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Shadow Dancing
by Marc Lynx © 2002
I felt a touch on my shoulder, followed by a
nudge in the direction of the dance floor and a “Would
you like to dance?”
“It’s a Shadow,” I said.
“I know. I’ll lead.”
If you know country-western dancing, Shadow is
a kind of two-step done with the lead’s front held tight
against the follow’s back. So doing a Shadow on some
level means one person grinding his crotch against the other’s
butt for three and a half minutes.
This guy, with his cowboy hat, hot beard, and
captivating smile, he could have three and a half hours.
So we danced.
One hour, eight dances, three beers apiece, and
two “Get a room” comments from my buddies, we left
the bar.
“My place or yours?” he asked, and
quickly added “I live about 20 miles out of town. Quiet,
no neighbors close by.”
“I don’t have a car, but if you can
bring me back in the morning...?”
We were soon in his truck — not some “metro
redneck” city boy mini-pickup, but a real full-sized truck,
clean yet clearly used for more than tooling to the bar and back. Before
we even got out of the parking lot, he pulled me over next to
him, to the center of the six-foot wide seat, and wrapped a big
furry arm around me. By the time we got onto the highway,
he had my shirt open and a hand inside, rummaging through my
chest hair, tugging at my nipples. Since I made all the
right noises, he played a little harder.
My dick was battling with the truck’s stick
shift as the hardest thing in that cab. Or so I thought
until I reached over and felt his steel rod. It was a good
eight inches long — from the tip of my thumb to the end
of my outstretched index finger — and it felt like a match
for my own in thickness, the sort people compare to beer cans
but really are only about as big around as a wrist, which is
plenty big enough.
After a moment or two, though, he pushed my hand
away and pulled over onto the shoulder. I wondered what
I had done wrong. Had he changed his mind?
“Are you really up for this?” he asked.
“I don’t... yeah, I guess. Up
for just what?”
“Take off your shirt.”
I looked at him for a second. “Okay,” I
said, and undid the buttons. He didn’t make a move
toward my chest this time, though.
“And the boots. Socks, too.” I
removed them.
“Now the Levis.”
I looked at him with a “You’re crazy” expression,
but as soon as I said it, he grabbed my chin and dragged my face
toward him. I didn’t even think to bite as his fingers
dug into my cheeks.
“If you’re going to be my boy tonight,
you’re going to be butt-naked in this truck, and you’re
going to stay that way until we come back to the city. Or I can
take you back to the bar right now. Comprende?”
I nodded, looking up at him.
“Well...?” he said, letting go of
my jaw.
So my jeans came off, and got folded and stacked
with my shirt and boots. And we drove on into the night,
me bare-ass and him clothed. Except for his dick, which
he took out of his pants and then shoved my face down into his
lap while he drove.
“Don’t suck it, boy,” he said. “I’ve
got to drive safely. But keep your mouth on it and keep
it hard. We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
It was a beautiful night when we got to his place,
warm enough to not cause me any discomfort when we got out of
the truck.
“Just leave your clothes on the seat. No
neighbors to see us, and it wouldn’t matter if they did,
would it?”
“No, sir.”
“Good boy. You can put your boots
on, though.”
As we walked toward the house, the gravel crunching
beneath our boots, the full moon cast shadows behind us, dancing
by themselves.
“Nice moon,” I said.
“Sure is,” came his reply from a few
steps behind me. It was quickly followed by a bare-handed
slap to my ass. I didn’t jump, but instead pushed
back against his hand.
At the porch, he sat in a low-slung chair and
slouched down, spreading his legs. His dick, softened ever so slightly,
still hung from his open pants. I stared at it, and at
him, but stood a could feet away, hands in the small of my back.
“Well?” he said. Permission
granted, it seemed.
I got down on my knees between his legs and
went for his dick,
only to get slapped away.
“The boots, boy.”
Embarrassed, I moved down to his feet and started
working the boots off with my hands.
He cleared his throat.
Sometimes I’m slow, but not clueless. He sighed at
the feel of my tongue against the boot. Cowboy boots and
their thinner leather seem to transmit those subtleties really
well.
