Jeudi 17 mars 4 17 /03 /Mars 15:08

plaisir des yeux

plaisir des dieux ! ...
 Sur quelqu'autel qu'on célèbre la fête,
Toujours là-haut, on est sûr du pardon.
Foutre et jou-ir, voilà l'unique affaire,
Foutre et jou-ir: voilà quels sont nos voeux,
 
gentil et jeune avocat avec ami docteur..font la fête des sens
 
 
 
 
 
 
 jacksnewdick: 9. I AM DR. T’S GOLDEN ASS…‘LIKE A LAMB TO FUCKING SLAUGHTER'🍌 🍌🍌🍌 Previous chapter: http://jacksnewdick.tumblr.com/post/139510982060/8 🍌🍌🍌 “Rimming? What’s that?” Dr. Tentmate had asked me innocently, as I led him to my sleeping bag like a lamb to fucking slaughter. 🍌🍌🍌 The water was bracing, so we scrubbed each other - everywhere - quickly. I got out and dug my sleeping bag out of my backpack, along with a small “emergency” kit, then spread the sleeping bag out on the sand behind the canoe. This took all of 20 seconds - I was ready for Dr. Tentmate by the time he got out of the river. When he walked up, beautiful and dripping wet, I pulled him down onto the bag and wrapped my arms and legs around him. “We’re going to get your bag wet…” Dr. T protested. “No worries,” I said, “I’ll sleep in yours tonight. Besides, it’ll be cum-soaked anyway.” “I like the sound of all of that,” he replied as our hungry mouths found each other’s. No surprise, but our junk had shrunk considerably in the cold water. The first order of business was to get our blood flowing (to the right parts) again. That didn’t take long. I had Dr. Tentmate’s cock in my hand and felt it growing quickly. I took all of him into my mouth while he was still mostly soft and sucked him until he was hard. Then I disentangled from Dr. T and positioned him precisely the way I wanted him - first, on his knees with his legs apart - telling him not to move. Next I lay down on my back and shimmied underneath him, with my mouth directly under his big (though still shrunken) nutsack. I started by licking his balls, sucking lightly on each in turn, then giving careful attention to his taint (or gooch, that “prime piece of real estate located conveniently between Scrotumburg and Anusville”). Dr. Tentmate moaned. Or groaned - in a good way. I parted his hairy ass cheeks with both hands, probing his anal cleft with one dexterous finger. Keeping that finger pressed against his tight pink starfish of a hole, I reached for my “emergency” kit, removed my vial of flavored lube (grape), snapped its cap and one-handedly lubed two fingers - as I sucked his whole left nut into my mouth. Right nut. Left nut. “Now lean forward, support yourself on your hands…and try not to fall on me,” I whispered before inhaling his right nut again. Dr. Tentmate was an obedient student and he modified his position accordingly. There were two salutary benefits to Dr. T shifting his upper body forward and down: First, it lowered his ass and moved it back, relaxing it a little. Second, the same motion lowered his very hard cock and shifted it back enough so that, with just a little squirming, I now had the head of his dick in my mouth. I couldn’t take much more of it in from that position, but I had enough, and I worked it hard. I was ready when his ass shifted down and back. As soon as his cheeks opened slightly, I pushed my lubed index finger into his tight hole. “Awww fuckkk…,” he moaned. I sucked his cock all the harder, and then slowly began moving my finger in and out, exploring and slightly stretching his cavity. After he got accustomed to that sensation I slipped in a second finger. When I had worked both fingers in as deeply as I could from that angle it was time for a new position. I pressed both of my hands upward against Dr. T’s chest and he obliged by rising up. I moved out from under him and repositioned him on his hands and knees. I knelt behind him, admiring his hairy blond ass in the sunshine, and inserted my re-lubed index finger, now able to probe deeper, eventually pressing against his prostate and eliciting more moans. This was, as you non-virgins will know, slow, patient, gentle “work" on a very tight hole. As my two left fingers did their walking, my right hand kept his mind off of my left, slowly stroking - pulling down, really - his cock. A lot like milking a cow (or bull). I had two fingers fully in Dr. Tentmate’s asshole when he threatened to come the first time. I squeezed his balls tight while he…panted. Time to answer Dr. T’s earlier question, “What’s rimming?” I could’ve answered, “One of my specialties.” I first paid homage with my lips to each of his furry ass cheeks in turn. Then I spread his ass and licked his crack longitudinally with my darting tongue before zeroing in on his puckered pink hole - clockwise - several times, to Dr. Tentmate’s evident pleasure. I once heard from an Aussie that rimming clockwise is more effective in the northern hemisphere, while counter-clockwise works best in the southern. I don’t have any idea if that’s true or not, but I strongly suspect not. Even so, when I’m rimming a dude in the northern hemisphere (100% of my