Show-Offs, page 6
The gas fire has the bedroom snug, so my captive’s suffering isn’t about temperature but about the wicked ingenuity of his restraint. His hands, tied behind his back, are anchored with a short cord to his trussed-up cock and balls, meaning that every time he fights his bonds, he only tortures his own genitals. His hairy legs are bent behind him, his ankles crossed, tied, and tethered to the wooden dowel roped between his teeth, so that any half-hearted attempts at escape only wedge the stick deeper into his mouth. Byron’s been squirming and groaning for a good three hours, giving me a show so beautiful that my book’s gotten only intermittent attention. But now this chapter’s done, and I think Byron’s had enough.
Bending, I stroke his shaggy hair and then free him, leaving only the dowel-gag in place. With difficulty he crawls to his knees, limbs clearly sore from long hours of constriction. Gratefully, he wraps his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly.
“Show me your hole,” I say, squeezing his shoulders. “Like you did before.” Compliant, he crawls over to the bed, bends over the edge, reaches back with both hands, and spreads his asscheeks.
“Good boy. Keep yourself spread. Stay just like that.” I take a deep breath before stripping off my clothes and dropping to my knees behind him. I push my face into that fine copper crevice-fur, breathing in his musk, probing him with my tongue-tip, adoring the glossy pink entrance there. I rim him tirelessly, relishing his ecstatic moans, the way he wriggles his butt against my beard.
“Time for the cuffs,” I say, seizing Byron’s wrists and locking them behind his back. I lube us up and jam in overlapped fingers, prying him open further. Finally, I poke my cockhead between his buttocks and thrust inside, making him wince and yelp. I grip his hips and fuck him with snarling brutality. The bed creaks, bumping against the wall.
“How’s this, you little tease?” I growl, swatting his buttcheeks. “Isn’t this what you were begging for? About time that gorgeous ass of yours got filled up.”
Byron moans and nods. I pound him mercilessly, till he’s whimpering with pain. Expertly, his ass-canal clenches and pulses around me, and soon I’ve exploded into him.
“God, what a superlative plowing. Damn, Daddy, I needed that,” Byron gasps as soon as I’ve gathered sufficient thought to unknot his stick-gag. I fetch a wet washrag to clean us up before uncuffing him. Embracing, we snuggle and drowse in the firelight for a long time. Then Byron sucks me hard again, straddles my waist, sits on my cock with a flinch and a sigh and jacks off on my chest.
Fiction, fiction, sadly fiction. This final sex scene’s fact. This last man’s real, not fantasized. He’s horny, kinky, queer and more than willing. He’s versatile, meaning he loves to top cubs but he’ll bottom for some guys, including me if I ask nicely. And he’s my type, I’m glad to say, a muscle-bear, a Daddybear. True, he’d be hotter if his goatee were less gray, more black; if there weren’t those midlife bags under his eyes and lines on his brow; if he could just stop swilling martinis and scarfing doughnuts and lose twenty pounds. But he’s burly and butch, a passion-starved mountain man with a solid set of shoulders and arms, a chest molded by decades of weight lifting; he’s hairy, though the thick pelt between his pecs is silvery, no longer dark, and his thick arms are covered with intricate tattoos.
Stripped to the waist, head bowed, he stands before the bathroom mirror. Now he lifts his head, looks himself in the eyes and begins. When he ties a camo bandana between his teeth, then plasters a strip of duct tape over his mouth, his cock stiffens inside his boxer briefs. His nipples are prominent after so many blessed years of rough play, and on them he hangs clamps. When he tightens the metal teeth, he simultaneously grunts with pain and grows twice as aroused. Now he drops his briefs and takes his long cock in his hand.
More and more, as a mortal ages, desire is sadly unreciprocated, all about looking, not touching. Eyes must substitute for skin, so to speak, and skin grows more and more irrelevant. But this man, he can see and stroke himself, he likes his own looks, he desires that broad-shouldered Daddy in the glass.
