Online user names in this story are fictitious; any similarity to real app user names are strictly coincidental. This story contains a scene of MMF group sex. If this is a turn-off for you, you might want to avoid this story.
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The memories of my previous encounters barely faded before I found myself filtering through a number of chats and requests on the hook-up app. There were the usual demands for cocksucking favours from guys who thought they were straight, a few looking to fulfil fetishes that didn't interest me, and a few profiles without pictures. Of these, the first category intrigued me most, and I thought I might just try giving a unilateral blowjob, but then I saw a message from an individual living just a few kilometres away and he seemed to make his demands with purpose and security.
TopMan_67's profile had ten pictures of his body on it, more than enough to get a good idea of what he looked like from the neck down. He had a fleshy ass, but not fat. His cock was a handsome tool, cut and probably about seven or eight inches. He was hairy around the genitals and the armpits, but the rest of his body hair was sparse. He had a wiry build, with little fat; his arms and legs were muscular, but not bulky.
From the rest of his profile, there was more to be gleaned. For instance, he listed my hometown as his place of residence and he was only a couple of years older than me. Clean and disease-free and expecting the same. Discretion expected and assured. His preferences were simple enough: fucking and sucking. He was a top.
He was very clear about what he was looking for too: he wanted me to give up his mouth and his ass to him for an hour or two while he spent himself inside me two or three times. There would be no expectation of reciprocation. When he was done with me the first couple of times, he might want me to blow him again.
Somehow, I found the idea of submitting to this man very appealing.
We entered chat and the talk was normal enough. The discussion was very matter of fact, but there was nothing there to worry me. He wasn't pushy and didn't probe for personal information. There was no serial killer vibe. When I was comfortable, we used our real names—his was Rory—and we agreed to meet, exchanging photos of our faces for recognition purposes. He was a reasonably handsome, normal-looking guy.
The meeting was set for the next morning at nine-thirty in the park.
Rory was sitting with his morning coffee on a bench near the baseball diamond. In the pandemic age, discretion was supported by the wearing of masks, an advantage to someone like myself who wanted to keep a low profile, but no help when it came to identifying a near-complete stranger. I boldly placed myself before him and said his name in a questioning tone, wanting to be sure.
He nodded and said my name, lowering his mask so I could recognize him.
"Yes," I said. "It's me." I too slipped my mask down.
We didn't shake hands, keeping up the appearance of good citizens social distancing. He gestured for me to sit down. We even put some space between us on the wide park bench and chatted through our masks.
We talked about the weather, local politics and the recent landscaping of the park over the next few minutes until Rory redirected the conversation to our purpose.
"You seem okay," he said. "Are you ready to come back with me to my place and let me use you for my pleasure?"
I nodded, but he told me to use my words. I told him I was ready to be used by him. He nodded.
I had walked to the park, but Rory had driven, so I followed him to his car.
"It's a five-minute drive," Rory said, as we settled ourselves in the vehicle. "So, we'll wait until we get back to my place to get you started on me."
I took this to mean that he would have liked me to blow him on the drive if it had been worthwhile, and the thought of taking a man in my mouth while I might be seen by other drivers and passengers made my cock squirm. I wondered if I would ever have the courage to let myself be watched with a man, but I dismissed the idea wholesale as too risky and indiscreet. I was taking enough chances on exposure already.
Rory kept the conversation going during the drive back to his place. He was out to his wife as a bisexual and she knew about his meetings with other men. He said she was sometimes even turned on by his description of those events and liked to join in. I envied him that openness. I kept my bisexuality strictly secret from everyone, but most especially secret from my wife; I knew her well enough to know that she would not have accepted my experiences with men as anything but adultery. She wasn't wrong and I always felt bad about this, but I had needs I could not deny and I had no way to fulfil them inside my marriage. My intention was to save my wife from hurt by remaining secret and discreet.
We arrived at Rory's place, a spacious-looking bungalow on a good-size lot. He led me inside. We kicked off our boots and hung up our coats and I followed him into the living room, where we sat on a very comfortable couch. The room was nicely appointed with antique furniture, framed prints and some cut flowers, showing a woman's touch. The large bookcase was bursting with volumes and I wondered if Rory was some kind of academic, perhaps a professor at the local university. There was a fireplace and a portrait of Rory and his wife hung over the mantel.
"I'm not sure what you're used to," Rory said. "But I'm not the type to buy you dinner first. It's time to get on your knees."
That was considerably less of a warm-up than I was used to after my last two hook-ups. King and Tom had both enjoyed considerable foreplay before taking my mouth. I didn't mind, though; my nerves had been jangling since I walked up to Rory in the park. I had noticed in past encounters that my anxiety faded once the sex began.
