Thursday, November 20, 2014

When Being Wrong Is Just Fine

"Bend over," I could sense his hesitation so I just waited, my eyes on his lips and stubble, hands resting on his hips. "Go on." He hinged forward into the position I'd just had him, his knees planted firmly on the edge of the bed, his meaty Spanish globes now raised and parting. I lowered my face down into them.

His moans were appreciative. We hadn't really talked much which was fine. It was the eye contact that he loved. When I took a break from his ass, running my tongue down his balls and then down the length of the surprising nine or ten inches that dangled below, I could see him watching me. His forehead jammed into the comforter as leverage -- I'd pulled his arms back, silently instructing him to use his hands to let me get my tongue deeper into him -- his eyes were wide, now locked on mine as I licked the precum off of the tip of his long skinny cock that veered left about 3/4 of the way down.

Back up the length, a few kisses and nibbles at the base of his balls and then I was in his hole again, slightly discolored, definitely pinker than the rest of his skin. The moan was there again, the hole loose. I stood and swabbed at it with my head, placed it and jutted my hips forward just a little. He went silent so I stopped.

His torso came back up, his back almost a magnet to my chest, and our lips connected over his shoulder, his soft wet tongue slithering out and exploring my mouth. He pushed back a little onto me.

"I'm not going to fuck you, really." And I would hold to that. I was just playing around, opening him up for when I did finally ask for the condom and went at him deeper. He pulled a little out of the kiss, dropped a wad of spit in his hand, reached back and polished me up before taking one of his own cheeks in his hand, my tool in his other and implanting himself, firmly. This was the cause of his sigh.

I reached around and grabbed his tool, which was rock hard and he started pumping into my hand, taking a little more of my cock with each pump. I wasn't going to fuck him, but if he wanted to fuck himself for a bit who was I to stunt a man's pleasure. He paused and was back for more kisses.

"We need--"

"Bend back over." This time the hesitation was gone. The sighs transitioned back to moans as I swirled and probed with my tongue. I felt his hips hinge a little, his ass becoming just a touch more upturned as he tried to get all that I might possibly have to give. I fished his joystick from beneath him to find that he was definitely still all in for the game and decided it might be soon time for a new round.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

No Lucky Charms

Wandering through the streets of Harlem searching for a nook to squirrel ourselves into, my brain was full steam ahead on two separate roads. This lanky, Belgian boy was a model, that I knew on sight. I'd logged three years doing nothing but model identifications and though I couldn't place his name, I could clearly see his face in a spread I had posted. His name was the one road. The other, where exactly were we to have our after hours tryst.

"There's a lot of cops around here," he said breaking the silence as we crossed an intersection.

"Haha," I cast a glance over my shoulder.  "It's Harlem!"

"What does that mean? Is it not a good part of town?"

"Not so much." I responded. "There's a lot of drug dealing and stuff and the cops just want to be pretty close in case anything breaks out. Like if you're walking down the road sometimes a drug dealer will walk past you and keep repeating the same thing over and over. That's the drug they can sell you," I turned and pointed to the corner where my beloved Chinese shop was. "Last night some guy walked past me and kept saying 'sour, sour, sour.'"

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Archive: Partition

I met him three times but each time was so similar that I frequently blend them into one another. And then, there was of course, the problem of the glory hole.

Having not really seen the face that commandeered those beloved lips and that nimble, slick tongue means that facial hair, hair length and most importantly, changes in facial expression -- all signifiers that help me differentiate sessions -- aren't available to aid me.

But what I do remember is quite crystal clear, strung into what seems like one long session, separating us by his pseudo glory hole containing tarp with me standing in the hall and he, kneeling on all fours in the bathroom.

The second time I made sure to push my baby blue vintage Nike All-Star high tops underneath the space between the tarp and the hardwood floors, I do recall that. After I left from my first visit, he had admitted his sneaker fetish to me and I'd made a mental note to pull out my prized babes for the second meet up. While he expertly bobbed up and down my length, me feeling nothing but the warm, wet, inviting orifice at work, I felt what I thought was his hand thud onto my foot. In hindsight, it was likely the thick cock that I'd convinced him to shove back through the hole. 

Saturday, May 10, 2014

Bearing Gifts

I have this rule of sorts: We don't write about guys we are currently seeing.