Now he drops his dick long enough to twist both clamps cruelly. Pain knots his brow. He throws back his head and gives a long, muffled moan. Seizing his cock again, he strokes himself harder, palm-skin sliding blissfully over prick-skin, subject for once become object, Top simultaneously bottom, Narcissus bending toward the water to kiss himself. By now, his tits are burning, his cock’s a taut sheen, his fist a blur. Lifting one hand, he tugs a tortured nipple, bites down on the bandana knotted between his teeth, locks eyes with the man in the mirror and arches his back. With a hoarse growl, he gushes cum into the sink.
He stands there trembling, panting, relishing the fading frissons of orgasm. Now he gives a baritone chuckle, shakes his head and peels the tape off his stubbly face. Sheepish laughter as he unknots the mouth-moist bandana, a doubled wincing as he eases off the tit clamps. He washes his splattered semen down the drain. Grinning, he studies himself in the mirror, captor admiring captive, Daddy savoring boy. He’s still furry, strong, powerful. He’s virile yet. He flexes his arms and pecs, runs his fingers through his chest hair and caresses his aching nipples. For a few moments, he has no need of any other.
YOU’VE BEEN SPUNKED
Rob Rosen
I leapt up, plastic cockroaches on either side of me, a stuffed rat with beady pink eyes staring down from my nightstand, my alarm clock blaring at maximum, earsplitting volume. So, fuck yeah, I shrieked like a little girl, wiping the bugs away, rapid-fast, jumping to the side of the bed and away from the rodent, all with a bewildered look of terror etched on my face—all with my roommate’s camera pointed my way, the red flashing light indicating that my morning fright-fest was being recorded.
Tom, said roommate, was laughing uncontrollably, filming all the while. “Morning, Steve,” he bellowed, tears streaming down his face as I tried to get my breathing back to normal.
“Fuckwad,” I yelled, throwing my pillow at him, then the rat, both missing by a mile, my girlie throw also caught on camera, to be shown at some future date to various friends, or worse, on YouTube.
I slammed the clock radio off and hopped up, ready to pulverize him, or at least give chase. But for some bewildering reason, he wasn’t running. Instead, he was pointing the camera downward, laughing even louder. “Nice morning woody,” he howled. “Thanks for the perfect ending, dude.”
I stopped midstep and tried, as best I could, to cover my boxers, my hard-on poking my palm, unwilling to settle down. I mean, come on, Tom was in nothing but a pair of torn sweat shorts, his ripped body glowing in the early morning rays that managed their way through my blinds. Anyway, I jumped back into bed and threw the blanket over my boner. “I’ll get you, asshole. Just when you least expect it.”
“I’m trembling,” he mocked, already turning to leave. “And speaking of assholes, keep that pecker of yours away from mine.” Again he laughed, rounding the corner and moving out of sight, his insistent chuckling fading in the distance.
I reached for my still-throbbing prick, my hand inside my boxers giving a yank and a tug while imagining just what he’d said, my cock in his hole, his prick bouncing up and down as he rode me, his head tilted back so I could suck his neck, a tender lobe, all while pulling his heavy nut sac, swirled as it was in all that blond, wiry hair. This distinctive feature of his I knew well enough, seeing as he always wore those same baggy sweat shorts, his balls flopping out, my eyes zooming in when he wasn’t paying attention. My mind now had all this streaming in instant replay, my fist pumping away, the come rising up, up, up until it burst out, dousing the inside of my boxers in a heavy load of hot sticky come, my moans muffled by the blanket.
“I’ll fucking get you,” I repeated, my body twitching, my voice gravelly, my hand working the last few drops of sap from my cock.
I needed a plan. Something devious. Something that would get him back for all the pranks he was constantly pulling on me, make his heart stop for a few seconds. The ultimate punk. And as I was cleaning up my sticky mess, that punk formed in my twisted, revenge-soaked mind. All that was needed was a bit of shopping and good timing.
Luckily, there was a toy store not far from our apartment. Luckier still, Tom went out drinking that night, leaving me to my own devices, with plenty of time to set everything up, make sure the camera was hidden and on and me hidden as well, inside his closet, dressed like a burglar, the toy gun nestled in my front pocket, bandana tied around my neck. I was ready for payback, vengeance soon to be mine.
