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"You're huge." He gulped.
Yeah, I am. Ten inches? Eleven? Bigger than any other guy I've ever been
with. But so far I'd had no complaints--at least from guys, at least
once I broke 'em in. He had a tight body, good shape, nice-sized porker,
fat balls--I'm a sucker for plump, juicy, heavy-duty gonads. And best of
all, as I would soon find out, he took directions fine.
It looked like he was going to take all night, feeling up my meat,
licking my shaft, wrapping his fists around it, making my dick-head
bulge and belch pre-cum which he fucking played in, poking his finger in
my slit, stringing out the grease and dragging it up and down my dick.
So I decided to move things along.
"Suck it," I directed, brusquely, sticking my dick in his face.
Instantly, his mouth wrapped around my knob, hot and wet and way hungry.
Good sucking action, excellent energy--that was more like it. I fed him
my big dick slow, not knowing his limits, and, inch by inch, he licked
and gobbled and chewed down the big bone hungrily. I got almost half my
meat buried in his craw before he started gagging. After he'd caught his
breath, he started to apologize profusely.
"No, man. You just gotta go with the flow. Do that, and your throat just
opens up. Like this." I bent down, slipped my lips over the smooth head
of his nosecone and kept going until I had buried my nose in his dick
hair. He went speechless again, squeaking a sound that was never heard
on the opera stage and hanging onto my head.
Granted, he wasn't that hung--seven, maybe seven and a half--but that's
a nice, solid, mouth-filling slab of sausage to work with. And it was a
pleasant change of pace from playing with the all the big guys at the
gym. It meant I wouldn't have to throw my jaw out. I sucked in my cheeks
and sucked his nuts right up alongside his bone-hard meat pole and into
my mouth as well, lock, stock and throbbing barrel. In about five
seconds he blew his wad, yelling and moaning--very uncultured-like. I
loved it, and something tells me that the artistic director did too.
I don't think the man had come in a coon's age. The healthy portion of
male sex potion that he pumped down my gullet would just about take the
place of my usual afternoon protein shake. He fired the white stuff down
my throat like there wouldn't be a second time. The impulse is
understandable, but he got it wrong. I had a hell of lot more times in
mind.
Gasping for breath, he started to apologize again for blowing his load
so quickly. So I plugged his yap with my meat and he went back to doing
his job. This time, we worked about three-quarters of my honker down his
gut--plenty enough for me to fuck his cultured face with.
Though I could tell he wasn't quite as experienced in the ways of giving
good head as I was, he took my dick-punching fine. As I pounded my meat
in and out of his mouth, he hung on to my butt, kind of bleary-eyed. I
could tell he was determined to take it. He was forcing himself not to
gag, which made for a lot of clutching throat action as I rammed my
trusty fuck-pole in and out--very stimulating.
I wasn't sure how much of my man-milk he could take, either, so I
figured the first time 'round I'd give him a chance to judge the kind of
loads he was going to have to deal with. When I was ready to fire, I
yanked my dick out of his sucking maw and sprayed his face, shoulders
and chest, and even uploaded a couple of ropes that splattered down his
front.
He couldn't stop snickering. "I've never seen a man shoot so much
semen."
"It's the Italian in me. We're milk cows if you treat us right--even the
guys." And the artistic director of our city's opera was treating me
right. He beamed--and then yawned for my dick again. I headed him off at
the crotch.
"No, I'm ready for a little butt work." He was kneeling in front of me,
and, reaching over his back, I patted his ass appreciatively. Nice,
round, hard cheeks. I leaned over far enough that I could saw my hand
down his crack and punch a middle finger knuckle-deep into his hole.
Tight--and very fuckable. He looked up at me, wild-eyed. I usually like
to make guys that are older than me sweat. It keeps 'em in their place.
But I figured I owed this classy dude some slack. After all, in his
dealings with me, he'd been anything but snooty.
"I figured I'd let you fuck *my* ass first," I said. "That way I can
point out what I like to do so you'll know what to expect. What do you
say?"
I liked the guy, but he was going to have to do something about going
speechless on me. Since my artistic director was frozen, I took things
into my own hands, taking my time sliding the latex over him, beating
his plasticized meat, sucking on his dick-head, nosing into his balls.
His classy honker was sleek and smooth with a round knob and big, thick,
bulging veins that the tight rubber flattened. My ass tingled with
expectation.
I eased my butt onto the leather couch, leaned back, threw my legs up in
the air and stretched them wide. He hunkered in between my thighs,
glistening with anxious sweat. But he wasn't too anxious to function. He
held my big dick and balls out of the way with both his trembling hands
and eased his sleek sausage into me.
Oh, man. Love at first fuck. That classy, classic bone was made to split
my chute wide. We fitted together like Turandot and that stud that
answered her riddles. I thought the director was going to pass out when
he first socketed his pole all the way up me, but then his eyes began to
glitter, and he clinched his teeth and concentrated on giving my happy
butt one great royal fuck.
Ooooh, yeah. For the time being, this man's meat pole was mine, and I
was properly filled. I clamped his fists around my bone and--who would
have thought the classical dude had so much funky rhythm in him?--he
jacked me off and slammed his dick up my butt in perfect tempo. I came
like a son of a bitch, my legs shooting out, then snapping back to lock
around him as I sprayed down his sweaty bod. My sphincter stripped his
meat and my rectum went into spasms, milking his throbbing bone until my
ass had sucked the joy juice right out of his exploding nuts. He came
like that old Egyptian whore, happy to be making the whole regiment
happy. He did so good fucking that I never even had to coach him.
As he finished gushing up my hole, his tight, quivering bod buckled and
he found his tongue-lolling face hovering over my swaying, dripping
flagpole. We both realized that, next time 'round, he could suck me off
while he fucked me off. Something plenty hot to look forward to. The
artistic director of the opera just grinned, hanging onto my ankles that
by this time were hooked around his neck. He was looking good and
rumpled, his dark, hooded eyes sparkling under damp thick lashes. I
liked getting boned by this artistic, opera-loving man--I mean, a lot.
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