of course – so why did she have such a problem with me?

More worrying than that though, my cock was still throbbing, and I wondered if it was dissatisfied with the vaginal sex it had experienced. Perhaps my sexual needs had been transformed over the last few months: maybe anal stimulation was now just as important to me as what I did with my penis.

Would sex with a woman – even a normal woman without all this secretive baggage – ever be the same again?

I looked over at her alarm clock over the other side of the bed. It was ten past three. This was going to be a long night.

===

I’d showered the next morning while Debbie was still sleeping, and had coated myself in all the gels, balms and deodorants I could find. It obviously worked in my favour because, in spite of how rough I looked from the paltry amount of sleep I’d managed to get, she let me make love to her again.

This time she only commented that my cock “didn’t suit” me. She obviously thought I’d be better off with some stubby pencil-sized dick and a pair of frozen pea balls. Maybe she’d have been right: maybe I would have been happier if I’d developed that way.

After leaving her house, I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror as I waited at some traffic lights. Jesus, I looked like death warmed up. Tonight was the night of the office Christmas party and I’d really wanted to look my best, as good as that is, and yet here I was with about as much allure as a down-and-out.

I decided I’d head home and phone work with an excuse about car trouble. I needed at least of couple of hours kip to recover myself.

===

After sleeping until noon, I had a bath and a large mug of strong coffee to wake myself up. I looked considerably better than I had first thing and I now felt I was in a fit state to meet whoever it was who Cameron was going to fix me up with at the party.

I tidied my bedroom up a bit – it was likely that a man was going to be sleeping alongside me that night (how amazing was that?!) – and put fresh sheets on the bed. I certainly wouldn’t be asking my new friend to sleep with his underwear on: if I smelt of his nocturnal hard-ons all the next day, I would quite enjoy the fact.

Checking in my drawer, I realised I’d need to buy a few new packs of condoms on the way over to work but I knew a chemist en route which usually had my size in stock.

I didn’t go in for candles and oil burners. I might if and when Debbie came over to stay for the night, but not when I was planning to hook up with another bloke. With a man, I wanted our encounter to be under the glare of the overhead light – I wanted to see him in all his hairy and muscular glory – and the only smell I wanted in the room was the intoxicating stink of our male-to-male sex.

After spending an evening with Debbie, I felt like I needed something rough and dirty: I wanted my face in a guy’s arse and I wanted to see it and smell it in full explicit detail as I did so. I wanted his cum all over me; his big, sweaty balls in my mouth. I wanted his cock up my arse, and mine up his; and I wanted to watch the two of us rutting together in my full-length mirror, our cocks rock hard for each other and our arseholes gaping.

We were going to have sex together as a pair of horny men, and I was going to make sure that this time, afterwards, my cock would definitely not be still hard.

===

Next story: Getting Together

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We continued to ride in the wet heat away from hazy commerce. Big Daddy sped down Highway 45, passing cars belching contributions to the choking heat, to where light and man bent to the heat’s will. We edged toward our destination until the highway changed to two thick asphalt straps overlaying cattle country, where farms and ranches patched the earth like a quilt and where faded houses and barns stood exhausted against a sky of growing blue.

Big Daddy pulled his Harley (he thought newer cars and SUVs were for, in his words, “Milquetoast panty waste”) onto a gravel road and wound around to one of the faded houses with an adjacent red and rusting barn. He stopped in a cloud of gravel dust, propped the Harley, and removed his glasses to blow them clear. With the sun only slightly left of vertical, a solitary bird and a few bees fled our commotion. I didn’t know exactly where we were, nor did I know why we had come. My fear prompted me to ask.

“Just shut up and stay here,” Daddy threw over his shoulder in a tone that sounded almost angry, and although he had never backed his anger with violence, I never tested his limits. He walked to the back, and after a while I heard the sound of the front door opening.

“Get in here and piss if you need to.” I shaded my eyes and saw his expression hadn’t changed. His gray eyes held a resolve that I didn’t understand. I went in, leaving the question to the birds and insects.

**So finally, he’s treating me like my other daddy. ** The thought flashed in my mind: an alert to disappointment, a movement toward distress. Other thoughts followed: **He just wants me around for his own pleasure; to worship my youth; to indulge my slender, hairless body; and to monopolize my need to please him.** But I pushed away the thoughts as quickly as they spoke. I wonder what I did, or said, to make him want to do this. After telling him about my first daddy, why had I ended up in the same situation?

I decided to wait to see what happened.

** First rule: never be seen with a man almost half your age. ** I couldn’t stop the awful thoughts.

It had been eight months and I hadn’t met his family. No man wanted to be in the position of explaining his “indiscretions,” especially indiscretions with a younger man. He had to hide, I guessed, dirty little secrets like me.

I didn’t want to see him again after this. He said he was my daddy; he said he would never hurt or humiliate me; and he said he understood what I had been through. And I believed him. I wondered how I could have trusted Big Daddy so, because up to now, he had been so kind, so gentle, and so loving. My heart was sinking, so I took a deep breath and waited for his instructions.

He wouldn’t catch my gaze, another sign that maybe I was going to be punished, perhaps by his withholding sex. He had never punished me with sex before. How could I have been so blind? I felt like such a fool. I easily could have walked away, but now I was in the middle of nowhere, and nowhere extended for miles.

“Get undressed, fold your clothes and leave them on the bed in there” he said, moving toward the back entrance with a large gym bag and pointing to a back bedroom. “Then put on everything laid out on the bed. Everything.”

The emphatically stressed “everything” had me more than worried. Now I was downright scared.

I turned to go, but stopped with angry tears warming my eyes, “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on, Big Daddy?”

“Go, boy,” he said pointing his finger again toward the room and backing it with a scowl on his face. I wanted to see^×I needed to see^×his eyes, but he averted them before I could see the truth or the absence of it.

I hoped he had brought alcohol and that “Robin Trower” CD I liked so much.

I thought it funny how irrelevant thoughts entered my mind when my soul refused to acknowledge external insanity. Yet, I reasoned that with the soothing music and a punch in the face from “Jose Cuervo”, I would be numb by the time Big Daddy’s breath kissed my neck and his thick cock seared my ass. Yes, by that time, I would be too numb to care^×I needed not to care.

In the room, furnished as if an elderly woman slept there, I stood staring at the items on the bed for more than a few seconds to let their existence sink in. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: four cuffs, a neck collar, a full-body harness, complete with butt-plug holster, and a blindfold.

Next to the butt-plug and its harness was a note:

“Put these on, in order, starting from your left. When you put the blindfold on, sit in the chair next to the door and wait. Do not talk when I arrive. Only answer when you are addressed. If you do not want to do this, sit in the chair until I arrive. If you put the items on and decided that you can’t go through with it, you will have the opportunity to say so when I ask. If in any case, you decline, I will take you back to town.

BUT AFTER THAT YOU CAN NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN. Now choose, boy.”

I let the paper fall to the bed and stared at the items. I truly loved him, and now it time to show Big Daddy that I was the boy I said I was. I really didn’t know what he needed to find out. On the other hand, this was a side of Big Daddy that I had never seen, and as scary as it was, I didn’t want to lose him.

There wasn’t much time before he returned. I picked up the note and read the last line: “Now, choose, boy.”

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I lay there, wishing it were me getting hard fucked by Todd’s cock. Wanting him to bury it in my ass and fill me with his hot juices. I stroked my own hard cock under the covers until I groaned myself, coming forcefully in my hand. I quickly brought my cummy hand to my mouth and sucked the hot juices in, tasting the sweetness of my juices, licking my hand clean.

I could hear some gasps from the other side of the wall as Todd unloaded his man juices into the lucky one lying under his assault… then some whispering and soon, another Counselor, Carl slipped out of the room and out the side door. So, Carl is a puss boy, just like me, I thought…an older version for sure, but someone who loved getting it up the ass as much as I did.

I lay there, horny for cock, still tasting the sweet boy cum from my self — feeding and finally fell asleep.

The next morning during our swim session, I swam over to the side of the dock and hung on to it, between Todd’s legs as he sat there, his feet dangling in the water..

“What’s your problem Corey?”

“Just tired.. Couldn’t get to sleep last night, lay awake for quite a while.

It was really hard… I paused and looked right into his eyes and then down to his cock…for me to get to sleep.. “

Todd looked at me for a long minute and smiled. I smiled back. Then I looked back at his now growing cock, showing me its red tip from under his loose swim trunks. I licked my lips., my eyes riveted to his manhood. “I hope you can help me with that problem tonight…?”

Todd lifted his shorts away from his beautiful hard cock so I could get a full look at his powerful hard on. . “Count on it, Corey! If you want this, it is ready for you” I wanted to reach up and suck him off right there.

“I want it deep inside my boypussy and I want it bad,” I whispered and then swam away before I came in my trunks.

As soon as everyone was down for the night, Todd came out his door and quietly motioned for me to go into his room. Once in there, he had me strip naked and sat on the bed, checking my body out. I was almost hairless and my cut cock, almost 6 inches long..Not bad for a kid my age, was hard as a rock. He reached out and pulled me to him, and quickly engulfed my cock, his hands firmly holding me by the cheeks of my small ass and began to suck me hard and rapidly. I groaned with pleasure as he made my whole body tingle with that special feeling that comes with such emotional joy.

Todd turned us both to the bed and laid me down. He pulled off my cock, stepped over to the table, brought a tube of lube back with him, and stripped out of his clothes. His body was magnificent, tan from head to toe.

His cock was half again the thickness and length of mine. He lifted me up from my prone position and offered his cock to me. I quickly began to suck on it, holding the root of his cock by both hands. I was amazed that he was already dripping with precum and I lapped it up as I sucked and stroked his cock into my mouth.

He could tell that I was not new to cock-sucking and took my head in both hands and began pushing it into me, deeper with each stroke. I eased my body into a position so I could take it down my throat and he moaned as his cock slid easily in, until my nose was in his bush.

The next few minutes were like a dream as he face fucked me and I held on to his heavy balls, massaging them, begging them for their juices.. Todd could not stop and was now full stroking me, pulling almost out and then sliding it all the way down as I greedily sucked and moaned with delight..

Then he began to pick up speed, all but tearing out my hair as he fucked my whole head, ramming it deep as it could go and arching into me with a lustful cry and then his hot cum blew down into me. I pulled back so I could get more of it in my mouth and my lips. He pulled out and let the last hot spurts hit my face and I caught as much as I could with an open mouth…grinning up at him. My whole face was covered in his fire hot love juice.

I jerked on his still hard cock to get the last bits of his juices and then he lifted me up to his face and our lips came together, our tongues searching deeply as we shared the heat and wetness of his lovemaking.

He laid me back on the bed and began to suck on my cock again now, spreading my legs and squeezing some of the lube from the tube on the crack of my ass, sucking and fingering me now. I spread my legs and pushed my cock up to his mouth humping against him, mewing as his fingers began to enter my boy hole and crying with little gasping sobs as he began to deep finger fuck me…. Oh so good.

I was in love with his fingers as they found my prostate and began to massage it as his mouth now engulfed my cock, little balls and all and my cum built up inside me.. I moaned as he worked me over, he now had three fingers inside me, lifting my whole ass up to his mouth and I thrashed around as the cum broke loose from my swollen cock and filled his hungry mouth with my boycum, my own sweetness.

