by Robert Furlong
At first I thought he must be selling something. He looked clean-cut and respectable, with a smart bomber jacket over his crisp white shirt and wearing a pair of black trousers and trendy geek-chic specs.
He stopped me as I was walking out of the HMV shop in Birmingham city centre, opening with a refreshingly polite ‘excuse me sir’ and throwing me his best attempt at a cute-boy smile when I gave him my attention.
As he babbled on it took me a minute or so to figure out what he actually wanted. Having expected him to ask me questions about my energy provider or some such, I think I was trying to somehow connect the words he was saying to British Gas or N-Power or something like that.
But he just kept going on about forgetting his ID and telling me some convoluted story of how far away he lived and how many buses he’d have to catch to fetch it.
“Sorry, but what is it you actually want from me?” I queried at length.
“I just need you to buy me a game,” he said with shrug, like it was the most normal thing to ask of a total stranger you’d just met in the street.
Seeing me make to turn away from him, he quickly added, “I mean, I’ll give you the money – I’m not asking you to pay for it for me – I just want you to go over to the cash desk to do that side of things.”
“Why can’t you buy it?” I asked him distrustfully, suspecting that I was being set up for a scam.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you – I forgot my ID,” he replied, a touch on the irritable side. “I am eighteen – I swear to God – but I left my student card in my room.”
I looked him up and down. He could well be eighteen. He had a cute, boyish face under his thick-rimmed glasses but his chin betrayed a fine growth of stubble. His build was on the chubby side and could still be described as puppy fat, but he was at least as tall as my son, who was also eighteen.
“So why did you come in to the city without your ID if you knew you were going to buy the game?” I asked.
“I was working this morning,” he replied, gesturing at his white shirt and black trousers and throwing me a look like I was stupid to assume he always came out dressed like this. “A guy I work with told me about the game and I wanted to buy it so I can play it on my day-off tomorrow.”
Seeing that I was still sceptical but could well be close to taking the bait, he took out his wallet and showed me that he had a stash of ten pound notes inside which I assumed would cover the price of the game.
“Okay, I’ll buy it for you,” I said brightly which made him smile rather cutely at me. “But in return, I’d like you to do something for me.”
“If I can,” he shrugged. “Whatever you want…”
I smiled back at him. This was exactly the sort of response I’d been hoping for.
“Whatever I want, eh?”
He nodded and I asked him, maintaining my smile, “Even if what I’d like you to do is of a sexual nature?”
He laughed at that – he actually thought I was joking – but when I didn’t laugh back and just kept smiling pleasantly, he blushed and muttered there was no way he was going to “take it up the butt from some old geezer”.
“I don’t want to do that to you,” I chuckled back. “I don’t suppose the game is worth that much to you! I just want to… well… I have a very specific fetish.”
“A fetish?” he asked, looking like this was maybe getting too involved to be worth a Sunday spent playing a game.
“It’s not a horrible fetish,” I reassured him with a smile, glancing around to make sure that the shoppers walking past us weren’t paying attention to us. “It certainly won’t involve any discomfort or… er… unpleasantness for you.”
“I’m not gay,” he snapped.
I nodded back. “I don’t remember suggesting I thought you were.”
I suddenly wondered if he worked in Boots on Saturday mornings: I’d noticed that the lads who were shelf-stacking in there wore white shirts and black trousers as part of their standard dress code. He didn’t have a name badge on but maybe he left that in his locker at the back of the store.
He looked intrigued but cautious about what it was I was asking of him.
“I’m gonna need you to be more specific,” he said. “I mean, I could probably order the game on eBay for cheaper, so it’s not like it’s a big deal.”
“I’m sure you could,” I replied, “and it’s not a big deal for me either. But if I’m doing you a favour, it would be entirely reasonable for you to do one back for me.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah… of course… give and take and all that. I just need to know what it is I’m letting myself in for…”
“Without wanting to offend you… if I buy you the game, I’d like to… well… I’d like to lick your bum in return.”
I smiled at him pleasantly, trying to look as casual as I could given the intimate nature of what I’d just asked of him.
“Lick my bum?” he asked, looking surprised and confused. “You mean you want lick my backside… my actual arse?”
I couldn’t see how the word bum could mean anything other than an actual arse, but I nodded and said, “Only if you’re willing to let me, of course.”
“What, like, actually lick it?” he went on. “With my trousers and pants pulled down?”
“That’s right,” I agreed. “You’d just have to stand there and let me. It wouldn’t be too onerous and I probably wouldn’t need too long.”
“Are you some kind of creep or something?” he asked me with obvious disdain.
“Not really,” I replied cheerfully. “Just a guy who’s willing to buy computer games for young lads who’ve forgotten their ID cards, and who also happens to have a thing for licking the same young lads’ bums.”
“My actual bum, though?” he clarified, like there could be any other part of him I was getting it confused for. “I mean… you know… the thing I shit through?”
“That’s the spot,” I grinned. “Just below your back and right at the top of your legs.”
“And I’d just have to stand there?” he asked again, with people around us getting on with their shopping oblivious to the sort of conversation they were walking right past.
“Look,” I said, “there’s a coffee shop opposite. I could buy you a drink and we could settle things in a rather more civilised way than standing out here in the mall.”
He looked at it warily. “And then you’ll buy me the game?”
“Of course,” I agreed. “But only after you’ve completed your side of the… er… transaction.”
“Okay, so let’s get this straight,” he said after taking a mouthful of the latté I’d bought him. “You want to lick my arse?”
I gestured for him to lower his voice after a couple of girls sitting off to my left swung their heads round to peer over at the two of us.
“That’s what you want to do, though, isn’t it?” he asked in a more discreet whisper. “You want me to pull my trousers and pants down so you can crouch down behind me and lick my bare bum?”
“Actually, initially I’d prefer it if you left your underwear pulled up,” I told him.
“What, so you can sniff the back of my boxers?” he queried with a certain amount of repulsion.
“Well, yes,” I smiled. “Or at least, that’s what I’d like to do for starters.”
I made sure I emphasized ‘for starters’.
He hesitated for a minute and peered out of the window at people going into the HMV shop opposite. I was worried that he was thinking that maybe some other kind soul might buy him the game without attaching any strings to the favour they were doing for him.
He stayed put, though, and looked back at me before asking, “So you don’t care if I’ve got skidmarks or my butt-crack stinks or anything like that?”
“Not at all,” I chuckled. “It’ll only serve to add zest to the experience!”
“Jesus, you’re a right fucking screw-up, aren’t you?” he said with heavy revulsion, taking a swig from his coffee as if to wash away the unpleasant taste that having to talk to me had left in his mouth.
I grinned at his insult – I’d been called much worse – and then told him, “I have a very specific fetish. It’s quite fortunate for you, because you don’t have to do anything except stand there with me crouching behind you.”
