Date: Fri, 29 Feb 2008 13:30:05 -0800 (PST) From: Ted M Subject: Taking Mark's virginity: Part 5 Mark is surprised when instead of heading to the parking garage, we're crossing the street to the London Hotel, the best luxury hotel in Newark. As we cross the street through breaks in traffic, he brushes his hand with mine and it's code: I wish I could hold your hand. I wish that were possible. It won't be that long before Mark's ready for that kind of display. But not tonight. He gawks in surprise when I stride to reception and check in. Then he gapes around the lobby at the enormous wood panels and paintings as large as doors. I feel another `swank' coming on. In our room he goes first to the windows overlooking the city. But when he can't find his street, he abandons this endeavor and heads to the bathroom. He brings back a pile in his hands. "They leave out five soaps, here!" he says in wonder. "Five soaps. Who needs five soaps?" "Mark." I say softly. He dumps the soap and strides towards me. He throws his arms around me, pinning my arms. "You rock." He says. "Seriously." He jumps off right away. "Hey, all your stuff's in the nasty hotel." I nod. "I'll check out of there tomorrow." "Cool, cool." He shrugs. "You're the one paying for two hotel rooms." "Stop." He does. "Go to the window." I order him. Mark walks there right away. I stand behind him, just wanting him to feel my presence. He's attuned already, as I suspected. Attunement usually takes a little more than 24 hours, depending on the quality of contact. In our situation, I would say the quality is pretty damn high. Mark is attuned. He knows where the bulk of my body is at every second and even when he can't see my hands, he knows when they're about to grab him. Perhaps this level of attunement is more than is healthy. It was never my intention to take him too far, to overuse him, to take him further than his first time ought to be. But I have no guidelines now. This experience is kinda off the charts and while I'm still in control, that level of control is fluctuating. I drink in watching him in this suit, his muscle butt buried invisibly beneath those slack dress pants. I can't see the curve of his ass; it's hidden in tailor folds. I have no idea where I buried my semen. I need to remove his pants. Silently, I do just that: his pants slip to the floor. "Take off your shoes, your socks." I whisper. Marky does it, slowly, deliberately, waggling his ass near me. Apparently he was observing me closer than I thought when I stripped this afternoon. He's a fast learner. I am in serious need. But still in control. I slurp on his neck and he presses the palms of his hands against the window. Everything about his body says, "Go deeper. Touch the spot." A voice inside me says, `Show him how to surrender everything. Show Marky how.' Still in control. My dick is almost inside his distended anus, despite the fact that I'm still wearing my pants and he's still in the royal blue jockstrap. Well, I guess the jockstrap isn't in the way. I unzip my pants slow enough so he can appreciate the zipper sound. He grunts, a quiet guttural sound. It's similar to the animal bark in last night's fuck. I do believe my Marky is turning Pavlovian. I don't want to disappoint, so with no further words I slip my 7 inch dick fully inside him. Yeah, it's not 9 inches, nor is it beer can thick. The way Mark moans and purrs, I would say that he doesn't seem to mind. He groans and shifts his weight to push back. His ass sucks me in and I wonder if his throat has somehow communicated its best secrets to his greedy, slurping butt. There has been a handsome agreement established between his swollen anus and my dick: you rub me until I can't take anymore and in return, I'll host whatever bountiful family reunion you're planning. 1,000,000 brothers swimming with squiggly tails? No problem! Always vacancy for you. "Look at us." I command him. His eyes snap open and see us in the window. I'm wearing my gray suit jacket, lavender shirt and lavender tie. (Nobody gave me the memo about the Regis look.) Mark is still suited up in his Armani jacket, the lemon sorbet silk shirt spilling over the black folds. Business men fucking. His eyes are on fire. This is his fantasy, not mine. I really do listen to him while he types out his heart, his deepest fantasies. My fantasy is his sparking to life just watching his face, his eyes. His look in lust and love, then lust, then love. Then lust. This isn't just one fuck -- it's all of them. Building on what we started last night. With each slow and insistent stroke inside him, his eyes flicker different emotions. I am watching him watching us, seeing his eyes light up over and over. "I never..." he grunts as my dick touches a familiar spot. He can't breathe. Marky. I know it seems I'm always in control, but there are aspects I cannot predict entirely. After about 14 near misses with his orgasm (#13: I dirty-talked him to almost orgasm while waiting for our bruschetta appetizer and #14. foot torture of his swollen nuts during the tiramisu), I really can't predict when it will explode him. The orgasm he's approaching no longer is just in his penis or his nuts. It's cellular at this point. And every cell is vibrating with readiness, waiting for the code word. And yes, I used correct grammar: he will not