Author: Michael Thomas Ford
Category: LGBT
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I watch Ray as he reaches out and takes the big prick in his hand, sliding the foreskin back slowly, his tongue slurping up the thick ooze that comes from beneath it. I know that he loves this, and that it both infuriates and arouses him to have me see so. When I fuck him later this evening, after Luis is gone, I will make him tell me what it tasted like, what it felt like in his throat.
When Luis’s head is exposed, Ray slips it into his mouth, his cheeks bulging with its width. Working slowly, he slides down the thick shaft, forcing Luis’s cock into his throat. Luis is still kneeling, his hands on Ray’s shoulders for balance. Now he pushes his hips forward, sinking the last inches into Ray’s mouth. He moans softly as Ray begins to move back up his dick, and I know that Ray is using his tongue to tickle the young man’s prick and urge more juice from it. I feel ghostly echoes of this familiar trick on my own shaft and think about the many times I’ve been in Luis’s position, the many times I’ve fucked Ray’s mouth just like this.
Ray no longer cares that I am watching him and begins to suck Luis’s fat prick in earnest, his hand jerking the length of the tool as his mouth caresses the tip. He is bent over Luis’s crotch so that his ass is sticking into the air. As he feasts on the hot flesh in his throat, I get up and take a dildo from its place in a chest beside the chair. Quickly lubing it, I come up behind Ray and slide it into his exposed hole.
It is not overly large and goes in easily, but still Ray is taken by surprise. I see him pause, Luis’s cock half in and half out of his throat, as he adjusts to the thickness in his chute. The dildo is settled firmly in Ray’s ass, and I snap a leather lead attached to its base to the ring around his balls to keep it in place. I give Ray’s cock a quick jerk and feel a spray of sticky wetness drip from his piss hole onto my hand. When I bring my fingers to my lips, I taste his familiar saltiness on them.
I return to my chair and watch Ray resume his work on Luis’s prick. He is sucking in long strokes that start at the base and travel fluidly up to the tip. Luis is breathing heavily, and his fingers are starting to dig into Ray’s shoulder. I tell Ray to stop, and have him lie on his back. The dildo in his ass makes this uncomfortable, and he is forced to keep his legs spread.
“Work on his tits, Luis,” I say. I know that Ray’s nipples are still sensitive from a workout I gave them the night before, and I wait to see what he will do when Luis’s mouth is on them. Luis moves his mouth across Ray’s chest and finds one of his tender buds. As his lips close over it, he bites softly, and Ray cries out. Luis pulls away, but I order him back. “Keep sucking.”
Obediently, he renews his work, his tongue licking at Ray’s chest. Ray writhes beneath him as Luis’s mouth beats at his sore tit, and Luis responds by sucking harder, working the other nipple with his fingers until Ray is almost crying. As he grows more confident, he strays from the nipple, moving his mouth into the hollow at Ray’s throat and then, as Ray lifts his arm, into the patch of dark hair he finds hidden there. Ray has momentarily forgotten their rivalry and runs his hand along Luis’s back, gripping the firm flesh of his ass tightly. After a few minutes, he puts his hands on Luis’s shoulders and urges him down to his cock.
Luis is kneeling between Ray’s legs, looking down at his dick. He leans forward and awkwardly takes the head of Ray’s prick into his mouth. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he puts them on Ray’s knees. He looks like he is drinking at a fountain.
“Lick the shaft,” I encourage him.
He runs his tongue down the length of Ray’s long cock, stopping at the balls and then moving back up, holding Ray’s dick in his hand as he tastes it. Ray takes over and pushes Luis’s head down onto his crank, sinking several inches into the young man’s throat. Luis gasps and tries to pull away, but Ray holds him by the neck until he discovers that if he stops struggling he will be able to breathe even with the flesh in his mouth. He begins to move up and down Ray’s cock, sucking hungrily at it as he discovers his rhythm.
I can tell by the look on Ray’s face that Luis is doing well. He has his eyes closed, and as Luis works his mouth over the stiff prick, Ray’s mouth twists in lines of pleasure. He puts his hands in Luis’s black hair and urges him to move faster. Before long, the entire length of Ray’s cock is disappearing between the eager lips.
