Bruce, Love, Erect, Sex, Rimming, Romance, Hand Job, Mountain Trip, Sunset
DAVID 81
Bruce's second dream continues (from David 80):
At sunset, he waded into the pool with a small bar of soap. I watched him from the little beach as the sunlight began to grow golden, and then during that rare minute when the light is flaming orange, he scooped up water and splashed it on his shoulders and chest. I was in complete shadow, but he seemed to be pouring sparkling, gold light on his muscles. I wanted a better view, so I deftly made my way over the rocks along one side of the pool and climbed directly over the little waterfall so that I could look down on him while he bathed. From up there, I could hear other small waterfalls, and I could see a blinding, reddening sun almost on the horizon, and the long shadows of the palm trees. I could also see how we had spent most of the day in almost a pit, for I was now sitting on the ground level of the sloping mountainside and our little tropical world was below me, surrounded by huge boulders, and its ground level dropped off in the distance to form the waterfall visible from the hotel.
He waded over to where he had left the soap on a rock. The pool there at its deepest level was only about three feet deep. His cock and balls skimmed the surface as he waded towards the rock, and I wondered if it tickled. When he reached the rock, he squatted and submerged himself, and then came up completely wet, his black hair slicked back. He grabbed the soap and began to lather his forearm. He worked his way up to his bicep, and then rubbed his soapy hands on his neck, especially the back. Watching him soap up his pecs was achingly erotic, especially because he seemed to think no one was watching him. Even from this distance I could see the soap turning into thick lather and the slow lazy way he moved his palms around and around. My cock started to swell. I wanted to rush down there and load my hands with soap and slowly swirl them around his pecs. I wanted to run my fingertips underneath them…to outline them…to massage them…to feel my palms slide over his nipples…to make him moan.
But I made myself watch, because in a way, it was more stimulating not to touch him, but to watch what I could touch later. He soaped his thighs, and as he stroked his soapy hands over them I noticed that he took pleasure in his own touch, as though he was massaging an ache away. He pushed his thumbs deep into his flesh and slid his hands down, and it must have felt so good because I saw him close his eyes and open his mouth. He casually lifted his balls and thrust his other hand behind them and worked up a lather, and I got a chill and goosebumps and my mouth went dry. He fondled his balls and then took an overhand grip on his cock and stroked it several times. He moved his fingers along both sides of his cock until he had worked up a lather there. Next, he twisted, reached back and swirled one palm over a buttock. Then he twisted the other way and did the same. But this time, he slid his hand between his buttocks. Then, he reached for the soap, built up a lot of lather in his hands, and repeated the action. With his hand moving between his ass cheeks, he closed his eyes and sighed.
He washed his shoulders and let copious amounts of soap drip down his huge back. I had to smile and feel a little sorry for him. Poor guy, there was no way he could reach his own back. He could reach the sides of his lats, his lower back, and just below the back of his neck, but without a scrub brush or towel or sponge, he was forced to just let the soapy water flow down and all over his back. Then he washed his face and rubbed his soapy hands over his wet hair, and then he submerged himself again.
I will never forget the sight of him when he came up. He stood there glistening in the last light of day, his cock and balls barely touching the water, and then he arched his back and ran his fingers slowly through his hair, his eyes closed, his face to the sky. Wet. Clean. Naked. He ran his fingers through his hair again, as though in slow motion, and this time when he arched his back, he seemed to be stretching a long nap out of his body like a cat.
He grabbed his soap and waded back over to the beach. He looked for me. I think I saw him say my name. And then he began to look around quickly, from rock to rock. I didn’t want to scare him. I called out, “Up here!” and he finally found me and then he went back into the water, submerged himself again and surfaced and climbed the rocks, a smile on his face, until he was at my side.
I’ve seen him take on a whole different persona with just the slightest prop. Like when he’s back at his parents’ place in Texas and he wears his Stetson: …cowboy. When he wears his leather hat: biker…leather…dangerous. And now with his hair wet and slicked back: sleek…classy…suave.
“Ahhhh,” he said. “That felt good. Had to wash the sunscreen off me.”
“Your hair’s all wet,” I said.
“It’s ok,” he said, catching his breath from the climb. “It dries fast.”
My heart was pounding. My cock was at half mast and climbing fast.
“Were you watching me?” he asked.
I didn’t answer his question. He had just sat on the rock next to me, and then I told him to stand up and turn around. He did so willingly, and then I knelt behind him, my face inches from his butt, and I stroked his buttocks with my fingertips.
He sucked in a little breath and held it. I felt his body tense. His buttocks flexed; first the right one and then the left. I leaned forward and let my cheek touch him. I rubbed the side of my face up and down his butt. Then I nuzzled him and breathed deeply.
