Behind Dead Eyes (Part Three)
Be sure to read Part One and Part Two
We left the room, his ass richly seeded with two of my loads planted deep. He was hot in pursuit of more cum.
Over the course of the next hour, we would bump into one another. A semi-straight man pulled him into a room and bred him, degrading his “faggot ass” and filling his pussy full of cum. It only got him hotter. And when we encountered each other and he recounted the story, I wanted to see him get bred again.
The Wednesday night crowd at the adult bookstore just didn’t seem to be living up to the promise, I was about to give up. But something magical started happening.
Within about 10 minutes of one another, two bottoms got naked and just sat in open rooms waiting for cock.
I’m standing upstairs watching one and then the other. Both are respectable, although one is a muscular black man and quite attractive.
My friend comes upstairs and shortly following him is a tall black man. They make a bee-line for an open room and I’m invited in.
The black top isn’t real happy I’m there, so I’m relegated to watching and jacking my cock some. As the latte-skinned top peals off his clothes, he reveals massive pecs and a perfection of a body. When his shorts come off, the cock that springs forth is one of those massive ones you see in porn.
My friend’s eyes widen.
He kneels naked and goes to sucking on this huge arm that, for all the trite “baby arm” references, I’m guessing it’s larger than that.
As my friend, now with three loads in his ass, sucks, the black top pushes his head deeper onto that humongous appendage. He’s choking. The width alone cannot fit down any throat, no matter how much anyone relaxes.
The top bends over to feel my friend’s ass. It’s a hint.
Eventually, after sucking a while, my friend glances at me and I mouth, “Offer your ass.”
After choking for too long on the monster, now covered with a thick spit, and the top playing with a slightly out of reach ass, the bottom lays on his back and his ankles float naturally toward the ceiling.
The top jerks his slicked cock and slaps it against the hole. The bottom is so thin and his hole was tight for me. I’m wondering how it will accommodate this elephantine cock.
The top stops slapping the ass, pauses and turns around. He grabs his pants.
Fuck.
I’m hoping he’s searching for lube. Maybe poppers.
The top is trying to find the right pocket and then pulls it out. A Magnum condom.
He hurls it at the bottom.
If only I’d had time to train my friend. Bottoms can sabotage condoms easily. But I’d never had the chance to teach him any techniques. Dumbfounded, he holds the condom and then hands it back to the top, who rips it open and, like a porn star, puts the shiny plastic over his cock.
Some spit follows and, luckily, the previous loads aren’t all dried out. The top positions it at the opening of this tiny bottom’s hole and, with his massive muscles, pushes in.
The bottom’s eyes open wider than ever, his mouth gapes and… well… he’s screaming, “OH FUCK!”
It slides into him. Some how. It seems physically impossible. But it is.
The bottom tries to control his massive black man’s pace. He attempts to stop the onslaught. But he can’t. And the black man begins to own the little bitch bottom the way he wants.
As he fucks him, rolling his hips, I can watch the muscles in his well-defined back, ass and legs move with precision and rhythm. There’s a musicality to it. It’s not a simple in and out. There’s a pumping and side to side, up and down, circular. It’s a dimensional fuck.
He’s got a technique that’s exquisite to watch.
“I want you to cum inside me,” the bottom says. “I don’t think I can take this cock much longer.”
I’m imagining the top has heard this before. So he grunts an approval and then speeds up and, quite frankly, proceeds to fucking with some force.
I’m surprised my friend survives this onslaught as I watch the strain of how the top’s muscular arms pull the bottom’s legs toward him at the same time the top’s hips force forward. It’s a collision of the black’s thighs to the white’s ass.
“I’m cumming,” the gutteral grunts.
And he fucks even harder, if that’s possible. Slamming with force. I can see my friend’s cock swinging flaccid. Yet, he seems content in a weird way.
Then he pulls out and pulls off the condom, tossing it in the small trash can in the room. My friend is on his knees, sucking the remaining cum off the cock.
“I usually pull out to cum,” the top says. “I don’t usually do that.”
Neither of us say anything.
I’ve only got my pants open, so I zip up. As the top begins to put his clothes on, he explains how he prefers one-on-one and not three-ways. This is the first time anyone has ever watched him fuck. We all make small take.
