Me in Wood

He must have heard my moaning, as he appeared at my bedroom door, naked, muscular, stocky, hirsute, ruggedly handsome, ebony black, and leaning into the doorframe, watching me working myself with the wooden dildo. He had told me his name last night, at the gay club, but I hadn't remembered it. I couldn't even remember the name of the club now, or how I had wound up there, except that I had an itch. Since a hunk was standing, naked, in the doorway of my bedroom, I supposed I had gotten my itch scratched. It was a bit disconcerting, though. I usually didn't take the chance of bringing guys home. I must really have been four sheets to the wind.

I did remember that he said he was a construction worker. I was a professor at the nearby university—sociology—and a good ten years older than his early twenties. But that didn't matter. He was hung and rough, and there were occasions I couldn't take the refinement of the university or university men anymore and I wanted rough and casual. I thought of him as Dick, because he certainly had one. He'd spent the night with and in me. That much I remembered just fine.

I lay there, on my back, legs bent and spread, watching myself in the mirrored wall across from the foot of the bed, pushing my pelvis up to get a good look in the mirror of the wooden dildo, in the shape of a cock, with the balls as a hand grip, working in my passage. I was stroking my cock with the other hand. Dick had been good to me in the night, but I wanted to retain my high. I came back to my bedroom to be good to myself while he finished his breakfast and coffee out at the kitchen island.

And I was being good to myself—with myself. I was being a slut to do this in front of him, but I didn't care. The dildo was thick and long, ebony wood hard. It had been carved with my own cock and balls as the model. I was hung too—not quite as hung as Dick was, but close. I was being good to myself with myself.

"Here, let me help with that," Dick said. He put his coffee cup down on the top of my bureau, causing me initially to hope it wouldn't leave a ring on the surface but then castigating myself. That's the sort of "professorish" thinking I was trying to escape from if only for a night and what was left of this morning.

He climbed up on the bed, kneeling beside my legs, and turning me over on my stomach. He was in magnificent erection, so I knew how this was going to end and I already was panting for it. He raised my right leg so that it was streaming up his muscular chest and wrapped his left arm under my chest. I was pinned to him now, fully under his control, the stretched position almost painful, and not going anywhere. Taking the wooden dildo from me, gripping his right hand around the figure's balls, he began churning it inside my passage, pulling it nearly all of the way out, then screwing it in and churning it about inside me. He moved a forearm across my throat, pinning my head to the mattress, and went back to working the dildo in my passage.

I writhed under the black hunk, groaning and whimpering, and stroking my cock with my hand. He was relentless in working the dildo inside me, taking me to the heights and to and over the limit. With a cry of completion, I released cum into the sheets.

I was complete. Dick wasn't. He pulled the dildo out of me, rolled over between my legs, kneeling there and, with a strong arm under me, lifting my pelvis up to his groin, my chest pressed into the surface of the bed. He penetrated me strongly and deeply to a depth and thickness that made me stretch a bit to accommodate him despite having been well worked with the dildo, and he fucked me hard and fast to his own ejaculation. If I hadn't been prepared by the dildo and he'd thrust in me like that, I'm sure my channel would have split.

He had been just as rough with me the previous night. I loved it as much now as I had then.

He barebacked me and the flesh-on-flesh action and the feel of his release—tensing and jerking repeatedly in a rolling coming—was exhilarating. I only allowed myself to worry about that—being fucked raw—for a couple of seconds. It was done, caused by the heat of the moment, and that was that—or so I could hope.

We lay there, me cradled in his arms, him holding and turning the wooden dildo this way and that above our still slightly panting bodies. I had a hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it, hoping for another fuck.

"This is a lovely piece of art," he murmured.

"Yes, yes, it is," I answered.

"So lifelike."

"Yes."

"Where did you get it?"

"Jamaica. On a cruise."

"My family is from Jamaica."

"Are they?"

"It's a big one."

"Not as big as yours is—not as big as you are again."

"Again?" he queried, smiling down into my face. "You want it again?"

"Yes, please. You're still hard."

