Story via Randy Rawman
I had been single exactly one month when my Powerbook died.
I skipped the Apple store and went to a Mac Dealer in my neighborhood called MacMen. I’ve long thought that the guys at the Genius Bar are the unsung sex symbols of the new millennium, lanky bespectacled nerds with hard lean bodies and sexy tattoos under their royal blue T shirts with just a few clicks of their magic fingers and fix whatever’s ailing you and make everything okay. Yes, Apple geeks are dorky sexy. Angel’s just plain sexy.
When I first laid eyes on him, I had come straight from the gym and was wearing my favorite ass-hugging red Umbro shorts and a gray Underarmour tank that caressed my pecs and shoulders and made me feel like a super hero. As Angel entered all my information into the stores computer, I took the opportunity to give him the once over. I couldn’t quite put my finger on his enthicity. There’s some Latin in there, a little Asian, maybe, definitely some black. Whatever it was, he was fucking hot.
When I showed pick up my fixed computer a few days later, I was wearing the same shorts with a vintage Adidas nylon tank. Again, I had come fresh from the gym. I stayed extra long because I wanted to get a pump going in case Angel was working. Sure enough, it was him.
“Hey Gym boy,” he says, even though I’m probably a few years older than him. “Here’s what we did.” He then proceeds to explain exactly what was wrong with my Mac and what they did to fix it. I could barely focus because his voice was so sexy (Where the fuck is he from?) and also because the way he was leaning on the counter, I can see his denim clad ass in the mirror behind him.
While we’re waiting for my credit card to be approved, I consider asking Angel to coffee or something but can’t get up the nerve to say anything. He’s too fucking hot for me anyway.
I thank him then head outside to my car. I load my computer into my trunk and when I slam the trunk lid, I see Angel walking toward me with a cocky smile.
“Did I forget something?” I ask.
“No,” he says. He walks the last few steps to face me before speaking again, this time in a much more hushed tone. “I wanted to catch you because I wanted to invite you to something, a party next month.”
What? I was hoping that somehow our paths would cross again, but this I didn’t see coming. “A party?” I repeated. “Like a customer appreciation kind of thing?”
Angel laughs. “No, it’s a private party,” he says.
I shoot him a confused look. “Look, I fixed your computer,” he says, taking a step toward he and putting his arm on my bare shoulder, his volume lowering to just above a whisper. “I know what kind of dirty stories you read, what blogs you visit, what movies you download.”
“I think that’s called invasion of privacy,” I say.
“I think we share a common hobby,” he says.
I don’t know whether to feel completely violated or totally turned on. “And what’s that?” I ask.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Breeding and getting bred,” he says, looking me dead in the eyes.
This practically knocks the wind out of me. Just then, a mother walks by with two toddlers, totally unaware that helpful computer dork just called me out on my dirtiest little secret and that we were in the processing of bonding over one common interest; loads in asses.
“Look, I gotta get back in there,” he says, handing me a postcard. “If I’m right about what you need, call the number on the bottom of that card.” He’s fucking me with his eyes now. “If I’m wrong, keep living in fantasy land and I’ll see you next time your laptop crashes from all the raw fucking you keep downloading.”
It’s not until I get back in my car, that I realize my dick is rock hard and leaking in my shorts. I take a breath and read the postcard. If it was going to be an invitation to some kind of sex party, I expected it to be mysterious and vague. That wasn’t Angel’s style.
BREEDHOUSE LA PRESENTS…
Join LA’s hottest sex-studs for marathon night of load-swapping sperm-soaked fucking.
JULY 24, 2013
THE RULES ARE SIMPLE: NO CONDOMS & NO PULLING OUT.
NO LOADS WASTED. IF IT DOESN’T GO UP YOUR ASS, YOU BETTER FUCKING DRINK IT.
The artwork is a cartoon of a blond muscle stud being fucked by a darker muscle stud who looks a lot like Angel while a group of other studs watch and wait their turn. Both fuckers are shuddering, heads thrown back in nut-draining ecstasy as the blond begs, “Breed me, fucker. Flood my ass,” and the Latino says simply, “Take. My. Cum. Uuunnnnnnnngh.” In the corner, written in ropy white letters is the artist’s signature; Angel S. Even his signature is made of cum. He’s a man of many talents.
