Coupling Up

Abruptly he pulled away from and, with a laugh, said, "Whoa, mate! Don't get my pants wet – I've gotta go to work in these!"

I realised that I'd been so overcome by the captivating allure of his scent that I'd been licking him through his underwear without even knowing it. There was a round patch of sopping wet material wedged into his crack level with his arsehole.

I sheepishly muttered, "Sorry... I didn't really mean to."

He quickly yanked his boxer briefs down, presenting his naked arse to my face. "There – do it that way, if you wanna lick me out."

His muscular buttocks were pert and squat, making his crack quite short and distinctly masculine in appearance. The skin of them was quite hairy, as I'd expected, and he had a thick forest of hair spilling from his crack. It was a divine sight and I licked my lips at the prospect of getting my face stuck between such magnificent cheeks.

Before I could do so, he laughed again and said, "Jesus Christ, mate. You're hung like a fuckin' horse!"

I glanced down and realised that my avid enthusiasm for pressing my face into this guy's arse had been shared by my cock which must have rapidly hardened at the first whiff of male rear. I chuckled awkwardly, aware of how ungainly I must look, squatting there behind him with my organ arching upwards in a state of full erection.

He grinned back at me and chuckled, "It's a good job you don't wanna fuck me!"

I looked up at him, hopeful. "Actually, I would quite like to..."

His smile quickly vanished. "Yeah, well it's a good job you didn't bring enough money to fuck me. Anyway, I don't think it would fit."

He turned back to face the wall and hitched his fleece up again to expose his naked buttocks. He pushed his arse towards my face, opening his legs slightly so that I could see his large, solid balls between them. Unlike his arse-crack, his bulging scrotum was practically hairless.

"Eat me out and wank yourself off, mate," he said with some urgency, jabbing his bum towards me. "I 'aven't got that long."

I pushed myself forwards and drove into him, using my nose to wedge open his crack so that I could push my tongue deep between his cheeks. His raw smell, laid bare without the covering of his underwear, was crude and powerful and his taste was overwhelmingly bitter in its intensity. Its effect on me, however, was electrifying.

I grabbed my cock and took up a rapid masturbatory rhythm as I hungrily licked at his hole, flicking my tongue back and forth against its tight, puckered folds so that I could fully taste its rich, potent flavours. He grabbed my head and worked me into him, pushing first my nose against his ring and then my mouth; rubbing my face up and down in his cleft. I licked and sniffed frantically, loving the sensation of him holding my head against his arse, while I rubbed my cock as fast as I could.

I heard him say, "Fuck, yeah..." as he pushed his arse more roughly against me and I basked in the strength of his thick, cloying odour. I realised there was a second rhythm to our movements: he was masturbating himself as I rimmed him and his hand was working his own organ almost as fast as I was rubbing mine.

He bent lower, opening his knees as wide as he could, and pushed my face between his legs so I could lick his balls. They were large and surprisingly immobile inside his scrotum, as though swollen hard against it and unable to move around. I took them in my mouth in turn, finding the sharpness of his sweat on them an interesting contrast to the bitterness of his backside.

He pulled away from me and turned around to face me, his hand still sweeping up and down the length of his now impressively large cock. The ridge on the fattened head of it was so prominent that his foreskin couldn't slide over it but just sort of rolled up behind it each time he yanked it forwards.

Taking his hand away, he grabbed my head and pulled me towards his outstretched cock. I knew what he wanted: didn't all men seem to want this except, for some reason, me?

I'd have preferred to have continued rimming him – his arsehole, I was sure, held yet more secrets which would yield to the coaxing of my tongue – but I felt obliged to comply with his more urgent demand. He had, after all, become so aroused because of what I'd been doing to him so it wasn't unreasonable that he'd expect me to help him discharge his excitement. He probably also assumed I'd enjoy relieving him orally: however, while sucking other men's cocks wasn't something I was repulsed by, it certainly wasn't something I would actively seek to do.

I opened my mouth and received him, intrigued by the sharp, acrid taste of his shaft as he began pushing himself into me and the leftover saltiness of his precum on the back of my tongue every time he withdrew.