He rolled over on top of and slid inside me. I turned my head to the side, catching our image in the mirror over the bureau, and clutched his buttocks to me with my hands as he fucked me again. I arched my back and neck, focusing on the ceiling of the room; opened my eyes wide; and let my jaw go slack—only to feel his thumb invade my mouth to be sucked—as he glided his way deep into my core. His shaft began to move inside me—in and out, in and out—and my hips settled into going with his motion. We were back into a primordial fuck.

* * * *

Months Earlier

I couldn't wait to get off the cruise ship and away from the partying passengers when we anchored off Kingston, Jamaica, for a day of land excursions. Not that I hadn't done my own partying, mainly with a hunky black room attendant who provided full servicing of my cabin—and of me. His time off from his shipboard duties on our Southern Caribbean cruise from Miami was from 3:00 to 5:00 in the afternoons, and while most other passengers were getting loaded up with booze before dinner in anticipation of a boozy party that evening, Loritz had me bent over my bed in my cabin, his big, black hands gripping my hips, his big black cock inside me, and doggie fucking me, a position he showed that he loved and that I had acquired a taste for too, thanks to him. Loritz was a tall, thin, gaunt man, but there wasn't anything thin about his cock. He made more on each three-to-five session in my cabin than he made in tips from any of the other cabins he serviced, I'm sure.

"Where does one go in Kingston in the time I'll have off the ship to avoid any of the other passengers on this ship, Loritz?" I asked as we were docking in Kingston.

"You mean the section of town where you can fuck around?" he asked, with a laugh.

"Yes, that," I answered.

He told me, but he also warned me that Jamaica was the most homophobic country in the Caribbean and I should be very, very careful.

"Everything that is man on man is underground in Jamaica," Loritz said. "What you want is in Gordon Town, northwest of the city, and what you really want is someone with a car to take you there. I have a friend who will do it. It will cost you more than the usual guide, but he will stay with you the whole time and will keep you safe—if you want to be safe, at least from him. He'll take good care of you too if that's what you want. His name is Adio. If you want, I will phone him and set it up. His taxi is blue. He can meet you on the wharf. He knows when we sail and will get you back on time."

"I want," I said.

* * * *

Adio turned out to be a large—a very large—ebony man of body-builder proportions, with a gigantic smile, wearing cut-off jeans shorts and a red athletic T-shirt that emphasized the massiveness of his guns and his thighs. I found him, arms crossed, and leaning on a nondescript small, blue sedan that must date back to the fifties. Passengers disembarking from the cruise ship on the wharf to explore Kingston let their eyes linger on him as they passed, whether because of the smile, the handsome face, the dreadlocks, or the muscles I didn't know, but it was obvious that the middle-aged, cougar-type passengers would also have liked to ride with and on him.

He had his eyes on me, though, as I came down the gangway. I presume that Loritz had not only told him what I would like to do in Jamaica and what I would like to avoid, but also what I looked like. I knew I must presume that Loritz had told him what I would do with a man too, and, if Adio was inclined in that direction, which Loritz hinted he was, I knew how I would like to spend part of the afternoon I had off the ship. Of course, Loritz's warning to me about the Jamaican attitude—at least on the surface—was something I would keep in mind, and I'd do what I could to cool my jets. It was enough to be off the ship and away from the ugly American partygoers. I'd taken this trip because it stopped in Key West, and that's where I was going to leave the ship and start the sort of vacation I really was after.

We shook hands at the car, Adio lazily straightening up from his backward incline against the fender that had jutted his basket out in a way, which itself had made the cougars passing him twitter to each other, and slowly straightening up to his in-excess-of-six-feet height. He languidly extended his beefy mitt to me and then, when I took the hand in mine, folded his thumb under and rubbed my palm during the handshake. Nothing to question about that—it was a universal signal of a submissive-seeking top. I ended the handshake by wrapping my fingers around the thumb just long enough for him to know that he quite probably could fuck me if we hit it off well enough while on this tour.

"What would you like to see for the first part of your tour?" he asked in a deep, melodious voice. Just like that, he was establishing that the second part of the tour might get very intimate.

"Did Loritz tell you anything of what I liked, what I did?" I asked.

