RED RIGHT

Dominic Santi

 

 

 

 

 

You have a beautiful butt, Sir.”

I concentrated on my hand, thrusting again, waiting until Martin’s asslips snugged up tight around my wrist before I answered. “You think so, punk?”

“Yes, Sir,” he gasped, shivering appreciatively as I carefully turned my fist.

Martin’s hot young body was pure eye candy, especially when he was stripped down to just a leather harness, his combat boots, and the gold bar in his right nipple. I knew he was legal—I’d made him show me two IDs our first time together. But his curly brown hair and big brown puppy-dog eyes, and my knowing he worked as a bicycle messenger, kept me very aware of the sizeable difference in our ages.

I hadn’t restrained him this time. I wanted to see if he could hold himself in place with just a voice command. He’d made me proud. I pressed deep again. He groaned, gripping the chains suspending the sling. His legs were spread wide, his puffy asslips glistening under a heavy frosting of Elbow Grease. The room echoed with his guttural cries each time my fist slid over his prostate. His biceps strained, hard and sexy, as he held on, dripping sweat, his eyes closed tight.

I eased my hand out, quietly fingering him while he caught his breath. We’d been playing all evening. Martin’s low purrs told me he was getting tired. His soft cock rested contentedly on his belly. He never got hard when my hand was in him. As usual, my dick was so hard I hurt. I’d considered having him suck me off before we called it a night. But his comment got me thinking. I had an inkling this particular punk was not all bottom.

I moved to the side of the sling. Martin dropped one hand and tentatively reached toward me. When I nodded, he brushed his fingertips lightly over the smooth leather of my chaps. I tried to hide my shiver as his hand glided up my thigh and burned onto my hip. His fingertips were hot, the way I liked a man’s hand to feel sliding over my ass. Martin didn’t know it, but this particular daddy was not all top.

“Wow, Sir. Your skin feels great. Smooth and hard and kind of, you know, silky.” Martin blushed at the unaccustomed flowery words. His voice was a firm, steady tenor. He’d be able to do a lot with it when he learned how.

“You think so?” My eyes wanted to close, to sink into the sensation of those powerful fingers curling around my ass. Instead, I slowly worked my hand back inside him.

“Yes, Sir.” Martin breathed with my strokes for a while, clenching my asscheek instead of the chain. When I rested my hand, his fingers slid down into my crack. Touching. Feeling. Learning me. His fingertip brushed lightly over my asslips.

“Your ass is hot, Sir.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Martin had a firm, steady grip. And for the first time, his cock was filling with my hand inside him. I watched as his flesh grew harder and longer and redder than I’d imagined it could. His balls tightened as I almost imperceptibly turned my fist. I twisted, pumping slowly, rubbing his prostate and reveling in his groans. I shifted my weight, moving my left leg to the side, spreading my thighs for him. The cool air fluttered against my asslips as they kissed his fingertip. My own dick got painfully harder.

“So hot, Sir—unh!” Martin clutched my asscheek hard, staring wide-eyed as a translucent pearl oozed from his piss slit. He looked down at his dick like he couldn’t figure out who it belonged to.

“You like that?” I tried to keep my breathing steady and almost managed it.

“Yes, Sir,” he whispered, grinding his shoulders against the sling. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about my touching him, or his touching me. I didn’t think he knew.

Then his eyes widened as his brain registered what his fingers were feeling. I’d greased myself. I always did—a throwback to the old days. It was plain Vaseline. I hadn’t been fucked in years, and my dildos didn’t mind if the rubbers broke. My asslips could kiss against each other all evening as I fisted my unsuspecting bottoms.

But something flickered in this one’s eyes. As I curled my fist against his joyspot, another tear of precum leaked out of him. He grimaced, a cry breaking from his throat as his dick jerked. His whole body stiffened, clamping around my hand. In that same breath, Martin shoved three fingers up me, all the way to the knuckle. I arched forward, gasping at the pain and the burn and the unexpected stretch. The sensations rippled through my ass, and with no warning, my untouched cock spurted jizz onto Martin’s belly, the long white ropes mixing with his as he threw back his head and howled out his climax.