rimjobs so far), I habitually act as if that clockwise shit is an article of faith. Finally I spread T’s cheeks a bit farther apart and pressed the tip of my tongue into the bulls-eye. As I gradually worked my tongue deeper into his hole, Dr. T surprised the crap out of me by gasping, with some urgency, “Oh God…oh fuck…fuck me…fuck me, Joe…” I ignored all of his smack about fucking him - the first time I heard it - and just kept eating his ass and milking his cock. Strange as it may sound to you, I had not even remotely considered the possibility of fucking Dr. Tentmate on that sliver of beach. That would come later, maybe much later, I had thought. To be sure, my intention had been to fully “prep” him as if for a virgin buttfucking, to make him WANT my cock buried in his ass, but instead to devote myself solely to getting him off. “Joe…Goddammit, fuck me! Put it in! Fuck me NOW!” ‘Well,’ I thought as my cock sprang back to full attention again, ‘maybe I should fuck him now after all…if I don’t fuck him now, I sure as fuck am going to tonight…so why not now?’ Just then, Dr. T stiffened, shuddered, and began to shoot rope after rope of thick hot cum all over my sleeping bag - aided by a fingertip quickly pressed against his prostate. “Ohhh fuck me…!” he panted. I briefly regretted the waste of all that sweet jizz but almost immediately turned that thought aside to focus more carefully on Dr. T’s specific demand: seven inches of Joe in (and out of) his anal canal. But…I figured that if I really were going to fuck Dr. Tentmate on that sandbar, the fucking of him had to begin essentially at that moment or wait until he “recovered” from that orgasm and was ready to play again. And who knew what might happen then? In short, I needed to strike while the desire was hot, and before rationality returned to my tentmate. So while Dr. T was still gasping in post-ejaculatory bliss I hurriedly lubed my cock and re-lubed Dr. T’s honey hole. Of course, I had condoms in my “emergency” kit. I’m embarrassed to say that I felt the emergency was much too great to resort to the “emergency” kit condoms…I’m not proud of that fact, but there it is. I spread that great furry blond ass apart, inserted a finger to stretch him a little and slowly pushed the head of my cock into Dr. Tentmate’s tight hole, slipping my finger out as my head entered him. I held steady for a minute, then carefully pressed harder. Dr. T grunted loudly, clawing the sleeping bag and gathering up two fistfuls of it, but T didn’t say ‘No!’ “You OK, Doc?” I asked softly. “Just remember you’re in total control here…you say no, or stop, or slow down or wait…and I do exactly what you say. Understand?” “Unh huh,” Dr. T grunted through clenched teeth. Then, “Just fucking…fuck me…and stop…talking…” I could do that, I figured, so I leaned into him by way of answer, and pushed my throbbing cock a little deeper into his hole, so that I had about two inches inside him, maybe a little more. Then after making sure that my cock had engaged, I stopped cold…and waited for Dr. Tentmate’s reaction. It wasn’t long in coming, and when it came, it was very similar to my own reaction the first time Jack and I had “tested” each other as teenagers. When Jack had parked two inches (I later found out he had cheated by inserting three inches) of his thick cock up my butt, I had in fairly short order mewed, whined, howled, even begged, for more, demanding that he fill me up. But the point on that occasion had been NOT to fuck each other, despite our mutual and nearly overwhelming desire to the contrary. Dr. T and I, on the other hand, were not playing a game of “Knob•in•the•Hole.” My unexpected mission on that sandbar had suddenly become, to use the words of an old friend, “fucking my [tentmate] as tenderly and as gently and as passionately as I would want to him to fuck me” if our roles had been reversed. For me that was the essence of being a good top, that was the way I had been topped the first time, and I wanted to be a very good top that day - because when our roles were reversed, and I then understood that would happen soon enough, I wanted, needed, Dr. Tentmate to be the very best top he could be. The two or two-and-a-half inches of my cock planted securely in Dr. T’s butt stayed (mostly) stone-still (apart from an interesting side-to-side motion that I had picked up from a former lover) while I allowed Dr. T’s in-born passion for more inches to build to flood-stage - or not. It would have been perfectly reasonable, and probably even more predictable, if T had responded with boredom or even contempt to having one-third of my cock seemingly stalled upon entry. I could almost hear him saying, ‘Well, if you’re not gonna fuck me with that little pecker of yours, go on and pull it out…then bend over and I’ll show you how to ass-fuck ‘a fucking queer.