07-11-2025, 04:18 PM
Lu&Lu
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, just after 4 p.m. I've just got out of the shower and, standing in front of the large mirror in my bedroom, I apply some cream; I don't just want to be clean inside and out for my date, I also want to smell good for him. My gaze falls on the reflecting surface, the guy I see there looks good; damn good, in fact.
Ok, I admit it, I'm a bit narcissistic, but it's not my fault that I have a hot body; one of my lovers once compared me to Michelangelo's David. However, I don't have much in common with this statue, really not! Although my upper body is just as well-defined as the marble one, and my legs and arms are also impressive, I'm really not a bodybuilder. Okay, I often go to the gym, but not to work out and work on my body. No, I go there more for cruising purposes, and catching men can hardly be called a sport, although this endeavor can also take a lot of stamina.
But what really bothers me about this comparison is that my appendage is nowhere near as small and puny as that of the first monumental statue of the High Renaissance; at least the proportions are right for me. The only thing I can accept is the equal ranking with the backside of what is probably the most famous sculpture in art history: my ass is indeed almost perfectly shaped.
But this perfection is no wonder, after all it was “Mother Nature” herself who created my apple-shaped bottom and she did a good job, as not only I think. My real mother used to be a prima ballerina in the Czech National Ballet and now runs a ballet school in Hamburg. Before he fled to freedom, my father was a Russian military master in floor exercises; he made it as an underwear model in many a Western mail order catalog.
As I said, my shapely seat is a gift – a gift that I more than enjoy. Men love my round, well-proportioned curves, they love my smooth, white, almost silky skin, and since every man loves dimples and I have two of them right here, it's the icing on the cake when they knead my cheeks voluptuously or do other things with and in them.
But my parents didn't just give me my parents' trained muscles, I also owe my enormous flexibility and almost perfect body control to them. Many a man already gets out of control when he just plays with my two balls, kneading, massaging or rolling them. Some representatives of the male sex, however, only lose their minds when they penetrate with their manhood into my soft, narrow, yet demanding hole and give themselves (and thus me!) a lot of pleasure. If I then use my body control to perform one acrobatic move or another during the act while riding them to orgasm, it may well happen that instead of the “post-coital cigarette” I get a real declaration of love.
So what happened last night around 2:00 a.m. is not my fault – well, at least not entirely. One cause, as already mentioned, is my genetics, to which I owe such a beautiful and fuckable ass, but the main culprit is actually Marion, my roommate for four years, and her extremely stupid and utterly foolish habit of getting a new lover before she has finally given up her old bedfellow.
And it was precisely this quirk that, when I was awakened by a penetrating ringing and wild drumming against the apartment door, tore me out of a damp and rather sticky dream. Not quite in control of my senses, I made my way to the source of the noise and threw open the door, wanting to scare away the nighttime troublemaker. The hand of Lukas, Marion's soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, was just swirling air molecules, no longer hitting wood.
The look on the otherwise attractive face of the freshly minted business manager was truly awful: his cheeks were bloodshot, his otherwise cheeky chocolate-brown eyes looked sunken. You could clearly see the anger on his square chin and his short brown hair, usually styled and gelled, was so dishevelled you would have thought he had pulled it out. The man with the broad shoulders and even broader chest looked like a picture of misery; I was really shocked.
What are you doing here? Still not fully awake, I leaned on the doorframe with my right hand and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with my left.
I have to see Marion! Lukas? His voice was hoarse, he was gasping for breath. Suddenly he stormed past me and headed straight for my roommate's bedroom. He stopped in front of the open door, saw the made bed and looked at me. “She didn't come home, did she?”
I closed the door and watched Lukas go into our living room. ”Sorry, I'm really sorry.”
And I really felt sorry for the now miserable-looking guy! In all the years that I shared the large apartment with a view of the city park with the hairdresser, I had seen many men come and – literally – go, sometimes even through Marion's bedroom. But none of her guys lasted as long as Lukas, almost six months!
He was really good-looking and gave her the space she needed. The only recognizable drawback, at least for me, was the loud and powerful moaning and groaning that the two of them produced during certain bedroom activities, thereby depriving me of my well-deserved beauty sleep.
After all this time, I had thought that Marion's search for her “Mr. Perfect” had finally been crowned with success, but I was obviously mistaken. Two days ago, I had just come home from work and discovered a trail of clothes leading from the apartment door to the bathroom. It was clearly a construction worker and therefore not Lukas. What would an academic need with a hammer, a spirit level and a hard hat? The worn work gloves lying next to the brown dungarees were probably two sizes too big for his delicate hands. I listened briefly at the door: I heard the shower and some unmistakable noises, probably coming from under the same. However, the voice of the male part of the coupling was considerably deeper, almost macho, and not as soft and pleasant as that of the former student, and I knew from painful experience what they sounded like during mating rituals.
If the guys disappeared from her life, they would inevitably disappear from mine as well; in most cases, I didn't really mind their bedfellows, they were often too rough and proletarian for my taste. Lukas, on the other hand, was completely different, a real ray of light, a really great contemporary: friendly, polite, funny, courteous; you could really talk to him. I would really miss him!
When I was a child and I was feeling down, either physically or emotionally, my mother would always come around the corner with an ice cream, to try to cheer me up. I thought about it for a moment. There was still ice cream in the freezer, left over from my DVD night the night before. When watching tearjerkers like Latter Days, Prayers for Bobby or Summer Storm, I need ice cream to be happy. I went into the living room, because only from there can you get to the small kitchenette, which we hardly use for manual food preparation; Marion and I are more into things that can and must only be warmed or baked.
I put the package of vanilla ice cream on the counter, took the lid off and a spoon out of the drawer. Damn! Where are the bowls? I thought, but my brain wasn't working properly yet; never mind, the spoon will have to do. Lukas, who had been wandering around aimlessly in our living room, had probably noticed me fiddling with the fridge and came up to me. He stood half next to me and took a deep breath. His eyes were closed, but I had the feeling that he was pretty close to the water. And if there's one thing I hate, it's people crying, whether they're a man or a woman.
