asian – Page 3 – Grindr Fantasies

Morning Wood in Montreal

I’m in Montreal for a few days. Tonight, I’ve told my business colleagues I’m doing some shopping while they have dinner. The truth is: I’m horny. It’s been a three month dry spell at home. I flip on grindr and just walk.

At night, Sainte-Catherine Street comes alive with glowing purple lights and street performers, as they crawl out their shipping container dressing rooms and prepare to perform to beer-gulping Montreal tourists. Further on, the clothing boutiques give way to poutine diners and Starbucks cafes. Soon I reach the gay village. The boundary between straight and gay is well marked. Hundreds of pink plastic balls are suspended over the street, in a giant cavernous spectacle. They seem to glow with an inner light. Under here, they seem to say, you’re safe. Come, join us. You belong.

I can never belong. I made my choice long ago, when I met my soul mate at the end of school. She saw past my shyness, and became the first person I dated. Now, we have a house, mortgage, kids, and seemingly everything is good. But I crave a physical connection that she can do without. For years I lived the lack of it using lonely porn, until I discovered that I was not entirely straight. With discretion, and a dose of guilt, I could have the best of both worlds.

I’m walking down the middle of the street, which is blocked off to vehicles all summer. Upscale pubs and restaurants spill their patios onto the street, full of diners sipping St. Ambroise craft beers and delicately forking up fancy french fries covered with a mess of gravy and smoked meat.

I look at the patrons and try to decide if they’re gay. Men sit with men, and men sit with women. Lost in thought, I almost crash into a lanky gray haired man, wearing a tank top far below his age. His loose leathery skin hangs off his arms in a display of pride. After tasting me with his eyes, he smiles seductively and continuous his brisk walk.

The establishments have open fronts, like a life sized gay diorama. A shirtless bartender, illuminated by red lights lazily pours beers for the small crowd of bearded bears around him. I pass Sebastian the Barber. Inside the chrome filled barber shop, a punk (Sebastian?) gracefully dances around his barber chair, putting the finishing touches on a brown guy in business attire. The two men could not have been more eclectic.

On my left I see a store with its window boarded up. Paradoxically, the above sign is lit and shining brightly. Black letters cast a silhouetted shadow of red. PRIAPE. From the Greek god of the penis, and the etomological root of a medical condition, priapism – a persistent and painful erection. I look through the open door, but I can’t see anything. I relent, and enter.

“Salut! Hello!” The clerk, a red-bearded bear of a man greets me.

“Just looking!” I exclaim, and I scurry behind a display stand of faceless black rubber masks. I can buy very little here without raising questions from my wife. Maybe some underwear. I try on a couple of pairs of PUMP briefs, admiring my body in the tiny change room. Shit, I can pull these off now. The smallest size hug my balls and make my ass look shapely.

When I emerge fully dressed again, the clerk is standing outside the curtain. “I would like to invite you to my basement,” he tells me, winking. “It is where the fun is, yes?”

I start at him blankly, wondering how he could proposition me so easily. Then my cheeks grow hot when I notice the stairs down to the other half of the store.

“I’ll have a look. Thanks.” Downstairs, a giant black sex swing hangs from the ceiling, holding piles of discounted latex penises. The premium models are impossibly sized and have testes attached, each wrinkle permanently etched in silicon. I consider getting one, but then realize that would be mad. Nothing has ever been inside me. I’ll start with a finger, one of these days.

I make my purchase and head out into the chaos outside. Grindr is useless here. Everyone on the screen is less than ten feet away, but they are busy, and it changes too quickly.

On Jack’d, I see the image of a cute twink. Shirtless, he rakes his hand through his tussled hair, as if he’d just woken up. He smiles infectiously. I message him, and a couple of others, but get no response.

The night seemed full of possibilities, but all I’ve got is $70 worth of spandex. Resigned, I board the metro at Beaudry station and rejoin my colleagues for beers in old Montreal. I remember little else from that night.