“ But that’s not what happened, not at all. Instead, in no time my “straight” tentmate was asking for more, telling me to keep going, insisting that I fuck him deeper, demanding my whole cock, and - rather than begging to be filled up (as I had done years before) - trying to scrunch his ass backwards onto my stiff rod. I tentatively concluded that, like me, he probably had “the soul of a bottom.” When I gauged he could no longer reasonably stand the waves of desire that I knew from personal experience were building within the walls of smooth muscle clamped around my cock, I finally gave him what he was asking for. I pulled most of the way out, and pushed back into his well-lubed hole slowly, then went a little deeper the next time, fucking him in slow-motion. I’m not going to sugarcoat this - I know getting fucked in the ass for the first (and second and third) time usually hurts like a son of a bitch. But after the initial shock (and pain), it starts to hurt in a surprisingly good way - at least that’s how it was for me. Like even though it hurt, I had to have more cock deeper in my ass…to fill that gaping absence of cock in the part of my rectum that had not yet been broached. There’s usually somehow a counter-intuitive sense in the properly-buttfucked initiate (in my experience) that only the instrument of pain itself can provide the necessary relief. Go figure. No two ways about it, I hurt Dr. T that afternoon - and I was being as tender and gentle as I would’ve wanted him to be with me (with the possible exception of that one moment when I had to ram the head of my cock beyond his pearly gates before he could reconsider the whole proposition and slam his portal shut for the day). But I’ll give T his full due - he took my cock up his ass like a man. Between his grunts and moans he kept exhorting me to fuck him, to fuck him more, to fuck him harder, deeper, faster. The only thing he didn’t demand was that I fuck him again. Fuck, to tell the truth he was a fucking magnificent fuckee. Before I had blown my load he was instinctively pushing his (formerly) virgin ass back onto my cock, repeatedly, like he was an experienced bottom - but I’m getting ahead of myself. Until I had worked my cock most of the way in, by stages - one inch forward, two back, forward again, I was excruciatingly slow and deliberate. When I was finally buried seven inches deep in Dr. T’s tight, sweet ass and, alas, could go no deeper, because there was no more of me, I paused again and let us both feel me fully inside him. Naturally his rectum was spasming involuntarily, clenching and releasing my cock, before I started rocking back and forth on him with an increasing urgency, out and in, out and in, rapidly stepping up the tempo. At one point I got perilously close to climax and we stopped for a minute while the insistence in my balls subsided. I won’t lie - there wasn’t a whole lot more to that first fuck after that. I was shamefully aware of my obligation to withdraw before orgasm, which approached again all too quickly. In truth, I had very nearly cut it too close the first time. Ironically, had I not been so greedy and taken the time to find and put on a condom, I would’ve certainly lasted longer than I did. As it was, once we resumed I honestly don’t think I made more than a good six or eight rhythmic thrusts (not that I was counting) before I had to pull out for real…and I barely withdrew in time. Just as my cock cleared Dr. T’s rectum I exploded all over his beautiful furry ass and back, and then collapsed on him in a heaving, sweaty heap. I lay still on top of him for a few moments, savoring what I already recognized as a special fuck - and the intoxicating release of feel-good hormones. When my breathing returned to near-normal, I rolled off of Dr. T and said, “You fucking queer…” Dr. T burst out laughing and I joined in. “C'mere to me, you fucking queer,” he growled after we had stopped laughing. We lay in each other’s arms on that sandbar on a fucking-A good afternoon for a good while before either of us spoke again. “Not bad, Joe,” Dr. T said at last. “Not bad at all…I never thought I’d get fucked in the ass by a goddamn lawyer and enjoy it–“ “Haha,” I replied, a non-response that T ignored. “…and the…rimming…my God,” he continued, “I had no fucking idea…none…I mean I’m a fucking doctor and I never knew my ass was a…a… sex organ…fuck, but that was sweet.” “I gotta say that was the best ‘shore lunch’ I’ve ever had,” I observed - and cleverly, I thought. Dr. T chuckled in a passing nod to my punning reference to the standard lunch prepared by professional fishing guides from the morning’s catch. “One thing about that…'shore lunch’…kind of bothers me, though…” he said. I thought immediately - and guiltily - of the unused condoms in my “emergency” kit. “What’s that?” I asked. “Well…you actually ATE my ass…[pause]…and I’m wondering…what the fuck did that taste like?” “Nugrape,” I answered, grinning. “Grape and….you.” Dr. Tentmate raised an eyebrow at me, then said, “Great, because I’m planning on licking and fucking you tonight….Now hurry and let me up…I’ve got to go squat in the woods.“🍌 🍌🍌🍌 PRACTICE SAFE SEX.
