From My Side

His crotch had a beautiful smell: a little sweaty, rather sharp and extremely masculine. The white cotton was pulled tight by the bulge made by his swollen cock and I moved my face across the straining material, smelling and tasting the terrain all the way from the waistband down to where it disappeared between his hairless thighs. I nuzzled between the paired mounds of his large balls, loving the thick sweaty smell from underneath them; licked around the slit in the material through which his big cock had poked several times during the day; and sniffed along the hard length of his rod, taking time to inhale the musky odour of precum that had oozed out from his ripe bell end.

I grabbed my cock and started wanking it as quickly as I could, my breathing quickening.

Normally guys get really into this and start gyrating their hips to rub their cocks and balls into my face, but this guy didn’t.

I looked up and stopped masturbating. His face looked bemused and I couldn’t help but grin. I’d been burrowing into his crotch like a dog in heat, and he looked totally bored by it. 

I asked, knowing that I looked rather sheepish, “You don’t mind, do you?”

He shook his head. But his expression was noncommittal, like he was just politely humouring me; allowing me a bit of fun while he was waiting for the best part to start.

I had an idea. I’d do something that a straight guy like him would almost definitely not have experienced, if my conversations with my straight mates were anything to go by.

I whispered, “Do you want to turn around?”

He looked horrified. Said, quickly, “You can’t fuck me.” He sounded shocked.

His expression was so severe that I thought he was going to pull his jeans up and go. For a lot of guys, a lot of straight guys, getting fucked is one of their morbid fears. The ultimate insult; the absolute violation.

I struggled to make him realise that hadn’t been my intention. I stammered, “No… no… of course not. I just wanted to do… this… but around your arse…”

He stared at me with obvious wariness. I’d gone way too far, way too soon. I’d let my eagerness run away with me.

I had to get him back. Keep him here. It was no longer just about me having a good time; if he left now it would be in a state of repulsion. He’d take that with him from what was probably one of his first gay experiences. He’d steer well clear in future; perhaps worse than that, he’d be afraid of it.

I tried to apologise. “Sorry, mate. I’ll just suck you…” I hoped he still wanted that.

But he shook his head.

He said, “No,” and I felt disappointed. Angry with myself.

Then I heard him add, “You can do that.” He emphasised ‘that’. I didn’t know what he meant. He turned around and his arse, round and firm inside the white cotton of his briefs, was right in front of my face. Even then I expected him to pick up the magazine and pull up his trousers.

But he just waited, his arse in front of me.

And I realised what ‘that’ was.

Before he could reconsider, I pushed my face right in between his cheeks, burrowing deep into his cleft with my nose and chin. Like the front of his briefs, the material smelled quite sweaty: I wondered if maybe he’d been to the gym or had played a game of squash or something before he’d come into the gents.

Back here, though, the sweat was accompanied by the thicker, richer smell of his arse. I loved it and wanted more. He seemed to enjoy it too because he bent forwards towards the wall, pushing his arse further into my face. I forced my nose in right in between his buttocks and moved downwards inside his crack towards his hole. The smell became stronger as I approached his most private area: heavy, musky and undeniably anal. It was a raw, sexual smell – the smell of men having sex together – and it made my mouth water and my cock ache to get inside him. I avoided touching myself, though, and instead pressed inward, inhaling from his cleft and gently licking the white cotton that had clung to his arse all day. 

I felt his body start to vibrate and realised he was masturbating.

He was enjoying this!

I reached around in front of him and pushed his hand away from his cock. I grabbed the hard stem of it and started wanking it, sweeping up and down as much of its length as I could in long, rapid strokes. I heard him groan in appreciation.

Then, with my free hand, I yanked the back of his briefs down and stuck my face into his arse-cleft again. Now I could feel it properly against my face: hot, slightly moist and with a fine growth of hair that tickled my nose. Without his briefs, the smell inside was far stronger; thick and rough with his sweat and his arsehole; powerful and uncompromising. Again, my cock demanded attention, its appetite whetted by the smell it has come to associate with sex. But I kept resisting, my attention thoroughly focused, for the time being at least, on pleasuring the guy in front of me.

I found his hole with the end of my tongue. It felt tight and slightly wet. I licked around it, teasing it and flicking it, and tasted the salty sweetness of it. He bent further forwards, opening his legs and pushing his arse towards me again, and, even with my face pressed right into his bum, I couldn’t help but smile. It was like he was offering his hole up to me. Begging me to tongue-fuck him.

I pushed gently at his puckered hole with the tip of my tongue and, after a little resistance, it eased open and an inch or so of my tongue slid inside him. He groaned again. He wanted this a lot.

His anus felt hot and tight around my tongue; the taste inside was intensely strong. The puckered ring of muscle around it kept contracting in spasms as if it couldn’t make up its mind whether to accept or reject me: he was inexperienced; this was probably his first time. Once inside the ring of his anus though, his insides felt soft and wet, and my tongue reached into him to tickle parts he didn’t know he had.

The whole experience of this straight guy’s bum was really getting to me. I was breathing so heavily; the smell and taste of him was overwhelming, but more powerful than that was the idea that I was penetrating a part of him that he probably hadn’t even considered as a sexual organ until now. That tight little hole nestling between his buttocks behind the seat of his jeans: until today he’d probably just made odd jokes about it or treated it with unspoken disgust; now he was accepting it as an entrance as well as an exit.

I really wanted to fuck him. If he’d have been gay, I’d have reached down to my cock while I rimmed him and pulled on a condom from my pocket. Then I’d have stood up behind him, grabbed his hips, and fucked at his arse like a jack rabbit, the smell and taste of it still around my mouth.

But his earlier horror when he’d misunderstood my suggestion restrained me. My tongue might be the most he’d take for now. If I showed him how good it felt, he might ask me to put something bigger inside him, but I had to wait for him to take the lead. Otherwise, I might lose him.

So I kept going. Kept rimming him for far longer than I’d rimmed a guy before. Not that I was complaining; his arse tasted so hot and his inexperience made it so arousing. I just desperately wanted to fuck him.

I took my hand away from his cock to part his cheeks further to try and push my way in a little further. I wanted to get to his prostrate, to make him squirm and writhe in pleasure and feel sensations he’d never dreamed of. I’d done it to guys with my dick, but never with my tongue. To be honest, I didn’t know if it was long enough but I wanted to try. If I could do it, he’d be begging me to fuck him.

Pulling his cheeks apart, I opened his arse as wide I could in front of my face. Its red rim was stretched open like a tiny mouth and I could see the pink tunnel inside it. Then I pushed my face in and slid my tongue as far into him as it could go. He loved it. I felt his body pumping back and forth again and realised he’d grabbed his dick and was wanking it as quickly as he could.