Monthly Archives: October 2015

Her secret place (flash fiction)

30 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by in anus, blog post (written), erotica, masturbation, nude man, nude woman, penis, pussy, vagina

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For the first time since her parents’ death, Hannah felt safe and secure. Curled up in a near-fetal position in her secret place in the closet of the basement den, the eighteen-year-old listened to the faint sounds of the house—the clicks and rattles, the occasional thump of a pipe. She relaxed, at one with the near-silence. Hannah fell asleep.

The sound of footsteps woke her.

Instinctively, in a reflex from her childhood, she gripped the closet door from the inside and peered through the louvers. She was directly across from the door, and could see out, while no one could see in.

The door opened, her heart froze, and Angus stepped into the room.

Fear gripped her. Did he know about my secret place? she thought. Has he come for me? Is something wrong?

No, in a moment it was clear he didn’t know anyone else was in the room. Angus opened a drawer in a side table and pulled out a small bottle and a box of tissues.

Standing in front of the couch, he stretched like a cat, his arms thrown over his head, and started to undress. He kicked off his Docksiders, pulled his Henley tee over his muscular shoulders, and then pushed down his jeans. He turned, facing away, and Hannah saw that he wasn’t wearing undershorts. His muscular buttocks flexed as he kicked off the pants and leaned over.

The sight of Angus’ broad shoulders, sculpted back muscles and creamy ass cheeks sent a shiver down her spine. Although she had often admired his masculine form at the country club pool and at the beach, she had never seen him nude before.

Angus turned. He had picked up the bottle of lube and was pouring some into his hand.

Hannah’s gaze swept down his body. Angus’ pulsing cock stood at full attention, straining toward the ceiling, as he slowly applied a coating of the slick lube. She marveled at how his dick, easily six inches long and thick, stood straight against his belly, brushing the fine hairs that radiated up from his lush pubic bush. His hand moved slowly over his cock.

Then Hannah saw something she’d never seen before. As Angus moved his hand up his shaft, his dick head disappeared under a layer of veined skin. When his hand moved down, his throbbing cock head reappeared.

That, she thought to herself, must be his foreskin. And Jewish men are circumcised. And “Angus” isn’t a Jewish name.

For the first time since she heard the disturbing news about her legal relationship to Angus, the truth sunk in. The lawyer was right. Angus couldn’t be her brother. Although her experience with cocks was limited, Hannah was sure Angus had an uncut, Gentile penis. None of the other dicks she had seen and played with had a layer of skin that slid up over the head.

Angus faced the closet door, his legs apart, as he stroked himself to a full erection. His boner curved up against his flat midriff, the pink, oval crown now unhooded, the pale shaft long and slightly bent to one side. His left hand cupped his balls, and he gently pulled the egg-shaped glands out between his muscular thighs as he pumped his rigid member. His other hand worked the shaft and crown of his throbbing penis. At the top of the stroke, he swirled the palm of his hand over his cock head, then slid down the shaft, his hips bucking.

Hannah heard his breath deepen and speed up. At the same time, the tempo of his stroking increased, while his other hand tugged and pulled his scrotum. Angus spread his legs farther apart as he continued to work his throbbing dick. His face reddened and, in a sudden move, he fell back on the couch. He threw his legs even farther apart, giving Hannah an unimpaired view of his steadily swelling cock and the deep red crown of his dick head. Angus was beating off furiously, his knees in the air, feet thrashing, his brown rosebud of an asshole visible when he swirled his nutsack up around the base of his dick.

His balls had drawn tight against his body. No longer able to stretch his scrotum, his hand slipped behind his balls, where he probed his asshole with his forefinger, his legs waving wildly in the air. A stream of precum seeped out of his gaping pisshole. He slathered it over his straining cock as his hips bucked, lifting his ass off the couch.

It couldn’t last much longer. His orgasm couldn’t be far off. Angus’ powerful body was ready to explode off the couch as he furiously beat his meat and fucked himself in the ass with his forefinger.

