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Smart Ass

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No Good Deed Goes Unpunished


I hotel hosted last night. I hadn’t really planned to, but I was in my old hometown where I grew up, hadn’t been there in 25 years, was at loose ends in the evening, so, what the hell. Friday night, not a very big town, but bigger than a village, so you never know. I had been gone so long I wouldn’t know anyone local and have no plans to ever come back anyway, so why not do my anal duty?

I got a hit - a young guy, he had nibbled the day before, but was biting now, and had a friend. Could they both come?

Absolutely. So while I’m waiting for them I get another hit. A guy a little older, mid-30s, wants to fuck, only about a mile off. Can he come right now?

Right Now is excellent. I always prefer guys who want it without delay - less chance of flakery.

Sure, come and get it.

[Short pause]

You’re really close, can you come pick me up? I’ll treat you so good.

Goddamn it. No, I don’t provide transportation, only ass. Sorry.

[After a bit]

You’re close enough I can walk, address?

 I give him the address. Then I chance to click on his profile and read “I don’t have anywhere to stay, if you can help me out I’d really appreciate it”

Goddamn it.

Wait a minute. I just read your profile. I’m offering you a fuck, not a place to stay. You come in, you fuck, you leave. That’s how this works. You cannot stay here.

[Long pause]

Understand

Whew. Bullet dodged.

In come the first two guys. Both very overweight, shall we say “lightly washed” in the groin area, and soft. They both fling themselves down on their backs on the bed, classic pose of lazy Tops expecting head.

Goddamn it.

Guy 1 is a young Man Of Color with a BBmicropenis. The other, a young latinx dude with button-like proportions which thankfully turned out to be of the ‘grower’ variety...but somewhat pungent in a way that may arouse some followers of these forums. Myself, not so much. Nonetheless, my duty was plain, and my training compelled it. I had them both hard within about five minutes. Guy 1 gets up and moves behind to mount me.

There is a pause, marked by crinkled rustling. He’s getting out a condom and putting it on.

Goddamn it.

He has, to be fair, a rock-hard 3-1/2 inches, so I definitely feel it. He thrusts a few times, pushes my head down on his friend’s cock a few times, pulls out, crinkle-rustle, puts on another condom, thrusts a little more, then reassumes the position. He motions for his friend to get up.

”Both of the condoms broke, though,” he said.

He broke...two...condoms...in a row... with a few jabs from his shortstick?

The friend seemed hesitant, so I explained U=U, my status, reassured that he did not have to do anything he wasn’t comfortable doing. He decided to fuck, but fumbled around my hole until he went soft. I sucked him back to life and he fucked me for a couple of disinterested minutes before returning to the position.

 I make it a point when working with multiple men at once to make sure my service is equally distributed, so I next applied tongue to Guy 1 again, and in pretty short order he whitewashed my tongue. I swallowed and went back to his friend, hoping to finish off the episode quickly.

Twenty minutes later my jaw locks up and he shows no sign of being close. In fact, he’s been basically expressionless the entire time, giving me nothing to guide me.

He says, Do you like to ride? And gestures at his cock.

Lazy. Top.

He lies there like a beached manatee, doesn’t even help guide himself into my hole, and I do my best to ride him, but his heft prevents me from really getting any leverage on his pelvis so I don’t know if I’m doing much of anything except keeping him inside me.

At a point where I’m doing a desperation move with my back arched backward, my hands gripping his ankles and my ass pistoning back and forth rapidly to try to score some angular friction, out of the side of my eye I see the door to the room open. In comes a guy with a rucksack and a guitar. He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door. It’s obviously the guy with no place to stay.

Goddamn it.

Guy 2’s cock slides out of me; he’s ready to stop. No expression; I have no idea whether he enjoyed using my body or not. They get dressed to go, and Guy 1 comes up, thanks me for a good time, gives me a hug, and mutters in my ear, “I’ve seen him around. He’s a little crazy. Be careful.” They depart, leaving me buck naked in a hotel room with God Knows What.

Momentarily, God Knows What (hereafter GKW) finishes his business and emerges from the bathroom in his underwear, blue and shivering. He has clearly been walking around outdoors for quite some time in the near-freezing weather.

For God’s Sake.

I ask him if he would like to take a warm shower to warm himself up. He says that would be very nice. I start his water, get him a towel, and leave him to his (lengthy) shower. As I wait, I put on some clothes. The last thing this guy needs is to be spending his energy fucking me if he’s on the street. I check to see where the local shelter is located; I can’t let this stranger stay in my hotel room, but I can warm him up, make sure he has something to eat, and offer to take him somewhere where he can be out of the cold.

