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The Tale of the Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity
“OK, now I think I get it,” I responded to Jeremy’s detailed explanation about the idea for his Hallowe’en costume being ‘assembled’ for the coming weekend. I continued massaging the meaty, dark-skinned foot resting across my lap as we chillaxed intimately on the rich mahogany leather divan in the cozy low-beamed great room. The fire log was still radiating heat on the nippy early evening, as was borne out by the comatose dogs before the crackling fireplace on the sheepskin rug newly covering the hearth. Oh, we were butt-naked too, but not goose-pimpled. So, yes, it was still burning comfortably.
I dearly loved the stark contrast of my husband’s big feet, the top surfaces almost matching the color of the couch while the white undersides were paler than my own skin. The dichotomy had always stoked my curiosity by the puzzling two-toned affect. While sexy as hell in my eyes, the color scheme just seemed upside down to me for some reason.
Jeremy tossed kernels of popcorn into his mouth by launching them in a high arc and catching them on the descent, a satisfied look permeating his face now that I seemed to grasp his concept. I couldn’t help eyeing the thick sausage reclining in the crevice of his nearby groin as I watched his adept hand-to-mouth action. My fingers contemplated dropping the toes and upgrading to that master piece.
Damn, I thought, this man still had me whipped even just lounging here, innocently smushing BaddDick. His nickname for my cock. While J-man feigned ignorance of it, the intermittent pressure exerted by the foot alerted me to his recognizance of my piece’s taut posture.
“Ya’know I couldn’t just use ‘Gai’s band’s namesake, honey. It would feel sacrilegious or something. So, since tungsten carbide is the second hardest substance known to Man after diamonds, and the hardest metal,” he accentuated the last word with a noticeable prod to my crotch, “it just seems right.”
Jeremy had a funny way of rationalizing sometimes, I mused, kneading each toe methodically while mentally visualizing the intricate outfit gradually coming together for the upcoming ghoulish celebration Saturday night.
Different pieces of it lay spread around the house and porches. It had been plainly tough to understand when he had first described his intent, and I was still perplexed at the complexity of it but I wasn’t letting on about my doubts at this point. He was approaching exasperation with me after three days of explanations, so I had decided the better part of valor was to simply claim comprehension and await the final product for its full effect. Pictures versus a thousand words, I had deduced…
Mighty Tungsten Tuberosity: why was my man naming a costume, anyway? The mixed metaphor and double entendre just didn’t lend credence to a spooky factor for the Tride Mountain Monster Mash Bash scheduled to occur up in the old Pandora Mine this Saturday night. Wrapping my mind around it had left me a bit abashed…smile. Pun intended. I sniggled inwardly at my own wit.
Jeremy glanced my way at that moment, a popped kernel bouncing off his wide nose. Supposing my smile indicated a completely different subject—and no doubt the same one on his mind- he wrenched the size 13 hoof from my hands, dug those toes at my midsection and in an athletic motion pivoted his sinewy body around until I was suddenly holding the sides of his smooth bowling ball head instead. He went to licking on my now freed hard-on. I certainly wasn’t about to argue that decision.
His excessive hormonal displays were never really surprising to me at this stage of our relationship. I had received superb head in the confines of aloft jets beneath sleeping blankets, grocery store bathrooms, and tennis court bleachers at midday over the years. There had also been that time at a symphony performance when the electricity went out. The symphony had kept playing and I had cum during the cannon shots of the 1812 Overture. It had given a whole new meaning to the word cummerbund.
I never tired of the attention and felt gratified that my man was attached to my dick as much as he was to my ring finger. He had, after all, fitted both our fingers and our dickstaffs with matching—yup, indeed: size 10-1/2 and 12 finger rings and 2-1/2 and 3-1/2 inch diameter dick rings— 24 K gold-dipped sterling silver bands on our wedding night.
Very attached to both, I wore them now, and my man wrapped his hand around the precious metal cock ring as he commenced with his second favorite pastime. Swallowing turgid dick. Mine fortunately topped his list and I laid back now, feeling the hot mouth and tongue set to work riling me further up. Apparently Jeremy had additional ideas in mind, too, because the other hand’s middle finger wriggled its way directly up my puckered asshole, edging my prostate and expanding things.
