Edited and resubmitted to conform to explicit age listing (33/25).

TW: Exploring Straight Men, B&E, Sleep Play, CNC, Extreme Body Worship

A chance encounter of mine on an app today spiraled into some crazy-ass fantasies that I had to elaborate into the piece below. The first half is pretty much verbatim from our chat. With some light embellishment. But the descriptions of what happened after are expanded upon from what just remained our conversation. One can hope it comes to fruition.

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“Straight guy whisperer, huh?”

I’m a 33yo bi polyamorous married guy. I’d put that descriptor in my dating profiles recently, partially in a jovial sense of weeding out the dude-bros who didn’t know the difference between MFMs and MMFs and didn’t seek to cross swords in the heat of the moment with your friendly neighborhood bi couple.

But another part of me knew it could be effective in finding the guys that did—even without the lady love in the mix.

The guy was young, 25, a couple years removed from college. He didn’t have face photos—usually a turn-off. But in this case, he more than made up for it with a scruffy, stocky build that testified to hours in the gym or more than his fair share of weekends playing for the local rugby club in the park.

“Heh, only if straight guys want to be whispered to.”

The gambit paid off.

“Lol, my ears are open it must be working”

I grinned. This was going to be fun. I like tentatively exploring their boundaries, figuring out my new role in this give and take. I’m switchy as fuck, and my fluidity applied to dynamics as much as it did orientation. I opened with honesty. My MO.

“The way I usually see it, it takes a ton of balls to admit you want to play with some, the least I can do is try to make it a safe space for that that isn’t judgy or demanding like how the world can be for bi/curious dudes. Whether that’s you and I solo, or if with my wife if she shows interest.”

“Very true.”

The silence hung in the air. I imagined him tucked away in a classroom or library, nervous that someone might see him finally find an outlet with this complete stranger. The only way forward was to match this mental image with the confidence I imagine I have in these situations. The Bi swagger I’ve only seen in prestige TV or the openings to favorite late-night videos.

“When it comes to actually playing with curious guys, I’ve always been a fan of just having them enjoy my touch/oral all over. I love helping guys find new spots on their body they’re turned on by outside of just sucking dick. That’s too easy.”

Holy shit. Did I really say all that? I mean, I’m open with my kinks, but I don’t think I’ve communicated them to someone with that amount of confidence in my own skills. But here this Goliath was, taking me in. And my inner David, dominant as hell despite my size, was excited to take him down.

“And if the fascination strikes them to get handsy, give oral, or make out, I’m there to be a similar plaything. Outside of bottoming. Though I do like getting eaten out and humped. Pretty much anything outside of actual penetration.”

This is very fucking true. I’ve helped out quite a few straight guys experiment, and it’s ridiculous important to me that this all happen on their terms. If we’re easing into same-sex contact, I want them to feel worshipped, adored, that they’re an object of fascination.

Likewise, clinical as it can seem, I like being objectified in the same way. I wanna be that cock. That ass they can try out. That scruffy mouth they can put to use. I’m not going to judge them how they want to use me. I don’t come with the baggage of the outside world.

But with that mutual exploration comes that give and take. I, too, want to explore how they smell and taste all over. To show them that there’s more to their body than what’s between their legs. To show them the use of their pheromones and what frenzy can come of working up a sweat. And with that comes worshipping the man who’s allowing them to indulge themselves. If they’re going to try me out, they’re going to own it.

“Lol, you must have a great mouth if sucking dick is too easy.”

“My tongue has its uses.”

“I like that a lot.”

I send him a pic of my tongue, with some tasteful cock lingering in the background. Deliberately tantalizing, meeting his challenge.

“I’d like to see that blow bubbles. And blow in general lol.”

“I like how flexible the tip can be. Makes for precision accuracy.”

It’s said that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body, and I really enjoy putting that to the test. Mine can expand wide and flat to cover a broad area of flesh, or with a contraction can taper and flick to reach pinpoint areas of sensation. And with its gentle strength, it’s managed to burrow deep into the butts of many a guy who once steadfastly claimed they were only a top.

“Where’s your aim?”

I like where this is going. I push forward, eager to see my unexpected boldness rewarded.

“Lots of fun, pleasurable areas. I really like chests, nipples, pits, thighs (especially between legs and cock) and of course cock and ass. Oh, necks, too. Muscle worship is a kink of mine for sure.”

Pheromones. I fucking love them. I love feeling intoxicated by the people I’m tasting, taking in them entirely on multiple sensory levels.

“My dick jumped a little bit lol.”

Fuck. Really?

“Intrigued?”

I wasn’t going to let this go. Looking over his profile picture, I imagined the caress of that hair under my tongue, exploring this explorer.

“Lol you could say that.”

“I do like making a dick jump.”

“Mm tell me more.”

