Gay sex story – Gay sex therapy

Gay sex story

I was standing in the small room, in front of a curtained window. Poonish’s hot breath on the back of my neck was doing little to dispel the tension that was tying me in knots, even though that’s exactly what we were here for. The room was pretty dreary really; just this curtained window and a padded massage table behind us against the wall. Tired paint on the walls, scuffed tiled floor and ceiling, as if men before us had been walking the ceiling and dragged across the floor, which, for all I knew, was exactly what had caused the scuffing. A set of loudspeakers above and at the corner of the curtained window. Poonish’s arms came around me, and he started to unbutton my shirt and pull the tail out of my jeans even before he pulled on the curtain cord.

I didn’t want to lose Poonish, and this might be my last chance to keep him. We’d met at a book event. He was the author, and I was the fascinated reader. We’d talked while he autographed my copy and I’m afraid I’d gushed about his book. He had taken that in stride and had invited me for coffee after the signing. I was a young, impressionable college student, and he was a good twenty years older than I was but very distinguished and handsome. Gray at his temples and dancing green eyes that held mine. Thick, sensuous lips, a cleft chin that made him look very urbane, and a well-toned body. We weren’t finished discussing the exotic sub story line in his book when the cafe was closing, so he invited me to his place for a nightcap. His apartment matched my suppositions in sophistication; we kissed on his deeply upholstered couch, and he had my fly open and had sucked me off, with me shooting off quickly, before I managed to escape in embarrassment and confusion.

Two days later, he saw me loitering on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building, and, without words, he came down, took me by the hand, and led me back inside his door. We 69ed on his bed for hours, with him trying to take it farther, and me breaking it off in fear. I’d given and gotten both hand and blow jobs over the past year, but it had never gone beyond that.

Poonish wanted to fuck me. He had no interest in me topping him. I wasn’t adverse in theory, but I’d tighten right up whenever we got to the brink. He was big and thick and long and I was terrified of the pain. After our fourth meeting, he was positioned and entered me, but as soon he had, the pain was just too much for me. I tightened right up and screamed for him to stop. His frustration was palpable, and I declared I wanted it but just couldn’t do it that perhaps we needed just to give up on the effort and any idea of a relationship in the fullest sense. I could tell that he was conflicted, though. He said he was smitten with me, but I knew he couldn’t be satisfied with just hand and blow jobs. I cried, and he gently massaged my body and then tried again, but I just couldn’t take him; it was just too painful. He then said he had an idea that might help, and so here we were, two days later, in a back room of a men’s club, standing in front of a curtained window.

Poonish had my shirt open and he was stroking one of my nipples with his hand. He reached over with the other hand and pulled the curtains open, and I let out a shocked gasp.

We were looking through a wide, full-length two-way mirror into another small room, almost identical to the one we were in. Hung by his wrists from straps only about two and half feet away and facing us on the other side of the window was a young man of only nineteen or twenty, with a thin, twinkish, boyish build. He had a mop of curly red hair that almost came down into his eyes as his head hung down, and, as he was stark naked, I could see a patch of red pubic hair surrounding a smallish, pert cock hanging down between his legs. Despite his thinness, he had good muscle tone and was a handsome lad. He looked like a lad, but I vaguely remembered him from one of my college classes, so I’d say he couldn’t be much younger than I was. The pads of his feet barely touched the tiled floor.

I started to say something to Poonish, but he told me to hush and just to closely observe what was happening in the other room. One of his hands was still massaging my chest, and the other had moved to undoing my belt buckle.

I heard a hollow sound and looked toward its origin, which was the speaker at the top edge of the window on our side. These were conveying the sound from the other side of the glass. A door had opened in the other room behind where the young man was hanging and I let out another gasp when I saw the men who had entered the room. He was massive, but not in any way fat. He was heavily muscled, and sharply defined in every respect. He seemed about the same age as Poonish, but he obviously was a fanatical bodybuilder. He was dark to the point of swarthy, with salt and pepper-colored hair that covered his body in short ringlets that kept him from being defined as more than borderline bear. He had a short-cropped beard and mustache and a buzz cut hairstyle. Gold rings gleamed at his left ear and in both of his nipples, and there were barbed-wire tattoos encircling both of his arms across the biceps. The only thing he was wearing was a black leather, studded harness across his chest and leather over-the-ankle boots. What had made me gasp, however, was the horse-hung cock and tennis-ball-sized balls swaying back and forth between his legs as he approached the bound young punk from the rear.

