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Frankie and Joncy by Joncy

I was just zipping up my fly after having a long satisfying pee in a cinema restroom in Piccadilly when this great looking guy walked in. He must have come straight from the office or was maybe dressed up to the nines for a date with his girlfriend or something. Anyway he looked so fucking upright and uptight in his Armani business suit that I didn’t think it was altogether appropriate to go and stand next to him and try to get a look at his dick so I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. His eyes met mine in the mirror and there was a glint of hard steel about them. That together with the horny dimple in his chin and the huge chunky knot in his tie made me decide his acquaintance was maybe worth pursuing. I slipped into one of the cubicles, which was pretty brazen of me as nobody goes to the toilet twice in such quick succession, and waited for him to follow me. He did.

Just in time too as somebody else came in. Undeterred he locked the door and without a word rubbed his body against mine and worked his hands into the hot crevices of my pants. I suppressed a groan as hungry flesh touched hungry flesh. My ass was gulping for him and my dick came flashing out like a freshly caught trout. First I felt his belt buckle, hard and unyielding, against my back and then something more malleable (but only marginally speaking) working its way into my love passage. I could hear the guy peeing next door so knew that I mustn’t make a sound otherwise I’d give the game away. But my Armani man was coming on hard and strong and there was just no time or opportunity for lubrication. He waited a few seconds for our intruder to leave and then jerked me off gently so I got carried away by the ebb and flow of his hand and slightly distracted from the fact that my ass hurt like hell as the mushroom tip of his dick forced its way in. Meanwhile his tongue was doing overtime in my ear and making my knees wobble in anticipation of what was about to happen to me. I’d never been penetrated before. We all have our fantasies and I’d always dreamed of a tall dark stranger who would fuck the ass off me. I’d only just celebrated my 18th birthday so you might say I hadn’t had long to wait. Trouble is I wasn’t exactly ready for it. And I’d also imagined soft music, candlelight and champagne. Not a hunk of raw meat without condiments.

“Relax,” he said. His first words to me. “You’ll enjoy it more.”

I tried to do as I was told and my knees buckled. His dick did quite the opposite. Ten inches of hot solid flesh entered my butt. I bit my lip, held my breath and let my ass (and his dick) do the rest. Soon they were both getting on like a house on fire. At least my ass definitely was by the time he’d finished with me. On fire I mean. Syntax goes out of the window when you’re recalling sex in a public toilet. In the process I’d almost wrenched the cistern out of the wall and bitten through my lower lip. Fortunately nobody came in during that time which meant the movie had started again. It also meant we could have spent a few moments getting to know each other but he said his girlfriend was waiting for him and that he’d have to buy her an ice cream to make up for keeping her waiting.

“If you promise to be discreet, I’ll give you my business card,” he said. So after he’d slipped out of my ass he slipped a business card into my shirt pocket and left without another word. I sat on the toilet and tried to gather myself together. My ass felt like a ten ton truck had just driven straight through it. I touched it tenderly with my fingers and it was damp with spunk and blood. With the. other hand I pulled out the card he’d given me and looked at the name on it. Francis Shepherd, Financial Consultant it said. I must have made quite an impression on him I thought for him to give me his business card. He’d certainly made quite an impression on my ass. He’d left quite a gap too which I somehow knew only he could fill. I wondered how long I’d have to wait before I could ‘discreetly’ call him. I also wondered what I’d say. I kept thinking of those cold blue eyes of his which had reminded me of Daniel Craig. And the huge knot in his tie which somehow promised great things. I was pretty inexperienced but nevertheless thought I knew what to look out for.

You see I’d heard that big noses, big thumbs and, obviously big knots, usually meant big dicks. So far the theory seemed to be working pretty well. ‘Held water’, as they say. I sure was glad I hadn’t held mine. Anyway, as you can imagine, my ‘discretion’ only lasted till the next day. I called him just before lunch time. He told me to meet him at 3 o’clock in the foyer of the Marlborough Hotel. For a moment I wondered if he was going to set me up like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’ but he quickly packed me in a taxi and took me to what he called his ‘bachelor pad’ in Westminster. It wasn’t exactly a penthouse but it had huge plate-glass windows which overlooked the river Thames. In fact later he fucked me to the chimes of Big Ben which was really cool.

