Airport Fantasy 1 - Dean
After this many years, I know what my boss wants just by looking at him.
"What blew up?" I asked.
"It's the backplane in an E60. The repair kit is already on the way. John was going to go, but called in sick. Can you go?" He looked too stressed for a Monday.
"Sure. It's been a while since I had a road trip," I answered. The truth is that I didn't mind the occasional trip. I'd fill in for field service whenever they were short handed.
It takes me about three minutes to pack for an overnight trip. It all goes in a tiny carry-on bag. I threw in some sorts and a T-shirt in case there was a gym at the hotel. Gym shoes nearly filled the bag, but there's always room for a jock. At worst, I'd have something to lounge around in. I could provide my own entertainment if I had to, but packed in a couple of rubbers and a travel lube in case that wasn't necessary. Ready to roll.
I was at the airport before dawn the next morning, along with quite a crowd. The strawberry blond in the tight new 501s was going to DFW. The turned up hair and round nose made him look all of nineteen. The chunky bracelet and class ring didn't argue with the number. Meanwhile, the tall muscle dude with the earring was headed for Portland. Number 5 for the blue and yellow team was going to Chicago. He'd be turning heads in a few years. Nobody special was on my flight. I settled for cruising the cop. He wasn't really my type, but the nice arms gave me something to work with. He'd do for a quick fuck, I thought to myself over coffee.
The cop left too soon, so I went back to checking out the DFW kid. He had small hands and feet, and a trim build. He probably wasn't impressively hung, but that didn't much matter for my fantasy. I'm a top, and have no questions about it.
Now and then I'll pick a guy out of the crowd and imagine what it might be like to ride his ass. Dean, I'd decided that was his name, would do it for me. His hair was closely cropped at the back, which would give me something to play with as I climbed over him. His head would be half buried in the pillow as I settled in above him. Those long eyelashes would meet with his eyes closed. His smooth, reddish skin would contrast with the sheets. I already longed to hang myself off his shoulders and I positioned myself carefully above him.
Maybe he was no model, but he was a solidly attractive guy. He would have no trouble finding a girl or guy who would give it to him for his looks alone. Yet that wasn't going to happen today. Dean was into a different game this time. Why he'd want to submit for my pleasure wasn't my concern. I liked only that he wanted to.
Whenever I am about to take another man, I think of the first time I realized that other guys would give it up. Daniel was my classmate in high school He kept mostly to himself with both his eyes and words, though I regularly observed him checking out other guys. He wasn't obtrusive, but he was looking. As I started watching him more carefully, I saw that he seemed to favor fat cocks. That describes me. I began to position myself in the gym shower so that he could feast his eyes. He liked it, and I liked it. I'd follow him out of the shower one day, and make him follow me the next. I was always sure to dry off right next to him. This went on for weeks.
One fine day, I noticed him getting a little hard as we toweled off. I called him on it. He turned bright red, so I left him alone. Two days later I stopped him as he was closing up his locker.
"You can give me a blow job, you know," I said. "You want it, and I want it. I've been letting you look at my meat all year. It's time you try it, Daniel." I did not need to ask again.
Two years later, I found out some of the most unlikely guys in school sucked dick. I also learned that Daniel had learned to take it up the ass. He was my first in this way too.
My approach of simply demanding it worked more than it should have. I also learned that if you hold out long enough on a guy who demands an even trade, he will usually agree to your terms. I'd developed a style and image centered around always being on top. That developed its own gravity as I moved on to college, and then after as well.
It's a matter of attitude, I decided. At 6 feet nothing, dark blond, and not superbly toned, it wasn't that I was too hot to refuse. I considered myself good looking, and I cleaned up very well. But I was no god, and that did not seem to matter in the least. There were plenty of guys who laid it out for me once they knew my rules.
Mr. Strawberry was going to be one of them. We'd exchanged glances while he was on his cell phone. He had the light Texas accent of an urban transplant. He flipped the pages of his paperback as he talked. Dean was the fidgety type. He'd be squirming all over the bed until I got him firmly nailed down.
I seemed to regularly pick the nervous types. Too much foreplay was a mistake with this kind. I was best to get their attention quickly, which a fat prick like mine did nicely. I had the luxury of just six inches and change, made to look shorter by nearly five inches circumference. I did not have an extreme case of "locker room dick." There were plenty of guys that were longer and even some that were thicker. Still, I usually got what I wanted.
Sometimes I wouldn't let my partner see my dick until after I'd shot my load and started to soften. I wasn't much of a grower, but they didn't need to know that. Their ass in flames, they'd see how fat my soft prick was and assume they'd just taken much more. As the top man, my job was to provide the entertainment. I'd let them think what they liked, and if they praised my 8-incher I saw no need to correct them.
Dean Strawberry would definitely flinch as I busted down the back door. I liked that. I'd ease my head into him, using my weight to overcome whatever resistance his sphincter tried to offer. Once I was easing in, I would study his face. He'd be playing tough, looking calm and cool. A thumb would be resting against the side of the pillow, with fingers gently curled on top.
