Story via Randy Raw Man
We lied there together on the spooge-stained mattress for a while, then untangled ourselves and reluctantly slipped back into our clothes. Before I left the building, I turned around and looked at the empty space and imagined it full of sweaty, primal man-fuckers. The thought of it made me throb, even after I had dumped a huge load.
Angel walked me out to the parking lot. “If you want some special gear to wear to the party, I can go with you to shop for it,” he said.
“Chaps, a harness, a jock, some briefs with no ass, whatever you want,” he explained. “I get a discount. I have a friend who works at a place.”
“A friend?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yeah, a friend,” he said, “like you and I are friends. We hang out, we have fun, we swap things…stories…recipes…spunk.”
“Let’s go in a couple of days,” I said. “I might not be able to walk tomorrow.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” smirked Angel. “Hold on, I got something in my car I want to give to you.”
As Angel ran to his car, it noticed the denim around his asscrack is darker than the fabric surrounding it. Could that have been my fuckload? Was my manseed slowly leaking out of him?
“Here,” he said, handing me a CD with no label.
“You’re probably going to want to work out extra hard before Shudder, not that you’re body’s not hot as fuck as it is. This is to help inspire you. Load it into your iPod and listen to it as you work out,” he advised me. “You probably won’t want to play it at any children’s birthday parties.”
“Got it,” I said.
“And don’t—I repeat, don’t–play it in your car on the way home,” he said. “I want you to be in a gym full of sweaty, pumped muscle fuckers when you hear it for the first time.” Angel laughed, imagining the moment. “Then text and tell me about it.”
With that, he pushed me against my car and kissed me. I could still taste cum on his lips. “You did good today, Randy,” he said sweetly. “I can see it in your eyes. You’ve changed; there’s a confidence there, a kind of power. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” I said. I was proud of me, too, because I wasn’t not just dreaming it anymore. I was living it.
On the drive home, I got stuck behind an accident but I was too blissfully worn out to care. To pass the time, I let some globs of cum seep out of my ass, reached into my sweats from the front, scooped it up and brought it to my lips. Each time I did this, my cock got a little harder as my hand grazed past it. If other drivers noticed, I didn’t fucking care.
The next morning, I woke up and for a few minutes, I wondered if everything that happened yesterday—the warehouse, the mattress, the marathon flip-fuck cum-swap with Angel—was just a dirty dream. But when I rose to walk to the bathroom, the sweet, hard-earned ache in my asshole said to me, “It happened, Randy. You fucking did it. It’s real.”
I dressed for the gym in a royal blue fitted Nike dry-fit tank and black nylon shorts that are cut a bit high to show off my cycler’s quads. I considered going commando but after what Angel said about the CD, I was a little afraid not to.
I loaded the disc Angel gave me into my Powerbook, that trusty, gleaming gadget that led me to my debauched destiny. The CD had ten tracks on it:
1) Where Do You Think I Want You to Shoot It?
2) Drop It Deep
3) Fuel Injected
4) Overflow / Lick It Up
5) Snowballer’s Chance in Hell
6) (Riding in on a) Carpet of Cum
7) How Many So Far?
9) Second Ring of Heaven
10) Deep Seeded Need
I fought the temptation to listen and just transferred the tracks to my iPhone. I drove to the gym, checked in and put my bag in a locker. I slipped my earbuds in, checked my appearance in the mirror—I looked good. There was a swagger there, I didn’t have before. From the back, I saw my hard-earned V leading down to my glutes, which seem extra perky today. Could my butt have been more toned from one breeding?
I stepped onto the treadmill and lifted my right foot on the sidebar, to stretch my hamstring before I jogged my two-mile warm up. That stretch was another not-so-gentle reminder that my asshole was still deliciously sore from Angel. I pressed ‘Play,’ and waited.
A warm synth pad filled my ears, then a tribal drumbeat kicked in on top of it. I was thinking ‘Big deal, this is just a typical dance track,’ but then the vocal track kicked in. We’re not talking Rihanna or Ke$ha or some other dance diva of the moment. Those vocals were pure testosterone. It was men; full-throated, deep-voiced men, who were clearly recorded while in the act of fucking or getting fucked…or maybe fucking and getting fucked. My cock got rockhard in my jock. It was all so fucking loud and vulgar and hot that I quickly scanned the gym floor to make sure know one else could hear it, that it was my little secret.