I had barely unloaded in his mouth when he flipped me onto my belly, ass up and face down in the sheets, legs spread wide. I was more than ready to be fucked. He knelt between them and raced to replace his fingers with his swollen cock.

There was no foreplay as he pressed his cock against the open lips of my hole and shoved it in with a savage lunge. I grunted loudly from the strength of his forced entry and felt the length of his hardness fill my ass with cock. He pulled back and lunged again, slamming his body into mine as I took the whole length inside. I could feel his cock in my belly and then I went into my special outer space as he began to rape my ass with his power and force, slapping his balls against my own as he power fucked me. My whole body jolted with every lunge of his body into mine.

No one had ever fucked me with such force before, not my grandfather or any of his old friends he shared me with. Not my scoutmaster and not any of the others.

This fuck was all mine. Mine alone and this bull stud was fucking me the way I dreamed of being fucked. I was slammed into the bed over and over, bouncing around alike a rag doll as he went deeper, harder and with more energy than I could believe possible.

It seemed like an eternity of fucking… Todd had endurance and since he had already given me his first load orally, took his time with my ass. Several times, he stopped and lay on me, resting, flexing his cock inside my tight sleeve.

Now he turned me over and around, cock still deep inside and I was facing him, legs wrapped around his waist, mouths joined together in deep passion, tongues entwined and I was sliding up and down his hard shaft.. Now his lips

were sucking on the hard nipples of my tits and I was pushed down on my back and my legs lifted over his shoulders and the real fucking began, so hard and deep I struggled to breathe.

His whole body was pivoting off my ass and his cock and it felt like his cock was going into my chest as he pounded into me with a violent energy that kept growing until he arched powerfully against me and began grunting as he filled my insides with hot lava, jolt after jolt of heat and wetness.

His juices were coming out of my ass as he pulled up for each full length ramming jolt of hard juicy cock

Finally, he was quiet, his cock still buried to the balls and he held us like that for a few moments before rolling down on me and over onto his back. Now I lay on him, cock still in me and lay my head on his heaving chest, licking his nipples, as he lay there with is eyes closed. Fully fucked, full of cum in my belly and my sweetboycunt… content and satisfied..

We slept for a while like that and I woke up to the hardness of his aroused cock still clamped tight inside my tight love sleeve. His lips were all over my face and mouth and I smiled at him, sitting up on his cock, pushing down, making a squishing sound from all the juices as I pushed hard against his body and began to dance a slow dance on his rigid pole…writhing back and forth and to the side, as he groaned and lay back, willing to let me do the work this time. Grandpa called this riding the pony and I was soon at a gallop, riding up and down that hard baby, so wet and easy now that it had so much cum to grease it with.

Todd was now pushing hard against me as I rode his cock faster and deeper and his hands now had me by the ass and we went to that special place again where time stopped and the essence of our love making brought us into a oneness, a love being that transcended space and time and then came the love juices again. His heat was filling me up and the juices were running out my hole and down my legs and into his cock hair and balls as he filled me with his love. Somewhere in all of it, my cock spurt out juices across his chest and face and we finally fell into each other again and slept, entwined until morning.

When I finally stepped out of his room, my 5 roommates were standing there looking at me, obviously knowing what had happened, little smiles from the corners of their open mouths. I still had dried cum all over my face and chest and down my legs. I stepped past them to the shower room and buried myself in the stream of hot water cleaning off my body. Two of them stepped into the shower with me and pressed their small cocks against me. Nothing was said, but the meaning was obvious. The others stood just outside the spray and watched.

I bent over, motioned for the bigger of the two to come behind me, and helped him enter my cummy ass. His wet cock felt good as it slid in to the hilt in my well lubed ass. Then I reached out to the other boy who still holding onto his cock, had him stand in front of my face, and took his cock into my mouth. Two pushes and it was buried to the balls. Soon they were doing it to me with the fresh energies of new beginnings and I knew it was going to be a long, fun two week camp… The three other campers were standing there waiting their turns and I knew I was in Summer camp slut heaven.

Write if you like… maybe tell me a little about your own story of finding yourself as a young slut.. or wanting to be.

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Chief Robert Gilmore, a crusty 26-year veteran of the army, my daddy-boyfriend of eight months, stood his 6-foot, 8-inch stockiness in my door, and shadowed me in coolness. “Let’s go,” he ordered, standing with paws on hips, his crew cut looking as severe as his expression. A daily runner, Big Daddy still carried around a paunch that for me only added to his handsomeness–the quintessential daddy.

“Let’s go where? Let’s go where, Big Daddy?” I craned my head to search his glassy green eyes, only made so by pain medication he took for a war wound. He never talked about the wound or the war. I never pushed.

(Something about him made me boyish–I was about to turn twenty-five–and that same something made me want to succeed for him.)

“You’ll see, boy,” he said with a tone signaling annoyance under control. Secretly, I liked his tone, a bear-like grumble, mostly;

but if I made him ornery, the grumbled turned to a growl, which signaled I had ruffled his fur.

Grabbing my hand, Big Daddy pulled me toward the car, only stopping long enough for me to lock my apartment. As soon as I got in the car, he stopped me with instructions: “Don’t ask `cause I’m not tellin’ (He said that in his growling voice).” As we rode to this secret destination, Big Daddy continually looked at me.

“What, Big Daddy?” I asked in “laddy,” tone of voice.

He grabbed my leg, squeezed a bit hard, and looked at me while his tongue slowly slid warmly over his bottom lip. Maybe at that moment, I had turned into a fresh kill or a delectable feast. Then in his daddy bear-ready-for-sex voice, guttural and gravelly, he finally said,

“You’re just a damn hot boy, that’s all.” But he paid the complement with his eyes on the road.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

His expression remained even. I looked at him, his bushy mustache, the salt and cinnamon crew cut, and a fleshy face over a square jaw–so handsome. Although we had only been together eight months, I started to believe I loved him, and more damaging, as this sudden trip proved, perhaps, too soon, I had fallen (again) for a man who was more attracted to my youth and than my character. My last daddy was–it almost destroyed me.

On the other hand, I didn’t sense that with Big Daddy, and although I was waiting for him to use me and send me away, I would have admitted to anyone that I wanted to be in a long-term relationship with him. I loved his body, a daddy’s body: his handsome face, his meatiness, and the hair all over his body; I loved the way my body fit snuggly into his embrace; and I especially love the secure and warm feeling I get when he teaches me life, love, and sex lesson. (I’m sure he doesn’t think he does.) Just thinking of the possibilities a future with him, remembering our passionate nights, and having him near to me made in the care made me hard. Keeping my cock from tenting my gym shorts was difficult so I just folded my arms and pressed my cock down to straining.

I was becoming as anxious as he seemed to be about our destination. We rode on in semi-silence. In the humid Houston sun, he took Highway 45 to an unfamiliar exit and followed the frontage road to a La Quinta. It was the end of hazy commerce and cars mozied along 45 like longhorns in a weary herd. But this was the future, and this was a herd of stop and go traffic, all belching contributions to the stifling heat. In the waning day of commerce we edged toward our destination until the La Quinta stood faded and exhausted against a sky fuzzed in baked pollution. Big Daddy pulled his Electra 225 (he thought newer cars were for

“milquetoast-panty stains. “Stay here,” he said and patted me on the leg. I really loved my daddy, but bring me to a La Quinta had me a little worried.

“Why are we–“?

“Just shut up and stay here.” Daddy said in mild anger. He had never supported his anger with violence but I was a good boy and knew when to obey. Yes, he was being stern with me, but I liked that about him, too. He came back with a key, got in the car, and said nothing as we drove to the back.

So finally, he’s treating me like my other daddy. The thought flashed in my mind, an ad of disappointment, and movement of subliminal distress.

He just wants me around for his own pleasure, to worship my youth, to indulge my slender, hairless body, and monopolize my yearning to please him.

Maybe I deserved it for my disobedience, my inability to get involved with older guys who really loved me, but I never thought I would end up in the same situation. I decided to wait to see what happened. After telling him about my first daddy, I never dreamed he would treat me the same. I wonder what I did, or said, to make him want to do this.

We drove to the backside of the building. It seemed the perfect room: one away from the street, a room to hide forbidden desires. First rule: never be seen with a man almost half your age. It had been eight months and I had never met his family. No man wanted to be in the position of explaining his “indiscretions,” especially indiscretions with a younger man. He had to hide dirty little secrets like me.

The room was larger than it looked from the outside. Well, at least this place was a step up from some dirty motel. I didn’t want to see him again after this. He said he was my daddy; he said he would never hurt me or humiliate me; and now he was doing just that. I wondered how I could have trusted Big Daddy so, because up to now, he had been so kind, so gentle, and so loving. My heart was sinking, so I took a deep breath and waited for his instructions.

He wouldn’t catch my gaze, another sign that maybe I was going to be punished; he had never punished me with sex before, and up to now, he was tender when we made love. How could I have been so blind? I felt like such a fool. I could easily just walk away, but I wanted to be sure about him.

“Go get undressed,” he said, putting down a large gym bag and drawing the curtains.

Glumly, I headed to the bathroom, but stopped in anger, “I’ll do this but I don’t want to see you again.”

“Just get in the bathroom,” he said, still without looking at me. I wanted to see–I needed to see–his eyes; I needed to see truth in them.

As I prepared in the bathroom, I heard the increasing volume of Robin Trower’s In City Dreams playing from the other room. Hey, that’s my favorite song. Well, maybe it would help take the sting from the situation: music to soothe the increasing hurt welling up in me.

Except for a slit of light angled across the bed, the room was dark. Big Daddy stood in the far corner dressed in chaps, a harness, and a leather vest. On his head, he wore a hat with a small metal shield centered at the hat’s peak. A glint of light bounced off it as he passed the angled light.

“Okay, boy,” he said huskily, “it’s time to fulfill your fantasy.”

My smile widened. He remembered. This was not some horrible moment of seedy, selfish sex, and he wasn’t treating me like my other lover had. He had been listening to a fantasy I shared months ago while we talked late into the night. I was more than impressed, I was grateful.

“Come here, boy.” The coolness of the room vanished when I walked into his warm and fuzzy arms. Then he pushed me away. I fell across the bed and waited with a mixture fear and excitement growing in my stomach, but when the first heavy THWACK! stung into my flesh, the feat vanished. Another followed, and another, and another…until my ass burned hotly and my cock strained from the desire.

“You need to learn, boy!” THWACK! came another painful but gloriously heavy, flat hand on my ass. “You need to understand your Big Daddy!” THWACK!

I oozed precum into the sheets and squirmed under his discipline, and as the pain grew more intense, I raised my ass up to meet his hand: I wanted it harder; I wanted my ass redder; I needed his discipline, because for me, in that discipline there was caring, there was love, there was security.

Pulling to sitting, he sat beside me and pushed me over his hairy legs, their warmth in the cool room made my cock stiffen more. He positioned me so that his leg separated my cock from my balls, so that my cock laid flat on the thick of his leg, and so that my ass pushed out to be fingered. But first he rubbed the burning flesh of my butt, kneading each cheek and tracing a finger lightly along my hole. (Love calling my sphincter my hole; it sounds so erotic to me. Big Daddy calls it

“hole” in such a way that it makes my cock jump.