In the morning, I spring awake at 5:30. It will be hours until I have to report to work. I flip on my phone and browse. A message blinks at me. The twink from Jack’d has responded just now. We efficiently negotiate the details. He doesn’t want to come over, but I’m welcome to go to him. After I decipher the metro map, I’m soon walking toward his building as the city of Montreal awakens around me.

He answers the door in only a green tank top. At only 51 kg, he has no body fat, but a great body nonetheless. He is not overly thin, and I can see tight bulges on his arms marking cute biceps. He flashes me a sleepy smile as I come in. “Leave your shoes on if you want,” he says and stumbles back into his large studio apartment. The hardwood floor is brightly lit by the morning sun.

Tired, he walks zombie like and falls onto a black leather couch. “Sorry I just got up,” he says. “What would you like to do?”

I stare at his cock, cut and still sporting his morning wood. “If you don’t mind, we can get right to it.”

“Knock yourself out.” He spreads his knees, rests his head back on the couch and closes his eyes.

His balls are beautiful like a firm round softball sitting under his small cut cock. I slide my tongue under them, lift them off the salty couch leather, and massage them. His member pokes the bridge of my nose. When I engulf him in my warm softness, he moans and runs his hand through my hair. He is waking up now.

“How about you lay down, and I’ll get on top?” He asks.

“Sure! That’s kind of my favourite position.” I take the opportunity to strip and show him my new underwear.

“Where’d you get them?” he asks.

I tell him, but he balks at the price. I get onto his bed and kneels beside me. He reaches over and stuffs some gray pillows under my head.

Then he flips a leg over and towers over me, looking down. I run my hands up his legs and over his body, enjoying the smooth feeling.

“Suck my balls,” he orders. I open up and he lowers himself in. The the skin is soft and I mouth them, squeezing his testes gently between my lips. He gasps.

I watch his face as he grabs a small brown vial from the nightstand, opens it and sniffs it. Instantly he relaxes, moans, and lets down his weight.

“You like my balls, huh? It feels so good.” He jams his nuts into my mouth so hard I can feel the tendons under them pressing against my jaw. I chew them, suck them, licking off all of the delicious flavour while he takes another hit of alkyl nitrite.

He tosses the spent vial into his blankets, then falls forward over my face. All I can see are his rippling abs curving overhead. His balls pull away, and his penis, shiny and pink, juts millimetres from my lips. I’m anxious to take it.

With a thrust of his hips, he obliges, and I feel his cock slide into my mouth. “You’re a great cocksucker,” he moans.

He fucks me, and I raise my eyes, tilt my head back to get a look at his face. Resting on his elbows, he grips the pillow in his fists, like a panther clutching a doomed rabbit. He stares back into my eyes, enjoying the sight of his own his dick invading me. His slight size means I can breathe comfortably and I reward him by moving my tongue in the swallowing motion I’ve perfected.

He pulls out and raises his body up again, staring down at me in ecstatic wonderment. “Yeah chew on my balls.” Again he teabags me, enjoying the feeling of his balls being serviced. I moan at him to express my pleasure.

He grabs his dick and shoves it in my mouth, gives a quick thrust of his hips and jabs it in deep. “You like that, huh?” He thrusts again. “You like it when I fuck your mouth?”

“Mmmm hmmm” I answer.

“What’s that? You want it HARDer?” He stabs it so hard my lips feel bruised against his unpadded bones.

“Oh man, fuck that’s good.” Thrust. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and slowly let’s it out. “uuuuhh… yeah… I’m soooo close!”

He plants his hands behind my head, holds me in place, and starts to mouth fuck me quickly. “Oh fuck, oh man on fuck… I’m gonna cum I hope you want it oh fuck!”

He slams into me full on and I feel the syrupy thickness erupt into my throat. He holds me there, and I learn the secret of his firm balls as their contents fills me. He tilts his head and stares at me grinning while I struggle to gulp down his impossibly large load. At last he lifts his knee of my chest and settles back beside me on his haunches, completely drained.

“That was so good,” I tell him. “Thanks I’m glad to meet you.”

“Yeah me too. How long are you here for?”

“I’ll be here the test of the week,” I smile putting on my sandals. “Maybe we can do it again? If you want..” I add hopefully.