His head thrashed from side to side as his chest heaved with the exertion. Hitting a new plateau, Angus leapt to his feet, faced the closet door, threw his head back and screamed. Thick ribbons of semen sprayed out of his dick head, spurting like buckshot across the room and splattering the louvers of the closet door. Hannah’s head reflexively jerked back. A glob of hot semen dribbled down a slat and dangled, less than two inches from her eyes. Without thinking, she scooped the warm jism with her finger and put it to her lips.

Salty. Warm. Pungent.

More jets of jism, not as intense as his initial spurts, splatted on the parquet floor. Angus staggered back on the couch, his hand milking the final drops of cum from his still-hard dick. His breathing slowed as both hands cupped and fondled his cock and balls, now returning to their natural color and size. He slathered his semen over his shaft and balls in a slow, circular motion.

As he relaxed, his fat cock head retreated inside his foreskin, giving the tip of his penis a reptilian look. Hannah could see the shape of his dick head through the thin layer of skin. Sated, Angus leaned back on the couch, his legs still splayed, and fondled his manhood, pulling his foreskin up and down over the head of his dick as he massaged his balls. Pulling a tissue from the box, he dabbed a few final drops of sperm from his now flaccid dick.

A few moments passed and he stood. Grabbing a wad of tissues, he turned toward the closet and began wiping up his mess. Hannah held her breath, her fingers gripping the inside of the door, as he wiped splooge from the slats of the louvers.

He turned and bent to wipe the floor, giving Hannah a full-on view of his pale, round ass cheeks, his plump, wrinkly scrotum and the winking bud of his asshole.

At the same moment that Hannah was swept by amazement—and an element of pride—in this magnificent display of unleashed manhood, a fluttering between her legs turned into a flood of warm wetness. Hannah caught herself before she could audibly gasp. Did I just pee myself?

Hannah watched as he meticulously wiped his ejaculate from the floor, wall and door, then put away the tissue and lube, and dressed. Hannah knew one thing as surely as she knew anything else in her short life. She was very happy that Angus was no longer her “brother.”

Hannah heard Angus’ footsteps on the stairs, pushed the closet door open and clambered down from the closet shelf. His man-musk was strong, the odor of his spunk and sweat filling her nostrils. She reached down inside her jeans and felt between her legs. She was soaked—and it wasn’t pee. She snaked a finger inside her folds and circled her hard nub. Oh, this is too delicious, she thought, sinking into the couch where Angus had just pleasured himself to a spectacular orgasm.

Hannah wriggled her jeans down around her ankles and pushed her thong aside. Her legs splayed like a whore, she attacked her swollen pussy with two fingers, while her other hand went to her right, and more erogenous, breast. Waves of pleasure washed over her as her fingers pinched and rolled her wet pussy lips. She moved up to her clit, and cried out. Her neurons jolted and the tingling moved up her abdomen, over her breasts, to her throat and out the top of her head. Her arousal was so powerful and unexpected that it bordered on painful.

Moving her fingers to her hungry, wet hole, she plunged them inside. She positioned her wrist so that she could massage her clit with her thumb while she fucked herself, fingers sliding two-knuckles deep inside her pussy. Hannah, now as aroused as she had ever been, sat with her legs spread wide, her other hand torturing her nipple.

With a gasp, she stiffened, threw her head back and came, her hips jerking up and down until she nearly slid off the sofa. Pussy juices ran down her wrist, and she could feel the wetness seeping down her crack and past her asshole, soaking the fabric of the furniture. All her attention was focused on the pulse beating incessantly in her pussy and ass.

Dope-brained from her orgasm, Hannah fell back on the sofa, both hands clasped between her legs, and felt the warmth radiate throughout her body. That was my best orgasm ever, she thought. And she couldn’t get the image out of her minds’ eye of Angus’ cock spewing fat threads of jism.

Then it hit her. Is this den also his secret place?

