Ben 2

He fumbles with the keypad at his garage.  He’s searching for it, knows it’s there.  He just takes a second.

“To the right.  I think you have to open it,” I suggest lightly.

“Can you tell I don’t usually go in here?”

And with that, he flips the cover open and his hands trace an easy pattern across the keypad and enters in the digits that start a sudden, jarring mechanical whirl of an engine that contrasts significantly from the graceful dance of fingertips that triggered it.  An awkward pause as the door lifts with clatter and clash that is probably so mundane in the suburban surrounds but nevertheless causes alarm for the clandestine nature of the activities we have planned behind the door.

Ben casually strolls inside though, flicks on the light, and find the button to close the door again.

It’s a tight fit.  A one car garage with what I’m assuming is his husband’s car inside it, since he doesn’t use this garage much.  We work our way to the back, squeezing by the tight aisle between the car and the shelving against the wall.  Boxes sit in deliberately casual stacks along the shelf, varying sizes and heights that define a miniature city skyline that we tiptoe along until we settle upon a clearing.

And there, I look up and he has that quiet, piercing look again.  The one that draws you in.  And we inch together until we can delay no more and rush the final gap in an extreme embrace.  Lips lock and he forces the breath out of me as he draws me to him, hugs me close.  Soft, supple lips dissonant to the fervor in which we devour each other.  Definitely not a passive guy.  Active.  Aggressive.

I reach behind him, low.  Sliding underneath the elastic band of his shorts, each hand grabs a mound of ass and I’m impressed with what I feel.  The pics made him look beautiful, but my hands feel something that a picture can’t describe.  Each orb was perfectly round.  The quintessential bubble butt, an even layer of soft skin enveloping two perfectly round, firm mounds.

I rush it a bit more to yank those shorts down to see what my hands felt.  His cock obstructed a clean yank and as I looked down, I realized why.  The kinky bastard was wearing a cock ring all throughout our conversation in the coffee shop.  That explains the extra bounce as he walked and flopped in front of the gardeners.

I take him down my throat in one swallow.  A thick slab of meat that rivaled my own in terms of length.  I explore with my tongue, have it dance across the shaft.  Take the head to the back of my throat and partways down.  I suck in hard to let him feel my whole throat work his shaft.  I oval and form a ring with my lips.  I try all my tricks.  I even cheat and use my hand.  But with each moan, I could tell that none of these would easily get him off.

I grab his hips and start to turn them and notice a slight resistance before his legs, handcuffed by the shorts around his ankles, shuffle to allow me access to his ass.  He smells fresh of the shower, yet masculine.  There’s a faint musk.  And I dive in while he squirms.  This, I can tell, he truly enjoys, but he holds back.  And it’s funny how each ass is different.  His, I can trace the ring with my tongue.  It’s pronounced.  I can chew on it.  It drives him wild but I tell he’s not completely comfortable.  I’m pretty sure I know why.  He hasn’t completely prepped for ass play and that lack of confidence causes a barrier.

I rise back to my feet and make out with him, making him take in his musk that’s on my face and taste himself on my tongue.  He doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t flinch.  I can tell: he’s quite the liberated pig.

All too soon, he shoves my pants down to free my cock of the confines of my jeans.  He takes me into his throat with some skill, but it’s me that holds back this time.

It’s incredibly rare for me to be able to cum from oral alone.  I don’t know why.  Perhaps I’m too distracted with nothing to do.  The curve of my dick doesn’t allow for good face fucking except in very specific positions and it seems way too unnatural for me to sit back and just enjoy the sensations that a guy can pleasure me with.  I immediately think ahead of a guy’s ass.  And just those glimpses of an ass as a guy’s head bobs on my cock is enough for me to want to hold off until I can shoot my load deep inside a different hole.

But Ben persists.  He works hard for my load.  And that same nature that draws people in makes me give in and want to give it to him. I grip the sides of his head.  Slow him down to a rhythm where I can feel each muscle movement along my cock.  And when I feel an orgasm just in the horizon, I double-down on my grip and fuck him in deliberate strokes.  Ignoring any gagging or letting it add to my journey dominating his throat.  And with just a groan of a warning, I blast my pent up load down his throat.

I black out a little in the afterglow until his suckling makes me so sensitive I’m on the verge of losing bladder control.  And I chuckle.  Looking at him.  I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll see of him.  And it isn’t…