 
 jacksnewdick: 7. I AM JOE’S DICK…WARMING UP TO DR. TENTMATE🍌 🍌🍌🍌 Previous chapter: http://jacksnewdick.tumblr.com/post/139400272355/6 🍌🍌🍌 The great thing about a dick-loving “straight” guy starved for the cock that has been denied to him (usually by himself) for an extended period of time is that if he ever does start sucking your dick, he almost won’t be able to stop. That was the case, short-term, with Dr. Tentmate. He was definitely a cock-starved dick-lover, and my nice meaty dick was suddenly very much available to him. While I love to have some hot jock sucking my cock as much as the next guy does, I’m also a strong believer in the ancient wisdom that it is better to give than to receive. And that applies in spades when it comes to cocksucking. Dr. T, newly-minted cocksucker, obviously subscribed to that same philosophy, because he kept my cock working in his mouth long after he had swallowed all of my load - and while I was finishing him off (apparently on autopilot, because I remember nothing of his happy ending except his sweet taste), Dr. T was already looking forward to, if not quite planning yet, the next opportunity for an oral semen exchange. As for me, I was worshipping at my totem pole in the truest sense of that term. My totem is the Cock and this fucking married anesthesiologist from Virginia who had “fortuitously” landed in my tent was sporting the finest totem ever to come (or cum) my way. You may think that I’m a size queen, and I admit I sometimes sound and post photos like a size queen, but in real life I honestly don’t care how big or how small any dude’s johnson is…I will absolutely crave any cock that’s attached to a guy I find attractive. Dr. Tentmate, who I was finding more and more attractive, just happened to have had more of what I wanted in one serving than I’ve been accustomed to getting. I don’t know exactly how big his cock is - I didn’t measure it (exactly) and I damn sure didn’t ask him - but I’m guessing, based on comparing his boner to mine while we were frotting, that Dr. T has about nine thick inches when he’s hard, maybe a bit more. Dr. T eventually extracted his subsiding cock out of my mouth and turned back around so we were facing one another. “Best. Wake-up Call. Ever,” he said, grinning ear to ear. I reached over with one finger and wiped a small dollop of cum off his face with and popped it into my mouth. Then I reached down and squeezed his fat junk, keeping him gripped in my hand. Unlike me, he was still semi-hard. “Could you get off again, I mean like right now?” Dr. T laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said, then quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is I could get hard again right now, but it would probably take you a couple of minutes or so to get me off again.” As if to prove his point, his cock began stiffening in my hand. “Want me to time it?” I asked, lightly stroking him. “Nah, let’s save this one. I already feel great and it’s time to get up and moving. By the way, my crystal ball tells me we’ll be paddling together again today.” I looked at T quizzically, knowing that James wouldn’t want anyone monkeying with the paddling rotation he had so painstakingly (and proudly) devised. “How’s that?” I asked. “Trust me,” Dr. T smiled. “Hey, do me a favor, will ya?” I said, letting go of his cock. “Roll over on your stomach for just a minute.” “What, you gonna stab me in the back?” he asked, but he rolled over. “Trust me,” I said. I just wanted to have a quick look at Dr. T’s beautiful ass in the light of day. I put my right hand in the fuzzy small of his back and moved it down to his firm, athletic, dimpled furry blond butt, then over to his warmly inviting crack, out of which spilled darker blond hair. I slid the bottom three fingers into his crack and let them come to rest there. “Feel familiar?” I asked. “Kind of…and in a good way,” T replied. “You know you’re weird, don’t you? Also in a good way.” “You’ve got a sweet peach of an ass,” I said, giving it a parting squeeze. “We better get some clothes on before we have company.” By the time we were dressed, the campsite was stirring. There are no campgrounds in the Boundary Waters - this is a national wilderness area - just a few scattered, isolated campsites, for use by permit only, with a maximum of four tents per site. The only “improvements” are an iron grate over a cooking pit and a pit latrine - for those of you uninitiated in pit latrines, that basically means you shit in a hole in the wide-open woods, albeit from a slightly raised platform. The unimproved tent sites (no tent pads) here and at most of our locations that week were scattered about 15 to 20 yards apart and were typically separated by trees and bushes. That particular morning our four tents were fairly secluded from each other, but a couple of nights we had to pitch our tents almost on top of one another. The rain fly was off of our tent that day, so anyone who had happened to walk by our tent after first light could’ve seen, through the mostly-mosquito-net roof and side panels, a lawyer and a doctor very hungrily, lustfully, engaged in sixty-nine. Fortunately, no one happened to walk by our tent and peer inside while Dr. T and I were engorged and entwined. Our group’s early a.m. routine was to build a fire, fire up a couple of backpacking stoves [under the circumstances the brand name of those gas jets was priceless: “Pocket Rocket”] to heat previously purified lake water for instant coffee, oatmeal or the like, and then make haste to break camp, repack gear in backpacks and canoe/portage to the next night’s campsite. Some days proved to be fucking death marches, others were more leisurely. Dr. T eventually made it clear to me on ‘the morning after the Great Horny Owl’ that we were to be foot-draggers that day, though it took some doing before I caught on to his plan. Not overly procrastinating, but moving slowly enough so that our assigned canoe-mates for the day (tentmates were ‘permanent’ for the week but paddling partners rotated every day according to an elaborate schedule James had devised) would become impatient and reassign themselves to each other…and leave Dr. Tentmate and me behind, “forcing” us to paddle