A Quic One in the Par

I'd caught Peter's eye at Friday evening drinks not long after I had started with the stockbroking firm. He was high up in the IT section while I was running the Middle Office, and we struck up a friendship over subsequent drinks. Peter was the quintessential family man, married for 25 years with three kids, and was happy fixing mundane IT issues. Me, I was not in any relationship, but actively on the prowl and enjoyed several hot encounters with the local office girls on those same Friday evening drinking sessions. Ah last decade, such fond memories!

So, this one Friday night during the height of a Perth summer, a few us, including Peter, had exhausted the company-provided drinks and had decamped to the Moon & Sixpence, a trendy drinking hole in the city. Everyone was having a cracking night, with dancing and flirting happening everywhere.

I was chatting to one of the paraplanners, a single mother named Jacinta and my prospects were looking good. She was feisty and flirty. My cock remained in a state of semi-tumescence at the thought of a night of hot sex either my house, her place or - heck - even on the boardroom table. I tried to steer our conversation to matters sexual, but this MILF was far too wily, and she dismissed my clumsiness with ease. Just when I thought I'd made

the

breakthrough, Jacinta pointed to the taxi outside the pub and told me she was going home.

"Alone?" I asked, hoping.

"Alone!" Jacinta replied firmly but softened by leaning into me and kissing me furiously, before adding, "Who knows about tomorrow. Call me."

And with that, she was gone in a flash.

I was dejected, gutted and horny but not surprised. I was always slightly awkward at dating and employed somewhat crude methods that instantly triggered the bullshit detectors of many an experienced woman. Indeed, on one occasion at the Subiaco Hotel, a woman told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was a hot guy but I ought to tone down the lascivious language, and my chances of scoring would improve. Alas, old habits die hard.

I watched the taxi zoom off down the road, and my luck go with it. I glanced back towards the bar and looked at my empty bottle — time for a refill. I saw Peter in the queue and yelled over to him to grab me a beer, and I handed him the cash. Seconds later, his order was filled by a ginger-haired bar maiden wearing a tartan waistcoat. From Scotland, I guessed.

Peter handed me the drink and motioned me to a table occupied by some of his IT nerd colleagues. The conversation wasn't enthralling enough to distract me from Jacinta and my full balls that needed emptying. I kept on glancing at my phone wanting to text Jacinta, but with the word "tomorrow" emphasised, I withheld contacting her not wanting to ruin my chances.

"You luck out with Jazz?" Interrupted Peter. Jazz was Jacinta's office nickname.

"Tonight, for sure," I answered and took a swig.

"So tomorrow then?"

"Maybe," I said, somewhat sceptically.

"A meal, some wine and dancing will help your cause."

"How do you know this?" I asked Peter with some surprise.

"We chat all the time. We've been friends for an age."

"Have you...?" I let the question tail off.

"No, no." Laughed Peter, "We just share tales of sexual frustration in our lives."

"But you're married!" I said, incredulously.

"I sure am." Came the reply, with a raised eyebrow that hinted of something not quite right at home.

"Things not good at home?"

"Everything's fine but the missus' appears to have lost all interest in the bedroom."

"Are you looking for other outlets?" I asked, wondering if Peter and Jacinta had some history I should be acquainted with.

"Yes and no." Came the ambiguous reply.

"What does that mean?" I asked, this time with an eyebrow raised.

"Well, if I seek something outside the marriage then I'm looking for something very different."

"Like what?" I asked, my interest fully piqued now.

Peter hesitated, as if wanting to betray something of great import but unsure if others might hear.

"Let's just say that I'm want to be dominated."

Big deal. Hookers, and there's no shortage of those in Perth, can accommodate most fetishes. Indeed, personals advertising as much can be found in the newspaper.

There the matter rested for a while, and the conversation drifted back towards office politics and sport. I kept looking at my phone, hoping Jacinta had left me a text. Alas, I was disappointed.

Soon, however, the office revellers began tiring out and going home. I was thinking of the same, going back to watch some porn and some self-relief. But then, Peter dropped another beer on the table, thereby encouraging me to stay on a little longer.

After acknowledging my thanks for the beer, Peter asked me if I was going to take Jacinta out. I replied in the affirmative, but in reality, all I wanted to to do was fuck her. There was a bit more back and forth about my intention with and for Jazz but, through the alcoholic fog, I sensed that there was something Peter needed to get off his chest. And dancing around the issue was becoming irritating.