He gradually switched to swirling his fingers over my stomach in increasing arcs, ending up at my nipples, while inching illegal bahis his knees up under him and thereby narrowing the gap between his dick head and my holeway highway. The steady mouth strokes distracted me until the tip of his piece tentatively brushed against the ass ring he targeted. Those nipple tippling fingers erotically fucked his mouth, collecting enough spit to smear the engorged dickhead’s entry into my warm and waiting chute. His favorite sexual pastime…fucking.
Jeremy was the only man I had ever known who was hung enough and limber enough to be able to suck my dick while sinking his long pole into me simultaneously and he pushed it now while continuing the oral action. The sensations were wonderful and my eyes rolled back in my head as he penetrated more deeply.
Upon bottoming out at the thick-rooted nine-inch mark, he held stock still all at once, letting my ass get used to the filled feeling. His pelvis arched back and upward while he pulled my globes along with the retrograde rotation. As I was still acclimating, the thought of his gentlemanly nature endeared me more to this indulgent action.
That is, until opening my eyes to the view of big Ambergai Gee, our houseguest, looking down at me from over Jeremy’s shoulder. I realized then that the reggae man had snuck in without a sound, coming up on my man from the rear. That must’ve presented an alluring picture…Jeremy’s high, round, curved melons were unignorably perfect.
He was now doing a bit of his own penetrating right up into the opposing buttface of the arched pelvis whose house anaconda was piercing my ass. The knowledge that that huge prick of ‘Gai’s was sliding up into my stud man completed the ménage-a-trois. We had been perfecting it since the temporary addition of the mature Rastafarian to our happy home.
Jeremy continued bending his beautiful butt in acceptance of the familiar dick and upon seating itself completely, we three reveled in the state of things. The two of them began a slow, rhythmic, undulating pattern which progressed to a blasting three-way fuck. Damn, I was a lucky man, I thought, amidst the pounding and likely all of us were of similar mind as we enjoyed the conjoined intimacy.
“Gai’s hands grasped my man’s waist as he deeply stroked the ass that he had broken in as an adolescent so many years before. The tall, older man’s dreads brushed his back. Jeremy’s mouth rose up off my dick, meeting my lips and we sucked face amidst the double fuck. I could feel the spasms of J’s dick pulse through my innards with each inward stroke by the dread-locked man. Both worked their way to climax until the heat of an erupting load suffused my gut and a cascading effect capped us, all three groaning in a collective cum of paroxysmal pleasure.
Mr. Ambergai fell forward against J’s back, the long dreadlocks brushing up and down over my face now, in post-coital satisfaction. Jeremy tongued me deeply as the sensations ebbed. All three of us lay in flushed fulfillment during the regaining of our grip on reality. The two big dicks stayed right in their warm holes and mine wasn’t wilting a bit. Jeremy fingered it possessively, gathering my creamy globules.
“Methinks ma’two pussy boys be vyin’ for ma’ttentions by the way I keep a’findin’ the buttcheeks a’tuggin’ at ma’ eyeballs on each o’ma turnarounds, now,” Gai contentedly drawled. Jeremy turned and looked up at his mentor, noting that he didn’t miss too many chances. We tended to find ourselves in this situation rather frequently nowadays.
Ambergai Gee had invaded our sanctuary since the autumnal equinox weeks before, inveigling himself into our routine, our music playlist, our diet and, of course, our big bed. We were both good with the company since variety was, indeed, our spice…and most assuredly made the most of the mind-bendingly beautiful ass-stretcher between the man’s legs. Either one of us was likely to come upon the other sucking on the insatiable tool and each such discovery inevitably led to variations on the three-way such as had just finished… horn-doggery abounded.
As we backed off and toweled each other, the subject of the Hallowe’en party re-emerged and we queried our friend about any intent regarding his attendance. He responded circumspectly once again as he had when we first told him of the annual bash.