“So, young man?” I took a spoonful of ice cream, turned to him, leaned comfortably against the countertop. ”Old family recipe for heartbreak: ice cream!” Lukas looked at me rather puzzled, said nothing, just stood there silently. “Come on, it really helps.” I guided the spoon to his mouth. He didn't beat my hand away, but he still defended it, and a second attempt failed as well. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, then don't!”
If my mother's trick with the ice cream didn't work, my father had something up his sleeve: He made himself into Hansel, teased himself first and then me, to boost my mood. And I wanted to cheer Lukas up, at least a little. I held the eating utensil to my naked chest, because, apart from a white boxer around my hips, I was undressed. If I see even a single tear in your pretty brown eyes, then you will lick this.” He looked at me confused, but then he did manage to raise the corners of his mouth a little, so I was able to coax a slight grin out of him.
I inwardly rejoiced, looked at my roommate's almost-ex, who was the same age as me, and grinned. “I know I'm not Marion; my chest is flat and below my belly button, I only have a hole. I can't even brew a magic potion to change that, but...” Something stirred on his face again. “But I want to see you smile again.”
Lukas, who is half a head taller than me, hesitated briefly, then took a step towards me. I could clearly see that the corner of his mouth had gone up a bit again. He still wasn't grinning properly, but he now looked much more relaxed and at ease; the mental strain seemed to be leaving him. I blew the final attack. “I don't care that you're an old and whiny hetero, but? you're going to lick the ice cream now and you're going to like it! Do we understand each other??
Then it happened and a glob of ice cream slid off the spoon, landing directly on my chest, just above the left nipple. I winced, the ice cream was cold and immediately began to run down my chest. Another shiver ran through me, as if I had touched a socket. But this second reaction of the electrons in my nerve pathways was not due to the slowly melting cold of the vanilla ice cream, rather it was Lukas' warm breath, which now hit my skin. The brown-haired business graduate had lowered his head, and suddenly his face was hovering over my chest. A third shiver shook my innermost being when, slowly and as if in slow motion, he actually touched me. His hands were warm and his fingers, light as feathers, danced on my skin, coming to rest on my upper arms. Just at that moment, I felt his tongue as it slowly traced the pale yellow trickle of ice cream. I almost went crazy.
My whole body began to tremble, my knees went weak and my ass started to twitch frantically when, after what seemed like an eternity, it went back up, also at a snail's pace, and his thighs collided with my groin. I don't need to mention that I had a full-blown hard-on and that my white, wide boxer resembled a tent.
I was afraid to touch him. From previous experiences playing with heterosexual men, I knew that there is always an invisible trip wire, an imaginary boundary that it's better not to cross. What gay man has not heard sentences like “I don't kiss!” or “Don't touch me, just blow me!”
So I stood almost rigid and immobile as Lukas peeled off his jacket and then sank his hand into the ice cream cup that was standing next to me on the kitchen counter. What was he up to? He looked at the lump of milk and flavorings as intensely as I did, as if it were a precious jewel. His face had somehow changed, it still seemed to be glowing – or had started to glow again – but the way it did so was completely different from the way it looked at the beginning of his nocturnal visit.
Suddenly, my skin went cold again as he smeared the dessert over my chest and stomach. His warm hands grasped my forearms as he knelt down, and then began a new, but equally slow round of licking and lapping. His initially rather gentle lip contact gradually turned into light and erotic sucking, and the occasional nibbling. One shockwave after another raced through my body when I felt his teeth on my right nipple, his mouth almost sucking on it; his hair smelled good, spicy and warm.
As his tongue explored my belly button, his hands moved from my forearms to my sides, but didn't come to rest there; no, they tickled me lightly. His mouth went on a journey again, examining my flat six-pack once more. And just as his lips hovered directly over the tip of my tent pole, his strong hands grasped my perfect balls of flesh and began to knead them through the fabric.
Suddenly he stopped what was, for me, a very hot action and looked up. “Hot ass!”
“Thanks!” Why was I croaking?
Lukas suddenly turned me around, seemingly not the least bit interested in the source of my joy. Instead, he pulled my boxers down to my ankles and pushed me against the kitchen counter. His hands caressed and stroked, patted and tickled the skin on my extended spine, then his fingers clawed into my well-formed flesh. Like I said, guys get turned on just by looking at my ass (and lose themselves in the moment), and the brown-haired guy's moans, which could be heard the whole time, could be interpreted as his way of appreciating my ass.
The next thing I remember, it was getting cold on my ass? ice cream! And before I knew it, Lukas was licking the cold, viscous cream off my biscuit halves. It was maddening; once again the electrons on my nerve pathways went berserk; he gently and tenderly, but somehow also firmly, grabbed the parts of my hemispheres that he wasn't nibbling on. Then his thumbs slid, whether by accident or design I cannot say, into the valley and knocked on the gate.
My whole body twitched, my back arched and the lustful groan came from my mouth this time. Lukas pulled my cheeks further apart, his delicate fingertips no longer just knocking, no, they began to penetrate me. When the thought occurred to me that Lukas would take me, to catapult me into the seventh heaven of lust, as he had done to Marion before, the temperature of my slit was lowered again, another lump of ice ran down my valley.
Ahhhhh!? I could only grunt, because when Lukas' hungry mouth kissed me on the back, his tongue lingered in my valley, only to then lick at my goal, now covered with cream, I forgot everything around me. The heat of my hot box evaporated by itself, the cold of the dessert. Heaven! Is that cool! Just cool!?
Lukas? Tongue circled gently around my twitching and pulsating hole, began to probe the soft inside. Like an explorer on an expedition into the unknown, he entered me with his taste buds, gently and tenderly. My hands clenched into fists, my breath caught in my throat with every flick of his tongue. My ass squirmed wildly and licentious in front of his face, danced hectically up and down, wanting more and more.
Suddenly and without warning, Lukas' right hand, albeit a bit roughly, encircled my joyfully dripping cock; squeezing and squeezing it. I let out a loud groan, which must have startled him, because his initially somewhat awkward grip turned into a gentle, almost loving and tender caress, as if my appendage were a fragile piece of filigree glass art. I was simply blown away!
