He orders me to take off my belt and get my cock out, and I do. It’s already getting hard.
It’s big. I know it is. Previous boyfriends have reacted to it with shock, delight, even trepidation. And besides, any guy who tells you they haven’t measured themselves against the statistics is a liar.
But I’ve stopped asking him what he thinks of it. His response is always the same:
“What, that tiny little thing? I’ve let a lot of guys fuck me, and they’ve all been bigger than you.”
Then he’ll tell me I should be ashamed.
He’s my partner. We’ve been together for 15 years.
He’s wide and round, more so in recent years. I came into the bedroom and caught him just out of the shower, droplets sparkling like stars in his beard, his body barely contained in a short terrycloth robe.
I’m in my jeans and t-shirt. The jeans are down around my mid-thighs, and I’m holding the hem of the t-shirt up around my soft, hairy belly, letting my erection hang out like a panhandle.
He gets down on his knees in front of me, eye to eye with it, and grasps it by the base of the shaft. It looks cartoonishly big, clutched by his boyish fingers. He looks unimpressed.
Glancing up at me, he says, “Are you going to do something about all this pubic hair?”
I nod. I tell him I’ll shave it all off as soon as I can. He tells me to just get it under control, that a tiny penis like mine with no hair would look like it belonged to a little boy.
God, I’m hard. I can see down the front of his robe, the broad landscape of his hairy torso, his little cock poking out between his big, heavy thighs. Time has only made his body more exciting to me.
He pulls my foreskin back and gives my urethral slit an experimental lick.
The tip of his tongue is already moist with spit; he gives me just the slightest touch with it and I’m already shivering from the rapid cooling of his saliva.
He wrinkles his nose. “You should bathe more often.”
“I will,” I tell him.
His gentle grip and puffs of warm breath on my dickhead are maddening. Each humiliating word is an itching wound, craving the salve of warm, wet attention that he isn’t giving me.
He lets go of it.
“I was in the mood to suck dick,” he says. “I figured even you might do in a pinch.”
He gets up, rising slowly to his feet.
Close, under my nose, he whispers, “I might still do it if you can follow instructions for once in your life.”
“Anything. Please.”
“You get sucked like I want to suck. You fuck like I want you to fuck. And you do not come unless I allow it.”
I nod.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“I get sucked like you want to suck. I fuck like you want me to fuck.”
“And?”
“I won’t come unless you allow it.”
The hint of a smile briefly shows in his stern expression.
“Maybe you’ll be a good little slut after all,” he says. “Now. Strip.”
I struggle the rest of the way out of my clothes, then stand at attention.
He circles me slowly, bare feet padding on soft carpet. He’s looking my body up and down, likely aware that time and lack of touch could steal my erection at any moment, probably not caring.
He’s behind Bursa Escort me. I feel his thumbs between my asscheeks, spreading me. He’s pulling hard; it’s almost painful. Cool central air stirs the hair that grows around my asshole.
Then he makes a noise of disgust and releases me, letting the cheeks come back together.
Back around to the front of me. He reaches out, lifts just the tip of my sagging hard-on with the knuckle of one finger, as if to examine it.
He says, more to my cock than to me, “If you want so much as a glimpse of ass tonight, I’m gonna have to play with you first.”
I nod.
Then, thickly, I whisper, “Please. Anything. I need it.”
His hand slips down under my cock to my scrotum. His thumb and forefinger encircle the fleshy sack between my testicles and my body. He tightens his grip until it just starts to get uncomfortable.
He says, “Sometimes, I play pretty hard.”
“Yes.”
He curls his other hand into a fist, lowers it between my legs, and gives the bottom of my balls a light tap with his knuckles. It doesn’t hurt; the sensation sends a twitch through my drooping cock.
Then he hits it again, harder, and harder yet again. Not punching, but hitting, and soon he’s up to the threshold of legitimate pain. It’s a sickly, radiating feeling that settles heavy in my stomach.
He watches my face the whole time, frowning impassively. I meet his eyes a few times, but I mostly keep my face downcast, watching him as he tenderizes my genitals.
I’m fully erect again. In fact, I’m harder than I was before. My penis strains to contain itself. Each impact sends a fresh jolt of blood through it, making me feel as though it might burst.
He stops hitting. But he doesn’t release me.
He leads me, literally by the balls, to the bed, not caring how hard he’s pulling before I can react. When we’re by the bed, he releases me.
He drops the robe and the towel, and I’m treated to the sight of his generous flesh and the thick brunette wreath around his groin and belly, still damp from the shower.
He gets on the bed and sits in the middle. His legs are straight out, ankles crossed, penis pointed ceilingward. He reclines, propping himself up with his hands. With a nod, he gestures towards his lap.
I climb on the bed and kneel with my knees to either side of his round calves. I know I’m just out of reach. I don’t know why I do it, but I can’t help it.
“Closer,” he says, giving me a warning kick to my dangling balls.
I do as he says, shuffling a little closer, my cock bobbing until it’s about a foot away from his face.
“Useless,” he mutters, loud enough to make sure I can hear it.
He shifts his weight to one side. Reaching up with one hand, he takes my hard-on by his fingertips, points it upright like an obelisk.
Then he slaps it hard, on the underside, a sharp thud reverberating in the room. I gasp; it stings like a motherfucker. I feel it all the way down into my thighs.
He pinches the foreskin between his short fingernails–dull pain; he keeps it up until it hurts. I swear, he’s close to drawing blood, but I’m not looking at it.
I’m looking at him.