I switched legs and kept listening to the cacophony of grunts and groans and moans and sighs, all artfully edited and looped together to form rhythm patterns and even melodies. Occasionally a word or phrase would pop out, like, “In me, fucker, in me,” “Breed it, baby,” or “Where do you think I want you to shoot it?” which was the title of this particular track.
“What the fuck is on this CD?” I texted Angel.
I’m into my second mile, my cock so hard in my jock it hurt, when Angel texted me back. ‘Actual audio from Shudder parties.’
I imagined some hot teamster type running around the warehouse with a boom mic and a leaking dick hanging out of his cargo pants.
‘Genius,’ I texted back. ‘Who put it together?’
‘Bred me on cam for you.’
‘Oh. Man of many talents.’
Have you gotten to ‘How Many So Far?’ It’s like Beyonce’s countdown song, but w/ loads. LOL.’
‘Dick too hard to run. Hope you’re happy.’
I got off the treadmill and headed to the free weight area. My dick stayed rock hard through my workout as the hits just kept on coming. “Flood me, fucker, flood me. I feel it, I feel it shooting. Beg for it, boy. Beg. For. Seed.” Between sets of curls, I reached into my shorts and adjusted my dick, so it was pointing diagonally up. The leaking head was nearly popping out but it was much more comfortable than the previous position.
A track or two later–as robotic stud voice said, “Sperm Me,” over and over in my ears–I was doing lat pulldowns when a tattooed Polynesian hunk in head-to-toe Underarmour flashes me a smile. I’ve seen this stud here before but never interacted with him. He’s an avid swimmer and I had often enjoyed watching him get out of the pool in his old school blue Adidas Speedo and strut those granite butt cheeks to the locker room but he always struck me as straight or unavailable. But that wasn’t a very straight smile. Sperm me sperm me sperm me sperm me.
“What are you listening to?” he asked, between tricep push-downs. “You seem like you’re in another world.”
“Is it that obvious?” I said. He nods. “It’s a hot mix of some sexy dance tracks a friend of mine put together. Very unique, one-of-a-kind kind of stuff.”
“You know Oscar,” he asked, with a grin. He tilted his head down and stared into my eyes, while his bulging tris contracted and released.
Oh shit, I thought, we’re gonna fuck. I know it…right then. It was fucking on. I was going to be one of those guys I had always heard about and envied, those guys who fuck and breed at the gym. Who knows? I may have to start allotting extra time into my workouts for buttfucking. I was sure this kind of thing happened to Angel and his posse all the time, but it was excitingly novel to me. A hungry smile, a loaded look and few carefully selected words were uttered and bam, it was fucktime.
“Well, actually, I haven’t met Oscar, face to face,” I said, straddling the bench for another set of pull-downs, “but a friend of mine is a good friend of his so you know…”
“There’s some kind of DNA connection there,” he said.
“Bingo,” I said. When I stood up from the bench, I felt cool air on my cockhead but I was’t sure if it was real and my dick was popping out or in my mind because I was so boned. I was afraid to look so I just walked over to the guy and offered him my gloved hand. “I’m Randy,” I said.
“Bryan,” he said, taking my hand in his and giving it a long leather-to-leather squeeze, “with a Y.”
“You’ve heard Oscar’s mixes, I take it?”
“Actually, no,” said Bryan. “But I’ve heard of Oscar’s mixes. I’ve always wanted to check them out.”
“Come do crunches with me in the aerobics studio. You can have one earbud, I’ll have the other.”
“God, that’s so intimate,” he said, with a laugh.
“I know,” I said.
We walked together to the aerobics room and sat on the floor facing the mirror. I put one earbud up to his right ear. “I’m going in, okay?” I whispered.
“Please,” he said.
I inserted his earbud, then put the other in my left ear. “We have to stay close together,” I said.
“Okay,” he said.
I scrolled through the titles I hadn’t heard yet and picked “Churn.” Side by side, Bryan and I did work our ab muscles and listened to a slow burn of a jam, like if Sade had a cock. It featured a recurring sample of what sounded like a wet, sloppy used asshole getting reamed for the umpteenth time. That was probably exactly what it was.
