Manimal

I grew up in a predominantly Catholic community. Most of us were of Irish or Polish descent. By the time boys were eight years old, crying was not an option.

The phrase,’ “If you want something to cry about, then I’ll give you a fuckin’ good reason,” was the mantra in our neighbourhood. This threat got followed by the ultimate insult of being called a sissy before invocations of homophobic slurs followed. It was a tough place, inhabited by rough hard-working blue-collar men and subservient women. Women with discoloured arms and bruised eyes were commonplace in our community. Fortunately, this abuse was not usual in our immediate family unless a female badly ‘misbehaved.’       

When that’s how you grow up, and everyone around you behaves in the same way, then it all seems perfectly normal. In retrospect, I often laughed later in life when I thought about what a motley crew our community must have looked like in church on Sunday mornings, after the travails of hectic partying on a Saturday night. The famous Elton John song ‘Saturday night’s all right for fighting’ still comes to mind. Despite all of this, my childhood was fairly happy. I was, however, doubtless that my arse would get a good spanking when I fucked-up.

When I finally moved out of my parents’ home, there was an enormous sense of relief. To quote Oscar Wilde, ‘The love that dare not speak its name,’ had always been part of my life. When I finally moved to the opposite side of the city after plausibly explaining that close to my workplace, this move made great economic sense, I still got expected to spend Sundays with my family. Thankfully, the fact that I was studying part-time and had to work my arse off in the evenings negated unscheduled family visits to my apartment.

Quite honestly, although my part-time studies did require a great deal of work, I, nevertheless, did allow myself a bit of free time on Wednesday evenings. This ritual took the form of visits to a seedy adult store where I could revel in my familial emancipation. Ironically, the men in this place would easily have fitted into the neighbourhood where I had grown up, and I finally got to savour the ‘delicacies’ that had got forbidden to me in my youth.

My first visit to this den of iniquity was a glorious one. I wasn’t a typical bottom being five-foot-eleven-inches-tall and well-built, but my cherubic looks and fair hairless body was a magnate to daddy types.

On my first evening, two bulky blue-collar men gave me a good working over. It was fan-fuckin’-tastic and their rough approach was like manna from heaven to me.

Being on a roll, and after two weeks of incredible results at my new nirvana, I decided to up the ante. After surfing the internet for men nearby, I came upon an absolute butch God.

Diablo, was his ‘handle.’ Diablo looked like an intimidating Hispanic pirate. Thick black braided hair hung off the back of his head. The side of his head was shaved bald. He was ruggedly handsome with menacing eyes and a broad nose. His teeth were uneven, and one could almost smell the lustful heat emanating from him on the computer screen. Diablo had a long goatee that extended four inches past his chin. His upper body seemed swathed by tattoos, and there was no doubt that he was an uber top and into sexual domination.

After a brief conversation, I was doubtless about his rough predilections.  I felt like a private in the army being given a ‘welcome’ speech by a sadistic corporal, focussed on making my life a living hell. What excited me the most was when he told me that he didn’t like bitches who talked a lot and that the only sounds he enjoyed hearing were pleas for mercy.

During our interaction, the imaginary concept that came to mind was that he was a real Manimal.

Stimulated by our conversation but still cautious, I agreed to meet him at the sleazy adult store, figuring that a neutral venue would be best for our first meeting. He knew the place and agreed to the arrangement.

After I arrived just before seven as prearranged, I walked about seeking him out in the back section. By seven-fifteen, I had still not seen him and began to believe that either a better offer had arisen or that he had not been interested in me. With a few hot guys milling around and I was very tempted to cut my losses. Finally, after Diablo entered, he then approached me.    

Diablo was wearing a loose-fitting sleeveless shirt that hung down to his thighs. His threadbare leather jeans were oversized and floppy in a thuggish way. Tufts of armpit hair blossomed prodigiously from under dangling and bowed arms. Diablo then menacingly walked toward me in a manly manner.

As he arrogantly and dominantly stood before me, there was the unmistakable whiff of a powerful natural masculine odour.

