High-top
Like me he sat at a high-top in the hotel pub; unlike me he was wearing worn but not unpresentable jeans where I was wearing shorts with short inseams. The bulge at his crotch was prominent and the jeans’ wear attested to the effort required to keep an ample package in check.
My husband Kent was upstairs in our room ailing; he’d caught a nasty cold before we left London last week. He’d thought he’d “power through it” but it took him down hard. He’d sent me out to get a bite after room service and fussing over him for days; he’d had enough of me. I on the other hand was so horny for not having him that my entire body radiated the pain from my blue balls.
Jeans, boots, and henley guy at the other table and I were effectively facing each other; both on stools manspreading in perfect opposition … and visibility under our respective high-top tables. I had a jockstrap that was no doubt easily visible up the loose leg of my almost-too-short shorts; his bulge was easily visible to me … and prominent as I continued to notice hungrily. It added to the effect that his henley was stretched across well-muscled broad shoulders, arms, and pecs and downy auburn fur that matched the short waves on his head spilled out of his open buttons and his exposed corded forearms.
FUCK I’m horny. Kent had been fighting the bug at first but then as he took the nose-dive a few days ago it had taken the fuck out of him. I’d blown him twice before his ailing got worse, and he’d offered to take care of me but the coughing and sneezing that was a kinky turn-on when I was blowing him was just a distraction when we tried him getting me off. Then he descended into just plain feeling too lousy to do anything; so even though the audible impediments to me enjoying him getting me off weren’t as bad then I didn’t have the heart to make him do it. The fact that he offered and didn’t argue when I declined and cited that reason confirmed his sorry state.
I adjusted myself as my dick reacted to my thoughts of jeans guy and emphasized just how horny I was. WHOA! Jeans guy met my gaze and adjusted himself too. Be cool Sherbourne! I admonished myself. But my dick and balls had other ideas and let me know it in no uncertain terms. Then a random thought flashed through my head; He’s in the bar in the hotel which is named the Sherbourne; he’s already IN me!
I giggled despite trying to stifle it; it was enough to be noticed. And he did notice; he smiled back as I stifled my inane humor. And HOLY SHIT he gave himself another adjustment; a slow man-handling that clearly showed the dimensions of a fine Gaelic piece of man-meat struggling with the confinement of the worn denim.
I raised my eyebrows and looked up at his eyes. Green (of course they were!), bright, and holding mine steady. He raised his eyebrows briefly in return and gave me a slight smirk and a slight lick along the edge of his lips. And he hadn’t taken his hand away from his crotch and was ever so slowly rubbing his length; which was longer and continuing to crowd his denim-confined crotch all the more. Fuck me!
I held-up my phone momentarily while still holding his gaze. The waiter was off his left shoulder at the bar and jeans guy tapped his shoulder and said something that was met with a nod before the waiter reached out and took jeans guy’s phone. He walked right to me, held out the phone, and said, “The gentleman there would be ever so grateful if you’d be putting your number in his phone.” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as his words; bored like this happened every day in this fancy hotel’s fancy bar.
As I took the phone I reached into my pocket where I’d stuffed some Euros just in case. I got a five, put the rest back, put my number in jeans guy’s contacts remembering to put “001” before it, put my name as “Sendme Adickpic”, and handed it back to the waiter with the five Euros. The waiter looked at the screen and was suddenly in the game with a laugh. “You’ll be showing it to me when you get it!” he demanded.
“If he doesn’t mind,” I told him nodding to jeans guy. Who by the way was still rubbing his very appealing trouser snake.
When the waiter retuned the phone he leaned in and said something sotto voce. Jeans guy looked surprised and then looked at the phone and then burst out in his own hearty laugh. He clearly told the waiter he would and both of them looked to me as he gave me a thumbs-up and a grin. The waiter walked away. Jeans guy was occupied with his phone …
… for what seemed like long enough that he’d gotten distracted with messages, posts, news or something. So long that I went back to eating my fish. I even stopped watching him; he hadn’t looked up from his phone for minutes.
When the waiter returned and was taking my plate my phone vibrated. He looked at me. I looked at jeans guy; who was grinning at me when I looked that way again. A slight nod as if to say, “Well look at it.” The waiter had stopped doing anything other than waiting for me to do just that.