It was late when he got home. I watched through the closet slats as he flicked the lights on and shut the door behind him. I stifled a laugh as I pictured his shocked reaction, though when he reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube, I knew I wasn’t going to be jumping out of the closet any time soon. I was trapped, but at least I had a promising show ahead of me. My breath caught in my throat, heart pumping madly in my chest, while he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the ground as he kicked off his shoes and rolled off his socks. He was about two feet away from me now, admiring himself in his full-length mirror, flexing his brawny chest, tightening his six-pack, all while I stared, rubbing my cock through my jeans.
He unbuttoned his khakis, sliding them off, his waist eye-level, his briefs noticeably tenting. I’d seen Tom naked before, but never hard, and never from a couple of feet away. I huddled there, mesmerized, my zipper now down, my hand inside, watching as he peeled off his underwear, his cock bouncing, jutting out a good seven inches, the wide mushroom head already slick with precome, his big balls swaying like a pendulum. I reached for something to stifle a groan and was fortunate to find a pair of his underwear, used, musky, smelling of his ass and cock. I pressed them over my mouth while inhaling their stink, my eyelids fluttering, and yanked out my prick while he ogled his perfect body in the mirror. Vanity, thy name is Tom. Still, who was I to complain? Lucky me; I had a ringside seat.
He lowered his body to the floor, sidling up to the mirror, out of my line of vision. Slowly, quietly, I stood up, peeked down. His head was propped up by his arm while he watched himself jacking off, his cock slick with lube, gleaming, his heavy balls rising and falling as he beat his meat, the sound of his breathing spiraling around the room, causing my head to spin. I sighed, dropping my jeans and briefs to the ground, matching him stroke for eager stroke.
Another surprise. He raised his magnificent legs and spread them, his asshole winking back at him from the mirror. I pressed my face flush to the closet door, staring hungrily as he rubbed some of the lube around his hair-rimmed hole, his finger sliding in, a moan escaping from his lips, the finger joined by its neighbor, both of them disappearing up his ass. The moan grew louder before being eclipsed suddenly, sadly, by the sound of the closet door swinging open and me tumbling out, cock still in hand, jeans around my ankles, his dirty underwear crammed against my face.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, his hand popping free from his ass as he scooted away, fear and confusion stretched across his face. “Steve!” he hollered a second later.
I reached down to my jeans and removed the toy gun. “Bang,” I squeaked.
He jumped up and pounced, not punching me so much as tossing me around, anger evident on his face. And then something else. His hard cock was now butting up against my own, his hands suddenly on my ass, his face an inch from mine, both of us breathing hard. “What the fuck were you doing?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“I wanted to scare you,” I mumbled. “To get even.”
His scowl turned to a smirk. “This is what you call getting even?”
His lips unexpectedly brushed mine, sending a volt of adrenaline through my body and into my cock, which bounced. “Um, more like unforeseen circumstances,” I replied, kissing him in return, softly, my eyes open, watching, waiting, my every nerve vibrating.
He laughed and grabbed my prick. “Dude, this so falls out of the realm of unforeseen.” Again he kissed me, hard, insistent, his tongue snaking its way inside my mouth, coiling around my own for a swap of some heavy spit.
I broke an inch away. “Yeah,” I chuckled, my hand roaming up and down his back, my fingers running through the soft down just above his ass. “Especially the part where you were finger-fucking yourself.”
A splash of crimson brushed his cheeks. “Oh, you, um, saw that, huh?” He began a slow even stroke on my cock.
“Saw it and taped it, if I’m not mistaken.”
He retracted his face from mine, but just by a hair. “This is all on film?”
“Digital camera, so, technically, not film. Still…”
Again he laughed. “My first porno role and I’ve got top billing.”
I echoed his laugh with one of my own. “Well, the top part remains to be seen. I mean, it seems to me like you enjoyed those fingers up your ass, dude.”
He paused, moving in again, his forehead tilted against mine. “Fingers are one thing, dude. I, um, never had a dick up there before.”
I smiled, kissing his nose. “Yet.”
He laughed. “Yet. Right.”
“Plus, it’ll be on film. For posterity’s sake.”