“So, Simon (actually Szymon, given my father was of Polish heritage), why don’t we go back to my place for some uninterrupted fun?”

Although I was intrigued by him, his suggestion negated my neutral ground rationale. Even though I was nervous about his possible sexual approach, lust had by now totally clouded my thinking.

“Yeah, okay,” I gingerly responded, not wanting to be rude.

“Before we go, however, there is something we need to do,” he replied.

I didn’t get given a chance to respond before I got hauled off into a private cubicle.

Diablo now the knapsack he had entered with on the built-in platform before telling me to pull my pants and underpants down and bend over.

Although confused, I did as I got told.  I then watched as Diablo removed a large butt-plug and tube of lubricant from the bag. 

Unable to restrain my curiosity any longer, I asked, “I thought we are going to your place?”

“Yeah, but I first need to stick this in your arse because it will help you later,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Huh… Why?” I incredulously countered.

“Don’t become boring, Bum-boy, just fuckin’ do as I say,” he shot back, before exasperatingly adding, “You’ll thank me later.”

I now watched in bewilderment as I coated the plug with lube. Following this, the object got placed on my butt-hole, before I felt the insertion pressure building. Diablo did not dally, and shortly my arse got filled by the butt-plug. Fortunately, it wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought it would be, but there was, nonetheless, a level of discomfort.

“Okay, now pull up your pants and let’s go to my place,” Diablo then announced.

“Am I going to walk to your apartment with this stuck in my backside?” I incredulously asked.

“Sure!... What were you fuckin’ expecting? That I am going to carry you there?” he sneered.

I had never had a butt-plug in my arse, let alone walk with one in my backside. Oddly, it wasn’t as sore as I feared it might be.

What also intrigued me was the awe-filled “Mmm,” that he uttered.

Diablo’s home was a personification of his personality. The décor old and tacky, like a kitsch man-pad.    

There was no chitchat, and I got left in no doubt that I was here to get fucked.

“Strip, I want to have a look at you,” Diablo ordered.

After I undressed, I felt a little strange. Although I did not doubt that we would end up naked, I, however, felt like a featherless chicken being appraised for the roasting tray as Diablo’s eyes ravenously scanned my body.

“Mmm… You’ve got a nice body and decent cock,” Diablo evaluated as he walked around me. “There’s just one problem,” he concluded.

I immediately worried that my ‘decent cock,’ wasn’t ‘decent’ enough.

“Why do you smell like a fuckin’ woman?” he disdainfully uttered.

I had always used deodorant and a dash of cologne and was relieved when he added, “At least you don’t smell like you got pickled in the shit.”

As he looked into my eyes, he arrogantly said, “If, or when, I invite you back, don’t ever wear that crap again.”

All I could think of saying was, “I’m really sorry. I promise I never do this again.”

“Relax, buddy, I’ll quickly take care of that,” Diablo replied with a compassionate smile.

Next, he disappeared into his bathroom before exiting a couple of minutes later with a face cloth.

Diablo now instantly attacked my armpits with the damp face cloth. When the face cloth got moved to my face, there was the unmistakable smell of piss, which got imbued by the ripe odour of his natural body scent.

“Did you piss on the face cloth?” I disbelievingly inquired.

“Sure, that will kill the revolting smell of the shit you are wearing,” he matter-of-factly replied.

‘Jesus… Can tonight get any stranger?’ I thought to myself.

After he got done, as if to assess his efforts, Diablo gave my left armpit a good lick. Next, he began to lick my face before his mouth conquered my lips. A symphony of pungent odours now erupted as tobacco, garlic, and piss, riddled my taste buds and nostrils.

The concoction of flavours wasn’t off-putting, and if anything, made me tingle with excitement. I had always been excited by musky male odours, and Diablo didn’t disappoint.

As our lips parted, Diablo commenced undressing. Once his boots, socks, trousers, sleeveless shirt had got dispensed with, he stood looking at me with an obscene bulge in his well-filled underpants.

