WARNING: This post has some race play in it. It's pretty understated - mostly chosen by which bits of video you're not seeing, and when I turned the camera off to have a conversation. I have just enough time to go get a shower, and then get a clean towel... and then tell the cute boy at the counter that I'm waiting on this sexy boy that I need to walk in, because (a) I have to pay his way in, and (b) I want to keep a close eye on him. He's got the kind of ass that makes grown men drop to their knees and worship... and tonight, it's mine.
I hate being early. I get places often half an hour early, just because I abhor being late... and I like to do things like walk around a block, so that I'm oriented to the space I'm in, and have a sense of moving around and seeing new things. It puts me in the right frame of mind. Especially since, once I've seen them once, they're not new things. So even going into a new space in a building, I know what the local mockingbirds look like, and which direction the CityPlace tower is, or whatever landmarks impress themselves on my eyes. But even with all the care and attention I spent blowing Real Daddy Steve's mind as well as his cock, and a pleasant chat after, I realize that I still have quite a bit of time to kill before DeMarcus's ETA. I walk around the pool, leaning against the wall that's been warmed all afternoon by the sun and radiates heat, giving something like a hot stone massage to my shoulders and back. It's not hot out, but it's warm enough that the extra heat from the wall is lovely for a few minutes, but then it's sweaty, and so I go to the outside shower and shower. I love showering off and then walking around without toweling off, when it's warm out... and I go lean my shoulders and my ass against the wall, and then round my back out, so that I'm being gently ironed from the nape of my neck to my butt cheeks... and the rest of my body is covered in water that's being dried away by the strong breeze. It's not quite windy, but it would be if it was just one step up. What they call "airish." When standing in the sun is really warm, but standing in the shade, you don't want to be wet. I love days like this, and places like this where I can engage in this kind of sensory play - to walk around with the sun warming my skin, while I feel the breeze drying me off and whipping my body hair around - which, if you're hairy, is quite a thing if you really stop and feel it. Especially when you're naked. It's like being gently brushed with strong feathers over a lot of your body. It feels like champagne, like it should sparkle. I like the way my wet skin sparkles, where I see my self in the reflective glass. I remember standing here the first time I really got into it with Steve - [see also: That fag noise] knowing that there were men inside, some of them masturbating, just because occasionally somebody would touch the reflective glass and you'd see a shadow of a hand or a cock... but what I could see, in the reflective doors, was a hot Daddy on his knees sucking my cock, as we were both glistening with sweat. It was hot as fuck.
And then, after a couple of rounds of shower - hot wall, it's time, and I go up to the desk. The guy looks over to see what I need, and I point at the boy I'm essentially taking control of his evening is walking in the front door. I hold up the two twenties I've kept in my kit, just because he needed it to get in We manage the essential transactions, and I roll the change out of forty over into their tip jar, because they put up with a lot of my bullshit. And they are sweet as can be. Tip your jizzmopper. Especially if you have to say things like, "Can I get you to do a spray mop in my room; there's some vomit."