Here’s where imagination’s floodgates finally opened. A nascent kink in this whole journey of mine, in helping guys explore and own their bisexuality, is a light CNC sleep kink. That when asleep and freed from the struggles and pressures of the heteronormative world, their unconscious bodies respond to the joys and pleasures of whatever touch they have, freed from expectations of gender or identity.

But this consent has to be negotiated first. Even if they may not know the entirety of what pleasure I take.

In arranging a meetup, he agrees to leave his door unlocked. That I’ll come shortly after he settles into bed, completely nude, fresh from a shower, allowing that natural musk to settle in in the wake of freshening up. Plus, getting a numb tongue from deodorant isn’t definitely not recommended.

While many guys had been happy to explore with me, I hadn’t let anyone into this kink before. This would be as new to me as it was for him. So much so that, used to rejection or cold feet, I didn’t expect to be given an address. Or to arrive moments later. Or that the door would actually be unlocked.

But lo and behold…

The apartment is sparse. That kind of interior decor arrested development where you need to start buying your own furniture but also need to use your money to survive in other ways. A Walmart bookcase. A curbside couch. A TV bought on Black Friday. A brand new PS5. Go figure.
I tiptoe in, ready to be shooed away.

In the outer reaches of the living room, two doors. A kitchen. One door leads to a bathroom, still wafting steam, the mirror half-fogged. A discount foresty body wash aroma lingers, one that eagerly washed away any other impurities. Instructions have been followed.

The bedroom door is shut. I listen to see if there’s a tiptoe of regret or anticipation.

But instead, there’s that light snoring. Almost theatrical, beckoning me in. But actually…he does sound sound asleep. I have to look inside.

My jaw slackens.

His scent hits me as I can make out his outline in the half-light. He’s spread out on his bed, leg half wrapped in the duvet. It’s a field of muscle and fur, trimmed yet vast. His arms are above his head, biceps bulging. A flaccid cock dangles between his spread legs. A banquet.

I’m tentative at first. I strip down, matching his unabashed nudity with my own. I lie next to him, the heat from his body closing the centimeters-wide gulf between us.

A few guys have been eager to suck dick, but kissing a guy is far too gay. But fortune’s favored the bold so far today.

I start at his forehead, kissing the mussed part between his shoulder-length hair. No movement. I go further to his cheeks. A light moan. His lips part, revealing his teeth in a slight snore that seems to beckon and quiver for further attention.

My light kisses substitute nudges for waking him up, seeing how daring I can get with my mouth. And how awake he might get. But feeling his tongue slightly dart instinctively between my lips…my hunger grows.

I force my tongue into his mouth, finally answering how he tastes. Minty fresh and full of life. His spit quickly works up, lashing between our tongues as my hands start their first exploration of his carefully labored-upon body, the first hands that match his own in his life.

Somehow he’s not waking up, either truly lost in slumber and delirious pleasure, or surrendering to how amazing this is for us both. Tasting him is getting addictive. I lash my tongue across his cheeks and beard, feeling the stubble and faint aftershave electrify my taste buds. His neck is still wet from the shower, growing feverishly red as my attention makes its way across his nape and collarbone.

My hands finally reach his limp cock, starting to jerk with natural body responses from my ministrations on his top half. I fondle his balls, both pulsing orbs easily filling and spilling out of my hands.

By the time I reach his nipples, hidden under a tuft of chest hair, they’re already rock hard and at attention, as if straining to meet my tongue when it finally arrives. I greedily suckle at him, his breath growing labored, his chest heaving beneath me. His cock throbs with every flick of my tongue, finally thwacking my hand as if digging attention away from his sack to the organ that really mattered to him.

And then it hits me. His quivering arms waft that sweaty breeze to me, invisibly dragging me to his waiting biceps. And I find the area that matters most to me.

Diving into his pits gets me drunk on his musk almost instantaneously. I greedily drag my tongue across his sweat and muscle, exploring every fold of him. I release his throbbing cock to hold his far side, grinding my own pulsing member into his thigh. It feels eager to find what lies just underneath, but that will come later. I hump away at him like an errant dog, feasting on him. I could be happy with just this.

Until that inner David provokes some more thoughts.

Climbing up from his slick pits and bicep, I drag my cock across where my tongue once feverishly enjoyed itself before sandwiching his bicep on top of it, enjoying the craven pleasure of sticking my cock in a tight, wet, throbbing bit of muscle. After some driven thrusts, I’m coated in his sweat and my spit before pulling free. I can’t cum just yet.

As if anticipating what’s coming next, his mouth has widened further, revealing a tongue outstretched like a red carpet at a film premiere. Good boy. His first taste of me will include some of him as well.

I tuck my cock slowly into his mouth, dipping it tentatively until my mushroom head is enveloped by his lips. I’m surprised by an instinctual sucking, a lolling of his tongue that seems already eager to wipe the musk clean. His inner self was breaking free too. Enjoy the moment, man. You deserve it.

