The Summerhouse Ch. 14: Bobby

After our drink, we relaxed in the jacuzzi. There were half-a-dozen men of various ages soaking and chatting, and we joined them. They were normal people - one was a lorry driver, another was a medical student. We spoke and laughed about football and our employment, sharing tales of managerial stupidity. The trainee joked about his girlfriend and we all laughed.

It was a light-hearted, relaxed, enjoyable atmosphere as we soaked in the bubbling warm pool. The lorry driver, a robust, overweight young man with an arm of tattoos and a thick trail of hair from his stubbly chin to the base of his legs, was the first to mention sex.

It was why we were at the venue, but he had come to the sauna after four days away from home, and the lorry yard was on the same industrial estate as the sauna. He wanted some action before he returned home. Bobby was keen to oblige and gestured for the man to sit on the edge of the jacuzzi.

Bobby buried his face into the unshaven crotch; the gurgling of the large jacuzzi drowned out their groans. We all watched; the tension in the humid room was palpable. The young trainee doctor gestured for an elderly, grey-haired man to do the same. And it was moments before I wrapped my lips around a chef's prick.

I much preferred sucking cock in the hot-tub compared to the gloryholes. It was more intimate and more sensual. My eyes looked into the face of the bearded man. My hands explored his soft, podgy body and rubbed his nipples. I gripped his thigh, and my fingers traversed his skin, pressing on his perineum.

His palms stroked my hair and grasped the back of my head. His thighs rocked gently as he ground his long, thin dick into my mouth and he spoke loudly as my lips slid down his shaft. To my left, the medical student mounted the man old enough to be his grandfather, and the other couple had slipped away into a playroom.

I just enjoyed the feeling of my full mouth; every ridge on his prick against my mouth was a delightful sensation. The submission to this random individual was a mental pleasure. I had come to the sauna to debase myself to anonymous men, and I loved it. I needed it. My sexuality depended on sordid gay acts, and both my fiancée and I relished and revelled in this.

I glanced over the hairy, rotund belly; the dominant man had closed his eyes and looked away from me as he groaned at my energetic fellatio.

I had had plenty of practice. By a considerable margin, I had given more orgasms to men, via anal or oral sex, than I had ever given to women.

I felt his thighs tremble. His bucking and rocking increased in tempo as his cock bashed against the back of my throat. I held my breath, ran my tongue over his shaft and sucked the intruding dick as he buttocks tightened.

Straight down my throat.

Wordlessly, his body pumped three shots of his cum into me, and his hands gripped the back of my head to stop me from refusing his loads.

As if I would. I wanted them, and I gleefully and gently cleaned his cock with my tongue, taking the last few drops of his cum into my mouth and savouring its familiar taste.

He grunted, and moments later, hauled his body from the jacuzzi, muttering words of thanks. He hurried out of the poolroom, almost ashamed at his actions. Bobby and the lorry driver stayed in the warm water.

"Dun worry 'bout it," the Scottish haulier replied as I mentioned it. "'E's probably feelin' guilty."

"I keep telling you," Bobby added. "Half the guys in here come because they have an itch to scratch like me, or cannot get any at home. He's got post-nut clarity, and he's going to go back to his boring wife and feel embarrassed. Then after a week of no sex or crappy blowjobs, he'll be back to start all over again."

"I know. But he couldn't get away from me quick enough. He acted like I had two heads or something."

"Oh, what fun!" Bobby squealed. "Two heads means double the amount of cocksucking. At the same time!" We couldn't help but laugh at his excited tone. "I would love two heads."

The haulier was genial and friendly; he didn't fit Bobby's theory as he was proudly out and single, and his Pride tattoo on his right shoulder was a prominent display of his sexuality.

He gave us a comprehensive review of European cities for their gay nightlife and highly recommended some German destinations for their mix of liberated values and kinky clubs.

I felt my stomach rumble as the afternoon wore on; Bobby had to check with his supervisor if he had to go into work, so we went back to the locker room - him to ring the guy he blew, and me to order takeaway.

"Bollocks," Bobby exclaimed. "Yuri and Tomasz have called in sick. Keyon's offered me four hours of overtime. I can't turn it down," he moaned.

"When do you need to leave?"

He looked at his watch. "It's twenty-to-five now. So, just over an hour."

"Pizzas will be forty minutes, so we have time to visit a playroom. You have a job to do." Bobby smiled as he put his phone back in his locker. We dashed down to the reception area and left the money for the pizzas and the "corkage" before we went to the second floor to find an empty room.

Secluded room with a double bed, with light blue walls, latex sheets and a tiled floor. The shelf contained lube and condoms. It was a space for fucking. No pretence about it.

We passed a couple of rooms, with large glass windows leading out to a wide open space. They were for exhibitionists, gangbangers and voyeurs.