It seemed the Jamaican community did not view Hallowe’en, or All Hallows’ Eve, in the same manner as we Americans did. He had informed me of the more solemn and macabre history it symbolized in the Caribbean nations. The religious as well as the pagan undertones of the day and night still took precedence over any light-heartedness. Even to the point of high anxiety for many. Morbidity and mortality were more commonly associated memes of their season. All Saints’ Eve. Dia de los Muertos. Day of the Dead. Samhain. All were a part of the three day Allhallowtide observance of remembering the dead. And preceding that, the harvest festival. America had managed to divorce itself illegal bahis siteleri from the seriousness of it through the generations. Ahhh, the low expectations of laisse faire capitalism…
We hoped the man would commit to attending, even should we not know what way his presence might manifest itself. Hence, our enlivened curiosity. Settling back to the spacious sectional sofa with hot buttered rums, I nested into Jeremy’s body while receiving one of his famous head rubs. Gai (we pronounced it: Jye) took his place at the opposing end, proffered a size 17 foot toward my lap in replacement of Jeremy’s and we popped in a DVD to enjoy ‘vegging’ for a while: the old cult movie, Hocus Pocus, starring the divine Bette Midler.
I loved giving foot rubs, having been raised in a family of ‘touchers’ and massages had been a mainstay throughout my childhood. Besides, the huge appendages of both the men in my home provided exceedingly sexy ways for bonding…as evidenced by my almost constant half-hard state. The men seemed to enjoy both the attention and my sexual readiness. So we were all happy.
Half an hour later, when replacing one huge foot for the other in my lap, we all jumped upon hearing a sudden rap on the front door.
Being dark, and the weather in flux due to a descending Norther, we had not expected company during the evening, but Gai retracted his leg, arose and nudely made his way over to our entranceway, big languid dick dangling and rocking as he did so. Our heads both bobbled with it as it bobbed back and forth… go figure.
Twisting the knob, he unashamedly opened the heavy wooden fixture and smiled seductively outward as we heard a soft, refined exclamation, “Well, now, Sir Ambergai. Don’t you just look so…healthy?” We recognized the articulate manner to be no less than the personage of the Lady Carlotta Saxe-Coburg, a neighbor from one of the opulent chateaus down the mountain. Jeremy pushed me up in front of him, pulled on a pair of baggy boxers and threw a like set at my face as an unspoken instruction to match his action, then went to greet the unexpected guest.
She stood under the Porte Cochere, still mesmerized by the au naturel state of Gai, perplexed as to what way to proceed. Jeremy rounded into the doorway, chesting Gai aside with a big hand and inviting the true Lady into our log home. I looked out through the wood shutters of the tall windows behind the couch to the pebbled drive, spotting the Pierce Arrow touring car Carlotta most commonly used for travel, discerning a barely visible driver through the gloom of the misty evening. The precision classic automobile idled almost noiselessly, answering the unheard nature of the neighbor lady’s appearance.
I reached over and gathered up the three fluffy robes next to the fireplace where we had dropped them after the shower following the sexcapade earlier. The the dogs finally roused themselves to the intrusion, sleepily going to sniff the English peer now entering our domain. She acknowledged them each with a pat and I wondered if she might replicate the action toward we men should another nude male happen upon her.
Lady Carlotta did relax somewhat upon the breaking out of the robes, though noncommittally eyeing the fact of Gai’s insistence at leaving his untied, the big piece still lolling visibly. Such a Jamaican, I thought. The human anatomy’s visual presence seemed a granted state in his island mindset and I busied myself corralling the boys back to their hearth sites as cover for my grin at the candid display.
Carlotta wore an evening dress of all black silk, cut low over one shoulder, dark hair coiffed up and framing her attractive face, ringlets escaping, showing off her long, swanlike neck and simple pearl choker. Obviously coming from a dressy affair, her matching black high heels wrapped in crisscross fashion up around her slim ankles, complementing the understated outfit. The woman exuded great fashion sense. A faux fox silver stole hung low around her arms and no jewelry adorned her aristocratic long-fingered hands. The effect only accentuated the class dripping from her presence.
“Upon leaving the Devon’s dinner party,” she was saying, “I had Paecup drive up directly to see you boys.” Ambergai extended a long arm and taking hers to his elbow, he led her into the warmth of our home, sitting her down in an overstuffed easy chair close by the fireplace. The man bowed, as did his proud island dreads and long island dick, then backed away.
The picture of the well-dressed lady and the dread-locked, partially robed, dick-dangling giant with humongous clodhopper feet waltzing through the room nearly had me bursting with laughter as I channeled Bilbo Baggins and the elven queen of Lothlorien. My man, seeing my look, stepped decidedly on my foot as warning to curb it…ahem, he signaled. So I bit a lip and behaved, snugly securing my own robe belt. Darn it.