Both the breathtaking rimming of his tongue and the unexpected handwork – he had pushed my foreskin all the way back and tried to penetrate my slit with his little finger – almost made me fly. I became a plaything of lust, a begging, whining puppy; I was on the verge of exploding. The balls in my scrotum were burning, my cock was tingling, but I didn't want to come yet, not yet! First he had to conquer me with all his manhood and then fuck me to the limits of bliss.
As if he had read my mind, Lukas let go of my stiff cock and also tore his extremely talented lips from my extremely vulnerable entrance. He stood up and I heard the sliding sound of a zipper. Then, after a moment of fumbling, probably to get his hard cock out of his own jeans, I felt the part that had previously satisfied Marion impatiently trying to get at my pulsating hole, trying to conquer it. But unfortunately – typically straight – he was rather clumsy at it.
'Ouch!' I writhed in pain, pulled my hips forward, thus pushing his naked cock out of my troubled butt hole. Lukas had almost licked me to the edge of ecstasy, but I was not yet really wet and receptive.
'Hey? What's the matter? Lukas apparently lost his balance, pressing me even more onto the kitchen counter. I pushed him away slightly, turned, thanks to the space I had gained, slowly around my own axis, wanting to look him in the eye. Our groins met, rubbing against each other, and what had just sunk in on his side hardened again immediately, much to my delight.
“Lukas, this is going to be gay sex and it's going to be intense, but when a man wants to have fun with a man, wants to take him, then he needs a few little things like lubricant and stuff.” I smiled smugly at him. ”Unfortunately, men are not naturally moist, well, at least most of the time.”
Sorry, I'm really, really sorry. I'm probably just too excited.
No problem! He looked so cute with his rosy cheeks. A tube of gel is in the drawer in the side table by the couch.
Lukas grinned mischievously, took a step towards me, put my legs around his hips and took me in his muscular arms. As he carried me to the sofa like that, I felt his bouncing and rather wet cock against my ass. I just enjoyed the way he simply pressed his strong body against me; I could have melted in his arms. He wasn't naked yet, but that didn't detract from my feelings at all. Our faces were only a few centimeters apart, and I could have just sunk into his chocolate-brown eyes, they turned me on so much. I don't know how many moments it took, but suddenly I found myself lying on my back on the couch.
Lukas started to undress. It wasn't exactly a striptease, but who cared! First came the T-shirt, which he pulled over his head; his body was simply phenomenal. His abs were hard and flat, his six-pack clearly defined. His upper body was broad and muscular, well-defined. Every jerk and wiggle, every one of his movements made me melt even more. Now he stood in front of me naked from the waist up, his erect cock peeking out of his fly at an almost perfect 45° angle.
A broad, admiring, lustful grin spread across my face, but he seemed slightly confused. “Ludek! Why are you looking at me like that? So strangely?”
I could only shake my head. “You? You're just? Just beautiful!”
He rolled his eyes and laughed. But it was a rather dull laugh; typically straight, who can't quite handle real compliments. Lukas turned away briefly, got out of his jeans, giving me a view of his strong and muscular legs. I couldn't help but smile, you could see, in the dim light of the floor lamp, exactly the dividing lines: his ass glistened in radiant white, the rest of his otherwise flawless body was slightly tanned.
I opened the drawer of the side table, where I kept, just in case, a few utensils that both Marion and I could use for games in the living room: lubricant, hygiene spray, condoms in different sizes (some even flavored), a cock ring made of black nappa leather, a small butt plug made of red soft rubber, a chain with a blue love ball and a roll of mint dragees. I grabbed one of the condoms, took the tube of lubricant and squeezed two of the tablet-like breath fresheners out of their packaging; I had gyros for dinner.
Lukas was now standing naked in front of me, his cock bobbing up and down in time with his rather irregular breathing; my mouth was literally watering. He had even taken off his socks; my eyes sparkled, because sex in socks? For me, an absurdity when you're doing it in your own four walls. Okay, I don't say anything in the park or on the set if the person across from me keeps their socks on, but you don't normally take your shoes off in such places either.
I held out my hands, reached for his smooth cheeks, pulled him towards me, opened my mouth and sucked in his joy-giver like a vacuum cleaner. I was beside myself, his trimmed pubic hair smelled somehow like musk; probably the residual scent of his shower gel. My tongue pranced on his sensitive flesh, trying to get as deep as possible into the slit. I caressed every square centimeter of his manhood, sometimes lovingly tender, sometimes fiercely demanding.
The business manager suddenly bucked, pushed his hips further in my direction, his glans bumped against my uvula, apparently wanting to go deeper into my throat. I did him a favor and cleared the way. His hands gripped my head, literally pinching it. I could only go backwards with difficulty, so that I could then take the thick and pulsating pole back into me in its entirety. His left thigh began to tremble, his breathing became shallower, but at the same time faster. The way he squirmed under my expert treatment was probably the best blowjob he had ever received.
He took a step back, out of reach, gasping for air. “Ludek! I can't take any more! If you keep it up, I'll come right away!”
“All right?” I smiled at him, and he smiled back at me. Lukas's look was clear: he wanted to continue and didn't want to just give up now; if he really wanted to fuck me, then he should do it.
I patted the now slightly sweaty skin around his hips, as if to calm him, then stood up, tore open the condom and handed it to him. I squirted a generous portion of lubricant onto my fingers, which immediately moved to the back to lubricate my shaft. When the tip of my middle finger reached the gate, it opened voluntarily; I was hot and hungry for Lukas and his 20 centimeters of firm cock meat.
I knelt on the sofa with my elbows on the backrest. My shapely ass was turned towards him, my pink rosebud winked at him, inviting him to finally do what he and I longed for. I turned around, smiled at him, and wiggled my best body part again encouragingly.
He took a step towards me, his right hand came to rest on my well-formed mound of flesh, squeezing and kneading it gently. The fingers of his left hand first caressed my neck gently, then his thumb ran along my spine in a circular motion, and I trembled like a leaf. When I felt his thighs against mine, and felt his male pride rubbing against my natural opening, I almost passed out. I looked around and saw him once again using his free hand to bring his member into shape.