Ever the silent type, he undressed me slowly like he was peeling a piece of fruit or something. Or unwrapping a Christmas present he’d been looking forward to but didn’t want to open all at once. As he unbuttoned my shirt my dick rose up to meet his fingers. He got me so hot. After the frantic fumblings of the day before this was something else altogether. I fairly throbbed for him. All the while he looked me straight in the eye and as soon as my shirt was dangling dizzily off my back he took his tongue on a tour of my torso. My pecs perked up like a puppy whose master has just come home and once again my knees buckled. He grabbed hold of my belt to keep me from falling and his knuckles rubbed against my dick. I almost came in my pants. He undid my belt and my jeans fell to the floor with a clatter, as keys and small change fell from the pockets. This, and the fact that my dick shot out of the slit in my boxers, almost broke the magic for a while but, before I could open my mouth and apologise, his open mouth was wrapped around me sucking me to heaven.

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He worked my butt cheeks like he was kneading dough and he worked my dick with his tongue and lips until I was tingling from head to toe and shot my load like toothpaste out of a tube. This time I really did apologise but he stopped my protests with a kiss and I got to taste my own jizz. I tell you man it was wild.

“We’d better have some champagne to take away the taste,” he said finally, “Although actually you taste pretty good. Not exactly vintage but good.”

Pretty banal stuff. I liked him better when he didn’t talk.

He poured himself a glass of champagne and drank some and then kissed me again and filled my mouth to the brim. I’d seen this done in movies and always thought it was pretty corny but to have it done to me was something else. Oh, the thrill and the swill of him. Really intoxicating stuff. However the whole afternoon was beginning to feel like something out of a sex manual and I was sure he’d done the same thing to many an inexperienced novice. Still what did I care. It sure worked wonders on me. And as long as he didn’t turn out to be a serial killer I was willing for him to do anything he liked to me. I was putty in his hands. As if he could read my mind he picked me up in his arms and carried me into the bedroom. Just like Clark Gable in ‘Gone With The Wind.’ I began to giggle. A direct result of both the macho image and the champagne flowing through my head.

He wiped the smile off my face by tying me to the fourposter. Fearing I might soon be whipped to a froth or a frazzle, or something worse, I put up a half-hearted struggle but deep down I was excited. I had a feeling we were both going to experience something erotically new. He put on some cool music and then went into the bathroom. At first I thought he was going to cheat me out of the sight of him undressing in front of me. I so wanted to see him naked. Unpeel him with my eyes as he had unpeeled me with his hands. But he came back almost immediately carrying a towel and a bowl of warm water. He took off his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves and proceeded to soap my genitals and stomach and remove the sticky strings of cum that were caked to my body. I forgot to tell you that he’d shot his considerable load all over me. Awesome and moresome. He washed me and dried me as gently as if I were a baby. In fact all that was missing was the talcum powder and the diaper.

No sooner was I dry than he moistened my lips with more champagne and began caressing me very slowly, very delicately, all over, putting so little pressure on my body that he sent me into shivering waves of seismic ecstasy. Little by little, he emptied the bottle of champagne over me and licked up the drops that gathered round my nipples or formed a pool in my navel, or in my scrotum. Then, with increasing sweet cruelty, he taunted and tautened my nerve endings by keeping his hands and tongue just out of reach so I had to lurch and lunge and strain at the leash to make contact with him. In the end he drove me nearly demented with desire.

“Show me your body,” the slut inside me cried. “I want to see you bollock naked. I want to see every fucking inch of you. Your ass, your chest, your fabulous dick.”

Slowly he obliged, unveiling himself to me, like Kim Basinger in that horny movie, until at last I was faced with the full Monty and swooned at the sight of it. His body was stupendous. Just as I’d expected it to be. Some people should never wear clothes and he was one of them. I feasted my eyes on his prominent pecs and on the horny valley that ran down his six-pack to his pubes and the perfect flagpole that vaunted his manhood. My mouth watered for a taste of it and my ass immediately wanted to go pole vaulting.