Guy 1 messages me and asks how things are going. I tell him what I’m doing, he says, “Aww, you’re nice.” I don’t know about nice; I was a park ranger, and this is practical.

The guy comes out, looks better but still a little pale, I offer to make him a cup od warm coffee. Yes, please. Sugars? Three. Cream? Two. I make the coffee in the bathroom. When it’s done, I emerge to find GDW talking on his headset phone with what appears to be the boyfriend whose car he lately got out of and walked away from because his boyfriend was entertaining a pair of drug dealers and GKW didn’t want to be around them for fear of being caught up in some sort of police sting. I listened to him unroll the panoply of his convoluted drama, complete with broad hand gestures the boyfriend couldn’t see, for about five minutes, before I said, rather pointedly, “You’re going to have to call him back.”

After a minute he wound up the call and I asked if he has had anything to eat; he had had something in the afternoon. I explained that as I had told him, he couldn’t stay here, but I would be glad to drive him to the local shelter or anywhere he needed to go.

”Oh, I never go to shelters.”

Well.

 I suggested that if he felt he was too good for a shelter when he had no other place to go, it was best he just be on his way.

And, then, of course, he flips out.

 I am now bullying and abusing him - how dare I - just because he’s having a problem doesn’t mean I have a right to push him around. Then he fires off :

”I have Asperger’s!”

Indeed?

I have Asperger’s.”

This catches him up a bit; he wasn’t expecting that.

”So... so you understand!”

”I most certainly do. I’ve struggled with Asperger’s for well over 35 years.”

”Well I’m 37!”

”So basically I’ve been dealing with it as long as you’ve been alive.”

I suspect that this line of attack has worked out very differently for him previously, and he’s learned to use his autism as a means to manipulate people. With me, it’s like oil on Teflon.

He falls back to abusive language. I tell he’s going to have to leave the room immediately, and if he doesn’t I will be forced to call for the police.

”Who do you think brought me here?” he said. “If you touch my stuff I’ll call them myself.”

 I picked up his bag and his guitar and set them by the door. I went over to the phone by the bed an picked up the receiver. He quickly started putting on his clothes. I paused.

”Are you afraid to call them?” he said “How will you save face?”

”I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks about me doing this.”

He quickly finished dressing, picked up his headset, called someone and said, “Can you come pick me up? Can - Can you please - just come pick me up?” (Note that apparently the person  he was talking to already knew where he was.)

Then he hesitated, drank half the cup of coffee that I had made him in a couple of gulps, told me what a fucking asshole I was, and left.

 

 I mean.

Goddamn it.

The thing is, I know better. Of course I have better sense than this. The trouble is that one Biblical account of angels disguised as travelers who seek shelter, and we are instructed never to refuse shelter to one in need because you never know. (The practical application of the scripture being to encourage mutual social support.) Add to this a 30-year career as a park ranger, for whom the sight of a person who walks in chilled from exposure to the elements triggers an almost visceral response.

Still, I had the presence of mind to decide, first thing, that 1) letting him fuck me was out of the question; 2) I needed to put on some clothes; and 3) I needed to put my self-defense weapon where I could easily reach it. He never knew it was there, but it was there.

By this point I was not only ready to call it a night, I didn’t care if I never saw that godforsaken town again.

Thirty minutes later, as I was preparing to close up shop completely and go to bed, I got a Grindr hit asking for an anon quickie right now.

Goddamn it.

You see, I know I keep saying it, and I don’t expect that any of you actually believe me because it just sounds too much like a fantasy, but when a Top asks me for my ass, I feel psychologically compelled to obey. A man used actual techniques to train me to react this way. So I agreed to take one more fuck.

As it turned out, one more absolutely, toe-curlingly delicious fuck by a young guy with superb thighs. He wanted me missionary and I’m so glad he did - the bliss spread across his face in waves as he slicked in and out of my hot cunt, and when he finally shot what I later discovered was a huge load deep inside me, the smile on his face as he came in one instant made up for everything that had happened before.

So, what is the moral of this tale? I’m not really sure. I want to be able to continue to place my trust in the essential good nature of people; I’m a trusting soul to start with, but if I’m going to achieve my goal of giving Tops the ability to take absolutely anything they want from me, I have to not only remain intimately vulnerable, but become radically more so.

When I returned home this evening after a 5- hour drive, the moment I walked in the door I got a message on A4A: Did I want to fuck now?

