Wood Worker

What he’d said about his girlfriends complaining of his unresponsiveness during sex didn’t seem to figure. He was totally animated – grunting and panting; calling out to tell me to suck him faster or harder or whatever. Perhaps he felt more comfortable to do that kind of thing with another guy; perhaps he was enjoying what we were doing more than he usually enjoyed sex.

He started pulling my head onto his cock, trying to drive more of his length into me. I took what I could, opening my throat as wide as it would go to accommodate him. The swollen red head was banging against my tonsils; the gaping slit oozing and dribbling precum down my throat each time he thrust it into me.

I felt his hips bucking and the muscles of his buttocks flexing and relaxing as he face-fucked me.

He kept saying, “Yeah… yeah… take it…”

I was loving it. I pulled one hand off his arse and released my aching cock from its confinement. Then I started wanking it, my rhythm fast and frenzied as his much larger version slammed in and out of my mouth at the same speed.

I wondered what he was thinking of. Whether he was imagining that I was his girlfriend or another female; or whether he was thinking of me as a guy.

What he did next answered my question.

He must have seen that I was masturbating and he pulled himself out of me.

He looked down at me and said, “Stand up and pull your trousers down.”

I did so, pulling my trousers and boxer briefs down around the tops of my thighs.

He said, “Completely down.”

I yanked them down to my ankles and stood in front of him, panting, aware of how much smaller my erect cock and balls were compared to his.

I wondered what he was going to do. I thought he might want to try sucking me, but he paid no attention to my cock. He was looking in the mirror behind me, a large mirror above the bath, at my arse.

He said, himself breathing heavily, “Bend over and keep sucking me, mate…”

I bent down and went back to his cock but he said, “No… put your arse in the air… bend right over…”

Then I understood.

I stuck my arse out like I would if I was being fucked in a standing up position.

He said, “Yeah… that’s it… let me see it…”

And he grabbed my head again and started fucking my mouth as fast as he had before. He bucked his hips and slammed his cock in and out of me. I was almost choking but he kept pushing it further and further into my throat with each stroke. My jaws ached and my mouth was filling up with his precum and my spit but I took it.

He grunted, “Open your arse cheeks… let’s see your arse, mate…”

I reached behind myself and pulled my arse cheeks apart, showing him my cleft through the mirror.

His fucking motions speeded up and he started grunting. With difficulty I managed to swallow a couple of times, emptying my mouth of his copious juices.

He panted, “Let’s see your hole, mate…”

I pulled them wider, directing my arse upward so he could see it better through the mirror.

He was gasping and grunting like an animal, slamming his cock into my mouth while he held my head firm between his hands.

“Show me it… come on, mate… show me your fucking hole… lets see where you get fucked…”

I pushed my fingers into my cleft where my arsehole was, and pulled them open so that he could see my tight pink ring.

He literally pounded his cock into my face, calling out, “Lets see your fuck hole… lets see your arse…”

There was no doubt that he was thinking of me as a male at that point.

He cried out and started gasping as jets of hot liquid spewed out from his cock head and into my mouth.

He held my head firm and kept pumping it into me, filling my mouth with so much of his cum that I had to swallow five or six times in succession. It was shooting out from him in thick spurts, squirting against the back of my throat and escaping from my lips.

When his orgasm had subsided he withdrew.

I stood up and moved away from him.

I pulled off a few sheets of toilet roll and wiped my mouth. “I’m a messy eater,” I joked but he didn’t even look at me. His face was solemn and he concentrated on pulling up his briefs and jeans and fastening up his shirt.

I thought, “Oh shit.”

I said, “Do you want another cup of tea or something.”

He ignored my question and said, formally, “Who do I send the bill for the wardrobe to. You or your landlord?”

That threw me a little. I thought about it for a few seconds and then said, “My landlord, I guess. It wasn’t my fault it collapsed.”

He nodded and pushed past me to leave the bathroom as I was pulling up my jeans.

As he was putting his tool-belt on I asked him if he wanted to take my number.

He stared at me, his eyes cold and distant, and asked, “Why?”

“I dunno… in case you feel screwed up and want to talk to someone…”

He said, “You mean so you can have a repeat performance and fuck me up even more.”

I stared at him, slightly dumbfounded.

“No. I mean, so we can talk. If you want to.”

He sneered and walked towards the bedroom door. He asked, “Can I get past? I’ve got another job to get to.”

I let him past, unable to think of anything to say.

He walked down the corridor and called out. “I’ll send your landlord the bill, then. It’s between you guys who pays.”

Then he let himself out and slammed the door.

And that was the last I saw of him.