I think my bottom friend and I are thinking the same thing.
Finally he leaves and we close the door behind him. I neglect to lock it, although it does no good because the other two bottoms are out there giving free fucks. We aren’t disturbed.
My friend’s pants are down soon and I’m fishing around the trash for the condom. I find it. Pull it out.
It’s so huge. I could never really get it on me inside out. I try though. But the tip where all that white juiciness is located would never be exposed. And the condom is so stretched out now. So I take my fingers on the inside-out condom and push it inside his raw hole.
I know he’s really raw inside his ass. As I’m adding the fourth load to his mix, I push in deep and along the edges. I want to make sure that the DNA contributors from these three men bond with this bottom boy. That we all become a part of him and he know it. That he feels this.
As I push the condom in and out, the slimy goodness disappears more and more and now there’s just a film of ass juices on the condom.
My cock is hard. I want to fuck him some but I know he’s sore.
“I need to cum,” he says.
He flips over and I play with his ass while he jerks his cock. Soon he’s shooting his load.
As we clean up and get ready to go, I admit there’s something about him that attracts me. Something deeper than his looks. Something more than his twisted sexual nature. And as I look into those brown eyes and again get lost in the limbo, there’s a recognition there.
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Behind Dead Eyes (Part Two)
I stayed inside him a little longer before pulling out. Then pressed my fingers against his hole. It was very wet. Not just from spit but from cum.
There are times when I impress even myself. I always cum a goodly amount if I get to fuck an ass. But sometimes, it’s massive. Based on the sensation, this was massive.
I prodded my finger inside his perfect little pucker and made sure some of the load made it along the inside of his hole.
I have devious thoughts and now I had them. As I’m pushing my gooey cum inside him, it would just take a little scratch from a fingernail to make sure my DNA is completely absorbed inside him.
But I don’t.
I pull my fingers out and go in for a lick. I can’t resist that hole. Generally, I don’t like the taste of my own cum. Anyone else’s is delicious but my own just isn’t that tasty.
I pull him up and kiss him deeply so he can savor my cum and his ass. He goes in for some cocksucking too and we kiss some more.
I’m usually pulling on my pants by now but I just want to… um… what is that shit called when you kind of hug on someone for a little while? Huddle? No that’s a football thing. Oh, it’s cuddle.
No, I don’t want to cuddle.
As we sit in this dimly lit room and I continue to touch his body, we talk. We discuss a little sex and I probe to try and get details on his life.
Not really happening. He shields himself.
And that’s when I notice.
For all his perfection. From the perfect body and gorgeous silky smooth skin. His high-priced haircut and designer jeans. The perfection of everything. For all that, I look into his gorgeous brown eyes and I see…
Nothing.
You’ve heard people say they could get lost in someone’s eyes. In his, I could get hopelessly lost in a kind of limbo. It’s not a good place to be.
This body of perfection had perfected a way to hide everything… even his soul.
* * *
‘He’s still really hot.’
‘Just put your pants on and get the fuck out,’ the other voice says.
‘No,’ the first responds. ‘He’s hot. In a minute, we can fuck again.’
‘Can’t you see, he’s not even interested.’
‘Well I am.’
‘No you’re not!’
* * *
I’ve always had a way of looking at people and piercing beyond that initial layer of protection. With some men, if they’ll look at me, there comes a moment when I can see into who they are and know their desire. They will know that I know. I know they love cock. I will know they desire men.
That’s fucking scary to the closeted men. And the South is covered up with them.
It’s also exhilarating. It gives me an advantage. I can go places that aren’t technically cruising spots and find ass. I have to work for it. But I can get it.
But with him, piercing through the first layer finds nothing to plunge into. It’s as if I’ve entered blackness. A hopeless space. I have no advantage. He holds the cards.
In this place, I am lost how to proceed. As the voices inside me argue as to how to proceed, I stumble through some small talk. I can usually charm men and manipulate them. Him, I cannot foresee how to capture my goal.
* * *
‘What’s your fucking goal? You already bred him!’
‘I want him again. And again. And again.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t do boyfriends!’
‘Who says we don’t?’
‘You do!’