explode in orgasm. No, no. The orgasm will explode him. I fuck Mark this way for a few minutes just long enough to establish ownership. He knows we're equals. This is just to remind him that we're also not equals. My precum is drenching my nuts as it rolls back out of him, disappearing around the fat curve of my nuts and eventually dripping to the floor. I turn him around. I place a chair in front of the window. I sit in the chair. "Climb aboard." Marky surveys my hard dick, glistening in ass juice and my invariable sheen of precum, and instead of jumping on it, drops his jaw around me. Always, a surprise, this one. I recover quickly. "Look at me!" I order him. He jerks his eyes towards me and he sees a 40-year-old bear in a semi-sharp suit. I'm scowling at him as he's loving my cock and I know his eyes are memorizing this scene, my lavender shirt, my bright lavender tie and the snarling, savage lust that I'm pouring into him. I keep mentally warning him that he had better not make me cum from sucking me off, or else his ass-orgasm would go untended. I let him get me close. Close. "Get on it." I tell him and I'm not fucking around. He sits on my lap and aligns my dick with his anus. I wonder if he's going to be all timid, carefully rubbing my dick head against his swollen butt hole, but he's looking at my face and instead, drops his whole body immediately on my cock. We stare at each other with wonder. His lemon shirt clashes with my lavender. Mark grinds into my pubes and I catch the 11:00 show in the mighty glass window immediately behind us. His body ripples up and down as he raises and lowers himself. If I squint I can see a few inches of my dick emerge from his hole. In fact, it actually looks post-sex. There's thick goopy liquid all around Mark's butthole, scooting down my balls. To the average observer it would seem to be I just nutted up my guy's butt. But it's actually just precum. My nut...well, soon enough. "Why do you think we're here?" I ask him, an odd question while my cock is up his ass. "Where? Here?" His cells are vibrating; he hardly hears the question. I fuck him to acknowledge that he heard me right. "Trying to impress me?" he gasps, already boned to tell the truth no matter what. "Big hotel?" "Nah." I answer him, lifting my legs to get in deeper. "If I wanted to impress you, I'd show you my stamp collection of innovators in aviation. Why else?" Mark shudders and he doesn't know. "Because you're classy." I tell him, trying to open his butt deeper. I know, I know. It seems absurd to praise his civility while also trying to merge my DNA with his colon. "You can be this way." I tell him, dragging his skull to mine and letting him suck my tongue for a moment. "You fit here. You're a man who belongs in this world." He sits up straight on my cock and I watch him arch. "You could go anywhere you want and be anyone." I tell him. He arches, twists. "Why...why'd you take me to that shit hole motel." He gasps. "You're that sleazy, too." I tell him. Marky grins. "You're both, and non-linear point on the continuum between." I tell him. "Don't let anyone treat you like a whole, unless you're role playing...and don't let anyone treat you like a piece of expensive property. That's still a whore. You're more than that." Mark is twisting. I don't know if he's even listening. "Say it." I whisper to him and since we have been speaking the same private language for the past 24+ hours I think he knows exactly what I mean. "I love you." His voice is tender and strong. I thrust into him. "Tell me." I hold his waist down to my upward twitches. "Tell me what you love." "I-I can't." he says and his eyes are closed. "Please." "Tell me." I command. He's drunk, my Mark. Partially expensive champagne, partially an invisible elixir I've been feeding him since Friday night. "It's too embarrassing." He whispers. "Don't make me!" "OH!" he gasps in response, and he understands I mean business. "I love your kissing." He says unsurely, unfamiliar with this new required skill. "You taste good. Your lips, your scruff. Your tongue." "Go on." I order him. "I love your dick inside me." He groans. "Oh god...now I sound like a bad porno." I fuck him deeper and I pulsate extra precum. Now he gets that this turns me on, that I want this. It's why he continues. "I feel full when you're inside me, like you're the one, the thing. The thing I've been needing to make me feel like I'm okay." I push my cock into him deeper. "I love your stupid-ass grin and the fact that you look like a hick farmer." "Hey," I protest. "I have thought about that as a career option, you know." Mark doesn't pay any attention. "I love your hands and your tongue, and the way you read me and how after 20 minutes I can't stand it when you touch me, but then if your hands aren't on me, then I start getting crazy, because I want you to touch me." I kiss his neck and rub my goatee on a soft spot. "I hate it that it's so easy for you to make me crazy in my body and I love it that you know everything about me and how to make me nuts. I love that you make me say, Sir, to you sometimes, but you're not a dick about it." Marky. He's much more perceptive than I give him credit for, and I actually was giving him quite a bit of credit. "I love your sperm." He says. "It's stupid, `cause you know...I barely know you, but all