[Breeder] I.O.U.

[TheBreeder]

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

My buddy in Richmond lives on a street near my old middle and high schools. I know the neighborhood well; it used to be occupied primarily by an aging, low-income retirees. When I’d walk home from school in the afternoons, I’d always hear the sounds of The Secret Storm playing from old black-and-white TV sets, or hymns being picked out on on geriatric pianos. The tiny houses and cramped but quaint apartments comprised a genteel neighborhood that was, pretty basically, waiting to expire, and to be replaced by lower-middle-class single parents, students, and unmarried urban workers who wanted to live on the city’s outskirts.

I like visiting the neighborhood better now, knowing I’ll come away a few loads lighter.

The door’s open when I get there; he gestures at me through the screen to follow. I’ve slipped away from my dad’s place kind of late in the evening, on the pretext of meeting an old school friend for a drink. Most of the houses on the tiny plots here have their lights out for the evening. The only light shining in my buddy’s house is a naked bulb shining in a coat closet just within the door.

He’s wearing a baggy pair of sweatpants that hang almost off his round, muscular ass. They’re hanging so low he might as well not be wearing them at all; the waistband hugs his nuts and the backside where butt meets thigh. But he’s made a gesture toward respectability by allowing seven inches of his black-and-gray-checked boxers to cover what the sweatpants aren’t. His torso is taut, and heavily muscled, and completely bare. His skin is so black that it’s almost indigo in the bulb’s light.

“You stayin’ the night?” he asks, slugging back the dregs of a beer when I close the door behind me. “You can. Fuck all night. Sleep if you want, but I know that ain’t why you’re here.” He laughs at his joke. I’ve stayed overnight before, either on my way into or out of town. But I tell him I’m not, not this time. He shrugs, like it’s no big deal either way. “You want a beer?” he asks.

I shake my head. “So what’s been going on?” I ask him.

“You know how it is,” he says, taking another beer from the refrigerator just inside the pint-sized kitchen. “Just the usual.” Which for him means a steady stream of men, mostly from out of town, stopping in on the weekends to visit him and his younger lover. As he pops open the drink, he nods his head and gestures for me to follow him into the living room. His computer’s in there, and his desk, and we take a couple of minutes to look through a folder he keeps of men who’ve hooked up with the two of them, from the various sites they frequent, since I’ve seen him last. Almost all of them are white—he has a fetish for white guys. Most of these dudes are far more muscly than I, far better looking. My buddy is a hot, hot man; he can afford to pick and choose his partners.

But this isn’t one of those times I’ll wonder why I’ve been picked and chosen. I was the first white man who got invited into their bed when my buddy decided to open up their relationship, and I’ve been welcome back ever since. I ask about the boyfriend. He’s in school still, so I hear about that, while I scroll down the impressive photos of men who’ve been inside him—or inside my buddy, or inside the both of them—in the last six months. I stop at one, a tatted and ripped guy from Atlanta. He looks like a porn star, and has a dick to match. “He’s fucking enormous,” I say. “And your boyfriend took him?”

“He got real good pictures,” says my buddy. He moves in close, and sticks his hand down my shirt. HIs fingers know where to go to seek out my nipples. “In real life he ain’t as big as you.” He turns his swivel chair around so that I face him. My legs are spread, my dick hard in my shorts. “I think you want to fuck a little,” he says. I don’t deny it. “What’re you going to give me if you do?”

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Maybe I want your ass tonight,” he says.

I shrug as if that’s no big deal. I’m not cleaned out, but honestly? I sincerely doubt it’ll be happening. The first couple of times I made visits to this guy—three or four years ago at this point—I told him I was game to be fucked if that got me into bed with the two of them. And I gave it a whirl. I lay there and let him shove his fat knob against my hole. For such a short and light guy, he’s enormous. He claims to be eleven inches, and though I’ve not measured it, I don’t see any reason to disbelieve the estimate. Fucking me with that thing is like trying to thread a very tiny darning needle with a baseball bat—you can push one against the other all you want, but it’s just one of those things that’s not going to happen.

“Maybe I want your mouth,” he says. I nod slowly. That’s more of a possibility. “You owe me,” he says. Then again, with emphasis, “You owe me.”

“Okay,” I agree. I can tell he wants to hear me say the words. “I owe you. Whatever you want. When you want it.”

After looking at a few more photos we go upstairs to the bedroom, where his boyfriend has been snoozing naked in bed for a couple of hours. I don’t know whether the boyfriend’s been told whether not I was coming, but I like his reaction at the sight of me when I pull back the blanket. When his sleepy eyes open and he sees me standing over him, his dick hardens instantly, and he smiles.

It’s all the invitation I need to remove my clothes, slowly and deliberately. My buddy settles back in an armchair near the side of the bed, pulls down his sweatpants—they don’t really have far to drop—and watches me go to work.

