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Bruce, Erect, Blow Job, Monte Carlo, Monaco

DAVID 275

 

David275It was a weird dichotomy that could only have happened in a dream; him in his tuxedo and me in my torn t-shirt and cutoffs waiting for a plane to pull up to the gate and take us to Monte Carlo. One by one, sleek private jets rolled by the windows and made their way to the far corner of the airfield, and as each one came into view I felt a thrill, imagining myself seated in the sleek interior. On either side of us, hundreds of passengers waited to board airliners bound for Cairo and Berlin. We were the sole passengers at our gate.

"Are we in the right place?" I asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "Sometimes they have problems getting clearance from ground control. Commercial flights usually get to go first."

"Oh," I said.

"Plus, it's kind of a big plane."

How big is "big"...to David? Another private jet rolled by and passed us. It must have accommodated twenty people at least, and yet it didn't stop. It struck me that a private jet's doorway wouldn't reach the boarding ramp in front of us. I was confused.

"I have a question," I began. "How are we going to get on--"

"Ah!" he said. "Here it comes."

I looked out onto the airfield. The only movement I could see was a ground technician with flashlights taking his place on the center line directly below us and the top of the tail fin of a large airliner moving above the boarding ramp to our left. A moment later, a sleek, white Boeing 737 came into view. It had a tapering stripe along its side that widened towards the rear and then swept up to envelop the vertical tail fin in black. A large, white star, shaped like a compass rose on a map, and the word "Lumière" adorned the tail.

And then the ground technician raised his arms. The plane turned toward us and advanced. The ground technician walked backwards, waving it forward.

"No!" I exclaimed, my eyes wide.

"Huh?" said David.

"That can not be your plane!"

"Well...it looks just like it then!"

He entered the plane with the practiced bow of someone six and a half feet tall. Two uniformed men stood at the doorway of the cockpit. They both smiled, said "Bonjour, Monsieur!" and shook his hand with gusto. I almost laughed because he seemed to be bowing ever so slightly in the cramped space, and the two pilots, probably quite unintentionally, bowed slightly in return.

There they stood in their crisp uniforms, and there he stood in his tuxedo. And there I stood in my cutoffs and t-shirt. And yet, with a flourish, he proudly motioned towards me. "Je vous présente mon ami, Bruce Toppet," he said.

"Enchanté,"said both pilots and they smiled and shook my hand.

He motioned for me to enter the cabin. We passed a small galley, a bathroom, and a tiny room with a bed...a perfect napping niche...and then the interior of the plane presented itself to me in one lavish vista. I'd never seen anything like it. It was not a plane with rows of seats and overhead storage. It was a luxury apartment. There was a living room with great overstuffed leather chairs and a sofa, tables of sleek metal and glass, beautiful side tables of inlaid wood, and crystal vases with fresh flowers. A wooden wall partially blocked the view to the next room. I moved back further into the plane and found a formal dining room with a fanciful, art deco design throughout the table and fixtures. Another wooden wall partially blocked the back of the plane, and when I made my way past it, I found myself in a bedroom. A sleek, black bed of enormous size dominated the room. It was covered with a sheet of royal blue satin. Finally, the very back end of the plane revealed a palatial bathroom, complete with a shower and marble floors.

"I can't believe this!" I said. "I've never seen anything like it!"

David smiled. "It's comfortable," he said. And then, "Come on. We have to buckle in for takeoff."

We took off, circled around the airport and headed northeast. From the starboard side of the plane, I could see the Hudson River and Manhattan in the distance. We cuddled for a while, and then I couldn't stand my dirty clothes any longer. I asked if I could take a shower, and he said yes. It felt so good to be free of the dust and grime of the day. I wrapped a towel around my waist and came back into the bedroom to find that my clothes had been replaced by a pair of silk pajama bottoms. They felt as light as air. I waited for him, but the aroma of dinner lured me out into the dining area.

He was pouring wine. He had taken off his jacket, and his bow tie hung draped around his huge neck. Compared to the buttoned up version that greeted me at my apartment door, he seemed half dressed. Yet, it was I who was most definitely half dressed, and that fact made my balls and cock tighten. My skin tingled. I shivered. The thought of those big paws owning me and ravishing every sensitive area on my body made me swoon.

"You look good," he said.

I smiled. "Thanks," I said. I looked down at my pajama bottoms and said, "They're so light. It feels as though I have nothing on."
He lowered his head, and grinned.

After dinner, we looked out the windows. We were somewhere over the Atlantic. A sea of clouds, glowing with the light of a full moon, moved slowly beneath us. He patted his thigh, and I sat on his lap. It was a novel experience. I look small compared to him, but I'm nearly six feet tall. There are few thighs big enough to make a comfortable seat for me, and I don't think there are any thighs as big as David's.

For a long time, he stroked my arms and neck, and he softly rubbed my thighs. There was no secret as to what I was feeling. My pajamas sported a noticeable tent. He saw, but said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew what effect his touch would do to me. And I didn't need to tell him. He looked at me as though I was some amazing treasure. He shifted one titanic thigh, and I saw a straight, solid mass free itself from the crotch of his tight pants and stretch languorously halfway down his thigh, straining against the black fabric. I closed my eyes. I wanted it. I wanted to hold it. I wanted to press it against my face and feel its heat. My brain was swimming, but I managed to find a moment of clarity. I looked at his jewel-like eyes, and said, "Can I unbutton your shirt?"

He nodded.