I picked my phone up, it woke-up, and I thumbed open the message from a lot of numbers. There was text; and there was a pic below it that made my breath catch and my hole twitch. FUCK that would feel GOOD!“Hoping this entices enough to keep you interested Handsome.”
Handsome? Me? Jeans guy was a good fifteen years my junior, built, and handsome as hell. And the dick? Hard. Thick and very veiny. Uncut so we we’re even there. And drops at the tip of his over-hang. Oh and huge fiery-furred balls and a wide-flanged knob that I could already feel splitting me open. For real; fuck me!
I turned the phone and held it with the pic maximized for the waiter to see. “Mmmmmm,” he growled. “Lucky you Mister Sherbourne.” He nodded toward jeans guy, gave a reverent nod, took my plate, and left.
Another text. “Interested?”
I typed back, “Interested; but have to get my husband’s permission” and sent it. I watched until he got it and read it and looked back at me. I held up my hand with my wedding ring.
He went back to his phone and I got another text. “Can I shag you while he watches?”
I laughed and sent a message to Kent with the dick pic. “This is on offer; mind if I plunge the plumbing? Oh and the kinky Irish bastard asked if you’d be watching.”
Kent was quick to respond. “Nice one. No (meaning do it!) I not only don’t mind I’m so horny but so fuckin’ poorly that maybe this will make me feel a little better. Fuck yes! (bring him up but give me ten minutes’ warning)” It isn’t like my husband to text without as meticulous syntax, punctuation, and grammar as his professional writing; poor guy was really ailing.
I sent my husband a kiss, told him “25 minutes or so.” and set to responding to jeans guy. “We’re a go. Give me about 20 minutes after I leave the bar (for the necessaries) and then bring it on. My husband has been sick with a bad cold and is eager to spectate.” I signed off with our suite number.
Jeans guy texted back quickly grinning as he typed it. “I should take a shower first myself. The timing is perfect. C u there.”
I normally get annoyed by text abbreviations but my horniness was so acute I didn’t give it more than one thought. “Don’t shower on my account,” I wrote back as I took the check from the waiter.
Jeans guy’s eyes flew up again when he read my message. I typed a follow-up: “Nothing extreme; I just prefer a man who has excellent hygiene but who is active and smells like an active man should smell.”
Jeans guy was continuously rubbing his bulging hard-on through the denim when I looked away from the check I’d signed. I grinned, winked as I got off the chair, and I tapped my AppleWatch holding my arm in his direction as I walked out.
On the way up he sent back. “Now if only I can keep from spaffing from the anticipation!” Spaffing? I wondered.
The Deed Is Done
Nearly twenty minutes later I was drying my hair when the bell to our hotel suite went off; early but I wasn’t going to take issue with it. I wrapped the towel low around my waist to where my bush was showing and walked out through the bedroom and into the living area toward the door. Kent was sprawled near end of the sofa I was passing in a fluffy hotel robe wide open showing his huge soft dick hanging over his big hairy balls; and he grabbed the towel and pulled it off me.
“Hey!” I protested.
Kent tossed the towel away and pointed to his own exposed dick which was uncharacteristically lacking in fury. “One for all,” he said and we both laughed.
The bell rang again, and Kent called, “He’s coming.” I shot him a grin, and he called, “Actually he’s not cumming yet but he’s heading to the door.” We both laughed again.
Jeans guy was grinning when I looked through the peep-hole and still when I opened the door. But his eyes opened wide when he first saw my racing stripe down my torso and his grin sagged. “Yeah,” I said and added, “I can put on a shirt if you don’t want to see it. I hope this doesn’t distract your dick too much!”
Jeans guy’s eyes shot up to meet mine. “Oh no son; no not at all!” Then he looked down farther and whistled. “Now there’s a stallion’s slat if ever there was one! Are ye sure ye’ll be okay being the one to be receiving?”
“Oh he’s sure,” Kent reassured our guest from the sofa. “Why don’t you get inside so Al can shut the door. We don’t want to be attracting the wrong element now do we with my husband’s cock waving in anyone who passes in the hall!”
Jeans guy’s eyes bulged when he looked toward Kent. “Jesus, Joseph, and Mary! I’m the short slat here that’ll be for sure!”
