Friday, April 25, 2014

Snapshot: Instructions

There I was squatting back on my haunches on all fours, waiting, the lone light in the room bathing my back the only deviation to his request, but hopefully he wouldn't mind, not that I'd be able to tell his reaction when he walked in.

The black silk scarf, now around my eyes had been the second arrival of the morning, preceded by a simple note that had arrived only thirty minutes earlier: "I'll see you at 12:30 PM today. Instructions to follow. - B"

My questioning texts went unanswered though the read receipts noted that they had indeed been received. All I heard from him were via the short little notes sent with each package spaced exactly thirty minutes a part; "Tie this over your eyes" for the scarf, "Wear these in the position I love" for the black socks and black and red jockstrap, "Use this to get off and reuse cum for lube for me" for the small bottle of Astroglide, "Use this to prep and then to prop the door open" for the black dildo.

The last dispatch was simply a note "Now wait for me with the lights off."

My vibrating phone signaled 12:30 and then I heard the door open.

It's a different sensation having your eyes in a blindfold.  Even though it was pitch black behind the silk, my eyes darted back and forth and though I fought the urge, I no doubt turned just a tad.  He growled.

I knew that growl. It wasn't one of aggression, I hadn't made a slight; that growl was one of ownership.  He'd only made it on occasion before: the time that I took him shopping with me and upon emerging in a pair of shorts I deemed a bit too tight and short, found myself pushed back into the dressing room, shorts around my thighs being pressed against the mirror as he made quick work of a rim job and fuck before the attendant noticed. It was a good growl.

The first contact came after long minutes of nothing: no words, seemingly little movement. In those minutes I found that if I closed my eyes, my other senses perked. So I thought I could hear a barely audible rustling, maybe those were footsteps. But that definitely was his hand that grabbed hold of my waist.

"Leave it to you to get artistic," he growled. When I turned my head and opened my mouth to toss a smart remark over my shoulder he said simply "Don't."

"Today is all about me." The hand grip hardened a little and then I felt the thick thumb of his other hand tease and quickly sink into my ass. "Ah, this is nice and open." The thumb was gone but quickly - possibly aggressively so - replaced by a cock that went from resting at my hole to being buried inside. I reached behind me.

"Wait, what..."

"You know what" He had reached bottom and was pulling out already, smooth, non-stopping motions.

"Just don't-"

"I told you it's all about me." He said it with an aggression in his voice that oft wasn't used on me. His hips pivoted and I moaned. "You got a lot of cum up there boy."

**The title syntax comes from Bruce Chang's Another Cheatin' Top blog. **

Sunday, April 13, 2014


His lips were like pillows; big, pink, fluffy pillows that compressed when pushed against, but bounced back into shape after. I took the bottom one in my mouth, ran my tongue over it and then raked my teeth lightly.

When he moaned I pulled apart from him and looked over his shoulder. Sir had a leery grin on his face as he pounded away. I felt my face push into a pout and let it for the first time that night. I heard a sigh from behind me and tossed a glance back over my shoulder and watched the Hispanic hammer into my ass. I didn't want him, nor the short, feverish punches of his cock; I wanted my Sir. But dutifully, I pushed down with my stomach, arching and inching back into those black curly pubes.

The Boy with those almost cherubic lips was in pure heaven. His eyelids fluttered, his long blonde eyelashes opening to display bright blue eyes, revealing what I already knew; on every down stroke, Sir was hitting bottom, sealing an entire stroke from tip to root of his cock with a hard push of an inner button. I was jealous.

My hand reached out and tweaked the guy's nipple -- a pinch really -- and he yelped. Sir moaned as he undoubtedly felt a hard tug on his shaft as a result. I felt the bed being forced down around me and turned to notice the Hispanic man and his black, stylized goatee was moving onto the bed with me. I wasn't going to turn around... he wasn't my Sir, insolence didn't apply. I straightened my back so I was sitting up, him following as to not slip out, winding up back on his haunches behind me, completely still. We waited for Sir and the Boy opposite to mimic our new position before I slowly started to grind my hips, slowly working them up and down the shaft.

