Date: Wed, 9 Apr 2014 22:28:22 -0400
From: Mads van Duessen <madsvand@gmail.com>
Subject: Gym Stretch Part 15

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Part 15 – Gym Stretch

Jack hurled me on the bed when we got to my bedroom – just flung me like
a t-shirt, despite my height and hulk.  WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOF!  My
cock was already hard, but I swear I almost came just from that.

Jack's not as big as I am, but he's probably under 3% bodyfat but weighs
well over the average for his height, more than I do, and I'm more than 3
inches taller than he is.  His muscles aren't bodybuilder muscles –
they're a man whose entire body's muscles are always in use, like a pro
baseball player, a tall short stop – and they ripple under his coat of
fine curly brown (VERY soft!) fur in a way that I could probably cum just
from watching him walk back and forth in front of me shirtless and only in
his boxer briefs for a few minutes!

Thoughts and fantasies of Jack always paled in comparison to what he did
. . . to me!  All of those whirled in my head, and my eyes were transfixed
on him as I bounced on my butt a time or two on the bed before stopping
with my legs splayed up.  He was on me instantaneously, ripping his own
clothes off as he'd pounced, kicking whatever stuck, his face buried in my
crotch with me down his throat.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!
I yelled as he gulped in his throat that way he did and drove my cockhead
and the couple of inches in his throat fucking wild.

Jack was taking no prisoners – which I knew him well enough now, over a
day and THIRTY FUCKING LOADS in, that I should have known he meant what he
said in the hall.

He had one hand ROUGHLY yanking on my balls now, another thing that drove
me crazy.  A man who isn't afraid to test the waters and find another man's
sensitivity preference for having his balls played with is a sexy man
indeed.  So many men are so "sensitive", either to their own balls being
"hurt" or to "hurting" someone else just by touching them – BAH!  Give
me a MAN who loves his balls treated like the rest of him, like a MAN, and
I'll give you a man who knows how to give as good as he gets and can fuck
me all day and all night.  Oh, back to Jack, who was that man AND had been
doing just that.

Jack's other hand was on my ass, three of his fingers inside my sore,
stretched hole, surprisingly not hurting beyond the joyous pain a bottom
craves.  Those fingers, though, were working my prostate like internal
kneading, knocking and rubbing in a way that I was already seeing stars!
DAMN HE WAS GOOOOOOOOOOD!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhfffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkk
Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"
I cried out as my body thrashed around, pivoting on the midpoint of me that
was pinned front and back by his mouth and hand and other hand,
respectively.

My man's back was a sheen of sweat over the very smooth skin I'd thought
was unusual but had confirmed was natural despite of his general pelting
otherwise.  I reached out and took a big swipe from his armpit and was
rewarded both with the sensation of it being soaked with sweat and then the
smell and taste of him that made my body explode with desire.

Jack was determined, and just as the rush of his sweat merged with the rush
of his sucking, yanking and finger-fucking, he simultaneously gave an
exceptionally HARD yank and doubled the tightness of his grip and swallowed
me to the root again.  As I screamed in pain and pleasure I felt his nose
JAMMED into my pubes.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
I screamed long and loud.  He didn't release his grip or the tension on my
big, sore nuts.

I, however, released my hold, my entire body exploding in a nuclear rush
that ripped through me as hard as any he'd fucked out of me.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
I continued on and on like a madman.

Jack was grunting LOUD and choking and gulping around my cock, still with
his nose buried in my pubes, and I heard and felt his grunts and
appreciative groans in my pelvis.

It felt like I pumped cum out forever, and the burn and explosion inside me
continued without any abatement whatsoever the entire time.  The difference
was I was intensely conscious of it, not like often when a guy fucks me
into the next dimension and I lost any cognition while I'm cumming.

When I'd finally stopped shooting, my cock was still pumping, like it was
so intense it couldn't stop until the intensity of the inertia wore down.
I could tell it was dry pumping by that point, despite knowing my balls
weren't technically empty.  The sensation was as intense as the climax
itself, I a way I'd never experienced before.  And at the same time I felt
like I was sapped of every single solitary bit of energy and might just
stop respiration and circulation at any time because my body was shutting
down.