"So, what are you looking for outside your marriage?" Peter went a shade of deep crimson at my lack of subtlety and struggled to reply.

"I'm looking to explore some fantasies." Came a protracted reply.

"Such as?"

A long pause and an almost complete swallow of a beer.

"Erm...I want to be done by a man." Came the awkward reply.

I recognised that this confession would have been hard for a married man living in a heteronormative environment. I also appreciated that such a disclosure would have been met with revulsion by many men who knew this. I was not fazed by this information, a little surprised by it because it was unexpected but not disturbed. Having had many bisexual experiences in the past, I could understand the attraction to male-on-male action. The other surprise to me was that I had forgotten about this attraction having focussed entirely on women since my last bi encounter almost a decade earlier.

"Does that disgust you?" Asked a terrified Peter, given my contemplative silence.

"No, no," I answered, scrambling for words to stem his embarrassment. "I've been there and done that."

"Really?" Peter's eyes grew wide.

"Sure." I then recounted a potted history of my bisexual encounters with my uni mates in the UK.

"I'm kind of a bit darker than most though," I warned, hoping to kill off any expectation Peter suddenly had.

"Oh, how so?"

I explained how getting fucked in the arse didn't get me off. It wasn't unpleasant, but it didn't seem to elicit the kind of pleasure my friends experienced when my cock was in their arses. I loved giving anal more than receiving and found it to be the most erotic experience when filling up a woman's bottom with meat and sperm. At this point in my life, I'd almost forgotten about my bi experiences. However, Peter's confession to me had awoken something inside. Yes, I was horny and drunk, as I had been numerous times before but, before, I'd never contemplated male-on-male action. Now I was curious.

"Ah, so you're a 'top'" Peter said, with some confidence.

"A what?"

Peter went on to explain that there are three types of male-on-male "types": tops, bottoms and switches. 'Tops' were men that fucked other men as if they were women; they are dominant types that receive oral pleasure and fuck arses and mouths. Bottoms are submissive receivers of meat in their holes; they exist to please their tops. Switches switch, a definition that meant most to me. I had no idea that homosexual culture had so many layers. Peter, it was clear, had done some research on the topic.

"I'm a bottom, and I find the idea of being fucked by a man so arousing."

"Have you acted on that fantasy yet?" I asked warily.

"Once before." Came a tentative reply. "He was too eager, and I wasn't prepared enough, and so it hurt."

"Not a good experience then?" That was a rhetorical question to which the answer was obvious.

The only organ I had up my bum since adulthood was a woman's tongue and what an experience that was! I quickly scanned my memory for instances when anal sex hurt, and I couldn't find any. Lyndon and his friends taught me how to receive anal without any pain, and that was a technique that I carried with me when experiencing it with a woman.

"Receiving anal from another man is hardly dark." Said, Peter.

"What's dark to you then?" I asked, leading the witness.

"My arse fucked, a guy cum in my mouth, rimmed, threesome, tied up, nipples clamped, a shaved guy, my arse fingered.

"Nice. I'm not big on the tying up, nipple clamping things as I prefer more hardcore action. Sucking cock, eating arse, fucking arse, cumming, oral and anal cream pies and hosing down a partner in hot piss." Was my response. Laying my cards on the table was, I thought, one way of leading to sexual gratification or nipping this whole conversation in the bud.

"Yum. Getting pissed on is making me semi-hard. I want to be a slut."

I was also getting hard, and suddenly thoughts of Jacinta had exited my mind.

"Would you want to do something?" Asked Peter, very tentatively.

"Like what?"

"Have sex together?" It was a real effort for Peter to ask this, but the expectation was written on his face.

Peter was relatively good looking and had a natural charm with the ladies that I lacked. My problem was to come around to a sexual proposition that I thought I'd left behind. To be so deeply enmeshed in the M2F scene and then to be yanked back to the M2M scene took some reconciling. But I was horny, and there was no denying my full balls.

"Sure. What do you have in mind?"

"My place is out." Peter's wife and kids would be home. "Yours?"

