The Vacation House

Anticipation runs like an electric current from my brain to every cell in my body. The masterful ravaging of my tender puckered asshole by Tags surprisingly athletic tongue has me wanting much more than this attack upon my backside.

Seconds become torture as my vulnerable exposed hole goes on waiting, hoping for another surprise ambush. My mind continues to be focused on the forceful, unexpected attack. Frustration builds deep inside my bowels, my legs and arms tingle with discomfort due to the lack of circulation to my extremities. I attempt to raise my back, to rearrange myself into a more comfortable position yet I find I've been secured to the leather saddle in such a way as to prevent this. I lift my head, turning it with great difficulty just to catch a glimpse of Tags extremely well filled out worn jeans disappear.

God damn him! How the fuck dare he leave me like this? That son of a bitch convinced me into coming back to the trailer, as if he were my savior, my protector or something like that. No, that motherfucker just used me, brought me to the point that I am wishing he would take me, ravage me.

Heat rises within me, thundering beats of my heart are reverberated back into my chest from the smooth yet ungiving surface of the leather saddle. Pounding, thumping, pulsing, the rush of blood in my veins echoing into my ear drums drowns out all sound which should be coming to my brain. Anger builds, I squirm ever more futile. The damned saw horse had been secured to the floor so well that it will not budge.

The only thing I find as a positive during this humiliating act is that the contour of the smooth, well worn leather does not irritate my exposed flesh. As a matter of fact, there is a sort of intoxicating scent that rises from my leather support. A mix of tannic acid, saddle soap and musk from the beasts this riding device had been strapped too.

The shuffling of Tags boots on the hall floor sends chills from the tail of my spine up to my skull. Anger slips away from me as another bout of anticipation floods it's way from my dangling semi hard dick and balls, right to the place in my brain that registers reaction over reason.

Goose bumps materialize over every exposed surface of my flesh. White hot flashes of light cause me to become temporarily blind. Tags footsteps become louder, closer, I feel the smooth worn denim of his old 501's as they brush along my thigh, along the side of my upturned ass cheek. It continues a tormenting passage as they massage the side of my sore torso. He moves slightly toward the wall, his lack of contact no longer send signals of security. I am left untouched, lonely even though I know he is just inches away from me, but where? Greater is the burning question, why? My mind races as if a rabbit on a dirt track, being chased by a pack of angry dogs, all with one thing on their mind, kill!

The feeling of a taught fabric being bound across my face, darkness envelopes me. The tightness of the opaque material being tied into a knot causes momentary panic. I raise my blindfolded face and begin to yell in protest only to be met with a forceful stuffing of a large wadded cloth between my open lips, past my teeth, it forces my tongue to lay flat and useless at the bottom of my mouth.

The pungent, acrid smell burns into my nostrils triggers the visual image in my minds eye that Tag has jammed a pair of his filthy, sweat laden underwear into my gaping mouth. The aching of my jaw becomes less acceptable by the second, that is until the lightest, most gentle touch to my arched back is felt.

Tags fingers ever so delicately trace circular patterns upon my heavily perspiring flesh. Never does his touch become insistent, never menacing, always gentle almost lovingly, it brings my sexual attention back into focus.

With the stiffening of my penis, rubbing against the well worn leather saddle, the unobstructed air as it gently flows between my parted legs. My tight bubble butt cheeks relax momentarily, cooler wafts of air find their way between my partially separated ass cheeks until it tickles and causes twitches of my tight holes puckered lips. The feeling of space between my face and Tags body is noticeably lessening. I feel the gentle rub of the fade blue fabric and the massive hardness it covers. Again my sense of smell takes my mind to visualize the thin well worn denim fabric straining to keep from tearing to sheds as muscle and flesh grow to absurd proportions beneath its normally relaxed fibers.

I had never noticed the particular scent that invades my nostrils. Maybe it is a mixture of the sweat from Tags balls and ass crack that has soaked into the cotton fabric of his underwear, jammed into my mouth or the sweet aroma and, salty air smell that it is mixed with.

Visions in my head bring me back to my childhood in southern Rhode Island. The salty air smell that I had taken for granted all of those years floods back to me in a rush of nostalgic sentiment mixed with a sense of missing and loss. Tears fill my eyes but are quickly absorbed by the blindfold. My sinuses begin to run, a little bit escapes my nostril as I feel it quickly find it's way into the line that forms at the corner of my mouth.

"Now, it is your turn. If you truly want me, desire me and no one else, be honest, tell me what your heart desires Kemosabie."

Tags words break the silence and my minds wandering. His statement is obviously made with a poor attempt at a Hollywood take on a native Americans accent. No matter, I understand what he is saying and what he is asking of me. Still blindfolded and bound to the mounted horse saddle, I raise my head as high as possible. Feeling the large bulge begging to be concealed beneath its denim captivity, my face rubs up and down along the contoured surface. From deep within my throat, the sound of acknowledgement penetrates the silence of a Tags bedroom.

Fingers fumble at the knot which has been tied a bit too tightly behind my head until light floods back into view. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, for clarity to return and my senses again adjust to my bearings.

Tags large, calloused hands take my face and lifts it up until I am able to look into the depth of his eyes. There is a little reflection of tear but it does not materialize. He bends forward, I feel the gentle touch of his lips as they brush along my glistening, sweaty forehead.

The man before me drops to his knees, his body shudders, his hands move from my face and come together behind the nape of my neck. He moves his lightly stubbled jawline along side my left cheek until his mouth barely touches my ear. Hot breath blows into it as he exhales. His tongue gently flicks at the end of my earlobe, again my body is covered in goose bumps and my hardened cock becomes so greatly bloated that I am sure it is about to rip apart at its circumcised scar.

The smooth surface of the leather saddle radiates heat of its own, adding to my sexual heights. Tingling runs down my spine, causes my legs to become weak and nearly collapse. Tags gentle, slow moving fingers trace each vertebrae along my spine as it struggles against the hard muscles on each side. His fingers widen as they approach the small of my back. Each digit explores its own domain as they approach the top cleft where my protruding boulder butt cheeks melt into the deep V shape of my lower back muscles and the bumps of vertebrae disappears beneath the two mountains of flesh covered muscle mass.

The exploration of Tags fingers come to a slow crawl, his late day stubble covered cheek moves back until his lips touch mine.