"Yes, Loritz told me quite explicitly what you did and liked—and paid well for. I'm at your full service this afternoon. He also told me you'd like to see some of the lifestyle of the island that is difficult to see because of attitudes here. He told me I should take you to Gordon Town, which is northeast of here, near our mountains. Is that what you would like to do? And then maybe up to Irish Town, which is our version of a red-light district, although the light is only out for men seeking women. I have a room of my own there, though, and it doesn't have to be just what is advertised there."

"Yes, I'd like to see this Gordon Town. And I should buy some handicrafts if they have shops for those there. I should help the local economy, and I do collect wooden objects. I understand Jamaica specializes in wood carvings."

"I have a good idea what you can spend money on to help the local economy, Mon," Adio said, with a rich-toned laugh. "And, yes, they have special wood carving shops in that town. Maybe you would like to walk around on your own there for a while. We can start with having a drink at a friendly place and I can point out some shops you may want to visit and can wait for you at the café, building up my strength." He grinned at me, leaving little doubt what he'd be building up strength to do—and how I might spend my money to help the local economy—but he looked robust enough not to need much rest before taking me on.

"Shall we go?" he asked, still smiling broadly, giving a little bow and gesturing toward the sad little blue sedan.

"Yes, lead on," I said, moving to the front passenger door.

"You may wish to sit in back," he said. "If you are in front with me, I may not be able to contain myself."

"I'll chance it," I said, opening the front passenger door and sliding into a seat so worn that I fancied I almost could feel the springs through the padding. He got in the other side, but he didn't start the car. He twisted toward me and reached down and grabbed my crotch. I yelped in surprise and quickly scanned the area around the car. No one was looking at us. They all had their sights on the customs shed giving entrance into the town.

"Relax. I'm just checking," he said. "Loritz sometimes exaggerates. And I did say you might not like to chance sitting up here." He grinned. I couldn't help smiling too. "Let me feel you good," he said. "I don't want to have to wonder as I drive. If you are going to let me fuck you, surrender to me now."

I reclined back into the seat and spread my legs as far as the car compartment would permit, arcing my head back onto the top of the seat, while he continued to feel me up and I went hard for him. I scooted my buttocks a bit forward in the seat and parted my thighs, putting the heel on one foot up on the corner of the dashboard and draping the other across his lap, surrendering totally to him. He took his time, unzipping and releasing me, and slow stroking me to an ejaculation, which he covered with a handkerchief to take the cum. While he pumped me, he held my eyes in his gaze, giving me a half amused, half lustful, all "in control" look. I lay there, open to him, rocking my pelvis up into his hand, and moaned.

"You pay me, but in sex I am master and you are slave," he murmured.

"Yes," I responded.

"Ah, yes, very nice. Loritz did not exaggerate." His hand withdrew after I'd come, but only to unzip himself—a sound that made me shudder. He took my hand and inserted it in his fly. He wasn't wearing briefs. And he was gigantic. Half hard.

"Did Loritz exaggerate about me? Take it out; get its measure." I pulled the cock out of his shorts and ran my hand up it from the root to the glans, a chill going up my spine when I felt him shudder and engorge. I was big. Loritz was bigger. Adio was a monster.

"Loritz only said that I would be pleased with you," I answered. His hand went to the back of my neck, which he massaged briefly but also gave me the feeling that he was about to guide my head to his lap.

I moaned and said, "I don't really think . . . here."

"I don't think so, either—unless I wanted it here, and then you would take it from me," he said, accompanied by his rich-toned laugh. "Not here. I just wanted to check where we stand."

"Where we stand?" I asked.

Again the laugh. "I don't think we'll be standing—unless, of course, you want to. I can do it that way too. I want to know if you will blow me, if you will take my cum in your throat. Will you do it all? We like to do it all here in Jamaica."

"Yes, of course," I said. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever will get you off," he said.

"That too."

He flashed me a big smile, turned the motor on—and thank god the motor sounded quite prepared for a drive—and put the car into gear. He left his big slug of a cock hanging out as he drove me north, through the town, and up toward the mountains. He went flaccid, but his cock lay there, nestled across his thigh, big as a deep-sea slug. I started to fold myself back into my trousers, but he said, "No, leave it out for now. I want to see it."

