I love Alfred Hitchcock movies. I just got me a digitally re-mastered version of ‘Rear Window.’ It’s great. Nearly sixty years old and still looking good. Like a lot of men in my neighbourhood. Not that I’ve ever been with a guy older than 40 but sometimes I’ve been tempted. I mean lately there are a lot of good-looking Hollywood hunks who are technically what you would term middle-aged. But my grandmother who’s just hit 80 says that age is only a number, which got me thinking about digits and being digitally re-mastered. I mean, besides being a number, a digit is also a finger, a thumb and a toe. And I just love being mastered by some, or all, of them.
The first older guy I ever was with dipped his fingers in my underwear the first time he met me. Or rather ‘milked’ me. It was in those far off days when you still rented videos and our local store had a backroom where they kept all the hot ones. I couldn’t wait to get my ass beyond those beaded curtains as nobody under age was allowed in and I seemed to be underage for the longest time. So on my eighteenth birthday I wasted not a minute more and satisfied my curiosity, and some guy’s lust, all in one go. I was too busy looking at all the shelves of naked men and women in various ‘indecent’ positions to hear him creeping up behind me but I certainly felt him. His dick was hard against my butt. He had introduced his hands inside my jeans even before he’d introduced himself. My dick was leaking with pre-cum from the horny sight of so much muscular male flesh on display and he used it to bring me to a short creamy climax as he rubbed himself up against me. I was so excited I don’t think I would have cried out even if he’d fucked me on the spot. But he didn’t.
The next finger lickin’ good experience I had was once again in a backroom but this time with our local baker. Actually he was only a baker’s boy and just five or six years older than me but he’d had much more experience and was very deft and nimble with his fingers from all the practice he got kneading dough. I’ve always had a thing about bakers. Maybe it’s a deeply subliminal connection with submarine sandwiches or the intoxicating scent of freshly baked bread mingling with the sweat from baking hot bodies. And Bruno was hot and sweaty from the baking ovens all day. He had nice tight buns, tight curly hair and even tighter biceps. They bulged like cottage loaves. I went shopping for his bread even when my mom didn’t need any. One day I arrived just before closing time and he was brushing the crumbs off the shelves. It was Easter and I was looking for hot cross buns. No, I tell a lie, I was looking for Bruno’s hot cross buns and was hoping to find him alone. I struck lucky.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were closing up,” I said innocently. “I can come back tomorrow.”
“No problem,” he said. “What would you like?”
“Hot cross buns,” I said although I could see there weren’t any.
There wasn’t even a loaf left although I wasn’t too bothered.
All I wanted to see was the thick loaf between his legs.
“You’re in luck,” he said. “I’ve just taken some out of the oven for tomorrow.”
I certainly was in luck. As if he’d been reading my mind, he stepped out from behind the counter. His white sweatpants clung to his thick thighs and his cock and balls hung low between his legs.
“Come in the back and you can have all you want.”
Suddenly I knew he wasn’t talking about hot cross buns and that he knew exactly what I was after.
He placed his hand on the small of my back and escorted me into the kitchen. The buns lay steaming in a row lined up on the wooden table. Something equally wooden was lined up along his left thigh.
“You like?” he said in his equally thick Italian accent.
“We’ll have to wait a little while but then you can take your pick.”
I looked at the steaming buns and then at my baker boy’s brimful basket.
“How can you work in here all day?” I asked. “It’s so hot.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad,” he said as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You get used to it.”
I watched fascinated as his fingers revealed more and more of his chest. They say man cannot live by bread alone but I could have fed myself for a whole week on Bruno’s hunky body and drunk from the well of his nipples. They were big and juicy and the size of quarters.
“Wait just a moment,” he said, “ and I’ll lock up so we won’t be disturbed.”
I was disturbed already and more than a little embarrassed. My dick had turned to wood too.
“Don’t worry,” he said looking down at the bulge in my pants, “ It’s the heat does that to you.”
He ran his hand over his chest and down his washboard stomach to his dick. He squeezed it between his finger and his thumb like he was testing a sausage to see how much meat was inside.
“You see, I’m hard too. It happens to all of us. We’re only men after all.”
He brushed past me and went into the front of the shop to pull down the shutters and lock up.
I heard him double locking the doors and bolting the shutters and somehow those sounds made me even hornier. Especially the heavy key turning firmly in the lock. I imagined getting my fifty cents worth from his nipples and feeling his sausage plump up inside me I trembled in spite of the heat. He came back still rubbing his dick and I saw that there was indeed plenty of meat there. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see me standing there literally licking my lips. He walked up to me.
“It swells up like a bun in the oven,” he said. “You just have to release the pressure that’s all.”
I didn’t say anything. I was afraid to move but hoped that he would. He did.
“And sometimes it needs a little help from friends,” he added and put my hand on his crotch.