I break out of the trance to see how his cock has been seriously neglected, a fleshy tower begging for touch. Or taste.

I pull out of his mouth and see his tongue slowly creep out from his lips, like it was trying to grab it back. Smiling, I kiss my way down his belly, not quite chiseled with abs like a Hemsworth but a steadfast barrel gut that prioritized strength over looks. I finally arrive at his throbbing penis, whose strands of precum must match the drool that’s hanging from my hungry mouth.

Much like his nipples, I labor my tongue gently over his head, relishing the area where his frenulum meets his head and shaft. A weakness point in many dudes. The first audible groan of pleasure betrays his sleep—a primal release that shows my wife’s instruction in sucking cock has paid off once more. His balls taste divine in my mouth, as does that sweat-laden crevice linking his thigh with his groin.

It’s minutes, hours, I’m not sure. But somehow he never cums, just endlessly pulses in my mouth, eager to fill me up as much as I’m eager to claim him. But suddenly, he wrestles free of me and turns in his sleep, his most significant sign of agency yet. His back look etched from marble, shoulderblades jutting out from the massive mounds of muscle.

A trail of fur leads to his torso before rising into an impeccable, impeccable ass for a straight guy. The scruff gives way to two mountains of pure flesh, teasing the valley within. His legs contract beneath him, parting that center to reveal an untouched, quivering hole. I’m powerless to resist.

I mouth lightly at his hole before I get just as hungry as I was for the rest of him, my slobbering tongue alternating between broad, long licks with determined, pointed exploration. He naturally gives way, his entrance slowly caving to my attention until he naturally gapes, groaning in dreamland delight as he experiences what’s surely his first tongue-fucking.

I’m not sure if it’s because he’s asleep and more relaxed, but somehow it’s just so easy to tickle the inside of his ass with my tongue. I look down to see how his precum-laden member has already stained the sheets, coating them with evidence of how much he’s enjoyed my attention on a debased level.

Eventually I can’t resist. I have to know. I have to go further. And because of my endless eating you him out, there’s no more effective natural lube.

And then I heave backwards as he suddenly darts up. A beefy arm waves me away.

Shit. Too far. I’m caught. The end.

That’s what I get for fucking with straight dudes.

A bleary eye cracks open, revealing a stunning blue. He must feel all the spit and sweat coating him like some perverse afterbirth, revealing just how much I’ve reveled in his surrender.

He look back at his ass, a calloused hand caressing a cheek slightly. He jerks his head up.

Then sighs. Closes his eyes.

And drops back down.

While his hand, still on his butt cheek, parts his gaping hole even further.

A silent, eager, “if you must…” seems to linger in the air. A faint, dazed whimper escapes his lips.

Game the fuck on.

I slick up my cock with more spit and slowly work into him. A gutteral groan escapes his lips before settling into a muted murmur, enjoying the fuck out of whatever dream he must be having at this point. Or he’s more wide awake now than he’s ever been in his life, just surrendering to the experience. Finally full.

Pistoning my cock inside his gaping ass, I go back to the oral worship all over that I was going crazy over before. All the sensations between us are heightened as he feels my tongue everywhere, augmented as his prostate is pounded like crazy. I swear as my tongue touches his pits once more, his headlock feels less instinctual and more primal, craving how much I’m craving him.

It catches me by complete surprise, but even in all of these moments of losing control, this is the one that towers over them all. My hips are on autopilot as I finally bust inside of him, coating his insides with pearly white liquid. Making him even more slick than before. More than primed if I want to go another round.

But that can come later. Next time, if he so chooses.

Pulling away from his grasp, I see his slackjawed expression contorted with continued pleasure, craving my continued violation. The air is thick with testosterone and lust, unable to tell where his musk ends and mine begins. He’s a used, sweaty, cum-laden mess. And so am I. It’s unclear how much one of us has used the other.

His eyes part, taking me in. The guy he stumbled upon when he began an innocuous hunt for pussy on a threesome app. The man who’s shown him what more to life there can be. And his expression pleads for release. And I give it to him.

Within moments of jerking his throbbing cock, he explodes, his geyser of cum mixing with the slick remnants of my fun on his chest. He bucks uncontrollably, his scream of release echoing across the cramped confines of his cheap-ass apartment.

He passes out. I don’t blame him. It’s taking all of my energy to not do the same.

I gather my clothes, thinking about stepping into the shower to rinse off, but think twice. This musk is a badge of honor to wear on the way home.

By the time I pull into my driveway, I see there’s a new notification from him. It’s a snap of his furry chest, once more covered with cum. The mirror hanging from his distant closet door reveals, if I squint, a few fingers lightly probing his used hole.

He’s had a taste.

And so have I.

And neither of us can wait to have more.