Eki 05

Rainy Day Pt. 03

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I stood at the kitchen sink of the rental cabin washing my cock. Brent had arrived about two hours earlier and we had been clenched in manly debauchery ever since. In fact we never got more than ten feet inside the front door.

We have a deal where he gets to watch my face as I cum at least one time during our little trysts. Apparently my climax plays out in full cinemascope across my face. Brent says he can read every ripple of ecstasy, and the euphoria of ejaculation is like the 4th of July in my eyes. I’m not sure that’s an attractive look yet it’s a sweet deal for me because I can then fuck him in any and every exotic position that I desire. And if you knew Brent like I do, you’d desire to fuck him any way you could.

On that day, he did not get to witness my first orgasm. I dropped his gear as soon as we passed the threshold and clutched his waist, burying my lips in his nape. I was trying to hook the door with my foot to shut it. I managed to get it half shut when Brent thrust his lush ass against me sending us stumbling backward, slamming the door and tumbling us to the floor laughing. He wound up in my lap. My hands were on his chest, gathering his tits and tweaking the nipples. My mouth was making a sloppy mess of his neck. He was squirming and moaning, his libido already zooming at full throttle. He spun around and planted a soft soul kiss on my lips.

We rolled around the entryway in a fevered make-out. I finally struggled to my feet but Brent only made it as far as his knees. Brent is absolutely adroit at stripping a man and he had my cock in his tender, sweet hands in an instant. Ravenous eyes adored its length and girth. He tested its firm muscularity with his fingertips. His juicy tongue traced around the cockhead and tickled the soft spot underneath. My knees faltered beneath an onrush of bliss when his lips sunk down the shaft. I slumped against the door. Up and down, he sucked and licked, deeper each time, until the plump cockhead was ensconced deep in his throat. He made undulating swallowing motions, sending rapturous spasms through my core. Then he pulled off, sputtering, smiling, proud of the delight he had bestowed as a strand of saliva still bound my cock to his lips. He went back to savoring my manhood. I was not about to stop him.

I was close to cumming when I slowly pulled him to his feet. I distracted him with a kiss as I clumsily unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them past his ass. His bodacious soft cheeks filled my hands and I kneaded them tenderly. I had been fantasizing about his booty for days and its heat and plushness fired my passion. He kicked off his pants as I turned him to the door and engulfed his chest from behind, my throbbing, turgid cock pressing toward his rosebud. I knew he had probably removed a butt plug only miles from the cabin. I knew he was ready.

He arched his back and spread those luscious cheeks. I entered him slowly and deeply. I hit his spot and he whimpered and clenched. With his forearms propped against the front door, I began to fuck him with long languorous strokes. We found our rhythm. We rocked together in unison and I let myself get lost in the bliss of his sumptuous ass.

Finally, he stopped me. “Let me,” he whispered lustily. I stood as still as I could while he rode back and forth on the full length of my shaft. He started to boogey his hips in synchronicity to the rhythm. My cock swirled and danced within his cloying, delicious confines. He rocked me to my very soul. I approached my limit. I couldn’t be still. I hunched upward to meet him, again and again. I clenched his hips tight as I plunged into him with increasing frenzy.

“Give me your cum, Mr. Phil,” he panted rhythmically. “Cum for me, Baby. Breed me. Breed me.”

I impaled my cock to the hilt as shudders of ecstasy pulsed through me and cum exploded from my loins. Groans and grunts tore from my throat. I quivered inside him as the moment calmed. Somehow, I managed to collapse into a chair beside the door with him still firmly in my lap. My breath slowed as my shrinking cock popped free.

“You’re being splooged, aren’t you?” he asked as he felt my seed drip from him.

“It’s my just reward.”

“I see you thought to cover all the furniture with towels.”

“I considered a painter’s drop cloth over the whole room but…”

“Where’s the romance in that?”


Brent could not suppress his need for men. It was more than just carnal desire. He Jonesed for a man the way a junky Joneses for a fix. It amounted to an emotional disorder. His micro-penis was at the root of it all. The consequence of having a gnarly little dick was an inescapable sense of inadequacy. It had led to a lifetime of emotional and sexual abuse by loathsome men. It had shattered his self-esteem and extinguished his ability to love himself. He gave up on ever being loved, so he filled the emotional hole by servicing the primal needs of any available man, hoping for at least a momentary sense Pendik escort bayan of being desired. His last boyfriend actually brought guys home in order to watch them fuck a non-consenting Brent. Shit like that has to leave scars. I made a promise to myself that I would never be one of those guys. Still, perhaps the greatest thrill I got from Brent was his slavish adoration. His zealous submissiveness. That nature was hard-wired long before I came along. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it?

