I
was at work. Dean, the handsome top who
is expanding his bottom side with me, was chatting with me online. We had covered the weather, his last bar
night, CLAW coming up in April and an exchange about a hot ass we wanted to
share. Then he typed a sentence that made
me sweat: “I hear you write a sex blog.”
I
typed back something noncommittal: “Oh?”
“It’s
fucking hot. Especially those entries
about a certain guy named Dean.”
I
wiped my clammy hands on my jeans and relaxed a little.
“You
liked those?”
“It
was just like you were doing me again.”
“Thanks,”
I pecked out.
"I
have three hours before a meeting. Can
we meet at the bookstore downtown?”
We
agreed as to exactly where and when, and then I told my boss that I was done
for the day...
He
was right on time. We parked next to
each other in the lot. We went into the
new gay theatre. The bookstore has taken
out some unused preview booths and built a separate, but equal gay
theatre. About a dozen new chairs were
scattered around the room. A padded
bench ran against the side wall. We were
alone in the space—except for some pretty boys doing some passionless fucking
on the large flat screen.
“Oh, man…” he mutters. I can see him will himself to stop before he
blows.
I pull off his cock.
“I want to eat your ass.”
He gets on all fours on the padded bench. I kneel, but the bench is so low I am hunched
over in a really awkward position. It
doesn’t stop my tongue from connecting with his hole. He groans and says something I can’t
understand, as his face is pressed against the plywood wall. I spit into his hole and snake my tongue into
him. And again. But I have to stop. I am hurting my neck.
“Sit there,” he says as he gets up and points to the
middle of the bench. I do, my back
against the wall. He steps up onto the
bench, his back to me. He’s tall enough
that he can straddle me and lower his ass onto my face. I gurgle my encouragement. I can’t get enough of his ass, lightly haired
and now slightly open to my tongue. I
eat and twist my tongue in even deeper.
Fuck my rimseat, this is heaven right here. I have to stop stroking my cock, I’m so
turned on by his ass.
When his knees get tired, he gets down. I get up and we kiss. For a long time. I don’t kiss many men. I can’t stop kissing him. When we separate, I ask “How long do we have?”
Dean looks at his phone. “I still have an hour before the meeting. It’s really close to here.” He looks at me, and kisses me lightly once
more. “Fuck me.”
I push him towards some chairs against the back
wall, so he can brace himself on one of their arms. I eat his ass a little more, stroking my cock
and applying some lube to it. I stand
up.
"You able to clean out at work?” I murmur in his
ear.
“This morning I did.”
I make a quick mental compute of time and fish a
Magnum out of my pocket. I slip it on
without his being aware. I lube
heavily. He bends, holding onto the arms
of the plastic seat. I slap my engorged
head against his hole. And I move into
him slowly. He grunts. I pause.
I push. He takes me. He’s takes me more easily every time we
fuck. I hold, with my entire length in him. He is stroking. Furiously.
I start a steady fuck rhythm.
The door buzzes and opens. We are directly in front of it. And don’t care. I fuck.
My balls slap Dean’s ass as an overweight Mexican stands for a moment,
framed in the doorway, then steps in, continuing to watch us. He gropes himself, but makes no move to touch
us.
I fuck even harder with an audience.
My balls whack at his ass. My hand connects with his upturned ass. He’s close.
I can tell.
The Mexican leaves—breaking our concentration as the
door is yanked open and slams shut. I
pull out. He’s clean. I rip the condom off, thinking I’d slide back
in raw.
“Oh, fuck.”
He’s going to shoot.
“I want it,” I tell him.
“You do?”
He has never cum in my mouth.
I sit on the floor against the side wall nearest
us. Dean comes toward me. His dripping cock looks huge and red. I open
wide. He pushes in and fucks my mouth
for maybe two strokes. He explodes. He grabs the sides of my head and pumps his
seed down my throat. I try to pull back
slightly—I want to taste it. I am able
to squirm back just enough to let the third spurt go across my tongue. It’s sweet and thick and viscous. And there is a lot of it. Dean starts to pull out. I grab his balls and hold him in place. I get one last spurt.
I clean him off.
It’s that moment I can’t get enough of with any man. To do it for Dean means more than I want to
write here.
He pulls me up.
We kiss.
Again.
Sweet. There is more than comfort to be found in repeated experiences... there is also a sort of imprinting that takes place as we share more of ourselves with our partner each time we fuck. Some of it is physical memory, some of it is communicated subliminally - our wants, our needs, our desires. Shine on. - Uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque
ReplyDeleteI love repeats. And I love the thrill of the new, too. After my life partner died, I was pretty sure I could not do that again. Instead, I saw myself with a number of regulars. Five or six guys you can grow with sexually and to whom I could feel an emotional attachment. I have managed some of that. I have a number of men I see regularly--as you can tell from reading these pages--who satisfy different sexual needs and who I genuinely care for. But I will always love the thrill of the new!
DeleteHey from Germany your new Fan!!! :-) Super hot Story.... I could certainly learn a lot from you....and from your big cock!!!! ;-)
ReplyDeleteThank you. He is an incredible play partner---either as a bottom for me or a fellow top.
DeleteYou two really seem to share a hot connection. It really comes through in this post. Passion on top of good sex is the ultimate.
ReplyDeleteYes, we did. And then he got busy...
Delete