Jack's tongue was now lazily licking around my head, flicking the flange
gently, tickling my piss slit a little less gently, then swiping around and
around again like an ice cream cone.  He did that before and discovered
that it makes me almost jump out of my skin, but this time I was conscious
but completely paralyzed to show any physical response, not even the moan
of ecstasy I was feeling.

He brought one of his big hands up and put it firmly flat on my sternum.
Using his tongue for something other than my cock for a moment, he looked
up at me, splayed, inert.  "Had to make sure you're still breathing," he
said, and he rubbed his face on my still-hard cock and licked my balls.

I couldn't respond.  I wouldn't have known what to respond if I could have
spoken.  I drifted off to sleep under the intoxication of the smell of Jack
with my nose pressed to his neck and the feel of his sweaty fur against me.

Jack kissed the inside of my thigh as my cock was finally starting to
soften, then he climbed up next to me, put a pillow under my head and lay
down, working his right arm under me and putting his right hand over on my
right pec.  I was suddenly able to move, and I rolled over against him and
put my arms around him tight.  In response, Jack's left arm encircled me
and held me just as tight.

Neither of us spoke.  We just lay there.

I awoke a couple of hours later.  It was well after midnight then, close to
one, and we were still holding each other.  Jack's breathing was regular
and deep as he slept in my arms.  My left arm was asleep under him
. . . and that felt almost as good to me as I remembered the sex that wiped
me out.  But I really had to piss . . . and that would be NOW.

I didn't realize Jack had awakened as I was starting to disengage until he
kissed the top of my head and released his grip on me.  I moved so I could
look him in the face, our eyes meeting in the light which was barely enough
but was enough.  We held that for a moment, despite my bladder's protest.
And then I leaned in and very softly pressed my lips to his, tightening my
grip on him again, and he his on me.

"Gotta piss," I said, breaking the kiss and this time completing our
disengagement none too gently before I bounded off the bed and ran to the
bathroom.  Jack's chuckle behind me was almost as warm in my ears as the
kiss had been on my lips.

I made it just in time and stood and let flow a stream that would have made
any of the proverbial racehorses jealous.  Mid-piss Jack was behind me and
pressed himself up against me and gently took my flowing hose in his hand.
Again, I thought, thank God I'm not pee-shy because I wasn't near finished
and needed to!

Leaning my head back and rubbing the side of my face against his, I joked,
"If it wasn't obvious a few hours ago, you've got total and complete
control of my body.  This is unnecessary to solidify your ownership of me,
stud."

Jack's lips found the back of my neck in the places that drove me nuts.
Fortunately my bladder function remained constant, despite the rush of
electricity and heat that shot through the rest of me.  "I want to own you
least of everything I want with respect to you," he stated matter-of-factly
while still brushing the skin on the back of my neck with his lips.  "I
couldn't want anything less," he added, and I found that I was sorry he
felt that way.

I'd finished and he'd shaken my cock.  He turned me around to him.  The
glow from the city's lights through the glass block wall of my bathroom –
a hard-fought well-won battle with the building association for a luxury I
craved – made his face shine.  My breath caught.

He reached up and caressed my face and pulled me into a kiss with him,
wrapping me tight in his arms.  "Sleep with me," he requested quietly when
we'd taken a breath.

- -

We awoke Sunday morning, Jack wrapped around me like the "big spoon".  I'd
never actually been the big spoon before for anything other than a brief
moment – I am bigger than most anyone else, and no other man had been
able to make it work, to feel natural.  Jack had gone way beyond that and
made it feel like heaven.

I didn't realize he'd been up already until I rolled onto my back,
intending to enjoy the sight of him sleeping with me but inadvertently
waking him in the process.  His breath was minty fresh, all brushed and
gargled.

"Good morning, handsome," he greeted me.

I stretched more freely knowing he was awake and responded inanely, "How
did you brush your teeth?"

Jack laughed, and I was catching up mentally on what he'd said and enjoying
the compliment.  And from him it was a compliment, both because I wanted to
be desirable to him and also because Jack is devastatingly handsome.

"Why don't you want to own me?" I blurted out, even more inanely than my
teeth brushing question.  I'm not the sharpest tack on the board when I'm
waking up.

"Your first question: I brought a toothbrush – had it in my back pocket,
a nifty folding two-piece thing they give you on the airplane in
intercontinental flight bags.  Your second question: because I want you to
be freely with me because it's your choice each and every moment."