He rubbed his ass and rolled over on his back. “More like posterior, but you sold me. Fuck away, roomie.”
I moved over, leaning against his side, my fingers exploring his peaks and valleys, those areas of his body I’d only ever caught glimpses of before, now suddenly opened up to me for close inspection. “Really? I can fuck you, dude?” The very sound of it sent my blood racing.
He grinned. “Can we hook the computer up to the video recorder, to, um, you know, watch it?”
I chuckled, my cock thickening even more. “You want to watch me fuck you?”
He reached up, his hand stroking my chin before sliding down to pinch a nipple, his thumb and index fingers tweaking and pulling on my sensitive appendage. “Sounds hot, dude. Why not?”
Who could argue with logic like that? I jumped up and retrieved the hidden camera, then ran to my side of the room to get the connecting plug. Minutes later, we were recording, a straight shot right on up to his beautiful hole, the scene unfolding live on his laptop, now positioned to our side.
I zoomed in, his hole filling the screen, pink and perfect, fine blond hairs making a halo around the ring. “Nice,” I groaned, staring from the laptop and then back to the real deal.
He raised his legs and spread them again, gazing at his ass as if it were a work of art. All things considered, he wasn’t too far off the mark. His fingers quickly began to run circles around the ring, dipping inside just a millimeter at a time. “Cool view.” He looked up at me, my face and the lens pressed tight to his ass. “Have a taste, dude.”
My head moved in closer, the smell of him wafting up my nose as my tongue darted out, his hole soft like velvet, tasting of sweat, salty sweet. He bucked his ass into my face while I sucked and slurped away, his great big balls bouncing on my forehead while he stroked his thick prick. I glanced above his horizon, his eyes focused on the action on the screen, his mouth open in a pant. I shoved my tongue inside, causing a moan to escape from between his parted lips.
“Fuck, dude,” he sighed.
“I was getting to that,” I said, the words muffled by his ass.
My mouth moved upward, licking and lapping at the tender spot beneath his sac before sucking on one ball, then the other, my tongue swirling around the glorious expanse of soft, wrinkled skin and fine blond hairs. He thumped his prick against my nose, the one slitted eye staring into my two.
“Suck my cock, dude,” he rasped, the last word drawn out in a long, deep exhale.
My head exploded at the sound of it, Fourth of July fireworks flashing behind my eyes, my mouth around his dick a split second later, my lips working their way around the fat head and then down, down, down his pulsing shaft as a happy gagging tear cascaded across my cheek.
“Mm,” I practically purred, sucking away.
“Mm,” he echoed, pumping his prick down my throat.
I turned my head sideways and watched my progress on the laptop, his meat disappearing and then reappearing, slick with my spit, his balls rising and falling with each slurp, the image giving me a new idea, hotter than the others by far.
I popped his prick out of my eager mouth. “Ready to get fucked, dude?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah, dude. Hurry up and fuck me already.”
I laughed and jumped up, helping him to his feet. “Then you better get me a rubber.”
His smile grew bright as he reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out a packet, quickly handing it to me. “Now what?”
I sat down a few feet in front of the mirror, my legs stretched out and apart, and slid the rubber over my erect rod, the lens zoomed in on my crotch, the laptop’s screen reflected in the mirror. “Now squat, dude.”
He stood in front of me, beautiful ass to smiling face, and did as I asked, bending at the knees, his hand reaching down, the lube already slathered in his palm so that he could slick me up before he lined his portal up with my poker. I held on to his hips and glided him in, just the tip making its way inside, his breath sucking in before he relaxed and allowed the intrusion, sighing long and low and deep as inch after inch of me worked its way to his farthest reaches.
“Okay?” I asked, a million tingles riding up and down my back like a runaway locomotive.
He moaned. “Feels good, dude. Just go slow.”
I grinned, my face to the side, staring into the mirror, the image exactly like in my dreams, his head tilted back while he rode my cock, his giant balls bouncing as he stroked his tool, the whole thing blown up on the reflected laptop screen, a close-up of my dick pounding away at his hole, almost too hot to watch. Almost, of course, but not quite.
