gayeroticthoughts: Out of breath, flat on my stomach on the bed, I held on tight to the sheets. My k

gayeroticthoughts: Out of breath, flat on my stomach on the bed, I held on tight to the sheets. My knuckles white from the tight grip. The muscles in my forearms flexed and their veins looked like a road map snaking up my vascular arms. I stared ahead into the mirror on the closet door. Sweaty, dark wavy hair, warm moisture dripping down my forehead. My athletic round muscular ass hiked up off the bed, lower back arched so I could get that dick in deeper. I could see my face, flushed red, my bloodshot blue eyes filled with watery tears. My perfect white teeth clenched tight. My shoulders so muscular, so bulbous also flushed red. They were truly impressive, especially in their current state of stress.  The cuts and striations showed others that I knew my way around a weight room. My way too tight, two-sizes-too-small t-shirts and tight jeans or compression shorts were my badge of honor. My reward for working my ass off in the gym and putting in the hours at Crossfit. No one would have guessed that I, Michael Bayles, alpha male and playboy pussy-chaser would, in a million years, be caught dead allowing some other dude to put his bone in me. I often imagine what my buddies would say or do if they ever found out. My status as an arrogant, self-absorbed, douche-bag with a trail of emotionally damaged girls I would pump and dump, would come to a screeching halt. Yeah, I know how I am. It’s part of my “charm.” I would be excommunicated from my circle of like-minded wannabes who imitate me and want to be a part of my exclusive sphere. I looked up higher in the mirror and watched as the muscular older man held on to my waist with a firm grip. He was throwing a hard, deep fuck into me as he alternated between devious grin to cocky sneer. My grunts and groans spurred him on. My thick body bouncing on the mattress. I fucking hated it. Oh, I didn’t hate the fuck. I hated he had so much power over me and I hated that I loved it. He did it to me without me realizing it. Like I was just a stupid jock waiting for him to use. His shoulders and biceps bulged as he held on tight and pulled me back onto his dick. His handsome face, square jaw was starting a five-o’clock shadow. His chiseled face was further extenuated by his hair, close cropped on the sides, clean-cut with a neat part on the side. His All-American-Boy-Next-Door look was masculine, a poster-boy for red-blooded American males. His eyes, they hypnotized me. I’m sure of it. Why else would I allow this? Their iridescent greenish-blue glow behind thick, black eyelashes had to be the catalyst for what was happening to me this very moment. Truth be told, I worshipped the guy. I envied him. I respected him. I wanted to be him and that’s saying a lot! I pride myself on other guys wanting to be ME. So, when I started to have those thoughts about him, it confused the fuck out of me. His rough, masculine aura was like a magnet drawing me closer and closer to him. At first, I was just happy to see him around. As time went on, I started to get excited, then soon I just wanted to be around him, like, all the time. I craved his presence. He made me feel special and protected, not that I needed protecting. That’s why it was so fucked up. He loved to see me take a fuck, watching me in the mirror twist and turn, maneuvering me into the positions he wanted me in. The contortions my face made every time he would change up his techniques, different angles. He loved it. Again, I fucking hated him for it. Such a humiliating place to be, yet I fucking love that too. He knew it. He loved to see me doing something I would never have dreamed possible before. He loved seeing me be someone different. He got off on my double-life and how he had the power to switch it from one side to the other. He would stare at me when he saw me with a girl. He’d shake his head silently at me, knowing that I would rather be with him and not this stupid slut who just wanted me to fuck her so she could brag to her girlfriends. Well, more like compare notes since I’d fucked almost all her friends anyway. I’m a man-whore and proud of it. He loved to hear me take a fuck. Just hearing me take him like I couldn’t live without it. Loved seeing my big jock body flexing, my masculinity challenging him to control me. To break me. I was defiant as first. I wouldn’t let him get to me. After a while I began to catch on, what he wanted and there was no way I was playing that. I respected the fuck out of him but as long as he didn’t touch me, we’d be fine. I knew there were dudes who would give their left nut to get with me. I