A Peek Into the Twisted Mind of a Fetishist – A Personal Story (Part 5)

Part 5 – Roll ‘em!

So, let’s get into the mechanics of my obsession and the masturbatory movie making, shall we? Somebody’s got to tell you about it, so it might just as well be me.

I hope you won’t mind if I break a cardinal rule of erotic story writing, and occasionally give you a “blow-by-blow” account of some of the sex acts themselves? Perhaps through a descriptively-graphic, expletive-filled narrative, one which holds back none of the gritty, smutty details, you may get a better sense of just how depraved my mind had become.

At this point, I should warn you—especially the female readers in my audience—that all of the screenplays I conjured up read like so many of those cheap vintage, pornographic pulp fiction books which were largely marketed to men back in their day. These books were “triple X” porn readers, their covers usually emblazoned with hot, graphic illustrations, and their pages filled with insensitively-phrased, male-centric sex scenarios.

You know the type I’m talking about, right? That kind of dirty-word-filled, trash-smut literature, tattered copies of which you might accidentally find at the very bottom of one of your daddy’s dresser drawers?

God knows, I had read plenty of them! Many a Saturday afternoon was spent prostrate on my bed, thumbing through their course paper pages. With one hand grasping the book as the other firmly rubbed the prominent bulge in my denims, I’d slowly bring myself to the boiling point. My squinting eyes scanned through paragraphs taking in every adjective, every verb, every dirty phrase, feverishly anxious to arrive at that one key-worded “orgasm trigger” so often found at the conclusion of each sex act.

Oh, the character’s names would change, and perhaps some of the words. But the rabid, horny thrust of the phrasing contained within each description generally remained the same…

“Bernice continued to moan uncontrollably even after Harry had pulled his seething cock out from between the tight seal of her lips. Reaching the end of his endurance, he began tugging fanatically on the rigid stiffness mere inches from her face, desperate to coax spurt after spurt of his lust to splash all over her moist lips and reddened cheeks…”

…The sheer dirtiness of such phrasing along with their intent stuck with me during the fantasy script writing process. I couldn’t help feeling their influence.

Because of this factor, I am acutely aware that a good portion of the graphic language and situations to which you are about to be subjected—narrative that will include all those well known, possibly overused, keyword “orgasm triggers”—might appeal more to some of the men than it will to most of the women in my audience. For this I offer the most sincere, humblest apologies to my dear female readers. I admit that at the very core of these sweat-drenched fantasies there exists an underlying theme of male sexual dominance. And also, I’m painfully (embarrassingly) aware that, at times, the nature of the following descriptive text smacks of abuse. However, there’s no getting around the language and depiction of these lust-driven, sometimes brooding teen musings.

I have a sense of decorum, though. I had it back then, as well. These dirty late teen thoughts of mine had their place. That place was the family bathroom; the space where my early sexual frustrations and unreasonable urges were thoroughly “worked out.” None of their content ever passed beyond those four walls. Nor did I ever have any inkling to act upon them in real life. That was simply unthinkable! It just was not part of my make-up.

So, I ask you to look upon this with a “Thurber-esque” spotlight. Yes; “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” Only, picture Walter with a dripping hard-on in his hand!

(Hmm…I don’t know… Was that last bit going a little too far? I’ll let you the reader judge and sort that one out.)

At any rate; once again I must assure you that within this chest, both then and now, beats a heart of pure love; and not only a heart which holds a great deal of respect for women, but one which has the capacity and inclination toward the “gentle touch” and shared partnership within a relationship. So again; at the risk of sounding over-conciliatory, I apologize.