“Ohhhh god,” I whispered. “You smell so good.” I inhaled trough my nose again. The sweet smell of soap was embedded in his skin. I licked his right buttock. I licked it again. It was cool and smooth. I shifted my position, straightened up on my kneeling position until my face was at the level of his lower back, and then with just the tip of my tongue, I traced little circles on the tops of his buttocks.
He jerked at the sensation. He leaned forward and put his palms on the rock. He tilted his hips back and up. I dove between his ass cheeks, wiggling my face back and forth to get in deeper and deeper. He was clean and fresh and wet and still slippery. My lips felt their target.
“Oh!” he cried out in anticipation.
My tongue’s tip swirled, traced, and tickled.
“Oh g-god damn, Bruce!”
He was breathless already. I pulled back a fraction of an inch and let the wide, wet, smooth surface of my tongue slide over his quivering ass hole.
‘OHHHH!!!! B-BRUCE!”
Over and over again. Long, slow licks. And with every lick, he practically went into convulsions.
“OHHHH!!!”
That was the only word he said over and over again for a whole minute, and he said it in a way that made me think that he was on the verge of pulling away because the sensations were so wonderful, but so intense; he couldn’t take it. Almost.
“OHHH GOD!!!”
I rocked his world. I stretched my tongue out far and reached down to tickle his perineum, the space between his balls and ass hole. He nearly jumped out of his skin. He swore. He sobbed. He trembled. He gasped for breath.
I moved my face downwards and slipped the tip of my tongue alongside his ball sack and I moved it back and forth, up and down, wetting it very thoroughly. He stifled a scream. He swore again through clenched teeth. I went back to his perineum. That was his sweet spot. That and the tender rim of his ass hole. I wished so much that I could reach his chest so that I could stroke it and play softly with his nipples and blow every fuse in his brain. I reached between his legs and cupped his balls with one hand. He was sobbing now, in ecstasy. He could barely speak. He told me not to stop. He said please. My tongue returned to his ass hole. His sensitive hole quivered and puckered, trying to get away from me, but my tongue swirled and wiggled. I went back to his perineum. I think he was actually ticklish there. I went back down to wet the other side of his ball sack, and then I tickled the back of his balls with the tip of my tongue. He went ballistic. He shifted his weight to one foot, picked up the other foot, and stomped on the ground once. He called my name but I knew he didn’t want me to stop; he only wanted to breathe, and he was getting enough air as far as I was concerned.
I wet my lips, puckered up, and sucked on his perineum. That sent a jolt through his whole body and caused an outcry that I would have sworn, had I not known the situation, was from someone in agony.
I moved my hand (the one that was cupping his balls) forward and slid it along the shaft of his rock-hard cock. I reached under with my other hand and stroked the underside of the shaft. My tongue went from ass hole to perineum to ball sack, the inner sides of his upper thighs, the back of his testicles, and once I surprised him with a long lick straight up his butt crack to the very pit of the small of his back. He jumped at the sensation.
I stopped for a half minute, allowing him to catch his breath, but I kept my face buried between his cheeks. He was so clean, so sweet, so smooth. I felt him twist around toward me.
“Oh god,” he panted, now more in control. “Oh my god you’re driving me crazy.”
And then I continued. I assaulted his ass hole with feathery licks. I wrote my name. I experimented with long, twenty second licks from the back of his balls to the small of his back. He’d hold his breath. His body would tremble. The trembling would grow in intensity like an earthquake. His anticipation would make him moan louder and louder until my tongue got to his trembling, moist ass hole and then he’d swear and sob and stomp his foot.
I pumped his cock. First, I used light strokes and both hands, but after a few minutes I held on to the base with my left hand while I milked the shaft with my right. He began to whimper. He moved his hips forward in an unconscious effort to get away, but I leaned forward and followed him.
“Oh Bruce!”
I loaded my tongue with saliva and swirled it around the sensitive hole. I didn’t let up one bit on the cock-pumping.
“Bruce!”
I licked the space between his ball sack and thigh.
“Bruce?!!”
I licked the back of his balls.
“OH G--!!”
I licked his ass hole and I moaned, sending vibrations resonating between his butt cheeks.
“OH MY G—Bruce!!!”
He squatted down an inch. I licked at his perineum and moaned, hoping the vibrations would craze his prostate. I was right.
“I’m gonna—c—c—!!!”
I felt his balls climb up. The skin on his shaft was tight and smooth. His flesh beneath my tongue began to throb.
“B-BRUCE!!!”
He sucked in a huge breath and held it. He used it to let out a long, tortured groan. His whole body tensed with anticipation. His thighs trembled violently. His ass hole was twitching uncontrollably. His hips tilted back, and then, at the same time that he let out his long-held breath in a blast, his cock fired like a cannon and shot out long streams of cum. He shuddered violently with each surge. I decided to show some mercy and stopped pumping his cock.
I got up and laid back languorously on another big rock and watched him. He was bent over, forearms leaning on the rock, forehead resting on his forearms, panting for breath a silhouette in the setting sun.
2003