* * *
He expressed a desire for more cock and cum, but as much as I wanted to just swing the door open and let anyone in, the challenge became regulating just who would fuck him. While a slut for sure, this boy did have some level of taste and wanted to be a little picky about who fucked him.
As we began putting clothes on, he stood and bent over. His ass in my face. I couldn’t resist and went in for a kiss. Then a lick. And then, before I knew it, my cock was inside him again, fucking.
This time, I shut down the voices and just concentrated on the fucking. If I were to muster a second load in such a short period, I would need concentration.
Concentration and poppers.
I got them and took a big huff waiting for the effect to take hold. And then I closed my eyes.
When I fuck guys, something I just focus on the sensation. Sometimes I visualize fucking other guys so I can cum.
I just thought about who I was fucking and it happened again.
The boiling in my balls, but this time, the surge came without the pain and a bit less intensity. And less volume since I didn’t give it enough time to recover.
“Fuck!” I said. “There’s load number two!”
He moaned and I pulled out, my cock slicked with two loads of cum now. He greedily licked them off and we got back to dressing.
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Behind Dead Eyes (Part One)
The throb of the satellite radio caused the lights to move to beat. I topped the stairs and could see his tall, lithe body as a shadow. We closed the gap, hesitated for a moment to see each other and then began to kiss.
His lips were supple, almost betraying by how little real estate they occupied his face. But his tongue had a lizard-like quality. Darting into the recesses of my mouth and finding everything that I hid there. I swallowed my gum before he could scoop it up.
I pulled his body close to mine. Despite its thinness, I felt almost no bone. It had a sinew quality, almost snake-like.
While I was not in the Garden of Eden. Far from it. I was in an adult bookstore in Atlanta. I felt almost as if this were my temptation to take a bite of the apple.
Wait a moment.
I’d already bitten. To me, there would be no doubt. This temptation was too great. I wanted this man or devil or whatever mystery he held.
I cupped his incredible ass through the tight jeans and knew that this would be a fuck never to forget.
We found a vacant room and closed the door and locked it.
Our kissing resumed and, in something as close to romantic as I get, we slowly undressed. I felt every inch of his smooth skin. His short, curly brown hair provided enough length to grab it in a fist but something prevented me.
What the fuck?
Was I losing my edge?
I mean, this little fucker wanted to be used by me. We’d met on BarebackRT.com and he knew exactly what a twisted mindfuck I’d provide, as he’d found this blog first then sought me out on that hook-up site. Yet here I am, tenderly kissing a little slut and enjoying the fuck out of it.
* * *
‘Shut up.’
‘What do you mean shut up?’
‘I mean,’ the internal dialog continues. ‘Shut the fuck up! There’s a hardon! What the fuck does it matter whether we actually treat this one like all the others or not.’
‘It matters,’ the other voice says. ‘There’s a reputation to uphold. There’s no fucking tenderness to fucking. Fuck! Dump cum! Go!’
‘That’s the encounters that are written about,’ the voice points out. ‘What about all the breedings that don’t get an entry.’
‘Some of them are pretty brutal.’
‘And some of them are not.’
A new voice enters: ‘How about all of you shut the fuck up!’
* * *
His skin feels like silk and that tongue — fucking hell, that tongue! I can’t wait to feel it on my body. He’s not wearing any underwear.
With our pants down around our knees, he kneels to begin sucking. I can now feel the full talent of his tongue across the entire based of my throbbing seven inches. He looks up at me, his deep brown eyes look up wanting… something. His mouth open. His oval face staring up and seeming to ask for a kind of approval. I just put my hand gently into his soft curls and guide him onto my cock.
I close my eyes and lose myself a moment, just concentrating on the sensation of him, his mouth, it’s motion up and down on my cock. He’s pretty good. Blowjobs generally lack a je ne sais quoi about them and cannot get me off. I try to find something remarkable about his. I mean, his tongue is longer than most and he’s doing a better than average job. But it’s just not all that great. But I love feeling his hair in my right hand.
* * *
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
‘Huh?’
‘You’re actually noticing how his hair feels?’ the voice says. ‘How gay is that?’
‘Shut up.’
‘You’re getting soft in your old age.’
‘Shut the fuck up!’
