Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
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Copyright ©2011 by Ryan Field First published i...
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
loveyoudivine www.loveyoudivine.com
Copyright ©2011 by Ryan Field First published in 2011, 2011 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
CONTENTS About the Author Other LYD Titles ****
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
Scanning, uploading and/or distribution of this book via the Internet, print, audio recordings or any other means without the permission of the Publisher is illegal and will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. **** This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and characters are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental Another Regular Bud Copyright(C)2011 Ryan Field His and His Kisses Edition Cover art and design by Dawne Dominique All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation **** Published by loveyoudivine Alterotica 2011 Find us on the World Wide Web at www.loveyoudivine.com 4
Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
Another Regular Bud By RYAN FIELD
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
There's nothing like a real man, and a smutty, sexy pair of black high heels
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When I pulled into Bob's service station, I passed the gas pumps and parked head on against one of the open garage doors. My legs were sore, and my feet were pulsing. I'd just come from football practice, and it was warmer than usual for that time of year. It wasn't a serious football team, and I wasn't a serious football player. Just a group of guys I'd know in college who liked to get together and toss a ball around outside a gym after work. Though I'd showered with the guys after practice, all I wanted to do was go home and plop on the sofa. But I'd been having troubles with the car, and I didn't want to let the situation get worse. It was the end of October, and I had a busy weekend coming up and didn't want to deal with car problems. Earlier that afternoon, I'd done something extremely out of character: I'd stopped at a small erotic boutique to pick up a pair of six-inch black leather stilettos. Though I'd never done drag before, my best friend had talked me into going to a costume party that Halloween weekend as one of the characters from the movie Burlesque. Not any one character in particular. I was just going for theme this time. I'd already ordered a sexy, slinky lace and leather outfit from an erotic website and a short blonde wig from another. A good female friend was going to help with the make up and fake fingernails. But I'd been worried about ordering the high heels online and figured it was better to go out and buy them in person to make sure they fit well. I didn't want to walk 7
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around in pain all night. And to my surprise, the high heels I bought fit almost as well and were almost as comfortable as my old black boots, even with my black socks. Before I turned off the ignition, I pulled off the high heels and threw them in the back seat. The saleswoman had warned me it was a good idea to get used to them before I wore them that weekend. So after football practice, I decided to wear them on the drive home. When I pulled up to red lights and stopped beside other cars, I couldn't help laughing at what they would have done if they'd known the nicelooking, straight-acting guy in the car next to them was wearing black six-inch stilettos. I didn't want anyone in the service station to see me driving around in high heels, so I tossed them over my shoulder, and they landed on the floor in the backseat. Then I put on my conservative black leather Prada half boots and climbed out of the car to see about getting the engine checked out. "Hey, Brad," the mechanic said with a throaty footballplayer voice. He was teasing me, and we both knew it. "What can I do for you today?" Then he smiled and lugged a massive truck tire into the boiling hot garage. His biceps bulged; a thick vein in his neck stuck out. It was so hot, small beads of sweat trickled down the sides of his rugged, chiseled face, and I felt my heart skip a beat. But I wasn't in the mood to joke around. Though I didn't frown or sneer, I shoved my hands into my pockets and clenched my fists. Then I forced a smile. I was a regular customer at his gas station and had been signing the credit 8