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Battling Biff in the back seat

25 Sunday Oct 2015

Posted by in blog post (written), erotic humor, erotica, flash fiction, masturbation, outdoor sex, penis

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A Wicked Wednesday post/flash fiction by K.C. Cave.

This week’s prompt: an unexpected meeting that you remember for years. Here’s a fictional encounter, one where a young woman’s voluntary deflowering doesn’t go as planned (does it ever?).

backseatHannah’s panties were bunched down around her ankles as “Biff Baxter” fumbled with his dick. Her first attempt at coitus in Biff’s classic ‘68 GTO was not going as planned.

Thrusting her hips back, she reached between her legs to guide the football star’s straining cock to her pussy. His futile thrusting had been going on for, like, a half-hour. Well, it seemed like a half-hour. Hannah’s frustration was growing.

“Lower, lower…no, goddamn it, wrong hole,” Hannah growled over her shoulder, her head crammed into the armrest as Biff attempted to take her virginity doggy-style in the backseat of the goat.

“I’m pushing, but it won’t go.”

“I thought you knew what you’re doing,” Hannah shot back, disgusted by the puerile efforts by Hilltop High’s star quarterback to make her a woman—both to mark her eighteenth birthday two months before and her imminent graduation.

His real name was Leonard Eels, pretty lame for a varsity hero and universally acclaimed Big Man on Campus.  Thus everyone, including teachers, coaches and Principal Poop, called him “Biff Baxter.”

“It’s your fault. You’re too small. Or tight. Or something.”

Right, Hannah thought. Blame me.

This was not how she had imagined her magic moment of blossoming womanhood would turn out.

Enough!

Hannah pushed him back with her bare ass and flipped over. After pulling her panties back into position, she smoothed her skirt down and settled on the backseat. A glance at Biff, collapsed against the opposite door, revealed his lower lip protruding. The big baby was pouting.

Right. The guilt trip. “Well, I guess I can at least get you off,” Hannah conceded.

His eyes lit up. “A blow job?”

“Better than that. Push down your pants.”

Biff rearranged himself in the middle of the backseat, his jeans and tightie-whities scrunched below his knees. He spread his arms across the back of the seat, eager to be serviced.

Hannah found her purse on the floor of the car and pulled out a small bottle of hand lotion. She slathered the stuff on Biff’s straining, but not very large, dick. He was a circumcised fatty, Hannah decided. Thick, but not long—barely four inches. And, she noted, his pubes could use a trim.

“Slide down.”

Biff obeyed, giving Hannah better purchase to his throbbing cock. Enclosing his member, she swirled her lubed palm over his red dick head. Biff’s hips rose off the seat, his eyes rolled back, and gurgling sounds escaped from his throat. Hannah slid a hand down to his balls and articulated each gland as she jerked him off, slowly and deliberately. She was just about to begin alternating strokes with both hands, when…

Jism sprayed out of Biff—big copious strings of white cum that splashed the upholstered headliner, the back window and…

“My hair! Jesus, don’t you have any self-control? How am I going to go home with your jism in my hair?”

“Me? Me? Whudja expect? And where’d you learn to do that? That felt incredible. That’s the best handjob ever.”

“I was just getting started, you moron. Where’s the Kleenex? Ugh! What a fucking mess. Pull your pants up and take me home.”

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Sprayed (in the kitchen)

23 Friday Oct 2015

Posted by in BDSM, cunnilingus, erotic humor, erotica, fellatio, femdom, masturbation, nude man, nude woman, penis, pussy, sex positions, sex toys, sexual intercourse, small tits, spanking, vagina

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K.C. CAVE - Making Michael Obey - 625x1000

Sprayed! (in the kitchen)

(from Making Michael Obey, WTF erotica by K.C. Cave; on sale, see below)

Junie was in the kitchen, fixing dinner. No carryout tonight. We’re gonna have a quiet evening at home.