“And you really don’t want to fuck my arse or anything like that?”
Again the girls looked over and this time they giggled. They probably thought he was my rent boy for the afternoon. In a way I suppose he was.
“I promise I won’t ask for that. I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with… er… what’s your name, actually?”
“Curtis,” he said. I didn’t believe him for a minute. “What’s yours?”
“Rob,” I replied and I could see he didn’t believe me either.
“Look, Curtis,” I went on, “I absolutely promise you that my only interest is to get my face stuck into your backside.”
I’d noticed he had a lovely pudgy butt when he’d turned his back to me to climb up on the tall stool he was now sitting on. It was round and meaty; a bit flabby but still solid and pert. Just the sort of arse I’d give my right arm to get my face stuck into; or if not my right arm, then at least the risk of being caught supplying age-restricted material to a potential minor.
“Okay,” he nodded, still looking sceptical. “So, you sniff my butt for a bit, then you pull my pants down and lick it… is that it?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I nodded, hoping he would soon agree to my suggestion.
He didn’t seem convinced and kept eyeing me suspiciously. He had fresh clear skin for someone who worked in a shop and probably spent the rest of his time playing computer games and eating takeaway pizzas.
“You’re definitely eighteen, aren’t you?” I sought to clarify. I had a nagging feeling he might be recording our conversation on his iPhone so I was keen to establish that he really was of legal age.
“‘Course I am,” he said. “I’m studying Politics at UWE.”
I wasn’t sure what that was so I just nodded. University of something or other no doubt.
“Okay,” he continued. “So you’ve got my pants down and you’re licking my butt… do you lick inside my crack or just around it?”
“Inside your crack,” I replied.
“I’m pretty hairy between my cheeks back there,” he pointed out, blushing slightly like it was something to be ashamed of.
I smiled at him and took a sip of my Americano. “I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, Curtis. I like a nice hairy behind.”
“Christ,” he muttered and I could see him thinking, “What the fuck am I doing talking to this freak?”
Instead he asked, “Will you actually lick my arsehole?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Even if I didn’t wipe properly? I mean, I’m not gonna swear I’ve left it squeaky clean!”
“I don’t mind about that, Curtis,” I told him. “I’m sure it’ll be very pleasant however I find it, and most probably I’ll end up with my tongue deep up inside it.”
“Fuck me!” he exclaimed and then, realising that he could be misconstrued, added, “By that I just mean, wow… not… er… anything more!”
We both sipped at our coffees before he asked, “And while you’re doing all this sniffing and licking, you’ll have your dick out and be wanking it off I suppose?”
“That’s the general idea,” I nodded.
“And I just stand there?” he sought to confirm. “I mean, I don’t have to touch your knob or suck you off or anything like that?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”
“And you absolutely swear – one hundred per cent level – that you won’t try to fuck me?”
Again the girls looked over. Now they weren’t giggling; they were whispering together and glancing over at the tall ginger-haired youth working behind the counter, as if discussing whether to inform him of our conversation.
“I absolutely won’t,” I assured him. “But I’m very happy to bend over for you if you think you’d enjoy it.”
I rather liked the idea of being buggered by this young lad. I’d never been mounted by an eighteen-year-old before and the idea of squatting down to receive his impatient erection was most appealing. He was sturdy and tall, with the solid physique of a computer gamer, and it occurred to me that sex with him would likely be rapid and rough; full of the sort of frantic energy he would normally devote to a multiplayer game of Mortal Kombat.
Curtis wasn’t biting though. “I shag girls, not pervy old men,” he told me bluntly.
Pervy old men? I ask you! I’m not long past forty!
“Will you want me to wank off too?” he asked, apparently oblivious to the insult he’d just thrown me.
“That’s entirely up to you,” I shrugged. “I’d like to see you masturbate – I’m sure it would make a very attractive sight – but my main interest is in rimming your butt.”
“Rimming my butt?” he asked, his face full of suspicion. “What will that involve?”
He really didn’t like any hint that I might want to have full anal with him.
“Just licking it,” I explained, “and getting my tongue up it. That’s all.”
“Okay,” he conceded. “But all this is pretty time-consuming. I mean, thanks for the coffee, but I reckon you should really pay for the game if you’re expecting to do all this to me.”
I smiled. “That sounds like a fair deal.” I’d been going to buy it for him anyway. I was thinking I’d chuck a fifty quid gift voucher into the bag as well, as long as he didn’t view it as tantamount to prostitution.
“But if I’m buying it for you,” I went on, “I’d like to sniff the back of your work trousers as well, if that’s okay. How long have you been wearing them?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged, blushing a little as if I was his mum scolding him for not doing his laundry often enough. “Maybe a few shifts.”
“A few months more like,” I laughed. “I have a son your age and I know how infrequently he manages to get to the laundrette.”
“You have a son?” he exclaimed. Now he seemed genuinely shocked; far more shocked than he’d been outside of the shop when I’d told him what I’d like to do to him in exchange for buying the game.
I nodded. “That’s right. He’s studying at Leeds.”
“But I assumed you were gay…?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t label myself as gay. I like sex with women but I just also happen to enjoy the smell and taste of other guys’ butts.”
“No kidding,” he muttered, before asking, “Okay, so where are we going to do this?”
While he was downing the rest of his coffee I suggested, “What about in the toilets at the back of this cafe?”
He looked over at the gents sign on one of the doorways in the far wall and nodded. “Good a place as any, I suppose.”
“It makes sense,” I said. “We can get things over and done with, then go back to HMV for… er… payment for services rendered.”
I took a couple of last sips from my coffee which was far too bitter, and then the two of us got up and headed to the back of the shop.
The two girls watched us heading towards the toilet and smirked at each other as if they knew what we were up to. They’d no doubt worked out he was trading his butt in return for some sort of recompense from me, but whether they’d deduced that my preferred currency was to get my mouth clamped onto the matted hair around his pucker was doubtful.
They probably thought – from his noisy protestations about not wanting to be fucked – that he was going to bend over for me to wank myself off behind him, with me trying to imagine I was rogering his arse. I’d seen a lot of older guys do that behind young lads who would let them but I’d never really been able to see the appeal.
What was the point of a nice round backside if you weren’t going to get its delectable scent all over your face?
We went into the toilet which was a single cubicle large enough for a wheelchair so there was plenty of space for us to do our thing.
As I locked the door, he warned me, “Don’t expect me to enjoy this. I’m not gonna get a hard-on with you slavering away at my arse.”
I smiled back at him and replied, “I suppose the main thing is that I do, since I’m the one who’ll be buying the game.”
He nodded and asked, “So how do you want me?”
