strppdinchgostories: gayeroticthoughts:Alpha-DILF by Clark Wayne“Awww fuck that’s go

strppdinchgostories: gayeroticthoughts: Alpha-DILF by Clark Wayne “Awww fuck that’s good,” I said in a deep husky whisper as I descended the thick cock about to be speared up my ass. My eyes were closed, head back, goosebumps on my arms. “Fuuuuck,” he hissed at the same time as he felt my hole clenching around his thick throbbing cock.  His eyes closed, smile on his face, taking in the erotic euphoria of his cock entering the tight butt of a young, athletic, muscled man above him. Me. I finally bottomed out on his slick, warm cock.  My own cock fully erect, almost painfully so as the mix of feeling him inside me and the anticipation of the long, hot fuck that was about to transpire filled my brain. My hole was resisting any more stretching that his cock demanded. I felt full but I felt like it belonged there. The burning sensation had begun but I knew if I stuck it out a minute, the burn would subside and fucking would begin. His ass lifts from the mattress preparing to begin the fucking he has looked forward to all week. I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. “Hold on a second, bud. Let me get used to it,” I said with a strained voice. I slowly gyrate my ass to allow my tight hole to conform to his cock. I feel like his cock is in my gut. My hard cock bobbing up and down with the motion. Both his hands on either side of my thighs, his warm hands pressing against them as if to hold me in place. Like I’d go anywhere!  He starts to push up into my hole once again. There is small sharp pain but it subsides after a few seconds of bearing down, stretching my hole, allowing more room for his cock to expand into when he eventually shoots. “You good?” he asks. He grew inpatient and thrust into me, raising my body. “Aghh!” I blurted out, not expecting that. “Whoa. Not so fast, dude,” I begged with gritted teeth, breathing in and out quickly. He stopped for a few seconds, only to look me straight in the eye in defiance of my request and thrust up hard taking my breath away. Fucker. I knew he wouldn’t show mercy. He never does. I fell forward and placed my hands on his hard pecs for balance. My body, bent forward, my ass sticking out farther allowed his cock to saw its way deeper into my clenching, hungry hole. I tense my body making my muscles flex as he commences his jack-hammer fucking up into me. He likes it when my muscles swell, turn red, veins popping, knowing he did that to another man. Seeing a man like me strain, moan, sweat, beg for his cock, it makes him feel powerful, superior. He is. He is right now.  And I like seeing the pleasure and satisfaction on his face, a result of my body being used for his enjoyment. I feel honored that a man of his caliber chose me as the vessel to dump his loads into. He looked up at me, he knows that’s what I’m thinking right now and showed me a cocky sneer. He can be such a prick. I ran my hands down his cobblestone abs and then back up to his chest. My bright white teeth clenched and my eyes squeezed shut as I feel the ecstasy of the man under me completely owning my ass. He knows he does. He knows he’s the only type of guy who could own my ass. He had me wrapped around his little finger. I was addicted to his cock and he was addicted to fucking my college-jock ass. The power he exudes turns me on, drives me into frenzy, makes me question my choices and my sexuality. He’s cocky and arrogant at the thought of landing an otherwise straight frat-boy like me. He’s not your typical 40ish-year-old man. I’m not quite sure how old he is because I don’t care. He’s hot as fuck, experienced, confident and knows how to turn a guy like me into his slobbering little bitch. I do know he’s married with a kid. He had the good sense to stay in shape after getting married and starting a family. He’s starting to gray around his temples, his face starting to show some lines but they only make him more handsome and sexy.  DILF is an understatement when it comes to this man. His body is insane. I’ve seen old pictures of him from his college days as an All-American football player, he’s in better shape now in his 40’s than he was at 20. In my opinion, he deserves to be a cocky arrogant prick. He’s older, he’s hot as fuck and he’s boning the hell out of a hot fratboy half his age, who, until a few months ago, had never been with a dude and had never planned to. Taking me by surprise, he takes more control, slams his hands onto my chest and pushes me backward onto my back. “Whoa!” The word comes out of my mouth strained and a little high pitched. I’ve lost my balance as he pushed me back. His cock expelling itself from my now empty hole. But I like it when he gets aggressive and takes control never giving me advanced notice of his plan to own my ass. He aggressively grabs my ankles and hoists them up on top