“Now, boy, is this what you wanted?” he asked, soothing rubbing my ass, lightly brushing the long hairs around my hole.

“Yeah, Big Daddy, my butt is just stinging.” I lay across his lap savoring the pleasure-pain of his spanking, savoring the discipline of a caring daddy.

Then suddenly he grabbed my hair, pulled me from his lap, and shoved me belly up on the bed. “Yeah, I remembered, boy; I remembered everything you said.

How treating you like the slut you are made you hot and made your cock rock hard. How get hot licks on that round boy-ass made you want to do anything for your daddy. Remember, boy? Remember how you said you wanted a man, dressed in leather, to knock you around some and discipline you like the boy pig you want to be? Remember?”

Big Daddy’s face had turned red, but not with anger, with emotion, with passion, and desire, which showed in straining, venous cock, it purplish head spearing strength and masculinity, spearing aggression, spearing need. Big Daddy looked down at me with an expression I’d never seen before–one sinister intentions and sweet vulnerability, changing from one to the other as if he wanted to grant my fantasy but had misgivings. But why he would have second thoughts, I couldn’t say.

“So are you ready for it? Well, are you?” The questions hissed from his lips and a sneer twisted his lips. He was scaring me.

“Yeah, Big Daddy,” I said but the truth wasn’t in my voice.

Did he hear the fear? I wanted this fantasy but I wasn’t prepared to its reality: Big Daddy’s aggression, my hesitant surrender.

Experiencing Big Daddy’s total dominance didn’t appear as erotic as the porno movies I had watched, nor did I fearlessly surrender as the slaves in the movie had. I didn’t know that I would react with fear.

“Be careful what you ask for; you just might get more than you want, boy,” he growled.

Didn’t he remember that this was a fantasy? Didn’t he understand that maybe I didn’t really know what I wanted? And didn’t he know that I didn’t truly understand what a master-slave entailed? I didn’t know what to do or what to say, but I didn’t want to dissapoint my Big Daddy, so I was prepared to do whatever he wanted–no matter what.

He raised his hands to my shoulders, the battle of misgiving still twisting his face, and roughly pushed me to my knees. Even though the room was carpet, pain spike in my knees as soon as they hit the floor.

“Now, show me how much you love your daddy.”

“Yes sir.” I said, remember that a good slave always preceded and succeeded responses with “sir.” At that moment, looking at his towering bulk, I realized I truly loved him. My trembling hands tweaked his large nipples before trailing through the thick fur of his chest and following the soft trail to his pubes.

I smelled soap mixed with his manly scent and the muskiness of his crevices. The bulbous head of his cock tapped under my chin, and when I freed his ox bow of cock, it bent north. I loved seeing it thickness, the strength of it, the great power exhibited in its full expansion.

His low hangers, breathing their own erotic rhythms, laid heavy and solid in my palms. I licked them, and watched their contracting dances. “Suck

`em, pig,” Big Daddy sneered,” and I obeyed, no longer in fear but in eagerness to please. “Now, suck this one. Yeah, like that.” I guess that I was doing it right, because he grabbed a hand full of my hair and clamped me down over it. “Yeah, pig, yeah; now, the other, the other, damn it. Suck on the other one. ” I couldn’t protest because he held my head in his crotch with his left nut still in my mouth. But I did mumble loud enough for him to realized that he had me pinned

“Okay, that’s enough on that one, no the other one, pig. Suck it, yeah that it.” I sucked other into my mouth and put my head back in his crotch. I had learned that it turned me on; my cock throbbed at Big Daddy’s rough treatment and the orders he gave me. And although I didn’t know exactly why the rough treatment and the humiliating language excited me so, but I did know I didn’t want him to stop.

The disapproving, sinister sneer Big Daddy wore earlier had been replaced by drowsy pleasure as he nodded approval at my work. “Aaaaah, yeaah, that’s my slave boy.” After I while, I leaned in to put my nose under his balls to smell his hypnotic musk. His cockhead, bullishly purple, produced a steady flow of precum in the slit–glistening proof of sweet desire. Looking up, I met a gaze that melted me into pleasure and comfort: no sneer, no disapproving glare, but I saw sweet vulnerability.

I realized in the glance that my daddy was no master and I was no slave;

that he was only trying to bring about a fantasy for me–however misguided it seemed to him; and that I understood he was doing these things to please me–to please me. The words resounded in my ear as I released his balls and leaned away enough to look of the hair mountain that was his body.

Filled with admiration and gratitude, the singular thought, the overwhelming drive was to show him how much appreciation I felt at the realization, and I said as much, My eyes wide, the perspiration glistening my forehead, I had to tell him. “Let me show you my appreciation, Big Daddy,” I said with a bit of lust fogging my voice.

Cupping my head, he said, “Show me boy, show your Big Daddy.”

I flicked my tongue over his bullish cock head and watched it horn even higher. Big Daddy moaned louder and breathed out a heady sigh.

“Hmmmmm, that’s my boy; show Big Daddy your appreciation.” Sensing he no longer had to be master, his posture relaxed; his squared shoulders eased; and softness came to his voice, one of a mentor, a protector, a confidante–and yeah, even a father. He threw his head back, rolled it from side to side.

I traced my tongue along underside of his cock, on the highly sensitive knot of flesh and veins. After a while, I moved to his balls (Big Daddy loves his balls sucked), and with alternate gentleness and pressure, I sucked in his balls, flicked at them with my tongue, then traced his shaft back to the head. With his cock now into my mouth, I sucked with pressure, before tracing the other side of his shaft back down to his balls where, again, I sucked in one and then the other. I did this several times as I listened to Big Daddy, “Oh yeah, boy, you know how suck Big Daddy’s cock. Keep it up, boy; keep it up.”

“Yes, Big Daddy,” I said after a breath, only happy to obey.

I traced back to his cockhead and slowly polished it with my tongue, flicking and kissing it with my tongue, rubbing over it, under it, and slathering it with spit–all of these movements made Big Daddy shiver

. Then I surprised him by taking his cock all the way into my throat, holding and pulsating it there in the warm wet folds. Absent of a gag reflect, I massaged his cock with my throat muscles. The sensation made Big Daddy push his pelvis forward, first slowly, lovingly, then faster with increasing tempo. I held on for as long as I could but had to catch my breath. His cock was an enormous, curving spear of excitement. “I have to breath, Big Daddy; you’re so big.”

“Yeah, boy, but you can take it?” His question was more a dare than anything, so I took a deep breath and slid my mouth over his glistening cockhead, deliciously inviting, it dark purple muzzle shining in the half-light. “Ooooooh, boy, suck that cocks. Damn, that’s good.” As I pointed for Big Daddy to move to the bed, he grabbed my head to release his cock but I shook my head no. I wanted him to move with me still on his cock. The thought made me ooze more precum, and I felt my balls crawl a little farther into me.

Big Daddy moved slowly toward the bed, but the image of crawling on my knees as he backed to the bed made his cock throb in my mouth. He stopped a moment and rotated his pelvis this way and that, then pumped fucked my mouth as he watch his fat horn disappear up to the balls and reappear just past the edge of his cock head.

I gently pressed a thumb against his hole and rubbed his taint while I gave great attention to his cock and balls. His hands took my head and slid it back and forth over his cock. Big Daddy’s shaft, held stiffer by a studded cockring, began to turn a light shade of purple as it gorged with blood. Looking to the ceiling, he searched for a glimpse of Heaven;

then looking down, he smiled, licked his lips, and rolled his head from side to side.

Seeing his excitement only encouraged me to take more of cock into my mouth, and after a while, I managed to bury my face in his pubes. He held cock in my throat and massaged it as long as I could. The feeling drove Big Daddy wild.

He rubbed my head and encouraged, “You give your daddy such good head, such really gooood head.” And when he gently he removed his cock, I watch it flop against his belly. “But you gotta take it easy on Big Daddy, or I’ll cum,” he said and pulled me up to a loving kiss.

In the darkness we kissed and explored each other’s bodies. I lay my head in the silky grayness of his chest hairy, held his massive torso against me, and felt warm love radiate between us. His heart beat, the warmth of his chest and stomach, and smelled the mustiness of crevices made me hold tightly to him.

I felt the flexing of his back muscles, grazed in the hairiness there, and let my hands fall to his solid and hairy ass. Big Daddy felt so good against me. His massively pink body against my mocha brown one. Our contrasts I have always held as a superb example of the yin- yang of life. And every time I looked at Big Daddy, I felt he loved me.

He rubbed his callous hands over my hairless skin, then pushed me to arm’s length to look at my thin body, to look into my large eyes, and to see my cock flop against my stomach as his did. Running his hands down my back, he stopped to cup my brown bottom. Taking my cheeks in both his hands, parting them with loving tenderness, he kneaded their roundness and smoothness with enormous fingers. And while slipping a thick finger between my cheeks, he whispered, “You have such a lovely ass, boy; it’s such a sweet treasure. You are my hot man-boy . . .

I love you, David. Don’t you know that?” I looked up to find tears in his eyes, and at seeing them, tears flowed from my own as I said, “Yes, Big Daddy, I finally know.”

He said the words, the words I had been waiting to hear, and that made me hug him tighter, made he reach up his hairy back and pull as much of him to me as I could. “I love you too, Big Daddy. Please remember that.” Then we parted and moved away to get the things we would need for making sweet, manly love.

“I want you to let the covers down while I get out of this stuff,” he said. I don’t want anything between us, `cept maybe for my cockring. I need that to keep hard and give you a good ride, boy.”

“Okay, Big Daddy.” I almost sang the words gleefully.

“Now get into Big Daddy’s favorite position.”

I got on my back and placed my legs under my arms. “Like this, Big Daddy?”

“Yeah, that’s the one, boy.” Big Daddy lay between my legs and I put my arms about his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. He cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me. Looking deeply into my eyes, he searched for permission, or perhaps a truth. Whatever the reason, he must have found it because he smiled and hugged me with the tightest, but most passionate, hug I had ever experienced, followed by the deepest and most sensual kiss he had ever given me.

We entwined in the passion of our longing as Big Daddy whispered aggressive proposals, mixed with gentle urgings, in my ear. My body tingled in his embraced as we rolled back and forth in a seemingly endless twist of kisses, embraces, and caresses.

“Raise you legs, boy, Big Daddy want to come in.”

I put my legs back under my arms, but stopped suddenly, “What about a con–“

. I smiled comfort when I heard the familiar tear of the packet and helped him roll the condom onto the hardest cock I had ever seen him achieve. The shaft had grown as dark as the head and steady flow of precum had made its way down its length. And just as I thought he would roughly raise my hips and plunge in, he stretched out, belly down, held my butt up, and took my balls into his mouth. I gently stroked my cock in satin pleasure. A man of his size, his capable of his violence, exhibited such tenderness, mixed with strength, and thoughtfulness mixed with compassion.

He remembered I liked my balls sucked, too. Oh God, did he remember.

“Oooo, Big Daddy, it feels so good.” Going from my cock to my balls, he sucked gently with added pressure as he watched my responses. I arched my back and closed my eyes to see comets approach from the distant darkness in my mind.

“I know, boy. You thought I was just going to get my nut and leave you to get your own, didn’t you?” He asked between sucks and slurps.

