Mr. August

By AdvnturPup

Having survived various rigors of travel for business (To the departmental administrator: "what do you mean i'm not eligible for a travel advance?" To the hotel clerk when I call in to alert them to my flight delay from the airport: "what do you mean you've got me booked for August! its MARCH! i'm at the airport!" To my very large (and NOT muscular) neighbor on the flight: "Does every flight have screaming children, or just the one's I'm on?" To the flight attendant: "...but I double checked with my travel agent that he had booked a veggie dinner...") I finally arrived at a bed and breakfast that DID have a room for me and immediately leapt on line, plugging my laptop into the phone jack in my quaint little room. Nothing like interactive on line pornography for distractions from one's woes, which in my case means cruising for someone to play with.

Fortunately, Dean is feeling the same way tonight... unfortunately its 1 a.m. and he's long past the time when he's game for something immediate and he's winding down; however, exchange of pictures and some chat demonstrates that we're eminently compatible and he's game to meet at some time later during my trip. As I figure out my schedule it becomes clear that the last day, four days hence, is the only day when our schedules match up (busy men!) and we make a date for that weekday morning when he'll be returning from the gym and i'm fully done with my work before my afternoon flight home. So he gives me the address and I gaze intermittently at his picture over the next several days wondering just what we'll get up to. Its clear that he's as much of a top as I am a bottom. Its clear that he's got the body to make me squirm -- not competitive bodybuilder level, but solid, ripped, strong. And he's a little different from most of these musclemen in my stories -- bucking the fashion, he's into keeping his body hair and that's the one hesitation he has about me: shaved or not, there's not a lot of hair there... But I assure him I won't shave between now and our meeting and that a few days growth of my beard will help. Yes, this man seems sexy enough to determine my grooming habits for the next few days. In matters of sexual planning I don't find rigidity to be very useful.

When I get up that morning I efficiently pack up everything so I won't feel hurried if our scene goes on a while. Still on New York Time i'm even up early enough to walk from the Castro, where i'm staying, down Market Street toward his home -- he had given me bus instructions, but the weather's beautiful and back home its still Winter, so I walk. Its lovely foreplay for the main event: the morning sun is bright, the air feels gentle and warm on my arms and face, and the sexy San Francisco men I pass contain a solid contingent of those that cruise me back. In fact, the whole four days has been filled with uncommon cruising and luck and I wonder if its just that i'm 'fresh meat' or if there's such a lack of classical nice-jewish-boys-in-glasses out here that i'm really popular as a novellty item. But I don't worry about causes too much -- i've had a full few days of fun, in and around the work stuff (though not all of them muscleboys to report in this particular forum and the occasional one that was doesn't want a story written...). So by the time I arrive at his apartment i'm feeling confident and relaxed and ready.

Shortly after I arrive and hang out on the sidewalk before his building he shows up and i'm struck by his thick dark hair and full, trimmed goatee moustache, and the dark piercing eyes with which he makes his initial assessment of me. He chats casually about how nice the morning is and holds the door for me, which I take as the best sign that i've passed muster, at least initially. We go upstairs and enter his duplex loft apartment (duplex loft!!! do you know what this is to a new yorker??? I lust for the space as much as I will ultimately for him!). The chit chat is casual, about apartments and space, about protein supplements (he's mixing one as we speak). The design of the apartment is very clean, modern, but not cliched, and everything is very neat -- I notice appreciatively and make the mental note of how often I meet dominant tops whose apartments echo the control and order that they will subsequently impose upon me. I think how it would be to become another piece of furniture for this man's use.

While finishing the preparations of his drink he has taken off the nylon shell that he's been wearing and the real strength of his body first becomes apparent. The pic he had sent me is old and he's been training hard since it was taken. His legs looked full and solid in his jeans, but I wasn't really prepared for the sight of his torso and arms as they're now revealed in his workout tshirt. I'm mesmerized as he goes through his kitchen work, watching the arms ball up and then lengthen, his chest rising and falling as he breaths, his thick corded neck as he tilts back his head taste testing the concoction that will become part of his growing form. He looks at me looking at him and smiles: "this isn't quite ready, why don't you go upstairs and get comfortable while I finish up -- it will be obvious which chair you should use when you get there..." I look at him quizzically, but turn to do as i'm told. "Oh, here, take this, it'll keep you occupied while you're waiting." Turning, I see him holding out a glossy magazine toward me: an old Colt Portfolio catalog! I grin from ear to ear, liking the direction this is taking, but he doesn't really acknowledge my amusement -- there's been a subtle shift: from suggestions these have become commands, and my amusement or approval is wholly beside the point. "Thank you Sir" I reply, taking the magazine, and turn to the steel and wood open staircase that, curving, rises up to the second level loft above our heads. "Oh!" he calls to me from behind, "see if you can guess which is my favorite picture." "YES SIR!" and I hop onto the first step.

