Very conveniently along the route of my morning run there is a certain path before the riverside track continues under a bridge, where I can ascend out of the dark to a street-lit thoroughfare, across from which stands a building and if I type the code and a hash, I gain entry and take the lift to the 8th floor where, turning right, I find door number 25 which is a storage cupboard 2/3 in height and narrow like Alice entering wonderland. I open the door and in a shallow cupboard, there sits on an upturned bucket a man in a baseball hat to cover his face below me. With legs akimbo and his head at trouser height, i place my feet inside his. Closing the door behind me to total darkness, he lowers my running shorts and wraps his hot moist mouth round my cold runner’s dick. I clutch the wall behind him to keep me upright as i lean into his mouth and I stiffen inside his greedy mouth. The face fucking gets more and more intense. On winter mornings I have to unzip my running jacket against the growing heat and smell of two sweaty men in a confined space – I lift my tee shirt to play with my nipple, one hand still supporting me on the wall in front. I sometimes grab the back of his head pressing it inward and feel the barber’s fade at the back of his head and hearing him choke and gasp till i let go. He knows sucking or holding my balls, perhaps his hand on my taint are the switch for me reaching the PONR. I blow. He cleans me up, every drop of jiz. I tuck my swollen spent dick in my shorts and leave the cupboard, not one word spoken between us. Within minutes I’m back on the path along the river, having re-started my Strava so as not to affect my timings or cadence statistics, even with wobbly knees.
This is a community service well respected and admired. He offers a glory hole during the day, and many a time, he’s texted later in the morning to see if i have time again as he didn’t feel i was fully drained at 6:30am. This level of concern is typical of this eager soul, and i will return at morning tea, or even lunch or sometimes in the evening. If his flat ate is on a shift, he will invite me into his apartment where, in silence i mount the stair and find the second bedroom on the left has a black sheet across the door with a hole cut in it at cock height. I think his other visitors must be slightly taller, as i have to tip toe at times bracing myself against the doorframe which only heightens the pleasure as his hot moist mouth gobbles my dick in slippery welcum. If I see him the street, we say hello like old friends and have a wee chat, but when i visit to deliver a load, we dont talk at all. BoB
Very conveniently along the route of my morning run there is a certain path before the riverside track continues under a bridge, where I can ascend out of the dark to a street-lit thoroughfare, across from which stands a building and if I type the code and a hash, I gain entry and take the lift to the 8th floor where, turning right, I find door number 25 which is a storage cupboard 2/3 in height and narrow like Alice entering wonderland. I open the door and in a shallow cupboard, there sits on an upturned bucket a man in a baseball hat to cover his face below me. With legs akimbo and his head at trouser height, i place my feet inside his. Closing the door behind me to total darkness, he lowers my running shorts and wraps his hot moist mouth round my cold runner’s dick. I clutch the wall behind him to keep me upright as i lean into his mouth and I stiffen inside his greedy mouth. The face fucking gets more and more intense. On winter mornings I have to unzip my running jacket against the growing heat and smell of two sweaty men in a confined space – I lift my tee shirt to play with my nipple, one hand still supporting me on the wall in front. I sometimes grab the back of his head pressing it inward and feel the barber’s fade at the back of his head and hearing him choke and gasp till i let go. He knows sucking or holding my balls, perhaps his hand on my taint are the switch for me reaching the PONR. I blow. He cleans me up, every drop of jiz. I tuck my swollen spent dick in my shorts and leave the cupboard, not one word spoken between us. Within minutes I’m back on the path along the river, having re-started my Strava so as not to affect my timings or cadence statistics, even with wobbly knees.
This is a community service well respected and admired. He offers a glory hole during the day, and many a time, he’s texted later in the morning to see if i have time again as he didn’t feel i was fully drained at 6:30am. This level of concern is typical of this eager soul, and i will return at morning tea, or even lunch or sometimes in the evening. If his flat ate is on a shift, he will invite me into his apartment where, in silence i mount the stair and find the second bedroom on the left has a black sheet across the door with a hole cut in it at cock height. I think his other visitors must be slightly taller, as i have to tip toe at times bracing myself against the doorframe which only heightens the pleasure as his hot moist mouth gobbles my dick in slippery welcum. If I see him the street, we say hello like old friends and have a wee chat, but when i visit to deliver a load, we dont talk at all.