Date: Sun, 21 Sep 2014 22:14:21 -0400 From: Mads van Duessen Subject: Mads' Teenage Fun Part 1 My fiancι, Jack, and I are visiting my home country and parents. I've been showing him around my hometown of Eindhoven and telling him some more stories of my past, these of my pre-university days of slutting and whoring . . . So here's another piece of my past. If you like reading stories like mine online, please consider donating to nifty.org – we all have to support the site to keep it available for our enjoyment. I had my favorite tight black jeans on and skin-tight black sleeveless shirt on, unbuttoned down to where my low-waisted jeans showed my treasure trail. I was also wearing black Van's tennis shoes – a rarity where I lived in the Netherlands. I knew my bubble butt looked great in my jeans and my abs, pecs and torso hair looked good in my open shirt. It was summer, so it was warm out – and it would be hot soon enough in the club. I'd taken the train up to Amsterdam after dinner Friday and intended to take it home Monday – that is if I found a guy – or guys – to keep me interested until then. Hadn't failed me yet! I swaggered into the club past the bouncer who knew he would get my ass when he got off duty if I was around – it was our deal – he let me in for free and I blew him on his break or took him balls-deep up my slimey seconds fuckhole when he was off work. He smirked at me and then smacked my ass with his big paw as I passed. I smiled from the sting on my buttcheek – and tingled from the anticipation of more pain to my butt before the night was over. The hot, shirtless bartenders were already beaded with sweat. Hein, the hottest one, called to me, and I confirmed I wanted an Amstel. It was on the bar, iced and sweating, when I edged in and grabbed it. We exchanged greetings, but Hein knew I wasn't there for the talking, and he had plenty to do himself with the thirsty crowd, so he moved on. I leaned on the bar and pushed my magnificent ass – hey that's just what guys told me – ass out and looked at the crowd in the tall, wide mirror behind the bar. I was taking my second swig on my beer when I saw a hot, tall, built, older – 30s – man eyeing me and working to catch my acknowledgment in the mirror. I sucked in the bottle a bit more and ran my tongue around it lewdly as my eyes locked with his. He adjusted his crotch and moved toward me. The guy deftly moved between the sweaty queen who was against me on my right, and I felt his heat more pleasurably against me . . . and I felt his hand on my ass, even more pleasurably. As he leaned forward, I slowly turned my head, and I put the bottle in my mouth again for another swig and another little show for him. "English?" he asked in an American accent. FUCK! My ass twitched at the thought of bagging an American. I just nodded and licked my lips slightly. The American's eyes narrowed watching me, heat radiating into me from his stare and from his body next to mine. I didn't say anything more and waited. He picked up the dialogue soon enough. "I'm from the US . . . guess that's obvious," he said, grinning sheepishly. Again I waited, but I smiled this time. "You're not much of a small-talker, are you?" he finally asked. "I am not small," I said, literally, since my six-foot-five height was obvious even hunched over the bar. He laughed at that. "I meant, you don't talk much," he said. "I know," I said with the barest smile, playing cool. He looked like he might not know where to go from this, which was fine. Either he was man enough to fuck me or he wasn't. Best we find out now if he wasn't. Then he surprised me by both leaning in harder against me and by gripping my buttcheek hard in his big hand. "I'm not small, either," he said, lower but still loud over the music. And with his nearer hand he gently but firmly took my forearm that wasn't holding the beer, the one closest to him, and he moved it so he could put my hand on his crotch. "Am I?" he asked. No, he wasn't – not by a long shot! WOO HOO! I gripped his fuckrod, hard in his pants, and I turned more to face him almost nose to nose. "You well equipped," I told him, my face serious, eyes intense, my English deliberately bad. I increased my grip and watched him shiver. "You want to fuck me?" I asked him. In response, he gripped my ass even tighter, maintaining my gaze. "Hard and deep," he growled. "Here or your hotel? Or do you have wife or girlfriend in room waiting?" I taunted him. "STUD," he said, closer, so I could smell his minty breath tinged with juice, "The only thing waiting in my room is more condoms and lube than what I brought in my pocket." "No condoms," I said, matter-of-factly. His face went to surprise. I didn't say more. I could get plenty of hot cock without having to feel some dinosaur's millennia-old remains reconstituted into a pleasure-killing device inside me. "I don't usually . . . " he started, and I turned away, back to the mirror and my beer, easily moving my hand from his crotch back to the bar. "Oh, so it's like that, is it?" he said, not so much with attitude as working through a logic stream to the