My self-imposed exile from this blog did not mean my cock went limp and my life stopped. Interestingly enough, not many people have reacted to my holiday. A dozen comments or so with a few mocking. Fuck off. I could care less.
But as I traveled of recent, boredom overtook, luring me into posting an ad that resulted in a hook up. At his request, my preferred scenarios would be played out. He’d come into my hotel room, strip, lay down and I’d fuck him. In fact, he specifically asked for 10 to 15 minutes of fucking before departing. No kissing. No sucking. Just raw fucking. He e-mailed from outside the hotel making sure I was hard.
Standing in the darkness, my cock slicked with Gun Oil, I stroked it beyond half hard and waiting for the common sound. He knocked politely then the door opened, the garish hallway fluorescents invaded then faded as the door slammed shut. I heard his clothes rustle and then saw him round the corner and land on the bed.
His six-foot frame across the ivory comforter proved to be all I needed. My cock snapped to full mast. No need for jacking. I stripped my shirt off, already without pants and hopped onto the bed.
My fingertips brushed against his skin and something passed between us, electric. While he couldn’t see me, he moaned, so I knew he felt it too. I didn’t delay, finding his asshole between the perfect mounds of smooth flesh. As I touched him, hints of manly musk and soap dusted the air around us.
Beneath me, I knew this man-creature could be something more than just another fuck. While he didn’t purr like a cat, I could feel as if this motor ran inside him. A kind of engine generating a heat that emanated from within him. Part of me wanted to believe it some sort of perpetual clock but another, more ominous part worried it a countdown timer with a bomb. Exactly how long until the explosion remained a mystery.
So my cock, rigid at its full seven inches, throbbing and anticipating what would come next, was bent with my right hand to meet my left, already teasing his hole. And I pressed the mushroom head, slick with oil and precum against the pucker. He arched his back and eased it in.
He groaned and moved slowly to meet my building pressure to push my entire rawness into his hole.
Not all holes feel the same. Each one feels different. Like a fingerprint, the sensation can be unique and the impression can be unlike any other. First, his had a warmth, a few degrees hotter than any other. Its formfitting tightness, of course, felt good. But then this throbbing and vibration began in his manhole. He worked it on his own, of course, but the movement seemed almost beyond his control — involuntary. The milking motion and more began to bring be closer to the edge but I resisted, knowing I’d been inside of him less than a minute.
Usually, I don’t give a shit. I’m about my own pleasure. But suddenly, with this bottom, I have something to prove. I’m going to make it to the 10-minute mark.
The sensation so enjoyable fades as I move my mind in another direction and I let it pass. Instead, I look down at the body beneath me, pumping in concert with me. I let myself touch him, not to force him deeper on my cock, but to feel his skin. It’s just below the left shoulder blade. Just beneath his skin, I could feel his muscles moving. His skin felt warm and a kind a charge seemed to keep my hand glued there as I glided it over his body, joined by my right hand. Soon I touched his shoulders, his back, his waist, his ass, then up and around to his abs to his pec and found his nipples, where he groaned in pleasure.
I didn’t stop there. I touched all I could, even his incredibly thick cock, rock hard and vibrating like his ass. Now I knew where it was coming from.
He was the first to break the silence.
“Oh man, that cock feels so fucking good.”
The ticking time bomb. I wondered. But finally, I asked.
“Would you like to try a different position?”
A beat. A pause. Like an eternity. He responded a simple, “Yea.”
My cock slid delicately and he scooted over. His eyes remained closed until my cock entered him again and they flew opened. He looked at me. His eyes didn’t close back. Maybe, just maybe, he liked what he saw.
My gaze broke away from his and glanced over the perfection of his body. While not muscularly defined, he defined masculinity. While perfectly smooth, the perfection of his body felt brutish. I leaned over just to smell him.
And the seconds blurred into minutes. His hole, a pleasure tunnel, incredible and immeasurable in my penetration as I attempted to find how far I could reach. His nipples would pleasure him with just the lightest touch, so I would work them. Not hard. Just right. I made sure he received pleasure, not just from my cock, but from my fingertips.
I didn’t contemplate at the moment why I actually wanted this man to enjoy his time with me. Now as I sit here writing about it, the intensity between us seems almost real. Something I can touch. Like his body. His incredible body. Just beneath my fingertips.
He stroked his thick cock.
“Shoot your load, man,” he said. “Fuck me really hard.”
I picked up the pace after snorting some poppers. Then I popped, breeding his ass. And he shot, across that chest, streams of cum, white and juicy. I had to resist licking it. Touching it. Feeling it. I wanted his DNA as much as he wanted mine.
“That was fucking hot,” he said as I rolled off him.
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