Frankly, after all the outrageous sex we had over the last week, I needed a night off. Junie, my hundred-and-ten-pound, sex-crazed girlfriend, had outdone herself, fucking me senseless in just about every room in our apartment—the guest room, on the dining room table, even in the powder room. Everywhere except the bedroom, on our expensive new Euro-foam mattress that arrived last week.

Oh, and the kitchen. No outrageous fucking in the kitchen.

I could hear the banging pots and pans, the opening and closing of the refrigerator door, and whirring of the food processor.

I wondered what she was concocting. Not that it mattered. I’m an okay cook, but Junie was inspired. While I just threw ingredients together and hoped for the best, Junie had an instinct for the right ingredient that would elevate a dish to the next level.

“Michael, I need you.”

Yes, I’m your guy when it comes to taking out the garbage, grating some cheese, or some other mundane kitchen chore that won’t materially affect the meal’s outcome.

Junie stood at the granite counter, looking down into our large teak salad bowl. She looked scrumptious, poured into a tight pair of jeans, her hips cocked. The globes of her ass were exquisitely contoured by the fabric.

The expression on her face, though, was pensive. “It needs something.”

“You rang?”

“Would you grate some Parmesan? In the fridge.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” I said, putting down the wedge of cheese.

“Something’s missing,” she said, tossing the salad with the wooden tongs. “Gotta think.”

Crossing the kitchen to the sink, she turned and leaned back against the ledge. “Michael, do the cheese later. I need your help. Something’s not right with the dressing.”

I looked into the bowl. Romaine lettuce, black and green olives, croutons, artichoke hearts, sliced mushrooms. The lettuce glistened with the sheen of olive oil. I inhaled the tangy odor of vinaigrette. Poking the salad with tongs, I scooped some up. “Tastes good.”

“It’s the dressing. It needs something. It’ll come to me.”

She followed me with her eyes. They had that glint, with just a hint of smile.

“Michael, get one of those little glass dishes for soy sauce, would you please? And pour me some olive oil. Just a dab.”

Sure. That’s what I’m here for. What the cook wants, the cook gets.

I placed the dish next to her.

“Okay, just go over there,” indicating the counter where the salad was.

I leaned back and looked across the kitchen at Junie, her back to the sink about six feet away. We faced each other. She held me with her eyes.

Her left hand crept up to her blouse, over the taut line of her breasts and to the top button below her throat. She started unbuttoning, moving down at a leisurely pace, one button after another. Her eyes never wavered from mine.

The blouse fell open and her hands went to her breasts, encased in a frilly white bra with lace around the tops. I never figured out why she wore the damn things. Her little boobs defied gravity.

Closing her eyes, she slowly ran her hands across the fabric of the bra. My cock started to strain at my jeans. I moved toward her.

“Stay there.”

I moved back.

While lifting and cupping her boobs, Junie massaged her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. Her breathing picked up, deeper, a little faster. Her face was getting flushed. I could see her thighs clenching through the tight denim.

Pulling the lace down, Junie uncovered the tops of her breasts, exposing her erect, dark pink nipples. She raked them with her fingertips.

With a flick, she undid the clasp between the cups. Hefting her bare breasts in her hands, she palmed and pushed them into her chest with a slow circular motion. Her hips started to churn.

She dabbed a finger in the olive oil and coated first one nipple, then the other. After dipping her other fingertips in the oil, she swirled them across both breasts. Dainty. I could see the oil shimmering on her tits as she lovingly massaged herself.

I started to unbuckle my jeans.

“Stop.” Her eyes were still closed as her fingertips brushed her tits and nipples.

Releasing a sigh, Junie wiped her fingertips on a paper towel. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down, revealing a black thong. Dropping her hands to her mound and to the ridiculously narrow strip of fabric nestled against her pussy, she slowly outlined her vulva with her fingers.

On my side of the kitchen, it was pure torture. I wanted to bury my face in her snatch and lick her to an orgasm. And then flip her over and fuck her senseless against the sink, making her scream and squeal.

