The Right Trousers

I wondered if this was the first time he had rimmed a guy: I rather doubted it as he seemed very adept at what he was doing. It might be his first time at doing it with a customer, but his tongue was way too confident for him to be a novice. He must meet guys somewhere and invite them back with him.

I kept wanking myself, peering over at what he was doing in the mirror alongside us. There we were: there was my arse bending over with my cheeks splayed wide open, and there was Martin's face clamped right between them, his mouth opening and closing, as he gorged on my most indelicate spot. My rhythm grew faster and I made long, sweeping strokes up and down the full length of my cock.

His tongue was pushing as deeper and deeper and his lips were sucking furiously on my hole. I could feel the pursed ring of soft tissue around it swelling and growing – almost hardening as if mirroring the stiffening of my cock – and I wondered if it was possible to become anally excited. If it was, I was well on the way: my hole, normally so small, wrinkled and inconsequential, now tingled and felt pink and firm; pumped up and throbbing as it enjoyed its own distinctive take on what would be termed, on its big brother around the front, an erection.

Martin's mouth started making loud guzzling noises as he greedily slurped at my sleazy chute. He grabbed onto my hip more firmly so he could push his face further and further forwards, squeezing as far between my cheeks as he was able, determined to reach deeper and deeper up into my bowels.

I turned back to peer into the mirror again, fascinated to watch him feasting so fervently on my outstretched backside, caressing his erection faster and faster as he did so. He was completely absorbed – wholly captivated – by what he was doing and I was mesmerised to watch him like that; to see him rubbing himself so quickly at the thrill of having his face pressed into my pale, hairy arse.

No-one had even so much as touched me between my cheeks before, let alone fondled my hole, and now here was a man with his nose wedged firmly in the soaking wet hair deep in my crack and his mouth clamped slap bang on my bullseye.

My pleasure was rapidly intensifying: my orgasm was on its way.

I called out to him, "Come on, eat me! Eat my arse!"

And I pushed my bum hard into his face.

He fed on me more hungrily, his tongue coaxing every last ooze of flavour from my hole, and I looked down between my legs at his cock. The gentle kneading action he'd been making on the head of it increased rapidly to a rhythmic masturbatory motion. Gone was the pretence that he was delicately polishing his glans: he was now, like me, enjoying a good old-fashioned, hearty wank.

Encouraged by his eagerness, I reached back with my free hand and grabbed his head, smearing his face between my cheeks and grinding my arse against his mouth.

I looked over at the two of us in the mirror again: Jesus, we looked so hot like this! Me with my trousers hitched down and my arse thrusting back, over and over, into another man's eager face. Him rubbing his upright cock, faster and faster, in his intensifying passion.

I called out again, "Taste my bowels! Push your tongue right up into me!"

He grunted appreciatively – his tongue lapping furiously at my hole as if he were gulping down his last meal – and I looked again through my legs at his cock as he stroked the shaft up and down in a frantic blur. As if it could sense it was being observed, it responded by squirting thick white ribbons up into the air and I sped my own wrist up to wank myself with the same frenzied rhythm, still holding his face tight against my arse.

He rode out his orgasm with me holding him like that, still rubbing at himself as quickly as he could and with his hips bucking in gentle spasms. He was wallowing in the smell of my bum on his face and in his mouth, as if oblivious to the fact that his cock was gushing in gratitude onto his shirt and trousers.

Once he was fully spent, I could feel him trying to pull away from my arse, but I wanted to hold him there – his nose snorting into my crack and his mouth panting against my hole – feeling my own pleasure spreading as my balls readied themselves to unleash my load.

My excitement amassed and condensed into an orgasm at the thought of his own puckered anus, squatting down behind me in the back of his trousers, swollen and moist at the pleasure he had received from mine. I held his face firm as my climax kicked in, pushing his face hard against my hole as it clamped and dilated in fish-mouth spasms against his lips, all the time thinking about what it would be like to have my mouth on his sweaty backside; his hot, slimy ring constricting around my tongue.

I released his head only when my own far more copious eruption needed both of my hands to contain it. He fell back slightly, his own cock still oozing and his mouth gasping for fresh air.

I did my best to catch the majority of my outpouring by cupping my hands together underneath the squirting head, but a few stray gobs managed to shoot onto his precious carpet.

Having recovered from the force of his climax, he grabbed the tissues from his pocket and did his best to wipe his semen from his clothing. Then he stood up, coughed quietly to clear his throat, and glanced over at me, still bending over and trying to aim the dwindling dribble from my cock into the glutinous white pool I was holding in my cupped hands.

"I did rather wonder – from the way you were responding – if you'd be needing some tissues too," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "They might come in handy right now."