I watch Luis’s back as he sucks Ray’s prick, the way the muscles bunch and relax, the way his ass rests on his heels as he rocks slightly back and forth. His cock is still hard. It slaps against the bed as he moves, and I imagine that the rasping of the sheets against his foreskin must be agonizing. It is probably his first time sucking another man’s cock, and watching him discover the power of it arouses me. I think once more about sticking my dick into his hole and squeeze my balls tightly. My cock is hard, but I don’t touch it. I like to feel the pressure building inside, wrapping its strong fingers around my prick and gripping it tighter and tighter.
Luis is fumbling with the leather strap that encircles Ray’s balls. Although I have not told him to do this, I am pleased by his initiative, and don’t stop him. When it is off, he stops sucking Ray’s cock and looks at it. “Put it on,” I tell him.
He wraps the strap around his fat balls and snaps it in place. Immediately, his prick fills with blood and swells even larger. He strokes his dick and shudders at the increased sensation of his fingers on his skin.
“Use the dildo,” I command. He puts his hand on the base protruding from Ray’s hole and pulls on it, sliding it a few inches out. Then he pushes it back in, fucking Ray’s ass slowly. He positions himself so that his knees are on either side of Ray’s neck, his head between Ray’s legs and his engorged tool sliding over Ray’s face. As he moves the dildo in and out, Ray sucks on his cockhead, until they are moving in time with one another, the dildo entering Ray’s hole as Luis’s cock pulls out of his throat.
As I watch them, I am amazed at how naturally the inclination toward pleasure comes. Luis seems to instinctively know what will please him, where to place his cock so that Ray can best service it. In time, he will become an expert at lovemaking, and I envy him the experiences he has yet to have. As he fucks Ray, Luis mouths his nuts as well, his lips picking up the heavy balls and exploring them. I know that Ray will not be able to hold off much longer, so I tell Luis, “Fuck him.”
The word is harsh and strikes Luis like a hand across his face. I know that he has never done this, taken another man, and that he is not sure how it is done. But something buried deeply inside him calls out, and his body responds. He pulls the dildo completely out of Ray’s chute, then positions himself between his legs. Ray makes no move to stop him, and I know he wants this as much as I do, wants to be this man’s first.
Luis puts Ray’s legs over his shoulders and points his cock at his asshole. He does not know to go slowly, and plunges fiercely into Ray’s depths. Even though his ass has been loosened by the dildo, Luis’s width is hard to take, and Ray’s breath escapes from him in a sharp gasp. But Luis has begun, and he can’t stop. He pulls out and slams himself again into Ray’s hole, their skins colliding with a smacking sound. St. Christopher is dashed repeatedly against his chest as he thrusts quickly and savagely, his big tool plowing into Ray repeatedly, his hands gripped tightly around Ray’s ankles.
I know he will come quickly and begin to stroke my aching cock. I watch his ass dimple and release as he pumps Ray’s hole and think how beautiful the two of them are. Ray’s head is thrown back on the pillows, his mouth open as his breath comes ragged and short. I have fucked him like this many times, and I know the sweet warmth of his ass well. But seeing him from the outside, as a spectator, I can take in the whole of him as he responds to the dick inside him, watch as he succumbs to the cock in his ass.
As Luis continues his thrusts, Ray shoots his load, splatters of white scattering across the bed like stars. His skin is streaked with his jism, long splashes of it crisscrossing his chest, speckles of it clinging to his hair and dotting his face. Luis sees it, too, and comes. Although his shot er
upts deep inside Ray’s ass, it is no less spectacular, waves of pleasure rippling across his face and seeming to roll through his whole body as he experiences his first time with another man and finds that it is what he has been waiting his whole life for.
I come thinking about his joy, a torrent spouting up onto my belly as I lean back and release the pressure in my overloaded nuts. As the drops of cum hit my chest and begin to slip down toward my crotch, I see Luis pull out of Ray. He rolls onto his back, a smile pulling at his mouth and his still-hard cock flat against his belly, and I know that the game has just begun.