I looked up from the scene, my eyes locking with his in the mirror. He nodded and smiled, a big toothy grin, then he rose up and slammed his ass down, up and down, again and again and again, each time smashing into my balls, the effect blinding, pleasure mixed with pain, a euphoric combination that sent my cock pumping and grinding even harder into his hole. A sight to see, and, man, was I seeing it from all angles now.
Bending, I stroke his shaggy hair and then free him, leaving only the dowel-gag in place. With difficulty he crawls to his knees, limbs clearly sore from long hours of constriction. Gratefully, he wraps his arms around my waist and presses his face against my belly.
“Show me your hole,” I say, squeezing his shoulders. “Like you did before.” Compliant, he crawls over to the bed, bends over the edge, reaches back with both hands, and spreads his asscheeks.
“Good boy. Keep yourself spread. Stay just like that.” I take a deep breath before stripping off my clothes and dropping to my knees behind him. I push my face into that fine copper crevice-fur, breathing in his musk, probing him with my tongue-tip, adoring the glossy pink entrance there. I rim him tirelessly, relishing his ecstatic moans, the way he wriggles his butt against my beard.
“Time for the cuffs,” I say, seizing Byron’s wrists and locking them behind his back. I lube us up and jam in overlapped fingers, prying him open further. Finally, I poke my cockhead between his buttocks and thrust inside, making him wince and yelp. I grip his hips and fuck him with snarling brutality. The bed creaks, bumping against the wall.
“How’s this, you little tease?” I growl, swatting his buttcheeks. “Isn’t this what you were begging for? About time that gorgeous ass of yours got filled up.”
Byron moans and nods. I pound him mercilessly, till he’s whimpering with pain. Expertly, his ass-canal clenches and pulses around me, and soon I’ve exploded into him.
“God, what a superlative plowing. Damn, Daddy, I needed that,” Byron gasps as soon as I’ve gathered sufficient thought to unknot his stick-gag. I fetch a wet washrag to clean us up before uncuffing him. Embracing, we snuggle and drowse in the firelight for a long time. Then Byron sucks me hard again, straddles my waist, sits on my cock with a flinch and a sigh and jacks off on my chest.
Fiction, fiction, sadly fiction. This final sex scene’s fact. This last man’s real, not fantasized. He’s horny, kinky, queer and more than willing. He’s versatile, meaning he loves to top cubs but he’ll bottom for some guys, including me if I ask nicely. And he’s my type, I’m glad to say, a muscle-bear, a Daddybear. True, he’d be hotter if his goatee were less gray, more black; if there weren’t those midlife bags under his eyes and lines on his brow; if he could just stop swilling martinis and scarfing doughnuts and lose twenty pounds. But he’s burly and butch, a passion-starved mountain man with a solid set of shoulders and arms, a chest molded by decades of weight lifting; he’s hairy, though the thick pelt between his pecs is silvery, no longer dark, and his thick arms are covered with intricate tattoos.
Stripped to the waist, head bowed, he stands before the bathroom mirror. Now he lifts his head, looks himself in the eyes and begins. When he ties a camo bandana between his teeth, then plasters a strip of duct tape over his mouth, his cock stiffens inside his boxer briefs. His nipples are prominent after so many blessed years of rough play, and on them he hangs clamps. When he tightens the metal teeth, he simultaneously grunts with pain and grows twice as aroused. Now he drops his briefs and takes his long cock in his hand.
More and more, as a mortal ages, desire is sadly unreciprocated, all about looking, not touching. Eyes must substitute for skin, so to speak, and skin grows more and more irrelevant. But this man, he can see and stroke himself, he likes his own looks, he desires that broad-shouldered Daddy in the glass.
Now he drops his dick long enough to twist both clamps cruelly. Pain knots his brow. He throws back his head and gives a long, muffled moan. Seizing his cock again, he strokes himself harder, palm-skin sliding blissfully over prick-skin, subject for once become object, Top simultaneously bottom, Narcissus bending toward the water to kiss himself. By now, his tits are burning, his cock’s a taut sheen, his fist a blur. Lifting one hand, he tugs a tortured nipple, bites down on the bandana knotted between his teeth, locks eyes with the man in the mirror and arches his back. With a hoarse growl, he gushes cum into the sink.