“I’d like that,” he says, falling into the pile of pillows. “I’m probably gonna go back to sleep now though.”

I make my own way out, glad to have met this guy, and take the metro back to my hotel for breakfast. He became my Montreal morning routine for the rest of the trip.

Sex Drive

I’ve got my latte in hand at the Chapters book store, and I’m wondering why the fuck I still come here. Most of the books have vanished. In their place are gadgets, like this single salt shaker. Its delicate crystals sparkle under its own spotlight, as if it were haut couture and not simply $30 worth of pink salt.

I ignore it in protest, and head for the free magazines. I’ve been meaning to catch up on Harvard Business Review and the Economist so I can appear to be informed at work. I grab a thick stack of favourites and settle into the wicker chair.

I’ve barely gotten through my third article in Maxim (hot sex tips from college women) when my phone buzzes. It’s only been a half hour since I had my throat slammed, but I’ve forgotten to turn off grindr. I get ready to tell whoever it is to buzz off.

I know him. He is a rare treat and I change my mind when he offers to drive. It’s nice to be desired. Yes, I think some car fun would be exciting today.

When he pulls up in a blue SUV. I hop in. He grins at me, eyes sparkling with anticipation. His arm is draped over the steering wheel. The asian 23 year old’s straight black hair is thick and well groomed. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt and some tin grey jogging pants, somewhat rumpled. It looks like he threw on whatever he had on the floor.

The first time I sucked him, I’ll never forget the look on his face. It seemed like it was life changing for him. He later confided that he felt terrible because of his boyfriend, and he stayed good for a while. But inevitably, he would come back to me and I was happy to oblige. All told, we’ve been together eight times, and each time is perfect. He doesn’t take too long, shoots a good load, and he really appreciates it. I can see it in his face afterwards. He doesn’t need to say it. Oh, and don’t worry about the boyfriend. He’s gone now.

“Sweet car,” I tell him. My own car is too small for action. I could do a lot with a car like this.

I don’t know his name and I don’t want to tell him mine… or anything about me… which makes small talk difficult. I’m purely in this for thrills and spills.

“Where we go to?” he asks, in accented english.

“There’s a hotel up the street. I read that it’s being torn down soon up but has a huge parking lot.. We should check it out.”

We leave the Chapters lot and turn onto the street. I’m trying to remember how to get there. “I think you have to turn into the used car dealership to get to it. That’s fucked up, isn’t it? It was hard to find. I think that’s why it’s closing.” He doesn’t talk much, so I babble.

The hotel is a large building, but only three storeys high. It sits in the middle of a giant property. It had a swimming pool, corporate meeting rooms and until a few years ago, University Town’s best brunch buffet. Now the windows are covered in plastic and the front door is boarded up with spray painted pine.

We drive by a bulldozer. I quip, “Thank god, we’re not too late!” and he laughs. “Pull around the back,” I tell him. “There’s lots of space there, and it may be more private.”

The back of the building opens onto a grassy field, about a kilometer wide, and the only privacy offered is due to the sheer size of the emptiness. I squint in the bright afternoon sun, I can see into some office buildings in the distance.

He drives slowly to the corner of the lot and parks. He turns off the car and unbuckles his seat belt. It’s only then that notice that he’s already got his dick out. It’s brown and enticing, and I can’t wait to get my mouth around it. It pokes out of his jogging pants, which seem to be the official uniform for car fun. My mind flashes back to my first time, just over a year ago. It was eerily similar to this, and my tummy flutters.

He pushes his seat back and shimmies his pants and underwear down to his knees, exposing his thighs and a thick tuft of straight black pubes. I lay my hand on his abdomen, feeling the ridges between his hard muscles. My own cock shifts in my pants.

I lower my head and take him into my mouth, and true to form he gasps and bucks his hips up trying to get more into me. I torture him for a minute, barely touching it, just letting his tender penis get used to the host moistness of my mouth. He’s hard as hell.