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card receipts "Rick Johnson" for at least three years...he knew damn well my name wasn't Brad. But he'd always said I reminded him of Brad Pitt, the actor. I know it was a compliment; I know I should have been ready to fling back a quick, light-hearted reply. But I didn't think I resembled Brad Pitt in the least, and I usually laughed it off knowing he meant no harm. "It's Rick," I said, with a polite smile, clenching my fists even tighter. Though I knew he'd been married to a woman at one time and had three teenaged daughters and was now divorced, I'd always suspected that he'd been interested in me. Whenever I pulled into the station to get the tank filled, there'd be a naughty glint in his steel blue eyes, and then an offhanded remark about "shoving the nozzle in and filling her up." He'd cater to me when it wasn't necessary by cleaning the windshield or checking the tire pressure, leaving other customers waiting in line. It was nothing overt or too obvious, just enough to make me wonder what was really on his mind. "Sorry, Rick, it must be the blond hair, the dark tan and the great body. I honestly thought Brad Pitt just walked toward me." He set the huge tire down and looked me up and down the way he usually did. "Very funny," I replied, noticing the way his thick biceps seemed to burst from his blue short-sleeve work shirt. You couldn't miss biceps like that: they rounded like canned hams. He always wore a blue button-down work shirt, stained with grease, with a white name tag above the left pocket that had the name "Bob" embroidered in bold red letters. His navy short pants were always loose, hanging just below his waist, 9
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as though one swift tug would bring them down to his ankles. He had a slight paunch but nothing that would turn anyone off. If anything, it added to his general, masculine sex appeal. He winked and gave me a light punch in the arm. "Don't get mad, bud. You know I love 'ya." "I hope so, because I did something stupid this week." Then I went on to explain that in order to save time, between client appointments, I'd gone to one of those quick-service oil-change places, and they'd forgotten to put the oil cap back on the engine. By the time I'd noticed, even though I went back and got the cap, oil had sprayed all over the engine belts, causing an awful screeching, squealing noise when I started the car. I hadn't lost much oil, but I wanted to stop the noise and make sure the car hadn't been damaged. I was embarrassed to admit that I'd gone somewhere else and still kicking myself for actually taking my beloved vintage Jaguar XJ6 to one of those quick-change places. He laughed, but he wasn't mad. "That's what happens when you don't come to me first, bud." He looked me up and down again, this time with his lips pursed. "I consider you my favorite customer." "I know," I said, experiencing a huge wave of guilt. "You are the best, and I'm begging your forgiveness, on my hands and knees. I know it's late, but I'm really worried. I'd hate to think this will affect the engine forever." He stopped working for a moment and sent me a glance. "Well, I certainly can't refuse you if you're on your hands and knees. That would be wrong." 10
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I ignored that comment. Though I did enjoy the attention, I had a rule about not getting involved with straight guys like Bob. They weren't looking for anything serious, and I was. "I promise. I'll do anything you want," I said, flirting with him. I knew it was wrong to flirt; I couldn't help myself. When I wasn't around him, I put him out of my mind like I did with most of the other men that flirted with me. But when I was around him, he attracted me in a way that crept painfully close to complete submission. And I didn't like feeling that way; I'd never liked losing control in any situation. "Soon as I'm finished putting the tire on this truck, I'll take a look at it, sweetie," he said, putting lug nuts on the wheel to secure the tire. When he didn't call me bud, he called me sweetie. And I wasn't sure I liked it. I'd just come from football practice. I had season tickets to baseball games in New York. And I'd never swished, curtsied, lisped, or swooned around him. On the one hand, it caused a slight thrill in my pants. On the other, I felt like standing taller and squaring my shoulders. But I ignored it this time; I needed to get that car checked out and flirting wasn't above me. "I appreciate this. I'll wait in the office." I even lowered my eyes, flung him a seductive glance, and tapped my fingertips against his sweaty forearm. "Wait in the back office today, bud. I'm going to lock everything up soon, close the place, and turn off the outside lights as soon as I get your car into the garage. I don't want anyone else coming in today." "No problem," I said. Then I turned and started walking slowly to the office. I could feel his eyes on my back. I was 11
