People who work from home need to practice a lot of discipline, and I don’t mean any fun kind involving verbal abuse and dirty commands. I mean not fucking off when it’s so easy to fuck off. I especially mean not starting the day out with a little fast online cruising when you’re very boned up. Amazing, how an entire day can get lost from just that. It’s like the alcoholic who thinks he’s just going to have a small one. He knows better but he downs the shot anyway.
I saw this guy’s ad last week. He was only in town for the day, staying at a hotel a good distance from me. Shaved head. Thirty-something. Ex-marine. Three pics displayed a rugged jawline, a cock right after it spewed onto a treasure trail, and a set of pecs I could gladly make my home. More interesting still, he was submissive. He liked my pictures and started chatting, calling me “Sir!” and making it clear that being ordered was the key to his sexual being. This, I could get into.
So we made plans. Sort of. The thing was, I had no way to get there. Then he told me he had a stud lined up to visit early that evening. Great, I thought. I can still get my work done, then shoot a load on this fucker’s face while the other dude drills him. A perfect day. I asked him to ask the stud to pick me up on the way. He said he’d try but I really just needed to get my hot ass over there.
Now, I know online language. This pretty much translated to: you want it, you come and get it. I wanted it but–and this was a pride thing, I think–not so bad that I was going to blow something like fifty bucks on two taxi trips. Besides, that somehow would’ve made me…submissive. No dice. Which meant that I spent the next few hours shooting a lot of e-mails to anyone who looked hot, available, and inclined to party. In between, I stroked my cock and ran downstairs to work out (at different times, though).
Absolutely no luck. The day wore on and I got nothing accomplished except breaking my own edging record. By nightfall, I noticed the marine was still online but no longer answering mail. When he finally did, it was as I’d expected. He’d been busy, he said, just having gotten a fantastic fuck from a daddy stud.
Now I was pissed off. Irrationally and hornily pissed off. For a passive marine stud who really liked what I had to offer, this fucker was playing games, and I had let him play me all day. That last e-mail was a blatant rubbing-it-in, a big-ass “too bad.” So I strategized. Fuck it ‒ I’ll take a damn bus. Hey, I destroyed the work day anyway, right?
This turned out to be easier than I’d counted on. The stop was nearby, the bus was on time, and it naturally glided up the ten-mile distance to drop me a block away from the hotel. As soon as I saw the place come into view, I felt my cock stiffen again in my jeans. I knew his room number. Just hang onto your anger, I told myself. That’s what’ll make this work very, very well.
The old, dependable hotel hard-on was sending jolts of adrenaline through me as I made my way to the door. I knocked twice, hard. I stepped back as I saw peephole action from behind the door. Take all of me in, you bastard. Take in this bulge. He opened the door.
Nothing had been fake. In paisley boxers, he was at least 6’2” and just as muscled as the pics had shown. He had hard, hairy thighs, eraser nipples, a paw on his crotch and a dumb look on his rugged face. God bless public transit.
I didn’t say anything except, “Hey.” Then I moved past him into the room and became someone else, as planned. I told him to shut the door and come to me. He did, breathing hard, shorts expanding. I told him to drop to his fucking knees. He sank down in a heartbeat, and I grabbed the back of his shaved head and ground it into my crotch. I felt his mouth trying to cup my meat through the worn denim and I noticed his hands go to his own cock.
“Get your fucking hands off your dick,” I barked, “and lie down on your stomach. On the fucking floor.” He did. I think I was already making him very happy. I stripped completely, sensing and loving his suspense, taking my time, dropping my stuff on the carpet next to him. Naked with my dick sticking up, I played it by ear and enjoyed every second. He moved to turn his head but I slapped my foot on the back of his neck. “Keep your scumbag face down, bitch,” I commanded. I didn’t even sound like I was acting. Fuck, I was actually getting into this.
Inspired, I leaned over, pulled his shorts off, then snaked my big toe up and down his hard hairy ass, finally running it through his crack. His cheeks were swaying as he tried to give his cock space. I called him a pussy. I called him a fucking queer. He began moaning softly, the muscles in his back twitching. His stud arms splayed out, then he hoisted himself up just a little. To make his ass more there for me. I took full advantage, my now dripping cock in my fist. It took a minute or so but I managed to dig my big toe right into his asshole.
“You like that, baby? I think you do,” I grunted. “Piece of shit. You need your pussy ass plugged. You’re gonna earn it, though, cunt.” My toe probed his hole a little more. Then I ordered him to turn over. And what I saw was this massive marine fucker, eyes wide in anticipation, chest heaving, legs spread.
“Please fuck me, sir,” he whimpered. No shit ‒ he really whimpered. “Please fill my pussy boy ass with your man cock, sir.” His hands went by reflex to play with his short, very thick cock. By now, I was too into my role to let this go.
“You fucking scumbag. Didn’t I tell you to keep your fucking hands off your dick?” What happened then was almost beautiful, if you can think that way about a truly nasty scene. I squatted down next to him and grabbed his boxers. I told him to sit up. He did it, his eyes on my hard cock, his lips parted in hunger. I stared at him until his eyes went to mine, then reached out to pinch a nipple. Hard. He closed his eyes.
“Stick your arms out behind you, pussy.” And I stretched his boxers over his wrists, twisting them till his hands were bound just enough. “That’s better,” I said, rubbing the back of his head and looking into his eyes, an actual sneer on my face. It was getting so easy, so natural, because he was responding naturally to my aggression, feeding it.
He shifted his head to avoid it but I held fast and kissed him hard, jutting my tongue in his mouth and sucking on his own. At the same time, I jammed my index finger into his asshole. This was going to be really good.
Jack's new book, M4M: For an Hour, or Forever - The Gay Man's Guide to Finding Love Online is out and it looks great! Check out excerpts and more at [extern url='http://www.amazon.com/M4M-Forever-Guide-Finding-Online/dp/1416940723/sr=8-1/qid=1172579812/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1/002-1055302-1892010?ie=UTF8&s=books' target='_blank' text='M4M']."
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