You don't expect it to be soft as it is. You don't expect it to be soft at all.
The guy was handsome and dare I say, would be extremely so, if he trimmed the beard. But I get he digs it and the growth certainly wasn't a turn-off for me. I mean, here I was, at his loft. After dark. Both of us with impure thoughts and aspirations.
He opened the door and I smelled pot breath immediately. No worries - while it's not my thing, it was not overdone and it didn't seem like it would get in the way of anything we'd be doing.
There was no playing around and little getting to know each other. We got right down to it.
We both stripped and I was put on my knees. Sucking cock was about our only foreplay.
"Mike" is more versatile than I would have thought - or wanted, but we both knew why I was there that evening.
My sucking him was merely a brief introduction. In a minute I wast bent over the back of the couch that was right near the entryway. With a hit of poppers for both of us, he pushed his way up my ass. His dick wasn't large, about 6.5", but he knew how to use it, as he was very skilled.
Mike wasn't going to be one of these fast in and outs and then show me the door. We played for almost two hours. Within the main room of his loft, I was on just about ever surface.
Over a chair. Over that couch. On the couch. Bent over the couch from the front - kneeling on it hanging over the back. My back on the ottoman. My stomach on the same ottoman, and then kneeling on it.
It shouldn't be overlooked that we used the floor too - on my knees, on my stomach, on his back with me riding him. Though I also rode that pole of flesh while sitting on his lap in that chair and on the couch.
His 6.5" never lost too much hardness, though there were times we took a few minutes to recover between positions. I would eat his ass, or he would eat mine. I sucked him a few times, but he was more ass focused than wanting oral attention on his pole.
Near the end we were slightly on a time line, as he did want me out of there before his partner came home. Whether the partner knew I was there or not was unclear - nor did I care (unless he did come home and would be super upset - and bigger than me).
We did end the meeting with me over the ottoman, just being hammered. I've said it before, will say it now and no doubt will say it again: I love that line the fuck where the guy on top crosses where he doesn't know (or care) who is under him. We cease to be a person and more of a destination. Maybe it even goes past being a hole.
Yes, the hole will take the cock. Yes, the hole will take the load. But the brain snaps a bit and all it can see it white light at the end where all they want to do is shoot.
...and I'm fucking ok with that.
Afterwards, he was appreciative and even wanted to see me get off, though I declined. It's a nice gesture, but we both knew why I was there and there is no need to feel the need to do 'something' for me - even if it's watching me jack.
Hopefully I'll get another invite.
1 comment:
You're right, there is totally a point where it becomes less about fucking a bottom and just fucking. You really kind of forget everything. When it's really good, there's just a fog over you and it's like your whole mind is there in the space between the skin of your dick and the bottom's body. And you just want to keep feeling that contact just the way you feel it right now, forever. And you just fuck and fuck and fuck till you pop.
Interesting that a bottom can tell when a top hits that level. It's totally real… when the fuck is right.
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