Tag Archives: wife

Open Letter: Putting Bottoms on Notice

Open Letter: Putting Bottoms on Notice

Dear Bottoms:

I think there’s been a little confusion of late. Maybe the tops who you’ve found have been a little too nice, although I’d probably attribute it to the fact they’ve been sucked into the heterocentric sensitivity training of taking care of the wife or some other bullshit. Or maybe there’s too much of the Housewives of Wherever-The-Fuck on TV, showing the women getting all uppity on their men.

That or some queeny, bitch-ass bottom started a movement that they’ve got the hole so they get to be large and in charge.

As I’ve been communicating with a few of your compatriots who want cocks and cum, I’m getting these demands. I’m being told — not requested, but ordered — to provide certain items. These include but are not limited to the following:

  • Face photograph
  • Full body shots
  • Videos of me fucking
  • Recent paperwork showing my HIV and STI/STD status

In most if not all of these cases, the bitch who’s making these demands is not providing any of these to me and, for the most part, gives me some line of bullshit that he’s “assuming all the risk.”

If I could reach through the Internet lines and grab you by the balls, bend you over and rape you lubeless, I would.

Additionally, I am getting a lot of feedback with which the precision a bottom wishes to be fucked. One said that I must only fuck him on his back, I must kiss him and, of course, he wants me to pull out and cum on his face.

In all of the preceding cases, I have declined to fuck them.

While I might entertain an occasional request from a bottom, that ass and body is there for my pleasure. If the bottom gets something out of it, good for you. I rarely give a fuck. But if a bottom seems particularly receptive to my fucking, I’ll be glad to make sure he gets to cum.

Good news is if I’m really enjoying myself, often the bottom will just cum on his own.

Here’s a little reminder of the 11 Commandments for a True Bottom. These were written by a bottom for all bottoms.

If you have a problem with this, please do me the kindness and fuck off.

Otherwise, I look forward to hearing from you.

Mark-Signature-Black

Mark Bentson aka iBLASTinside
Twitter @iBLASTinside
BarebackRT Profile
E-mail iBLASTinside@gmail.com

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Revenge of RAGE Against the Bossy Bottom

A Bunch of Other Things About Bottoms That Bother Me

Revenge of Rage Against the Bossy Bottom

Bottoms can be so demanding. Look, I get it. Ultimately it’s the bottom that’s in control. They can close up their pussy and all the fun ends. But unlike women, men have an uncontrollable urge to fuck and get fucked. And it seems to me that bottoms need to just give up that control and let the fuck happen. It’s their job just to open their ass.

As I wrote last week Opens a new window from this blog, bottoms can be demanding even before you show up.

Here’s more demands and shit that pisses me off.

Draw Me a Map

I live and work in the Atlanta area and, just like any set of suburbs, it’s dotted with cities and communities — Marietta, Roswell, East Point, Stone Mountain, Gainesville, Buckhead, Stockbridge and a few thousand others. Fuck if I know where they all are.

This happens so fucking often, it drives me nuts. I’ll tell some stupid bottom where I am. His response will inevitably be, “I’m in Roswell. How far away from you is that?”

The little fucktard isn’t staying in a hotel. He lives here. I’m not Google Maps. Check it yourself.

When I travel, even I have another window open with Google Maps. I’d often travel to the San Francisco Bay area. I made sure I knew where I was stay (East Bay area) and if someone said they were in Emeryville or Castro Valley or Redwood City, I’d map that from where I was to see an approximate time.

It’s not fucking difficult.

Scavenger Hunt for Ass

This is a treasure trail, not a scavenger hunt.I’ve written about this shit before, but I’m going to put this shit out there again. Give me your fucking address complete with apartment number. Don’t give me a landmark at which to meet you. Don’t tell me to drive somewhere then text you when I’m there for the next set of directions.

I’m not on a scavenger hunt for a fuck. We’re not spies. Don’t be afraid I’m going to expose your ass to the whole world. I could give a shit about whether your mother knows you love getting mancum up your ass. I just want to fuck.