He turned into the starting position, carefully placed his tip in my crack. I met his rather tentative pressure with light pressing, wanting to make it easier for him to penetrate. I really didn't know if he and Marion had already done it the Greek way, because my roommate and I don't really talk about sex practices that intensely. Maybe it was the first time for him to have sex this way; anyway, he should enjoy the fuck with a man from the beginning.
Something big slowly pierced my hungry opening, stretching my boiling insides by the micrometer. It didn't really hurt, the feeling of horniness prevailed, but the snail's pace of his penetration was a bit unpleasant. His cock was twice as big as a two-euro coin; if I was stretched enough, no problem, I would have bravely (and happily) coped with an immediate penetration, but this very tentative approach was too much. Probably Lukas didn't want to make a mistake, maybe it was his first act of this kind after all, maybe it was his first time with a man; I didn't know.
Slowly, however, my eager channel got used to the hesitant creep speed. Perhaps it was because of the massage of my cheeks, which he now gave me, but suddenly I really enjoyed being drilled by him, millimeter by millimeter. When he was all the way inside me, and I felt his balls against mine, he paused for a moment, and it seemed like an eternity. Then he went into reverse and pulled out, but only far enough to stop at the floodgate and then go forward again. Lukas repeated this maneuver at least ten or eleven times; his pace quickened, our bells now clanged together ever more violently, drowned out only by the sounds of his smacking ride.
“That's? That's? So? So damn hot.” Lukas could do nothing but groan. ”Oh man! Are you tight!?
Now you are!” I couldn't and didn't want to talk, I just enjoyed it.
His hands were around my shoulders, almost cramping in them. Apparently, he wanted to increase the leverage of his hard cock on its way into my happy hole. I liked the pace and rhythm, I started to lose myself in the fuck. With almost every stroke, he caressed my P-spot, I was going crazy. Women have their G-spot and passive men also have a rather irritable spot in their pleasure grotto, anatomically just a little differently stored; for me that is the P-spot.
The pressure in my scrotum increased steadily, the man with the short brown hair made me boil. My balls contracted, the production of my white secretion, soon ready for delivery, was in full swing. If he kept it up, I would soon explode; my balls wanted to finally release.
The grip on my shoulders suddenly changed, and Lukas also withdrew his pulsating joystick from me. I was shocked! What had happened? While I was still turning around to see what had happened, he lifted me up and threw me backwards onto the bed.
Lukas had difficulty speaking. “I... I want to look into your eyes when... when I fuck you!”
He grasped my right ankle, pushed it to the side to make room for himself, and got on the couch. He crawled on his knees, put my legs around his hips. His left hand pushed my right thigh a little higher, then I felt his skin on the underside, apparently his fingers were handling his best piece, probably wanted to put it back in the right position.
He succeeded, he spit on me again, and then? Then he fucked me right into the sofa! His divine horny thrusts became harder and more demanding, my head hit the side of the seat. He actually fucked me into the seventh heaven of horniness; I was his!
Suddenly, as if someone had spontaneously flipped a switch, Lukas stopped his horny romp. I was stunned, didn't know what that meant! I looked at him, right into his face. Something had changed! His eyes glistened, they sparkled at me. If his hands were just on my shoulders, they now buried themselves in the crook of my arms. He licked his lips lasciviously, his head lowered, the tip of his tongue reaching my teeth. Then someone must have pressed a different button in his brain and with every thrust of his manhood into my guts, he also pushed his tongue into my mouth; it was simply breathtaking!
The more intense his efforts in my throbbing pleasure channel became, the more he also demanded the fusion of our lips. We didn't just kiss, we sucked each other hard. We merged, above and below, united with and in each other, into an inseparable unity; we were one!
It was just too much for me, I couldn't think anymore, an infinite emptiness took over in my brain that I hadn't known before, at least not until that moment. With the best will in the world, I couldn't and didn't want to prevent the explosion any longer. When his fingers touched my earlobes and gently squeezed them, it felt to me as if someone had pressed the launch button. My prevented offspring pumped themselves, thrust after thrust, embedded in milky fluid, out of the opening of my third leg between our heated bodies.
Just at that moment, he also arched up, the oral connection was rudely severed. Inside me, I felt an enormous increase in pressure, apparently he had also given his cream the starting signal. His expeditions became shorter, but his moans louder. The same thing happened to me, I also lost my breath. We both could only gasp, lying on top of each other, my own glue connecting us.
I lay on the sofa, completely exhausted. Even though it may have only been two minutes since I last moved, it felt like an hour. His member had left me, had slid limply out of my cave. Insecurity took hold of me. Finally, I gathered all my courage and looked at him. “Lukas? Are you okay?”
Silently, he scrutinized me quite intensely, apparently not really knowing what he had done or what he should say now; my heart was in my pants, which I wasn't wearing. Then suddenly, as if someone had flipped the switch in his head again, he slowly shook his head and smiled at me angelically. “I was just thinking, next time... He took a deep breath. “Next time we'd better do it in your room, because in bed?” My jaw dropped as his hand patted my sore ass. “I'm even better in bed!”
Well, this episode happened last night; I hope I got it all right. After this extremely intense interlude, Lukas left me, kissed me on the lips goodbye and said he would get back to me. Was I disappointed? Definitely not. I was more than satisfied, but, and I freely admit this, I would have loved to fall asleep next to him.
Just an hour ago, as I was sitting at the Sunday late breakfast, I actually received a text message from him. He asked if I had time and desire and if the coast was clear. My heart leaped and, since Marion was once again conspicuous by her absence – as usual, she was working on the tax side, as she does every Sunday – I answered with just one word: “YES!” It took just a minute before my mobile phone beeped again. “I'll be with you in an hour.” I happily put my smartphone aside and got into the shower, because certain preparations are a must.
And now? Now I wait for the doorbell to ring, as the hour is almost up. My smartphone beeps again; a new message from Lukas. Is he canceling? Did he suddenly get scared? Was the whole thing too much for him? Was I just a stopgap, a safety valve for his pent-up frustration? I'm getting nervous, quite nervous even. On the sofa, the scene of last night's passion, I open the message: 'Ludek, I don't want to repeat just last night – I want more. Please don't take this the wrong way, but it's all new and unfamiliar to me. Please be patient with me and see you in a moment. HDL? Lukas?
