I checked myself in a sales floor mirror; I had just gotten the black pin-stripe Ungaro suit back from the tailors yesterday & couldn't help but be happy with the results. The little old ladies that worked at the Castro Street alterations shop knew their clientele: picky, exacting queens for the most part that wanted every garment to either hide a flaw or accentuate an asset. In my case, I always had them take in the seat & legs as I spend way too much time in the gym doing squats to cover up the results in an ill-fitting outfit.
Same with my crisp pale blue shirt--I got it at Pink where I had it altered to fit the chest & make my arms look great. Matching black Gucci shoes & belt, stainless steel Concord watch, a gunmetal Hermes tie & matching silk pocket square from Liberty completed the outfit. With my black hair slicked down with Oribe pomade & carefully groomed goatee, I look every inch the manager of men's couture for an exclusive department store. Seeing that we sell $500 shirts & suits that can cost ten grand, I make it a point to always be dressed as sharp as a razor.
Of course, none of my employees or customers know that under the expensive exterior I usually wear a ratty jock strap that was given to me as a souvenir by one of the dock workers that load & unload our precious inventory (his way of saying thanks after I rimmed him out then swallowed his jizz). Or that I always have a leather cockring--usually still damp with lube or spit from a morning fuck--wrapped tightly around the base of my fat cock & shaved balls.
Or that my arms from the shoulders to the elbows are covered in crude & obscene tattoos (my left bicep sports two leathermen fucking, the right a chain-link armband & a huge drawing of a cum-shooting dick). Or that when I get back from my lunch hour my asshole is usually throbbing & filled with the sperm of the burly Hispanic security guard Carlos who fucks me every Tuesday & Thursday.
I know that most of my customers would faint if they knew that two days ago while verifying inventory with Chuck the stockman, I stripped that husky grey-haired daddy naked while I stayed completely dressed in my navy blue Alexander McQueen three-piece suit. It's become a game with us: after a long deep wet kiss, I'll eat out Chuck's pits, tongue his tits, & wash his body with my mouth.
It takes a lot of self control to raise those massive fuzzy legs & spread his meaty buns for a long tongue fucking without wrinkling the suit or shirt...it 's also a challenge to keep my mouth wide open & tongue fully extended as he jerks off his fat veiny prick because I have to catch every last drop of bull cream that comes flying out of that cock--I wouldn't dare ruin my favorite black-label Versace tie by having it splattered with that creamy beige jizz load & who in their right mind would let such a tasty treat go to waste anyway?
I say most customers because I do have my private clientele. Like the bank vice-president Mr. Anderson, a hulking 49-year old Swede with greying blonde hair & moustache that loves to go down on me in the dressing room while I undo his Brooks Brothers shirt to pull at his fur-covered eraser sized nipples. He loves to have me feed him as much precum drool as I can before I unload my wad into that hot sucking mouth. We always end up in a long lip-lock as we swap my cum load back & forth between our lips & tongues.
And the butch, bald, goateed lawyer Mr. Kline who just last week had me take my Thierry Mugler slacks off so that I could bend over (again in the dressing room) while he slowly & painfully skewered me with his nine-inch meatstick. Again, it's a challenge to stay quiet in that room while what feels like a slick baseball bat is repeatedly shoved into my tight fuckhole. The fucking got to me & I sprayed my cum all over the dressing room mirror--it was fun to look at myself lick my jizz off the mirror while Mr. Kline continued to pound my asshole. Of course afterwards Mr. Kline was very attentive in diving down & sucking out the sperm he just screwed into my butt & tonguing my chute until the spasms stopped so that we could both go back to work.
And every Wednesday, there's the stocky 30-something FedEx deliveryman with the crew cut & stach, whose name I never did get, who loves to fuck my face while I play with his hairy belly & ass. Being that he's absolutely positively on a tight schedule, I now know that I just have to worm a couple of spit-soaked fingers into his chunky butt to make him blast his jism down my gullet.
