At your place Status: Such a magnificent specimen has no need of the web for hook-ups. Why would he be so aggressive in pursuing me? And although no stranger to handball my profile says nothing about fisting. I was suspicious of either rampant fakery or some other nefarious scheme. I answered his e-mail with a slight coolness, feigning a tough attitude.
His responses were quick and aggressive. In short order a cab pulled up and he jumped out, carrying a small rucksack.
My astonishment was all too apparent. He was a living doll. With a firm grip and steady eyelock, I shook his hand and directed him into my kitchen. In almost robotic fashion, he responded immediately to my various commands, which pleased me enormously. I undressed my new toy, who smelled overpoweringly of sun and mansweat.
He smelled so rank and masc. Like the inside of a man's hole after a day of calamitous sodomy. It was gamey and somewhat overripe for my taste, but I snarfed down on it, dingleberries and all. He was completely submissive, aggressively submissive if such a thing is possible, without being effeminate in any fashion whatsoever. I had a strikingly beautiful man totally at my command, a toy soldier for my pleasure.
He started by asking permission to sit on my dick. My inspection showed a narrow, tight pucker, giving only gradually to my finger and grasping fast. But with only a gob of spit, the self-same hole opened to accommodate my oozing rod in one stoke, with only one hesitation. I was beyond impressed. We were both glazed in sweat. He told me to relax a bit and stay still, which I did. With rhythmic thrusts of his pelvis, he began using his hole to jerk me off, hands never deviating from my tits.
Alternately loose and tight, it was as if I were being milked of my seed. Soon enough he got his prize, as I washed his colon with fuck. He farted out a thick skid of Santorum on my Egyptian cotton bedsheets. Some trickled down onto my shag carpet. No worries, I made him eat it up.