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Barebacked

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  1. Barebacked

    The Licker

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was laying down, ass up, on my thin black leather mattress at the CH2.
    Since discovering the pleasure of being penetrated by men, a month or so earlier, I was hooked, and Tuesday was my day off.
    I always leave the door to my room open, and I usually leave a chalked message on the little blackboard at the toilet entrance:
    *** Room 17, BB bottom ***
    I learned that trick during my second week at the bathhouse, and by god, it had an effect!
    So, here I was, lubed to the brim (a toothpaste style lube which I inserted and emptied in me), and horny as fuck!
    I just finished my ritual poppers affirmations, and there comes an older man into my cell. Easily 60.
    He immediately took off his towel and stepped in front of my face. There is nothing like seeing a cock, hard or hardening, half an inch from your eyeballs.
    He was around 7 inches, perhaps 8, of gorgeous pink flesh.
    I engulfed his mushroom head with my lips, paying delicate attention to his piss slit, making sure I wasn’t having his entire head in my mouth, yet!
    A pleasure at the time!
    I would make circles with the tip of my tongue around his slit, coaxing a drop of precum or even piss, if he just used the bathroom to pee, which was often the case.
    Guys would go to pee and if they had to wait a minute, for their turn on a urinal, my message on the chalkboard was an enticement they would surely check out.
    And so, I often had remnants of their piss on my lips.
    Next, I would move an inch closer to his cock, and let him feel my lips, as dry as possible, graze down his cock helmet. The purpose of this was always the ridge of the head!
    I live for the ridge, the area where shaft becomes head.
    I would make sure my lips were BARELY touching his flesh. I always get a sigh from doing so.
    Next, I would give a sigh letting him know how sexy his head was, majestically planted on his shaft, and I would take out the tip of my tongue and make the area below his head wet.
    Wet and slimy, and all around.
    I would pull back as if getting a look at his love stick, making sure a thread of saliva was connecting his cock and my mouth, dangling like a strand of a spider’s web in construction.
    There is something erotic about saliva linking the receiver’s mouth and the provider’s cock
    By then, this man was sporting a raging hard on and I felt proud of my work. He quickly tapped my head and positioned himself between my legs, and he was facing my ass.
    And as usually, a few seconds later, my anal ring would get probed by his cock.
    But not this time!
    He went to his knees between my legs, and reached out for my wrists. I gave him both hands and he crossed them over my lower back.
    He asked me if it was ok to tie my wrists and I replied that I liked to inhale poppers, so this was not my ideal thing to do. He was polite about it, and in fact, he seemed over-polite in his tender tone and demeanor.
    He then explained that he was positive, and that if I was ok with it, he would just lick and eat my ass. I lifted my ass slightly, as I was always a glutton for someone eating me out.
    He understood my invitation and went down on my ass immediately.
    Oh boy, was I in for a treat!
    He asked me if I would let him have the pillow under my head, and he slid it under me, lifting my butt further up.
    He took both my ass cheeks and spread them apart— ever so softly!
    He began kissing and nibbling on muscles along my butt cheeks I didn’t even know I had!
    He played circles with his expert tongue along my inner thighs, as he kept telling me to take a good hit on my bottle of Rush. Which I did every time.
    Then he separated my ass cheeks even further, exposing my anus.
    He said something about how much he loved a baby smooth butt, but by then I was in a trance where his tongue was a pendulum hypnotizing my entire being.
    Without ever touching my anus (yet), he circled my sphincter with the tip of his tongue so masterfully that I moaned along his rotational skills.
    He spread me even further and said something about how he could “see” the rubberband of my anal ring and how it turned him on.
    He pinched my anal “rubberband” with his lips, and I remember I shuddered!
    He repeated this and kept saying something like “north” or “south” as he kept pinching and pulling on my ring. He did this for at least twenty minutes and by then I had forgotten all about his HIV status.
    He kept praising my ass and— almost as if talking to himself, he was creating this map of my anus in his mind.
    I kept hearing cardinal points and chuckles, as he was lifting me to cloud nine.
    And then I remember him saying “center!” and the tip of his tongue darted into my throbbing behind.
    He pressed his entire mug in my ass, and I moaned so hard, I thought security would knock my door down.
    He began to suckle my asshole inside-out, like someone who just put on a sock with the logo inside.
    He slowly slid a finger in me, and promptly created a hook of sorts with it, at one of his knuckles. He playfully kept pulling my ass outwards with his “hook” and at the same time, he kept rimming my sphincter.
    I then heard him put on a condom and in my mind, I wanted him bare but let destiny flow its course.
    He whispered into my ear how beautiful I was to him and that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me in his life. His tone was ever so sweet, so paused, so positive.
    I took a double hit of poppers and he cordially said it didn’t do him any effect.
    As he began penetrating me, I touched back to check if he was wrapping, but in my mind I was not going to say anything if he wasn’t.
    He immediately reassured me it was safe, and he even pulled a second condom on his nice eight inch pole.
    He penetrated me in the same way he had eaten my butt. He kissed my neck and earlobes as his body, much heavier than mine, pinned me to the mattress.
    He smelled delicious!
    He began twirling his tongue into my ear as he began to thrust harder into me.
    He said “I would pamper you all my life” a dozen times, until we heard a plastic sound of breakage inside my rectum. I didn’t move but he politely removed himself from me, and said that both his condoms had ripped and were now acting as cock rings.
    He kinda expected me to do something but I was too high to even care. I remember I said something like “don’t go” or “don’t go get new ones” and he replied with his body pinning me down again.
    I knew that his penis was now wearing two plastic rings, somewhere along his shaft. Perhaps one of them was tightening his ridge, right under his gorgeous helmet. He would fuck me much longer!
    He kept fucking and whispering love words into my ears, but as my head cleared between poppers, it was obvious in my mind that he had made cuts in his rubbers, long before he even stepped into my room.
    Still, I loved it!
    I wiggled and squirmed when he finally came in me, and he stayed inside me, lullabies behind my neck, and nibbles and snuggles around my shoulders.
    I fell asleep with him on me, and when I woke up, I was alone.
    He left me his two condoms on the nightstand, which I promptly discarded.
    Thank you for reading my blog! 