conclusion. "My choice," I said simply. "And your," I added. Hein saw things cooling and asked the guy whose hand was still gripping my ass if he wanted something to drink. I told Hein he was American, and Hein repeated his offer in English. The guy told him he'd have `water with gas'. So the juice I detected on his breath really did mean he wasn't drinking. I hoped he decided to fuck me – now I knew I wouldn't have to deal with any whiskey-dick disappointment! "Am I allowed to ask if you are clean?" he said, obviously having picked up the negotiation. "You are. I am." "You're just into bareback fucking?" he asked, stupidly. I turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes, not answering but that being an answer. "You know you're fucking gorgeous," he said, again gripping my asscheek. I didn't say anything, but I did smile a little so as not to be rude in the face of his compliment. Then I turned back to the bar and took another long swig of my beer, emptying the bottle. I gave it a good tonguing as he watched, for his benefit, then, when I put it down, let my fingers drift up the neck to the top and rubbed around it in a circle. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" he murmured as I dismounted from my beer and pushed it toward Hein's side of the bar. Hein brought the guy's sparkling water in the bottle, frosted, and an empty glass with a lemon wedge stuck over the rim. "Want another?" the guy asked, pointing to my beer. Hein waited. I turned to him again, again facing him directly and looking at him very intently. "If you have decided no." He looked momentarily confused, then his face broke to a grin. "Are you this non-talkative when you are getting your hot ass fucked good?" he asked. Hein snorted. "Another beer for me or we go?" I asked in response. We held our eyes on each other for a long moment, and then he smacked my ass. I saw he went to reach for his wallet, and I just put my hand on his arm. "Got it," I said, and threw Hein a twenty-Euro note and winked at him, meaning I got lucky, so did he – no change needed. My American looked impressed. Good. He turned to Hein and said, "Thank you," with emphasis, but Hein was already moving on. To me he said, "Big spender. Hope my humble hotel will not offend your refined tastes." "We talking or fucking?" I asked. The guy threw his head back and laughed, and he clapped me lightly on my abs. "Okay, I get it. And you're about to get IT," he said, laughing at his lame joke. Americans! LOVE the rough, rowdy sex; HATE the need for conversation! "Nice washboard abs, stud," the American added. I threw him a smile, and the guy seemed to appreciate it. "I am what is called `sure thing' – not needed to compliment," I told him in my deliberately distressed English. And then I reached fully down the front inside his pants and took hold of his impressive cock and managed to get my big hand around his big balls, too. With a tug forward as the American looked at me with a mixture of surprise and appreciation I said, "Now we go, yes?" He looked down as if to confirm that I was leaving my hand right where it was and then up at me. Then he laughed and started forward. "Vee go!" he said, mimicking my accent. As we walked out, the bouncer, my occasional fuckbuddy said, in our language, so the American wouldn't know what he was saying, "Bring me that hot cunt of yours full of American cum later, ready for a real fucking, Mads, okay?" "Jawel," I responded, still with my hand around the American's cock, now hard again in his pants. "Friend of yours?" the American asked. "Ja," I responded, attempting to limit the conversation. Then I added, "He said I to enjoy big American cock." "Ah, definitely a friend, then," the American said, laughing. And then he was moving toward a taxi, my hand still in his pants but him leading the way. Americans – never want to walk anywhere or take a bus! When we got to the taxi, the bored driver's eyes picked up on my hand in the American's pants, and he said something lewd, to which I shot back the Dutch equivalent for him to shut his stupid pie hole and make himself useful driving. This seemed to amuse the American, who was opening the door for me awkwardly, leaning over to grasp the door handle with my hand still grasping his cock. "Remember what you said about being a sure thing, stud?" he asked me, and I looked back at him before I went to crawl into the cab. "Well I promise you that you can let go of me and I'll still bang your brains out when we get to my hotel," he finished with a smirk. I feigned annoyance and pulled my hand out of his pants. "You want for me to give up, I give it up." And then I got into the back of the cab, scrunching my long legs up behind the passenger seat after I'd crawled across. The American got in after me behind the driver, folding his long frame even more awkwardly into the small space. He asked the driver to take us to the Dylan hotel, please. Humble my ass – the Dylan was one of the nicest hotels in Amsterdam! It was also an easy ten minute walk from the club, had the American been so inclined. When we were rolling, the