Date: Fri, 27 Feb 2009 20:42:11 -0800 From: Oregon Bear Subject: Coming Home After Work This story contains descriptions of graphic sex between adult gay males. If this topic offends you or it is illegal for you to read this, please leave this site. Coming Home After Work It has been a retched day at work. One meeting after another, and more power point presentations and charts than the human brain can absorb. My boss had piled another two weeks of work on me, wanting it all done by Tuesday. Finally, the last meeting ended and I raced to the parking lot, eager to get home. Roger had promised my favorite dinner tonight, after hearing me moan over breakfast about my schedule for the day. I knew he'd take care of me tonight. It was his day off and he'd always made the evening a special time for us. I flung open the door, my tie already half off, my suit coat over my arm. I'd left my briefcase at work, knowing I was too tired to do any work tonight. Besides, I wanted some time with my partner. Roger greeted me at the door with a cold pint of beer, thrusting it in my hand before I could even say hello. "Here ya go, partner," he chirped, grinning from ear to ear. "Time to kick back now." I took the beer, raising it to my dry lips, and felt the cold, hoppy ale slice through the dust of the day, and slip down my throat, cold and tasty. It was better than what I had imagined, as I waited in the stop and go mob scene on the freeway. Some of the cold foam stuck to my moustache, and Roger obliged me by giving me a quick kiss, a bit of the foam now catching on his 'stach and goatee. The beer and the kiss were headed in the right direction, and I was quickly losing my thoughts about the work day. I could smell the rich, heavenly smell of a pot roast wafting in from the kitchen, mixed with what must be the smell of hot bread fresh out of the oven. Yes, and there was a hint of apple and cinnamon in the air. He must have baked my favorite pie. Another sip of beer and I was finally at home, ready to really relax and get out of my suit. "You got time for a shower," he said, taking my suit coat out of my arms, and deftly stripping off my tie. One meaty hand moved up to my white shirt, and with two fingers, Roger quickly opened up my shirt, from the neck to my belt, then ran his meaty palm through the thick curls of my belly and chest. His hand was hot and firm against my chest, and the sweat that had built up between my pecs now felt a bit cool. As I turned to head to the bathroom, another hand reached out, grabbing my butt cheeks through my pants. "Glad you're home. Now, get into that hot water." I took the beer with me, and padded down the hall, kicking off my shoes into the bedroom on my way. A few more sips of the beer splashed down my throat, and this time, I took the trouble to really taste the ale as it slid across my tongue. In a minute, I stripped off my clothes, and soon found the right temperature for the tense muscles in my neck and shoulder. There was only the hot water raining on my skull and down my back, the rest of the day quickly fading back. My cock came alive again, finally free from the confines of m shorts and my dress pants, free to swing in time with my balls, now loose in their sack, as the hot water began to soak into every part of me. A bit of my brain was thinking of the last time I entered Roger, on Sunday, right after we had worked out at the gym. We'd played a mean game of racquetball and came back to the house all sweaty, tired, but feeling alive. He'd done a strip tease in the living room, taunting me to take him right there. We ended up wrestling and rolling around the floor, until we ended the match, each other's hard cocks thrust deep into our mouths, until we had finally both cum, ending our game panting and sweating, cum dripping from our mouths into the fur of our sweaty chests. I must not have heard the shower curtain move, and I jumped when I felt a big hand on my shoulder, the bar of soap running across the still tense muscles of my back and neck. Another big hand moved around to my chest, smoothing the curls of my dense fur, until a finger found a nipple, gently circling it, stroking it, until it was hard, tight against the calluses of his hands. I gasped, hot water running down my moustache and into my mouth, down the stubble of my chin. Big hands moved to my other nipple, and soon, it too, was hot, aching for even more, as it sent a jolt of lust down to my balls, my cock. Another hand moved down my back, finding my butt, feeling between my cheeks, and began to probe into my hole. A finger brushed the back of my balls, tugging gently on the hair, opening me up for the hand to go deeper, closer, until all the fingers and the palm of the thick hand was in my ass, then around my balls, then moving around, closing tight against my suddenly hard cock. Heat against heat, hard against the rough skin of my lover. Soap and hand slid all over, hot water and soap and hand dancing, caressing hair and muscles and crevices. I stood still, helpless, not wanting this to stop, not able to guess where the hands would go next, when he would move his fist up my cock, then down, so slow. My balls rose, the spot underneath my ball sack, the spot that ached so good when I would begin to cum, now was hot, swollen, ready. Nothing else mattered. My eyes closed, my feet moving farther apart, opening my hole, my balls to his hands, his journey into the depths of me. Nothing else but his hands, and my hunger, just him, me, cock, balls, lover. Now. Everything was focused now on my cock, his hands, my need. I realized that there were two hands there, no, here. Here. On my cock. Of my cock. Becoming my cock. Now, moving. Up, then down, then up again. Each time, taking me up. Higher. More ready. More wanting to wait, to feel this. Now. Keep going. Keep this here. Now. And, higher. Two hands, sliding, sliding. Then, new. New wet, new tight, slick, dancing, dancing. My eyes opened, steam, water. I look down. Down to my cock, so warm, so hot, so slippery and tight with hands and face. My lover. My man. So good. It's so good. Don't stop now. Face. Beard. Fur. Slippery, tight, swirling around my cock, its head. On fire. Wet, slimy, warm, sliding. Up and down. Again. Not knowing when. But, again. Better. Hotter. Don't stop. Don't end. Keep going. Too much. Can't take this. Want more. Yes. Yes. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else. It was everything now. Every thing. Bigger, better, bigger, up and down. Up and down and then, burst. Explosion. One, then again. And again. Hot fire, throbs. Thrusts. Sucks. Grunt, moan, his name, his name. I feel my chest, heaving, gasping. Armpits spewing sweat. Hair wet, tangled. Dripping. Cum, yes, cum. Everywhere. Balls empty, now cock, empty, spent, dripping. Hands. Balls. Finger. Hole. Hot hand against hair, against sagging, softening cock. Cock spent, done. Released. "Dinner's ready now." Copyright 2009. Oregon Bear