like the attention. If a dude thinks I’m hot, then I know it’s true. I just didn’t swing that way. I had gay buds, bisexual even. I just never thought about getting with them. I’d like to think he couldn’t believe that he had a guy like me under his control. But deep down, I knew he wasn’t surprised. He was way too smooth and confident. Sure, he’s taken his share of hot ass but not one like mine. Even I knew my is a masterpiece. Heavy squats and football made sure of that. My ass is one of a kind. I knew it. I showed it off. My small waist and high and tight ass was the stuff dreams were made of. Girls would talk about it. Guys would joke about it because it was so muscular. I knew that they were just jealous. It was big and it was muscular. I couldn’t find a pair of pants that weren’t skin-tight on my ass. It’s probably what drew him to me. They say opposites attract but that’s not the story here. Like me, he was a control freak, Type-A all the way, Alpha male, manipulator. We use our powers of masculinity, idolatry and authority to get what we want. It works. He used those powers to pull me in and mold me to what he wanted. Suddenly my head whips up, pulled back making me look at the ceiling. His tight grip on my hair hurts but also turns me on. I want more. I want him to pull harder. Show me he can use me like I would use a common slut. Show me he can use a guy like me, my size, my attitude. I fuck like this. I fuck hard, rough and show her what kind of man I am. Only now I’m on the receiving end where the girl usually is. I feel a sharp slap on my right ass cheek. He loves to slap me during sex. Whether it be my ass, my chest or my head, it turns me on more than I ever thought it would. In the past, I’ve fucked up guys who had the balls to lay hands on me. I don’t take shit from anyone. No one, but no one touches me, I WILL fuck them up. The first time he slapped my ass while fucking me I looked back at him, defiance in my eyes, appalled he would even think about it. I was pissed. How the fuck dare he. But he just stared into my eyes, an evil sneer, biting his bottom lip and slapped that cheek again. Daring me to make him stop. It made me feel humiliated and weak. It just made my dick harder. My head drops as he lets go of my hair and slams my head down onto the mattress. My face turned to one side and he plants his hand on the side of my face and pushes harder into the sheets. He hikes one of his legs up so now he is kneeling on one knee as he pummels me, the new angle hitting a new spot inside me. After a minute I feel the bed shift and he has mounted me like a dog. I fall flat. He makes me arch my back. He puts both hands on my head now. He pushes my head harder into the mattress with his full weight. I find it hard to breathe. He plows my hole harder than he ever has. He must be getting close. He has to be. He’s been fucking me for ever…for the second time in the last hour! He begins to slow down and thrusts hard into my ass with slow purposeful pumps. I know that means he’s about to cum. Finally! One hard thrust and he unloads his second jizz delivery of the day into my tight hole. I can feel his cock throbbing in my ass as multiple volleys find their target deep in my gut. Finally, he lets forth a loud groan and then a heavy sigh. He’s usually very verbal during our fuck sessions but today he was more or less silent. He didn’t need to be verbal. My grunts and groans were enough to send him to his bliss. He releases his hands from my head and drops down onto me. He pulls out and sits back on his heels, hands on his waist in a Superman stance. He grins, looks down at me and I can tell he feels like Superman. He’s MY kryptonite. He gives my ass one last slap. It stings. I gasp. “Woo! Damn, boy… Fuck!” He yells with his deep southern drawl, as he wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm. I slowly raise myself onto my hands and knees. Cum leaking out of my hole with every flex of my ass muscles. I sit back on my heels still facing the mirror, my hands on my hips. There is cum all over the sheets and on my abdomen. I shot off long before he did. I ran my hand over my abdomen, collecting the sticky sperm and I bring it to my mouth and suck it off my fingers. I’m no longer ashamed of doing that. It’s my reward. I look at him through the reflection in the mirror. He scoots up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders and massages them. He’s still hard. I can feel it nestled in the crack between my over-sized ass cheeks. The look on my face is one of cocky pride, exhaustion, but also of disbelief. Disbelief of how I can take that much force and still love every fucking second of