by Rob Rosen
John bucked and ground his ass into my face as he continued stroking away. I grabbed my cock, jacked it, slapped it, pulled the wet head with my fist, all the while making out with his hot, hairy, musky ass.
The tongue was soon replaced by a finger. John groaned, but allowed its slow, careful entry. The man was tighter than a drum, but I coaxed it in, down, back to the hilt, his prostate growing harder with each push, each quickened thrust. My tongue found his balls again, my mouth pulling down on them. I swirled them around inside my mouth as I finger-fucked his perfect asshole.
“Yeah,” he sighed, the pace quickening on his giant cock. And then, “Gonna come.”
I could feel the rock-hardness of his insides just a split second before I felt the come shoot on my chest, over and over, hot and sticky like the air around us. And then I shot, too, all over my stomach, until I was fairly covered in our come, a fucking aromatic bath of it.
We both stayed there like that, catching our breaths. Then I got up, cleaned off as best I could with some rags we found, and we got dressed.
Eventually, he looked over at me. “That was cool,” he said with a sly grin.
“Yep,” I agreed with an equally satisfied smile. “Cool.” Cucumbers would, in fact, be envious of us.
“By the way, what does my ass taste like?”
My stomach filled with butterflies. “Only one way to find out,” I replied, moving closer to him until our faces were an inch apart.
His eyes widened, the green intense, mesmerizing, drawing me in. And then, in a heartbeat, our lips met, soft, tentative, and then hard, needing. It was a kiss to remember.
“Ah,” he finally said with a sly grin. “My ass tastes pretty good.”
I laughed. “Sure does. By the way, are you, um, g…”
He stopped me with a kiss. “Don’t ask,” he whispered.
“Don’t tell,” I whispered back.
And that was that. The night became morning. We were relieved by two more guards, went back to the barracks for a rest, finished the week out, smiled knowingly at each other from time to time, and then went on our respective military ways.
I never saw him again, least not until that day at the café.
Crossing the street with the familiar tenseness in my stomach and chest, I walked up to his table.
He looked up, smiled, laughed to relieve the tension. “You never were very good at cruising me, Private.”
“It’s Corporal,” I told him. “Well, was Corporal. I’m no longer in the Army. You?”
“Same. But it’s Sergeant. Was Sergeant. And no, I’m not. Have a seat.”
I did, adding a half-hearted salute. “That your Jeep over there?” I asked.
The smile widened. “Yep. I’ve got a certain fondness for them. Want to go for a ride in it later?” He winked and stroked my arm.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“I’m not asking, Corporal. I’m telling.” His hand found my own. “Boy, am I ever telling.”
Hoodwinked
I left Portland at the crack of Don, Don being my trick from the night before, his tight little ass swaying as he shut the hotel room door behind him. It was, as asses went, a mighty fine one—crack, as I mentioned, included. Still, there was no use crying over spilt, well, come; other adventures lay before me.
Lay being the operative word.
But fuck the foreshadowing; I was up and out the door in no time flat, my four-wheel-drive rental zooming across slick pavement. Rain turned to snow, snow to sleet as I passed the town of Sandy, climbing from a thousand-foot elevation to two, to three, heading to Mount Hood, the cabin rented months earlier for my yearly writing retreat.
Ski season was drawing to a close, winter but a distant memory everywhere else in the country but, seemingly, here. In any case, I cranked up the heat and sloshed on through, the road going suddenly curvy, a wall of firs appearing to my right, dark jade topped in a frosting of brilliant white. I smiled, concentrating on the road as best I could, my mind drifting to the peace and serenity that awaited me.
I reached the small town of Government Camp at the foot of the mountain, the same mountain now nearly obliterated in a sea of gray clouds, thick fog, a blanket of dense white. I pulled up to the grocery store, my truck skidding to a halt.
Hopping out, I shielded my face from the stinging elements. The place was nearly deserted, a guy at the register, plus one other customer dressed all in green. Thankfully, the store was well-stocked. I filled a basket with the essentials and went over to pay.