together for the second day running. So we very carefully and slowly packed and re-packed our gear. Dr T spent a fair amount of time at the latrine…and when he finally returned he brought with him, to my surprise, a fresh cup of coffee…for me. What the fuck?? It was one thing for us to get each other off, but quite another for him to practice such genuine and random acts of kindness. I was packing the tent into my backpack and he knelt down next to me. “Give you a hand, stud?” he asked, then added, “No pun intended.” “Thanks, but I’ve just about got it,” I replied. “Hmm,” T said thoughtfully as he surveyed my gear. “No offense, partner, but I’m not sure I like the look of that tent…could be kinda loose.” He took the tent out of my pack and unrolled it. “Oops…looks like this came undone…No worries, I’ll re-do it,” he offered cheerfully. I was still enjoying my post-orgasmic glow and hadn’t quite figured out what he was up to. I raised an eyebrow at him. Dr. Tentmate quickly checked his surroundings and then kissed me, a fuck-long of a kiss given the situation. I felt my cock begin to stiffen again. “We really need to take our time and make sure we get this right.” Then he winked at me. As Dr T. methodically re-rolled the tent (much tighter and smaller than I had initially managed) he said, “Joe…you OK, you know, about last night…and this morning? Everything alright with us?” Dr. T was asking about US?? I was fucking flabbergasted…wasn’t that supposed to be my line? “Actually…not really, Doc…problem is, I want more of you…Got a pill for that?” I deadpanned. “No, but I’ve got an injection I can give you,“ he instantly shot back. “Now just slow the fuck down with all your macho camp-breaking shit,” he grinned. “I’d much rather fish with you than who-the-fuck-ever is assigned to me today…[pause]…You’re a fair paddler, a poor-ass portager - if that’s a word - a damn fine fisherman…and an excellent fucking tent•mate.” [Yes, that cocksucker, not me, coined that term on this trip]. “I’ve been admiring your rod,” Dr. T continued, “and I have to say that I like the way you handle your equipment. I was hoping you might be able to show me some new shit…improve my hookset or whatever…Just drag your ass a little more, and those gung-ho fuckers will get tired of waiting for us. They’ll paddle off so we can…um…fish or…something…together this morning.” And then Dr. T playfully grabbed my crotch and squeezed, pleasantly hard. What the fuck??? ‘The morning after’ was supposed to be my area of special expertise, but I was left speechless again. My new friend was plainly in charge. “How about another cup of coffee, Joe?” he asked. “Don’t mind if I do,” I said happily. 🍌🍌🍌 Dr. Tentmate had not been planning another round of blowjobs after our fellows paddled off ahead of us; he simply wanted enough time to innocently affect a reshuffling of paddling partners. We loaded up and shoved off a few minutes after the last canoe left. That day was expected to be a leisurely day - no portages - and if we paddled straight through to that night’s site it would only take two or three hours. We had planned for one boat, the one manned that day with two guys who inexplicably didn’t fish, to push ahead and claim a choice campsite while the other three boats fished as and when they wanted. All of the canoes had at least one map and one GPS, and we knew (in theory) where to rendezvous. Type-A Dr. Tentmate of course took the back of our canoe, which suited me fine, the better for me to fish. We paddled steadily but not hard for 15 or 20 minutes, allowing the third boat in line to pull farther ahead, but never quite out of sight. If a word was spoken between Dr. T and me I don’t remember what it was. Nor did I have anything to say - I was rapidly warming to the cocksucker in the back of my canoe, but I didn’t exactly have a crush on him yet. I was absolutely fucking lusting for him though, thinking about the dark blond hair on his chest, remembering how he had reacted the night before when I had sucked his nipples as my hand closed around his…huge…cock for the first time the previous night. And I was deadset on eventually getting that huge cock buried balls-deep in my ass. We were paddling in a good, steady rhythm, our paddles rising and falling, the sound of Kevlar blades slipping in and out of the cold, clear water. “Eagles,” Dr. T said, and my eyes followed his pointing finger to a magnificent pair of bald eagles circling low over the water off to our right. One dove suddenly, crashed into the surface of the lake maybe 30 yards away, came away in a fountain of spray with a large silver fish in its talons. We paddled on in silence for several more minutes, the third boat ahead of us a distant speck. “Joe,” said Dr. T from behind me, without preamble, “how many orgasms can you have in one day?” Fuck, but he was direct. I was thinking furiously, ‘What’s the ‘right’ answer? And why am I so concerned about getting it right?’ It dawned on me at about the same instant that I couldn’t relax because I wanted so badly to PLEASE Dr. Tentmate. I didn’t like that feeling, at all. I thought, ‘Just talk to the cocksucker…like he’s an old friend…and maybe, just maybe, there’ll be a prize at the bottom of the box, maybe not, and that’ll be OK, too.’ “Almost but never quite as many as I want to or think I’m going to have,” I said out loud. “No, seriously. Arithmetic. A number.” I think, then say, “I don’t know…three or four…it just depends, you know, on the situation.” “Last night doesn’t count, that was yesterday,” Dr. T said vaguely, without explaining what the previous night didn’t count toward. I could guess well enough what he planned to tally, though. “Depends on what?” he asked. “For you, I mean, what do the number of orgasms depend on?” “Truthfully, and no real surprise, mostly how into my partner I am, and vice-versa…I haven’t really thought about it…but, I mean, if I’m between partners, I’m probably not going to jack off three or four times a day. I guess I’d say it also depends on whether I’ve gotten off the few days before…maybe…anyway if I’m really into my partner, and they’re into me, you know, we might fuck three or four times. Maybe just once or twice. There’ve been