American put his hand on my leg and said, seriously, "Say, I suppose I should have asked this before: you're not a pro, are you?" I had moved my eyes to his big hand resting pleasingly – despite my indifferent look – on my thigh, and now I moved it to meet his gaze. "You want professional?" I asked. He should know I wasn't a pro – no pro would want to fuck bare – it was against the law for a professional prostitute to fuck anyone bare while they were working or otherwise. He squeezed my thigh, his long fingers rubbing against my nuts through the crotch of my jeans. "I don't mind paying," he said, pausing, "For quality." I smiled my best condescending smile, and then I put my own hand firmly on his big hardon in his pants. "You will see soon – I am highest quality." As I said it I rubbed the length of him and watched his eyes roll with my touch. He didn't mind me not answering his question – he may not even have remembered he'd asked. He took his hand from my thigh and put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer to kiss my neck. Ah, one of those! By the time we got to his hotel, he was exceptionally worked up, having kissed my neck and chewed my ear, all the while my hand rubbed the length of him and occasionally gave his balls some attention in the cab. I took my hand away from his crotch as we pulled up – courtesy, in case he was wanting to be more discreet upon entering where he was staying. The American paid the cab driver and gave him a ridiculously generous tip in the form of keeping the change from a large note. I was hoping it was actual generosity in his pleasingly aroused state from my attentions and not just the usual American showmanship that was so unappealing. I got out of my side of the cab – much easier than trying to get my long legs out from behind the seat and then across to his side as I'd entered – and when I was on my feet I saw the end of his struggle to get his own long legs out. When he was on his feet he turned toward the cab – which I saw as I rounded behind it toward him – and rather laboriously got his hardon moved around in his pants behind his zipper and up along it. It was the best he could do – and I admired the size of his protruding zipper and the fact that I knew his cockhead was well above the waistband of his pants! In the few steps to the doorman I said quietly, but so he could hear me, "I come up after you so not noticed?" In response, he threw his arm around my shoulder and kissed my neck as we walked through the door. "I'm proud to be noticed with you," he said. And even to me, a hard-core slut, there only for his cock, it sounded very sweet. With a shy tone, I replied, "Bedankt," and I meant it. He seemed to like that and hugged me closer as we made for the desk, collected his key and we went to the elevators. We were alone in the elevators, and I leaned into him. He pulled me around and looked me in the face. "You are so handsome, and I don't even know your name," he said. "You also handsome – very," I said, not addressing the name issue. I reached down and rubbed along his zipper line feeling his semi-hard cock. "Zeerheid," I said, grinning as I rubbed him. He roughly pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around me and pushed his lips into mine, but I pulled my head back. "You do anything not that," I said sternly. He was not fazed by the rebuff and moved his hands down to my ass and gripped tightly. "Anything?" he said playfully into my ear and kissed the base of my neck at my shirt line. "Bijkans," I said. "Almost," I repeated in English, for his benefit. "Niks stront, litteken," I said, maintaining my struggling-with-English faηade. "No markings, no shit." His face went to a broad smile, and then he grinned. "DEAL!" he proclaimed! As the elevator dinged and the door opened. I smiled back, as if relieved. We got to his room and inside, and I shoved him against the wall and was on my knees before he could get the first syllables of protest out. Those protests faded into moans when I had his pants unzipped and his cock freed, my tongue enjoying the tasty wet tip barely protruding from his foreskin. "OH FUCK YES!" he cried when I took his huge cock fully into my mouth and had his big hairy balls firmly in my hand. I sucked and licked up and down the delicious veiny length of him and spent time swirling my tongue between his foreskin and his enormous slimy head. He'd obviously showered and cleaned it well before he went out, but there was enough of HIM there to smell and taste that my own cock was rock hard, and my ass was twitching. He was also responding well to more and more aggressive ball-work, which was awesome because they were big, manly and very enjoyable in my grip. "You keep that up much longer and you're gonna have you a load of American spooge down your throat!" he warned. I pulled off him and replaced my mouth with my other hand, which I'd deliberately not been using to stroke his shaft lest I get him too far. "You can give only once?" I asked, looking up at him. "FUCK NO!" he responded, pulling my head back onto his cock. Ah, now we were getting