“Somebody coming,” he says and jerks up, pulling down his shirt. I raise my head and I’m staring straight into the eyes of a fat brown guy wearing a turban and a dress shirt. Shit. How do I know him? Former coworker? Family acquaintance? He’s on a bike, and he swerves around the car and heads through the parking lot towards the street. FUCK! He stared straight at me and there’s only one thing I could’ve been doing. Looking for my contact lenses – in my friend’s crotch.

We’ve parked right in front of a bike trail. The car’s been off for a few minutes and it’s damn hot today. The air assaults my body, but neither of us wants to move the car. I can see there’s none else coming for now, and the damage is done, so I get back to my task.

Our skin is slick now and my cheek rubs easily against his thigh. It is satisfying to listen to his moans and gasps as he responds to every flick of my tongue. I’ve done it so many times with him that I know exactly how to bring him to the peak of ecstasy. A bead of sweat forms on my temples and drips onto his pants, creating a small dark dot.

I feel him shooting, deliciously and thick. When the spasms stop, I swallow it slowly and gently get the rest out as he moans and relaxes on the leather seat, stroking my hair.

“Thank you,” he says, pulling up his pants, and gives me a look that is every bit as good as the first time.

The Chase

The lobby of the Toronto Sheraton is ostentatious blend of redwood pillars and polished granite. At midday, suited business travellers either stride purposefully through it, or sit sipping Starbucks lattes and read on their phones while they wait for their comrades to arrive.

Me? I’m just looking for the bathroom. “On the second floor, at the top of the escalator. See you at 12,” my lunchtime appointment had told me.

“Can you send a face pic please?”

There was no response, so I’m waiting, feeling conspicuous, as I lean over the polished chrome railing. I carefully watch the the people below me from my perch on the second floor mezzanine, looking for some sign of him. A few meters away, a constant stream of well dressed men emerge from the conference centre hallways and push open the white door to the men’s room. Although there’s a lot of activity, it could still work in theory. I had inspected the facilities earlier. The stalls were fully enclosed.

It’s 12:10 and nobody’s approached me. I wish he’d sent that face pic.

“Am I in the right building?” I text. I’m convinced everyone is watching me as I take and send him a picture of the restroom door.

“I’m in the washrooms there. But I’m coming out. It’s too busy. We’ll find another.”

“OK”

“Just follow me discreetly.”

“What do you look like?????!”

“I’m wearing blue. Asian guy with glasses.”

Dropping all pretence, I stand there and watch the door. A group of five asian men wearing blue with glasses walk out. None of them even glance at me, but soon after, a young guy wearing an off-white dress shirt darts ahead and speed-walks away. I jog after him as I try to get a closer look. Did he have glasses? His shirt’s a little blue, maybe, if you look at it under the right light.

I jog until I’m close enough then break into a fast walk, but he charges on ahead down the hall and rounds a corner. Shit, a meeting room empties, and he’s lost in the crowd. I’m blocked by a throng of suited, silver-haired executives as they shake each-other’s hands and rape the refreshment table. The shortest of the men is six feet tall.

“Oh, excuse me,” one says as I brush past him. “Sorry, sir,” a smiling septuagenarian apologizes after I elbow him in the groin. Did I mention I’m in Canada?

Thankfully the narrow hallway turns right, and I emerge into the great hall. I look around quickly, but I don’t see my quarry anywhere. Fuck! He’s probably the wrong guy. Why the hell didn’t he send that face picture??

I see some bathrooms to my right, but I decide to keep looking for him. The great hall is filled with people and refreshment carts. I make my way across the gold carpet to the other side. That’s when I see him, sitting on a bench, hunched over his phone.

I get as close as I can, but I can’t see what’s on his phone. Instead, I stand on the other side of a column and check mine. There’s a message waiting.

“Follow me into the washrooms.”

I have no idea when it was sent. Is this text leftover from before, or could he be watching me right now? My heart races as I text him again.

“Are you the guy sitting down?”

“Yeah.”

“Lol.”

“Ok let’s try to go straight to those washrooms.”

The young man on the bench stuffs his iPhone in his dress pants, gets up, and bolts across the room. I don’t bother being inconspicuous this time. I speed walk right behind him. I can’t let him get away again, because frankly, it would be embarrassing. This is supposed to be a hookup, not Mission Impossible.

