I wasted no time, shucked my gear, sat on a couch and sucked on my beer bottle.After a few minutes, he returned still clothed, and without a word lifted my legs high and apart in the air, attacking my asshole with his mouth.
I began to frequent the leather bars, the darker baths, the parks — those places where men descended into darkness to exercise their deepest, most secret fetish desires.By the time I come to my time of my story, I had been fisted twice, tortured, enslaved, peed on, and been the subject of mass orgies and sex parties full of hard drugs, sex toys and fetish games.When I entered the bar, the usual rag-tag group of leather-worshippers — rough trade, masters and slaves — was loitering about the place, many enmeshed in a live-fisting sling scene in a dark corner.I quickly surveyed the men as I usually did as soon as I enter a bar to get my bearings, to see what’s available.He paid the cabby and we went up to his flat, which wasn’t shabby at all and convinced me he was a well-paid professional.
He told me to take off my clothes as he went to get us some beers, and excused himself to take care of a few quick and immediate matters.
John finger fucked me relentlessly while his mouth made contact with just about every nook and cranny of my entire body.
His fingers repeatedly slammed into my prostate gland and skidded by it deep inside of me.
Now, normally I pick up a man based on what I feel like doing sexually on that occasion.
If I want to get fucked, I look for a burly masculine man who can’t take his eyes off all the ass that walks by.
He kept brushing his hand by that crotch and letting it linger there while I watched, mesmerized by it. In the cruising game you’ve got to play it tough or most of these guys will just walk away. He caught up with me outside, told me he was John and that we should go to his place, hailing a cab.