Hairy Beast

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It’s no fun being a horny bi-curious teenager with nowhere to go, no one to play with or experiment with. It’s enough to drive you into the clutches of a man who has no intention of having a relationship with you but just wants to fuck you. And that was just what happened to me.

Ever since I had become aware of the pleasures of sexual sensations I had wanted to try it with a man. I had had little fumbles with boys from school, the type who tell you that masturbation is even better if someone else does it to you, but I wanted something more: I wanted to be dominated, coerced into doing all sorts of things I would be ashamed of.

Trouble is, you can get into trouble for that sort of thing, and being a respectable type, I had suffered in silence until the day when I was legal. Now, at last, I could have that thrilling encounter with an older man who knew what he was doing and would give and take whatever he wanted.

But who was it going to be? I lusted after my Dad’s best friend, but he wasn’t interested. He used to go swimming with us, so he had seen me in my trunks, a few square centimetres away from naked, but his gaze hadn’t lingered on my helpless body, a body that would have been helpless if he had tried it on with me.

I had fantasised about the men in the sauna at the health club we belonged to, breathing in the vaporised sweat from their mature masculine bodies, but as ill luck would have it they had no interest in a callow youth.

I had stewed in my own desires in a small car with my driving instructor but… actually there was no but. I fancied him like crazy and I felt he liked me too. His name was Ronnie and he was aged about 60, I would say. He was dark haired, going bald on top but covered in hair everywhere else that I could see. His arms, his chest (as I knew because I had peeped between the buttons of his shirt when it bulged. His neck: the hair from his chest crept up to meet the facial stuff that was coming down.

I had even taken to looking at the junction of his socks and trousers, to catch a glimpse of hairy shin. I could hardly concentrate on my driving for the thought that his rugged, manly body sat just inches away from my trembling, inexperienced self.

I don’t know if you believe in “vibrations”, but I felt there were some at times, me sitting there petrified with sexual longing, and sometimes he stopped talking and we just sat there and simmered.

One autumn evening we had a lesson at 6pm and it was raining.

“Nasty night,” Ronnie said. “how about if we stay off the road and do some theory instead?”

He drove us to his little house in a quiet suburban street and we went inside. I sat on the settee while he made a cup of tea. He had apparently done some laundry that day, but didn’t casino siteleri have a dryer, so clothes were hung all over the place.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said. “Nowhere to dry the bloody stuff.” He picked up a pair of underpants that had hung from a shelf. Black briefs. Black pieces of cotton that had held his balls and his cock and slid into the crack of his arse. I wanted to be like those underpants. I wanted my fingers and my face and body to be where they had been.

I sat there in stupid silence, wishing he would guess what was in my steaming, sinful mind. Then I remembered something I had read, about body language. If you sat with your legs apart facing someone, it was a kind of announcement that you would allow them access to what was between your thighs. Not too subtle, really. Almost too simple to be true.

Ronnie sat on a chair opposite with his thighs parted, facing me. If this theory was true, we were on the way to debauchery. I hesitantly parted my legs a little, then a little more, and finally, looking away, put them wide open.

Ronnie stood up and came and sat next to me. He opened a Highway Code book and put it on the coffee table. As we studied it our thighs touched and I didn’t move. Then his lower leg came into contact with mine in a way that I was sure was deliberate.

“You’re 18, aren’t you?” Ronnie said. “Got a girlfriend?”

“Sort of,” I said. “Not serious.”

“Quite right too,” he said. “At your age there’s a lot of living to do. Different people, different things to do.” He put a hand on my leg in a way that could be a man-to-man kind of pat. But he left it there. I instinctively did the same to him, not knowing if that was the right thing to do, but hell, it was a sexy feeling.

Ronnie seemed to sense this, because he moved his hand up my leg until his little finger was touching my balls. It took my breath away.

“So, are you a hairy person?” Ronnie asked. Strange question – maybe he was as nervous as me.

“Not really,” I said. “A… are you?”

“Gorilla,” he said. “Look at my arms.” He pulled up a trouser leg. “And my legs. Everywhere. I’m a bloody ape.”

“Can I see?” I couldn’t believe the words that popped from my mouth, but they were out now.

“You serious?” Ronnie said, as surprised as I was.

“Yes,” I said. “I would like to see how hairy a man can be. I’m kind of smooth.”

I could see Ronnie weighing up how to respond, and what he did was unbutton his shirt over his stomach, leaving the top, where he was wearing a tie, closed. He showed me his fat, hairy belly, and if that was designed to put me off, it was a severe miscalculation. I was turned on as never before. I wanted to suck the man’s penis and follow the forest to see if it went between his canlı casino buttocks.

