Thirty-Year Anniversary

[Requested by dmmc]

The young black bull was seated on the bench press in the dim light of the after-hours gym, back pressed to the reclining back support, hands gripping the narrow hips of the smaller, older man flexibly draped above him, facing away from him, and pulling the thin, wiry frame of the sub off and on his monster cock. Who would have known, the black bull wondered, that such a small frame, with such narrow hips, could sheath such a long, thick cock? Or sheath it so willingly, expertly. And open right up for him.

"I call this the figurehead fuck position," Damont said in a gravelly voice, as he grunted at the effort to pull the older, but in-great-shape man's ass on and off the cock. The guy had been fully submissive, eyes downcast, a slight smile on his face when Damont had tried out innuendo and then moved to suggestive comments, and, finally, to a direct statement that Damont was going to fuck him. The man had signaled yes to everything. And he'd opened his small ass right up to take the cock.

"Not many can do this. Such a small body and yet I can get deep inside you. You're remarkably flexible for your age. How old did you say you were?"

"Thirty-five," Aaron, small, hirsute, but perfectly proportioned of stature, answered with a groan. "Oh God, oh Jesuzzz, you're so big, so long. Deep, shit you're giving it to me deep."

"I could pull back if—" Damont, a massively built black bull of twenty-two, the gym's trainer, answered with slight concern. He was still in awe at how well and hungrily the man had taken the cock.

"No, no, keep at it. Deeper, bigger," came back the answer in a whimper. "I can take it."

Amazingly, Damont Jefferson, realized, Mr. Stein could take it. No one before had been able to take this position this long. Aaron's ankles were hooked on Damont's shoulders, the flexible small Jew's fists were locked behind the black bull's thick neck. Aaron's tautly arched torso was cantilevered out over the end of the bench. And he was moving his pelvis, pushing back on Damont's thrusts to take more of the big black inside him with each stroke.

It was the fourth night Aaron Stein had come into the gym to work out until closing. Damont had picked him out of the crowd early because of the flexibility the man was showing—particularly for his age. Damont had guessed twenty-eight and thus was shocked to find, in the throes of a difficult fuck position, that Stein was thirty-five.

Damont didn't have that flexibility, although he had agility and grace for a man his size. He was a powerhouse of muscle, a walking advertisement for the gym and how it could develop a man's body—every muscle group bulging perfectly. But Damont liked complex fuck positions. From the first night Stein had come into the gym, Damont had had fantasies of bending the man into the shape of a pretzel and fucking the stuffing out of him. The small, but perfectly shaped man with the fascinating swirls of curly black hair on his body wasn't more than half Damont's size—in bulk and weight. Damont liked his submissives small and vulnerable to his strength and overpowering control.

They usually showed fear, though. This one was fearless—hungry to be used hard.

Stein had returned the looks and remarked more than once what a magnificent brute the black bull was, and so, when they were nearing the end of the fourth night exercise session, Damont boldly came over to Aaron and asked if the older man was interested in private one-on-one training after the gym closed. He was pleased when Aaron jumped at the offer.

He pressed his advantage, putting his mouth close to Aaron's ear and his hands on Aaron's bare belly, both of them having been working out wearing just a jock and athletic shorts, and pulling Aaron's buttocks into his crotch to let the small man know what he would be risking. "I'm also gonna see what challenging positions I can put your beautiful little body in and fuck your lights out."

"That's the training I was hoping to get," Aaron answered. "You're the black bull I wanted handling me as soon as I first walked into this gym. I hope you're this big when it counts."

"Been had by black bulls before, have you? How many?"

"I've lost count. They're my fetish. The heavier hung the better. I can tell you're hung."

"So you don't want me to be gentle?"

"I want your worst."

It had started like it would be a regular training session, Aaron reclining on the backrest of the weight bench, his feet firmly planted on the floor on either side, a heavy barbell over his head. Damont was straddling his body, spotting him in the lift, his hands fisting Aaron's wrists.

Aaron started it, leaning his head forward and mouthing Damont's engorging cock through the material of the athletic shorts and jock pouch. Quickly Damont had both off and had returned to position, still fisting Aaron's wrists, working at timing the thrusts of his cock down Aaron's throat with Aaron's lifting of the bar bell. This had led to Damont's testing of Aaron's flexibility on the bench with the figurehead fuck position, which the thirteen-years-older submissive was managing with aplomb.