Ah, a slat is a dick? I reasoned. “And I’m Michael Donovan; Mick to my friends.” He put out his big hand and I met it for a manly shake.
Up close his scent was strong; stronger than his decently-groomed and not-dirty boots and jeans had suggested. Maybe it was just strong in the same air as my squeaky-clean faint trace of soap. Whatever; my dick and balls wanted to inhale more of him.
“The door fellas?” Kent dead-panned.
Jeans guy’s eyes shot up and he pulled his tight-muscled body away and inside. “Why yes: I’ll be joining you two if you won’t be minding,” he said as if he was waiting for confirmation.
His jeans bulged even more than when he’d been stroking his hard-in in the bar. I reached forward without waiting for an invitation and unbuttoned his jeans; he wasn’t wearing a belt. This close I could tell that he’d brushed his teeth and apparently had gargled. I appreciated the gesture. I knew that he had not in fact showered; that stronger scent of a man than I’d expected with very faint undertones of his soap was driving me as much as my horny neediness. Something about a man just being a man and ready to fuck whenever he could. My dick twitched, my balls buzzed, and I couldn’t get to his dick fast enough. It had been a long few days with Kent ailing and Kent Jr. out of commission.
He caught me inhaling him. “You like what smell don’t you son?” He gave my hard dick a tweak with a strong hand. That I-almost-came feeling that really wasn’t but was strong enough to feel like it flashed through me
In answer I wrestled his jeans fly open and got his painfully thick veiny hard-on out, dropped to my knees and shoved my nose into his thick bush. I inhaled his musk deeply; poppers wouldn’t have made my hole any more ready to take all of him hard and deep. I’d also caught the strong male scent of his knob under his thick long foreskin; any hint of his soap was long gone there. I peeled back his skin to expose that glistening prize and inhaled deep again and moaned. Then I inhaled loudly again as I licked one of his big hairy balls and then the other; his salty earthy taste made my mind short-circuit and for a minute I was sucking in my husband’s cock which I’d been craving for the past few days.
I finally looked up and the reality flooded back. The bar. The stranger with the jeans-constrained package. “I sure as fuck do!” I finally answered his challenging question with conviction and threw a glance toward Kent and saw his eyes’ hunger despite his body’s weakness.
I went in again and this time swallowed him whole; not huge by any comparison to my husband who is; but enough to be a minor challenge despite Kent’s standard.
“Fecking hell man!” he cried and clamped his hands on my bare shoulders as my tongue raked over his prominent veins and my nose once again inhaled his heady bush musk as my nose was jammed into them.
“Al hon why don’t you let Mick get more comfortable?” Kent called from the couch.
He was right of course; jeans guy’s jeans were now down around his thighs and making him unsteady. His grip on my head was hot but would have been hotter if he wasn’t just keeping himself balanced and steady.
I pulled back earning a moan as he sprung free. Getting to my feet and taking his thick rock-hard veiny rod in my hand and looking him in the eye with intent I encouraged him to get out of his jeans and boots. “I’ll steady you so you don’t fall,” I told him and gave his hard member a strong squeeze. He dad as I’d asked him to doand pulled off his socks besides and his shirt exposing wide hairy feet and a beautifully muscled hairy torso sculpted by hard work not a gym. FUCK ME!
When I was done gawking I pulled him into the living room and toward a sofa opposite Kent. Kent offered his own praise: “You did well Al!”
“Ta,” Mick said simply. I didn’t know that was a “thanks” but took comfort that with his dick in my hold he wasn’t meaning “bye.”
I didn’t let go when I got onto the opposite end of the sofa from where I would have faced Kent; my knees on the cushion and my arms on the back angled back so Kent had the best view.
“WOW!” Mick exclaimed. “You states blokes know how to serve up hole.”
“Yeah well we states blokes like more pounding and less talk. Feel free to lube me up with your spit.” Truth was I had lube deep inside; I wasn’t looking to get ripped apart and end-up in the ER. But my opening was his for the eating, spitting, drooling; whatever.
Instead of any of those he went for the whatever and stepped in and wiped his drooling dick-knob in my hairy crack over my pucker. He was wet enough that some of it dripped; I knew he must have his hood retracted and was squeezing it out. He wordlessly rubbed into me and pressed harder and harder. Okay no preliminaries! I thought and pushed back.