WHOA, that was more than I expected . . . or was prepared to deal with.
Fortunately my cock was pointing skyward, throbbing hard under the sheet,
and it was only half because any time I was with Jack I wanted him –
mostly it was because I needed to piss . . . again.

I vaulted off the bed making good my escape from that heavy declaration.
"Gotta piss and catch up on the oral hygiene – be right back," I called
as I ran into my bathroom.  It wasn't THAT urgent, at least not the piss –
just my escape!

Jack didn't come in while I was pissing noisily a long stream of morning
relief into the toilet.  I found I was a bit disappointed he didn't.  MAN I
had it bad.  And yet, I found myself happy about it.  No voices telling me
to run or distance myself.  OK, well, we won't consider my piss-escape,
will we?!

As I brushed my teeth I called out to Jack, "Come and take a long,
leisurely shower with me."

He was there in a flash, as I spit out my mouthwash.  "Reporting as
requested!" he joked and wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck
again.  And that's when I noticed he was hard as a rock, his big hardon
pressed between my cheeks.

"And FUCK ME like you've never fucked me before while we're under the
water!" I growled.

Jack laughed into my neck and hugged me tighter, and my hands reflexively
went up to hug his arms.  I loved his hands on me.  I also pressed my
still-sore, still slick fuckhole back into his cock and rubbed the length
of him in my clenched buttcheeks.  I bent over the counter, pulling him
with me on top but getting his cockhead aligned with my hole and then
pushed back.

"Whoa, sexy!" Jack laughed and pulled back.  "I need to take care of
something first."

He pissed long, like I had, which was beautiful to watch and hear.  I LOVE
men being MEN . . . in every way.  Well, not beyond urination in the
evacuation sense!  NO WAY – no shit – EVER – neither mine (my
pride as a bottom) nor anyone else's.  How do men do that anyway?

Not for the first time I marveled at how Jack made my mind go giddy and off
pursuing tangential thoughts.  I was getting used to it . . . or was that
addicted to it.

When he finished he stepped to where I was waiting for him to enter my
shower, the water already streaming wastefully.  I turned and pressed my
hands against the wall and shoved my butt out toward him.  Jack, however,
had different ideas, as it turned out.

He pulled me back and up and around so we were facing each other.  I got
that message and started to get to my knees, an equal favorite, if I did
admit it!  But Jack caught me under my armpits and held me there facing him
under the hot water.  "I want to FUCK you," he declared in even tone but
accentuated the volume of the FUCK, and my entire body shivered with
excitement.  "I want to FUCK you and SUCK you and LICK you and KISS you and
TASTE you and SMELL you over and over, probably, if I admit it, for the
rest of my life."  Whoa, here we go again!  "Don't react, Mads, just absorb
what I'm saying, okay?  I want all of that all of the time, and even more
than I've ever wanted that with anyone, even when I was a horny teenager."
The water streamed, and I did what I was told and concentrated on absorbing
but not reacting, despite my entire being wanting to RUN . . . again.  "But
Mads, I also want to BE with you and do everyday things with you and enjoy
every single little thing life has to offer.  And I promise you I WILL FUCK
you and SUCK you and LICK you and KISS you and TASTE you and SMELL you over
and over all the time, too."

WOW!  Fortunately Jack spared me the need to say anything.  He simply
reached around me and took the soap and a cloth and began to gently lather
and scrub me.

I made the conscious – and difficult – decision to just give myself
permission to enjoy it.  And I did . . . starting with a long moaning
exhalation which reflected my sensations of pleasure at his hands.
"AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,"
I sighed.

I was rewarded with a kiss to my abs as he was soaping and washing my
thighs.  I had to put my hand out to the shower wall to steady myself
because my knees went weak from the thrill of his attentions, gunned by the
kiss.

He was good at this.  He gently raised first my left foot and thoroughly
washed it, between my toes, heavy on the sole, and then the other.  Then he
turned me around and worked over my back and down to my ass.  I was
surprised to realize that I was completely soft – my cock hanging long
and loose, my balls likewise.  I was so stimulated yet I was relaxed, safe
and full over swirling bliss inside me.