As they stood, both naked, at the gym's bar, gulping Gatorade and recovering, Damont asked, "You some kind of gymnast or something? I've seen that in you when you were working out in earlier sessions. And you handled the figurehead position better than a guy half your age could."

"Through college, yes. Tried out for the Olympics, but didn't quite make it. Couldn't give it up. Guess I'll have to give it up one of these days, though. I'm getting too old for this."

"Not that anyone would notice. God, you're flexible and have a sweet ass. Gotta have you again tonight. You tried out for the Olympics of taking black bull cock? If so, you're a winner."

"No, that's for the Guinness Book of Records." The little guy wasn't the least bit shy about lying under black guys.

"You do a lot of this?" Aaron asked. "Big stud like you. Often fuck a man as old as I am? I see you with the younger guys."

"You got the body and the flexibility I like. It's all in the moment. You ain't too old in this moment. Look, you got me hot and bothered again."

"I can't believe I took one that big, You got to be at least ten by two."

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Damont answered, not bothering to hide his pride. "You an expert in getting measurements on them? That a magic number for you? Biggest you've taken?"

"I've taken a whole foot of it."

Damont whistled. "A black man?"

"Yes, always black men."

"I believe it. I guess I should feel lucky to take on such a connoisseur of black cock."

"The luck is all mine—in hooking up with you."

Damont whistled in awe again. "I didn't hit bottom. And you didn't do more than whimper. Twelve inches, you say?"

"It was thin. You have the best combination. Taxing girth. I was in heaven. Couldn't do more than whimper. God, I can't believe a young super stud like you would do an older guy like me."

"And you took it like a champ. And I'm gonna give it to you again now."

"Thought you'd never ask—no, not ask, declare. I want a man who just takes what he wants. Got another position like that one? This is supposed to be a special training session."

"What were your specialties in college gymnastics?"

"You mean beside black bulls? I've been hooked on guys like you since I was younger than you. My specialties were the parallel bars and the rings."

Damont grinned.

They were on the double parallel bars, upper and lower bars. Aaron's pelvis was straddling the upper bars, his ankles wrapped around the bars on either side to give him stability. His torso was arched downward between the bars, his fists gripping the lower bars on either side. Using extraordinary muscle power, Damont was stretched over Aaron's body, his fists gripping the high bars on either side, the pads of his feet pressed into the high bars on either side below, with Damont doing pushups on top of Aaron, his cock buried in Aaron's ass.

After a brief rest, Damont showed Aaron how he could do him on the rings.

Aaron's face turned to Damont's for a deep kiss as they were cooling down, Damont's cock going flaccid inside Aaron's ass—but not withering, a cock that never could be described as withering, Damont whispered, a note of awe in his voice, "You could take this forever, couldn't you?"

Aaron wanted to cry out, no, as good as it is, I feel my age. I just don't want you to feel my age. I don't want to lose this before I have to. What he said was, "With you, I could do it forever."

In the shower, having soaped each other up, Damont was hard again—twenty-two and virile, he could get it up every ten minutes; he could produce buckets of cum. Aaron was pretty good in that department himself. Damont growled, "Reach for your ankles," and Aaron dutifully showed he could bend in a perfect jack knife and grasp his ankles. He groaned as Damont thrust inside his ass and began pumping hard again.

At the door to the gym, both dressed now and Damont locking up for the night. "I suppose it's a younger man tomorrow night," Aaron asked, his voice rueful.

"I don't do this regularly," Damont said, almost in a huff. "I'd get the boot here if I did much of this here. You just moved in a way that made me want to try demanding positions out. You performed like a champ."

"A thirty-five-year old champ," Aaron said. "You need a younger man."

"You keep saying that. We'd both like it better if you stopped saying that," Damont said. He too was concerned about the age difference, though, and was trying not to think about it. For now, this moment, this man's body and ass were perfect for him. And seeing what positions the man could take was arousing in its own right.

