by Drew Hunt
I lean in and deliver a soft kiss to the skin just above Tank’s left nipple. “Tank, I…”
“The tattoo guy said he would be able to replace the barbell with a gold hoop in about six weeks.”
I nod, remembering an article I’d read about piercings and how long it took for them to heal.
Tank cups my face in his hands. “Will you be ready in six weeks to fly to New York and marry me?”
Yet again my mouth falls open. I nod stupidly. Yes, he can get more perfect.
“Is that a yes?” Tank smiles. “We’ve got to go back there anyway to sign the contracts and I’d like to take you with us…and bring you home as my husband.”
I nod again; clear my clogged throat and say, “Yes! I love you, Alexander Philip Sherman.”
We kiss; I give him a hug, mindful of his healing chest.
“You’re shaking,” Tank says, kissing my ear. “Are you cold?”
“No. It’s just I can’t believe all of this. It’s wonderful, perfect, but so unexpected.”
Tank smiles. “I know. Ever since we got back I’ve been planning this evening, shitting myself that something would go wrong or you’d say no or—”
I kiss him to stop him rambling. “I’m saying yes and everything is perfect. Thank you.”
My stomach lets out a rumble. I realize I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’ve been too keyed up about Tank’s odd behavior. Now the mystery is solved, I guess my body is telling me to get back to the business of feeding it.
Tank takes my left hand, the hand that wears his ring, and leads me to the center of the blanket. Kneeling, he pats a space next to him and I lower myself to the ground.
Tank searches through the picnic basket and extracts a burger bun covered in Saran wrap. “Pulled pork and coleslaw.”
My stomach rumbles its agreement. I reach for the bun but Tank moves it away.
“No, no. This is your special night. You aren’t going to lift a finger.”
I raise an eyebrow; the idea of Tank feeding me is more appealing than I would have thought.
He unwraps the sandwich, breaks a piece off and feeds it to me. This soon proves messy, but rather than using the paper napkins I can see in the hamper, Tank leans in and licks away the errant food.
One lick turns to two then three. Before I know it the sandwich is forgotten and Tank and I are trying to eat each other’s faces. Tank is a great kisser at the best of times, but here, in this quiet little oasis, his kisses seem to take on extra depth and meaning. Maybe it’s also because we haven’t made out for a few days, since before New York in fact.
“Need to fuck you,” Tank says, lifting his lips from mine to draw breath.
“Eager much?” Okay, so I’d have preferred him to have said he wanted to make love to me, but I guess the urgency we’re both feeling excuses this. “Got any lube in that picnic basket?”
Tank grins.
“Thought you’d get lucky, did you?”
His grin widens and he reaches in to the basket. I wonder when he’s packed this and how he got it here. Tank is many things, but he’s hopeless in the kitchen. Then I remember him saying that they had put some of my favorites in the picnic basket.
“Who are they?”
“Huh?” Tank looks up, a couple of packets of lube in his hand.
“They, the people who brought the picnic here.”
He smiles. “Jessica and her sister.”
Jessica is Blaze’s soon-to-be ex-wife.
“When she learned I was going to ask you to marry me she said I needed to make it really romantic and suggested a candle-lit picnic. I don’t think Blaze is very romantic with her.”
I choose to say nothing. I don’t want Blaze getting between us, especially when I’m about to get porked by Tank’s huge dick. Okay, so I’m anxious for the action to begin, also. So much so I push on Tank’s shoulders, forcing him to the ground with a humph of exhaled air. I then climb on top of him and begin to rub my now itching ass on his leather-coated crotch.
“Eager much?” Tank throws the question back at me.
For his big dick to reach the places only it can reach, yes, I am eager. I lift up enough to slide down my jeans and underwear but realize I need to take off my shoes as well. This just slows things down. In my hurried struggle to get naked I fall off of Tank. He has the good grace not to comment or move.
I decide to tease him. “I’d have thought you’d have used the opportunity of my absence to get your dick out.”
Immediately he fires back with, “Didn’t want to start without you.” He smiles and follows up with, “And besides, I didn’t want to spoil your fun.”
He’s right. I like to unwrap my gifts, and Tank’s dick, whether soft or hard, is a gift. From the lump in his pants I can see it’s in the latter state.
Even though it will delay my own gratification, I decide to tease my husband-to-be by climbing back on top of him and rubbing myself up and down his still-covered crotch. The cool, smooth leather feels wonderful as I slide my heated skin against it.
“Why haven’t we played this game before?” I ask.
Tank bucks up into me, almost throwing me off. I guess I’m in the classic cowboy position. Yee haw!
But after a couple of minutes riding his crotch I realize I need it unclothed, so I climb off and get to work unbuttoning and unzipping.
It comes as no surprise that he’s gone commando. Tank says it’s not done to wear skivvies on stage. It probably breaks the rock star code or something. Personally I think it’s incredibly hot to watch him perform, knowing he’s freeballing.
“Well hello there,” I say to Tank’s dick when it pops out of its leather prison. “You've been trapped in there for too long, haven’t you?”
“And whose fault is that?” Tank grumbles.
“Ignore him,” I say, leaning down and kissing Tank’s dick.
“He’s just a grouch because I haven’t put out yet.” I look up. “But I will.” I treat Tank to a wicked smile before looking back to Tank’s center. “When he hands over the lube, that is.”