At the top of the stairs it is very clear where I am headed. There is a reclining black leather chaise, the kind where the whole thing can rotate from horizontal to upright in its chrome frame. This just gets better and better. I strip down, folding my clothes neatly, as I suspect he prefers, leaving on my white briefs and my socks (my socks? something about keeping them on feels sexy -- don't ask me why!). I settle on to the leather chair and its cool and soft beneath my skin. I set it so that i'm largely horizontal, head only slightly raised. I fit into it well. I open the Colt portfolio and gaze at pictures which i've seen before -- this is old stuff, before porn surfaces became so uniformly smooth, polished, hairless and almost sexless, from when homosex didn't try to portray itself as hygenically clean, sterilized. This stuff is about danger, transgression, daring. While the poses are often formal, they look as though the figures have been captured either in midscene, or as though they are about to spring into action. While all of the men are muscular, they don't all look like steroid juiced men of the 90's. There are hairy men and smoothmen, beefy men and ripped men, 'boys' and 'men', all of them Men united in the pursuit of a moment of transcendant bonding with another Man, through dominance or submission, through aggression or tenderness. The book is like a photo tour through significant parts of my own mental lust-map. I grow hard in my briefs, lying on the soft black leather, while looking at it.

Towards the end of the portfolio I see the pic that is my guess for this Master's 'favorite'. Its a picture of a hairy-chested, very muscular top feeding his cock to a supine, hungry boy, while standing over him. The boy's head hangs down backwards off the surface upon which he lies. Its a classic Colt image. I focus on this picture and lightly graze my hand over my cock, getting it to jump a little. I'm getting turned on in a big way, but i'm not in a particular hurry -- this will unfold as it will and i'm just letting it all happen on the last day of my trip, the only full vacation day of the journey.

I hear footsteps on the stair, but I don't put down the book. I want him to see me doing as I was told and I want to see the living vision side by side with the stylized two-dimensional image. When he appears he might as well have stepped from the book directly rather than have come up the stairs. He wears nothing but a white jockstrap. His tan serves to deepen his meditaranean complected olive skin. The hair which spreads across his chest, down his belly and into the jock strap is deep black as his beard and his eyes. The muscles it covers are hard and defined, striations apparent from afar, the clefts between muscles cut deep. I turn the book toward him: "This picture, Sir?" "Yeah, boy, you guessed right" and he steps toward me, takes the book from my hand and straddles my prone body. "I think that's a good place to start", he says and firmly, though gently pulls my head toward his crotch.

Oh how good he smells! Damp and musky from the sweat produced at the gym. His cock is full and thick within the fabric and I begin mouthing it with my lips and my tongue. Its a classic moment: the commanding hand on the back of my head, the ribbed fabric of the jock against my mouth. I close my eyes involuntarily, surrendering to these tactile sensations and to the smell and taste of his crotch. But then I come back to myself and open my eyes: I want to see the man who has begun to take me.

And what a man! Up close now, rising above me, more detail yet of his rippling stomach, his full, powerful pecs, his pumped arms and shoulders. I reach up and run my hands over him and feel for the first time how incredibly soft his body hair is and how wonderful is the contrast between its soft texture and the porcelain hardness and musky scent of the muscles underneath. As his cock begins to harden from my attention and his growing sense of power, my own cock stays rigid without a touch, bobbing from the sensory input alone. I'm living a classic Colt moment now, in full, and loving it!

He murmurs in response to the way my mouth moves. I watch as he turns his body this way and that, to get different views of his new cock slave going to town. "Take it out boy! Take off my jock with your teeth" and he positions himself to allow me to do that. I pull it down slowly but steadily and his thick, still growing cock, emerges from beneath the fabric. He steps off to the side, swinging a leg over my body, and quickly removes the jock, then swings back into position, all within the space of two breaths. Deep breaths at that, because i'm preparing now to suck as mightily and devotedly as I can.