We held each other. My cum continued to drain from his ass as we chatted. Eventually we were kissing more than talking. He felt my cock rising. “Either someone has taken a little blue pill” he joked, “or there’s an anaconda in this chair.”

I slithered from beneath him, freeing my snake. He was slumped with his ass at the edge of the cushion. I used the towel to gently clean him and used the opportunity to consider the delicate beauty this much maligned part of the male anatomy. “Your… it’s lovely. What should I call it?”

“You can call it whatever you want. It’s yours, Mr. Phil.”

“No. I want to call it what you want me to.”

“Well its several things to me but for you it’s my pussy. It will always be my pussy for you.”

His rosebud remained slightly agape. I imagined that it was still raw from the pounding so I moistened my tongue and slathered his tender hole. I imagined my juice was a salve and I applied it generously with plush strokes. Tickling, dappling strokes to work the soothing dampness deeper. Swaddling, wide swathes to assuage the supple tissue. He opened himself under my dewy ministrations and he moaned and twitched. I was enraptured by the delights that I knew his ass held.

I moved upward and took his diminutive nubbling into my mouth. Comparing his erect penis to a Vienna sausage is terrible on so many levels, but actually it’s a tad generous. Nonetheless it was a cock. I could feel it quiver between my lips and feel its heat on my tongue. I witnessed the bolts of pleasure that shot through him. Small as it was – misshapen and red – it was still a cock.

“Ohh, Mr. Phil…” You could count on both hands the number of blow jobs Brent had received in his forty years. A handful of those were mine. I wetted my finger and tickled his hole. He tried to grab it with his sphincter but I continued teasing.

I played my tongue across his cock, knowing by now where his sensitive spots were, plundering them at will. My finger accepted entrance. I rolled it around the portal. So much smaller than my manhood, my finger could find the tiny places where individual sensations dwelt. I could feel wee arcs of pleasure pulse beneath my fingertip. When he had lingered in reverie long enough, I pushed my finger in further to his nirvana spot.

I strummed his spot while I sucked and swaddled his long-neglected cock. He thrust himself against my mouth, longing for release. His hips rose higher and rocked. I struggled to keep my mouth and finger in place. Then he tensed into a straining arch and finally loosed his jizz into my cum-hungry mouth. His body racked with each ejaculation, three, four, and then he was spent and collapsed.

I knew there was an error in what I was doing, making love to him the way that I did. But that is who I am. Whether with the many woman I’ve known or with Brent, I am a tactile, sensual, sexual being. If there is a naked body next to mine, I am going to kiss it and stroke it and luxuriate in the wonder of the human form in all its marvels and imperfections. And, for better or worse, I am an empath. I care about the feelings of others. I want my lovers to feel exquisite and special. I knew with Brent there was a danger in that.

There was something I had been wondering. “Do you like my cock?” I asked.

He looked at me with a bit of dismay. I continued, “Cause I want you to know that I really like your cock.” Our eyes were deeply locked. “I really like the taste of your cum.” His face flushed. I doubt he had ever heard words like that before, “I really love how your body quakes whenever I lick it clean of your savory, creamy cum.” His eyes were moist. “So, I’m not asking if you like cock in general.” I stood so my substantial, hard member was fully on display. “We both know that you do. I’m asking if you like my cock in particular?”

He took a moment to gaze upon it. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on my pillowy head. “I love your cock so much.”

I turned his chin so he was peering directly into my eyes. “Will you call me Mr. Phil like you do. I love when you do that. Will you say, Mr. Phil, I love your cock.”

I could see the heat rise in his eyes. “Mr. Phil, I love your cock. I love your beautiful cock, Mr. Phil.”

I scooched down until my lips were inches from his. His eyes were fevered now. “Once more, please.”

“Mr. Phil…” His voice was earthy, “I love your cock” He became lost within the long, sweet kiss that followed. Later, as my Escort Beykoz manhood slowly pierced him, he whispered, “Mr. Phil, I love your beautiful cock.