Suddenly a man in a tie darts out in front of him and slaps him on the shoulder. “Hey John! You’re always in a hurry,” he chuckles. He stands there with his arm out, confused, as we keep going.

At last, we both enter the washroom. This one is less populated at the moment. Without even looking at me, he heads to the last stall and closes the polished wooden door. I hear it latch shut. I pretend to use the urinal as I wait for a Gordon Gecko lookalike to leave. True to character, he pisses, straightens his tie in the mirror, and walks right out the door.

Uncertainty overwhelms me again. Maybe I was texting the wrong guy back there. All I had were the texts. The man I’ve been following hadn’t even acknowledged me once since we started.

But then, he had gone from one bathroom to another. Buoyed by this tiny piece of logic, I take a deep breath and knock quietly on the stall.

The door unlatches and he lets me in. At last, we are alone. I sit on the toilet and look up. Finally, I get to see my hookup’s face. He’s twenty-one, and his slightly-blue dress shirt’s too big for him. He raises his finger to his lips and signals for me to not speak. Then he lets down his pants. I pull down his grey boxer briefs and unleash his cock.

His dick was the only picture he sent me, and it was enough to start me on this hotel chase. His balls are large and perfectly smooth, and his cock is thick and straight. It feels comfortable in my mouth, like it belongs there.

While I suck, he leans forward and keeps looking through the crack in the door. I’m focused on my job, but find it is difficult to do without making it obvious to everyone in the room that there’s a wet, smacking blowjob going from the next stall. The conditions are hard, but the thrill makes up for it.

That is, until I hear a loud voice right outside our door.

“OKAY GUYS. GAME’S OVER.”

We both freeze and try to peek through the crack in the door. I can see a man’s face outside. Time stops, the hairs on the back of my neck levitate and I want to be anywhere but here, but there’s nowhere to go.

Another voice answers.

“Looks that way. I’m going to shoot Michael an email about the PDP.”

I breath a sigh of relief. We’re free to continue, but he’s deflated. I start from scratch.

Eventually, though all the toilet flushes and listening to backroom deals, I manage to coax out his load. After he zips up, we whisper to each-other. He might visit University Town soon. It would be nice to show him what I can do when I don’t have to be utterly silent.

But today, the thrill was in the chase.

A Happy Hour

“I’ve done my homework. I’ve read everything you’ve written so far.”

The asian man sat beside me, one leg up on my king sized bed of the Hilton in Toronto. He’s small in stature, and wears a preppy checkered shirt. He looks young for a 34 year old, but he gazes at me with worldly confidence and readiness through his trendy square glasses.

“Do you write about every encounter?” he asks.

“Well, just the exciting ones, or ones with different settings. I don’t want to repeat myself too much. So you know what I like. But I don’t know anything about you. What do you like?”

“Well, you know a little,” he says. A few days before this, he’d followed me on Tumblr. He has a lot of interesting reposts of his own. “My tumblr is mostly fantasy. Things I haven’t been able to find a guy willing to do.”

“Oh?”

He stands up and sheds his shirt. “I found one of your stories in particular very interesting…” he pauses, perhaps hoping I’d get the message. My eyes beg him to go on. “First, I want to try pissing down your throat.”

I stare at him, trying to appear aghast but I can’t. Instead I start to laugh. “Oh yeah! There’s no good way to say that, is there?” I excitedly duck into the bathroom and grab a white towel, spread it on the floor beside the bed.

He steps out of his pants, revealing bright purple pouch briefs, the words “BLOW!” boldly stitched across the waistband. He tosses his glasses on top of his shirt on the suitcase stand, and I fall to my knees in front of him.

“You don’t want to use the tub?” he asks, fingers slipping inside his briefs.

“Nah, we’ll be fine.” I can’t imagine my new buddy being as big, or rough, as my Indian friend. That time, I did need a tub.

He pulls out his penis, thankfully still flaccid, and I gently wrap my mouth around it, trying not to touch it. He stares down at me, incredulously, for long moment before I feel his cock pulse and let out a small amount of hot liquid.