It's mostly arbitrary and if I thought hard enough I could come up with a very valid reason for why it's warranted but it's just one of my rules.  And technically, I didn't break it.

When I pumped my load into that upturned, hoola-hooping ass the first time I had very little thought that this experienced, older, lithe, Hispanic bottom would be back. Yeah, I played along with the idle texts every few days but it wasn't until I was once again tongue deep, with him, knees spread and shoulder digging into the back of the living room sofa that I really realized that he was probably kinda into me.

"Aw, I missed you papi, you know how to eat that so good!" Of course the thoughts started to creep in: I have readers to satiate, appetites to whet and feed. My tongue dug a little bit deeper, swirling in his hairless pucker before pulling out and licking from taint, up through the crack. But there was the rule. I decided to push my spit slicked thumb into him to take a quick test of the waters while reaching around to check the blue and green striped pouch of his ass-less jock that was bearing more than a chubby. If I already wrote about him, what would he the harm in continuing? This was a unique circumstance.  He was still a little too tight so, I buried my tongue again, feeling him relax and open up, inviting me to probe further.

"Give me that dick," Ok, definitely have to write about this. I acquiesced, knowing he was just a touch too tight for me.

My cock didn't agree, slipping pretty quickly down and into his ass, to the root. "Ah fuck! I missed that," he moaned, turning around and kissing me.  I sat there, both hands on the small of his back, buried inside, flexing and relaxing at will.  It took him a minute before he'd gotten used to it and started that rock of his hips.

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. **

Walls

I'm not the most verbose person.

So sitting on that couch, sipping the glass he'd went to fetch me after confirming that his engaged temporary roommates from Rome were indeed headed out, I'd already made the decision that the next time he walked past me I was going to grab his knee.

On instinct I grabbed the leading thigh. Nothing too rough, just enough to stop him. The quick glance up that I gave him pushed him to unzip his own pants and lose his shirt. The flaccid cock now revealed was a little disappointing.

It took only a few minutes to realize that this truly wasn't what I was here for.  My eyes darted from his pubes to the partially billowing makeshift curtains he had closed to partition off the room from prying Roman eyes as he sighed appreciatively above me at work; there was the possibility that I was slightly distracted.

There was a laugh and then the door swung closed. We were alone.

***

It was true, I hadn't been brought uptown to Washington Heights to talk about his restaurant job, his singing ability nor suck his cock; he wanted to get fucked. That fact was abundantly clear as he moaned and arched his 6' 3" frame, kneeling on his chocolate colored couch, his meaty ass driving into my hips.

I rotated said hips, eliciting a moan, swung them like a pendulum, bent at the knees for a small squat and then raised up on my toes, feeling around and getting his reaction.  It was the swing and drive that did it.

With my hands resting on the supple but untanned curve of his ass, I pulled my cock out to the left side, letting his ass lips feel me dragging inch by inch, leaving him until he was gripping me by the tip only. When I came back in, it was at a faster clip, but rounding the same arc before pulling out to the other side; a full semi-circle. The moans and whimpers were a constant and his cock was rock hard.

For a second I hammered from one side at an angle for a few quick pumps before arching back out to the other side.

"Fuck yeah dude," I pulled out at his words. His head snapped around and his hand reached for a self-conscious check. He opened his mouth to speak and I gently guided him from the couch to his knees on his air mattress, legs wide.  When we fumbled as I positioned his body how I wanted it he started to speak again.

"Wait, what do you --" I spit onto my hand rubbed a bit on his hole and pushed all the way in. The rest of his question he put off for moans and the occasional "fuck" as I held onto his lower back and slammed into his ass from tip to root, his hole gaping between each thrust.  I watched his shoulders flex as his hands turned to fists, but the occasional reach between his legs confirmed that he was still rock hard.

When I paused for a second to allow things to settle, he pushed his ass up into me, moving from the arched position with his legs wide apart that I had him in to more of a table top. I straightened my upper half, now in a squatting position and began slow strokes of my cock into his pliable ass. A reach around was rewarded with a handful of pre-cum.

When I upped the speed a little, changing the angle, he moaned. "Dude, I'm going to cum! Is that ok? Can I come?" I didn't answer but continued to plow at the same angle.