of his shoulders. I smile at the thrill of having his 210 pounds of muscle throw my 200-pounds of muscle around like a rag doll. He bites his bottom lip and grunts as he rams his cock down into my ass. “Fuck yeah,” I try to yell out but he puts his hand over my mouth and presses down hard. We’re fucking in my room at the frat so I gotta be fucking quiet. Luckily, it’s a Sunday and most of the guys are gone for the weekend but still better to be safe than sorry. And he thinks it’s funny to test the boundaries. He laughs sometimes when he’s fucking me so hard that I have to put a pillow over my face and scream into it. “Shhhh, pretty boy. You don’t want your buds to know you’re in here getting boned, do you?” It makes me mad but then it sends more adrenaline through my body to my dick and I like it. He sneers at me again while staring into my eyes like lasers. I can’t look away. I’m ashamed at my behavior but at the same time overwhelmed with the excitement I feel when he’s inside me. He’s an Alpha and he’s good at it. He’s found that I respond well to being “Alphaed.” I know I’m just as hot as he is and just as masculine but wouldn’t you get cocky and arrogant knowing you’re able to dominate and fuck the alpha out of another guy? Of course, you would. “You like that,” he grins, pulling his hand from my mouth while holding my eyes hostage with his own. He then folds me in half, my knees up near my ears. My breath labors as my airway is slightly constricted. I try to answer but all that I can do is grunt. Sweat drips from his forehead and falls into my mouth. I instinctively lick my lips and stick out my tongue to catch more of his salty essence. He watches me lick up his sweat and grins, it turns him on. “Yeah, like that,” he confirms. My face is flushed. Half from humiliation and half from the strain of taking his hard fuck. Why in the fuck do I love this so much? Why do I love these bouts of humiliation, denigration and shame knowing I’m being fucked by another man? I’ve never wanted to get fucked before. I mean, I’m not a homophobe. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to say, truthfully, I’ve always found athletic, muscular athletes somewhat attractive. Mostly, I thought it was mutual admiration for the time and discipline it takes to keep our bodies on point. I’m not blind. I knew when a guy was sexy. It’s as if I was proud to be considered a part of an elite club where all the members where athletic, muscular, masculine, cocky and alpha. Being around other alphas was like crack for me. The camradarie, the bonding of men of the same caliber was addictive. Then I met him. I guess it’s cliché but we met at the gym. I strutted into the weight room one day, gym bag in one hand, jug of water in the other and I glimpsed him from across the room over the vast array of free-weights. My breath was suddenly taken away and my stomach dropped. Damn! Who is that? I paused a second and thought about what just went through my head. Why did I just have that reaction looking at another dude. There was something about him that made me weak in the knees. I felt like a 14-year-old girl meeting her first crush. Hypnotized, I worked my way over to his area. He was working his shoulders. I wasn’t even supposed to work my shoulders that day but he was at the shoulder press and damn it, so was I. There was a tiny bit of eye contact. Then sometimes intense eye contact that made my heart skip a beat. I’d never had this feeling before around a dude. He was tall and solid. I was intimidated and trust me, no one intimidates me. I’m the one that does the intimidating. I know I’m hot and I use that to my advantage every day. I grabbed some dumbbells and took the bench next to him. I sneaked looks at him through the mirror as I did my sets. I got up to put the weights back on the rack and grabbed some heavier ones. I looked in to the mirror and he was looking back at me, well, at my ass. For some reason, that made me excited. Another dude is blatantly checking out my ass. Nice! I turned to the bench, looked at him and gave a friendly nod. He nodded back.   We both proceeded to go about our workouts but never straying too far from one another. Later I saw him look at his watch and then to me. He nodded to me again as if to say “See ya later” and made his way to the exit. After a couple days of nods and awkward staring, finally I said hello. It was a short “Hey. How’s it goin?” and that broke the ice. Small talk ensued. The next day more small talk and the next day full conversations. I was an idiot and didn’t notice for a week or so that he was working out at the same time as I was every day. Stalking me? How was I supposed to know? I just thought it was an innocent bromance. Mutual admiration. Our conversations were usually about nutrition, fitness goals, gym talk, typical guy stuff. I started to get excited to see him every day. I