Date: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 22:14:21 -0400
From: Mads van Duessen <madsvand@gmail.com>
Subject: Mads' Teenage Fun Part 1

My fiancι, Jack, and I are visiting my home country and parents.  I've
been showing him around my hometown of Eindhoven and telling him some more
stories of my past, these of my pre-university days of slutting and whoring
. . . So here's another piece of my past.

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enjoyment.



I had my favorite tight black jeans on and skin-tight black sleeveless
shirt on, unbuttoned down to where my low-waisted jeans showed my treasure
trail.  I was also wearing black Van's tennis shoes – a rarity where I
lived in the Netherlands.  I knew my bubble butt looked great in my jeans
and my abs, pecs and torso hair looked good in my open shirt.  It was
summer, so it was warm out – and it would be hot soon enough in the
club.

I'd taken the train up to Amsterdam after dinner Friday and intended to
take it home Monday – that is if I found a guy – or guys – to keep
me interested until then.  Hadn't failed me yet!

I swaggered into the club past the bouncer who knew he would get my ass
when he got off duty if I was around – it was our deal – he let me in
for free and I blew him on his break or took him balls-deep up my slimey
seconds fuckhole when he was off work.  He smirked at me and then smacked
my ass with his big paw as I passed.  I smiled from the sting on my
buttcheek – and tingled from the anticipation of more pain to my butt
before the night was over.

The hot, shirtless bartenders were already beaded with sweat.  Hein, the
hottest one, called to me, and I confirmed I wanted an Amstel.  It was on
the bar, iced and sweating, when I edged in and grabbed it.  We exchanged
greetings, but Hein knew I wasn't there for the talking, and he had plenty
to do himself with the thirsty crowd, so he moved on.  I leaned on the bar
and pushed my magnificent ass – hey that's just what guys told me –
ass out and looked at the crowd in the tall, wide mirror behind the bar.

I was taking my second swig on my beer when I saw a hot, tall, built, older
– 30s – man eyeing me and working to catch my acknowledgment in the
mirror.  I sucked in the bottle a bit more and ran my tongue around it
lewdly as my eyes locked with his.  He adjusted his crotch and moved toward
me.

The guy deftly moved between the sweaty queen who was against me on my
right, and I felt his heat more pleasurably against me . . . and I felt his
hand on my ass, even more pleasurably.  As he leaned forward, I slowly
turned my head, and I put the bottle in my mouth again for another swig and
another little show for him.

"English?" he asked in an American accent.

FUCK!  My ass twitched at the thought of bagging an American.  I just
nodded and licked my lips slightly.  The American's eyes narrowed watching
me, heat radiating into me from his stare and from his body next to mine.
I didn't say anything more and waited.  He picked up the dialogue soon
enough.

"I'm from the US . . . guess that's obvious," he said, grinning sheepishly.
Again I waited, but I smiled this time.  "You're not much of a
small-talker, are you?" he finally asked.

"I am not small," I said, literally, since my six-foot-five height was
obvious even hunched over the bar.

He laughed at that.  "I meant, you don't talk much," he said.

"I know," I said with the barest smile, playing cool.

He looked like he might not know where to go from this, which was fine.
Either he was man enough to fuck me or he wasn't.  Best we find out now if
he wasn't.

Then he surprised me by both leaning in harder against me and by gripping
my buttcheek hard in his big hand.  "I'm not small, either," he said, lower
but still loud over the music. And with his nearer hand he gently but
firmly took my forearm that wasn't holding the beer, the one closest to
him, and he moved it so he could put my hand on his crotch.  "Am I?" he
asked.

No, he wasn't – not by a long shot!  WOO HOO!  I gripped his fuckrod,
hard in his pants, and I turned more to face him almost nose to nose.  "You
well equipped," I told him, my face serious, eyes intense, my English
deliberately bad. I increased my grip and watched him shiver.  "You want to
fuck me?" I asked him.

In response, he gripped my ass even tighter, maintaining my gaze.  "Hard
and deep," he growled.

"Here or your hotel?  Or do you have wife or girlfriend in room waiting?" I
taunted him.