“So you’ve got nothing on your stomach?” he ventured, to keep the ball rolling. I unbuttoned the same amount as him, to reveal a smooth, flat stomach which I felt was far less attractive than his rough, lived-in portion of flesh. Then I went the whole hog, taking my shirt off.

“See? Nothing at all.”

“You’re slim and fit, though,” Ronnie said. “And young.”

“Overrated,” I assured him. “I think maturity is more attractive, not that…” I tailed off because I was on the verge of admitting I fancied him.

Ronnie went to a drawer and pulled out a bunch of photographs of him in younger days, including some on a beach, with his hairy body loud and proud and just a small pair of budgie-smugglers hiding his equipment.

“Shit,” I said involuntarily. “You were pretty fit too.”

“Thank you,’ said Ronnie, then hesitated. “What shall we do now?”

“What are the options?” I stammered. “Study some highway code or…”

“Or I can take my shirt off too,” Ronnie said, pulling it over his head. He stood there, warm and furry and utterly desirable. Without another word he dropped his trousers and stood there in front of me.

“You want to see my cock?” he asked, knowing the answer but not the urgency of my need.

“Okay,” I said nervously. I could see the outline of his penis, which had a straight section as it tried to stand up but was trapped by his underwear. When he pulled his pants down it sprang up and filled with blood, emerging like a tree stump from the undergrowth of his pubic hair.

“People shave these days,’ he said. ‘But I… I don’t see the need.”

“Nor me,” I said. “You look great like that.”

“Want to touch it?” he said.

I got down on my knees and held his penis in my hand. It was big and strong and wicked. I studied it and then without thinking plunged my mouth over it. With my right hand I felt his hairy buttocks and my fingers slipped into his crack, feeling the warmth and the natural slight oiliness.

“This way,” Ronnie said quietly, leading me upstairs.

The bedroom was dark, the curtains closed and the evening somber outside, the gentle hiss of the rain adding to the atmosphere.

Ronnie lay on the bed and told me to undress. As it was dark, I did so unselfconsciously. I joined him under the duvet and he wrapped his arms around me. I was in the grip of a wonderfully hairy man and the feeling of his masculine body pressing against mine made me rock hard. He kissed me strongly and I kissed back sensuously.

“Suck me like you did downstairs,” Ronnie whispered, and I slid obediently down his body. I savoured his masculine smell and the salt and vinegar aroma as I approached his kaçak casino dick. I took his ball bag in my hand and gently felt it as I took his knob in my mouth and sucked, not knowing if I was doing it right or not.

“We don’t have much time,” Ronnie said, the professional and the adult. “There are things I want to show you but we haven’t got time for.”

“Such as?” I said naughtily.

“Anal sex,” he said. “Me putting my cock up your arse. Would you like that?”

“I think so,” I said.

“But we haven’t got time tonight so we’ll have to do it another time,” my sensible master said. “Tonight we will just do oral.” And with that he turned like a swimmer and dived so he was sucking me and I was sucking him. He really knew what he was doing, licking and sucking my cock and playing with my bottom.

“Would you like to lick my arse?” he asked politely.

“I would love to lick your arse,” I replied. He turned over and knelt for me and I got down in the electrifying darkness under the covers and my tongue found my driving instructor’s anus.

“This is the most depraved thing in the world,” he said. “A man licking another man’s arse. You’re doing a forbidden thing. But you love it, don’t you?”

“I have always wanted to do this to you,” I said. “I want to do it every time I see you.”

“That can be arranged,” he said. “Get in further, lick my crack. Lick my hairy arse.”

I was so turned on I was about to come, but he knew that too. My dominant top knew everything, all the basest thoughts and desires I had. H knew I wanted to be his sex slave.

“You will come last,” he said. “So that you keep wanting me till the end. Now I’m going to wank in your mouth.”

Me on my back and him lying above me, he put his cock right next to my mouth and began to masturbate. I could smell his penis and it was the most intoxicating smell in the world, along with the superbly savoury aroma of his ball bag.

“You don’t have to keep your mouth open,” the master said. “When I come I’ll push my cock into your mouth.” He continued with his wanking and I waited, uncontrollably excited, until suddenly he moved forward and thrust his knob between my lips. He pumped his semen into my mouth and I tasted and felt this strange, lovely fluid. It was perfect, heavenly, shamefully good. Having a man – the sexiest man alive – gushing his spunk into my mouth. I swallowed it and immediately wanted more.

“Now your turn,” he said. “You can wank into my hand.” He held his right hand open and I needed just a few strokes before my own spunk shot out into his fist. He had to use both hands to contain my youthful torrent.

Then Ronnie did the rudest thing, something I had never even considered. He took his hands, slick with my semen, around to my arse and smeared my crack with my own silvery slime. The ammonia-like pungency filled the air in our little duvet tent as he poked a slippery finger into my arse.

“Next time,” Ronnie said, “I’m going to fuck you.”

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