My Playroom—December, 2015
Kurt sent me a text. He needed another session in my playroom. His time with me is always a wet affair. He loves piss play almost as much as he loves the incredibly large toys he brings over for me to stick up his ass. Or my hands—sometimes up to the elbow.
We did all that. (Well, not quite to the elbow this time.)
He even left me an ass missile of at least 15 inches that he didn’t care for—“I’m sure you know someone who will like it.” (And he was right…I found that person just a couple of weeks later.)
So after the fucking, after the piss, after the toys, after my fists, it was time to fuck again. But his hole was not tightening down enough for me. I reached into his toy box…
My black nitrile gloved hand, still covered in globs of Crisco, pulls out a stainless steel ball bearing. I lube it easily with what’s left on my gloves. It’s the size of a billiard ball and feels heavy in my hand. A slight push on his puffy hole and it disappears into him. Kurt groans aloud and huffs some poppers.
I reach back. The second ball is greased and inserted. I hear the click as the balls hit each other deep in his bowels. Kurt moans and I see his eyes roll back in his head, just before he closes them. He knows what’s coming.
I stand up and poke my raw cock at his hole. It is slightly open after all this play and I enter him easily. The bottom of my cock glides over the ball bearings, while the balls push my dick up against the top of his ass canal. He’s tight now—as tight or tighter than when I first entered him 90 minutes ago. I love the glide over the balls. They are still cool from the cold temperatures of the drive over. The contrast of the cool metal and hot flesh makes me fuck him particularly hard.
Soon enough, I slow down. I reach for the third ball. I have to bend and pull out to get at the tub of Crisco. I grease and insert the silver orb. It clicks into place. I use the left over Crisco on my dick. It looks particularly obscene: my red engorged flesh slathered with the white lube by the black glove. I push into him. Kurt groans and huffs some more. He’s tight. I move slowly—opening his ass up all over again.
I never stop the fucking motion. Kurt is in heaven. He calls me a “filthy fucker.” I chuckle and just keep fucking him.
Abruptly, I stop and pull out.
“Push the balls out,” I tell him.
He tries—but it’s not happening. I use two fingers to get the first one closer to the exit. He squeezes again and it fires out of his ass. I catch it, dropping it on the towel under the sling.
I prime the next. “Again,” I tell him.
He squeezes, with a slight grunt. I catch the second ball, but it slips right out of my hands and joins the other one beneath him.
His hole is tired. I cup my hand and simply reach in, grab the ball and tuck it into the palm of my hand as I pull out.
“Cum on me,” Kurt pleads, but he’s getting out of the sling. No helping hand needed here. He kneels on the towels. “Shoot on my chest.” I stroke my dick. He grabs his own. I grind my balls against his mouth and chin. He smells them more than licks them. The look of need on his face is intense. It contorts. I pull back and fire my first blast of cum on his face. He gasps and begins to shoot himself. My second squirt lands on his chest. The third and fourth on his stomach.
I look down at my boots. They are covered in his jizz.