Falling for a Cum Vessel, part 3

One Year Later

January 5, 2021, Tuesday, a horny morning. Three nights before I fucked a sexy muscle Venezuelan at a park; he came in seconds but I was blue balled. Today, I must fuck this load out. An ad on Doublelist: pic of an athletic dude in a jockstrap lying on his stomach. I’ve seen it before; it’s him, the hookup from a year ago, the one I hadn’t cum in after 40 minutes.

The post is direct: “Visiting jock bottom, 35 5’11” 170, bi, muscular, white bubble butt jock ass looking for hung top. Anon can host." Same pic he sent a year before, and a KiK username. I message with a cock pic and hear back quick. Says he just just checked into his hotel. I shower and drive across town to the Best Western. Fucker makes me wait five minutes, and I wonder if he’s scheduled tops like the cumdump I fucked a week before.

Finally, “Room 226, door will be open and ass up on edge of bed.” Walking in I’m hit with the smell of shower, sweat, and poppers. The room is dark, I close the door behind me, the inside handle feels lube-smooth.

Sure enough he’s ass up on the edge of the bed, a shred of light coming from the curtains. He’s a fucking statue. I once stood behind The David looking up, unforgettable; now I gaze down at what The David looks like groveling. I drop to a knee and admire. This dude from a year ago, this sculpture of everything I’ve ever liked in a man’s body—he is mine once again.

I rub my hands around his cheeks, lightly furry just like I remember. I wait to touch the hole, mainly to get him going but also because I’m not ready to verify if I’m the first top. A year ago at first touch I felt sweat, but maybe it was lube. Maybe a year ago I wasn’t the first top. Maybe a year ago I hadn’t fucked enough loaded holes to know the difference. I’m reminded of the cumdump a week before who warned me not to believe anything a cumdump tells you.

He hits his poppers hard and I sniff around the edge of the hole. Smells of water and man musk, light soap. I rub my nose. It’s soft. I kiss, it’s softer than a rose petal. Finally my index finger: the hairs around the hole are a little too smooth and silky, like the door handle a minute ago. Should I ask if he’s been fucked already? I probe just the tip of my finger, he’s so tight! In a low voice I tell him, “Nice.” He responds a faint, “You like that?”

“Best ass all year,” I say without thinking, and he chuckles. He even laughs at my dumb jokes, so I decide to verify nonverbally if he’s loaded. Hole is supple, taught, responds to my every lick and kiss the same it did a year ago. Spreading apart the hole, nibbling the cheeks beyond that. Slap and start to push the tongue in deep, tastes like umami and….but he’s keeping tight. He’s shutting me out. Does he not want me to tongue fuck? I take my cue and stand.

There’s a small bottle of lube next to him, it’s also silky smooth, almost slimy like it was recently used mid-sex. I put a few drops on my rock hard head and rest it on the hole. I thump blood through my cock with force, his hole begins to wrap around the way I remember condoms doing. He’s pushing back and asks, “You want this?” A few more drops of lube and I go in slow. He hits poppers hard and holding his breath let’s out a deep, guttural, “Yeah. That’s it.”

I take hold of his hips and he follows my pace right away, just like a year ago. In the past year I wished so damn much I’d taken a pic of his ass wrapped around my cock. “Will you take a pic with my phone?” he asks. I’m almost shocked. Did he just read my mind with his hole?

Lights up, and Goddam! my cock is soaked. It’s as wet as the cumdump a week before, when I was the first and sixth load of the night. I start recording video instead. First some long strokes, balls deep, then full pull-outs to catch the shimmer down my shaft. He’s angling himself now to make the strokes rub his prostate, just like a year ago. Such skill on his knees, I’m enjoying this loaded hole better than the cumdump a week ago. He’s tightening in ways I’d only felt with a couple holes before. He’s got that deeper hole within, and none of the others could control it this way. It somehow squeezes and relaxes in unison with my strokes, not a beat lost. I can feel my balls tightening.

He slides back more and the camera light catches the mirror next to the bed. This is what he meant by, “take my pic.” I bet he’s booked rooms in this hotel just for the mirror, and it’s not the first time he asks to get photographed. He’s a force of sex and semen, and he must have it documented well. I move the camera toward the mirror to record us both, it’s just close enough to display my cock disappearing through his cheeks.

“Fuck that’s hot,” he half whispers, and he pushes back even more, his cheeks bouncing in the light. One leg is now standing, he did that so smoothly and didn’t lose the angle of the fuck. The other leg he pulls toward the mirror, an even better angle to view my cock sliding in and out of the hole. He’s such a fucking pro at this. Such a superior slut to the cumdump a week ago, and so much tighter. So much more control, the hole within a hole, deeper, tighter, rarer than a comet. He deserves a spank for being a such a star, beckoning to be touched.

Spank. And another spank for not telling me he was already loaded. And another for giving me the runaround the past year when I’d see him on Grindr.

And a last spank, this one so he knows that it’s mine. Camera off. I want him on his back now, and here I throw him off his rhythm. A second later he does as he’s told, knees immediately to chest. From behind another hit of poppers he watches me enter him. I wonder if he prefers not to see my face; the cumdump from a week before refused to get fucked on his back, said it needed to stay anon.

I get to pounding. He still kisses as passionately and as intensely as I remember. He still gets even tighter on his back, and knows how to angle his hips to open up deeper. My cock head is now beyond that second hole, does it feel what I feel? I’m enveloped in it and in him. What little light we have helps make out the brown of his eyes, locked with mine as we cum seconds apart. He grins satisfied, almost proudly, and here his kisses turn curt and peckish.

Time to go.

He watches me get dressed from the dark of the bed, his silly baseball cap now by his side. Does he remember me, is that why he hesitated to get on his back? If he does, is he wondering if I came? He seemed bothered a year ago that I hadn’t. “Send me that vid on kik soon.” He says he will and thanks me. “You’re welcome. Message me if you visit town again.”

Back in the bright hallway, satisfied that I came, I remember that a year ago he said that he worked and lived in town. Was he lying back then or was he lying now about visiting? How many loads did I just churn? Is there a guy about to walk in after me, and was he made to wait outside five minutes, too? Should I wait in my truck and watch the tops go in and out like I did with the cumdump a week ago?

No, that’s stupid, and I’m better than that. I turn the ignition, drive off, and turn on the radio. I hear a foreign economist explaining new interest rates, “People must now ask themselves how deep do they want to dig into a hole?’” I chuckle, appreciate the unintended innuendo, and realize that I started digging in a year ago.

No going back.