Date: Thu, 29 May 2003 07:08:57 -0500
From: malcolmx2 (at) mail dot com
Subject: grab

Grab

By Malcolm

**********
This story: m/m-with others, a bit of auth/psych, ws

Drop me a line if you want to respond in a constructive/erotic fashion!

Don't read if it breaks the law where you live to read gay porn. Don't read
if you don't like sex between men, then live and let live.

This is my original story, the intended use is for private pleasure. For
any other use, please contact me first.
**********

The dull red light encloses us in sensual dimness, I can hardly see you. In
this anonymous safety I let my obsession run wild. An obsession for someone
I've only met a few minutes ago - I literally bumped into you, I felt the
touch of your skin, and suddenly my mind, my cock, and all my senses stood
up in attention, I could almost feel a surge of lust erupting from inside
of me, all directed to you. And now we are exchanging spit.

     A burst of light from the strobe shatters my cocoon of lust - the
harsh white light seems to be directed at me, exposing me to the whole
place, and not just my butt. Like everyone is looking at us. I pull away, I
am not used to doing it in front of people. But you pull me in again for
another kiss, your hands roving all over my bare shoulders, back and butt,
searching, grabbing, kneading. Maybe this is how you are getting to know
me. We can hardly see each other. I know the touch of your skin and the
taste of your mouth better than the sight of you - a physical, even animal
kind of knowing, and wanting. Your mouth feels strange, tastes strange. You
taste like a mix of cigarettes and a warm, acidy taste that is distinctly
yours - chemicals and hormones that I'm trying to get used to. The taste of
you invade my mouth, I feel like you are invading me by kissing me, like
you're already fucking me with your forceful tongue, forcing me to swallow
your saliva.

     Abruptly you grab my head and push me away, breaking our kiss. I come
up for air, but you've gone behind me, and before I'm done panting for air,
you push me against the steel-grid on the wall. My face tightens as it hits
the metal. My hard cock, straining my jock pouch after our wild kiss,
smashes against the grid; light pain, very sensitive. Sounds rush into my
head: the sound of impact, the sound of the hypnotic trance music filling
the den, the sound of other men kissing and gasping for breath all around
us. And I feel - sprawled on the grid like this with my butt exposed - as
if I am a specimen on display: an exhibition of your toy, a pet on which
you will lavish all your lust and desire and sweat.

     A hard smack - a sharp noise, burning my butt, bringing me back to
reality. Then cold air. I wait, not knowing what to expect. Another smack!
The grid rattles at the force of impact. Your bare hand gives my butt
lashes after lashes of painful beating. I imagine these grids are lined
with chains and locks, holding my arms and legs so that I cannot resist,
and my butt is exposed for you and your pack of lustful men to beat, to
touch, and grab - like you are doing now: your thumb is scraping my butt
crack, demanding entry into my asshole, prying it open with your dry skin,
the hard nail on your thumb, lightly grazing my tender skin. In my mind I
remember seeing two men, in another part of the den, one of them bent over,
with the fist of the other men pushed right up his ass.

     I wonder how much of me you want to invade, to eat up.

     Instead your thumb leaves my asshole. Cold air. Where are you? I dare
not look behind me, but my skin is crawling with the sensation of lack - I
want to feel you touching and grabbing me. In desperate lust I let out a
moan, as if I'm a whining puppy dog. Then with a loud clang of the metal
grid I feel your whole body crashing against my back - your leather chaps
against my thighs, your nipple rings digging into my shoulder blades. You
grind your hard cock up and down my crack. You grab me with your arms -
locking my body again within your steel-like grip - and I feel your head on
my left shoulder, planting violent kisses and bites on my neck, running
your tongue over my leather collar, sucking and biting my flesh. Then you
move up my head, you tongue leaving a trail of spit, and then I feel and
hear your tongue plowing into every crease of my ear. It sounds like a
storm, intruding right into my brain. Your saliva runs into my ear, and
drips down onto my shoulder; there is sweat and heat trapped between your
chest and my back; your precum lubricates your cock, grinding up my ass.

     With my left arm I try to reach down to your butt. I slip my hands
into your leather chaps, teasing around your firm round muscles. I pull on
your butt cheek, kneading your butt muscles away from your crack; I want
your ass, but I can't reach further. You let me grab and pinch and knead
your butt, still grinding your cock. Suddenly you release me. You grab the
strap of my jock and pull me away from the grid. Stumbling with your pull,
I back into a leather-covered platform, long and narrow, where I end up
lying on my back. Before I can gather my senses, you are straddling me,
your ass fast descending towards my lips. The smell of your ass mixes with
the pungent leather and hits me in the face. I lick it all up, sucking and
slurping all around and into your asshole with my tongue, as if I could
suck your lust right out from your asshole - your demanding, urgent lust
that's making me heady - that pure, animalistic manliness of lust. I rim
you as if I could suck all that out of your ass and have your raw lust
spill over me like cum. I slurp and suck and eat your ass, but you give a
hard smack on the side of my head, and you drive your ass down towards
me. Eager to satisfy your ass-lust, I stick my tongue right into your hole,
fucking you with my tongue, wanting to be inside your ass.