made sure I was at the gym at the same time every day, never late. I was still an idiot. I didn’t get what was happening to me. Once again, I assumed it was idol worship or something. Here was an older guy, old enough to be my dad and his body put most every other guy’s body in that gym to shame…except mine, of course. And he was damned handsome. I just wanted to be like him. No, I wanted to be him. I sought his attention and admiration. I thought about him all the time, what he was doing, where he was while I was on dates with girls. One day he suggested that since we were at the gym the same time every day that we should lift together. I was psyched! We had the same goals, the main one, obviously, to become even hotter than we were. He was a great mentor. That’s what I saw him as, I thought. He was older and more experienced and he taught me things about lifting and nutrition that I’d never known. What started off as two lifting partners motivating each other to push harder, quickly became competing egos trying to out-lift the other. Always lifting heavier, doing more cardio, comparing body fat percentage. Everything was a contest. He was trying to kick my ass as much as I was trying to kick his. The more we competed the more I saw changes in my body. His too. Our muscles became harder, tighter. We were becoming more cut and defined. I spent way too much time naked in front of my mirror. Way too many shirtless selfies. It became normal to shoot him a shirtless selfie and within minutes he would do the same. Usually with some funny but demeaning comment about my pic. But I knew he was impressed by my gains. I could tell be the way he looked at me sometimes when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I was more confident, as if I needed any more confidence. I felt more superior to other guys around me than I did before, except him. I started to become a little aroused when he started to show off and wear compression gear, showing off his gains, the gear challenging me to look at his progress every day and know that everyone else in the gym could see it too. It wasn’t long until I sported the same compression gear.  The first time I showed up in my new Underarmour gear, he just shook his head and laughed. “Couldn’t help yourself, could ya?” He said. “I’m not letting you get all the attention, old man,” I jabbed back. The attention we received was fucking euphoric. Some guys thought we were father and son which just made me proud that someone would assume that. It meant that we were alike in more ways than I thought. This was when he started to become more “hands on?” He had never been shy about touching. He was always patting me on the shoulder or my back. Sometimes a playful squeeze of the back of my neck. He liked to roughly grip my biceps and tell me big they were or arm days. He always told me I looked good or I was getting great gains. Lots of compliments the more time passed. By this time, we had become like best friends, not a dad/son relationship that most thought we had but more of a big brother/little brother. We talked about normal stuff during our workouts; his wife and kid, my dates, my classes, his work. I met his wife a few times when I would come over to hang out and watch a game with him or play some video games.  His kid was a shit, a teenage version of his dad, that’s why he was cocky and arrogant like his dad but then what do you expect from a 16-year-old who has the genetics of this guy. The wife never questioned why her husband was hanging out with a guy half his age because we had so much in common. She always said I was born 20 years too late. It was always funny when I came over, she’d answer the door and yell back, “Honey! You’re boyfriend’s here!” That always got me to blush. After a few months, he started working gay innuendoes into his playful banter. He gave me a nickname, Pretty Boy. He liked to refer to me as his bitch around other guys at the gym.  He’d make jokes whenever we saw a gay guy working out, “that one’s hot, bet he wants to fuck you,” and commenting on what a nice ass I had…for a guy. The one that really got my attention was when we were drunk. He’d say shit like “if we were gay, I’d fuck you.” I always laughed it off but it began to really turn me on. He said it all the time whenever the beer flowed. Hell, I would be the luckiest gay guy in the world to have him fuck me. He always joked that I would be the bottom in the relationship. At first it was uncomfortable for a guy like me to even consider being fucked, let alone gay. After a few times hearing it though, I grew to like it.  