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wearing tight low-rise jeans that day, and I made sure I added a slight swagger to my step. At one point, I thought I heard him whistle back. But I didn't even give him a backward glance. I'd learned that it was always best to keep the big, strong ones like him on a tight leash. The more I rejected him, the more I knew he'd want me. And though I wasn't going to take him seriously, I wasn't above playing harmless games. The back office was located behind the main reception area, a dingy, grimy, hole of a place. Bob, who was about thirty-seven years old, had inherited the small family garage from his father and hadn't made any changes at all. It was only a small room with hideous dark paneling, grease-stained, asbestos-tiled floor, and several nude girly calendars thumb tacked to the back of the door. I almost laughed out loud. One of the girls in one photo was wearing my black leather and lace Halloween costume. And it wasn't easy to laugh in a room that hadn't been aired...or cleaned...in years, but there was a small window air conditioner that made the temperature bearable. I sat down on a metal chair that was covered in dark green vinyl and crossed my legs. The chair was right in front of a large oak desk that had so many loose papers and receipts, I couldn't see the desktop. I could hear the sound of cars being moved around and doors being quickly opened and then closed. A moment later, Bob appeared in the doorway with a huge grin. "I just put your car on the lift. But I closed up, and you can't get out unless I let you out, sweetie." 12
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"I feel like a prisoner," I said, looking him directly in the eye. "Should I be worried?" I knew I couldn't have been anywhere safer. I knew there wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for me. And I couldn't stop smiling about this. "No way, sweetie. You just make yourself comfortable, and I'll check out the car. There's a small refrigerator over in the corner, next to the desk. Help yourself to a cold drink or a beer. And don't sit in that chair. Sit behind the desk. It's more comfortable." "Thanks, that's nice," I said, as I watched him turn and lope back to the garage in his wrecked work boots. I read a few magazines and checked my phone messages. I texted a friend and played a game. Time passed quickly, and before I knew it, Bob was shouting, "C'mon on in here for a minute, and I'll show you the problem." When he shouted, his throaty voice went even deeper. Feeling inferior because I knew nothing about auto mechanics...I was a rookie sales rep for a pharmaceutical company, just out of college...I stood up and walked over to where Bob was standing in the garage. I smiled and leaned against the fender and peered into the engine, pretending I knew what I was looking for. "Did I fuck it up?" I finally asked, unable to wait for Bob to speak first. "Did those idiots ruin my car forever?" How I loved that car. It was a dark blue Jag XJ6, with light cream leather and burlwood trim. It was ten years old. I'd bought it from the original owner a year earlier. The only reason he wanted to sell was because he wanted the newer design. 13
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There didn't seem to be any expression at all on Bob's face. He lowered his voice and said, "Come here and get in front of me. Lean over, and I'll show you what's wrong and why you've been hearing a screeching noise." He'd always flirted with me. But he'd never been this aggressive, and we'd never been alone this way. I wasn't sure what to do. "Can't you just tell me what's wrong?" I asked, taking a step back. "You're the expert, and you know more about these things than I do. I'm an idiot when it comes to cars. The only thing I know is how to start a car and go." He came closer, set his palm on the small of my back, and guided me toward his body. "I'd like to explain it to you in depth." So I turned and stood in front of him, slightly leaning over the front fender. Bob slowly began to press his solid frame against my back. My heart started to beat faster and my legs felt weaker. He was firm, but gentle, pinning me to the side of the car. I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck; I could smell his masculine scent of worn aftershave and perspiration. Though I thought his flirting had always been harmless and I hadn't expected him to make any moves on me, I knew what was happening, and I didn't protest. The harder he leaned against me, the softer my voice grew. And then, in a bold move, he pressed his lips against my left earlobe, pricking the back of my neck with stubble from his heavy, dark beard, and spoke in a stage whisper. "Look at the belts. There's oil splattered all over them. That's all that's wrong. I sprayed some belt dressing on them and the noise should work itself out eventually." He kissed me again and 14
