TheBreeder Posted September 27, 2010 Report Posted September 27, 2010 To see Breeder's original blog post click here The room attendants for the little hotel by the freewayâs side were busy when I stepped out of the elevator onto the second floor. Carts laden with towels and toilet paper and little disposable bottles of shampoo blocked the hallways at regular intervals. I passed by several rooms in which the doors and blind were wide open, and where maids in uniform wrestled to lay bedsheets flat against the mattresses. The door to room 222, however, was cracked, its security bar holding it open. I took the knob in my hand and pushed. For the briefest of moments I saw the fellow Iâd come to meet, framed by the doorwayâs light. He was stocky and broad, a muscular English bulldog of a man. He was naked, and sitting on the corner of the bed, legs spread, exposing himself. I shut the door. The two of us were blanketed by almost complete darkness. He stood up and approached me as I kicked off my sneakers. When his arms went around mine, I placed my hands on his chest, and our lips met. I could tell from the start that he was a very, very good kisser. âHi,â he said, sounding shy. I said nothing, and instead kissed him more deeply, and harder. When I think about it for any length of time, Iâm always a little bit astounded that my foray into the world of sex blogging hasnât resulted in more actual action. I get offers and attention from a lot of readers, to be sure, but they all seem to be out of the state, or else they havenât yet followed through with their promises of doing all kinds of unholy things to my dick. After months of blogging, Iâve only met two readers who were so turned on by my more-or-less daily entries that theyâve made arrangements with me to meetâmy good friend in Kentucky, and a local reader who sucked me off in a mall restroom a couple of months ago. About six weeks ago, Iâd gotten an email from someone who said he was a reader of mine, and who wanted to offer me something unusual. He was the chair of the history department at a prestigious southern university; since he had to visit the Detroit area in order to consult with the Henry Ford Museum for one of their exhibits, he asked if I might like to go along with him so that he could give me a private tour of the displays there. I was so charmed by the off-the-wall offer and found it flattering to both my libido and my brain cells that I began swapping emails with the fellow. Quite quickly we got down to his admission that he really wanted me to fuck his brains out, but that the museum tour would still be on the table if I wanted. Interested as I might have been, I was definitely up more for the fucking. We arranged a day to meet, the following week, when he was due in down. The day of his arrival, though, he left me a panicked phone message. Heâd missed his plane, he said, and heâd have to reschedule. Iâd talked to the guy on the phone a couple of times and never got the impression he was any kind of player, so I took the postponement at face value. At the same time, though, a little part of me in the back of my head kept wondering, who misses a plane? Because Iâm anal about that kind of thing. Was I being suckered? I didnât worry about it overmuch, thoughâand good thing, because my academic got in touch with me week before last and told me heâd rescheduled his museum visit. We agreed to meet Wednesday morning, when I knew Iâd have several uninterrupted hours to play. And when he sent me his location and room number, and was sitting naked on his bed just as Iâd told him, I knew that he was going to be the third of my readers to get bred by the Breederâs dick. We didnât really come up for air until we were both on the bed, making out like teenagers at a party in somebodyâs momâs basement. âWell hey there, professor,â I said to him. âOh my god, I canât believe youâre here,â he said, looking at me with something akin to marvel. âYouâre so handsome, too.â From time to time he would regard me as if I were some kind of legend sprung to life, a figure of myth or a religious icon that had stripped down in his room and decided to get dirty with him. The sensation of awe was palpable, and a little unsettling at times. âI want to give you so much pleasure today. Itâs all about you today. If you let me,â he said, sounding hopeful and tentative all at the same time. Of course, if being regarded with a little bit of awe resulted in that kind of offer, I was down with it. The professor did give me pleasureâimmense amounts of it. Wave upon wave of it, in fact, as he settled my naked body back against a bank of pillows and sucked my dick. I didnât protest or feel guilty about the attention. It was what Iâd come for. Sometimes heâd break contact with my meat and reach up to kiss me, still hungry for my mouth. Iâd hold his face with my hands and weâd kiss more, which would only make me harder for him. He turned me over and ate my ass for what seemed like hours, without me having to betray my anxiety about asking for it; he nibbled at my nuts and chewed at my nipples in just the right amount. After an hour of being showered with attention, though, I couldnât take any more. âI have to fuck you,â I told him. âThatâs what you want, isnât it?