It made me feel warm inside. As the innuendos became more prevalent, I started to feel like a boyfriend more than a brother or even a son. He treated me like one and I let him. He liked to shop with me and pick out my clothes. He picked out my workout gear, making me try on every item and modeling it for him. He was very adamant about telling me if he didn’t like something and I shouldn’t buy it. He always made sure I was on time for class with texts because he had learned my class schedule. He gave his opinion on the girls I dated, usually bad opinions. He’d text me to make sure I got home ok after my dates. He’d pay for movies, dinners, game tickets. He wouldn’t let me drive when we went out even if we were taking my car. He was becoming more possessive and controlling but for some reason, I didn’t care. I liked it. I craved his approval. Then the strangest thing happened. We were once mistaken to be a gay couple one night when we stumbled across a gay pride beer garden while out drinking one night. We didn’t even know we were in a gay bar for about five minutes until we saw a couple of dudes kissing each other. We were trashed. I remember seeing dudes kissing and turned to him and asked, “Dude, are we in a gay bar?” He laughed, put his arm around me, his breath reeking of beer and said, “I think we are, pretty-boy. Don’t worry. If anyone tries anything, tell them you’re with me.” I laughed. “With you? You mean like my boyfriend?” He pulled me in closer. “Fuck yeah, baby! You know we would be. You know you’re my bottom boy,” he laughed. I laughed again and pushed him away as he playfully punched me in the shoulder. Every guy in that bar turned and looked at us, whispering, pointing. “Hey. Nice ass,” said a voice from a sea of faces. “No shit. I’d like ten minutes alone with those two,” I heard another voice say. “I bet the older one is the bottom,” another guy said with a low gravelly voice. My best buddy stopped and turned. He put his arm around my shoulder. “Sorry boys. You’ll have to settle for look but don’t touch,” he flirted.  “But this one…” he pointed at me, “this one loves it hard and rough. Don’t ya pretty boy.” He winked at me. “Fuck off, asshole,” I laughed as I punched him in the shoulder. “You wish.” He winked again as we made our way towards the bar. “What was that all about, you dick? Why would you tell them something like that?” I asked. “Uh, because they loved it. We’re hot. Look around. We’re the hottest dudes in here.” he slurred. “But we’re not gay,” I said confused. “They don’t care, pretty-boy. They know we’re straight. A gay dude likes nothing more than to think he can turn a hot straight guy. Besides, a hole is a hole.” I raised my eyebrows when he said that. “What? Don’t be so fucking uptight. Have some fun!” Then, suddenly, he gave me a quick wet kiss on the cheek, “when in Rome!” and then shouted, “SHOTS!” as he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bar. His hand was warm and big. I looked down at our hands intertwined as he pulled me through the sea of men. I wasn’t repulsed and I didn’t want to let go. We spent the rest of that night drinking shots, which we never had to pay for. Dudes were paying for our drinks all night. I found myself shirtless on the dance floor a few times, that was a surprise. At one point, I lost track of him. He was gone for about fifteen minutes. But some muscled up Hispanic dude kept me company while he was gone. Nice guy. Name was Hector. Dude was fit as fuck. Big and masculine, hunger in his eyes. Must be an alpha-gay if that’s a thing. We played a game of hunter/prey. I wasn’t looking to hunt anyone but I didn’t want him to think I was prey. It was a lot of staring each other down, only I was trying not to come off as gay. Hector on the other hand, he was making it perfectly clear that he was gay and I was his next conquest. I tried to keep myself at arm’s distance but he just kept getting in my space.  I fed off his masculine aura. It was like our energies were grazing and sending electric shocks up into our bodies.  After ten minutes, I found myself right up against him. He smelled like soap and musk. His hand made its way to my lower back as we chatted. It was strange but at the same time, erotic. Hector was a cool guy. Kept grabbing my ass though. Finally, host shows up with some gay dude named Tyler or Taylor, or whatever.  I asked him where he’d been. He evaded the question and just mussed up my hair and drank my beer.  The kid was about my age and had a very cut, solid body. Not as good looking as me but I could see why gay dudes would like him.  