I’m bone tired, and so is he. We’ve spent the past 14 hours racing in opposite directions, but it’s still been a remarkably similar day for both of us. Each has lost count of panicky phone calls from colleagues and superiors, a dozen mini-crises carefully averted. And now we’re supposed to have sex, because we’ve said this thing to each other – we’ll have sex every night.
My younger self wouldn’t have been capable of understanding my hesitation, wouldn’t have believed that getting naked and freaky with a hot man could ever feel like a chore.
I take a breath and survey our home: his briefcase sitting on a dining room chair; papers spread across the table; dinner and breakfast dishes in the sink. He sees this, knows that I’m inventorying chores to be done, as well as his unwitting additions to that list. And now I’m even more tired. I’m so lost in annoyance I don’t sense him move, but suddenly he’s in my ear.
“Go. Take a long, hot shower. Now.”
No excuses for his clutter. No anxious promises to “take care of it later.” Nothing for me to lash out against. It’s the exact right thing. I sigh, and after a moment, collapse back into him. He leans down, kisses my neck. “Go.”
And then I’m standing in our two-person walk-in shower watching the water flow over wall and floor tiles, breathing in steam and the comforting scent of sandalwood. The previous week I’d come home to find a fresh package of my favorite artisan soap left quietly on my nightstand. The warmth and fragrance help, but my mind is still racing with the voices and the details of the day. Maybe if I reschedule this, rewrite that…
In my tired exasperation, I’d turned both opposing shower heads on full blast, an act of rebellious extravagance. I stand with my eyes closed, head down, less and less aware of the water as I work out the tangles of life, scheduling, sorting. So I don’t hear him enter, and for the second time in 20 minutes, he’s suddenly in my ear.
“It’s time to stop working.”
I open my eyes and look at our bare feet. Mine are smaller, tan, and dusted with the black hair that covers my shins and calves; his are large and pale, like paddles, and they settle to either side of mine as he eases up behind and wraps his arms around me. His hands clasp just below my belly, pinky fingertips curled into my pubes. Hot water sheets over the two of us, and I watch undulating rivulets of wet hair dance before my eyes, deep caramel on his forearms, coarse black on my quads. I exhale heavily and agree to finally let go of the day, resting my arms on his.
I lay my head back against him to feel the water on my face, and his hands rise up to my chest. I guide his fingers to my nipples and he begins to trace lazy circles in the wet hair around them. One hand goes to the thicker patch of fur between my pecs, fingers teasing out curls that are surprisingly long when wet, and in that particular spot, flecked with silver. And this is when I feel his cock respond. His hands begin moving across my torso with a bit more purpose. He pinches both nipples and tells me to hand him the soap. That’s when my own cock begins to rise.
He starts with my chest. Soon my black pelt is thick with sandalwood lather. He makes passes under my arms, then I feel strong hands on my back soaping and massaging. He takes his time, working down from knotted shoulders, slowly pressing knuckles into tense lats.
Finally, he reaches back around, refreshes the lather on my chest and this time, he uses the slippery suds to tease my nipples. I can’t help it. I arch my back and press my ass up against his cock. It’s firm, heavy, pointing the right direction – but not rock hard. My soapy crack traps it and I squeeze my cheeks. His left arm reaches across my chest and grips me tighter as he presses into me. Though soapy, the fur in my crack provides just enough purchase to hold his foreskin steady, and with each lazy press backward, I can feel his head just poke through the gathers of skin bunched around the top of his cock.
His right arm drops to soap up my crotch, first lathering my bush and then reaching down to soap my heavy balls and the coarser hair on my taint. His arms are long, and with his fingertips he can just tease the base of my hole. I squeeze my cheeks harder and finally feel his foreskin retract fully as his rosy glans blooms outward. With firm strokes he lathers my cock and I grumble a low moan as he drops the soap to better fist my hard-on in time to his own, more urgent humping.