"STUD," he said, closer, so I could smell his minty breath tinged with
juice, "The only thing waiting in my room is more condoms and lube than
what I brought in my pocket."

"No condoms," I said, matter-of-factly.

His face went to surprise.  I didn't say more.  I could get plenty of hot
cock without having to feel some dinosaur's millennia-old remains
reconstituted into a pleasure-killing device inside me.

"I don't usually . . . " he started, and I turned away, back to the mirror
and my beer, easily moving my hand from his crotch back to the bar.  "Oh,
so it's like that, is it?" he said, not so much with attitude as working
through a logic stream to the conclusion.

"My choice," I said simply.  "And your," I added.

Hein saw things cooling and asked the guy whose hand was still gripping my
ass if he wanted something to drink.  I told Hein he was American, and Hein
repeated his offer in English.  The guy told him he'd have `water with
gas'.  So the juice I detected on his breath really did mean he wasn't
drinking.  I hoped he decided to fuck me – now I knew I wouldn't have to
deal with any whiskey-dick disappointment!

"Am I allowed to ask if you are clean?" he said, obviously having picked up
the negotiation.

"You are.  I am."

"You're just into bareback fucking?" he asked, stupidly.

I turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes, not answering but that being
an answer.

"You know you're fucking gorgeous," he said, again gripping my asscheek.

I didn't say anything, but I did smile a little so as not to be rude in the
face of his compliment.  Then I turned back to the bar and took another
long swig of my beer, emptying the bottle.  I gave it a good tonguing as he
watched, for his benefit, then, when I put it down, let my fingers drift up
the neck to the top and rubbed around it in a circle.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" he murmured as I dismounted from my beer and pushed it
toward Hein's side of the bar.

Hein brought the guy's sparkling water in the bottle, frosted, and an empty
glass with a lemon wedge stuck over the rim.  "Want another?" the guy
asked, pointing to my beer.  Hein waited.

I turned to him again, again facing him directly and looking at him very
intently.  "If you have decided no."

He looked momentarily confused, then his face broke to a grin.  "Are you
this non-talkative when you are getting your hot ass fucked good?" he
asked.

Hein snorted.

"Another beer for me or we go?" I asked in response.

We held our eyes on each other for a long moment, and then he smacked my
ass.  I saw he went to reach for his wallet, and I just put my hand on his
arm.  "Got it," I said, and threw Hein a twenty-Euro note and winked at
him, meaning I got lucky, so did he – no change needed.  My American
looked impressed.  Good.

He turned to Hein and said, "Thank you," with emphasis, but Hein was
already moving on.  To me he said, "Big spender.  Hope my humble hotel will
not offend your refined tastes."

"We talking or fucking?" I asked.

The guy threw his head back and laughed, and he clapped me lightly on my
abs.  "Okay, I get it.  And you're about to get IT," he said, laughing at
his lame joke.  Americans!  LOVE the rough, rowdy sex; HATE the need for
conversation!  "Nice washboard abs, stud," the American added.  I threw him
a smile, and the guy seemed to appreciate it.

"I am what is called `sure thing' – not needed to compliment," I told
him in my deliberately distressed English.  And then I reached fully down
the front inside his pants and took hold of his impressive cock and managed
to get my big hand around his big balls, too.  With a tug forward as the
American looked at me with a mixture of surprise and appreciation I said,
"Now we go, yes?"

He looked down as if to confirm that I was leaving my hand right where it
was and then up at me.  Then he laughed and started forward.  "Vee go!" he
said, mimicking my accent.

As we walked out, the bouncer, my occasional fuckbuddy said, in our
language, so the American wouldn't know what he was saying, "Bring me that
hot cunt of yours full of American cum later, ready for a real fucking,
Mads, okay?"

"Jawel," I responded, still with my hand around the American's cock, now
hard again in his pants.

"Friend of yours?" the American asked.

"Ja," I responded, attempting to limit the conversation.  Then I added, "He
said I to enjoy big American cock."

