When I think about all the men and women I’ve had sex with, the ones from when I traveled for work were the most kinky.
I traveled to Grand Junction for one year, one week a month. I met two different men there. The first was about 10 years younger than me; his name was Peter. I met Peter on a gay website.
We hit it off right from the start. He liked older men, and at the time I liked younger men. Peter was gay; I am bisexual. Peter was a top; I preferred to bottom. He was into cars, which is what my profession is, I was a teacher and trainer.
The first time we got together, we talked and had a beer at his house. We mostly talked about cars. When I asked what he did for work, he said he was currently unemployed due to having had a recent operation—six months ago—for prostate cancer.
After hearing that, I wondered how he could perform sexually. His story continued: he had an implant in his penis. It consisted of a pump installed in his groin. I was very interested in how that worked. He said he would show me after I showered and cleaned up, as he intended to fuck me.
Watching his penis grow into a cock was such a thrilling, almost surreal moment—watching it happen right in front of me. One second it’s soft; the next it’s rock-hard and ready, literally on command.
There was something incredibly erotic about that kind of control and transformation, especially knowing the backstory of his surgery and recovery. It turns what could have been a vulnerability into this powerful, almost mechanical dominance.
The anticipation building in me as I watched him pump it up—the click or squeeze of the mechanism, the way his cock swelled and stiffened so quickly, veins popping, head flaring—was intense.
And then the shift in energy once it was fully erect: he knew exactly what he wanted to do with it, while I was already cleaned out and eager to take it.
He let me feel it—super rigid. That close-up view, watching it transform right in front of my face, was truly mesmerizing. One moment it’s soft and unassuming; the next it’s this thick, rigid, tough cock staring me down, ready for action.
I didn’t hesitate; I went straight in, taking that freshly pumped, beautiful cock into my mouth.
If you can picture it: me on my knees, leaning in close, lips wrapping around the head, tasting him while he’s at peak hardness—no gradual buildup, just instant full erection.
That implant made it feel different too: unnaturally firm, almost steel-like, with no give at all as I sucked deeper. I couldn’t feel the subtle mechanics under the skin. He groaned and guided my head as I started sucking his cock.
He just let me worship it for a while, enjoying the sight of an older guy eagerly servicing his surgically enhanced cock.
Then he pulled me off his dick and bent me over right away—no more foreplay; he couldn’t wait to bury that rock-hard cock deep inside my tight bottom.
That pause after he plunged in—straight and deep, no hesitation, just that initial stretch filling me—was exquisite. I felt every rigid inch of that pumped-up cock buried to the hilt, unyielding and mechanical, while he held still, letting my hole clench and relax around him.
The whispers in my ear, his breath hot against my skin: “I can go as long as you want… although I can’t cum, I do feel an orgasm.” God, that’s pure dominance wrapped in generosity.
With that implant, he wasn’t bluffing—he could literally keep going for hours if he wanted, no fatigue, no softening, just endless, tireless thrusting tailored to my rhythm and moans.
The knowledge that he was in total control of his hardness meant I could lose myself in it, begging for more without worry. He started slow at first, grinding deep, flexing his hard shaft to let me feel that unnatural firmness pressing against every sensitive spot. The pressure on my prostate was intense; he filled my anal canal.
That slow, deep rhythm—alternating long, deliberate strokes with those grinding circles—was absolute torture in the best way. Every time he pulled back just enough to make me feel empty, then slid all the way home again, that unyielding hardness dragged across my prostate without mercy.
Hours of it. No rush, no softening, just relentless pressure building and building, like he was slowly winding a spring inside me tighter and tighter.
My body was trembling under him, sweat-slick skin sliding together, my breath coming in ragged gasps while he stayed calm and controlled, fucking from behind, hips rolling with perfect precision.
Every grind rubbed that rigid head right over that spot, sending sparks up my spine. I was leaking a steady flow onto the towel beneath me. He knew exactly what he was doing—using that implant like a tool to edge me mercilessly, keeping me right on the brink without ever letting me tip over too soon.
