Stranger at the Door

"Yes," I said, resigned. The DVD was indeed of a movie Elias and I had appeared in. That had been my start in movies. My sugar daddy movie actor had seen it and a couple of other porn films Elias and I had done and had pulled me up into the legitimate movie scene. This had been the actor's cabin, built next door to a producer friend's place. Ben Swift knew my origins in L.A. as well as my actor sugar daddy did. He knew about me and the Chippendale clubs.

"And the black guy fucking you in the film. Is that the man you expected here tonight?"

"Yes."

"He looks like he's a lot older than you in this film. He must be in his forties now."

"He is," I said. I should have said more, to defend Elias's abilities as a lover, despite his age, but I didn't want Trevon thinking I was salivating after him and his young, hard body—although I was.

"You don't want me to put my cock away, do you? You don't want me to use the guest room. You want a young black stud fucking you tonight." He made to do so—to fold his cock back into his fly—and I groaned and involuntarily reached a hand out. He laughed. He slouched down more on the couch, pushed his pelvis up, and fingered his cock.

"Pretty nice, isn't it?" he said. He didn't seem really to want me to say anything—just notice his jet-black cock—so I remained silent. But I couldn't take my eyes off it. He gave a little laugh at that. He ran a finger up one side of it from root to tip and then down the other side. It bobbed against his finger, hard as a rock, thick and long. He thumped it and it came bouncing back in full erection.

I couldn't think of anything to say to that either. Is that what I really wanted? And, if so, had it been so obvious?

"This is getting a little out of hand," I said, putting a bit of bite into my voice. It was one thing for me to fantasize this guy fucking me; it was quite another for him to be so forward. Or so I was telling myself. In truth, taking command as he was, played perfectly on my submissive nature. He was playing me just right.

"Maybe we should back up a bit."

"We could do that, but we'd be wasting pleasure time," he answered, "wouldn't we?"

"Yes," I said meekly, defeated. I wanted someone to fuck me so bad—and now, not on some later date.

"And the other guy in this vid does you real well in the vid. Does your guy—did you say his name was Elias?—do you that well still? He's quite the hung black bull, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"I can do you that well. Come over here. Come over to the couch."

"I don't know. I don't think—"

"Come here. Kneel to me. Suck me off. Do it."

I was a submissive. I finally folded to domination. I responded to demanded commands. He lifted a leg off the coffee table to allow me to slip in between his legs and kneel in front of the couch. He put the leg back down, bracketing my body, and I took his cock in my mouth. He broke contact long enough to pull the Henley over my head and I resumed sucking him even harder than he'd been before.

The DVD continued to run, with the only sounds from the couch being the slurping sounds I was making, my occasional gag as he forced me to take him deep, and his mutterings of what he was going to do to me after I'd sucked him hard as hard could be.

At length he brought his legs down off the coffee table and raised me up, turned me and laid me down on my belly on the coffee table. "Up on your knees," he commanded. "Give me your ass," and I meekly did what he demanded of me. He laughed when he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles, finding I was wearing no briefs.

He kissed and bit me on both butt cheeks.

"You were ready for your boyfriend, weren't you?" he growled.

"Yes," I answered.

"He was going to come up here and fuck you good, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Is he virile for his age?"

"We've been with each other for ten years," I said, hedging. Elias was forty-two. He did well for his age, but he didn't dance the line himself any more. He was filling out and he didn't have the stamina he once did. I was still under thirty.

"I'm young and virile," Trevon said. And he was. He probably was five years younger than I was, cut and hung. "I can get it up and use it again and again. So, I'll be your new and improved boyfriend for the night."

"Yes," I answered, feeling like a traitor to Elias. Then I was panting and moaning and rocking my pelvis back into his face as he pulled my cock through my legs and gave that, my balls, and my ass attention with his tongue. I opened quickly to him. I had been anticipating this all day. Just not from a stranger. Certainly not from a stranger that was every bit the hunk and more than Elias was the first time he'd fucked me.

But I hadn't anticipated getting it this good.

That Trevon wasn't Elias didn't keep me from opening for him. He made use of the condom packets and lube on the coffee table and crowned himself. Then he came up onto the table—and I worried that it would hold us both, but it did—mounted me, crouched over my body, and forced himself inside, as I groaned and grunted and felt my channel walls give—actually pull him inside me. My channel muscles rippled over the hard cock. There was no question that I welcomed this—that I wanted it, that I needed it.

Big as he was, I had no trouble spreading to take him. I had been a really bad boy for the last ten years. And I specialized in seeking and taking big cocks.

At this point there wasn't much difference between Trevon and Elias—both black, both bulls, both able to make me see stars when they were inside me.

