Jump to content

Recommended Posts

Posted

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

After the intensity of Sunday night with Scruffy, I wasn’t particularly horny Monday morning. Around lunchtime, though, I was driving out to one of the big discount stores to get some household staples when I passed the side road that leads up to the woods. And I thought to myself, after a tentative moment, Yeah, why not? The day my sexual curiosity isn't piqued is the day you can wrap me up and drop me into the coffin.

I parked my car among the trucks of the little manufacturer’s across the street, and strolled in the direction of the trails. It was one of those brilliant Michigan afternoons, seemingly crafted from sunlight and chilly breezes into a creation of clarity in which every shape had a hard, defined edge, and every color seemed more vivid than it possibly could have been. The woods themselves were afire with reds and yellows. This week’s cold snap had triggered the leaves everywhere in my town to begin falling in droves. Streaks of crimson and amber drifted by in twos and threes. The drifting leaves never stopped falling. It felt a little bit like being in an early Ridley Scott movie.

To the left of the trail I noticed a black truck parked on the perpendicular side street. I wasn’t at all surprised, once I’d plunged into the cathedral of tree trunks and begun to tread the thick, soft patchwork carpet of leaves that covered the trails as well as every fallen branch and tree and stump, to see the truck’s inhabitant following me. I stuffed my hand in my pocket and withdrew my phone. Leaning against an oak in the middle of the trees, I checked my email while he walked by. Our eyes met. His dipped down and surveyed my package before clicking back up again. “How’s it goin’?” he asked, as he passed.

I merely nodded, and put the phone back in my pocket. He marched with deliberation to the woods’ furthest depths. My feet followed, kicking up leaves as they went. Even if I ended up having nothing more than a brisk walk on a cool and sunny autumn day, it would have been worth it for the spicy smell of damp foliage and the quiet of the trees. I suspected I’d be getting more out of it, though.

At the back of the woods he stepped off the trail and crossed over fallen trees and past the tiny mud hole to wander into untrodden territory where no one was likely to venture. I followed him deeper into the woods, darting behind bushes and tree trunks to catch up with him. At last he came to a rest at a spot where a tree had toppled over, leaving a stump behind. He brushed a layer of fallen leaves from the toppled trunk and sat down, knees wide apart, hands dangling between his legs.

I took a good look the man. I’d known he was short, when he passed—probably no more than five-foot-six. His face was narrow, fine-featured, and handsome; a pair of long, thick sideburns framed its sides. His eyes were dark and knowing as he looked at me. “Quiet back here,” I remarked.

“Yeah,” he drawled. He had been wearing a utility jacket bearing the name of an automotive repair shop on its back. He pulled it off to reveal he was wearing a pair of dirty coveralls. His name, the same as my father’s, appeared over his left pectoral. The shop’s logo had been embroidered over the right. He had a cut over his lip, as if he’d been in a fist fight. Somehow, that cut just made him seem all the hotter. “So what’s up?”

“Not much,” I said back. I hooked my right thumb in my jeans pocket and let the fingers dangle over my crotch. They stroked the fabric casually. “Just hanging out.”

“Yeah?” He stood up and cupped his crotch. “Nice.” His coveralls were already unzipped, pooching out to display the dark canyon beyond.

“Very nice.” I closed the distance between us with two steps. His right hand reached out for the warm area between my legs. The left, after unbuttoning the front of his one-piece uniform to expose a chest that was covered lightly with sparse hair, rested on my bicep. His dick was three-quarters hard. It wasn’t big. The shaft narrowed near the end beneath an enormous mushroom head, giving his penis the look of an arrow shaft.

I unzipped my jeans, yanked down the elastic of my trunks, and let my hardening dick flop out.

Without hesitation, the handsome mechanic dropped down to his knees, right there on the leafy ground, and began to suck me. I’d worried somewhat that he’d be clumsy with his teeth, but the guy was an expert at what he was doing. While I swiveled my head around, keeping an eye out for distant intruders, he continued to slurp at my meat, all while playing with himself. He used his right fingers to create a tight ring around my shaft that followed his mouth as he moved back and forth.

With his free hand, he played with his chest, flicking his nipples and running the palm over his abs before returning to his dick. At one point he reached out for my left hand, which was running through his hair, or holding the back of his head, or cupping his jaw. I felt his fingers probe along my fourth finger. I realized he was trying to see if it bore a ring. When he found it, he seemed to suck harder.

I looked down to watch my handsome mechanic suck. That’s when I realized that only one of my nuts had made it through the opening of my fly. Embarrassing. I struggled to find it, caught as it was behind the tangle of waistband and fly and zipper. The mechanic solved my problem for me by unbuttoning my jeans and yanking them down to my knees. The chilly air played over my naked buttocks and thighs, making his mouth seem even wetter and more warm.

It was all those crazy contrasts—the warm and the cold, the incredible firmness of his hand and the softness of his lips, the quiet of the falling leaves and the increasingly desperate grunts the mechanic was making as he sucked faster and harder, that brought me off. I held the back of his head still as I drove my cock in; he welcomed it with an open throat and a pair of lips pursed to take me to the root. My semen shot directly into his gullet. He accepted it without choking, backed off to swallow, then greedily slurped down the last of it as my orgasm subsided. I rested for a moment in his mouth, then pulled back and flopped out, my cock wet with his spit and a shellac of my own sperm.

Without bothering to pull up my pants, I dropped to my knees, down onto that carpet of ruby and lemon and saffron. ”Let me have yours,” I asked him, face to face.

He seemed surprised. “Yeah?” For a moment it looked as if he wanted to kiss me, which I would’ve welcomed. But perhaps he was unsure how I’d receive it, because instead he stood up and pointed that arrow shaft of his dick toward me. “Take it then,” he said. “I’m ready.”

I opened my mouth and was about to engulf his rod between my lips . . . and then he blew. I was perhaps two inches away when he shot and sprayed semen everywhere. It narrowly missed my eye and blasted my forehead and nose with an audible splat. When I opened my lids again, he’d managed to spew his load all over my jacket as well. The leaves beneath his feet had droplets of white fluid, and the tops of my jeans were soaked. Despite the fact I’d wanted to suck that dick, it was actually quite hot.

The man made half-hearted attempts at wiping his fluid off me, but it didn’t matter. I could do it myself. I used my jacket as a cum rag, and mentally resolved to leave it in the car when I got to my shopping destination. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s not who I am, coming so fast like that. That’s not me at all, man.”

“It’s cool,” I said, wiping the rest of it off me and pulling up my pants.

Only when I laughed did he seem consoled. “Maybe I’ll see you around again?”

“I sure hope so,” I told him sincerely.

“All right,” he said. “Gotta get back to work.”

We exchanged a couple of take-it-easies and began navigating back to the trails. I let him exit the park first, then made my way back to the car. He tapped his car horn slightly as he passed, leaving, and lifted two fingers in a cocksucker’s salute.

I can’t help but wonder how much longer the leaves will remain on the trees, in those woods. Once they’re down, playtime there stops for the season. And I’d surely like another encounter with my hot little mechanic.12316001024335229-496441664382789551?l=mrsteed64.blogspot.com

More...

×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

By using this site, you agree to our Terms of Use, Privacy Policy, and Guidelines. We have placed cookies on your device to help make this website better. You can adjust your cookie settings, otherwise we'll assume you're okay to continue.