He stands there trembling, panting, relishing the fading frissons of orgasm. Now he gives a baritone chuckle, shakes his head and peels the tape off his stubbly face. Sheepish laughter as he unknots the mouth-moist bandana, a doubled wincing as he eases off the tit clamps. He washes his splattered semen down the drain. Grinning, he studies himself in the mirror, captor admiring captive, Daddy savoring boy. He’s still furry, strong, powerful. He’s virile yet. He flexes his arms and pecs, runs his fingers through his chest hair and caresses his aching nipples. For a few moments, he has no need of any other.
YOU’VE BEEN SPUNKED
Rob Rosen
I leapt up, plastic cockroaches on either side of me, a stuffed rat with beady pink eyes staring down from my nightstand, my alarm clock blaring at maximum, earsplitting volume. So, fuck yeah, I shrieked like a little girl, wiping the bugs away, rapid-fast, jumping to the side of the bed and away from the rodent, all with a bewildered look of terror etched on my face—all with my roommate’s camera pointed my way, the red flashing light indicating that my morning fright-fest was being recorded.
Tom, said roommate, was laughing uncontrollably, filming all the while. “Morning, Steve,” he bellowed, tears streaming down his face as I tried to get my breathing back to normal.
“Fuckwad,” I yelled, throwing my pillow at him, then the rat, both missing by a mile, my girlie throw also caught on camera, to be shown at some future date to various friends, or worse, on YouTube.
I slammed the clock radio off and hopped up, ready to pulverize him, or at least give chase. But for some bewildering reason, he wasn’t running. Instead, he was pointing the camera downward, laughing even louder. “Nice morning woody,” he howled. “Thanks for the perfect ending, dude.”
I stopped midstep and tried, as best I could, to cover my boxers, my hard-on poking my palm, unwilling to settle down. I mean, come on, Tom was in nothing but a pair of torn sweat shorts, his ripped body glowing in the early morning rays that managed their way through my blinds. Anyway, I jumped back into bed and threw the blanket over my boner. “I’ll get you, asshole. Just when you least expect it.”
“I’m trembling,” he mocked, already turning to leave. “And speaking of assholes, keep that pecker of yours away from mine.” Again he laughed, rounding the corner and moving out of sight, his insistent chuckling fading in the distance.
I reached for my still-throbbing prick, my hand inside my boxers giving a yank and a tug while imagining just what he’d said, my cock in his hole, his prick bouncing up and down as he rode me, his head tilted back so I could suck his neck, a tender lobe, all while pulling his heavy nut sac, swirled as it was in all that blond, wiry hair. This distinctive feature of his I knew well enough, seeing as he always wore those same baggy sweat shorts, his balls flopping out, my eyes zooming in when he wasn’t paying attention. My mind now had all this streaming in instant replay, my fist pumping away, the come rising up, up, up until it burst out, dousing the inside of my boxers in a heavy load of hot sticky come, my moans muffled by the blanket.
“I’ll fucking get you,” I repeated, my body twitching, my voice gravelly, my hand working the last few drops of sap from my cock.
I needed a plan. Something devious. Something that would get him back for all the pranks he was constantly pulling on me, make his heart stop for a few seconds. The ultimate punk. And as I was cleaning up my sticky mess, that punk formed in my twisted, revenge-soaked mind. All that was needed was a bit of shopping and good timing.
Luckily, there was a toy store not far from our apartment. Luckier still, Tom went out drinking that night, leaving me to my own devices, with plenty of time to set everything up, make sure the camera was hidden and on and me hidden as well, inside his closet, dressed like a burglar, the toy gun nestled in my front pocket, bandana tied around my neck. I was ready for payback, vengeance soon to be mine.
It was late when he got home. I watched through the closet slats as he flicked the lights on and shut the door behind him. I stifled a laugh as I pictured his shocked reaction, though when he reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube, I knew I wasn’t going to be jumping out of the closet any time soon. I was trapped, but at least I had a promising show ahead of me. My breath caught in my throat, heart pumping madly in my chest, while he unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it to the ground as he kicked off his shoes and rolled off his socks. He was about two feet away from me now, admiring himself in his full-length mirror, flexing his brawny chest, tightening his six-pack, all while I stared, rubbing my cock through my jeans.