it. I’m proud of myself. I smile back and then quietly laugh while shaking my head quickly like a dog who shakes off after getting wet. My sweat flings from my hair, hitting the mirror. He smiles at me in the mirror and I know he is fucking proud. Proud of me and proud of himself for knowing he can nail me on a regular basis and has been for six months. “Hey. You did good, champ. You’re getting better every fucking time.” He nips my earlobe as he continues to massage my thick traps. “Thank you, Sargent Stokes,” I reply with a puffed-out chest as if I just benched twice my body weight in front of a full gym. I flex my shoulders and biceps in the mirror. Showing off. Reminding myself I’m still a fucking stud. Reminding him of who he just fucked. He licks the side of my face, then playfully muses up my hair. “You’re going to do well in basic training.” Sargent Stokes- I can tell you one thing. This boy is fucking gold. I’ve had my fair share of premium tail but this kid, DAMN! I usually would never plug a butthole this hard and this intense but for some reason I knew he could take it. Hell, he fucking challenged me with his eyes. He knew that if he was going to take a dick in his ass then he was going to take it 100% like a man. I mean, I fucking TRIED to hurt him, to wipe that fucking cocky sneer off his fucking adorable handsome face. I had to show him he was mine. I used my entire bodyweight to get as deep as I could into the perfect bubblebutt. It’s just so fucking muscular, though. I’ve got a big dick but I swear to god I had four to five inches of ass cheek to burrow through before I even hit dirt. That ass just kept bouncing me back up. It was like fucking a trampoline. The first time I saw him I about lost my shit. He came strutting down the hall with his posy of dumb, jock buddies. They were followers. They strutted behind him taking in the attention they received being in his presence. All those dumb sluts giggling and whispering as this kid walked by.  His t-shirt looked two sizes too small. His jeans were painted on. His body was a fucking specimen and he knew it. He showed it off. To top it off, he looked like a fucking model. Tall, broad, small waist, thick thighs. Then I saw it. He stopped briefly, turned to talk to a girl and fuck me! That ASS! What the fuck was that? It was an anomaly. So high, so round and tight. It looked like a fucking shelf. Swear to god I could probably set my coffee mug on it. I stood at my table outside the auditorium chatting with the students about joining up. My job as an Air Force recruiter took me all over the state. I would go from college to college, high school to high school, recruiting kids to serve their country. I loved my job. I know why the Air Force gave me this job. I’m a fucking poster-boy for the military. In other words, I’m fucking hot. I have that all-american-boy-next-door-classically handsome, red-blooded American male thing going on. I’m fit and I can wear the shit out of dress-blues. Chics love the dress-blues. Some guys to too…wink, wink. My secret? Is getting all my blues tailored to fit me like a glove. Not supposed to alter the uniforms but no one has ever complained about it. They can take their regulation 3510 and shove it up their asses. I had the pants tailored to be tight on my ass and quads. Shows off my hard work. My shirts tailored to be snug on my upper torso. I look good and my recruiting numbers are higher than anyone else’s in the whole fucking country. He turned and started walking toward me again. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I knew right then and there that I was going to have him. He glanced my direction, saw me and did a double-take. Oh? Can it be? Am I getting a vibe from the hot jockboy? I smiled my pearly white teeth at him and gave a friendly nod as if to say, “hey, bro.” He returned the nod but didn’t smile. Oh, isn’t he a cocky lil fucker? Doesn’t matter. He’s still looking at me. Time to reel in this big fish. He slings his backpack over his other shoulder and struts over to my table where I have propaganda laying out for anyone to have. I have some flashy pictures of hot pilots in flight suits and a video playing of the Thunderbirds. He walks closer to the table, doesn’t look up at me as he peruses the pamphlets but I know he’s not really looking at them. His eyes flash up to me and then quickly look away. I got this little fucker. Time to put my game face on and take control like I do so well. He’s a big guy and all muscle. I’ll have to tear him down before I build him back up. “Hello,” I say in my best authoritarian tone. He glances up at me, nods and quickly looks back down. “Ever think about