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I wonder how long he’s been taking cock, how long he’s been raw-dogging it. Because with this body, what else can he be but a trainer, right? ” This time, he’s more audible, and just as definite.

I wonder where he’s been, the last few years I’ve been living in this sexless cul-de-sac.

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For who knows how long, I kneel there between his legs, my hands cupped around those beautiful cheeks, as my senses slowly restore and I can feel my kettledrum heart thudding in my ribcage.

Nothing exists for me at that moment save for his ass contracting around my pulsing, engorged flesh, and the sensation of my seed jetting into his guts.

I can tell from the way he instantly accommodates me, though, that he’s in no pain. Either I prepared him well with my rimming, or he’s naturally self-lubricating. Every stroke, every probe, every long pulling-out and sliding-in makes him gulp and yelp and moan.

The one thing I don’t have to wonder about is whether he’s enjoying himself.

One of his fists hits the mattress; I can feel the vibration as it strikes. Yet the longer I lap at him, the more of him I clean up, the deeper my tongue probes at that wide-open pussy that’s been fucked and bred, the less he resists.

Savagely I yank apart his cheeks and suck on the hole, tasting my essence as it oozes out. “No one’s ever done this for you after they fucked you. ” “Noooooo,” he whines, raising his head and shaking it. “But you love it, don’t you.” He knows it’s not a question. At first, he continues to beat the mattress with his clenched fist, as if pounding at a door that will never open. Thought you were number 88,” he says in an unexpectedly deep voice. For the first time, as he follows up the stairs onto my front porch, I can see that he’s as tall as I. Underneath those, he’s got a pair of baggy ripped jeans. Off comes his Yankees jacket, hitting the rug at the foot of my bed. There’s a gap between navel and jeans in which I can spy a perfect V across his narrow waist. He tugs at the waistband of my shorts, to let loose my cock. Even though the skin of his face is still cold, his mouth is wet. Once I’m down his throat, he opens his eyes again and regards me with heavy lids. It’s the expression of a boy who’s fallen in love with my dick. He doubles down on my inches, letting them slide slickly in and out of his eager gullet. Deep as his voice is, the guttural noise rumbles from his chest with a vibration that only amplifies my pleasure. His hands protectively clutch his crotch, where his hard dick stretches out a white, elastic fabric. Without confirmation, I naturally assume the latter. “Come on in,” I tell him, shivering, and already wondering whether I’m regretting extending the invitation. He could be two hundred and seventy-five pounds of seventy-year-old shambling flesh under there, for all I can tell out here in the dark. It pops off with a clunk—a size twelve or thirteen high-top roughly the size of a small appliance. He hooks his fingers under the elastic of his pants. They’re the same windproof fabric as his first jacket. I’m unused to men looming over me, but this looks down into my eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. The thin fabric of his tank top clings to and outlines his pecs. I adjust my stance so that my jeans fall to the floor. The stimulation might be enough to keep me hard, but maintenance is not the same as arousal. “Take off the jeans,” I order, as I step out of my own. He tugs off his top to expose that perfectly-worked chest. He pulls his feet, clad in white ankle socks, out of the pile of denim. The sensation is so intense for him that when he starts grabbing at his own ass cheeks I can’t tell whether he’s try to stop me, or to pull them apart to go deeper. In fact, until relatively recently, female sexuality was an oxymoron.The idea that women even wanted sex was a heretical thought. In fact, in the western Classical Age, women’s sexuality was considered to be in many ways superior to men’s.Our crawlers analyze millions of adult-videos every day and determine whether they contain porn.The result is that is the only place that has any and all porn videos currently existing on the net. Under his thick winter clothing, he’s bulky and shapeless. “Sup,” he mutters, nodding at me as I remove my down jacket. It’s some kind of shiny shell that covers up an oversized baseball jacket underneath. Then he applies the toe of one sneaker to the heel of the other. A half-sleeve extends down his left arm from the shoulder to his elbow, the outline inked in but not colored. When he starts to kiss the fabric, eyes closed, his lips searching for the outline of my meat, I feel myself growing harder and harder. I can feel the warmth of his breath, and the chilliness of the tip of his nose against my skin. This kid sucks unexpectedly well, like he’s had years of practice. So I let him suck me for a good long time, down on his knees, in the dusk of the bedroom, before I pull out. When I chew at the soft flesh deep within, he whines. My fingers still stretching his pucker, I pull myself to my knees. I wasn’t having to to travel far to get this guy, and he was pretty much free for the taking. Yes, basically I use the same rationale to decide whether or not to let the guy in, as I do when weighing whether or not to eat cheese that’s been sitting out on the break room counter at work for a suspiciously long time. Once we’re inside my living room, his hat comes off first. Lot of product in his short hair, cut in a fade on the sides and floppy on top. I don’t expect him to be quite as good looking as he is, from the blurry photos he’d posted. “I’ll put this here,” he says, and starts to remove the outermost layer of his clothing. This twenty-year-old kid, this muscled-up pup, this boy who looks like he should be headlining the next movie, takes a step forward so that his face is close to mine. But then he drops to his knees, wraps his thick arms around my middle, and rests his cheek against the bulge in my jeans. I help him loosen it, then allow him to unbutton me. Once again, when he encounters my black trunks, he presses his face against the fabric. And he doesn’t rely on beating me off in lieu of real oral service. If some swole kid wants me now, I guess he’s going to get me now. He hisses and clutches the bedclothes when I part his cheeks and bury my face between the symmetrical globes. My spit has made his ass slippery and ready for dick; a little more spit greases my rigid meat. Those two globes offset from his hips at precisely the right angle, with exquisitely-calculated curvature. It’s the kind of butt that can take a slap and a pounding both, only to bounce back for more. I’ve had many mighty fine asses, mind you, but this boy’s rear end is one of those that only comes around once in a lifetime. You look at it, and all you can do is wonder how many squats it took to bring about this consummation of meat and muscle. I’ve run into obvious fantasists and scammers on these sites before, from the guys who throw up a couple of jailbait photos from Reddit and send me messages that read, , to the dudes who post genuine pics of themselves but try to pass off 65 as 43 . On the other hand, I thought to myself, do I know the name of the second cross street north of me? Thankfully, it’s not too long before I see a figure ambling down the sidewalk.

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