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, just after 4 p.m. I've just got out of the shower and, standing in front of the large mirror in my bedroom, I apply some cream; I don't just want to be clean inside and out for my date, I also want to smell good for him. My gaze falls on the reflecting surface, the guy I see there looks good; damn good, in fact.
Ok, I admit it, I'm a bit narcissistic, but it's not my fault that I have a hot body; one of my lovers once compared me to Michelangelo's David. However, I don't have much in common with this statue, really not! Although my upper body is just as well-defined as the marble one, and my legs and arms are also impressive, I'm really not a bodybuilder. Okay, I often go to the gym, but not to work out and work on my body. No, I go there more for cruising purposes, and catching men can hardly be called a sport, although this endeavor can also take a lot of stamina.
But what really bothers me about this comparison is that my appendage is nowhere near as small and puny as that of the first monumental statue of the High Renaissance; at least the proportions are right for me. The only thing I can accept is the equal ranking with the backside of what is probably the most famous sculpture in art history: my ass is indeed almost perfectly shaped.
But this perfection is no wonder, after all it was “Mother Nature” herself who created my apple-shaped bottom and she did a good job, as not only I think. My real mother used to be a prima ballerina in the Czech National Ballet and now runs a ballet school in Hamburg. Before he fled to freedom, my father was a Russian military master in floor exercises; he made it as an underwear model in many a Western mail order catalog.
As I said, my shapely seat is a gift – a gift that I more than enjoy. Men love my round, well-proportioned curves, they love my smooth, white, almost silky skin, and since every man loves dimples and I have two of them right here, it's the icing on the cake when they knead my cheeks voluptuously or do other things with and in them.
But my parents didn't just give me my parents' trained muscles, I also owe my enormous flexibility and almost perfect body control to them. Many a man already gets out of control when he just plays with my two balls, kneading, massaging or rolling them. Some representatives of the male sex, however, only lose their minds when they penetrate with their manhood into my soft, narrow, yet demanding hole and give themselves (and thus me!) a lot of pleasure. If I then use my body control to perform one acrobatic move or another during the act while riding them to orgasm, it may well happen that instead of the “post-coital cigarette” I get a real declaration of love.
So what happened last night around 2:00 a.m. is not my fault – well, at least not entirely. One cause, as already mentioned, is my genetics, to which I owe such a beautiful and fuckable ass, but the main culprit is actually Marion, my roommate for four years, and her extremely stupid and utterly foolish habit of getting a new lover before she has finally given up her old bedfellow.
And it was precisely this quirk that, when I was awakened by a penetrating ringing and wild drumming against the apartment door, tore me out of a damp and rather sticky dream. Not quite in control of my senses, I made my way to the source of the noise and threw open the door, wanting to scare away the nighttime troublemaker. The hand of Lukas, Marion's soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, was just swirling air molecules, no longer hitting wood.
The look on the otherwise attractive face of the freshly minted business manager was truly awful: his cheeks were bloodshot, his otherwise cheeky chocolate-brown eyes looked sunken. You could clearly see the anger on his square chin and his short brown hair, usually styled and gelled, was so dishevelled you would have thought he had pulled it out. The man with the broad shoulders and even broader chest looked like a picture of misery; I was really shocked.
What are you doing here? Still not fully awake, I leaned on the doorframe with my right hand and rubbed the sleep from my eyes with my left.
I have to see Marion! Lukas? His voice was hoarse, he was gasping for breath. Suddenly he stormed past me and headed straight for my roommate's bedroom. He stopped in front of the open door, saw the made bed and looked at me. “She didn't come home, did she?”
I closed the door and watched Lukas go into our living room. ”Sorry, I'm really sorry.”
And I really felt sorry for the now miserable-looking guy! In all the years that I shared the large apartment with a view of the city park with the hairdresser, I had seen many men come and – literally – go, sometimes even through Marion's bedroom. But none of her guys lasted as long as Lukas, almost six months!
He was really good-looking and gave her the space she needed. The only recognizable drawback, at least for me, was the loud and powerful moaning and groaning that the two of them produced during certain bedroom activities, thereby depriving me of my well-deserved beauty sleep.
After all this time, I had thought that Marion's search for her “Mr. Perfect” had finally been crowned with success, but I was obviously mistaken. Two days ago, I had just come home from work and discovered a trail of clothes leading from the apartment door to the bathroom. It was clearly a construction worker and therefore not Lukas. What would an academic need with a hammer, a spirit level and a hard hat? The worn work gloves lying next to the brown dungarees were probably two sizes too big for his delicate hands. I listened briefly at the door: I heard the shower and some unmistakable noises, probably coming from under the same. However, the voice of the male part of the coupling was considerably deeper, almost macho, and not as soft and pleasant as that of the former student, and I knew from painful experience what they sounded like during mating rituals.
If the guys disappeared from her life, they would inevitably disappear from mine as well; in most cases, I didn't really mind their bedfellows, they were often too rough and proletarian for my taste. Lukas, on the other hand, was completely different, a real ray of light, a really great contemporary: friendly, polite, funny, courteous; you could really talk to him. I would really miss him!
When I was a child and I was feeling down, either physically or emotionally, my mother would always come around the corner with an ice cream, to try to cheer me up. I thought about it for a moment. There was still ice cream in the freezer, left over from my DVD night the night before. When watching tearjerkers like Latter Days, Prayers for Bobby or Summer Storm, I need ice cream to be happy. I went into the living room, because only from there can you get to the small kitchenette, which we hardly use for manual food preparation; Marion and I are more into things that can and must only be warmed or baked.
I put the package of vanilla ice cream on the counter, took the lid off and a spoon out of the drawer. Damn! Where are the bowls? I thought, but my brain wasn't working properly yet; never mind, the spoon will have to do. Lukas, who had been wandering around aimlessly in our living room, had probably noticed me fiddling with the fridge and came up to me. He stood half next to me and took a deep breath. His eyes were closed, but I had the feeling that he was pretty close to the water. And if there's one thing I hate, it's people crying, whether they're a man or a woman.