 I let the guy know I had just gotten in and that it would take some time to prep myself, and he could probably find another willing bottom in the time it would take me to prep. I said I would, however, go ahead and begin to prep myself in case he didn’t find anyone, because he should not have to go without ass if I could prevent it.

”Thanks,” he replied.

Then:

”Could you come pick me up for a while? You’re not far away.”

Goddamn it.

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"You see, I know I keep saying it, and I don’t expect that any of you actually believe me because it just sounds too much like a fantasy, but when a Top asks me for my ass, I feel psychologically compelled to obey. A man used actual techniques to train me to react this way."

I don't think this sounds like a fantasy - it sounds more like a mind-fuck turned into a nightmare.  

My question is, where is the man that you refer to above?  Since it was he who used certain techniques to instill the psychological compulsion to obey (I'm assuming the compulsion to offer your Breedhole to any Cock in need of it), it is his responsibility to also "filter" this compulsion, removing spurious/dangerous "advances" and requiring your Hole to service serious ones.  Perhaps he sensed your Calling before you realized it, and helped you overcome extraneous conditioning that interfered with your innate needs. (i.e. cultural, religious, etcetera), and freed your thought-process of these regrettable influences.  Perhaps he wasn't quite so high-minded, and enjoyed the manipulation.  I have no idea.  But what I do believe, is that man owes you control over what he instilled in your most intelligent mind as well.  If your compulsion to Service is open-ended, events as described above are sure to happen, and if you have no defenses against those who would take advantage of your generosity, then I would suggest that only half of the "gift" the man gave you was actually given.  You also need the freedom, the ability to actively defend yourself from deleterious situations. 

It's like being placed a magnificent rowboat, and shoved out into a river with no oars.  The rocks, shallows, submerged tree trunks are still there, and you have no matching, "other side of the coin" compulsion to avoid them. 

Of course everyone should ideally be generous; feed the hungry, clothe the naked (well ... except in certain, specific situations), shelter the homeless.  That's the Universal Message every human being needs to uphold, without expecting recompense.  Give freely, as was given to us freely. These are uplifting, not "down-dragging" acts.

"So, what is the moral of this tale? I’m not really sure. I want to be able to continue to place my trust in the essential good nature of people; I’m a trusting soul to start with, but if I’m going to achieve my goal of giving Tops the ability to take absolutely anything they want from me, I have to not only remain intimately vulnerable, but become radically more so."

 Obviously, I'm sorry to know what you experienced that night (except for the young man that rang down the curtain for the evening). but I don't think the fault lies with your instincts, however generous they may be.  Since your goal is "giving Tops the ability to take absolutely anything they want from me", that would include not showing up, presenting themselves as something other than what they actually are, any number of deceptive negatives.  I too am generous in believing in humanity's innate goodness. I have been called gullible many more times than once, and I made it my business to learn from those experiences.  That may be positive, maybe negative, but it is also defensive in nature.  I still keep a old altoid box in the car with folding money, since there are beggars at almost every stoplight in this burg.  I support charities I believe worthy,  Friends who need help know they can call me. I recite these things not to inflate myself, but to point out that we can learn acts to defend ourselves from charlatans when we need to.

Maybe you could consider - if the man who refined your innate instincts is no longer present in your life - an addendum to your goal.  Add another phrase something like .... "anything they want from me, provided it's an honest and true need. I exist, my Hole exists to provide for your COCK'S needs, not your psychological deficiencies".  You do clearly owe your Hole to any/every raw Cock that needs to Breed Hole. That's 100% valid, commendable, and magnificent.  But you do not owe unsupervised misuse of your gifts to any ragamuffin who happens by, looking for whatever they can wring out of you. What you don't owe, is being used, mistreated, taken advantage of.   You're just too valuable to waste yourself on other folks bullshit.

It's all about (and this time, in the strictest sense) Cock/Hole/Sperm

@hntnhole - My former Master was not perhaps ‘high-minded’ in the sense that he was trying to help me move beyond some perceived limitation, nor was he, in the strictest sense, driven by a pleasure taken in manipulation. The work he did with me was a matter of experimental inquiry, to determine the extent to which a man could be trained to accept a submissive sexual role to other men and the extent to which that role could be psychologically embedded. He was also interested in the boundary between the threshold of pleasure and pain, and how orgasm was tied to both. You imply that he owed it to me that I end the process in a particular state, but that is not the nature of the kind of experimental inquiry in which he was engaged, and in which I was an informed and active participant.