“Well, I’m not that ungrateful bastard you knew before. Am I boy?”

“Oh, no . . . no, Big Daddy.” He sucked some more, then added,

“Don’t cum, now, `cause if you do, I’ll have to get a strap to you.” Then a wide grin stretched his face and he went back to work.

He flicked the hairs on my taint and blew kisses at my rosebud that began to contract and expand. I felt a slippery finger play with it as Big Daddy traced the folds of delicate flesh, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. And as he slowly pushed his finger farther in, he just as slowly retreated, causing me to lick my lips in ecstasy.

“I’m getting your butt ready for my big white cock, boy. You like my big white cock, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do, Big Daddy, I really do.”

“Tell me you want this big white cock, tell me boy.”

“I want your big white cock, Big Daddy; give it to me.”

“Not yet boy, I have some more work to do on your sweet little ass.”

He played with my butt for what seems an eternity, making my cock jumped and lurched with every pass of his finger. I felt his thumbs play with my butt, slightly stretching and massing it, and causing me to relax and open with ease. “You’re getting’ there, boy. You’re opening that hole for Big Daddy.”

Then I felt it: His wet tongue. It slathered my ass, flick back and forth over the folds, and turn my tight hole into a blossoming flower. I murmured, then grasped and released the bed linen to handle the excitement. It felt wonderful, gentle, and caring. He blew on my little rose, spit coolly on it, and sent shiver over my body.

His efforts tingled, felt tender, and felt so soft that I had to ease my impending orgasm. His tongue came back to my balls and licked between each one, on up to my cock, and then moved to the head, where he slurped it into his mouth.

“Your other daddy didn’t know the passion in you, boy. I see you haven’t had this type of treatment before, boy.”

“No, Big Daddy, not like this. Not . . . like . . . this.”

Big Daddy rose to reveal a rock hard and pulsing cock that jumped and lurched just as mine did. He moved to kneeling and raised my hips and legs so his shoulders were behind my knees. As he generously slicked his cock, he said, “I think you’re ready for Big Daddy, boy. Are you ready? Do you want this fat cock in your tight little butt? Tell Big Daddy. Tell me you want my fat cock.”

“Yes, Big Daddy, I want your fat cock. Put your big white cock in me.

Please. I need it in my tight little butt. Oh I want it so bad. Oh, please, I want it, Big Daddy.”

I braced for a searing pain, but what came was a slow press against my hole, then a retreat, and again a pressing–slowly, gently, and expertly. My hole yielded slowly but steadily. Big Daddy took his time guiding his big cock in me, and then slowly retreating until I could handle him comfortably in my eager ass. He stopped to make sure I had adjusted, all the while looking at me passionately and lovingly. “Is this how it’s suppose to feel, Big Daddy?” I asked dreamily, as if floating in a warm pool, feeling the tuggings of his effort, the pressure of his labor. “I’ve never had it so slow and easy, so nice and sweet before. You make it so enjoyable.”

“It’s your fantasy come true, huh boy? You needed to know that it can feel good without hurting, that it doesn’t have to be rough and careless, and you needed to know how it feels with a caring daddy.”

Looking into his eyes, “Thank you, Big Daddy,” I said, seeing his love for me. You really know how to make me feel . . . I love you, so Big Daddy. I really do.”

He slid in and out of me to the music of Robin Trower’s In City Dreams, a rhythm similar to the motion of a lumbering elephant, a slow hypnotic rhythm, a lulling to soft joy. On filling me with all his hardness, he began to rock us to and fro; he lifted me off the bed in one smooth motion and rocked me, ever so slowly, in the cradle of his strong arms.

We sat swaying like that, he on his hunches, me with legs over his strong arms, impaled on his bullish horn, moving to the music, swaying, gently in the half-light.

He moved to edge of the bed and held me in his lap where I swam in his handsome glances and where he gave me kisses and nuzzled my neck.

“I can feel you pulse inside of me, Big Daddy. I can feel your heart beat through your cock. It feels so good. Fill me up, Big Daddy. Give me all of your cock.”

“You got it all boy. Does it feel good? Tell Big Daddy it feels good.”

“It really does; you’re so deep in me, filling me up. It feels so good, it feels so right.”

Big Daddy’s pace began to quicken; his breath came in short burst; but I didn’t feel pain as he pushed faster and deeper into me.

Lowering me back to the bed, he put my legs under my arms again (I truly was heels over head). I closed my eyes and could still see him pushing in and out of me as I gave myself to him. “You’re just a hot fuckin’

boy; you get Big Daddy so turned on.”

“Pound my ass, Big Daddy; take me any way you want; cum for me, Big Daddy,”

“Yeah, boy, encourage Big Daddy. You know how to get me harder, boy. You know I like it when you talk to me.”

As I talked to him, Big Daddy’s motion alternated among different rhythms. Soon after, he grew faster, entering and withdrawing, and moving my legs out wider to go deeper and to give me longing kisses.

I tingled all over and opened my ass even more. He grabbed my shoulders and pushed deeper, faster, and harder. I loved it: tender but aggressive, loving but manly–fucking as only a big hairy daddy could.

Big Daddy’s passionate and loving expression had turned to a mixture of pleasured pain and resisted vulnerability. Then as his orgasm quaked to cresting, he tried to edge away and tried to make me cum first. Putting me first, thinking of his boy–my man was a true daddy.

“Cum with your Big Daddy, boy. I’m close…I don’t want to leave you behind . . . cum with . . . me . . . Oh . . . God . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .I’m cumming, boy…I’m cumming, goddamn it!”

Big Daddy released wave after wave of edge-inspired cum, filling the condom in side me with incredible cum spurts. And shortly after his orgasm pushed him further and further into me, my punch of ecstasy hit.

Delicious, perfect, pleasure, a sweet hurt, and delicate anguish combined into a sudden impact just above my cock that gathered from my balls, made its way to my cock, and burst into my mind.

I bucked and wretched out my own load while Big Daddy continued to shudder out his own. Splatters of cum, all over my body, evidenced the sudden volcanic [throes]. And as the last intense shudders passed (Big Daddy called them “twitters”), we sank into a sticky embrace and into glorious exhaustion.

. For the first time in years, I felt a man had made love to me, that he wanted me to reach bliss with him and that I had a daddy who truly cared and loved me. If this afterglow wasn’t love, it was the nearest thing to Perfect Knowledge I had experienced.

Big Daddy rose to one elbow, looked at me with the strangest expression, and then spoke affectionately, “I know what you thought when we came here,” he said as he ran a heavy hand over my belly, “but I wanted to surprise you.”

He told me that he had listened to my bad experiences with my last daddy and wanted to show me that sex could involve perceived aggression, that it could be strapped in leather and metal, and that it could be whipped about and made messy; but even in all those shades, “sex without love was meaningless recreation or was the act of lost and troubled souls running from something.”

He spoke those words solemnly, earnestly, and in them, I heard the truth. I understood that love was the tie in all things. Most importantly, I understood that even though I was in my twenties and Big Daddy was in his fifties, it didn’t matter. Love transcended the practical and silenced the judgmental.

Big Daddy moved closer, almost nose-to-nose with me, and further explained, “You must know that I love you and you must know that I would never hurt you, so you must decided whether you can trust me.” Then he kissed me softly on the lips and lay beside me.

“I will learn to trust you, Big Daddy. I guess it will take time to get that other guy out of my head.” Big Daddy said nothing and continued to rub my belly as we lay in silence and in love.

We kissed and held each other some more, and I listened to his heartbeat as he dozed. Lying there, I remembered asking God for a passionate and considerate daddy–now I know he heard me.

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He died when I was only twelve, and in those days, children were protected from death. Only when those children became adolescents, and on to adults, did they deal with death in their own way. I couldn’t wait for my time with death; my “childish” mind didn’t process such an adult concept with adult courage. I wanted to see my granddaddy: an objective born of innocence and love. So, when my protectors moved to their corners of grief, I moved silently, carefully to my granddaddy’s bedroom.

Death must have been cold and silent. At least, I’ve heard and read it described that way, and so did I believe it resided in Granddaddy’s room. Its molecules hung in the cool darkness; its scent hid behind rubbing alcohol and Ivory soap; but its presence was strongest in the faint smell of excrement and sickness.

A sliver of light angling Granddaddy’s bed interrupted the darkness, a bane of fearful children (I counted myself as a fearful child. I half-crawled, in slow fear to his beside, ready to run at the slightest appearance of horror–contortions of pain from my Granddaddy or death’s molecules seizing me by mistake. I stayed on the balls of my feet like fog.

Yet, seeing my Granddaddy, his body indistinct from the bed linen, moved through me a feeling of helplessness. The ravage of age and prolong sickness had taken away his vitality. No longer did He tickle my sides with curled almost gnarled fingers, fingers once thick with purpose;

fingers that held cigarettes between two fingers and a thumb (European style he once said at my staring), as he sipped a glass of wine in the evenings. He moved with purposeful speed in those days, his towering body still tightly masculine. “Idle hands are sinful hands; remember that boy.” I looked at my own hands and remembered.

Nearing the bed, I saw those gnarled fingers and followed them to hands hosting a thousand wrinkles, hands connecting–barely it seemed–to frail arms, so small and so still, as to make me rise from my safe place on the hardwood to peer above the rim of the bed. I saw the rise and fall of his raspy, labored breathing, the type of breathing that kept death nearby.

I wanted to talk to him, talk as we had so many times; and I wanted to tell him to get better so we could play, so he could tickle me. Tickling me would make him laugh, and laughing would make him better. But he didn’t stir at my presence.

His stillness confused me: Why sleep when there is so much fun to have?

Wake up and play. And as I thought these things, I was drawn to touch his hand, to feel its padded warmth. Touching for me meant that he would leave his dreams and talk to me, but at my touch, he only murmur a bit, his breathing wrinkled in a light cough, then returned to the raspy breathing.

So, I moved around his bed in the coolness of death, nearing his bureau with its many pictures: some of my daddy standing proudly in the service of our country, his hat cocked to the right, and his smile less cocky. A cameo, smoky-gray at its edges, showed a freshly married couple: one seemingly happy, the other not quite. The wide smile of the groom juxtaposed the dour expression of the bride. Perhaps it was my Granddaddy (He never told me about the picture) before he took on nine children, before his spine curved to Earth, and before his thick black hair streaked to full gray.

Other items of life sat between more pictures. Some pictures showed his sunny smile, while other showed his distraction from work. One such picture showed his standing puffy in overalls with hands on hips, a disobedient lock falling to just above his brow, as he leans on an axe and crosses one muddy boot over the other.

Another showed the couple at work, where the dour bride (undoubtedly Grandmama–I know that frown anywhere) stands stiffly in an apron that hides a pattern-less cotton dress. She frowns either at the Sun or the impertinence of the picture taker. Granddaddy, however, looked large and robust, which was a far cry from the frail body, inflating and deflating in the bed while death waited in the darkest corner.

I looked at other objects on the bureau that held little fascination, until my eyes fell on the ancient machine, an old black typewriter with a wooden base and gold letters proclaiming it a Remington. It sat on the back edge of the bureau, covered in a layer of dust that hinted to its nonuse, its black keys missing arms and legs like amputees. Standing on tiptoes I reached a finger to the machine and knocked over a glass dolphin and its partner, both in mid leap. Save for the stained doily protecting the bureau, my impudence would have been discovered.