Bobby said nothing as I closed the door and looked at me. "I've only ever fucked one guy before. It felt... weird." He stared at my expression and bit his lip. "I'm sorry if I go... if I don't manage to... well... it's..." He stuttered, and I put my hands on his waist.

We kissed. Our bodies pressed together as my hands gripped and kneaded his buttocks. I felt his cock rise against my body as our tongues met in our mouths and his libido rose.

More intimate than at the gloryholes, and more personal. I felt a bond and a connection with him. I needed him to take me, and as his hands explored my body and our tongues caressed, I felt a longing in him.

He wanted it too.

His body nudged me backwards. My calves hit the cool Latex of the bed sheets and I fell backwards to land on the bed. He smiled, reached onto the shelf and tossed a couple of condoms, and a few large sachets of lube onto the bed. Lustful focus.

There was an animalistic passion as his teeth ripped open the lube packet. He smothered my rosebud in the cold goo and smirked as his soft fingers massaged the transparent gel into my opening.

One fingers, then two, then three. I groaned as he deftly worked my hole. Prepared it for him. "That's nice," I muttered.

"Do you want me to finger-fuck you?" He asked, in all seriousness.

"Hell no! But you know how to make me feel good. Take me." He hesitated, and I replied loudly and fervently. "Please, fuck me."

He picked a condom from the bedsheet and tore open the packet with his hands. Slowly and carefully, he unfurled the rubber sheath along his shaft and drizzled the lubricant over the tip.

His eyes met mine. I raised my legs, and he slid on top of me. His hands guided his prick into my hole and he slowly applied pressure onto my opening. I sighed; it felt so good to be opening up to the young man. My feet crossed and rested on his lower back; I was vulnerable and available to him.

His hands gripped my wrists and pushed them into the covered mattress. An act of dominance as he leant over to kiss me.

My cock sparkled and tingled as more and more of his prick slipped inside me. I groaned and sighed. I took shallow breaths as he slowly ground his hips into me. "That's... wow. Amazing, harder." I squealed. "Fuck me harder."

He jerked his hips forward; a sudden jolt that sent shock-waves through my loins. An inch of a pain, a mile of sheer ecstasy. His eyes looked away from me.

"Oh, that's good," I replied. "That's great. You're amazing."

He exhaled, gulped and his face fell on mine, kissing me deeply as his hips gyrated; his prick fired into me with increasing alacrity.

I groaned into the wild, passionate snog. I bucked my hips as he thrusted. If he had any lingering worries about his ability to "top" then my thrashing of desperate lust should have dispelled it.

It was a warm, passionate fuck; he dominated me because he topped me, but it was born out of a genuine intimate connection rather than the sex games of the summerhouse.

I felt his pace quicken. My prostate tingled as his cock rubbed against it, and my entire body tingled with erotic excitement because of the sensations he caused.

The vivid, passionate kiss that touched the very centre of my sexuality.

The powerful grab of my wrists pressed forcefully into the bed.

His cock buried deep into my butt, massaging and probing my prostate.

His warm, naked body glided and slid against my bare skin.

And his expression. First of anxious excitement and now of lust. A furious, fervent, angry horniness as he plundered my backside to chase his own climax.

He drove his cock harder and faster into my hole as his own body teetered on the edge of the cliff. He grunted, gasped, and slammed his dick deep inside me, and his cock twitched.

The condom filled. His body shook. He gasped and groaned. "Ah, that's... aahhhh."

I smiled at his exhausted grin and kissed him on the lips once more. "You were great," I said, partly for his own confidence but because he warranted the compliment. I was so close to orgasm, and he said nothing as he slid down the bed, and warm lips enveloped my wet, leaking cock.

A finger touched my lubricated hole, and I lay on the latex bed, with my prostate being rubbed and my cock in Bobby's expert mouth. It was heaven.

Every fibre of my body sung, as wave after wave of delicious enjoyment cascaded through my flesh. Ripples of enjoyment, of pleasure, of satisfaction and of sheer lust swept across me as Bobby took me to my peak.

I looked at him. "I'm going to cum," I whimpered, and he glanced at me. His tongue wrapped around my head and he sucked gently.

That look said a thousand words. He wanted my cum. He wanted me to blow my load in his mouth. Wild horses would not remove his lips from my spweing cock. The tsunami of pleasure smashed into me, as every part of my crotch felt on fire, and I jettisoned several waves of cum into Bobby's mouth.

He never stopped. He gratefully accepted my deposit, and when I finished slid up my body to kiss me with his creamy lips and his cummy breath.

Sheer piggy filth. I loved it.

We showered for the fourth time that day and collected our pizzas from reception; we offered a slice to the receptionist, and the retired man took one each from each pizza.

"Today was pretty good," Bobby told me as we sat down in the cafe with a coffee. "I got to blow at least thirty guys."