The Blue Dragon
I was sitting at my favorite sushi bar one night, watching the chef form the rice, and the opening of this story came to me. I find food very sensual, and I wanted to play with that theme a little. By the way, there really is a type of fish that can cause the eater to have hallucinations, although I’ve never tried it myself.
The first thing I noticed about him was his hands. The fingers were long and thin, the nails rounded and cut short. He was rolling a rice ball, scooping the sticky white grains from the big heated pot at his side and then shaping it in his palm until it was a perfect oblong. When he had it completed, he took a sliver of fish—pale pink with an edge of yellow fatty skin—and laid it over the waiting bed. He leaned over the counter and placed the fish on the small wooden board in front of me.
“Tuna,” he said simply. “You will like.”
I nodded my thanks and picked the rice up with my chopsticks, lifting it carefully to my lips. The fish was fresh, with a hint of sea still on its skin, and melted into the smooth taste of the rice. It was delicious, and I smiled.
“It’s very good,” I said to him. “Tastes wonderful.”
He nodded his satisfaction and went back to his work. I enjoy sushi, especially when it’s made correctly by an experienced chef who knows his work. Many people shudder at the idea of eating raw fish, but sushi is one of the most pleasing of the Japanese art forms, requiring as much skill as a delicate water-and-ink painting or the three perfectly worded lines of a haiku. It takes years of practice to learn just how to roll the rice into a shape that is not too small or too large and how to slice the fish correctly so that it fills the mouth with a subtle taste, hinting at more but not overwhelming.
Because of my work as a journalist with an international investment magazine, I travel frequently to Japan. My favorite city is Osaka, on the southern side of Honshu, the largest of the Japanese islands. Situated on a beautiful bay surrounded by green mountains, Osaka has one of the largest outdoor fish markets in the world. The tuna, mackerel, sea trout, and octopus are lifted in great dripping nets from the holds of the boats that crowd the piers and dropped, shining and flopping, onto the decks, where fishermen and merchants buy and trade until the catch is gone. Minutes after the buyers disperse, the fish are seen in the countless stalls that line the water’s edge, laid out on beds of crushed ice for buyers to inspect.
The best fish end up in the sushi bars, the traditional meeting places of the Japanese. There the sushi chefs slice and arrange the day’s catch into simple, beautiful shapes eaten by the customers that crowd the rooms heady with thick smoke from the hand-rolled cigarettes popular in the city. Over steaming cups of green tea, diners point with their chopsticks to what they want, watching as it is prepared in front of them, nodding their approval when something pleases them, frowning when it does not.
Whenever I am in Osaka I make a point of going to the sushi bars, trying the specialties of the different chefs. I had never been to this particular bar before, but the concierge at my hotel recommended it, saying that the service was the best in Osaka and that it had some special offerings available nowhere else in the city. It had taken me some time to find it, wandering through the crowded streets and asking directions several times before finding the doorway, unmarked, between a discount electronics store and a brothel offering to fulfill my wildest dreams for only four thousand yen.
The concierge had been correct; this was the best sushi I’d ever had. The fish was hours old, the rice grains sticky and sweet. And the chef was a true artist. He handled the knives flawlessly, deftly peeling slices from the pieces of salmon and tuna and chopping the cucumbers and seaweed into ribbons translucent as the thinnest paper. He moved quickly and fluidly, finding his way around the table without hesitating. He made a roll of eel, wrapping everything up in a slip of crisp seaweed paper and slicing it into six pieces. He brushed the pieces with the thick, sweet sauce used to bring out the subtle flavors of the eel and then laid them in front of me.
He watched my face as I ate, waiting to see if I liked his creation. When I nodded my satisfaction, he broke into a smile. Waving the bartender over, I asked him to bring a bottle of the chef’s favorite beer, a traditional way of thanking him. When it arrived, I toasted him with my own glass.
It was quiet in the bar, so we began to talk as he worked. His English was very good, he told me, because he had once spent a year at the university. His name was Kamo, and he had been studying the art of sushi for over ten years. Like many Japanese, Kamo was slight of build, with delicate features and a fine-boned face. His black hair had been cut short on the sides but left long in front so that it hung down over his forehead and nearly covered one eye. His dark blue robe was tied in front with a sash of white.