Am I brave enough to explore his other ones?
It takes me two days to call him. I expect to get voicemail. I don’t.
“Hello,” he says. Oh shit, do I hang up or do I talk?
“Angel, this is Randy,” I say, my voice quivering. “You fixed my computer.”
“I know who you are,” he says. “I was just thinking about your ass in those red shorts and how much I’d like to fill it.” I always thought my ass looked good in those shorts. Nice to have some confirmation. “How many times did you almost call me and then pussy out?”
“None,” I lie. “Okay, four.” He scoffs. “Seven,” I say finally.
“So I was right about you?” he says cockily.
“Yes and no,” I say, fumbling the words as I try to explain myself. “I’m turned on by all that stuff, so turned on I can’t see straight, but in real life, I haven’t really explored that side of myself. Up until a month ago, I was in a monogamous relationship for ten years with a guy who didn’t like fucking. He was just into oral.”
“Did Mr. Blowjob know what was on your computer?” he asks.
“He didn’t want to know,” I say. “I haven’t been with anyone else in ten years.”
“God, I bet you’re so fucking tight,” he says.
I don’t know what to say to that. I’m saved from my awkwardness when I hear a doorbell ring on his end of the phone.
“Look Randy,” he says, “I want to talk to you more, I really do, but I got a couple from Silverlake coming over here, a blond and a Latino…and the Latino’s going to breed me while I fill the blond with my four-day load. So I can’t talk. Have you thought about the party?”
“It’s all I’ve thought about…but I’m not sure—“
“Check your email in tonight,” he says. “I got a proposition for you.”
“You need my email address?”
“I got it.”
“What’s this proposition?” I say. “Just tell me.” The truth is, I just want to keep him on the phone. His voice makes me throb.
“I can’t talk now, my buddies just parked…oh shit, they brought the leather, this is going to be so fucking hot, Randy. Fuck.”
“Can I watch?” I say, jokingly.
Angel laughs. “Hey, wait. Maybe you can,” he says. “You got Skype?”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m matching a red-hot threeway unfold somewhere in the Hollywood Hills. Angel hasn’t told other two studs he’s Skyping, but he’s positioned his computer with a nice view of the room. It’s his bedroom-slash fuck-den, complete with black leather covered bed and mirrors all around, and he’s making sure to be real vocal for me. “That’s it, Oscar,” he says when the Latino in chaps and a harness places his fat cockhead at his hot tight pucker. “Just drive it in. Uuuunnnnngh fuck! Don’t move for a second, let me get used to it.”
“Okay, that’s a second,” says Oscar, with an evil smile. “I gotta fuck now.” He starts driving his cock in and out of Angel’s hot hole, withdrawing till just the head is inside and then slamming forward smashing Angel forward causing him to grind his hard cock into the bed.
“Let me get on my knees, Oscar,” insists Angel. “This grinding is going to make me shoot and I don’t want to cum on the bed.”
“That’s right,” says the blond, Ron, who’s in a leather vest and Nasty Pig jockstrap. “What’s the rule?”
All three of them say it at once. “No wasted loads.”
Angel looks right into the lens when he says that. And then he laughs. I know what he’s doing. He wants that to be my rule, too. He’s going to insist I live by it, too, or he doesn’t even want to fucking know me. No wasted loads. I can imagine him making me recite a manifesto, something like, “If there’s a cock in the room I’m in that isn’t mine, and it’s shooting a load, it’s going in me. It’s going down my throat or better yet—way better yet—up my hot ass. That’s what I was made for.”
“And what else?” I imagine him asking.
“And if my cock’s shooting its load, it’s going in an ass or a mouth, even if it has to be my own.” As I daydream about this, I make a promise to myself right then that from now on, even when I jack off, I eat the load. No wasted loads.