My well-experienced hole opened, pulled him in, and when I felt his thick bush against my crack I clenched around him. “Holy mother!” he cried as his rod throbbed in me. “Not even me wife’s slack faighin mheala can take me fat knob in that easily!”
Oh great, I thought. More words I have no idea what they mean. His dick inside me felt like a welcome beginning to the end of my dry spell; but for all I knew he was talking about his mother-in-law and that could really be a buzz-kill! Sounds sorta like it. My balls and dick told me to fuhgettaboutit! And I clenched again.
“Fecking hell!” he exclaimed.
“We’ll go on,” my husband urged. “You can’t break it!”
That apparently was all the encouragement he needed. With a quick pull and a sharp thrust that made me gasp he was off and running.
Or thrusting. Deep. Hard. Quick. He pounded wordlessly. Just groans and grunts.
I worked his pistoning rod with my muscles and savored every vein and the girth and length of him; particularly the wide ring of his knob as it reamed and plunged.
“Fuck yeah. Just fuckin’ go for it!” I urged though he needed no urging.
Kent and Mick weren’t articulating. I did enough for both of them. I was wallowing in every sensation and I was suddenly overcome by an explosion in my balls. “Holy shit I’m … “ and with a long grunt as my body seized-up my release broke through and I was shooting HARD into the sofa.
“Now there’s a good lad!” Mick grunted as he pounded me harder and my climax went on and on and on.
The first time Kent and I fucked was the contrasts of an amazing fuck. The pain of taking his humongous dick the first time was intense; he’s huge and I hadn’t received in a while and never anything of that proportion. But the ecstasy of the way I climaxed and kept on climaxing for minutes and minutes and all hands-free; the first time ever for both a multiple lasting climax and for a hands-free shooting.
Mick’s fucking me over the edge took me by surprise as much as hearing myself yowl like an alley-cat as he kept pounding me and I kept rolling in that ecstatic surf. Somehow in my head which wasn’t clear by any measure I was feeling my husband and it was him pounding out all the pump my balls could dredge.
“I’ll be filling you up now,” Mick grunted a few long but short minutes after I’d pumped-out the second load; still cumming. His thrusts became jabs and his grunts became louder and longer moans. Finally, “There. It. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” and that last syllable came as he shoved and ground into me one last time and I felt the flood inside me as he grunted through what must have been ten or more hard pumps. I felt every ejaculation along his rock-hard hard-on buried inside me.
I let myself slump on the back of the sofa which pulled me painfully off his swollen hard-on. “Fuckkkkkkkkkk,” I moaned breathlessly and slumped sideways until I was sprawled and limply resting on the cushions.
Mick staggered and reeled and plopped down next to me also limply with his right arm closest to me thrown back over his head; his ripe pit was as close to overwhelming as it could be … and I wanted more. “That took it out of me!” he sighed.
“I can see it did. And now it’s running out of my husband’s swollen cunt,” Kent said with more than a bit of reverence mixed into the snark.
“Would you be minding if I take a minute to catch me breath?” Mick wheezed out. He made no effort to sound like he was seeking permission; he just lay there next to me with his skin radiating heat and his pit-stink making my head spin and my balls tingle.
“Take the time you need,” Kent said. And when I looked back he was getting to his feet. “I’m retiring back to my sick-bed now with thanks to the both of you for giving an ailing man some enjoyment,” he said. But he rounded the sofa, bent down, and kissed me. “You are the hottest fucker on the planet and I love you,” he told me and kissed me again before he walked away.
An Unwelcome Turn
I hadn’t done much except for Kegels around that thick gnarled hard-on of his while he railed me but I was fucking beat. I was also full; not like when Kent shot buckets deeper inside me but my chute felt gooey and like it was running out of me.
My nostrils were assaulted and aroused by the strong smell of our mingled sweat and sex stench. My balls had unloaded hard but they were pitching the case for a round two.
I turned my head more toward Mick and admired his thick-muscled form from jaw to calves. “Don’t suppose you’re up for dessert?” I asked.
His head snapped toward me. “Dessert?”