“Better?” he sighs huskily in my ear. I smile. I turn my head, then my torso, twisting within his grasp. His tongue finds mine and soapy pelts meld. I love the sensation: slippery hairy bodies pressed together, wet hands gripping glutes as we grind our hard cocks together against lathered fur. Face-to-face, his fingers reach between my cheeks and, after playing with the hair surrounding, dip into my hole. Not deep enough for soap to burn, just enough to play with sphincter lips. My face is buried in the crook of his neck, my wet beard against his hairy chest. I groan slightly as he continues to tease.
The suds are disappearing with the cooling water and our increasing focus. I drop to my knees and watch as water ripples through the thick hair on his abs, around and over his glorious package, and streams heavily down a wet tendril of hair from the base of his nut sac. The sandalwood covers his scent because his smell is so similar, but not his taste. I tongue the base of his dick. Like the rest of him, his nuts are hairy, and I love to tongue the hair that grows along the margin where sac joins cock. On him, the hair on his nuts continues up his shaft about a half an inch. Blonder and finer, it’s this sandy hair that I suckle. He says that the sensitivity of his foreskin starts higher, but his reaction tells a different story. Tip of tongue traces from side to side, each time traveling a little further beyond that below the border, circling each gravid testicle, exploring the beloved, deeply furry crevice between ball and leg, and its twin, while water rinses the last of the soap from our bodies.
When I’m sure I’m going to taste him more than the soap, I grab his hard dick and place it between my lips. There is no angle at which its entirety fits within my mouth, but I’m particularly disadvantaged on my knees and can only get half way down the shaft. It’s enough however to let my tongue play with his foreskin. In contrast to my mushroom head atop an even cylinder, his cock thickens below its bullet-shaped helmet, then flares gradually down its length to the base. Using both hands, I bunch his foreskin above the bulge and lick the gathered folds. Gently, with tongue in slit, I tug. Salty folds surround my tongue as it works to gather salty precum from his slit. I try to milk more of it into my mouth by running thumb up his saliva slick piss tube, my lips puckered around the gathered ring of deep rosy foreskin. I’ve gotten it all for now. Using just my lips, I allow his foreskin to slowly redistribute itself along length of his shaft, slowly releasing each gathered fold with a long languid trace of my tongue. With one hand, I clutch his furry nuts, the other reaches around to play with his ass. As I struggle to get more of his cock into my mouth, he has to hunch over; he’s too hard to accommodate the downward angle of my throat.
I begin to suck, using hand and lips to slide foreskin back and forth as well as in and out. He groans, hunches further and my nose and forehead are nuzzled in a mass of wet pubes and belly fur. He has to squat slightly, and I can tell he’s fighting the urge to thrust, trying to take it slow. I open my eyes and take in a water-blurred landscape of man-fur in a dozen shades of brown and dark blond, textures fine and coarse; each unique combination a patch of beloved real estate. From the finer lighter hair covering his obliques, to the coarser swathe of brown coating muscular ripples above and below his navel, I savor not only the look and feel, but my mastery of his intimate topography. It’s a vista only I get to enjoy.
He pulls out and straightens from his partial crouch, giving me access to pendulous nuts which I lick hungrily. I love running my tongue around each in lazy circles, widening each lap to poke my tongue into the dark, furry recesses to either side and down his hairy quads. With gentle suction and long practice, I pull both nuts into my mouth. I’m stretched to capacity, but still massage them with my tongue as I press my face into the base of his hard dick. He moans as his dick points higher to the ceiling; his hands wrap around the back of my skull and he grinds himself against my face.
My eyes wander up the furred expanse of his torso, and, from my view below, I notice a thick bead of precum sitting at the tip of his cock. His shaft is protruding beyond the reach of the shower spray, and before it can be rinsed away, I release his balls and lick that drop of salty, sweet honey from the slit. He judders and pulls me up by my armpits. Standing, we again lock tongues. Behind me, his hands grope and massage my cheeks, spreading them to tease my hole.