Now you play games with me, that does piss me off and, well, then I might see about scaring you by posting you and your rather bad tattoo on Craigslist for the world to see that says, “I love man dick and my cunt craves cum.”

Just kidding.

I don’t even bother with fucks that won’t give me a full address.

You Can Find My Photos…

Send me your phucking photos. I’m not going to A4A or Manhunt or wherever you say your photos are located. Just send them to me. Don’t make me go search for me. Don’t give me the send to receive shit.

The funniest S2R ones are the young ones. I think because they’re 21 or 28 that a 45 year old will jump at the chance to fuck with them that I’ll send mine then they won’t have to reply with theirs.

I’m not that desperate.

When I have a dry spell, it’s usually because I’m being a little picky and I want some strange. I mean, there’s always my go-to asses I can fuck. But I want something new.

And don’t give me the fucking excuse you don’t know how to attach photos or a virus corrupted your drive or you’re on your work computer. Doesn’t work. (If you were on your work computer, dumb ass, you can’t be sending me nasty e-mails about how much you want my cock in your ass; that’s a lot worse than sending me a clothed pic. I know. I’ve worked at places that monitors IP packets and we look for words like “cock” as much as e-mail attachments of naughty photos.)

I Only Get Fucked at My Convenience

At times, a bottom needs to host and I’ll be hosting. But a bottom who only gets fucked at his convenience at his place? Fuck no.

There’s been this very hot piece of ass on BarebackRT.com Link Opens in a New Window I’ve wanted to fuck and breed for sometime. He pops up on occasion inviting me over to his place. Always his place. It’s not like his place is downtown. It’s outside the Perimeter (that’s what we call the by-pass interstate that surrounds Atlanta) just like where I live. This little cunt has a car. He just won’t put his bubble butt into it and come see me.

Oh well, he’ll never get my load.

I don’t mind bottoms hitting me up when they’re horny. That would be great. I’ve got a few bottoms I know who actually do a good job of attempting to always be prepared.

Don’t Stop Me Mid-Fuck for a Hit of Poppers

I love poppers. But unless I’m on for a long-term session, I only take one hit of poppers. It’s just before I cum. Everyone who reads me knows this and everyone who’s ever been fucked be me figures this out.

First, in the sequence of who gets hits when, the top always gets the last hit. Bottoms go first then tops go last.

I’m with a bottom the other day. He takes a hit and hands me the bottle. I do my hit. Then the little fucker takes the bottle back and snorts another one. Meantime, I’m here with my cock in the wind as that warm rush hits me waiting on him to get his ass wrapped around it.

Not cool.

Another bottom I’ve given a hit to, taken mine and I’m riding his ass to breed him. I’m doing my usual, “Do you want my load?”

“Wait!” he exclaims, like something horribly wrong has happened. Like his wife has suddenly come home or something. His body tenses up. Since he’s about six inches shorter than me and a hundred pounds lighter, he moves under me in a way where I’ve only got my cockhead in his ass.

Again, I’m thinking something is wrong.

“Where’s the poppers?”

“What?” I say.

“I want another hit of poppers.”

“WHAT?” I say.

“Where’d the bottle go?”

I handed him the bottle and let him take a hit. I stop fucking him, politely, like I’m some sort of machine.

“You ready?” I ask as he’s put the bottle cap back on.

“Yes.”

I go back to fucking his ass.

What he doesn’t know is that final crescendo of popper high crashed against the rocks of me not cumming. I fuck him in a couple of more positions. Then I pull out, walk across the room and begin putting my clothes on.

“What’s up man?” he asks.

“I gotta get back to work,” I say, since it was my lunch break.

“You’re not going to cum?”

“No,” I say. “It’s not going to happen.”

I leave him, practically in tears. I could have held him down and fucked the shit out of him. Then I would have shot a load in his ass. A big one. He would have loved that. But it was much more painful for me to walk away from him without leaving a load in his ass like the last four times I fucked him. He loved my huge loads.