Tyler was totally into the older guy and he was definitely interested in me. More than a few times, Tyler tried to cop a feel. Hector immediately gave him the stink-eye. We were all introduced and we all hung out and drank, danced, goofed off. It was a surprisingly fun night. Hector continued to try to get in my space all night but finally he gave up and went off to find someone else to stalk. The next morning, late, we met up to work out and we laughed and talked about how fucked up we were the night before. Like I said, I’m an idiot. I have no problem being ogled by gay dudes, it’s flattering. He didn’t have an issue with it either. By the time I got home last night my thoughts about the evening were far from uncomfortable. I had just spent the last four hours in a gay bar with my best buddy, getting hit on by dudes, letting them buy us drinks and ogle us and it was the best time I’ve had in ages. I was hung over as fuck but I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was get here to the gym to see him again. It was leg day. He liked leg days, he loved squats. It seemed like we did an awful lot of them. I was squatting some insane amount of weight and he decided I needed a spot. I thought it was odd since he had never spotted me before while squatting. He stood behind me, his groin pressed to my ass, hands on my waist and he shadowed me, ready to grab the bar if it became too heavy for me. He was a little close to me during that spot but I didn’t say anything. I liked it. I’m a narcissist. Squat day was my favorite because my ass had become a work of art since I started lifting with him. High, tight and hard. Like I said, today he was much closer than normal during a spot. He pressed his groin hard into my ass and continued to do so throughout the whole movement. My dick became stiff.  I returned the weight to the rack quickly since I may need to cover up the fact I was getting stiff in spandex Nike tights. That’s when everything changed. “Good boy. Ass is looking good, buddy,” he said nonchalantly as he smacked my left cheek. I flinched. “Hey!” I yelled as I rubbed the spot here he slapped me with my hand. His hand slapping against my compression tights was loud, echoed in the room. His hand was cupped and I felt a slight squeezing pressure from his hand. First, he’s never told me my ass looks good except when he was teasing me. Second, he grabbed my ass! Third, I fucking liked it. “What? Those guys from last night were right,” he said matter-of-factly. He added weight and got into squat position. I assumed he wanted a spot so I positioned myself behind him. That’s when he stood up and turned. “Whoa. What are you doing?” He asked defensively and pushed me back a step. I was confused. “I’m spotting you.” He shook his head. “Oh, no you’re not,” he added defiantly. “Huh? I spotted you yesterday on the bench press.” I asked, still confused. He looked me straight in the eye and quietly, forcefully replied, “Back off, pretty-boy. I do not need spotting.” “Why not? You spotted me.” I threw him a look that said I was getting pissed. “I was just trying to help.” “Ican spot you on squat days.” He pointed at me. “You don’t spot me. Get it?” I was dumbstruck. He was dead serious and I was more confused than ever. I was kind of intimidated. “I… I… Ok,” I stammered. I watched him squat his set. He had perfect form. His powerful quads flexed and his high and tight ass squeezed together at the top of the movement. When he was done, I added more weight and returned to squat position for my set. He took his place behind me again for a spot. I didn’t say anything and just ignored it. Again, he hugged my body close and put both hands on my waist. Quietly he said in my ear, “I got you. You can do this. Make me proud.” God, did I want to make him proud. I squatted down to parallel, my bulbous muscled ass sticking out, his cock pressed up against it, nestled in the cleft between my cheeks. I was losing concentration as I tried to lift the weight to stand. He pressed harder. “Come on. You got this. You’re a fucking stud. You know that. I know that,” he growled from behind while pressing harder into my ass. “Don’t let anything distract you. Up, up, up.” I pressed the weight up with a loud grunt, my face red and strained as I came to the top, “Now, squeeze that fucking hot ass at the top of the squat,” he whispered. “Get it!” I squeezed my plump cheeks together at the top. I felt his bulge caught in between them like a nutcracker. I racked the weight and fell to my knees in exhaustion. He put his hands on my shoulders and squeezed. “Good boy. I knew you could do it.” Out of breath, “Thanks,” I reply panting. I stayed down, waiting for my cock to soften. After a few minutes, I stand up slowly and lean against the bar, looking at him in the mirror. He stands behind me and looks around the room, it’s mostly empty. He puts one hand on my waist and the other on my ass. “I’d hit that…hard,” he said, looking at me through the mirror with a very sultry, sexy expression on his handsome face. I must have looked scared or shocked or something. “If I were gay,” he added as he patted my ass. Oh, shit. I was getting hard again. “I got to piss,” I say as I run to the locker room. I enter an empty stall. I peel down my tights and my jock and grab my hard cock and jerked it until I came all over the stall door. I cleaned it up with toilet paper and open the stall door. I was surprised to find he was standing on the