Bruce, Love, Erect, Chest Feel, Romance, Mountain Trip, Lying, Water
DAVID 80
Bruce's second dream continues (from David 78):
“Hey,” I said. “Did you put sunscreen on this morning?”
“Yep,” he answered.
“Well… did you bring any?”
“In my backpack.”
I opened up his backpack and pulled out a bottle of oil. “Sunblock,” I said as I read the label. “Yeah, I think you need another coat or you’ll turn bright pink. That’s one thing you can’t do, isn’t it?” I said with a smile.
“Tan?”
“Yeah.”
“I can tan!” he said defensively. And then I heard him mutter, “Just takes me a couple years.”
I popped the top of the bottle and walked over to him. “Okay, I get to do this.”
“Oh you do, do you?”
“Uh huh. I’m going to enjoy this. You…” and I raised a finger at him, “do not move an inch. Your job is to just relax and enjoy because I’ve always dreamed of doing this and it would make me very happy.”
He smiled. “Okay.”
“Close your eyes.”
“And just stand here?”
“Yes.” I reached down and took his right hand in mine, dribbled some oil on the back of his hand, and then put the bottle down in the sand. His hands were beautiful; big… very big, but of wonderful proportions. Thick strong fingers, well-trimmed nails, and the hair on his forearms faced away when it reached the back of his hands. With both hands I rolled the oil around, pressing into the thick musculature at the base of the thumb and the side of the palm. The base of each finger was heavily calloused from lifting weights. I remember the wonderful, rough, feeling they provided when he ran his hands over the inside of my thighs of the length of my back. “Don’t you wear gloves when you work out?” I asked.
“Yeah, but you still get calluses.” He sighed. “Ohhh,” he moaned. “That feels good.”
“Yeah?” I asked, and I continued to massage his hand. I looked around and realized that we were so far away from the regular world. I took my time. I felt like I had all the time in the world.
His arms… I just stroked and petted them until they were covered in a light sheen of oil. I tried to think of an analogy but I couldn’t. They seemed dangerous, like weapons, capable of crushing you to his chest and then, like pythons, exerting pound after pound of pressure. The very thought of trying to get away from them and not being able to made my heart flutter, and here I was with my hands slowly gliding over these massive things that could hold me down and do unspeakable things to me if he wanted.
His calves… I love the feel of his calves. I’ve never seen or imagined such roundness and such size.
His thighs… I used both hands on each one, and again there was nothing really to fondle except to take in their massive size and contemplate the terrible strength in them; the weight they could lift as though they were hydraulic presses, the pressure they could exert if he had you in a scissors lock. The scariness was so thrilling.
His ass… oh how can anything be that perfect? High, rounded hemispheres… utterly smooth and hairless, with skin like satin. I told him to widen his stance twice until he had his legs wide apart. His cock and balls swung between those tree trunk thighs and I took the bottle of oil and dribbled a small stream on the small of his back and watched it slowly seep down the crack of his ass. He felt it too, and I could hear his breathing quicken and he realized that this was not just a simple application of sunscreen. No. This was foreplay… a long, slippery, smooth, warm, agonizingly slow episode that I commanded. I grabbed his buttocks gently and spread them. The trickle of oil slowly meandered downward and finally touched his hole and he clenched his fists, and although he was breathing quickly, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. When the oil had cleared his hole and started down his perineum, I slowly let go his buttocks and enjoyed the view. I trickled a little more oil on the small of his back and, once it joined the original stream, the dripping continued downward… slowly… down below his ass and onto the back of his balls. He felt that because I saw his thighs tremble.
His back… it was like a wall. It was wonderful to sweep my hand back and forth across so much flesh. I indulged myself. I took both hands and grabbed the sides of his back. I actually lifted up on his lats and felt their weight. I gently dug my fingers in. It was amazing to not feel bone anywhere, just meat.
His neck… I was just about to dribble some oil on the back of his neck, but I realized that I had been very rude to my tongue. I hadn’t allowed it to indulge as I had my hands. I stood right behind him and touched my abdomen to his butt, and then I gently thrust my arms under his, bent my arms to rest my hands on the front of his shoulders, and then I leaned forward and licked the back of his neck. I felt him tense, stiffen, and then he cried out.
“Oh,” I said. “Secret spot?”
He nodded, his breathing fast and shallow. I licked again, and then again. He tried not to moan, but after a few seconds, he couldn’t help it. “Don’t move,” I reminded him. “Not until I tell you.” With each lick, he shivered and whimpered. Finally, I swept my hands up his back, loading my palms with oil, and then I kneaded his thick neck. It felt so good to have my hands full of muscle whereas with anyone else, I would have just used my fingers.
His abs… I pressed myself against his back and stroked them from behind. He sighed, somewhat in relief, and somewhat in pleasure, and then he asked, “Can I wipe the oil that’s dripping from my balls? It’s driving my crazy.”
I said I’d do it, and then, purposely, I didn’t. Finally, when my hands had their fill of exploring the rifts and ridges of his abs, I knelt down in the sand behind him and said, “Okay… like down on your back and put your head in my lap. Use my thighs as a pillow.”
“I’m gonna get sand stuck to me now.”
“No you won’t,” I said. “The sand here is a little damp. It won’t stick to the oil on you, and it’s nice and cool.” In a few seconds I had him stretched out in front of me, his head in my lap.