I give him a hug and a kiss as he comes in - he smells very mildly of cocoa butter, which makes him delicious and tropical. It smells like actual cocoa butter. And maybe coconut. Anyway. Some nice mild skin oil that's probably made from the things that naturally smell like that; does that make sense? He's got no cologne on, no deodorant, no body spray or strong lotion. I want to be able to smell his body. I like the way men's bodies smell. I like the way I smell. I think it's a big part of sex that many guys get squicked out about because of modern hygiene culture... and it's like shaving off all your body hair. It's one of those things where people deliberately remove their sexual signaling mechanisms... and they just rely on their look or whatever fetish they're into to carry it for them. For me? Seeing a guy's body hair, smelling the smell of his body - I'm not talking rank, I'm just not talking scented with cologne... I will turn down SERIOUSLY hot tail if the guy won't shower it off. I've had guys agree to shower it off. I've had guys realize I'm probably not the one for them. :shrug: The thing is... I'm sport-fucking. I'm having random fun with hot guys; many of them I don't even know by a first name. Or I think of them only by the fictional name I've given them, and I have to keep asking what their real names are. I still have not built that spreadsheet. It's getting to the point where I need to make a character index... like tagging the episodes with searchable data so you can find all the Steve bits, or all of DeMarcus. Seriously, look up DeMarcus. But I want to be able to smell the guy I'm with. I like when his ass smells like musky ass. I like when his pits smell like he showered this morning, but didn't use any deodorant, and now he's the kind of musky that you don't notice until somebody raises his arms. DeMarcus is a little more clean than that... he smells overall gently of skin. You know... I never got close enough to his bush to really give it much sniffing. I'll have to remedy that another time. I need to milk a load out of him to show him how good he made me feel. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
By the time he gets his shit together, puts his stuff in his locker, pulls his clothes off (as I molest him a little,) and then with consent I give him a hard smack on his right ass cheek, the welt reddening as the other guys in the locker area watch. Then, he's got to put his contacts in, which is a whole ordeal; one of them keeps wanting to leap from his fingers like a minnow, and I keep being afraid he's going to end up with one on the floor, and my GOD man, that floor... I mean, I know they mop it regularly with bleach. You smell it a lot. But... they NEED to mop it regularly with bleach. It's a pretty clean place, but it's because it's constantly being scrubbed and sanitized to remove the unspeakable juices and occasionally solids from all the surfaces. I explain to him that he's standing RIGHT under the super-high-speed ceiling fan, and if he'll just move his ass over, he'll avoid the breeze. So he finally does that, and manages to get the right one in after something like eight tries. I stroke the gleaming skin of his back and his ass as he works. He's very pleasing to touch, smooth and caramel colored, his hair a whole range of textures these days, his skull and head so muscular that you can feel his forehead move when he sucks dick.
Finally, FINALLY he's ready. We go back to my room. And I'll let some of this speak for itself. There are some things that I'm going to edit out, because I'll tell you that I was using racial slur language as part of a BDSM race play experience - but you're welcome to imagine
I'm referencing an earlier game DeMarcus and I had played in the garage-dungeon of some friends, and when I tell him to tell the nice man he's a cocksucking faggot, he replies. It's so fucking hot to hear his voice squeak and squelch around my cock. You know he's not always saying faggot... but I can literally FEEL it as his mouth pronounces it around my cock. It's hard to explain if you haven't experienced things like it... like how you feel someone's lungs resonate if you hold them while they're crying or talking. It's a very visceral sensation, having someone speak into your cock. It feels like old magic.
This bit is only 27 seconds, but TRUST ME, it's a hot twenty-seven seconds. Then, I turn the camera off and troubleshoot because it keeps switching lenses. It's got three different lens systems on the front, because I love nature macros and also to be able to ID a bird across the creek. And... it gets pretty good video. Anyway... I get it switched to a pro mode where I've got more control, and turn off the damned lens switching. Then back to the games at hand.
We shotgun a hit of my vape pen, and then he kneels down and starts sucking me again, and I turn the camera back on. I give him a big hit from the vape and then fuck into his throat, and he rides it for a second, but then he dissolves in coughing, and I give him some water and wait until it calms down. And... I explain how amazing that just felt to my cock. OK, so I'm kind of an asshole that way, if I know the boy can take it.
And then I have to explain some about Real Daddy Steve, and then we have a conversation around Sanford and Son. Which we both watched as kids.
You know... I've also given one of the testing nurse guys. He was FUN - because he knew all the anatomy I was naming, and he'd let me explore his rectosigmoid junction. I LOVE rectosigmoid junctions. [see also: Testing in Room 200]
Also today: I learned that I can adjust the framing on something by watching it happening on the room's TV screen.
Also today: Awww, I love dick burps. It means I've plunged so much cock into his throat, I've shoved some air in too.
And this... I just want to make it clear, I'm a goofball, and so is DeMarcus. So we play around with camera angles.
We decide it's time for a walk around. He keeps walking in front of me - a behavior I need to correct - but we visit the showers, the sauna, the pool. In the main maze, I put him up against the wall with the bench, and fuck him in the throat some. A guy comes over and offers his dick as well, and we get some back-and-forth head. I put him on the lazy Susan table and let him know that this nice man is going to be using my privileges, if he consents - and he does. So I whisper in the guy's ear and explain that it's a game that he enjoys - when he tells you his your cocksucking faggot, listen really closely. He's saying something else." And the guy pounds his ass while I pound him in the throat a little bit. Things shift around, and we walk some more.