With that said and hopefully understood; onward we go, into the darker side of my nature…

~~~~~

With my teen penis now doing most of the thinking for me, scripts for these “mind-fuck” movies of mine became progressively more elaborate and infinitely more down-right dirty. Ideas were coming fast and furious for plot lines, and the level of licentiousness increased. Varying darker scenarios started to conjure in my febrile thoughts. I began to construct little themed plays to enhance my hand jobs. These were short but steamy performances I had worked up during the more frequent trips to the bathroom. They were constructed using different story lines within which little snatches of fictitious life-moments played out.

Of course, these story lines were fluid, not static. They changed and developed over a series of hand jobs. Which elements I’d use would wholly depend upon how I felt at a given moment during the act of masturbation. I’d keep the on-the-fly, accidental elements which worked to produce more heart-pounding breathlessness, more throb and more shattering hard cumshots. Others I’d discard or file for possible future rewrites.

I had many different movies, and there could be any one of my favorite obsession characters starring in the main parts. Movies involving this aunt, that cousin, or another, would be threaded on the projector and shown to suit whatever masturbatory whim.

One play was used repeatedly as a classic. I’d call it up at different times. I found it quite effective because the signature elements always made me cum hard. It was a smut-glutted standard! While involving interchangeable main characters, the thrust remained true because the idea was based on a general concept. Its overarching plot point was built upon a very stimulating prospective in my mind—one which pondered the strong possibility that these sexy women might be totally unaware of the effect their smoking was having upon the men around them; especially young men like me. The idea that these hot women of my youth could be completely oblivious to the oral sexual implications being communicated through their smoking to the men around them, was a hot point for me.

In my heated thoughts, different men—totally aroused men…men desperately wanting release—would be popping titanium-hard boners inside their trousers. Imagining their stiff dicks pushing out the fabric at the crotch of loosely-fitting pants into obscene-looking tents, and hearing the sound of their breath quickening while they stood there watching the women of my dreams innocently drag on their cigarettes and then exhale smoke through their provocatively pursed lips, turn me on immensely.

Sometimes the male actors would be nondescript; just random sexually-aroused bystanders on the verge of shooting off into their own pants, who, while breathing in the exhaled smoke from these hot women, seemed helplessly caught in this web of seductive behavior. Sometimes the stiff-pricked fellows would be their boyfriends or husbands. And then, there were those other times when I would step onto the sound stage as the totally teased, frustrated, overly-heated male.

In other constructs of this masturbatory play, my aunts and cousins weren’t acting so innocently. This scenario was of particular significance to me. I would imagine them acting in a lascivious manner, naughtily teasing the male subjects with their smoking, and otherwise behaving like “bad girls,” while pretending to act innocent. Their intent was clear; to entice, and yes, to actually incite a passionate, perhaps even an aggressive or impetuous reaction from the men nearby.

However, during these sick little trashy scenarios, the teasing women at the center of my masturbation fantasy would end up getting something for which they hadn’t really bargained. I’d imagine them miscalculating the intensity of their target male’s reaction. Therefore, a passionate, somewhat violent and animalistic element of force would be introduced as theme in these particular fevered renditions.

Something close to the sexually-tense atmosphere depicted in the film “Fountainhead” would develop; however, without the politically-twisted Libertarian worldview memes and “objectivism” crap threading through the theme of the play, as preached by its author Ayn Rand.

No. The resemblance to which I allude is only mentioned in reference to the sexual interplay depicted between the Roark and Francon characters of Rand’s narrative. Because, quite abruptly, the women would have an “out-of-control,” sexually-charged, aggressively-dominant male to deal with, as well as having to cope with a situation beyond anything they could have imagined.

You see, it didn’t really matter which concept I used. While conjuring the final act, the outcome in these little fist-fuck vignettes always played out basically in the same manner. Much to the ladies’ chagrin, cum would have to be ejaculated, and ejaculated hard. Exactly where that spent semen would end up depended on the situation.

If my male subject was uncontrollably compelled to yank his cock out in an abrupt manner and beat off in front of the hapless, smoking female; warm, sticky sperm would be launched to splatter forcefully all over her surprised, distraught face (“surprised and distraught” being key expressions of emotion in my mind’s eye). This “action sequence” would be replete with copious spurts of semen shooting across her painted lips as she casually blew smoke.

Had I imagined one of my aunts or cousins being taken abruptly; this once-in-control-smoking-woman, as a result of her incessant teasing, would suddenly find herself being forced to jack off the nondescript actor’s hard dick (or my own). Sometimes she would be pushed roughly to her knees while being forced to continue the hand job. Hot sperm would then either end up flying against her lips—again, lips poised in a relaxed purse, and in the middle of ‘naturally’ exhaling her teasing smoke—or all over her jacking fist, and all over the cigarette, which in my mind would be clutched between the fingers of her cock-grasping hand.

This was another “hot point” for me!

The though of these captivating-sexy-distraught women holding their cigarettes between the fingers of the very same delicate hand being used to pump off hard, exploding dicks, always produced the effect I so relished!

If both of my characters were standing and facing each other during the act—both fully clothed; the man’s zipper hastily pulled down, his dick sticking straight out through the opening of his pants…the woman standing close, urgently frigging off his erupting cock while she is blowing a forced stream of smoke straight into his face (Christ! I love the thought of that image!)—I would be firing off right with the male star, almost feeling and smelling the warm smoke being blown into my own face.

The “forced-and-sudden-impetuous jack-off” scenario had some variations. I’d have it develop while both subjects were in an ordinary social setting.

Sometimes I’d see them at a crowded party, but off together in some other part of the house; a secluded room, away from the chattering group. Standing face-to-face in the dimly lit room, I’d imagine a conversation taking place between the two; a conversation within which the woman of my dreams talks innocently about this-and-that.

She’s smoking, of course.

The male lead has already fallen under the influence of her sexual aura—“primed” as it were. He stands there listening to her, but only hears half of what is being said. With his mind clouded and his senses already in overload, he breaths in her essence. The scent of sandalwood perfume mixing with the aroma of the exhaled smoke, the look of her lush lips as they grip the filter of the cigarette during drags, her perfectly-applied make-up, her earrings and jewelry, the sweep of her hair; all of these trappings are slowly eroding his restraint.

As an important plot point, he is already, and has always been, infatuated. That is why only every other word she’s uttering is penetrating the slowly-building fog of his arousal. She’s saying nothing of any consequence, really. It is mostly party prattle peppered with chaste references and licit family gossip.

But let’s not forget; she is by no means an innocent figure in this play. Unbeknownst to our male lead, she is well aware of his infatuation. Her intent is to tease; to elicit a sexual response.

