Monday, January 19, 2015

Daddy 1

His Scruff profile said he was Middle Eastern. In person, he told me he was Italian. He lived in San Francisco. But he definitely had an Italian accent.

His cock was Italian. 6.5" long....maybe 7. He had to be 6" around. I don't have small hands - though not super huge - and I couldn't get my hand around it.

Oh sure, you hear things like that in porn magazines, but I'm not sure I've experienced that kind of girth in real life. But there it was, fingertips not touching a thumb.

He was a hairy fucker. Head, Beard. Chest. Balls. Bush. Ass. I spent as much time pulling hair off my tongue as I did sucking him or licking him. Trust me, I'm not complaining.

From our early messaging, we carefully felt each other out. As it turns out, he was all top - and had a predisposition for liking it rough. He was hoping not to scare me off. I was hoping not to do the same by telling him all the things I wanted him to do to me.

We met in his hotel lobby, though I trailed him from a distance so co-workers would be none the wiser.

Once in room 202, he moved directly to the hotel chair. Fully clothed, he sat. He pointed to the floor and I got on my knees between his legs. Even through heavy denim he didn't want me gnawing....just licking. The same when I got to open his pants and work on his European briefs.

Eventually, but not quickly, I got to release his cock from his pants. See what I mean about my fingers barely meeting?

He sat there and provided me instruction. More instruction than I think I've gotten since I was a teenager.

He was very specific about when to take it all the way down. He was very specific on telling me how long to keep it there and not to move. He was very specific to tell me to go and do 'just the head'. And then when to suck and how fast.

Sure, he let me do these things on my own, but now and again, he'd take matters (i.e. my head) into his hands and have me do as he please - not just in words, but in deed too.

Also during this time came the first slap. Open palm on the side of my head. Then the side of my face. At times then they'd be at the back of my head or on my shoulders.....but mostly on the side of my face.

I get that many of you guys don't like that. Oddly, I do.

Normally, I would say I'm a pacifist , but during sexual encounters, with the right (or wrong) guy, I get turned on by a certain amount of hitting. I can't explain it. I'm sure someone who took a mid-level psych course could.....just not me.

And while his jeans did become unbuttoned and his belt loosened, it never came off. Though he'd use the end of the belt to smack me in the face as well. Oddly enough, while the slaps with hand and belt had a sting to them, I don't know that I would call them hard blows. But I know that's all relative.

During this time, he'd call himself 'Daddy'. He'd call me 'boy' or 'son'. It was non-role playing role play. I was good with it, even if we were probably close in age. 'Son' was a state of mine. The minor role....and not in age, but in sexual position...so to speak.

This was not a quick session. I'd say 30 minutes into this, he blew a sizable load into my throat. I made sure to take every drop.

As we had not really discussed our agenda, I wasn't sure if we were done or not. But we were not.

He had me move into his bedroom - as he had a suite.

He (I never got a name) had me hang my head over the bed. There he fucked my face. Or buried his cock and held it in my mouth / throat. He never lost hardness after cumming the first time. Impressive - or Glaxo Smith Kline. Either way.....it was working for me.

He had me turn around so my legs were now off the bed. At this point, it was clear, he was going to attempt to fuck me.

Now I love getting fucked, but this man was THICK. But the word 'no' or 'careful' never came out of my mouth. He leaned to his night stand and pulled over one of those little packets of lube pillows. You know the ones. I watched him squeeze out the tiniest amount and apply it to my hole. The same amount made it to his cock.

Then he reached over for a rubber. He put it in his mouth to rip open the foil and spit the corner of the torn package at me. Without a word, he tossed the rubber back on the night stand and applied very little additional lube.

And then he went for it. Pushing. Pushing Pushing. Telling me to breathe. Even giving me examples of how I should be inhaling and exhaling. Oddly, it helped. As he pushed in more, stretching my hairy hole, he told me to slow the breathing down. I did. And sooner than I ever thought, he had bottomed out.

He moved at his own pace - my own needs were not on the table. Not that he asked what they were. But the face had to tell him everything. Pride for taking it. Grimacing for the stretching. And a little bit of ecstasy in a very happy hole.

He would mention after the session, via text, that he liked fucking me.  "I was loving your ass. I need to pound you again". And he did pound. He found a rhythm suitable for him.

We moved to me being face down. Then on my side with him still standing doing a scissor thing with my legs as he plunged deep.

He's also ask later if I liked it.....and if it hurt at all. I admitted it did a bit. His response?  "I didn't care".

I was sitting in my office at that point, and reading that got boned up immediately. Someone who truly TRULY was in it for their own pleasure. Many tops say that, but then worry they're hurting or doing it wrong and start with the apologies. It ruins the mood.....believe it or not.

Another 20 minutes and load two gets shot up my ass.

I'm somewhat worn out. But apparently we are not done.

Again, my head hangs over the bed. It is ass-to-mouth and his still hard cock goes in. I clean him off, though I was pretty fucking clean, so no biggie. But the lube...the ass....residual cum....all goes in my mouth. Over my lips. Even in my beard.

I suck. He alternately jacks his cock. We go back and forth. And he's ready for load three. He tells me to open my mouth, but more of it hits my face than gets in my mouth.


This is kind of ok with me. One for my mouth. One for my ass. One to mark my face.

I'm his.

Right now, for that moment in time, I'm his son.

He shows me the door, cum drying on my face, with the promise of another get together before he leaves town.

I believe this not to just be talk. I'm not proven wrong.

4 comments:

Bruce Chang said...

Damn. Some guys get an ego boost from hearing it doesn't hurt, others get off on the validation that it did. For me, it kinda depends on where in the spectrum he falls... Another top that had the itch to bottom or a power bottom cum slut? Ha!

By the way, I got rock hard hearing how it turned you on to be slapped around. Ha! Reminded me of when I slapped a cop once before pissing on his favorite shirt (which he was wearing) during a play session. First time I could honestly say I saw an expression of shock, anger and lust all at the same time.

FelchingPisser said...

I go back and forth about the "Am I hurting you" thing. If I KNOW the guy wants to be truely used--I am totally fine with it being for my own pleasure--knowing that will get him off, too. Other men need me to care--and then I do exactly that...

lupo said...

about the slaps - when you're fully immersed in what you're doing, a degree of physical pain can actually increase the concentration. By forcing you to ignore the external stimulus, it helps you focus your attention. Zen masters often hit their disciples with a stick during meditation sessions. I don't think it's that dissimilar.

LeatherSkinBikerChgo said...

1) Glad he slapped your face. You need it. 2) Glad he didn't care if it hurt when he buried his thick tool inside you. 3) The condom was a buzzkill for me.