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Shopping for Antiques; Brought Home Two POZ Loads I was very proud of my boyfriend. He had just finished law school and was hired by an international firm. They wanted him to take over some big French accounts, so they paid for him to learn French and then moved us for the summer to Paris, all expenses paid. His salary was embarrassingly high, and we decided to live the life. We went out every night to the bars, and the French “mecs” were always flirting with him. My boyfriend's French was much better than mine. I could only speak a few polite words and order basic things from a menu. He, on the other hand, could carry on conversations about law, politics, sex, and everything else. I often felt a bit “left out” as he would flirt back conversing with these hot French guys. Eventually, one night, he was totally ignoring me at a gay bar in the Marais, paying attention to two twinks who were falling allover themselves to try to get into his pants. I said some things I shouldn't have and stormed out. When he came home, over an hour later, he apologized. He admitted that he liked the attention that he was getting as a sexy fit American who could speak their language. He confessed that they were begging to see his circumcised cock. They had never seen one before. Keep in mind that I thought we were monogamous, but he told me that they convinced him to go to the bathroom together and the two twinks took turns blowing him, “just to see what it would look like hard.” He promised me that it was just the wine he had drunk and that he didn't let them make him cum. I was surprised to find that his story, in spite of, or perhaps because of, my anger, I was totally hard. I could tell he was blue-balled and wanted me to fuck him. I fucked him until he shot his load all over both of us without touching his dick. It was angry fight sex that night and it was amazing. We always fuck bare, and he loves taking my load. He told me once that 'pulling out is for porn.' I could swear I heard that line somewhere, but the porn we watch together is so vanilla it could not have been from there... The next morning, he apologized again and promised to make it up to me the next weekend. On Friday night after work, we surprised me saying that he had rented a car and we were going to spend a romantic weekend in the countryside, just the two of us, in a nice hotel. For some reason, it seemed like all of the hottest guys in France wanted to jump my boy's bones. At the rental car place, the guy behind the counter seemed to drool over my boy's passport. They guy at the service station sprung wood in his tight jumpsuit uniform as he pumped our gas. I could swear he was holding his hard-on as he walked up with his crotch at eye-level to get the cash. The guy at the hotel reception desk swooned over my boy's business credit card. The bell boy seemed weak at the knees as he put our suitcases down on the floor next to the bed. Of course, I understood nothing that any of them said to him. My ears did perk up when the bell boy said, in heavily accented English, “And let me know if you two need anything. Anything at all...” My boy winked at him as he pressed a ten Euro note into his gloved hand. We climbed into bed together, and I fucked him hard, jealous at the attention he was getting from all of these sexy guys. On Saturday morning, we woke up early and had a fantastic breakfast in bed, hand-delivered by another beautiful bell boy. I got the feeling that he wanted to see what was under my boy's robe when he answered the door to let him in. We ate, showered together, fucked again, and got dressed. We set out, with my load still in his hole. In the rental car, I made a joke asking if they would charge extra for cum-stained upholstery. He told me that the guy behind the counter would probably not mind licking it up himself. Very funny, right? We didn't really have a destination, so we just headed out down some winding roads. The countryside really was gorgeous and the day was perfect. We saw a sign, in French, of course, advertising for an estate sale at a chateau. My boy thought that might be fun, and that maybe we could buy some overpriced furniture to ship back to our fancy new apartment. The chateau really was a mansion, at least four stories tall. There were a two cars parked in the yard, but the place seemed mostly deserted. We rang at the front door just as a straight couple were leaving. We were both shocked by the incredibly handsome man who answered the door. Jean, as he introduced himself, could only be called a bear. Probably six foot tall and 200 pounds of muscle. He wore a fitted checked shirt that clung to his wide pecs showing off some really visible nipples. (I wondered if this guy was into tit play...) He had a tuft of silver hair pouring out of his low-buttoned shirt. He had buzzed silver hair and a silver goatee, and piercing blue eyes. I guessed he must have been in his late 40s or early 50s. Jean invited us in, speaking French comfortably with my boy, and perfect continental English with me. As he led us into the foyer, I could not help but notice his toned ass in tight-fitting corduroys. As I was noticing Jean's amazing ass, my boy noticed Jean's overwhelming basket crotch. He