joining the military?” He picks up a pamphlet and thumbs through it. He shrugs his shoulders. Great, he’s a mute. His eyes flicker back up but this time to my arms. I don’t blame the kid. My biceps are stressing the short-sleeves of the blue dress shirt, tight and smooth. Ahh, he’s an arm guy. Or maybe just muscle in general. I know his type. He gravitates towards guys like himself. Guys who are physically superior, dominant, confident. Yes, that would be me. “Play ball?” I ask. He looks up at me. That got his attention. I recognized one of his strong traits: he looks like a football player. “Yeah. Quarterback.” He was now staring at my chest. “Of course, you are,” I responded in a bored tone as if to say, “how cliché.” His eyes met mine. “What? I am,” he said defensively. Acting like I didn’t believe him. “I believe you. Sorry if you thought otherwise.” He scanned my face and then my arms again. He looked at me with a defiant glare. A challenge. “You could play ball in the Air Force.” I crossed my arms over my chest and flexed my forearms. He shrugged again. “Huh.” “Huh?” I replied back in a way that said, “can’t you talk?” “Yeah, I guess so,” he threw the reply away. He sneered. He watched my forearms as the snewy muscle flexed tight against my muscular chest. “You guess so, huh?” “Dude, I’m only seventeen,” he replied condescendingly. Ok, now this little bastard was getting on my nerves. “You will not refer to me as “dude.” You WILL call me Sergeant Stokes,” I said with a stern glare. “What the fuck, man. Chill out. Gawd.” He took a step back. “I will not “chill out.” I’m here to recruit the best this school has to offer. I fight for this country so you have the freedom to strut around here like your shit doesn’t stink. I thought maybe you were one of the best. Maybe I was wrong.” His jaw dropped. Apparently, he had never had anyone talk to him that way. “Uh…” He looked around the hall to see if anyone was paying attention. “Ok, I’m sorry, dude. I mean, Sergeant,” he stammered, embarrassed. “Stokes,” I baited him. “Sergeant Stokes.” He corrected himself quickly. “Very good,” I smiled slightly. He smiled back. He was proud he made me happy. “You are?” I held out my hand to him. He slowly, apprehensively took my hand and shook. “Mikey,” he answered. Oh god, Mikey? How fucking adorable. “Mikey?” I asked like I didn’t hear him correctly. His eyes darted from side to side, confused that I would ask him again what his name was. “Yeah. Mikey.” Suddenly embarrassed once he heard himself saying it again. He was realizing that it sounded very childish. “No.” I stated. “You’re Michael.” “I’m sorry, what?” He was dumbfounded. “Michael. You are Michael. You’re not a boy anymore,” I chastised. “I know I’m not a boy. It’s what I’ve always been called,” he pouted. “Not anymore…Michael.” I stated matter-of-factly. This poor kid. He did not know what the fuck to say or do. He just stood there looking at me with the dumbest look on his face. He was utterly confused. “O…Ok.” “Very good,” I said again. Once again his body posture showed that he was proud of himself for making me happy. This kid was mine. Well, when he turns 18. Then he’s mine! His gaze fell over my body again. He was impressed. I decided to give him a show. I backed away from the table so he could see the whole masculine manly package. His eyes went down to my quads packed tight into my snug blue slacks. To make things more interesting, I turned and bent over, taking a business card out of my briefcase. My tight muscular ass turned up towards the ceiling and his eyes diverted down towards the floor, in the direction of my ass. I stood and turned around and handed him my card. “Take this.” I handed him the card. He took it from me and held it in the palm of his hand like it was a fragile baby bird. “When do you turn eighteen?” “Next month.” “Very good.” I was starting to say that for my own amusment . He fucking loves being commended. “Meet me here at noon for lunch. We’ll talk about you playing ball for the Air Force.” “Um..ok,” he stammered. “Um…I can’t get out of class until 12:15, so I’ll meet you…” “You’ll meet me here at noon,” I stated as a command. “But, I can’t just…” “YOU will meet me here at noon.” He looked at me like I had taken away his birthday. I didn’t give a shit when he got back here. I just wanted to show him I was in charge. I knew he would fucking get back here by noon even if he had to piss himself to get a bathroom pass. “Yes, Sergeant Stokes.” He turned and I watched that hunk of muscle strut back down the hall. underarmour001@hotmail.com  https://2muchkryptonite.tumblr.com -- source link

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