I want is your sperm. For you to breed me. I need it." While he is loving me, I managed to slip off his suit jacket and mine. Now we're just in our dress shirts and ties. He snaps his eyes open and they're gleaming, dancing. "If there was some way to trap you into marriage by getting pregnant, I'd do it." He says, unashamed. "I would get knocked up and I'd laugh at you." He says seriously. "I would trap you and make myself yours. My belly would get swollen and I'd say, `ha ha...now you have to stay." This Kid is making me crazy. "I'm crazy about you." He says without passion. "You know it, so I'm not going to fuckin' lie about it. I'm in love. I don't care about your stupid speech about it taking time. I'm in love." This hangs in the air between us. I can't contradict him and hell...the guy is smart. "How come you have such a hard time saying the words, `I love you?" he pleads with me. "If you would say it just once, I wouldn't feel like such a dork. I feel like an idiot that I'm the only one who says it." It's funny. He's riding my dick and I'm doing everything I can to hold back a true nut-busting blast. And yet he's worried about what I think of him. Ironically, if he said those three words just once at this moment, this specific moment, my nuts would explode. I snort. "I don't have a problem with saying `I love you'." Arguing with him seems a good way to bring myself back from the edge. "Why don't you say it to me, then." His eyes, those chocolate brown eyes, are clear and bright. His tie is slightly crooked now that we're grinding into each other and it only makes him cuter. "Oh, please." I retort. "I've been saying it all weekend." "Yeah," he says petulantly. "I know...you say it in everything you do and how you treat me. I get it. I was listening to your little `watch it radiate off the guy...' speech at Romero's. I feel ya. And I give you cred: you're good at it." I laugh and hug him tighter. Which, of course, means, I get to get in deeper. He closes his eyes and appreciates the moment. We both slurp this moment, like fine wine. Well, okay, maybe it's not acceptable to slurp fine wine, but that's what happens. Mark's eyes open and flutter down to me. "But it would be nice," he says slowly with a certain quiver of vulnerability, "to hear the words once in a while." Uh oh. Here it comes. I'm gonna nut. And so is he. He just doesn't know it. "Marky, you haven't been listening." I kiss him right on the chin. "I've been saying it all weekend." He is quiet, waiting for me to continue. He's not aware of what my slow pumping is doing to him. There's juice on the edge of his dick and he doesn't even notice. My Marky, who "never" precums is leaking out fat drips. I hope he can handle what's about to happen. "See, I'm older." I say with strained effort. I want to time this just right. "More experienced. More efficient." "Here we go." He grumbles. "And as a more efficient man," I drown him out, "I have managed to condense those three words into one, more efficient word. One word that incorporates everything I feel. (Closer.) About you. (Yup. Almost there.) One word that says, I love you, I love you, I love you." He is frozen against me, his chest rigid and his eyes quiver, right on the brink of exploding tears. I can feel it in his shoulders and his twitchy thighs. "What's the one word?" he croaks. "Marky." I whisper to him. (It has begun.) "Yes?' he says tentatively. "Marky." I say it slowly with a rasp in my voice. (Up my shaft.) He listens but does not hear, so I repeat myself. "MARKY." I gasp. I kiss the word into his neck and the word spreads throughout him, warmer, deeper than my sperm has traveled, even those sperms that -- at this moment -- are punching their way through my bullet cock head and splattering against his ass walls. "Marky!" I groan, unloading, unloading, my nuts withering, determined to be rid of this pesky sperm once and for all, and suddenly Mark hears me for the first time. He bursts into tears, sobbing, and bawling without reserve. And that's when he cums. The semen burning forth from his cock is the phoenix, firey, escaping at last! And somehow nailing both our chins as we kiss, my Marky, my Marky, my Marky. He keeps cumming and it's painful, this long-awaited orgasm. His ass is writhing, his balls are vibrating as if we just inserted quarters, and his dick is an unmanned fire hose, painting our bodies, painting us both. Mark is bawling and racked with sobs. It's too much, too much. He didn't know that an orgasm could fry your central nervous system. He keeps fucking himself onto my cock and I imagine the sensation is over the top, and if he could stop every nerve end from screaming in unison, he would. But he can't stop it, and his muscle butt keeps rising and falling and he can't see me from all the tears in the way, tears which I kiss when I can get my face to his. I want to ask him if it was worth the wait -- a whole afternoon of stunted orgasm. But he is gasping and convulsing and he can't actually formulate sounds or words. I'll ask tomorrow. "Marky, Marky, Marky..." I continue to murmur, my arms wrapped around his torso, preventing his heaving body from falling. I massage his upper back until his sobbing soul has exhausted all his tears, drained utterly. *** feedback and comments welcome and appreciated. mpls_ted@yahoo.com