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drew a breath. "It might take some time. But you'll just have to live with it for a while. There's no serious damage done, though." I exhaled; I'd been holding my breath. "Oh, I see," was all I could say. I was still pinned to the car by his strong body, ready to fall limp from the sound of his deep voice. I felt his rock of an erection through his navy shorts, and I arched my back without even thinking about it. He placed both of his large hands on my waist and said, "Damn, you smell great. Like a bar of soap. I could fucking rip your clothes off right now." He was still whispering, now gently bucking his hips against the backside of my jeans. I'd always imagined his dick would be thick and chunky...more than a mouthful. But this was wrong. I couldn't do this. I didn't want to get involved with a divorced man, especially a divorced man in a small town who wasn't openly gay. Though I didn't wear my sexuality on my sleeve and wasn't fond of loud, noisy gaypride events, I did have my own sense of pride, and I had been openly gay since college. So I slowly began to wiggle, turning my body around so I could face him. I was planning to get out from under his grip. But in seconds, my palms were pressed against his powerful chest, and I was caressing him gently with my fingertips. Though I'd fantasized about it often, I'd never been with a man like this, not a real man with a hairy chest and rough stubble. The guys I'd always dated were other gay guys like me: well-trimmed and manicured, far too educated for their own good and usually too judgmental. 15
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"I like the way you smell, too." I drew a deep breath and whispered this into his chest. It was the aroma of a man who'd worked hard that day, a combination of grease and gasoline and sweat, with subtle undertones of cheap, spicy drugstore aftershave. And there was beer on his breath, which only made it better. "C'mon," he laughed, gently kissing my neck, "I stink like old sweat socks and dirty underwear. I was afraid you might be disgusted." I reached up with my right hand and ran my fingers through the back of his head, caressing him with gentle strokes. I had a feeling he'd like this; he seemed like the type who liked being babied a little. "No you don't. Like I said, I think you smell fantastic. I like the smell of a real man." He slapped my ass and then said, "Sweetie, I always suspected you were really hot stuff in bed and that you liked it rough and dirty." He grabbed my ass and squeezed it hard. "You come off as a tight-ass. But deep down, I knew you'd be very receptive." I lowered my hand and started to scratch the back of his neck. When I did this, he bucked forward and pinned my ass to the fender. "Oh really?" I said, as he placed both of his massive grease-stained hands on my small waist, pulling me closer to his erection. "I always thought you'd be kind of average in bed." I was surprised at how he could make me smile and feel sexy at the same time. Usually I'm more reserved...if not apprehensive. "Oh yeah, I'll show you who's average in bed. I've been watching you for a long time now. Maybe I shouldn't say this, 16
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but I've even jacked off thinking about you. You're fucking hot and you know it." Then he slid both large hands under my white button-down shirt and began to pinch my nipples with his grimy thumbs and index fingers. I was certain he'd leave dark smudges all over my smooth, clean chest. But I didn't stop him. "So the car is going to be okay?" I asked, as I lowered my hands and popped the button of my jeans and invited him into my pants. "The car will be fine," he said, lowering his hands down my back, shoving them down the back of my pants. "Damn, your ass is so smooth and firm." "I don't usually do things like this," I said, arching my back so his hands would be free to slide around. "I'm usually a lot harder to get. We've never even dated." "But we're not strangers," he said. Then, with his hands still deep in my pants, he grabbed my ass with both hands and spread it apart. We weren't strangers. But I wanted to tease him a little. "We should stop now. We could get caught. Suppose someone walked in on us and found you with your hands down my pants?" "Fuck them," he said. His head went down and he licked my neck. "You want it, don't you?" I said, slowly losing my inhibitions. My arms were around his shoulders; he felt so warm and strong. "You're on fire, aren't you?" "Oh yeah," he moaned, now sliding his thick middle finger into the crack of my ass. He stopped at the opening, slowly 17
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began to circle and then quickly inserted his finger all the way. "Oh yeeees!" I moaned, "deeper, don't be afraid to get rough." "I'm gonna make that pretty ass mine, top it off just like an empty gas tank," he said, slowly inserting another dirty finger. "Deeper," I moaned, "yes, deeper, harder." I even surprised myself with this line. I'd never begged a man before. "You like dick?" he asked. He removed his finger. "Oh yeah," I replied. Then I stepped out of my pants and spread my legs as wide as I could. "What's the story with those high heels in the backseat?" he asked with his deep, raspy tone. "I can't believe you saw them. I thought I threw them on the floor." He laughed. "Well, one landed on the seat. I couldn't help noticing it." Then he slapped my ass hard. "What are they for?" I took a quick breath, sorry I'd been so careless. "A Halloween costume I'm wearing this weekend. I've never done drag...I don't do drag. This is a joke a friend talked me into doing. I'm going as a burlesque queen." I felt the need to explain it in more detail, so he didn't think I was into women's clothes all the time. You never know. "Put them on," he said. I sent him a glance. "Seriously. You want me to put them on right now?" I'd never done anything like this before with a 18