I leaned my forehead against a leg chain, willing myself to hold still, trying to catch my breath as my heart pounded in my ears. I couldn’t decide whether to beat Martin for his insolence or kiss him in relief.

He didn’t give me much chance to think. I was still panting when he pulled his fingers out of my ass and stroked my asscheek.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” he smiled, wiggling his butt at me and failing miserably to look repentant. “But I really want your ass. If I mind my manners, will you teach me?” He groaned as I took a deep breath and started carefully working my hand back out of him. “Please, Sir? Unh!”

“Let your body finish enjoying the trip,” I growled, pulling my fingers free. “There will be years and years for you to work this side of the fence.” His hole purred so appreciatively, I couldn’t be mad. My fingertips stilled as they kissed over his puffy lips. I took a deep breath. “Saturday night, punk. If this is what you want, I’ll be ready for you then.”

“Yes, Sir! I’ll be here, Sir!”

 

I’d resigned myself to being a top years ago. It seemed part of growing older, and I loved giving pleasure to other men. Deep inside I still saw myself as a slutty bottom. But no matter how I felt, the mirror still showed me a “mature” face. Short-cropped, steel-gray hair. Icy blue eyes. Sleek, black chest pelt touched with silver that rippled smoothly when I flexed. I prided myself on having maintained my physique, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I still had the body I’d had at twenty. Or thirty. Or even forty, dammit. My dick still looked good, though, nicely proportioned with a thick mushroom cap. My hand and I made sure it stayed in shape, even when I took a break from prowling the bars. And my balls hung lower now. I liked that—it made them look bigger.

My asshole was in fine shape, too. I treated it to a good workout with a dildo at least once a week. But I hadn’t been fisted in almost twenty years. And in all that time, I hadn’t called another man, “Sir.” I made a ritual of getting ready. On Saturday, I dutifully lubed up a small plug and stuffed it up my ass, switching to gradually larger ones as I spent the morning scrubbing the playroom until it was sterile enough for surgery. That afternoon, I went into the bathroom and cleaned out in a way I hadn’t done in a helluva lot of years either. Martin was due at 4:00. I finished up by putting on a plain white jock and the leather chaps he liked so well.

 

Martin was punctual, as usual. I recognized the sound of his boots on the sidewalk. This time, though, his sharp knock was decidedly arrogant. As I started to open the door, he barked, “Turn around and close your eyes!”

“Yes, Sir,” I smiled, obeying at once.

The door closed in back of me. His backpack thumped on the floor, amid a shuffling of clothing, zippers and snaps.

“Okay. You can look now.”

I did. My little bottom punk stood there wearing his boots, new chaps with a leather codpiece, and a new leather vest that showed off the shiny gold bars—in both his nipples!

He grinned as he saw where I was looking. “You like?”

“Very becoming,” I laughed.

“Thanks,” he blushed. “I wanted to do something to mark the occasion.”

I leaned forward, toward his chest, then caught myself. “May I, Sir?”

“Um, it’s still too sore to touch.”

“I’ll be careful, Sir.”

When he nodded, I bent my head and placed a gentle circle of kisses around the tender, swollen peak. I could almost taste his pride, in himself, and in the beauty of his proud, erect young nipple. I traced the outline of his pecs with my tongue, reveling in the sleek strength of his smooth, muscular chest and the light dusting of young fur. Then I turned my attention to his other nipple. I tugged lightly on the bar with my teeth. He gasped, his hips arching forward, his cock swelling as hard and fast as my own.

His hands didn’t come up to hold my head, though. Martin stood there, hands obediently at his side, the way I’d taught him. I realized I was going too fast. With a final kiss, I took his hands in mine, and dropped to my knees.

“Thank you, Sir.” I pressed my forehead to his hands. “You have beautiful nipples.”