“Headed up the mountain, friend?” the bleary-eyed clerk asked.
“Yep. About another thirty miles.” I slapped my credit card down on the counter.
“Hope you got chains on your car then,” he informed, ringing me up.
“Nah. The truck’ll be okay. Been through a lot worse.”
The guy in green was suddenly behind me. “Just came from up there. Roads are like ice,” he told me. “I’ve got some spare chains in my trunk; you can return them on your way out.”
I turned to face the voice, eyes like brilliant sapphires sparkling back at me, a smile angled upward, a mug that belonged on the cover of GQ. My heart skipped a beat—twice. I gulped and nodded. “Oh, um, thanks…um…”
“Ben. Name’s Ben.” He reached out a friendly hand. “And no problem.” The shake lingered, his hand warm, the contact sending a jolt up my arm that ricocheted in my expanding boxers.
“Trent,” I told him, my voice catching in my throat.
His smile widened, teeth as white as the snow that covered the landscape. Four out of five dentists would’ve recommended whatever he used to brush with. “Pleased to meet you, Trent.”
Fuck, the pleasure was all mine. Every last friggin’ ounce of it.
I followed him outside, my eyes glued to his ass. He helped me with the chains, making quick work of it, hurrying us both out of the wet weather. Then he wiped his hands on his pants, smiled, and said, “There you go. Should be okay now. Enjoy the, uh…” And he pointed to the mountain, what little of it there was to see.
I laughed. “Thanks.” Our eyes met, muddy brown onto brilliant blue, my smirk suddenly inflicted with a nervous tic. “Can I at least pay you for your help?”
His smile mirrored my own as he inched in a step closer, closer still, his face now a hair’s breadth away. “Can’t put a price on good karma, Trent.” He paused, winked, the smile in full-force, then added, “Just like a perfect kiss.”
Guy was baiting me. Needless to say, I allowed myself to be reeled in. “Perfect, huh? That’s a lot of pressure.”
He glanced to his left, then his right. It was just us, and the snow, and the street, and the unseen mountain looming high above. His lips brushed mine, yielding a spark of warmth in the otherwise frigid environment. “I think you can handle it, Trent,” he whispered into my mouth, his minty-fresh breath rushing down my throat as he moved the rest of the way in, his tongue darting inside for a glide and a slide and a heavy swap of spit.
I groaned, my eyes fluttering, my hand reaching up to caress a scruffy cheek. “It wasn’t me I was worried about,” I eventually quipped.
He stepped an inch away. “Ah,” he said. “So, how’d I do?”
I dove in for seconds, chowing down like a man who hadn’t eaten in days, our faces flush. “Yep, perfect,” I replied when I again came up for air.
He laughed, then suddenly pulled away. “Nice to hear it,” he said, the wink repeating. “But, unfortunately, I gotta get back to work.”
“Huh?” was about all I could manage.
“Work,” he said, again. “But maybe I can call you later, and we can, you know…”
“Find out what else you’re perfect at?”
The smile returned, glorious and full-moon bright. “Exactly.”
I reached into my truck and rummaged around for a pen and some paper. We exchanged numbers, a final soulful kiss, and he began his walk down the street, while I, still hard as granite, drove awa
“Nice, if not too short-lived,” I groaned with a heavy sigh.
Still, never one to waste a perfectly good woody, I unzipped my jeans and popped my prick out of my underwear, stroking the already glistening head, the sensation of his lips still tingling on mine. Feeling the sap begin its inevitable rise, I thought of the next best thing to having his face bouncing up and down in my lap; I dialed his number instead, so he could coax the come out, all long-distance-like. Not as good as the real deal, but it would do in a pinch.
With my cock pulsing in my hand, the snow and sleet beating down on the truck, I waited to hear his voice. Only, there was no voice. No nothing. Just endless static, the cell-line as snowy as the road I was driving along.
“Fuck,” I shouted, tossing the useless device onto the passenger seat. “No reception.” And no way for us to connect back up. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
And fucked I was—royally—fate ramming its hard prick up my clenched ass with nary a drop of lube. In other words, with all the commotion, I wasn’t paying adequate attention to the slippery road. Thank goodness for insurance, because I was about to need plenty of it.