So then, the innocent content within her part of the conversation starts to change. By her encouragement, the tone and subject matter become progressively more provocative, more seductive and teasing. She steps closer to her male target, and with slight smiles playing across her pursed lips, she’s now occasionally blowing smoke in the male subject’s face. And, go figure, he is getting more and more sexually aroused, and much more agitated.

However, the feeling of arousal is not exclusive. The psychology employed within her subtle advances begins to work in reverse. If the truth be known, her own brazen behavior and sexual forwardness is getting the best of her, as well. Her breath quickens as she closes even more of the distance between their bodies. As a result, the aroused tips of her breasts are rising up and thrusting forward; all but touching his broad chest during intakes of air.

Soon, her speech begins to falter. Words normally strung together in seamless succession become orphans, accentuated with brief pauses. Within those pauses, the sounds of distant party clatter begins to filter. The din of overlapping voices, laughter and clinking glasses fill the wordless spaces in their secluded room as they stare into each other’s eyes.

Our male character suddenly feels the back of her hand accidentally brush against the swollen tip of his concealed, protruding cock. This happened when she had dropped her hand down after taking a drag from her cigarette. The effect from the sudden contact is discernible for both of our players; acting like an electrostatic discharge. Both gasp in excitement. With a look of foreboding washing over her pretty visage, the ball of smoke from that last puff is pulled down into her lungs during her gasp.

She glances down, sensing the sexual tension spiking to higher levels. Through a column of smoke rising from the cigarette clutched in her fingers, she observes his condition. Not only is it obvious that his dick is fully engorged and rather large—his loose, pleated dress pants obscenely distended forward under the strain—but the fabric across the tip is already wet. Due to the accidental encounter, a thin drooping thread of seminal fluid stretches across the distance between the back of her hand and the bloated head of his cock, connecting the two. The sight sends an erotic shiver racing through her body. Shock laced with excitement is evident in her expression, as she raises her head and makes eye contact once again.

Have I gone too far? My female lead questions internally. With her thoughts in conflict, she considers bringing this situation of her own doing to a screeching halt. But, where her mind is saying one thing, her titillated body is experiencing something entirely different. She is just as caught up in the eroticism of the moment as is he. Putting a stop to this speeding train would prove to be a daunting task.

During this confused state, mindlessly, she begins blowing the smoke from her last drag in a tight stream, straight into his excited face.

___________________________________

Parts thus far –

originally published at:http://ift.tt/2vanDOK

A MATTER OF CONVENIENCE

This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.

—

A MATTER OF CONVENIENCE

By anonymous.a

I wish I’d been around when gas stations were full-service.

I’ve heard the old-timers’ stories about how you’d pull into a gas station and a guy wearing a white uniform would rush out, pump your gas, clean your windshield, check the oil, air up the tires, and do just about everything short of giving you a blowjob. That must have been nice.

A blowjob would’ve been nice, too.

But not as nice as getting out of your car to stretch your legs, taking a piss in a clean bathroom, and browsing the aisles for snacks, sodas and lottery tickets. That’s one of the benefits of living in the 21st century. Cars are a lot more reliable, and gas stations have evolved into convenience stores, where you can buy things other than just fan belts or oil filters. Oh, and if there’s a cute guy at cash register, that’s an added bonus. If there are TWO cute guys behind the counter? You can skip the lottery ticket because you just hit the jackpot.

Something like that happened not long ago. One Saturday I decided to check out a festival in a town about an hour down the road … except everyone else had ALSO decided to check out the festival. Traffic was at a standstill. After two hours of being trapped in that claustrophobic snarl, I looked downroad to see an unmoving line of cars baking in the sun. My butt was numb, my gas pedal foot was sore and I was tired of the kid in the back seat of the car next to me making weird faces every time they pulled abreast. When I got the chance I veered into a lane cut-out, turned around and headed back. Instead of taking the same route home, which I knew would be choked with traffic, I decided to drive a little-used two-lane road that wound through the country. It led to a town about 15 miles north of my place. I could take the highway south and be home in time for dinner and a couple of beers.

It was a pleasant drive. Traffic was moving and it was nice to see a bit of nature, something I missed living in the suburbs. I drove through a couple of rain showers and used the wipers to clear the drops and scrub the bug carcasses off the windshield.

As I entered town before taking the highway south, I stopped at a gas station and convenience store. My bladder had been nagging me the past 15 minutes and it wouldn’t take no for an answer. I don’t like using convenience store bathrooms without buying something, so when I finished (the damn hand dryer didn’t work and there were no paper towels), I picked up a soft drink from the cooler and headed for the counter.

As I approached the counter from behind I spotted two asses – distinctly male asses. One was attached to a slender young man wearing khakis. The other was also a young man, a little stockier and meatier, the shorter of the two. Both would have made my list of fuckable guys and my eyes went into full lecherous middle-aged man mode.

When I came around front I saw that the stockier boy was talking to a drab woman closer to my age. One glance told me she was cougaring the young hottie, and he didn’t mind the attention. She seemed flustered and unwilling to leave, despite having wrapped up whatever story she’d been telling him. HE was a guy in his early to middle 20s, about 5-9, with close-cropped blonde hair, a pleasantly round, Englishy face, and an average build – the kind of guy you see every day and never pay a bit of attention to, unless you’re a connoisseur of men. Like me.

The other attendant jumped out at me at once. He was tall and thin, at least 6 feet but weighing not more than 145, with a trimmed helmet of brown hair, a thin, thin waist (probably not more than 28 inches), and a hint of a bulge showing in his baggy pants. Guys like him looked unremarkable until they dropped their drawers to reveal a monstrous cock. He looked like he could be packing such a weapon. But what drew me to him was his boyish, friendly expression, which was extremely … er … welcoming. I wanted to reach over the counter, pull his face into mine and give him a long, soul-full kiss, right there in front of God, his hot-looking coworker and the pudgy female admirer.

I put my Diet Pepsi down on the counter and reached for my wallet. “Hi, how’s it going?” the tall drink of water said. I could see he was not a kid. Maybe younger than the other fellow, but his teen years lay somewhere in the past. His nametag said “Austin.”

“I’m doing great, now,” I said, peeling two bucks out of my wallet and handing them to him. I managed to prolong the moment when my fingers touched the palm of his hand, as if a message, Da Vinci like, might flicker from my libido to his in a subtle bolt of desire. If he noticed, I couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, the woman to my left exhausted her trove of excuses for delaying and finally headed for the door, probably to go home, throw herself on the bed, lube up the dildo and pretend it was the guy behind the counter probing her sloppy depths. I know that’s what I planned to do if nothing came of my visit other than an empty bladder and a stomach full of Diet Pepsi.

I couldn’t take my eyes off Austin. He was just dreamy looking, and his body fit my idea of perfection. I love those tall, skinny boys. I love plundering their long, thin bodies and their oh-so-tight assholes. It’s more than sensual to watch a guy writhe under your touch, his body twisting and shaking in ecstasy as he submits to the will of another male and surrenders his steamy holes.