"I promise I'll cum again, I promise!" His weight shifted a bit as he picked a hand up. About a minute later he was pushing back and clamping down on me, shooting a load of seed onto his bed. "Keep fucking" he yelled when I hesitated, and so I continued, finding myself popping past what seemed to be a wall I had encountered before.

"Yeah dude," he moaned, clearly coming down. I continued to fuck, my pace slowing until I started to pull out, still hard. "No, don't move bro. Just lay on top of me for a few minutes, I'll be ready to go in a minute or two."

And he was.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Snapshot: You like that?

"Is that what you wanted Papi?" He's craning his neck around looking over one shoulder while the other is jammed into the back of the couch. "You like that?" My tongue digs in again and he lets out a string of Spanish, pushing his 5 foot 6, tight, carmel frame onto my face.

We had chatted for an hour. Long enough for me to hear the affected qualities of his voice, long enough for him to tell me about life across the river in the Bronx and long enough for me to mentally debate the merits of whether or not this hook-up was going to happen. Right on this very couch, we sat, sipped waters from our respective clear glasses and wasted an entire hour.  And then...

"So you going to fuck me, or what?" And so now, as I was slapping the head of my dick on his spit-slicked hole and he reached back, opening his cheeks even more for me, I cursed both of us for pointless conversation.

His hips rotated when my head hit his pucker. "You like that shit, papi?" he asked. I pushed a little bit and he kept rotating. It took a few seconds before I realized I'd slid a few inches past his sphincter. It was my turn to sigh.

"I told you if you eat me good, I'd open up for you," and open he was. I watched him hoola-hoop his hips back for a few more inches before grabbing onto the back of the chair and driving his hips back to meet mine. "Aw fuck, you got a nice dick papi." A few words in Spanish.

I held his hips in place and leaned forward to nibble on his neck.  His moans were met by the slow rock of his own hips. When I lifted my head to let out a long hiss - he was rocking through my entire length now, rowing both of us through the smooth waters to climax as he drug his smooth ass from base to tip of my oar - he looked back, into my eyes. "You gonna fuck that shit, papi?"


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

Superior

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.

Monday, January 13, 2014

Blowing a Pint

**You can read a fuller version - sans formatting - on Nifty. The formatting really matters though.**
Married? There was no way, he was a child! A child with one of the largest pieces I've ever seen and an aggression that I thankfully wasn't fully privy to, but a child.

Those were the thoughts rushing through my mind as I hopped down the four stories of his walk-up.  It had taken four hours - which was decidedly a long time for me - but it happened.  To be quite honest, I'm not sure why I continued to message him for all that time.  Maybe it was his boldness: Sometimes I like dom'ing and getting rough; Wanna come blow me and eat me?; I want you to swallow me. Or maybe it was a game: he seemed put off at first by the fact that I wouldn't trade face pictures but pushed through the conversation anyway.

No matter what it was, a full four hours after he chatted me with my then recently updated "Not vers but have something for bottoms and the right tops" description I found myself staring down into the face of what looked like a prepubescent boy. And it took mere seconds for me to decide that somewhere along the line I'd made a mistake that I had to rectify.

Hey buddy, you're not what I expected. I don't know if this is going to work out.

It caught in my throat as he rubbed against his low-calf grazing gym shorts and what I thought was a heavy wrinkle was revealed for what it actually was... I couldn't leave.

Another rub; jump. Take off your shirt. I'm normally pretty skittish about losing my own wardrobe but even with my necklace, hair and glasses, the shirt was gone in seconds and I found myself sinking: to my knees, down his shaft, with my hands lightly on his waist until I heard an unexpected sigh from the smallest person possibly carrying the largest penis I'd ever seen in my life.

***

He was surprisingly open.  Those small, slightly yellow cupcakes of his were meaty and perky, and spread as he bent at the waist in his hallway - did I forget to mention we'd never left there - and I dove in to find a surprisingly open hole for the "TOTAL TOP" persona that the pint-sized boy's profile claimed.

And though open holes, moaners and lithe bodies eager to be rimmed so much that they push back onto me, only beckon for a condom shielded load, I kept my composure and only rimmed him.  And only minutes later he rewarded me with a load of his own.

A glass of water and small chat later, I saw the ring. Nevermind though, hopefully I'll be back for a closer look.