RIPPED by too_hot_in_bama@hotmail.com
I've found that a man's dick, more often than not, is proportional to his height. Not always, but usually. It's just common sense: tall guys usually have bigger dicks than average-sized and short men because everything else is bigger. Duh, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. Some people swear by shoe size as an indicator, but for me height became the best measure.
I love average-sized cocks; if they're long, I like them to be on the slender side. I don't like pain when I'm being fucked.
Ironically, it took me a while to catch on to the height vs. cock size rule. I'd literally bitten more than I could chew too many times. Being a real dumb ass while in the throes of passion, I've never refused a partner after things get started, so I'm the kinda guy who will endure his lover's monster pole if I have to.
But with this new insight, I adjusted my taste and selection process accordingly, and my sex life improved significantly while my tight little butthole hardly ever got ripped anymore no matter how hard a guy would pound -- as long as he had a dick no more than about 1 1/2 inches thick and 9 inches long.
Becoming more confident, I began "advertising" my wares by dressing up for the bars. I had a pair of extra-tight cutoff jeans that had cut-out hearts where the back pockets used to be. My white asscheeks filled in the hearts and made access sooooo easy for exploring fingers. I don't use underwear, so the pants were real attention getters and barely legal. With the shorts, I was wearing a white half tee that looked great against my tan as I was standing between two bar stools sucking on a margarita.
A guy in his mid-twenties sitting across the U-shaped counter kept smiling and looking my way. I'm 5' 8" and about 140 pounds with the body of a cyclist. This guy, though, was a god. Sculpted. He could have modeled for Greek statues.
He wasn't a regular -- I would have remembered him. I watched him head for the toilet a couple of times and figured he was a tad shorter than me, so I judged he was well within my "safety zone." Each pass to the can gave us an opportunity to lock eyes and smile.
I have another rule: I usually don't follow a guy to the toilet. For some reason, it always works out better when they approach me instead. I guess I like to talk first rather than just get it on. But I was ready to break this rule in the very, very special case of this Greek god. Then, at the last moment, decided I'd stay put but invite him to have a drink with me when we returned.
Then came the interruption. A guy sitting on a stool next to me brushed his leg against mine and put a hand on my ass, letting his fingers run beneath the fabric and explore my hole. I looked over and we exchanged smiles and names, and I propped a foot on the footrest to open myself even more to his probing finger. I was hard and leaking pre-cum like crazy, getting my cutoffs wet in front, from lusting after the god, so I was ready for about anything my new barmate would want to do. The man with the expert finger said he was Pat. I figured it wouldn't hurt, while waiting for my Greek god's return, to while away the time with Pat. I dropped my hand into his lap and found his man-meat straining against his zipper.
I got right to the point: "Honey, you want me to suck that or fuck it for you?"
Apparently Pat was working on a serious case of the blue balls -- he was about as sexually needy as any guy I've ever seen. He said, "Let's go find a stall."
I didn't want to lose my Greek god in the crowd, so I told Pat I needed to stay near the bar. However, by then Pat was using two fingers and his intent was clear. He was loosening me up, and I was getting hotter than ever.
"Maybe there's something else I can do for you," I said reluctantly.
I got down in front of him and sat on the footrest with his barstool between my legs. He slid forward till his toes barely touched the floor, and I unbuttoned his jeans. Pat had the looks of an aging college athlete and must have been in his early thirties. If there was ever a dick custom-made for sucking, this was it. It was slender at the crown and got progressively fatter on the way up the shaft toward his groin. It was a good seven inches cut. I could get the slender part all the way into my throat but had to work harder as my mouth neared the base. I felt his dick spasm and swell in my throat. His pre-cum was strong-tasting, rather tart, and he smelled mildly sweaty as if he'd been jogging. As I stepped up the tempo, sucking that gorgeous love-meat and listening to Pat's moans, I forgot about time and place; it was truly Zen and the Art of Cocksucking: the dick and I became one, and there was nothing else. I kissed the sensitive underside and licked my tongue all around the groove of his crown, explored his piss hole, and then swallowed the shaft again, finally getting the whole thing down and repeating the process teasingly over and over.
Pat was on the verge of cuming when I backed his cock out of my throat and put a lip-lock on his head, running my tongue beneath it in short steady strokes. Pat let out a whoosh!! of air from his lungs and got off the stool. He put both hands around my head and pulled my face into his groin as he fucked my face. A second later, the largest single gush of cum I'd ever experienced blasted into my mouth. But he was far from finished. Spurt after enormous spurt filled my mouth with cum, and what I couldn't swallow ran down my chin and cheeks in long white ropes. As his orgasm subsided I sucked his fading cock even harder, using more torque as it were, coaxing it dry, sucking til he was too sensitive to bear it.
When we finished, I was surprised to see that we were now surrounded by a crowd of appreciative onlookers. As Pat zipped up, the crowd began cheering and applauding. I grinned and looked up at the bartender's head jutting over the countertop. "Hey! You want to get us closed down?!"
"Sorry," I said. I rose, took a bow, and grabbed a bar napkin to wipe cum from my face and shirt.