I felt my pants and briefs hit the floor. Poonish had freed them as the dark monster had entered the other room.

The monster stopped and stood very close behind the young punk. He nuzzled the young man’s neck with thick lips in a lingering caress, as his big, thick-fingered hands ran up the sides of the youth from the hips to his elbows. The punk lifted his head, showing me a frightened expression, and murmured in low tones I could barely hear, but I thought they sounded something like, ‘No, no, please don’t,’ repeated over and over.

I flinched as I realized that Poonish was naked now, his cock running up my back. He pulled my shirt off and nuzzled his lips into my neck and mirrored the hand movements of the monster on the other side of the window.

‘Poonish?’ I asked, a shiver of fear in my voice.

‘Hush, hush,’ we whispered to me. ‘Just concentrate on the young man on the other side of the window. Watch him carefully, and keep constantly in your mind that he is slighter than you are and that the man behind him is much longer and thicker than I am.’
I watched in mixed horror and fascination as the older man on the other side of the window ran his hands all over the body of the punked youth, paying particular attention to his nipples and his cock and balls. Poonish was doing the same with me, and I found myself moaning in just a slightly lower tone than the youth facing me. His pert little cock was standing straight out from his red bush, as my longer and thicker one was doing out of my blond bush. Poonish turned my face to his, and we lingered in a long, juicy kiss. I was willing myself to loosen up for Poonish but this concerted effort, of course, only kept me tight and uneasy.

When I was able to look back around, the bigger man appeared to have disappeared, but as I focused more closely on what was going on, I could see that the punk’s chest was arched forward and his hips pulled back, and he was standing on his very tiptoes. His tormentor was crouched behind him, his face firmly wedged between the youth’s butt cheeks, and his hands wrapped around to the front of the youth’s thighs. The punk was grunting and giving out little yip yip sounds and writhing his hips back and forth as much as his precarious position would allow.

Poonish’s lips and tongue were at my asshole as well now. He was forcing my butt cheeks open with the palms of his hands, and I almost lost my balance as my chest arched forward. My hands involuntarily pushed out in front of me to keep myself from falling, and my arms were now widely spread, palms against the window. I pressed my forehead against the glass, my eyes glued on the eyes of the punk, and groaned and grunted at having my ass wetted and eaten out by the man I idolized.

The punk couldn’t see me or so I assumed but by watching his eyes, I could see his fear and resistance melting and his eyes hooding with desire. And I was going with him on this, moaning and groaning and sighing at Poonish’s tongue work inside my hole, on my tender inner thighs, and up through my legs on the underside of my cock.

While our asses were being worked, the punk’s cock and balls were getting attention from big, swarthy hands, and so were mine from Poonish’s long, elegant fingers. I began to move my pelvis in rhythm with Poonish’s ministrations and the punk was moving his as well.

The monster and Poonish rose up on their feet behind their objects of desire almost simultaneously, and both produced gobs of lubricant and started to lather up holes and cocks.

The punk was back to begging for mercy in a low, hoarse voice, and I felt myself getting more tense as well.

One palm on bellies and the other hand loosening and widening up holes with lubricated fingers, both dominators were working their targets.

Poonish hissed at me to keep my eyes and senses locked onto the punk, and I concentrated there as best I could.

I watched in horror and fascination, as the giant in the other room lifted the legs of the punk and pressed the soles of the younger man’s feet wide apart on the window separating us. His feet were precisely on the other side of window from where my hands were pressed. I was closely staring into his face. Poonish was pushing my legs wide now, but I was lost in the gaze of the punk, the intense concentration he was showing. The palpable fear mixed with anticipation. The giant crouched his thighs under the raised thighs of the younger man. When the punk screamed at the pain of first entry, I screamed too, feeling the cap of Poonish’s cop rotating around, corkscrewing just inside the rim of my hole. We’d been here before, but I hadn’t been able to go any farther.

The punk was sweating, his muscles knotted tightly, his head thrown back. He was crying and babbling incoherently at the ceiling. having lost eye contact, I looked down between the punk’s legs and I could see the bulky sausage of that horse-hung cock slowly working its way into the young man’s hole. An inch in, a half inch withdrawal, and then another inch in. I felt Poonish tugging back on my hips, widening my legs farther and opening my butt cheeks more as he pushed inside me. We had never been this far before. It hurt like hell, but, for the first time in our attempts, his mushroom cap had reached my prostate and he was rotating his cock around inside me with one hand his other hand still holding me to him with palm on belly stroking my prostate with it and sending little electric currents of pleasure and engorgement through me that were fighting with the pain.

