Thursday, January 26, 2012


Kalamazoo--March, 2006

This happened quite a few years ago. In 2006, I think, from the few emails left in an old yahoo account. I am pretty sure I met him through, the very first hook-up site I used--when I knew next to nothing about using the internet for finding men. His profile was an ass shot--one of those bubble butts that tops dream about. He was in his early 30’s, extremely fit--just how fit I was soon to find out. He asked if I wanted to come over for a scotch. He had desires he thought I might be able to satisfy…

He lived in one of those clusters of apartments that I always associate with student housing, thought this was on the East edge of town, not near the university at all. But they were perfect for singles. I found him on the second floor of the seventh building. The man who opened the door reeked masculinity. He was only a few years out of the Marines. His dark hair was still cut to reflect his years in the service, though it was now slightly longer on the sides. Aquiline, handsome features maybe 5’ 10”, and ripped. He obviously had a gym membership to build on his basic training.

He welcomed me in as if I’d come for the game and a pizza. I sat at his dining room table while he poured scotch over ice out in the kitchen. His computer was up, and displayed on his desktop a gorgeous half naked brunette with large (but real) breasts. He came back to the table and handed me my drink. It was at least a double. He sat, looking at his drink. Then at me. And back to his drink. Finally he spoke.

“Nobody will do it.”

I just looked at him.

“I have a girlfriend, but there’s this part of me…” He stopped, twirled his ice and looked back at me. “During basic training something happened to me. These three guys caught me coming out of the shower. They put a gas mask on me.” He stopped, took a long swig of his scotch. “They took turns fucking me and pissing down the air hose of the mask…”

I said nothing. But I could see in my mind a picture of this butch guy, left lying on the floor of the shower, cum oozing out of his ass and choking on the forced piss.

He was looking at me. “Will you piss on me like that?”

A beat. “And?”

“Yeah, you can fuck me if you’ll do the piss thing.”

“Sure. When?”

“Now. Drink up.”

We stripped and went to the bathroom. It was then I found our how great a body he had. He dropped his jeans in a pile and the t-shirt followed. He was commando, and flashed a big cock. I stripped and threw my clothes on top of his jeans. On the toilet tank sat a regulation issue gas mask. The long hose swayed as he picked it up. He pulled it on over his head, working the chin in last. His breathing became audible as he knelt in the tub.

I grabbed the end of the hose out of his hand and pushed him lower so the hose no longer a U bend to it. With him lower it was a straight shot to his face. I’d had a cup of tea on the way and the huge scotch while here, so I was tanked.

“Come on, Faggot,” I snarled. “Take my piss.”

I rarely think of piss play as humiliation. But this scene was loaded with it. My cock sputtered to life with a trickle of piss down the hose. The Marine whimpered as it hit him. Then the flow began in earnest. It was a huge piss. Even for me. It literally took all the air out of him. He was choking, gagging and was suddenly totally hard. I kept pissing. Rank piss made from the scotch. His hands flailed up, wanting to remove the mask. I slapped the closest one down. I pissed and pissed. As I reached the end, his hands came up again and ripped the mask off. He was beet red. Cover in piss and sweat. Gasping for air.

He rose, shakily. I helped him step out of the tub and guided him to his unmade bed. I pushed him down. He landed face first with a grunt. I was hard. I spit on his hole and entered him. He literally screamed. I slowed for a minute--before I knew that scream was part of the scene. He began begging for me to stop.

“I can’t take it. Please.”

I pushed his head into a dingy pillow. And held it there. He continued pleading, but I just fucked him harder. No position changes. Just a battering of his ass. Long and deep. His muffled words spurred me on.

“I’m gonna breed your faggot ass.”

He pulled up from the pillow. “Don’t cum in me.”

Was this part of the scene, too? Unsure, I pulled out and moved around to his side.

“Look at me.” He did. And I shot all over his tear and piss wet face. He opened his mouth to protest and got a blast deep into his gullet. He looked like he was about to puke. He rolled away and stayed huddled in a semi fetal position on the far side of the bed.

I dressed in silence. I’d gone too far. Shit.

As I was tying my tennis shoe, he rolled over, towards me.

“That was great,” he said. “When can we do it next week?”


  1. Wow. It never amazes me the way people will put on a show for their own sexual benefit. I never need anything like that, but man do I love helping a guy live his fantasy. Always fun.


    1. It was a pretty stong, unvarying imprint for this side of his sexuality. He never got off while I was there. I'm sure it was "re-live it later" jerk.

    2. I'm sure he got more than one jerk out of your session.


  2. I hope you went back the next week and came in his ass.

    1. I played maybe three more times. But I never bred him. He made it very clear that was not an option in a follow up email.