Bob Returns

Taking a detour on my P-Town posts because......well, I haven't written them all yet. So I'm digging into one that had been drafted, but not completed at the time (it is now) and ready for publish. 

He’s been back a few times. “Bob”, that is. But this was all pre-Covid. I’m just getting around to it now. 

I find him extremely attractive and had for years before we ever connected sexually. As mentioned before, I didn’t even know he knew I existed. It just took time. 

This time, he came over, dressed right from work. Beautiful blue suit. White dress shirt. Nice red silk tie. Polished shoes. He looks incredibly hot dressed up like this. I think he’s incredibly hot any way. 

My initial sighting of him was at CLAW in t-shirt and leather. Variations of that dress, depending on the day. Depending on the year, as it did take years to ‘connect’.  He looked hot that way too. However, I do fucking love a man in a suit. And he wore it well.

But like a good pig-like man, that’s what was on the outside. Presentable for those looking. Filthy underneath.

Hands placed on my shoulder and guided me down to my knees, where I was all too willing to go. My face hovered next to his crotch. With my face hovering right up against his crotch, I could feel the warmth of my own breath bouncing off the fabric and back at me – my beard, chin, lips. I hesitated, as this is usually the time I would move my face into a crotch. Not just to feel the material, but to be one with it. Gnaw at it. Lick it. Suck through it. Feel things start to stir as I worked them from a non-naked scenario. I went for it anyway. 

Nice suit or not, he didn’t stop me from doing it. Actually he encouraged it, with words and a firm hand behind my head pushing me into his crotch. After the appropriate amount of attention to his area, of course, for truer satisfaction (for him, obviously) I went for the belt……….and the zipper. I was not denied, my hand not slapped away. 

Under that suit was a leather jockstrap pouch. Red. To match his tie. 

The man is nothing if not coordinated. He saw the reaction in my eyes. I probably sighed….or moaned. He chuckled knowingly. I don’t know if he thought he was hot, but he knew I thought he was and that is probably as good as is needed for a top man. 

I worked on the pouch with new vigor. 

But soon that was to be unsnapped exposing his thick 6” dick. And down on that I went. Like. A. Champ. I might add. Bob seemed to agree if groans, moans and guttural words of “oh fuck yeah” were to be believed. He stood there, pants around his wingtips, white dress shirt unbuttoned, but remained on, with the tie loosened and askew with some cocksucker swinging on his meat.  Just the way it was intended to be. 

However, I’m smart enough to know while my mouth is good, my hole was the goal. To be honest, that was the goal for both of us, though I had little say in this our any outcome. I know my station. 

Off came the shoes. Off came the pants. Off came the jacket and tie. The shirt remained on but open. Everything else remained in place….except for me, who was bent over the desk of my home office. I guess one more thing went on:  spit on his cock. It’d be the only lube I’d be getting. 

And his hand. On those cheeks. often.  There were red marks. They'd remain for a while. 

The entry was blunt, but nothing I couldn’t take or endure. Bob isn’t one for subtlety or nuance – at least not when it comes to fucking subs. Using, maybe more than fucking. This was about his pleasure ultimately, but I think (?) somewhere in him, he wanted to think what he was doing made me feel good. Read that again:  he didn’t care if I felt good. He wanted what HE was doing to make me feel good – as it was still all about him. 

The pounding – and let’s face it, that’s what it was – was intense and verbal. Telling me how the hole felt. Grunts. Moans. Nice movement and then slamming up the hole. Bob is rough, but not as rough as he thinks he is. That, or he’s holding back. Either way, I’m not fragile and if he wanted to kick it up a notch, I wouldn’t be opposed. 

At some point I got flipped on my back so I could watch him fuck me. And watch I did. I love seeing a man in motion. The intensity in their face – and he had it – the look in their eyes, the lust. I mean – I am totally fine with being ass up, head down. Just used.  But trust me, I was being used. 

While he didn’t tell me ahead of time, I know the signs of impending orgasm. The glaze over the eyes, the mouth agape. The flush of the face. Of course, at the moment of – the GROWL and the howl. The pulse. The warmth. And naturally, the sneer. His. 

He was nice enough to let it slide out normally as opposed to just yanking it out. Then he stood there, hands on hips and said, “get it clean, faggot”.  And I did. Dropped to my knees and took the cock that had just been up my asshole, and took it in my mouth. Like I would have if it were just a blowjob, I worshipped that motherfucking prick and made sure to get every inch in me, using my tongue to make sure he was spotless. He was. 

He then had me hop back up on the desk and lay back. I wasn’t sure what he would do, but it turns out, he would be getting me off. With his fist. 

No no………he didn’t put his fist up my rectum (#lifegoals!), but gripped my slimy cock with his hand. I was so revved up and his manly grip was erotic and painful at the same time. He knew it too. And he jacked me. And jacked me. And then some more. 

Of course, it was enough to make me ejaculate. But that wasn’t enough for him. With his hands having some of my cum in them, he continued to use it as lube as he kept stroking me. The post-orgasm sensitivity shot me through the roof. Like his grip, it was erotic, ticklish, painful – I was beside myself, wanting him to stop, smart enough (?) not say the word. 

He knew exactly what I was feeling, because I was an open book at this point. He could see me. He could feel me squirm. He could see my horror and delight all at the same time. I’m 99% sure this was not his first time doing this trick – though it was a first with me. 

He left satisfied. He left me in a fucking heap. 

Then Covid hit and we haven’t had any repeat, though now and then, I will get a filthy-laden text from him, so I know in the future we will be revisiting this or new encounter.  I can’t wait