Damont couldn't remember the last time he'd fucked a guy four times in one night. And his dick was telling him that he could enjoy Aaron again right now, right here. Maybe a standing fuck in the middle of the street, with the small guy draped in front of him, his legs hooked on Damont's hips, his fists locked around Damont's neck, Damont crouching a bit to give him leverage for brutal, deep thrusts upward. And Aaron, despite his age, could take him like a champ in this position. He'd already shown that flexibility, that vigor, that willingness. The perfect sub for Damont. Now at this moment in time, regardless of the man's age.

"I almost wish—" Aaron started to say, but then stopped, in embarrassment. No, he thought, I won't say it. He deserves a younger man.

"I want to see you sometime, outside of the gym," Damont suddenly blurted out.

"I'd like that," Aaron answered, blushing. He deserves someone younger, he repeated in his mind, but I can't help being selfish. "Sometime would be nice."

"How about you coming to my place, now. I live nearby."

"Yes."

"I want to fuck you all night."

"Yes."

"You ever been fucked by one of your other black bulls in a standing fuck?"

"Yes."

"You could take it from a thick ten incher in a standing fuck?"

"I can certainly try. Oh, god, I want to try." Even if it's only for tonight, this is what I want, Aaron mused, as, putting a big, black mitt possessively on Aaron's butt, the black bull guided the trembling older man up the street.

Aaron wasn't trembling only in anticipation of having that black monster cock working inside him again tonight—although that certainly was a reason to tremble—but also because he was on the edge of what he could take. So far he had hidden well how taxing this had been for him—albeit heavenly taxing. He no longer was a twenty-year-old. He'd taken more than one black bull at the same time at twenty. Somehow he had to continue making Damont believe that he could take all that Damont could give him and meet it with flexibility, stamina, and willingness. The last of these he'd lose was willingness. He'd had no idea he could still attract a hung black bull at his age—if only for tonight. The black bull's sole interest seemed to be wholly in how many taxing fuck positions Aaron could endure him in. It was up to Aaron to accommodate him if he wanted continue to have a night he'd always remember.

* * * *

Damont knew what the luscious young piece wanted from him when the juicy blond asked to be spotted on the rings. At fifty-two, now owner of the gym, Damont had managed to keep his muscular hunkiness, although he was finding it hard now to maintain himself. He'd do so for as long as he could. Nobody would want to go to a gym owned by chief trainer who had a pot belly.

Young guys still flocked to the gym for the attention of the big black bull muscleman owner, though—to be touched and manipulated in exercise positions—and, they hoped, more than that.

The blond called Damont over to the rings, which he'd pulled himself up on, and had opened his legs and encased Damont's hips with them, when Damont came up close behind him and put his hands on the young man's waist to hold him steady before pulling away to watch the young man perform on the rings. For a moment, prolonged by the young man holding tight with his thighs, Damont's crotch was pressed to the young man's buttocks. Damont was hard. They both knew that Damont was hard—physically wanting it as much as the blond obviously did.

The guy was a great-looking piece and had that gymnast's flexibility Damont had always liked—and the guy clearly wanted him. The young man was trembling as he felt the strength of Damont's mammoth cock pressed into his butt.

Damont knew that he either had to step back to make the blond stop trembling at the contact so he could do his rings routine or pull the guy down, take him back to Damont's office, and fuck the stuffing out of him on the daybed Damont kept there. He didn't have the slightest doubt which of these the blond wanted—that he could give the submissive guy ten thick inches and he'd be back for more.

Damont held for the longest moment, his thoughts going back thirty years to the night he'd fucked the small, hirsute Aaron Stein six times in athletic positions. When he'd fucked Aaron on the rings, they'd started in this position—except that both had been naked and hard and Damont's ten, thick inches had moved up into Aaron's channel as soon as Damont had positioned himself close in back of Aaron. They'd already fucked twice and Aaron's hole was custom reamed to Damont's demanding dimensions.

Aaron had taken him fully twice. Aaron would keep on taking him as long as Damont could manage a hard on.

Aaron, gripping the rings overhead, had encased Damont's hips with his thighs, just as this young blond was doing, but, further, he had crossed his calves under Damont's buttocks, locking his ankles, holding Damont's cock buried deep inside him. Damont had lifted his own hands, grabbing for the rings, his hands closing in over the smaller ones of Aaron. And then, lifting his feet off the floor, he had swung them both, back and forth, and higher and higher, pumping for an ever-wider arc of swing while the motion caused him to rhythmically pump Aaron's hungry ass with his huge cock.