Righting the figurines, I moved to the side of the bureau to get a better reach, and after boldly pressing an “L,” I heard the hammer squeak a delicate alarm as it stood inches from the roller in the carriage. I tried other keys that mocked me just as efficiently, so I gave up and half turned to ease back to safety.

But on the turn, I noticed several pieces of paper behind the bureau.

Some were curled and folded at odd angles, others lay propped against the wall, and along with these papers were a few envelopes with dried ink smeared to their edges. I picked up the loose papers and all of the envelopes, and then standing with the cache in hand, I was faced with putting them back on the bureau or stuffing them in my shirt, later to glimpse their secrets. And doing the deed of a good son, raised on doses of god-fearing morals, I moved aside the figurines and placed the pile on the doily, but I stopped the good deed when I saw more of the same papers and envelopes under the typewriter.

Some had addressed I didn’t recognize, but some I did. Here were several letters with London addresses tied in a faded blue ribbon. I had read about London in school, but I didn’t know anyone from there, nor did I think any of my relatives had ever been there. Leaving Granddaddy to the dark coolness of death, the last thing I heard, as I moved to the door was the rasp of his labored breathing. I would never hear it again.

I found my own breathing labored from fear, fear that I would be discovered with Granddaddy’s secrets, but when I strained against the sudden burst of light, I noticed that no one moved from their grief. I guessed it was easy to move among adults who didn’t suppose children knew of a deathwatch or knew that death waited in the darkest corner.

I stole away to the abandoned house I was forbidden to play in. It was my secret haven away from the adult world I was to be no part of. And when I did steal away, it was during times like these–at deathwatches, maternal discussions, or fraternal talks of sinning with women. This place was for a child left to his own devices, a child finding fact and fiction in the shadows with forbidden material written in adult voices and with pictures shot with adult vision. Indeed, what I now held in my hands, the brittle paper hosting adult words, sang in adult love.

[No Date, No Envelope]

Dearest Amos,

I wonder will you return this letter, since it is the fourth one I have written. Now, I understand you have serious business over there, protecting us, and all, but I don’t see any reason why you can’t let me know if you share my grief of our interrupted love. Is it selfish of me to want to hear of your love? Should I be a good friend and pine for you in silence?

Forgive me, my love. I missed you more than I can write the words to express it. I will wait for you until they return you to my arms.

The letter didn’t end with the customary closing. The words clung to the brittle paper, glued there in tender sadness. Although, I didn’t understand some of the words, somehow I felt the sadness in the totality of them and the summing of a heart aching in loneliness.

I turned to the envelope that first caught my curiosity. I could only read the last line: Lassiter Common, BT 242 GX6, ENGLAND. I took two short papers from the small envelope and read the scrawl that I presumed was my granddaddy’s writing:

[Date illegible]

Mel,

You been on my mind through all this, and I sorely miss you. I don’t think its possible to miss anyone as much as I miss you. Please don’t worry so. I don’t think I’ll be here long, cause we moving everyday.

I’m some kind of tired, I can tell you! We walk all day, sleep a little, then walk some more. But I would walk until I drop to keep you safe.

Not much to tell, right now. We move into one of the little towns, set up a camp, and watch for Germans. I ain’t seen one yet, so don’t be bothering with worrying over me. God ain’t ready for me to go, I guess.

Well, at least I got a good appetite. As soon as we get the word, I jump on my rations and eat like an old mutt in the street. I can hear you saying how sinful I look falling on the food that way. Hell, sometimes I forget to say grace, I’m so hungry. Now, don’t you send no fussing back about that. (Ha!)

Keep me in your prayers.

Amos

Over the next two days, I read of a war that waged between nations through the writing of man who only saw his service as obligation to God and Mel. Honor and country, based on his words, “never amounted to a hill of beans.” Amos saw the need to keep the savagery and carnage (I later came to understand was a part of World War II) away from Mel, so most of his letter described his daily routine with a few lines of loneliness and hints of his feelings for Mel. Perhaps, the letters were censored for anti-American rhetoric, or, perhaps, there was the slightest chance that spies were transmitting strategies for American demise.

Whatever the reason, and whatever love and affection Amos had for Mel, that reason was never made clear in his letters–a stark contrast to the outpouring of longing from Mel, as attested in the following:

September 12, 1944

Dear Amos,

I am aware that what you write to me may be read by others (you explained this before), but I have not read a single word of your longing for me or for the prayers you are saying along with me to help guide you back to my arms. I long for the day that we can resume our lives. Oh, I so wish that you were here. Things would be so much better for us.

I must express my love here and now. I have gone so long without your warm touch, and I ache every night when I feel the place where you use to lie. Oh, my love, when will you come back to me? When will I lay with you to listen to night sounds? I play over in my mind when you hold me in your strong arms and ease your love into me. I can feel the heat of it, the hardness of it, and I can remember how my body melts and molds around it. I need to feel this again. I need to feel my see my soul glow against a dim world. Oh, Amos, It brings me to tears when I look at your pictures, when I look at the eyes that captured me. Now I know how a heart feels when it breaks.

I so wish I could send this to you, but I know what trouble it will cause for you. Until then, my love, I will hold this letter for you when we can read it together.

Your Loving Mel

Although there were a number of letters like this one, it was the last letter that I read. It was fitting–serendipitous, perhaps–that I should read it, since it verified what at my young age I desperately wanted to believe: a man could love another man with impressive depth.

And a man could express that love in words reserved for “emotional women” and still keep his masculinity in tact. The words, written with the freedom of one in love, filled me with hope that I would some day have someone who loved me as much.

Reading my granddaddy’s secrets gave me the strength to handle what for me were awkward attractions and snatches of lust that permeated my soul.

Yet, I gleaned from these letters that man-to-man love is genuine, and burns intensely. Equally, the letters showed clearly the pain of separation, of longing, and of heartache expressed when two hearts are kept from union.

I hid the letters under a loose floorboard in the abandoned house and went back to read them when it was safe. Years passed; I went off to the service during a shaky break in wars; and, later moved to Seattle with a partner I now have spent more than ten years with. We have two schnauzers, lots of plants, a mortgage that weighs a ton; and my lover is more successful as an accountant than I am as an author.

“I’m telling you,” he says for the um-teenth time, “you’d be much more `pro-lif-ic’ (His enunciation is meant to incite; I meet it with silent resolve) if you got rid of that piece of shit and got a computer.”

I say nothing, but continue squeezing oil into the Remington’s innards.

“It brings me luck,” I say, not convincingly enough that he let’s the conversation die.

“And what luck would that be?”

I flinch at the direct hit.

He comes to me, embraces me from behind, and nuzzles my neck (He knows I melt at this maneuver). “I won’t go on about it,” he says affectionately.

“I just see you struggling with that thing so much you miss deadlines,” he reminds between nibbles. “You’re running all over town trying to find parts for a Remington they don’t make anymore.”

I slowly ease from his embrace and let fly a volley, “I thought you said you wouldn’t go on about it.”

He moves away wordlessly. Later, we’ll have a silent dinner, while in my head I’ll write a letter. Later, I’ll type it on the Remington.

Oh, it’ll go with the others in a box I have marked LETTERS NEVER SENT.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

He didn’t bend his wrist in leisure or face his palms down in gestures. Raymond Steward wasn’t a man’s man, but he was a “straight acting” man if that somehow mattered. He was a six-three, one hundred eighty-five pound frame of hulking hairy flesh, who wouldn’t be found on the “circuit” in such places as The Keys, Fire Island, Palm Springs, or Sydney; nonetheless, he was a gay man, like hundreds of thousands who were jobholders by day and insatiable hunters of mansex by night.

Yet, he wasn’t closeted, a decision he had made after many years and many losses to the scourge of AIDS. He hid for no one, for no reason; on the other hand, he promised himself he wouldn’t wear his “gayness”

like bra over a silk blouse. Like most guys, coming out had been a long series of subtle and jarring events–more numerous for him than most–yet he endured. So, the quality of his life was more important than keeping up the appearance of “straight” living. Unfortunately, when he chose Houston as his home, he chose disappointment.

Raymond noticed with great disappointment Houston’s small and dispassionate gay community. Compared to Chicago, the gay bars in Houston had as much activity as a liquor store on a Sunday morning, and because he wanted a change, the job in Houston outweighed any regret he felt at leaving his hometown. The bigger reasons were that he needed rebirth and he wanted a man: more in a sexual sense than in a metaphysical one. He had decided to search for the latter.

He began his search at Handy’s, a rustic, lean-to, where cowboy’s, would-be’s–interspersed with a few heavily tattooed biker patrons–and admirers of all came to belly up and wind down. Actually, Handy’s sat as a depressing reminder of the seventies and early eighties when men came to the epicenter of gay Houston; where Westheimer and Montrose streets marked the heart of gay freedom; where Mary’s, Houston’s oldest bar, stood like a welcoming beacon; and, where Numbers, Ramrod, and the Loading Dock filled to capacity every night of the week.

But the scourge of AIDS took away those days and took away a large group of men still mourned and forever missed.

After one drink and a discouraging conversation with a very drunk, but amusing “poppi,” Raymond quickly left Handy’s and headed for a bar a friend back in Chicago had told him about: Hipwaders.

He entered Hipwaders, Houston’s finest, albeit, only leather bar with hope, but that hope faded on entering the smoky, dimly lit building.

Leather daddies and boys, both of dubious age, postured and re-postured along a glossy black bar where a beefy bartender with a sadistic bent, and a beautiful ass squeezed in chaps, teased a few displaced, unwary circuit boys vying for his attention. A long-time predator, the bartender ignored their promises and searched for more experienced prey in the endless stream of patrons.

They were all represented, dressed in tight Wranglers, Levis, latex, rubber, and rawhide. They danced the music-less ritual: all window shopping, strolling by in mild interest, stopping briefly at one wall or another, leaning against an antiquated pinball machine, checking the civility of the front room, or rechecking the debauchery of the back one. These men, as did many on a weekend, searched for Mr. Right, but after a few drinks, Mr. Right became Mr. Right Now; and Raymond knew, as did most men, that desperation developed more easily in an intoxicated man with a ball sac full of cum, especially when time was the enemy.

Raymond sighed at the thought, bought a drink, and joined the procession. Standing just beyond the stark light of a Miller lampshade that hung over a scruffy and stained pool table, he watched a mustachioed uniform with too many keys over think his next shot. At the same time, Uniform’s opponent, a jerky little otter in a tank top and leather shorts checked a leather daddy for a hernia–or so it seemed.

Raymond watched Uniform point intentions with the cue, miss his shot, and stand silently. Uniform’s mirrored glasses danced in the bright Miller lights as he nodded to Raymond. Returning the nod, Raymond watched Uniform move to just in front of him and bend to take his next shot.

Lingering there, the man flexed his hard ass muscles, unnecessarily stretched over the pool table in submission, and spread his legs before looking back at Raymond.