"You do it. If you want it, you do it. Show me you want it," he said, and he stopped pumping and held there, while I took over, rhythmically rocking back on the cock, fucking myself on it—embarrassed and cowed, but, yes, wanting it; wanting it badly enough to fuck myself on the cock. I stretched my arms straight out from my body in both directions, gripping opposite edges of the coffee table to hold myself steady while I rocked back on the cock. After a few minutes, he laughed, and took over the thrusting again.

He fucked me for several minutes, with the DVD still running. It was a two-hour show, having splice together several fuckings to leave the impression that Elias, superman enough at that time, could pump forever—and that I could lay under him and take it for that long. It had nearly an hour left to run and, I couldn't help it, I hoped Trevon's fuck would continue for that whole time.

Before either of us were done, though, he pulled out of and off me and said. "Over in the chair. I want you to do it. You have to show that you want it."

He was off the coffee table and went over to the recliner I had been in, slouched into it, made it recline, and grabbed his cock and held it upright. "Come here. Sit on it. Ride it," he commanded.

I mounted him on the chair, facing him; descended on the cock; and rose and fell on it with him holding my waist and helping me to slam up and down on the cock. Just as we both came, the lights flickered and then went out. I collapsed on top of him and we lay there in the chair for a few minutes, him embracing him, both of us feeling him go flaccid inside me—but not all the way.

He remained half hard. Only then, with the lights out, did I realize that the DVD had run its course. We'd been fucking for an hour or more. This was what a man five years younger than I was and in top shape could do. I'd been doing it with older men, with money and position. I hadn't been here with a young man for a while—not a younger man as vigorous as Trevon was.

I felt the beating of his heart as he cooled down. I wasn't cooling down as quickly. I was still excited. This unexpected fuck by a stranger kept me keyed up.

"Where is your bedroom?" I heard him ask.

"Down the hall and to the left," I answered.

"Is that where this boyfriend of yours—Elias, was it?—was going to fuck you tonight? In your bedroom?"

"Yes." I didn't mention that I'd expected Elias to fuck me all over the house--we were to be celebrating both our tenth anniversary and New Year's. I wanted Trevon to fuck me all over the house. He'd gotten a good start on that.

He hauled us both out of the chair, slung me over his shoulder, and lunging this way and that way and barely keeping from banging into the furniture on either side, headed back to the bedroom corridor. At the opening into the corridor, he banged my head against the wall. But I didn't care. All I could think of was that I was going to be fucked again—on my bed—in the dark, by a young, black Marlon Brando. Maybe in the shower and in this corridor and on the kitchen island as well. Happy New Year.

"Where do you keep them here in the bedroom?" he asked after he'd tossed me on the bed. "No reason to use any of mine if you have them." I rolled over and opened the top drawer of my nightstand and retrieved a condom packet.

While I was doing that, he went to the fireplace and lit it. I'd already laid the firewood in anticipation that the electricity—and thus the heat—would go off at some point in the storm. After he'd lit the fire, he came over to the bed and went down on his knees on the mattress beside me. "You do it. Crown me," he demanded. I rolled the condom on his erect cock.

Once again, saying it had to be because I wanted it, he made me do the work. He was controlling me with the tease and more than a hint of humiliation, making me beg for it and demonstrate my submissiveness to him. But he was reading me correctly. He had me under his control. I would do anything he told me to do as long as he gave me the cock.

He lay on his back on the bed and put me on top of him, in a reverse crab position, facing him, with my arms slung back, my fists buried in the mattress, and my legs bent, my feet planted on either side of his waist, with him fisting my ankles. I was skewered on his cock. I rose and fell on the cock and he thrust up into me. I was trembling and nearly exhausted when we'd come.

He fucked me to exhaustion in various positions and we both dozed off, stretched against each other in the flickering light and heat coming from the fireplace at the foot of the bed. When I woke, he was gone. I turned and looked at the clock, aware that what had awakened me was the electricity coming back on. It was barely midnight. Still, the stranger had fucked me for over two hours. I wondered where he was.

I realized it wasn't just the restoration of the electricity that had awakened me. Someone was outside, ringing the doorbell and beating on the door. Had Trevon somehow locked himself out of the house? I rolled out of bed, reached for the sleeping shorts I'd put in a chair near the bed earlier in the day in anticipation of sleeping in them, and padded out to the foyer.

Trevon's parka and floppy hat were gone. It wasn't him at the door. It was Elias.

"Elias. You made it," I said, hoping that Trevon indeed was gone and suddenly concerned about what had been left behind. Beer bottles in the living room. Elias drank beer and that's why I had it on hand. I didn't drink beer. I normally drank wine, and Elias knew I didn't drink beer. There was a bottle of champagne out there now and an untasted glass of the stuff on a table. My clothes littered the floor in front of the sofa. The TV was humming, with the DVD in the slot, stopped at the end. And condoms. Where had the condoms gone?