I hauled my ass off the couch and planted myself on my knees between Rory's legs. He looked pleased at my easy compliance. I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly before pulling his pants and underwear down out of the way, exposing his already standing cock. I envied him the ease with which he achieved that erection. My own boners were usually at least half inspired and sustained by Viagra these days, but there had been no opportunity for Rory to take a little, blue pill since I met up with him.
I had one of those pills in my pocket for myself if it was needed, but since Rory had been clear he intended no reciprocation of my efforts, I figured I probably could have just left it at home.
I was used to starting a blowjob by tongue-bathing all around the cock and balls but Rory clearly instructed me to get right to work on his dick.
"Does my prick look like it needs to be taken out dancing first? Give my cock a good licking, then get on there and suck it dry."
I missed the foreplay a little: taking my time through the tastes and the odours of the groin turned me on. Just the same, I found myself responding to Rory's commands. I had agreed to be a pair of holes for his use and I was bound by that. I was turned on by his assertiveness.
I held his penis by the root and leaned in, repeatedly licking the length of his rod as ordered. He sighed in pleasure and I knew I was doing my job right. I wrapped my tongue over the shaft and dragged it several times around the fleshy pole in long spirals. When I had licked his dick extensively, I closed my mouth over the glans of his penis and began to suck and nuzzle it gently, swirling my tongue around the sensitive knob.
"Aaaahhh, that's it. Now you're doing a good job, cocksucker."
I liked to be called a cocksucker while I worked on a man's dick. I redoubled my efforts. I inhaled his cock until the tip touched my tonsils, and then I backed off and began nodding against him. I used my hand to jack him in tandem with my sucking rhythm.
"Yes, you're workin' it. Don't worry, I'll have a nice white load for you soon. The first one doesn't usually take too long to tease out and I've been saving it up for a week."
I fixated on earning that load. I continued wanking him in time to my blowjob, and after a few minutes of scratching his thighs lightly, I turned my other hand to massaging his balls. They were full and hard. When I traced my fingers down below his balls and over his taint, he groaned; when I began to squeeze my finger between his ass-cheeks and pressed hard against his hole, it was all over.
"Take it, cocksucker." Rory forced the words through gritted teeth before his whole body shuddered, his dick shivered and my mouth filled with his creamy, thick ejaculate. I savoured the bitter, sweet and salty load before dutifully swallowing it. I didn't let up on sucking him just then, perceiving it as my responsibility to leave his cock clean and dry as I found it. I was some minutes licking up the residue of his orgasm and when I was done, I gently blew his cock dry of my saliva.
"Fuck, that was a good blowjob," Rory said. "For that, you get a reward. How do you feel about a twelve-year-old Scotch on the rocks?"
It was still only perhaps ten-thirty a.m., so quite a bit earlier than I would normally consider a drink, but I was tired and warm from my exertions, a little intoxicated by the act I'd performed and the semen I'd swallowed and I was thirsty. I was also partial to Scotch. I accepted his offer.
Rory got up and pulled up his pants, zipping and buttoning them. He didn't bother to buckle his belt. I was almost surprised to realize that we were both still fully dressed. I felt satisfied sexually even though I had not received any sensual favours myself. There was a warmth in my cock and I realized I had been hard while blowing Rory with no help from my Viagra.
Rory made the drinks and it occurred to me that I should be distrustful of a drink from a man who was a complete stranger beyond our intimacy of a few moments before. I tried to reason this through. I had already blown him; I mean, why should anyone intoxicate someone who is perfectly compliant with their sexual demands? It wasn't perfect reasoning, but I was realistic when I assessed myself a fifty-year-old, out-of-work cream puff: not a likely candidate for a kidnapping for ransom or a sale into a white slave market.
I shrugged to myself and took the drink, savouring its bite. It burned fiercely on the way down my throat. It was fantastic.
Rory and I sat and chatted for a little bit about ordinary things, some of which was inspired by the objects displayed in the room. Our drinks were served in Waterford crystal from Ireland, the land of Rory's forebears. He had a photograph on his bookshelf with a picture of him with a former Canadian prime minister and we both laughed because neither of us had voted for him.
I eventually pointed to the portrait of him and his wife, and complimented her appearance. She was a Rubenesque beauty; the sensuality of her curves, rolls and big breasts was matched in her facial features. She was pretty, but half-closed pre-Raphaelite eyes and full, swollen lips infused a deeply sensual look on her face that added to her allure. I would have bet safe money she was a good fuck.
Maybe my eyes lingered a little too long on Rory's wife's picture. He didn't seem offended, but rather pleased, even amused.
"Would you like to meet her?" Rory asked.
"Uh, well, I..." I was tongue-tied. Do I want to meet the wife of the man I just sucked off? In most circumstances, the answer would be a definite 'no', but my attraction for her, coupled with the effect of the Scotch and the fact that I badly needed to get off, made me think twice.
"You know, she's asleep in the bedroom. Just the other side of that wall."