A smile of intent slowly made Uniform’s face more handsome than it already was. His chocolate, dimpled flesh widened to reveal a glistening tongue that slowly traced over thick mocha lips. Raymond’s cock jumped, and he took a long swig of beer to return the moisture that had suddenly fled. Then looking closely at the stringy hole in Uniform’s faded Wranglers, he saw the man’s exposed balls, tightly bound by a three-snap ball stretcher. Uniform, still bent over the pool table, pulled his hairy bound balls, a russet light bulb, through the hole in his pants and moaned with pleasure at the effort.

Again, he looked at Raymond and nodded, but Raymond wasn’t into cock-n-ball torture; his cock softened at the thought. Nor was he into S&M; in fact, Raymond wasn’t sure what he was into, but he would know it when he found it. So, he exhaled slight disappointment and rejoined the river of men flowing into a narrow passage.

Regulars of Hipwaders knew very well what lie beyond the narrow passage, and Raymond had heard his Chicago friend talk about it with much enthusiasm and sparkling eyes. Raymond’s friend learned of “the patio” from a trick in the Lion’s Den. The trick said to go after hours. “No booze after two a.m., but the action really heats up,” the guy said. What action? Hell, just a bunch of guys walking around and sitting along the walls, Raymond thought. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check out the ba–

“Hey. Wazzup tonight?” A caramel hand placed warmth on Raymond’s arm and a toothy smile greeted him. “Calvin,” the man said.

“Raymond.”

Even before his hand met Calvin’s, Raymond had a hard-on.

“I ain’t seen you here before.” The stranger named Calvin tilted his head in the same way that dog did in the old RCA ad. A sudden feeling caused the stranger to look deeply into Raymond’s eyes, and without understanding why, Calvin tried honesty: “I’m very attracted to you and I thought I saw something in your eyes, so if you think we can do this, how about we talk?”

“Okay.”

“You’re a one-word man, huh?”

“No.” Raymond said and felt warmth slowly rise in him when he shook Calvin’s hand; he felt that slow warming of lust, of desire.

“You come here a lot?” He mentally cringed at the line, but it was out there.

Calvin didn’t critique it, “Not really, just when I can’t sleep.” He explained and moved closer.

“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping much either,” Raymond admitted.

Calvin moved even closer. “I’m not from here, actually; I’m from Dothan, Dothan, Alabama . . . you heard of it?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Raymond said, but he thought Calvin wasn’t much of thinker. He didn’t need the caramel colored man for that.

Calvin moved closer, still, and rested his leg against Raymond’s.

“Well, that’s rare, most guys here haven’t.” He rested his hand on Raymond’s thigh, and as the two talked, electricity sparked between them. Ripples passed from Raymond’s head and feet to converge at the tip of his cock. Calvin was simply handsome, a type of handsome that made some men jealous, some intimated, and some . . .well down right desperate.

But Raymond felt none of that. He found contentment in looking at Calvin’s almond eyes; his smooth, hairless face; and a thinly cut mustache over voluptuous, brown lips that parted slightly in pink invitation: an invitation for a man to slide his hard cock between them.

Wavelets of hair shaped his head in the form of a flat top with high sides that faded to the skin (a cut that Raymond loved to see on a Black men), which made Calvin’s face resemble an inverted pentagon. An athletic build hinted to a Nubian runner like his ancestors, and even through his Levi’s, Calvin’s muscles flexed and released as he adjusted his position or crossed his legs. But with such a hot body, he seemed unrefined, and lacked of polish.

“Say,” Raymond asked evenly, “is it always this . . . this dead?”

“Well, not always.” Calvin stretched and yawned as he spoke. “You just have to wait until after hours.

Since after hours hadn’t arrived, Raymond and Calvin, as others did, made shallow conversation about their travels, their occupations, and even their first time. Over the din of cross-talk and under the constant drone of forgetful techno, they eased to the comfort of bonding that further eased to tender contact.

When a bald bear warned of last call, Raymond and Calvin broke their bubble of sensuality, got drinks, and re-entered with skin-tingling touches, lustful glances, and throbbing cocks. Calvin mirrored the disarming charm of Raymond, and each man flowed to gentle mannerisms and turns of phrase. They remained opened to possibilities and shrouded their intentions in unnecessary innuendo.

“Now, I have a question for you.” Calvin ended the innuendo, the pleasure dance, and the side stepping of urges. “Do I turn you on?”

Raymond motioned toward his straining cock. “I’m sure this answers your question.”

“I was hoping `cause you have got me really hard too; you’re so damn attractive,” purred Calvin, “and, frankly, I thought you would turn me down. I guess this is my lucky night.” Calvin genuinely, but briefly, smiled his luck, and then turned neutral to ask, “So, are you a pitcher or a catcher?”

Surprised at the use of the vintage terms–Raymond covered with his most erotic come-on, “Definitely a pitcher.”

“And do you think I make a good catcher?” Calvin stood, performed a slow turn, and sat on Raymond’s lap.

“Definitely,” Raymond said and rubbed the length of Calvin’s thigh.

“Oh, well I guess I do,” Calvin said, feeling Raymond’s cock throb at his ass. He brought his arms over Raymond’s broad shoulders that narrowed to a solid, and Calvin suspected, hairy butt. He loved hairy White men, big men with big backs and thick legs: their pink skin, the color of their eyes, even their large hands and feet.

He never really understood why he liked them, except to know that they were different from him. Some had sexy walks, a sedate swagger, as if the world wasn’t unkind and wasn’t filled with injustice. To him, White men moved through life with a natural expectancy that made them irresistibly attractive. He had once thought that perhaps it was the freedom with which they approached and experimented with sex, exhibiting no fear of taboos held by most men in his culture.

His first encounter, however, was with a Black man who showed him the joys of anal sex, but it was a White man who showed him that sex was multifaceted. When Calvin was nineteen, he met a man in the bathroom of a Sears and Roebuck, who took him home and spent the day showing him the joys of assplay, of toy play, of restraint, of rimming, of enemas, and of delayed orgasm.

Calvin learned even more about his attraction to White men in subsequent encounters: seeing a hard, purplish cock moving in and out of his caramel ass truly excited him; feeling a large, hairy body against his small, smooth one, as the hairy man pounded into his chocolate asshole, sent shiver over him; and running his fingers through a White man’s silky hair or bald head while sliding up and down his rigid shaft kept Calvin seeking as many encounters as he could find.

Yet, beyond these acts Calvin learned that sex was a man’s only chance to share his vulnerability, that sweet feeling of freedom and acceptance when a man could reveal his true essence without rejection or reproach.

If there was a deeper reason why Calvin liked White men, it really didn’t matter anymore. He knew what he liked and that was enough.

Raymond wasn’t obese, but he did have a bit of a paunch as a testament to his love of beer, and he was just a few thousand follicles from being excessively hairy, which qualified him for big and beefy–a description Calvin sometimes compared to a Burger King whooper–and he had beautiful hazel eyes, with a goatee that accentuated his smile, a devilish smile, one that belied his wilder, kinkier side.

When the two men got drinks, Raymond reviewed his luck. He loved Black guys with bubble butts; loved how a Black man’s butt pushed out and dramatically tapered to thin but firm legs; and loved their dark skin, the subtle shades of it, smooth to the touch as if caressing satin. He loved seeing his thick white cock in their juicy, black asses while holding on to their narrow waists as they flanged to the shape of a pear.

His earliest fantasies were of slender Black men with smooth, round butts that glistened when oiled. The texture of smooth dark skin at his touch made him burn with desire, and soon, he hoped, this Black man would help him realize it.

“So let the games begin,” Calvin joked.

“What?”

“Time to take you to the patio. Come on.” Calvin led Raymond up three stairs to a hall that glowed in red light. At the end of it, the two men entered a smaller bar lit in the same redness where ultra leather men, big men–courtesy of steroids and supplemented testosterone–bulged biceps, tanked massive chests in small wife-beaters, and pushed from the bar chiseled asses in tight jeans. Some men sweated in latex or rubber, and squeezed in chaps. Some men stood drinking, smoking, and searching; some found shadowy corners and traded cock jerks;

and others, a few blue collars, with name tags and grease stains on their uniform; a few construction types with utility belts and keys jangling from their waists–and all wore heavy boots or a variation.

Most of the men had hankies stuff in their pockets of various colors, and Raymond remembered from the “good ole days”, whether the hanky was in the left or right pocket, a position that signaled the man’s preferences and reception. These men differed from the others in that their conversations were almost inaudible or they didn’t talk at all. Men looked around, took inventory, and telegraphed intentions with glances, nipple pinches or crotch grabs. And most did so with a seductive sternness that increased their masculinity, and in Hipwaders, masculinity was a valued commodity. Calvin and Raymond passed through this small bar as hands reached out to both of them followed by one-word invitations:

Piss? Fuck? Fist?

Moving through another door, the two men reached the patio.

Occasionally, plumes of smoke drifted skyward from an area lit by lawn lights under a ragged hedgerow that lined the patio’s dimensions, along with a vine-covered fence that provided privacy and separated the patio from a vacant lot. Above, a cold black sky canvassed the growing group of men watching, rubbing, and groping, while murmurs, moans, and muffled cries mildly disturbed the still air. Music was an intrusion here;

patron’s preferred the sounds and the mystique of group participation.

Calvin pointed to the small lights under the hedgerow, “Over there is where the action is.” Before Raymond could decide, Calvin pulled him into a semi-circle of men gathered at one corner of the patio. Silhouettes with pants around their ankles, the outline of hairy butts protruding from chaps, and glossy stretched balls with weights hanging from them caused Raymond to move his hands to rub throbbing cock through his jeans.

Calvin watched Raymond, licked his lips, but stood in silence. Over the hedgerow lights, cocks pounded hairy butts; hungry mouths suck cocks of all sizes, drank piss, cum, and licked assholes. Fingers probed assholes, tweaked and twisted nipples, while balls were tugged, dicks were milked, and poppers dazed many in their range.

Lust in motion: familiar rhythm of desire, the collective crowd participating by being. Whether with his mind or with his cock, but for Raymond it was both, he fucked right along with them–group mystique, how fuckin’ hot. And his cock throbbed and issued more precum from his piss slit.

Fuck, yeah, group mystique. The trail of men that Raymond noticed earlier ended in rows of men who stood one behind the other and stroked their dicks, quietly, wordlessly, as if motivated by telepathic desire.

Others dropped to their knees and sucked the first cock they saw. These open mouths had their choices among cocks hooking to the east, the west, bending north or south, or just pointing straight ahead.

The darkened area filled with overwhelming sounds of man-pleasure: the occasional slurp, gag, or rhythmic slapping: the dance of desire, the nocturnal, sweaty dance–sweaty flesh to sweaty flesh, cock to asshole, grunt to grunt–the march toward ultimate gratification. Ass fuck, a nice gaping hole to slide up tight around my cock is what Raymond thought at that moment. Raymond said these words, using the consciousness of the head between his legs.

He felt hands search the inside of his fly, unzipped by a pair of hands, as the activity moved toward frenzy. The hands moved with knowledge and gentleness in finding his cock and balls. Thumbs and forefingers gently tugged and stroked him, while a second pair of hands approached from behind to tweak his nipples and squeeze his pecs. Raymond sucked eagerly the two fingers finding his mouth.

From behind a third pair of hands undid his belt and the single button holding up of his jeans. They jerked trousers and briefs to his ankles, encircled his stomach, trailed down to just above his cock, slid back around to his hairy ass and legs, then suddenly, they parted his cheeks and a tongue, thickly warm and wet licked his asshole.