But when he got to my ass, my nature took over, and my cock was instantly
hard, despite the gentle way he lathered and washed my buttcheeks, crack
and outside of my hole.  "I almost hate the clean myself out of you," he
admitted, loud enough over the water's spray for me to hear him from down
there where he was still crouching, yet gentle, soothing.  "But I give you
my solemn promise that for every time I clean you I will fill you again
. . . at least," he vowed, the last added part with a smirk in his tone.

His finger entered me.  "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I moaned
like a bitch in heat.  He washed me thoroughly, and surprisingly with a
digital technique similar to the one I use.  I was at the same time soaring
with sensory pleasure and terrified that he'd trigger a release.
Fortunately I knew my body well enough that I checked that worry
immediately upon a moment's focus on my body's internal status combined
with my extraordinary muscle control "down there".

But then he pushed farther in and touched my prostate, and just like that I
erupted, first inside, then hosing down the shower wall with a jizzload
that would bring tears to a porn star's eyes.
"HOLYFUCKINGMOTHERFUCKINGFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!"
I shouted as it ripped through me.

Jack never stopped his work of my inner knob, and I went from exclamation
to yowling to squealing like a giddy teenager, pounding the shower wall
HARD with the heel of my hand but absolutely no desire for him to stop.  It
was absolutely the longest orgasm I'd ever experienced, and to this moment
I have no idea whatsoever if it persisted in pummeling my senses for
minutes or hours.

When Jack finally removed his fingers, I almost cried out.  And then he
replaced his fingers with his lips against my aching, soaring, singing
pucker and kissed and licked me into a resumption of the nirvana level from
simply laving my assring.  "GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD Jack!" I
exclaimed, with nothing more I could have constructed if my life depended
on it.

"You taste wonderful," he cooed and smacked his lips loud enough to be
heard, and then he pressed his lips back against my most sensitive nerves.
And I was soaring again, just like that.

I heard the backup water heater – a nifty local inline spot heating
mechanism I'd had put in after once too many times taking a cold shower in
peak usage times in my old condo in Chicago before I'd moved.  Jack heard
it, too, and for the second time since we'd been together over the past day
and a half his body tensed in response.

The first time had been when we'd been walking, and someone came up behind
us quickly.  I didn't realize that was what it was, even when his hand had
tensed in mine, and he'd quickly pulled me against a store window and
kissed me.  It clicked for me now as I replayed that it wasn't his urge
that caused his hand to tense in anticipating of pulling me into the clench
– it was reaction to those footsteps, the men behind us passing,
obviously disinterested in us.  Note to self: check it out with him
. . . but how?

"It's the water heater, Jack.  We're on local now, because the water coming
from the building's hot water became less hot."

Jack had raised and was washing himself hurriedly by then, a little too
determinedly to be credible.  When I gave him the explanation, his entire
body relaxed.  Yes, I knew every muscle and ripple of that amazingly
appealing bod.  And it was likewise obvious to me, to my studied
appreciation, that he was trying to keep me from noticing.

"Hey," I called, and I reached for him.

He looked at me, that slight upturn from his eyes to mine now a warm,
calming feeling of comfort.  I liked it, maybe more.  But I was determined.

Jack reached down and started soaping my cock and balls.  "Forgot to take
care of the mess you made."

It felt amazing to have him touch me, especially my cock and balls,
something I rarely enjoyed much before, from other men.  "YOU made that
mess, stud!" I corrected him, smirking.  Jack smiled broadly, a bit evilly,
and kept at it, working my cock back to hard, just like that.  "Hey, whoa,
buddy!  Who was it who said something about enjoying more than just sex?"

His look of surprise morphed into a look of appreciation.  His work on my
cock went to a gentle caress, and his face beamed.  "Guilty, your honor, of
a slip.  You know," he continued, with a manipulative

"And what I started to say," I brought us back to topic, "If I may be so
bold, I'd like to talk about your hyper-intense attention to anything out
of place."

Jack's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, but I'd been looking into his
beautiful eyes enough that I caught it.  I put my hand out, my palm coming
to rest flat over his heart.  "You're the one who convinced me this limb
we're out on is strong enough, Jack," I said softly.