Then he muttered, “Fucking hell, I never thought I’d be saying this to another guy…”
I got him to stand in front of the toilet like he was going to take a piss and crouched down behind him to press my face into the seat of his black trousers. He was, as I’d expected, wonderfully whiffy along the hem between his cheeks. Like my son, he wore his clothes well beyond their ‘use by’ dates.
“Can you smell my butt?” he called down to me.
I pulled away from him and replied, “Very much so, Curtis.”
“And do you like it?” he asked, sounding concerned that I might not. Maybe he thought I wouldn’t buy him the game if his smell back there was too strong or too shitty.
“It’s very pleasant, yes,” I informed him. “I can’t wait to sniff what’s underneath.”
I pressed my nose back into his trousers, right between his solid cheeks, and found where the material was most infused with his own unique anal scent. There was a small patch of fabric that must often work its way up into his hairy valley: I could smell the tell-tale pungent odour of male butt quite distinctly on it.
“I rather suspect you’ve worn these trousers more than just a few shifts,” I called up to him.
“I didn’t say how long the shifts were,” he replied back defensively.
I pressed my nose deep between his cheeks and inhaled his most secretive scent. He was a whiffy boy, that much was obvious, and the baser scents I was detecting suggested that he was probably not too meticulous about how attentively he wiped.
“You said you were into women,” he called down. “Do you like to sniff their backsides too?”
I pulled away again in horror. “Ugh… definitely not!”
He grinned down at me – it was the only time he found me funny – and I explained that the appeal for me was very much restricted to my own gender.
I got him to undo his belt and then shuffled his trousers down to reveal a tight pair of fashionably-branded boxer briefs. They had a blue and yellow striped design, with the lines running horizontally and accentuating the size and curve of his beautifully chunky buttocks.
I pressed my face between his cheeks and inhaled strongly and deeply along the length of material that had spent all morning so tantalisingly close to his odorous crack. His smell on his underwear was distinct, but curiously not as intense as it had been on the back of his trousers. His boxers must have been fresh on today and the perfumed scents of whatever washing powder he’d used on them drowned out the more interesting stink of what lurked underneath.
“Aren’t you going to wank off?” he asked, clearly impatient for me to hurry up and finish off.
I pulled away from between his bum cheeks. “Shortly, Curtis, but I’d like to sample the source in all its untainted glory first, if I may.”
He peered down at me, his expression uncomprehending, so I clarified: “I’d like you to pull your shorts down so I can lick your hole.”
“You really wanna do this?” he asked me again. “I mean, I can’t swear as to how clean I am back there, and… you know… it is my arsehole so it might be dead pongy…”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious, Curtis,” I grinned up at him.
“Have you done it before?” he asked. “I mean, have you licked another guy’s bunghole?”
“Of course,” I smiled, “many times. I’m quite the connoisseur.”
“If it’s too shitty and gross and you can’t go through with it, you won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Who am I going to tell?” I asked him. Did he really think I was going to waltz back out into the coffee shop and declare to the crowd what I’d just found between his bum-cheeks?
“I dunno,” he replied. “Your faggot friends or whatever. I just don’t want to think of you making jokes about me to all the other perverts whose butts you lick.”
“You can rest assured, Curtis, that I don’t kiss and tell. Even when the kissing leaves an especially disagreeable aftertaste.”
He nodded with upmost gravity and then hitched his boxers down with both hands to reveal his bare backside.
And what a lovely bum it was too!
If he had a girlfriend, I was sure she wouldn’t appreciate it. Few girls pay any serious attention to what’s going on down the back of their boyfriends’ underwear, and those who are able to see beauty in the muscular curve of the masculine behind would probably gag at the suggestion of having a sniff or a lick between its squat and solid cheeks.
So for a few brief minutes I intended to redress the inequity. I wanted to show Curtis that there was at least one member of the human race for whom his gorgeously tubby rear held a burning fascination and that no matter how embarrassed he was about the state in which he’d left it, for me its natural beauty was something to be glorified.
I pressed my face between his generously-sculpted buttocks and inhaled the sheer force of the stink inside his hot hairy trench. It was at once shocking and exhilarating: an intense array of the most pungent and biting odours that the male body can produce and a stark reminder to me of why I am so irrepressibly drawn to seek out encounters such as this.
My erection immediately started pounding against my zipper and I reached down to release it as I nuzzled deeper into the wiry tangle of Curtis’ crack. His smell was mind-blowing: so powerful and intoxicating in its unrelenting bitterness and in how unapologetically obscene it was.
I pulled my cock out and started wanking it hard and fast as I snorted this young man’s most carnal stink. It was much rougher than I would ordinarily prefer – so ripe and coarse I could even imagine the customers getting a whiff of it when he bent down to stock a low a shelf in Boots or whatever shop it was he worked in – but I revelled in its excesses and probed my nose still deeper, enjoying its hot sticky acridity and the slimier wetness lower down around his wrinkled entrance.
I heard him say, presumably seeing my wrist pounding at my hard-on, “Fuckin’ hell, mate – this really does it for you, doesn’t it?!”
I pulled out from his dank, sordid valley and gasped at the sweet fresh air as I recovered my breath. I peered around to see if he’d developed an erection of his own from having my nose and mouth pressing into such an intimate part of his body, but his cock had remained steadfastly limp.
It was a very nice-looking organ, I have to admit. It was pale and thin but pleasingly full in its length, and the head was prominently defined being much fatter than his shaft and making a bullet-shaped bulge underneath his foreskin. His bollocks were very attractive too: his scrotum was almost hairless and his balls hung large and heavy within it, stretching it downwards and making the skin fold in long convoluted ridges like a pair of stage curtains.
He looked down at me and said, “If you’re gonna lick my shitter, get on with it. Just hurry up and spunk your nut! I haven’t got all fuckin’ day, you know! It’ll take a few hours to install the game!”
He was obviously getting really pissed off. As being having his arse rimmed clearly wasn’t doing it for him, he was probably figuring that the discomfort of having me panting and gasping into his butt-crack wasn’t worth the price of the game.
I’d have to offer him two games: yes, that’s what I’d do as we were walking back across to HMV. And still pop the gift voucher into the bag as a way of saying thank you.
I plunged my face back between his incredible arse-cheeks and this time extended my tongue so I could taste his tiny puckered ring. This was the prize I’d been savouring; the act I found myself fantasising about doing to just about every man I met no matter what the circumstances. Whether at work or in a shop, regardless of age or appearance, this was what I thought about doing: how it would feel and smell and taste if I pressed my face between my new acquaintance’s flavoursome buttocks.
I reached my tongue out and lapped at his tightly clenched hole.
He called out, “Yeah, fuckin’ lick it you filthy piece of shit!” I assumed he did this more for the purpose of hastening my excitement rather than reflecting any enjoyment of his own.