     Dimly I am aware of a few hands grabbing all over my body, and my legs
being lifted, folded right over me, exposing my ass; a mouth is rimming
me. Other men are drawn towards our little cocoon of lust, like animals
drawn towards the watering hole. But of all the sensations I only recognize
the one muscular, rough hand that belongs to you, you are grabbing and
jacking my cock through my jock pouch. Another smack! I feel the delicious
sting on the side of my butt, as if you're telling me to finish off
rimming. You lift your ass off me, and dull red light floods my
vision. Before I can orientate myself again, I get yanked up by my slave
collar, and I come up sitting, my face shoved right in front of your chest.

     My face is so close I can feel the heat coming off your skin; I stick
my tongue out to lick off the sweat on your pec. My eyes are so close to
you I get this distorted vision of your skin around your nipple, and I
direct all my obsessive attention to licking your nipple. But you pull my
head back by yanking on my hair, and for the first time I get a better look
at you. There you are, sweat dripping down your bulky pecs and broad
shoulders. Your shaved head and your chiseled face casting shadows under
the red light, emphasizing your rugged, hard look. Your chest and stomach
are heaving, panting for breath - you're your muscles straining and
stretching you look like a predator, having just pinned down your prey.

     So this is what you look like. I feel I already got to know you in a
deeper way - your appearance now matters little. I am obsessed with having
your skin and your smell and your sweat and spit close to me, on me, in me,
because that's how I got to know you first. And then I hear you speak.

     "Follow me," is all you say, your low, but surprisingly gentle voice
filling my ears. For a stunned moment I stay where I am, sitting,
hypnotized at the sight and sound of you. Your eyes drill into mine, as
fiercely as when you first kissed me, shining, but with a deep, dark power
behind them, filled with unadulterated lust. I drink it all in. Then you
pull me by the collar, and stumbling I follow you, past the crowd of men -
some looking at us, some busy with their own hunting - towards the toilet.

     You kick the door open - and a couple of men, pissing against the
urinal, turn their head to inspect the new arrivals. Ignoring them you
march me right to the last cubicle, leaving the door open. Pushed by the
neck, I stumble in, my boots splashing the puddles of piss left by other
men. You push me again, a rough shove, so that I stumble onto the toilet
bowl. I stop my fall by holding onto the cistern, and there I stay,
offering my ass to you, bent over the toilet, expecting you to fuck me.

     Instead, the toilet seat comes down with a clang. "Sit," you command,
soft in volume but with a hardness that is impossible to disobey. As I sit
I can feel my thighs rubbing with half-dried piss on the seat. For some
strange reason my asshole respond to this by puckering, wanting your
cock. You are standing in front of me, legs astride, slowly jacking your
cock; head tilted slightly to one side, intently inspecting me. A couple of
men are gathering outside the cubicle, watching and slowly jerking off too,
though I can tell they don't know what kind of show to expect. I too am at
a loss, but the thrill of not knowing, of being under complete control of
your lustful demands, makes my cock strain. I still can't figure out the
next turn that your game of desire will take, and I begin to wonder if you
knew yourself. I begin to think, as you extend your right hand towards my
jock pouch - your left hand still jerking your leaking cock - I begin to
think that in your conscious mind you have no idea of what you want, until
the moment when you see that you can have it. I think that, even though you
look like a tough man - a hunter who always gets what he wants - in fact
you are exactly like me, you are under the mercy of your desires. The only
thing you know is your undiluted desire, your lust is the chains that lock
around our wrists and ankles, and the best we can do is squirm and strain
with the pleasure.

     I think these fantastical thoughts as I sprawl out on the toilet seat,
legs open for your grabbing hand, vulnerable and open to whatever catches
your attention and whatever directs the current of your desire. My thinking
stops when your hand reaches my crotch. You grab my cock through the jock a
few times, then you pull the strap back and free my erect cock, throbbing,
peeled back and veined, waiting for your command. You jack it a couple of
times, slowly, as if in trance. And then your hand moves up to my face,
smearing my precum all over my cheeks. With your palm you push on my face
so that I am sitting back, and again you inspect me intently. What are you
scheming now?