"Ah, definitely a friend, then," the American said, laughing.  And then he
was moving toward a taxi, my hand still in his pants but him leading the
way.  Americans – never want to walk anywhere or take a bus!

When we got to the taxi, the bored driver's eyes picked up on my hand in
the American's pants, and he said something lewd, to which I shot back the
Dutch equivalent for him to shut his stupid pie hole and make himself
useful driving.  This seemed to amuse the American, who was opening the
door for me awkwardly, leaning over to grasp the door handle with my hand
still grasping his cock.  "Remember what you said about being a sure thing,
stud?" he asked me, and I looked back at him before I went to crawl into
the cab.  "Well I promise you that you can let go of me and I'll still bang
your brains out when we get to my hotel," he finished with a smirk.

I feigned annoyance and pulled my hand out of his pants.  "You want for me
to give up, I give it up."  And then I got into the back of the cab,
scrunching my long legs up behind the passenger seat after I'd crawled
across.  The American got in after me behind the driver, folding his long
frame even more awkwardly into the small space.  He asked the driver to
take us to the Dylan hotel, please.  Humble my ass – the Dylan was one
of the nicest hotels in Amsterdam!  It was also an easy ten minute walk
from the club, had the American been so inclined.

When we were rolling, the American put his hand on my leg and said,
seriously, "Say, I suppose I should have asked this before: you're not a
pro, are you?"

I had moved my eyes to his big hand resting pleasingly – despite my
indifferent look – on my thigh, and now I moved it to meet his gaze.
"You want professional?" I asked.  He should know I wasn't a pro – no
pro would want to fuck bare – it was against the law for a professional
prostitute to fuck anyone bare while they were working or otherwise.

He squeezed my thigh, his long fingers rubbing against my nuts through the
crotch of my jeans.  "I don't mind paying," he said, pausing, "For
quality."

I smiled my best condescending smile, and then I put my own hand firmly on
his big hardon in his pants.  "You will see soon – I am highest
quality."  As I said it I rubbed the length of him and watched his eyes
roll with my touch.

He didn't mind me not answering his question – he may not even have
remembered he'd asked.  He took his hand from my thigh and put his arm
around my shoulders and pulled me closer to kiss my neck.  Ah, one of
those!

By the time we got to his hotel, he was exceptionally worked up, having
kissed my neck and chewed my ear, all the while my hand rubbed the length
of him and occasionally gave his balls some attention in the cab.  I took
my hand away from his crotch as we pulled up – courtesy, in case he was
wanting to be more discreet upon entering where he was staying.

The American paid the cab driver and gave him a ridiculously generous tip
in the form of keeping the change from a large note.  I was hoping it was
actual generosity in his pleasingly aroused state from my attentions and
not just the usual American showmanship that was so unappealing.

I got out of my side of the cab – much easier than trying to get my long
legs out from behind the seat and then across to his side as I'd entered –
and when I was on my feet I saw the end of his struggle to get his own long
legs out.  When he was on his feet he turned toward the cab – which I
saw as I rounded behind it toward him – and rather laboriously got his
hardon moved around in his pants behind his zipper and up along it.  It was
the best he could do – and I admired the size of his protruding zipper
and the fact that I knew his cockhead was well above the waistband of his
pants!

In the few steps to the doorman I said quietly, but so he could hear me, "I
come up after you so not noticed?"

In response, he threw his arm around my shoulder and kissed my neck as we
walked through the door.  "I'm proud to be noticed with you," he said.  And
even to me, a hard-core slut, there only for his cock, it sounded very
sweet.

With a shy tone, I replied, "Bedankt," and I meant it.  He seemed to like
that and hugged me closer as we made for the desk, collected his key and we
went to the elevators.

We were alone in the elevators, and I leaned into him.  He pulled me around
and looked me in the face.  "You are so handsome, and I don't even know
your name," he said.

"You also handsome – very," I said, not addressing the name issue.  I
reached down and rubbed along his zipper line feeling his semi-hard cock.
"Zeerheid," I said, grinning as I rubbed him.

He roughly pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me and pushed his lips
into mine, but I pulled my head back.  "You do anything not that," I said
sternly.

