"Make yourself at home," I said. "I will see what I can concoct in the kitchen."
He followed me, and when I touched the refrigerator handle he circled his arms around me from behind. "This is what I want to concoct," He said, pushing his cock against my ass.
I turned in his arms. Our eyes locked in question, then in answer. His powerful arms pulled me tight to his body, and he bent his head down to put his mouth to mine.
The kiss was greatly different from any with Andy and Bryan. Barry broke all the molds of my experience. His mass of muscular flesh, his strength of embrace, his direct to the point of our being in the kitchen, was a force far beyond Andy and Bryan. Our kiss bore no resemblance to kissing a girl. Except that I had to tilt my head back and lift my chin to receive his mouth on mine from his greater height. An absolute first, with male or female. Lifting my mouth up to receive the lowering lips of a standing lover. That, and the utter maleness of his big body and capturing arms; that and his wet, hot, demanding mouth taking mine, lips mashing mine, sucking my lips, his tongue plunging deep; the conquering kiss of a man; that made me sink into a feminine state of yielding I had never felt before.
Never had I felt anything like it. That soft feminine yielding. It was surprisingly pleasant, and seemed perfectly fitting. For I was being physically and erotically overpowered by Barry. My hands went to the back of his head and my fingers ruffled his hair and ears and gently clasped his head bent down to feed on my lips. Yielding. Feeling his cock under his pants swell and lengthen and became granite hard. His hands went to my ass to explore the contours and shape all over, to squeeze, to hold, to pull my groin and hard cock to his. We kissed a long time, his mouth feeding on mine, his hands making a personal claim of my ass, me skirting about the strange fantasy feeling of feminine yielding to his massive bulk, strength, and passion of his desire. He wanted me. He really wanted me. And I wanted him.
"Man!" I gasped. "This is like a lightening flash in the sky. All the time we have known each other...suddenly... I never imagined you for this."
"Nor I you. But I have been hot for you since our first partnership in the gym. You have the most beautiful, erotic, sexy, perfectly sculpted ass I have ever seen on a man."
"Do I? I've never seen my ass. I don't know quite what to think of your admiration. You have a splendid one yourself." I cupped his ass in my hands. "There's enough muscle power here to drive a freight train."
His glutes flexed and tightened with such force that had my finger been in the valley he would have broken it. He flushed and glowed with pleasure at my suggestion of the potential power in his ass to drive a freight train. He smiled at me with touching sweetness, but with something hidden and kinetic too. He pulled me tight and kissed me again. His mouth a teasing, loving exploration on mine, less demanding. His hands on my ass again, the most beautiful, erotic, sexy, perfectly sculpted man ass he had ever seen, feeling, caressing it like it was his now his property. That time I didn't have the feminine yielding fantasy. I was all man in his arms; man to man.
"Let's get out of these clothes."
We walked to my bed room, my arm around his waist, his hand on my ass, holding it like it might disappear. We undressed matter of factly, neatly folding our clothes and placing them on the bureau. We calmly assessed the naked bodies we presented to each other.
Barry's body was coated with hair on his chest and stomach and groin and legs. His skin had a tinge of brown that hinted of a mysterious ethnic history. Mediterranean? Native American? His cock was hard and erect at an angle, with a slight up bend to it. The head was large and flaring, burgundy red, the back ridge of the head spread beyond the circumference of the shaft.
"You are the most beautiful man I have ever had." Barry said.
Had? Was I being had already? But his flattery pleased me. "It's been six years since I had sex with a man," I said.
"Longer than that for me," he said.
He walked close and circled his arms around me. He kissed me, like I was the most beautiful man he ever had. I didn't experience that sense of feminine yielding, not exactly, but I felt beautiful and delicate in his arms. My awareness of his maleness took on an expansion beyond memory of Andy or Bryan. The great bulb of his cock head poking my stomach. My chin raised to receive his man kiss that took total command of my lips and tongue. His hands possessing my ass cheeks like they held more potential promise than a winning lottery ticket. His raspy body hair grinding my flesh. His searing heat enflaming me.
I slowly sank to my knees, under the weight of masculine sexuality that flowed from Barry, that big, tall, hairy, immensely strong and commanding man. His cock was at my nose, and I pressed it to my cheek to say hello. His groin smell was strong, no matter the recent shower. I sniffed and inhaled. His balls were the size of small hen eggs, and hung low in his sack. His cock had an aesthetic perfection different from Andy's or Bryan's. It looked like a weapon designed by nature for specific function, like a battering ram. The shaft skin was dark brownish, with visible purple veins, the outsized burgundy head shaped like a helmet on an ancient warrior. I kissed the head and licked it, top and bottom and all around. Barry's legs quivered, and he raked his fingers in my hair. I sucked in the big head.
He was a challenge. He was a mouthful. Much more than my experience. But doable. After six years, it was much like my first time. And truly, it was my first Barry cock suck. A new man, a different man, big powerful Barry with crackling body hair, with a powerful cock distended to the limit, as hard as granite with desire for me. I had to adjust to the size that filled my mouth. Make it wet and slippery to my serving tongue. To give him pleasure. My sole focus. And the metaphysical occurred. The odor of masculinity wafting from his crotch became a buttery film of taste coating his cock. The taste was exactly the same as the smell. I lost my mind. My state of being was pure cock sucking devotion. Once again, after six years.
"Oh yes," Barry whimpered. "Oh my sweetheart, my darling, yes, suck my cock!"
To give him that sweetest of pleasure was my only focus. And I was doing that. His calling me his "sweetheart" and "darling" was a mental thrill, as was his redundant order to suck. It was a statement of the pleasure my loving mouth gave him. Of my serving him. And serving him then was more important to me than anything else in the world. I made no attempt to deep throat him. I wasn't sure I even could. But no matter. My ring of lips went far down his shaft. My saliva flowed and slurp sounds cracked the air. The sexual passion was all, giving and taking, purely male, a merging of need and imperative.
He gave no warning. He didn't need to. Every detail of his building orgasm was vivid in my mind. His spastic, buckling body, his hands squeezing my head, the great silky bulb swelling even larger in my mouth, hot and twice as hard. His cum was shot from a cannon. Thick and viscous. Clumpy and stringy. More and more, and still more. I swallowed and swallowed, and swallowed more. I was forced to, but it was just what I wanted, desired, had worked for. That volume of cum from his balls, delivered to me in return for my reduction to a single desire to worship and adore his cock with my mouth.
We were on our backs on the bed, heads on pillows. Barry had one arm flung back behind his head, his eyes closed, his massive chest in rhythmic rise and fall to breathe his return from the outer universe of orgasm back to earth of here and now. His resting fat cock flopped on his thigh like a walrus sunning on a rock. I was in the cock sucker's state, serene, almost euphoric, deeply satisfied, his mighty volume of cum in my belly a tonic of accomplishment, a transference of energy. The residual taste of his cum in my mouth. Such a unique and thrilling and exciting taste, a man's cum. Barry's cum. My new lover.
I did, without thinking about it, what many women have done to me after I have given them a glorious fuck. I turned and snuggled to Barry. I touched my nose and lips to that neck pocket below his ear. There was a slight film of sweat. "Thank you," I breathed.
He laughed. "Thank me? Thank you! That was the most stupendous blow job I've ever had."
"Well, I was inspired," I said modestly. Blow job? The power of words. The truth they can hold. I had indeed given him a blow job. Cocksucker that I am and fully accept in myself. Like to do, want to do, take pride in doing. I felt proud. I felt fulfilled. "You called me 'sweetheart, darling.'"