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man. I'd once worn a pair of black lace panties for a guy who was into that sort of thing but never high heels and never in a public place. He nodded. "I think they're hot. Put the high heels on." He was so excited about me wearing the high heels, he released me, leaned through the back window, and pulled the high heels out of the backseat himself. When he handed them to me, I hesitated for a moment. "You sure about this?" He nodded yes and pinched my nipples. I kicked my pants aside so there would be no distractions on the floor, while he watched with his bottom lip between his teeth. I was completely naked from the waist down. I slipped the six-inch black stilettos on to my feet and held his massive forearm for support. After that, I braced myself, looked up at him, and shrugged. He whistled back, slapped my ass, and said, "That is so fucking hot. Fuck. Your legs are so fucking smooth, bud." He leaned forward and ran his hand up and down my naked thigh. I took a step back, jumped up, and sat on the edge of the fender. Then I spread my legs and lifted them over his hairy forearms. He went down and started licking and biting the insides of my thighs, with my legs still over his arms, the high heels dangling in mid-air. He braced his hands against the fender and licked the bottom of my ass while I cradled his head in my palms and pushed it deeper between my legs. I arched my back and spread my legs wider so his warm tongue could reach my softest spots. At one point, when his 19
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tongue slid down the crack of my ass, I closed my eyes and started to moan. When he finally lifted his head, he kissed me on the lips and helped me get down from the fender very gently. "You are so damn soft," He whispered. "And you taste so damn good. This is so fucking hot." His dirty talk made me smile. I leaned into his warm body, and he wrapped his arms around me again. My arms went up; I held his broad shoulders and squeezed his muscles. "It does feel hot. I can't believe I'm standing here half-naked with a man who uses the word fuck in every other sentence, and I'm wearing nothing but high heels from the waist down. But it does feel hot." Then, without warning, he shoved two thick, greasestained fingers all the way up my ass, leaned over, and stuck his tongue down my throat. For a moment, I tried to push him away. His fingers hurt; I felt overwhelmed. But he only held me tighter and kissed harder. A minute later, he stopped kissing. "C'mon, baby," he said, pulling his fingers from my ass, "Let's go into the office, and you can spread those pretty legs again for me. I'll give you some dick you'll never forget." I knew this was more dirty talk; he wasn't really ordering me. I left my clothes on the garage floor and followed him into the office, with the high heels clicking against the greasestained concrete floor. He quickly closed the door, locked it, and began to remove my white shirt with a sense of desperation and hunger I'd never seen. His chest heaved and his eyes glared. 20
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In seeing how anxious he was to have me, I became totally submissive in a way that was out of character for me; I was ready to pleasure and fulfill his every wish. It was so different from the guys I usually dated, who always smelled like expensive cologne, were clean shaven and hated to mess their hair styles. No one had ever wanted me the way Bob did that afternoon. I loved it, too. The high heels made it even better. However, even though he stripped me naked right there in the office, he didn't bother to remove a stitch of his own clothing. Not even the heavy black leather boots with the steel toes. I wondered about that, but I'd already figured out that Bob liked to give directions, and I was determined to follow them. Fully naked except for high heels and ready to please Bob, I slowly went down on my knees (I tried to be seductive, arching my back and spreading my legs) and began to lick his zipper. And then, with my teeth, while holding his strong thighs for support, I began to lower the zipper. I was not even halfway down when his heavy, sweaty cock popped out through white boxer shorts and hit me in the face. It was about nine inches long and nearly as thick as a can of beans. With my left hand, I gently wrapped his cock in my palm and then reached into his shorts with the other hand and pulled out his ball sack. It was warm and furry, and I quickly took both balls into my mouth and began to gently suck on them. Bob spread his legs wide and began to moan. He was, I knew, one of those really butch guys that just loved to have someone suck their cock and balls. All they want to do is lay back while a soft tongue sucks and licks 21
