By Daniel Douglas
All photos are of the author, courtesy of him.
It was the last day of vacation, giving very “last day of vacation” vibes: Everyone in our house was lying on the couch half-naked, hungover, tapping through the apps. My hard-on was still going strong from the night before, but I couldn’t muster the strength to walk far, even to bust a nut. So when Ted hit me up from a few hundred feet away, I knew it was meant to be.
Ted was like that lumberjack stud drawn onto those Brawny paper towels if he came to life and out of the closet. A sturdy six foot four with solid features and even more solid muscles, his impressive cock matched a perfect ass I’d fucked a few months earlier at an afters. On his last day of vacation, all Ted wanted was my cum on his face; he admitted that he’d been dreaming about it all week.
“After the other night, your load is a legend on this island now,” he texted. “I need it, Sir…”
I’m susceptible to flattery, so I tucked my semi into someone else’s mesh gym shorts, threw on a pair of boat shoes, and walked shirtless down the boardwalk to give this guy exactly what he needed.
I walked into Ted’s house, past a living room that looked much like the one I’d just left (full of hungover hotties perusing their phones for hookups). Ted took me back to the pool area and stripped naked on his way to the outdoor shower. Before I could whip out my heavy cock, he was already on his knees, stroking himself. I let him suck it for a while, getting fully hard so that when it smacked against his face, we could both enjoy the hefty thwacking sound. His mustache formed a perfect crescent above my shaft as I fucked his face, not so different from how mine must look when I suck cock. Watching his full lips envelope me was enough to make my day, but it wasn’t long before Ted’s big beautiful blue eyes started begging for the main event.
As I pulled my meat out to beat it to completion, he grabbed his phone and gave it to me, asking for a video. I usually stroke with both hands, but in this case, I didn’t mind using one to record my money shot. As soon as I hit the record button, I could feel the shudder building inside me. Seconds later, thick white ropes of my seed started smothering his delicate yet masculine face. Ted took it like a man: wide eyes, open mouth, tongue out, and smiling. Something about that satisfied and subservient smile turned me on even more. The intensity of my climax kept climbing as my cum kept cumming. At this moment, he existed only for my pleasure; we both knew it and loved it.
How did we get here? How did my load become “legend” in less than a week? And how the fuck, after so many orgasms over the last few days, did I still manage to produce such a huge nut? Let’s rewind, past the midday pool party that ended with a photo of my jizz splattered across the chiseled chest of another hung top, all the way back to the first sex party of the trip.
It was the second night of vacation, giving very “second night of vacation” vibes.
Everyone was ecstatic to be out of the city, on the beach, and surrounded by stunning queer sex gods. The bars and clubs had closed for the night, but no one was ready to go to bed. Correction: Bed was an option; sleep was not. A friend of a friend was hosting a late-night house party, and I was all in. My husband and soulmate Chris, a curly blond-haired, blue-eyed sparkplug of joy (and expert bottom), decided to forego that night’s group shenanigans, content to stay in our king bed getting railed by his new favorite dom of the day. (After ten years together, our open relationship has evolved to include playing together and separately.)
So I picked our friend and housemate Jake, a fellow top and literal pornstar, as my wingman. Shorter than me but with an even bigger ego, his jet-black hair and brown eyes blend gorgeously with his flawlessly tanned skin. His body has almost no fat; however, his manhood is fat as a beer can, so it’s no surprise that he parades around in the nude, displaying his jaw-dropping goods at all times.
Much like many other gay men who make their yearly pilgrimage to The Pines, I work hard for my physique, and I’m proud to show it off. I can’t claim to have worked hard for the size or shape of my penis, but I’m still proud to show that off, too.
Whenever anyone compliments my mustache or cock size, I say, “Thanks, I grew it myself.” I’d been using that line all day, and it had already helped me gain entry to more holes than I’d been able to keep count of. Small, smooth, perky asses with hairless holes. Supple, furry, muscular cheeks made for spreading and eating out. Sweet, sloppy, dick-sucking lips designed to swallow pole, slobbering all over mine. Every type of guy you could imagine was there, and my dick was lucky enough to sample them all.
When Jake and I arrived at the party, we were directed back to the hot tub, yet there wasn’t a swimsuit in sight. I guess I’d missed the memo that the dress code was “jockstrap or less,” but luckily, neither of us has ever been too shy about stripping down.
The only light was an undulating aquamarine emitted from the clear blue pool at the center of the deck. The sound was a wash of moans and grunts over mindless music, with only a faint bit of muttering punctuating casual encounters. The air carried scents of chlorine, sunblock, spit, and man. This after-hours bacchanal was populated with some of the most gorgeous creatures I’d ever seen. It wasn’t long before every single (and taken) body was glistening with sweat, dripping with non-stop precum, and coated in lube.
We both seemed to fit right in as we wandered around this impromptu sex party, trading holes and throats back and forth like we were trying on hats and sunglasses at a gas station convenience store. It all felt dirty and naughty yet playful and pure at the same time: no small talk, no gossip, no overthinking, just sex in all its glorious forms. Everywhere you looked, someone’s eyes were rolling into the backs of their heads, overwhelmed with sensation.
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