He held my head steady as he steadily fucked my face, developing a quickening rhythm which had his balls slapping against my chin. While I wasn't greatly aroused by having another man's erection sliding in and out of my mouth, I enjoyed the strong, musky smell of his pubic hair every time he pushed into me, burying my nose in its coarse, tangled bush.

He grunted, "Yeah... fuckin' take it!"

After a few seconds, he stopped to shift his position slightly. He separated his feet as far apart as he could with his tracksuit bottoms and underwear around his shins, narrowed his knees around my torso as if to hold me more firmly in place, grabbed the sides of my head tightly and then began ramming his cock in and out of my mouth with an urgent, almost piston-like bucking of his hips.

I wasn't entirely comfortable at being used like this: reduced to being another man's masturbatory aid. I didn't like him holding me so forcefully while my mouth was pummelled by his frantic cock and my chin was battered by his large, slapping balls.

Nevertheless, I sucked at him furiously, incredulous at how quickly and how roughly he was thrusting himself back and forth, and swallowed some of the thick ooze of his precum which was starting to fill my mouth. I reached around him to grab his flexing arse-cheeks with my hands, working my fingers into the wet sticky crack which I'd so reluctantly relinquished and gently teasing his hot, slimy hole.

He grunted in encouragement, apparently enjoying having me playing with his backside. I felt his cock growing thicker and harder inside my mouth as his rhythm increased still further, and realised I was starting to have difficulty breathing as I was being held so tightly and my throat was being fucked with such force.

Suddenly, from the side of me, somebody whispered, "Rim him again!"

Horrified at the unexpected interruption, I struggled away from him. Someone was peering at us through the hole in the partition: the hole which I had looked through on my previous visit to these toilets.

Annoyed that his pleasure had been disturbed, Asda guy hissed, "It's just some old queen! Ignore him!"

From what I could see of the guy watching us, he didn't look that old. He was probably around my age and was wearing an outdoor jacket with a shirt and tie under it. He was likely to be an estate agent or some such from one of the streets which overlooked the park. He must pop across the road whenever he felt like taking in a show.

Asda guy tried to push his cock back into my mouth but I pulled back.

"Come on, suck me off!" he demanded.

"Lick his arse again... like you were before," the voice from next door whispered.

Asda guy looked down at me, his throbbing cock, wet from tip to base and with strings of my drool dangling from it, wavering impatiently in my face.

I nodded up at him in agreement. "Actually... I would like to continue rimming you."

Asda guy looked disdainful. Perhaps he was annoyed that I preferred getting intimate with his backside rather than with his cock, which he was obviously quite proud of and saw as the superior organ. Or perhaps he was irritated that I was, after all, the paying customer who'd put in a fair-and-square order to rim him at the beginning.

"You sick fuck," he spat, and started hitching his tracksuit bottoms and underwear up his legs.

At first I thought he'd had enough and felt I'd already received my sixteen pounds twenty worth of arse-to-face fun. But he just wanted to adjust his clothing so that he could get one leg up on the toilet seat, giving me access between his legs without him having to turn around. I don't know if he did this because he wanted to show his cock off to our voyeur next door or whether he hoped that this way around he could more easily manoeuvre himself into another blow job from me, but as long as I could reach my preferred target I was happy with the position.

I leaned forwards and nuzzled into his large, solid balls as his hand took up a moderate rhythm on his thwarted hard-on. I licked his bollocks thoroughly, for which he expressed his enjoyment by grinding them into my face as he masturbated, and then went lower to push my way between his legs to work my tongue along the hairy ridge guiding me towards my destination.

With the first few suggestions of the darker, more odoriferous scents lurking behind his balls, my cock quickly recovered the stiffness it had lost when we'd been interrupted, and my hand took up a rhythm of its own as I pushed as deep as I could between his legs. However, with the position we were in it was difficult to reach up into his butt-crack and, try as we both might, we couldn't get into a position where I could actually rim him. He opened his legs as wide as he could with his underwear and tracksuit bottoms confining him, and I craned my neck and extended my tongue as far as I was able, but my prize remained tantalisingly out of reach.

Asda guy pulled off me, took his foot off the toilet seat and muttered, "You're gonna have to turn around."

I thought at first he was suggesting that we change places.