“Junie …” I think there was desperation in my voice.

“Just watch.” Her eyes remained closed as she continued to outline her labia, swelling out on either side of the narrow fabric of the thong. Spreading her knees for better access, she reached between her legs, cupped her outer labia, and squeezed. Hooking the skinny straps of the thong with her thumbs, she pulled it down.

Her pussy, shaved earlier in the week for a romp on the dining room table, was fully exposed to me. She ran her fingers along rim of her outer lips, stroking them up and down in languid movements. Bending her knees, she moved a hand behind her ass and up between her legs to her cunt. She circled the entrance of her vagina with a finger.

“Michael, take the olive oil.” Her voice sounded hoarse.

I picked up the dish and retreated to my side of the kitchen.

She plunged a finger inside herself, while her other hand vigorously worked her clit. She leaned forward, face flushed, her tits slathered in olive oil and hanging down. I wanted to take them in my mouth and flick my tongue against her hard nipples.

“Drop your jeans.”

I pushed them down. My dick sprang out of my pants, pointing up at the ceiling fan. I slathered olive oil on my cockhead and pumped my engorged shaft with my other hand, smearing the oil down the length of my dick and on my scrotum. I was in an advanced state of excitement, my balls jammed to the base of my throbbing dick. My eyes were glued to Junie’s pussy.

“Slower.” For a woman about three minutes away from a bone-shattering orgasm, she was telegraphing total control. I loosened my grip and stroked my straining cock at a leisurely pace, alternating palm strokes with light fingertip featherings.

The pressure in my balls and dick bordered on pain. My cockhead throbbed. It took all my will not to explode over the kitchen floor.

“Don’t come until I give you permission.”

Junie slid to the floor, her back against the counter, her knees spread, her jeans and thong gathered around her ankles. Her cunt was glorious in its wet, wide and swollen splendor.

Spreading her outer labia with one hand, she worked her clit with the other, making vigorous little circles on her hard nub. As her hand picked up speed, Junie threw her head back, groaning. Her hips started to rock.

“Don’t come yet, Michael. Michael, don’t… Michael… no…”

Her body shuddered as her orgasm broke inside her. Animal noises gurgled out of her throat. I could see the muscles surrounding her vagina contract and expand with each spasm. Her body rocked back and forth as the orgasm ran its course.

I clamped my dick in a death grip to keep from coming. I never wanted to do anything more in my life. But orders are orders.

Junie slowly stood up, a little rocky on her feet. Her juices had gushed down her thighs in a liquid stream. Without her pubic hair, her swollen outer labia looked enormous between her legs. I marveled at the size of her aroused pussy.

The focus came back to her eyes. “I want you to come soon, Michael. Just not yet. Stroke your cock slowly.”

She picked up the salad bowl.

“Michael, can you hear me?”

I looked at her. My mouth wouldn’t work. I was on the edge, teetering at the point of inevitability, the instant when the load of cum straining at the base of my dick would explode out of my cockhead.

“Michael, I want you to spray your jism now. Across the room to me. Do you understand? Nod your head.”

I nodded, stroking faster. My hand was locked vice-like around my throbbing and pulsating shaft. I gripped my balls with my other hand and squeezed.

“I want you to shoot hard, Michael. I want you to launch your load like never before. Across the room, Michael.”

Junie positioned herself about five feet in front of me, holding the salad bowl at her waist. I hadn’t seen her do it, but her jeans were up and her breasts back in her bra.

I pumped my cock furiously, my knees bent, my hips thrusting. I was beating off like a teenager.

“Shoot, Michael, shoot!”

Powerful waves of pleasure erupted in my groin as I exploded, jism flying out of my cock in a thick stream across the kitchen. Junie moved the salad bowl back and forth as my spunk arched through the air. I kept pumping my gushing cock furiously.

“Good boy, Michael, very good boy.” She really sounded pleased.