He noticed my stare and said, “What?” in a half jocular, half puzzled tone of voice. “What are you looking at? Do I need a nose check?”

In my old age I’ve discovered luck favors the bold. In my youth I would never have been so forward, but now that I was 39 and running out of time in the gay world (which worships youthful skin, good looks and muscle tone), I had learned it was better to be up front and direct in your advances. Most of time they didn’t pan out, but sometimes they did. What’s the old expression? Venture nothing and nothing is gained? That’s my personal credo.

So I said, “I was staring at you because you’re just so damn good-looking,” at which point Austin blushed so hard and so deeply I thought his body would turn wrong-side out. He grinned and looked down at the counter as I continued, “If were closer to your age I’d be asking for your phone number.”

“Whoaaaaa,” the other boy said in a loud Spicoli voice, almost laughing. “Austin, you’ve got a fan! A big fucking fan!”

Austin closed his eyes and pointed his face at the ceiling, as if seeking divine intervention. “Dammit! If only you were hot 19-year-old blonde cheerleader,” he whispered with a laugh.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” the other guy quickly volunteered, drawing a look of surprise from Austin and me, and instantly boosting my level of interest. “You never, EVER turn down a free blowjob. NEVER.”

Austin glared at him. “Are you crazy? This dude’s a DUDE.”

The other guy held up his hands in surrender. “Your dick doesn’t care who the mouth is attached to, man. And personally, it’s been my experience that gay guys give better head than chicks.”

Austin curled his lip and his co-worker interjected, “Just saying – they do. They know what feels good to a guy – because they’re guys. Of course, if you’re gonna be picky. …”

I gave him another looking over. He was a hot boy in his own way and I would have been checking him out more intently were it not for Austin’s fine distraction. I told him, “Same goes for you, dude. Either one of you want to give me your number I’ll happily take it. But be prepared because I WILL call you.”

“I don’t know,” the other boy said. His nametag said “Nick.” “You’re a lot older than the guys I’ve let polish my knob.”

“I didn’t know you were gay! Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this before?” Austin interrupted, his tone one of incredulity. “It’s not like we haven’t been working together the last six months!”

“I’m not gay, dumbass. I like blowjobs. Never, ever turn down a chance at a free blowjob.”

“Jesus. You think you know somebody. …” Austin grumbled. He wasn’t really angry. A subtle smile had crept into his expression. He might have been a little surprised his coworker had hidden this little detail from him, but if so, it didn’t seem like he was THAT bothered.

I turned back to Nick. “Yeah, I’m almost twice your age,” I said. “But that means I’ve got twice the experience. You’d be surprised what I can do with my tongue.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth began to curl into something that resembled a smile except there was a second meaning to it, an unmistakable expression that proved he had sampled the wares of man-on-man sex in the past, and liked what he had done. He glanced around the store, as if looking to see if anyone had overheard our conversation. The place was empty. Then he looked at me slyly.

“How about a little taste?”

“Oh, God,” Austin moaned. “Are you two gonna go at it right here in the store? You do realize there are cameras watching every corner of the place!”

Nick gave him a wicked smile. “There aren’t any cameras in the men’s room.”

I gave him a jerk of my head, inviting him to come along with me as I made my way back to the piss hole. He quickly stepped away from the counter and followed. As we headed to the rear of the story I heard Austin mutter, “Degenerates. I can’t believe the shit I have to put up with.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Nick snickered as we went into the bathroom. He closed the door and locked it. “He’s a drama queen, all bark and no bite. And I think he’s a closet bi. I’ll bet you in five minutes he’s back here knocking on the door.”

The thought of Austin’s skinny flanks within my grip, and that horse dick I suspected was hanging between his legs, got me instantly hard. I made my intentions known to Nick by dropping to my knees and reaching up to undo the button on his pants. Then I unzipped them and pulled them down, the fabric whispering over his bare flesh. He was wearing striped blue cotton tighties, which featured a prominent bulge up front. I leaned in close and inhaled deeply; his scent was meaty and a little stale, as if it had been awhile since he’d taken them off. I wondered if he wore his undies more than one day.

“We’re gonna have to make this fast,” he said in a low, hoarse voice. I could see the bulge in his underwear was growing and pulling at the flap, so I grabbed the waist of his shorts on both sides and yanked them down.

Out sprang a decent-sized dick and a wonderfully hairy set of balls. His cock was still growing but I estimated at full mast it would hit somewhere between 5½ and 6 inches. It didn’t taper to the tip; rather, the diameter was uniform all the way to the champagne cork of a cap, which was significantly wider. Already a pearlescent drop of pre-cum had gathered at the pisshole. I reached up and with my index finger, wiped it up and then stuck my finger in my mouth, running my tongue over the tip. It had a slight taste of something, some essential essence, and it coated my tongue with a gluey layer of goodness. I smacked my lips as Nick stared down at me, smiling, his cock now rock hard.

“Go ahead,” Nick said in a husky whisper. “Put it your mouth.”

I did what I was told.

His cock slid to the back of my mouth and I wrapped my lips around the shaft. I tried not to touch it with my teeth, but to be honest, when guys – especially the ones who have read too many online porn stories – talk about keeping their teeth off the dick, I don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I mean, unless you suck your lips into your mouth and wrap them over the tops of your teeth, it’s damn near impossible to keep from touching the guy with your teeth. What I TRY to do is not bite, and that’s how I handled Nick – swallowing that corn cob of a dick and letting it go down toward my throat, the little bit that did, while massaging the underside of the shaft with my tongue.

His flesh was warm and supple. When I pulled off his dick momentarily, tasting his flesh as if I had been slurping on a cock-flavored Popsicle, I detected salt and a little bit of sweat and the funk of a younger man whose glands are in an uproar. I hurriedly stuffed it back into my mouth and began working on it with a purpose, running my tongue all over the shaft, pulling back to poke at the pisshole, swallowing it back down, sucking hungrily. I reached up with my left hand and cupped his balls, which were held in that now-tight furry sack; with my other hand I reached around his butt cheek and found his ass crack. My fingers slid up and down that crevice, seeking the nexus of heat and funk I knew to be hiding there.

Nick moaned and began pumping my face. His pubic hairs ground into my nose, releasing their own odor of crotch funk that cooked off the bristly strands like a forbidden spice found only in hidden places. I stopped bobbing as he poked and prodded at my face with his crotch. Meanwhile, my questing fingers had found their target and proceeded to slowly part the entrance of his secret love button, which seemed to trigger the animal lust within.

Nick suddenly grabbed my head and began thrusting hard into my mouth as his love hole sucked my middle finger inside. “Not – gonna – last!” he grunted and then thrust a final time, holding it as a cry of ecstasy escaped his lips. A huge shot of sperm slammed into the back of my throat. As I massaged his balls and poked at his butt with my finger, a series of smaller eruptions filled up my mouth, forcing me to swallow most of his slimy secretions.

“Oh God, oh God,” he moaned as he pumped his cock into my mouth, his balls emptying themselves of their precious contents. I kept him inside me until his spasms subsided and his cock began to lose some of its rigidity, sucking at his peehole like a straw, trying to drink every lost drop of the intoxicating brew pouring from his testicles.

