Monday, April 6, 2015

Snapshot: The deep gaze

He's made it into these pages before and we've played several times, but one of the issues is that I can't seem to cum with him.  In my head, I silently blame the cream that he uses for lube but I'm sure it goes well beyond that.

Massive king-size bed.  Over 6 feet and a solid 200+ lbs and he still looks like he's swallowed up by the bed.  We only only take a small corner of it, with his legs in the air and my cock firmly implanted into his incredibly tight hole.  My small frame does nothing to fill up the negative space on that bed.

The strange proportions don't throw him off.  In fact, it echoes with his taste in men.  He likes smaller, younger guys taking control of his body.  I've lifted him a bit off the bed by his ankles as I fucked my inches into him, full strokes so that he can feel my entire length.  Smaller deep thrusts deep inside him as I spread his cheeks to get in even deeper.  And now his furry calves scratch at my shoulders as I roll him onto himself and am driving into him with full force fucks.

That's when he notices it.  And he moans.  And he blurts out, "Fuck yeah.  Breed that hole and make it yours."  Deep booming voice.  Not quite a bass, but a deep baritone.  One that naturally projects beyond the walls even in a whisper.  I'd imagine that just the masculine voice alone would tip me over the edge.  But then you have his incredibly beefy body and broad shoulders and that ginger beard... all that subbing out for me is a thing of extreme fantasy but I can't seem to get over the hump and cum.

'Cause I know why he suddenly said that.  His pale eyes are washed in color but compensate in intensity.  His direct, confident in his gaze and his eyes never leave my face.  Never heavy-lidded.  Never unfocused, despite all the attentions I make to his other body parts to make it sing.  He watches.  And gets turned on when I my own eyes make the switch.  I'm no longer patiently empathizing with my eyes as I make that initial entry into his hole, constantly measuring my speed and angle by his body's involuntary twitches and reactions. No longer feeling him up, making him feel good.  No, I've dropped all that and his hole just makes me want to pound it harder and harder until I cum.  He searches my face for that moment, that moment where I'm no longer interacting with him on an equal level but instead objectifying him, just using him as a fuckhole.  While his still eyes are still on mine, my own lose focus and I no longer see him but I feel him, feel the warmth of his body from the inside, feel the velvet touch around my shaft.  All attention goes down to my fuck stick.

Until he says it.  And instead of actually encouraging me to fuck my load into him, his goading snaps me back to those eyes that search mine out and never break.  And the reflection of my own eyes peer back at me and I'm utterly self-conscious.  

That's when I find that I can't cum.  It's a lot to live up to.

So I flip him to his knees and jam my cock back inside him.  And I'm back to appreciating his fine body.  He has a good tan, from the top of his broad freckled shoulders down to his narrow waist that meets a contrasting, pale fuzzy ass.  Just that picture is driving me nuts.  Then I see my cock sawing into his body and that hole of his stretching over each ridge.  And then I see his hole twitch and bear down on me, a reverse ripple as his sphincter tightens up and I can't hold back and finally drop by load.

Fuck that was quick.  Further proof that it wasn't the lube.

Collapse on his back.  I'm over exerted.  Still spasming.  My body quakes in aftershocks.  Hyper sensitive.  Sweaty.  Sealed on his back.  And my heart is racing, booming and shaking my body and I can feel his quickened pulse under me as well.  Fast, excited, but not nearly as pronounced.  The mismatched rhythms bounces off each other in cacophony.  Still melted.  Still glued.  But my body moves and shimmies from liquefaction.

"I love it when you get like that.  It's intense," he says.  The mattress doesn't muffle his booming voice. 

He felt what he couldn't see in my face, that moment where I totally give in to base animalistic urges.


BikeGuy said...

Do you think it's more the intensity of his looks, the boom of his voice that throws you off?

Bruce Chang said...

It's both. I was lost in the fuck when his voice called me out of my reverie and I see him looking at me and I'm like what?! Is my hair fucked up? Do I have a booger hanging off my nose. It's that type of self-consciousness... Or it really could be just the lube...