“Thanks, Sir. Um, I mean, you’re welcome, S—I mean…” he stopped, flustered, breathing hard. “Give me a sec. I’m a little confused right now, S—Karl.” Martin moved one hand tentatively out of my grip and put it on top of my head. “Just wait a minute.”

“Yes, Sir.” His cock was pressing hard against the codpiece, right in front of my face. But I didn’t make a move toward it. He hadn’t given me permission. Besides, with an erection like that, I knew that sooner or later, he’d open the pouch. Eventually, his hands moved down, massaging my shoulders, my back. The lower they went, the more my asshole itched to be petted.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day, Karl.” Martin seemed to enjoy trying out my name, rolling it around on his tongue as he talked. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve wanted your ass for a long time. I can hardly believe you’re giving it to me.” He pulled me to my feet, wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to him. I hugged him back, leaning carefully to the side so I wouldn’t press against his sore tit. He seemed too excited to notice.

“I beat off this morning thinking about how good your ass was going to feel around my fingers.” I jumped, partly from his words, partly because just then, he squeezed my asscheeks. Suddenly, he laughed. “I wasn’t worth shit at work today. And now that I’m here, I’m hard all over again. I can hardly wait.”

“I spent all day with butt plugs up my ass, so I’d be ready for you, Sir.” I lowered my eyes respectfully as I spoke, gasping as his finger slid over to rub my asshole.

“Fuck, Karl.” The finger sunk in. “Wow, you feel good. You’re going to make me come in my pants if you keep saying things like that.”

His finger was going to have the same effect on me if he kept up what he was doing. Martin didn’t know how to pace himself yet. I tried to buy us some time.

“Would you like something to eat or drink first, Sir? I made lasagna if you want dinner.” I knew if I didn’t ask now, I might be too distracted to offer later. I didn’t want him to get accustomed to bad manners in a bottom. “Or we can go straight to the playroom.”

His hand cracked down hard on my left asscheek. I jumped, staring up at him in surprise. Martin’s eyes absolutely sparkled. His grin was domineering and bossy and filled with lust.

“I’ll decide when we go to the playroom.” He squeezed my butt, just hard enough to emphasize the new heat burning there. “I want ice water, with a slice of lemon in it. Now!”

“Yes, Sir!” I said, my dick pressing hard against the jockstrap. Martin was doing just fine. Five minutes later I carried both our glasses down the hall.

I’d put on a different music mix than I usually used when we played together. I hoped that would help us both feel fresh. Martin took his time looking around, checking the setup, inventorying the supplies. Finally he nodded at me. “Looks like everything’s in order. Good job, um, punk.”

I bowed my head, hiding my smile as the unaccustomed word worked its way past his lips. “Thank you, Sir. I’ve had some practice.”

“Yeah,” he grinned back, his eyes flicking across the room to the case of Elbow Grease I’d opened at our last session. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and got very serious. “I really want to do this, Karl. The way your ass responded when I put my finger in you, that was so hot, Si—.” He blushed. “Aw, hell. You know what I mean. When I realized you’d greased yourself, I about blew my wad right then.”

“You did blow your wad.” I kissed him. Impudent, but I couldn’t help myself. Martin didn’t notice. He was grinning again, eyeing me up and down, nodding approvingly at my attire.

“You were hot. Now strip to your jock and get in the sling. Punk!”

He helped me lie down, steadying the chains as I moved into position. Suddenly he put his hand on my leg.

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” When I nodded, he sighed heavily. “Good. I’d assumed so, but I just realized I should have asked—in case this was your first time, too. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us both to be virgins at a time like this.”

At the word “virgin,” I burst out laughing. “Martin, it’s been a long time, so I’ll probably be tight as hell. But I have definitely done this before. And I love it.” I settled back into the sling and lifted one leg toward its strap. “Think of me as a very experienced virgin.”

He grinned all through adjusting my feet into the straps. He was still smiling as he walked around to my head and picked up a wrist shackle. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand. I’m going to restrain your arms.”