He got his wish this time. When I finally climaxed my face was firmly held between his loving hands. My lips were puckered from our last kiss as a deep, growling moan escaped and fireworks erupted in my eyes. I collapsed at his feet and became a drop cloth beneath his leaking hole. Eventually he padded off, closing the bedroom door to keep me out. I heard the shower run. I was glad for the respite from Brent’s attention.

The voice of my darker angel made a hasty proposal. “This is your chance. Make a break for it.” The urge was strong. If this had been an afternoon tryst I would already be gone and our universe of hook-ups and dalliances would remain intact. “Grab your gear and go now,” the dark angel urged. But today was not a quickie or a tryst. He had begged for this and I had promised a weekend. I couldn’t just bug out. With a shrug I resorted to the kitchen sink for my sanitary needs.

Later, Brent found me there and hugged me from behind. His hands tight against my pecs, his nakedness pressed firmly against mine, his tiny cock lost between my cheeks. After all the passion we had already exchanged, he still whimpered for more, craving something deeper. Intimacy, no matter how delicious, always came tainted by unrelenting neediness with Brent.

“You like making me happy, don’t you?”

His fingers pressed further into my flesh. “I love to make you happy.”

“But how about you? Is it good for you?”

He was rubbing his lips over the flesh of my shoulder. “Oh Mr. Phil, you treat me…” His words just trailed off in a languorous sigh.

I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced a person’s total devotion. There is a sense of omnipotence knowing that a person is enslaved by their need to pleasure you, to become a felicitous, fleshy agent to your every whim. It’s intoxicating. It yields a buzz like no other. I tell myself that it’s okay to indulge in moderation. You can sip, you can taste, but you cannot guzzle. You cannot slake your own thirst only to leave the other abandoned in a barren desert.

Brent took my hand. “I’ve planned something special for you. I think it’ll blow your mind.” He couldn’t contain his excitement as he led me away. “But promise me you’ll be open to something new. You can be awfully twitchy about your ass.”

Now I was terrified. My darker angel taunted me. “You fucked up, Dude. Brent has made your bed. Now you have to lie in it. Good luck with that.”

There was incense burning in the bedroom and a sheet covered the bed. Exotic instruments played Far Eastern music. Brent me had my lie on my stomach and he drizzled warm oil on my back. It smelled of jasmine. He knelt at my head and proceeded to rub my shoulders and back in slow, sensuous strokes. “This isn’t so bad,” I thought. “I’m glad I stuck around for this.”

I was in a reverie by the time Brent scooted to my feet and start to massage my legs. He rubbed the hamstrings in long, rolling strokes. Then his hands would trail downward to my inner thigh. They became more like caresses. Yes, they relaxed the muscles but they also incited the sinuous nerve endings. My tensions eased as my yearning increased.

A trickle of warm fragrant oil drizzled over my butt checks and seeped into my ass crack. I jolted. “Shhhh,” he urged. His hands made circles over the firm orbs and kneaded them deeply. It felt great. I relaxed. Then his slick fingers eased downward and gently pulled my cheeks open, gently stretching them outward. Cool air bathed my anus. He released my cheeks then did it again, stretching the flesh further, his fingers probing every strand and sinew in my glutes. Three, four, five times. Wider with every stretch. My anus started to open. Cool air reached a place I could only describe as inside.

More warm jasmine oil. Or was it lavender? It insinuated into every pore and crevice leaving me feeling anointed, warm and fragrant down to my dankest flesh. “Shhhh.”

I think it was his thumb that began to make the slow trek from the top of my crease downward. It traced over the tender anus causing me to cringe and hunch. “Shhhh.” It continued down over my perineum, tickling and pleasuring. Then back up. My anus flinched again. A few more traverses and the cringing settled into acceptance.

“What you’ll feel next is the knuckle of my second finger.” With my cheeks stretched open, Brent slowly pressed his knuckle against the center of my anus. I bucked against his hand, resistant to any entry. “Shhhh.” He held it motionless for a long moment then pressed slightly, then more. I opened. It did not penetrate. It was more like a foot in the door, as it lingered at the portal until I relaxed.

Then it started to vibrate in tiny side to side motions. Slowly, then more quickly, it strummed the edges of my anus. I imagined a bow arcing across the bass Cevizli escort string of a cello, resonating with the deep strains of my core, causing all the nerves of my groin and gut to vibrate on a singular frequency. Harmony.