He was not fazed by the rebuff and moved his hands down to my ass and
gripped tightly.  "Anything?" he said playfully into my ear and kissed the
base of my neck at my shirt line.

"Bijkans," I said.  "Almost," I repeated in English, for his benefit.
"Niks stront, litteken," I said, maintaining my struggling-with-English
faηade.  "No markings, no shit."

His face went to a broad smile, and then he grinned.  "DEAL!" he
proclaimed!  As the elevator dinged and the door opened.  I smiled back, as
if relieved.

We got to his room and inside, and I shoved him against the wall and was on
my knees before he could get the first syllables of protest out.  Those
protests faded into moans when I had his pants unzipped and his cock freed,
my tongue enjoying the tasty wet tip barely protruding from his foreskin.
"OH FUCK YES!" he cried when I took his huge cock fully into my mouth and
had his big hairy balls firmly in my hand.

I sucked and licked up and down the delicious veiny length of him and spent
time swirling my tongue between his foreskin and his enormous slimy head.
He'd obviously showered and cleaned it well before he went out, but there
was enough of HIM there to smell and taste that my own cock was rock hard,
and my ass was twitching.

He was also responding well to more and more aggressive ball-work, which
was awesome because they were big, manly and very enjoyable in my grip.

"You keep that up much longer and you're gonna have you a load of American
spooge down your throat!" he warned.

I pulled off him and replaced my mouth with my other hand, which I'd
deliberately not been using to stroke his shaft lest I get him too far.
"You can give only once?" I asked, looking up at him.

"FUCK NO!" he responded, pulling my head back onto his cock.  Ah, now we
were getting somewhere.

I took that big boy to the pubes, forcing his blood-gorged head into my
throat and pretending to gag.  I hadn't gagged for real since I was
fourteen or fifteen, but men loved to have a cocksucker gag on their cocks,
and if I did still have a gag-reflex, this monster would be what I'd gag
on.

"FUCKN A!" he shouted, still gripping my head tightly and skull-fucking me.
With my other hand free again, I found his pucker and teased it gently,
causing another shout from him and harder skull-fucking.  "OH FUCK that's
fucking HOT!" he cried as he banged that monster down my throat again and
again.

For my part I was growling and moaning around his thrusting fuckstump and
thoroughly enjoying every second, yanking on his balls and fingering his
pucker.  "Mmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmgggggg mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
grrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm."

I could feel his cock getting harder and thicker in my throat, and even for
me it was getting difficult to take the skull-fucking he was giving me as
he yelled, "OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK," and I knew he was getting close.  His
balls were trying desperately to pull up against m grip but instead I
pulled them harder and finally got a,
"OHHOLYFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" from him
and felt his body go first very rigid – like his enormous cock – and
then start to spasm almost uncontrollably as I felt huge ropes of his cum
blasting into my throat.

For the first time in a long time I really did gag.  His load was
incredible, and the force he was shooting it was amazing.  He had my head
in a death grip despite my choking, and I, in turn, had his nuts in a death
grip.

I finally felt him slump back against the wall and loosen his grip on my
head, and I moved back enough so that his very sensitive cockhead and about
four inches of his long, fat cock were still in my mouth.  I swiped with
the flat of my tongue over the tip, and he cried out, loud and pushed me
back off him.  "FUCK!"

I fell back onto my ass on the floor as he gasped and I never took my eyes
of his magnificent cock.  It was fucking beautiful, even now as it lost
some of its length and girth after his draining, but it still shined from
my spit and his cum.  I just leaned back on my elbows grinning up at him.

It took a minute, but he finally brought his head back to level and then
looked down at me.  "HOLY FUCK you're an amazing cocksucker!" he exclaimed.

"Cock amazing," I said through narrowed eyes.  "Now fuck!" I added,
reaching up and grabbing his cock tight in my grip.

"SSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss FUCK!" he
said, still so sensitive, as I maintained my grip and between his cock and
– mostly – my other hand planted on the ground I got to my feet.