It felt warmer than any loaf of bread I had ever held in my hand and much hotter than any sausage. I wondered how it would feel in my mouth but I was distracted by his half open shirt and bright shiny nipples. I leant forward and touched them with my lips and let him guide my hand inside his pants. His dick throbbed like a python ready to strike and I bent down to lick the pre-cum seeping from it. He suddenly grabbed hold of my hair and pulled my face up to meet his. Our lips locked. I read in a book once that the tongue is a muscle. His certainly was and he sure muscled into my mouth. And he wasn’t so delicate with my clothes either. He ripped open my shirt and tore off my pants as he worked his way down to make a meal out of my dick. I came almost at once. I was so excited. He wiped the creamy froth off his mouth and made me lick his fingers so I ended up eating my own cum. Then he jerked off all over my face so I had a double dose. And that was only for starters.
We had a shower, ate a few hot cross buns, drank some beer and then started our fuckfest all over again. This time there was no way his gorgeous cock was going to escape my mouth and I sucked on his nuts and rubbed his hard meat against my face. Soon his thick shaft was filling my throat and gliding in and out of my gullet in deep, rapid thrusts. He moaned as his low hanging balls slapped against my chin and I took every single inch of him in, right down to the root. Then just as I was beginning to get a taste for his dick he pulled it out of my mouth. My throat immediately felt hollow. “You’re driving me crazy,” he said. “Don’t make me come yet. I want to come inside you.”
He wasted no time investigating my love chute and it was the beginning of more digital delights. One, two fingers moving in and out of my butt as his dick had moved in and out of my throat. Then one by one, the tips of his thumbs as they separated the tight lips of my pucker, seeking and finding my sphincter, stretching it to allow his long, hard baking spoon ample space to forge its way inside me. I say baking spoon because his cock had such a huge head on it.
“It feels so good in here,” he said. “Like marshmallow. I can’t wait to get my dick inside you.”
He pulled his fingers out of my ass and I felt the mushroom head of his cock against my pucker.
Mushrooms and marshmallows, I thought, laughing. It eased the pain as he grasped my butt cheeks forcing them apart to get more of his dick inside me. As he did so, he reached round to take hold of my shaft. He palmed it with one hand and rolled my left nipple between his index finger and thumb with the other. More digital delights. I moaned and purred alternatively. I felt so good. So much like a piece of pastry. Flaky pastry. No, puff pastry. No, definitely flaky as he ground me to the floor. In and out, round and round, went his piston of a dick pounding my marshmallow ass to fine powder. My world began to lose focus, as if I was seeing it from inside a blender. His bludgeoning dick had morphed from a baking spoon into a rolling pin and he was making me hiccup in pleasure and pain.
When I really couldn’t take it any longer, I remembered what he’d told me about releasing pressure and tightened my ass ring round his shaft. He shuddered to a climactic stop, almost breaking my ass in the process. I felt his cum rise up inside me like an erupting volcano and came myself in spasms of creamy white jizz. We could have whitewashed the room with the cum we produced between us.
He dunked his dick one last time in the soggy bog he’d made of my butt, wiped it on my mouth and said, “That was great man. Whenever you want my bagel in your oven you know where to cum.”
As I swallowed his jizz, I asked myself why guys always had to spoil magic moments by talking, but I carried quite a bit of his magic home with me all the same and had a long hot soak in the tub. Both to clean my churning insides and soothe my battered butt.
I had a bit more magic delivered to my doorstep some time later. And I’m happy to say that hardly any talking was involved here either. Somebody told me once that everything, good or bad, comes in threes and I had a third digital experience somewhat loosely connected with Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.” I mean I shared something in common with the lead actor. If you remember the guy was a bit of a peeping tom but since he was James Stewart he got away with it. I mean everyone seemed to overlook that not so tiny fact. Or at least accept it.
One summer we rented this big rambling country house in the middle of nowhere. It looked straight out of ‘Psycho.’ My parents wanted some peace and quiet they said. I wanted some action and was not a happy camper. That is till I noticed this young stud working the pumps in the gas station right opposite. From that day forth I used to watch him like a hawk. He was better looking than Norman Bates and a lot more muscular. I used my Dad’s field glasses to zoom in on him.
He lived above the office of the service station and at night it was illuminated by the neon lights outside. I used to sit gazing down at it trying to get a glimpse of him. He wasn’t too fussy about wearing clothes and once or twice I saw him butt naked. Fortunately at the time my parents were fast asleep at the back of the house. Anyway, before I went to bed one night I looked down to see what he was up to and he was lying in the dark watching a movie.
The light from the television cast a shadow on the wall and after a while I realized he was jerking off. The combination of the flickering light from the TV set and that dark undulating shadow made me horny as hell, especially as everything, I mean absolutely everything, was bigger than life.
At the end of it all, I had to jerk off myself.
The next night I was ready for some more action. This time he had a reading lamp on and was thumbing through some magazine or other so I could see him clearly. He was stretched out on the bed with his hand down his boxer shorts stroking his dick. At one point he looked up and saw me.
I was standing in the dark at the window but the light of my cigarette must have given me away. I think it turned him on to have someone watching him because he suddenly slid out of his boxers and gave me and my field glasses a bird's eye view of his dick. After a while, he turned over and started humping the bed. Slowly and languorously so I could see every contour of his beautiful butt.
