Men on the Make: True Gay Sex Confessions (14 page)

The feel of that steamy slot snapping around my fingertip definitely accelerated my already raunchy and adventurous inclinations. I figured I might as well go for gold.

I told him to turn around so I could lick his ass.

He was so quick to comply, I actually had to laugh out loud. In a split second he was crouching over my torso with his ass in my face!

While I held his lush cheeks apart and pressed my face between them, he knelt over my lap and continued to pump me full of that big black toy. My tongue snaked out to stab at his
pink hole. He let out a sexy whimper and squirmed against my face.

The hot water continued to spray down on us and the steam billowed out to fill the locker room. Of course I couldn’t resist pulling back on his long pink cock and licking it too, along with his hairless balls.

He was slippery and smooth as hell, and a lot softer than me. I hardly had any body fat, although I wasn’t exactly ripped, just big and solid. Contrarily, he was slim, athletic, and ultra-smooth. His ass was larger and fuller than the rest of his body. An amazing pair of mounds jutted out from a tight waist and jiggled as I squeezed and kneaded them with my big hands. They also turned bright pink as I handled them, along with his hole and cock.

One of his hands shoved the dildo in and out of my aching ass while the other wrapped around my thick cock and fisted it in perfect time to the pump of the dildo in my gut. I jabbed my tongue far up his snug slot, spreading the pink rim apart with my fingers. He moaned nonstop while wriggling back against my invading tongue.

He wriggled that sexy white ass back against my mouth and groaned loudly. It was incredible—such a total turn-on to see how excited and how nasty he was proving himself to be. To my delight, he got even nastier.

He drove the dildo really deep, yanked it out, then shoved it right back in. It felt absolutely amazing. He must have sensed it.

“I want to feel this thing up my ass. Will you fuck me with it?”

I pulled out of his delicious crack. “Hell yeah. Take it out and give it to me.”

Again he was quick to react. He yanked the dildo free with a liquid slurp, then reached back to hand it to me. I reached for the
nearby bottle of body wash I’d brought in with me and squirted out soap over it, then rinsed it in the spray as he crouched over me and impatiently heaved that ivory butt in my face.

I coated the clean dildo and his crack with a generous squirt of lube. Placing the toy between his round cheeks, I rubbed it up and down his buttcrack as he wriggled back over it. It was unbelievable. I nearly shot my load just looking at that pale white ass with that big black dildo sliding up and down the crack. I couldn’t help remembering how awesome it had just felt up my ass as he’d rammed it in deep and hard only moments earlier.

“Go on. I want it. But don’t push it in too quickly, or it’ll probably hurt.”

His caution was no doubt warranted, but to my surprise and delight he changed his tune pretty quickly. As soon as I aimed the bullet-shaped head at his pouting and very slippery butt entrance, the quivering rim gaped open and began to swallow. With a grin, I tested the snugness of his sphincter with a gentle pump, then watched with amazement as the entire head disappeared.

“Hell yeah! That feels fucking amazing! Push it deeper! Deeper! Uhnnnggggh! Yeah!”

I did. Two inches of the slippery black shaft slid inward. He heaved his ass upward and gulped in another couple of inches on his own, while emitting such an explosive grunt I thought maybe it was too much. But I was wrong.

“Fuck yeah! More! Fuck me with it! Uhnnnggggh. Ohhhhhh!”

I knew what I was doing. Not only had I used that same dildo on my own hole many times, I’d played with lots of other butthole toys over the years. I also had used them on other guys, and had them used on me by friends and acquaintances more times than I could count. There is an art to dildo-fucking, and I
played the game as best I could with my newfound boy toy.

When he relaxed and his gut expanded, I could slide the dildo deeper. Slowly pulling it out all the way, then steadily stretching him, my use of the sensitive rim had him grunting and heaving with whimpering pleasure. Then once he’d begun to open up, I began to yank it out, then shove it back in, quickly and deeply.

He grunted like a stuck pig. He wriggled his butt in circles, heaved backward to take even more and egged me on with a constant stream of nasty comments and explosive grunts.

“Yeah! Uhnnnggggh! Pound my hole with that big black dildo! Give it to me. Drill my hungry butthole! Harder! Faster! Fuck the cum out of me if you can!”