* * *
I lifted him up and we kissed a moment before pushing him down to a doggie position. That’s when his ass opened up to me and I saw the brownish gray pucker for the first time.
His ass overall was graced with peach fuzz hair in a light brown. Interestingly, it seemed as if someone had groomed the little hair follicles perfectly as they lay in a starburst pattern around his hole. I didn’t approach with my normal caution.
With most bottoms, you wonder if he might be clean. Even if you know he’s washed up, you wonder just how well. But with him, my tongue went lapping at his hole and only tasted the sweetness of his flesh.
His hand began slapping the leatherette mattress in this dimly lit sex den and he moaned.
The hairs of his ass were so very soft, as if he’d conditioned them. I’d never licked hairs so soft. Hairs below the waist can be wiry and stiff. But his were like cashmere yarn. As I ran my fingertips along his crack and pried him open more for my tongue to dart into the damp hole, I continued exploring to find the fine hairs of his balls and pubes were equally fine and soft.
I smelled him and found the scent undeniable.
* * *
‘You’re a fucking moron.’
‘What?’
‘He smells good?’ the voice toys. ‘What next? China patterns?’
‘Fuck off,’ the other voice responds. ‘It’s fun.’
‘Fun?’ the voice slaps back. ‘You’re going to be pussy whipped.’
* * *
With enough ass eating, it’s so juicy that I know my cock will slide inside. So I stand. He slips off his shoes and pants. I remove my pants too, finding some poppers in the pockets for him, tossing it beside his outstretched hand where’s it’s continued to slap the mattress. Soon we’re both naked and I’m slicking up my cock with more of my spit. I put it at his hole and push.
He takes a hit off the poppers. The head of my cock is soon inside him.
He’s breathing hard. But his ass is backing up. And my cock slides further inside. Until all of it is inside him.
“You wanted that ass,” he says.
“You bet I did,” I respond.
I begin fucking in earnest. I twist my hips and arch my back. I change my pace. I find angles. I want him to enjoy it as well.
* * *
‘Why the fuck does he need to enjoy it?’ the voice says.
‘So he’ll come back for more.’
‘Why the fuck does that matter?’
‘Because,’ the other voice says, ‘I want this ass again.’
‘It’s not like there aren’t other asses out there,’ the voice says. ‘Younger, tighter asses.’
‘But this is different.’
‘No. It isn’t.’
* * *
“I want you to breed my ass,” he says, breaking my introspection.
“You want my load?” I can’t deny his ass is fucking fantastic. I really don’t need poppers to pop one off. But poppers do make it feel so much better. As I fuck him, sliding into his silky hole, feeling it grip my cock, he occasionally squeezes it.
Oh I want to unload.
“Yes,” he says, practically breathless.
“Or do you want this to last?”
“Cum whenever you want,” he responds. “Just make sure I get your load.”
I keep fucking, focusing on the sensation of his ass. Occasionally I run my hands along his lithe body, his smooth skin. Perfect. A body of perfection.
I’ve fucked a lot of beautiful men in my life. Muscular. Models. But this one. Something was different.
I had to stop thinking, stop intellectualizing and focus on the task at hand:
Breeding ass.
As I looked down at the dim light, I could see my spit-lubed cock sliding in and out of that pucker. And I just couldn’t hold back any longer. I reached for the poppers, found them and took a huge snort.
“Want my load?”
“Yessss!”
I picked up the pace.
“Tell me you want it!”
“Please breed my hole!”
I could feel his hole twitch at the words and the pinpoint of the poppers began to drive me toward my orgasm.
Another pump into his ass, his raw ring around my cock, sensing every little bit of it touching me. Feeling his urging me on, backing up into my thrusts, begging for it now.
“Please give me your cum.”
I was grunting now, going into that place where I disappear and only my cock lives. My cock and cum. Boiling. Reaching that fever pitch that would bring it in a surge, breaking through a barrier. I could feel it like a tsunami inside, bursting though some plug. This was one of those loads. I’d obviously built it up over time and somewhere along its pipeline path, it met resistance and now was bursting through. I felt both pain and pleasure at once.
His ass clenched. I think I am screaming. Or grunting. Or making some sort of noise.
My cum is slamming into his ass walls, surging out of my cock. The pain is a distant memory and now all I feel is relief.