"You mean, you want to try rimming me?" I asked, hopefully.

He looked me up and down, unimpressed, and said, flatly, "Mate – there isn't a hole on your body that my mouth is going anywhere near."

And a merry Christmas to you too, I thought.

"You're gonna have to face upwards," he elaborated. "Turn around and squat down with your head on the toilet seat."

I caught his drift and changed my position, swivelling around on my hunkers to face the toilet door and then, steadying myself by grabbing his legs, pushing my head between them so that I was looking up at his backside. Arching my back upwards off the floor in a way that I knew was going to ache the next day, I rested the back of my head on the toilet seat as he'd suggested.

The position wasn't as uncomfortable as I'd expected, and the strain on my back was more than compensated for by having the round cheeks and spit-moistened crack of Asda guy's arse looming just above me.

I heard our voyeur express his approval through the hole in the partition in anticipation of what he was about to see, as well as the quiet beating of his hand against his trousers as he worked his erection as it poked through his fly.

"Sit on his face," whispered the voice from the next stall. When I'd been in his place, a couple of weeks earlier, I hadn't realised I could act as director.

Asda guy squatted down, lowering himself onto my waiting face and using his hands to splay open his cheeks to expose his deep hairy cleft and, twinkling like a jewel inside it, his tiny pink hole.

The voice called in, "Yeah... smell it..." and I craned my neck upwards to inhale once again the deliciously carnal odour between Asda guy's cheeks. Through the hole, I heard the rhythm of our voyeur's hand rapidly double and become a steady thud-thud-thud against the front of his trousers, as I pushed my nose into the furry valley between Asda guy's buttocks.

The guy kept calling through the hole in the partition: "Go on... shove your nose right in... sniff his shitty hole..." Although Asda guy's backside was essentially clean, I liked the coarseness of our voyeur's language and was immensely turned on by the inference that I was doing something so squalid and deeply unacceptable.

Supporting myself against the toilet seat with one hand, I grabbed my cock with the other and took up a fairly rapid rhythm on myself. Seeing how aroused I was by where my face was, the guy next door grunted, "Fuck yeah... wank it, mate... wank your cock while you sniff his dirty arse!"

Asda guy pushed his arse further down onto me and our voyeur's hand sped up further on his cock, the frenetic banging of his wrist against his trousers sounding like a jackhammer. He commanded, "Lick his shitty hole... go on, mate... shove your tongue right up it... clean it out!"

I extended my tongue upwards and, as before, was immediately overwhelmed with waves of excitement on tasting the strong, pungent flavour of this young guy's arse-crack. His body started shuddering and I realised he was wanking himself again; enjoying, in spite of himself, the sensation of my tongue tickling and tasting his most intimate spot.

Just as had happened that first night in the hotel when I'd discovered how arousing it can be to do this with another man, I found myself in a state of near-ecstasy at the smells and tastes I was experiencing. He was grinding himself into my nose and my mouth, bucking his hips back and forth and pushing his arse down onto my face as he jerked himself. I think I was pushing my tongue up inside him, but I was so far gone by the sheer pleasure of having my face pressing up between his round, muscular cheeks, that I'm afraid the details of what exactly I did aren't clear to me.

I heard the guy in the next cubicle call out to Asda guy, "Let me in... I'll suck your cock while he licks you out... go on, mate... you can fuck me if you like..."

At that moment, it felt like Asda guy's anus started responding to my tongue. It seemed to pucker up and then relax, over and over, like a pair of lips reaching out to make cutesy kisses. I heard him grunting and felt splashes of warm wetness soaking my shirt and realised he was climaxing over me.

His hips kept bucking as he milked his balls over me. It seemed inevitable that he was ruining my tie as he did so, but I was too immersed in licking his anus to be overly concerned.

With his arse still squatting above me, I pounded at my cock as fast as my forearm was able to. I was eager to climax before he climbed off me and start pulling up his clothing; anxious to exploit this opportunity to bring myself to orgasm while I was in a position I'd fantasized about so much.