other side. “Everything ok?” He asked, arms crossed, slight smile. “Yeah, fine.” I reply. “Good. I want to kick off early today. I think you’ve had enough spotting…I mean, squatting.” I could feel myself blushing. “Uh, yeah. I’m ok with quitting early. My legs are killing me.” “Your ass is killing me…” he said slyly and he turned towards the exit. *** My phone buzzes that evening as I’m leaving my last class. It’s a text from him. My stomach flutters. -Hey pick you up at 9                  *I got a date -Cancel it                  *Y? -Cuz we’re going out again                  *We went out last night -Who fucking cares I stare at the phone. I find it difficult telling him no. Soon I was thinking about how much more fun I would have hanging out with him than her.                  *Fine -Good Boy pick you up at 9 pretty boy *** “Is that what you’re wearing?” He asks, pushing me back into my room. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask as I look down at my shirt. “Dude. No,” he states as he crosses to my closet. “Where are those jeans you got last week, the distressed ones?” He rummages through the drawers. “You mean the skinny jeans you made me buy? They strangled my junk.” “Here they are.”  He throws them on my bed. He continues to rummage and toss things around in my closet. He’s bent over and I notice how amazing his ass looks in his tight jeans. Wow, those are tight jeans. “And here,” he says and tosses me a t-shirt that hits me in the face. I grab it and hold it out. “No, man. This shirt is way too small. It was borderline too small even when I bought it, before I got big.” “That’s the point. Dude, you work hard for this body. Show it off. Don’t be a prude. I haven’t made you do a million squats to not show off that ass,” he says with a pat on the shoulder. And that’s when I noticed his t-shirt was also way to tight. Not tight in a bad way. Tight in a sexy way. It molded to his pecs and his triceps. His shoulders were crazy hot. His waist flat and tiny. His back flared at the top and tapered at the bottom. “Where are we going?” I asked as I stripped down and squeezed my muscular thighs into the tight jeans. “Where ever the night takes us!” He messes my hair. “Don’t you have a wife and kid at home?” “Nope! Wife is out with girlfriends and kid is staying with a buddy.” “You know for a man your age, you sure don’t act like it.” He laughs. “That’s why I get to hang out with you.” He grabs my small t-shirt and throws it over my head and slides it down my torso. “Now squeeze that booty into these insanely tight jeans and let’s roll.” *** After a couple of hours of bar hopping, low and behold, we end up at the same gay bar as last night. “Again?” I ask, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. “What are you up to?” “What? Do you not like free alcohol?” He grinned. I thought about it. Last night was really fun. I guess it wouldn’t hurt. Who doesn’t like free beer and being told you’re hot all night? Even if it is from guys. “Can’t say no to a free beer.” I patted him on the shoulder as we entered the bar. “Wait. Can we say you’re with ME tonight instead?” I ask as I put my arm over his shoulder. “Oh, no,” he scoffed. “You’re the bitch.” “Why am I always the bitch?” I slurred. “Because, you’re always the bitch when you’re with me,” he said with a gravelly, sultry voice. I rolled my eyes. “Thanks a lot. At least wear a condom,” I say sarcastically. “Why? You can’t get pregnant,” he smirks as he grabs my hand and drags me to the bar. *** Guys were hitting on us left and right. The free beers were rolling in. He was flirting up a storm with any hot dude who complimented him. I always just gave a polite “thanks” whenever a guy hit on me. I was trashed but still was aware of the attention I was receiving in the tightly packed space was from dudes. I was flattered but it’s not their approval I wanted. It was his. My muscle-head Hispanic, Hector, from last night was back. I was very loose and friendly after my fifth beer. I must say, Hector was looking jacked. Skin tight t-shirt. Painted on jeans. Great traps on him. Great triceps. He chatted me up and bought me a beer. Soon Hector was becoming very handsy but I didn’t care. His warm hands were attached to my ass and I could tell how powerful his hands were from his grip. I admit it felt good and I liked knowing this attractive dude thought I was hot. Hector handed me a whiskey shot, of course, I downed it. Over the next few minutes the guy was getting closer and closer, rubbing my lower back then down to my ass again. I flinched when I realized the hunky Latino was pushing his index finger against my hole through my jeans. I grabbed his hand the first few times and laughed it off. Hector gave me another shot. I was really fucking hammered by now. I started to like it that he thought my ass was so hot. He began to be more forceful, more aggressive. His