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them into a state of bliss. The perfect match, we were, indeed: I was one of those guys who loved the taste of cock and balls, and I could suck and lick until my jaw went numb. "Suck my dick. Suck my big, dirty dick." Evidently, Bob liked dirty talk. So I took his dick in the palm of my right hand and gently began to circle the head with my tongue, gazing into his eyes the entire time. "Oh yeah, baby," he moaned, "put those lips around it. Get it all wet with that pretty mouth. Suck it, baby. Spread those legs and show me those high heels." I spread my legs and pointed my toes. I wrapped my lips around the head, hoping I could take it all and began to suck him off. By that point, I simply assumed my job was cocksucker for the horny straight guy. Just get naked, arch my back and get him off as quickly as possible. I didn't mind. Actually, I liked the thought of getting him off like that. And I made a point of letting him know by never taking his cock from my mouth, that I wanted his entire load to shoot down my throat. Either you like it or you don't. I happen to love the taste of come. Most of the time, men usually finished themselves off, and I have to lick up what didn't shoot across the room (sometimes they think it's an insult if they shoot down my throat). But I was certain I could get Bob off, swallow the whole load and leave that big gorgeous cock as clean as I'd found it in his pants. Well, to my shock, when Bob was all but ready to blast a load, he grabbed me by the hair, pulled his wet cock from my mouth, and said, "Get that pretty blond-boy ass up and lean over the desk. I gotta fuck that ass." 22
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Not exactly what I'd expected to hear from a divorced father of three teenage girls, but clearly not an order I could refuse. So I stood up, turned around and leaned over the paper-strewn desk. For a moment, I rubbed the right high heel against his hairy calf. I arched my back, spread my legs wide, and tried to make it as simple as possible for him to enter. "That's it. Just lean over and spread those pretty legs in those high heels real wide for me." He slapped my ass hard and inhaled. "You are one hot bitch." He then reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a selflubed condom and proceeded to slide it over his dick. "Hot fucking ass," he said as he reached down with his right hand and shoved a thick finger up my ass. "Fucking tight, too." After a few minutes of wonderful, magical finger fucking, he grabbed his dick, spread his legs and leaned back as though he were going to take a piss and shoved the head into my ass. Wearing the high heels made it easier for him to enter, my ass was just the right height, and he didn't have to strain at all. "Whoa," he moaned as he shoved the cock all the way in, "That feels like fucking satin or velvet." "Deep," I begged, "please, don't be afraid to really go deep." I never spoke this way with guys; I usually just let them do what they wanted and took what they gave me. But it seemed so natural with Bob. And he didn't seem to mind at all. 23
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"I knew it. I knew it when I saw you. You look all professional and businesslike, but deep down, I knew you liked it hard and dirty and rough. I've been wanting to fuck your brains out for a long time. Every time I see your ass walk away, I wanna fuck it. I'll bet you feel real sexy right now in those high heels, don't you?" I nodded and said, "Oh yes." "I bet you feel just like my little high-heeled slut, don't you?" "Fuck yes. I feel just like your slut." He leaned over and kissed the back of my neck, pushing himself inside me deeper. "You are my little high-heeled slut." I'd never been with a guy who liked to talk so much during sex. It was the biggest turn on I'd ever experienced. He began to ride me and pound me and nail me into the desk until I thought I'd go blind with ecstasy. Bob had a rhythm, a way of pulling the cock in and out, which hit all the right spots. While he fucked, he held my waist, guiding me the entire time. He'd slowly pull his cock out of my ass, to the point where the head was ready to pop, and then ram it back inside as hard as he could until I could feel the fabric of his short pants rubbing against my bare skin. When he was as deep as it was possible to go, he'd give me about ten short bangs that rattled my entire body. When he couldn't hold back much longer, he said, "Baby, I'm getting close. I'm gonna shoot a load real soon." "Me, too," I said as I held on to the desk. His fucking was even more intense. I could feel my own orgasm beginning to surface, and I didn't even have to touch my cock. That had 24