Had he and I been in a traditional Dominant/submissive relationship, it might be that he would have had some responsibility toward me, but although many Dominants have used me, none had ever collared me for himself, and I did not see this as such a situation. When he finished his experiment after six years, he released me, and I remained as self-collared as I had been before, only now altered by his work.

It isn’t that he left me somehow susceptible to inappropriate advances that could be somehow filtered out; rather, what I face is inherent to being self-collared. In an ideal world, a cunt like me trained to accept any cock would be utilized by a Dominant who took pleasure in being the one deciding which cocks those would be.  But I’ve never had that. I’m responsible for myself, and it’s not my place to choose the cocks that fuck me, but to merely make it possible for them to find my cunt. That leaves me necessarily vulnerable.

When I say I want Tops to take everything, though, I’m not masochistically saying I want to be trampled and taken advantage of. What I mean is that I want every Top to have complete, unfettered access to the deepest, most intimate part of my physical and sexual nature that he desires to satisfy his personal need. My former Master helped me begin to unlock an ability to access this deep sexual reservoir for others to reach into by exposing the deepest core of my orgasm for anyone to play with at a whim. Perhaps it’s true that I have been left acutely vulnerable to predation, but on the other hand, I feel deeply that my best purpose is to fulfill someone aggressive and Dominant.

The only way I could be confident that I could fill the role I now accept as mine without ever worrying about ending up in a bad situation would be to find a Dominant who wanted to actually make full use of me. Even a man simply whoring me out would be a more controlled situation. But at my age, I think the possibility of realizing any ideal scenario is vanishingly remote, and I will simply have to look after myself as best I can.

 I do not, however, regret the change made in me. It is better to know myself and be driven by purpose - even if that purpose is to cunt myself for every other man - than to wander in confusion and doubt.

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Good morning ... again.

Obviously, I read/answered a different communication before reading this one.

The above is completely clear and unequivocal, and I thank you for sharing these facets of your journey.  Perhaps it's my deeply held convictions regarding the Leather Ethic that instigated concern in previous posts.  In my experience, I have seen and known a number of guys that put on a collar to announce their submission when they're out cruising, similar to an armband or other "flagging" gear (particularly if they're somewhat "butch" in appearance), and I considered the term "Collared" in the traditional sense.  That's on me, and my apologies.  Some Dom Leathermen believe that a boy should be torn down to his bare essentials, and then "rebuilt" into what his Dom needs.  I have no judgements against that, as long as it's included in the initial negotiations.  I happen to believe that a boy should be built UP to his potential, not torn down and re-built.  You have managed to accomplish that monumental task without the intimate Care of a Dom - without being Collared in the traditional sense.  I remain awed by y our inner strength, honesty, courage and conviction.  Reaching the depths / heights of your convictions - assisted by your former Master - is absolutely remarkable.

Thus, there was a Negotiation, fully and fairly conducted between two men, albeit a non-traditional one.  Whether it was "conventional" in the context of the Leather Ethic matters not one whit.  What matters is, it happened, and each participant was enriched by it.  When I was accountable to those two subs (mentioned in a previous post), both were "conventional" collarings, which placed me in the position of caring for, protecting, ensuring safety) of each.  And I did that.  

Again, thanks for the clarification.  

9 hours ago, ErosWired said:

I think the possibility of realizing any ideal scenario is vanishingly remote, and I will simply have to look after myself as best I can.

I could hardly disagree more.  

(this time, it's all about way more than) Cock/Hole/Sperm

3 hours ago, hntnhole said:

In my experience, I have seen and known a number of guys that put on a collar to announce their submission when they're out cruising, similar to an armband or other "flagging" gear (particularly if they're somewhat "butch" in appearance), and I considered the term "Collared" in the traditional sense.

In fact, I do normally put on my service collar when I go, for instance, to a bathhouse (a nice solid metal band chrome collar doesn’t rust or get moldy from the steam) to signal that I am a submissive, and that I have a duty to serve. I don’t think, however, that it has ever made me look “butch” in any sense of the word. I have found, as I have always been self-collared, that that also means self-disciplined, and responsible for myself in the world. No one has ever taken care of me; I learned long ago how to take care of myself and see that my own needs are met as well as I can. For those who wonder how I have managed to gain such a varied sexual experience and tally up such a record of breedings, it’s because life forces me to be proactive - if I take no initiative, I get nothing. I am alone; no one touches me; if I am ever to feel the touch of another human being, I have to be the one who reaches out. At the bathhouse, my ass may be excellent inside, but outside my body is unremarkable at best, and I have to find a way to at least make others aware that I exist. A bright band of silver in a sea of flesh does that. It is a utility, and a necessity, as much as it is a statement of duty. But it is never a statement of fashion. Frankly, I have no idea what men think of me when they see me walk around with it on, but it doesn’t seem to repel them. (Some of them even find it useful as a grip for leverage.) No doubt some of them see it and draw the sort of mistaken conclusion you describe - I’m certainly used to being misunderstood, but regardless, at least they noticed me, which is better than being invisible.