He stashed his softening cock back into his cum-splashed trousers and zipped himself up. Then he walked over to the table and took a wodge of tissues out of the packet and helped me to dab up the almost embarrassing quantity of semen I was holding in both hands like some ritualistic offering.

Seeing the smattering of stray white splashes on the carpet, he withdrew another tissue and bent down, tutting, to soak them up.

"You obviously rather enjoyed that," he observed, perhaps mentally subtracting a chunk from the discount he'd been considering giving me.

"It was very pleasant, yes," I said, standing upright and wiping the thick gobs of my discharge from my hands with a thick wad of tissues.

"I see you're very well-endowed, Mr Furlong," he observed coldly, glancing at my spent organ, now drooping downwards with the foreskin easing back across the withering head. My balls hung low between my thighs, drained but still massively enlarged and no doubt frantically churning out more sperms ready to fuel another load that evening.

I suddenly felt self-conscious again; this time to be exposing my large genitals to him now that his more modestly proportioned cock had been discreetly tucked away. I was almost compelled to apologise; to excuse myself for having such a monstrously large organ and a pair of balls that looked like they belonged to a large, lumbering mammal.

Before I could respond, though, he added, "I'm rather glad I noticed – there's nothing more uncomfortable or embarrassing than trousers that are too tight around the crotch. I'll have to cut you quite a bit of slack in that area."

I nodded, throwing the sodden tissues into the bin and pulling up my underwear.

"Do you enjoy being anally penetrated by other men's penises?" he asked.

Was this also about the trousers? Were there special hems – flaps perhaps – which he could stitch in around the back?

"To be honest," I told him, "that was the first time a guy has had anything to do with my bum. I don't think I'm ready for anything more than a tongue, though. Maybe one day... but not yet."

He glanced over at me in surprise.

"I got the impression you were rather well-practised," he said. "I was actually intending to discharge myself inside you – it's so much cleaner that way – but... well... as you saw, matters rather overtook me."

I kept a neutral expression, pulling up my trousers. Was he telling me he'd been planning to fuck me? That he'd been going to stand up behind me and bugger my arse without even asking me?

"It's a good job I didn't go ahead," he chuckled. "It might have been rather an unpleasant surprise for you."

I smiled but I was wondering what I'd have done if he had tried to butt-fuck me – especially as there was no sign of any condoms in that drawer of his. I rather liked the idea of getting behind another guy after I'd rimmed him and 'discharging myself' inside him, as Martin had so starkly put it; but to allow another man to do that to me... I wasn't convinced I would like that.

I couldn't be sure how I might act in the heat of an impassioned moment, but I was quite certain that if I'd felt the head of his cock pressing against my spit-soaked arsehole, things between us would have ended considerably less amicably than they had.

I buttoned myself up and then struggled to yank the zip up over the bulge my still semi-erect cock was making. I could see what he meant about cutting a bit of slack in the crotch – an extra couple of inches of material would come in very handy at moments like this.

"The trousers will be one hundred and fifty pounds," he stated. "I can have them ready by Tuesday."

"It's a bit expensive for a pair of trousers," I queried.

"Given how accommodating you've been, I've pitched the price, if you'll pardon the turn of phrase, at rock bottom."

I smiled at his humour but he just stared back at me, his face deadpan.

Although one hundred and fifty pounds was well in excess of what I'd normally be prepared to pay, I nodded.

After washing our hands in a little kitchen out back, we went back through to the shop to settle up. He agreed to post the trousers over to me to save me another journey into Coventry and that they'd arrive by Wednesday, so I could wear them when I met Debbie.

"Thank you for being so obliging in the back room," he said crisply. "It was very good of you."

I smiled. It was like he hadn't noticed that I'd also enjoyed a very heavy climax.

"If ever you're passing the shop again," he went on, "I'd be more than happy to... er... take your measurements again."

I chuckled. "Perhaps it would be fun if I could take yours?"

He allowed himself a smile. "It's a little irregular, but it might make an interesting experiment."

I was sure I wouldn't be back. I didn't regret what we'd done but he was a bit too odd – too strangely reserved – for me to be drawn into a repeat performance.

He let me out of the shop with a muttered goodbye. I got the feeling he knew I wouldn't be back; I wondered if anyone ever returned.

As I walked back to my car my arse felt the cold autumn air between my cheeks from where it was still damp. I'd never had that feeling before and it was mildly unpleasant.

I wondered how it would feel if I'd let him fuck me. There was no way I would have, but it was an intriguing thought. I'd found it quite repellent when he'd first mooted the possibility but now that the idea was in my mind, I was starting to get used to it.

What would it feel like to let a guy do that to me? To feel him inside me?

I realised that one day, probably sooner than I might have anticipated, the curiosity I was now feeling would impel me to find out.

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Next story: Coupling Up

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