times though…” I trailed off inconclusively. “What’s been your maximum, you know, real history?” Dr. T asked, picking up the thread I’d just dropped. I laughed out loud at the memory of an extraordinarily frenzied period of sucking and fucking over the Christmas break of my college senior year. One particular day/night stood out as my high-water mark. I immediately regretted having laughed, though, thereby focusing Dr. T’s attention on the answer I wasn’t going to provide. There wasn’t any need for conjecture or guesswork on my part. That Christmas break had marked the first time my identical twin and I had ever fucked and sucked each other, after years of handjobs and longing (by me) for more, and after beginning we did not easiIy stop. I could still tell you the exact number of orgasms each of us had had each day (and night) of that break. But I certainly didn’t want to go there with Dr. T. I knew from experience that most people really can’t wrap their head around what I would’ve had to say about Jack and me, had I been willing to discuss it with him, which I wasn’t. “What?” Dr. T demanded. “C'mon, Joe, you can’t hold out on your tentmate.” Yes I could; I wasn’t going to tell him about Jack. “In a 24-hour period? Seven times,” I said, but offered no more. “Jesus Christ,” Dr. T said, whistling. “Chick or dude?” I laughed really hard at that. “Definitely a dude with a dynamite dangling dick, Doc.” “Special guy, huh?” he cleverly intuited. “Um hmm.” Dr. T let the subject drop when it became evident that I wasn’t going to say any more about it. After a couple of minutes he said, “Dude, you’d better start fishing.” I don’t have to be told that twice, ever, but there was an obvious disconnect in our conversation. “Then dude you’d better stop paddling.” I hesitated, then added, “What the fuck does me fishing have to do with how often I can get off?” I stopped paddling, turned and looked at the hot fucker sitting in the back of my canoe. “Because when we drag our asses into camp as late as I think we’re going to be,“ that hot fucker replied, “we damn sure better have a stringer full of fish to show for our time away…or somebody might think we’ve been sucking cock in the wild or something.” He gave me his best shit-eating grin, and said softly, almost sheepishly, “I thought we ought to fish as if our lives depended on it.” “So you’re not one to have your dessert first, are you, Doc?” I chuckled, feeling my cock stir in my shorts in anticipation of dessert. “Only in an emergency,” he laughed in return, “but when push comes to shove, I’m against missing dessert.” “Then let’s try that rocky point over there…for a few minutes,” I said, pointing to a likely spot for smallmouth bass.🍌 NEXT CHAPTER: http://jacksnewdick.tumblr.com/post/139510982060/8 🍌🍌🍌 PRACTICE SAFE SEX.
 
jacksnewdick: 6. I AM DR. T’S COCK ON JOE’S BRAIN…THE MORNING AFTER🍌 🍌🍌🍌 Previous chapter: http://jacksnewdick.tumblr.com/post/139342067385 🍌🍌🍌 The morning after began auspiciously and, as most of you probably know, it wasn’t likely to. In my prior “morning after” experiences with mostly or nominally straight guys, and the occasional good friend, the norm has been that Straight Guy either can’t or won’t look me in the eye (if he’s even still there at first light), and typically he can’t get away quickly enough to begin ignoring my calls and texts. I still always try to communicate with the straight guys I seem to habitually drag home with me within the first 24 hours after they’ve given their first blowjob, but I now let them go with one attempted and unreturned contact. At the equivalent stage with Dr. Tentmate - the morning after ‘the Great Horny Owl’ - there was no danger that he’d disappear on me in the middle of the Boundary Waters wilderness, but he could just as easily go incommunicado, revert to über-straight form, or even opt to change tentmates. When I awakened early on the morning after we had first gone down on each other, I had no idea how Dr. T might react to our late-night cocksucking in the fierce antiseptic of sunlight. While I wasn’t yet emotionally invested in T (not so much anyway), I really didn’t want to lose what we might have together for the balance of this trip - primarily his huge cock buried balls-deep in my throat and ass night after night after night. If butt•fucking proved to be beyond the pale for Dr. T (and it might), after my having had a good taste of his forbidden fruit even a “return” to a peaceful but platonic co-existence would have felt like a devastating, if temporary, loss. And I certainly did not want a sulky, guilt-ridden, embarrassed - or hostile - tentmate for the rest of the trip. But I was philosophical - we had had a more than satisfying sexual experience together; I had touched and retouched most of the square inches (and all of the round inches) of his beautiful body; he had physically worshipped my body, instinctively flipping virtually all of my switches (except my ears and my anally-related switches); I had given the biggest dick I’d ever been with the best blowjob I could give under exigent circumstances; he had hungrily sucked my cock and I had no criticism at all of his performance; we had both cum in each other’s mouth and we had both swallowed; we had fallen asleep and slept all night in each other’s arms; I was even willing to start liking the guy, as a friend, you know. So what the fuck - even if what followed between us was Armageddon, I figured I’d still have to count my one night with Dr. Tentmate as a major fucking positive. As I lay there at dawn on the morning after with my head on T’s hairy chest, ever-so-slightly playing with the treasure trail growing up his firm belly, my keen eyes locked onto his fully at-rest -yet-still-fat-as-fuck dick. It was hard to imagine that the person who awakened next to me that morning would be Dr. Tent•bear and not the boyishly happy lover who had announced a few hours earlier that my cum had tasted to him “like Christmas in July.” This is what you need to know now about the “black bear” that I believed had been successfully caged during the wee hours of the morning through our mutual administration of blowjobs. Only a little of this had come out as we had talked the