Ring Finger

Needing more lubrication, I pulled out and licked my middle finger again, enjoying the raunchy taste of his backside along its length.

Now I inserted two fingers, and he gasped and panted in appreciation as I roughly fingered him with them. He bent further forwards and pushed his arse back against me; craning it towards me like he was offering it to me.

Then, needing still more lube, I pulled out again and used my tongue to wetten his anus and rectum. That made him groan and I felt him shudder rhythmically as he began masturbating quickly and aggressively.

I was wanking too: the taste of his insides were raw and exquisite.

I pulled my face out from his arse and started fucking him with three fingers.

He opened his legs as wide as they would go and cried out, "That feels so fucking good...!"

I responded, "I wanna fuck you, Will..."

He surprised me by calling out, "Yeah... come on... do it!"

It must have taken me ten seconds to pull a condom from my wallet, tear it open and unfurl it down my cock, but it felt like about three weeks. I was convinced he was either going to climax while I was doing it, or was going to change his mind.

But he did neither. He kept wanking while I got myself ready, urging me to fuck him, telling me how much he wanted it.

I got up and stood behind him, and pressed my cock against his now loose and opened hole. Again I thought he might back out, but instead he called out, "Yeah!" and pushed his arse back against me, like he wanted to eat my cock with his arsehole.

I pushed myself into him in one smooth movement and he took it. I think he farted a couple of times but he took it.

Then I grabbed his hips and humped him roughly and frantically while he grunted in pleasure and masturbated himself so quickly that his elbow was a blur.

We were sweating like pigs, grunting and panting: each man caught up entirely in his own pleasure at that moment with little interest in the other. I was overwhelmed by the hot tight slippery feel of his arse around my cock; by the occasional wafts my nose kept getting from it as I slammed in and out of him; by the thought that, here we were with our trousers barely down past our hips, sordidly buttfucking in the back of a shop. Will was experiencing his own pleasures: perhaps of the sensation of my cock sliding in and out of him; or of his hand on his own cock; or by the fact that he was bending over the table he probably had tea at with his boss and workmates every day, being soundly rogered up his rear by a customer.

I guess now that I've reached this point, I can answer my own question; the question I posed to myself while I was standing waiting for the kettle to boil. The one about whether I should feel guilty about having sex with guys when I'm supposed to be straight and in a relationship with a woman.

The fact of the matter is that I like to get intimate with another guy because with him I can do things I just wouldn't dream of doing with a woman. Melissa, like nearly all the girls in my life before her, likes sex to be gentle and affectionate; loving and giving. Most of the men I've had sex with like it rough and fast; passionless and base.

So I suppose - just as I supposed that morning after I'd proposed to Melissa - that there's really no reason to feel guilty. It's simply a case of not comparing like with like. Sex between men is so different, for me at least, from the sex I have with women, that I can enjoy both without either undermining the other.

Melissa might not see it that way, of course, but it makes perfect sense to me so why bother consulting her on it?

Will climaxed before me but was considerate enough, unlike a few of the other guys I've had sex with, to let me continue fucking him until I'd also completed. He sprayed a fairly impressive wad of semen across the table, making a few low guttural grunts, and eased off masturbating to milk the last few dribbles out of himself. Then, still recovering his breath, he grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and stuck his arse out towards me, urging me to use him to achieve my own orgasm.

I willingly complied, plunging my cock into his rectum in long, sweeping thrusts, while I held his hips firmly in front of me. Now I found it was my turn to grunt as I watched my cock, thick and large, sliding rapidly in and out of his eagerly splayed buttocks; the condom slick and wet with his butt-sweat and my saliva.

I must have come within a minute of Will, but it felt like a lot longer. I got into the state I sometimes do when I'm screwing the arse off a guy, where time seems to pass really slowly because I'm enjoying it so much. I could feel the tell-tale tingles of my impending orgasm but, for what seemed like ages, they seemed distant and insubstantial.

However, nature had to take its inevitable course, and eventually the intense pleasure I was getting from the frantic thrustings of my cock into his tightly-clenched rear became too much to bear. My semen rushed explosively from my balls, slamming rhythmically against the tops of Will's thighs, and filled the bulb of the condom at the tip of my engorged cock almost to bursting point. I grabbed him round his chest, shuddering and gasping against him, as I gratefully spent myself deep inside him. 

Afterward, when I'd flushed the condom down the staff toilet and we'd wiped ourselves using the last few sheets of tissue from the roll, we hitched our trousers back up in silence and returned to the shop zipping our flies.

He'd said something about hoping Melissa would like the ring and I'd said something like "Cheers".

Then he let me out and we politely nodded our thanks and farewells.

I wondered, that next morning as I poured hot water from the kettle into our coffee cups, whether I should suggest returning to the same jewellers to choose each other's wedding rings. It might be kind of nice to see him again; to smirk at each other over Melissa's shoulder as she oohed-and-aahed over the rings in the cabinets. To see if we could flirt with each other so discreetly that she wouldn't notice.

But in the end I opted not to. I figured that a one-off screw with some guy in the backroom of a shop is one thing; a repeat performance opens up a whole can of worms that I'd rather leave untouched. I mean, after I've had sex with a guy, I like to move on from it pretty rapidly. I don't want it to become a regular thing; I don't want words like 'affection' and (shudder) 'relationship' starting to come into play.

So we went to a different jewellers for the rings for the big day.

Even so, though - even after saying all that - I guess I still find myself hoping Will wasn't disappointed when I didn't return. I'd hate to have upset him.