His cock went limp and I let it fall from my mouth. I swallowed every trace of his spunk, which covered my tongue, the walls of my mouth, even my teeth.

“Dude, that was awesome!” Nick enthused, backing up and wiping off his cock. My finger had been squeezed from his hole. I used a bit of toilet paper to clean it, although I needn’t have bothered. He was clean down there.

At that moment there came a knock on the door. Through the wood I heard a muffled, “Are you perverts through in there? I could use some help on the register.”

Nick sniggered and shook his head. “God, what a little pussy. You really do need to give him a taste of what he’s missing. In fact, just stay where you are. I got this.” And with that he buttoned himself up and yanked the door open.

Austin was standing there and when he saw me on my knees, a look of shock popped into his expression. Nick grabbed him by both shoulders and whispered, “Dude, you have GOT to let this guy do his thing. I’m telling you, he knows what the hell he’s doing. He’s the fuckin’ Leonardo Da Vinci of cocksucking, and you would be OUT of your FUCKING mind if you let an opportunity like this pass you by.” With each word emphasized he gave Austin a firm shake. “NEVER, EVER turn down a free blow job.” Austin started to say something and Nick interrupted him: “NEVER.” And then he shoved Austin inside the bathroom and pulled the door shut. Austin reached for the doorknob and I said, “No, Austin. Stay here. Live dangerously. You’ll love it.”

He looked down at me. His cheeks were glowing with red splotches and nostrils narrowed and then flared as he sucked in lungsful of air. Clearly he was nervous as hell and I tried to settle his nerves a bit.

“Look, Austin,” I began in a calm voice. “It’s a blow job. Not a marriage proposal. Not a lifetime commitment. You’re not going to go to hell. I don’t have cooties and you won’t turn gay if I suck on your cock a few minutes. In fact, what’ll happen is about a minute or two into it you’ll decide it feels pretty damn good, and five minutes into it you’ll wonder how the hell you went through life without trying it before. Now. Set your brain aside for a little while, drop your drawers, and let me make you feel good. OK?”

His expression curdled, as if he had just taken a bite of a wormy apple. He looked at the wall, and you could see the war taking place inside him, the prohibitions against homosexuality he had been taught all his life fighting against his desire. He fidgeted, and cleared his throat. And then he sighed loudly, closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I am going to fucking hate myself in the morning,” he said, but he undid the button on his khakis and let them fall to his knees. And then he pulled down his boxers.

My God, I had been right.

It wasn’t a dick that hung between his legs. It was a billy club. A nightstick. A baseball bat – whatever the hell you want to call it. Soft, it was at least 8 inches long, a thick cock, uncircumsized, that tapered to a narrow wrinkle of foreskin, as pink as his cheeks and traced with blood vessels. I felt my face sagging into shock. It was hardening, and growing longer. Even that married man, the hulk I had sucked off on my way to the park for a walk one morning, hadn’t been this well endowed. Austin was gifted with a horse dick. Whoever he married would be one lucky bitch.

It hung from a sparse patch of brown pubes, and behind lay a pair of low-hanging testicles, huge in their own right. A guy like me could get lost in this crotch. It was like the Disney World of guy junk. I planted my face against that massive package and breathed deeply. My God, it was pungent, serving up all the flavorings of a young man who hadn’t showered yet today. Heat radiated from that massive missile and carried with it even more delicious aromas that were undetectable unless you got real close. It was almost a smell of meat cooking in a crockpot. My mouth began to water.

I gripped Austin’s hips. I felt his muscles tremble. He was still nervous, and I decided to move quickly before he changed his mind. I took his dick in my hand, peeled back the foreskin and started swallowing it.

I say “started” because obviously, a dick this size did not simply go into one’s mouth. It would take effort, and pretty good control over the gag reflex, to do a proper job of sucking it off. Never one to pass up a challenge, I set to work going up and down on the shaft, trying to open the back of my mouth so it would fit down my throat. I wanted it buried in my completely so that a curious bystander would see only Austin’s pubes grinding into my nose and his balls draped over my chin.

I grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled him more deeply into me, and I heard him gasp. His cock was now growing stiffer and longer. I could feel it lengthening as it went down my throat, the air hissing through my nose as it was no longer possible for me to breath through my mouth. I took his balls into my hand and rubbed them against the underside of my chin, then pulled back off his dick, letting it out momentarily so I could swallow. I felt his hand cup the back of my head as he thrust his cock back down the tight channel of my throat, and his ass muscles clenching and unclenching. They were now slick with sweat.

We did that for several minutes, his movements becoming more confident and my efforts accommodating his escalating urgency. Just as I had done with Nick, I used my fingers to explore his ass crack. It was very sweaty back there and I could feel wisps of hair between his cheeks. A part of me wanted to turn him around and plunge my face into that exotic canyon of flesh and muscle, but I really didn’t think he’d go for that. Getting him to put his cock in my mouth had been like climbing Mount Everest. My finger eventually did manage to brush against his fun hole, and when that happened he squeezed his buttocks shut and thrust his crotch forward, as if trying to protect his anus from intrusion. But I continued worming my finger into that spot and as I rubbed his hole, he began to let up and respond to the pleasure I knew he must be feeling.

He was powering his cock into me then. His balls were swinging back and forth, banging into my chin, and he was grunting with each thrust. He had stopped clenching his ass cheeks and my finger continued its subtle assault on his rectum, coaxing it to dilate so I could get it in. I wanted desperately to be inside this straight boy, to have my finger buried past the second knuckle so that it too had vanished within his body, just as his cock and vanished into mine.

Suddenly the tip of my finger popped inside his steamy hole. He gasped with unexpected delight and I wasted no time easing it in further, using his sweat as lube. Again, he grabbed my head with both hands and started fucking my face hard, that massive cock pushing down my throat like an anaconda seeking to devour its prey from the inside out. My finger bottomed out in his rectum and I began fucking him with it as he pillaged my mouth, and together we struck up a rhythm that in less than a minute, produced the desired result.

“I’m gonna cum!” he whispered fiercely and then he froze, the muscles in ass thrumming as his cock injected massive spurts of cum directly into my stomach. His asshole clamped down on my finger and pulsed with the waves of his orgasm as he held me firmly in place and filled me up with his spew. I wiggled my finger, which produced another spasm of jism, and I held that position for as long as I could, allowing him to enjoy every last moment of his climax.

Eventually his grip began to relax and I pulled his cock out of my throat. Keeping the foreskin peeled back, I licked and sucked the remaining dregs of his brew, tasting for the first time the flavor of his ball juice. How to describe it? A kind of earthy musk, in ways very similar to every other guy I had sucked and in other ways uniquely different. I pulled off and smacked my lips, enjoying the feel of it in my mouth.

Austin was breathing heavily, his chest working like a bellows. Rivulets of sweat trickled down his thighs. I thought I saw a hint of a smile on his face, but it might well have been relief – that it was over, or that his sexual tension had been drained away. No matter. We both had performed.

I eased my finger from his ass. It had a smear of shit on it, which I wiped off with toilet paper. Clearly my boy Austin had not prepared himself for an anal intrusion this day.