I had met my match! Nothing turns me on more than a really uninhibited player. And he was downright gorgeous too. The way his pale ass looked writhing and humping that gleaming black dildo was absolutely incredible.

He lasted longer than I expected. His cock was rock hard but he wisely refrained from stroking it until I’d pounded his butt with that dildo for a good fifteen minutes. Then he reached down and flailed it wildly while I buried the dildo as deep as possible. He shouted out loud as his cum squirted out to hit the wet tiles beneath us.

I shot a second later. The sight of his lithe body convulsing around that black dildo while he unloaded was exciting. My cum sprayed his chest.

I slid the dildo out and moaned as his pink hole gaped open and leaked lube. My cock squirted another big gob of goo.

He turned around and crawled into my arms. We lay on the floor of the stall under the shower spray for another half hour just talking. I had to laugh when he admitted he’d hung around that night hoping to catch me jerking off.

“I saw you a few weeks ago doing it in the shower when I
came back for my lunch bag. But I was too shy to come in. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

“I’m glad you got brave tonight,” I answered.

“Me too!”

It was surprising how comfortable we were with each other. He wanted to go for another round, but I had work to do and there were patrons coming in soon enough. “Tomorrow night?” I suggested.

“Fuck yeah. Can’t wait!”

The following few months at the arena were full of more fun and nasty games. Going to work became a real pleasure! The night shifts I had dreaded became the best shifts of all. Ryan was practically insatiable, as most twenty-one-year-olds can be. He loved that dildo and other toys like butt plugs and even paddles! And he loved to fuck and get fucked.

We only did it at work, since he lived at home with his parents while going to school and I had a few roommates and didn’t really want to bring anyone home. We kept our torrid affair completely secret.

He moved away at the end of that time to attend graduate school across the country. But fortunately we have remained good friends to this day. Every six months or so, we connect for some more wild butt play. Lucky, lucky me!

BITE ME

Mike Bruno

C
offee, tea or me?”

He knows I’m a flight attendant, we’ve planned to meet at the Yard and it’s not
quite
as lame a random pickup line as it sounds. Although when I turn around, I still have to ask the lanky goofball grinning into my face, “Excuse me?” He says it again with a wink, and I laugh, and we shake hands. It isn’t until I’m looking right at his offset eyes teetering above the jagged peak of that nose that I realize in all the pictures I’ve seen of him he’s wearing sunglasses and a hat; I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and now that we’re face-to-face five thousand miles from home, it’s not like there’s a graceful way out.

But he’s ready to buy me a beer. You don’t have to marry every guy you ever have a drink with, I remind myself, and after the nonstop from San Francisco to London and a trip across town on the tube with no nap, I’m about ready. We have one, then another—it’s a cute crowd at the Yard, and it’s not obnoxiously
busy; we have a third. Who knows what we talk about? I’m tired, I’m getting a buzz, and he’s like a one-man Britcom—everything he says makes me laugh.

He keeps buying beers, and I keep thinking dinner will be next, so I keep drinking them. We go across the street, upstairs from the cruisy twink bar, sit by the window and watch Gay London swirl by. We talk about books and restaurants and what’s going on in the world. We don’t even touch on sex; we’re just hanging out, which is how we end up at Bearaoke, obviously: just a couple of guys out watching London go crazy, and you can’t miss the big fat English biker guy stumbling into a burning “Ring of Fire.”

That’s pretty much our exit cue, and anyway, by now it’s somehow the middle of the night. He walks me to the Piccadilly tube stop because he’s a gentleman, and I jump on him at the top of the stairs because I’m drunk, and because, it turns out, funny is a lot sexier than handsome. A way better kisser, too. I’ve never made out with a guy on a London street corner before, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering the people hurrying past, so I’m not gonna let it bother me, either. He knows how to use his tongue, and his hands are pretty well trained; I figure I’d better invite him back to my room, see what else he’s good at.

We met online through a mutual “friend,” of the kind you make in chat rooms, who thought we’d like each other better than he liked either one of us. We’d chatted a few times, had a couple of laughs, and we’d met for a drink for no other reason than I was going to be in London and he lived there. If he was attracted to me, he hadn’t said so, and when I got a good look at his face, I certainly hadn’t planned on seeing the rest of him naked in my room.