I froze, my guts suddenly clenching. I hadn’t expected that. For some reason, it made me, well, if not afraid, anxious. “Why?”

“Because I want to.” The puppy-dog eyes had taken on a distinctly wolfish cast. “I want you completely at my mercy. I’m going to make you come the way I’ve always dreamed of making a bottom come.”

He waited. Patiently. His eyes locked on mine. When I finally, slowly, reached up, he took my hand and squeezed it, waiting for my answering grip. It was such a familiar motion between us. Yet from that angle, it felt surprisingly new. I could see how closely he was watching me, learning my body language as he buckled my wrist into the cuff.

“Tell me to stop anytime you want, Karl. Just regular words, so I don’t get confused.” When I nodded, he lifted my other arm. “I want to go nice and slow. Get your ass as loose and hungry as you get mine. Then I want to fuck you with my hand until you come.” He tugged on the cuffs, testing them. “I can’t climax with a fist up my butt, but I think you can. Right?”

“Yes, Sir.” My mouth was suddenly very dry. My asshole twitched with his every word.

“I hope you’re not in a hurry. It’s going to be a long time before you get to come.”

I groaned as my cock again pressed up into the now-damp cotton of my jock. Martin moved between my legs and started petting my thighs, getting me accustomed to his touch, himself to my responses. The friction over my leg hair made my skin feel alive. I lay back and enjoyed watching Martin learn my body. His hands were firm and strong, his nipple bars gleaming in the soft lights as he ran his hands up and over my asscheeks, gradually moving toward my crack. He was a beautiful bottom. He was also a beautiful top.

I jumped when he snapped on the glove. The smell of lube filled the room. A cool glob touched my asshole, and his hand slid up and down my crack. I moaned contentedly. His large circular motions gradually became smaller, until eventually he was concentrating almost exclusively on my hole. I sank deeper into the sling, my shoulders relaxing as he massaged me. He took his time, letting me savor each touch as first one finger, then another, worked its way inside and started tugging—long, slow, sensuous strokes that loosened me to my bones as he stretched my slowly opening asshole. I closed my eyes, lost in the sensations.

“Do you use these toys on anyone but yourself?”

“Huh?” I opened my eyes, blinking up at Martin as his question pulled me out of my reverie. I’d put out my own toys for him to use on me, but I was suddenly embarrassed to realize he was thinking of my having had them up my ass already. “Ah, just on myself…Sir.” I blushed.

“Good. I like thinking about you being fucked.”

I arched up as a greased plug slid up my butt. My ass tightened down hard. Martin grinned nastily. He alternated between dildos and plugs, stroking them in and out, letting the vibrating ones loosen me for him as my cock drooled and he ran his hands over my body.

“Mmm,” he whispered, kissing my navel. He was fucking me with a particularly large dildo. “Your belly’s telling me it wants me to fill it up with something even better than this fake dick—something alive and warm.”

“Uh-huh.” I gasped. My greedy ass was in heaven, my dick twitching every time the huge toy stretched me. I was sensitive in a way I didn’t remember being the last time I was fucked. I’d been used to it then. Now, everything felt new. I shivered as the dildo slid out. Then Martin’s fingers kissed my asshole. I knew what I must look like, stretched open, glistening with lube, slightly puffy from the toys.

“I need more room.” His pocketknife flicked out. He snipped one leg of the jockstrap, then the other, yanking the remnants off me. Then his fingertips were teasing over my asslips. “So pretty, Karl.” He leaned over and kissed my thigh, licking softly. “I want to suck your dick, but I’m afraid you’d shoot.”

My cock oozed at his words. “Sorry, Sir,” I panted. “I probably would.”

“That’s so hot,” he laughed. His hand pressed. He had four fingers in, and was going for the thumb. He stuffed gobs of lube in front of himself, methodically greasing his way in.

“Unh!” No matter how much a toy stretches me, the first push of a man’s hand is always harder to take. But it’s so fucking much better than any toy could ever be.