I'd gotten very good at judging how much a guy will suppress and bear. I'd test that, scrutinizing him for a subtle change in body language of expression. Often it came in the hands. The smallest movement, a flattening of the curled fingers or perhaps the opposite, the beginnings of a fist, would let me know where he was relative to my meat. There is always a clear sign that the limits of what he can deny acknowledging are at hand.
I take the next step as a jump. Instead of pressing ahead, negotiating my way inwards as he struggles to accept my girth, I take him by storm. In an instant, I go from testing his threshold to asserting my place in his guts. Often I will grab both shoulders as his eyes spring open. His hands close into fists, and sometimes I am rewarded with a groan or yelp. After this, I grasp him firmly and move my face close to his.
Now begins the verbal reinforcement.
"Yeah, you're mine now bottom boy." I say. "You like having thick meat up your ass." I am talking as much for me as for him. Guys have told me that they really like being talked up, or rather being playfully talked down to, while taking it up the ass. Maybe it is part of the psychology of submitting to another man's meat. It works for me. Once they verbally confirm my position with them, I start to seriously fuck them. It's as if the sensation in my groin is not quite enough. They need to say it, and I need to hear it.
Dean would do this for me. He'd protest without meaning it in the least. I'd stare into an eye as he laid face first in the bed. As he looked back to see the man who was violating his ass, I'd catch his eye and lock onto it.
"Just give it up, Dean," I'd say. It's still funny to me that such a guy would surrender his manhood on the sheets for me. Dean was a good catch. I wonder what this Texan buddies would think if they could see him like this, taking a fat dick up his ass.
Maybe they would react like I did when I heard Daniel had gotten his cherry busted. Brad told me. He was one of the swimmers. He figured out what I was doing when he noticed we were strutting our stuff in front of the same kid. Eventually we both found our way to the guy's tonsils. Chatting about it later in great detail made us friends with plenty in common.
When Brad told me his buddy Brock had made it with Daniel, I was determined to fuck Daniel myself. When I approached him, he gave in without a thought. Would Dean give into his friends back home like that? Maybe he already had. Or would this be purely a travel treat?
As I plowed in to my full extent, Dean would begin to relax below me. His resistance gone, he would soon begin to assist my tour of his ass. Guys who like getting fucked settle into it quickly. Dean would do that for me. I'd let go of his shoulders and roll forward onto his back. The heat between us would build as I aligned my legs with his. Being taller, my feet would reach past his. I would push against his heels with the tops of my feet.
The contact between us would be at its maximum like this, including the formidable circumference of my fully buried shaft. I'd reach down to clutch our balls together, mingling my testes with his, as I started to pump in and out of him. I'd keep my grip on his nuts, alternately cradling and gently tugging on them. Dean's own cock would be limp as I poked, probed, and penetrated my way into him. He was all mine now.
By now, Dean was deriving the most from whatever pleasure comes from being fucked. His prostate, battered by my ramrod, was drawing his attention away from his stretched out asshole. He would more actively work with the rhythms I established, soon elevating his ass for our mutual benefit. I'd release his balls as he praised my control of him. Second to coming, this is the best part of a fuck.
"Fuck me, you stud. Use my ass!" Dean was a good bottom. I'd pull out and view my own erection, leaving him longing for it. Another plea from Dean was moments away.
"Do it! Ram my ass!" Dean begged. I would oblige the boy, going full stroke in one motion. We were both sweating, his on me and mine on him. I would reach around for his meat as he gave in again and again to mine.
"Ever come while getting fucked, Dean?" I asked him. Flipping him over was easy. He threw himself around to show me his endowment. Reddish blond hair was matted down beneath his muscle. He held himself off the headboard of the bed, pressing against me.
The advantage and curse of his age showed. Precum flowed from his slit. Dean was average, which in my book meant he had a skinny dick. I reached for it and began to stroke him.
"You're leaking all over, Dean. Seems you like taking it from another man, don't you?" We made eye contact as I asked, pumping his meat, as I demanded an answer. "Admit it, Dean. Tell me you like taking my fat cock like this."
"Yeah, stud." Dean gasped. "Fuck me good. I want it."
I always made them admit it. My fascination with taking a "receptive" man was only complete when they told me they liked it. With Dean's confession and copious spillage, I too would be ready soon.
As I toyed with taking Dean to the edge, I'd contemplate my plan. Would I cum inside him, staring into his eyes as I pumped my manjuice into him? I loved the almost quizzical expression of a guy who knows he's about to get a deep deposit of sperm. He'll search for the first news that it's about to happen, as if there is any doubt, and then latch onto the facial expressions which accompany a good orgasm. Finally, he'll drop his head back and ride the new wave inside him. I would then look at him, the man I had just conquered with my meat. "Spermboy" was what I'd often say to myself. I coined the name for Daniel. I don't think less of my buddy in this state. I just like knowing that my jism was in him, as he lay there, skewered on my dick.
