Keeping your mouth shut

I’ve had a guy from across state hitting me up on BBRTS for the last I don’t know how long. Months, at least. Probably more like a year and a half. He’s a top guy, but he’s told me over and over that he wanted to give up his hole. In several graphic mails he’d told me exactly what he wanted me to do with it—and inevitably all the scenarios would have left his ass gaping, swollen, and cummy.

My response was always the same. Sounds fun. Let me know when you get over to my side of the state, I’d tell him. Then we’ll set it up.

Earlier last week the guy wrote and said that he was actually planning to visit my area, and that he’d be staying at a hotel ten minutes from my house and would be available all Sunday morning for some play. Great, I told him. Here’s my email and my phone. I’m available from eight-thirty until one, Sunday morning. Text or call me and I’ll come over.

I’m not really a big fan of too much talk about what I plan to do with a guy, before a hookup. There are certain basics I like to cover, sure, but my main aim is not to provide the bottom with material to whack off to as he thinks about what a bad boy he could be. No, I want him in my bed, or me in his. Once I’m there, we’ll talk about sex. And do it. Until that point, I can be short to the point of curtness. This guy, however, contacted me on Saturday to ask if we were still on. I said sure, as long as he texted or called me the next morning to give me the particulars. What are you going to do to me? he asked. I told him that I was finally going to give him the topping he wanted. Well I think you should know up front I don’t get fucked, he wrote back.

For one thing, guys, it’s not really ‘up front’ when you’ve led a top on for a year and a half and tell him twelve hours before you’re due to meet that you don’t intend to let him in your ass. I asked the guy exactly what in hell he envisioned us doing. Some j/o, he replied. Maybe some oral if I feel comfortable.

Oral? Double you tee eff, I wanted to know. Why in the world had he told me all the nasty shit he wanted me to do to him, and then suddenly decided that all we were going to do was touch each other’s peepees like seven-year-olds playing doctor? Sometimes I just say stuff I don’t mean, he told me. I get horny and it just comes out.

I read the guy the quick and dirty version of the riot act and signed off.

Luckily I found someone serious who was willing to meet, Sunday morning. Another BBRTS fellow messaged me early in the morning and said he wanted to get pounded. Was I free? Hell yes I was. Twenty minutes later, Brant was pulling up in front of my house. I met him at the door. The guy was pretty much as advertised—around thirty, a shaved head, a light hand’s-wipe of facial hair, and an introvert’s smile. I pulled him to me the minute the door was closed and kissed. The softness of his lips against mine and the slow, wet way he made out convinced me we’d be having a good time.

Upstairs we went to the bedroom, where he instantly began stripping. “God, it’s so hard to get a fucking in this town!” he said. His body was large and well-padded, we’ll say, but not at all unattractive. His chest was covered with fur. I asked him how long it had been since he’d been fucked. “Months!” he said. “Literally months.”

“Are you going to be able to handle what I’ve got?” I asked him. He’d brought a knapsack with him. At my question he lunged over the bed’s side to open it. From the depths he withdrew a buttplug that looked like black rubber artichoke perched on a thick, heavy base. “All right then,” I said, impressed.

We made out for a while. I grabbed his hand and put it on my hard dick, which hung like a lead pipe down the left leg of my jeans. “That’s daddy dick, isn’t it?” he asked. “I mean, you’ve made a kid with it?” I nodded. “Fuck,” he said, in awe. “That’s hot.”

“Wanna see it?” I unzipped. Immediately he dove for my meat and took it in his mouth. The blowjob he gave wasn’t as expert as some, but it served to get my cock wet and slick. He helped me off with my pants and left me in my T-shirt and socks. “Let me see your ass,” I told him.

I turned him over. He lifted his left leg to his chest to give me access. Now it was my turn to dive below his waist. The guy had the largest ass I’ve had in a couple of weeks, but it was sparkling clean and wasn’t prelubed (like most of the guys I’ve met in the last two weeks). Both were good things. He groaned when I started munching around his hole. “You’re gonna fuckin’ give me that daddy dick?” he asked. “Gonna give me some daddy dick and daddy sperm?”

“You know it,” I growled. “As much as you can handle.”

“I fucking love dad sperm,” he said between gasps. “Love it when a daddy breeder breeds me. Daddy sperm is the best.”

“Why is that?” I elicited a groan from him when I slapped his ass.

“Because it works,” he said.

It was good enough for me. I spit on my dick, planning to rub it on his hole while I dirty-talked him some more. I was surprised when he maneuvered his hips back to meet my pole, however, so that it slid right in. There was no resistance, no struggle to find the entrance—just a smooth glide in. Pretty impressive for someone who hadn’t been fucked in months. “Oh Jesus Christ, daddy!” he said, barking out the words. “It feels so damned good!”

“You feel good too, boy,” I growled. Loose as he was, he was a sweet and smooth fuck. My cock head parted his hole so easily that it was easy to pick up the pace without having to wait for him to get used to me.

“I want you to piss in my ass,” he said. “Will you do that, daddy?”

“I’d do it anywhere but in my bed,” I told him. “Not having you slop my piss around in my house.”

“I want it.” He pulled the corner of a pillow into his mouth. “I want you to do that to me sometime. Fuck, tell me you’ll meet me again.”

“Squeeze,” I told him. “Make it tight for daddy.”

He wasn’t able to clamp down on it like some bottoms can, but I would’ve given him an A for effort. He grunted, and squeezed, and made an obvious attempt to make his hole as tight as possible. We swapped positions so that I was banging him with his legs over my shoulders, while his pierced dick flopped loudly against his belly. “Fuck me,” he started to say, over and over again. “Just fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” He was in no hurry to get done. He was in some zone of pleasure in which every one of my strokes reduced him to near-wordlessness. “Fuck me. Daddy, please fuck your boy.”

It didn’t take me long to cum. When I did, I shot deep in Brant’s hole as he shook and shuddered and shot a load on his stomach. His cum spewed everywhere. “Oh god,” he said before the last drop had started to cool. “I got it on your pillow.”

“Not an issue,” I said, laughing. I swabbed it away with my hand and fed it to him. He sucked it off my fingertips gladly.

I’d barely pulled out before he blurted out, “I lost weight, but then I gained it all back. I’m fat.”

I’d not said a word about his weight, nor did I think he was fat, nor did I believe I’d acted in a way that would imply he disgusted me or anything. “Why are you apologizing?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Your body is fine. Honestly.”

He looked even more embarrassed than he had been moments before. “I just opened my mouth and that came out.”

“Word of advice,” I said, meaning it kindly. “Don’t open your mouth after sex, if you’re thinking that kind of thing. Or before sex,” I added, reconsidering the events of the night before.

He looked as if he was going to say something to rebut, but at the last minute he shut his mouth and swallowed the words. “Good boy,” I told him.