Tank’s growl of frustration has me biting my lip to try and not laugh. He thrusts the packets at me and gives me a stare that tells me I better not fuck around any more. Not wanting to upset my man further I get to work greasing up first my asshole, then his dick. The latter hasn’t lost anything of its magnificent stiffness.
We’d long ago been tested and were clean, so there was no need for condoms. A good thing because I doubt Tank would have wanted to waste any more time.
“At last,” he gasps when I start to sink down his rigid and veiny pole.
“Oh, hang on, I forgot to…” I make to rise but Tank’s hands clamp onto my thighs and force me down again. The tight grip is likely to leave bruises but I know Tank will kiss them all better in the morning if I ask him. “Only joking,” I smile down at him.
His expression lets me know he doesn’t appreciate my humor. But all thoughts of teasing vanish when he thrusts up into me and I’m filled to the max by his telephone-pole dick. Tank loosens his grip on my thighs and I can begin to lift myself up. I know the hands will return immediately if he thinks I’m straying too far. I have no intention of doing that. I’m never happier than when I’m being split open by my rock star lover.
Before Tank, I’d never been one to visit the gym on a regular basis, but I soon discovered that I wanted to improve my body for him. Tank had told me he didn’t care, but if I wanted to lose weight, I had to do it for myself, not him. Whatever the motivation, regular gym workouts mean I can keep up with Tank in bed, or as in this case, in a clearing in a wood by a lake. I squeeze my ass muscles, eliciting a groan of pleasure from my man. That’s one exercise I didn’t learn at the gym.
“So fucking tight.”
“I aim to please,” I say, smiling down at him.
His long hair is spread out behind him; I don’t remember when he untied it. All I know is that I have to lean forward to run my fingers through i
t. But in doing so I put pressure on his pierced nipple and Tank lets out a hiss of pain.
“Sorry.” I sit up.
“It’s okay. Will be great when it’s healed up and you can play with it as much as you want.”
“Yeah.” The mental image that’s conjured up causes me to spurt out a few drops of pre-cum that splatter on Tank’s belly.
“Ready to cum, babe?” Tank asks, taking hold of my waving dick and giving it a few strokes.
I’m not really, but the rest of the night is ours, and tomorrow is a Saturday so I don’t need to be at work. “Only if you promise to fuck me again later.”
“And maybe you could fuck me?”
I’m treated to one of Tank’s special pleading smiles that make my insides go all warm and squishy. It also sends me way too close to the edge. I don’t usually top, it isn’t my thing, but I do it for Tank when he asks. He doesn’t ask often, only on special occasions. There can be no occasion more special than agreeing to get married! I tell myself.
“Yes, Tank, yes!” I say as I teeter on the edge.
Tank’s hand on my dick speeds up, my ass clamps down on the massive intruder inside of it, and I fire out several ropes of pearly whiteness, at least one of which paints his barbelled left nipple. A second or so later Tank lets out an almighty roar that would be sure to send any mountain lions in the area running for cover. My man is cumming; I can feel it slipping out between my ass and his still rock-hard dick.
Reluctantly—my legs have started to cramp—I roll to the side and Tank’s slick member slides out of my well-used ass. I crawl up to Tank’s face and we share several deep but lazy kisses.
The romantic mood is broken, however, when my stomach reminds us that it hasn’t received much by way of nourishment today.
Tank smiles before biting my bottom lip. “Time I start feeding my baby again.”
“Only if I can feed you, too.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t argue and we raid the contents of the picnic basket once again. I make a mental note to thank Blaze’s wife. She has indeed picked many of my favorite foods, as well as some of Tank’s.
“Chocolate sauce?” I ask, picking up the bottle.
Tank grins. “I asked Jessica to include that.” It’s Tank’s turn to push me over onto my back, take off his pants then straddle me. He then uncaps the bottle and squirts some of the brown goo onto my chest.
My dick perks up, knowing what Tank is about to do next.
It and I aren’t disappointed when Tank treats my belly and chest to a series of long and languid tongue strokes. He even spends some time on my nipples; I complain this isn’t fair because I can’t return the pleasure.
“Not yet, babe, but you will.”
I smile, thinking up some kinky uses for chocolate sauce.
Might even use squirty cream and aerosol cheese, too.
I groan. It’s going to be a long six weeks of waiting. But it’ll be worth it.
“Come on, Mr. soon-to-be William Sherman-Prout.” Tank pulls me to my feet. “You’re a mess. You need a bath in the lake.”
“Hey,” I dig my heels in, bringing us both to a halt. “Why not Prout-Sherman?”
Tank gives me a look. “Sherman-Prout sounds better.”
I frown.
“Trust me, I’m a musician.”
I smile and let Tank lead me to the water, knowing he’s right, as always.
THE END
ABOUT DREW HUNT
Having read all the decent free fiction on the net Drew could find, he set out to try his hand at writing something himself.
Fed up reading about characters who were super-wealthy, impossibly handsome, and incredibly well-endowed, Drew determined to make his characters real and believable.
Drew lives a quiet life in the north of England with his cat.
Someday he hopes to meet the kind of man he writes about. If you’re that man, or even if you’re not, Drew would like to hear from you—[email protected]. Visit him online at drew-hunt.co.uk.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small electronic press specializing in gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender fiction (including erotica, romance, and young adult), as well as popular and literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. While our preference is for GLBT
stories, we accept stories containing any and all sexualities, as well as general fiction without a romantic subplot. Visit our site at jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!