Free Men on the Make: True Gay Sex Confessions by Shane Allison Page A
Authors: Shane Allison
Mario chanted with each stroke. My ass was on fire. The pain intensified and then subsided. Then it began to feel like sheer fucking heaven. I was jerking my prick up and down, fisting my cock as he fucked me. “I’ll fill you with cum,” he hissed again.
Mario screamed as he sunk all of his ten inches in to the hilt. When I felt his dick throb and swell within me and brush against my prostate, my cock stiffened. I squealed like a stuck pig. Mario’s mighty cock expanded and I felt the first cum eruption squirt inside me. Mario grunted lustily as he continued to pump hot cum into my hole. His climax was relentless, like hot, molten lava. My own body became liquid fire as I joined him in a mind-shattering climax that almost blinded me with its savage intensity.
Mario popped his cock from my hole. I was kneeling on theground, gasping for breath, my muscles swollen because of the incredible fucking I had just received at the hands of this hairy stud-ape.
I begged him once again to let me suck on his magnificent cock that had just began to rise and stiffen once more in front of my anxious eyes and trembling lips.
“Yeah. Go ahead. Blow me,” Mario said.
My knees hit the ground as I wrapped my lips around his cockhead and corkscrewed it a few times.
“Aieeeeeeeeee, fuuuuuuuuuckkkk!” Mario howled when his cum spurted out between my lips and rushed down my gagging throat. I fairly choked on the river of cum blasting from his beautiful cock. His cock spasmed and swelled inside my mouth, filling it with sizzling sperm that overflowed and dripped down the corners of my mouth.
Afterward I got up, licking his hot cum from my sore lips. Mario hugged me, kissing me hard. “See ya later, amigo,” he said. Then he sprinted away.
I stayed behind to catch my breath and reflect on my incredible encounter with the hot Hispanic stud. I leaned back against a tree and started to jack off until I had shot another load of hot, sizzling cum. Yeah! Maybe I’d see Mario tomorrow. After all, there’s nothing like the taste of hot, sweaty ass!
RIMMING KRZYSZTOF
Simon Sheppard
I like to stick my tongue up guys’ assholes. I think that, if we fags are honest with ourselves, many of us do. Like it, that is. Just why we like it is an open question. It is not, however, an open question as to why I hardly ever do it anymore. It comes down to a killer case of shigella I picked up in a steam room at the baths, one misty evening many years ago. Since then I don’t eat ass very often. It has nothing to do with morality or aesthetics; it’s just a practical decision. I remember how lousy I felt waking up in the middle of the night with chills and cramps, and I’d rather not feel that sick again.
Now, about Krzysztof. I met him at a so-so bar one Tuesday night. We decided to go back to his place. He was Polish, had actually come from Poland, still had a nice accent, had that fine-boned look some Polish guys have and light blond hair that, unstylishly, touched his shoulders.
“Nice car,” he said as he climbed into my Jaguar.
“I bought it used.”
“It’s still nice,” he said. I looked over at him. Now that we were outside the bar, he looked a little shabby around the edges.
“You sure going over to your place is a good idea?”
“Sure. I have a roommate, but he won’t mind.”
When we got to his apartment building, in a marginal part of town that left me worried about parking the Jag, his roommate was awake, padding around in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He was good-looking, but not as handsome as Krzysztof.
“Hey,” the roommate said.
“Hi,” said my date. “Ron, this is…sorry, I forgot your name.” I lied, figuring I could backtrack later.
Krzysztof’s room was monastically bare. Not messy, not dirty, just bare, nothing on the walls but a plain wooden crucifix. A mattress on the floor. Some of those candles in glass holders decorated with pictures of Jesus and the saints, which Krzysztof went around lighting.
Mario screamed as he sunk all of his ten inches in to the hilt. When I felt his dick throb and swell within me and brush against my prostate, my cock stiffened. I squealed like a stuck pig. Mario’s mighty cock expanded and I felt the first cum eruption squirt inside me. Mario grunted lustily as he continued to pump hot cum into my hole. His climax was relentless, like hot, molten lava. My own body became liquid fire as I joined him in a mind-shattering climax that almost blinded me with its savage intensity.
Mario popped his cock from my hole. I was kneeling on theground, gasping for breath, my muscles swollen because of the incredible fucking I had just received at the hands of this hairy stud-ape.
I begged him once again to let me suck on his magnificent cock that had just began to rise and stiffen once more in front of my anxious eyes and trembling lips.
“Yeah. Go ahead. Blow me,” Mario said.
My knees hit the ground as I wrapped my lips around his cockhead and corkscrewed it a few times.
“Aieeeeeeeeee, fuuuuuuuuuckkkk!” Mario howled when his cum spurted out between my lips and rushed down my gagging throat. I fairly choked on the river of cum blasting from his beautiful cock. His cock spasmed and swelled inside my mouth, filling it with sizzling sperm that overflowed and dripped down the corners of my mouth.
Afterward I got up, licking his hot cum from my sore lips. Mario hugged me, kissing me hard. “See ya later, amigo,” he said. Then he sprinted away.
I stayed behind to catch my breath and reflect on my incredible encounter with the hot Hispanic stud. I leaned back against a tree and started to jack off until I had shot another load of hot, sizzling cum. Yeah! Maybe I’d see Mario tomorrow. After all, there’s nothing like the taste of hot, sweaty ass!
RIMMING KRZYSZTOF
Simon Sheppard
I like to stick my tongue up guys’ assholes. I think that, if we fags are honest with ourselves, many of us do. Like it, that is. Just why we like it is an open question. It is not, however, an open question as to why I hardly ever do it anymore. It comes down to a killer case of shigella I picked up in a steam room at the baths, one misty evening many years ago. Since then I don’t eat ass very often. It has nothing to do with morality or aesthetics; it’s just a practical decision. I remember how lousy I felt waking up in the middle of the night with chills and cramps, and I’d rather not feel that sick again.
Now, about Krzysztof. I met him at a so-so bar one Tuesday night. We decided to go back to his place. He was Polish, had actually come from Poland, still had a nice accent, had that fine-boned look some Polish guys have and light blond hair that, unstylishly, touched his shoulders.
“Nice car,” he said as he climbed into my Jaguar.
“I bought it used.”
“It’s still nice,” he said. I looked over at him. Now that we were outside the bar, he looked a little shabby around the edges.
“You sure going over to your place is a good idea?”
“Sure. I have a roommate, but he won’t mind.”
When we got to his apartment building, in a marginal part of town that left me worried about parking the Jag, his roommate was awake, padding around in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He was good-looking, but not as handsome as Krzysztof.
“Hey,” the roommate said.
“Hi,” said my date. “Ron, this is…sorry, I forgot your name.” I lied, figuring I could backtrack later.
Krzysztof’s room was monastically bare. Not messy, not dirty, just bare, nothing on the walls but a plain wooden crucifix. A mattress on the floor. Some of those candles in glass holders decorated with pictures of Jesus and the saints, which Krzysztof went around lighting.