Then the teasing began again as he brought his thick prick that close to my lips, and no closer, so I could feel the heat of him but not the full meat of him. As I sobbed with frustration he undid the ribbons from my ankles and bent me backwards so my legs were high in the air and attached to the bedhead. I felt for all the world like a trussed chicken waiting to be plucked. I should be so lucky. I sighed as his breath brushed my butt cheeks and he used his tongue as a fuck-feather. I tell you man I fairly clucked with happiness and the promise of things to cum and held my breath as I finally felt the tip of his prick at the confines of my ass hole.

“Are you ready for another dry run?” he said.

“Fuck me,” I replied.

So maybe he didn’t believe in condoms or lubricant. So what. My ass was still burning from yesterday’s assault but I was past caring. The huge aching gap he’d left was longing to be filled again. Before I knew what hit me his enormous, gorgeous, long-lasting, unbelievable schlong was halfway up my yawning, yearning unlubricated ass and punching me in the prostrate. He banged away at me till my ass and my eyeballs bulged. Then he slowly withdrew his dick and, taking his time (God did he take his time) entered me even more slowly, putting my ass to the torture test again. He’d washed and dried me baby style, now he was using his dick as a feeding bottle and teasing me with the teat. It hung there like a humming bird. I writhed and squirmed like Jim Carrey had taken possession of me and tried to clutch at his mushroom head with my ass lips.

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All to no avail. He was the master. He was in charge.

“Fuck me hard you bastard,” I cried. “Ram it right in. I can take it. I can take it.”

And that of course was the moment he chose to stop.

I stuck out my butt like a cat in heat, begging him to enter me again.

“Are you absolutely, absolutely sure you can take it? I can get pretty rough.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I hissed as steam seemed to come out of both ends of me at once.

He hesitated for a few more tantalising seconds and then oozed his way into me again, slowly, oh so fucking slowly. He moored himself inside me like a submerged submarine until I didn’t think he was moving at all. There was a moment of sustained stillness like the calm before the storm and then he began to build up pressure with his powerful piston and torpedoed my ass to kingdom cum. In out, in out, harder and faster, pounding and pummelling, lunging and plunging until I screamed with the unbearable blissful pain of it all and was soon on the edge of utter erotic insanity.

Finally he released me from my ribboned bondage and sat me on his prong like a carousel horse, using my dick as the pole. Then he rode us both to a cumful climax. I gripped his dick with my ass lips as if my life depended on it and felt like a deflated rubber doll by the time he’d finished with me. One with all the stuffing knocked out of it. He strummed my dick with his formidable thumb like it was a guitar string or something. Twang, twang, until I exploded like a cream puff and painted the ceiling with cumshine. I knew instinctively that he’d hit heights with me that he’d never reached with anyone before. Male or female. And I had a quart of his jizz up my ass to prove it.

Inevitably the next stop was the shower and we spent what seemed like hours washing up and washing down. It was my turn to soap his genitals and get my hands on his luscious ass. I’ve never fucked anybody but his beautiful butt sure gave my dick ideas. We kissed a lot too. I liked that.

Besides my lessons on big noses and big thumbs I’d been told that prostitutes and straight guys didn’t kiss. He kissed almost as good as he fucked. I decided to ask him about his girlfriend but he didn’t seem too eager to discuss her. Seems it was going to be one of those marriages of convenience that a lot of guys get themselves into. He told me he wanted to put her on the back burner for a while and see a lot more of me. I told him he could ‘burn my back’ anytime he wanted.

He took me out for a steak dinner and brought me back for seconds just before midnight. A bit like Cinderella. Only my ass was the pumpkin. We were in mid-coitus when Big Ben struck twelve. That meant I got twelve mammoth thrusts of his awesome dick and went to sleep contented.

Halfway through our first night together he woke up, snuggled into me, and asked my name.

“Joncy,” I told him.

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked offended.

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“Our names,” he said. “I’m Frank. You’re Joncy. Somebody wrote a song about us.”

“That was Frankie and Johnny.” I said knowledgeably, making a nest of his scrotum.

“As near as makes no difference,” he said working his dick inside me again.

And, as for many nights to cum, my ass was only too happy to accommodate him.

The model in these pictures is Hamish Pravda

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