| Gay: BDSM: Sqeezed Tight Part 1 (1/5) |
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We were squeezed in close together in a booth in the shadows of the noisy, smoke-fogged bar. This wasn’t really my kind of place, but Chris had suggested it as a place to meet for our first look at each other. At least it was conveniently located in the same block as my office building. We had conversed for some time on a chat line and had become more explicit in maybe hooking up when we discovered we lived near the same city. I had honed in on him because he said he was in his early twenties and preferred more experienced men in their thirties who were still in good condition and were interested in topping younger men. That pretty much defined me. I got really interested when he said he’d been drawn to my profile because I had listed myself as nine inches. I had lied in that; I actually was nine and half inches, but if I’d told the truth few would have believed my claim. And then I was hooked when he revealed that he was mildly interested in bondage. So, here we were, scoping each other out in person. He proved to be a lithe, but well-muscled and model-handsome blond with rather nervous mannerisms. He was wearing a designer T-shirt and low-slung worn jeans and looked very much the early twenties that he had claimed to be. I was wearing brown, casual pants, a close-fitting off-white dress shirt and a camel-tan jacket with leather elbows, and I could tell that he was pleased with what he saw when he was first guided to the table. We engaged in small talk for a bit while we waited for a waiter, with me creeping ever closer to him along the vinyl bench. I was up close to him, with my arm around him and my fingers stroking one of his nipples through his shirt when he zeroed in on the question of whether I really was nine inches. When I told him the truth, I could feel him trembling under the palm of my hand. He expressed disbelief, and I gave him permission to find out himself, right then and there. His hand went to my fly below the table surface, and he lowered the zipper to my pants and rolled out my hose. I could hear the intake of breath and feel his tremors increase as he found out that I had told the truth. The waiter appeared, a pert young man, short of stature, but very well built and with freckles and golden-red hair that would have hung to his shoulders if he didn’t have it tied up in a pony tail. He could tell in an instant what Chris and I had going on under the table top, but this was that kind of bar, so he just gave me a shy little grin as he took our orders. Chris ordered a domestic draft beer, and I ordered a martini. As soon as the waiter disappeared, Chris sank under the table and had the head of my dick between his lips. He ran his tongue around my glans, at the rim and pushed at my piss hole with the tip of his tongue. After a bit of this, with my cock responding by beginning to harden, he took in about four inches of me and squeezed his mouth tight over my rod. It was time for me to show him what I expected. I wrapped my legs around his back tight and grabbed his head on both sides with my hands. I held him |
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