I sank to my knees, cock in hand, a white thread of jism dangling off the end of my dick. Sweat was dripping off the end of my nose. The waves of pleasure wracking my body ebbed.

Looking up, I could a line of my semen on the kitchen floor, gobs of creamy white. Junie held the salad under my nose.

“Look, Michael.”

Creamy white droplets of cum stood out against the dark green of the Romaine. While most of my load had ended up on the floor, Junie had caught my initial spray.

“Needed salt,” Junie said, putting the salad bowl back on the counter. “Now grate that cheese. I’m hungry.”

***

E-Read Erotica Reviews: This book is a very fun collection of kinky encounters between just two people, but wow, they slam home with intensity and sexual energy.

***

Making Michael Obey is on sale at Amazon: $3.99 $0.99 WTF for a buck! Limited time! A collection of 5 erotic shorts, 12,000 words!

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Reviewed (again): Trans Action, t-girl erotica by K.C. Cave

23 Friday Oct 2015

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K.C. CAVE - Trans Action _ smallWhile Sylvie Storm of E-Read Erotica Reviews earlier this month praised my erotic short Trans Action, giving it four stars, she also made some solid suggestions. I took them to heart, wrote some more and almost doubled its length to 7,000 words. Sylvie posted this update today:

“There’s a famous quote by Dorothy Parker. It goes something like, ‘Two drinks and I’m under the table. Three drinks and I’m under the host.’ Alcohol has the same effect on me. With men. Something about strong drink and a stiff dick.”

“Not for me. Because of you, I’ll never sleep with a man again.”

“Well, good luck with that. I wish you well.”

We kissed for like the thousandth time.

“Where do we go with this? she asked.

“I don’t know…”

Trans Action

Three strong drinks and I’m under the host too…or the hostess. Or both.

Today, the previously reviewed Trans Action was updated, and I wanted to share some thoughts on the expanded ending of the book. We are treated to a longer and more thoughtful ending, with some bonus added sex scenes to liven things up. We get this wonderful sort of melancholy Hollywood romance thing going on between them, with tales of plying the street trade for sex, hookups gone wrong, and our trans-gendered woman connecting with her live in lesbian lover in a sentimental and romantic way.

While yes, our trans-gendered lover is being used for sex in a contractual agreement, these two start to connect in a way that surprised me, and I loved their little excursion out to one of the reservoirs for some sexy quality time together. The fact our female lead writes in a ‘keep the house clean’ part of the contract made me smile, and proves our female lead is really smart about her contracts.

I am struck by the floaty nature of the ending, where the two of them enjoy each other’s company, yet we have no idea of where this is going, even as it ends. It is left afloat, and while we see some of ‘the story after’ we are left to wonder.

We got more toys. Nice. We also had some learning each other in bed, which was very nice. The sex scenes added to the book turned this into a one-time affair to a real romance, and I was impressed by the depth this added to the story.

Overall, this felt like a worthy and more fulfilling addition to the book, and it takes a strong recommend for trans-gendered erotic romance readers and makes it more so. This isn’t a sort of fantasy experience, but a love story more grounded in changes and realism two people are going through in life, with the erotic elements being the base on which the story is built upon. How do two people in transition make love and learn to do the same with each other? An added section exploring that makes this book even more attractive, and it is a brave and wonderful addition to this little gem.

Well done, and very much appreciated.

***

That’s a great review, and Sylvie should get the credit. Funny thing, I didn’t (and never do) set out to write romance. My thing is hardcore, explicit erotica. It’s just that my damn characters keep falling in love with each other (and I fall in love with them).

Two tattoos: An ode to Kiki

18 Sunday Oct 2015

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toiletA few moments had passed since I had sucked my first cock through the glory hole in the wall of the decrepit toilet stall. I had just decided to get up, when there was a light knock on the stall door, followed by one of the club’s volunteers, clean towels draped over a shoulder.