  2. Barebacked

    My Best Angle

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    It took me less than three or four visits to the CH2 to realize, that “angle” was important when laying down on a black leather mattress, belly down, waiting to be used by a cock whose owner I would never know. Whoever has been there, will probably agree.
    There is nothing like opening the door of one’s tiny room, all lubed up, and then quickly lay down on the bed, smooth ass up!
    I would lay down and immediately take a double hit of Rush, my favorite poppers.
    I would wait for the poppers to hit my brain, and close my eyes for a full minute. I would consciously imagine hordes of hung men coordinating the invasion of my holes. I would shiver in the idea of how helpless I laid there.
    I would let the high of my poppers pass, and I would open my eyes. I would look at the long, rectangular mirrors all along both sides of my “prison.” Something hit me, then!
    I realized that my left mirror was a much better reflection of me. I have a tattoo all along my right leg and thigh, of a snake climbing its way, as if up a tree branch. Just that the tree branch is my leg, and the snake’s head is close to my anus, her split tongue almost touching my sphincter.
    I also realized that my rib cage looked better on my right side, on my left side mirror.
    And lastly, I used to have pimples on face and neck on my left side, during puberty.
    And so, one mirror would show it while the other would not.
    I noticed that when the bed bunk was glued to the left side of my “cell” I was getting double the amount of men, and invariably, almost all of them would breed me. I guess the snake played a role.
    I also noticed that rooms with bunks on the left side showed more of my good side, smooth skin, and perhaps even better light when they (possible fuckers) passed by, cruising the hallways.
    I soooo remember the sounds of their feet, approaching my door; or about to go past my door!
    It was always exhilarating when they stopped. I never faced the door, because only the most assertive tops would stay in the frame. And I wanted those assertive men too —don’t get me wrong!
    But I also wanted those men who were cheating on their wives! I wanted those men who would fuck me senseless while in their minds, they were destroying Sasha Gray’s or Jenna Haze’s cunt!
    I wanted the cum of men who would show up between 7 and 8 in the morning, with no time to delay their breeding a sweet, completely hairless hole. They were on their way to work and had precious little time. 
    I would make sure I was the best alternative at that hour of the day! Twice, I remember that up to four men were standing in my room, waiting their turn, as another one was grunting his semen into me. Just as if they stood in a queue to get their Café Latte, they never talked to each other, and prepared their cocks, as if preparing change for their drink in a Starbucks.
    They seldom thanked me, after filling my intestines, and just like in a café, the next customer was inside me, even before the one before left the room.
    They respected their order of arrival. But sometimes some of them would gesture with their hand and say “you go ahead” if they weren’t hard enough, or if they wanted me with more sperm swimming in my rectum.
    They never lasted more than five minutes, and that was fine— they all needed to get to work!
    I also learned that men came into the bathhouse between 12 and 1 PM— lunch break fuck!
    I would be there for them!
    But by far… The biggest wave was always between 5 and 8 PM.
    Men on their way home, wishing they had someone like Taylor Rain or Anette Schwarz, waiting for them, to be fucked without mercy.