I got up and washed my hands. I would need to get home quickly, before the heat of our encounter completely subsided, Like that frumpy woman before, I planned to flop down on my bed with a bottle of lube and my favorite dildo and relive these moments as I fucked myself.

Austin had pulled up his boxers and khakis and was buttoning the button.

“Well?” I asked.

He grinned sheepishly, the reddish blotches on his cheeks glowing as if they were radioactive. He pulled his shirt down over his pants.

“That was damn good,” he whispered breathlessly. “I don’t know that I’m going to let the next guy blow me, but that was damn good. Thanks.”

“No, man. Thank you. I loved sucking off you guys.”

He turned and opened the door a crack, peeking to see if anyone was outside. When he saw the coast was clear he stepped outside of the bathroom and turned, held up his hand and asked me to wait a minute before I came out. Then he hustled for the registers.

I checked myself in the mirror. Hair, totally messed up. But no cum was running down my chin. Maybe a little drool, but no cum. It was all in my stomach. I patted myself there with a satisfied grin, then left the bathroom and went to the cooler, where I found another Diet Pepsi. The one I had taken out earlier had gotten hot.

As I went to the counter, Nick smiled broadly and said, “Hey man, it’s on me. I mean, it’s the least I can do, right?” And then he gave Austin a knowing wink. Austin blushed and stared at the counter. I knew the minute I left Nick would be ribbing him, but who knows? If he enjoyed that much maybe HE would be the one on his knees in the bathroom, with Austin’s fearsome weapon jammed down his throat. I would pay money to see that!

I turned to leave the store. As I reached the door I looked back. They were both watching me. Austin smiled sheepishly.

“You know, gas is cheaper up here,” I said, speaking to the both of them. “I think from now on I’ll be coming to this store … you know … for a fill-up.”

And then I walked out to my car.

—

If you’re a fan of e-books, check out my author’s page on Amazon: http://ift.tt/2eu8Tyt

My latest work of long fiction is called “Danny.” An 18-year-old houseguest learns the ins and outs of man-on-man sex with his older, more experienced host. It’s a Kindle e-book here: http://ift.tt/2uSMqlk

originally published at:http://ift.tt/2uA49TB

A Peek Into the Twisted Mind of a Fetishist – A Personal Story (Part 4)

Part 4 – Carmella, Donna, and my Erector Set

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Please don’t misjudge me…

I’m not a shallow person, or worse still, a misogynistic fool. My female relatives and their friends, although very sexually desirable, were not just erotic objects for me. Nor were they just convenient fantasy “sperm receptacles” in my warped imaginings. These attractive women were, by no means, cardboard cutouts.

I realize that I have been doing them an great injustice by not describing them in more detail; ”fleshing them out,” as it were, for the sake of literary clarity. So, to an extent, I feel the need to make amends by telling you a little bit about a couple of them. Hopefully I can do so without wandering too far from the main thrust of my ramblings, which after all deals with self-psychoanalysis, and the desire to explain the particulars of my slant on this long-standing capnolagnia obsession of mine.

These were beautiful women, beautiful and lovely on many levels, both inside and outside. They were, and still are—those who are still around, of course—thinking, breathing, flesh-and-blood people; all of whom I respected, and most of whom I loved dearly. Yes, they had their faults, as well, much the same as everyone else. But, by and large, all of them were a joy to be around!

So, to begin with, I must say that comedy ran in our family: “Ran? It practically galloped!” …to borrow a phrase from the film “Arsenic and Old Lace.”

A good sense of humor and a honed wit were instilled, up-front traits within the character of many in my tribe. Also, the ability to recognize irony and satire, and utilize the two, was commonplace in our daily dealings with each other and the world around us. Comedy was just something natural, something at which we excelled. At times it seemed as if we were intentionally breeding stand-ups!

So, the thing I remember most of my upbringing—aside from the spices and the good food, along with the sexual fantasy fuel I’ve been describing—is the satisfying, pervasive sounds of laughter…sweet laughter!

The cackle from my Aunt Carmella, as she quipped with my mother and cousin Doris, was a sound which still resonates in my memory. And the predictable yet infectious guffaw she’d inspire from Doris would work its way around the dining room table; others chuckling partly in response to Carmella’s quip, and partly in amusement over Doris’s reaction.

However cliché it might sound, it needs to be stated that Carmella was truly a “rare beauty.” She encapsulated so many qualities. Young and vivacious, schooled and endlessly clever, she had an enviable, formidable command of words; and in two languages, no less—English and Italian. If a situation called for it, she could start her joking in English and seamlessly slide into Italian without so much as a stammer. Carmella used this tactic “in mixed company” to further mask the naughtiness of the last bit; and she’d verbalize the Italian phrasing in a sexy whisper.

Yes, Carmella certainly had a wit that could stop a truck. And, I might add, she possessed stunning facial features and a body which could cause the male operator of that truck to drive his vehicle up the sidewalk while taking in Carmella’s overwhelming presence.

When she smoked, her face appeared to take on subtle nuances of ecstasy. During prolonged drags, her shadowed eye lids would flutter. Then came those pop-inhales, which looked and sounded more like kisses. Her expression seemed to convey thorough satisfaction, as if a long-felt thirst was suddenly being quenched. Watching her mouth pop open as her breasts heaved forward with a sharp intake of breath—as a result, the perfectly-formed dense ball of white smoke quickly disappearing behind parted, lush red lips—never failed to put a painful throb to my already stiff erection.

And then, the pièces de résistance, the sight for which I’d waited in breathless and anxious anticipation, Carmella’s exhale! Putting aside the sexually-arousing vision of her perfect, full, red lips gently forming a kiss shape; there was the overall subtle transformation in expression I’d see flowing across her face.

Now, all of this may be projection on my part, but Carmella’s exhales appeared to have the qualities of a mild and mellowing release. It was almost as if she were experiencing a satisfying contentment overtaking her soul. With head slightly tilted up and her dark eyes half shut—an expression which by itself was enough to make me cum in my pants—I’d watch the smoke issuing straight out from between her beautifully-pursed lips. The tight column of smoke would form an ever-expanding cone as it moved out into the room to fill the space in front of her.

I cannot convey clearly enough how dramatically-moving this sight was for me! Jesus! Every fiber of my own being screamed for release! If she only knew that each time she did this, it took an abundance of inner strength to squelch the urge to stand up and just grab my stiff, concealed cock. And then, while shamelessly beating off right through my pants, inserting myself into the path of that exhale; breathing in the sweet smoke streaming from those desirable lips as the rushing cloud struck my face.

Needless to say, I never acted upon this indecent urge. Mostly, I’d just sit there dumbfounded, fidgeting in the afterglow while awaiting her next drag. Ritualistically, she repeated this process in almost the same manner for every puff, which served to reinforce the already vivid image file I had stored in my brain.

I realize that I was the only one in the room picking up on these perceived subtleties; considering how my mind was racing with numerous fantasies about Carmella at the time. Nevertheless, onward my aberrant, fantasy-driven little mind raced. And without anyone else in the room knowing, erotic imagery of her surprised face, spackled and dripping while being pelted with my ejaculating sperm, flashed and flickered on the screen in my mind’s theater, each time those lips puckered and blew.