A couple minutes on the right boot, and he started
to push it off by bracing it against the other. I assisted,
set it gently aside with one last lick and long sniff at the
leather, and then
repeated with the other boot: toe to haft, around one side and
then the other, rubbing the haft and the leg it encased with
the side of my head, and then repeat, several times, with variations.
Once the second boot stood next to the first,
he undid the buckle on his pants, and while I pulled them off,
he opened up his shirt. I
had already felt the width of his chest and the fur it carried
at the bar, but it got no complaints from me being revealed like
this, with me on my knees between his legs, his pants halfway
off in my hands. His belly was nearly as furry, nicely
shaped with just the right amount of tummy. It was a real belly;
I prefer my six-packs to have beer involved. Speaking of
beer, though...
“Do you gotta piss?” he asked. “Better
do it now, ‘cause
once I start in on you, I’m not stopping for something like that.”
He stood up and hefted one of his legs over my
head, giving me a glance (and a sniff) at what lay between, and
then went to
the edge of the porch. He concentrated for a moment and
then I heard his piss start to go.
“Well, come on, boy.”
I scurried over the stand next to him and concentrated,
forcing my bladder to release through my hard dick. It took a few seconds,
but finally started to dribble, and then to stream. Just
as the stream really started to gush, and as his was tapering
off, he stuck his hand down in to my stream and squeezed the
head of my dick. Then he brought his dripping hand up and
rubbed it on my beard and my lips, forcing inside my mouth. I
slurped at his fingers greedily.
“Guess I shouldn’t have wasted all of mine,” he said. “Oh
well, that’s the advantage of beer piss: there’s always more to come.”
He
returned to the chair, and pulled me down between his legs, letting me
go to town on his dick. I had been after this
since that first crotch-to-ass contact back at the bar, and now
I got to do my own up close and personal dance with his meat. I
licked its length up one side, across the tip, pausing to work
my tongue into the piss slit, and down the other side. I nuzzled
my face in his balls, and then licked my way back up to the tip
with short, brief, almost dry licks. Once I got there,
I plunged down over the top.
With just the thick head inside, I swirled my
tongue around and around it, tracing the ridge. A little
further down, and I was still able to move my tongue back and
forth on the underside of his dick. I felt his hand on the
back of my head, not really pushing my head down, but encouraging
me, running his fingers through my hair and massaging my upper
neck. So I went deeper, and deeper still. When I reached
the limit, I pulled back a little, took a deep breath, and went
back to it. A little force and he went further in, and my
nose went all the way down. As I paused, my eyes watering,
I swallowed, milking his dick with my throat, trying my best to
screw him deeper into my throat. As my air ran out, I had
to let up, but I quickly took another breath and repeated.
Up and down, in and out, squeeze and swallow. Over and
over, with one of his hands or the other on my head all the time,
always getting a little more insistent. And down between my legs,
I had one hand on my own dick, stroking hard. Every couple
minutes, I would use that hand to wipe off some of the spit and
dick slime dripping through my beard, using it for the world’s
best lube.
When his second hand joined the first, I knew
what was coming: him.
“You want this load, boy? You want this real bad?”
I rolled my eyes up at him, nodding and gurgling
a muffled “Yes
sir.”
“You want it, you want it, you want it...” His
question became a mantra, as he held my head down on his dick,
so that all I could do was twitch
a little from side to side and sort of swallow.
I pushed my head and his hands up enough to get
some air, and he started a new croon: “Yeah! Yeah boy! Boy! Oh,
oh, oh!”
His legs tensed and quivered next to me, and
his dick started to shoot off in my mouth. I caught one
spurt, then another, but then lost the fight against his hands
as he shoved my face
back down on his dick, and his dick back down my throat.
He let me go after a minute or so, and I pulled
off, rocking back on my haunches and then flat onto my ass
on the porch,
fighting for air. His cum dripped down my chin and into my beard,
which was already soaked with slimy spit lube. I swept
up what I could with my tongue, and then pulled my hand through
the rest of it. A long sniff and a slurp taste of some
of it, and then I used the rest as lube on my still hard cock.
“No you don’t,” he said, still panting heavily, and then heaved
himself up out of the chair. You don’t get to come yet. I’m
not done with you. Sit.”