night before; most of the rest of was disclosed by T as we paddled together later that morning for the second successive day - in flagrant violation of “the schedule” (more on how that came about later): Dr. T had a very deep itch that he knew he had to scratch; he didn’t come on this trip to scratch that itch, but when he found out that a confirmed itch-scratcher (me) had been added to the trip manifest, he determined in advance that, unless I was a complete loser/ turn-off to him, he was going to get me to help him scratch as many of his itches as he could while he was in the woods with me. Though at the time I thought it weird, even anal, when a week or so before the trip, Dr. T had asked all of the participants to email a photo to all of the others (and he led off with his own photo). I had no idea then, of course, how “anal” his photo request really was or whose ass had been targeted. His ostensible reason for making the photo request was that several people didn’t know everyone, some knew very few of the others, and we were converging on the Minneapolis airport from three different cities - he thought (he said) that this would help ensure a clean meet-up, hasten our getaway from the airport and, maybe, break the ice for “the newbies” (me). There was hooting of the sort you’d expect from some of the other male mail-recipients who knew this anal Virginia doctor well, of course, with one guy even accusing him of being “a fag looking for a mail-order bride,” but everyone eventually complied, dutifully sending pics (no cock•shots, alas) all around. What I didn’t know is that James, the guy who had invited me to fill in for a late dropout, had confided my sexual orientation to Dr. Tentmate as an intended means of enlisting his help in advance if some “problem” arose on the trip. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s fully consistent with what I know about how most truly straight guys think. Dr. T apparently resolved immediately to “rig” the tent selection - assuming I passed the visual test - and opted in advance to spend the week sleeping next to “the fucking queer” in the hope that this might somehow get his itch scratched. So he contrived the photo exchange and I passed the eye test; and he conspired with James to ensure that he bunked with me so that he could “keep anything untoward from happening.” Most outlandishly, though, Dr. T had figured all he had to do was to wait about 15 minutes after the lights went out for me to seduce him, that is, if I hadn’t already come on to him at the airport. I still don’t have a clear mental picture of exactly what he had expected me to do or wanted to happen on our first night together as strangers sharing a tent - but whatever it was plainly didn’t happen. [Recall that the events I’ve previously described all occurred on the second “outdoor” night, after our first day on the water; I get confused, too]. As I said earlier, I was intimidated by Dr. T’s swaggering good looks, his imposing physical presence, his über-outdoors-guy persona - and, once I saw it, his penis. Plus I had sworn to James that I’d be “straight as an arrow” on this trip, that I’d fit in as a “regular guy,” and to “behave,” whatever that meant (I assumed that if I lucked into ball-blasting, adult consensual sex within the confines of my own tent I was still “behaving”). I could barely look at Dr. Tentmate the first couple of days for fear of either breaking my vow or getting pounded by him into bear paste - and that was before I’d even seen his big swinging dick. Anyway, that first night in the woods (the night during which I had supposedly “whacked off” in my sleeping bag next to Dr. T, but had in reality snuck off up a trail and masturbated privately before turning in for the night), I must have fallen sleep immediately, facing away from my tentmate, as I assumed all straight guys did. And I was exhausted. According to Dr. Tentmate, he had done everything but shake me awake to try to get my attention that night…so I would wake up and spontaneously suck his dick, I guess. Dr. T, by his own report, had sneezed, coughed, sighed deeply and “meaningfully,” thrown back his sleeping bag pretending to be hot (which he was, though not in the way he meant), snuggle (somewhat) closer to me pretending to be cold, and brushed his leg against mine, repeatedly, then left our legs touching, supposedly pressing his muscular blond hairy leg against mine! When none of that worked, he jerked off - outside his sleeping bag and loudly, he said. No wonder his frustration level was so off the charts the following day, nor any wonder why I had had the dreams I had that first night. No wonder Dr. T completely undressed in the tent the following morning (though I had circumspectly averted my eyes, afraid I’d get caught checking him out). And then he had begun to ineffectually look for his clothes and gear, his large floppy apparently flopping all around the tent while he pretended to try, naked, to find his GPS…and get me, for the love of God, to check him out. But I had ignored him assiduously, stealing not a single glance at what I did not yet know was one very fucking fine cock. I wouldn’t see his big floppy unit until I positively could not miss it later that day when he was playing so friskily in the lake, mostly in very shallow water, his big fucking dick bouncing everywhere and my resultant very hard cock shamefully hidden under my towel on the shore. But the morning after ‘the Great Horny Owl’ dawned much brighter than the first morning we had awakened next to each other. Immediately after playing with T’s golden trail, I had said to myself ‘What the fuck?’ and taken his big fat sleeping dick first in my hand and then in my mouth. While I had been lying there with my head on his chest my split-second thought process had roughly gone like this: Once awake and face-to-face with the reality that he was now a cocksucker, Dr. Tentmate might very well withdraw from me completely, through “shame” or guilt or the sudden determination to prove to himself that he was not really “a fucking queer” like me, or whatever else “straight” guys start thinking after they suck cock. Consequently, it was crystal fucking clear to me that I