His taste was magnificent: a crude cacophony of the most raunchy and effluvious of flavours I had ever tasted inside another man’s hot hairy ditch. I lapped at his hole and started wanking myself faster and more roughly as I began to slowly work my tongue into his tight, muscled opening. Inside his muddy tunnel was bitter and indecent: a wonderfully lewd carnival of this lad’s darkest and most private smells and tastes.
He grabbed the back of my head and called out something else – something like “Eat it deep, you dirty little fuck-up!” – but then we both heard the sound of a key in the door and he pulled away as quick as he could.
The few seconds after that were something of a blur.
My companion swivelled around, grabbing his underwear and trying to pull them up as quick as he could, just as the red-haired youth I’d seen behind the coffee shop counter barged into the toilet and started mouthing off at us.
Curtis – or whatever he was really called – yanked his trousers back up and made a dash for the door, pushing roughly past the ginger dweeby lad and leaving me still squatting in front of the toilet with my withering hard-on poking out of my zipper.
I looked over at the lanky youth as he ineffectually blocked the door again, seemingly unaware that the first of his horses had already bolted. I threw him a small smile and said, “Sorry… were we… er… hogging the facilities?”
He looked at me sternly and said in a rather faltering voice, “Our company doesn’t tolerate inappropriate activities taking place in our toilets.”
“Really,” I said, stuffing my cock back into my fly as I stood back up. “Well, how was I supposed to know that? Where’s the sign to tell me what your company policy is?”
He was thrown by that, as I’d expected him to be, and just then I saw the two girls peering around the toilet door, sneering at me as if to let me know that they were the ones who had dobbed me in.
Regaining his composure, the red-haired guy said, “I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me to my office, sir. I might to have to call the police to deal with this.”
I smirked at him, and at the girls who were still peering in at me. Then I nodded and sighed, “Okay, young man. Lead the way…”
The little office was cramped and cluttered, and the tall ginger youth who seemed to be in charge had to move a few boxes of disposable coffee cups aside before he could shut the door.
Once we were alone I could tell how nervous he was: he’d clearly never had to deal with a problem like me on one of his shifts. His name badge announced that he was called Elliot and was today’s duty manager. I’d only noticed one other employee working in the cafe – a spotty lank-haired girl who looked like she’d just crawled out from a well on someone’s TV – so I figured he must be managing her.
He said, with his voice faltering like an adolescent’s, “If it was drugs you guys were doing in there, I’d have already called the police.”
I nodded and smiled pleasantly at him. “Lucky we weren’t then.”
“It’s a coffee shop bathroom,” he went on. “You can’t just do the stuff you were doing in a public place like that.”
“It’s hardly a public place,” I countered. “It’s private enough for people to defecate in it, so it has to be private enough for what we were doing.”
“It’s in the middle of the cafe,” he argued back. “Little kids could be running in.”
“The door was locked,” I asserted. “Or at least it was until you unlocked it with your master key. I should point out that it was you, Elliot, who opened it and allowed any little kids who were running about to see what we were doing.”
He blushed at that and then, realising I had the upper hand by having read his name badge, stuttered, “Wha… what’s… er… your name?”
“Robert,” I smirked. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I’d had a complaint from a couple of customers who’d seen you both going in there,” he argued. “I think it was reasonable for me to unlock the door to the toilet.”
“You could have warned us by knocking,” I quipped cheerfully. “I’m no expert in the law but isn’t illegal for a person to deliberately expose the public to a sexual act? I suppose the police will know about that, when you call them, that is…”
He flushed more deeply and muttered, “Look, I don’t want to have to involve anyone else in this.” His body language betrayed how uncomfortable he was feeling; I noticed a thin film of sweat forming on his forehead.
“You said you had your policies to follow,” I reminded him.
“Well… er… yes… I did,” he stammered, and then remembering something from his training and hoping to diffuse a problem for which he was clearly feeling at least partly to blame, added, “but we also have anti-homophobia policies and I wouldn’t want to… you know… tread on any of those.”
I was about to continue toying with him by telling him that we were okay on that score since I don’t label myself as gay, when suddenly his greasy-haired colleague poked her head around the office door and asked her duty manager when he’d be coming out to help her deal with the queue.
“I can’t come now!” he snapped. “Can’t you see, I’m interrogating this guy?!”
She threw him a weary look of exasperation and then disappeared off again, closing the office door behind her.
“Why would you do something like that in a cafe toilet?” he asked, perhaps trying to reassert his authority and get his ‘interrogation’ off to a more promising start.
“Something like what?” I asked, wondering if he’d seen me with my face planted firmly in my brief acquaintance’s backside.
“Something like what the two of you were doing,” he said, as if unable to elaborate on the shocking sight he’d witnessed.
“Okay,” I said, remaining warm and cordial. “I was about to do a favour for the young man who you saw make such a hasty exit. So in return he was doing a favour for me.”
“What favour were you going to do for him?” he asked.
“A favour that was very much between him and me,” I returned.
He nodded and hesitated before suggesting, “So let’s say I just drop all this, Robert.”
I smiled even though I couldn’t really see what other option he had.
He tensed up and looked uncomfortable again as he added, almost like he was forcing himself to, “But if I do drop it, that means I’m doing a favour for you, doesn’t it?”
I nodded. “I suppose it does, yes.”
“So… what do you think you could… er… do for me?”
“What could I do for you?” I chirped. This was suddenly turning out more interesting than I could have hoped.
I’d been wishing I’d followed Curtis out of the bathroom, pushing past the gawky duty manager and following my young conspirator across to HMV, so I could have bought him the game I’d promised him. I might not have achieved exactly what I’d hoped to when I’d had my face pressed into his odorous butt, but since he’d given me his anilingual virginity, if I can call it that, I felt it was only fair that I repaid him in full.
But now I suddenly understood why Elliot had appeared so tense. There was a good deal more in this for him than just giving some pervert he’d caught in flagrante in the cafe bogs a stern telling off.
“Yeah,” he nodded, trying to seem like he was the one in control. “Like you and your… er… friend in the loo… doing favours is a two-way thing, isn’t it?”
He would sound a lot more convincing, I thought, if he was saying all this with a confident sneer and forcing a more assured cockiness from his body language. As it was, though, he was making it obvious that he was out of his league, with his bunny-in-the-headlights stare and an involuntary fidgetiness that was becoming quite distracting.
“What do you mean, Elliot?” I asked, hoping that some of my relaxed composure might rub off onto him.
“I just mean,” he said, swallowing with a noisy gulp, “that if I don’t call the cops… that maybe… you could do something for me in return…?”
“Okay,” I smiled. “That sounds entirely reasonable. What would you like me to do?”
If he was thinking of getting me to clean the coffee-making machine, I’d do the runner I perhaps should have done when the young man calling himself Curtis had legged it from the cafe.
But fortunately his intentions were far less honourable.
“I want you to do to me what you were doing to that other dude when I opened the door of the toilet,” he said, managing to get it all out without stuttering this time.