As the evening progressed, Kamo prepared many different things for me—treasures dipped from the seas, like soft folds of urchin rich with the taste of salt, and the firmer pieces of conch, the flesh pinkish gold and sweet on my tongue. Most of the things I had had before, but he also presented me with several things I had never seen and for which he knew only the Japanese words. Each time he gave me something new he watched expectantly until I nodded my delight, then his face broke open in a happy smile.
As I watched Kamo work, I began to wonder what it would be like to make love with him. His movements were very sensual, controlled and fluid yet at the same time expressing great pleasure from doing his job well. I imagined him moving his hands over my body in that same attentive way and felt a stirring in my groin. The more I thought about Kamo, the more worked up I got. I envisioned sliding against his smooth, naked skin, feeling the hardness of his cock pressing against my leg as I kissed his soft mouth. I could almost feel his thick dark hair beneath my fingers as I pictured his head moving up and down my prick, his lips warm and welcoming, his tongue teasing.
The Japanese are generally very reserved, and I knew that asking Kamo straight out to come back to my hotel with me was out of the question. Besides, I didn’t even know if he was at all interested. He had been friendly all evening, but for all I knew he had a wife and three little kids somewhere. I decided the best thing to do was just enjoy the great food he was placing in front of me and be grateful for an evening of the best sushi I’d ever had. But the more my growing hard-on pressed insistently against my pants, the more I thought about rubbing my hands over his smooth ass, and the more I wanted him.
It was almost midnight, and the bar had pretty much emptied out. I was drinking a cup of tea and wondering if I was going to end up shooting my load into my hand in my hotel room when Kamo asked me if there was anything else he could get me. I was just about to say no when I decided to go for broke. “Well,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t see how nervous I was, “I understand there are some very special things to see in this part of town. I’d sure like to see them, and I was hoping that maybe you could show them to me.”
Kamo looked at me, a strange light rising in his eyes. He smiled slightly and nodded his head. “I thought that perhaps you would be interested in something special. I see by the way that you enjoy what I make for you that you appreciate the unusual.”
I grinned back at him. “Yes, I do,” I said. “The more unusual the better.”
Kamo wiped his hands on a wet cloth. “You wait here,” he said. “We will go where I will show you something I think you will like very much.”
Kamo went into t
he back of the bar. As I waited for him, I started imagining all of the things that I could do to him. My cock was rock hard, and I couldn’t wait to free it from its prison in my pants and let Kamo go to work on it. I felt Kamo’s hand on my shoulder and turned around. He had put on a dark robe over his clothes. “We will go now,” he said.
When we exited the bar it was raining, a strong downpour typical of the coastal towns. Because it had been clear when I left my hotel, I had foolishly not brought an umbrella. Luckily, Kamo had one, and I held it over us as we scurried through the narrow streets. While I could hardly tell where one street melted into another, Kamo moved us swiftly through the maze of buildings that make up the area near the wharf. Despite the umbrella, we were both soaking wet by the time he led me up a narrow stone stairway and stopped in front of a big red door.
Producing a key from the pocket of his robe, Kamo fitted it into the hole and turned it sharply, pushing at the same time. The door swung inward, and we entered. Inside, I shook the rain off as best I could and looked around. We were standing in a small entryway with a stone floor and bare white walls. Directly across from the one we had entered was another door.
“Is this your house?” I asked Kamo.
He nodded. “It is a very old place, once used by Shinto monks. Now it is home.”
Kamo led me to the other door, stopping first to remove his shoes. When I bent to remove my own shoes, he stopped me. “I will do it for you,” he said as he knelt in front of me. “You are my guest.”
He quickly untied my laces and pulled my shoes off, holding my foot in his hand. His fingers grasped my sole gently, rubbing slow circles over the skin for a moment before releasing me. Placing the shoes on a small mat next to the door, he rose and opened the door. Stepping through, I found myself in a large room filled with soft light that came from several oil lamps that burned with golden tongues of flame. There was no furniture but for a low wooden table surrounded by many large pillows thrown over thick carpets that covered the floor.