Unlike the two others I’ve done, he didn’t drink much before this, so I get the full flavour. It’s new to me. He watches me as I slosh it around my mouth, enjoying the taste – like a hoppy beer – and swallow.

“You like that?” he asks in amazement. “Have some more.”

Satisfied that I can take it, he relaxes and pisses. I let it tickle my tongue, slosh around my mouth, waiting to the last second to close my lips around it and swallow. I enjoy every moment of it as he empties himself into me, filling me, allowing me to be his vessel. Five gulps later, and it’s done. I’ve consumed it all, and the towel is dry.

I’m staring at his uncut penis. His whole body is shaved smooth. Even under his arms had no more than a day’s growth of stubble. His balls were smallish, hanging from under an impressively sized cock. As I lick, it grows revealing what would be an interesting quirk – a slight curve to the left. I pressed forward, eliciting a gasp when it enters my throat.

“Not too fast. I’ve got other plans for you tonight. I’m going to sit down.” He pulls out, and walks along the room the the office chair in front of the small desk, and plunked his naked butt into it, spinning it around to face me. Then he loops his arms around his legs and pulls them into the air. “Do you like rimming?” he asks, pointing his impossibly smooth anus up at me.

“I’ve done it once, it was fun,” I tell him. I kneel down in front of the chair and give him a doggy lick. But the chair is too low to the ground and I’m having trouble getting the right angle.

“Get on the bed,” he orders. “I’ll just sit on your face. You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“Yes!” I quickly gather the hotel cards from the pillows, fling them against the wall, and lay down on my back. He gets on the bed and squats over my mouth. All I see are his balls, cock, and face staring at me intently, as he gingerly lowers his anus to my mouth. I poke up at it with my tongue, swirl up, and then press inside. I see an instant reaction on his face. This is fun.

He’s being too gentle, though. I reach up and pull his hips down, forcing him to smother my mouth with his ass. He gets the idea and lets down his weight, and I sink into the pillow-top mattress, as I trace circles around his pucker with my tongue.

By now his cock is a full 6” and the red head peeks out of its brown covers. He steps off onto the floor. “Slide over,” he tells me. “Lean your head off the bed.”

My heart flutters. Soon I”m staring up into his perineum, holding my mouth open. He slides in, gently at first.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Yes–” I start, muffled.

He grabs my arms and slowly pulls himself forward, all the way in, and holds it there. I feel my airways close up. He stands there with his dick in my throat, perfectly still as the seconds tick by. “When you need to breath, just tap me,” he says.

I give his left cheek two quick taps. He obliges, pulling out, and I suck in a swimmer’s breath.

This time, when he plunges forward, I feel his fingers lightly touching my throat. I imagine him there, grinning, fascinated by the distended outline of his own dick through my skin.

That’s when he starts to fuck. Ever so slightly, he nudges his cock back and forth a little. I concentrate on not vomiting. All I can do is stare through his inner thighs at the textured wallpaper behind him.

Just when I reach all I can take, he pulls out, and settles onto the middle of my bed, flat on his back, melting into the lucious pillows. “These are so comfy. Are you crying yet?” he asks, smiling.

“No I’m fine,” I tell him, quickly wiping the tears off my cheek.

I quickly get between his legs on my belly and engulf his penis between my lips. He lets out a slow, relaxed sigh. “Good boy,” he says. When I keep sucking, he stops me, grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “When I say ‘Good boy’, you then say ‘Thank-you sir.’ Do you understand?”
“Thank-you sir,” I tell him.

“You learn fast. That’s good.” He put his arms behind his head. “Now go get me a glass of water. I’m parched.”

I look around the room, for which I paid $209, and quickly find the glass. I tear off the plastic wrap and fill it with tap water in the bathroom sink.

I hear him call after me. “And hand me the remote. I’m going to watch some TV while you suck my dick. Would you like that?” He answers himself. “Yeah. I know you would, cocksucker.”