I looked him up and down. He was quite attractive in his way. He was tall and slim but a little geeky and obviously very shy – not that those last two counted as firm negatives, but rather as contrasts to his positives – and in his coffee shop uniform and with his ginger hair gelled into a quiff he came across as somebody one wouldn’t immediately say ‘no’ to.
So I didn’t say ‘no’ but instead said, “And what was I doing to that other … er… dude?”
“Sucking his knob,” he replied with misplaced certainty. It seemed that my companion had already swivelled around as he hitched his trousers up by the time Elliot had seen him.
“Actually, I wasn’t,” I grinned. “I was rimming his arse.”
He faltered at that, suddenly unsure of what my motives with him might be. “What does that mean? I didn’t see you guys doing anything… er… too full-on…”
“It means I was licking around the muscular ring of his anus.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, his eyes tending towards disbelief without him being able to shake off the conviction that I was telling the truth, before saying, “Okay, so I’m not really interested in that. I just want you to suck my cock.”
He stared at my face intently, perhaps expecting revulsion, but I just stared back impassively and he thought it prudent to correct himself. “I mean, it’s not that I want you to. Well, not you specifically. I just want a mouth around my knob… but obviously I’d prefer it if it was a girl who was doing it.”
“Oh really? A girl?” I smirked back with a heavy dose of incredulity.
He held my gaze and said, “Of course a girl.”
“Okay,” I chuckled. “I’ll suck your cock, if it’ll stop you from doing the unthinkable and calling the police about me.”
“What… like all the way until it’s proper in your mouth?”
“If that’s what it takes,” I sighed, with a weary shrug.
“Alright then, kneel down in front of me,” he told me. His voice was shaky: he was really agitated about wanting this. I wasn’t sure if his nervousness stemmed from the fact he really did fancy girls but none of them had obliged him orally, or if he was actually gay but had never had the guts to explore it.
I rather suspected the latter from the way he was trembling and the sweat that was pouring out of his forehead.
I went over to him and knelt down between his feet among plastic-wrapped cylinders of coffee cup lids. He unzipped himself and pulled a surprisingly large tube of meat out from his fly. It was limp but lusciously long and thick and had a chubby, bulbous head underneath a foreskin which was so much longer than it needed to be.
I said, “You’ve got a very nice cock, Elliot. If you don’t mind me saying.”
He beamed down at me, and I wondered if nobody had ever complimented it. Or whether nobody other than his mum and the midwife had ever actually seen it.
I took it in my hand and caressed it gently, feeling it respond to my touch by firming up ever so slightly so that its already solid girth started swelling still further against my fingers. I thought it was rather pretty how the end of the over-generous foreskin tapered into a long, puckered gape, reminding me of the trumpet of a daffodil flower.
I was about to say that it was such an attractive cock that I would never in a million years have matched it with the long lanky ginger bloke it happened to be attached to.
But he cut in with, “It’s a bit deformed. The skin doesn’t pull back all the way.”
I smiled up at him, my mouth watering at the anticipation of having a taste of the lovely pudgy-looking thing. “That doesn’t mean it’s deformed, Elliot. It just means that’s how your cock happens to work and you’ve got to find ways to enjoy it regardless.”
“I won’t be able to fuck anyone, though,” he whined. “It hurts to wank off sometimes, so there’s no way I’ll be able to push it up anyone’s bum.”
“Bum?” I asked. “I thought you said you were into girls… don’t you mean vagina?”
“Oh yeah,” he said quickly. “That’s what I meant!”
“Let me suck it for you,” I offered kindly, “and get it nice and hard. Then then we’ll see how far back I can work your foreskin using my spit for lube. How does that sound?”
He grinned at me broadly like it was Christmas morning. “Ah yeah, that’d be dead good, that would!”
I smiled back up at him, thinking that if I played things deftly, I might be able to wangle a lot more than just a few minutes of mere cock-sucking from the young duty manager.
I eased his foreskin back as far as it could comfortably go, revealing a centimetre or so of the slimy pink cock head lurking shyly underneath it. I took a whiff and found it deliciously sharp and acrid, reeking strongly of stale piss and the leftovers of countless climaxes. Soon I was snuffling hungrily at it, savouring its sharp, acrid tang; fascinated by the intensity of the odour he was hiding away and which probably only rarely emerged through the opening of his tight, unobliging foreskin.
I pressed forwards and gently sucked the gooey slit at the tip of it, and felt him shudder with surprise. The skin around the shaft of his cock slid forwards through my fingers, quickly lengthening against them and pushing them apart as his already ample girth thickened still further.
He was clearly a big strapping lad in the trouser stakes once he got going, was our Elliot!
He’d been right to worry about sex, though; especially if it was the anal variety that he had on his radar. Not only did he have his foreskin problem to concern him, but the way his organ was growing – and it wasn’t even hard enough to be called a semi yet! – it would probably be far too large to squeeze up a potential boyfriend’s butt.
“Pull your trousers down, son,” I gently proposed. “Let’s see this lovely knob of yours properly with your bollocks hanging down for me to play with!”
He hastily unclipped his belt and pulled his black coffee-stained trousers down around his thighs. His briefs underneath were the most hideous paisley-patterned Y-fronts I’d ever seen: a throwback from the ‘seventies probably bought for him by his mum from some stall on the market. Although I might have enjoyed having a sniff to find where his long rubbery foreskin had dribbled onto the material, I reached up to the bobbled waistband and yanked the godawful things down to get them out of my view.
If I were to meet up with him again and this was to become a regular thing for us – no matter how unlikely that seemed at this moment – my first present for him, wrapped exquisitely and tied with a simple black ribbon, would be a pack of decent quality underwear.
I leaned forwards again, towards his startlingly red pubic bush, to get my mouth around a good few inches of his rapidly stiffening organ. It was hugely satisfying to feel it getting larger and thicker against the roof of my mouth and I slurped at it contentedly, enjoying the sour taste of his precum as it trickled onto my tongue.
I licked underneath his foreskin, coaxing it open with my spit, and eased it back and forth with my lips, making gentle masturbatory movements as I slowly worked it backwards. His slit was dribbling copiously, producing a constant ooze of sharp-tasting juice; so much that I was forced to swallow it down in steady gulps.
“Mmm… yeah…” he sighed as I swept my mouth back and forth along his organ as it continued to bulk up. I kept working at him, gesturing for him to hold my head as I pleasured him, and he kept grunting and sighing as my lips and tongue did their best to stimulate him every way they could.
I’ve never been much of a fan of receiving oral myself, but I always find it rewarding to be able elicit such an appreciative response from other men from the simple act of wrapping my mouth around their eager penises. Elliot was no exception and he greatly enjoyed the gentle sucking action of my hot, wet throat against the head of his cock which grew and inflated until it was completely filling the back of my mouth.