Now I had to lie. I felt distinctly uncomfortable about granting Peter access to my place, despite living solo, in case he was a nutter. How it was different from begging Jacinta to come to my home earlier in the evening was utterly illogical. I suppose it was the unexpected M2M encounter that made me risk-averse.

"How about the park?" I suggested. Peter lived in the next suburb, and there was a park close to the supermarket and leisure centre that suggested a mutually equidistant rendezvous.

"Now?"

"Okay."

And with that, we finished our beers and walked outside towards the taxi stand. I asked the driver to drop us off at the shopping centre, and to him, we were just two straight acting work colleagues going home. To Peter and I, our hormones and blood pressure were up at the expectation of some raw, unadulterated fucking.

Minutes later, the taxi deposited us at our destination, and we discretely wandered over to the park, which had no lighting of any kind. Perfect. I suggested the alcove of the fire exit at the sports centre, which seemed to offer the most discretion. Peter readily accented.

I was so fucking nervous but so horny at the same time. Peter was the same, and for a second, the two of us just stood there not knowing what to do. I was trying to remember how these encounters used to go, but the memories took forever to be recalled. Peter was also clueless until he leaned in to kiss me. Then the instructions came back to me. No kissing was the vestigial rule from my previous bi encounters. I let his lips meet mine before I disengaged.

"If we do this, there's to be no kissing. Everything else yes but no kissing!" I sounded stern, almost dismissive. The thought of man-to-man kissing lost me wood at a fair rate.

"I'm cool with that. What do you want to do?" Came Peter's nervous response.

I had to think because I was at a loss. Back in the day, my friends and I always switched and being the youngest; I was not necessarily a leader. Then I recalled Peter's description of tops and bottoms, and how he was the latter. That meant I was the leader, and I had to take charge.

So, I did.

I gently pushed a terrified Peter against the alcove wall and began fondling the hardness in his pants. His cock was rock hard and straining against his jeans. So, I deftly unbuckled the belt and popped the buttons to reveal a pretty impressive bulge. I could feel Peter's breath in my ear. His pulse, like mine, was racing now. As I squeezed that bulge, I could feel a wet spot at the front of his boxer shorts. Was it precum or piss? Both were acceptable to me.

I was still unsure how to play out this encounter. I felt conflicted about being with another male, but the situation I found myself in was so raw and visceral that there was no turning back. Peter's desire was to be dominated to be treated like a slut, and I've never been in a position of unbridled sexual power as I was at this moment. Then "inspiration" of a kind struck. I remembered a scene from a Max Hardcore video in which the creepy older man completely dominates porn actress, Nicole London, almost to the point of misogyny (okay, well past it).

I ordered Peter to strip naked which wasn't a problem in the balmy Perth evening. I followed suit. Next, Peter was instructed to lie down on on the brick wall with his legs spread and, in the air, just like a good slut. This exposed position would give me access to his cock, balls,

biffin bridge

and arsehole. It was disappointing that Peter hadn't yet learned to manicure his nether regions, but I made a mental note to provide the necessary instruction for the next encounter, assuming tonight was successful.

Peter's cock was a good size. Smaller than I remember my uni mates' members and he was uncut like me. Those mates always complimented me on my cock sucking skill, especially my ability to deep throat. I wondered now if I still had those skills? Peter confessed to me that he was no greenhorn when it came to M2M oral sex, whereas I had been out of the game a good ten years.

I grabbed the thick, veiny shaft. Peter took in a sharp breath. His cock was rock hard, and I felt a globule of precum between my fingers. It was time to take the plunge, and my heart was beating hard in my chest.

I started tonguing Peter's hairy balls, his

fuse wire

tickled my nostrils. He smelt of sex and arousal, a smell that turned me on even more. Once those

gourds

were covered in saliva, I ran my tongue up his rock-hard shaft to the tip of the

German Helmet

and lapped up the precum. Delicious. And Peter spasmed with pleasure and let out an audible grown. I scanned the vicinity to make sure no one was around. His moans of delight could quickly attract unwanted attention.

I opened my mouth and took his meat inside. There was lots of room, and I had no gag reflex. I used my lips to massage his shaft while my tongue lapped his purple head. Peter loved this attention, perhaps this was not what he was expecting from being dominated, but he wasn't complaining. Every so often, I would try to force the whole length of his cock down my throat. It's not as easy as I remembered it, but each time I tried, a little more went down and still I didn't gag. I was getting into it now. I was hoping that if Peter blew his stack, he would at least forewarn me. I remembered I never really cared for the taste of sperm.