~~~~~

Ah! And then there was my bewitching Aunt Donna.

Oh Donna!

If she only knew that she processed the face which launched countless wet, overpowering orgasms!

Donna!

Just thinking her name causes blood flow to my cock!

The ‘movie’ and screenplay I produced involving her as the main character—and ultimately as my sperm target in the last scene—went through some revisions. But, for the most part, the key dick-stiffening components in the script and scene lay-out were kept intact throughout all of my masturbatory movie adventures. To this very day, the photographic impressions and plot details of various scenarios remain vivid, mostly due to the frequency at which the sounds and images played across the screen in my brain.

Oh man, did I ever run those “Donna movies” a lot!

Almost all of my parents’ female siblings, my cousins and their female friends, were beautiful in many ways and also held varying degrees of desirability in my mind—some, of course, more than others. However, none could compare to the striking loveliness, the air of sultry sexuality, exuded by my mother’s youngest sister!

But before I get into Donna’s influence on the early development and direction of this fetish, I should continue to expand on my mind’s secret pornographic movie business.

More to come…

Parts thus far –

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

originally published at:http://ift.tt/2uQvJqL

Angel’s Education (Part 12)

The Epiphany, The Video, Her Emerging Fetish, And The Vice-Principal

-A Fetish Tale of Smoking, Masturbation, and Facials.

By George Tyerbyter

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Dear reader – Yes; smoking certainly does cause cancer, heart disease, and leads to death. There’s no question. These are facts. Nevertheless, for some straight men—while taking in the sight and scent of females as they indulge in this health-risking behavior—it also causes stiff, painful erections and forceful ejaculations. This fetish phenomenon is a product of psychological hard wiring—a mind-set built upon through past decades. While being provocative and sexually suggestive by nature, like it or not; its smoky seductive presence permeates pop culture. Read on at your own risk…

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Part 12

It was a leading question; one loaded with hurtful intent, filled with rage and motivated by reckless sexual arousal. And because either a negative or an affirmative response could potentially bring about bad consequences—considering the vice-principal’s volatile state—it was a question better left unanswered. So, in silent intimidation, Helen stepped back again, trying to create a safe distance between her and the angered Mr. Lowe.

“Look… I’m not just referring to the sight of a woman smoking; an act which might lead a man to think she’s a whore. Because, for some men, that may be enough,” he continued, stepping another foot forward again; countering the distance Helen had placed between them.

That time Helen did not back away from the advancing vice-principal. She remained silent, her arms still folded.

“No. It’s about her behavior while she’s smoking. It’s about what such behavior brings out in certain men,” Lowe continued.