He’s cocky for sure. It excites me. I thought he’d be gone in 10 minutes, and I’d be able to catch some much needed sleep. But now I’m awake, excited by our time together. I grab the remote on the way back and offer it him. “Here you are, kind sir.” I only hope he doesn’t order costly porn.

I lay perpendicular to him now, my head on his belly, so I can see the TV a little and work his cock with my mouth at the same time. He ignores me, flipping channels.

The TV blasts out, “Scandal rocks Hollywood today– brewing in the middle east– For 30% of the company.” He settles on a rerun of Shark Tank. Nice, we have similar tastes.

We watch as the sharks eviscerate the business prospects of two women. As they argue, he starts to instruct me. “Put your tongue around the head,” he says. “Try it without your lips…. Lick the bottom of the foreskin.” He gives specific instructions of what he wants. “Good boy.”

Slurp. “Thank-you sir.”

He looks at me, eyes narrowing. “Now I want you to suck on my toes for a while,” he says.

What?

“Yeah,” he says, wiggling them at me. “Get down there and suck. And give me a foot rub.” He stares at me, or the TV, while I kneel on the floor in front of the bed. I cringe, thinking of foot fungus, but a moment later, I lock my eyes on his face, and suck on his big toe. It turns out that sucking appendages is a transferable skill, and I quickly get into it. I stare at his cock, projecting my intense hunger, as I do it.

“Do the other piggies too. They’re lonely,” he tells me, giving them a wiggle.

I do so, but after giving them equal time, I lunge forward onto my belly. I lick his perineum, then move down, pushing his legs up. “Oh yeah,” he says. He grabs a pillow, stuffs it under his lower back, and rolls his ass hole up to me once again. “Good boy. Lick my ass.”

“Thank-you sir.” I say, and I begin. He’s slick with my saliva, and I start to give it wet kisses, and soon I’m making out with his ass, sucking and flicking my tougue at it. A few minutes later, he gives out a low, guttural moan.

“Come here and look what you did,” he says. I get up on my arms and we stare at his cock. A spurt of precum has emerged. “Better not waste it,” he admonishes. I bend over him and lap it up.

I get beside him again, and rest my head on his belly button, and slowly suck on his slippery red cock head. On the flatscreen, the next set of entrepreneurs are almost done their pitch and I lose myself in the show for a while. I feel him slowly stroking my scalp.

During the commercials, he occasionally starts to thrust, holding my head in place. It is then that I see the advantage of his uniquely curved dick. From the side, it slides in perfectly and he;s able to fuck my throat with ease. He does this for only a few seconds, whenever the need arises, and then rests, leaving the work up to me.

He gives more instructions. “Use your hand to bring the foreskin up, get your tongue in between the skin and the head. Yeah, good boy,” he says.

“Thank you sir”

“Use your left hand to massage my balls. Oh yes,” he says, and lets out another low gutteral purr. “I can feel my cum building up. In a little while I’m going to cum down your throat. And in your mouth so you get to taste it all. You will love my sweet cum,” he says. My hands are doing the work most of the now, stroking, so I steal quick glances up at him. He’s not even watching the TV any more. He is in heaven, raw exctasy in his half closed eyes.

Suddenly he grabs my head, wrenching it away and off of him. He lets out a slow ragged breath. I stare into his eyes, and stretch my tongue out eagerly at his throbbing cock head. After a moment, I slowly start again, sticking my tongue in the slit, savouring the delicous salty flavour of his essense.

His control is impressive, and he starts to channel flip again while I suck. “How does your mouth feel?” He asks

“It’s very happy,” I tell him. The thought of it ending now is unbearable. I want to lay here, my head on his belly, sucking his dick, as long as I can, with him softly stroking my head and flipping through shows on my TV. And that’s what we do. I lose all track of time as I suck him, and stroke him. I’m interrupted only with the exciting moments when he grabs my head and mouth fucks me before relaxing again.

His low, purrs are getting more frequent now, and his demands that I slow down are getting weaker. “I’m so close, I can feel it,” he tells me. He strokes my scalp, sending shivers through my body. “You’ve definitely earned your reward. You should be proud. This is the longest blowjob I’ve ever had.”