“Have you ever had a blowjob before?” I asked him after releasing him momentarily to recover my breath.
“Yeah, once round the back of a nightclub,” he revealed. “Some bloke I met at the bar offered to suck me off.”
“Some bloke?” I queried. “Don’t you mean some bird?”
I was willing to continue the charade that he was straight if it made him more sexually comfortable to think I believed it.
“No, it was a bloke,” he admitted, blushing a little. “I think I’m into… er… you know… dude stuff, actually.”
“You don’t say…?” I retorted, trying to look surprised.
“Yeah, it’s looking that way. The thing about wanting to push my knob up someone’s bum… well, yeah… it would defo be a bum and it would have to belong to another fella, I reckon.”
“Thank you for being honest,” I smiled as warmly as I could.
Several possibilities occurred to me but I didn’t want to spoil things by rushing in too brashly, so I got back to attending to his steadily rising tumescence with all the dexterity I could muster from my lips, tongue and throat.
His foreskin wasn’t stretching any wider than it had earlier: indeed the swelling of his plump bell-end was hindering my efforts to roll it back any further. He’d probably accomplished far more on his own using a tub of Vaseline and a movie showing ‘dude stuff’ streaming on his laptop.
Soon, growing bored with the steady slurping up and down his supple tool, I reached around to fondle Elliot’s surprisingly pert backside. For a big scrawny lad he had a very full pair of buttocks and I wondered if maybe he cycled to work because they had a solidness and musculature to them that seemed very much at odds with the rest of his frame.
He seemed to enjoy the sensation of having his chunky arse groped because he started working his butt-crack insistently back against my hand. Encouraged, I took the initiative to ease an exploratory finger into his hot, clammy hole, feeling my own cock harden fully in my trousers at the sensation of the thick muddy sludge lurking just inside the tightness of his ring.
If only I could wangle things so it was my tongue instead of my finger pushing its way up into such a captivating opening!
But no… he’d already said he wasn’t interested in rimming. Better take things slowly so as not to frighten the horses.
Even if he wasn’t too fussed about being rimmed, Elliot positively loved the feel of having my finger push into his sticky opening and started pushing his bum firmly and rhythmically downwards onto my hand. Soon he was frantically thrusting his hips so that his huge stiffened cock was sweeping back and forth at the same time that my finger was rapidly and roughly reaming his noisy slurping arsehole.
“Oh God, that feels so fucking hot!” he cried out, and I smiled with his big cock hammering against the back of my mouth, loving the effect my outstretched finger was having on him.
Suddenly he pulled off me and announced, “I can’t do that anymore, mate. I’m gonna cum so hard!”
“I don’t mind you climaxing in my mouth,” I smiled up at him. “In fact, I’d rather like it!”
“What, for real?” he asked, looking confused. “The other guy who blew me off – the bloke out the back of the nightclub – said nutting off in someone’s mouth was a total no-no. Not to be done unless I wanted my dick bitten off.”
“It’s true that some guys draw the line at that,” I nodded. “But I think the dick biting thing was probably specific to him.”
Without thinking, I pulled my finger out from his bum and took a long, appreciative sniff of the moist, discoloured residue that was streaked along it. My pounding hard-on strained against the front of my trousers from the wonderfully sleazy stink of the young duty manager’s arse.
Elliot looked down at me and laughed, “Oh Jesus, mate! I so can’t believe you just did that!”
“Oh sorry,” I said, suddenly blushing at my inelegance. “It’s just… well… I rather like the whiff of a guy’s bum.”
“No way!” he chuckled. “I like that too! I thought it was just something weird about me… something only I do!”
I grinned up at him and he explained, “I used to nick my mates’ skiddy keks when they were in the showers after P.E. I used to love having a good wank-off after school with the backs of their pants on my face, jacking my dick off while I was sniffing at their arses!”
“Oh my God!” I laughed. “If only I’d had the wit and imagination when I was that age!”
“It was the fucking best!” he affirmed. “I used to shoot my muck up to the ceiling!”
“What were you thinking about when you were doing it?” I asked him, thinking I probably knew the answer.
He hesitated, smirking naughtily at me, before confessing with a rather adorable blush, “I was imagining that the smell… you know… the sort of dirty, sweaty stink you get on the back of a dude’s pants where they’ve hitched up into his arse-crack…”
“Yes…?” I encouraged him.
“Well, I used to pretend it was the smell of me doing my mate up the bum… him bending over and whacking his dick off… me behind him knobbing him really hard!”
I laughed at his admission. “You’re a very interesting young man, Elliot, do you know that?”
He beamed at me and I pulled back from him to admire his full hard-on with my eyes rather than with my mouth. It had taken a while to gradually lengthen and harden but now that it was arching upwards in all its magnificent glory with the girth of its huge shaft engorged to beercan thickness, I quickly resolved that it had been well worth the wait.
His erection – along with his large, swollen knackers, for that matter – looked even more impressive because of his lean, skinny frame. His lanky body accentuated the already impressive size of his fully aroused manhood and his straining nutsack looked all the more massive bulging down heavily in front of his scrawny legs.
“Your cock is truly outstanding,” I told him, still kneeling in front of it as if paying homage to its splendour. He grinned down at me and I reached up to gently caress its spit-soaked shaft. Apart from the tightness of the foreskin which prevented the huge plum-like head from emerging completely, the thing was just about aesthetically perfect. Totally unsuited to penetrating a virgin bum, but staggeringly beautiful nonetheless.
“My mates used to call me Muffin the Mule,” he smirkingly confided.
I grinned and he added, as if I wouldn’t have understood the reference, “It’s like a horse’s cock, you see. Or that’s what they reckoned.”
“You mentioned you were worried about getting it up someone’s backside,” I tentatively suggested. “Would you like… perhaps – and feel free to say no! – to try and do it to me? Only if you’d be comfortable with it, of course…”
There was no beating around the bush for Elliot. He nodded with flamboyant enthusiasm and called out, “Fuck yeah! Let’s do it!”
I guess he must have interpreted my surprise as hesitation, because he impatiently urged me, “Come on, turn round and pull the back of your keks down! You’ll have to bend over and stick your arse out if I’m gonna try to bum you for proper!”
I smiled at him. “You have such a poetic way with words.”
“Hurry up, mate!” he insisted, grabbing my shoulder to swivel me around. “She’ll be knocking at the door again any second!”
I grabbed a condom from my pocket, fumbling with my belt before hitching my trousers and briefs down enough for him to fuck me. As I passed him the wrapper and he keenly tore it open to extract the slimy rubber from inside, I noticed that the wall in front of me had a month planner on it scrawled with names and shifts. Elliot’s name appeared with monotonous regularity and I hoped that this shift, among the endless sea of others, would prove to be one of the more memorable.
