The Fuck and Stretch Session

Western Indiana—January, 2018

Back in October, I met Chris.  You met him here.  (Go on, click it.   There is a picture of his hot, hairy ass on that post.)  Between his crazy work schedule and my having to head east to be at my brother’s bedside, we had not managed a second meet.  Our first meet was a get to know each other fuck.  Our next was to be all about stretching his hole.  He had taken a small fist—but he wanted to be able to take a medium sized hand like mine.

I took my rim seat.   We set it up in his basement playroom at a right angle to his Fort Troff sling.  I changed into my leathers for it was still slightly nippy in the playroom even with a space heater running.  Chris stripped down to a backless pair of briefs.  We go in—and shut the door…

We kiss briefly.  Nice, almost sweet.  It grows more urgent.   Chris, this bear of a man, sinks to a squat and works my cock out of its pouch.  He takes it into his mouth, swirls his tongue all around it—then takes me all the way down.   Again and again.

“I want to taste your ass.”

He gets up off the floor and bends over, holding onto one of the uprights of the sling frame.  I go to the floor and bury my face in the hairy crack of his ass.  I work his hole open easily.  My tongue slides in.  I lick and spit.  I run my tongue up and down the entire ass crack.  I mat the hair so it clings to his flesh.  I spit one last time.  I stand up.  My dick enters him for the first of countless times this session.

Chris grunts out his appreciation of my cock in his slick chute.  It’s not a particularly slow entry.  I am balls deep in no time and his ass is squeezing my dick.  I hold for a second—then begin sawing in and out of him.  My hips really connect with his ass cheeks.  The sound of their slapping together fills the closed room.  It’s a fast and hard fuck, now.  I slam his ass relentlessly.  I stop only to catch my breath—and to let Chris straighten up. 

I sort of help get him in the sling.  He needs little assistance from me.  I briefly taste his hole again.   I go back up him at a new, slower tempo.  It’s a languid in and out now.  Slow.  Letting him really feel every inch invading his ass.

I stop again.  I dig into my bag on the counter behind me.  The egg headed dildo is right there.  I heft it, grease it and insert it into him.  I let him get comfortable with it then pull the base down and add the head of my cock.

“Oh, yeah!”

That’s all the encouragement I need.  I push the rest of the shaft in alongside the ribbed column of the dildo.  I hold the toy down and go back to the slow fuck.  The toy and my cock together are giving him a great stretch.  I fuck this way for a long time.

A big dildo has been left for him by a previous fuck buddy.  I heft it.  I grease it.  I grease it a little more.  He takes maybe a third of this monster in his hole.  I put it to one side and get out my speculum.

I grease.  I insert and begin the slow crank.  The two smooth, metal pieces open and his hole stretches wide open.  I slip my finger in and touch his prostate.  I do it enough times that the pouch of the underwear becomes very wet with his pre-cum.  I crank some more until the opening is big enough for me to add my cock.  I never tire of the sensation of metal on the sides and his hot flesh above and below.  I love fucking this way—and from the constant popper use, I think Chris loves it, too.

We try the big toy again.  We gain half an inch from the last time.

I break the routine of stretching with another fuck.

And then I sit down on the hassock lube up my hands and begin with three fingers—first from the left, then the right.  Now all six go in and I pull them into a lateral stretch. 

More twisting insertions.  Four fingers from both.  In and out.  Left and right.

I am stopped by the bridge of my hand each time.

I fuck again.

I re-grease my hands.  I collapse them as much as I can. I insert the left.  It seems to go a millimeter farther, but that’s all.

I do another lateral stretch.  I try the right.  Again I have to stop at the bridge of my knuckles.

We both know it’s a process…often it will take repeated attempts to stretch and relax.

I re-grease to try first one, than the other hand.  Nope. 

We’ve been here a long time.  Without the full movement of fucking, I’m feeling the chill.  Chris’ hole isn’t hurting—but he can certainly feel that’s he’s been stretched. 

We decide that’s enough for the night—and go upstairs to clean up and have dinner. 

Only then do I remember we never used the rim seat.

Tom of Finland, of course....