Turned on beyond words, we poured our libidos into our workouts and tried to out sweat each other, matching each crunch to the beat as the track reached its bellowing climax with a chorus of deep-voiced studs chanting, “Seed him! Seed him! Seed him! Seed him! Seed him! Seed him!” and then a lucky top groaning, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkk!”
We fell back onto our backs and looked up at the ceiling, which had a mirror on it that I had never noticed before.
“Oh my God,” I gasped.
“I think I was actually at that party,” remarked Bryan. “I think I was was one of the chanting guys. I don’t know whether I should sue or be flattered.”
My eyes were glued to Bryan’s crotch in the mirror. His Underarmour tights looked like they’re about to burst. Fuck, he was packing. He did a series of small pelvic pumps, like a jackhammer then turned his head to face me.
“Go move that curtain to the right,” he said, gesturing with his dimpled chin to a long piece of fabric that covered one of the side walls. “I would but I can’t get up. You know why.”
“You think I can?” I asked.
“At least you have regular shorts,” he said. “If I stand up, I could be arrested for public indecency.”
I jumped up and pulled the curtain to reveal a door I’d never known was there.
“See if it’s open,” he said.
I did and it was. I looked inside and discovered a storeroom used for yoga mats, blocks, steps, etc. I looked back and raised my eyebrows.
“There’s a class in here in ten minutes,” he said. “If we go in, we can’t come out for at least an hour.”
I thought about the conference call I had for work in 45 minutes. Screw it.
“I don’t have anywhere to be,” I said. “Except in those tights.”
In one fluid movement, Bryan rose and darted into the storeroom, pulling me in with him and closing the door behind us.
“Come over here,” he said, leading me to the corner where two stacks of plastic, shoulder-height step-aerobics steps formed a barricade between the back wall and the door we entered through. He pulled me behind them, brought us both down to our knees and smiled. “Hey, fucker.”
“Hey,” I said. “But what if the next class is a step class and they take our wall away?”
“You really know all the ins and outs around here,” I remarked.
“I used to teach spinning here,” he said.
“Explains the ass,” I said.
I reached around and put my hand on his Spandex covered ass. He gently moved it up to his lower back. “Just kiss me for a while,” he said. “Only kiss.”
“Why?” I asked.
Just then, the door opened and I heard the voice of two women; one I assumed to be the instructor and the other, a student. They made small talk and grabbed mats from the stack that was just in front of our wall of steps. All the while, Bryan and I kissed soft and gently, not noisy, for obvious reasons. More yogis came in and grabbed mats. More kissing, our crotch bulges gently brushed against each other, back and forth.
Finally, some New Age-y music kicked in and we heard the class start. Bryan pulled my shorts and jock down. My raging hard-on popped up and smacked my stomach. Just then, the door opened again. We ducked down and froze. A last-minute student grabbed a mat, ran out and closed the door behind her. “Fucking latecomers,” I whispered.
Bryan looked down at my rock hard cock. He tapped his index finger on my leaking dickhead, then pulled it to his mouth. It connected in one long strand then snapped. He kissed me and I could taste my pre-cum. He pulled my shorts back up but pulled my dick off to the side of my jock then stood back to look at me. “I have a gym gear fetish,” he whispered, “and I’ve been wondering what your pretty cock would look like up against that silky nylon with no jock. Fuck, that’s nice,” he said.
“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” I said, willing my dick to bob up and down in my shorts.
“Fine,” Bryan said, before grabbing my iPhone, snapping a few pics of me with my gym shorts hard-on, and a few with my cock fully out.
“My face showing?”
“Yeah,” he said. “That a problem?”
I had taken naked pictures of myself before, a few, but never with the face showing.
“It’s not a problem,” I said.
“True breeding fuckstuds are totally unapologetic,” I remembered Angel saying to me yesterday during the afterglow on that cum-matted mattress. “They don’t care if people think they’re reckless whores because they know that deep down inside, everyone wishes that they could be that kind of free.”
Bryan put my iPhone down and went down on my knob in one gulp. I stifled a moan. The yoga music wasn’t nearly loud enough to drown out the kind of sounds I wanted to make. Bryan pulled his head off my cock, stood up and kissed me, deep and wet. I turned him around and ground my cock against his nylon-clad ass, caressing those pumped pecs beneath that skintight red Underarmour shirt. Fuck, they felt hot. I started to inch my hand around his waist to feel his amazing bulge. I touched cock way before I was expecting to, as it were snaking halfway around his waist like a belt.
