He’d arrived late to that party I’d attended, earlier in the summer. The room had been as pitch black as the host could make it, noontime in a cheap hotel room with shabby drapes. Like vampires caught mid-feast, we’d recoiled from the blast of sunlight and froze in a tableau on the bed. When the door opened I was balls-deep inside the state trooper, his legs over my shoulder, my hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, while someone or another ate my ass.
Then I saw this guy come in. Pete, I later found out his name was. Thrown into silhouette by the sun, he seemed immediately the most attractive man in the room—and with a bald muscle pup and a built black guy and a state trooper arguing over my dick, that was some pretty stiff competition. He had the build of a construction worker. Broad shouldered. Worked-out arms. Narrow waist. Long surfer’s hair.
The door had closed. He stared at me. Then he’d removed his shorts and his T-shirt, taken his already-hard dick in his hand, and walked over to where I knelt on the bed with my dick shoved up the cop’s hole. Then he’d pulled my head to his, given me a surprisingly soft and gentle kiss, and then maneuvered me down to his dick.
I’d melted at that.
I want Pete, I’d written the host after the party. Give him my email or my profile or something.
You are barking up the wrong tree there, the host wrote back. He’s even more top than you. He’s total trade.
Don’t care, I wrote back. I just want more of his dick.
In his email back the host had given me a written shrug. Okay, but you’re just going to be disappointed if you want to fuck him.
I figured I could live with that disappointment, if it meant getting that man’s hog in my mouth again. I don’t mind servicing trade. Especially handsome trade like that.
He’s married, though. And I’m married. Neither of us can host that often, so hooking up for a second go-round, one-on-one, has been difficult. But here it is, an afternoon when the family’s not due back until midnight, and he’s actually free. I’m reminded of that afternoon in the hotel when he gets out of his car and strides up my walk. I’m sitting on the front porch in a T-shirt and a pair of thin sweat shorts, no underwear, hard at the prospect of seeing him again. And he’s still as burly and handsome as before. His hair is long and curly and hangs down to his shoulders; he’s got on a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of khakis. I push down my boner from inside my pockets, greet him warmly, and lead him into my home.
Once we’re inside, I put a hand on his chest. Through the flannel I can feel his heart beating. He looks at me with his big blue eyes and says his first words to me: “I’m kind of nervous.”
They take me aback. “Why?” I ask. “You know me already.”
“Barely,” he says. We stand still for a moment in my living room. It’s a warm afternoon. A breeze blows through the windows and open door. We stare at each other, and then he reaches up to pull my head down to his again. We kiss.
I go with the assumption he’s not as nervous any longer, after that.
I take him back to the bedroom. Sit down on the bed. Unbuckle his belt, undo the khakis. He’s not wearing any underwear either. His dick is soft, hooded with foreskin. He starts to unbutton his shirt when I bend down to suck him. His hands settle on the back of my head, holding it gently, cradling it. When I back off a half-minute later, he’s rock hard.
I stand up and maneuver him onto the bed. I make sure he has a pillow beneath his head. Then I spread his legs and sprawl between them, so I can go to work on his dick. “I just want to make you feel good,” I tell him before I go down on him again. “Anything you want.” It’s an honor to be taking this man’s cock; he’s just fucking handsome. I want to take him so he’ll be in my system. If he’s in my mouth, down my throat, he’s part of me. Simple as that.
And it’s a great dick. It’s not huge by any means, but I love the ample foreskin, the fatness of it, the generosity of his head and its obscene veininess. It throbs and jumps in my mouth as I fellate him. I know I’m doing well when it releases little tastes of precum on the back of my tongue. “Not yet,” he says suddenly, as he pries my head off of him. When I look up, he’s panting. He’s got a short trigger, this one. I hadn’t realized. I hadn’t been the one to get his load at the party.
Then he gets aggressive. He pushes me back, makes me get on my knees. He yanks off my t-shirt, pulls down my sweat shorts. My dick flops out lewdly and strikes the mattress. Then he wheels around and lands on his stomach. I feel his hot breath on my meat, and then his mouth surrounding me.
“No,” I say, shocked. This is the guy who hadn’t sucked any cock at the party. He’d been total trade, content to let man after man service him. “You don’t have to—“
But he’s not doing it out of obligation. He’s sucking me because he wants to. He’s cramming my whole cock down his throat, even though it’s pushing him to his limits and beyond. When he looks up at me, his eyes are brimming with tears from the effort. His face is red. His hair is spilling over his face and he’s still looking up at me, judging my reaction to his cocksucking.