"And fuck one."

"Yes," he muttered. "That was much better than the first time." He stuffed a slice of vegetarian pizza into his mouth as he wistfully swirled his teaspoon around his drink.

"What happened?"

"It was on my fourth or fifth time here. Heather's like all my other girlfriends, in that they don't like anal. We tried it, even watched Tristan Taormino's ultimate guide to butt sex, and it just wasn't nice, y'know. She didn't like it, and I was too scared of hurting her because she didn't get into it. It just was a bit shit. So, I used to come here with a guy I met on a Shy Bi forum. He begged me to screw him, as he was a total bottom. And I gave in eventually. But it just reminded me of trying to fuck Heather, and I lost my stiffy."

"Oh..."

"Yeah, he got pissed. The day after he ghosted me, so I never saw him again."

"That's a bit shit. People shouldn't act like that."

"Yeah well." Bobby shrugged.

"Do you take it often? Y'know, prostate and all that?"

"I did when I met you a couple of weeks ago. But that was the first time in months. I have to be in the mood and I normally do it one-on-one. I got a dildo set to do deep-throat training on, and I started fucking myself with that whenever I get horny. You love it, don't you?"

I laughed. "I'm a bit of a butt slut." I then recounted my experiences, first with Joseph, then Benji and the summerhouse. He expressed envy once more - it sounded like a utopian paradise to him, and I repeated my offer of a Saturday visit to help him.

"Whenever I come here, I feel guilty and stop off at the supermarket on my home to get my Heather a bottle of wine or some flowers, or something," he admitted. "I'm going to need a pay rise if I keep accepting your invitations!"

"Or stop feeling guilty!"

He snorted. We left the sauna together, and I drove back to the summerhouse; Clare was entertaining her personal trainer, and Martin was discussing business with his wife. I loaded my game and was interrupted at 10pm with a message from Bobby.

After work, Manager asked if Jamie has shown me the room on Barron Walk. I said no. He wants 2 take me next week.

"Will you?" I asked in response.

Might have to. Rather be on the other side, tho.

I almost felt sorry for him. "Offer still open for Saturdays. Plenty of big cocks here. And one greedy butt slut."

Will come one day. Night greedy butt slut.

"Night, cocksucker."

The weekend visit by the football team was almost tame in comparison. An after-tea match between Manchester United and Stoke City meant that most of Ashfield's players could travel back into the city to watch the game after their own match, and there were only nine players who came to the summerhouse. The coach took five of them to the hot-tub, which left me with Scott and Paolo to entertain.

I was a little glad as my mouth was still a little tired from trying to keep pace with Bobby and having just two men - a cheeky Geordie and a mixed-race Londoner with Portuguese heritage to satisfy was a bit of a relief.

Scott still plundered my backside with rampant abandon that left my cock dripping with pre-cum as he slammed his prick against my prostate. The moody Londoner, with an Adonis-like body, used his bulging arms to hold my head as his muscular thighs skull-fucked me until my gag reflex threatened to spill my guts.

They both teased and humiliated me; dominating comments that reminded me they were the alpha men as I wore just a pastel pick jockstrap with a wet spot caused by my arousal.

At the end of the game, everyone but Scott left who came back into the summerhouse. I had finished clearing the rubbish into the kitchen; it would take Martin and I, an hour to clean, but we always tidied away as soon as we could. He held a wooden paddle in his hand and grinned, smacking his left palm gently with the weapon. "I got this from your wife," he said to Martin. "And I have some unfinished business with the bike."

I was next to the computer at the back of the room that controlled the big screen and flicked it on. I navigated to the folder I had received and started the slideshow.

Scott, three years younger, and without a stitch on his body, was surrounded by laughing men and women at his factory. "Hey, look what I found."

He turned to look at the large projector screen behind him, and his face then turned to me with a glare. "Do you think this is going to get you out of trouble?"

"Um... well. As they are such wonderful pictures, I thought we could have a display at half-time next week," I countered. "Unless you want to pick different pictures now from the 'net. In which case, you probably won't have time to do much spanking."

He grunted. "Blackmail will get you nowhere."

Martin smiled, and the middle-aged man put his hands on the back of a chair and wiggled his backside at Scott. "Go on then, big boy. Punish me!" He gave me a wink and smiled at the confident Geordie. "Go on."

He hesitated and gulped. He took a step towards the shaking bottom and paused. "You want this, don't you?"

Martin smiled and shook his head. "No. Punish me. Harder. Punish me, Scott. Make me cry."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" He squealed. "How do I punish pain sluts?"

"You could fuck my wife," I suggested.

"Yeah, or just give us a damn good thrashing. What are you waiting for? Hurt me."

Scott grunted, shook his head and threw the paddle onto the chair. "No. But you haven't heard the last of this."