Once again I had to service myself.
This kind of thing went on with various variations for quite some time. Not every night of course but enough to keep up my interest. And my dick. Once he came into his room after a shower with a handkerchief size bath towel loosely wrapped around him. He stood right where he knew I could see him and long enough for me to want him like hell then he turned round and took off the towel. Very slowly and surely – and one by one – he put his legs on the bed and bent down to dry his feet. He must have dried between every single toe because I had a long, long view of his beautiful butt during the whole drying process. I could almost see up his asshole. I knew, of course, he was doing it for my benefit but I couldn’t strike while my iron was hot because my parents were just across the hall from me and anyway I didn’t want to do anything obvious or gross like jerk off for him.
Then my Dad had to go back to town one weekend and my Mom accompanied him. That night I lay on my bed contemplating. I knew it was time for one of us to make the first move but I didn’t know how to go about it so I fell asleep nursing my dick and thinking of him. At about midnight, I awoke to the muffled sound of the doorbell. My Mom hated doorbells and my Dad had put a silencer on it. Somehow I knew it was him. I padded downstairs and opened the door. He was standing there a big dark shadow against the moonlight. For all I knew he could have been loony like Anthony Perkins or dangerous like Raymond Burr but I took him by the hand and led him upstairs without a word. Almost as if I didn’t want to wake my parents although I knew full well they were away. He didn’t say anything either. We just tore at each other like the sex hungry cats we were. Somehow when sex is first and foremost in your mind words are superfluous. And you don’t need introductions. Besides you can louse up a lot of good sex with too many words. I know that from experience. I expect you do too. Anyway when the first flash of passion was over I asked him how he knew I was alone.
“I saw your parents go off with their bags this morning,” he said. “I’ve been watching you.”
“Likewise,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
See what I mean about words being superfluous? Still, as I already told you, we did mighty well without them. Intimate strangers seeking depth in a mutual well of loneliness and getting digital answers to their needs from each other’s bodies via fingers and dicks and a whole lot of licking that went with the pricking. What made it all the more hot – and cool – was that even though we didn’t know each other we were humping and thumping in my very own bed and mostly in the pitch dark.
The bed in my room was one of those old fashioned ones with iron rails. They came in handy when we got into a little bondage later. He trussed me up and went to work on my toes sucking them one at a time and making each individual one feel equally important. He even licked my instep and sent never-before-felt thrills right through me as his tongue made its way up my inside leg and settled like a butterfly on the tip of my dick. He sipped the nectar seeping from it and tunnelled his tongue under my foreskin driving both me and my dick absolutely wild. At the same time he was checking out my butt and giving me digital vibrations as he worked his way in and up. It felt so darn good. Especially when the tips of his fingers touched my love button. I almost levitated. If I’d been a girl he would have broken my hymen. Instead, I broke the silence.
“Digit me!” I cried.
“Do what?” he said.
“Dig your dick into my ass and digit me!”
“Never thought of my dick as a digit,” he said but he obliged my horny fancy. And how.
He bent me over backwards and tied my ankles to the bed rails too so I was doubly immobilized. But his digits were pretty busy. He let my excited penis slide gently through his fingers like a fish and surfed it with the palm of his hand. Then he used some of its secretions and a lot of spittle to lubricate my butt. As I opened myself more and more to him, more and more of his divine digit entered me and if I hadn’t been attached to the bed he would have sent me flying to the ceiling, for as I adjusted to its girth and strength, he increased pressure and speed and made my ass understand why lust is often rhymed with thrust.
Just before my eyes rolled back inside my skull with the fucking pleasure of it all, I caught sight of our copulating shadows on the wall, and thought of the first time I’d seen him. Then every thought went out of my sex-addled head as he fucked me senseless.
We spent most of the next two days and nights in my bed. He temporarily closed the service station and serviced me instead. Fortunately, the fridge was well stocked and I let him sample some of my Mom’s home cooking as well as a whole lot more of me. We tried quite a few other inventive things too including using my Dad’s belt to do a bit of butt strapping but I’ll have to leave horny events like that for another story otherwise I’ll never get to the end of this one. All I can say, in contented conclusion, is that my gentleman caller opened my ‘rear window’ real wide and gave me a whole new ass-pect on things. He also left a very definite digital impression.
Looking back at this experience I realize I was living dangerously but it’s the element of danger that makes sexual encounters so exciting, isn’t it? Jerking off at the back of a video shop knowing you could be discovered by the manager at any moment. Offering your buns to a butch baker who serves your Mom every day. Being fucked like a trussed chicken by a complete stranger. Actually getting hands on with someone and giving your digits free rein instead of sitting in solitude in front of a web cam showing your dick to somebody you’ve contacted by chat line.
At least I think so. What about you?
Let me have your thoughts on the subject. I might be able to use them in a future story.
Or you could write one yourself. It doesn’t take much digital mastery to do that!
The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Marion
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