The fucks are good. The fucks are always the best, here. I com quickly the first time, and a few minutes later for the second. The third load is taking its own sweet time, and that’s fine with me. I’ve got as much of my dick as the boyfriend can take. The only thing the pair have in common, physically, is the dark hue of their skin. Otherwise, they’re complete opposites. The older one is hairy in his pits and on his legs, and he’s muscled to the point of looking like a cartoon character; the boyfriend is lanky, and skinny, and prefers to keep smooth. My buddy has a tree log between his legs; the boyfriend is almost tiny. This thing between them has been going on for over a decade though, and it works. My buddy likes the contrasts—just as he must like the contrast of his boyfriend’s black hole struggling to wrap even more of itself around my big white dick, or my furry mouth pressed against his boyfriend’s smooth and tender skin.

Watching my buddy’s pleasure is a good portion of my pleasure today, though. He’s held off through my orgasms, content to stroke himself while he watches another man use and soil his goods. The head of his dick is shiny and rock-solid, like black onyx, slick and wet from the precum he’s pumping out like a leaky bottle of lube. Our eyes are locked. Never mind that his boyfriend is lying on his back, his feet in my hands as I shove in and out, his forearms beating against the mattress with hollow thuds as he flails in pleasure or pain, or perhaps both. My attention on my buddy, and his is on mine. Our stare doesn’t break for the longest time. I see everything in his eyes. There’s lust, and appreciation at my ability to deliver and get the job done. There’s humor there, and irony of a sort that most men wouldn’t expect of him. And there’s a degree of jealousy. I’ve fucked my buddy in exactly the same position before, and he loved every inch of my white dick.

I hear a gasp. The boyfriend is coming. This is new to me. He’s never come just from me fucking him before. His hands are grasping the sheets and pulling his fistfuls into wrinkled balls. His face is twisted and wracked. He lets out a yell so sudden that spittle flies from his lips and lands on his already-wet face. And then he’s climaxing. His body jerks and twitches; his dick flies up and down, unhindered and untouched. I’ve seen him come many times before, when one of us has sucked him off, or when he’s stroked himself to completion. It’s just never happened when I’ve fucked him, until that night.

My buddy is sitting forward in his chair. Apparently he’s never seen this before, either. “Damn,” he keeps saying. “Damn!”

I let the boyfriend relax from his climax for a brief moment. Then I shove myself in again. I haven’t come again—not yet, anyway.

Then I watch my buddy climb onto the bed and stand on it. He’s so short that his head doesn’t even come close to hitting the ceiling. His dick was rock-hard before. Now it’s angry, alive. It’s raging out of control from what he’s witnessed, and it’s so close to my face and radiating such heat that it reddens my skin.

“You owe me,” he says as a reminder. The large club that is his dick strikes my face. He could knock a man out with that thing.

I told him earlier I owed him. So I open wide, and let that obscene member invade my mouth. Inch by inch, it stretches my jaw while I continue to fuck the younger guy.

He smells like a day’s work, and sweat, and fabric softening. My face hurts. The guy is so fucking thick that I feel as if my jawbone is going to crack. My mouth and throat are full—and I can take a lot of cock in my gullet, thanks—but it feels as if I’m only getting the first three inches in there. There’s a whole regular dick and a half of black meat hanging outside my distended lips.

But I’m liking the rough treatment he’s giving me. I owe him. He’s taking out his price on my mouth. He’s got my skull in a tight hold with both his hands, and I can tell he doesn’t intend to let go. My mouth is just a hole to him, a sex toy, and he’s hammering away at my face like it’s disposable and he doesn’t care what shape it’s in when he’s done.

I’m gagging a little, and trying very hard not to choke. Breathing isn’t easy. But my own dick swells and suddenly feels as thick as his. I grunt, and slobber, and I drool like a lunatic. But I do my best not to gag or complain. It’s simple. I owe him, and I know it. Pain is his price, this time.

I cum first. The third orgasm is stronger than either the first or second. It feels like I’m shooting long dollops of hot lava from my dick, deep into the boyfriend’s swollen hole. I don’t pull out, though. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. My buddy has my head in a lock. The back of his strong hand is on my neck, and he’s pistoning in and out with purpose. I hear him swearing, and growling. Then, not soon enough and just before I’m afraid my endurance is going to give way, I see stars. With a thrust that should by rights leave a hole in the back of my skull, he shoves as much meat as I can handle into my mouth. He shoots there, so deeply that my tongue misses the taste of his sperm completely. I’m left with only the vaguest traces in my mouth when he withdraws, and the slick throat of one who’s recently had a load dumped there.

My jaw and lips won’t fully recuperate for another three days.

My buddy flops down on the bed beside his spent boyfriend, and as an afterthought, gives the younger guy’s soft dick a long lick. “There,” he says. “Now that’s the goddamned circle of life.” I’m inclined to agree with him.

But then, I’ll agree to anything, to keep getting invited back.

More...

[evilqueerpig]

A debt wellpaid...I'm sure you have an open invitation!

[TheBreeder]

A debt wellpaid...I'm sure you have an open invitation!

I like to think so!