hand slid down into my underwear, his warm fingers rubbing my ass. I was frozen. Why was I letting him do this to me? His finger grazed my hole. He was taking what he wanted. I respected that. I decided to just let him play for a while. I looked at Hector a few times. Damn, this dude was stacked. I knew he could see I was scanning his ripped torso. I couldn’t help it. He was doing the same to me. He grabbed my bicep with his other hand and squeezed. His finger still rubbing along the edge of my hole. How he could even get his hand back there in these tight jeans was a wonder but then I don’t think this was his first rodeo. I stood there and just took it. Hector leaned into me. “Ditch your daddy. Follow me outside. I’m gonna fuck you so good, baby,” Hector said bluntly. I spit my beer. “What?” I said not quite knowing what was happening. Hector sneered at me, his voice became forceful and deep. “Don’t play that.” Hector ran his hand over my chest, down my abs and around to my ass. “You’re advertising what you’re selling. And I’m buying,” he growled as he grabbed my ass hard. “Uh…thanks, man but I don’t think that’s going to happen.” I laughed it off uncomfortably. Hector got a little more forceful and grabbed my forearm and tried to pull me away. “You let me play with your pussy for the last ten minutes and now you’re fucking bailing? Fuck that, I want that white-boy muscle-pussy.” I grabbed Hector’s hand that was holding my arm. I cocked my elbow up, fist tight ready to strike. I’m about to lay Hector out when out of nowhere a hand shoots out and grabbed Hector’s arm. “He’s with me,” came a low growl. He must have been watching me and saw that Hector was bothering me. The guy looked him up and down, sizing him up and then got in his face. “Nah, old man. He’s with me tonight. You’re not even paying attention to him. Left this sweet, sweet muscle pussy alone and out in the open? You had your chance. Dude is mine.” “I said, he’s with me and I’m always paying attention to him,” he growled as he pushed Hector back away. My best friend was sloppy drunk and slurring his words. I got between them. “Guys. Stop. It’s ok.” I say as I turn to him. “I can take care of myself, dude. Chill the fuck out.” “No, it’s not ok. This guy thinks he can just fucking take what’s mine?” His eyes were seething as he stared down the young Hispanic stud. I turned to him. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked shocked. He lashes forward, pointing a finger at Hector as I held him back. “If anyone will be fucking him tonight, it will be me, fucker!” Again, I’m shocked but, yet turned on. Hector sneers at him. “Oh please. Why would he let an old man like you fuck an ass like this?” Hector said as he smacked my ass. “Because he needs an old man like me who has the experience to fuck him like he needs it, asshole.” “I’ve been playing with this ass for the last ten minutes with no complaints from him, old man,” Hector bragged with a cocky sneer. He shot a look at me. “What?” My jaw dropped. I looked to each of them.  “What?… No!… Huh?” I was speechless. I was trying to play stupid. I was also a terrible liar. I did let Hector mess around with me. I didn’t say anything. I just let him do it. I looked at my friend. His bloodshot eyes pierced mine. He pointed his finger into my chest. “You let this muscle-douche touch MY shit?” I stood back. “Wait. Ok, I think I’m too fucked up. I’m not sure what the fuck is happening right now and in fact, I feel a little sick.” I started to head for the restroom. He grabbed my bicep and held me in place. “Did. You. Let. Him. Touch. YOU?” His face was red. His jaw clenched. “No! Yes. I mean… dude, I’m really fucked up right now. Can we just go, please?” Hector stepped forward. “I’ll take care of him. Why don’t you go on home and I’ll make sure I feed him breakfast before he leaves my place in the morning.” I thought fists were going to start flying. I’m watching them exchange jabs and talking about who can fuck me the best and I am in disbelief that this is even happening. It was hot to have these two hot alpha guys fight over me. It was even hotter to hear him talk about our sex life like it really is a thing. Apparently, I’m a slutty muscle-bottom who likes it hard and rough? “Tell him!” he turns and says to me. I look at him confused. “Tell him what?” “Tell this douche how much you like it when I fuck you!” Whoa! What the fuck is going on here? I pull him aside and whisper, “Uh, dude? What the fuck are you doing? You can stop with the role play bullshit. The guy is an asshole. Let it go.” “NO!” he yells in to my face. “He can’t come in here and just fucking do to you what he wants.” “And he won’t! I’m not letting some dude fuck me. Are you crazy? You are fucking blitzed and not making sense. Dude, you know me, you know what I am capable of. I can kick his ass all over this bar.” “Don’t care,” he spat