He saw my own cock, looking large and full and standing out from my bollocks as it slowly hardened, and laughed, “You’re well up for getting your arse shagged, aren’t you?”
“It’s something I find quite pleasant, yes.”
“Well let’s see if I can make that big dick of yours stand right up,” he grinned. “I might even make you nut off over a box of decaf if you like it that much!”
“Have you done this before?” I asked him as he rolled the condom down his enormous curving tool with surprising self-assurance. I spat on my fingers and rubbed as much of my own drool as I could around my anus, hoping the wetness and its well-used gape would be enough to allow this well-hung young man to give it the good rogering he so clearly needed.
“I tried it a couple of times,” he admitted. “One was in a hotel after a wedding do, the other was with a mate when the two of us were pissed. Both times I let the other dudes spunk off up my bum, and then I tried to get my dick up their arses so I could have my turn on them.”
“But it didn’t work?” I anticipated, pulling my shirt up a bit to present him with my pale round buttocks. I leaned forwards to open my cheeks and expose to him the spectacularly hairy crack that men seem to like so much, hoping he would get a first whiff of the odour lurking inside. It was a mere foretasting of the much more blatant stink that his cock would soon be making as it hammered in and out of my strong-smelling behind.
“No, their backdoors were really small and tight,” he explained. “I couldn’t even get the tip of my knob inside without the foreskin really hurting from where their tiny little bumholes were squeezing around it.”
“Well, you’re likely to find mine a good deal more accommodating,” I smiled.
I hitched my shirt up a bit more so he could get a better view of my firm squat butt. A lot of people have said my behind is my best feature: something I’m never sure I ought to be pleased about.
Elliot slapped my buttocks affectionately and laughed, “You’ve got a nice arse, Rob… I mean, you know… for an older dude!”
I chuckled at the back-handed compliment as he pushed his fingers into my forested cleft and groped around for my hole. For a relative novice, he seemed remarkably casual about fondling another man’s bum and poking his fingers inquisitively into the hairy crease between my cheeks.
Finding my large raised pucker, he exclaimed, “Bloody hell, mate! Your arsehole is huge!”
I grinned back at him. “It is rather – how should I put it? – ‘high-traffic’ these days!”
He rubbed his fingers around my bloated orifice, again without any restraint or apparent embarrassment, and surmised, “I reckon I might be able to get my dick right up a massive jacksie like yours. It’s so stretched and loose… how many fellas’ dicks have you had up it?”
“Oh, quite a few!” I chuckled. “More than I care to admit!”
He grabbed me by the hips, pushing his knees between mine, and announced, “Well, let’s give it a go! Let’s see if it’ll work!”
“The condom should hold your foreskin in place,” I told him as he lined his huge prick up with my equally ample gaping entrance. “It should stop it being forced back too far.”
He chortled at that and muttered, “I don’t think your ringpiece is gonna be tight enough to do any forcing, mate!”
I felt the warmth of the stubby head of his cock against my big swollen hole and bent further forwards to push myself more firmly against him. I hoped my spit and the lube on the condom would be enough to smooth his entry: I thought it would be expecting way too much to ask him to rim me before driving his over-abundant phallus into me.
“Take it slowly, Elliot,” I advised him. “Ease it in gently so that your foreskin doesn’t – oh my God! Oh Jesus!”
I flinched as he plunged the whole thick length of his cock all the way up me in one abrupt upward sweep.
“Forget slowly!” he laughed, with his throbbing organ filling my rectum right down the hilt. His ginger pubic bush was tickling my arse cheeks and his big heavy bollocks were pressing into the backs of my legs. “Seems to me, mate, that your arse wasn’t made for slowly!”
I managed to throw a wincing grin at him over my shoulder and he started sliding his cock in and out of me with a brisk, assertive rhythm. He reached up and grabbed me by the shoulders and smirked broadly back at me as he began butt-fucking my bent-over body in earnest. He quickly gathered pace as he thrust his generous hard-on more strenuously back and forth through my quivering cheeks, and I called out at how exciting it felt: “Oh God, yeah! Your cock feels so good!”
He laughed at that – loving being told how great his over-sized penis felt driving in and out of another man’s bowels – and panted, “I can’t believe I’m finally bumming a guy! That I’m actually shagging another bloke’s big hairy arse!”
“Is it painful at all?” I asked him, grabbing my own cock to wank myself while he boisterously buggered me. “Does your foreskin hurt?”
“Not even slightly,” he grinned. “It feels totally awesome! I thought that fellas’ arseholes were so tight I’d never get my dick up one… I didn’t realise I just needed to find a total butt-slut like you!”
I couldn’t help but cackle with laughter at that. “Oh Elliot… it’s so nice to have one’s talents appreciated!”
He grabbed me more tightly and started slamming his hips so hard against my reddening buttocks that I was sure the loud rapid clapping sound of our sex would be audible from out in the cafe.
“I’ve always wanted to do this!” he panted, sweeping the long shaft of his cock rapidly in and out of my gaping hairy trench. “Ever since I first heard that lads can shag each other by bending over for it, I’ve always wanted to try it and see what it felt like to get my knob up another dude’s arsehole!”
His big heavy bollocks were thumping so hard against my thighs that I was concerned for their welfare. If he wanted to father children at some point in the future, this was hardly improving his chances.
“Is it as good as you’d hoped it would be?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“Way, way better!” he laughed with his cock going at full-pelt as it revelled in losing its anal virginity.
He was a natural top, of that I was certain. The twice he’d let other lads use his arse for sex in return for a go on theirs, he must have been mortified when he found he couldn’t work his massive organ into their tight brown holes.
I peered over my shoulder at him, chuckling at his enthusiasm. He really was losing himself in the moment, enjoying the hot grip of my bowels to the full.
“I’m butt-fucking you for real!” he declared, perhaps thinking I might not have noticed. He looked down at his cock, marvelling at the sight of it pumping in and out of the dank wiry forest between my twin spread cheeks.
“Oh God, it looks so totally hot!” he gasped. “My big knob banging away at another bloke’s big hairy arse!”
“You’ve fantasized about this for a long time,” I suggested.
“Too right,” he panted, gripping me more tightly and bending me lower so he could lever my body against the frantic jabbing of his organ. “I’ve thought about this pretty much every time I’ve wanked off. How it’d feel to bum another fella with him bending over for it and me going at it behind him. How it’d smell to be doing it up a bloke’s dirty shitter, making it stink proper dirty just like we are!”
I sniffed the air a couple of times, suddenly becoming aware of the strong smell our anal sex was giving off. I’m always a bit whiffy when I’m letting another man use me from behind, but on this day I have to admit I was especially odorous.
I grinned over my shoulder at him. “There is a somewhat… er… distinctive scent!”