As the puckering of his hole abated and with my face still burrowing into his wet, hairy crack, it occurred to me that the orifice I was tonguing had undoubtedly been penetrated by the variously-sized cocks of a succession of other men; men who had happened to have rather more money in their wallets than I'd had that day. For some reason, the thought of his bum being recurrently fucked by so many men excited me enormously and I felt a familiar tingling in my testicles which heralded the onset of an orgasm.

I ran with the thought, and imagined the tiny wrinkled hole my tongue was lapping at having to widen and strain to accommodate all these cocks: condom-clad erections of all shapes and sizes poking through so many different men's trouser flies; men of all types and ages who had discovered, just as I was beginning to appreciate, that they enjoy using some young guy's arse to pleasure themselves from time to time; men who weren't averse to paying a stranger to be bent over and buggered with his tracksuit bottoms around his ankles in a toilet stall.

As the tingling in my balls turned into an explosion of pleasure, my own load sprayed across my shirt to join his.

Before my climax had subsided, while my balls were still discharging their last spurts of semen into a pool on my belly, he pulled away from me and staggered towards the far side of the cubicle.

With a glance at his watch, he muttered, "I gotta go," as if fearing I might have further requests in store.

I pulled myself up from the arched position I'd been in and, as I did so, saw gobs of our copious white mess dribble down from my shirt onto the black trousers I was wearing.

The washing machine was certainly going to be busy tonight.

I looked around for some toilet roll but had to make do with using a couple of tissues from my pocket to wipe my cock and dab up the worst of the semen splashes which my shirt, jacket and trousers had taken.

My tie seemed, I noticed, to have been spared from the onslaught. It had been a Christmas present many years ago from my ex-wife's parents. If it had been one that I actually liked no doubt it would have been soaked and stained beyond redemption.

Asda guy pulled up his tracksuit bottoms and fished around in his pocket. I wondered momentarily if he was going to give me my cash back, which would not have been unreasonable given that I'd done all the hard work, but instead he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

"Keep it real, mate," he said, lighting one up, and let himself out of the stall.

I stuffed my softening cock back into my underwear and did up my cum-spattered trousers. How long was I supposed to wait before following Asda guy out of the cubicle? Was there an etiquette about such things?

The guy in the next cubicle, who I'd rather forgotten about, whispered through the hole to me. "Do you wanna come in here? You can rim me, if you like..."

I was surprised at his suggestion: had he not seen me ejaculate?

Again I wondered if there was some sort of unwritten protocol governing such places which I wasn't yet party to. Was it regarded as bad form for a guy to leave the party before everyone had spent themselves?

Resolving that such niceties would have to be dispensed with here, I muttered my apologies and let myself out of the cubicle.

As I hurried out of the toilet, I cringed to see my neighbour from across the road walking down the path towards me. Isn't it just bloody typical? The one day I leave a gents' toilet covered in semen, I'm seen by someone I know.

Paul, my neighbour, smirked over at me as we passed and hopefully put the spattered state of my shirt and trousers down to a particularly unruly hand wash in the toilet building.

As I walked away I saw that he was heading into the toilets himself. I chuckled to myself that he might get more than he bargained for if he were to use the cubicle next to the guy I'd just left.

Walking back to my car, I felt seedy at what I'd just done. I could hardly believe I'd taken it as far as I did and actually paid a lad who worked in a supermarket to rim him in a public toilet. Jesus – if I'd had a bit more money and a condom on me, I'd have actually had him bend over for me to fuck him. I really would have stood there, in that seedy cubicle, grabbing a stranger by the collar of his fleece as I humped his hairy arse.

But then, that was the reason I'd come here, wasn't it? Not to pay a guy, of course, but for sex. Wasn't that the whole point of leaving work early and driving over to the park? Hadn't I even been getting excited at the prospect of what might happen as I'd walked towards the building?

Even so, what I'd done now felt wrong. It had been one thing to have stumbled across two guys getting intimate together in a cubicle and to watch them, but quite another to go there with the specific intention of soliciting other men for sex.

Not only that, but it suddenly dawned on me that I could quite easily have been mugged or beaten up in the toilets. Jesus – I'd had my wallet out in front of Asda guy, flashing it around like candy! It occurred to me with a jolt that he might have seen my name on my credit cards when I'd been riffling through it for cash. My name isn't that common: he might be able to work out who I am and where I live.