He had copped to a belly fetish, though, and after all the beer he’s poured into mine, I know I look like maybe he had
taken me out to dinner after all and I’d eaten a bowling ball. Once we’re up in the hotel room, he can’t keep his hands off it, rubbing on my belly like it’s a magic lamp. I’m fully naked half an hour before he is, so erect it hurts, but I still bounce, first with anticipation, then with glee, when he bares his pasty, lanky All. He has long legs, coat-hanger shoulders and a heavier backside than his pants had suggested. Distended with drink, my belly is solid and tight; pancake flat even full of beer, his is mostly squish, soft and white. He’s nothing short of goofy lookin’, and I’m
dying
to get him into bed.

He takes charge the second we hit the sheets. I’m too surprised, and way too excited, to argue. He’s been laughs and Mister Nice Guy all night—hell, he manages a damn grocery store; he practically screams milquetoast. Until he’s got me pinned to the bed with a finger so deep in my belly button I swear he finds a way to tickle my dick from behind the scenes. I squirm, my boner is bouncing, begging for relief, but he won’t touch it, and swats my hand away till I quit trying.

He starts small, nibbling at my nipples till I’m whimpering. I’m way too charged with need to lie still, but he’s got that finger in my navel like a spike; I can squirm all I want to, but on my back is how he wants me, and me on my back, writhing in want, is what he gets. He’s still at my nipples, experimenting; judging, it would seem, exactly how deep he needs to sink his teeth to get a little yip. It’s as much surprise as pain, but I cry out, and it pleases him.

When he’s satisfied that my nipples are at attention, that my cock is straining at its moorings and that his finger has gone deep into me past “pain” to “please don’t stop,” he gets down to business. He starts with the full flesh of my chest, works his way into my pits, then down my swollen side, first sucking me till I moan, then sinking his teeth in
just
until I squeal. He’s
not chomping at me, he’s not after chunks of me; he eases into every nibble with plenty of sweet talk and tongue. But he’s not just biting me, he is biting me
all
over, and it hurts like a motherfucker. Each bite starts out as a gentle tongue tickle; he sucks at me sweetly and sexily. At first the pain is vague and dull; I might even be imagining it this time. Until the gradual build in intensity insists on being recognized, on being named:
pain,
and plenty of it.

Now, I’ve been tattooed eight times, twice in sessions that lasted longer than three hours. And I have never, ever crossed that imaginary threshold from searing pain to any kind of pleasure. When shit hurts, it hurts, and I have never done better than endure every prick of every needle that has ever inked me, praying that each stroke can be the last one. He never breaks my skin—not once, and he eats my entire torso and half my ass—but he’s sinking his teeth as far into me as he can before he does, and it hurts. I am delirious with pain, for the first time in my life, and every time I yelp, my cock begs—
begs
—for relief. I grovel, “Please at least touch it,” but he won’t. If he hears me, he gives no indication, and it surges impotently, inflamed but otherwise ignored.

My belly is swollen and stretched; more to bite, I now understand, and he takes his time, nibbling up one side of the hill of it, down the other, the better to work his way back up my other side. He is in no hurry, and the fact that my head feels like it might explode if I don’t cum in the next five seconds concerns him not in the least. It’s occasionally more than I can resist—somebody, anybody stroke me before I pass out!—but he swats my hand and bites harder. A warning, if an exacerbating one, that leaves me whimpering, writhing powerlessly. Wondering if he’ll ever stop, praying between yelps and cries that he never will.

I’ve barely touched him, and we haven’t kissed in hours—foreplay’s
over, and he cannot be distracted; he will not be deterred. I don’t really get what’s in it for him—my own arousal is upsetting enough; is this even a thing?—but his dick, floppy and disinterested until he took his first bite, is engorged, solid as rebar and way longer than it first looked. He’s in a frenzy of his own, although you’d never know it the way he takes my entire torso one excruciating inch at a time. I’m an aching, crying mess, reduced to little more than a throbbing, tormented dick by the time he rears up on his haunches and gives me permission to stroke my cock by hammering away at his own. He unleashes load after load onto my tender belly, and I barely get my hand around my shaft before my own release is ripped, with a howl, from deep within me.