had to immediately blow him again, and well: I would either preempt his negative thoughts by inducing the best orgasm I could deliver or, worst case, I would at least get to suck his beautiful cock one last time before he kicked me to the curb. We were both naked and he was sleeping peacefully, so it was no problem for me to slurp his soft dick into my mouth and work it over, but good. His dick is big when flaccid - it’s fat, fleshy, long, thick, unblemished, circumcised and surrounded by dark blond pubic hair…when soft. And hard, Dr. Tentmate’s cock remains unparalleled in my experience. I wanted to see and swallow (if possible) his raging boner at least once more before I got kicked to the curb. Blowing Dr. T awake was thus a no-brainer, a win/win, no-lose proposition. Obviously he would wake up before he got off, but I counted on him being far enough along that he’d let me finish milking him dry before he hit me in the head with his shoe. So I started sucking that fat sleeping worm. And he quickly started swelling in my mouth, so I knew I was home free, whether he eventually knocked me off of his (drained) cock or not. That morning after ‘the Great Horny Owl’ I sucked Dr. T’s dick for all I was worth; I rimmed the head of his dick with my tongue; I sucked his big, loose left nut all the way into my mouth, let it out; captured his big, loose right nut with my mouth, then returned to the left as I held his stiffening cock and stroked it; I ran my tongue down as close to the dark furry crack of his sweet peach of an ass as I could get without wrenching my tongue out joint or affirmatively repositioning T’s ass, and then up his long, hard shaft, while I mashed and tugged on his nuts; I gulped down the flared mushroom head of his cock and began to swallow as much of him as I could gag down… …all of that before T gave the slightest indication of having waked up, though he surely had been awake for some time. Indeed, I had taken to my task with such gusto that I had completely forgotten that I was committing a crime, a felony, even…and then I felt Dr. T’s fingers scrunching my head and pulling my hair. I stopped cold, automatically, finally busted, awaiting the other shoe to drop, and hard, against the side of my head. “Fuuckkk…don’t fucking stop now, Joe,” he croaked. Then, “Hey, let’s 69”. Well, I didn’t have to be asked twice if I wanted my knob polished, too. Without letting his cock escape my mouth, I shifted around and on top of him, smooth as you please. T’s hungry mouth locked onto my hard cock and inhaled it. As we hungrily sucked each other, his fingers fully parted the cheeks of my ass for the first time. I felt the insistent pressure of his fingertip against my asshole - and almost, but not quite, immediately blew my load in his mouth. I had time to wonder as his finger pushed barely inside me if Dr. Tentmate was about to fuck me in the ass then, completely lost in the moment and forgetting that I had his cock fully occupied. Though I have (mostly) always considered myself a top, all I wanted then was as much of Dr. T’s cock as far up my rectum as the two us working hard together could get it. Long before my twin brother Jack had actually pegged me, he had me pegged as “having the soul of a bottom,” and those words had never been more true than they were that morning. As that thought flashed across my brain, I convulsed on top of Dr. T and I felt my erection swelling even more as I spurted wads of cum into his mouth and down his throat. I know Dr. T busted his nut pretty quickly after I did, but the only thing I remember - and this can’t really be true - is that on that morning after ‘the Great Horny Owl’ Dr. Tentmate’s semen tasted like Half & Half, sweet fucking cream. It would’ve paired well with a dark, rich coffee if we’d only had some made.🍌 🍌🍌🍌 PRACTICE SAFE SEX.
 
 
 
gentil voyeur qui attend que l'un d'eux se trouve seul pour le séduire...
 
You went cruising with your boyfriend in some nearby woods, hoping to find a top for the both of you. When you saw this stud, you knew you’d hit the jackpot. He pulled out the biggest cock you’d ever seen when he saw you get closer. You were about to reach out to touch him when he pushed your hand away. He looked at you and simply said “not you, I want him”. It wasn’t the first time this happened to you and you were pretty much used to it by know. You took a step back and watched as your boyfriend dropped to his knees, looking up at him begging to taste that monster. That stud simply grabbed the back of his head and forced every inch down his throat. Just watching your boyfriend swallow that piece of meat was enough to make you cum in under three minutes, but you knew that stud wouldn’t stop at a simple blowjob. Once his dick was nice and wet, he pulled your boy up and made him lean against the tree. He pulled his pants down, licked two fingers and shoved them inside him hard. He looked at you with an evil grin….it was clear that your boyfriend’s hole was begging to be fucked, he hadn’t even complained when he felt those two thick fingers open him up. He spread his cheeks open himself, looking back at his stud with eyes of need and desperation. By the time you’d pulled the condoms you’d brought out of your pocket, he had already buried half his cock in your boy’s hole raw. You watched in disbelief as his thrusts got deeper and deeper, harder and harder, your boyfriend screaming so loud he had to cover his mouth. He was clearly getting closer and you knew there was no stopping him now. Your boyfriend looked back and uttered those two words which made you cum without even touching yourself: “breed me”. As soon as that stud started grunting in your boy’s ear, clearly emptying himself inside him, you saw your boyfriend’s cock explode, and cover the tree in front of him with his own load. After what seemed like forever, that stud finally stopped convulsing and pulled out of your boyfriend’s hole. He simply zipped up and left, leaving your boyfriend struggling to keep his balance, his legs about to give in after the fuck of a lifetime. You kissed him gently and helped him get dressed…..“Let’s go home….”
 
et le consommer ...
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