The Guy had Red Nails

"That's it," he growls. "Pull me in; you need me further in. Feel my heat rising through your chest. Your heart racing to keep up."

I was now arching my back some and my cock was throbbing.

"You're going to cum in just a few seconds," he gasped. "And then I'm going to drain you."

A flash of fear came and went, shoved aside by the building lust. I need to release; I needed him to explode. I wanted to give him the best orgasm ever.

He sat up straight, running his nails up and down the back my legs. It was like throwing a switch. I exploded. The orgasm began at the back of my head and descended down my spine.

He leaned forward, putting both his hands on my chest. His cock pulsing. Then I felt it swell more and erupt -- again and again. It was even hotter that his cock. It felt like foam filling my insides.

He was sitting straight up looking down at me, rocking slightly and watching me.

My heart rate had to be over 225, I was gasping for like I had swam 50 meters underwater.

As he pulled out and stood, he grabbed one of my legs and flipped me over face down into the pillow. Some survival instinct made me slide my face ever so slightly to the side where was an air pocket. But I was not recovering. My heart was still racing and my breaths were getting more shallow. "Calm", I thought. "Be calm and wait."

It could have been a minute; it could have been thirty minutes, but all of a sudden my body jerked in all four directions and I took a huge breath.

I heard water running in the bath room and then him walking into the room. I groaned and rolled slightly.

"Well," he said, "This is unexpected."

I groaned again.

"Figured a guy your age would get v-tach and then come to a screeching halt. You must be in pretty good shape; your legs look like a runner or cyclist. No matter though, you've barely got enough energy left in you to survive to morning. The coroners always rule it a heart attack---sudden arrhythmia sort of thing. So you really ought to have died by now, less suffering."

His tone was smug. And cold, very very cold.

"But every few years someone survives, which is not necessarily a good thing. So on the 1:1000 chance you live I'll leave you with this. Should you be alive in the morning, you won't be able to tell anyone what happened. And then, and this is the best part, every 112 days or so, when the moon gets full, you're going to have an uncontrollable urge to suck some guy's cock and then take it up the ass until it's completely spent. So good luck with that---you being a nice middle-aged heterosexual - - hah - -.

_________________

That was two years ago.

I somehow made it through the night, but scared housekeeping something fierce when she found me on the floor. I passed off the next two days as recovery from the flu and then limped home.

But like he said, I couldn't say a word about it. Besides, who would I tell -- Charlotte? No 'efffing' way. It was too unreal to dwell on, but it was always there in the back, especially on the long bike rides.

Sure enough, about four months later, I started to have more intense flashes of the event. These got more frequent to the point where I saw myself sucking him and then his putting his dick up my ass. My mouth and ass tingled and twitched every time the images popped up. A day or so later, I'm walking across a hotel parking lot to check in, and yep---there's a full moon.

His words fluttered in my ears - - suck a cock, fuck a cock, suck it, fuck it. Over and over.

I started to sweat and tremble. The urge was washing through me in waves. Back in the car, a quick web search, off to a sex shop, pick out a dildo and some lube, pay cash and get back to the hotel. Up to the room and stripping as I walk into the room and putting the dildo in my mouth. I caress it and take it as deep as I can. Laying on the bed, holding it my mouth, I take the lube and in moments I have two fingers in my ass spreading my hole as wide as I can. In goes the dick and in less than 20 strokes, I cumming with vigor.

But after the next two periods, the dildo was not enough. I needed to be fucked. And fucked hard. A cold piece of rubber is not the same as a real cock that responds and releases.

So now I make it a point to be on the road in a major city when my urge is going to occur. A little research locates a male masseur who offers "male-only" massages. The trick is finding one that looks amiable.

I'm face down on the table. No drape, of course. He's naked too, of course. As he works my neck and shoulders standing at the top of the table, I take my hands and caress the back of his legs and thighs. As he reaches forward to rub down my spine, I slightly lift my head so his dick rubs against my head. And then as he comes to my side to work on the lower back, my hand brushes his package. And so he smears some lotion in my hand and places his dick there. I caress and stroke slowly, feeling it swell. The same with the other side, only this time I shift a little and take the head and rub it against my hip. As with the others, this one asks how far I would like to go. I say nothing, rising up on my knees, turn towards him, put my hand on his shoulder or neck, pulling him close and murmur 'as far as you want, kissing him softly with a hint of tongue. Sometimes I come off the table, kneel and take him in my mouth; other times, I scoot down the end, raise my knees and lift my ass. It all depends on how hard I've made him.

And as he fucks me, I encourage him to cum, to use me, to fuck me, to take me. And as he cums, so do I. I feel my chest and abdomen burn as it did back in the room. And then the fire subsides, for a while.

The curious thing is there is no guilt or shame. I'm alive. And every fourth full moon, very very alive.