There's a guy I've played with once before - he looks like he's been working out and toning up, and he's lying on his back on his bed with the door open. I call him Vertis, because he looks so much like this country guy I would two-step with in the tiny gay bar in Abilene. [see also: Proper Worship]. I instruct DeMarcus to suck his firm strapped-up dick, and after a brief false start where Vertis isn't quite sure what's going on, I explain that the game I'm playing with DeMarcus, is a race play game - any time I use the word faggot, he substitutes another word when he delivers it back, cock in throat. Sometimes it's not the same word. And he keeps giving Vertis the kind of amazing deepthroat head that he's capable of, and I show Vertis how to hold him all the way down until he gags, whether he wants to or not. And then I tell DeMarcus to tell Mister Vertis is... and he says, "I'm your cocksucking faggot, Sir." SUCH a good boy for me.
The moment here... when you get the boy to fix it, because you're old and it's tech.
and then he throats my cock again and again... while I fuck him hard in the throat. Then we talk about how both of us experienced in elementary and middle school, games where we would choke other kids unconscious, pressing against the wall with the heels of the hands pinching the carotids. It's a solid option, although I find I have more control with my thumbs. And so I do that to him. And then I gag him instead by blocking his airway with my fingers, compressing his epiglottis... which shuts off the most devoted throat goat. I promise. EVERY time.
I want you to keep swallowing... part of that is it tells your throat that you're doing something about this blockage. I explain the benefit of struggle.
And... I've got a dog bowl for exactly this kind of thing, boy. DOG BOWL.
I should have asked to feel his tooth. I love feeling inside a guy's mouth - it's so intimate, so weird, so "I can control whether you breathe"
I just now realize, typing this out... is that I probably missed a cue when he asked if he was hearing a whip crack in the distance... I think that was an opportunity to engage. So, sorry, guy - I'll do my best to hear you better next time. You know I always have the belt.
I give his ass some aggressive attention. It really needs it.
I enjoy his delicious and muscular butthole with my mouth. Then I begin to stretch him for entry.
So... at the end, I clearly bump a button. I am pretty much a clumsy oaf who should not handle delicate machinery. I have broken things all over my house, because I am clumsy and have grip strength issues. I get it from my mom. You know the Melamine (TM) ubreakable plastic dishes... they can't be heavy, and they can't be breakable, BUT... she's gone through three sets of it. Like, "Crap, broke another plate" gone through. I bow to her greatness. But still, I am an oaf who does delicate work. For certain trained things, my hand muscular coordination is quite good; I can draw, I can embroider with silk on silk. But I also drop my pencil and stab myself with the damned needles. Anyway. Either I clumsily bumped the button... whether I turned it back on or not, may be an edit.
I still think dick burps are the sexiest things. I should have stood him upright for the burping.
Then, my watch buzzes. It's time to get off and then get home.
The music keeps singing "Somebody loves you... " and I tell him that I don't love him, but I'm not letting go. I mean, if his anything. I'm not letting him breathe - and I'm playing with his hypercapnia. I'm doing the same set of contractions and compressions I was talking about in the last post... flex your groin, your belly, your chest, your neck, your face... in order... and it pulls up. Picture the power like a ball rolling up from your hips to your throat. A glowing lantern ascending a rainbow stained glass window.
I think I'll try the gloves more often - I have carried them for a while in my stuff, because they're both tiny and light, and my kit is heavy and I try to avoid bloat - but I hadn't used them. It totally fixes any "your finger feels rough" feeling for most guys. I like the black. He works on my cock until I cum... and then take a break and kind of let the orgasm simmer and talk for a few seconds... then more cumming... then more cumming. It is amazingly awesome.
DeMarcus checks in on me a couple of times as I pack up; he offers help, but I really don't have a lot of tasks that I could turn over to other hands than mine. I guess I could have him pull the sheets and take them up next time; that's an annoying thing to carry with my backpack full of kit.
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