“So, young man?” I took a spoonful of ice cream, turned to him, leaned comfortably against the countertop. ”Old family recipe for heartbreak: ice cream!” Lukas looked at me rather puzzled, said nothing, just stood there silently. “Come on, it really helps.” I guided the spoon to his mouth. He didn't beat my hand away, but he still defended it, and a second attempt failed as well. I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, then don't!”
If my mother's trick with the ice cream didn't work, my father had something up his sleeve: He made himself into Hansel, teased himself first and then me, to boost my mood. And I wanted to cheer Lukas up, at least a little. I held the eating utensil to my naked chest, because, apart from a white boxer around my hips, I was undressed. If I see even a single tear in your pretty brown eyes, then you will lick this.” He looked at me confused, but then he did manage to raise the corners of his mouth a little, so I was able to coax a slight grin out of him.
I inwardly rejoiced, looked at my roommate's almost-ex, who was the same age as me, and grinned. “I know I'm not Marion; my chest is flat and below my belly button, I only have a hole. I can't even brew a magic potion to change that, but...” Something stirred on his face again. “But I want to see you smile again.”
Lukas, who is half a head taller than me, hesitated briefly, then took a step towards me. I could clearly see that the corner of his mouth had gone up a bit again. He still wasn't grinning properly, but he now looked much more relaxed and at ease; the mental strain seemed to be leaving him. I blew the final attack. “I don't care that you're an old and whiny hetero, but? you're going to lick the ice cream now and you're going to like it! Do we understand each other??
Then it happened and a glob of ice cream slid off the spoon, landing directly on my chest, just above the left nipple. I winced, the ice cream was cold and immediately began to run down my chest. Another shiver ran through me, as if I had touched a socket. But this second reaction of the electrons in my nerve pathways was not due to the slowly melting cold of the vanilla ice cream, rather it was Lukas' warm breath, which now hit my skin. The brown-haired business graduate had lowered his head, and suddenly his face was hovering over my chest. A third shiver shook my innermost being when, slowly and as if in slow motion, he actually touched me. His hands were warm and his fingers, light as feathers, danced on my skin, coming to rest on my upper arms. Just at that moment, I felt his tongue as it slowly traced the pale yellow trickle of ice cream. I almost went crazy.
My whole body began to tremble, my knees went weak and my ass started to twitch frantically when, after what seemed like an eternity, it went back up, also at a snail's pace, and his thighs collided with my groin. I don't need to mention that I had a full-blown hard-on and that my white, wide boxer resembled a tent.
I was afraid to touch him. From previous experiences playing with heterosexual men, I knew that there is always an invisible trip wire, an imaginary boundary that it's better not to cross. What gay man has not heard sentences like “I don't kiss!” or “Don't touch me, just blow me!”
So I stood almost rigid and immobile as Lukas peeled off his jacket and then sank his hand into the ice cream cup that was standing next to me on the kitchen counter. What was he up to? He looked at the lump of milk and flavorings as intensely as I did, as if it were a precious jewel. His face had somehow changed, it still seemed to be glowing – or had started to glow again – but the way it did so was completely different from the way it looked at the beginning of his nocturnal visit.
Suddenly, my skin went cold again as he smeared the dessert over my chest and stomach. His warm hands grasped my forearms as he knelt down, and then began a new, but equally slow round of licking and lapping. His initially rather gentle lip contact gradually turned into light and erotic sucking, and the occasional nibbling. One shockwave after another raced through my body when I felt his teeth on my right nipple, his mouth almost sucking on it; his hair smelled good, spicy and warm.
As his tongue explored my belly button, his hands moved from my forearms to my sides, but didn't come to rest there; no, they tickled me lightly. His mouth went on a journey again, examining my flat six-pack once more. And just as his lips hovered directly over the tip of my tent pole, his strong hands grasped my perfect balls of flesh and began to knead them through the fabric.
Suddenly he stopped what was, for me, a very hot action and looked up. “Hot ass!”
“Thanks!” Why was I croaking?
Lukas suddenly turned me around, seemingly not the least bit interested in the source of my joy. Instead, he pulled my boxers down to my ankles and pushed me against the kitchen counter. His hands caressed and stroked, patted and tickled the skin on my extended spine, then his fingers clawed into my well-formed flesh. Like I said, guys get turned on just by looking at my ass (and lose themselves in the moment), and the brown-haired guy's moans, which could be heard the whole time, could be interpreted as his way of appreciating my ass.
The next thing I remember, it was getting cold on my ass? ice cream! And before I knew it, Lukas was licking the cold, viscous cream off my biscuit halves. It was maddening; once again the electrons on my nerve pathways went berserk; he gently and tenderly, but somehow also firmly, grabbed the parts of my hemispheres that he wasn't nibbling on. Then his thumbs slid, whether by accident or design I cannot say, into the valley and knocked on the gate.
My whole body twitched, my back arched and the lustful groan came from my mouth this time. Lukas pulled my cheeks further apart, his delicate fingertips no longer just knocking, no, they began to penetrate me. When the thought occurred to me that Lukas would take me, to catapult me into the seventh heaven of lust, as he had done to Marion before, the temperature of my slit was lowered again, another lump of ice ran down my valley.
Ahhhhh!? I could only grunt, because when Lukas' hungry mouth kissed me on the back, his tongue lingered in my valley, only to then lick at my goal, now covered with cream, I forgot everything around me. The heat of my hot box evaporated by itself, the cold of the dessert. Heaven! Is that cool! Just cool!?
Lukas? Tongue circled gently around my twitching and pulsating hole, began to probe the soft inside. Like an explorer on an expedition into the unknown, he entered me with his taste buds, gently and tenderly. My hands clenched into fists, my breath caught in my throat with every flick of his tongue. My ass squirmed wildly and licentious in front of his face, danced hectically up and down, wanting more and more.
Suddenly and without warning, Lukas' right hand, albeit a bit roughly, encircled my joyfully dripping cock; squeezing and squeezing it. I let out a loud groan, which must have startled him, because his initially somewhat awkward grip turned into a gentle, almost loving and tender caress, as if my appendage were a fragile piece of filigree glass art. I was simply blown away!