"Yes. I did catch a snowplow. But I can only stay the night, I'm afraid. There's a crisis at the club and we're having a meeting on that at Caligula tomorrow afternoon."

"Did you have to walk from the accident in front of the Lathems' house? Did the snowplow have to leave you there?"

"What accident?"

"I think there was a car accident. A car went off the road on that curve we're always careful about."

"No car there, and no sign of one."

"OK, well, come on in and get that coat off." I was looking into the living room as he took his coat off, panicked at what I could see in there of the evidence of the debauchery earlier in the evening.

Mercifully, the power went out again right at that moment.

"Shit," I said, although only halfheartedly. Maybe this would be OK, I thought. Maybe after he went to sleep I could sneak out and clean up.

The thought of Elias, forty-two now, fucking me in a one-and-done on the bed and then going into a deep enough sleep that I could come out here and clean up the living room hit me like a ton of bricks. That was the reality with Elias now. It wasn't the fantasy I'd had of doing it all over the house all night. Trevon had shown me what the fantasy could have been. What had I been thinking earlier that Elias and I would be doing on this tenth anniversary?

Right on cue Elias said. "I'm bushed, and we don't have much time. Maybe—"

"Come on back to the bedroom," I said. "It's warmer there. I've had a fire going and I can lay another one."

"And then I'll lay you," he said with a laugh. "I can't believe it's been exactly ten years."

I laughed lightly too. Looking at him, he still looked good, but I could see the ten years. If he'd come to me first tonight rather than the young, hunky Trevon, I would have been satisfied. I would have entertained my fantasies but be satisfied with the reality. But now I could see the extra ten years on him.

And now I'd been fucked by Trevon in keeping with my fantasies for New Year's Eve.

I remade the fire as Elias stripped and retrieved lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer. Even in the dark he easily found it. He'd done this before. When I came back to the bed, I stepped on something squishy. The condom from Trevon's fuck, I realized, and I kicked it under the bed before I climbed in and laid down on my back.

"Umm, you smell nice," he whispered. "New cologne?"

"Yes," I said. I didn't have any cologne on. Trevon had, though.

Elias fucked me in the missionary position—satisfying but not the variety and vigor Trevon had employed—his knees pressed under my buttocks, lifting my pelvis to him. He leaned over me, holding my arms up and out on the top of the bed, fisting my wrists in his big, brown hands. He was thick and long inside me. He had a beer belly on him now, but not too much; it didn't get in the way of the fuck.

He still was massive. He still could go hard as a rock. He still could go in to the root. If he sensed that I already was open, he made no remark of it. He started slow, but we quickly found a more vigorous rhythm of moving together and he pounded me long and hard before tensing, jerking, and coming in the sheath inside me. He rolled off to the side and was snoring in short order. I'm sure it had been tiring to get up here, but it was clear that he now was pretty much a one-and-done man.

I wasn't. I was still under thirty. I had kept up with Trevon for two hours of athletic fucking.

Quietly, I rolled out of the bed on the opposite side of him and padded out to the living room. I was tidying that up when I realized that the lights were on in Ben Swift's house at the end of the road. I went over to the window and looked at the house.

He was standing naked, in the full wall of glass of the A-frame cottage, backed by lights inside. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at my house. Trevon's body was as beautiful and hard backlit like this as it had been when he had been standing in my living room, when he had been under me in the chair, and when he had been fucking me in my bed. Young, not an ounce of fat on him, muscular, hung.

I was sure he couldn't see me, but I realized there was a light on in my kitchen, so maybe he could. I now realized that he certainly had been able to see me from there earlier in the evening, slouched in the sofa and jerking off to the sex tape.

He confirmed he could see me by waving at me and blowing me an air kiss. Instead of pulling away, out of his sight, I turned on the lights in my living room. Now we each could clearly see the other. He took his cock in his hand. I was as naked as he was. And now I was as erect as he was too. We stood there, facing each other from across the snowy divide, and masturbated. I watched him jerking off and he watched me jerking off.

Two young and randy men, both able to keep it up and take pleasure from the fuck repeatedly, for hours. Me, a Chippendale dancer, using all of my stage moves. Him, mimicking me and doing it quite sensually.

As if there was a mental connection, we both were working to come simultaneously. We came close to managing it, with him, as could be expected, demanding that I come first. My spunk arced and splashed against the glass window. His did so soon thereafter. He saluted me and the power in both houses, as if on cue, went out again.

I had had a stab of disappointment when Elias said he could only stay the night, not the weekend. But now, thinking of the possibilities with Trevon if he was staying the weekend, I wasn't disappointed anymore.

Happy New Year.