More moans. His body is on fire now. “Let go of my balls, so I can get it in your throat when it’s time,” he says.He’s thrusting, doing the work now, and his moans get louder. “Get ready,” he says, and before the words are out, he explodes onto my tongue. He screams out, and I feel like the entire floor will hear him. He never stops thrusting, and one joyful hour’s worth of cum ends up down my throat and all throughout my mouth, like delicious salty caramel coating.

When he is done, he can’t ,or won’t move from his spot in the centre of my bed, so I lay on my side and slowly caress his chest and abdomen, over and over. We spend many minutes like this. I’m addicted to the feeling of the hard muscles with barely any covering.

“Are you going to write about that?” he asks, eyes hopeful. “I tried to make new and different for you.”

I grin, as I realize who was the real master today. “Absolutely.”

Fetish

The moment I get the message that he’s here, I unlatch the restroom door and quickly get on my knees beside the toilet. My 23yo master enters and locks the door. He hastily puts his thick chemistry textbook on the sink. Without bothering to take off his jacket, he walks over to me, and unzips. He yanks his felt pants and red boxer-briefs down with one quick motion, and casually places his dick in my open mouth. For a long time, nothing happens.

Kinks are weird. For example, intellectually, I can understand why playing with someone’s foot might give pleasure. They are as sensitive as the palms, as erogenous to touch as the base of the penis. I can see, if not share, the sense of pleasure from servicing a pampered paw. But that is not my kink.

I love cum. I love the work of rubbing and sucking and I relish my reward with gusto. I need to take it in, feel it gushing out, knowing that once started it is unstoppable by any force. I need to taste it, consume it, thick and hearty. By extension, why would I not love everything a man’s penis could give me?

Yet I am embarrassed to tell anyone my fantasy.

It was only by chance that we were chatting about kinks, and I shared mine. He had already done it with other guy. Bemused, he agreed to indulge me the next time we met.

“I had a lot of water,” he messaged me in the afternoon. “Just waiting till I have to go.”

I waited, so turned on I was high. I couldn’t sit still. I just walked around the campus, where we would meet, and kept checking my phone.

“How much can you handle?” he wrote.

I have no idea. Maybe none at all. Maybe it’s one of those things that is better to think about than do. Maybe I’ll get my clothes all wet and have to go home and change. Maybe I’ll puke on his shoes. “All of it. I’m so thirsty :)” I write back.

“I’m in a rush,” he wrote a little later, “but I can go now. You OK with just piss and go? No time to cum.”

I was a little disappointed, but I found my favourite bathroom, locked the door, and waited for him.

And now he’s here, standing over me. Being careful not to stimulate, I lightly close my lips over his cockhead. It feels so soft and small, completely flaccid. It bends at the lightest touch. He clamps his hand around the base and relaxes his groin. The first dribble is hot and sharp and runs down to the back of my mouth. The taste is light. I swallow it down.

He smiles. Satisfied that I can take it, he relaxes and pisses on the middle of my tongue. It tickles in a way that is rarely felt, and my cock stiffens. As my mouth fills, I pull back, so I’m just kissing the tip of his still streaming cock. Very carefully, I swallow. As I slide back on I suck, something I’ve always wanted to do. It comes out faster. When the flow ebs, I look into his eyes and wait with mouth open and my tongue just touching its underside. He flexes and gives me more of his essence.

This time, as I pull back to swallow, his penis stretches with me, and the stream tapers. He shakes it off against my teeth. He’s fully hard now. For a long time, I wait for more.

Soon staring up its length, reflex takes over. Effortlessly, I take him down into my throat. I’m eager to show him my skills. But before I can move, his hands land on my shoulders, holding me in place. As he fucks my throat, I close my eyes and suppress the gag. After only seconds, he stops. He rakes his cock across my tongue and I taste his sperm, still spewing out. My young master must have been pleased. He bangs it against my lips, shaking it off, then squeezes it between his fingers, wringing out the last few drops of cum. Thrilled at the reward, I lick him clean.

He washes his hands, grabs his textbook, and leaves without speaking.