I felt those gigantic pecs first, cupping my hands around the sides and stroking them through the fabric. I wondered how many people had dreamt of doing what I was doing now. I loved the way the cloth pulled across his pecs and the way his nipples were barely discernible, poking gently from behind the cloth. It was so sexy, more than slightly voyeuristic, for him to be so formally clothed and yet to see some part of him that was naked and sensitive. After a while, I unbuttoned one button and savored the view. I couldn't believe that this gigantic, handsome, tender man was mine to love and play with. I unbuttoned another button, and then another, relishing the massive, hairy chest before me. Finally, I allowed myself to stroke his chest with soft caresses. His eyes closed, His head fell back. His breathing quickened. He arched his back. I spread his shirt open and kissed his chest.

"Oh Bruce," he whispered. I sat up straight in his lap, and once again he began to stroke my thighs and stare at my crotch. He carefully took the drawstrings of my pajama bottoms and slowly pulled. Before the knot was completely undone, he stopped and looked up at me, a tiger holding himself in check.

"Oh Bruce," he said again, with a look of longing on his handsome face. "Can I make love to you?"

I was amazed at how gentle he could be.

"I've always dreamt of doing it with you, between the clouds and the stars," he said. "Because you look like an angel to me."

In the dim light of the bedroom, he descended upon me, and I felt completely enveloped. I felt his huge chest pressing against the front of my body. I felt his thighs gather mine between them. The sensation of those huge arms tightening around me was intoxicating. For all his size, he wasn't clumsy at all. His mouth was careful and his tongue savored me like something sweet. It was as though my neck and ears were covered with honey. But there was one last part of his body that needed a place to go. His huge, meaty cock was pressed between us. The size, and the weight, and the heat of it felt so good. I'd longed for it. I was starving for it. My hands felt so empty. My lips burned for it. But he wasn't through with me yet, and he found a more comfortable place for his hot, throbbing, pole. He lifted his hips, tilted them back, and sank his cock between my thighs. As he lowered his hips, the soft caress of my thighs made him gasp and tremble.

I knelt between his splayed thighs. I bathed his cock with my tongue, slowly soaking it. I held it with both fists, and even so, there was still another handful to suck on. I ran my tongue underneath the edge of the head and he stifled a scream. He was laying back on the bed, with his legs draped over the side. I took all the time I wanted, probing every nook and cranny between his legs. I lifted his balls and slobbered all over the back of them. He sobbed and collapsed, limp, no longer trying to maintain his composure. It was a way of letting me know that he was mine, that he wanted more, that for the moment, I was the strong one, and he was utterly powerless. I buried my face in the crevasse between his balls and his leg, pushing deeper and deeper until I could feel the pressure of his loins hard against my face. And then my tongue swirled around and around in lazy circles.

He screamed, and it dissolved into a sob. He held his huge legs up for a moment, and then let them collapse. He held the satin bedspread in a death grip with both hands. I looked up for a moment to gaze along the front of his torso. His cock was a throbbing tower in front of me, but I didn't touch it. I hoped that when I finally did, my touch would be like food to a starving man. Beyond his cock, were the amazing ridges of his abdominal muscles, and then beyond them were the twin slabs of pec meat, adorned with large, luscious, sensitive nipples.

I dove back into the space between his balls and thigh, but this time, instead of darting with the tip of my tongue, I used my whole tongue, slathering the base of his cock, and trying to curl the tip of my tongue to tap his perineum, the spot between his balls and his hole.. He stifled a scream again, and his whole body shivered violently. I did that for a long time, and then I slid my free hand underneath his balls and gently tickled behind them.

I always thought that there could be no stronger reaction than the last one induced, but this time he screamed and raised his hips, and when they came back down, he sobbed and gasped. I waited for a while and then did it again, and this time, when his hips came down, my free hand was waiting there, palm up. I kept it very still. I don't think he knew that his powerful buttocks were being touched. If he did, I distracted him by pulling his cock toward me and swallowing the head and upper shaft. Slowly, I pumped it in and out of my mouth, waiting for his moans to grow in intensity, and then I pulled my head back and listened to him gasp for breath.

With my left hand, which held the base of his cock in a firm grip, I could have taken his pulse by measuring the throbbing in that tower of meat, and just when I sensed that it was beginning to slow, I curled the middle finger of my right hand upward, deep into the crevasse between his glutes, and I touched his hole.

He shuddered. "Oh god!" He held his breath. "Oh god!"

Instinctively, he slammed his buttocks together, but he made no protest, and he didn't try to pull away, so I kept my finger there, pressing lightly against his hole all the while, and then I went to work on his cockhead. Powerful as he was, he could not endure the tongue bath on his swollen knob and maintain strong, resisting flex of his glutes. He faltered momentarily, and when I felt that hard, little knot relax, I gently pushed the tip of my finger in. Again, he clenched his powerful glutes together, but it only succeeded in holding my finger fast. His ass lips spasmed, tightening around my fingertip. He whimpered, and when he froze to see what would happen next, I wiggled my finger.

He sobbed in pleasure, grasped his head with both hands as though it was going to explode, and thrust his legs straight out, lifting his hips slightly in the process. And when he came back down, my finger went all the way in.

The thought that he was being fucked, if only with a finger, drove him mad. I waited for him to tell me to stop, but all I could hear were moans and gasps and sobs. I gave him one slow thrust with my finger. He gasped, held his breath, and then said, "Bruce!" I didn't know whether he wanted me to stop, so I did nothing except lick the underside of his cock for a moment, and then I gave him another long, slow thrust with my finger. This time, he bore down to meet the gentle penetration.

"Oh! Oh god!" he whispered.

I slowly pushed in and out again, and again he tilted his hips to take me in deeper. I waited a few seconds, and then did it again. This time he thrust his hips down faster, as though hungry for the invasion. I waited a few seconds, and was surprised to feel him press down with his hips. He whimpered, and pressed down again. I pushed my finger into him and held it there, wiggling it. He sobbed and moaned loudly, and raising his hips up and down, he fucked himself on my finger.

 

 

2006

 

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