Friday, February 14, 2014

The Birthday Gangbang 2: My Host

2. My Host

Anyone who knows me well in bed knows I love to be touched.

The host of my birthday gangbang last week knows me well. For several long minutes he’d had me cornered at one end of the bedroom with his hands spidering out all over my skin. My naked ass was propped on the top of the back of the armchair; my feet were on the seat. He had me leaning forward with my head buried between his pecs, so that he could have unhampered access to my neck, my back, my shoulders. Every time his fingers scritched over the top of my head, I shivered. “I’m so glad you came,” he whispered right into my ear.

I looked up into his face. My host is a handsome older man. He’s a muscular dude in his late fifties with an ass that’s round and full, thanks to the squats to which he’s addicted. He’s got a headful of thick salt-and-pepper hair and a matching soul patch. They suit him. I was shivering all over from his touch, but I looked up and into his eyes. “I wouldn’t miss my birthday gangbang,” I told him, with a little bit of a grin.

“You know what would make me very happy?”

“What?”

He nodded in the direction of the bed. We weren’t the only ones in the bedroom. About seven guys were sprawled on the king-sized mattress, fucking in every combination. Another trio was standing in front of the closet, making out with each other. Men drifted in and out of the room, watching, stroking, joining in. But my host and I were an isolated pair, lost only in each other for the moment. “Watching you with other men tonight would make me very, very happy,” he whispered against my lobe. I could feel the huzz and tickle of his voice , the warmth of his breath on every tiny hair, in every cell of my skin. I grinned at him. “I want to watch you fuck,” he continued in a murmur. “I want to watch you fuck some ass.”

“All right,” I told him. “I’ll do that.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “You’ll fuck some ass for me?”

“I sure will.” I moved forward.

Ordinarily this would have been his cue to give me some space so I could push by him. I had the hole I wanted within my sights, just as the barrel-chested top from the Village pulled his red, dripping meat right out of it. I was ready to fuck.

However, my host did just the opposite of what I thought he would. He lifted up his leg and propped his foot on the chair’s arm. It blocked me in. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re going to fuck ass after ass while I watch tonight. You’re going to turn me on, watching you fuck man after man here.”

“Yes I am,” I agreed.

“I picked them out for you,” he told me. His lips traveled down my cheek, my neck. Kisses decorated my collarbone. His fingers traced down my shoulder. “Just for you to fuck.”

“Well, let me at ‘em,” I said, still quivering from his attention.

Once again, instead of letting me go by, he propped his foot even further back on the arm. If I wanted to escape, I was going to have to vault over the fucker’s head.

Much as I was enjoying the man’s kissing and touches, I was honestly a little baffled. Though he kept telling me about the voyeuristic fantasy he had of watching me fuck hole after hole sheerly for his pleasure, he certainly was doing a good job of impeding me from getting at them. One of my rules at a group thing is that I feel obligated to treat the host well. Putting together a group is a lot of work and hassle, and even out-of-pocket expense. I like to show my gratitude in physical ways. So yeah, I could’ve said “Excuse me” and shoved my way to a hot hole, but doing so would’ve made me feel like an ungrateful turd.

Plus I felt badly for the guy. Not for his looks—no need to pity him for being a good-looking man. Not for his desire to see me with someone else, either. I felt badly because I know in the past, he’s hinted that he never gets have any fun at his own parties. He’s always worried about everyone else getting along, about getting those who might not be as comfortable throwing themselves into the pile to join in freely. Tonight he was worried about answering the door, about the nibbles, about the wine, about everything but his own dick. I didn’t want him to regret his own generosity by not having any fun at his party.

So I said there atop that armchair as he touched me, and as we made out for long minutes, and let him tell me again and again how much he wanted to see me fuck others, while he continued to back me further and further into the corner. I couldn’t see how in the world I’d ever escape.

I did, eventually; there was a minor emergency when one of the guests had to leave prematurely and couldn’t remember where he’d left his clothing. I hurried my ass out of the corner and threw myself into a pile of men in the suite’s living area, where I couldn’t be cornered again.

But to be honest, I felt like shit for doing it.