somewhere. I took that big boy to the pubes, forcing his blood-gorged head into my throat and pretending to gag. I hadn't gagged for real since I was fourteen or fifteen, but men loved to have a cocksucker gag on their cocks, and if I did still have a gag-reflex, this monster would be what I'd gag on. "FUCKN A!" he shouted, still gripping my head tightly and skull-fucking me. With my other hand free again, I found his pucker and teased it gently, causing another shout from him and harder skull-fucking. "OH FUCK that's fucking HOT!" he cried as he banged that monster down my throat again and again. For my part I was growling and moaning around his thrusting fuckstump and thoroughly enjoying every second, yanking on his balls and fingering his pucker. "Mmmrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmgggggg mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm grrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm." I could feel his cock getting harder and thicker in my throat, and even for me it was getting difficult to take the skull-fucking he was giving me as he yelled, "OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK," and I knew he was getting close. His balls were trying desperately to pull up against m grip but instead I pulled them harder and finally got a, "OHHOLYFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!" from him and felt his body go first very rigid – like his enormous cock – and then start to spasm almost uncontrollably as I felt huge ropes of his cum blasting into my throat. For the first time in a long time I really did gag. His load was incredible, and the force he was shooting it was amazing. He had my head in a death grip despite my choking, and I, in turn, had his nuts in a death grip. I finally felt him slump back against the wall and loosen his grip on my head, and I moved back enough so that his very sensitive cockhead and about four inches of his long, fat cock were still in my mouth. I swiped with the flat of my tongue over the tip, and he cried out, loud and pushed me back off him. "FUCK!" I fell back onto my ass on the floor as he gasped and I never took my eyes of his magnificent cock. It was fucking beautiful, even now as it lost some of its length and girth after his draining, but it still shined from my spit and his cum. I just leaned back on my elbows grinning up at him. It took a minute, but he finally brought his head back to level and then looked down at me. "HOLY FUCK you're an amazing cocksucker!" he exclaimed. "Cock amazing," I said through narrowed eyes. "Now fuck!" I added, reaching up and grabbing his cock tight in my grip. "SSSSSSSSSSSSssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss FUCK!" he said, still so sensitive, as I maintained my grip and between his cock and – mostly – my other hand planted on the ground I got to my feet. I was facing him, gently rubbing his shaft, which had stopped softening and was decidedly hard, enjoying the slide of his skin along his veiny shaft. His eyes were rolled back and closed again, enjoying the feel of me. I added my other hand, working his balls again, and I was rewarded with a long, low growl of pleasure. "MMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmgggggggggggggggggggggggggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" It was slow-stroking, avoiding his head, which I knew had to be exceptionally sensitive, enjoying his handsome face changing as his pleasures rolled over and through him. "Cock amazing," I repeated in my abbreviated English compliment, low and breathily. "More," I said, giving his balls a squeeze. "MMmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," he moaned again and opened his eyes. "May I know your name?" he said, looking me in the eye. "Mads," I said, returning his deep gaze. "You want to know my name, Mads?" he asked. I didn't, but I knew he wanted to tell me. "Stud is good – you are stud!" I said with a grin. "But you prefer name tell me." "Mike," he said and then grinned. "Mads and Mike – M & M, get it? Like the candy? You have M&Ms here?" "This candy for me," I said, gripping his cock tighter. He laughed out of a moan of pleasure from the grip. "Goddamn you're handsome, Mads." I was – still am! – but knew this was where the bottom was supposed to be demure, and I did my best aw shucks look and turned away. "Bedankt," I mumbled, figuring this man with the expensive hotel room probably remembered my prior use and translation. He reached out and turned my chin up gently so we were again eye-to-eye. "Are you sure I can't kiss you?" he asked. And before I could say no again, he continued. "Sure would love to taste me on your lips." FUCK! I felt my cock and ass both twitch at that. Fucker knew how to sweet talk a bitch like me. We were still eye-to-eye, his slightly hopeful. I leaned in, closing my eyes shyly as I did, acceding to his desire to kiss me, something I never did with tricks. His hand went behind my neck, and I felt a tingle go down my spine and around straight to my nuts as his lips met mine. He kissed me firmly, his tongue demanding entry, which I