The Performance

"Damn, this booty missed you." When the man's palms hit his cheeks with a loud slap, it resounds through the small townhouse bedroom like a whipcrack. His ass is a model of perfection, round as a basketball, smooth, and shiny, even in the dim light of the low-watt bulb in the hallway. It jiggles and bounces. The performance has begun.

He's a small man who comes up only to my nipples, but he's strong enough to crack me in half. Small, but powerful. The first time I met him, four years ago, he greeted me at his door shirtless, his chest a blueprint of homebrewed muscles and barely-visible tattoos that sloped down to a flat, flat abdomen punctuated by an outie of a navel. His hips were so narrow that it didn't seem at all affected that the waist of his jeans hung around the bottom of that round, protruding ass, inches below his cheap red checkered boxers. It was as if they could have fallen off when he'd risen to answer the door.

I'd marveled at his body then, even as I marveled at it now. "You gotta visit that daddy of yours more often, baby," he half-whispers, in a seductive pose on the bed. Like girders, his arms are, his biceps sinew and steel. He grinds his hips into the mattress. "'Cause I know when you visit your daddy, this nigga get what he need."

I'm still completely clothed. I make a show of unbuckling my belt, of kicking off my shoes, of slithering out of the denim sheathing my legs. "What do you need?" I ask him, once I'm naked.

"That big hard dick." He reaches out and grabs it. His lips open, his mouth gapes to accommodate my meat. Scarcely has he ingested it than he chokes and backs off. When he looks at me, it's with affront written clearly over his face. "Can't even get that shit in my mouth," he complains.

"Try again," I suggest, nodding at him. He's putting on an act, of course. The fucker knows how to suck me. I visit my dad's home town two or three times a year, and usually see this guy once or twice each visit. By now, his mouth knows its way up and down my inches. His throat has felt the spray of my load against its backmost corners.

But he likes to put on the performance. He likes to pretend it's too big. His eyes bulge and water as he spears me into his throat once more. He sucks, and grunts to himself as he rubs his privates against the bed, humping the corner obscenely. His thrusting only makes his ass cheeks gleam in the light. They part, revealing the dark cleft within. "Yeah," I said, utterly turned on. "Just like that."

"You want this booty," he tells me after a while. He's still putting on a show. "C'mon. Take it. Take what you own."

He's already in position on the bed, his hidden rod pressing hard against the mattress' rounded corner, his ass parted and ready. It smells like a man's sweat, and of his private places. He hisses loudly when I lick it for a few moments. "Put it on in," he begs. His eyes are half-closed, heavily lidded. "Put what you got all up inside."

When I slide in, he playacts again. "Damn!" he yells, so loudly that I worry his neighbors might hear. His hands clutch the bedsheets, creasing them where he tugs and pulls. His eyes are wide open, now, unnaturally white against the dark. He's reacting as if I've shoved a red-hot poker up his fundament. "You tearing me up!" he protests, writhing in mock pain. When he rises to his knees, to lift his ass up, his massive cock swings down onto the bed. He's easily ten inches, maybe eleven. Most of the time, though, it's almost as if his dick's not there. All he really cares about is his hole. He shakes his head as if to clear it of the pain.

Then he turns to the figure lying motionless at the head of the bed. "You gonna yell when it your turn," he warns.

I, too, stare at the bottom as I fuck. It's for that sole audience member we're putting on the show, for the bound figure watching us both. The younger man's wrists and ankles have been restrained with velcro cuffs before I arrived; his mouth is split by a white cloth fastened tightly at the back of his head. The man's playtoy is always there when I arrive, sometimes bound, sometimes simply lying on the bed they've shared for years. He's not new to me—not at all. But every time I roll into town, we play out this scene as if it's new.

"You so big, baby!" cries out the man, gritting his teeth in exaggerated pain. The half-fiction to which we all subscribe is that if my dick's huge enough to make a muscular, strong man like this struggle, it's going to be sheer hell for his younger lover. "You hurt this ass so good. So good," he repeats, drawling out the last word.

