Torquing the Hip Joint
His bathroom was pure Ivan. Functional, clean, no-nonsense. A bar of plain soap. A single towel. But the shower was, as promised, big. Even for us bigger sized guys. A tiled corner stall already starting to steam up by the time he took control.
When he reached for the button of my jeans, his hands—those massive, calloused hands that could strangle a bear—were trembling. Just a little but I noticed. The sight of it made me smile up at him in a way I’ve never looked at any other man. This giant, powerful man was nervous. With me.
He dragged his gaze from my waistband up to my eyes. His grey eyes were searching, full of fear and lust and longing that I understood intimately. The fear of being truly him at last, like I had vowed to be. He was unbelievably calm as he pulled each sock from my foot. He seemed to be taking in every inch of me, while trying hard to ignore the obvious swell of my dick in my underwear, controlling his lust as best he could, when all I wanted to do was dive for his dick.
So I did the same for him, my fingers fumbling with the button of his worn Levi's, until I couldn’t resist anymore and pulled down his underwear.
And then we were just… naked. His cock just as I expected: big and thick like the rest of him. He stepped into the shower, pulling me in with him. The hot water was a shock, pouring over our heads, our shoulders, wetting our bodies fast, plastering the hair on his chest against his huge muscles, washing the garage away. The grease swirled at our feet and disappeared down the drain.
As I stared at our feet, seeing his next to mine, watching the dirt from our bodies swirl around them, it almost felt symbolic.
But then my eyes traced back upwards, from his wide manly feet, up his enormous muscular legs, his still flat and hard stomach to his barrel chest and those huge biceps and massive shoulders, I realized he was magnificent: a masterpiece of muscle and scars, a large wet giant of a man, standing completely naked in front of me, totally exposed to me at last. I let my gaze travel over him, not with lust alone, but with a kind of awe. He let me look. He stood there, allowing himself to be admired and taken in, as if he was allowing me to truly see him.
He reached for the soap and started, squishing it between his hands first before applying it all over me. He took great care in washing me, avoiding my front area, saving the crack of my ass as his last conquest before he turned my lathered body around.
I reached out and took the soap from his hand. "Let me," I said.
I lathered my hands and began to wash him, which he allowed rather hesitantly at first. I started with his back like he did, my palms sliding over the incredible breadth of it, working the soap into the hard, knotted muscles. He was massive, and I loved every feel of his wide back. He groaned, a low, deep sound of pure pleasure, and dropped his head forward, his hands braced against the tile wall, giving me the sexiest view of a man in contemplation with water cascading down over that thick neck and muscular back.
This was it. This was my element. Not the flirty games, not the chasing. This. The act of care. The intimacy of service. It’s what I’d been craving to do with a man. And he was letting me.
I washed every part of him, well almost every part of him. His powerful shoulders, his thick arms, the fine line of hair on his chest. I got on my knees and soaped his legs, his thighs, his calves. Even those big wide feet of his that looked perfectly manly. I was worshipping him. It seemed to calm him more. His breathing was ragged, his body trembling not from fear now, but from sensation. But we had both avoided touching each other’s erect cocks, like this was crossing the line. For now.
When I stood up, he turned around. The water plastered his dark hair to his forehead. He looked young. He looked free. Happy.
Then his hands grazed over my abs, and they went lower, finally brushing against the base of my shaft and my breath hitched. It was the only signal he seemed to be waiting for, as if he needed permission.
And then he was kissing me again, under the spray of the water as his hand wrapped around the most sensitive part of me. His mouth was desperate, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming me as I openly moaned into his. I wrapped my hands around his bigger cock, tugging it hard, making him moan too as he kissed me. We were two giants in the shower, holding on to each other’s big dicks as the world narrowed to this tiled space, to the heat of the water and the hotter heat of his skin against mine.
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against mine, water dripping from both our faces, but it was me that went to my knees first.
And holy God what a big thick dick. It was long, like a pole, hard and sticking straight up. I swallowed once, taking in the shape of his mushroom head and the feel of his solid balls swollen underneath. It looked picture perfect, and I wondered how the hell was I going to take this up my rather tight former-quarterback-ass. But that thought went away briefly, as I wrestled to take as much of it as I could down my throat to start.
He tasted like the man I knew he would be. His cock a hard piece of steel, a thick tool worthy of being worshipped. I took it all the way back, drifting back into the sensation I knew I loved, feeling the heat of him, the hardness of him in my mouth. I listened to the soft sounds he made, and looked up at the giant as he looked down at me, kneeling at his big feet, sucking his dick like I had been dreaming of for weeks.
He returned the favour, marveling at my own 8 inches of cut meat, all shaved and glorious looking in the shower light. Watching this big mechanic carefully blow me was earth shattering. He was new at it, I could tell, tentatively licking me and feeling me, but surprising me by taking me deep down his throat. I gasped as he took the entire thing, his tongue swirling around I actually shivered, grabbing his wet head and forcing him off before I came too quickly.
We sucked for a bit, taking turns, until he stood up again, looking fucking sexy as hell with the water plastering everything down on his massively muscled large frame. I practically crawled up his body to meet his lips with mine.
Then he broke the kiss once again and pulled me off his slick body.
"I want to fuck you in my bed," he growled, and it wasn't a suggestion. It was a decision.
He grabbed the towel, roughly drying us both, his movements urgent now. He led me by the hand, still dripping and breathless, into the bedroom. He didn't turn off the main light. He just pushed me back onto the cool, clean sheets of his bed and looked down at me, his eyes blazing with a fire I had only dreamed of.
The shyness was gone. The fear was gone. This was the Ivan of my fantasies. And he was right here, looking down at me.
And I have never been so turned on in my entire life.
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