Snapshot: Surreal

Second time we met and he already knew how I liked it.  Me flopped as comfortably as I could on his oddly shaped sectional, like a melting clock on a Salvador Dali painting.  Him with his ass in the air and his face buried in my crotch.  Our bodies at an acute angle and as with any good, sex-starved cocksucker, the pivot point of that angle is centered around my cock.  All about my cock.  Gears are turning and snapping into place in constant intervals.  Head bobbing at even paces.  The fragile system was hinged upon the connection between lips and dick and I'd mess with the metronome, placing my hand on the back of his head.  Letting it rest there for a second while I tried to memorize each buzzed follicle as it pricked hidden valleys across the contours of my hand before I squeezed firmly and forced him an extra half in on the downstroke to make him gag.  The violence visibly rippling out from his throat through his diaphragm.  And then that groan from his throat that I can feel vibrate through my cock before he redoubles his effort to catch up and rip through the missing beats and back to the natural cadence of harmony.

And as precariously hinged as he was to my cock, my eyes were similarly transfixed to his ass as he knelt in front of me and was trying to please me.  Fuck.  Everything about him seemed to point straight down to his ass.  The huge bundles of muscles holding up his neck broadened out to bulging capped shoulders only to taper down to a trim waist and a deep valley across his spine pointing directly to two full perfectly round globes.  Sir Mix-A-Lot would feint.  With his back slightly arched like that and his ass in the air, it was the strangest, most masculine version of an hourglass figure I could imagine.  The naturally broad shoulders.  The soft dusting of straight black fuzz right below his shoulder blades.  And then the soft curls of dark, short hair that peppered over those round globes.  Confetti of little C's all over.

Before I knew it, I was caressing it.  Then manhandling it.  Then mauling it with my paws.  I don't even remember getting off the couch but I had my cock resting on the bed of soft fuzz nestled between his buns.  I grabbed the bottle of some KY gel that was on the coffee table next to a box of baby wipes and rubbed it in.

In a tone so matter-of-fact and completely at odds with the heat emanating from his body and the pounding heartbeat that was echoing loudly through his torso, he cautioned me that he's hasn't been fucked in over a decade.  And that he's never liked it.  But he stayed there.  On his knees.  Talking to the empty space where my body had nested itself and fluffed up the cushions.  And I took that as a cue to make him want it.  He was shaking.  And sweating.  We were both sweating.  And then it was just a blur of want and needs.  I wasn't the gentlest, but I made him cum.  I made him cum hard with my cock inside him and I pulsed my load into his ass shortly after.  It was a bit pink when I pulled out.  I had really teared into him.  I wasn't my most graceful.

And as I knelt there behind him trying to catch my breath, it was his turn to awkwardly rest on his sectional.  Head down in the cushions.  Half slipping off.  And a single drop of my cum oozed from his hole, a surrealist drip that slipped over the curves of his balls and onto the couch which he had also painted with white streaks.