So I’m in Montreal with my friend, Z and we have a hotel room at the Travelodge. I can’t resist a great deal. The room was advertised for two people, and it’s about the size of a closet. Yet they somehow crammed two single beds into it. It’s about 10 in the morning and Z’s laying back on his bed, scrolling on his phone. I tell him I’m having a guy over. He’s OK with it.
Great. I text the guy back. “He might be in the room but he won’t be participating.”
“ok. But he could idc”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I turn to my friend. “He’ll be here in six minutes.”
Z sighs and drops his phone on the bed. “I’m going out then. Tell me when you’re done.” He quickly gets his travel bag and leaves.
Moment’s later, there’s a soft knock at the door. I open it and in walks a tall Italian teenager. His curly black hair shines in the light. We exchange pleasantries and he starts to remove his expensive leather Italian shoes and unbuckle his belt. Soon he’s in his underwear, blue, form fitting. I drop to my knees and press my face into his crotch. When I finally look up at him, and he’s staring down at me, I can’t believe this twink came over. Half the guys in my catholic high school were Italian, and even decades later, this is like a dream to me. When I get tired of mouthing the fabric of his underwear, I put my two thumbs under his waist band and yank it down. They slide the ground and he gracefully steps out of them.
I lick his balls, and as I rake my eyes up his perfect abs I see him staring down with great interest. Suddenly I mouth his dick and he moans in excitement. I run my hands over his firm butt, just feeling every inch of him and he begins to hump into my mouth, slamming his fat dick head against my throat. I pull off, and see that it’s huge, with a slight curve upwards, so thick it’s oval shaped with a flat top. And, unlike many thick cocks I’ve seen, it’s long too. I push him toward the bed, and he sits on it.
“Where-ever you’re most comfortable,” he says. Soon we are both on the bed, and I am on my knees between his outstretched legs, deep-throating him. I’m not sure it’s working, but he seems to be enjoying it. We go for a while, and when I stop for a break, he gets up and throws one leg off the bed. What’s going on?
He gets up, then motions for me to lie down. He reaches down, grabs my arms and yanks me, so I’m face up, with my head hanging off the side of the bed. When I open my mouth, he smiles, then reaches down and grabs his dick, aiming it. With a gentle nudge, it goes all the way, hitting parts of my throat that have never been hit before. I don’t usually gag. I can hold my breath, but somehow, there is some spot deep in there that doesn’t want to be hit that I didn’t even know about. I let him hump a few times before I have to let out a deep breath, and he pulls off and lets me lick his balls a little, balancing his massive cock on my chin. I look up and see him staring back at me, with an odd smile on his face.
He goes in, again sliding it deep within my throat. He doesn’t fuck, but is just letting it sit there and slowly slide out again so I can take a breath. I wonder if it’s even working for him. Most guys in their 20s and 30s need to be stroked quickly to get anywhere. After a few more times, he pulls out all the way.
“Where do you want me to cum?” he asks.
“In my throat.” My voice is raspy. “Deep, deep in my throat.” Makes sense. He’d said he just turned 18.
He gazes down at me and smiles. I look deep into his brown eyes, I can see fire in them, an adventurous spirit, and something else—a hunger and excitement, like a fox about to capture his prey. “I’m almost going to cum,” he says. He uses his hand to point his dick again, and leaning his body forward, slides in. Once again his weighty balls are resting on the bridge of my nose and I’m staring up his ass crack.
I’m holding my breath, with my hands pressed against his thighs, ready to but trying my best not to shove him off of me. He’s barely thrusting, resting it there like a python in a log. He just twitches his hips a little, pulling it in and out mere millimeters. I think he’s edging. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. I can feel myself getting dizzy, but I tell myself I am deep under the ocean, with no way to take a breath until I break the surface.
Suddenly his breathing quickens. He moans deeply in ecstasy and inches from my face I can see his ass muscles squeezing together as I feel my throat filling with heat: blast after blast of the teen’s thick load. It lasts more than 10 seconds until he pulls out, dribbling cum up the side of my face, over my forehead and into my hair. Immediately, I roll onto my side and launch into a coughing fit.
I manage to hold up my hand. “I’m OK. Thanks, I liked it,” is all I manage to get out.
He laughs. “Good, I think it was a lot.”
I grin, finally able to suppress the coughs. “It was.”
We chat for a minute. He’s visiting from Italy with his dad. Montreal is a nice place. I’m surprised people stay out so late here, but where he comes from, they do as well. But he agrees that there’s just something different in Montreal. A feel-good feeling of friendliness, and a more vibrant culture.
“Can I use your washroom?” he asks.
I nod, and he goes into the small washroom (a closet within a closet) to clean up and apparently also to comb his hair. I grab my phone and text Z to come back.
No sooner has the Italian teen left than my friend opens the door. He’s suspicious. “I saw him in the lobby. He was looking at me. How did he know it was me?”
Lucky guess? I might have described Z a little to him in the texts.
“Yeah, I was sitting near the elevator and he gave me the strangest look… and then he was on his phone. Seemed pretty happy.”