â He gulped audibly. âGood god yes.â The professor didnât protest at all when I flipped him onto his stomach and began licking at his ass. He groaned, and quivered, and began thrusting his hips into the mattress with very tiny motions, as if impatient for me to enter. I positioned my dick against his hole and stretched up so that I could whisper in his ear. At the same time, I spat in my hand and worked it onto my knob for lube. âYou came to town just to have this dick,â I growled. He whimpered, agreeing. âAre you ready for it?â âI want it so bad,â he said, clutching the pillows. âPlease.â I swear, I hadnât meant to enter him right away. Iâd only wanted to tease his underused hole with the tip of my dick and to get him yearning for it. When I pushed forward a little to find the holeâs edge, though, I found myself sliding in, and not meeting any resistance whatsoever. Just warmth, and a slight moisture, and the depths of his hole. The guy was wide open for me. âOh my god,â I said, marveling at how easily Iâd slipped all the way in. âWhen was the last time you were fucked?â âTo be totally honest, the last time was the day after Christmas, last year,â said the professor, chuckling nervously. Ruefully, he added, âBoxing day.â I wouldnât have been able to tell it had been ten months, to be honest. âBut Iâve been practicing with my Jeff Stryker dildo, to be ready for you.â âIâm no Jeff Stryker,â I told him. âNo. Youâre more handsome. And youâre bigger.â Well, there was no way to respond to that one save for with a kiss to shush his nonsense. I havenât shot so much cum lately as I did last Wednesday afternoon. Load number one I shot directly into his hole after fucking him slowly and in a number of positions; number two arrived quickly afterwards, when I was still dicking him in my own load and getting a little overexcited at the sensations. âAre you going to write about me?â he asked, while we were relaxing a little after that. âOf courseâ I said. âI write about just about all the sex I have.â âBe kind,â he joked. I make a noise expressing derision of that. âYou have no idea how I love reading about your adventures. Youâre like a Quixotic, picaresque hero of an eighteenth-century novel. I picture you in a broad-rimmed hat, and knee-high leather boots, and a poofy shirt, with a saber at your side, bedding your way across the western world in a series of comic and erotic scenarios.â I rather liked that vision of myself, and told him so. âYouâre so accessible, though,â he said as a follow-up. âI love your Byronic hair.â Which I took to mean messy, and floppy, and mostly in his mouth. âI kind of find it amazing that an A-Lister like yourself would even have sex with a B-Lister like mââ I stopped that train of discussion immediately. âFor someone so highly educated,â I told him sternly, âyou couldnât say anything dumber.â I am on nobodyâs A List, truth be told. And if someone does have an A List, theyâre likely not the sort of person Iâm interested in meeting or hanging around. Iâm ready to like the people I meet, period. No matter what their size or shape or length or girth, they either all bring something to the table, in which case I glow about them, or they bring little to nothing at all, in which case I walk away disappointed. With the professor, there was no chance of disappointment. I went back in him for a third load, and then to my surprise, pumped a fourth in his hole. There was something about the way his ass felt against my hips and thighs that made penetration very pleasurable in a way that the guys who are all hipbone and skin donât manage. When he wheedled, âCan I feel you in me one more time?â when I was getting ready to go, I couldnât help myself. Nothing against you twinky guysâyou know I love you to death, too. But often nothingâs better a hot, beefy man with a little meat of his bones. There ainât nothing B-List about that. And thatâs how the professor was the first person Iâve been with in over a year got five loads out of me in less than three hours, all of them deep into his hungry hole. Whoâs stepping up to be reader number four? More...
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