Both the breathtaking rimming of his tongue and the unexpected handwork – he had pushed my foreskin all the way back and tried to penetrate my slit with his little finger – almost made me fly. I became a plaything of lust, a begging, whining puppy; I was on the verge of exploding. The balls in my scrotum were burning, my cock was tingling, but I didn't want to come yet, not yet! First he had to conquer me with all his manhood and then fuck me to the limits of bliss.
As if he had read my mind, Lukas let go of my stiff cock and also tore his extremely talented lips from my extremely vulnerable entrance. He stood up and I heard the sliding sound of a zipper. Then, after a moment of fumbling, probably to get his hard cock out of his own jeans, I felt the part that had previously satisfied Marion impatiently trying to get at my pulsating hole, trying to conquer it. But unfortunately – typically straight – he was rather clumsy at it.
'Ouch!' I writhed in pain, pulled my hips forward, thus pushing his naked cock out of my troubled butt hole. Lukas had almost licked me to the edge of ecstasy, but I was not yet really wet and receptive.
'Hey? What's the matter? Lukas apparently lost his balance, pressing me even more onto the kitchen counter. I pushed him away slightly, turned, thanks to the space I had gained, slowly around my own axis, wanting to look him in the eye. Our groins met, rubbing against each other, and what had just sunk in on his side hardened again immediately, much to my delight.
“Lukas, this is going to be gay sex and it's going to be intense, but when a man wants to have fun with a man, wants to take him, then he needs a few little things like lubricant and stuff.” I smiled smugly at him. ”Unfortunately, men are not naturally moist, well, at least most of the time.”
Sorry, I'm really, really sorry. I'm probably just too excited.
No problem! He looked so cute with his rosy cheeks. A tube of gel is in the drawer in the side table by the couch.
Lukas grinned mischievously, took a step towards me, put my legs around his hips and took me in his muscular arms. As he carried me to the sofa like that, I felt his bouncing and rather wet cock against my ass. I just enjoyed the way he simply pressed his strong body against me; I could have melted in his arms. He wasn't naked yet, but that didn't detract from my feelings at all. Our faces were only a few centimeters apart, and I could have just sunk into his chocolate-brown eyes, they turned me on so much. I don't know how many moments it took, but suddenly I found myself lying on my back on the couch.
Lukas started to undress. It wasn't exactly a striptease, but who cared! First came the T-shirt, which he pulled over his head; his body was simply phenomenal. His abs were hard and flat, his six-pack clearly defined. His upper body was broad and muscular, well-defined. Every jerk and wiggle, every one of his movements made me melt even more. Now he stood in front of me naked from the waist up, his erect cock peeking out of his fly at an almost perfect 45° angle.
A broad, admiring, lustful grin spread across my face, but he seemed slightly confused. “Ludek! Why are you looking at me like that? So strangely?”
I could only shake my head. “You? You're just? Just beautiful!”
He rolled his eyes and laughed. But it was a rather dull laugh; typically straight, who can't quite handle real compliments. Lukas turned away briefly, got out of his jeans, giving me a view of his strong and muscular legs. I couldn't help but smile, you could see, in the dim light of the floor lamp, exactly the dividing lines: his ass glistened in radiant white, the rest of his otherwise flawless body was slightly tanned.
I opened the drawer of the side table, where I kept, just in case, a few utensils that both Marion and I could use for games in the living room: lubricant, hygiene spray, condoms in different sizes (some even flavored), a cock ring made of black nappa leather, a small butt plug made of red soft rubber, a chain with a blue love ball and a roll of mint dragees. I grabbed one of the condoms, took the tube of lubricant and squeezed two of the tablet-like breath fresheners out of their packaging; I had gyros for dinner.
Lukas was now standing naked in front of me, his cock bobbing up and down in time with his rather irregular breathing; my mouth was literally watering. He had even taken off his socks; my eyes sparkled, because sex in socks? For me, an absurdity when you're doing it in your own four walls. Okay, I don't say anything in the park or on the set if the person across from me keeps their socks on, but you don't normally take your shoes off in such places either.
I held out my hands, reached for his smooth cheeks, pulled him towards me, opened my mouth and sucked in his joy-giver like a vacuum cleaner. I was beside myself, his trimmed pubic hair smelled somehow like musk; probably the residual scent of his shower gel. My tongue pranced on his sensitive flesh, trying to get as deep as possible into the slit. I caressed every square centimeter of his manhood, sometimes lovingly tender, sometimes fiercely demanding.
The business manager suddenly bucked, pushed his hips further in my direction, his glans bumped against my uvula, apparently wanting to go deeper into my throat. I did him a favor and cleared the way. His hands gripped my head, literally pinching it. I could only go backwards with difficulty, so that I could then take the thick and pulsating pole back into me in its entirety. His left thigh began to tremble, his breathing became shallower, but at the same time faster. The way he squirmed under my expert treatment was probably the best blowjob he had ever received.
He took a step back, out of reach, gasping for air. “Ludek! I can't take any more! If you keep it up, I'll come right away!”
“All right?” I smiled at him, and he smiled back at me. Lukas's look was clear: he wanted to continue and didn't want to just give up now; if he really wanted to fuck me, then he should do it.
I patted the now slightly sweaty skin around his hips, as if to calm him, then stood up, tore open the condom and handed it to him. I squirted a generous portion of lubricant onto my fingers, which immediately moved to the back to lubricate my shaft. When the tip of my middle finger reached the gate, it opened voluntarily; I was hot and hungry for Lukas and his 20 centimeters of firm cock meat.
I knelt on the sofa with my elbows on the backrest. My shapely ass was turned towards him, my pink rosebud winked at him, inviting him to finally do what he and I longed for. I turned around, smiled at him, and wiggled my best body part again encouragingly.
He took a step towards me, his right hand came to rest on my well-formed mound of flesh, squeezing and kneading it gently. The fingers of his left hand first caressed my neck gently, then his thumb ran along my spine in a circular motion, and I trembled like a leaf. When I felt his thighs against mine, and felt his male pride rubbing against my natural opening, I almost passed out. I looked around and saw him once again using his free hand to bring his member into shape.