The car slid, swerving precariously from side to side before one final zigzag, a crash into a tree, the bright light dimming rapidly, zooming into a pinprick, then nothing but utter consuming blackness.
And then, suddenly, a new sound: a sizzling frying pan, the smell, if I wasn’t mistaken, of bacon.
I squinted my eyes open, stared up, not at the roof of my truck, but to a wood-beamed ceiling. My hand slid over flannel sheets and across my bare leg, then up an equally bare blanket-covered crotch.
“What the…” I groaned, forcing myself up onto my elbows.
“Great, you’re awake,” he said, turning my way, the pan put to the side, the smile a welcoming sight.
“Ben?” I croaked. “But how?”
He walked over and sat on the bed, his hand resting on my covered knee, shooting a spark through my groin. “Was making my rounds and spotted your car,” he replied.
“Rounds?”
“Told you I was working. Ranger duty. Gotta patrol the roads.”
Which explained that unusual green outfit of his. “Ah.” I jerked my hand out and checked my head for damage.
He laughed. “Nah, you’re fine. I looked already. The tree you hit dropped about three feet of snow on your truck. Judging from your blood pressure when I found you, I think you had a panic attack and blacked out. No bumps or bruises; though you did get kinda soaked through when I moved you from your truck to mine.”
And now I laughed. “Which explains why I’m naked.”
His grin traveled northward. “Well now, I must admit, I did already see your prick when I found you.”
I blushed, a trail of red riding up my neck that splashed across both cheeks as I suddenly recalled the circumstances behind my little accident. “What, doesn’t everybody in Oregon drive like that?”
“Nah,” he said, “pretty much we only pop ‘em out at home.”
I sat up, crossed my legs, and tousled his mop of hair. “And yet yours is nowhere in sight.”
He leaned over, his lips quickly pressed to mine, each kiss apparently more perfect than the last. “You wanna see my dick, Trent?” he rasped.
“Not like I got to see Mount Hood; might as well witness some kind of natural wonder today.”
He shrugged and stood up. “Ranger’s code: make sure the tourists are kept happy.”
I pulled the blanket away, sitting there stark naked, my cock jutting out, eight steely inches of throbbing flesh. I gave it a light thwack, sending it swaying from side to side. “Yep, looks like you’re doing a good job.”
He grinned, his hand unbuttoning his green ranger-patched shirt, from the top to the bottom, before pulling the tails out of his work slacks, the shirt soon dropping to the wooden floor, leaving his torso covered in thin, white thermals. He winked and bent down, untying his boots and then kicking them off, followed quickly by his thick socks.
“Big feet,” I made note, already slowly stroking my cock as I watched his enticing striptease.
“And it’s true what they say, too,” he retorted, reaching to his narrow waist to unbutton his slacks, to slide down his zipper, to wriggle out of said slacks, leaving nothing on but the onesie he was in, long-johns from neck to ankle, a promising bulge nestled smack-dab in the center.
I groaned as he parted the fly, his dick flopping out, semi-hard and growing harder by the second, rising up, a slight curve to the side, a wide helmeted head, the piss-slit already leaking. “Yep, it’s true alright. Go figure. And is the back as spectacular as the front?”
He grinned and turned around, the thermals having one of those trapdoors in the rear that he skillfully unbuttoned, the flap falling down, his beautiful white ass coming into view. And what a nice view it was. “Well?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Hard to tell without seeing both of them together.” I meant both dick and ass, a dynamic duo to be sure.
He took the hint and got down on all fours, knees wide, his cheeks spread apart, the hair-rimmed hole echoing the wink he was so fond of, his lemon-sized balls dangling, swinging to and fro as he pushed his billy-club of a prick through his thighs, until that ribbed white material was beautifully framing his ass and cock and nuts.