He unbuttoned his khakis, sliding them off, his waist eye-level, his briefs noticeably tenting. I’d seen Tom naked before, but never hard, and never from a couple of feet away. I huddled there, mesmerized, my zipper now down, my hand inside, watching as he peeled off his underwear, his cock bouncing, jutting out a good seven inches, the wide mushroom head already slick with precome, his big balls swaying like a pendulum. I reached for something to stifle a groan and was fortunate to find a pair of his underwear, used, musky, smelling of his ass and cock. I pressed them over my mouth while inhaling their stink, my eyelids fluttering, and yanked out my prick while he ogled his perfect body in the mirror. Vanity, thy name is Tom. Still, who was I to complain? Lucky me; I had a ringside seat.
He lowered his body to the floor, sidling up to the mirror, out of my line of vision. Slowly, quietly, I stood up, peeked down. His head was propped up by his arm while he watched himself jacking off, his cock slick with lube, gleaming, his heavy balls rising and falling as he beat his meat, the sound of his breathing spiraling around the room, causing my head to spin. I sighed, dropping my jeans and briefs to the ground, matching him stroke for eager stroke.
Another surprise. He raised his magnificent legs and spread them, his asshole winking back at him from the mirror. I pressed my face flush to the closet door, staring hungrily as he rubbed some of the lube around his hair-rimmed hole, his finger sliding in, a moan escaping from his lips, the finger joined by its neighbor, both of them disappearing up his ass. The moan grew louder before being eclipsed suddenly, sadly, by the sound of the closet door swinging open and me tumbling out, cock still in hand, jeans around my ankles, his dirty underwear crammed against my face.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, his hand popping free from his ass as he scooted away, fear and confusion stretched across his face. “Steve!” he hollered a second later.
I reached down to my jeans and removed the toy gun. “Bang,” I squeaked.
He jumped up and pounced, not punching me so much as tossing me around, anger evident on his face. And then something else. His hard cock was now butting up against my own, his hands suddenly on my ass, his face an inch from mine, both of us breathing hard. “What the fuck were you doing?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
“I wanted to scare you,” I mumbled. “To get even.”
His scowl turned to a smirk. “This is what you call getting even?”
His lips unexpectedly brushed mine, sending a volt of adrenaline through my body and into my cock, which bounced. “Um, more like unforeseen circumstances,” I replied, kissing him in return, softly, my eyes open, watching, waiting, my every nerve vibrating.
He laughed and grabbed my prick. “Dude, this so falls out of the realm of unforeseen.” Again he kissed me, hard, insistent, his tongue snaking its way inside my mouth, coiling around my own for a swap of some heavy spit.
I broke an inch away. “Yeah,” I chuckled, my hand roaming up and down his back, my fingers running through the soft down just above his ass. “Especially the part where you were finger-fucking yourself.”
A splash of crimson brushed his cheeks. “Oh, you, um, saw that, huh?” He began a slow even stroke on my cock.
“Saw it and taped it, if I’m not mistaken.”
He retracted his face from mine, but just by a hair. “This is all on film?”
“Digital camera, so, technically, not film. Still…”
Again he laughed. “My first porno role and I’ve got top billing.”
I echoed his laugh with one of my own. “Well, the top part remains to be seen. I mean, it seems to me like you enjoyed those fingers up your ass, dude.”
He paused, moving in again, his forehead tilted against mine. “Fingers are one thing, dude. I, um, never had a dick up there before.”
I smiled, kissing his nose. “Yet.”
He laughed. “Yet. Right.”
“Plus, it’ll be on film. For posterity’s sake.”
He rubbed his ass and rolled over on his back. “More like posterior, but you sold me. Fuck away, roomie.”
I moved over, leaning against his side, my fingers exploring his peaks and valleys, those areas of his body I’d only ever caught glimpses of before, now suddenly opened up to me for close inspection. “Really? I can fuck you, dude?” The very sound of it sent my blood racing.