Less than a half hour later, Adio was fucking me. When he'd cleared the outskirts of Kingston town, he pulled off the road on a track in the lush foliage.

"I want to know what you'll do for me—how much you want," he said.

This time when his hand went to the back of my neck, he did pull my face down into his crotch. I sucked his massive cock greedily, not being able to deep throat it, but giving that a serious try. I took his cum in my throat. Then, while he was building another hard, he sucked me off—expertly and efficiently—holding my wrists with his fists and taking all of me deep in his throat and sucking me vigorously until I cried out and came.

The taxi was small, but he then showed that he could fuck me in the front seat. He apparently had a lot of practice doing it. He had my back pressed into where the edge of the passenger seat met the door panel. He had one beefy arm encasing my waist and lifting my pelvis up to him, and he had his knees pushed into the driver's seat, his cock in my passage, and the springs in both seats serenaded us as he fucked me and fucked me and fucked me. I alternated from grasping his buttocks to hold him inside me and running my hands through the thick, beaded dreadlocks swirling around his head as he worked my ass.

"Are you satisfied?" I asked when he'd finished me.

"I am quite happy, yes," he said, with a grin. "Loritz did not lie."

After another twenty minutes of fondling and me lying back in the seat again for him to hand job me and take my cum in his mouth this time, we proceeded to Gordon Town, Adio exuberant and me purring, the best of intimate friends.

"Maybe this will be all we do on this tour," he said, as he started up the engine.

"If that's what you want," I answered. "If that's how you'd like to spend the time, that's what I'd like." He clearly liked that, because he was whistling happily to himself as we drove off.

* * * *

He told me that the café he was taking me to—not much more than a grouping of shacks with a palm-frond covered frame over everything—was a gay dive but that I wasn't supposed to let on that it was and that, although he didn't like it, he wouldn't touch me while we were there in the open and that I shouldn't touch him either. After what he had done to me on the taxi, that's all I wanted to do—to touch him, to have him inside me, to hold him inside me and to rock on his mammoth cock.

There wasn't much there to indicate to me that the clientele was gay, even though the few patrons there were men. If there had been women too, it obviously would be connected to a hetero brothel, Adio said. I only "got it" when I saw a white man rise from a table where he'd been alone and follow a strapping young black Jamaican into one of the huts. I could see into the interior of the hut from where I was sitting. Shortly after they entered, what I could see through the open door of the room into the dimly lit room were two pale legs raised and spread and the muscular back of a naked ebony-brown body between them. The mounds of the black man's buttocks were flexing and constricting and the toes on the feet of the white legs were scrunching open and closed as the black hips rocked down. The white guy's hands were gripping the bulging biceps of the young black bull. It was obvious that someone was getting fucked—a white man was being fucked by a young, black buck.

I turned to Adio to bring his attention to that tableau only to find that he was looking at me, smiling, obviously very much aware what I was looking at. Contrary to what he had told me, he moved a hand to my thigh, but only left it there for a second or two, stroking my thigh with his fingers.

"Yes, I will fuck you like that," he said. "Perhaps I should recommend some shops down this street to you and then we could go someplace, just the two of us, and I will mount and fuck you deep."

"Perhaps that sounds like a great idea," I said, taking the risk of reaching between us and wrapping my fingers around one of his thumbs—ever so briefly. He laughed. "I find the word 'mount' quite arousing," I added.

"I will mount, mount, mount you, and I will ride, ride, ride your ass," he said in a low, guttural voice. We both laughed.

I walked away from the café and over to an artisan's village Adio directed me to, which was a string—a long string—of open-air shanty stalls, opening out onto a walking deck—all made to look primitive and haphazard, but of course it wasn't. It was all gotten up for the tourists. There was little variety in the goods being offered. One shop was more or less like the next. Textiles or wood carving. Painted metal art, made from old metal drum covers, and art on canvas that would look original and colorful when you got it back to the States, but here looking like there was maybe a dozen designs, painted over and over and over again.

The vendors came out of their stalls to draw my attention, wheedling me to look at their wares. "Just a look, sir, madam, no obligation. Special price just for you." But Adio had told me what shop to look for and how I would recognize it—in a shack fronting the street rather than the simple stall that most of the shops were.