A September Entry in the Harem

Stephen reminds me of a giraffe: tall, long-limbed, wide-eyed, and sooty-lashed. He evens walks like one, generous strides made in a leisurely, nimble-footed gait while I have to break into a near-run to keep up. He rumbles rather than speaks, his voice never rising above the lowest note I can personally manage, and talks in dry, restrained asides, like he’s always joking to himself. Pale-skinned, pale-eyed, pale-haired—he’s as white as they come. He’s a funny, strange man. (But fit! Always fit for me it seems.)

His pert, red mouth flushes prettily after going down on me and parts open with still more longing when I press the crotch of my worn underwear to his face. He gives a full body shudder then, slowly rocking back and forth as if he cannot quite believe that this is happening to him. Neither can I. The laugh that bubbled up in my throat as he told the things he wanted me to do him, good god! Such vivid, painstakingly crafted images described from one pervert to another: this blue-eyed, blonde-haired man kneeling in the corner, wrists bound behind his back, a deep black gag between his lips, and an intricate chastity cage holding his 7” cock in place, quite spellbound by the sight of me writhing in his bed with another man. He’s an interesting one, for sure.

He already has a longterm girlfriend who’s currently toiling away somewhere on the West Coast so while circumstances keep them apart, I’m free to explore with him entirely new fields of sexual deviancy: voyeurism, cuckoldry, bondage, etc. There’s an endless amount of speculative discussions about our potential late at night; hopefully he’ll stick around long enough for me to tick a few more things off my bucket list. I rather enjoy his debauched ways.