allowed. And then we were at it, hotly, hungrily, as if I hadn't just blown him and drained his nuts, as if he was starved for a man. His hands gripped my ass and back and felt me all over, neck to shoulders down and all over my back, my ass, all the while grinding his slimy hardon into my fully-filled jeans crotch. It was a HOT kiss . . . a long, hot, amazingly sensual and also carnally charged kiss. When we finally parted and were panting for breath, he gently caressed the side of my face. "FUCK! Thank you! That kiss was amazing! Thank you for doing that – I know you said you don't like to." I couldn't help myself. "I liked it with you," I said, in a fully-formed, well-pronounced, though short, sentence. His face lit up, from the content not the delivery. He came back in, and we repeated, this one longer, steamier and even more demanding than the first. Somewhere during it he had my jeans unbuttoned and my cock out and was stroking it. "Goddamn and I thought I was big!" he finally said when our lips parted. He was looking down, and his grip and stroke was transcendent. Men – particularly tops – even more rarely American tops – who knew how to handle a man sensually were rare in my experience. I'd had quite a bit! And this one, this tall, hung, handsome American, was making my body tingle in all the best ways. Mike looked up at me again, still stroking me, still close enough that I felt his breath when he talked. "I want to suck you like you sucked me. But I want to fuck you first." I remembered myself this time despite floating on the pleasures of his touch and kisses. "What is wait?" I asked, and I took a step back gently, so as not to have him let go of my cock, and awkwardly walked propped my hand against the other wall by the door and kicked my shoes off and got my jeans down to my ankles. Then I deliberately turned around, dislodging his grip, but so I could bend over and display my perfect, hairy bubble-butt to him as I bent over and unnecessarily pulled my jeans off of each foot. I could have kicked them off, but I knew he'd enjoy the show. "That's one amazing butt on you!" he said, the reward I'd wanted. I stood again and turned toward him, my big, hard cock swinging around and hitting his exposed thigh deliberately. "Mmmmmmmmmmm," he said, again taking hold of me. "Mmmmmm," I replied, enjoying his grip. I bent enough to push his jockstrap – now that part of American gay male behavior I had NO quarrel with – LOVED jockstraps! – down past his knees so it fell with his pants by his ankles. Then I put my hands under his shirt and pushed it up, making him release my cock to raise his arms as I pulled it off. "NEUKEN!" I exclaimed, seeing his hairy, ripped chest. This fucker was HOT! "I hope that is good!" Mike laughed nervously. I looked at him hard in the face and rubbed my hand flat down over his pecs and eight-pack to grip his enormous cock. "FUCK ME YOU HOT FUCKER!" not caring if my sentence was too well formed or even thinking about it. Then before he could do anything I backed away and, ripping my t-shirt off my body and flinging it, threw myself on his big hotel bed and grabbed my ankles so my hungry fuckhole was beckoning. Mike stood transfixed for a moment, a low, "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," I was about to say something like "WELL?" when Mike suddenly ripped off his shoes and kicked off his pants and jock strap. "Bring jock," I called across the room. Mike looked up, his look going from quizzical to eye-narrowed lusty, and he snatched up his jock strap. He bounded over and leapt up on the bed, crawling to reposition himself so his face was in my crack. He flung his jock strap up as his tongue swiped up my crack in a LONG lick. "Mmmmmmmmmm!" he exclaimed right as I was exclaiming myself. "Neuken!" I was hissing as he licked. And then he was ringing and pushing at my hole with his tongue and slurping at it, basically making me crazy. I didn't have to pretend – my dutch exclamations flowed as both my pleasure at his lapping and tongue fucking flowed and my anticipation built. His rimming and tongue-fucking skills were amazing! I'd known many tops who were so inclined, but few who knew how to eat a hole and make it crave his cock over the tonguing. Mike's tonguing was beyond superlative . . . and my balls, cock, ass and all of me wanted him to fuck me even more than I never wanted it to stop. My cock was leaking precum so much that it was running off my upper abs and down over my obliques until I could feel it pulling off my lats under me. I scooped some up and shoved my fingers down between Mikes hyperactive mouth and smeared my hole with it. "OH FUCK YES!" he cried, diving in again and slurping loudly. I got more on my already-gooey hand and commanded, "FUCK MIJ!" pigeon Nederlands for FUCK ME! Mike got the message, got to his knees, and as he shoved his enormous engorged cockhead against my wanton fuckhole, I reached down and smeared his head fully with my precum, smearing it over his head, exposed from its hood, which I'd pushed back, and all over his shaft. Then I pulled it back against my hole and pushed myself against it enough to make my meaning – and need – clear. Again, he got the message and pushed into me – HARDER than most tops though VERY MUCH to my liking. "AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I cried as my fuckmuscle was stretched to capacity and his monster horsecock pushed into me. "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I followed that up with, pushing myself as hard as I could onto him. "OH HOLY FUCK, MADS!" he cried. "GODDAMN!" he continued, as I gripped and pushed onto him. "FUCK MIJ!" I commanded again. "DO IT!" Mike's eyes narrowed, and he sucked in some spit from his lips and pulled his cock out until just the head was stretching my cuntring and then SHOVED it in me again balls-deep. