My Hotel, Northwest, IN—October, 2015
So here I was in a new place and I should have been the new meat in town. I got some interest online, but it was largely from cheating married men who thought the height of decadence was offering to suck my cock, but cautioning me I had to blast my seed on their chest. Or there was the man who wanted me to jack off across the room as he stroked himself while sucking a dildo of my choosing.
Some hot, sleazy men found me—but universally they were over two hours away.
But there was one who found me on the most vanilla of sites, but read between the lines and was pretty sure I could offer what he needed: A big cock, a raw breeding and piss to drink. “Take charge. Make me do exactly what you want.” He went on so long in this vein, that I became convinced he’d be a jerker and we’d never meet.
I was wrong. He showed up. But it was a meeting full of potential—and not quite true fulfillment.
I am waiting for him in my dirtiest jock and combat boots. I have stripped down one of the two beds in my hotel room. I really wish I had the sling for this encounter. I want to string him up to the sling frame and work him over.
He texts me he’s in the parking lot and coming in. He makes it safely past the front desk and knocks at my door. I let him in. He eyes me appreciatively as he steps through the door. He’s a good deal older than his pictures. He claims to be my age, but if he is, than it’s been a hard life. But there’s no issue here—I like my daddies.
“Strip and kneel right here.” I point to the spot at the end of the bed. His hair is cropped. What there is of it is salt and pepper. He is about 5’8”, slender, with a once defined chest beginning to show signs of neglect. But his ass, as strips out of his jeans, has a nice curve to it. My cock is swelling in my jock—always a good sign. He kneels. His hands instinctively go behind his back without my telling him. I stand in front of him and grind the used jock in his face. He inhales. His tiny cock erects. “Mouth the pouch. Make it wet.”
Fuck, he’s good at this. I’m sopping in no time. His tongue finds its way around the edge of the fabric occasionally and connects with my balls. My cock is straining to get out. I hold the back of his head into the growing mound of flesh, cutting off his air for a moment. I let go. Let him catch his breath—and then do it again.
It makes his cock drip all over the worn carpet.
“Peel back the pouch.”
He does. My cock springs to full hardness.
“Now suck it.”
I let him establish his own rhythm. He’s good, with some expert tongue action. He takes two thirds on my dick with no issues. Finally, to change things up, I hold his head still and fuck his face. I go shallow for quite a few strokes. I begin fucking slightly deeper with each thrust. He’s keeping pace with me. He hasn’t choked yet. At about the ¾ mark he gags on it. I pull out, let his catch his breath and do it again. And again. And again—until he can take that depth without the gag.
I pull out. He looks up at me. Our eyes lock. I give him a nod of approval. He blushes.
“Get up on the bed. Ass right here,” I tell him pointing to the edge of the bed.
I kneel and eat his butt. It’s great. But my tongue is battering against an unyielding hole. I stand up and poke my lubed cock head against him. I’m just teasing his pucker. I know I’m not going in, but he tenses, making his hole even tighter. I go back to eating. He can’t relax. He’s wound too tight with how he wants to play.
I use tongue. I use a lubed finger. I get in. Just. I try for two, but he winces. I pull both out and go back to eating.
“Just ram it in me, Sir.”
I grunt in acknowledgment, but I know that is not going to work. I go back to eating him out. He seems to relax his hole a little bit more. I go back to a finger. Now two. Now three. I try for the dick. I get in about halfway. I hold and let him adjust. But he doesn’t. He tenses and pulls off me.
Round and round we go. More tongue, more fingers, some cock.
I get an adequate fuck going, but only giving him about half my dick. I stop.
“Try riding me.”
I lay flat. He straddles and tries to mount me.
“Take your time.” But the continual resistance is taking a toll on my erection. And maybe being slightly softer does the trick. He slides down to the base. He gives himself a moment, than begins riding, not the full length, but enough to make me stiffen up again. It’s too much and he pulls off me.
“Come here.” I’m wishing for my sling big time now. I hate the run to the bathroom. “In the tub,” I tell him. He kneels and I let fly. The look on his face is the same as when he took more of my cock down his throat. He is beating his own dick fast and furiously under the stream of piss pouring out of my dick. I bring some up to his chin. “Open.” He does and I splash some on his tongue. I think he would drink more, but I cut it off, I want some on his ass. “Turn around.” He scrambles up and turns. “Bend.” He supports himself against the tiled wall. I empty the rest of my bladder down his ass crack. He whimpers appreciatively. I bend and lick him clean right there, then toss him a towel and we go back to the problem of getting my dick where it belongs.
We fuck more, but it’s never all of it and never easy for either of us. When I finally realize I’m never going to really get it up him, I get him on his back and jerk off all over his hole. Only then, with a little pressure, do I slide easily into him.
He gasps, reaches down and covers his fingers with some semen. He brings them to his mouth. He sucks them clean as he jerks. And cums.
I am watching him dress. He is slightly sheepish. I thank him for making the trip.
“You should have punched me in the face, Sir. Bloodied my lip. That would make me take it.”
I just look at him. That’s not me. But I don’t tell him. At least, not now.
“Thank you for breeding me, Sir.”
And he lets himself out the door.