He Bursa Escort Bayan sits fully upright. His mouth has a cruel turn to it, but his face is a mask of focus, of fascination. To him, my cock and balls are an object, a thing for him to play with. And so he plays.
He grips it tight, hoisting it by its flexible skin, raising my scrotum and its fragile cargo. With his free hand, he starts hitting it again, all curled fingers and knuckles.
Like before, he starts soft.
Then harder.
And harder.
It goes on, until it really hurts, threatening to bruise, threatening injury. I cry out, a soft whimper that I think was only in my head, except that he stops what he’s doing. I feel his eyes on my face.
“What was that?” he says.
“It hurts,” I explain sheepishly.
“Of course it fucking hurts,” he says. “I’m punching you in the balls.”
Fair point.
“God, what a baby,” he mutters, lying down flat on his back with his hands behind his head, his dick lying against the underside of his protruding stomach.
I’m taken by the sight of his beauty. His soft arms and belly, wide chest and hips, dainty cock and balls, round face. His expression, a mask of supreme indifference to my body’s visible lust for him.
He mistakes my adoration for befuddlement.
He nods at his lap again, as though shooing a dog off the couch.
He says, “Go on, get it in. Do it before you lose that pitiful erection. I’m already bored.”
I move aside, so that he can put his knees up and his legs apart. With his hands under his thighs, he spreads his thick asscheeks and bares his dark, hairy asshole, already agape in well-trained anticipation.
He’s so pink inside. My heart skips a beat; it’s as if I see it anew every time.
I must be taking too long. He snorts with annoyance.
“Be a man for once in your life,” he says.
I hurry, reaching over and pumping lube from the pump-top bottle on the stand next to the bed, probably taking too much. I slather myself in the watery stuff and position myself between his raised legs.
I start to lie on top of him, but he puts his small, chubby hand on my chest before I can lower myself.
“Nope,” he says. “Don’t you dare touch my body with yours.”
I settle for holding myself up above him, my hands at either side of his thick waist, my hips positioned above his. I touch his anus with the tip of my cock and push in. He’s so warm and soft and loose.
This must really be doing it for him.
“Lying on top of me,” he mutters to himself. “Sweaty and disgusting.”
I slide myself in slowly. He admits the whole length of me easily. He looks away, off at some distant spot on the wall, as my hips touch the backs of his legs and my belly touches his taut ballsack.
He glances at me. “What do you say?”
I whisper, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me have you.”
“Corny. Try again.”
“For letting me put my cock in your ass.”
“I hadn’t noticed, but okay.”
I start to fuck him, servicably at first, but I’m surreptitiously probing for the right angle, one I’ve felt probably thousands of times by now. The one I know will Escort Bursa do it for him.
The one I know will slip past his defenses.
It feels pretty damn good to me. I know it must feel pretty damn good to him. My hips are low; I’m angled up, my dickhead brushing the roof of his rectum, hard enough that our bodies clap together.
He reaches for his phone. By the motions of his thumb, I’m guessing he’s swiping through on one dating app or another. His eyes, locked on the screen, look positively bored.
His flesh is so soft and delicate, it’s like fucking a cloud.
I’m going to come soon.
As if on cue, he looks up and says, “Don’t you dare put your disgusting cum in me unless I say it’s okay.”
I think I hear a little bit of a hitch in his voice, a tremulousness. I start pounding in earnest, knowing that there’ll soon be no stopping my orgasm.
His forehead is sweating. It gleams in the glow of the phone. The space between his massive, swaying pectorals is starting to redden.
He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. I look back at him, our gazes holding each other steady while I pound him like a jackhammer, putting a pulsating pressure against his hardened prostate.
A smile tugs the corners of his bearded mouth; a spark of pleasure, of delight. It won’t be denied any longer. I can’t help but smile in return.
He locks eyes with me, his mouth agape, breathing heavily.
“Finish up, you fucking idiot,” he says, slurring a little. “Come on. Useless…”
I grunt, and the feeling overtakes me, and suddenly I’m pushing my way into his squishy innards as hard and deep as I can, my sore balls squeezing out ropes of cum halfway up the inside of his body.
He feels so delicious. I don’t want it to end. I keep fucking. After a few moments, my cum is making wet noises inside him. My hypersensitized dick can’t go on. I force it, until I have to stop.
I collapse on top of his warm, sweating body. He lets me, for a few brief moments, then makes me get up so he can reach for his wand vibrator. It’s next to the bed, plugged in, as always.
He clicks it on. It buzzes powerfully; I imagine I can feel the sound inside my fluttery stomach. He runs it up and down his dick and balls, and his sagging erection is soon upright again.
I watch from the sidelines with gratitude as my partner gets himself off.
He runs the vibrator up and down the underside of his shaft, teasing himself, getting accustomed to its powerful waves. Soon, he’s holding it against the underside of the shaft, close to the dickhead.
Just barely touching the frenulum, sandwiching himself between the vibe and the base of his tummy. That’s his sweet spot.
Then he cries out, flat on his back, thighs apart, crying out, hips rolling in the air, legs shivering, my cum leaking down his asscrack as his asshole clenches and unclenches its way through his orgasm.
A single jet of thick cum leaps out of him and loses itself partway into his belly hair, followed by bursts of dribbling loads that run down his tummy roll and his cock.
I clean him while he convalesces, availing myself of our supply of wet wipes, then I turn my attentions to myself.
We cuddle atop the covers, our sweat cooling. I’m the small spoon. His arm is draped over my waist, his fingertips toying with the hair on my balls. He pulls on it. The pain is sharp.
He whispers in my ear, with something like affection.
“I’ve had better.”