Friday, April 28, 2017

CLAW--Never Plan Ahead

Cleveland—April, 2017

Marco went off to do his volunteer shifts and, after I set up the room, I went to register.  I grabbed a sandwich on the way back to the room and got online to see who of the people who I’d talked to through the week were actually here.  The answer—not one.  It is always the way.  There is so much potential here, guys are easily side tracked—even with the best intentions of honoring a hook up.  And it’s why I’d insisted on making no concrete plans.

So I talked to brand new people.  Marco was to work until 11:00pm so I had the room to myself.  There were numerous choices, of course.  I discarded anyone not within walking distance—I wasn’t getting the car out of its valet parking, after an over three hour drive in.

The man who seemed the best choice was at the host hotel around the corner.  He had great ass shots and said he wanted to do more than just get loaded.    First he was coming here, but then he said he really wanted to get fucked doggy.  So I countered that we might as well use his room if he didn’t want my sling.  He agreed—he kind of wanted that “walk-in/ass up” scenario to begin with. 

Marco walked in as my targeted ass and I were chatting.  His volunteer shift ended early.  I learned my man was a fisting top—we could all do something together.  We talked a little more.  I would go do a preliminary fuck with the new guy and bring him back to the room for fisting—and Marco would ask a man he’d been chatting up over for a little group fist action.

So off I went the few short blocks to the host hotel. 

I go up the packed elevator.  I get off on the 11th floor.  I text the man that I’m here.  He answers with “Ready.”  I find his room easily.  The door is not ajar.  Locked.  I text again.  He curses the duct tape he used.  I walk away so he won’t see me as he fixes it. 

I approach the room again.  I push open the door.  Loud music is playing and it’s very bright.  But the ass on the far bed is worth the trip.  It’s perfectly framed by a leather jock and chaps.  I look down at the blindfolded man.  He has an intricate tattoo that covers half his back.  I kneel and without a word stick my tongue deep into his slightly open hole.

He gasps and grinds back on my face.  His hands reach back and spread his cheeks.  I go deeper.  I use my chin.  I lick and spit and drill for a good five minutes before I undo my jeans.  My cock is slow to rise—I worry my blood supply is busy digesting that sandwich and not doing what I want it to do.

The man under me groans and pushes back.  His hole is leaking.  He’s a self luber and it is dripping out of his ass.  I lap it up and my cock gets fully hard.  I insert and fuck a little.  Not very deep and not very hard.

We break and I strip down to jock and boots.  I go back to rimming.  He can’t stop telling me how no one has ever eaten him out like this.  I fuck him again.  I glance over my shoulder and catch my naked backside pumping into him.  Maybe my ass is cuter than I think it is…

We  go back to rimming.  The blindfold comes off.  He really has no interest in any other position.  But he has told me he wants to rim me, too.  So we try that—for some variety.  I’m on all fours—his position of choice, it seems.  The first 30 seconds feels great as he licks my crack.  Then he burrows into me.  Painfully.  I can take a good tongue assault—but not like this.  I beg off—citing my knees hurting.

We fuck a little more.  Does this man not suck cock?  No ATM?

I am rimming as his roommate arrives, collects things and leaves.

I do get him in one other position.  I lie on the bed and, keeping his feet on the floor, he sits on my face.  He claims to like this—and has never done it this way— but it lasts for only a minute.  We are back to him ass up and me fucking.

And I’m now, frankly, slightly bored.  I mention joining Marco.  Now he’s not sure he’ll go.
He asks for my load.  I decide to let him have it, if I’m fisting for the rest of the evening.

I cum.  But it certainly doesn’t make the earth move.  I put a Sharpie hash mark on his ass as requested.

I text Marco I’m coming home alone.

I needn’t have bothered—no one is there. 

His plans had all changed, too.


  1. Oh well, the weekend is young and I'm certain things will vastly improve. This was just a prelude to bigger and better things. Hopefully you'll come home absolutely exhausted. (In a good way).
    I never could understand why so many people are incapable of making plans and sticking to them.

    1. I think making plans and a leather weekend are totally incompatible.