Two guys tell us

Dedicated to the ever-aware brain of writer MCVT.

Nothing’s better for my eyes than to observe from above the disappearance of my cock into the bottom of a practiced but not overused partner. Because it matters so much to him. My cock’s reappearance – handsome though it is with its lubricated sheen – is only the signal of what will drive again out of my sight but into his butt’s consciousness.

The cameraman’s view in a porn video. So much for a brief generality.

I think of him, my particularly favorite bottom (of several favorites), as a rich treat immured in bedcovers, his outbursts quietened mostly by a pillow. If and when they strike my ears as less than appreciative, I fuck him harder, viciously, until he voices his satisfaction or, better, commitment; best, devotion.

When he wants more, I deny it to him – to enjoy his anguish.

In the rare times he wants me to wallow in him like a lover, I distress him with, “I don’t have to love you to fuck you better than anyone has fucked you.” He cries then, but sighs more at being long-dicked. That enhances his sense of self and further chains him emotionally to me.

Me being romantic? Occasionally, when I think he needs the encouragement, I strip out of his backside, kiss the nape of his neck, slide back in, and, carried by momentum, launch a furious assault there, painfully as possible. I say to him, “Love hurts, sweetheart. I’ve got to hurt you some to prove it.” Never fails to confound him by the pulse-pounding thrills it provides.

Oh yeah, he winces and his hard dwindles at first, only not for long.

Barrel-chested and fit, I am every inch a man, and I have quite a few inches to cram in him. His butt-site is a beautiful sight, never more beautiful than when my eyes take in my cock on its travels in and out of that hot spot. A little casual brutality keeps him in line. He loves it.

Claiming, clamping waves help him reach his orgasmic plateau and to stay there until I assure him with my poetic line, “There, there – you have my hang. All of it.” And I touch his ears with my lips. Beyond fucking him, I never give him another thought – until the next time I sink into his insides.

How I matter is in the nature of things.

***

I grow dreamy under his relentless, repetitious pistoning – so precise and probing. Low-slung cock riding freely – there’s nothing in the world like it to blur, by its reality, my reality. Blurs the boundary between “self” and “other.”

There I go sounding philosophical.

Fucking beats words though. Verbal stuff gets in the way. Fucking’s way better. Let’s you know how each other understands. You blend. Rhythmic activity in synch makes for real connection. You become one living organism, thriving until death comes in the throes of its orgasmic form. Life’s most meaningful quest is that death. Even the thought makes a flush of heat spread across my body and, if I can’t quell it, makes my blood smoke.

His dick rules him every moment he’s with me, I matter so much to him. My body flatters his ego. It must, he doesn’t fuck anybody else. I know I’m his only one.

Don’t hand me any P.C. crap about this. Even though he’s got a couple of decades on me, he’s no predator; I’m no sacrifice. Certainly not a victim. Ask my parents. My teachers praise my classwork, reports, exams. School’s where I’m on top.

From the start, my ass muscle was broadened considerably by his vigorous fuckings and their frequency. His outsized tool worked a number on me, but I was happy to put myself under him to the accompaniment of such endearments as, “You’re it now.”

Oh, the memories I have. Here’s one: When I’m all open but he’s not aroused, he can get in anyway. I start massaging him, you know, with my bottom and it’s like he blossoms. He swells my humid channel, kind of filling me up, then really expands, stretching me out like forever without moving a muscle of his own. Believe me, when you’re ready, you’ve got to find some guy who can do that for you.

Guess I am insightful. Here, I’ll be conclusive.

Lionize the one who, on your back, may yawn, inhale, exhale, head in, pull away, pole you deep, shift his angle, whack to the back of your head when you struggle, pick up speed, cut you some slack while tearing at your tits, begin to lob into you, then to volley loads of lava-hot cum colon-ward while you experience starry delirium, recover to relish your spasms, listen for his raucous pants, await his final thump to your butt, and clamp hard to pull from his departing cock for retention all that you can. Precious, it belongs to you. His gift. One that cannot be retrieved, but savored and absorbed where he put it.

Mine.

***