    And so, I always made sure that I didn’t challenge them mentally by looking or staring at them.
    I would show my face— yes!— buried in my pillow, but my eyes would remain closed. I would make sure it was easily noticeable that I wasn’t looking at them. I was giving them time. 
    I loved to wait. Is this cock going to turn around and leave?
    Will I hear a hand touching the door knob, about to close the door?
    Will I hear a step forward? 
    I would slightly lift my butt. Not too much, just an inch or so, and slightly arch my back. Often, this was enough to trigger a “I’ll fuck this boy!” in their brain.
    If I suddenly felt a thick (or thin or gnarled) digit probe my anus, I would exhale in a soft moan. Not loud. Barely perceptible.
    Sometimes I would slide my hands along my body, down, down, down. Until I could pull both my ass cheeks open. Wide open. It would signal to them that I was sooooo available!
    And sometimes I would slide my hands to the wall or the mirror, inches above my head. I would show how I was willing to accept them, by holding myself against the wall or the mirror, and from hitting the wall if they decided to fuck me. 
    If I felt a second digit slide in my hole, I always squirmed. Mmmmm! I would do my utter best to be their bitch. I was ready to become Jayna Oso. Their tattooed Belladonna.
    Their whichever favorite porn actress!
    Those men fucked like they would fuck a woman… but they ALWAYS left thick ropes of cum inside my tummy! 
    And yet, the best fucks were from the other side of the spectrum.
    Hardcore, self declared, self conscious, gay men.
    Breeders.
    Destroyers of sphincters.
    Gape makers.
    Creators of cock-addicted boys.
    They could see their own shafts in the bulge of the boy’s tummy, bulging with every thrust.
    They could fuck for hours, days even!
    They would insert mysterious shards, magic powders, or demonic liquids up my ass!
    They would truly debase me, further than any wife-cheater could ever think possible.
    They could be masters.
    They could be sweet daddies, or powerful monsters. 
    Monsters only dark games could come up with, with tentacles that could go a meter deep in a boy’s body.
    And strangely enough, they also showed up more often when my “angle” was the right one, laying on my bunk.
    They didn’t cheat on a wife. They were on a mission to breed.
    More often than not, they wanted me on my back. No room for arching my back, as my legs would be hooked on their broad, often hairy, shoulders.
    They showed little mercy. I guess they enjoyed watching my face in pain, much more than watching the feminine shape of my bottom and waistline.
    I remember one man, who was so into me, that he said he would pay my daily visits as long as I made sure I was there for him, every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday.
    I will blog about him soon, but just as a spoiler, he claimed to take ONE VIAGRA A DAY, his cock was straight as an arrow, long as a wine bottle (not as thick!) and he was almost 80. In my memory, his nickname is Popeye (will always be!), because he loved to talk about ports, ships, and fucking boys in those ports all over the world. He would hold me for hours next to him, cuddling and talking me into sleep.
    He used to be a seaman, just like Popeye! And he ALWAYS fucked me with my legs trapped on his shoulders! Seriously, I tried to lower my legs every time— there was no way! 
    Anyways… 
    Knowing the angle (and the right room to “show” this angle) became a dealbreaker!
    And so, very soon I began to ask for specific rooms at check in. I would even give them a five dollar tip if room 17 was available. 
     