Needless to say, I could no longer sit on the sidelines just watching; it was time to get into the game. I bounded off the bed, leaping one, two feet, then sunk down to my knees, face to ass, mouth to hole. I took a deep whiff, a lick, a suck. “It’s a tie,” I eventually offered, spit dribbling down my chin. “Your front and back are both, as you like to aim for, perfect.”
“Sweet talker,” he groaned.
“Sweet ass,” I moaned back, delving in for a tongue lashing, my oral appendage sliding inside, eliciting a sigh and an arched back as his thick dick-head banged out a beat on the bottom of my chin, obviously eager for some attention.
Being the equal-opportunity sucker that I am, my mouth moved south, encasing his prick with a slurp and a lick, working it down my throat as I teased his wet hole with an index finger.
“Oh, man, shove it in, Trent,” he rasped.
So shove it I did, joining my middle finger with its shorter neighbor, both digits sliding in and up and back, until I was ramming his ass with my hand and he was skewering my face with his pole, his balls getting in the action as they banged up against my nose, the alluring aroma of musk and sweat wafting up my sinus cavity.
I could’ve continued like that forever, but Ben had other nifty ideas in store for us.
“Wanna fuck me alfresco, Trent?” he asked.
I popped his prick out of my mouth, replying, “It’s friggin’ ten degrees out there.” I felt my balls rise in indignant objection.
“Mostly,” he replied cryptically as he crawled away, retracting his ass from my finger-fucking action with an audible pop. “Come and see.”
I hopped to my feet and smacked his ass. “Anything that involves coming, I’m all for.”
“I like the way you think,” he replied as he stood up, pulling me in for some lip-smacking goodness, his hands roaming my peaks and valleys, caressing the soft tender spots, sending goosebumps up and down both my arms.
“And right about now, I’m thinking how much I want to ram my cock up your ass, Ben.”
He laughed, his lips now running across my neck, his teeth gnashing at an earlobe. “We better hurry then.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his living room, our dicks swaying as he led me to a large set of sliding glass doors, the view outside spectacular. The weather had settled down since my meeting with the tree, the snow just a soft flurry, the sky a patchwork of brilliant blue and cottony gray, and there, at last, Mount Hood, towering majestically up into the clouds, all in white with fir-pricks of green.
“Pretty,” I commented, my hand on his ass, deft fingers splaying apart down-covered cheeks, “if not awfully chilly. I could fuck you, but they’d be pick-axing our bodies out come summer.”
“A good way to go, Trent, except for those.” He was pointing to the snow-covered patio outside.
“Heat lamps?” I said, at last noticing them.
He nodded, flicking a switch to the side of the doors. “I bring them in close during the winter, then out again as the temperature warms up. Dead center and it’s like the Mexican Riviera.”
My finger was now gliding inside his still-wet hole, both our cocks pointing up and out, as if to say, there, take me out there! I watched the heaters sputter to life, amber flames lighting up silver lanterns. He slid open the doors and hollered, “Run!”
A frigid blast of air gusted over my skin, instantly sending a chill through my body. Still, as he commanded, I ran, both of us landing at our destination in a matter of seconds, the warmth palpable, a truly welcome respite, to be sure. Naturally, it was a nice if not completely odd feeling to be standing there naked and hard surrounded by a snowy wonderland, heat radiating down, intermittently interrupted by an arctic breeze.
“Neat set up,” I told him.
“Wait, it gets better,” he told me, the wink returning as he bent down to a wooden chest at the side of the deck, removing a tarp and a blanket, not to mention a handy-dandy bottle of lube and a pack of rubbers. “I come prepared.”
“No,” I said, helping him set it all out. “You’re prepared to come.”
“Good to be ready,” he added, laying himself out for me.
I nodded appreciatively before getting on my knees, then hiked his legs up and out, his pink crinkled hole beckoning me down. I licked and lapped at it while he stroked his prick and watched my progress, my mouth soon giving way to one, then two, then three fingers up his chute, getting his ass good and ready for my ever-eager cock.
“Oh yeah, fuck me,” he panted, his fist working his dick, his balls bouncing up and down, a cool breeze blowing the fine hairs that ran around his heavy sac.
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