***** This is explicit, graphic entertainment. The following erotica involves sexual situations between CONSENTING, ADULT MALES. Please leave if you object to erotic ADULT MALES. This is NOT intended to be viewed by minors--no one under the age of 18/21, so proceeding means you are of legal age in your state or nation. OR you remain solely responsible for the consequences of your actions if you are not of legal age in your area. If you have not yet reached that legal age in your part of the world, then please use your back button to leave now! ***** If the wives only knew, I thought, crawling inside my taxi.
From my driveway--after running home from work to change, the taxi was taking me to paradise. Away from hell--before she got home, my brain began registering that my driver was talking to me in Arabic. Great, I thought sarcastically. In trying to tell him where I needed to go so he'd understand, my cell rang with the most wonderful music: His Voice. Geez, it had been two weeks since hearing those bass tones, three weeks since I saw him in my office building's lobby and six, fuckin' weeks since I had buried my thick bone in him.
But who's counting....?
The longest dry spell in the ten years we've been fuckbuds... and knowing he wasn't getting it anywhere else---and definitely not from that one he married, I knew HE was about to explode. Knowing how horny he is, I, also, knew he yearned for MY body contact. But too much work, business trips crisscrossing the world, family obligations, kids, summer vacation before school started, and a more bitchy wife than mine... has left time stand still for six weeks. Working and living in a forward area under adverse conditions was the "war" of our marriages. And all that time of being without his touch, which just happened to have been the last time I'd gotten laid or cum. You know, the wife!? The North Pole's warmer, and my yearning for him was growing stronger, and those feeling started way before this six week hiatus. So by the time we got the chance to be together, our team was hot, the weather was hot, I was hot-and, I would imagine, so was he. And so we just told the wives we were going into the City for a baseball weekend... PERIOD!
In our respective vehicles--on the way to our meeting in the hotel lobby, he was oblivious to all that shit with his verbal seduction and making me so, so hard! I was already adding a deep, wet spot to my dark khaki shorts.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm," I groaned, after his deep voice goes to every extreme as time allotted to describe what he wanted me to do to him. Opening my eyes while manhandling my dick through my shorts, I noticed the cab driver eyeing me in the rearview mirror, as I heard my Man groan back.
"Geez, Stud! You know how that moan turns me on. Gotta power off or I'll cum on the freeway. That's no way to decorate the interior of my new truck..."
Oh, I don't know. Kinda like a dog peeing around a yard marking his territory, it's a great way to lay down a guy's terf to cum in a new vehicle. Gives a wonderful aroma to match the newness smell. But I could tell he COULD cum without even touching that piece of Grade 'A' tube steak. But at the point he clicked off, I didn't care I hadn't been in his ass all those early weekday evenings and/or those early Saturday mornings before going with him to Home Depot. It DID matter, but it didn't, you know?
HE mattered! The sexy, jock-meat he was--with that bike-rider, thick, black-haired 35-year-young hung-ness, knew damn well how to "play" me. He knew ALL five feet, eleven inches of my tanned muscles turn to Jell-O when I'm with him. At a couple years older---but about 15-20 pounds lighter, my tight mat of soft brown furry chest shivers with fuckbud lust(and love) for him. And he uses that to his sexual advantage, but I enjoy every horny second of it. What made him even more of the stud was his screaming awhile back, in the midst of cumming, that my thick cock can take him any time I'm horny. He told me the hell with jacking off. My cum was his cum, and visa versa. At the moment he moaned out those encouraging words, my cock expanded to the walls of his ass and a jet-stream blasted the hardest and most plentiful that I had ever felt spewed inside a very hairy ass attached to that hot, six foot, 185 pound, sweaty frame.
