He knelt down on the floor, naked, staring up at me. His knees were spread as far as they could go, spreading the perfect, halved cantaloupes of his butt apart so that from my position on the sofa, I could almost see the pink pucker they normally hid. He rested the weight of his his naked, muscled torso on his fingers and palm as he leaned it and rubbed his face against my dick and balls. From his broad, solid shoulders, his chest tapered to a slim waist. His arms bulged and narrowed in all the right places, the products of hours and hours of weights and push-ups. From my view above him, as he bowed to worship my dick, his body was practically perfect. “Nice,” I whispered into the half-darkness.
“Thank you sir,” he said, and raised his head to look into my eyes. That fucking ugly face.
There’s a certain kind of look that makes me weak at the knees every time—the kind of guy who spends a lot of time at the gym, who takes time to pick out clothing that’s going to show off his body, and who has a plug-ugly face. No, not even a face. A mug. He might have a crooked beak, or a lop-sided smile, or a mouth that’s simply formed from the tricks of genetics into a permanent sneer. His eyebrows might be too thick, too dark, and too close together; his eyes might be too dark, too mean, too beady. Sometimes he’ll have a rock cliff of a forehead, uneven and broad and craggy. His chin might be too much of a stub, or his ears too big. He’s just not handsome in that traditional, movie-star way.
And I fucking love it.
Pretty boys—I’ve got nothing against them. They make my life a little happier when I see them walking down the street, or when I watch them undressing in my bedroom. But a less comely gent with a killer body will turn my head when he walks into a room, and keep my attention riveted, every time.
My cocksucker had lips that looked as if they’d been smashed into a permanent rosebud with a rubber band as a baby—a Sylvester Stallone pout, with the dark hair and scraggly eyebrows to match. His eyes were too far apart. His skin was too pale to be tan and too dark to be pale. His head was almost too small for his body. The nose that was the crooked, bumped crowning glory of his face had been broken at least twice. Sat next to one of the handsome Italians that undoubtably had to be in his family, anyone would’ve winced. But damned if I didn’t think he was the hottest thing on earth at that moment. “Suck me,” I ordered.
He knew what to do with that pouty mouth. It traveled up and down the length of my shaft for long, slick minutes, never stopping to utter complaint or ask for a rest. From time to time he would pause and lap at my nuts and stare up at me with those blank, beady eyes that didn’t so much see me as behold me. I’d run my hand through his hair, which was crispy from product and left a residue between my fingers, and pull him onto my dick again.
I liked the look of him better from behind, when he had his face in the pillow and his ass in the air. I fingered his pretty hole and watched it twitch at my touch. My mouth and lips made it jump. It relaxed and blossomed as I licked and dug at it with my tongue. Then, after spitting in my palm and slathering the saliva over my dick, I raised my cock to the hole I’d wanted from the beginning and slid in. He accepted me with a long, drawn-out gasp that made him claw the pillowcase.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, as I started to slide in and out. His shoulders and head rested on the mattress while his hips rose higher in the air. I had to push him down before he got them too high to continue fucking. I lifted my right knee and rested on the left as I continued to open wide his hole with my dick.
As I thrust in and out roughly, not really caring if he enjoyed it or not, he started to jack at his dick, getting more and more aroused. “I’m not ready yet,” I warned him. “If you come, I’m not stopping.”
“You don’t have to stop,” he promised. “You don’t have to . . . ah, fuck!” Ropes of semen began to shoot from his dick onto my blanket, and his hole grabbed at my dick to suck it in as deeply as it could.
He was true to his word. Once his spasms had subsided, he kept his butt in the air and let me pound away. I positioned him so that neither of us was inconvenienced by the puddle of cum in the bed’s middle, and fucked away. After a while, he pushed himself up on those beautifully-sculpted arms and looked over his shoulder at me. “You are so damned good,” he said, sounding as if he genuinely meant it. “So fucking good. My hole feels amazing right now.”
The sight of that plug-ugly face turned me on even more. I pulled his face around with one of my hands, and drove my tongue between the same ugly lips that had been around my dick only a few minutes before. My heart rate increased, as did my breathing. Before I knew it, I felt that scratched-out, diffuse feeling of expansion and diffusion that accompanies the best of my orgasms. Dimly was I aware that I was shooting a thick load of cum in him. All I could really feel was the snapped rubber-band tension of my dick, fire-red and still throbbing, and his mouth panting into mine. His own hand was jerking at his dick again. While I inhaled deeply and attempted to regain my good senses, he shot another load onto the bed.
A few moments later, I lay back on the bed and watched him dress. First his jockstrap, perfectly white and probably never used for actual exercise. Then his shiny blue sweatpants that made his cheeks seem even rounder and perkier. Finally his gymnast’s T, sleeveless and designed to show off his guns.
But then there was that face. He flashed me a grin that exposed one front tooth skewed and protruding in front of the other, and raised the caterpillars that were his eyebrows. “You are fucking good,” he said, wiping sweat from his enormous forehead. “We’ve gotta do that again.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, turned on by the contrast between how he appeared from the shoulders down and the neck up. “Definitely.”
Ugly-sexy. I wanted more of that.