“Because of the disturbing subject of conversation over the digestif,” Carlotta went canlı bahis siteleri on, “I wanted to check on you boys to assure myself that all was well with the three of you.” Her look over at Gai made me think she might as easily have said, “the four of you.” Curious, Jeremy questioned her concerns and she continued by informing us that there had been an alarming development from high up the mountain. As our secluded home was one of the most highly placed, she had worried over our well-being, she told us.
It seems that Adolpho, the wine sommelier, had been hiking the high ridge earlier in the day and had come across a dreadful scene. An apparent bear attack had left a tourist couple visiting the area sorely ripped to bloody pieces, the lady brokenly apprized us. The bodies had been so disfigured that the sheriff’s department had only made an identification by dental records in the past hour and word was now spreading around the small, close knit mountain community.
Miss Carlotta had stopped first at her close confidants, the elderly Chastains, to make sure of their safety, before coming to see us. Hmm, I pictured the Lady popping in an hour earlier had she not stopped there…Gai’s excitatory state then would have made her present discomfiture seem tame by comparison. I had to again curb myself at the image of Gai nonchalantly plopping the homunculus out of Jeremy’s ass and opening the door in that moment… Slap that thought from my head, I warned myself. This was serious.
While relieved to hear none of our neighbors had been victimized, we were all three horrified at the prospect of death-wreaking bears marauding through the area. Gai, ever the gallant, disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a snifter of Drambuie for the Lady, which she accepted graciously. We discussed the ramifications of the development and decided it best to proceed carefully until the murdering beasts were tracked down and trapped.
It was extremely rare to have black bears act aggressively, unless cornered, so we were all taken aback by the violent episode so close to us all. Adolpho was apparently very shaken up, per the sheriff, Carlotta informed us, and Jeremy went to call the boy he was so fond of to ascertain his mental state. I called after him to invite the young Italian to come stay with us for the time being, what with the man’s flimsy house a mile away from ours. The place was very remotely located.
Carlotta settled herself by sipping the sweet liqueur and we gradually led the conversation away from the catastrophe, attempting to further calm her frayed sensibilities. Gai’s protuberant dangling did seem to draw her attention periodically, I noticed. I asked the English woman if she had heard anything pertaining to the coming costume soiree set for the old mine up the heights on the other side of the mountain. She answered that the ‘constabulary’, as she referred to the law, was assessing the situation for the safety implications over the next days. Depending on what occurred, she surmised, would make the decision of the event going forward or not. But, of course, she would be attending.
Peering out again into the deepening darkness, I noticed the driver leaning on the long hood of the touring car smoking a cigarette and asked if Carlotta wouldn’t prefer him to come inside under the circumstances. She concurred this was a good idea so I went to bring the man to join us.
The handsome young man appeared surprised at my invitation, usually being content to stay with the automobile that he babied and cooed over, keeping the pristine condition up to standards. Nevertheless, he acquiesced to my suggestion. After turning off the engine, we came into the warmth and Gai, again acted the bartender, brought the chauffer a balloon of Louis XIII cognac.
Paecup was not immune to the haphazard dress of the tall man and couldn’t avoid evaluating the startlingly large, fat piece the two of us were usually happy to see flop around. Even the Lady herself seemed OK with the uncovered beast by now, still glancing it’s way periodically. The driver inadvertently licked his lips at its sighting and I wondered how long it would take for the RastaMon to acquaint himself better…a wallflower, the man was definitely not. And, his interest in the young Russian was palpable. The big dick waggled just a little more than normal when delivering the best cognac in the house, I observed.
We spent another half hour catching up on the news and getting details about the ‘episode’ up mountain, then decided it was time to call it a night. Jeremy wanted to accompany Lady Carlotta home but she informed us that Mr. Andropov was ‘quite accomplished in the pugilistic arts’. She felt quite safe with him escorting her, thank you.
So we bid the two out to the Series 36 dual valve 1927 model icon of touring cars, delivering the Lady into the plushness of the embroidered Italian leather seating and the gold trimmed interior. Paecup secured her inside and took the driver’s seat as they gracefully purred away down the mountain into the darkness. I flicked my nose as a large snowflake alighted on it, contemplating yet another of this high-born woman’s peculiarities. Who else might have a handsome Russian chauffer named Paecup Andropov…?
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