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For you, then, it's entirely good and useful and honest to wear it.  Circumstances are different for every guy, and how we choose to meet those circumstances is no one's business but their own.  If I were at the tubs, and I noticed a man wearing that kind collar, I'd merely hang the towel on my hard Cock, get in line, and wait my turn to celebrate the mating ritual with that man, hoping that I'd be the umpteenth guy to do so.  At the tubs, I wouldn't be expecting any "traditional" Leather scene, other than maybe the Dom whoring out his Breedboy, which would preclude the wearing of any hides.  I don't wear traditional gear when I hit the fuckjoints.  Actually, the tubs can be an ideal place for a Dom to teach his boy to focus solely on servicing The Cock, since there is so little else for the boy to see in the first place.  One of my buddies back north did that to help his boy "get over" certain hang-ups, and it was an effective training tool.  

I'm guessing that your collar is, mentally, always on your neck, in the sense that your mind is always focused on fulfilling your goal, your destiny.  The physical collar is to announce to the world that you've worked hard to become the man you were born to be, that you're clear and confident about that, Discerning men - men of experience - men who really know themselves, are often to recognize a man of your capacities with or without the balls-stirring optical statement.  

Countering the fundamental  emotional joy of Breeding/Mating with as many of our Brothers-in-this-Life as we possibly can, is the unfortunate restriction of judging a man by his (or worse, our own) physical appearance.  One of the physical characteristics I tend to avoid is obesity, mostly since I'm not swinging a "porn-Cock".  I'm certainly not ashamed of it, and being physically slender, it presents ok, but if I can't get into the actual Hole for all the flesh surrounding it, I tend to steer clear.  So, we all have choices to make, and for our own reasons.  As long as it's honest, not harmful to anyone, helps one focus on what's really important, I'm all for it.  

One last point:  Among your many talents, I rather doubt that "invisibility" is one of them, and certainly not to a man with a horny eye.

It's all about Cock/Hole/Sperm

4 hours ago, hntnhole said:

Countering the fundamental  emotional joy of Breeding/Mating with as many of our Brothers-in-this-Life as we possibly can, is the unfortunate restriction of judging a man by his (or worse, our own) physical appearance.  One of the physical characteristics I tend to avoid is obesity,

I confess that I, also, find obesity an unpleasant feature, and I do not enjoy servicing men who are morbidly overweight. But my duty is clear-cut; if a man wants my holes, they are his. My personal pleasure or displeasure is immaterial, and I can be quite harsh with myself if I realize that I am not doing my best for a man because of his physical form. To my mind, it is perhaps even more crucial that I serve such a man than a man of admirable physique, because the man who lives within that overweight body likely also suffers from a deficit of physical contact and sexual expression - I may be his best chance at getting something every human being needs. 

That, essentially, is why I believe I was made this way, to do this thing - to provide an opportunity for men who have a deep need they find it difficult or impossible to meet. That’s why I turn no one away, not because it makes me feel slutty, but because the next man may need me desperately. My experience tells me that sometimes they do - most often, I find that if I apply my tongue to an obese man’s cock, he’ll coat it with cum in very short order.

I have serviced the old, the disabled, the misshapen, the timid, the deeply hurt, the deeply confused, the lost. I take them inside the warmth of my body and make them the center of the Universe for a brief time, and do my best to show them that they are human, and they are men.

Some of them benefit from this; some of them get no more than they would from shagging any random hole, and that’s fine. That’s also a big part of my purpose, to satisfy men’s incidental need as often as I can. Yet you never know how deeply a man is affected by his encounter - an aggressive, Dominant Top who generally has no difficulty finding ass when he wishes may choose me to breed, and I may find in the course of that breeding that I am able to help him draw more deeply from the well of his primal instinct and connect with something that fulfills him beyond his expectation. If the process leaves me battered, wet, sticky and half-conscious, it only proves that I was the proper instrument for the task. 

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