"You can do it Boy, move your hips" I sneered as Sir instructed him. The Boy wasn't me. A slightly bigger cock yes, harder muscles maybe, but a lack in experience and dedication that Sir would soon see in addition to the smaller, harder ass. When he finally rested his palms on Boy's hips, he'd realize his gaffe when the beloved and accentuated curve was largely nonexistent. Trading boys, ha.

Sir jerked his head and smiled again. My lips inched forward and the smiled widened. There was another kiss, my arm reaching out and giving Boy a few strokes while my ass rode as if on autopilot, rising up and down, squeezing at the root, throwing in a small rotation for variation that would illicit small moans and grunts behind me.

When my hand grabbed Boy's cock he instinctively pumped into my fist. Sir moaned. Another pump, another moan. And now the poor fucker knew how to ride.

As I let go, I watched as he switched his hips from pumping to rising, riding Sir's nine inches, covering the same middle five inches each time. And no wonder, the Hispanic behind me, his Papi, was only about six or seven tops. I straightened even more, dragging his hips beneath mine, turning my hands into fist on the bed, my lower back arch pronounced, and he started to move us, so that we were now facing the headboard as opposed to the side of the bed. Without waiting for Sir to copy, I began to ride harder and a bit faster, in slightly shorter strokes.

"Ahhh," I felt a hand on my waist and continued to ride, driving to the root and rotating. I looked to the side to see Boy going at a slower clip than I, struggling a little in new territory. The next time I rotated my hips against his waist, the hand on my hip was joined by another and I felt myself going forward towards the headboard. Papi started to hammer.

From base to tip, he hammered up into my body hitting my prostate every time, my fully hard cock throbbing at each beat. There was a string of Spanish, a curse and then I felt him unload, pushing in hard, his hands clamping like steel on the spot where my neck met my shoulder to hold me in place. It was only when he had stopped moving, pushing completely into me that I started my slow milking, pulling every drop out of him, casting my glance back over my shoulder and his to look into Sir's eyes. He was still leaning back, happy but not sated.

My eyes focused on Boy, his cock dribbling cum that was likely a result of seeing his Papi fuck me and having Sir deep in his guts. I watched as he pulled tenderly off of Sir's cock and realized at once that Sir hadn't cum. I smiled. Trading boys, ha.

Friday, February 14, 2014

Papi and Baby

He bit into my shoulder. I'm really normally not into being bitten, any sign of pain really other than the necessary, but when my papi tap tap taps at my window in the dark of night, I am his.

I bit my lip to avert my own attention and pushed back, grinding my ass, spreading my cheeks and taking the rest of his cock until his black, long pubes were pressed, flat against my ass. We both sighed. In sync, like we had been and would be all night, we sighed.

For whatever reason I had learned on his fourth visit, how I preferred it: me on the bed on hands and knees, my toes pointed up, causing me to resemble a sort of affirming check symbol, while he hunched over, between my legs, an arm around my chest or stomach, the other steadying himself on the bed face nuzzling into my neck. He gave no complaints.

He enjoyed watching my sinewy back slowly rock the length of his cock, and enjoyed even more when I turned and looked back over my shoulder at him. The range of motion the position afforded me was another perk to him and when I decided to move my knees up and under me, straighten my torso and commence riding in a slow, sensual form, he loved it. His body would follow, elbows bending so that he clutched me tight around my chest, his own back straightening, making a lap in which I could dance, his tongue and teeth lurching forward to probe and nibble on my ear. We were indeed, in sync.

So in sync that words weren't needed. From the tapping on the window, to his entry and the mere seconds we would stand, eyes riveted on each other before we fell lustily and hungrily into one another's embrace, we were silent. Yes, I would moan when he craned his head to take a nipple into his mouth, whimper when his teeth met flesh and sigh when I'd taken it all but no audible words escaped my lips. Amidst my thrashing as his tongue licked and suckled below my waist, my writhing during those infrequent spurts that he held me down and teased me with his head, and my arching as he worked me over with his finger, I was silent.

Well, there was one word: baby. It was he that would let it escape his lips while my tongue traced the outline of his corona, he that would moan it when my carnal nature got the better of me and the speed quickened from love to sex and he that would expel it once he'd cupped a thigh in each hand and hammered his way through to dropping the load we both eagerly desired; that was all him.

My papi.