It was Bear Week, though it was unknown to me.
It was just a lazy Sunday as I contemplated going to return a hat that was too big, but kept the sun off my head. I was lying there, scrolling through Scruff when a man 'woofed' me.
6'5", 220. Bald. Built. No word on cock size, but without a word on roles or likes / dislikes he did send this:
Instinctively he knew what I was.
Oddly, my Scruff profile has very little about me other than height and weight - even my picture is tame. My one line of text: "I'm here for the articles".
Clearly I'm not.
But he knew the score. However, the town has mediocre internet access, so time between messages was right at that threshold where you almost gave up, or gave up caring.
Since he was 0.32 miles from me, I figured it had to be in the direction where I needed to exchange my hat and I did see the distance decreasing as I went along, so that was good.
He gave me his hotel, I mapped it and walked that way. On the way, I passed a fairly hot man sitting on a bench on the street yakking with some guy who was talking about singing in the gay chorus. The sitting man had a skin tight sweat-wicking tank top on and he held my interest, but I had an allegedly sure thing waiting for me a few blocks down the road.
Until I messaged the guy I was there and to give me the exact room number. Nothing. Into the ether with the messages. It could have been the connectivity, or the tried-but-true, when push comes to shove I'm clamming up and not giving any more information.
I hung for 10 minutes and headed back to my place - horny and frustrated.
A block from his hotel, I ran into Mr. Tight Tank Top.
It turns out he's bald, built and 6'5". It turns out he was the guy from the Scruff profile. He had walked closer to town in hopes of better reception.
He told me to turn around and follow him I did - no questions asked.
The door shut, he told me to get on my fucking knees. Naturally I complied.
My mouth went to his crotch. "Did I tell you to do that?". I got pushed away.
Ahhhh....he was going to be one of these. The one who dictates everything. The one who will chastise me for even slightly rubbing myself. The one who is in total control. The one who takes his role seriously and that sex is not just a way to get off, but a mind game as well.
As you know, I'm quite ok with this type of man.
His imposing size also made him a natural for this role in life.
Like the brief Scruff convo, he had me figured out and treated me as such. The man was a natural with his words and actions on how to treat a cocksucker.
His rod was not big - maybe 5". Perhaps that is what helped him develop his other dominant skills. Oddly, while yes, I like a bigger dick, how he used it in my mouth was just fine.
He wasn't one for a kick back and long slow blowjob. He was a grab by the ears and head, fuck my face kind of guy. Even when he did kick back in the bed, my head was firmly in his hands using and fucking my mouth.
All the while he called me names and told me what he'd like to see me do - including taking me to P-Town to suck anonymous cock for HOURS at Dick Dock. I'm not opposed to that activity, though I certainly don't need him to observe the entire time.
Sure he had me lick his nuts - which were also tiny. And he did want me to lick his sweaty ass, which I'm down with.
However, as I was licking his hole - tonguing it - he mentioned I was making him feel so good and loose he had to fart.
Now, I think we can all agree that I'm quite an experienced faggot, right? Even the thought of it - let alone the action - was new to me. So no sooner than the words escaped his mouth than the fart escaped his ass. Right. Into. My. Mouth.
Yes, it caught me off guard. Completely.
Fortunately, nothing smelled rancid and better yet, there were no unforeseen other accidents.
While I kept on with my duty, the spell had kind of been broken. I'm into a lot of things, but this was not one of them.
I did go back to his cock. I did get his load. And while he wanted me to jack off over myself and walk back through town with the load drying on my shirt, it is where I broke the dom / sub role.
Maybe on my chest and walk home, but not on the shirt - and his commands somehow meant less to me after the flatulence. I was done.
I did walk back to the place I was staying at, but my time with him was done.