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, the pain flooding my body like a wave of searing heat, welcome like the sun but wracking. "HARD!" I commanded. "YEAH?" he asked, grinning wide. "You like that?" he snarled, pulling out and SHOVING in again HARD and DEEP! I reached up and grabbed each of his hard, hairy buttglobes and, using my grip for leverage, ground HARD against Mike's groin on his massive fuckpole which was skewering me. The pain was intense – he was truly huge – but it was beginning to be supplemented by the beginning of the pleasure I knew would soon overtake the discomfort. I loosened my grip so Mike could pull out and ram me again. He did . . . this time not once but the beginning of a steady pounding which had me crying out with each outstroke and really crying out LOUD with every thrust back in. "Ja!" I shouted over and over again as the flashes of pain were joined by the waves of pleasure and, finally, the pleasure was all there was. Rolling on wave after wave of the ecstasy of the invasion and reaming of my fuckchute I let myself go to it, my body fucking back onto him HARD with every thrust. He was shouting "OH FUCK YEAH!" and "GODDAMN!" and "TAKE IT!" and "YOU FUCKING LOVE IT DON'T YOU!" as he drilled me harder and faster as he got wound up. I just kept yelling long "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"s and "Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"s and "Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"s, unable to make any other words, just sounds of my love of being man-fucked. And then Mike shifted just enough, and his ramrod nailed my prostate and had me screaming LOUD. "NEUK!" I screamed, and it didn't phase him one bit, if his continued thrusting was any indication. The direct hit and then his veiny shaft scraping along against my prostate and then his withdrawal and that huge flared head knocking it on the outbound, only to be SLAMMED HARD again on the next thrust . . . I was beyond any control of my body, just felt the waves of unbelievably intense pleasure and lightning bolts of even more intense pleasure shooting and washing through me over and over. My body was writing and spasming, and my words and sounds and screams and moans flowed continuously as I was driven higher and higher. Mike's exclamations were background to my own, but I caught a few ". . . fucking amazing fuck . . . " and various and sundry other praise and expressions of his own pleasure. His thrusts were brutal . . . and fucking AWESOME! Suddenly my nuts were boiling over, and my entire body felt like it was exploding. I felt the blast fill me and then felt my balls like they were in a vise and my spine rigid while my head still thrashed then felt my seed flowing at force out my cock and felt the first splat over my face and chest. It was beyond intense, apparently for Mike, too. "OH FUCKING HELL THAT'S AMAZING!" he shouted and then planted himself deep inside me as I continued to pump out my seed all over myself. I felt his body go rigid and his first cumblast inside me like a firehose spurting hard against my deep interior, his loud, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" sounding like it was echoing in the background of my fading consciousness. I slowly focused on the ornately carved ceiling and crown molding, taking a moment to take in the rich furnishings as my eyes scanned. I was on my back, chest heaving, ass sore . . . and WHAT THE FUCK! a hand holding mine. OH RIGHT – as I looked to the side, Mike was laying on his back, his chest heaving also, the sound of his panting as loud as mine. He squeezed my hand – an intimacy foreign to me yet welcome from this stud who'd soul-kissed and had seemingly soul-fucked me too. I squeezed his hand back, enjoying it but also wondering if I should be jumping and running. "Fuck, Mads," Mike rasped, still on his back. "You have just done that, Mike," I replied quietly, working to control my voice as I panted. Mike squeezed my hand by way of reply. Our breathing filled the room, and my mind vaguely wondered how long we'd been laying that way, how long it had been since we'd finished . . . "Good for you?" Mike asked softly. I laughed at the silliness of his question, but then I felt his body stiffen next to me and realized he'd taken me wrong. I took my free arm and swiped up my chest through