I was facing him, gently rubbing his shaft, which had stopped softening and
was decidedly hard, enjoying the slide of his skin along his veiny shaft.
His eyes were rolled back and closed again, enjoying the feel of me.  I
added my other hand, working his balls again, and I was rewarded with a
long, low growl of pleasure.
"MMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmgggggggggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!"

It was slow-stroking, avoiding his head, which I knew had to be
exceptionally sensitive, enjoying his handsome face changing as his
pleasures rolled over and through him.  "Cock amazing," I repeated in my
abbreviated English compliment, low and breathily.  "More," I said, giving
his balls a squeeze.

"MMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," he moaned again and opened his eyes.  "May I know your
name?" he said, looking me in the eye.

"Mads," I said, returning his deep gaze.

"You want to know my name, Mads?" he asked.

I didn't, but I knew he wanted to tell me.  "Stud is good – you are
stud!" I said with a grin.  "But you prefer name tell me."

"Mike," he said and then grinned.  "Mads and Mike – M & M, get it?  Like
the candy?  You have M&Ms here?"

"This candy for me," I said, gripping his cock tighter.

He laughed out of a moan of pleasure from the grip.  "Goddamn you're
handsome, Mads."

I was – still am! – but knew this was where the bottom was supposed
to be demure, and I did my best aw shucks look and turned away.  "Bedankt,"
I mumbled, figuring this man with the expensive hotel room probably
remembered my prior use and translation.

He reached out and turned my chin up gently so we were again eye-to-eye.
"Are you sure I can't kiss you?" he asked.  And before I could say no
again, he continued.  "Sure would love to taste me on your lips."

FUCK!  I felt my cock and ass both twitch at that.  Fucker knew how to
sweet talk a bitch like me.  We were still eye-to-eye, his slightly
hopeful.  I leaned in, closing my eyes shyly as I did, acceding to his
desire to kiss me, something I never did with tricks.

His hand went behind my neck, and I felt a tingle go down my spine and
around straight to my nuts as his lips met mine.  He kissed me firmly, his
tongue demanding entry, which I allowed.  And then we were at it, hotly,
hungrily, as if I hadn't just blown him and drained his nuts, as if he was
starved for a man.  His hands gripped my ass and back and felt me all over,
neck to shoulders down and all over my back, my ass, all the while grinding
his slimy hardon into my fully-filled jeans crotch.

It was a HOT kiss . . . a long, hot, amazingly sensual and also carnally
charged kiss.  When we finally parted and were panting for breath, he
gently caressed the side of my face.  "FUCK!  Thank you!  That kiss was
amazing!  Thank you for doing that – I know you said you don't like to."

I couldn't help myself.  "I liked it with you," I said, in a fully-formed,
well-pronounced, though short, sentence.

His face lit up, from the content not the delivery.  He came back in, and
we repeated, this one longer, steamier and even more demanding than the
first.  Somewhere during it he had my jeans unbuttoned and my cock out and
was stroking it.  "Goddamn and I thought I was big!" he finally said when
our lips parted.

He was looking down, and his grip and stroke was transcendent.  Men –
particularly tops – even more rarely American tops – who knew how to
handle a man sensually were rare in my experience.  I'd had quite a bit!
And this one, this tall, hung, handsome American, was making my body tingle
in all the best ways.

Mike looked up at me again, still stroking me, still close enough that I
felt his breath when he talked.  "I want to suck you like you sucked me.
But I want to fuck you first."

I remembered myself this time despite floating on the pleasures of his
touch and kisses.  "What is wait?" I asked, and I took a step back gently,
so as not to have him let go of my cock, and awkwardly walked propped my
hand against the other wall by the door and kicked my shoes off and got my
jeans down to my ankles.  Then I deliberately turned around, dislodging his
grip, but so I could bend over and display my perfect, hairy bubble-butt to
him as I bent over and unnecessarily pulled my jeans off of each foot.  I
could have kicked them off, but I knew he'd enjoy the show.

"That's one amazing butt on you!" he said, the reward I'd wanted.  I stood
again and turned toward him, my big, hard cock swinging around and hitting
his exposed thigh deliberately.  "Mmmmmmmmmmm," he said, again taking hold
of me.