The second pair of hands that had been working Raymond’s nipples joined the third in providing a tongue for his hunger ass, his taint, and his hairy balls. Both tongues licked and slurped with exquisite expertise that sent Raymond into quivers, trembles, and moans of pleasure.

The first pair of hands changed to a mouth that slurped up and down his tremendously hard meat. It starting from behind his balls followed to his cock tip, stopping occasionally to lick the precum from his piss slit.

“Raymond,” Calvin whispered in his ear, “I’d like you to meet Fred. He played with your nipples and stuck his fingers in your mouth, but now he’s slurping your ass.” Raymond could only moan delight and nod recognition. “And Kelton is also slurping your crack.”

Again, Raymond moaned. “And you know what I’m doing: hmmmm–yummy, sucking this big white cock.”

A Nubian triad of gratification had Raymond in its grasp. The three men caressed, licked, and sucked all over him. His fleshed rippled outward from his cock and returned like an underground explosion.

Trembled and shivered rumblings of a nearing orgasm persisted, but he held on to it. Fred sucked his balls, Kelton tongued his pulsating ass, and Calvin intermittently flicked his cockhead before taking the entire length down his throat.

“Oh, God, I’m gonna cum,” escaped Raymond’s lips. Besides the three men working him over, others heard Raymond’s warning and turned to watch another orgasm. Because Raymond was so far out into his universe of ecstasy, he did not see the semi-circle of men turn toward him.

He breathed deeply to hold back the push of release, that feeling, sublime but fleeting; that rising fire in his lower abdomen pushing toward his cock, expanding and gorging it with blood. As much as he wanted to remain the centerpiece of the triad, his efforts weakened. He had his twitching cock pushed far down Calvin’s throat that he felt the man’s lips pressed against his pelvis.

Activity in the circle of men was cresting as well, hands were working cocks with blurring speed; cocks pushed forcefully into assholes as if pile drivers; hands pulled and tortured balls with sadistic abandon;

nipple rings were pinched and twisted with delicious savagery; PAs were linked; cocks docked and overlapped foreskin for pleasurable friction;

and men throughout the patio listened for the looming cries of ecstasy.

Raymond’s warnings came more rapidly, more in earnest, and the crescendo of his erotic symphony had reached the climatic crashing of cymbals.

Then he came . . . and came . . . and came. Growls accompany the first steamy stream of cum that flew over Calvin’s head and into semi darkness. The crowd yelled encouragement and yelled its own orgasmic arrivals.

They acknowledged the sweet vulnerability that seemed so intense and so short-lived. Groans of pleasure-pain drew a second stream from Raymond that flew just as far as the first. The third, fourth, and fifth streams landed on the three men who had been helping Raymond to nirvana and who now knelt before him to receive a warm and validating cum bath.

As the last spurt of cum oozed from his piss slit, Raymond bucked and wretched through the residuals and slowed to sated exhaustion as the crowd continued their encouragement: Members gave respective hoots and attaboys to another who had bolstered the elusive group mystique, that group participation in achieving an orgasm, that one moment when men realized their humanity at the exact moment they mourned their mortality.

So, when the last cum drop fell from his cock, Raymond slumped to his knees, out of breath, and in the arms of Calvin. And in a way, uniquely Raymond, replied breathless, “I’d like to meet more of your friends, Calvin.”

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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In a place near San Diego’s harbor, among a graveyard of rusted and paint-blotched warehouses, a hold-up appears in progress. Buckles flicker under opaque sun; leather murmurs in cool, marine air; and heavy boots positions and reposition their grips on the asphalt. A leather arm grips a neck. Another holds two smaller, flannelled arms. Keys jangle, chains protest: it is the taking of a valuable commodity.

On closer inspection, however, the encounter is victimless; the purpose, clear. The hunter pulls at the clothes of the prey: hands pull at shirts, unbuckle belts, unzip and jerk down jeans. The hunter roughly turns the prey to a paint-blotched warehouse, rips away his prey’s underwear, fingers his ass, and squeezes the prey’s hairy butt in his thick, calloused hands.

The hunter again starts his probe: first one finger, then two, perhaps three. The hunter is impressed: his prey will be able to take his 8-incher-encouraged by leather-strapped, weighted balls. The prey bites away sharp pain and relaxes his ass around the three fingers. Massaging his prey’s ass, the hunter feels reception to seduction, that slow succumbing submission, the giving of trust.

The hunter removes his fingers, pushes a hand into the prey’s back to bend him forward, spits in his other one, applies spittle to his thick cock-a vein-etched, purple bludgeon of force-and rams it into the prey.

The hunter grunts, the prey counters. The hunter sets the rhythm: a grunt for a grunt, a moan for a moan, and a push of effort for mounting pleasure.

Next, the hunter eases to long and fluid strokes, teasingly slow and smooth; he follows with more pressure, more purpose, thrusts of will, of aggression; thrusts that transmit dominance. The thrusts grow faster, angrier; they are powered by pleasure: pleasure in aggression, pleasure in perceived violence, but violence tempered with control, with experience.

The hunter is a mature aggressor, an aggressor of experience, of responsibility, who knows that violence, for violence’s sake, holds only pleasure for the troubled, for the insignificant. And sadism is an excursion best saved for more experienced prey: those who know its essence, who know its spiritual core.

The hunter begins to feel spiritual and goes faster; his strokes become shorter and jerkier; he finds his center, moves into his meditative state.

And feeling that familiar fire–that exquisite, perfect knowledge-he leaves his prey behind to move toward the undefined state of being. He has gone where his prey can’t, for the prey knows not the true meaning of dominance, of submission, of truth through fucking. The hunter uses the prey, but use is reciprocal: something for something, someone for a moment. The prey is a vehicle for the hunter to reach higher, to see clearer, to feel deeper, and to blur the boundary between experiential and existential.

Only the hunter knows this perfect feeling, this perfect knowledge doesn’t last long; and he must make the most of it; must make it last as long as his mind, body, and soul can sustain it. For after each time he reaches it, he dies a little.

Both men gulp deeper for air, and although their efforts are for a similar end, the prey only wants orgasm. The hunter wants much more. The hunter moans desire and pleasure, for he knows he will experience the wonder of arriving and lingering in that existence where time is replaced by nothingness, where physics is disobeyed, and where mere mortality moves to a fist of indescribable, incomprehensible feelings. The hunter’s pistoned rhythm accelerates. Faster. Faster still. Then cries from the prey acknowledges the hunter’s success, which, in turn, are followed by cries from the hunter’s acknowledged arrival: the reciprocal of mutual pleasure-pain, of given-received validation.

“Yes! Oh God, Yes!” is said by the prey, yet much more is felt by the hunter, who curls his upper lip, for he IS God-or at least he becomes God in the fleeting brilliance of Perfect Knowledge.

And it has arrived.

The action suddenly stops. The hunter is returning to banality, but he tries to linger in Perfection’s brilliance. His pelvis pushes forward and holds; the prey’s ass pushes back to meet it; and a cry of futile resistance prefaces an initial shot of cum, a branding cum, a mark of ownership, followed by several more that coat the hot cavern of the prey.

Then more cum shoot into the prey’s trembling ass. The prey rises almost to standing, but the hunter pushes him back to bending. He cries louder than before as his own cum streaks the side of the warehouse and splatters the oil-slick asphalt.

And it is done. Lust is satisfied. Perfect Knowledge is glimpsed and forgotten. Behind the eyes of the hunter, the redness of his lids replaces the brilliance.

It is gone.

In silence the hunter and the prey slow their breathing, pull on their clothes, and finally turn to each other. Sated smiles are exchanged.

The hunter corrals his quarry with a leather arm around the neck, and the two walk back to the “The Dungeon.”

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What the fuck is happenin’ to me?! I can’t get Matthew out of my brain all the sudden. I hate this; every time I close my eyes, I see his perfect face with that big smile on it. it’s driving me insane, and getting me hard! He’s got a vice grip on me, and I can’t shake it off! I can’t stop thinking about him…

I don’t know why this is so difficult for me. I’m a guy, he’s a guy. We aren’t supposed to be together! But, something in my brain wants me to be with Matthew, and it’s growing more and more as time goes by. It’s so stupid! What do I see in him that makes me want to be with him? Is it his soft brown hair? No… His cute smile? That’s not it…. His eyes?

His eyes….. So warm and smooth like chocolate. They are so mysterious. They make you want to stare further and further into them, and he gets me every time. He’s got an awesome body too. He’s capable of being an athlete with his bod, and I’m almost jealous.

Maybe I’m going at this all wrong… Maybe being gay isn’t all bad. What am I saying? Football players can’t be gay. Gay people aren’t tough enough to play football, so I should just avoid Matthew at all costs. But, that’s going to be so hard to do. Walking down the hallway with my arm still tight to my chest, I see him notice me, and he smiled. I instantly froze as he made his way over to me. “Hey…” He said with a smile. “H-hi…. U-Uh… What’s up?” I choked. “Nothin’. I was just thinking ’bout something.” He said looking at me with his deep brown eyes. “W-what?” I asked. He paused for a second. “N-nothin’. How’s your arm?” He asked as I leaned against the wall. “Hurts. My doc prescribed some pain meds, but they make me tired so I’m not takin’ ’em.” I said rubbing the cast a little bit. “Smart.” He replied.

“I guess…” I said leaning against the lockers. “By the way, You still up for hangin’ out after school?” I added crossing my arms. “Yeah, all the way.” He said with a smile. “Awesome!” I couldn’t contain myself. I was just so freaking excited to be hangin’ out with him. But… Maybe I am…..

No. It can’t be. I can’t be. All this is, Is just two guys hanging out and doing stuff guys would do. That’s it. I don’t have to think about his body, his lips, his handsome face, his eyes….

Dammit! every fucking time…..

He stepped over to the water fountain to get a drink, and as he pushed down on the dispenser, water shot all over his white shirt.

“Aaaah…. Dammit!”he groaned. I saw him reach over to his backpack, and he pulled out another shirt.

He’s not going to….

He peeled off the shirt right quick, and I was entranced immediately. His body was amazing. I couldn’t stop looking at it. He had those tight washboard abs, perfectly rounded pecs, and just a little bit of hair going down from his belly button into his shorts.

Oh my God….. I felt my pants get a little tighter, so I looked down to notice that there’s tent forming.

no, no! I gotta get outta here…

I turned around and walked away. “Where you goin’?” SHIT! “U-uh….” I stammered. God his body is immaculate; I wanna feel it. It must be so soft and warm. I just wanna wrap my arms around him and never let him go. “I….” I added. “Is it ’cause I have no shirt on or somethin’?” He laughed. “I… No. I mean, yeah but… I… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” I said totally confused with myself. “Nothin’s wrong with you, Kev.” He said slipping on a spare shirt, and stepping towards me.

Finally… Please spare me….

“No, I think there is, ’cause you see I’m—” he cut me off by grabbing my head, and pulling me into a kiss. Right there. In front of the ENTIRE school. “You talk WAY too much, Kev.” He smiled. “Please…. D-do that again….” I said finally beaten. In just 2 hours, I went from straight, and makin’ out with chicks, to kissin’ a hot dude. It all makes sense now. When I kissed chicks, it was nothing. I felt nothing, and I didn’t want to fuck them either, but I so wanna fuck Matt according to my cock. That’s all I can think about. HE’S all I think about. Even in two measly hours, I already want him, and somethin’ fierce.