“Easy,” he whispered. “Open for me. That’s it. Just a little bit more…”

Martin was using all the tricks I’d used on him. Holding his hand against me with a steady, unrelenting pressure. Making my asslips beg for him, making them stretch and suck him in, making them kiss their way up his hand. I gripped the chains hard, groaning as he slid on the cool layer of grease, his knuckles pressing against me. The friction burned as I stretched, wider than my sphincter thought it could go. I wanted to scream—couldn’t stop the cry that worked its way out of my mouth. It hurt so fucking good.

“Open for me, punk…”

I yelled as his knuckles slid in. My sphincter screamed at the burning stretch of his hand. My asshole snugged up around his wrist, and as he made his fist, the orgasm washed over me. The waves spread out from deep inside me, and my jism spurted uncontrollably through my cock. I could hardly breathe. My whole world revolved around the fist that filled my guts with another man’s hand, with the touch that wouldn’t let me close him out.

Martin stayed stock still, holding me steady, keeping me from hurting myself as the climax tore through me and my whole body shook. Eventually, my breathing slowed.

“Fuck, Martin,” I panted. “I’m sorry. I thought I was too old to do that.” I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to regain control of myself. “Fuck, your hand feels good.”

“I almost came watching you.” His face was flushed. He was breathing as hard as I was. “I felt you come, Karl. Your ass pulsed and grabbed me, like it wanted more and more of me. Shit, I wanted to push my arm all the way up inside you.” He shuddered. I looked down at his crotch. His dick was so hard it was stretching the leather.

I relaxed back in the sling and I started to laugh. In relief. At the pleasure, the release, the sight of the beautiful man standing between my legs with his fist up my ass and his raging hard cock straining to be free. “Martin, unsnap that thing before you hurt yourself.”

“Huh? Oh.” He smiled sheepishly. He reached down and yanked the codpiece off. His cock sprang free—dark red, the tip drooling a thin line of precum down toward the floor. He sighed contentedly as he stroked his free hand over himself. “Thanks.”

“You have talented hands.” Then I remembered myself and blushed. “I really am sorry, Martin. I mean, Sir. A bottom shouldn’t come without permission.”

“I know,” he said, turning his head and kissing my calf. “I should probably beat you or something. But that was still the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve heard some people could, you know, come just from being fisted. But I’ve never heard of anybody coming just from a fist sliding in.”

“I used to do it all the time,” I laughed shakily. “Took me a helluva lot of beatings to learn to control it. That and a top who pinched my dick to keep me from coming.”

“Well, this time, you came on my fist.” He slapped my ass, then rubbed at the sting. Suddenly he stopped and looked down at me. “Do we have to stop now? I mean, I don’t think I could take having somebody’s hand in me after I came.”

As he spoke, he moved his hand slightly, twisting it gently inside me. I cried out, arching toward him, suddenly very glad he’d restrained me. It was nice not to have to hold myself still, to be able to lose myself in the burning pleasure/pain in my asshole and the pressure in my gut. It was embarrassing, though, to realize one of my punks was seeing me be such a slut. I looked up to see him smiling at me.

“We don’t have to stop.” I gasped, shuddering as I looked down at his straining cock. “Just go slow and use lots—and I mean lots—of lube. I’ll be sore, but you should have plenty of time to come before I need to stop.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure are bossy.”

I blushed. He was right. “Sorry, Sir. I was just noticing…”

“You’re noticing too much.” I jumped as he draped a folded towel over my eyes. “Today, I’m topping you. So shut up, close your eyes and be a pig while I fist you.” He swatted my ass, hard enough to really sting. “Unless you have to tell me something for safety’s sake, the only words I want to hear out of your mouth are ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir.’ Do you understand?” He punctuated his question with another resounding smack on my ass.

“Yes, Sir!” I said, half laugh, half groan. This punk was too smart by half.

“All right, then.”

