I rode to our prearranged meeting spot and put my bike in the woods. I only had to wait a short while before Papa Bear pulled up. I admired him as I hopped in and buckled up. His thick salt and pepper beard poured over the top of his once-white shirt. His thick chest hair curled over the neckline and mixed with his beard. His eyes were covered by the brim of his cap, embroidered with the same logo as the ocean of cans that covered the floor of the cab. He drove us through the neighborhood, back onto an empty lot dotted with construction materials and a lone portapotty. I hopped out of his truck. He pushed me ahead of him, a large paw on my lower back, and into the bathroom. The moment the door closed we were on each other.
After some messy tongue kissing, he got what he really wanted—my thick bone fucking his bushy, bearded face. He’d been working on this construction site earlier today and now he was back—on his knees in front of me, hungrily working on my cock. “Fuckkk…”
I could feel him hungrily move his way down my cock. I was leaning against the urinal side of the portapotty, jeans around my knees, jockstrap not too far from them. I could feel his strong working hands slide behind me as he began to play with my ass. I pushed my hips forward and thrust my cock deeper into his greedy, tight throat; held it there to let him feel me pulse and twitch. I let him revel in my bush of musky pubes. “Mmn…god—” was all I could really let out, as I began pumping my hips back and forth.
How needy someone could be for cock—like it was something they needed to live, or without a load of hot spunk in their throat they’d die—was always hot to me. And who was I to deny Papa Bear his wish? I could tell I was close by the way he worked his mouth on my shaft. All our activity had left a thick aroma of sweat, work musk, and pure, filthy stink. My cock pushed deeper as Papa Bear gagged harshly. I held his head there as each thick rope of my cum shot into the back of his throat. Papa Bear didn’t let a single drop go to waste. I slowly slid my cock out of his muzzle. I watched the trail of drool and cum drip down from my cock onto his bearded face. Papa Bear slowly stood, then planted his lips against mine. Our tongues wrestled as he fed me my own load. My stiff cock pressed against his plump stomach. We traded cum and spit like the raunchy pigs we were. I huffed against him sharply, inhaling his musk.
I pushed Papa Bear back onto the toilet seat and lifted up his arms. He presented me with his damp, yellowing, pit-stained work shirt. I excitedly dug in. I wanted his bear stink to stain my nose, as much as mine did his. I could smell my own cock, musk, and cum on his face and breath when we kissed. Now with me seated on his lap, the stink enveloped us and filled the air. I pushed his shirt up to expose his belly and chest. In his carpet of fur, a tribal sun tattoo was visible around his left nipple. His right nip was pierced with a modest captive bead ing. I drug my face – mouth open, tongue out – across his pelt before I busied myself cleaning Papa Bear’s pits like a good, piggy mutt.
Papa Bear started to work his hips––I felt his cock swell and stiffen beneath me.
Before he could get too into the motion I moved off him and got to the floor. Comfortably situated between his legs I got to admire my jackpot for the first time. His beer can cock stood firm with a thick roll of foreskin over the head. I didn’t hesitate as I slid my mouth over his cock. I wrapped my lips around the shaft, just below the ridge of the head, and worked my tongue into his foreskin. I slid my tongue over the ridges of his fat cock head first. Then I worked my tongue around the inside of his foreskin cleaning Papa Bear thoroughly. There’s nothing like a working man who doesn’t shower often –– not everyday but enough to leave me a treat. He was leaking precum like a faucet. When I looked up we locked eyes for the first time. The look he gave me…Papa Bear was hungry. He was past close and I wanted to make sure his cock pumped all his seed into my hungry maw. I worked his shaft and head until one heavy paw came down on my head. He shot a thick mouthful across my tongue, his shaft pulsing with each pump. Once he was done flooding my mouth I got up, then leaned into him to share my bounty. I pushed his cap back off his brow and kissed him, full-on. Cum dripped from our jaws, lips, and mouths as we lapped at each other like parched hounds. The fur on both of our jaws and necks was thoroughly matted with a sheen of sweat, spit, and errant globs of our combined loads. We ground against each other, smearing our slime across our chests and into our already damp shirts.
We stayed there, partially glued together, for a while. Our heavy breathing slowed to normal as we lazily untangled ourselves. Once we’d managed to redress and compose ourselves in the confined space, I opened the door and stumbled out backwards. The damp fog of our combined musks wafted into the cool, dusk night, and I watched the record of our activity dissipate.
Papa Bear drove me out of the development, back to our pull-off rendezvous spot. We said our goodbyes and agreed that a round two was warranted. I retrieved my bike from where I’d stashed it hours ago as Papa Bear pulled away and drove off. I steadied myself on my bike, and finally considered just how I was gonna make it to my room without anyone noticing that I was completely damp from nose to tail, the smell of sex and musk all over me.
“You dirty dog,” I said proudly to myself, “you stink like a bathhouse.” Just then, the first fat drops of an evening rain exploded on the asphalt ahead of me. I started the short ride home, grateful for the last minute reprieve as the rain increased to a steady shower.
Papa Bear drove me out of the development, back to our pull-off rendezvous spot. We said ourgoodbyes—and agreed that a round two was warranted—and I retrieved my bike from where I’d stashed it hours ago as Papa Bear pulled away and drove off. I steadied myself on my bike, and finally considered just how I was gonna make it to my room without anyone noticing that I was completely damp from nose to tail––let alone smell me. “You dirty dog,” I said proudly to myself, “you stink like a bathhouse.” Just then, the first fat drops of an evening rain exploded on the asphalt ahead of me. I started the short ride home, grateful for the last minute reprieve as the rain increased to a steady shower.
I got back down the road, wetter from rain than sweat. I got my bike back into the garage and slid in the back door. I closed the sliding glass door softly. It seemed that the only person left up was my grandpa. He was “up” in the sense that he had passed out watching WWE in the recliner.
Quietly I slipped by and worked my way down the hallway. Once into my room, I got more comfortable and dried off. I pulled a pair of boxers from my hamper, slid into bed, and used the lingering aroma of our musk still in my nose to bust out one last load before I drifted off.
Author: Mutt
Artwork – Mosirisart