I’ve received a dozen texts from him asking what went wrong, if I’m angry at him.

Bottoms are such clueless bitches.

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3… 2… 1… BLAST-OFF! The Countdown to iBLASTinside’s Birthday    (1 of 3)

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.

Busting a Cherry

Busting a Cherry

He claimed to be bisexual, but whether he was or not wasn’t for me to suggest. Upon my only phone conversations, he sounded like one of those soft-spoken, overly sensitive guys girls just loved to date.

He’d e-mailed me once before, but it was this e-mail that finally got me to call him:

Hello, 
I have called you a few times 🙂 and I am not sure what you think at this point but I really want an experienced top to fuck me. I can leave my work at 11:30 and be in your town in 10 to 15 mins. I am serious that I really want to take me and fuck me until you get off. All I ask is that you start slow (as this would be my first time) everything else I would leave to you. 

He included the photograph of him sucking a cock.

I’d taken a look back at the history to find the only other photo of him had been him fucking a girl. His earlier e-mail had read:

I have not bottomed before but I have to admit that I have had your number in my phone for a couple of weeks. I am 6′ tall 36yo white male, 180lbs nice looking in pretty good shape. I have a nice ass. 

The only questions I have is, can you do me without killing me? 7 inches may be a little large. I may have to work up to a pounding. Can I call you? Are you available over lunch hours?
after work? 5-15 ish? Saturday mornings? 


Pic is of me doing a female friend of mine.

It’s always a little sketchy to fuck a virgin, especially one around here in the boondocks. I get more fiftysomething men saying they waited until their kids were grown or their wife was dried up to try it. Fuck that. Let them hire a call guy.

But something told me this guy was a little different. I always go with my gut. So I called him up.

Funny talking to someone who sounded more nutty-crunchy-West Coast than Southern, but I gave him the invite and lickity split if he didn’t show up in 15 minutes, as promised.

A tall six feet and beefy, he sported a thin, trimmed Abe Lincoln beard that turned out to be adorable. He stripped down and sucked me just enough to get me hard and then laid flat on his stomach.

With younger, inexperienced bottoms, I might ease into the fucking. But he practically begged for it. I got the lube instead of eating his ass, not sure of the hygiene situation anyway. I lubed my cock, I lubed his hole.

When I touched the pucker, it reacted immediately, relaxing and opening. I slid a finger just inside to feel him already relaxing. I didn’t bother with any other digit play and went to laying on top of him.

I poised my raw cockhead at the hole and pushed just a bit. My head is flared and larger than the shaft, so it took a second for it to push past the first sphincter. It did with a grunt.

“How’s that feel?” I asked, resisting the urge to bury my cock.

“Pull out for a sec,” he said.

I did, and let him adjust to the sensation. When I entered him the second time a few moments later, the first sphincter offered no resistance, but the second did. I pushed past it and slowly, with a little at the time… He grunted and breathed hard.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Yea,” he said. “But keep going.”

I did. And then it was all the way in. I relaxed on top of him and rotated my hips so my bare cock buried into his virgin hole.

“That’s all of it,” I said. “You’ve got a full cock in your ass.”

“It hurts,” he said. “But it feels good. Please fuck me.”

I began thrusting, just with my hips at first. As I did, his hands reached around my arms to grab hold. His grunts became more groans.

“Oh man,” he started to chant as I picked up pace.

I really began to pound, lifting into a push up position and letting my hips drop into his ass, my cock plunging deeper as my thighs slapped into his butt cheeks.

“I knew it would feel this good,” he said.

“Why don’t you sit on it and take it deeper?” I said.

We switched over, him taking a seat. Now I had access to his chest with gigantic nipples. I’d rarely seen nipples so large — two inches in diameter easily. His moderately hairy chest with a lovely treasure trail down to a very hairy bush. His cock had retreated into the unkempt bush, almost invisible except for the copious amount of precum pouring forth.

He rode my cock like a champ.

And then I positioned him on his back and fucked his legs in the air.

