Making Loff

The Russian’s skin is warm against mine. Soft. When he pushes against my chest to lower me to his blanket, he does it with such care, such delicacy, it’s as if he’s nestling rare and fragile glass into protective wrapping. Once I’m fully reclined, he leans down and unbuttons my jeans. Then he tugs down my zipper.

There’s deliberation in every move. It’s as if he’s already planned out the swiftest and most efficient way to undress me. He pulls off the denim pants by the legs, shucks each sock with a crooked finger. Shirt buttons slide from their holes as if sliced with a blade. Removes my shorts with enough vigor to make my erection fall onto my belly with a sharp slap.

I’m naked, but he’s still completely clothed. “It has been so, so long,” he murmurs, as he unbuttons and removes the pressed cotton of his work shirt. He unbuckles his belt, lets it slither through the loops. The cool leather drapes across my ankles. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband. Tugs. Slides the pants down, while I watch. He’s wearing white briefs. Everything in his apartment is white, I think to myself as he strokes his massive cock through the fabric. His shirt. The fuzzy rugs. The sheets. The bath mat by his tub, the thick Turkish bath towels, the dish cloth lying folded on the white granite kitchen countertop. All of it, crisp and bright and white.

Then slowly, emphatically, he pulls down his briefs and unleashes the monster. That wild thing might be breathing now, but I’m not. My lungs don’t seem to be working. All I can do is stare at those nine thick inches, and gape. “I want to make loff to you, sweet man,” he says in his thick Slavic accent. “I will make loff to you all night long.”

“Oh, god,” I force out. Finally I start breathing again. “I’d forgotten how big you are.”

“You will loff it,” he promises. He reaches down, squeezes the hardness between his fingers, waves it lewdly in my direction. “I want to make loff to you.”

I confess, I’m slightly frightened at the size. He’s been inside me before. But the last time, well over a year before, has scared me off attempting him again. I left his place with my hole so turned out that it took over a week to get back to normal. I’d limped back to Grand Central with visions of a prolapsed colon dragging along the sidewalk behind me. Before agreeing to this meeting, I’d reminded him of that night and had extracted from him multiple promises of being treated gently and sweetly. So far, he seems to be remembering them.

“Yes.” It’s a simple syllable that melts on my tongue like a pillow mint. “I want that.”

He lowers himself to me. His knees push against the inside of my thighs. Hardness meets hardness as our hips press together. He’s already dripping. I can feel the precum making my skin wet and slippery as he grinds into me. Our lips meet again. Our tongues tangle. His nostrils flare as his breath warms my cheek, my ear, my neck. The sensation of his lips across my shoulders and my neck causes me to close my eyes, to respond to his touch by arching my back, by pushing myself into and against him.

Without a word he grabs one of the white pillows from the head of the bed and helps me pivot my hips upward. The pillow slides beneath without effort. My legs are still in the air when he pushes up at the base of my spine and raises my hole to his mouth. “Fuck,” I growl.

“I want you to enjoy me,” he says, the buzz of his words tickling my balls. “I want you to keep coming back for me, sweet loffer.”

He’s licking my hole with such fervor that I can’t reply. My brain has short circuited; wayward electricity shoots along my spine, making my limbs twitch and jerk. I can almost smell the acrid sharpness of fried wires. “Christ,” I swear.

He lowers my legs again and pulls himself between them. I feel his cock probing at my spit-slick hole. “Let me make loff to you.” Half of me wants to protest. I shake my head, but I’m not telling him no. I’m trying to let him know I really have no choice. “I know you haff been hurt before,” he says, stroking my chest. He pets me as he might a frightened animal, soothing and calming me with his touch. “I will not hurt you. We will merge our waters together as one. Yes?” He reaches for the little tub of lube by his bed, and begins massaging it into me.

When the Russian speaks, it’s in a soft and lilting tone that’s almost lyrical. I feel as if he’s sometimes quoting and translating some piece of his native poetry that I’m not recognizing. Perhaps it just sounds particularly beautiful in the darkness, with his rigid cock teasing my hole. “Yes,” I tell him. “Yes, please. But—“

Too late. Whatever protests I might have had I swallow as he begins pressing his massive tool into me. Though he’s nearly a foot shorter than I, the Russian outclasses me in the meat department. He’s easily nine inches or even more, and of such thickness that I can barely get my mouth around it. I’ve got a big dick, and he’s got equipment that makes me want to cover mine in shame. His is not a beginner’s cock, and here I am, who almost never gets fucked, coping with the damned thing.