I felt the same almost imperceptible reaction, this time just the tiniest
relaxing of his stance.  I hadn't noticed the tensing, just the eye flick.
He returned to a beautiful smile.  "You're right, Mads.  You're right.  But
let's do that when we can be focused on each other, not showering,
dressing, working out, sucking, FUCKing," his smile went to a leer, "And
all the very filthy things we do SO very well.  Deal?" he offered.

I didn't hesitate so much as decide whether I should further hone the terms
of this deal.  SHIT I think I'd been around my bosses too long.  You could
offer them an Aston Martin, and they'd ask for a convertible Ferrari.
Okay, frankly I had no idea which was more expensive, but it exemplifies
the comparison I was feeling.

"It's a promise, Mads.  I'll talk to you about anything," Jack emphasized
in the gap while I was thinking.

I couldn't help but laugh.  He looked confused, then I felt bad.  "No,
baby, sorry," I soothed, compensating for the misimpression I'd given.  "I
just got off on a tangent," I laughed.

"That was no tangent, baby," he retorted, with an evil smirk.  "THAT was my
left hand . . . and only three fingers of it!"  He couldn't hold it, and
the evil smirk went to a laugh, and we collapsed against each other
laughing, and I kissed his neck.

"Wasn't there a James Bond line about that?" I asked, something ringing in
my mind vaguely.

Without missing a beat: "Close to the end of Casino Royale, Vesper Lind to
James Bond.  `If all there was left of you was your little finger . . . `
and something after that.  And Bond grins and says, `That's because you
know what I can do with my little finger!'"

His tone for Vesper was his own; but I swear his tone, posture and delivery
was Daniel Craig in a more handsome package (and that is saying something
indeed!) as James Bond to a T!  "Torrenz, Jack Torrenz," I intoned a la
James Bond.

Jack beamed back at me, not realizing that the intense smoldering stare on
me was one hundred percent desire for him, not James Bond.  "How about I be
your Bond Boy you hot fucker?"

"How about you be my Torrenz Man instead?"

"NOW you have a deal!" I agreed, enthusiastically, pumping my fist.  And
somewhere inside me I realized I'd just made a much bigger choice, which
came through my words without either of us noticing.

"C'mon ya big tease," Jack said with a laugh, and he looked down pointedly
at my cock, fully erect again.  "We're wasting water here!  What would the
environmentalists say?"

I turned off the taps as we went to the towels.  "All of them, men and
women alike, would say, "I get HIM," I replied, pointing dramatically at
Jack, "NEXT!"  And then I shook my hand like it was on fire from the touch
of my middle finger to his hairy chest.

Jack blushed, a sight I'd come to enjoy.  I gently cuffed him on his
stubbly chin, and a pulse of electricity went from my knuckles straight to
my balls, which didn't help my hardon one damn bit.  "You know it, too.
You're a stud."

Jack's blush actually went to his neck and into his pecs, which just
inflamed my desire all the more.  DOWN MADS . . . WORK this the way HE
wants it . . . MORE WILL COME, I told myself in my head.  And then my
perfect man – and I realized I had decided he was, instead of a man
who'd fuck me like nobody else and then walk out . . . until he next wanted
to drain his balls! – and THEN my perfect man acknowledged it.  "If I
didn't before, the fact that the most handsome stud who took my breath away
about thirty-eight hours ago is still with me and," a pointed glance down
and a smirk, "wants me would be all the clue I needed to figure out I had
it going on!"

We laughed as we dried each other and horsed around with my towels, which,
like my shower, my bathroom and my entire condo, didn't compare on any
level to Jack's.

Finally, my turn.  "Don't hold it against me – at least not right away –
when I say I'm hungry; get me some breakfast!"  Jack's grin was
sphinx-tinged.  And then I realized.  "Okay, don't hold either my sudden
patience to have you fucking me again OR my desire for food other than,"
and I reached down and took a healthy handful of his massive package, big
bull balls and all, "THIS!"

"Two to my side," he grinned.  "Pointless carbs?  Protein shake?  Fruit?"
he asked.

"I'll take a raincheck on more protein," I answered with my own evil grin
and a corresponding yank to his parts.  "Right now, you're getting me
PANCAKES," I ordered.  "STAT!"

If you enjoyed yourself reading this and want to send me feedback, it's
welcome: madsvand@gmail.com.

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