"Next time, I want you to breed me," he messages on Growlr. I'm at once both sprung and frustrated as hell.
Next time? We don't even live in the same city!
I get that bottoming can be a really intimate thing for some. But for me, if I'm feeling it then I'm feeling it and bring it on. I picked up on the last line of his profile. He likes he balls tugged hard. No tentative exploration. Direct manhandling. So, as we were making out, I tested that and gave him a rather solid yank and he responded favorably. And then I varied it a little by lightly scratching them with my finger tips, five finger strumming an imaginary instrument in a quick staccato rhythm. Then a roll against the palm like Japanese beads. Then, a playful slap. One that you couldn't ignore. He reflexively crunched over even while I felt his cock harden in my other hand. Another tug, keeping them taught why my fingers on my other hand let go of his cock to play that rhythm again.
The dance continued while I positioned myself between his legs, my hard cock insistently throbbing. The head reached out and made contact in the valley underneath his balls. No lube. My hips automatically started thrusting against him. And as I was randomly indulging in a lazy list of maneuvers for ball play, grinding against his ass, I looked up at him and saw this need and hunger in his eyes. His brows turned up in a plea. Full head of perfectly groomed and styled blond hair darkening down his slack jaw of a ginger beard, he was in need. But when I applied more pressure against his hole, insisting some relief, he shook his head no.
I backed off.
I don't quite remember how he got off. I just remember contentedly drawing larger and larger figure eights on his tummy. Using his massive cum load as ink, my digits became a fleshy quill illustrating symbolic characters of our time together.
I was content back then. But with that message he sent me after I left, now I'm far from satisfied.