"Mmmmmm," I replied, enjoying his grip.  I bent enough to push his
jockstrap – now that part of American gay male behavior I had NO quarrel
with – LOVED jockstraps! – down past his knees so it fell with his
pants by his ankles.  Then I put my hands under his shirt and pushed it up,
making him release my cock to raise his arms as I pulled it off.  "NEUKEN!"
I exclaimed, seeing his hairy, ripped chest.  This fucker was HOT!

"I hope that is good!" Mike laughed nervously.

I looked at him hard in the face and rubbed my hand flat down over his pecs
and eight-pack to grip his enormous cock.  "FUCK ME YOU HOT FUCKER!" not
caring if my sentence was too well formed or even thinking about it.  Then
before he could do anything I backed away and, ripping my t-shirt off my
body and flinging it, threw myself on his big hotel bed and grabbed my
ankles so my hungry fuckhole was beckoning.

Mike stood transfixed for a moment, a low, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,"

I was about to say something like "WELL?" when Mike suddenly ripped off his
shoes and kicked off his pants and jock strap.  "Bring jock," I called
across the room.

Mike looked up, his look going from quizzical to eye-narrowed lusty, and he
snatched up his jock strap.  He bounded over and leapt up on the bed,
crawling to reposition himself so his face was in my crack.  He flung his
jock strap up as his tongue swiped up my crack in a LONG lick.
"Mmmmmmmmmm!" he exclaimed right as I was exclaiming myself.

"Neuken!" I was hissing as he licked.  And then he was ringing and pushing
at my hole with his tongue and slurping at it, basically making me crazy.
I didn't have to pretend – my dutch exclamations flowed as both my
pleasure at his lapping and tongue fucking flowed and my anticipation
built.

His rimming and tongue-fucking skills were amazing!  I'd known many tops
who were so inclined, but few who knew how to eat a hole and make it crave
his cock over the tonguing.  Mike's tonguing was beyond superlative
. . . and my balls, cock, ass and all of me wanted him to fuck me even more
than I never wanted it to stop.

My cock was leaking precum so much that it was running off my upper abs and
down over my obliques until I could feel it pulling off my lats under me.
I scooped some up and shoved my fingers down between Mikes hyperactive
mouth and smeared my hole with it.  "OH FUCK YES!" he cried, diving in
again and slurping loudly.  I got more on my already-gooey hand and
commanded, "FUCK MIJ!" pigeon Nederlands for FUCK ME!

Mike got the message, got to his knees, and as he shoved his enormous
engorged cockhead against my wanton fuckhole, I reached down and smeared
his head fully with my precum, smearing it over his head, exposed from its
hood, which I'd pushed back, and all over his shaft.  Then I pulled it back
against my hole and pushed myself against it enough to make my meaning –
and need – clear.

Again, he got the message and pushed into me – HARDER than most tops
though VERY MUCH to my liking.
"AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I cried as
my fuckmuscle was stretched to capacity and his monster horsecock pushed
into me.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I
followed that up with, pushing myself as hard as I could onto him.

"OH HOLY FUCK, MADS!" he cried.  "GODDAMN!" he continued, as I gripped and
pushed onto him.

"FUCK MIJ!" I commanded again.  "DO IT!"

Mike's eyes narrowed, and he sucked in some spit from his lips and pulled
his cock out until just the head was stretching my cuntring and then SHOVED
it in me again balls-deep.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I
screamed, the pain flooding my body like a wave of searing heat, welcome
like the sun but wracking.  "HARD!" I commanded.

"YEAH?" he asked, grinning wide. "You like that?" he snarled, pulling out
and SHOVING in again HARD and DEEP!

I reached up and grabbed each of his hard, hairy buttglobes and, using my
grip for leverage, ground HARD against Mike's groin on his massive fuckpole
which was skewering me.  The pain was intense – he was truly huge –
but it was beginning to be supplemented by the beginning of the pleasure I
knew would soon overtake the discomfort.  I loosened my grip so Mike could
pull out and ram me again.