I pounded him some, but kept it to a minimum, knowing just how sore he’d be the next few days. I put him back on his stomach for the breeding and got the man to beg for my load in his ass before unleashing a torrent of DNA into his tight, no-longer-cherry hole.

He seemed relieved as I as I pulled out and rolled off. Not relieved it was over. Relieved like he’d shot a load. But he didn’t. As he stood up, his precum-soaked bush never hinted his cock ever escaped its tangle.

“Damn, that felt better than I thought it would be,” he said.

“So you’ll come back for more?”

He nodded and smiled with a goofy grin.

 

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Straight Men Are Pigs…And Really Easy

Straight Men Are Pigs…And Really Easy

I’ve had my Android cell phone (and its associated number) for almost 18 months but I’ll still get text messages for “Mac.” Mac must be a big jokester because as I tell these fuckers that I’m not Mac, they never believe me. Never. So usually I begin spouting offensive Gay stuff a straight musclehead like Mac would never say.

I have no idea who Mac is but through all the text messages, I’ve learned about him because folks have asked training advice, asked about his girlfriend, suggested he checked out this or that band, etc.

The other day, I get a photo of a man holding a rather small large-mouth bass. I inform him that I’m not Mac and he’s got the wrong number.

“Sure thing, you Jack-Wagon. Whatever!” He responds.

“I’m not Jack either.” I answer back.

“Okay then, Mr. Wagon to you!”

The guy isn’t getting it. So I go blue: “Unless you’re someone who likes to suck cock, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Not my thing,” he sends back. “But you be proud of whatever you’re good at!”

I hate people who love exclamation points: “I hold my own. And I swallow cum. Do you cum a lot?”

“When I want to!” he responds.

“I fuck ass really well,” I shoot back. “Especially a beefy ass like yours.”

There was a long pause. He seemed to be getting that Mac might not be texting him now. Then I received an apology that indeed, he realized that I wasn’t Mac, that he was married and he thought we were just “joking around.”

“Well, I’m not joking,” I typed back. “I’ll give you the best, most intense time you’ll ever have.”

A pause, then: “My wife takes care of me. You should spend some time reading the bible. The lord can help change your life.”

Fuck. One of those closet cases taking refuge in religion. But I went for it.

“Does she swallow?”

He kept saying how his wife was wonderful and beautiful and took care of him but never answered the question, which I always pointed out. Sometimes these Bible-thumpers can’t help but be honest, even about the most offensive shit like this.

Finally he answered: “No. She won’t even put her mouth there.”

“I would,” I said. “And I’d enjoy it.”

The remaining content fluctuates between his religious guilt and the intrigue of having his cock sucked. I worked the details of my tongue and how it would feel, the sensation and how hard he would cum. How I would savor the flavor. How I would never say, “No,” to his requests.

It took a little magic, but the male testosterone took hold and soon I was driving toward the man’s house. His wife was out of town, thus giving him the chance to go fishing on a weekday. His home nestled near a local lake. I arrived and could see just off to the distance his little boat tied to a dock down the hill from the nondescript house in an older subdivision. A black, shiny Ford F-150 parked in the driveway and a dried-flower wreath on the door.

He answered the door, beefy, solid, dirty blond and about 5-foot-10. He hadn’t shaved but it seemed like he’d cleaned up a bit, wearing a fresh t-shirt and basketball shorts. His handshake was solid if a little hesitant. He invited me in and closed the door, locking it.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Just take me somewhere comfortable,” I said. “Maybe where you can watch porn.”

“We don’t have any,” he said. “My wife won’t allow it.”

“That’s cool,” I said. “Just someplace where you’re comfortable.”

We went upstairs to what I figure was a guest room and he sat on the edge of the bed. I closed the door. On the cloudy afternoon, the blinds and sheers cut much of the light. I knelt in front of him and began to move my hand toward his crotch. He started to move away and say something, but I stopped him.

“Close your eyes, lay back,” I said. “Just relax.”

