Thursday, February 14, 2013

Pissing in the Cold

Upstate New York—January, 2013

 
I was concerned that he was writing too much before I got to the area.  I was afraid that he’d turn into one of those men who is all talk before the trip, and then I’d never hear from him the moment I was within a hundred miles of him.  Paul told me he was a piss pig.  He told me all the things he wanted done to him.  I assured him that I was the man for the job.  We agreed that we would meet as soon as I knew my schedule. 
We met within the first few days I was in the area.  He lived a fair distance away.  I couldn’t host in my current digs.  But it happened that he had the solution.  Halfway between us was a house he was renovating.  We could piss all over the unfinished bathroom.  And we did.

 It’s cold.  He didn’t tell me there was no heat in the house.  And this is the day after a major cold snap which dumped several inches of snow on the area.  I’ve waded through drifts to bring in the sling and rimseat. The pipes for the frame are incredibly cold to the touch as they have been in my trunk for a week, ever since the New Year’s Eve party.  I gingerly assemble the frame.  He has turned on the clothes drier and re-routed the vented hose into the bathroom.  It’s warming nicely.
“Get in the tub,” I tell him.  “The cold is really making me need to piss.”

He strips to just his socks.  I look down on him, kneeling in the avocado colored tub which he assures me will eventually be ripped out.  Paul’s 40-ish.  He has a shaved head, good natural muscles from his renovation projects, and a hairy chest— that my piss spits out on.  He gasps at the heat of the liquid.  I cover all of his chest—it clings to the curly hair and slowly drips onto the porcelain.  I play the stream down onto his erect and pulsing cock. His fist wraps around it.  He jerks it furiously.  “Careful,” I tell him.  “We have all afternoon.”  He opens his mouth to speak.  I bring the stream up and splash some in his mouth, making him splutter.  “Swallow it,” I tell him.  He does, then leans forward to get the stream onto the top of his head and down his back.  I watch the pale, pale yellow liquid cascade down his back.  I lean forward to watch it disappear down his ass crack.  And I’m done.  I shake the last few drops onto him.
“Now lean into the sling.”

He gets out and does just what I tell him.  I’ve placed a towel on the cold leather, so it’s not too cold on his stomach as he leans into place.  His hairy ass is high in the air, matted with my piss.  I kneel down and begin licking his crack, wringing out the hair with my tongue.  He moans a “Yes, Sir.”  I jerk my cock as I eat, lick and swallow.  The cold makes me ready to piss again, even faster than usual.  I stand up and direct it at the top of his ass.  The hot stream hits him.  He jumps, rattling the chains.  The pale yellow stream collects for a moment on his ass, then runs down his crack to the unfinished floor.  I force myself to stop mid flow, kneel and lick it off of him.  Noisily.  The sound of my slurping fills the small room.  “Damn, that feels good, Sir.”  I poke my tongue deeply into his hole.  I am more than ready to fuck.
“Get in on you back.”

I help him get him properly situated with his feet in the stirrups.  My cock erupts.  I aim the piss at his cock and balls.  He jerks himself just as furiously as the stream splashes onto him.
“Easy there….”

My lubed cock pokes against his hole.  “Fuck me, Sir.”  I enter him easily.  He may not get much play, but his hole takes my full size in one steady thrust.  He grunts.  “That’s what I need.”
I work up to a hard fuck.  Then slow it.  Then bend my knees, so the angle pushing into him is totally different.  I pull out.  I walk around to the side of the sling.  He leans over, knowing I want him to taste his hole.  He grunts again.

I taste his hole when he’s done, then push in again.  We fuck.
Then it goes bad.  Dirty.  Really dirty.   He has nothing to help him do another rinse here at this house.  He finds a soda bottle.  I spend ten chilly minutes on the stairs to the upper story, giving him some privacy. 

When I come back in, he tells me he wants to eat my ass.  He gets under the rim seat.  I grab my poppers, and settle down on the cold seat.  His enthusiasm makes up for the roughness with which he eats my hole.  I’ve taken a hit and I begin jerking and talking dirty.
“Eat my hole, you cocksucker.  Stick your tongue in there.  That’s right.  Eat it, dammit.  Lick my ass out, man…”  I know I sound like bad porn, but I can’t stop myself until the high wears off.  Paul is jerking like crazy.  He’s totally into servicing my ass with his tongue.  I stop him by standing up, just before he cums.

“Get back in the sling.”
I enter him.  He jerks frantically.  He’s headed for the end.  I pull out.  He’s not clean.  I plunge back in anyway.  He shoots, matting his damp chest hair.

“Where do you want my load?”
“On my balls.”  I pull out just in time to shoot.

 
We tried to play again during my stay in New York.  We met, maybe 8 days later.  This time it became obvious he hadn’t tried to clean out at all.  When he saw my face, he simply continued to jerk, still in my sling, while I went to the sink to wash up.  He didn’t bother to ask if he could get me off another way.  Needless to say, I didn’t try a third meeting.

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