He was a young man I didn’t recognize. After I had secured the deal with my old college buddy at the Department of Transportation to reserve the abandoned rest area for our sweaty summer gay orgy, other members had arranged the logistics of making the evening run smoothly, so I didn’t know who was recruited.

He was drop-dead gorgeous. At first glance, his short blond hair and aquiline features reminded me of Illya Kuryakin, the Russian spy in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. reruns. He was nude, of course, slim and nearly feminine in stature. He squatted in the door of the stall and wiped up the mess from the penis I had just sucked off through the glory hole. His cock was rock hard and swayed back and forth as he mopped the floor.

He stood and turned, and my heart leapt. Not only did he have slim hips and the most gorgeous and proportional ass of any man I had ever seen—milky white and covered with light peach fuzz—he had two tattoos on his lower back, like the “f” holes on a violin. He was a walking tribute to Man Ray, the ‘twenties surrealist photographer, and his famous nude photograph of Kiki de Montparnasse, her nude back to the camera, the violin swirls on her lower back.

kikidemontparnasseI stood and took him by the shoulders. “Don’t leave. Please. May I touch you?”

He backed up, pulling the door closed and latching it. I took the cleaning material from his hand and stood behind him.

“Ever heard of Kiki?” I whispered in his ear.

He wiggled his ass against me, pushing into my cock, still wet with someone else’s splooge, and my cock slid into his crack. “I was just feeling surreal tonight.”

Dropping to my knees, I drew my hand down his back, over the “f” holes and along the curve of his ass cheeks. Shuffling sideways, he spread his legs, and I pushed his cheeks apart, revealing the wink of his asshole. He thrust back his hips as I caressed his gorgeous behind.

I didn’t know what to do, and he sensed it. “Kiss me!”

I stood, put my arms around his shoulders and met his face. As our lips touched, my hands moved down his chest, over his belly and to his erect penis. He pushed his tongue into my mouth as I stroked his cock and fondled his nutsac, and he turned inside my arms. We embraced.

“I really, really want to fuck you,” I said as we ground our cocks together. “Here?”

He pushed me down on the toilet seat, and slathered lube on my straining dick. Straddling the toilet, he lowered himself on to me. I leaned backed and watched this lovely, lithe youth expertly fuck me. I thought I was the youngest man in the club, but my new lover looked to be, at most, in his mid-twenties—at least five years younger than me.

“How’s this?” he asked as he slowly rose up and down on my cock, his stiff penis  bobbing in my face. I grasped it with both hands and stroked him as he pistoned my cock with his asshole.

“This is good, but I’d love to watch your beautiful ass.” He leaned down, kissed me on the mouth and pulled off. My cock sprang free and thwapped against my stomach.

He turned and sat back. I took him by the waist and lowered his hips on my cock. I leaned forward and kissed his “f” holes. Reaching around, he spread his cheeks and guided me to his rosebud, already stretched and lubed from our fucking. He leaned forward, I thrust with my hips, and I was inside him.

Sweat was trickling down my sides, the hot air was full with sounds of other men screwing and sucking one another, and I realized this was the single most erotic moment of my life. I watched as this incredibly pretty young man, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, slowly worked my penis with his asshole. I watched my dick disappear inside him as he lowered himself toward my lap, his round, perfect ass—really, as perfect an ass as I’ve ever seen—rode up and down my shaft.

He picked up speed and I could sense he was about to come. I sat up, reached around and started jerking his dick. My other hand went to his balls, his scrotum slick with sweat, and massaged his nuts, tight against the base of his dick.  Suddenly, he shot, jism shooting against the stall door, his arms splayed against the inside of the enclosure as his orgasm wracked him. He settled on my cock as I played with his penis, cum dribbling over my fingers, down his shaft and over his balls.

We sat like that for a few moments as our breathing slowed. I watched as my rigid dick reemerged from his asshole. My short-term lover wiped himself with a towel and left the stall. The last I saw of him was his violin-shaped ass.

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