Every time I took that meat down my throat, I would bring up saliva which I spat on Peter's shaft and massaged it into the skin, so that the bone was nice and slick. Peter was lost in space and occasionally ran his fingers through my hair which I found a little uncomfortable.

I then began cupping his hairy balls in one hand and wanking his pole in the other with my lips wrapped around his head, and my tongue flicking across his

Jap's eye

. This only lasted maybe a minute before Peter wanted me to stop.

"You'll make me cum doing that."

"You don't want to cum?" I asked, incredulously

"Not yet. If I cum too soon, then the horn disappears, and I don't want to do anything else. At least for a while."

"Oh, okay," I responded, knowing what he meant.

"Yeah. I'd rather us cum together."

"In that case, I' m going to get your arse ready to take my cock."

"Can't wait for you to fuck my arse." Came a girly reply.

"I'm going to enjoy butt fucking you!"

I altered the position so that I was facing the end of the brick wall that Peter was laying on. His arsehole was directly in front of me, and boy was it funky. I was committed now, and I wasn't that disgusted, quite the opposite in fact. I spread Peter's hairy arse cheeks, hydrated my tongue and dived in.

Each time, my tongue flickered across his

rusty sheriff's badge,

Peter spasmed in delight. His groans of pleasure were growing more audible by the second, and I had to rebuke him. I was about to start stroking his shaft while my tongue was up his foetid shitter when Peter decided to do it himself. As a result, I alternated my oral action from his arse, the taint and his balls, ensuring the first of these three erogenous zones was well lubricated with my saliva.

When I judged Peter's puckered hole to be slick enough with spit lube, I put a finger into my mouth and then pressed against his

chocolate starfish

, to my surprise, it readily accepted my digit.

"Oh yeah." Came a satisfied response, as Peter's hand gently pumped his shaft.

"That's it, cunt," I replied, forcefully if somewhat laboured. "Take that finger up your shitter!"

As I penetrated Peter's dark hole, I felt the muscle relax somewhat and so decided on two fingers. It was a tight fit, but I eased the digits inside that filthy orifice. To aide my penetration, I kept on spitting on my fingers as I worked his hole.

"Oh, that's it, Jason. Work it till it hurts."

I tried to get three fingers inside, but that was a stretch too far. So, I contented myself with two fingers, effortlessly gliding in and out. As with anything anal sex-related, it's always prudent to

check the oil

beforehand. That is, make sure the receiver's anal passage does not contain any solids. In Peter's case, all was good. As I worked my fingers in and out of his greasy bung, I wondered if he had taken the necessary preparatory steps before jumping in the cab with me. Whatever, the lack of solids was going to make for a more enjoyable experience. For both of us.

Before long, I was able to insert and withdraw two fingers with ease. Peter's shitter had relaxed enough for me to discern the makings of a small gape. It was still tight enough so that when I withdrew my fingers, the exited with a slightly discernible 'pop'. Fuck me; real life is way better than pornos.

Suddenly, I needed to piss!

The sensation was acute and therefore, urgent. And I was going to piss on this cissy slut whether Peter asked for it or not.

With two fingers firmly implanted up Peter's

dirt locker

, to the knuckles, I stood up with my rock-hard

diamond cutter

pointed to the heavens. It took some concentrating on arranging the necessary plumbing, but eventually, the liquid started to flow. Tentatively at first but building up the pressure. Pissing with a stonk on is not easy, but I managed to coax out a few drops that pooled on the ground. Peter was oblivious, just stroking his cock and enjoying my fingers up his stink pipe.

As the flow strengthened, I directed the stream towards Peter's cock, balls and arsehole. When the golden fluid splashed against his organs, he let out a laugh.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Given that I was concentrating hard to expel the piss, I struggled to answer.

"Feels fucking good, mate!" He said as he wanking his shaft harder now.

By this time, hot streams of wetness were flowing hard now, and I could feel them running over my fingers that were stretching Peter's dirty hole wider in preparation for my cock. The piss was acting as a sort of lube.

"Oh shit, I'm going to cum!" hissed Peter unexpectedly.