     You turn to one of the men outside the cubicle, who has a beer with
him. You grab his beer, take a few gulp. I watch the profile of your
powerful throat, swallowing. Then you turn to me, and a stream of beer
mixed with your spit hits me in the face. Before I can recover, your palm
is on my face again, pushing me back on the toilet seat. And then from your
cock a forceful stream of piss dart in my direction, your warm piss hitting
me in my face and chest, running down my chest. Then you aim your piss into
my jock, and command, "start pissing." And instantly I obey, my hard cock
sending the stream right into my face, into my mouth. You continue to spray
me all over with your piss, soaking my hair, my chest, my legs, down to my
socks and boots, my jock is soaked and stinking with both our piss.

     Before I completely finish pissing, you bend down and kneel in front
of me. Your eyes are hovering above my cock, watching me piss. I am tempted
to spray it in your face. Without warning you gulp down my cock, while I am
still pissing the last of my load. You blow me - brief but rough, almost
biting down on my cock, and I buck into your face. Your rough blowjob makes
me squirm and strain, and I push my feet against the floor, but my boots
keep slipping on the piss. Even when you go down on me you make me feel
completely vulnerable to you. Quickly you move on, leaving my cock and
trailing your tongue up and down my thighs, my legs. You bite one of my
piss-soaked socks, tugging it; and then with passionate gusto you begin to
lick my boots clean of our piss.

     Your boot-licking takes me by surprise. What are you doing? I thought
I would be the one servicing you, this man that towers over me, in height
and in power. I thought that my slave collar and nakedness defined my role
for me, prescribing the safe boundaries for some submissive action that is
actually quite ordinary and mundane, a superficial kind of satisfaction of
fetish roles, topped with (or by) a superficial kind of orgasm. But you
cover me with the smell and warm wetness of your piss, demand that I mix it
with my own, and still it is not enough for your desire, you want to eat it
all up, to eat up my piss, my smell, my dirt so that I'm right inside
you. I want to lick piss off your boots, but you are more than just any
handsome top who I must obey - I want you not to dominate me but to devour
me. And so I let you lick up our piss off my leather boots, like a
scavenging wolf hungry for food.

     Then, you spring to you feet, and your lips land on mine. The taste of
your mouth is more familiar now - even with the pungent tastes of our piss,
I can still make out that distinct taste of you, the warmness and texture
of your mouth and your tongue, your tongue that likes to wrestle with
mine. I am getting used to having you invading me and filling me.

     As we kiss you move closer to me, straddling me over the toilet
seat. Your asshole lingers over my cock for a moment, teasing my sensitive
piss slit with your ring. My cock twitches in anticipation, it really makes
no difference now if a bottom is supposed to fuck a top; I just want you
and to reach deep inside of you like you are filling me deep within. Then
you push yourself down on my cock. As your ass tightens the grip on my
cock, your arms wrap firmly around me. One arm is strapped around my back,
the hand pulling on my slave collar; your other hand is grabbing my head
into a forceful lock, your fingers digging into my wet hair, and you are
still plowing your tongue into me. You ride my cock up and down, leaving no
time for a warm up but pumping fast right from the word go. The friction
between our skin makes us sweat, and mixed with our piss and our body heat,
gives off a smell of sex that intoxicates me. Dimly I hear someone coming
into the cubicle and smacking your butt, and I feel another pair of hands
running over my inner thigh, tugging my wet jock and teasing my balls as I
fuck you deeper and deeper. One man even pisses on your back as you ride
me. But you lock your focus on me, the man fucking you, digging deep inside
you, the man sharing spit and sweat and piss with you. Behind your probing
tongue I can feel vibrations of your breathless grunts, noises
involuntarily emitting from your throat as I pry open your image of the
cold, manly sexual hunter on the prowl, and touch and caress and grab the
inner place deep inside you where you crave for the rough, competitive,
even violent intimacy between two men. The dark place where all we need to
know of each other is the touch of our skin and the smell of our sweat and
piss, and the force of our bucking and grinding, as we fuck faster and
rougher. The primal sensations of orgasm rise up in me, and with my hands
clawing and holding onto you I cum in that deep inside place, filling you
with my own animal lust. You are cumming too - with your fists pounding my
back, you squirt warm cum between us, and as soon as your cum leaves your
cock it is ground into our skin by our heaving bodies.

     My cock stays in you as we go on kissing. We go on kissing and
grabbing each other just as wildly as before we came.  A couple of men,
thinking that we're still at it, enter the cubicle, and they're pissing or
leaving their cum on us, as if sprinkling their waters of benedictions, a
ritual of well-wishing and welcoming into their midst.

-0-

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