I fuck him loud and hard, keeping my eyes steadily on the bound plaything. You're next, says my gaze.

I pull out of his older partner before I shoot. My dick slides out, covered with juice and spit and lube. The man lets out a long groan, as if he couldn't have stood it for another moment. Saying nothing, I stride to the head of the bed and yank at the bottom's arm. He slides across the bed like a sack of potatoes, his head lolling with every jerk. He's already been lubed—fucked, even?—when I finger him. I don't bother with preliminaries. I yank him into position, grab my dick, and aim it at the tight hole.

"You're in for it now, boy," says the man, shaking his head. He's still making a show of recovering from my fuck. He pulls himself onto his side as if he can't stand. "Better you than me. That's what I say. Better you than me!"

When I shove inside, the bottom's eyes fly open, just as his lover's had. "Yeah," says the older man, observing. "Take that big white dick."

The bottom makes a pretense of struggling, just for a moment, as I pass the halfway mark. But then it's in, sinking home, opening him wide. I yank him to his knees. The man thrusts his broad hand between his legs. His fingertips brush against my hard meat as I start to slide in and out of that impossibly tight hole. Impossible, in that his lover's dick should have stretched him sloppy long before now. "Look how hard he is," says the man, as he yanks my hand underneath his playtoy.

The dick there is rock hard. It always is. It responds to entry, to being opened wide. He can't help it. "He likes it," I shrug, as if it's no big deal.

"Oh yeah, he liking it," repeats the older man, staring.

This is the meat of the performance. While the bound bottom grunts and attempts to grapple with my fierce penetrations, his lover grinds his jaw and watches with obvious relish. "You feel that, don't you?" he asks, his face close to his partner's. "I know you feeling that. You can't help but feeling that. You want it? You want him to fuck harder?" He's growling the words in his lover's ear so insistently that the younger man can't do anything but whimper and acquiesce. Through the gag he forces some helpless words, all unintelligible. "Fuck him," says the man. "Do what you want."

What I want is what he wants, roughly. I grapple with the bottom as he tries to squirm away once more. It's for show, at this point. As badly as the older man wants the younger to fear my dick, the younger wants the older to think I'm too much for him. I'm just a bit actor in the drama between them, the strolling actor-for-hire who runs through his part, takes his bow, and leaves. I pry his ass apart, shoving my dick deeper inside. He takes all but the last inch, and I work in the last bit of flesh while the man watches in satisfaction. He clucks when I'm all the way in. His own dick, heavy and log-like, drips with pre-cum. He strokes it laciviously while he watches me.

For long minutes I nail the bottom into the mattress. His grunts are automatic, less a product of will than of physiology. His hole deepens and loosens with every thrust. Sometimes, when I go in at a certain angle, he yelps out through the gag in what sounds like genuine surprise and distress. The occasional cries only heighten the man's arousal. He's next to me, now, stroking his dick over his lover's head, planting small kisses on my neck and twisting my nipples. He's doing what it takes to get me off, and it's working.

I shoot hard. My hips buckle forward, propelling me inside the bottom to his deepest recesses. He attempts to clamber forward on his elbows and knees, but it's too late; my weight pins him down as my dick pulses and swells, over and over. I unload in the tight hole, breathing heavily, my blood rushing so hard in my head that I can barely hear the older man's obscenities as he unloads all over his younger lover.

His cum flies everywhere, covering the bottom with the thick, creamy fluid. "Damn!" he yells. "Damn! Day-um!" He pushes me off the bottom's ass so that my dick slides out with a plop, then roughly shoves his own fingers inside. When he withdraws them, they're coated with my seed. He baptizes himself with the stuff, on his nipples, chest, and then finally on his lips. "Damn!"

I stand up and nod. It’s my bow, my curtain call. But then the man says, "Let me get you some water, so you can do it again."

Then I know there's a second act to come.