I am in my mid 20's 6 ft tall and 170 lbs,and had always been straight. About two years ago I began to explore sex with men also. I am writing the experiences I have had and posting them. Let me know if you enjoy. My previous experiences had taken place at one bathhouse or a video porn emporium.
The time had come to end the game of touchy-feelie we had been playing all afternoon. Life in the military is built around deciding whether a guy means only what he says or is really hitting at deeper, more entertaining possibilities. I wasn't thrilled about getting a roommate. I had it.
It was like 1979, I was in college, and I worked out at the YMCA. No huge muscle guy, but I was in good shape. 6', 175#, longish light brown hair, high forehead, sensitive face, lightly hairy chest, 6" cut and smooth round buttocks. I got to know some of the guys in the weight room, including a couple "older" guys.
Next door lived a black guy named Charles in his mid-twenties, who lived to party and always seemed to have women, especially white women over his place. One night in particular I remember a blonde girl about twenty who came over in slut-wear, short shorts and tank top as we passed in the hallway.
I got there early, the auto center was open before the stores opened. I was stuck waiting in the mall with the early morning "mall walkers". A strange group of johnny-come-lately health nuts, there on doctors' orders. Sort of an all-American McDonald's kid type. "Intense. " I liked his teen talk.
My first slave boy was a rare and wonderful find, and I'm forever grateful for the time we had together. The following is reminiscent of those days. He was the perfect little slave: preparing my meals, doing my laundry and playing the part of Daddy's cum slut so fabulously. I loved to hear him make noise, his enticingly feminine alto revealing his desire.
There are a lot of homophobes in my house, and sometimes listening to them is annoying as hell, but there's a surprising number of gay friendly and gay curious men as well. It is on my experiences with these men that this (and possibly other) story will focus. What a shock it was to see him....
I had a huge list of things that needed to be fixed up around the house and I'd been putting it off for too long. Thankfully, the store was nearly empty and as I made my way thru the maze of aisles, I tried to concentrate on filling my list and getting out of there. He was probably in his late 40's, about six feet tall and at least 270 pounds.
I was just looking forward to laying my head down on my own pillow. The last leg of my flight was out of Chicago. Of course, the snow was coming down like mad. They announced that all of the flights were cancelled. I had been making small talk with this good looking guy for about an hour before they made the announcement about the cancelled flights. I blushed and thanked him.
I was horny as hell, but a trip to the back room wasn't even worth the effort it took to get past the groping hands. What Frankfurt lacked in European beauty, it made up for in good gay bars - with lots of US Military attendance. The Army crowd often took notice of my tall, muscled, frame. They must have come into the bar while I was in back. John was up for another beer and I ordered him one.
When this started we were both single after failed marriages and 32 years old and working for the same software company. Considering the sedentary nature of the work we do, over a beer one night we decided that maybe we should join a gym and try to work out on a regular schedule.
. . Down his throat, humping against his face, holding him tightly against my exploding cock, grunting with each spurt of hot fluid, I felt the enormous release, the joy of completing an act I had only dreamed of until tonight. Finally, after a few small surges of cum, I was finally empty and he had sucked it all down, swallowed all my love juices.
I couldn't and still can't really believe it happened. I live in an entirely Italian neighborhood, complete with your big-shot teen street gangs. Everybody is real cool though, and no-one really messes in anyone else's business. There's just something about a smooth Italian chest that really turns me on.
I was on vacation on the island of Oahu. Brigham Young University sponsors a very worthwhile cultural center that depicts and maintains the various cultures of the Polynesian islands. The island of Fiji captivated me most. Or rather, a young man in the Fijian village captivated me - completely.
But each time it happened I found my self more in awe of just how damned much they seemed to love sucking my cock. It was hard to believe that they seemed not bothered at all that I wouldn't suck them off and in fact seemed to enjoy sucking me and taking my cum as much if not more than I enjoyed being sucked off.
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