“Yeah you made a mess of my hole; and the way you ate me out earlier I’m figuring if you eat your cum out of me it might charge your batteries again.” My words were independent of my brain’s awareness that I felt exhausted.
His green eyes were wide. “You’re wanting me to be feasting on my own spaff from your freshly-used arse-hole?”
“You make it sound more romantic than I was thinking,” I replied with an eye-roll.
He laughed. I enjoyed the sight of his pecs, lats, delts, and mostly his abs in motion as he chuckled; his smile was pretty eye-melting too. “Will your hubby be getting his rag on if we go another round without him?”
“My husband is a reasonable man; he knows my hole has been needier and wanton since he’s been sick. And beside that he loves when I tell him about it after the fact; then he fucks me harder and better to remind me why I’m married to him.”
“Would that be you laying down a challenge?”
I should have told him that it was just fact. That as good as his medium-sized hard-as-pipe dick felt it would never feel as good as my husband’s humongous hard dick that reached me in ways and places even I didn’t understand. Instead I said, “Eat me and get me worked-up like you did and let’s see about that.”
“I shag men because I don’t be cheatin’ on me little woman; good wife but not so much the vixen she once was. But I’ve never tasted a man after he spaffed or after I spaffed him full of me babies.”
“Is that a ‘no thank you’?” I asked looking directly at his re-lengthening dick. “That big dick is saying different.”
“Me lad’s always up for another go.” Then he laughed. “That hasn’t changed since I was a young buck; it’s the rest of me that can’t keep up.”
I reached over and stroked his sticky dick a few times and then hefted his hairy balls. “I’d say there’s more than one more in the tanks so to speak.” I hefted them a couple more times for emphasis and then went back to work slowly stroking his slimy dick.
With a suddenness that took me by surprise he was off the couch and on his knees with his hands shoving my legs up and back and his head between them. “Fuck yeah bro!” I exclaimed as his breath hit my sore ring.
He sniffed and then he licked along my glute but not in my crack before he went back and made a tentative swipe up my sweaty cummy trench. “Fuuuuuuuuuck!” I moaned already in heat again.
“Oh I’ll be shagging this hole; you can be being certain of that mister!”
“Fuck dude! I panted then he went back in and dug his tongue up inside me. His tongue slurping out my sore hole was a shock in the best way possible. “Tastes a bit like mutton stew,” he said and was going back in again.
I busted-up. He kept sucking my hole. “You must like mutton stew,” I said when I wasn’t laughing like a hyena. “Must be all those sheep you Irish and UK guys fuck!”
He stopped abruptly and reared back and SLAPPED my ass so hard I yelped. “What the … “
“The fuck did you say?” he challenged me with fire in his previously emerald eyes.
“Bud it was a joke. Sorry man; no offense intended.”
He was on his feet now; pecs and abs tensed, neck straining and red, nostrils flared and dick raging. In other words: HOT! “You think it’s a joke to put an Irishman with a filthy Brit in the same sentence?”
“Wha … THAT’s … “
“You feckin’ Yanks. I’ll show you the difference between a proud Irishman and a limp-slatted Brit!” and another SLAP to my other glute. Another yelp from me and a protest was met with him leaning over me and shoving me down and my leg up. He roughly entered me still spewing vitriol about Yanks and Brits over my cries and attempts to get his weight off me enough to throw him off me.
The pain of the assault was intense; his dick was rock-hard, raging, and thick and the angle added friction. That rough surface of veins took even my freshly-fucked slicked hole by surprise and it felt like a steel bottle-brush reaming me. Still each savage slam into me slammed my prostate and had me rock-hard and drooling pre like I hadn’t recently blown a wad that could have drowned a small animal.
My protests were interspersed with moans and I was truly living a rape ecstasy.
“THIS is what an Irish knob feels like!” he said and spat on me while he increased the brutal force of his thrusts. “This is what you feckin’ wanted when you teased me in the bar. ISN’T IT?!”
Lord help me; yes. He was fucking me savagely and only for his pleasure and I was about ten thrusts away from losing another load al over myself.
“Fuck me you Irish bull. Fuck me like I’m a Brit!” The words came with a wave of shame but all I wanted was for him to pound me into nirvana.