So I took his position in the chair — damp with his sweat
from the past few minutes, and he got down in front of me. He
took a few licks at my dick, and then buried his face in my lap. As
his sucked and slurped, he scooted me down into a deeper slouch,
propping each calf up on the wide arms of the chair. Releasing
my dick, he then went after my balls, alternating between one
and the other, not quite managing to get both in his mouth at
once. Once hand stayed clamped around my dick
root, while the other went for my chest, pulling at
my nipples.
After a bit, he moved further down. Rolling my body further,
he nuzzled his nose under my balls and then just dove into my
hole face first. He initially kept his tongue wide, laying
down heavy tracks of spit, coating everything around, brushing
his beard all through my crack and over my lower thighs, abrading
them slightly with the coarse hair. Then he narrowed
his tongue again and took aim at his target, burrowing
in, pulling
back, then returning at another angle.
He let go of my dick with the one hand, but clamped
the other in a ring around my balls, pulling them up,
away
from his
face, and squeezing, too. He used the other hand
to work into my crack, separating the cheeks to give
his mouth easier access.
I swear, I was in heaven. Laying there on my back, holding
my legs to the sky, with the hunkiest of men lapping at my butt. And
I swear, he was humming as he did so. Probably
a country song, but whatever it was, it made my hole
positively vibrate.
He pulled his head away, and I gasped as the
cool night air rushed in against the wet flesh. But he replaced his tongue with
the thumb of his free hand.
“Yum,” he said, and used his thumb to caress the inside of my hole,
moving it around in a circular way, widening and stretching things.
“I’ll say,” I replied.
“You can beat off while I do this, if you want,” he offered. But
I knew it wasn’t an offer so much as a request. So I released one
of my thighs — I had been holding them up and apart to give him all the
access I could, and wrapped my hand around my drooling dick. After a couple
strokes, though, I could tell the lube had dried out, so I spat in my hand. After
I lubed my dick for another couple strokes, he pulled my hand away and added
his own spit to my palm. Now I had plenty.
He watched as I stroked up and down, staring
right back into his eyes. He replaced his thumb with one thick finger,
and then a second. When he pulled them out, he released
my balls with the other, used both hands to separate my cheeks,
and then I lost view of all but the top of his head and the expanse
of his back beyond it. But my ass didn’t
lose its view of him.
He slobbered up and down, in and out, and added
a finger or two alongside his tongue. My orgasm was getting closer, and
I clenched my thighs tight on the side of his head. Pushing
his way back, he put his fingers back in my butt.
“Come on, boy. Beat off for me!”
A third finger slipped in, and out, and in.
“Do it for me, boy. Come on, cum for me!”
I clenched my ass hard on his fingers, which
only encouraged him to use them to fuck them in and out of
my ass that much harder. He
leaned forward and spat onto his hand and my
hole.
My breathing got shallower and faster. “Oh, oh, oh,
sir. I’m... I’m going to cum!”
“Not yet, boy!” And he pulled
all three fingers out of my ass, leaving me spasming.
He spat on his fingers again, and reinserted
them. Four of them,
this time.
“Now you can come.”
“Ah, man!” I squealed. My voice completely left me, with nothing
but barks and squeaks coming out of my mouth, and cum coming out of my dick. I
gripped hard and strained all my muscles for a few seconds, and then let it fly,
splattering myself in the face with one big rope of cum. A
second one hit somewhere above my navel, a third a little
below that, and then I was reduced
to just dribbles as he slid his fingers out of me.
A few minutes later, I was standing on the edge
of the porch, looking at the moon and what I could see
of his property, and acre or so and with a line of trees
a hundred
feet
away. I
sensed him coming up from behind me.
“So I have to get you back in the morning,” he said. “Saturday
morning, or should I tie you up to make you stay until Sunday?”
“If you’re going to tie me up, I might not make it out of here until
Monday morning!”
“Sounds good to me, boy.”
He was standing just behind me, his crotch next
to my ass, his hard cock bumping itself against my buttcheek. Then I heard
the rip of a foil packet and the squirt of a tube of lube, and
then felt the cool lube against my butt, mixing with the spit
that was still lingering there.
“But for the moment, would you like to...”
“I’d love to dance,” I said, pushing my ass back against his
sheathed dick. “It’s a Shadow.”
“I know. I’ll lead.”
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