the flood of my cumload pooled among my chest fur, all over my face and in the ridges of my abs. With a fair handful, I reached over and smeared it on Mike's face. "Do you remember causing me to cum all over myself?" I asked. "Your English," he said with some amazement, and then he licked his lips. "Mmmmmmmmm, and your cum!" Mike didn't let go of my hand, but he rolled and moved so that he was on his side, close to me, smiling down at me. "That was amazing, Mads. YOU were amazing," he told me. "And . . . your English is very good, isn't it? Much better than you had me believe earlier." BUSTED! I just smiled up at him, not defiant, but not contrite, either. He put his hand out, almost tentatively, and he brushed the side of my face, avoiding my cumropes and their runny smears, smiling at me. I smiled wider up at him and nuzzled my face against his hand, now smearing my cum on it, not caring. He grinned and squeezed my hand. I turned and licked his fingers where my cum was. "FUCK that's hot!" he said, almost reverently, and then he brought his fingers to his own lips and licked where I had. I reached up and pulled his neck down so that our lips met, and I licked lightly around his lips. "Mmmmmmm, I taste good on you!" I said . . . and then laughed. Mike covered my lips and kissed me, deeply but not urgently, taking his time and enjoying, as did I. His hand was holding my face gently, his fingers vaguely rubbing in my hair. "Mmmmmmmmmm," I moaned again into the kiss. When we pulled apart, he put his forehead against my temple. "You are perfect, Mads," he said. I wasn't, but I loved the sound of it. I smiled, and it wasn't so he would see it, it was because I was happy. I didn't even have to fight the internal battle – or external – of the after-fuck politics, when the man who fucked me wants to talk or wants me to stay, and all I want is to be done with him, no matter how good he was. " – for the whole night . . . or weekend?" he was asking, and I struggled to pull back into my head what he'd started that sentence with. I couldn't. "Sorry?" I asked. "I said, Mads, that I'm not rich or anything, but how much would it be for you to stay the whole night or weekend with me?" I blinked at him incredulously. "Sorry?" I repeated myself, more loudly. Mike wasn't fazed. "Well, Mads, I am pretty sure I can afford . . . well, this," he said, suddenly self-conscious, "What we've done I mean. But I would like more," he added. My eyes widened, and he stuttered, "Oh, well not THIS. Well, what I mean is sure, I'd love more of this! But what I meant was it wouldn't even have to be that – I'd like more time with you, Mads." He looked a little shy suddenly. "If I can afford you AND if you're not otherwise scheduled already," he said more softly. I tried to hold back, but I couldn't, and I started laughing. And once I started, I couldn't stop. Mike looked stricken and then flopped onto his back again. "Oh, go ahead, laugh at the older American," he said, not entirely self-effacing – there was a touch of humor to it, too. "Geen," I said reflexively, then quickly, "No," I repeated in English. I was now on my side, my hand on his sexy chest. He was looking up at me confused. "I'm not a prostitute, Mike," I told him, and his eyes widened. "You're not? I thought—" I just smiled and rubbed his chiseled chest. "I let you think that. You had made an assumption, which I MIGHT have encouraged . . . at least a bit." I was grinning, not the least bit contrite, but not enjoying Mike's discomfort at all. "This means, logically," I continued, "There is no question of your ability to afford my company for the rest of tonight." Mike finally broke into a grin. "It is a little late for gentlemanly courtesy, but Mads, would you spend the night with me?" I grinned back at him. "I thought the invitation was for the weekend. Was that only when you thought I was a mysterious, interesting, poorly-English-speaking prostitute?" "I didn't want to push my luck," he grinned back at me. "If you push your luck the way you push your cock, you've got LOADS of luck!" I mugged. "Oh, yeah," he laughed. "There's nothing wrong with YOUR English!" I leaned over and kissed him – major tongue in a torrent of sucking, licking and smacking – and pulled back. "Nothing wrong with my French, either!" I smirked. "And, as you saw before, not a thing wrong with my Italian, either." "Italian?" he asked. I moved down and took his cock – delightfully slimy from my ass and his load – in my mouth and sucked long enough that he was fully hard again . . . and exclaiming . . . and then looked up at him. With my mouth full of him I said, as best I could around that massive man-meat, "Fellatio IS an Italian word, isn't it?" with a smirk. Mike laughed and pushed my head back down on his cock. "I need more opportunity to ASSess that Italian." I laughed around his cock at the bad pun. But I WAS laughing . . . and looking forward to a long weekend with a hot man. If you like reading stories like mine online, please consider donating to nifty.org – we all have to support the site to keep it available for our enjoyment.