Again he angles me and himself for maximum efficiency, scoops my head from the leather headrest and pulls me into him. My mouth envelopes the thick head of his cock and I begin to wash it with my tongue, caress it with the inside of my mouth. He moans a little and adjusts so that he can push it in deeper, and we continue like this, his cock becoming fully hard, every little while an adjustment to allow me to take it in more effectively. I don't have to worry about more than what my mouth is doing, he's taking care of the rest, now fully using me like a device for his own jerking off. He pushes deeper into my throat and lets me gag and choke a little, before allowing me the chance to breathe. This is about his pleasure, not mine, and the intermittent discomfort of gagging and choking which his movements inflict obviously gets him turned on -- and getting him turned on gets me turned on. Oh fuck! Look at this hairy muscle Stud standing over me, using my mouth for his pleasure!

Getting close for the first time, he pulls back and steps off again, letting his cock back off from its peak for a moment. He comes round behind me and now I see the full measure of his design conciousness. He casually presses down on the headrest and the whole leather couch rotates, so that my feet rise up and my head sinks. I won't have to lean my head back to take him this way. My open, hungry mouth is positioned perfectly for him to begin fucking from over my head, angling directly deep into my mouth and, with the first thrust, down into my throat.

BAM! the face fuck begins and his favorite image from the magazine comes to life! Sliding in and out, sometimes teasing, sometimes deeply thrusting, sometimes letting me catch my breath while banging his cock on my forehead, my ears, my eyes, my nose. Sometimes he just lets it rest on my face letting my lips and tongue dance along the bobbing head while his balls rest, now damply as he sweats a bit, on my forehead. He continues to tease, taunt and fuck my mouth while holding my ears, twisting my nipples, or just holding my head where he wants it and thrusting forward. On and on this face fucking goes as I lose sense of time -- all my attention is focussed now on my mouth and his cock, my throat and his cock, my tongue and his cock.

"Take your pants down, boy -- play with your cock while i'm fucking your mouth." Of course I obey and wriggle to remove my briefs down while still keeping my mouth active on his cock. When I succeed he reaches down and swings the leather couch up again as he steps away. "OK boy -- time to show me that butt -- let me see the other hole I get to use..." He pushes me toward the bed which is high, high enough for my butt to be perfectly placed for him to fuck from a standing position behind me. I lie down for him on the cool grey bedspread and he takes out some lube and begins to feel my butthole, testing to see if its worth his attention. As I had promised, it is...

The sound of the night table drawer opening again and I hear the sounds that herald my major moment: the first entry of this cocksman into my butt. The sound of the wrapper tearing, the hands pulling the rubber tight down his cock, the pause as he reaches for the lube, the wet sound of more lube on his cock and then the second pause as he finds the best position from which to strike. These sounds and silences, so routine, so regimented, have become the common central moment of so many of my adventures and, in sequence, they bring me to a pitch of butt twitching anticipation -- they herald the moment when hope gives way to certainty and...

"Gonna fuck you now boy!" and POP! his head slips inside and brings me back to the real solid present -- enough thinking, time for fucking! He reaches down one hand, grabbing my shoulder to brace himself, and pushes forward into me... deeper, steady, no hurry, sinking into my butt up to the hilt! Impaling me thus, he leans down over me and I feel his chest hair and pecs pressing into my back. His cock twitches in and out, ever so slightly as he begins to tease my neck and my ear with his tongue. He finds the spots that make me squirm and goes for them. The more I squirm from his tickling tongue the better his cock feels. Each moment of contact on my neck triggers a movement that causes my butt to squeeze or to rotate, giving his cock the attention it craves. And the more he feels my butt, the hotter he gets, the wilder his mouth on and about my neck and ears gets, the more I squirm... This goes on and on as we're building to a neck biting frenzy and i'm moaning and writhing, both trying to sink into him and get away... then suddenly POP! and he's out again!