He grinned. “Can we hook the computer up to the video recorder, to, um, you know, watch it?”
I chuckled, my cock thickening even more. “You want to watch me fuck you?”
He reached up, his hand stroking my chin before sliding down to pinch a nipple, his thumb and index fingers tweaking and pulling on my sensitive appendage. “Sounds hot, dude. Why not?”
Who could argue with logic like that? I jumped up and retrieved the hidden camera, then ran to my side of the room to get the connecting plug. Minutes later, we were recording, a straight shot right on up to his beautiful hole, the scene unfolding live on his laptop, now positioned to our side.
I zoomed in, his hole filling the screen, pink and perfect, fine blond hairs making a halo around the ring. “Nice,” I groaned, staring from the laptop and then back to the real deal.
He raised his legs and spread them again, gazing at his ass as if it were a work of art. All things considered, he wasn’t too far off the mark. His fingers quickly began to run circles around the ring, dipping inside just a millimeter at a time. “Cool view.” He looked up at me, my face and the lens pressed tight to his ass. “Have a taste, dude.”
My head moved in closer, the smell of him wafting up my nose as my tongue darted out, his hole soft like velvet, tasting of sweat, salty sweet. He bucked his ass into my face while I sucked and slurped away, his great big balls bouncing on my forehead while he stroked his thick prick. I glanced above his horizon, his eyes focused on the action on the screen, his mouth open in a pant. I shoved my tongue inside, causing a moan to escape from between his parted lips.
“Fuck, dude,” he sighed.
“I was getting to that,” I said, the words muffled by his ass.
My mouth moved upward, licking and lapping at the tender spot beneath his sac before sucking on one ball, then the other, my tongue swirling around the glorious expanse of soft, wrinkled skin and fine blond hairs. He thumped his prick against my nose, the one slitted eye staring into my two.
“Suck my cock, dude,” he rasped, the last word drawn out in a long, deep exhale.
My head exploded at the sound of it, Fourth of July fireworks flashing behind my eyes, my mouth around his dick a split second later, my lips working their way around the fat head and then down, down, down his pulsing shaft as a happy gagging tear cascaded across my cheek.
“Mm,” I practically purred, sucking away.
“Mm,” he echoed, pumping his prick down my throat.
I turned my head sideways and watched my progress on the laptop, his meat disappearing and then reappearing, slick with my spit, his balls rising and falling with each slurp, the image giving me a new idea, hotter than the others by far.
I popped his prick out of my eager mouth. “Ready to get fucked, dude?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah, dude. Hurry up and fuck me already.”
I laughed and jumped up, helping him to his feet. “Then you better get me a rubber.”
His smile grew bright as he reached into his dresser drawer and pulled out a packet, quickly handing it to me. “Now what?”
I sat down a few feet in front of the mirror, my legs stretched out and apart, and slid the rubber over my erect rod, the lens zoomed in on my crotch, the laptop’s screen reflected in the mirror. “Now squat, dude.”
He stood in front of me, beautiful ass to smiling face, and did as I asked, bending at the knees, his hand reaching down, the lube already slathered in his palm so that he could slick me up before he lined his portal up with my poker. I held on to his hips and glided him in, just the tip making its way inside, his breath sucking in before he relaxed and allowed the intrusion, sighing long and low and deep as inch after inch of me worked its way to his farthest reaches.
“Okay?” I asked, a million tingles riding up and down my back like a runaway locomotive.
He moaned. “Feels good, dude. Just go slow.”
I grinned, my face to the side, staring into the mirror, the image exactly like in my dreams, his head tilted back while he rode my cock, his giant balls bouncing as he stroked his tool, the whole thing blown up on the reflected laptop screen, a close-up of my dick pounding away at his hole, almost too hot to watch. Almost, of course, but not quite.
I looked up from the scene, my eyes locking with his in the mirror. He nodded and smiled, a big toothy grin, then he rose up and slammed his ass down, up and down, again and again and again, each time smashing into my balls, the effect blinding, pleasure mixed with pain, a euphoric combination that sent my cock pumping and grinding even harder into his hole. A sight to see, and, man, was I seeing it from all angles now.