He turns me around and drops to his knees, spreading my cheeks and taking a moment to enjoy his favorite view. His thumbs spread the wet hair in my crack in patterns that radiate away from my trembling sphincter. He bites one cheek, then the other, and then tastes my hole. I can tell he means to go slow, but we’re both too hungry. I push back onto his scruffy face and he darts his tongue into me. We shift, adjusting our angles so I can open further, he can probe deeper. He presses his face harder into my ass as he tongue-fucks me and I wimper. He bends me over further, lapping down my hairy taint to tease my nuts before returning to my hole. He stops to enjoy the view – I love the feel of his eyes on my most intimate spots – then dives back in again. With my hands on my shins I look between my legs and see his cock bobbing in time with his efforts, and I salivate.
He stands, and in the same movement, guides his cock to my pucker. He stands there, pressing the tip firmly in place, but not forcing entry. Strong hands brace my hips and I watch him giraffe his legs to get his hips to a level he knows will give him the best angle of attack. I’m hungry for his cock, and try to push onto him – but he backs away. He’s in control. He slicks my crack with precum, massaging my cheeks together around his hard shaft, before setting his bullet shaped glans against my hole again.
The feel of his hard cock knocking at my back door is driving me mad. I want to be entered, stretched. I want this magnificent hairy man to take what he wants from me again and again.
He slides it up and down my crack again, pressing hard enough to get his foreskin moving up and down the long hard shaft. I take my hands off my knees and stand to feel more of his hairy front against my back. His arms wrap around my chest and his hands wander pinching nipples, playing with chest hair, groping my balls, fisting my cock. I arch and without warning he thrusts. We both gasp with the entry, and I moan as he continues to push until his entire length is buried in my ass.
He continues pressing forward. My feet shuffle forward as he pushes me against the tile wall, driving me forward with his dick. The stone is cool against my cock and quads, my forehead. His arms tighten around me and I hear him in my ear, “I just can’t get close enough.” He shoves, thrusts. “Deep enough.”
I turn my face to his. “Try harder.”
He kisses me and that moment of perfect quiet intimacy – water streaming, his large muscular body pinning me to the tile wall with his rock hard cock deep in my guts –this moment is the calm before the storm.
His withdrawal is slow, lazy, in keeping with the spell and my taunt. He nibbles my ear and slowly eases his dick out. He’s massaging my sphincter with his rod as he gently pulls past the bulge at it’s neck, past the ring of foreskin bunched at the head, until, once again, the tip is kissing my pucker. He kisses down my ear to my neck, and I shiver. Then, with a bite and grunt, he reenters in a single violent thrust. He continues, fucking me with a violence and hunger he knows he has free reign to enjoy. It took me years to convince him of my need to feel owned, invaded. How I wanted to feel like he would use every inch of himself to explore the dark, recessed parts of myself that needed to be taken, to be exposed.
I have no idea how much noise we’re making. If the water’s still running. But I know he’s close.
My dick has slicked up the tile wall and now each penetration is a massage of both prostrate and penis. He knows this and presses harder, and I feel every furred inch of him against and within me. Briefly, I imagine how hot he must look, all wet naked hairy muscle mounting me like a rabid animal, and I’m over the top. I shoot against the wall and feel my sphincter squeeze with each juddering spasm. I hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he exhales in my ear explosively and feel his dick paint my insides with a flood of warm cum with its familiar, pleasant burn. He stays wrapped around and buried within me as we continue to pulse and shudder, riding out recurring waves of pleasure and release.
Slowly, the world comes back. The water has gone lukewarm and will soon be cold. Still we cling to each other, breathing heavily.
Finally, he heaves a deep sigh and nuzzles my neck. His dick is still hard when he starts to withdraw, and it’s too big to come completely out without him stepping away. I arch back onto it, not ready to be empty yet, and he snuggles back in.
The water is cooling rapidly. I’ll let him turn it off in a second. But for now, I just want to live in this place where the only thing that can reach me is him. This place where the clutter on the table, dishes in the sink, don’t matter.
I’m still bone tired, but my mind is quiet, my body worked. The demands of the world make a small attempt to reinvade, and I smile; because, for tonight, nothing matters as much as my love for this man.
Which is why we have sex every day.
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