  3. Barebacked

    The Thick Redneck

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    It was my second or third visit to the CH2. The attendant gave me room 8.
    I can remember it clearly.
    I went ahead with my already habitual steps. Lock the door. Place the key on the tiny nightstand, and fish out my flask of lube from my duffle bag. Get my newly purchased bottle of Rush open, which I always did oh-so-carefully in the semi-darkness of the room.
    Next, I would undress and methodically fold my clothes into my bag. Naked, I would turn around, looking at the black walls around me. This would be my cell for the next 8 or 16 hours. My prison where anyone could seed me at will! My jail.
    Then I opened my flask of lube, removing the entire plastic cap so that only the plastic part of the bottle itself would remain. I would push the bottle up my ass, without any poppers to help me relax. I would hold the bottle inside me, generously past my sphincter and slowly climb on top of my bed. I would lift my ass into the air and push the flask with my fingers, so it would stay embedded in me, facing down like a dispenser.
    Then I would squeeze!
     I would hold the bottle there, making sure it wouldn’t slip out. I usually waited five full minutes to pass, closing my eyes. I would concentrate on the loud music, raping my ears, while repeatedly saying to myself “you will allow any — ANY— cock to fill you with whatever they wish!
    After some five minutes passed, I would slowly remove the flask from my now slippery hole, and wait until my small gape cinched itself to a close. I would slowly stand, first to my knees on the bed, then on the floor next to my bunk.
    Did I have too much lube running down my inner thighs? Some lube was perfect. Visitors would immediately know it would be easy to invade my body!
    But too much would soak my bed. By now, however, I knew the right amount.
    Then I would slowly open the door and put my shoes as a door stopper. I would expose my hairless ass towards the door. Face away from the door. Most men would leave the door open, if shoes were preventing the closing. Well… not all. 
    And this is what happened five minutes later, as I was laying belly down on my bunk, like a cheap whore looking for a quick, FREE hustle. 
    A burly man in his forties walked in, dipped one of his oh-so-thick digits up my hole, in less than a single second.
    He obviously felt lube flooding my entire excretory system. He immediately turned around and tried to close the door, but then desisted, not wanting to touch my white sneakers. He pulled his towel away and threw it on my bunk, an edge touching my leg. He walked up to my face and without even saying a word, he grabbed my hair, almost pulling a wavy bunch off me!
    I guess he knew that the more brutality he displayed, the better a head he would get. I felt his entire hand on my head! And his hand felt thick! His cock was extremely thick, too.
    As I panted trying to gobble down his prick, he kept forcing himself into my mouth. I remember clearly what he said, because he didn’t say a word before that, and he never said a word after that!
    And oh boy! His voice was thick, too!
    —What’s the matter, boy? You can’t take eight inches of meat? I saw your ad on the board in bathroom, saying you take all! 
    I was about to say it’s not the length, but rather his girth, but he didn’t let me.
    He pulled even harder on my hair and kept fucking my jaws, my molars, the back of my tongue, and my uvula, hanging in there. His balls were coated in my saliva by now. I also remember how red his pubes were, and I remember that once I tried to look up at him, and he pulled me back onto his tree trunk immediately. A minute or so later, he apparently noticed my bottle of Rush as I heard him unscrewing it. He took a deep sniff and handed the bottle to me. I took two hits, and screwed the cap back on. I felt his cock getting more excited, and I was afraid to brush him with my teeth. But he kept grunting, probably in poppers heaven as he kept his iron grip on my hair.