Sooooooo, I took him up on that offer....when the hormones had been so overpowering and the control button nonexistent. But it was HIS fault, OF COURSE!! Geez, the way he looked?? I couldn't be responsible for my actions. No way! I'm responsible for a huge corporation all week, how the hell was I to be responsible for a man that made me weak everyday---even when I'm not around him, let alone when I am! He wore those ivory scandals that accentuated his manicured tanned feet, a form-fitting, sleeveless white muscle shirt that showed off those vein-bulgin' guns, not to mention, those sexy-hot, dark forest in his very hairy pits. But, also, those tight, dark khaki shorts really left nothing to imagination as that jockstrap was barely keeping him "dressing clean," very much showing off an ass begging to be fucked. Not only did I have to sit in our first base side box seats, pushing down through most of the game my hard-on due to being so horned up from the aroma from his feet and those naturally-hairy pits, but how hormonal I was getting feeling the heat he was generating after not being near him for so long.
So you see? I almost HAD to bend him over, my dick was smelling his bottomless, uninhibited manhole. So like the home runs we just saw, I, too, went deep. Any red-blood, All-American, horny bi-man would have done the same. Both my heads were screaming inside that it had been far too long since I had that ass. It was my duty to seed what is his, right? Or, maybe, breed what is mine! It's a real man's duty, really, when the urges hit, to fuck any hole available... I am a sexual human being after all, and after that dry spell, I could have had a Friday Night Fuck on the pitcher's mound, and I wouldn't have given a damn.
So during seventh inning stretch, he never made it out of the stadium's noisy restroom. I pushed him into the handicap stall, and in one rapid motion was raping that jock hole. He knows when I am THAT sexually turbo-charged--which is usually 24-7, it's always a good thing he wears a jockstrap as I would completely obliterated any briefs or boxers he might wear.
Stand and deliver, Stud! And he did...with the help of that wonderful pre-cum that had managed to trickle down into his crack and the built-up heat-generating ass sweat combined for excellent lubrication. The kind I like and will only use if I can. I like it natural... and that instance, my thickness just slipped in, letting lack of friction piston-thrust his sweet spot, while kissing his neck and sweaty-wet upper lats. So perfect our motion together, acting as one while being one. With him leaning against the wall--straddling the toilet, with my palms on top of his strong shoulders, pushing him back towards me harder, forcing his mancunt down my throbbing bat to my dense, sweaty pubes, making him whimper even more in silence. As we both appreciate verbal, loud sex, our dangerous surroundings prevented him from shouting in ecstasy as all of a sudden his seven inch manmeat discharged, unmanned, all over the floor and stool seat. What a grand slam, sending his ass muscle milking my cum over the edge over and over and over and over...... It HAD been way too long, BELIEVE ME!!
I backed out of his well-used ass with a loud slurp, already feeling my juices spewing and overflowing, leaking out along my studpole. If I had the time I would felch-feasted on that dimpled jock ass. Felt so fuckin' goooood, though. I needed that! Correction! We BOTH needed that, I thought, as I took my right middle finger to cleaned off the few drops of pure white cream from the tip of my cock, and then suckling the droplets of manmilk off my finger. I taste damn good, thank you very much, living a jock's life of pure health and fitness. In taking in a deep breath of mansex in that stall, I smiled to myself thinking some guy's going to have a great time wondering what happened in there as I looked down at the cum puddle of baby batter my Stud just made. Mansex at the ball park! Who would have `thunk' it?
As we cleaned up, I was dazed, exhausted, exhilarated, and relieved, my knees feeling like I just laid, maybe, a-stud-of-a-guy. Here I wasn't the one fucked and was still staggering bull-legged to the concession stand for a tall bottle of water, but that's a good enough reason for me for my knees to be more floundering than salmon going up stream. Can't imagine all that caged cum was keeping me walking "straighter" all that time?
Of course, nothing short of a department store's towel section would have stopped all that cream from soaking through my Man's khakis, showing stains vividly with the most wonderful aroma simmering into the night air. I loved the way people --especially men, looked at his beautifully sculpted body and ass the rest of the game especially when we walked to the car through the shadows of the parking lighting. I'm sure any guy around us interested in my Stud would have jack-off material for quite awhile. He was well dried, soaked and stained---but in his assertive, self-assured confidence, HE didn't care. And I definitely didn't care, as that aroma of cum cumming off him when I walked close to him turned me on more---if that's possible, with the way the hot humid night was simmering his sweat to the highest levels of fragrance that made my nose even more hornier.