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Shhhh,” he said, laughing.
When I crouched down to inspect his ass, I felt the soreness of my own ass. God, that was incredible, experiencing a physical reminder of a recent red-hot fuckfest just as I was about to embark on another one. I realized in that moment that life was about fucking–breeding and getting bred–and everything else that happened to us is just window dressing.
I rubbed my hands all over his glorious nylon clad ass, then peeled his tights down to reveal his rock hard globes. I spread them apart with my hands, then dove right onto his hole, tongue first. God, he tasted good, clean and warm and sweaty. I could tell he wanted to shout all manner of indecencies at me, but instead he just breathed. I stood up and pressed my fuckstick into his crack. “I want in,” I breathe, then thought, ‘Angel would be soooo proud of me.’
“I want you in,” he replied. “Give me a sec.” He skittered across the room, tights around his knees to the First Aid kit on the wall, dug behind a box of Band-Aids and produced a small tube of Wet. “From when I used to work here,” he explained. “It’s kind of old but who cares?”
“Not me,” I said.
Bryan got my dick ready, being mindful not to use up all the lube. I’m guessing he wanted us to flip but damn, my ass was sore. He removed the top few rows of steps so he could lay flat on the stack. I aimed my cock at his sweet ass, touched the tip to his hole, then paused.
“Hold on,” I said. “Were there any rubbers stashed in there?”
“I didn’t see any,” he said, with a boyish shrug.
“Oh well,” I said, then went balls deep in one long, slow stroke.
Bryan let out the loudest sound either of us had made since we entered the room, but it was still not loud enough to be heard over the Enya playing in the next room. At least, I hoped it was not. It didn’t take him long to get used to my dick. After a few slow strokes in and out, I buried it all the way in then slowly wiggled my hips back and forth, exploring every inch of his fuck chute.
“God, you feel good,” he whispered. “Pound me.”
I did just that, in long deliberate strokes, building up steam and then pulling back when I felt my balls start to pull up. Then when the need to seed died down, I went back at it. I was honing my skills with every fuck, I thought. The mix of having control during sex and losing control during sex, the dance of that, was incredibly exciting to me. I wanted to be the kind of fucker who could masterfully take a partner and myself to the edge and over it—conscious of every stroke and caress—and also someone who was constantly surprised by new sensations and savage mindfucks. I wanted to develop mad-skills as a cocksman and still get taken to other worlds by a great fuck.
After a solid few minutes of pounding, Bryan stood up, arched his back and whispered, “You’re about to fuck the cum out of me and all over this equipment.”
“And the problem with that is?” I whispered back.
“It’s not where I want it to go,” he said.
He wanted to breed me, too. I had a feeling he wanted to. That’s what I wanted, too. My ass was still so tender from yesterday but man, this stud was beautiful and I really wanted his fuckload. Besides, when I recounted this story to Angel and say, “Yeah, he wanted to breed me, too, but then I pussied out,” it would not go over well at all.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I said, pushing in balls deep again. “So take your hands off your cock so you don’t shoot. I’m going to pound till I breed and then you’re going to knock me up, too.”
“Do it,” he said, laying his sweaty, humpy pecs down on the steps.
Bam, bam, bam, bam. The only sounds in the room were the slapping of my churning balls on his ass, our breathing and the Middle-Eastern flavored music coming from the class outside. Bam, bam, bam, bam. I felt my nut coming on…less than ten bams from then. Oh, fuck, make that five. “Take it,” I said, so faintly that I’m not sure Bryan could even hear me. “Take my flood of cum.”
I collapsed down on top of his back, our sweat soaked nylon tops rubbing together.
“It felt like about seven jets,” I whispered to Bryan, my mouth right next to his ear. “How many did you feel?”
He turned his head so we’re nose to nose, looking into each other’s eyes. “Fifty,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”
“I want to be on my back,” I said. “I want to look up at your hot chest…your sexy fucking face.”
“Well, there’s one mat left,” he remarked. “How convenient.”