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only happened once before, when these three guys from New York gang banged me on a trash can once, behind a nightclub. It was one of those rare, drunken, sleazy nights that don't happen often. I was too drunk, too horny, and too willing to bend over for them. At the time, I never knew it would serve as one of the best sexual fantasies of my life. Bob began to pound harder, falling on top of me so that I was hopelessly pinned to the desk. "Fuck baby," he shouted, "here it goes. Fuck. Fuck." "Oh yes," I screamed, "me, too. Harder, fuck me harder." We both came together. And with his cock still deep inside, he fell on top of me, grunting and squeezing out the last drops of come he had to offer. He bit the back of my neck. "Man, baby, that was really nice. I needed that." "Me, too," I could have remained pinned to that old desk all night. "I hate to pull out...it feels so good in there." "Take your time. Whenever you're ready. It feels good." Of course, Bob didn't have a clue that I was squeezing my ass so that his cock wouldn't just pop out on its own. I liked it and wanted to hold onto it. My body was still filled with those quiet internal orgasms that happen after the climax, and I wanted to prolong this for as long as I could. "You know what I think?" he asked. "What?" "I think you might have to come back this week so I can top you off again. I also think you should bring those high 25
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heels, and I'll fuck you on your back next time and those high heels can dangle over my shoulder." I hadn't expected to hear that comment. "You want to do it again?" I asked with a hint of shock in my tone. Actually, I'd expected Bob to jump off my back like the three guys from New York, quickly shove his big cock back into his pants, and run to the bathroom so that I could remove the high heels and get dressed. "Maybe we can get a bite to eat tonight," Bob said, as he ran his rough hand up and down my naked thigh. "I wanna see you as much as I can." "I'm starved. That would be nice." I hadn't eaten all day, and the sex we'd just had left me longing for food. "This is the first good fuck I've had in a long time," he admitted, "I don't screw around much, and you don't have to worry about catching anything from me." "Me either. I mean, I'm no virgin, but I don't really screw around much, and when I do, I use condoms. I was just tested for HIV a couple of months ago and haven't been with anyone since." "Cool. Then the next fuck is bareback, on your back, with the high heels." I was surprised. He wanted this to continue. "Are you sure?" I still had trouble believing he wanted to see me again. He laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'm not all that open about all this. But I'm not an idiot either. I'm not letting you out of my sight. For the time being, if it's okay with you, that is, you don't see anyone but me." 26
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I liked the sound of that. I smiled and said, "Yes, it's okay with me, Bob." It was the last thing I expected to hear that day, but when he suggested he wanted something more serious and monogamous, a nice feeling passed through my entire body. "Just be patient with me. It's hard to come out and be open. But I'll never let you down." I reached back and rested my palm on top of his warm hand. I sent him a backward glance and smiled. "I won't let you down either." Then he quickly stood and his cock popped out with a jolt. He helped me rise to a standing position and set his hand on the small of my back. "Now cover that ass up, bud. It belongs to me."
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
About the Author Ryan Field is a fiction writer who has worked in publishing for over fifteen years. He has worked as an assistant editor and editor for magazines and non-fiction publishers. Aside from his novels, his short stories have been published in anthologies and collections by Alyson Books, Cleis Press and Starbooks Press. His short story, "Down the Basement," is part of a collection of short stories in the Lambda Award winning book, BEST GAY EROTICA 2009. He blogs at www.ryan-field.blogspot.com **** [Back to Table of Contents]
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
Other LYD Titles By Ryan Field **** Young Doughy Joey "Whatever, Dude" Capping The Season Vance's Flames Down The Basement Pumpkin Ravioli Boy A Regular Bud Strawberries and Cream at the Plaza Kevin Love's Cowboys Missing Jackson's Hole Sir, Yes Sir Down the Basement II: Santa Saturday Dirty Little Virgin Billabong Bang Jolly Roger You missed A Spot Big Guy Skater Boy Babycakes [Back to Table of Contents]
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Another Regular Bud by Ryan Field
loveyoudivine is dedicated to bringing you the finest erotic literature on the web. **** You are cordially invited to join us on a journey of sexual awakening and sensual passion. **** Visit us on the web at: loveyoudivine.com ****
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