Guest Writer: Double Header Day

(As promised, here is Jake's take on our play)

Once in a while my day job takes me to places just far enough from home that I need to find a place to stop for the night somewhere along the way.  That way I can make an early start and arrive at the job site early in the morning, rested and ready to set to work. Once not long ago it worked out for me to stay the night in FelchingPisser's home town, and we got together for "GREAT LOW ENERGY SEX" in my motel room.  Unexpectedly, another remote assignment came my way on short notice. Hoping (begging?) for more sex on the road, I dropped a line to FP.

"Sorry, I'm leaving town tomorrow and won't be back until sometime in November."  His work takes him out of town now and then, just as mine does.  But it only took a moment for me to realize that if I changed my route, his temporary location would be even more advantageous for my travel plans.  So I made my counter proposal.  Once FP knew just where he'd be housed for the duration, he let me know that I'd be welcome to join him.  "I'm just not sure where I'll put the sling ..."  

Packing my things and cleaning out my ass, I was soon on my way.  FP came out to greet me and help my get all my gear into his room.  We chatted a bit while FP finished setting up the sling (he found a good place for it after all!), arranging the necessities and accessories for play, and I shed my clothes and threw on my bull dog harness.  We had all afternoon and evening to do whatever came to mind, so we both took our time.  FP shed his clothes and slipped into his favorite antique jock strap.  It definitely had a used look to it; the elastic was so worn out that much more was revealed than concealed.  The smell was enough to make me light-headed; best when inhaled deeply.

FP stripped off most of the bed clothes and I sat down on the edge of the mattress, with FP's jock-clad gear at eye (and mouth) level.  I soon had his dick waking up, and tried to deep-throat it.  I can do it, but not for long!  It didn't matter, though, because FP wanted my ass ASAP.  He put me on my knees for rimming ... and soon he was fucking me.  My ass was plenty ready for it, and after some long, slow half penetrations, I was begging him to go balls deep! 

I have been training my ass muscles lately and wanted to show off my progress.  I began fucking back, clamping down on the base of his dick as it rammed home. He seemed to like the effect, and we fucked on together.  Then a pause, and I felt another rod slipping in, not as big as FP's, but almost.  And then came FP's dick shoving right in alongside it.  Good stretch, great fuck ... but after a bit of that, FP tossed the dildo aside and took back my ass for himself. 

Until he discovered that I needed a bit of a touch-up on my cleanout!  He washed the offending matter off his dick, and I set up my douche bag for a bit more "irrigation."  It didn't take long and I stepped back into the room.  It's always just a bit awkward to manage these things, and no clean-out is ever quite perfect, but FP was not put off.  But now he sent me to the sling.

I did have a surprise for him this trip.  I was recently gifted with an Oxballs tunnel plug of very sexy girth and depth, and I had an idea it would be just right for his dick.  FP shook his head.  "I tried one a while ago, and it hurt like hell."  Oh, well!

Nothing for it but to throw myself into the sling and present my ass for his pleasure. He gloved and lubed while I poppered up, and soon he had his fists in me, first the left and then the right; but only long enough to get me ready for more great fucking.  He got into a slow rhythm, producing the desired effect:  "Slam it in, just slam it in!" I yelled.  And he did, cranking me up and up to the max.

He brought out his speculum (it's really big and scary looking) and cranked it into place.  Not roughly, but with all the finesse of a techie tweaking a new bit of equipment.  I looked into the mirror overhead and the master technician had my ass stretch to his precise requirements.  More great fucking, interspersed with moments of fingering, teasing my asshole and stoking my fire. 

The speculum was cranked out, and then the tunnel plug caught FP's eye.  "Maybe, just maybe .."  He peered through the tunnel, then lubed up the plug and shoved it into place.  His dick rammed its way through the tunnel, and nothing seemed to hurt.  Soon FP was fucking away, and I sank down deep into the feeling of it.  Very different kind of fuck: FP's massive dick reinforced the firmness of the plug, so that it's round end began to stretch and work my asshole much further in than usual.  And the mind-fuck of having this massive plug in my ass was great all by itself.

But all it once the big dick yanked the plug out of my ass, and FP laughed as he struggled a bit to slide it off his cock.  It went on the heap with the other used toys, and FP pulled up a chair for some serious fisting.  He settled in with what I will call slow-punch fisting, taking time to see just how easily a clenched fist would slip in.  Then he began rocking me in the sling, back and forth, until I was so worked up that I was pushing my ass onto his arm.  "Deeper, go deeper!" I groaned. 

On and on, until he began to work with both hands in my ass, never quite going in all the way, but giving me a mind-blowing stretch.  He did several cycles thus way; first playing in the hole, then shoving in a fist or two ... then a pause (his sense of  timing is perfect) before going in with both hands, and holding them in the doorway for a long blast of stretch.  It was unbearably good; I could not stop myself from bearing down and shoving his clenched hands out.  But doing so, I was throwing myself off the cliff emotionally, and instantly I begged for more. FP was glad to oblige, and so we went on through then afternoon, until my legs and hips told me to stop.

Then came the part that I am beginning to enjoy almost as much.  We headed back to the bed, and FP stretched out on his back. I rolled up close beside him, resting my head by his shoulder and throwing my leg over his, with my hand on his balls.  We fell asleep this way. I woke up first, and for a long time just lay there soaking up the warmth of his body.  Then my hand found its way to his cock and it stirred to life, and soon FP was awake.  We just lay there together without a word spoken, while I cradled his dick in my hand, running a finger tip over its contours and stopping at all my favorite features.

Then it was time for other things:  "I really need to eat at some point," said FP.  He laughed when I said I wished we could go out to a place in West Hollywood so all the other guys could see us out together.  But here we were in a crossroads town deep in the Mid-West, so we had to settle for supper in "Wang's Chinese Restaurant,"  dinning on surprisingly good and very inexpensive Chinese food; if you ever get to Wang's, ask for an plate of his "Tiger Chicken."

We walked back to FP's room, looking at an incoming line of thunderclouds about to swallow the setting sun in the west.  Back in the room FP brewed tea and we settled in.  I leafed through the script of a play while FP worked at his laptop.  The rain began to fall in torrents, and I said I hoped there would be thunder; I would throw myself back into the sling so FP could fist me while lightning bolts made the building shake.

But it was only a rainstorm, and we settled for TV time. Two of the local college teams were due to play their annual rivalry match. The game soon turned into a rout (my team seemed to lose its nerve) and we were content to note all the things gay men watch football games for.  At half time FP was ready to fist again and so I climbed back into position.  The sling rocked again, but this time the doubled fists didn't just stand in the doorway and stretch me; in a blinding moment of fisting joy and hotness, they joined up to shove their way into my end zone.  Double fisted again ... and again ... over and over, until FP announced, "It's just getting to be routine!"  Yes, it was all happening without any special effort on his part or mine, but it was anything but routine for me!

Finally I said to FP, "You'll have to say when to quit, because I can't."  He nodded and went on fisting and double-fisting, working his way to a grand finale. Along the way he tried different ways to combine the hands, producing more and more stretch as he did so. I simply let him drive me along and push me higher and higher. Then one last powerful, double-fisted thrust, both hands clasped, one huge moment at the top just hanging there, and then the slowest, longest, gentlest withdrawal. Nobody had to say a word.  It couldn't get any better.  Our double-header day of fisting was done.

Jake