    Another minute later, he grunted again but I could tell he was frustrated that I wouldn’t take all of his “8 inches” in my mouth. I gagged and slobbered every time, fighting his firm grip to get away from his elephant trunk, so I could get some air. He pulled my whole head away, and directed me to place myself across my mattress. Obviously he wanted me on all four, with the door to my right, half of my bed to my left, and me, on all four, imagining his enormously thick prick right behind me.
    In a split second I realized that a small crowd had formed at my door, nobody daring to step in, but nobody leaving either. Two or three or four guys were watching me get in position, and they all cinches their eyes when the redneck slapped my ass into his desired place. He gave another grunt, and forced his plum-shaped head into me. I literally traveled to heaven, and when I felt him slide all the way in I was blessing lube in my mind.
    My face was down and my ass was wrapping his 8x8 power drill machine. With another grunt, he planted himself firmer onto the ground behind me, and I knew the fucking would start any minute now. He took another whiff of my poppers but didn’t pass me the bottle. I extended one hand backwards asking for it, and instead, he took my wrist and held it tight to my back. Great, I thought! I was sure he enjoyed the view from high above, his engorged shaft already fully inserted in me.
    I felt how he reacted when poppers reached his neurones, because his cock began to thicken!
    I moaned so much that he grabbed my other arm until both my wrists were in his thick hands, and I was just a yo-yo for his lust. But, as he kept pulling my wrists tighter towards himself, I ran out of air. I shifted my head to the right, only to notice that the three or four Pakistanis were now jerking off their much thinner but impressively long cocks. I tried to look to the other side but my redneck decided it would be more humiliation for me, for them to watch me get bred “Tennessee Cuisine Style” —or maybe it was Louisiana, or Arkansas. I would never know.
    He began grunting and fucking. He fucked and fucked.
    Every time his thrusts would push me closer to the mirror above my head, he would pull on my wrists with another thick grunt and get me back,
    He kept inhaling my poppers and by now, I could feel the veins of his shaft, grating the insides of my broken rectal canal.
    And then he suddenly stopped! He pulled out and I opened my eyes. One of the Indian guys was coming forward, and I felt his bony fingers take over control of my wrists. My hands were getting numb of how hard this guy squeezed my wrists, and I tried to pull. I felt a hand on the back of my head, the Redneck was in command! He gave a great, angry grunt and I knew he had “ordered” this dark man from South Asia to fuck me bareback.
    —“I am going to fuck this bitch until I cum inside, Sir,” I heard the guy say. Apparently, I had no say in what was going to happen to my twat!
    There was no reply from my Redneck, just his massive hand on my hand forcing me to watch how the other guys studied me getting debased.
    The Indian guy began to fuck me, and soon he was being egged on by his pals. He exhaled deeply a minute after that, and my wrists began to have some blood flow back into my numb hands.
    —“Yeah, take my long ding, you bitch,” he kept repeating, and then he pulled out. He came fast!
    I heard another one of them, say it was his turn.
    My Redneck Master finally passed me my bottle of poppers, and allowed me to stay on elbows and knees. But as soon as I hit the poppers I felt the second Indian guy slipping in me, eeling himself deep into me, and he was extremely long!
    In the meantime, my big, grotesque Redneck had squeezed himself between my head and the mirror, mere inches away from my face! Not only did he obstruct my view, now that I was allowed to have a view, but he was also wiping his thick white ass against my mirror!! But who was I to object? I obediently took his thick anaconda into my mouth.
    — — —
    All four of the Indian guys inseminated me, and I knew that my Redneck would soon get off my bed, plant himself back behind me, and fuck me with his tuba-sized cylinder cock, again!
    Of course I was right, but by now the crowd dispersed and it was probably too late for all the casual visitors to the CH2. Only the locals would remain by the time this mammoth would be done with my ass… 
    Thank you for reading my blog! 
  4. Barebacked