I pulled off my shorts and jock, lied down on the last yoga mat and lifted my legs in the air. Bryan pulled the front of his tight tank over his head, so it was stretched across his broad shoulders. His small brown nipples jutted out from the mountains of his pecs. God, what a man. He pulled his tights up, so his cock was out but his ass was covered in spandex and looked down at me. “We got fifteen minutes, tops,” he said. “You want me to eat you or just fuck?”
“Just fuck,” I said.
“I think that’s for the best,” he said. “I just got back from a trip with my sister, where we shared a room. No privacy. I haven’t unloaded in a week.”
“Oh fuck,” I sighed, imagining the monster load I was going to be walking out of here with.
Bryan grabbed my iPhone, tossed one earbud at my face and puts the other in his ear. “We might not be able to be loud,” he whispered, “but they can.”
I stuck my ear bud in. He placed the phone on my abs and pressed play. The final 10-minutes track of Oscar’s megamix kicks in: “Deep Seeded Need” just as Bryan shoved his cock in me. A stud growling, “Seed me, I need it,” in a gravelly voice is sampled and replayed over and over. It became like a mantra as Bryan fucked me, carefully to never pull too far away so as not to disconnect us from the music. He leaned down and shoved his tongue in my throat as the track builds. Seed me, I need it. Seed me, I need it. Seed me, I need it. When a fucker on the track warned, “You’re gonna get it, boy!” Bryan pulled back, nodded his head up and down frantically, then hammered his 7-day jizzload straight into my guts, every rope seeming to spray out on the downbeat.
A warmth spread all over my insides, but I was not sure if it was literal or just in my mind. I had read other barebackers online describing the “jizzjoy” that comes with being a breeding hole. Now I knew what they’re talking about. Bryan’s cum-shudder seemed to go on for minutes. If we had fifteen minutes for that fuck, it was like he knew to allot five for his orgasm.
While watching him twitch and convulse, I understood something else about the Shudder philosophy. The men of this tribe knew how to truly savor the breed. They make a show of it for whoever’s lucky enough to be on the receiving end of your load or in the room cheering you on or on the other end of that webcam with their own spurting dick in their hand. The party was called Shudder so if you wanted to cum quietly, without making a spectacle of yourself, well, you were got the wrong party.
The feeling of Bryan’s cummy cock snaking out of me was pure fucking heaven. Cumscent permeated the room. I could smell my load when I was getting fucked, but I thought it might have just been in my mind, part of the whole fuck frenzy. Now that we’ve both inseminated and we’re back on earth, the smell was undeniable. “Smells like fuckloads,” Bryan said, taking a big, sweet whiff.
“Yeah,” I said. “About fifty of them.”
At the same time, we both realized that it’s gone silent in the yoga room. “Oh no,” I whispered. Then we heard a chorus of “Namastes” followed by some light applause for the teacher. “Shit,” Bryan said. His cock bounced against his thighs leaving cum streaks as we scrambled to get the steps stacked back up and then disappear behind them. The door opened just as we ducked down. The class members streamed in to dump their yoga mats. I notice a cum drop catch the light on our fuckmat just before the first class member’s mat plops down on top of it. I was relieved it didn’t make a squelching sound.
As Bryan and I waited for the parade of yogis to end, we fingered each other’s cum-slick assholes, licked our fingers, kissed each other and wallowed in our own cum need.
“That class was really special for some reason,” one of the students said to the teacher. “There was a connectedness to it, a real fluidity.”
‘We’ve got your fluidity right here,’ I thought to myself and smiled at Bryan.
“Thanks, Tami,” said the teacher, before shutting off the light. The last thing she said before shutting the door and leaving the studio was, “Does it smell like bleach in here to you?”
Bryan and I covered each other’s cum-slick mouths to keep from cracking up. I leaned back on the wall just so I could watch him pull all that Lycra back over himself. He was not the only one with a gym gear fetish. I was sure his cockhead was going to leave a cumstain on the front of his tights. Bryan knew that, too, and he didn’t care.
The pride, the exhibitionism, the flaunting of one’s sexual needs and desires was something that set the Shudder crowd apart. They just fucking owned it. I was sure if the DMV let them, they’d all have customized license plates: “SPUNKSWAP,” “CUMMMMNME,” “JIZZTKR, “NVRWRAP’D.”
And I was on my way to being one of them.