He did . . . this time not once but the beginning of a steady pounding
which had me crying out with each outstroke and really crying out LOUD with
every thrust back in.  "Ja!" I shouted over and over again as the flashes
of pain were joined by the waves of pleasure and, finally, the pleasure was
all there was.

Rolling on wave after wave of the ecstasy of the invasion and reaming of my
fuckchute I let myself go to it, my body fucking back onto him HARD with
every thrust.  He was shouting "OH FUCK YEAH!" and "GODDAMN!" and "TAKE
IT!" and "YOU FUCKING LOVE IT DON'T YOU!" as he drilled me harder and
faster as he got wound up.

I just kept yelling long
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"s and
"Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"s and
"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"s, unable to
make any other words, just sounds of my love of being man-fucked.

And then Mike shifted just enough, and his ramrod nailed my prostate and
had me screaming LOUD.  "NEUK!" I screamed, and it didn't phase him one
bit, if his continued thrusting was any indication.  The direct hit and
then his veiny shaft scraping along against my prostate and then his
withdrawal and that huge flared head knocking it on the outbound, only to
be SLAMMED HARD again on the next thrust . . .

I was beyond any control of my body, just felt the waves of unbelievably
intense pleasure and lightning bolts of even more intense pleasure shooting
and washing through me over and over.  My body was writing and spasming,
and my words and sounds and screams and moans flowed continuously as I was
driven higher and higher.

Mike's exclamations were background to my own, but I caught a few
". . . fucking amazing fuck . . . " and various and sundry other praise and
expressions of his own pleasure.  His thrusts were brutal . . . and fucking
AWESOME!

Suddenly my nuts were boiling over, and my entire body felt like it was
exploding.  I felt the blast fill me and then felt my balls like they were
in a vise and my spine rigid while my head still thrashed then felt my seed
flowing at force out my cock and felt the first splat over my face and
chest.  It was beyond intense, apparently for Mike, too.

"OH FUCKING HELL THAT'S AMAZING!" he shouted and then planted himself deep
inside me as I continued to pump out my seed all over myself.  I felt his
body go rigid and his first cumblast inside me like a firehose spurting
hard against my deep interior, his loud,
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
sounding like it was echoing in the background of my fading consciousness.

I slowly focused on the ornately carved ceiling and crown molding, taking a
moment to take in the rich furnishings as my eyes scanned.  I was on my
back, chest heaving, ass sore . . . and WHAT THE FUCK! a hand holding mine.
OH RIGHT – as I looked to the side, Mike was laying on his back, his
chest heaving also, the sound of his panting as loud as mine.

He squeezed my hand – an intimacy foreign to me yet welcome from this
stud who'd soul-kissed and had seemingly soul-fucked me too.  I squeezed
his hand back, enjoying it but also wondering if I should be jumping and
running.

"Fuck, Mads," Mike rasped, still on his back.

"You have just done that, Mike," I replied quietly, working to control my
voice as I panted.

Mike squeezed my hand by way of reply.  Our breathing filled the room, and
my mind vaguely wondered how long we'd been laying that way, how long it
had been since we'd finished . . .

"Good for you?" Mike asked softly.

I laughed at the silliness of his question, but then I felt his body
stiffen next to me and realized he'd taken me wrong.  I took my free arm
and swiped up my chest through the flood of my cumload pooled among my
chest fur, all over my face and in the ridges of my abs.  With a fair
handful, I reached over and smeared it on Mike's face.  "Do you remember
causing me to cum all over myself?" I asked.

"Your English," he said with some amazement, and then he licked his lips.
"Mmmmmmmmm, and your cum!"

Mike didn't let go of my hand, but he rolled and moved so that he was on
his side, close to me, smiling down at me.  "That was amazing, Mads.  YOU
were amazing," he told me.  "And . . . your English is very good, isn't it?
Much better than you had me believe earlier."

