Wednesday, February 27, 2013

“Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Upstate New York—January, 2013

My time in New York was winding down.   Another business type came to a hotel near me.  We fucked for a bit.  It seemed to be going well, but he finally stopped me mid thrust, claiming I was just too big.  Ugh.
The bookstores continued to be my main release.  I found a couple of rather big dicked, leather-ish looking guys.  Both times we’d exchange mutual head.  We’d then talk about meeting up with their partner---as I inevitably got the line: “My boyfriend would love that up his ass.”  Phone numbers were exchanged.  Or screen-names traded.  But nothing ever came of any of them.

But I do have one last story to share from the bookstores of upstate New York…

 I switch off the radio.  I can’t take any more in depth analysis from NPR about the school shootings in Connecticut.   I swing my car into the parking lot behind the closest of the bookstores in my area.  There are quite a few cars in the lot.  A good sign, but they could be going to the bank or getting Chinese takeout as easily as looking for sex.  I park next to a huge SUV and step out into the slush of January.  I check my pockets:  lube, poppers, napkins, cockring and dollar bills.
It’s hot in the arcade.  I have left my hat and gloves in the car.  I unwind my scarf and stuff it in the inside pocket of my long winter coat.  Three booths have lights on above the closed doors.  I try the first.  Locked.  I can hear the sounds of a blow job in progress.  I try the second.  Locked.  No sound from this booth at all.  I continue around the corner.  The corner booth is lit.  The door is closed.  I try the knob.  It’s not locked.  I push it open.  A bear-ish man looks up.  He smiles and gestures for me to come in.  He has taken off his coat, and shoved it into the back of the bench.  His jeans are open.  A thick beer can of a dick is being jerked by a hand that does some sort of manual labor. His cowboy boots are leaving tiny pools of water on the tile.

I slip out of my coat and hang it on the door knob after I lock it.  I undo my belt.  I unzip.  My cock flops out.
“That’s a big one.”  The man reaches for it and slides his rough hand over the length of it.   But he makes no move to suck it.  Instead he spreads his legs, in invitation for me to go down on him.

I kneel.  I have to oval big.  And work at covering my teeth.  My tongue swirls over his helmet head.  And then works into his wider than usual piss slit.  It’s dripping.  I spend a long time on it, licking the pre-cum out and swallowing.  He grunts in appreciation.
Soon those rough hands are on either side of my head.  He holds me tight and begins controlling my cock sucking speed.  My cock jumps as he pushes me deeper.  He pulls me up the length of his dick.  Then back down.  My hands flail out.  I grab his denim clad hips for support

That’s when I feel it.  It has to be, it can’t be anything else.  He’s wearing a handgun.  Part of me wants to wiggle out of his grip and get the hell out of there.  The other side of me wants him to continue to just fucking use me. I don’t really have any choice anyway.  His hands never let up.  Down. Up. Down. 
Suddenly he holds me down.  I gasp for breath.  Shit.  I don’t want him to cum that deep.  I want to taste his load.  He holds me in place until I choke.  Only then does he let me up for air.  I gulp oxygen into my lungs.  He gives me a second, then it’s back down on his thick, ol’ cock.

When I come up this next time, I am leaking spittle from deep in my throat.  He seems to like that.  He lets me suck it all down before his cock plunges back into my mouth.  Not as deep now.  I am pretty sure he will shoot soon. 
His pace picks up.  And it’s there; his cum is all over my tongue.  I savor and swallow.

He bellows with each shot of his orgasm.  Loud enough they had to have heard him at the front counter.  My own cock belches out a load.   I hold on to him—one hand on hip, one hand on holster.
When he lets go, I pull away and begin the mop up process of my cock.

He grunts a “Thanks” and gets dressed without any wipe down.
We move past each other, letting me stay in the booth as he takes off.  His coat is covering the holster, so I never see his gun.

But I do notice that I have left a large cum load on his right cowboy boot.

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