I resumed my massage as he did as I commanded. Soon I could feel his cock thickening as I reached up inside his leg and touched his cock on the outside of his boxers. It took a few moments before I had him lifting his ass off the bed so I could strip his shorts off him and begin a proper blowjob. He chubbed up to a nice six inches and thick, not too hard but not completely soft. A mouthful. His fuzzy blondish brown hair all over and unkempt. But I sucked him and licked his balls. I varied the speed and worked him all over, licking places he’d never felt a tongue.

I moved my hands up under his shirt and touched his furry chest and found large nipples. One little touch and each stood firm and began to poke up. He even pulled up his shirt for easier access. He moaned and groaned as I began to work him into a frenzy.

But I did not come here to make him happy.

I did pause long enough to come up for air and actually lick his nipples. This was the first time I saw his eyes open and look at the man providing him so much pleasure and then clamp back closed. He kept his hands at his side, gripping the quilt on the bed.

Then I moved south, back to his cock, around it and down to his balls and finally down to his taint, scooping around the back of his legs and lifting his legs up. Before he could protest, my tongue went to work.

Pretty soon I was at his pucker and I worked it over well. He’d indeed showered and the smell of Zestfully clean along with the taste for he’d failed to wash away all the hint of soap. But I kept working the folds and added more magical spit in to filter out the flavor. His hole opened up like a natural bottom’s would, as I knew. And I poked a couple of fingers inside while flicking my tongue across the balls and other places that tickled his fancy.

When I returned to the head of his cock, a pool of precum nestled in the hairy treasure trail and I knew he’d only need one more trip around the world before I’d be able to shove my cock in his ass.

Nipples, cock, balls, taint, ass, taint, balls, cock and nips. By then, I’d pulled my cock out and lubed it with my spit.

When I was at his nipples, I had his legs up and teased his hole. I then replaced it with my cockhead which slid inside easily. When it hit the second sphincter was when his eyes opened a second time and he began to move away.

I was ready for this.

I grabbed his thighs and pulled down.

“No,” he whispered.

“Your cock says yes,” I whispered back.

“But…” he began, almost seeming to cry, but I could feel his throbbing cock — now harder than ever — against my belly.

“Just relax.”

I pushed inside him again and this time past that opening into him. And then I hit the prostate.

He gasped, as if he were dying and there were no air. This time he reached for my legs and actually pulled me toward him.

Natural bottom.

“OH MY GAWD!”

His eyes flew open, but the pupils seemed to roll into the back of his head.

Suddenly a torrent of clear liquid began to pour from his cockhead. I could feel a little throbbing inside his ass. I didn’t want him to cum yet so I remained perfectly still and purred at him to relax.

The tenseness of his body soon left him and I began a small hip motion, rocking my cock a bit and fucking my raw cock inside his virgin hole. As I fucked this little straight boy, I picked up pace and felt him beginning to move in concert with me, but opposite, to allow deeper penetration. His eyes had shut but he was enjoying the experience. I reached down to my poppers, knowing his distraction wouldn’t notice so I could take a firm whiff of them. I did and felt my cum boil in my balls.

I began fucking him like I meant it and he loved it. I spit on my hand as I neared by own orgasm and reached for his cock at the moment when I went blind with ecstasy. My sperm flooded his guts and I loaded him with my DNA as I grasped his thick, rigid cock and began to pump. My other hand found his right nipple and I pinched — a little too hard.

His ass clamped down as I pushed my spunk in him deeper. His first shot came as I opened my eyes. It went over his head, over the bed, across the room and splattered on the wall. The next six or seven came within short order and were less intense, but in the end a string of cum lined from his cockhead to the wall about seven feet away.

As his breathing began to normalize, his hands came up over his eyes and covered himself in shame.

I’d already zipped up and tucked away my softening cock, gently laying him down and leaving him in the darkened room. I didn’t speak to him as I left and I haven’t texted him. He hasn’t messaged me. Yet.

Yes, this is the real photo he texted me (just with the face blurred).

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