Joe and Craig’s Steamy Scat Sex

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

I met him at the parade. He was wearing these excitingly short, garish, glittery hot pants – ooh they just made me want to sink my teeth in. He was on the larger side but he was not what you’d call a “soft man”; no, he was a stout man and an athleticism ran through his chunky thighs. Exactly why I was so drawn to this man I cannot say but I couldn’t avert my eyes so, I decided to approach. We acknowledged each other but we didn’t speak for a while; we simply locked eyes, danced and understood what we were doing. As we danced both of us became giddy with the atmosphere of the parade and although we weren’t speaking our eye-locked silence amongst the glamorous clangour spoke louder than any words – we had a connection. As the procession continued we exchanged some small talk: names, jobs, etc… But by this time the atmosphere was wearing off me; I thought to myself, What are we parading for anyway, pride? Oh Lord! Strike down my pride before this man; I wish to feel none of it! ‘- I was horny.

I had to shout his name so he could hear me, ‘Joe! I’m exhausted, I’m going to head home but please tell me we can see each other again.’

‘Of course’, he replied, ‘there’s a cafe along Donnington Road; it’s called, “The Parsley Leaf”. Meet me there tomorrow at 11am.’

‘Oh okay, sure,’ I said, a little taken aback by his abrupt suggestion, well, demand I suppose – but this confidence turned me on even more; he was certainly an assertive male. I turned to leave when he said, ‘Oh, one more thing Craig, it’s my favourite café.’ Then he turned and disappeared into the motley throng. Who knows how long he danced into that night but almanbahis he was there, waiting at the cafe when I arrived the next morning, and his eyes were twinkling.

Our conversation came easily: he was funny, interesting and always assertive: He must like being dominant, I thought. He was big and strong whereas I was very slim, and the fantasies revolving around this dichotomy were running rampant through my mind. Still, we talked about many things: how we came out, how terrible our time at school was, how our parents now saw us differently and about the cute men we watched on our favourite television programs. But we were homosexuals so the conversation quickly turned towards our promiscuous inclinations. As you would expect, Joe initiated the sexual direction of the conversation: he showed me a funny meme on his phone – it was a mock Valentine’s Day card from Lana Delray, it read, “Spell Lana backwards…” We both had a chuckle but I didn’t really know how to respond. Of course, assertive Joe interrupted the awkwardness, ‘So what do you say, do like it, have you tried it?’

‘Well’, I stammered back, forthwith feeling very nervous, ‘I have tried and enjoyed it a handful of times, usually I just go for felatio but I do have experience and I must say Joe, if YOU are really into it then there’s nothing I’d love more than to do anal with you.’

‘I suppose you like the dominant position?’ I said, relaxing back with a grin. Immediately Joe’s expression turned stern, ‘Listen Craig, I am a flower pregnant with honey. Tell me, have your bollocks ever buzzed like a honey bee’s wings ringing with spring premonitions? Have almanbahis yeni giriş you ever seen your penis as butterfly’s probe, you know, as a proboscis?’

‘No, no I haven’t, I mean I don’t think I quite understand what you mean by all this Joe.’

Joe then reached over the table and grabbed the back of my head to pull me closer so he could whisper, ‘Don’t worry, you shall penetrate. Tomorrow I am free, I will garner what do I can throughout the day before resting in a winter’s dormancy – come night time, you shall free me.’

‘Tomorrow, really? Um okay, what time, where?’ Joe took out a napkin and wrote down his address as he spoke, ‘Now Craig, the butterfly doesn’t tell its flower what time it will arrive, it doesn’t knock, doesn’t barge in, but it’s invasive all the same.’

‘Tomorrow night’, he said calmingly, ‘I will see you then. Now let me pay; be off and don’t forget this,’ he said as he forced the napkin into my hand.

I didn’t know what to expect: I was a little concerned, a little rattled but I was determined to go. My perverted curiosity wasn’t going to let me off the hook. Curiosity killed the cat, but cats have nine lives don’t they? And hey, I can be as frisky as a feline and as flexible too. I would show Joe a good time; I will be his little butterfly! With such thoughts I cajoled myself.

The following night I found myself at his door; I went to knock but I remembered: ‘A butterfly doesn’t knock,’ so I let my self in. The flat was dark, ‘Joe?’ I called – no response. The only light came dimly from the last room in the corridor, It must be his bedroom, I thought. I walked in almanbahis giriş and behold: there was Joe, splayed and prone upon his bed. The light I detected came from a small lamp, which had been set up on the floor in the corner of his room. ‘Joe?’ I said again – no response. I knew he could hear me, Why isn’t he saying anything? But then I remembered that he was the flower and I the butterfly – then I knew what I had to do.

I was unaware of this as I climbed onto the bed but his ass was full, and I mean full. All I knew was that my erection was ready; it was very ready: it was heavy with blood and it wanted to plunge. He also was ready because, as he lay on his stomach, I could see a sweat of anticipation beginning to bead, ever so finely, along the cleavage between his cheeks. It was time so I placed the head of my erection on his rim and I just let it rest there for a few moments as a strange sense of peace came over me: it felt so right but so wrong at the same time, if you know what I mean? Then I pressed and the head fell in: immediately a puffy ring of faeces was pushed out of his anus – gosh I loved the way it encircled my cock. Anyway, as I went deeper more and more of the faeces was displaced yet it still remained connected to the greater mass of poo still looming deep within his bowels; as I said, he was full. Then I retracted and as I did so the large puffy ring was sucked back into the colon, when I pressed again – out it all came. We got into a rhythm; It was the rhythm of the seasons: with every thrust the poo flower bloomed and as I pulled out – the brown petals fell away again. All this was scored by a most beautiful squelching sound and, every so often, a gaseous, ‘pop.’ I kept going; I was kneading dough, I was whipping cream. The longer it went the smoother the substance became; it became as smooth as mousse and the smoother it got, the better it felt…

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32