“Yeah?” I answered my mobile despite not recognizing the number, which is usually a stupid idea.
“Vinny, that you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s me, Devon!”
“Devon, my masseur?”
“Your Dom masseur! One and the same, bud.”
Devon was the ripped black masseur I had hired in New York City last winter. He had worn a black hood and mask. He offered massage treatments with some added kinks, including BDSM and wrestling. Although we hadn’t wrestled that day, he had face-fucked me with his thick cut cock in my hotel bathroom. He had flooded my throat with his creamy cum, which was the best I had ever tasted. But Devon had also let me massage his muscled physique. I turned the tables on him—seducing the Dom and plowing his hole with my 7” cut cock. (You can read about it here).
We had agreed to wrestle if we ever met up again. He wanted me to wear a mask as well and said the winner would take off the loser’s mask and take his prize. After that afternoon in my New York hotel, we periodically texted each other about our doings. I sensed a growing acquaintance and even possibly a friendship.
I had told Devon I’d be at my remodeled Palm Springs home for part of the summer. (Not my choice actually given the extreme heat but I had some work to do on the house.)
“You in Palm Springs?” he asked.
“Yup, just putting the finishing touches on my remodel. It’s so fucking hot here.”
“Well, bud, I’m a glutton for punishment. I’m coming out there next week. I got several clients in the area. I thought we might get together….have that wrestling match we discussed.”
My cock twitched inside my gray gym shorts. I said “Yeah, Devon, for sure.” Then I got a bit cocky, “I’d love to own that sweet ass again.”
There was a pause then he said, “Well, that was fun. Unusual for me but fun. I don’t see a repeat if we wrestle. I’m pretty sure my 9” dick will wind up in your hole.”
His dominant attitude was a turn on. I assumed my best alpha voice, “Sure, sure, Devon. We both know I turned you into a needy bitch on my hotel bed.”
Devon chuckled, “Fuck, man, I owe you a good pounding.”
“We’ll see,” I said with a smirk, adding “Winner to be unmasked and topped?”
“That’s the deal we agreed,” he replied. His voice was low and gravelly. My cock was now semi-hard and tenting out the front of my gray shorts.
“Hey, I do have one condition,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“This is just a match between friends. I don’t want to pay you this time.”
“Sure bud,” he replied, “I didn’t expect anything.”
“It’s just…I don’t want to be a client this time. Paying you might give me some…some power in our relationship. I don’t want you to feel any pressure. And I want to defeat and fuck you knowing you tried your best to defeat me.”
After I published the mostly true story about our encounter in New York, Alex Miller, an amazing writer of gay wrestling erotica, had made me re-think the power dynamics when I paid a guy for a massage and, well, added services. Besides, I liked Devon. I liked him a lot and I wanted to forge a friendship with him.
“I see,” he said, “No problem. Just so you know, Vinny, I didn’t let you fuck me in New York cause you were paying me. You’re a hot, fit Daddy, and I wanted you to fuck me. You got me horned up on that bed. You had some magical hands.”
Now it was my turn to chuckle. Without giving too much thought to it, I blurted out “I’m happy to put you up at my place for a few days. As a friend.”
“That’s nice of you handsome,” Devon said, “I had planned to get an Airbnb, but I’m good staying with you if you’re okay with it. My massage appointments will be outcalls so no need to worry about guys coming to your house.”
My right hand slipped inside the front of my shorts and wrapped around my hard shaft. “Sounds good. I’ll be around next week. Text me when you’re coming. I gotta go buy a mask!”
He laughed, “Make it a blue one, Vinny. Match your eyes.”
“Will do stud,” I replied, now stroking my 7” cock. I ran two fingers over my slit and felt the sticky pre-cum. I wondered if Devon was jerking his 9” cut cock.
“Of course, the mask won’t be on for very long. I’m gonna win. You know that,” he said in a cocky tone.
“Yeah, right,” I replied, “I love taking down would-be alphas.”
After we hung up, I moved to the full length mirror in my primary bathroom. I pulled off my tank top and slipped out of my gym shorts. My cut cock was rock hard and glistening at the tip. I was 6’1 and 185 pounds. I was muscled and smooth all over except for the trimmed light brown hair in my pits and pubic area. I had short blonde hair with a sprinkling of silver and a silver goatee. I stared at my blue eyes and physique as I began to stroke my tool.
Then I closed my eyes and daydreamed about Devon. He was 35 years old and massive, standing at 6’4” and weighing 240 pounds. His smooth skin was a beautiful creamy brown color. He had 50” pecs and 20” biceps. He too kept his black pit hair cropped. His pubic area also sported 1st trimmed black hair, which made his big cut cock seem all the bigger. It was at least 9” as he had reminded me.
I imagined my face buried between Devon’s mountainous pecs. His hand gripped the back of my head and moved my lips to each of his large dark brown nips. I sucked greedily on them as the dominant masseur sighed. His big cock pressed against mine. Devon pushed downward on my head. My tongue lapped at his hard abs as I slid down onto my knees. He rubbed his cock against my cheeks and lips. I opened my mouth wide and he shoved the swollen head and shaft into my throat. My nose nestled against his thatch of black pubic hair. His masculine scent was overpowering. “UNGH! UNGH! UNGH!” I grunted opening my eyes to see my white hot juice shoot upwards, hitting my mirror as my body convulsed. I wanted Devon. I wanted him badly.
I knew the odds of my defeating him in our wrestling match were not high. But I had decent technical wrestling skills. Devon was obviously stronger than me but I was fairly certain he had little of my experience. Maybe that gave me an edge. If I won, I could unmask him and own his sweet hole once again.
* * * * *
After a quick shower, I headed to the Steel Gym—Palm Springs mecca for gay bodybuilders and their admirers—for a chest and biceps workout. No sooner did I turn left into the men’s locker room when I ran quite literally into a shirtless blonde muscle hunk. I knew him. Too well. His name was Bobby, and he had been one of the guys working on the remodel of my mid-century home.
As always, the cocky 20-something kid smirked, asking “How’s Daddy’s hole today?”
Bobby and another member of the contractor’s team—a Latino stud named Rico—had defeated me in a two-on-one wrestling match. Rico interfered just as Bobby was about to submit. Then the young studs had taken turns spit-roasting me on my mats. Rico had the longer cock but Bobby’s was thicker and stretched my hole wide open. (You can read about that encounter here).
Whenever I saw Bobby and Rico afterwards, they’d wink at me—letting me know I was their bitch. It pissed me off even though we’d had a hot time.
“You know you would have submitted to me if Rico hadn’t shown up,” I said.
“Yeah, Daddy….in your dreams,” the arrogant punk said. He stepped back and double bi-flexed, exposing his cropped dirty blonde pit hair. Bobby was shorter than me. While I’m 6’1”, he was 5’9” with a gymnast physique. He had wavy blonde curls and vivid blue eyes. He was smooth all over except for his pits and pubic area. He weighed about 175 pounds with a 48” chest and 19” biceps. I had about ten pounds on him with 46” pecs and 18” biceps.
Then I remembered Devon was coming next week. “Hey, I’d like a rematch with you.”
“So you can get fucked again,” he said with a snort.
“Nah, I just want to prove I can whip your ass before owning it. And bring Rico. I’m fine with no holds barred. He can even interfere again. I got plans.”
Bobby quirked an eyebrow. “Plans? Shit, man, the only plans you have are to be DP’d by Rico and me.”
“Next week. My place. I’ll text you. Bring it on fucker,” I said then pushed past the muscle stud in search of a locker.
(To be continued.)