“Don’t worry about it, mate – I told you before how much I get off on it!” he panted. “I loved how rough and nasty it stunk when those other lads were porking away my shitty arse, but I love it even more now that my cock’s the one getting skid-marks on it!”
As my hand was speeding up on my erection at the coarseness of his language, the door of the office suddenly swung open and his colleague with the bedraggled hair poked her head in to see what was delaying the young duty manager.
Elliot’s hips stopped thrusting and he swung round and exclaimed, somewhat belatedly, “Oh fuck! I should’ve locked that!”
The girl just gawked in at us, gobsmacked to see this scrawny, gangly lad’s obscenely thick cock curving upwards from his crotch and wedged firmly between my big round buttocks. Her boss had been hiding a surprisingly large piece of meat down the front of his innocuous coffee shop uniform.
She called out, “Bloody hell, Elliot! What d’ya think you’re doing?”
“I’m just… er… interrogating him,” he muttered, making no attempt to dislodge his enormous manhood from where it was impaled quite blatantly deep inside my rectum.
She stared at it fixedly, perhaps amazed that a shaft with such a wide girth could squeeze itself into another man’s bum. Or perhaps she was shocked to see the thick brown slime smeared along her boss’s hefty organ, with my butt hair clinging to it in dense matted clumps.
Pulling herself together, she asked, “What, by shoving your cock up his arse?”
“Company policy,” he countered, perhaps his usual defence when he was stuck for an answer.
“That is so lame,” she whined.
His response to that was to grab me tightly by the shoulders again and to resume his rough, rapid rhythm in and out of my grateful hole.
“Oh my God!” she cried out. “I can’t believe you’re just carrying on bumming him in here while I’m working flat-out on my own out there!”
“Well I am!” he snapped. “So fuck off and get back to the counter!”
Ignoring his instruction, she said, “You can’t actually like it! Don’t tell me you’re enjoying screwing this bloke’s big skanky arse!”
“I’m not just enjoying it,” he panted, exaggerating his sighs of pleasure, “I’m fucking loving it!”
I smirked at her, bending down even lower and pushing my arse back to meet my energetic lover’s hard relentless thrusts.
She just gaped at us both, her eyes wide and disbelieving, first peering at her manager’s thick slamming girth streaked unashamedly with my dirty brown goo, and then staring across at my own well-sized hard-on being urgently wanked by my frantic fist.
“Look at my big cock!” he urged her, eager to redirect her gaze back onto him. He clearly wanted her to admire how spectacular his large erection looked as it accomplished something he’d worried might not be possible. “Look at my massive knob shagging another dude up his chuff!”
I suddenly realised there was more going on between the two of them than just colleague and co-worker and that having her see him like this was in some way important to him. Eager to support him in his efforts, I grinned more broadly at her startled expression and called out, “Do it harder, Elliot! God, it feels so fucking good! Ram your massive cock up my arse as rough as you can!”
He did as I’d asked and started pummelling me like a jackhammer, pounding his hips back and forth so vigorously against me that I could feel his pube sweat making wet patches on my buttocks.
“I’m gonna nut off right up him!” he breathlessly sneered at her, revelling in how shocked she looked to see her tall, lanky boss buggering another man. It occurred to me that she might have a bit of thing for him and I’d inadvertently dashed whatever deluded fantasies she’d been taking home from work.
“I’m gonna fill his arsehole up with a big load of my spunk!” he taunted her and I wondered if he’d known that she’d been harbouring a cutesy crush behind the coffee shop counter. Perhaps an awkward pass had been made by her during the quiet of a mid-morning lull; an unwanted advance giftwrapped in greasy unkempt hair.
She looked down at his bloated nut-sack whacking against my thighs, readying themselves to shoot a very bountiful load into the condom that was buried deep inside my well-slapped backside.
“D’ya wanna watch me cum?” he managed to laugh through laboured panting. “D’ya wanna see me spunk up with my cock up another bloke’s arse?”
“It’s disgusting!” she barked, her voice shaking through either anger or emotion. “And it stinks of his shit!” she added before slamming the door shut.
Elliot immediately hit his climax and I sensed his disappointment, as his weighty balls unburdened themselves deep up into my bowels, that the girl who for all I knew might have been aggressively stalking him for some time, wasn’t present to witness his shuddering orgasm.
When I felt the heat of his jizm filling the end of the condom up inside me, I pounded my cock as fast as I could until my own white cream was squirting in thick surges across a stack of cartons of powdered milk.
When we’d both finished panting and I could feel his hefty shaft starting to soften and make the condom wrinkle against my stretched tunnel, I pulled off him with a wet sloppy fart and stood up to grin at him with my own cock withering.
“I don’t know what blokes say to each other after they’ve just finished bumming,” he told me.
“What did you say to the two blokes who did it you?”
“‘Turn over, it’s my turn’,” he shrugged.
“And after that?” I chuckled. “When you couldn’t get it up them?”
“‘Oh fuck. Well at least let me wank off over your arse’.”
“I think the normal procedure – after successful anal copulation – is for the two of us to help each other clean up,” I told him. “Then we see if either of us is going to suggest that we meet up again, and after that we shake hands and tell each other how much we enjoyed it.”
“You might wanna meet up again?” he asked cheerfully.
“Very much so,” I smiled. “But only on the condition that next time we have sex, I get a turn too!”
“Of course you can!” he grinned.
“Maybe an old fella like me could teach you a thing or two,” I offered. “Just a few kindly offered suggestions about pacing and how to vary the technique…”
“Yeah, maybe you could!” he chuckled. “That’d be well slick, that!”
As I walked back out into the coffee shop, still heaving with a long queue of customers from the one-woman service battling to cope behind the counter, I saw him approach his frizzy-haired colleague with some trepidation.
“I’m gonna tell head office about what you were up to,” she muttered at him as she frothed up a jug of milk.
“Yeah, well I’ll tell them about what you did,” he challenged her, resuming some of his earlier self-assurance. “Except that I’ve got proof, haven’t I? What proof have you got?”
“You promised you’d deleted that!” she hissed, scowling furiously at him.
“I didn’t promise anything!” he countered, as I left them to it and went back out into the mall.
I looked around for the lad who had called himself Curtis but it seemed that he’d beat a hasty retreat. Perhaps another good Samaritan had bought him his precious game, or perhaps he’d given up on the prospect of a Sunday in front of his Xbox and had instead resolved to interact with the real world.
Never mind, I thought. I’d found myself a rather more interesting young man who’d proven himself to be far more game than the game boy to enjoy a bit of fun with me. A guy who, if he kept to his word when he’d keyed my number into his phone, would soon be contacting me again to arrange a second hook-up for the two of us in the more comfortable surroundings of my bedroom at home.
And my first gift to him – if he didn’t see it as too much of a come-on – would be a pack of stylish underwear, tastefully presented over a couple of glasses of good wine.
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