At first I’m trying to control the situation. I’m holding my hand against his stomach, I’m trying to withdraw my hips from his to keep him from going too deep, too quickly. I’m clutching at his wrists, attempting to wrest out words from my dry and uncooperative mouth to tell him to slow down, to stop for a minute. He just looks at me with those dark, puppy dog eyes. Though his cock presses relentlessly in, he reaches up and cups my face. He says my name. He smiles.

And then. Oh god, and then. The fifteen seconds of panic and pain vanish with the soft spray of a popped soap bubble. He slides all the way into me, and something just clicks. It feels good. It feels right. I want it all, and I want it now. I hear myself making a deep, guttural sound from deep in my core. “Ungggh,” it comes out.

My jaw clenches. My hands, resting on his abdomen, had been trying to stop him from advancing. Now they grab at him. They find his hipbones. Pull him in. I need him deeper. I need him as deep as he can get.

Then I want him deeper than that.

He notices the change in me almost immediately. His eyes light up. The corner of his full lips quirks upward. It’s half-smirk, half-smile. “Yes,” he says. “You loff it.”

“I fucking love it,” I tell him. My legs are wrapped around him now, refusing to let him pull out. “I love it. I need it.”

The Russian treats me like I’m the little one and he’s the hulk. He presses my hips down into the pillow, pushes my legs back, maneuvers himself so that he’s rolling me forward and backward, ever so slightly. He’s staying in place, but the rocking motion slides his meat in and out of my greasy hole. The sensation is thrilling me. It’s sending shivers out from the epicenter of cock in hole that end with every nerve rumbling in a body quake that never seems to end.

“Fuck it,” I bark at him. I’m surprised at how feral my voice sounds. “Fuck it. Breed it.”

The words cause him to shove it in me, to start moving his hips. “I will giff you every drop of myself, sweet man,” he promises.

“Breed the hole,” I order him. Apparently I’m a bossy bottom. “Make it wet.”

He adjusts his angle so that I’m pinned down to the bed, my knees banging against my ears. He’s on top of me, driving down. My hole is wide open now. I’m taking him so easily. How could I ever have fretted about this? It’s what I need. “You are so very sexy,” he tells me. “I want to sperm inside.”

“Yeah,” I growl. “Sperm inside.” My hole is actually clutching at him, tightening when he hits bottom and refusing to let him pull out. “Get it all in there. All that fucking sperm.”

“I will make my babies inside you,” he pants, fucking harder. “I will knock you up with my loff.”

His dirty talk is quainter than mine. “Fuck the hole, fucker,” I demand. “Pump it full of your god-damned seed.”

Back and forth we go, exchanging increasingly filthy dirty talk—his offbeat, mine filled with Anglo-Saxonisms. My back is going to ache tomorrow. My back, shit. My hole is going to be sore for a month. But I don’t care. That thick monster of his has hit some trigger deep in my guts and all I can think about in my fuck frenzy is how deep I can get him in me, how big his load will be . . . and then how soon it’ll be before he does it again.

His eyes are heavy-lidded when he groans to himself and unloads in me. My legs extend over my head and grapple against his headboard. My back arches as my hips try to force his tool that last quarter-inch inside. “Do it,” I order him. “Breed it. Breed it good.”

He’s a fish on a boat’s deck, thrashing, gasping for air, as he empties into me. My jaw is still clenched. My teeth are still grinding as I try to extract every last drop. I’m behaving like the horniest, greediest bottoms I’ve ever fucked, and there’s no shame. I worked for that load. I deserve that load. He’s going to fucking give it to me.

It’s a long time before he opens his eyes. He says something in Russian. It sounds like swearing. I decide it’s a compliment. When he slides out, I can almost hear my ass close with a wet plop. I almost think he’s going to roll over and fall asleep for a moment, but instead he lowers me down to the pillow, withdraws a few inches, and relaxes to his knees. “You are still hard,” he says, laughing.

I am. I hadn’t thought about my dick since he entered me, but I can see it’s red and swollen and distended. There’s precum all over my chest. My dick’s been slobbering all over it the entire time.

He smiles, and rearranges himself on the mattress so that he’s lying down. “Fuck me, loffer,” he whispers.

I roll myself down, sit up, and reposition myself between his legs. Already I can feel his spunk dripping out of my hole. It’s a big load. It’s going to mess up those pristine white sheets.

But I don’t give a fuck. I reach for the lube and shove two fingers in his tight little hole.

I might not be as big as he, but I’m surely going to fuck him like I am.