The loss! I turn to look over my shoulder and I see his powerful form focussing on his crotch as he's removing the condom... "Sir....?" "I've got another idea for you, pig boy...get into the bathroom." I roll over, sit up, then stand, and do as i'm told. I'm starting to get the idea, this seems to be more and more popular with my musclemen, but, less surprising to me as time goes by, I am learning to love it. I move quickly wanting to obey and he gestures to me to sit on the toilet. He stands before me, between my legs and allows me to nuzzle and lick the now sweat-damp soft dark hair on his rock hard body. The taste and smell of his sweat is wonderful. I nurse on his right nipple, then his left, as his hands pass through my hair, caress my head, or stroke my three day old beard. Its a wonderful moment of strength cloaked in tenderness and I lap up the sensations the way I lap the sweat from between his pecs.

Slowly the pressure of his hands on my head changes though and I know its time to begin servicing him again. His cock points at me from below and I open my mouth and take him in. The build up this time is fast -- he's played me from many angles already and he's ready to let fly. Using my mouth and my hands together, long wet twisting strokes of his shaft and head have him breathing hard. And he's a flexer when excited: the waves of sensation sweeping over him from his cock have him tighten his whole body. Bringing his arms around my head, holding me in place as the excitement builds so he can begin pelvic thrusting his cock into my mouth, I am surrounded by muscle -- his whole body flexing all around me as his breathing gets shorter, raspier... he's getting close and he pushes my face into his crotch so that I can start licking his balls as he suddenly climbs over the edge and SHOOTS! On to his crunching abs... SHOOTS! on to my forehead.. SHOOTS on to my shoulder, and then, his body jerking, moans reflexively escaping his lips, it just flows from his cock, over his jerking hand, as I hold tight to his legs, my face buried between his thighs, lightly tonguing his balls and crotch coaxing the last bit of pleasure and cum from him...

As his body begins to relax he releases me, takes a breath and leans back. His eyes are closed for a moment, then he opens them and looks down into my awe-struck, cum smeared face. Cum drips from my cheek and runs down my chest from my shoulder. My hand is on my cock stroking it lightly as it bounces, rigid. I'm so turned on by everything that has happened that, with his cum dripping on my body, I only await his signal that I have permission to cum. He just stares down at me at first, touches some of the cum on my chest and shakes his head, smiling at the mess he's made of me. His hand returns to his cock and he points it at me. My breathing begins to get more intense, as his had just moments before. Sly and intense, he nods slightly and my hand steps up the pace. I slouch down a bit as my pelvis tilts reflexively as I get closer to the edge. Suddenly he hisses, as breath escapes from between his teeth: I hadn't realized that something else was coming, i'd forgotten that the last change in local was for a reason. Hot piss streams from him on to my body, washing the cum and sweat from my chest down between my legs into the toilet. He showers me with his muscle piss, cleaning me. The heat from his piss and the lubrication it supplies and the intensity of being a receptacle for what this power body produces push me over the edge and with a gasping moan the cum just flows from my cock. Its one of those rolling orgasms I sometimes get, first a few waves as the cum flows over my hand, mixing with the piss that still washes over me, then a second peak and a third one as I feel the muscles in my crotch spasm and one shot a second shoot upward and land on his right thigh and his cock! I can't stop jerking as sensations flash upward and I moan and moan until I sag forward and, heaving a sigh, I fall against the pillars of those cum washed thighs of thighs. The combination of our various fluids makes me slippery, at first, then a bit sticky,! as I hang on to him and come down from the orgasm he's driven out of me.

He strokes my hair, petting me a bit, soothing me and laying claim to me at the same time. Within a few minutes he pulls me up, takes me into the shower where after a quick rinse off I assume duties as his body slave, soaping him up, washing him down, massaging his shoulders, indulging in a bit more worship. I lick the water washing down his chest or, when kneeling, from his thighs. I can go like this for hours, maintaining physical contact with this beefy, masterful, testosterone-drenched man. He's begun to engage me in casual conversation while all this goes on, but underneath it all is my explorations of his warm, pumped, stud's body. He decides when the shower is over, because I won't ever end it on my own. I dry him off, then myself, and we step back to the bedroom to dress and get on with our day.

In response to my verbal praise for his body (the white tight t-shirt he pulls on just making him look even more pumped and delicious than before...) he tells me about having been selected to be one of the South of Market Bare Chest men for the 2000 calendar, sold to benefit AIDS related services in San Francisco. He's not sure what month he'll be, but he promises to stay in touch and alert me to when it gets posted on the net and becomes available. As I head out with him to the street I contemplate my luck at having found a "Calendar Guy" to play with (another fantasy fulfilled that I hadn't even thought to imagine!). •

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