He turned into the starting position, carefully placed his tip in my crack. I met his rather tentative pressure with light pressing, wanting to make it easier for him to penetrate. I really didn't know if he and Marion had already done it the Greek way, because my roommate and I don't really talk about sex practices that intensely. Maybe it was the first time for him to have sex this way; anyway, he should enjoy the fuck with a man from the beginning.
Something big slowly pierced my hungry opening, stretching my boiling insides by the micrometer. It didn't really hurt, the feeling of horniness prevailed, but the snail's pace of his penetration was a bit unpleasant. His cock was twice as big as a two-euro coin; if I was stretched enough, no problem, I would have bravely (and happily) coped with an immediate penetration, but this very tentative approach was too much. Probably Lukas didn't want to make a mistake, maybe it was his first act of this kind after all, maybe it was his first time with a man; I didn't know.
Slowly, however, my eager channel got used to the hesitant creep speed. Perhaps it was because of the massage of my cheeks, which he now gave me, but suddenly I really enjoyed being drilled by him, millimeter by millimeter. When he was all the way inside me, and I felt his balls against mine, he paused for a moment, and it seemed like an eternity. Then he went into reverse and pulled out, but only far enough to stop at the floodgate and then go forward again. Lukas repeated this maneuver at least ten or eleven times; his pace quickened, our bells now clanged together ever more violently, drowned out only by the sounds of his smacking ride.
“That's? That's? So? So damn hot.” Lukas could do nothing but groan. ”Oh man! Are you tight!?
Now you are!” I couldn't and didn't want to talk, I just enjoyed it.
His hands were around my shoulders, almost cramping in them. Apparently, he wanted to increase the leverage of his hard cock on its way into my happy hole. I liked the pace and rhythm, I started to lose myself in the fuck. With almost every stroke, he caressed my P-spot, I was going crazy. Women have their G-spot and passive men also have a rather irritable spot in their pleasure grotto, anatomically just a little differently stored; for me that is the P-spot.
The pressure in my scrotum increased steadily, the man with the short brown hair made me boil. My balls contracted, the production of my white secretion, soon ready for delivery, was in full swing. If he kept it up, I would soon explode; my balls wanted to finally release.
The grip on my shoulders suddenly changed, and Lukas also withdrew his pulsating joystick from me. I was shocked! What had happened? While I was still turning around to see what had happened, he lifted me up and threw me backwards onto the bed.
Lukas had difficulty speaking. “I... I want to look into your eyes when... when I fuck you!”
He grasped my right ankle, pushed it to the side to make room for himself, and got on the couch. He crawled on his knees, put my legs around his hips. His left hand pushed my right thigh a little higher, then I felt his skin on the underside, apparently his fingers were handling his best piece, probably wanted to put it back in the right position.
He succeeded, he spit on me again, and then? Then he fucked me right into the sofa! His divine horny thrusts became harder and more demanding, my head hit the side of the seat. He actually fucked me into the seventh heaven of horniness; I was his!
Suddenly, as if someone had spontaneously flipped a switch, Lukas stopped his horny romp. I was stunned, didn't know what that meant! I looked at him, right into his face. Something had changed! His eyes glistened, they sparkled at me. If his hands were just on my shoulders, they now buried themselves in the crook of my arms. He licked his lips lasciviously, his head lowered, the tip of his tongue reaching my teeth. Then someone must have pressed a different button in his brain and with every thrust of his manhood into my guts, he also pushed his tongue into my mouth; it was simply breathtaking!
The more intense his efforts in my throbbing pleasure channel became, the more he also demanded the fusion of our lips. We didn't just kiss, we sucked each other hard. We merged, above and below, united with and in each other, into an inseparable unity; we were one!
It was just too much for me, I couldn't think anymore, an infinite emptiness took over in my brain that I hadn't known before, at least not until that moment. With the best will in the world, I couldn't and didn't want to prevent the explosion any longer. When his fingers touched my earlobes and gently squeezed them, it felt to me as if someone had pressed the launch button. My prevented offspring pumped themselves, thrust after thrust, embedded in milky fluid, out of the opening of my third leg between our heated bodies.
Just at that moment, he also arched up, the oral connection was rudely severed. Inside me, I felt an enormous increase in pressure, apparently he had also given his cream the starting signal. His expeditions became shorter, but his moans louder. The same thing happened to me, I also lost my breath. We both could only gasp, lying on top of each other, my own glue connecting us.
I lay on the sofa, completely exhausted. Even though it may have only been two minutes since I last moved, it felt like an hour. His member had left me, had slid limply out of my cave. Insecurity took hold of me. Finally, I gathered all my courage and looked at him. “Lukas? Are you okay?”
Silently, he scrutinized me quite intensely, apparently not really knowing what he had done or what he should say now; my heart was in my pants, which I wasn't wearing. Then suddenly, as if someone had flipped the switch in his head again, he slowly shook his head and smiled at me angelically. “I was just thinking, next time... He took a deep breath. “Next time we'd better do it in your room, because in bed?” My jaw dropped as his hand patted my sore ass. “I'm even better in bed!”
Well, this episode happened last night; I hope I got it all right. After this extremely intense interlude, Lukas left me, kissed me on the lips goodbye and said he would get back to me. Was I disappointed? Definitely not. I was more than satisfied, but, and I freely admit this, I would have loved to fall asleep next to him.
Just an hour ago, as I was sitting at the Sunday late breakfast, I actually received a text message from him. He asked if I had time and desire and if the coast was clear. My heart leaped and, since Marion was once again conspicuous by her absence – as usual, she was working on the tax side, as she does every Sunday – I answered with just one word: “YES!” It took just a minute before my mobile phone beeped again. “I'll be with you in an hour.” I happily put my smartphone aside and got into the shower, because certain preparations are a must.
And now? Now I wait for the doorbell to ring, as the hour is almost up. My smartphone beeps again; a new message from Lukas. Is he canceling? Did he suddenly get scared? Was the whole thing too much for him? Was I just a stopgap, a safety valve for his pent-up frustration? I'm getting nervous, quite nervous even. On the sofa, the scene of last night's passion, I open the message: 'Ludek, I don't want to repeat just last night – I want more. Please don't take this the wrong way, but it's all new and unfamiliar to me. Please be patient with me and see you in a moment. HDL? Lukas?