Guest Writer: Jake Goes for Ninety Minutes

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

Out of town on business again, but with the prospect of seeing FelchingPisser on my way home, I was racing north along the Interstate. Two days of sitting in endless meetings listening to endless debates had put me in the mood for sex as a bottom experiences it:  being pounded senseless by an obliging top.

Problem was, I was arriving later that we had first planned. The wifi at my motel had a mind of its own, coming and going as it pleased. During a few minutes of connection in the early morning I sent an email to FP to explain that I could not leave until 11 AM, and so I would arrive (hopefully!) by 2 PM. 

But who knew if the email got to FP?  I tried to phone, but the number I had was wrong; thankfully I listened to the voicemail greeting before leaving any message. Otherwise someone would have come to his office on Monday to be told, “Hey man, have that sling ready because my ass is HUNGRY!”

All I could do was push on up the highway. At 1:30 PM FP texted me: “Is everything OK?” He hadn’t seen my email and was concerned.  In all the years we’ve played together I had never arrived late. 

So I called back to explain, and pushed on. I pulled up at FP’s door at 2 PM on the dot. With a big load of piss needing to be “voided,” I bounded up the steps and through the door, throwing down my bag and heading for the john.  FP was sitting at his computer and laughed as I sped by.

Both of us were stoked for play, so we went straight up to the playroom.  Now when we play together, sometimes FP is in the mood to experiment, trying out new gear, different positions, a bit of flogging, etc. At other times we just stick to the basics of ass play. Today was such a time:  a session of just the three Fs, foreplay (rimming), fucking, fisting.

Preliminary fucking revealed that I needed a touch up, so I was back in the john with my douche  bag for a brief flush.  FP had said the magic word:  “Otherwise I couldn’t rim you anymore!” Such a result would be classified by insurers as “catastrophic loss.”

Back in the playroom I threw myself onto the fuck bench and shoved my ass up. Lots of rimming (indescribably good!) and plenty of fucking. Those who have been fucked by FP will not be surprised to learn that after one special long, powerful, balls-deep thrust I shouted, “Best fuck of the year!” (Note:  Actually I spoke too soon, as events a week later would prove.  To be continued.)

We moved on to the sling, my favorite place to be. If my portrait is ever painted, I want it to be the image I see reflected on the mirror over FP’s sling. Preferably about half way through a fisting session; that is, after I have been lit up, and before I am totally wasted. After a brief pause to raise the sling to a better height for FP (his back hurts if he has to stoop for long, and I don’t want that to happen), we got down to the amazingly mutual pleasure of fisting. In the generous giving and the willing receiving, there is a huge sense of connection and unlimited pleasure. 

Finally a halt was called for rest, and we lay down side by side on the bed. I look forward to our rest breaks because over the years I’ve fallen in love with this man. To roll up next to him and feel the strength and warmth of his rangy body (and the substantial mass of his balls and dick) is sheer bliss.

“Shall we go on?” I answered the question by hopping back into the sling. But one or two exploratory thrusts revealed that my innards were all ablaze, a fire out of control. Nothing to do but throw in the towel. I began to apologize for my uncooperative asshole, but FP cut me off.  “After all, we were fucking and fisting for more than 90 minutes.”

WHAT???  No way!  But the clock does not lie.  I was suitably impressed, even a little bit awed.  On a normal day I can go for 30 minutes and be happy; on a good day, I can take a fist for 45 minutes, if we stop now and then to revive my hole hunger with some ball busting. But never, ever had my ass taken 90 minutes (plus!) of licking, stretching, thrusting, and pounding. It was a world record, for me at least.

So that’s the account of how Jake went 90 minutes in one stretch with FelchingPisser.  We pulled on our clothes and went off to celebrate with dinner in a nearby restaurant.  Afterwards it was time to get back on the Interstate and head for home, but this time riding on a cloud of deep satisfaction.  And the pleasure of having added more great memories to a great friendship!