He didn’t disappoint. In fact he unwittingly hit my after-burners switch when he roughly grabbed my hairy sac and YANKed my balls and pulled them against the torque of his thrusts. “OH FUCKIN’ F U C K meeeeeeeee!” I shouted like a crazed bitch in heat.
And I couldn’t help myself and was cumming again. It was like a wrench slammed into my balls suddenly and then the pain shot through my body at some surface level while a rush of heat from an explosion blasted through me right along with it.
My first shot of that round felt epic but landed about at my solar plexus. “Yeh you love this man’s tool up ya don’t ye?” he taunted me.
I wasn’t able to speak even when he gave my balls another wrenching squeeze that made me yelp as another shot came from my flared piss-slit. That one caught me directly in my left eye and stung like a bitch.
“Ya haaaa! Look at him shootin’ his spunk like a he’s been rightly fucked!”
And I was. About seven full shots of too-liquid but voluminous man-milk littered my scarred torso and face.
“Yer gettin’ mine now aren’t you then. Real Irish cream to fill that gash again.”
And then he was grunting loud and his dick was thicker and harder and pulsing inside me; I wasn’t able wetter and a flush of heat blasted me like it had when I’d started cumming and I rode the wave with him.
Well That Happened
When he finally finished he collapsed on me. The living room was thicker with man-sweat and testosterone like the stinging stench of ozone after a too-close lightning strike. My entire being wallowed and my head spun in the familiar stink of my own used body and the unique new scents of him.
“Well-played son! That Brit blarney revved my Irish bollocks just right didn’t it now. Got you just what you wanted; filled again. Wish I had time for another course of feasting on the fruits of my labor in that cornucopia that is your arse-puss.” A minute or ten passed; I couldn’t tell as my head was far away “My ball-bag feels like they’ve been stomped on and imploded!”
I was somewhere in sub-space and couldn’t grasp the fleeting thoughts of protest or confusion with his return to light-heartedness; my body was far too cold-cocked, high, and satisfied. The pain from my wrecked rectum and residual pain in my ball-sac were the physical pleasure points of reference as I floated and felt his swimmers leaking out of my slackened hole around his soft-again member.
He didn’t linger as he got himself up and out of me; he was talking back at me as he walked away. “You’re a right studly mare there Al,” he complimented me unexpectedly. “And ye bollocks and slat are manly enough to be too manly for what you’ve just taken,” he added as he went to his clothes and got into his boxer briefs and jeans in one pull.
I had no response to any of it. How could I not object to my man-hole now referred to as a “pussy” and being called a “mare” for Chrissake?! That inner voice was distant and too faint to act on; the message was also somehow right and horrifyingly satisfying in itself.
“If that stud of a husband of yers isn’t right tomorrow I’m here until dinner if you need studding again. After dinner well I may be imbibing with a vengeance and whiskey dick could be a problem.”
Shirt on and feet stuffed into his boots he stepped toward the door. “Of course I hope that husband does make his recovery.” Then he grinned evilly turned back as he pulled open the door. “But I hope his flute might be recovering on a slower schedule just the same.” With a wink he left.
I felt like a total slut; I liked that feeling but I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I’d just let a man rape me. Had I though? Or had he? As I knew I’d enjoyed being wanted; being seeded. But wasn’t that just biology? Did that second round have anything to do with me?
“Hon.” Kent’s deep voice startled me and I jumped and whipped my head toward the door to the bedroom where he was propped against the frames “Sorry; didn’t mean to startle you. Come and cuddle with me; we both need rest.”
Kent wrapped his arms around me in the bed’s cool side and kissed my neck. My head was still awash with thoughts; but his arms grounded me. Sleepily he said, “That second round was about the hottest thing I’ve heard; wish I’d felt good enough to come out and watch you enjoy that.” He twisted himself tighter around me after his fingers traced up my chest and raked through some of the cum from my torso; he licked them slowly with a slurp. “Mmmmm; you taste as good as you smell,” he said. “I love the taste of you.” The last part trailed off but his hold on me didn’t slacken.
A moment a later he was asleep holding me tight. And me? My sopping hole was sore, slack, dripping … and still needy … and I was thinking of the Irishman’s muscles tensed and nostrils flaring as he ravaged it.
