We all have a type. Or at least we think we do. I used to go crazy for Italian hunks with a fertile fuzz of hair on their awesome chests and a whole load of it under their armpits. Hairy legs and asses were an option. All that went right out of style with the advent of Chippendale-style dancers and male strippers with the result that previously hirsute Latinos were waxing, exfoliating, scruffing, buffing and moisturising with the rest of them. Clean shaven and uncut was hot. Hairy was not.
Mediterranean men have always been vain so it didn’t take them long to give in to their protesting wives and girlfriends who made it crystal clear that if they’d wanted to cuddle something matted and hairy they’d have gone to bed with a shag-pile rug. One bi-guy I worshipped lost all his charm for me when he turned up at my bedside looking like a skinned rabbit. Still, always one to go with the flow, I tried to adapt to this new wave or maybe I should say this new ‘shave’. After all, different strokes for different folks I suppose. Trouble is, I like to stroke the folks I fuck and snuggle up to their furry chests afterwards. So you can imagine how happy I was to meet Ivan the Terrible. The hairy wonder from Minsk.
I live in a top floor apartment in Rome which overlooks the local flea market in Porta Portese. During the week it’s a fairly busy thoroughfare for traffic but on Sundays it’s a thriving open air market with a particular traffic of its own. Italy has recently become a melting pot for East Europeans and other nationalities. Romania, Hungary, Bangladesh, Senegal, Ukraine, you name it. Hordes of young guys looking for work and a better life. The flea market is literally jumping every Sunday morning. Everybody comes to sell their wares and you can normally find anything you want if you know where to look.
I pleasantly bumped into Ivan while out ‘shopping’. You could see straight away that he was Russian or something by the clutsy way he was dressed and, of course, the fact he was playing the balalaika left no doubt. The first thing I noticed about him was his eye glasses and his cheerful face. The glasses were rimless and I later discovered he never took them off, except perhaps under the shower. He even masturbated in them. Before knowing Ivan I’d never seen anyone jerk off while wearing glasses. I found it strangely sexy. We exchanged a few words and I pointed to my penthouse apartment and to my mouth so he could understand that I was either inviting him to lunch or a good blow job. As things turned out I gave him both.
It was still only ten in the morning so just to make sure he didn’t get lost I handed him my business card and said, ‘See you later.’ He took it with a smile and waved but I couldn’t be absolutely sure he’d ‘got the message’ and would actually show. Of course, I don’t always go around giving my business card to complete strangers but as I said he had glasses and a cheerful face and together they inspired confidence not to mention a touch of lust. I wanted to steam up his glasses and get those awful clothes off him as soon as possible. Also play my own tune on his balalaika.
He duly turned up for lunch and with a bottle of vodka. It was hot in my apartment and his clothes were heavy and after a vodka or two he started peeling them off and I saw he was some furry fellow. The hair was not only evenly spread on his chest but also in places where hair doesn’t usually grow like slam in the middle of his stomach. Seeing all that virile growth and the lush, plush cushions that were his nipples I felt tingling waves of horny anticipation sweep over me. Fascinated I made a full investigation and ran my hands over his luxuriant chest. He felt like a juicy peach. Had the same fuzzy feeling. And by now I had a fuzzy feeling in my head too. I wasn’t used to vodka and the Russians can sure gulp it down. We ended up stretched out on the floor and I lay back passively and let him do all the work convinced I wasn’t even capable of raising an eyelash thanks to the effect the vodka was having on me. Still, it didn’t take Ivan long to get some life out of my drooping dick. But then it always had a mind of its own and can be extremely unpredictable. Can get me in deep trouble too. However, my ‘trip to Russia’ was probably one of my most erotic experiences. It all seemed to be going on somewhere else. My nerve endings seemed completely exposed and his fingers strummed my body as if he were playing a tune on his balalaika. Weird and wonderful it was.
Ivan’s long, cool fingers sent vibrations here, there and everywhere and his tartar’s tongue made marvellous music with my dick, my nipples, my armpits, even my toes. Nobody had ever sucked my toes before. Then he stretched out on top of me and sort of sand-papered me with his chest until I was red and raw and roaring. At the same time, he let his mouth-watering dick slide back and forth over my thirsty lips until he made me rabid and ravenous as well. My tongue snaked out to sup up his pre-cum and I managed to manipulate my jaw so I could chomp happily away at the magnificent meat loaf he was feeding me.
Then, just when my jowls were almost at bursting point, he shifted his juicy joint from my mangled mouth to my anal ovens. He lifted my legs high in the air till the vodka floated in my spinning head and wedged me between his thighs. He made me feel like a double bass or a cello or something. His vibrant bow of a dick proceeded to play several cadenzas on my ass crack that sent shivers up my spinal column. I was fairly sizzling with desire by now and surrendered my burgeoning ass to him completely. He entered me like a raging bull stomping into an abattoir. The long, steady thrust of his dick had me quaking and shaking and throbbing and sobbing till I erupted in a torrent of cum all over my sheepskin rug.
What I’d really wanted to do was cover him in a carpet of cum but he got me so hot and excited that my steaming seed ended up on the rug instead. He was right behind me so to speak and my battered butt soon overflowed with his jizz. Conversation didn’t flow quite as freely as our sexual juices as he didn’t speak much English. Anyway, I made him some lunch and we drank a lot more vodka and slept the afternoon away. I woke to find his bare ass in my face and worked my way up there to get it level with my dick. I slipped it in while he was still sleeping and gave him one hell of an awakening. I’ve got quite a thick dick which swells in all the right places and like Heineken beer reaches those out of the way spots other dicks never quite reach. And as the little devil swells it invariably gives my tricks a real treat. It’s not so long but it sure is strong and long lasting.
With me in the saddle, Ivan rose to the occasion and took us both on a really wild ride. Somehow one always knows instinctively what to do with a partner and I soon found that he liked his soft mushy nipples pressed and tweaked as we sailed the sexual ocean together. He also liked his fuzz fondled too and as I tore away at his ass with my dick I slipped my fuck fingers through the coated undergrowth and tore away at the hair on his stomach and chest. He hit the ceiling as I hit home. I grabbed him firmly by the dick and rode him all the way to international heaven. His hollering and caterwauling in Russian was quite a turn on and made my dick swell even more. I jerked him off good and like a pair of sea horses we surged the surf to an ear shattering climax.
After soaping each other up and rubbing each other down in the shower we had another meal and Ivan entertained me to an evening of Russian songs and I became quite a fan of the balalaika. We soon ran out of vodka and had to drink beer but it didn’t make a damn bit of difference to our sexual performance. We fucked and bucked all night and I must say I found my Russian had vastly improved by the next morning.
Of course after all the vodka and beer I woke up with a furry tongue and my nose buried in his furry chest. Looks like he’s here to stay too. I wonder how you say furry fellow in Russian.
The Badpuppy.com model in these pictures is Stefan Cerveny
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