Damont could have this young blond the same way. He knew it; the blond knew it. The gym had just closed. They were alone. The blond wanted Damont to fuck him, Damont wanted to fuck the blond. He wanted to see how flexible the young honey was, how many taxing fuck positions he could endure.

At fifty-two Damont's tastes in sex hadn't changed all that much in the last thirty years. And he was still a hunk. And young men still came to the gym wanting to be taxingly fucked by the big black bull with the ten thick inches.

* * * *

"Sorry I'm late. I had to stop at the store for a couple of things." If Damont was feeling guilty, Aaron didn't tune into that—not even when he saw that Damont was carrying a large bouquet of flowers and something in a small plastic bag.

"Flowers. You brought me flowers," Aaron said, pleased, but also a bit apprehensive. "No problem with being late. There's a lasagna in the oven, but it will keep."

"Good, because I don't think we'll get to it for a while." Damont's voice was gravelly. Aaron recognized the sign of that and he began to pant lightly and felt himself going hard. At sixty-five, Aaron could still go hard for Damont.

"Here. Give me the flowers. The stems should be cut and I need them to get into water."

"Just a minute for that," Damont said, crossing to the kitchen counter, sweeping Aaron into his arms, and giving him a deep kiss. In the process, he knocked Aaron's cane onto the floor from where it had been hanging from its handle on the edge of the kitchen island counter. Aaron had needed to use a cane since the automobile accident five years earlier. The leg was more numb now than painful, but it had caused Aaron to stop his years-long rigorous exercise regime in an attempt to keep himself desirable for Damont. He'd never become comfortable with being able to keep up with what Damont wanted from him.

Aaron was putting on a few pounds now, although he had exchanged hard exercise for hard dieting, but a little thickish around the middle now, he was still looking better than a sixty-five-year-old had the right to look. His catering business had done real well. He'd helped Damont buy the gym. Aaron suspected that Damont stayed with him because of that, although Damont continually denied that and declared that he still found Aaron fascinating sexually after all of these years.

"You give the absolute best blow jobs," Damont would say at this time, to which Aaron would answer, "You have a lot of experience with that to do the comparison, I'm sure. I know from personal experience what happens at that gym of yours." This would make Damont clam right up.

And when Aaron pointed out that he now was sixty-five and, with the added disability of the bum leg, "We can't fuck on the trapeze anymore, and I know how you like that," Damont would counter with "Don't forget that I'm fifty-two now myself. Trapezes are out of my life too."

But when they had this standard exchange tonight, Damont's thoughts guilty went back to the young blond on the rings earlier that evening—how good he smelled, how well his slim waist fit between Damont's beefy hands, how hard he'd made Damont. How much the sweet young thing had wanted his butt cheeks split by the cock. How much he wanted to swing with Damont on the rings, the cock finding new depth with each upswing of the arc.

"Here, let me do that," he said, reaching over for the flowers. He just managed to stop himself from saying that Aaron was hacking the stems mercilessly by not being able to hold his hand steady. The essential tremors that had set in in the last two years, making Aaron's hands tremble almost uncontrollably when he was nervous, were doing a real number now.

Aaron obviously was very nervous about something. Was it because Damont was late in getting home? Was it because Aaron thought the flowers reflected something Damont felt guilty for this evening?

"You know why I brought the flowers, don't you?" he abruptly said.

"No, no I don't," Aaron said, his eyes downcast. "But you don't have to tell me why. It doesn't matter. You're here. That's all that matters. You've stuck with me. I don't care what you have to do to keep yourself satisfied."

"For thirty years," Damont said. It was almost a whisper. His voice was husky. "We've been stuck with each other for thirty years, Aaron. That's what the flowers are for. It's our anniversary. It was thirty years ago today when we first fucked that evening in the gym—and then in my apartment, with me moving in with you the next day. It's our anniversary. That's the why of the flowers. In appreciation for thirty great years. And you haven't asked what's in the bag."

"What's in the bag?" Aaron asked in a choked voice.

Damont pulled the box out of the bag—a box of Trojan Magnum condoms. "It took me a while, standing at the counter, to decide how big a box we'd need for tonight."