BUSTED!  I just smiled up at him, not defiant, but not contrite, either.
He put his hand out, almost tentatively, and he brushed the side of my
face, avoiding my cumropes and their runny smears, smiling at me.  I smiled
wider up at him and nuzzled my face against his hand, now smearing my cum
on it, not caring.  He grinned and squeezed my hand.  I turned and licked
his fingers where my cum was.

"FUCK that's hot!" he said, almost reverently, and then he brought his
fingers to his own lips and licked where I had.

I reached up and pulled his neck down so that our lips met, and I licked
lightly around his lips.  "Mmmmmmm, I taste good on you!" I said . . . and
then laughed.

Mike covered my lips and kissed me, deeply but not urgently, taking his
time and enjoying, as did I.  His hand was holding my face gently, his
fingers vaguely rubbing in my hair.  "Mmmmmmmmmm," I moaned again into the
kiss.

When we pulled apart, he put his forehead against my temple.  "You are
perfect, Mads," he said.  I wasn't, but I loved the sound of it.  I smiled,
and it wasn't so he would see it, it was because I was happy.  I didn't
even have to fight the internal battle – or external – of the
after-fuck politics, when the man who fucked me wants to talk or wants me
to stay, and all I want is to be done with him, no matter how good he was.
" – for the whole night . . . or weekend?" he was asking, and I
struggled to pull back into my head what he'd started that sentence with.

I couldn't.  "Sorry?" I asked.

"I said, Mads, that I'm not rich or anything, but how much would it be for
you to stay the whole night or weekend with me?"

I blinked at him incredulously.  "Sorry?" I repeated myself, more loudly.

Mike wasn't fazed.  "Well, Mads, I am pretty sure I can afford . . . well,
this," he said, suddenly self-conscious, "What we've done I mean.  But I
would like more," he added.  My eyes widened, and he stuttered, "Oh, well
not THIS.  Well, what I mean is sure, I'd love more of this!  But what I
meant was it wouldn't even have to be that – I'd like more time with
you, Mads."  He looked a little shy suddenly.  "If I can afford you AND if
you're not otherwise scheduled already," he said more softly.

I tried to hold back, but I couldn't, and I started laughing.  And once I
started, I couldn't stop.

Mike looked stricken and then flopped onto his back again.  "Oh, go ahead,
laugh at the older American," he said, not entirely self-effacing –
there was a touch of humor to it, too.

"Geen," I said reflexively, then quickly, "No," I repeated in English.  I
was now on my side, my hand on his sexy chest.  He was looking up at me
confused.  "I'm not a prostitute, Mike," I told him, and his eyes widened.

"You're not?  I thought—"

I just smiled and rubbed his chiseled chest.  "I let you think that.  You
had made an assumption, which I MIGHT have encouraged . . . at least a
bit."  I was grinning, not the least bit contrite, but not enjoying Mike's
discomfort at all.  "This means, logically," I continued, "There is no
question of your ability to afford my company for the rest of tonight."

Mike finally broke into a grin.  "It is a little late for gentlemanly
courtesy, but Mads, would you spend the night with me?"

I grinned back at him.  "I thought the invitation was for the weekend.  Was
that only when you thought I was a mysterious, interesting,
poorly-English-speaking prostitute?"

"I didn't want to push my luck," he grinned back at me.

"If you push your luck the way you push your cock, you've got LOADS of
luck!" I mugged.

"Oh, yeah," he laughed.  "There's nothing wrong with YOUR English!"

I leaned over and kissed him – major tongue in a torrent of sucking,
licking and smacking – and pulled back.  "Nothing wrong with my French,
either!" I smirked.  "And, as you saw before, not a thing wrong with my
Italian, either."

"Italian?" he asked.

I moved down and took his cock – delightfully slimy from my ass and his
load – in my mouth and sucked long enough that he was fully hard again
. . . and exclaiming . . . and then looked up at him.  With my mouth full
of him I said, as best I could around that massive man-meat, "Fellatio IS
an Italian word, isn't it?" with a smirk.

Mike laughed and pushed my head back down on his cock.  "I need more
opportunity to ASSess that Italian."  I laughed around his cock at the bad
pun.

But I WAS laughing . . . and looking forward to a long weekend with a hot
man.


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