My Playroom—December, 2014
I survived Christmas. And suddenly it was time for the annual New Year’s Eve orgy. Not only did Ryan of the blog “Spreading My Legs” agree to go again, but this year my IML roommate, Marco (the muscle hole,) was going along, too. He arrived at my house sometime after midnight on the 30th/31st. I had made up the bed in the playroom knowing he’d be late. We were good. We didn’t play that night—we fell into each other’s arms and slept.
But he was up and in the shower six or seven hours later. A quick hole stretching and we’d hit the road to pick up Ryan and journey on into Chicago for the festivities…
There is no sucking cock to get me going. Marco, fresh from the shower and a deep cleaning, just hops right in the sling. I can feel the heat rising off the damp hair on his butt. I bury my face into his hole. It never grows old. I stick my tongue into him as deeply as possible.
He groans and I hear the popper bottle being unscrewed. I can eat him all day, but we are on a timetable. I jerk myself to dripping hardness as I tongue and spit into his hole. I stand and enter him.
“God, I love your dick,” Marco moans. “Fuck me with that thing.”
I don’t need encouragement. I am slapping my balls against his upturned ass fast and hard. I only slow down knowing he wants my hand.
Crisco. Both hands covered. Fingers investigate his hole as I kneel again in front of him. My hands never stop. Two fingers right. Two fingers left. Three and three. Four and four. I leave the eight fingers in him and do a small lateral stretch. Marco sighs and closes his eyes. I pull gently again.
I stand up. My left hand slips to my side and I begin a tremendously slow crawl with my right hand into his guts. My finger are cupped and open. They close into a fist as I enter him—no, as his hole welcomes me. His ass squeezes down on my wrist and keeps me from moving. When he allows me to continue, I back up slightly so I can open my hand deep inside him.
And then I am moving forward millimeter by millimeter. My middle finger finds the path. Marco huffs more poppers. I pause—then keep moving forward. Marco has never been about depth with me. It is girth that makes him shoot. But not this morning. For whatever reason, I am hitting new frontiers inside him. I bend over him, my ear resting against his stomach. I can feel the progress my hand is making on my cheek.
I have never felt closer to him.
I look down at my arm. I am halfway up my forearm. Usually he stops me an inch above my wrist. But I straighten up and just keep going…
Marco opens his eyes. He looks up into the mirror and sees how deeply I am embedded. He groans and clamps down on my arm. He should never have looked. When he relaxes his muscles, I start pulling out as slowly as I inched forward. When we are back at my wrist, I clench my hand slowly back into a fist.
Marco pushes me out. It’s almost like a sneeze. The force of my exit is fast and sudden. And the girth of my first exiting his hole makes him shoot all over himself.
I bend forward and clean his uncut cock and the hairs on his belly with my tongue.
We grin. And I go wrist deep again.
And I’m pushed out.
We do it three times.
Every time he pushes me out, he shoots.
And I lovingly clean him up.
“Let’s shower,” Marco tells me.
It’s a ritual for us—a shower together after sex. Soapy hands on cocks. In ass cracks. All over backs and balls.
For two men who play for hours at a time—it’s the briefest we’ve ever been.
But we’ve never been closer…