I heard a scream of ‘Yes, yes,’ through the loudspeaker, and looked back up through the mirror, catching sight of the punk’s eyes again. His countenance had completely changed. His eyes were wild and shining with desire now. The monster’s cock was completely sheathed inside him and was pumping inside him with little strokes.

The punk was thrashing his head back and forth, yelling, ‘Gawd, yes. Gawd, yes. Fuck me. Deep, deep, split me in two.’ He obviously was enjoying the fuck now, having a huge cock buried inside him. The pleasure and lust in his eyes were revelations to me. This is where Poonish had been trying to go. All I needed to do was get past that first pain, and I could have this. I could be crying for it just like the young punk was. There was no doubt now what he wanted the big monster to do to him.

I laid my head back on Poonish’s shoulder and whispered to him. ‘If it could only be like that, Poonish. If I could only loosen up enough get through the pain enough to get to where that guy is, the pain would be worth it.’

‘Guess what, Sport,’ Poonish whispered back. ‘I’m in to the root now, and I’m pumping you deep too. You did open to me. You relaxed to me.’

I cried out in surprise as I realized that Poonish was right. I could feel him churning and throbbing deep inside me now. We had done it. I felt the remaining tension draining out of me. My butt cheeks and ass canal were relaxing. I was opening more. Poonish felt it to, and I heard the intake of his breath as his cock lengthened and thickened in response and he reached new depths inside me. We were a unit now, moving as one. I had a masterful lover.

I looked at my hands. The fingers were scrunching against the window in rhythm with the stroking of Poonish’s cock inside me. The punk’s toes were scrunching just on the other side of the window in the same rhythm. He was using his own hip and butt muscles now, rising away from the giant’s pelvis as the giant’s cock slid out of him and then pistoning back down as the older man plowed back up into him. It was fascinating to watch; nine or ten inches of juicy veined monster cock sliding out of that impossibly tight hole and then alternately gliding and plunging back into the root. They were both pounding away furiously now, and I heard the scream of release from both of them as the monster flooded the punk’s insides with his spunk.

I was imagining Poonish’s cock doing the same thing in my hole, and I trembled and moaned at the feeling of finally being totally fucked. Poonish was going wild at my back door, yelling at how sweet my ass was and how he’d never had such a glorious fuck.

After cuming, the giant was holding there, jerking the punk to ejaculation with his big mitts, as Poonish pulled me away from the window, backed up to the massage table at the rear of our room, and turned me on his cock until my back was on the surface of the table and he was between my legs. He held my legs up and out then and pumped me in long, slow strokes, until he brought his mouth down to my nipples and tongued them and nipped them. I sighed and moaned deeply for him, begging him never to stop, to ride me and ride me. I never thought I could want it this bad, to open this wide and unconditionally to a man standing between my legs, churning his cock inside me.

I felt him tighten up, ready to shoot, but he buried his cock deep inside me then, and held himself very still, while he draped my legs on his shoulders and both of his hands went to my cock and balls. With him still rigid against me, I writhed all over the table in never-before-imagined pleasure while he beat my cock and squeezed and pulled my balls until I shot up his belly in three fountains. Then, with a grin, he wish boned my legs again with his hands and fucked me in short, rapid, deep strokes until he unloaded inside me.

He then came up on the table, laying beside me and cuddling me in his arms, as he roamed by body with his hand. I looked through the window into the other room, but the other men were gone now.

‘Don’t worry about them,’ he cooed to me in a whisper. They were there just to help you get beyond your fear; to show you what was beyond the brief pain why getting beyond the pain was worth the slight inconvenience.’

‘But he was so big and the punk was so small,’ I murmured, still concerned about the physics of it all.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Poonish snorted. ‘They’re a team; they do that a couple of times a night. Very good at it too.’

We were silent for several minutes, while we kissed and cooled down.

‘What now?’ Poonish asked. ‘Shall I drive you back to the dorm?’

‘Hell, no,’ was my spirited reply. ‘Take me back to your apartment and fuck my brains out again. I want to work some more on this Gay sex therapy thing.’