I remember to move a little as my cock throbs in his ass. I want to make sure he knows I’m painting the inside of his ass with my cum. My DNA. That this perfect little specimen of a man will know his perfection has been ruined by this geek.
But I’m still recovering from the intensity of the initial moments. The cum is still flooding out. I can feel it around the head of my cock and down the sides. I fuck a little and the sensation of a “squish” comes.
The popper blindness recedes and I’m breathing hard.
That was one of the most intense orgasms ever.
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Virtual Words and a Vibration
Nothing more than the feel of vibration. The notion of an arrival of a text message. Your stomach gets a little knot. Could it be? Is it from?
No. Just a friend checking in.
Returning your iPhone to your pocket, it vibrates once. It’s just an e-mail. You relax. But then you think, it could be an e-mail from him. Naw. He’d text me. Not e-mail.
Still, it bugs the back of your mind until you check it later.
Finally, on a bathroom break, you send the obligatory, “How’s your day going?” message.
Not much communication during the day. Sporadic bursts of intense messages with long delays in between. Then that night-time, battery-draining flurry.
The night-time. That’s what you live for. That’s what you wait for. That’s what you wish for. That’s what you hope won’t stop.
For the day the vibration stops is the day you’re afraid he’s moved on to something more real. Something that’s not virtual. Something that won’t fit into a pocket. Something not cold, metal and plastic and glass.
Something flesh, warm and pliable.
And even then you’re afraid he’ll return to the promise of the other choices that are virtual and vibrational. The things not connected to you.
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3… 2… 1… BLAST-OFF! The Countdown to iBLASTinside’s Birthday (1 of 3)
Forty-Five Random List…
…for Mark Bentson’s Forty-Fifth Year (Part 1 of 3)
To mark this moderately important milestone in my lifetime — halfway to 90, which means I’m most certainly over the hill and speeding toward a furnace to turn me into ashes that will then be scattered here, there and everywhere to celebrate the clandestine debauchery of my life. But let’s focus on the here and now, the hedonism of the moment. Here begins part one of three of my Forty-Five Random List.

45. Fuck a porn star
I can’t begin a list without the wish that continues on despite repeated tries. I want to fuck a porn star. Please. This past year has seen promising moments with opportunities that has come close including promises from two, rather significant big-name porn stars.
One with whom volunteered to take my load but fell in love and moved off to be with his new boyfriend. The other I bribed and he took the gifts and ran off to be with his new boyfriend with whom he’d just fallen in love.
Now that I’m traveling to Northern California and the San Francisco Bay area, I’d hoped that perhaps I might just luck up on an actor or two. Nonesuch. So my desire goes on.
44. Get Medallion status on Delta
Okay, what an odd goal, but I’ve been flying so much and I’m stuck in steerage with everyone else. And so far, I have yet to sit by anyone hot or even a decent looking straight guy. Every plane ride seems to be another female, another old sixtysomething retiree with his golden-age wife, a mother with her four-year-old or a school mar’m. Why can’t I get one hottie?
I doubt Medallion status will help much with that, but it will at least help assure I get a little more legroom and a possible upgrade or two. Long-time readers will know I’ve been hoping for this for a while. I will achieve it (for sure) this year. But if anyone has the inside track on helping me get upgrades, show me some love!
43. More fucking on travel
As simple as that. I attempted something in Las Vegas that didn’t work: I solicited someone to be my regular cum dump. And while I had no trouble finding ass to fuck, sometimes the pursuit of ass gets boring. Good thing Vegas brought a stock of tourists and locals worth breeding (and even enough with whom to have an orgy).
Yet, still, I crave an easy come-over-bend-over-and-be-bred kind of guy. I’ve got a couple of men who I can contact if I’m ever in a lurch or a dry spell while at home. I’d like that on the road.
42. & 41. Yoga & Weight Loss
I am not someone to goes to the local Y and signs up for a class. I don’t hit any old gym. Teaching me anything physical requires a special talent and I seek out people. Like my trainer late last year (as seen pictured here). I expect people helping me to be in shape themselves (yes, I’ve seen trainers who need a bit of help).