as he talked. “Don’t care. I’ll fucking kill him if he touches you again. What the fuck are you thinking letting another dude touch you?” “Ok, I think you are taking this fake boyfriend thing a little too far. Let’s bolt.” I said with a fake smile. “Tell him!” he growls again. I freeze. He turns to Hector. By this time, we are surrounded by the whole bar, all watching and whispering. He stares down Hector. “He fucking loves it when I fuck him. You know what? He likes it rough, he likes it hard. He loves my cum in his ass. He wants it all the fucking time. Don’t you?” he asks me, eyes bloodshot, his words slurring more than ever. Everyone is staring at me. One guy a few feet away says to his friend, “It’s always the butch ones…” They giggle and laugh. I look at him again with disbelief in my face. “Don’t you?!” He asks again. I roll my eyes and turn to Hector. This had to end now. Very robotically I say, “Yes. I love it when he fucks me. He fucks me hard and rough and I always want more. Happy?” I ask as I turn back to him. He stared into my eyes. He looked towards Hector and then back to me. “I’m the only guy who fucks you,” he states, his eyes bloodshot. His jaw is clenched. “You’re mine…and you know it!” He pushes me away and heads toward the bathroom. Hector steps over to me. “Whatever dude. If you want that old man dick in your pussy than fine with me. Funny. I could have sworn you were straight when you came in here last night. Both of you. Guess I was wrong. Here I thought I was gonna turn some fresh confused straight-boy ass…but it looks like HE is.” And he walked away. A few minutes later, he came out of the bathroom and grabbed my hand. He pulled me onto the dance floor. “Let’s dance,” he grinned. He was suddenly in a much better mood. Note to self, he’s an angry drunk. “I really don’t want to dance right now. Let’s get out of here.” I’m pissed. I start to leave. He whips off his tight shirt and then grabs mine and pulls it over my head. I stop in my tracks and take in that amazing body. Wow. Damn. Why do I get this way around him? Does he really want to get with me? Do I want to get with HIM? What the fuck? I’m not gay. He’s not gay. Is he? Confusion coursed through my head. He pulled me in closer and began dancing. Damn, he’s a fucking great dancer. Every muscle flexing as he moves his body, gyrating and thrusting. He smiles at me. I laugh at him, not sure what is happening or what I should do. He pulls me closer, face to face. His eyes piercing mine. His hands roam up my biceps to my shoulders. I hypnotically move closer, nose to nose. His sky-blue eyes are like mirrors, hypnotizing me. I find my hands settling on his waist. Do I want to kiss him? I don’t know what I’m doing but I want to kiss him. Nope. I can’t. I can’t do this. I cannot fucking do this. But before I can pull away, his hand is on the back of my head and he pulls me in and plants his lips on mine. I close my eyes and then open them, hoping this is all a bad dream. But it’s not. He pushes me back. We just stare at each other for what seems like minutes. His eyes are telling me to keep going. He wants this. I want this. I want him. Our lips crash back together and suddenly we can’t get enough of each other. His tongue invades my throat. I suck on it as we feverishly kiss. Our hands are moving over our sweaty muscular bodies, finally getting to touch what we’ve both longed for, for months. We make out for song after song. Both rock hard. He moves around behind me, spoons me and I can feel his hard cock encased in his tight jeans pressing into my ass. He holds me around the waist and hugs me tight as he thrusts against me. He pulls my head back against his shoulder, turns my head and kisses me. He’s so forceful, so powerful, so dominate. I fucking want him. I want him in the worst way. I already know what he wants from me. What do I want from him? I want to please him. I want him to take pleasure from my body. I want to do anything he wants me to do so he can get off and be satisfied and satiated. I feel him thrust his cock against my ass again as he grunts into my ear.  His hand slides down into my underwear and I feel his fingertip on my hole. FUCK! I have to do it. I lay my head back on his shoulder. “Are you going to fuck me?” I’m panting. I gave in. I said the words. I wanted nothing but to be with him. And I wanted him inside me. He spins me around and kisses me again. He looks at me and presses his forehead to mine. “Yes.” He’s calm, our foreheads touching. Sweat rolling down our faces. My cock is aching so much it hurts. I reach down and feel his cock, stroke it. It’s thick. We’re both breathing hard. “I guess I am your bitch,” I say quietly, matter-of-factly. “You always have been.” underarmour001@hotmail.com Holy fuck Fuckin’ HOT stroke story, @havinggaythoughts ! -- source link

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