His face… In a way, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so close to him. He is so much his magnificent body, but he is so much his beautiful face. Even without the muscles, he’d still be devastating. People dream about touching his body, but there’s such a wonderful feeling of intimacy gained with you touch his face. I did it so gently, and I indulged myself still. I touched his chin, and I said, “You have a Dudley Do-Right chin,” and he smiled and as he did, I stroked his lips and his cheeks. I traced the outline of his jaw and then I made a fist and I tapped his jaw very gently with the front of my fist, over and over again.
“What are you doing?” he asked, smiling.
“I’m punching you in the jaw… that jaw you could crack ice on.” Tap, tap, tap.
He grinned now, on the verge of laughter. “And is it doing any good?”
“Nope,” I said. “I just broke my hand.”
He opened his eyes and looked up at me, and then he took my fist in his hand and he kissed. it. I smiled down at him and I whispered, “Close your eyes.” With both hands I reached between my thighs and kneaded the back of his neck. As I did so, I moved my fingertips behind his ears. I saw his mouth open, and I saw him hold his breath. I froze. He tensed. I moved. I began to rub just behind his ears. The reaction took me completely by surprise.
“OH! Oh-ho-ho-ho-Bruce!”
“Secret spot?” I asked.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He couldn’t have, I think. He clawed the sand, grabbing fistfuls. His toes spread. His mouth opened more.
“Right there?” I asked.
“OH-ho-ho oh geez! Oh god.”
“Aha!” I said. “Now I know how to turn the tiger into a pussycat.”
“OhhOH!” He laughed. He moaned. He smiled.
I just kept rubbing, right behind his ears, firm but gentle little circles. He absolutely loved it. He was melting. He finally succumbed to the sensations and wend limp, but he bent his head back slightly in an effort to get closer to my fingertips. It felt so good. Finally, I stopped, took the bottle of oil in my hands and poured a little in my left palm. I put the bottle back in the sand and then rubbed my hands together. I wasn’t finished yet. I’d saved the best parts for last.
His chest… When my hands touched his chest, he let out the most uninhibited moan of pleasure. He was making no secret that this was a secret spot. Again, he grabbed fistfuls of sand and dug his heels into the ground. I let my hands sail back and forth across his pecs. They were thick, hairy, beautiful slabs of meat. I let my fingertips skim over his nipples, barely touching them. He took in quick, shallow breaths, and yet he seemed very relaxed. He was reveling in the sensation of having his chest stroked. I smiled and said: “You like this, huh?”
“Oh god,” he answered. “Oh I love it.”
I just kept stroking. I could have done it for hours and hours. I laughed. “You’re just a great big, BIG pussycat.”
He laughed. He smiled. “Mmmmmm,” he moaned softly, a smile on his face. “Don’t stop.”
“If you were a cat, you’d be purring wouldn’t you?”
He laughed softly again and nodded.
Minutes later, I asked: “Can you ever get enough of this?”
“No!” he said.
I took one hand and rubbed behind his ear, and kept the other one on his chest.
“Ohhh,” he sobbed. “No fair.”
“You’re helpless.”
He nodded.
I returned my hand to his pec. Now as I stroked, I allowed my fingers to gently graze his nipples. My gestures became more purposeful, until finally my hands I truly had my way with him as he squirmed and moaned and gasped.
“You… you don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said breathlessly.
“Oh, I think I do know,” I said as I eyed his cock. He shifted his hips and it swung gently upwards and then fell to the side, half hard. Second by second it grew until it was rigid and massive. Within ten minutes I had him lying there in a sexual frenzy. And then I took the bottle of oil in my hands and moved over to his side. There was just one last part of his body I had not anointed, and I didn’t want it to burn… from the sun.
His cock… I dribbled some oil on the underside of the head and let it ooze around the head of his cock. Then I dribbled some down the length of his shaft. I put the bottle down, and then I took his manhood in both hands and spread the oil around. He cried out. I could feel the throbbing deep within his meat. He was like a cocked gun… just the slightest touch would set him off, so I stroked very, very gently. He moaned, he gasped, he called my name and it was like begging but I was doing this as much for me as I was for him, so I took my time. I let my hands drink in the girth and length and weight and warmth and silkiness of his cock. It felt so good to hold so much meat in both hands. It felt so good to have so much man at my mercy. Finally, he called out my name as though he was desperate. I reached down with one hand and lifted his balls. I continued stroking with the other hand. He cried out, “Yes! Oh Bruce! I… I….”
I felt his balls crawl into the palm of my hand. I could imagine his sperm boiling, his loin muscles ready to spasm. He cried out, “Oh god!” He tilted his head back, he arched his back, he lifted his hips off the sand, he dug his heels into the ground, he gripped the sandy ground, he managed, “Oh g———————GOD!!!” and then his sex meat exploded in my hands. The surges were wonderful to feel. The musculature and control he had even there amazed me. The first jet of cum coated his chin and neck. The next three landed on his hairy pecs. He gasped for breath and held it, and I gently stroked his still-firing cock until the last of his cum had splattered his abs and dripped down my hand.
As he sobbed in ecstasy and gasped for breath I said, “That was fun. Let’s do that again.”
2003