I groaned as he slowly withdrew his fist from my ass. Deprived of my sight, I finally relaxed and gave myself up to the feelings. A cool glob of lube touched my asslips. I moaned, loudly, as his hand slid in again. This time, I didn’t come, but the sensations were so wonderful they were almost too much to process.

“That’s better,” he laughed. “You have a nice butt.”

I didn’t answer. He hasn’t asked a question. I lay back and enjoyed the heaven of another man taking my ass. Martin twisted and explored, slowly and carefully. Letting me feel his steady, relentless strength. Letting me give up control of my body. Letting me make myself vulnerable enough to trust—to float, wallowing in sensation. My whole world was my ass. I squeezed back in pure bliss each time he checked my firmly restrained hands. He ignored my dick. That made me feel like even more of a hole.

Each time Martin’s hand slid in, his breathing quickened. I imagined his shaft, hard and red and ready to shoot, the way it had when he’d had his finger up my ass the other night. With a start, I realized I was going to come again, too. The feeling was building, slowly and steadily, but it was there, and it was growing. My dick had stretched out hard again. Each time his fist twisted in me, the awareness of an impending orgasm grew stronger.

“You like that, punk?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered. The coolness of more lube slicked into me.

“You have a beautiful ass.” His fingers stroked my asslips. I could feel how puffy I was. “You feel good around my hand. Warm and silky and hungry.” I groaned as his fist slid in. He rocked it slowly, side to side. “I think your ass likes being fucked by my hand.”

“Yes, Sir.” I groaned as he pressed firmly on my prostate. Fluid I hadn’t expected to be there slipped down my cocktube.

“Your dick looks pretty hard, too.” He pressed again. I shook as another drop slid through. “Bet I could make you come again, punk.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck, it was going to happen again. “Yes, Sir,” I gasped.

“Real soon.”

“Yes, Sir…”

He was fisting me hard now. Deep, slow, steady strokes. Each one causing a mini-orgasm to reverberate from my prostate.

“Gonna come…” I gasped.

“I know you are, punk,” he growled. “You’re going to come because I’m going to make you.” His breathing was heavy now. “I’m going to make your beautiful punk ass come all over my hand, gonna make your dick shoot because your ass is coming.”

My whole body was ready to erupt. I couldn’t talk anymore. Nothing but embarrassing grunts left my lips.

“Fuck, oh fuck, yeah,” he gasped. “Damn, Karl, you are so fucking hot. Do it!”

His hand slid in again. I cried out, uncontrollably, as the spasms started. Hot juice again sluiced through my cock. This time, the pleasure consumed me. My whole body shook as every nerve exploded. I yelled. I couldn’t stop yelling.

“Yeah, man, let it happen. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Your ass is coming on my hand, Karl. It’s making me come. So good, it feels so good… Oh, fuck!”

I felt the tremor through his hand as his body tensed. He roared out his climax. My ass wrapped itself around his fist as spurts of his hot cream splattered against the back of my thigh. He shuddered above me, panting and shaking, straining as he held his fist rock steady in my ass.

When I could breathe again, I became aware of Martin’s face resting against my calf, the fine stubble of his evening’s beard scratching against me as he started to laugh.

“Damn, Karl. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever done in my entire fucking life.” He kissed me, tonguing his dripping cum off the back of my leg.

I wasn’t quite ready to talk yet. My whole body was exhausted. I winced contentedly as he slowly worked his hand out of me. When his fingers were free, he patted my asslips, carefully tracing the outline of my hole. I was sore now. I knew I’d be more sore later.

“Thank you, Sir,” I sighed contentedly. “You sure know how to make a bottom happy.”

He pulled the towel off my eyes. I blinked, slowly adjusting to the light. His sparkling brown eyes were the first things that came into focus.

“Will you do that for me next time?” he said. “Come just from being fisted?”

My guts clenched in response. “I’ll try anytime you want, Sir.”

“Next weekend.” Martin tossed the glove and gently smoothed his palm over my asscheek. “You have a beautiful butt, Sir.” He paused then grinned. “Now I’m hungry for lasagna. Let’s go eat.”