later told me that he could see Jean's shaft and cockhead as he walked us through the house. Room after room was packed with gorgeous paintings and furniture. Jean told us that he had inherited the house from his lover and was going to sell everything off. “Too many painful memories,” he said. There were a few photos of a younger Jean with a very dapper-looking older man. He told us that his lover had contracted “SIDA” from a string of rent boys. I didn't know what he was talking about and my boy mouthed to me “AIDS...” Ah. Got it. After three rooms or so, I was already overwhelmed, and also needed to go to the bathroom. Jean told me where it was, and I headed through the labyrinthine halls to find it. It probably took me five minutes to find the toilet, and three minutes to get back. When I got back, my boy was sitting awfully close to Jean on a sofa, with his hand on my boy's thigh. My boy had his hand resting on Jean's crotch. I have no clue what they where whispering about in French, but they sat right up and started gesturing to a portrait on the wall as soon as I came in. I cleared my throat but thought it best not to say anything. Two rooms later, we had picked out a beautiful set of chairs, fauteuils, I think they were called. My boy excused himself to look for the toilet. Jean sat down next to me in the other chair and told me how lucky I was to have a boyfriend with such a talented tongue. At first I thought he meant that my boy was talented with languages, but then I wondered... He leaned close to me, and asked if he could see how talented my tongue was. I was stupified as Jean leaned in closer and his tongue parted my lips. I sprang a hard-on immediately as his hands explored my crotch. I couldn't believe that this incredibly sexy man was giving me attention, or that I was letting him kiss me. I melted into the chair as he started to unbuckle my belt and pull my pants to the side. He scooped my cock out of my shorts and engulfed it. He wrapped his lips around my dick and swallowed me down to the balls, swirling his tongue. I gasped as I opened my eyes to see that my boyfriend had walked back into the room. My just winked at me as if this happened all the time, no inclination that I should stop Jean. I was embarrassed that the shoe was now on the other foot, and I was letting a stranger blow me. I stood up quickly, which sent Jean sprawling to the rug in front of me. (Jean later told us it was a tapestry rumored to have come from Louis XVI's chapel at Versailles...) I ran out of the room and back to the car, thinking my boyfriend would follow me as soon as he settled the bill for the chairs and organized shipping. After ten minutes, I gave up waiting and headed back into the house. There, on an eighteenth century rug, Jean lay naked with my boy riding his bare cock, his head thrown back in ecstasy and his hard cock about to squirt his load everywhere... To be continued... -
The Restroom A delicate flower. Exquisite. Innocent. Ripe. He is looking at me, a gentle boy, soft as goose down, naïve. He shivers a little, eyes wide, deep, dark. I brush his black unkempt hair from his forehead. “Monsieur,” he whispers, a voice like honey. “Yes, boy,” I reply. He doesn’t understand my English. I touch my finger to his lips. He kisses it. Little playful kisses, a game. He grins, a beautiful smile, joyful. He giggles. “Monsieur,” he repeats, and I melt. I kiss his hair. A hint of grease, a tinge of shampoo. Flowers, soap, exotic fruit. He is a smoker, I can tell from his scent. “You’ve never kissed a man, have you?” I tease. He doesn’t understand. I laugh. He laughs too. I lean forward, hold his chin and kiss him. A soft kiss. Mint, beer. His mouth is eager. He groans. Shivers. I hug him, his denim jacket damp. He feels warm, and I kiss his head again. Outside, on the motorway that leads to Paris, the traffic rumbles. Cars and trucks crossing the country, transit, movement. In the restroom it is cold, water drips, scents of piss and disinfectant. My hands are on his back. They travel down. I squeeze his ass. “Oh, goodness,” I mutter. He whimpers. I cup his crotch. He’s big, I can tell. And rock hard. “Show me,” I whisper. “Show me your cock. Take it out and show me.” My tone is flat, firm. He shakes his head, confused. There is Gypsy in him, a darkness. I unzip his fly. He is nervous now. He glances at the door. His anxiety excites me. I am a hunter, and he is my prey. He stands still. Obedient. Frozen. I inch my finger into his fly. It is warm, a little damp. He hisses. I pull on the elastic. His pubic hair is thick and wiry, warm to touch. “Show me,” I repeat. I nod reassuringly. He squirms, a grimace of a nervous smile. His eyes plead, burning with lust, tormented with shame. He squints, then with a final groan he pulls out his cock. I grin. I am lucky. His cock is beautiful. Hard, too hard. So hard it is purple and vascular, uncut, dripping pearls of precum. His cock scents the air, making my mouth water. “Good boy,” I say softly. The Room He came with me. Followed me like a lost puppy. We are in my room now, in my room by the side of the motorway, a bland room. It is private, the door locked, no-one can see, no-one can hear. This is the room where his life will change, the room where our destinies will