Poz Twink Behind the Counter

mdestry · June 17, 2014

I was recently in Phoenix to attend a conference on mortgages. I didn't plan on running a bank for a career, but all the pieces fell into place, and before I knew it, I had risen to the top of my profession. I spend half my life moving around the country attending conferences, checking on branches, doing television, speaking to Congress, and teaching courses on mortgages. Mortgages! Dry, boring, dull. And the industry's workers are very much like pharmaceutical salespeople - ex-jocks and cheerleaders who either didn't think beyond the football field and never gave college a thought, or weren't bright enough to get in. They all eventually discovered that working at Joe's Bar wasn't exactly the wisest career choice, and into the professions that didn't require preparation - pharm sales, mortgages, Realtors, or insurance - had 2.2 children, gained an extra forty, and leased a Toyota.

So I spend my half of my time surrounded by loudmouthed conservatives stuck in the Glory Days of Youth. The other half? Well, everyone needs balance, right? So I seek out the bathhouses, bookstores, backrooms, cruise bars, and clubs where men meet to let their inhibitions go and do what real men do best - fuck, beed, and seed, usually with the help of some chemical substances, whether the Miracle Drug viagra, or the party chems of the day. There's not much I haven't done - I have scoped out the corners of a bathhouse in Columbus Ohio and found myself tied to the cross, ready for load after load. I've been to the sister club in Indy at 4:30 AM, tweaking with a 22 year old hustler who was too nice (or too wasted) to tell me he that he was a rentb-y. I knew, and I knew that he wouldn't be asking for rent whenI was done with him. New Orleans, for all its famed decadence, was shockingly lacking in sleaze, that is until I discovered the upstairs area of a leather bar, where a long ledge against the back wall was just the right height to lay on your back, raise your legs, and take a line of cocks all night long. Los Angeles, in the sling at the Slammer. Steamworks in Chicago, the Follies in D.C., every streetcorner in Lauderdale, a hot cruise park in Louisville, a bookstore in Houston, a truck stop in Kansas City. I have encyclopedia of NSA hookup spots across the country. Craigslist? Too easy. Grindr? Too much emai. Ad or Barebk? Great in an emergency, but with a little planning, there is always plenty of ass. Neg ass, ready for pozzing.

So there I was in Phoenix. Having read about the Chute for years, I was anxious to finally give it a try. It showed incredible promise right from the start. As I walked in and scanned the prices, I saw a young, tiny, Hispanic twink behind the counter. He was wearing a low-cut wrestler's tunic, dark blue, that hugged a tight little bubble ass. Around the front, I could clearly see the outline of his flaccid cock.

As he saw me, he rolled his eyes, and spoke in Spanish to his co-workers. "Another desperate leather daddy looking to queen it up for a day," he said as he rolled his eyes. I responded to him in perfect Spanish, "Son, that's no way to treat a paying customer, and you'll remember that when I am slamming into your ass later tonight." I threw a hundred dollar bill into the bowl and shoved it through the window so hard that it bounced off his shoulder and clanged down onto the floor. "Pick it up, Puta, and give me my towel and keys."

He looked stunned for a moment, then the left side of his mouth curled up slightly. He was trying not to show it, but I had found his button - quickly, instinctively. But really, they are all alike. Whether they take the form of the uppity east side twink in NYC who thinks he's too good for anyone, the Lauderdale slut twinks who will do anyone, the California sin-kissed twinks who claim to be laidback but are desperate for their next tweak, or the twink hustlers who seem to be behind the counter at every bathhouse in America. They all just need a firm hand, and they snap into gear like the little boys they are, eager to please their daddy. Yeah, they're easy. I know, because I used to be one of them.

He picked up a towel and a key. "You can't afford me," he said with a sneer. I thought to myself, "Well, there goes your tip, you little shit." But I said in Spanish, under my breath, a threatening whisper: "I know what you need, boy. You're like all the others - arrogant little nellies who think they're so desirable that the world will fall at their feet. But you want me. You need me, and I know it. I can see it, smell it. So later tonight, when you're about to get off work and you're thinking about looking for me in room ..... " I glanced at my key, "Room 245, you think about what it is you really want from me. Think about how you need it. And think about what you could possibly say that would convince me to give it to you."

He laughed and said over his shoulder, "Muscle daddy thinks I want his cock!" He and his buddies cracked up, laughing a little too loud and a little too long.

"No," I said, "You want my poz cum." That shut them up. Twinkboy's expression changed from contempt to shock to surprise, to lust. I could almost hear him thinking, "Oh shit, he knows. How am I going to avoid this one?"

"Buzz me in," I said with contempt. The door made the universal buzzing sound, I pulled and entered to a blast of disco without looking back. But I knew he was watching, following me with his eyes. I got about fifteen steps when I heard him say something, and he and his buddies went back to laughing. I knew I'd see him later, and he would have very different attitude.

daddybear · June 17, 2014

very very nice, good promising start!

wroxguy · June 22, 2014

More please, Please, PLEASE !

I love the begining

mdestry · June 22, 2014

As I walked toward my room, I checked out the scene. Not at all what I had expected - the pool area was outdoors, overgrown and unkempt. The TV room was incredibly small, but did boast two levels. I never say a sling, gloryhole area, cross, or other amenities that I ad been expected. And there was a huge amount of construction going on. For a second or so, I indulged i the fantasy of getting fucked by a straight construction worker, but then discarded that as highly unlikely. As I turned the key to my room, I felt a hand brush across my ass and looked up to see a grandpa, at least in his 70's wink and smile. I have known hot daddies, and age is just a number, but it was clear that this gent had not bothered to keep himself fit. I began to see why the twink behind the counter showed so much attitude - he must get hit on all the time. But I felt more a contempt from him - I felt .... heat. The attitude was just an act to cover it. I was sure.

