Man Up and Shut Up

I’m in a hotel that’s only five minutes from my house. It’s the first place I stayed after I discovered I was moving here from the midwest; it’s the first place on that same trip I banged one of the locals. Whenever I get a chance to fuck here, I take it. The parking’s free, the trip’s quick, and by and large, any guy who spends the night in this budget establishment isn’t looking for an everlasting romance. Just for a dick in his slutty hole.

And this guy’s slutty. Hot looking. Muscular. Smooth flesh. He’s wearing nothing but a jock, and he’s assumed the position on the mattress: legs spread, butt high in the air, his nose buried in a bottle of poppers. Just the way I like ‘em. The jock is old and stretched out. When I grab it like a pair of reins and pull his ass to my glistening, lubed-up cock, I can tell the elastic has seen better days.

But fuck. That hole. It’s perfect. It was already greasy with Vaseline when I rubbed some of my own lube into it. The mixture makes my dick slimy as I push into that hole. It’s warm. It’s loose. I can tell this is going to be a hot fuck. I crunch the elastic into a ball in my hand and swat him across the ass a couple of times with the loop of it hanging out the top. He grunts, and groans, and pushes back against my hips to take all my inches.

“You like that?” I growl.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Yes sir. I love it.”

That’s what I want to hear. I started some swivel action with my hips. This one’s going to get the load quickly . . . and since some other top’s on the way, that’s probably a good thing. I put one foot on the bed and start pistoning in and out, sliding my slick meat in and out of his pussy, making it my own.

“You’re big,” he says, taking another hit of the poppers.

“Damn right I am.”

“Fuck!” he says. I take it as a compliment. Then he says it again, in a normal tone of voice. “Fuck. Sorry. I’ve got to pee.”

“What?” My sex trance is shattered when the guy hops off my dick, flips around off the side of the bed, and gets to his feet. He pads into the bathroom and runs the water. And I stand there. Naked. Dick hard, pulsing, and unsatisfied. I figure he’s running the water to get the bladder going. It works for me sometimes, too. But he’s taking fucking forever, while I stand there with a dick that’s leaping up and down. When I peek around the corner into the dark bathroom, I can see him standing over the toilet. So at least I guess he’s not doing anything shady.

But still.

Eventually he comes back. “Feels like I’ve gotta pee, but nothing’s coming out,” he tells me. Flops down on his back. Puts his legs in the air. “Fuck me,” he begs.

I’m back to square one. I slide in that hole, amazed again by its heat and velvet interior. My dick is back to its full stiffness; I start sliding in and out. In this position he’s tighter. He’s clamping down on my dick hard, and gripping onto the head and the last inch for dear life whenever I pull out.

“Fuck!” he says, stopping that scene even before it starts. “I’ve gotta pee!”

Then he’s up again, and I’m holding my dick, and thinking to myself, Jesus fucking Christ. I don’t really care how convenient is the locale. I don’t care how hungry the guy said he was for some dick in his hole. I’m beginning to think I don’t really give a damn that his hole is a hot one. All I know is that being interrupted twice in five minutes because this asshole has to pee is pretty fucking irritating. If he does it again, I’m thinking, I’m just going to leave. While he’s in there standing over the toilet, I’m going to slip on my shorts, put on my sneakers, and walk out that door. What’s he going to do, chase after me down the hall with that ratty jock falling off his ass? I think not.

He’s back again. “Get on your knees,” I say, my brusqueness coming solely from the fact that I’m pissed off at him. He groans slightly when I push into him for the third time. Ticked off as I am, I can’t deny the fact that I like the way his ass feels. I mean, fuck. It’s unfair that I know nice guys with holes that aren’t half as fuckable, while this asshole’s wandering around with the best hole I’ve dicked in ages. And I haven’t even been able to do anything with it yet.

I’m fuming as I fuck. I’m barely concentrating on the sensations at hand, even though from the moment I’ve shoved inside him, my dick’s inching to orgasm. I can hear he’s grunting to himself as if I’m causing him pain. And sure enough, he’s pushing himself up with his hand. “I’ve gotta. . . .”

I’ve got my hands on the reins of his jock. I let go with one to shove him down again. “You can pee all you fucking want after I’ve gone,” I tell him. “Until then, shut up, man up, and take the fuck.” And then I hold him down while I pound.

He must be able to tell how irritated I am with him. He lies there, face in the mattress, whimpering, mouth gaping like he’s developmentally challenged, eyes rolling in the back of his head. Meanwhile, I fuck and fuck and fuck. This is where I get mine. I go in deep, angle my dick to the side on the pull-out, and thrust in again to give my head the maximum sensation. I don’t care if he fucking pisses on the bed. All I know is that he’s not getting up again while I’m there.

“You got something for me?” he asks softly when he hears me breathing harder.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I’ve got something for you all right.”

I shoot hard. The bed rattles against the wall; the mattress shudders. I dump the load inside his guts, right up that slimy cunt. Then I stand there while he milks my meat with his hole. Fucking slut. I knew his need for cum would override his fucking bladder.

I pull out. Watch my cock slither back and point, still long and half-hard, toward the floor. I grab my sweat shorts and step into them. Slip into my sneakers. It’s only a matter of seconds and I’m ready to go.

I open the hotel door. “Now you can pee,” I call back over my shoulder.

I don’t bother to wait and see if he does.