And the whole time, he murmured filthy encouragement: how good I felt clenching around him, how much he loved watching and hearing me fall apart, what my hole looked like stretched around his hard cock, how he could do this all night if I let him.
That constant stimulation, no break, no softening to give me a moment’s relief—just wave after wave of pleasure stacking higher and higher until my whole body was shaking with it.
I think I was very vocal—moaning and softly screaming.
When my orgasm finally hit, it crashed through me like a dam breaking. I was squirting cum all over the sheet under me, my face, and chest. I could feel him trembling and hear him moan.
Full-body, prostate-milking intensity, coming untouched while he kept grinding deep, drawing it out until I was gasping and oversensitive. He slowed even more right at the peak, holding me there, making me feel every pulse around that steel-hard cock.
He rested for a few minutes, just flexing his cock, not pulling out, letting me catch my breath. He asked if I was okay, if I wanted to continue. I just nodded and whispered yes.
He started moving again—slow, deliberate rolls of his hips, even gentler than before now that I was so sensitive, but never stopping. Each grind dragged that rigid length across my prostate with devastating precision, building that pressure again almost immediately.
My body, still quaking from the first orgasm, responded helplessly—my hips trying to push back, then pull away, caught between too much and not enough. I felt like my hole was in constant spasms, clenching and squeezing his cock.
His hand slid down my stomach; he felt my limp cock still dripping cum and pressed lightly just above where he was buried inside, feeling himself there. “Right here,” he whispered, “all 6 hard inches inside you.”
“Feel me owning every inch of you. Gonna keep you right on this edge again… gonna make you beg for it this time.”
The rhythm built gradually; he was torturously patient, his calm control wrapping around me. I could feel the heat of his body. I was already making those broken sounds again—whimpers turning into moans, hands fisting in the sheets as he slowly, relentlessly started winding that spring tighter once more.
“All night, baby,” he promised, whispering, teeth grazing the skin there. “We’ve got all night.”
My second orgasm tore through even harder than the first—no warning, no touch. My cock was limp but steadily dripping cum; his slow grind pushed me over the edge again.
I cried out, back arching sharply, body clenching and pulsing around him, milking him in helpless waves while spilling onto the already-soaked towel beneath.
The pleasure was almost too intense, bordering on overwhelming; it left me shaking and gasping, vision blurring at the edges.
He rode it out, hips rolling in those same deliberate circles, drawing every last shudder from my body until I was limp and oversensitive, whimpering with each tiny movement.
Only then did he finally ease back, pulling out slowly, inch by inch, letting me feel the drag of that still-rigid length, leaving that empty feeling and clenching around nothing.
A soft, broken sound escaped my throat at the loss. He groaned quietly from behind (the first real crack in his composure all night), but he didn’t come, although he did orgasm twice. That implant kept him hard, flushed, and glistening from my release, but he stayed in perfect control.
He gathered me up gently, turning us onto our sides and pulling me up against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around my groin, gripping my cock and balls in one hand, while the other stroked my hair. His still-hard erection was planted firmly between my butt cheeks.
I felt like liquid—heavy and boneless, heart still racing as the aftershocks rippled through me.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice low and warm now, all that commanding edge softened into something tender. He pressed his lips to my damp temple. “That was… fuck, that was beautiful. You came twice for me, untouched. Took everything I gave you and begged for more with every sound you made.”
A weak laugh from me, breathless and hoarse. “I’m… wrecked. In the best way.”
He hummed, fingers tracing idle patterns on my skin. “You were perfect. So responsive. So fucking gorgeous falling apart like that.”
A pause, then quieter, almost hesitant: “I’d like to see you again—tomorrow, if you’re up for it, at the same time. I want more of you… If you want that too.”
I turned just enough to meet his eyes (steady, intense, but softened with genuine care). He kissed me, his tongue exploring, battling with mine. Despite the exhaustion pulling at every limb, the answer was easy.
“Yes,” I whispered, voice raw. “God, yes. Tomorrow.”
His smile was slow, satisfied, and just a little predatory. He leaned in and kissed me again properly this time, deep and lingering, tasting the salt of sweat on my lips.
“Good,” he said against my mouth. “Rest now. You’ll need it.”