Maybe instead I would pull out and strip off the rubber for an aerial display. I was a shooter with the best of them, and thrilled at the expression of a guy who'd just taken a big load in the face. He wouldn't fully recover before the second volley hit him. Sometimes I would rise up, moving closer to aim the less forceful but very reliable third shot as I pleased. I always liked to thoroughly coat his mug, using the trailing shots to finish the job. Eventually he'd open his eyes and look up. I'd be there, smiling at him. A guy with cum all over his face never failed to turn me on. Better still was for it to be my cum, with my hard dick bobbing in front of his helpless sperm-soaked face. Where is the camera?
Dean had my sperm boilers running at full tilt. It would be a shame to deny the impending explosion room to disperse. I pulled out, probing Dean's balls with my erect shaft. With hands on my hips, I ordered Dean to shoot for me.
"Beat it, kid. Show me what you can do, and then I'll blow you away with my juicy wad," I said.
Inspired by the competition, Dean eagerly grabbed his tool and started working it. He stepped into his personal tempo, the one a guy learns early on and quickly perfects. Dean used his precum as lubricant, rolling a few fingers through it on the upstroke and spreading the natural cream over his shaft on the down stroke.
"Cum for me, Dean. Show me the manjuice I fucked loose from your balls," I said. A slight rasp to the voice and a poke just outside his ravaged anus tossed him over the edge.
"Oh! Oh! I'm..." He never finished. An arc of semen shot from his youthful prick. He hit his own chin, making him smile. More bursts followed, splattering across his chest. Some of the cum on his chin dripped into the well at the base of his neck.
"Good boy. You cum like a jock." I complimented him as I rolled a finger up his chin. "Taste it," I said. "Taste your own cum."
Dean closed his lips around my finger, gently sucking the glob of manjuice away from my skin and into his mouth. I instructed him to hold it in his mouth, spreading it onto the roof of his mouth with his tongue.
"Dean has cum in his mouth, doesn't he?" I asked as I began to pound myself in earnest. "Cumsucker," I whispered as I moved forward a bit, carefully keeping my own ass clear of Dean's meat. He smiled like the guilty. The proceeds from Dean's orgasm coated my balls as I settled onto him.
Shooting him from this close would allow me to control the placement of my loads, and assure him the full force of several impacts from my crotch. Dean was pinned between my thighs as I sat on his midsection. His arms lay useless beside him. I don't care how much a guy enjoys cum; allowing another man to spray his jism onto your face has got to be a little bit humiliating. It's cum, after all, shot out of another guy's dick. I'd freak out if I felt the hot globs rolling down my face towards my lips. Dean didn't have much to say about that right now. His face was going to be cum central.
I quickly found my own resonance, and felt my balls pull up that last impossible notch. In seconds I launched the first jet onto his face. The load grazed his left temple and crashed into his hair. Dean pulsed his eyelids while keeping them closed. His whole head recoiled into the pillow. I always had plenty of volume. Dean would need a shower after this treatment.
The second launch hit him square in the nose. Cum flowed down to both cheeks as the first load pooled above an eyebrow. I pulled my hands free just before the third splattered across a cheek and into his ear. I could stand it no more, and joined Dean in closing my eyes. The subsequent percolations drained my balls completely. I felt depleted, especially when I opened my eyes again to check his face.
"Look at you!" was all I could say. Dean was drenched in sticky white jism. He kept his eyes closed as the first load had overwhelmed his eyebrow and made it into an eye socket. I admired my work for a solid minute, watching the load drain down his face. I leaned forward, dragging my balls through the cum Dean had left on his own chest. I stopped with my meat just short of his face.
"You need a shower anyways, Dean. Might as well take a bath first," I said. His confusion ended when my cockhead touched his face and began to spread the jism across his cheek. My cock rode the contours of his face, from his lips to his ears and onto his forehead. Both his fine eyebrows became saturated with my juice as I continued to paint his face. I rose up further and wiped my cock in his short, spiky hair. I pressed my crotch into his face, mixing his load with mine.
As Dean sank backwards into the pillow, I moved with him. I continued to grind my crotch into his face, slipping across him on the layer of sperm. I ran my fingers thorough his sticky hair, and played back by his ears.
"You have been one fantastic fuck, Dean," I said. "I know about fucking guys, and you were way hot." After a pause I continued, "Once we shower I'll give you a massage to thank your body for being so good to me." I pulled back from him, only to have him pull close again.
As Dean leaned into the wall of the shower, most of the water stream doused his face. With one arm on each side of the nozzle, he was waiting for my hands as the jism washed away. I soaped up a washcloth, and scrubbed us both down. Then I began to work on his shoulders. He melted in my hands, dispensing any resentment for the fun I had taken at his expense. As I ended the massage, I handed him a towel and a kiss to the ear. I could get used to this guy.
As I crossed over the Great Lakes, I imagined him about ready to land in Dallas. He had been a great fantasy, if nothing else, diverting me from a trip over the entire West. I even had a spot in my briefs to show for it.
Thanks, Dean.