I made it up to him later. My host was the last fuck of my night. The guy named Blake had crawled off my dick only seconds before when my host came up behind me, pressed his pelvis against my ass, and started kissing me over my shoulder. “I wish you had more left in you,” he told me.

“Oh, I’ve got more,” I told him, flopping down onto the mattress. “Hop on.”

He greased up my already-cummy dick, straddled my body with his knees, and began to lower himself down. I was still hard, turned on by the number of guys I’d experienced that evening and by the smell of Blake still on my face. The party had thinned out a lot by that point, but there were still seven or eight guys in the room still. Some of them stood around to watch, dicks or wine glasses in hand, as my host punctured his own ass with my spear. “Fuck,” he said, sinking down on it. His head was back, his eyes closed. “I needed this.”

“Take what you want,” I told him. “I’ve got more for you.”

He looked into my eyes then, grateful. I knew from the expression in his eyes—and he confirmed it for me later—that he’d not been fucked at all until that point. Hadn’t been fucked at his own sex party. That, I thought to myself, was a damned shame.

So I made it good for him. My dick swelled and stretched his hole as he rode. Blake got up on the sofa bed and squatted over my face; I began to eat out his hole, where I could taste my load dripping slowly from the depths of his gut. Blake’s focus was our host as well, though. He kissed our host and twisted our nipples as the man rode my dick. Another of the men still linger stepped up behind our host and took his shoulders in his hands. He planted soft kisses along the host’s shoulders and neck, and kept whispering soft obscenities I couldn’t hear into his ears.

From time to time I’d look up past Blake’s swinging balls and limp but heavy dick into Blake’s face. Our eyes would meet, then travel to our host. Both of us wanted to make certain he was enjoying himself. I would catch the other man’s eyes, too. We’d recognize our common goal, and then he’d press his lips against the host’s ear again, whispering soft words of encouragement to help him along.

“Come in me,” said the host at last. “I want us to come together.” His voice was raspy and hoarse.

I held him by the hips and maneuvered my hips so that I was thrusting upward into his ass as far as I could go. I stabbed at him with my dick while Blake twisted those nipples even harder. The third man pulled apart the host’s ass to get me in there deeper. Blake sat his ass down on my face a moment before I started to shoot, so that my cries of orgasm were muffled and desperate. My ears, however, could hear the host’s shout as he came. Warm droplets splattered my belly a moment later. The two of us kept gyrating and moving, until slowly and surely our rotating hips ground to a halt.

My host lifted himself off of my dick and flopped down onto the mattress so hard that Blake and I bounced. He groaned and reached for his hole, then inspected his sticky fingers when they came away wet. Though he’d been completely serious until that point, when he saw my seed on his fingertips, he started laughing. “Holy fuck. I needed that!”

I cracked my knuckles and stood to my feet. “And that, gentlemen, is how a good guest treats his host,” I announced, as I made my way to the bathroom for the last time so I could prepare to go home.

My host sighed in contentment from the thin sofa mattress. “The man ain’t wrong,” he opined.

9 comments:

  1. Sounds like you give good hostess 'gifts'

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    1. I know how to write my bread-and-butter letters!

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  2. Oh, to have been there. Once again, a wonderful telling. We can picture it all. Someday I, too, would like a long fulfilling ride. Happy Valentine's Day, Rob. Thank you.

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    1. C'mon, sc57. You'd get the royal treatment.

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  3. Happy Valentine's Day! And thank you for installment #2 of your birthday orgy. Your powers of description always amaze me although I'm not sure why they should at this point! You paint such vivid pictures that we feel like we're some of the lingerers standing around dicks and wine glasses in hand!

    Paul, NYC

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    1. You wouldn't be a lingerer for long, Paul. Not with me around.

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  4. I admire how intuitive you are. To sense how your host was feeling and just how to make it better. To get others to do the same. Your caring nature was shining through in this post. Happy belated birthday and valentines day!

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    1. When you put it so generously, tiggybubba, I feel less guilty about my disloyal thoughts when he blocked me in.

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  5. Sounds lots and lots of fun was had by all. Happy Valentine's Day, Handsome!
    BlkJack

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