I wandered around for a bit, and things were looking up. Took a load from an older Asian dude, who mumbled over and over, "Breed you, breeding you, breed..." Got fucked and sucked in the maze, but the walls were so close together that it was very difficult. Laid face down on the padded riser n e TV room and took two random loads from guys I never saw, and had a couple of others fuck me,without cumming. All raw - seems like no one here was even remotely concerned with condoms. Good.

As I got up, I saw the Hispanic twink over in e corner with a couple of younger guys, talking and pointing at men as they passed. I decided to sit over in the corner and observe. As I sat down, I caught his eye, and he turned very serious, lost his smile, and turned his back to me. It was a nice sight. Although he was thin, he wasn't skinny - just small. Maybe 5-foot-six, one hundred forty. He was well-defined, but not muscled at all - just casually well-put together, as if God had hung the muscles on him with great prevision, so that he wouldn't have to work out. I could almost feel the soft firmness just by looking. His shoulders tapered down to a waist that had to be 26 inches. He still had on the blue tunic, but that hit, round bubble ass was covered with a ratty white towel that he had wrapped around his waist. I could not spot a room key anywhere on him - good. He was looking for someone to host.

The twinks milled about for a few minutes longer. They'd occasionally burst out in laughter when guys would try to approach, but one by one, they were led off by guys of all ages and sizes until just my twink was left. Apparently he was a lot pickier than the others. Either that or he was waiting for someone. I decided to find out. I stood up and opened my towel so that I could adjust it. He got a brief glimpse of my semi-hard 9 inches. He smiled. I sneered. Then I winked, turned my back, stretched like a cat, and flexed my muscles until I was sure that he was transfixed. Without looking back, I started heading to my room.

I passed a few tempting sights along the way - a few guys face down, a hot black guy stroking a gigantic pole, a college-aged couple obviously tweaked and looking for company. I kept going. As Zi rounded a corner I looked back and expected to see my boy following, but I was disappointed - he wasn't in sight.

I resisted the urge to head back to the couple or the BBC (or, more likely, both), and found my room. Once inside, i pulled out my pipe and dropped in a good sized shard - a little less than a quarter. Lit the torch and within a few seconds I blew out a thick white cloud and felt the smoke go straight to my dick. I lazily rubbed the head while I prepared for a second hit. But just as I was raising the torch toward the bowl, I heard a knock. I clicked off the torch and dropped my baseball cap over the pipe and the torch.

I opened the door, and before I could even tell who was there, the little Mexican Twink was in my room standing directly in front of me with his hands on his hips. "This is a non-smoking room, " he said accusatorially. "Bullshit, pipsqueak," I retorted. He stared at me, and I stared back - a true Mexican stand-off. Then he smiled, looked down, and said, "It's OK. If you want to share, I won't tell." I pulled the baseball cap off the pipe and torch, and laid down on the bed, loosened my towel, and said, "Help yourself, puta."

"Yeah, Papi," he said as he almost lunged for the pipe. He sat on the bed with his back to me as he took his first hit - a healthy-sized one that produced a nice cloud. He clearly wasn't new to partying. He immediately took a second and then a third. "Slow down, boy, tat's strong shit." He turned and looked at me, clearly annoyed. "I work at the baths, Papi. You think I don't know how to smoke?" He turned and took a fourth hit.

A started absently stroking his back. I could feel the gooseflesh rise. After his fifth toke, he turned toward me, and I could see that his eyes were dilated and glassy. But he was still defiant. "You like my boyflesh?" he asked arrogantly. "Yeah," I responded.

He turned and hit it again. I stroked lower. He hit it again. I moved my hand into his tunic feeling for his hole. He lifted up, and looked back at me. His eyes were all-pupil, and he smiled lazily, sexily. "You got good stuff, Papi," he said. "Might make me lose control if I keep going." My finger found his hole, and he gasped. "Too late," I said as I found a hole that was already lubed -whether from a prior fuck or just preparation, I could't tell - or care. My finger slipped in all the way as he turned and lit it again. He rocked on my finger as he drew from the pipe. A weak cloud this time, and he turned around, his eyes completely glazed over and a crooked smile on his face. "Looks like we're empty, daddy," he said. I shivered. "Daddy...." It turned me on lime nothing else.

I reached over, fished a baggie out of my pants and tossed it to him. "Wow," he said. "Must be a teen in here. We're gonna have some fun, papi." I shoved two fingers in his hole. "Call me daddy, boy," I said. His eyes rolled i to his head and he repeated in pa whisper, "Yes, daddy."

I finger fucked that hole until he was on the edge, riding my hand like a cock. Then I pulled out, grabbed the pipe and loaded it with at least a half. His eyes widened as I lit the torch, heated the bowl and drew the longest, hardest and steadiest as I could. When my lungs were full, I grabbed his neck and blew the smoke into him, hard and fast. He took it all like a pro, and blew a could that anyone would be impressed by. I could tell his head was swimming.

He looked dreamy for a second, then went for my towel. I laud back and felt his hands lift my heavy cock. "Yeah, Daddy," he said. "I'm gonna make you cum so hard."

mdestry · June 22, 2014