“Oh fuck, I’m getting close and I don’t want to blast yet,” says Oscar. He pulls his drooling 9-inch breeding stick out of Angel’s ass, flips him around and shoves it down his throat. In the same flurry of moment, Ron, who’s 8 inches with fat mushroom head, goes balls deep into Angel in one smooth stroke. The whole switch happened so fast. There was maybe one split second when Angel when he wasn’t impaled on cock.
“Fuck, your cock is amazing, Ron,” says Angel. “I can feel that fat head hitting my prostate.”
“I want to drench it,” promises Ron. “But not yet.” When Ron pulls out, Angel’s hot fuckhole catches the light. Angel’s ass is already dripping with pre-cum. “I need your cock up my hole, Angel.”
“This cock?” teases Angel, poking the head in and out of Ron’s tight pucker. “Is this the cock you want?”
“That’s the one,” says Ron.
“This cock with the four-day load in it?” says Angel.
Ron throws his head back when he hears that news and groans. “Yes,” he says, like a man possessed. Angel’s rock hard 8-inch fuckstick plunges deep into Ron’s ass and he whimpers with pleasure and moans, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me. Fuck me so deep. God, I need your cock.”
“What else do you need?” asks Angel.
“I need your fuckload,” says Ron. “I need you to flood my asshole. I need to you breed me.”
“Get ready, fucker,” says Angel. “I’m about to reach the point of no return.” What Angel can’t see because of where he’s positioned, but what I can is Oscar priming his dick to go back in Angel’s hole. And it’s not going to come out until it’s drenched those asswalls with DN fucking A.
This man, Angel. This man who looked deep into my harddrive and later my eyes, and could see that I had a need, a deep need, that I didn’t have the balls to explore. He’s going to change that. He’s going to break me in and introduce me to the Breeding Brotherhood and in case I think for one second that he’s all talk when it comes to bareback breeding, he’s going to breed one muscle stud on cam for me too see while another muscle stud coats his ass-walls with his creamy white load. And it’s going to happen right fucking now.
“Oh fuck, I’m cumming, Ron,” Angel pants, just as Oscar jabs his shiny hot prick back into Angel’s puckerhole. “Oh fuck, Oscar! I was hoping you’d do that. Damn, that fuckstick is going to fuck the cum out of me and right into this fucker’s ass.”
“Then do it, dude,” grunts Oscar. “Because I’m breeding you right…..NOW. Ungh…ungh…ungh…ungh…” Oscar keeps grunting with every jet of stud spunk that jets from his cock.
“I can feel every squirt,” gasps Angel. “Damn, you’re still shooting.”
“You’re pulling it out of me,” says Oscar.
“I need cum!” Ron shouts. “Give me that four day load, Angel!”
“You want it?” Angel asks.
“I need it,” says Ron.
“Here…it…CUMMMMS!” bellows Angel while grabbing Ron’s face and pulling him to be eye to eye. “Aaaah…aaagh…take my…cum….I’m…breeding… your….hot….fucking ….hole.”
Angel arches back and is about to collapse on Ron with Oscar coming down on both of them, when suddenly Ron, stroking his hot fuckstick, says, “I’m cumming, too, guys. I wanted to breed but I’m fucking cumming. Who’s gonna drink it?”
Angel and Oscar knock heads trying to dive onto Ron’s spurting cock but Angel gets their first. Angel takes jet after jet of thick cum, saying, “Mmmm,” with every spurt. After a bit, he pulls off and lets Oscar take over on Ron’s cum-soaked cock. While Oscar milks the last few drops from Ron’s delicious cockhead, Ron throws his head back, closes his eyes and tries to catch his breath. Since both his fuckbuds have their eyes closes, Angel can get away with looking right into the camera. He stares right into my soul and smiles.
He heart, which has already been pounding out of my chest, nearly stops when he opens his mouth. He didn’t swallow yet. He opens wide and shows me the huge load Ron shot into him. He looks back into my eyes, swirls it around in his mouth, then points to me and then to the leather bed as if to say, “You’re next, fucker.” Then he swallows. I cum in my shorts without touching myself.
A perfect fantasy that is being fulfilled more than ever before. Versatility equals great sex parties.