My former trainer was great, if not tragically straight. And despite some of my own misgivings, I signed up with him. But I have a few things that just do not work for me. First, he must keep me motivated. He did so, to a certain extent. But he never really followed through on additional promises to keep on me outside the gym (for which I paid him extra, I might add).
Second, he’s got to be the example I look up to every day. And when he started posting unhealthy things to his Facebook, I had to take a step back some. He stopped motivating me. It all came crashing down.
And my weight came up after losing so much.
But here’s what I learned about myself. The nutritional diet he put me on required a lot of psychological fortitude, which I somehow managed. And while my body didn’t always obey, it did provide some form of willingness to begin getting in shape. Shape which I have not lost completely.
And so, with both those, I want to step more into a yoga situation. But I want someone to work with me individually to set me on the right course for success. I’ve become convinced of the mind-body connection…
40. Stop chewing my nails
I know. Bad habit. I’d just about stopped it but some bumpy flights of late got me started again. I guess a nervous habit. Or I’m just nervous.
39. Upgrade my iPad
Have you seen the Retina display on the new one? (Although it’s not called an iPad 3, that’s basically what it is.) It makes my iPad, bought the first day of the original launch look like a low-resolution, piece of crap.
38. Massage me everywhere
When I lived in Washington, D.C., I had the hottest Filipino with the best muscle body who would come over once or twice a week and work out the kinks. Then in Georgia, I found a spa that had a lovely little Asian boy who helped me out too. Those two both gave great massages and both provided happy endings.
Love a good massage with a good happy endings.
Then I ended up with a great massage therapist but he was a straight Latino. Although very cool with the whole Gay thing, he wouldn’t bother to touch my cock and, no matter how much money was promised and how much goading. Nonetheless, I kept going to him and enjoying the massage part. It was therapeutic.
But he’s moved out of the area and now I’m without a decent massage therapist.
I’ve been looking and trying out a few people. Not a lot of luck so far. I’ve had decent results but nothing remarkable.
Moreover, when I visit other cities, am finding it very difficult to get therapists there to respond and be accommodating.
If you’re a therapist in the San Francisco Bay or Atlanta area (and you’re good), please let me know. Happy endings appreciated but not required. However, I do prefer good-looking non-smokers.
37. Better shoes
I need some. Hard to find. Right now I’m still in two-year-old Old Navy top-siders and six-year-old Rockport sandals.
36. “Read” more for work
Notice I put “read” in quotation marks, as my long commute to work allows me a lot of time to listen to books. Unfortunately, since getting my new car, I’ve been listening to Sirius XM more than anything (my favorite channel is Raw Dog comedy, Channel 99; coincidental it’s got “raw” in the title, huh?). I should be listening to more books.
35. Speaking of Sirius XM, please stop Derek & Romaine
They’re on OutQ, the Gay channel. They attempt to dispense advice to the masses about sex and gay life but neither of whom is qualified in any way, shape or form. Derek is just a prude. And he’s an asshole prude. Sometimes he’s so rude to people I’m amazed anyone bothers to listen to him. Both of them wouldn’t bother to even entertain the concept that barebacking is truly an option. I’ve even heard Romaine have a fit about men with hairy asses being horrible.
Additionally, they barely plan a show and talk about their personal lives as if anyone really gives a shit.
Please, they’ve been on the air too long. Get that shit off the air.
34. Going strong on no jacking off
Every load I’ve shot in 2012 has gone in someone. It’s gone in an ass or a mouth (and it’s rare for it to be a mouth).
33. It’s been 420 for me, finally
In my list of 43 Arbitrary Things when I turned 43, number 21 mentions I’ve never tried the infamous 420. Pot. Mary Jane. Wacky tabacky. Weed. And because of my opposition to smoking, I’ve never smoked pot. I still have never smoked pot. With research and some experimentation (hint to the right), I finally got to discover what the big deal was all about.
It wasn’t a big deal.
Made me even more convinced that (sorry for a little politics) that the stuff should be legalized.
32. More rollercoasters and amusement parks
It’s already been a good year for it. I want to make it a great year.
31. Did you read this?
Why haven’t my readers been commenting? I’m still getting almost 1,200 visitors a day but lately, you fuckers have been quiet. Speak up!
Don’t miss the next part… 30 to 16…. tomorrow.
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