Had the bartender not interfered, I could have chain-sucked ten or fifteen cocks. But, with the show over, the guys dispersed and Pat disappeared. I went back to my beer and saw my Greek god back at his place. He grinned broadly and held up his glass of beer in salute. I did the same and nodded toward Pat's empty barstool. The Greek god came over. I thought I would cum on the spot! Yes, I am such a slut!!
Well, the Greek god turned out to be Randy -- an apt name at that. And at close range he was even more beautiful. As he slide onto the stool I couldn't see his package in the dim light, so I placed my hand high on his thigh and said, "I've been wanting you to come over all night."
My height vs. size rule of thumb didn't work with Randy. I felt his hard-on -- it was every bit of nine inches if not more, yet he was no taller than me. He was much thicker than my self-imposed limit. But, oh! -- to get to blow that dick like a flute and then get him to pile-drive my ass! Oh, what a way to go!!!
"You put on quite a show," he said.
"Yeah, well I've never been bashful," I said as I played with his dick.
"I'm a little shy, myself. Can we go somewhere? How about to my apartment?" I felt his hand slip through a heart and finger my pucker.
Fortunately for my dripping dick, Randy lived nearby. As we entered the apartment, he told me that he had two roommates, but neither of them were home. Once inside, we flew into each others arms and his tongue thrust into my mouth. I caught it between my lips and sucked it and brushed it with my own tongue as I unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his pants. He was undressing me as well, and in a moment we were cock-to-cock, tits-to-tits, head-to-head, standing there kissing and getting hornier by the second.
The hard shaft I felt against my abdomen, however, presented a problem. Honey, that thing was much bigger than I expected. He must have been merely semi-hard while I was feeling him up in the bar. I stood back a step and inspected my prize. Every bit of 11 inches and thicker than my wrist! What was I to do?? A nightmare and dream come true all at the same time!!
I confessed my fears and desires to Randy, and he said, "Don't worry, we'll go easy. You can take as much or little as you want."
We moved to the living room sofa. He gently pushed me over onto my left side and indicated that I should lift my right leg. He smeared KY all around my rosebud and in my hole, then put the tip of the tube in my hole and squeezed. I felt the cold lube gush deep.
"Don't you think that's overdoing it a bit?" I asked.
"When it comes to fucking tight asses, too much lube is almost just enough," he said back with a grin. His fingers felt wonderful as they spread the KY and loosened and opened my portal. I felt significant pain when he worked his way up to three fingers, but I continued to relax and grew accustomed to it. Then he was putting four fingers up to his knuckles in me, and my poor sex-starved prostate gland was about to gush.
Randy lay down behind me, spoon fashion, and I felt his enormous cockhead press against my hole. Let me tell you: I didn't think it was possible. I just didn't think he could get it in me.
He began playing with my dick as he pressed harder. I tried to relax as I pressed back. Then my tight ring of muscles began to open and I experienced the most excruciating pain ever! And he only had the head in me!!
"No! I can't take it!" I pleaded. But I reached behind me and felt of his steely shaft and his balls and knew I wanted it, the whole thing, and I pressed back against him again. He exerted more pressure, and tears rolled down my cheeks -- it was like having a baseball bat stuffed up my ass.
I would have ended it at that point, but Randy was stroking my dick, kissing me on the neck, and speaking to me in a soft, cooing tone. He was still for awhile to allow me to adjust, maybe a couple of minutes, and promised I'd grow accustomed to it. Over the next half hour, Randy fed millimeters at a time up my ass, and the pain was giving way to the most intense pleasure I'd ever felt. Before long, I felt his pubic hair and balls against my ass and I was grinding back against him with an intensity that surprised me.
"I can't believe it," he said.
"Believe what?"
"That you're taking all of me. You're the first guy who could do it!"
"What?!?!!"
Pat giggled quietly as he resumed rocking his pole back and forth.
"Oh, man, I gotta break you in so you'll be mine," he said.
His rocking motion progressed to an in-and-out fucking, though with very short strokes that gradually grew longer and deeper, as I complained that he was killing me. At the same time, his hand was pumping steadily on my cock and I knew I couldn't hold back. Just as I began feeling the orgasm, Randy bit into my shoulder and rammed his cock home. I felt an explosion inside as he filled me full of his cum. Just as I began spurting, the front door opened and Randy's two roommates entered. I didn't care -- I spurted and spurted and bucked against my lover's studmeat.
In a moment, I felt Randy deflate, which, for his size, isn't saying much. His half-mast was more than enough for me. I heard the door close and the two roommates giggled at the sight.
"All right!! Way to go!!" said one.
The other guy patted my ass cheek, with Randy's prong still in me, and said, "If you still want company, come back and see us."
We were alone again, and Randy began pulling out. Cum ran out of my ass and dripped down my legs. I looked at his dick expecting to see traces of my blood, but there was none. I wasn't ripped!
"You're the best I've ever had," he said.
With tears still rolling down my face, I said, "So are you! And now I'm custom-fitted!"
He reached behind me and lightly ran his fingers along my crack and gingerly touched my still-open pucker. My dick began to stand up.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.
As he put my dick in his mouth, I replied, "Yes -- you!"