‘What the fuck has he got in those underpants?’ I disbelievingly pondered. 

My amazement escalated, substantially, as he pushed his underpants down and let them fall to the floor.

His cock was monstrously large and dark, like a humongous prizewinning eggplant. 

Diablo chuckled at my reaction before proudly saying, “Now you see why I insisted on the butt-plug.”

“That’s still going to hurt,” I blabbered in disbelief.

“Well, not me,” he proffered with a roar of laughter.

With both his index fingers now pointing downward, I knew I was getting told to get to my knees.

As I looked up at Diablo, his first course of action was to give my face a solid cock whipping. His firm grip on my head by his left hand clearly signalled that his actions were compulsory. Next, my facial rubbing got underway, as his hips mashed his hips into my face. The muskiness of his groin was fantastic as he smeared his cock all over my head.

“You won’t be able to fit this dick in your mouth, but it’s definitely going to fit in your arse,” he lustfully informed me. 

In defeat, I lustfully licked his genitals for all I was worth, wondering how my backside was going to cope with its upcoming bludgeoning. I knew I was about to have a fuck of a lifetime; by the most extraordinary cock I had ever seen. I only hoped that I would live long enough to tell the tale.

After my head got soaked from the smearing and spitting from Diablo, he eventually ordered me to lie on the bed on my stomach. Upon moving between my legs, his knees coerced my legs wide apart.

A ritual of kneading my cheeks energetically with his rough hands got alternated with vigorous slaps to my backside. His action reminded me of a rabbit, thumping his back feet robustly to warn the others in the warren of impending danger.

Finally, Diablo began to manoeuvre the butt-plug actively, in preparation for his entry.

I held my breath after the plug got removed, and I felt the ‘eggplant’ lodging itself firmly. Despite my ‘preparation,’ I let out a loud “Oomph,” as my arsehole capitulated. What astonished me the most was the rigidity of Diablo’s cock.

Even though it was uncomfortable, by now, I was so horny that I no longer cared. As I lay there panting, I realized that I had just got transported to the highest level of anal annexation.

After a brief respite, Diablo’s salsa hips began to rhythmically samba to their carnal music as his humping commenced.

With every thrust, I felt myself becoming overwhelmed by the most incredible feeling of gratification. This sensation happened despite my earlier discomfort. In addition to my anal stimulation, Diablo’s mouth now traversed my neck, head, and shoulders, most sensually.

“Are you enjoying this?” Diablo whispered.

“Yes, Papi, please just keep fucking me,” I whimpered.

“Okay, baby,” he sensually panted as he kept pounding into me.

My dick had never been stiffer, and as it scraped on his sheets, I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“I think I am soon going to cum,” I tentatively informed him.

“I like to fuck for a long time, and so you might do so more than once,” Diablo cooed as he danced above me.

Having warned him, I took this as permission to cum on his sheets.

As my climax began to build, like a bitch in heat, I began to intone, “Fuck me, Papi, fuck me, Papi, fuck me, Papi,” over and over again.

In a state of overwhelming ecstasy, I had the most potent ejaculations of my life. Unperturbed, Diablo just kept going, and soon I was again becoming aroused as he continued to pump his dick into me, displaying incredible stamina. I kept wondering how my mutilated sphincter had coped with the onslaught.

Our unison of sexual grunts and groans seemed never-ending before Diablo finally announced that he was going to cum. By this time, my next climax was also well underway, and I began to wail as he roared that his discharge was underway.

After he finished and extracted his dick, Diablo replaced the butt-plug in my backside.

“You can keep this so that if or when I summon you again, you can come prepared,” he informed me.

As we got dressed, Diablo informed me that he didn’t do stay-overs.

A short time after that, I got ‘discharged.’ As I walked home, I had mixed feelings. After the ecstasy of the session, I felt deflated by my dismissal.

I am, however, pleased to report that I got summoned regularly after that. Even more fortuitously, I can also testify that stay-overs did occur. It appeared that the Manimal was crazy about my tight pink pussy.