“Were did you learn this… sorcery?”

“Oh, I’ve never done this before. I got a box set of erotic massage DVDs on Amazon.” Of course you did, I thought. He directed me to roll over.

He positioned a pillow to raise my hips and spread my thighs so he could kneel between. Then he proceeded to give me an exquisite phallic massage without once making contact with my penis. He glanced fingertips over the tender flesh flanking the scrotum. He probed the crease between groin and thigh. He caressed the lower abs. He circled his thumb over the taught canvas of my perineum. He incited every sensory point surrounding my penis, focusing the delicious flourishes on my epicenter, my cock. I was erect and thrumming, a yearning radiating to the very tip of my cockhead. He kept me at that high plain of stimulation until my whole consciousness was centered there. I felt the very essence of my being palpitating beneath Brent’s deft fingertips. I was willing to follow wherever they led.

So when his finger grazed my anus, I was relaxed and accepting. When it pressed and penetrated, I gasped but did not recoil. When it found the place it sought, I was thrilled beyond expectation. With one hand he daintily incited the delicate nerves peripheral to my cock. With the other hand he stroked my prostate. Two pulses of erotic energy converged on the sacral chakra, the locus of emotions and sexual pleasure, merging and amplifying. Surging waves of euphoria swept over me as he gently rocked the node side to side. It swelled and a warmth permeated and built slowly until it felt like magma rising from my loins. Brent sensed my eruption. His finger retreated leaving a void begging for fulfillment.

“Now that you’ve been introduced to the centers of physical love,” he recited from a DVD audio track, “the pathway will remain forever open and await your return.”

Brent moved higher on my body and straddled my waist. He guided my cock to his entry and engulfed my manhood in a hot, undulating embrace. There was no driving lust, no rising frenzy of abandoned. My chakra melted into his. He leaned forward and rode my cock delectably up the shaft and down. Our breaths were synced, our hearts melded. Our union evolved into a mystical ritual of carnal worship. Along with the higher realm of bliss there existed a deeper sanctum of heat and light. We worshiped there together.

Then, Brent leaned back. He concentrated his undulations on the upper side of my cockhead and directed its pressure across his own prostate. Then his finger retuned to the open pathway of my ass. He penetrated and found once more my inner spot. The thrill that shot through me caused my cock to spasm, conveying the same thrill to his inner spot. We thrummed, and quaked, and moaned as one. The plush head of my cock across the bulb of his gland was matched by the stroking of his finger across the bulb of my gland. Linked, we rose and sluiced along the same wave of rapture. Our passions rose in harmony. I raised my hips, seeking deeper entry. He rose along with me, maintaining the same point of contact between us, the same connection of man to man. Higher, our ardor rose. Our breath and heartbeat climbed. We reached the peak together. His cum bathed my torso as mine flooded his deep chamber.

Long rays of afternoon light washed the room when I awoke. He had been watching me sleep. Of course I gave him a smile while gazing into his eyes. Of course I planted a tender kiss on his lips. Of course I let it linger too long. Of course our kiss ended like an ebbing tide. Of course. The moment demanded it. Of course. I knew it was wrong.

I fired up the grill. Brent popped open a couple of ice cold beers. I had lost a lot of fluids over the course of our day-long debauch. Budweiser never tasted so good.

There were a couple of other cabins scattered around this Ozarks lake. I insisted that Brent wear proper clothes and refrain from physical contact when outside. Yes, I had to reiterate, even blow jobs. After dinner, we sat in an Adirondack style loveseat shielded from sight by the deck rail. Brent held my cock like a teenager holding hands. I played with his hair. The sun lowered. There was no need for words. We were at peace until the first mosquito buzzed and Brent ran inside.

And there we were. In front of a gas log fire, laying on the blanket I brought with this moment in mind, totally fucked out, with nothing to say. We tried but…

Here’s the deal, I’m a big physical guy who builds big custom homes. Brent waits tables and temps in a kitschy art gallery. I go on three day solo canoe trips in the Buffalo River Wilderness. Brent flees at the first buzz of a mosquito. I watch sports and drink beer in bars. Brent watches guys watch sports in bars. What we share is earth-shattering sex in the shadows of our little town. Nothing else. The pauses in our conversation were as awkward as they were long. Then I mentioned my love of film and Brent lit up.

“Oh, oh, have you seen the new Avengers?”


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