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I lie on my couch stroking my meat. It's a hot summer evening, 8:30 and the sky is still light. The Santa Ana winds won't let the evening cool off, and the sun won't set. The red leather sofa is sticking to my back. This kind of heat always makes my dick hard. If I can't play with my bottom's butt I'll play with my meat, but I can't keep his butt out of my mind. I drift into a memory about my bottom, his butthole, my asshole man. I just fucked him yesterday. I can still smell his asshole on my fingers. I can't believe I'm this horny after yesterday's workout.
I can see his puckered hole before my eyes. I am drawn to it. I kiss it. It seems to kiss me back, and steals my breath. I'm licking it, probing it with my tongue. I savor its manly tang, and the whiff of this man's crotch permeates my senses. My guts go limp, and I can hardly breathe while my body seems to stiffen like my dick. My whole being becomes focused, I must have his hole. I am overcome with the essence of this man. I draw my head back so I can gaze on this wonder. Fingering this wet, slippery cr inkle, it begins to relax. One finger is not enough, two is redundant, three is easy, four is beginning to feel like home. It's moist and warm inside, beckoning me, pulling me in. My thumb slips in unnoticed. I grab some grease with my other hand and lubr icate my knuckles and wrist.
I parked my car in the guest area and hurried down the walk to the building, tucked away a few miles up the canyon road. The whole area was beautifully landscaped and the entry area was a real class act. I had been offered a job as a personal trainer by Michael, the owner of this exclusive men's spa and training center. Today was my starting day, the day Michael would set me up and explain my duties. I had been here twice before and was so impressed with the quality and caliber of the place.
Michael was one of the patrons at the French restaurant where I waited tables. He had been in a half dozen times and always asked for my table after I had served him the first time. This last time, he had opened up this new world to me.
" Corey, you are really in trim shape. You must work out pretty regularly to keep that kind of muscle tone," He said..
I parked my car in the guest area and hurried down the walk to the building, tucked away a few miles up the canyon road. The whole area was beautifully landscaped and the entry area was a real class act. I had been offered a job as a personal trainer by Michael, the owner of this exclusive men's spa and training center. Today was my starting day, the day Michael would set me up and explain my duties. I had been here twice before and was so impressed with the quality and caliber of the place.
Michael was one of the patrons at the French restaurant where I waited tables. He had been in a half dozen times and always asked for my table after I had served him the first time. This last time, he had opened up this new world to me.
" Corey, you are really in trim shape. You must work out pretty regularly to keep that kind of muscle tone," He said..
There stands my top: black eyes, raven hair, black mustache, dressed in black leather. He is a man half-Hispanic, half-Asian. In him the passions of two cultures have blended to form one incredible, sensual animal. Everything about him is tight, compact and trim. His square face is framed by a perpetual five o'clock shadow. My Daddy. He is a head shorter than I am and a decade younger, but he's my daddy nonetheless. "Daddy," after all, is an attitude.
My eyes fall on the scar he got when he was in a San Pedro gang getting drunk and beating up rivals. He once told me, "It just seemed to be the thing to do until I met you." Now he's sober and uses his fists to punch and pound my ass. It's hard to imagine that this passionate man was once so brutal and so badly beaten. It's as though his spirit had been cleansed by suffering. He has turned from a fighter to a lover, a fist-fucking ass lover who can't get enough.
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After spending far too long drying out my fur from a shower, I sat down with a cup of decaffeinated hot chocolate and began reviewing my email. The Embassy mailing lists were unsurprisingly quiet. Despite the usual upheavals in the world the introduction of the Feed the Stars program had put a serious dent in the most common cause of inter-tribal warfare in both Africa and Asia. When Humans have enough food they tend to be lazy. The industrious by nature put their energy into entertaining their neighbors rather than finding new ways of murdering them. I noticed a new fusion-powered water desalinization plant was being protested by "environmentalists" who decried the slight increase in local salt density, claiming it would kill fish.
People who hate their own species that much shouldn't be allowed to reproduce. It's a negative meme.
I parked my car in the guest area and hurried down the walk to the building, tucked away a few miles up the canyon road. The whole area was beautifully landscaped and the entry area was a real class act. I had been offered a job as a personal trainer by Michael, the owner of this exclusive men's spa and training center. Today was my starting day, the day Michael would set me up and explain my duties. I had been here twice before and was so impressed with the quality and caliber of the place.
Michael was one of the patrons at the French restaurant where I waited tables. He had been in a half dozen times and always asked for my table after I had served him the first time. This last time, he had opened up this new world to me.
" Corey, you are really in trim shape. You must work out pretty regularly to keep that kind of muscle tone," He said..