He finally kissed me, and this time, I pulled him in close to me. My eyes closed, and it just feels so right. The feeling of his lips on mine is so awesome. “Kevin’s a FAG?!” I heard from the left. My eyes shoot open, and I see Greg standing there. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it! My captain’s a Fuckin’ homo!!” I let go of Matt, and turn to face Greg. “It’s not what you think—“

“then what the fuck is it?! Bromance?! That wasn’t bromance, dude. You were frenchin’ with a guy, fag!” He said giving me a shove. “Broken arm or not, I’ll still punch your horse-teeth down your motherfuckin’ throat, cunt!” I said getting in his face. “Woah! Step off! I don’t wanna catch the gay!” He said pushing me hard. I tripped over something, and fell to the ground. “Just leave us alone…” Matt said outta the blue, and pretty brave. “What are you gonna do ’bout it, Emerson?” He said stepping over to him.

Aww HELL NO!! I’ll kill him before he hurts Matt!

I got up, and walked up behind him. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turn around. I punched him right in his face. He went down like a 10 pound bag of potatoes. “don’t. Touch. Him!” I growled. He got up not even two seconds later, and got up in my face. “Is he your little boyfriend?” He mocked. “No.” I replied. he just laughed. “Yeah right! You were suckin’ face with the guy.” I didn’t know how to reply. Got I hate him so much. Maybe I should just accept the fact that I like dudes. It’s not going to change, so I might as well not run away from it anymore. “Come on Matt, lets get the fuck outta here.” I said looking over to him. “Don’t bother coming to practice tomorrow, Fag!” He yelled as I walked away from them. He’s just lucky I didn’t punch his face into his fucking stomach! “Kev, violence ain’t the answer to everything, y’know.” Matt said. “Yeah I think I know that, Matt. He just needed to be taught a lesson.”

He was awfully quiet after that, and I was a little nervous for him. “Hey, sorry about the kiss. I-I didn’t know what to do. I was just very wrong about you, and I got carried -“

“Don’t worry about it.” I started as I gave him a half smile. “I know that your straight, But, I just couldn’t help myself. I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.”

I just laughed. “Dude, relax… I… I kinda… Liked it…” I said blushing. “Well, I gotta get to my last class so, I’ll see ya after school, Kev.” He said with that smile.

“O-ok…” I replied.

God… I hope I don’t do anything I’ll regret tonight….

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Hi,

My name is Shawn and I’m a biracial bubble butt linebacker from state U. I’ve always had a big butt which has gotten me a lot of attention. As I’ve become a man my ass has grown into a perfectly obscene bubble and my need to show it and tease has grown just as fast. To give you an idea, I weigh about 240 lbs of solid muscle and each ass cheek is probably at least 20 lbs. I have a thick, phat, gravity defying ass that makes people crazy. Nothing turns me on more than showing my ass off and watching the reactions. I had an amazing experience the other day and I wanted to share it.

My team was travelling for a spring practice so I had the chance to go out in a town where they didn’t know me. I stopped in a small underwear store. I had never seen a whole store that only sold men’s underwear. I’ve always had trouble buying underwear because of my normal sized waist and my massive globes. I hoped this place would have more of a selection. The place was empty, except for the two clerks who worked there. Both were thin, one was white, tall and thin, The other was a little shorter, black, and a bit more athletic. He was very cute. I normally not into guys like that (if you’ve read my stories you know i mainly date women but I love teasing guys with my ass and I’m fascinated with big, thick cocks) but he had a really nice face and build and I liked him right away. Luckily, he approached me and asked if I needed help.

I explained my underwear dilemma and turned and displayed my ass from various angles so he knew exactly what I was working with. I reached back and grabbed my ass and explained that it was too much for briefs, but I like the support, especially in the front. I turned to the side and squeezed my groin a bit to show him I have a big healthy cock and balls to support. Then I turned my back again and smacked my thighs which sent my whole ass and upper leg to shaking. I explained that my legs are too thick for boxer briefs, the legs are too tight.

He took it all in with a big smile. He explained that he had just the solution, boy shorts! I knew what boy shorts were, but i could tell he was excited about squeezing my big ole ass into some, and that excited me. and asked if I had time to try a couple of things on. I scanned the room and found their “dressing room” which was just a curtain hanging on the side wall. There was no real privacy if the curtain was slightly open. I readily agreed “if he thought it would help”.

I got behind the thin white curtain and took off everything but the tank top I was wearing. I feel so exposed when I’m only bottomless like that. I poked my head around to let him know I was ready and he brought me his first round of suggestions. He brought me some different boy shorts, mostly pretty safe but in the back he snuck in a pair that were lace in front and back. He would get a good look at my cock and ass in those. I started to get hard.

I put on the some simple cotton shorts first and opened the curtain wide. He was standing just outside the curtain and I gave him various angles. I tried to shake my butt they the shorts were too tight. I told him and he went to look for some different fabrics. As all the boy shorts were the same make I moved to the see thru pair in the back. I slid into them and they looked amazing. The squeezed my ass cheeks together and lifted them even higher creating an optical illusion. my thick, semi erect cock was snaked across the lace front on full display. I looked like a whore. I quickly opened the curtain…

This time my attendant couldn’t help but let out a low “hmmmmmmm”. I postured and posed like a slut while he took it all in. He thought the back looked amazing, but admitted that the front didn’t have room for “all this” he said while gesturing towards my swollen cock bulging out the crotch. My cock stiffened and he said he would run off to get me a couple other things to try.

When the salesperson returned he had a couple of very tight and thin briefs and then a couple of random pieces of string and material. He saw my suspicious look and laughed nervously. “I thought you might like to try something fun” he said. I decided to play along and let him dress me up like a sex doll. The fact that he was clearly bringing me items so he could check out my swollen ass and cock was making this so much more fun.

I tried on the briefs and they were sheer and revealing and his jaw dropped but we were both anxious to see what came next. When i closed the curtain again I picked up the hanger with the strings clipped to it. I figured out that this was a g-string with a pouch for my dick and balls in the front. I pulled it up as far as I could and poked my head through the curtain. I told the salesman. “you’re gonna have to step inside to see this one”. He grinned and slipped inside the curtain.

I had my back turned and watched him gasp in the mirror. My as swallowed the thong and it barely made it halfway up my ass so my whole booty was exposed. He said “let me see the front” with more bass than I expected. I turned around and he saw my fat, semi-hard cock stretching the pouch to it’s limits. He told me I looked incredible and I couldn’t help but agree. I posed and giggled my ass for him for a minute and then he handed me two more hangers. One was a weird thong kinda like the one I was currently wearing, the other looked like suspenders.

He decided to take control and explained that the “suspenders” were lingerie based on a wrestling singlet. He told me to put it on and said I had to walk the length of the store. I noticed there was just the other salesman and a customer they both seemed familiar with. He was going to trick me out and put my ass on display for his friends. Fuck this was great. I wanted to put on a good show so his friend complimented on the slut he was showing off.

The singlet was insane, just a thin pouch for my dick in the front attached to the shoulder straps that converged into a thong in the back. I looked in the mirror and was ashamed and excited and pushed boldly out of the curtain. The guys were lined up expecting me and I strutted towards them with my cock bouncing obscenely in front of me. They watched it swing with their mouths agape. I strode past them and let my amply butt cheeks bounce and jiggle.

The other salesman had a sly grin on his face so I walked up in front of him, turned my back, and let my ass bounce and jiggle in his face. I bent at the waist like a stripper and looked back thru my legs in time to watch the tall thin salesman’s cock start to snake down the leg of his tight pants. By the time it was done I was the one staring at his cock which looked to be a foot long.

I started to get hot, big cocks always make me a thirsty slut. I slid back and let my round cock gently brush against his big dick…just to be sure it was real. It was and i let it slip between my cheeks and squeezed. I looked back to let him see the lust in my eyes and caught him smirking at the cute rep who’d been helping me. He was just looking away. I realized I had gone to far, but I really wanted to keep investigating his friend’s huge cock. I gathered myself and let the hard dick slip from between my cheeks and returned to the dressing room.

I was trying to put on the other thong when my original salesman rudely asked if I was ok through the curtain. Clearly I’d embarrassed him by succumbing to his rival’s huge cock. I asked him to step inside. I hadn’t figured out the thong at all so I was basically standing there with both legs in one hole so my cock was dangling out free and entire ass was out as well. I wanted to show him I was sorry and expose myself so I was vulnerable. He quietly helped me adjust the thong and and I realized why it looked different. It wasn’t a thong, it was more like a sexy jock strap with a sheer pouch in the front and black straps hugging and shaping my ass but my entire ass crack and hole were uncovered. I posed and objectified myself for him while he watched silently. FInally he stepped out so I could get dressed.

As I walked to the register I felt kind of bad because I was going to have this amazing story to remember while I jerk my cock and the guy who was nice enough to play with me and let me tease him was embarrassed. We made eye contact while he rung me up and we smiled. He said “I think I need to go smoke a cigarette”. I don’t know what came over me but I replied “I feel the same way, but I don’t smoke…do you have something else i can suck on?”

5 Minutes later we were in the surprisingly clean alley behind the store. I pressed him against the wall and rapidly pulled his jeans down. His cock was cute, just like him. It was about 8 inches long and had a nice shape. It was rock hard and the head was enlarged with a nice ridge that I licked with my tongue. I licked all over his cock while staring into his eyes and then kissed the head and sucked it into my mouth through my pursed lips.

I sucked his cock deep into my throat and then let it slip out and sucked the lead and teased him with my tongue. I licked the whole at the tip of his dick and then sucked him hard and fast and felt him quiver. Eventually his knees buckled and his come flooded my mouth and it was so sweet to taste. I kept sucking until he pulled his sensitive cock head out of my mouth. He helped me to my feet, gently wiped some cum from my chin, and turned me around to face the wall.

He reached around my waist and undid my pants and pulled them down with my underwear. He dropped to his knees and gently kissed my ass cheek. He slowly repeated this kiss all over my ass. As he worked closer to the more sensitive middle the kisses got longer and a little wet. When he reached my crack he started at my taint and licked all the way up my crack. I bent at the waist and spread my legs to offer him my whole ass. He licked me into a frenzy and then ate my asshole like never before. I trembled while he thrust his tongue into my tight little hole. Thank god I’d drained his dick otherwise he could have had his way with me.

He still kinda did, taking my ass with his mouth. He had my ass tingling so much I thought I might cum. Then he grabbed my hard dick and pulled it back between my legs and took the head in this mouth. while he sucked more and more of my cock into his mouth he started thrusting two fingers into my asshole. This was all I could take. I bounced my ass down on his fingers and begged him to finger fuck my ass harder. He was sucking my cock so hard I couldn’t hold out and shook as I came in his mouth. Cum spilled over and he swallowed and kept sucking until my cock was drained.

As we stood up and were pulling our clothes on I tossed him the sexy new underwear I was wearing. He looked surprised and I said “show your friend, tell him you had me bent over like a trick in the alley”. He smiled and I walked away.

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