Since I hadn't yet ridden in his new truck, one thing I noticed right away was the cab seating stretched the full length with no emergency brake separating us that would have made it HARDer to play with each other. The truck bed, itself, might have been more spacious-somewhere under moonlit skies, but I didn't give a fuck at that point. I couldn't wait to feast on him. So right away in getting in the cab, I slid towards the middle of the seat, bridging the gap between us, as his hand was in my lap beginning to feel pre-cum wetness through my khakis.
This beautiful man... My Man... was now in real contact. No crowds, no outside distraction-except concentrating on his driving, there was no barriers or people's disapproval from my being able to touch this specimen of realness. Got to say-at that moment, life was good! Monday will be hell, but this very early Saturday morning was heaven.
Wooooof! Thank goodness, he's all-man, and doesn't cut or trim any of his dark body hair, including his pits. Whether it's his pubes or pits, I could bury myself in either. When we have a chance to workout together the distraction and the aroma was always too much for my senses to take and concentrate. When he exposes those streaming, wet pits, my thick cock's mushroom head felt like it's on a one-way trip to exploding. That's what was happening in his truck. Unless he has to for work, he goes deodorant-less, which I know pisses his wife off. It occurred to me, though, he must have taken a shower in his office bathroom before getting ready as his natural manliness was adding to our testosterone, along with the newly-made pre-cum and fresh sweat all combining together for one helluva delicious aroma of manscent. The confines of the truck cab with the windows rolled up and no air conditioner could have been a locker room the way the aroma was freely mingling with its newness. There was NO trace in the air of colognes or break-through deodorants. It was all-Man!
The challenge was, though, my tongue was burning for a taste, and he was driving a potentially-deadly moving instrument at about 50-60 miles a hour on mostly freeway. I thought if he got into my tongue bath so much we'd have an accident, then hopefully we'd die together...which wouldn't be such a bad way to go. So while he drove to the hotel, I watched that right pit as he maneuvered my tight shirt halfway up my hairy abs. I always knew he was multi-talented: He can drive AND rub my hardness through shorts that were, now, riding up my beefy, hairy quads.
"Geez, I can feel your cock pumping, " he observed, boring a hole at me through the partial darkness, like he was shocked that I would be in that "condition" around him. Even in that light, his soft-midnight blue eyes glowed and twinkled their reputation for being bedroom eyes.
"Not like you're goin' to feel it pumpin' you later," I moaned into his right ear as I went diving into his hairs that copiously overflowed his right pit.
They tasted wonderful. Fresh manscent, fresh, sweaty, hairy pits. At that point, I so glad he was a heavy sweater as it was like tasting fresh rain or sticking my tongue into newly-fallen snow. Like our cum, fresh, pure protein and white! But his pits were like going into a locker room that had been closed for days. Stagnate air sealing in the hot aromas of man. Literally, testosterone and masculinity were reeking.
"Mmmmmmmmmm.." His manly groan made my shorts grow tighter. "Feels fuckin' good, stud. Been too long."
Through the vague night lighting of other vehicles and incidental street lights, I could see his ruggedly-solid, handsome face through the shadows. His dark 5:00 shadow already looking like delicious array of stubble to bury my face into. I knew full well how he gets into our kissing, let alone when my tongue goes unplugged over his beefy bod. I thought about the way his passionate ways of closing his eyes and feeling the moment. I mean, HE does!! Very few people I know live in the moment. He does, and no where is that more apparent than when we have sex. Everything else is "out there"-work, family, etc.--- it's not a part of the space and breath he and I share. Those pressures are cutoff and there is just us...as it should be! It's not just a matter of us blowing a nut, so much as we--in each other, are with the person we want to take a vacation with, if only for a few hours. Or in the case of these weekends, a couple days together of hot, primal masculinity and fuckin' like fish.
At that moment, he took the steering wheel in his left hand and raised up that muscular right arm for diving into that deep, hairy hollow of Man. He wanted me there, too. And shhheeeet! My heart skipped a beat, literally, as my breath caught in my throat. I could have spewed, again, right there. It was soooooo wet, talk about reeking in masculinity. He is such a turn-on, anyway, but his pits are a feast I could spend all night in, licking them and cumming in them. And, later--while fucking him, to be able to feast on those two hairy forest of manscent. That just gets my cock even harder now thinking about what was to cum.