It’s good. I’m so totally flabbergasted that this sexy brute is sucking my dick—and sucking it well—that I groan and gasp a little. This position isn’t the best, but so long as it keeps my dick in his mouth, I’m not moving. I let him slobber over me for a little bit until he comes up for air. Then he shocks me again.
“Would you ever consider fucking me?” he asks.
I’m not even sure I’ve heard the words right. In fact, I figure what he really said is that he wanted to fuck me. But no, I realize that’s not how it came out. “What?” I say.
“Would you . . . fuck me?” Then, in the softest coda I’ve ever heard, he adds, “Please.”
I’m stunned. “Really?” He nods, almost as if he’s embarrassed to be asking. My cock hardens even more than it was before. A surge of possessiveness and top aggression starts to surge through my veins.
“You want my big dick in you?”
“Yes. I want your big dick in me,” he repeats. He’s speaking so softly that I can barely hear him.
I know when to take advantage of an opportunity, though. I nod. I turn him over. I spread his legs, and pry open his butt. My tongue flicks out. Licks it. Tastes the mixture of sweat and soap smell and the metallic tang of his inner ass. He wraps his arms around the mattress corner and hangs on as I eat harder, deeper. Whether or not I get in there, I’m going to relish eating out this man’s hole.
And I do, for long minutes. Then I reach for my lube, and apply a quarter’s worth onto his hole. Another quarter’s worth goes inside, pushed in by my index finger. I can already tell he’s tight. So fucking tight. Maybe even first time tight.
That realization just makes my dick harder.
I rub the head on his hole. “You like that?” I ask. He grunts. I let my fleshy head bounce in and out of his hole. I’m using the gentlest of fucking motions. Not pushing at all. Very gradual. The fact I’m rock hard at the thought of topping this top, of getting the impossible, is turning me on like crazy. When I’m sliding back and forth now, he’s taking the head and an inch. The head and an inch and a half. The head and two inches.
Bit by bit, increment by increment, he’s opening for me. And he’s loving it. “You okay?” I ask periodically.
“Yeeeees,” he groans out.
“Have you had dick in there before?” I demand to know.
“Not . . . like this,” he pants out. “Not your size.”
Good. The news pleases me. I’m a competitive top. The news should surprise no one.
It’s about four inches in that we start to run into problems. I no longer have to hang onto my dick to make sure it doesn’t splay out at an angle as I fuck; I’m definitely in him. I could even fuck to completion at this depth. I’ve done it with less. But I want to be all the way inside him, and we have to get past that inner ring. I push.
“Whoa,” he says, startling as he realizes what I’m doing.
“Ssshh,” I say, reassuring him with kisses on his shoulders.
“It—“ I know he wants to tell me it hurts. But he doesn’t want to discourage me, either.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Just enjoy it.”
He grimaces as I continue to push. There’s a massive amount of resistance. And then I’m through. My final four inches slide into him smoothly, as if they belong. Pete’s head lolls and I hear him take a sharp breath.
“Am I hurting you?” I ask him.
“No,” he says. Then again. “No. Not at all!” There’s a sense of wonder in his voice.
I take that as permission to fuck.
In and out I slide. With every thrust, his hole opens more. Maybe he hasn’t bottomed much. Maybe he hasn’t bottomed at all. But he’s responding like some of the hardened whores I fuck, grunting with pleasure and animal lust when I get all the way in, clamping down on me and refusing to let me out when I piston back. “You like it,” I tell him. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he whispers. His brow is furrowed; his eyes are clamped close. At my question he opens them and looks back at me. “I love it.”
“You love my big dick fucking you.”
“I love your big dick fucking me,” he agrees.
Yeah, he really does. He’s pushing back when I thrust now, trying to move his hips, give it up to me and make it good. The big old top who never gets fucked is my bitch. And he fucking loves it.
He shoots when I position him on his knees and milk the load out of him with my hand. It only takes a few strokes. His guts contract around me and threaten to suck in my junk, nuts and all. Then I pump my load inside him, squirt by squirt. “Thank you,” he murmurs as I breed him. “Thank you. Thank you.”
It’s the sweetest whisper I’ve ever heard.
We collapse to the bed together. “Don’t pull out,” he begs. I remain on top of him, my dick still swollen and wet from lube and sperm. For a few moments we pant and breathe. Then finally he lets out the longest sigh I’ve heard in ages. “So that’s what it’s all about,” he says, sounding half-asleep.
Yup. That’s what it’s all about.
And I’m fucking proud to have shown him.