merge. He trusts me, adores me. I am older than him, a father figure. I want him, and I want to own him, to make him mine. He is undressed now, down to his underpants. Vulnerable and shaking, his skin white, his body a little soft, like a cherub. He hugs himself nervously, his large teen cock tenting in his red briefs. He tries to hide it with both hands. “It’s OK,” I murmur. He shakes his head, and suddenly hugs me. Now it is my turn to gasp and tremble. I almost feel bad, I almost relent. I almost want to extinguish my anger. I toy with making him leave now, leave before I change his life. “It’s ok,” I repeat. I take off my shirt. I am muscular and strong, an older man who works out. He looks at me, he is hungry. I can see it in his eyes. “Tattoo,” he says. I guess the word is the same in French. He runs his fingers over my chest. “Scorpion,” he grins. I laugh. “Yes, a scorpion,” I say nodding. He makes a grimace of approval. “Good,” he says in thickly accented English. “Yes, good,” I say. “Maybe. But they bite.” He shakes his head, confused. My Cock, Harbinger “Look,” I tell him. I drop my trousers, I unhook my massive cock from my briefs. I am conscious I haven’t showered. Yet the thought of the boy’s virgin lips on my ripe cock head excites me. It will be part of his defilement, part of the fall. His eyes widen. My cock is so hard. I flex it, I want to impress him. “Your first taste of cock,” I say, more to myself. He is looking at me like a kitten. I press down on his shoulders, and he collapses to his knees, my cock pressed to his sweet nose. He breathes in, intoxicated, drunk on my scent. I motion for him to stick out his tongue. He shakes his head, his mouth slack. I rub my uncut cock head on his lips. He makes a low growl. A little trail of precum glistens like lip balm. I cry out in sweet joy as his mouth opens and he takes most of my cock. He splutters and gurgles. My toxic seed awakens in my balls. Soon, my beauties. Soon. The Bed He is lying face down on the hotel bed, an offering, a sacrificial lamb. My French, Gypsy boy. His ass is soft, plump, hairless, white. I caress it, it’s beautiful, warm. I encourage him to hold open his cheeks, exposing the prettiest hole, forcing him to co-operate in his own degradation. He is exposed, his most private place on view, his balls hanging. I lower myself to lick him, man tongue on teen-hole, a heavenly tang, a taste of heaven. He is groaning, arching, a young virgin bitch in heat. He gasps into the pillow. I dare to introduce my finger, marvelling at the warm, tight sensation. I need to be inside him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, my cockhead pressed to his pink hole. Purple flesh on white skin. He is squirming, trying to reach behind him. I take his hand in mine. “Relax,” I hiss. I hold a bottle of poppers to his nose. “Breathe.” He cries out, but my cock slides inside without mercy, gripped by velvet. I cannot hide my cruelty, my mask falls. I laugh, mockery in my tone. He cannot tell, he is in a trance, the trance of an 18-year-old with a big cock up his ass for the first time. I force more poppers into his sweet nose. He is open now, loose and damp. Conception I am close, my cock raw, swollen and dangerous. I fuck so hard that the bed is creaking. He sweats and writhes, his boy’s face screwed up, contorted in sweet agony. He laughs and groans. “It’s time,” I hiss, I feel my cum swirling, an ache that delights. I cannot hold it. “Fuck!!!” I scream, my seed shooting out of me, deep inside him. Potent seed. Bad seed. He turns round to kiss me, the face of an angel, eyes sparkling with life and bliss. It is done. I pull out, and my seed drips out, milky and alive. I lean forward and lick the foam. It is done.
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Even though i don't get the opportunity to perform in each role an equal number of times, at my core I feel that equally bottom and top. If i'm attracted to a top, i'm a bottom. If i'm attacted to a bottom, i'm a top. If i'm attracted to a versatile, it's hard to say what all we're going to get into. Which actually brings up something that was a pet peeve for a long time but i've since just "learned to love the bomb" and figured out that i'm unable to teach those pigs to sing. In the old days bottom and top had totally different meanings than today. A "top" was an active participant or ACTIVE. A "bottom" was a passive recipient or PASSIVE. Whether you were into fucking, sucking, pissing, or any other activity was defined in another way. Fucking was "Greek" and sucking "french" So today's run of the mill "Top" would have been a Greek active, and a "Bottom" a Greek passive. "The more you know."
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Hi guys, Just need some help for good adress becausde I’ll be in Berlin from 17 /20 NOV to give my ass BB I am a french bottom lad, can be vers for the right guy looking hung muscled tops to fuck my hole. Looking to take raw loads, love group sex and getting load after load pumped up me my hole. I am hungry ass for anal cum deposits: to be fucked in Paris or Berlin for bareback loads in my ass. One to one, mens, groups. Tell me what you want. No loads refused. No condoms. Easy guy to load. Julien p.p@noos.fr 00 33 (0)6 49 88 36 97.