Besides the usual urban sounds of early morning, the only other audibles in the cab was me lapping up the freshly-made man-sweat and him enjoying my feasting.
"Mmmmmm... eeeeeat meee, you fuuucker."
Just the moans and groans of me satisfying my man was enough to make my pre-cum spew my shorts wetter. But, damn! The aroma was getting even better in the cab as I kept lapping like the thirsty dog I am. When it comes to his sweaty hair and hot bod, you bet I'm a thirsty horn dog! I was lapping loudly, I must say, as I stuck my right arm down across his muscular quads, making sure my arm hairs grazed his fur, and started to man handle his rod. He let out this low, guttural groan that vibrated the cab, but seemed to descend deeper when I flushed my face clear into his pit and found his big balls through his shorts and pulled outward.
"Oooooohh, fuuuuuuck, stud! That feels soooooo awesome."
He didn't have to say a word. I could tell, though his voice is so beautifully bass and masculine that I love him saying anything to me including "breed me." I was glad he didn't say that then and there, or I would have steered the wheel off into some residential neighborhood and fucked him silly. But since I wasn't watching where we were going---and glad he DID keep his eyes open this time, next thing I sensed him slowing the truck down long enough to roll the window down to stick his arm out to grab the parking validation ticket from the machine. In pulling his arm back in, my lap-warming hand reached for the ticket and stuck it in my back pocket to have one of those cute bellboys validate us later. Yeah, I'm sure there'd be a number of those bellboys I'd -or we'd- like to validate... HARD! Mmmmm...maybe my Man and I could split a bellboy later, laughing to myself as I rubbed my ass hole while I was back there. Geez, I ached to be fucked...
At that moment, without missing a beat, while he slowly pulled up into the dark parking lot to locate a parking place, I dived head first into his soaked lap and began to gnaw on his thick cock head now aching the shorts to full attention. The aroma between his legs was absolutely breathtaking. It made me woozy with his lust. So much so that while my left hand was playing hard with his right beefy nip through his tight, sweaty shirt, I was literally biting his cockhead. He moaned again, this time more seductively, trying his best to concentrate while keeping his foot down on the pedal as he slowly sped down and around a number of tiers before he located a parking spot.
With turning off the truck, most of his body didn't move. The silence of the very early morning surroundings of a mostly darkened parking garage gave him permission to finally enjoy the sensation of my teeth and partial suction generating the ultimate in pleasure. I couldn't really look up, but sensed he had laid his head back against the headrest. And THEN I felt his onslaught of lust as both his hands were on top of my sweaty head pushing me further and harder into his lap to the point of feeling like I was going suffocate. Again, what a helluva way to go embedded in his awesome smelling lap and death my cock. At that, the gyration of his thick quads began dry-fucking my mouth and face, grinding hard his fabric-laden, swollen cock. With that, I moaned into his lap creating a light vibration on just the cockhead.
"Oooooh, shit, fuuuucker...."
I thought he was going to cum, but in one swoop he was out of the cap, leaving me hanging, but him very hard and a wet spot on his truck seat. I bolted in a flash out my side of the cab. Turning to secure his ride with a press of a button and a couple high pitch beeps, he raced me through the subterranean, somewhat-lit parking, to see who'd be first to the express elevator. We were on a mission. To see which muscular, masculine bud was best and quickest, of course.
I'm the best.
Okay, so he's the quickest. At least those 'old' quarterback/cross-country legs of his still work. I know what's between them works well, and those heavy tree trunks work well when flung over my shoulders or as used as leverage to grind his piston... his hot thickness... into my mancunt. So there are a lot of things he does well, though --like fucking me, that he does enjoyably slower, thank goodness.
***** Any resemblance to these characters--living or dead--is completely coincidental. And these studs are living in an IDEAL world (partly because they're married men, but monogamous to their fuckbuds). If / when you play, play often, but please play safe. Copyright 2003. JockCeman. All Rights Reserved *****