    That very first visit

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    After a cop showed me the door of the place I was looking for, (I was literally in from of it), I remember entering the minuscule reception hall. An ATM to my left, another door to my right (black and heavy looking), and this teller window.
    In time I would get to know a few of the guys who worked there (definitely not all, but two of them fucked me regularly, later on), but on that day, I wouldn’t remember the teller’s face even if I had to save my life, that’s how nervous I was.
    After he checked my ID and took my money for a room (I don’t take lockers, only rooms), I was buzzed in, and a red hallway was in front of me, which forked out in three or more hallways a few yards ahead.
    I will describe my visits to CH2 in further blog posts, but two things stood out on that day:
    1) I spent a good two hours “investigating” the place. I read the 10 rules hanging on a small paper in my room twice. I lost myself in the dark room, and at one time I lost orientation which way was out.
    2, and most importantly) I did get fucked !!!
    In fact, I was amazed that on my first visit it would happen. My very first guy entered in my room less than ten seconds after I laid belly down on the mattress, leaving the door open. He walked in, hung his towel on the door knob, put himself between my face and the tiny night stand, and pushed himself into my mouth. He seemed Arab, or Pakistani, and he didn’t say a word! He fucked me for a few minutes and left. 
    In the end, I don’t know how many men fucked me that day, but it was more than four and less than ten. One was extra red and extra thick and I remember telling myself “ah, so that’s what a really thick cock feels like!” while he was laying on me, fucking me. He liked it slow.
    Another guy, way above 70 said he could live to be a 100 and “one pill a day meant one pussy a day” to him. L
    Verbatim!
    I remember him clearly because he only fucked his boys on their backs, and he pressed hard on my legs until my knees were close to my ears. In time, he would fuck me regularly. I nicknamed him Popeye, because he really always fucked hard, so I avoided him until I was already loosened up by others.
    The last thing I remember from that first visit was that there was there was a little blackboard in the toilet, and I saw people were leaving room numbers on it, together with an optional brief message. I made a mental note of that…!
  5. Barebacked

    The Rules

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    I’ll try to list of rules that were present in every single private room, as I can remember them. Please remember that this was the  mid to late 90s and the following did NOT exist:
    — No mobile internet. The best thing at the time were beepers, even though shortly after, cell phones with numeric keyboards showed up, where you had to press the number “1” twice for “A”, thrice for “B”, and four times for “C”. Pressing the number “2” twice gave you a “D”, thrice an “E” and so on. 
    — Needless to say, there was no phones with cameras. People did bring in video cams, those portable ones, but that was explicitly forbidden, and listed on the little framed paper “HOUSE RULES”.
    — No GPS, or any sort of navigation systems that would help people find the bathhouse. Yahoo was the next best thing if you wanted to print or write down directions, before leaving your home.
    Alright. Let me list rules as I am best remember them, but I’m sure to miss a few. I think there were 10 or 12, and there is no way I could put them in the right order.
    ===========
    HOUSE RULES 
    ===========
    # — Smoking in hallways was explicitly forbidden. Since Clubhouse 2 had no open areas, you could only smoke in your private room.
    # — Taking photographs was forbidden as well, and I already explained that a little earlier. I’m sure people did it anyways, behind closed doors.
    # — It was highly forbidden to bring in colored plastic papers (cellophane or other materials to wrap around your light bulb), in order to create a colored “atmosphere” in your room, other than the regular light bulb, hanging overhead. Made sense —fire hazard!
    # — Drugs of ANY KIND were pretty much banned, and boy! they did enforce that! Poppers were allowed.
    # — Defecating in the little plastic garbage bin, located next to the black or red leather mattress, would get you fined and banned. I remember laughing my ass off at that rule, but in fact, it did happen once to one guy, right next to my room. OMG! The entire “neighborhood” smelled like— well, crap, for hours.
    # — Bringing in devices to create loud music was not allowed. iPads existed but I don’t remember seeing them anywhere inside. Besides, the techno music overhead was more than enough to give you a headache or to prevent you from sleeping an hour or so.
    # — Candles were ABSOLUTELY forbidden!
    Alright, if someone can remember any other rule from those times, please gimme a hand here. This was obviously yesteryear…
     
  6. Barebacked

    Police

    By Barebacked,


    Bathhouse
    One thing I’ll never forget. The very first time I drove to the place. I had it bookmarked, written on a paper, heck— I even printed a map of Oakland Park Blvd!
    Reminder to readers— there were no navigation apps at the time, and iPhone 1 was still a few years from being invented.
    So…
    I was driving up and down the boulevard, not being able to find 2536…
    I guess I drove one too many times because— honest to God, a cop stopped me right after crossing the railroad tracks going east. He asked me what I was doing, and I told him I was having trouble finding that number, but I was too ashamed or scared to tell him it was a bathhouse.
    He smiled. He knew the number and I guess he read my nerves. He simply told me “it’s right there, Sir,” pointing at the door right to my right side. I was literally there, and I didn’t see it!
    He added “Have fun!” and left.
    I remember later, that he was oh-so-good-looking, but at that moment my nerves played a trick on me.
    I would find myself going back to Clubhouse II, hundreds of times, in the next 10 years… 

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