“Aren’t you aware of the effect the type of behavior you have displayed here this afternoon has on a man?” he questioned, stepping even closer to the ever-cowering student.

“Don’t you know what it once meant when a woman blew smoke into the face of a man? Haven’t you even given a moment’s thought as to what you caused to happen here today by your actions?” he asked, practically shouting into the frightened student’s beautiful face.

“No, Mr. Lowe,” Helen lamented, feeling very intimidated and on the verge of tears. “Please explain it to me so I never make the same mistake again.”

“Well, for example…Look at what you have done to me,” he said, indicating the huge tent in his pants.

Helen looked down once again at his wet, lipstick-stained trousers.

“W-what?” she cried. “Your pants…th-they’re—“

“Alright, my dear young woman, I’ll show you first hand what you’ve done,” he said, not waiting for a full response, while bringing his hands up to grip her shoulders.

“Here…take a closer look!”

“Oh,” Helen mewed sheepishly in fear, as she suddenly felt herself being pushed down by the power of the man’s arms.

Much to her horror, before she could do anything to counter the maneuver, the sexy student found herself in free-fall. With her torso being forced down and pulled forward by the domineering vice-principal, Helen’s legs buckled. Her feet slipped back behind her, causing her body to drop rapidly. And with a thud, the girl’s knees eventually slam painfully against the cold tile of the classroom floor.

Helen sounded a helpless cry on her way down. Her arms shot forward at the end of the fall, and her hands extended out in an effort to stop herself from ending up face-down, flat on the floor.

The strap to the bag which had been slung over her left shoulder slipped down her arm during the forced decent. The bag crashed noisily to the floor, spilling and scattering the contents of the front pocket at the feet of the impetuous and forceful Mr. Lowe. Loose coins rolled edge-wise in all directions, and her lipstick tube rolled toward Mr. Lowe’s right foot, eventually bouncing off the sole of his shiny, black shoe. The pack of Salem 100s slipped out also, landing between the student and her disciplinarian. She ended up practically on all fours, her trunk upright but bent forward at a sixty degree angle, while she struggled to balance herself on her spread finger-tips.

Dazed from the fall, Helen lifted her head, and found herself suddenly facing the big bulge of the man’s erection once again. The vice-principal’s hands, still on her shoulders, held her in place as he shoved the tip of the obscene protrusion against her face.

“Oh no! Mr. Lowe, mmm, Pl-please, n-no!” she moaned in anguished arousal while she struggled to move her head back and out of the way.

Bent forward at the waist, the teacher began fucking his hips at her, guiding the head of his organ to scrape repeatedly across her smooth skin. More of her make-up and lipstick rubbed off, smearing even brighter shades of red, taupe and green onto the already soiled light-colored material of his pants as he pushed against her face, and rubbed his concealed erection around her features. She whimpered and moaned, trying to get her face out of range, while the vice-principal poked the throbbing tip into her eyes, and bumped it against her freckled cheeks.

“Now do you see Ms. Kirby?” he growled, pumping his pelvis at her. “Huh?… Now can you see the damage you have caused?”

“PLEASE! MISTER LO-oh–mmmmm!” Helen’s words were abruptly cut off by the sudden intrusion of Lowe’s pants-covered knob being speared passed her open lips and right into her mouth. Almost immediately, and without any regard for Helen’s feelings, the crazed authoritarian began fucking more length of his stiffened flesh in and out; and with every successive shove, it forged deeper into her oral cavity.

“Mulgh–glug–flug–ulk!” she blathered incoherently and loudly during each thrust, her useless screams muffled by the pumping mass of the educator’s engorged cock.

His hands had come off her shoulders and were now trying to hold her head steady while he plunged as much of the clothed dick into the struggling girl’s mouth as he could. Helen’s hands had shot up during his entry and were now gripping the vice-principal’s legs for support while also pushing back against his thrusts in an effort to resist.

The girl snorted through her nose, trying desperately to take in air. Meanwhile, her saliva began to soak and soften the material of his proper dress pants. In between thrusts—as he pulled his cloth-covered dick out from the girl’s mouth—lipstick streaks could now be seen on the fabric, running about half way down the length of the protrusion.

Lowe was experiencing a significant spike in perverted arousal from all of this debauchery, and his cock began to discharge more pre-orgasm ejaculate. The slippery fluid mixed with the student’s saliva, further soaking his pants. The additional lubrication aided Lowe’s obscene efforts. His hips moved faster, increasing the tempo and force of the plunges back into the student’s mouth. The mouth fucking became so intense and so wet that white foam began to form; it’s volume quickly building up and bubbling out from between the tight seal of her lips around Lowe’s stiffened rapidly-stabbing organ with each manic thrust.

Then, during one of the more broader back strokes—where Lowe’s cock had become fully dislodged from her mouth—with a loud gasp, Helen finally managed to avert her head and speak.

“Oh no! Don’t Mr. Lowe!” she pleaded in breathless desperation.

But the educator’s complete disregard for Helen’s feelings was never more evident. He was thoroughly out of his mind now. Continuing to feed his mad, lust-driven passions, he began slapping his wet dick repeatedly against her cheeks. Helen looked up at his face in terror, gasping for breath and panting from all of the exertion.

“Please! I’ll do anything…anything you want!”

“Okay then Ms. Kirby,” he responded, relinquishing his grasp on the sides of her head.

Helen was still clutching at his legs, holding on for dear life as she watched his hands move to the front of his pants. At first he grabbed his cloth-covered erection and began viciously jacking it right in front of the student’s panting mouth.

“Oh no!” she mewed weakly, her eyes widening in apparent total disbelief of she was seeing transpire before her.

Oh fuck! Angel thought while watching this latest development in the video unfold before her eyes… Yes! Jerk it off right through your fucking pants, you nasty bastard!

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(to be continued)

Links to all parts thus far ⤵️

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7 , Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

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