So after fucking him senseless before lunch, and him
commenting during lunch that he got what he asked for – that his hole was
tender – I was surprised when he hesitated to get out of my car when I brought
him home.
He was talking about nonsense like it was important. Like I
cared. Finally, I asked him, “Are you looking for me to come inside?” His
response, as he sulked out of the car, “I guess that’s up to you.”
I rolled my eyes – it was some of the same mindgame nonsense
that happened when we dated. IMHO, he’s an insanely hot guy, and actually
smarter than his academic record would dictate. I chalk it up to his general
arrogance – which with his cock is reasonably well deserved.
With a hard on, I followed him into the house, and pushed
him down to his knees. I got some great shots of him sucking my cock, but out
of deference to how easily identifiable he is in the shots I’m not posting
them. The same dirty talk happened again. Calling him a useless faggot
cocksucker really felt good in the moment. (Ironically, as I drove back to
civilization, I felt pangs of guilt for it, since I don’t actually feel that
way about him. See? I have feelings! I’m a real boy!)
Having him bent over the stool wasn’t part of my plan this
time. I stood him up and had him lean against his kitchen bar. With more
finesse than I bothered with for the last fuck, I entered his hole. I wanted
him to feel every inch. He moaned like a
whore in heat and pushed back against me. I could tell his hole was
legitimately tender by the way he physically winced, and once again, I started
getting off on causing discomfort. I wanted him to know that I was there after
I left.
We moved around the living room, him taking deep hits of
poppers everytime we moved positions. It was all I could do to keep up with him
this time. His popper fueled hunger for my cock was only eclipsed by his
pleading for my cum.
“Please sir, please fill my faggot hole with your cum.”
“I need you to cum in me.”
“Yeah, use that cum hole. Breed me.”
Being the mindfucker I am in my own right, I decided that he
wasn’t getting my load. I was in no danger of this being the last fuck of my
day, had gotten off just an hour and a half earlier, and had pretty rocking sex
that I still need to write up 36 hours earlier. Translation: he needed my cum
far more than I needed to let it go.
“Guess what faggot, you’ve gotten a load already. No more.”
“What?!”
“If you want to cum, you better do it. I’m not giving you
more cum.”
“Please SIR!”
“No faggot. You heard me.”
“But….”
“Don’t fucking whine. It’s unattractive.”
“But…..”
“Cum or not, your call.”
Secretly, I wanted him to cum. His cumshots are a huge turn
on, and I really did want the satisfaction of finishing him off. With him on
his back, I spread his legs like a wishbone on the couch and began railing him
with all I had. Pretty soon, unintelligible mutterings were spilling out of his
mouth, and we were both sprayed down with his cum.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as I continued to
pound his ass. Knowing that he was super sensitive and that this actually
killed the joy of him having cum was a little bit of a greedy move on my part –
but that’s what happens when you fuck an ex.
We took a fairly simple but intimate shower. I left his
place without much fanfare.
About an hour later, I shot him a photograph of him sucking
my cock…..and paid him a compliment:
Ask me anything! Q&A.
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