I awoke that morning to bright sunlight streaming
through my bedroom windows, and I had a huge hardon that stretched up past my belly button. It was gonna be one of those rare summer days with little-to-no breeze, warm, and perfect
for some tanning. The weather plus my stiff uncut cock,
meant only one thing. It was a triple A cruise day. So I rolled over, phoned in sick, and decided to sun in the nearby park.
After a lazy breakfast, I found my backpack and began
pulling together my towels and sun lotions. I also hunted down some
“reading” materials,
settling on a few Colt photo magazines. After quickly
flipping through one of my favorites, “All American Jocks”, and getting my
second hardon of the morning, I decided that it was definitely not a Speedo day. Instead, I went to my steamer trunk and found my favorite jock, a Bauer and Black, #5, large. Why is it my favorite? Because its waistband fits snug, and looks great against a tan stomach. Because I got it at a second-hand clothing store, after it was already broken in by some stud, who had stretched it, in all the right places.
Also, because I like the way its leg straps press against the underside of my fuzzy ass, with each step I take. A feeling that in some slight way is unique to this 'strap, none of my other jocks in my collection feel quite the same .
But most of all, the B&B’s are my favorite jock,
because the pouch gives just
the right lifting tension on my balls. With all this,
when I’m wearing the
Bauer, I’m aware of it constantly, loving the way it
cradles my meat and how it
cups my ass.
So I slipped on the Bauer, and as its mesh slid over
my balls, I got that
zing, which lets me know I’m loaded with juice, and
aching to shoot. I found
my blue nylon running shorts, the ones in which I had
ripped out the liner,
leaving only the shell, and pulled them over the jock.
A quick check in the
mirror revealed the effect was as desired. The shorts
fit like a second skin,
revealing the texture of the jock-pouch mesh, and the
whiteness of it, was
clearly visible through the flimsy shell. It’s the
combination which most
closely approximates walking around in public, in just
one of my jocks, without
doing just that. Some might look and see only someone
off to the gym, albeit
in skimpy shorts, while others more on my wavelength
might glance, and then
linger a little longer, feeling the same surge of
juice, that I do, when I
happen upon a man in a jockstrap. With a tank-top and
some shoes, I was ready
to go.
I grabbed my backpack, and headed out the door for the
hike to the park. The
walk went quickly. It was definitely a perfect day for
sunning and cruising,
a few heads turned in cars, as they passed. When I
reached the park, I found
the path, which lead to the areas amid the shrubs and
trees, that afforded
semi-private sunning spots. As it was still rather
early, many of the spots
were unoccupied. I walked on, heading towards what I
considered to be the
choice spot, a large, but secluded area, which was
open to the sun, from
about 10 a.m. to 4 in the afternoon. A few other guys
were here and there
along the way, some sunning, others awaiting or doing
a trick. I got the
little adrenaline rush, that I always do when entering
a cruising area, and I
could feel some of guys’ eyes drift downwards, toward
my elastic-clad crotch.
A few signaled intent, but I continued on, enjoying
the rush and the hike.
The spot for which I was headed, was one that gave you
no “advanced warning”.
You simply came around a shrub and were upon it.
Sometimes there might be a
shirt or some other piece of clothing hanging on a
branch, to indicate it was
occupied. Today, I saw nothing of the sort, and
silently congratulated
myself upon my luck.
I came around the shrub, thinking the spot was mine
for the taking, and
instead I was upon HIM. In the clearing, he had spread
a large blanket. His
bag and clothes were strewn about the spot, black
boots tossed here, 501’s
crumpled there, a T-shirt rolled to form a pillow
beneath his head. He himself
was about 6 feet tall, and sprawled along a beach
towel. While he wasn’t a
pumped muscle-boy, he had nice definition, and his
musculature was solid. His
broad, tanned chest and abs, were covered with a
light, soft black fur, that
spread across his pecs, into each armpit, and down his
stomach into his groin.
I could see the drops of tanning oil and sweat,
glistening on each hair. He
was wearing a walkman and a pair of shades. But what
really made my testicles
zing, was what he was wearing while he lay in the sun,
a well-worn white BIKE
#10. The logo patch was slightly torn, revealing a
frayed center seam. From
this angle, I could make out one of the straps
clinging to the side of his
thigh, and around the curve of his tight butt cheek. B
ut what really started
me dripping, was the beat-up jock-sack. It gave an
incredible mix of revelation
and suggestion.
The bulk beneath the taut pouch, suggested at least
eight inches of man-meat
stuffed inside. At the bottom of the pouch, I could
clearly discern two huge
balls, and a large, uncut cockhead, the edge of which
showed through one of
several frayed spots in the pouch. Near the waistband,
a large area of the
elastic mesh was worn so thin, that only a few
cross-strands remained. Through
the hole, I could see the base of his cock, and a
black leather cock strap
curving away, to the hidden spaces behind the fabric
of the pouch. And the
sides of the sack were just starting to dampen from
the sweat, pooling in the
cups, formed where his hair-covered thighs, met his
firm torso. It was all
such a sight, that I stood transfixed for a few
seconds, feeling the heat rush
to my crotch and my hooded dick stir, starting to stiffen. I
must have paused long
enough for him to sense that someone was watching him.
He removed the walkman
from his ears, and lifted himself up on his elbows to
look at me. He then
lowered his shades enough for me to see that he was
checking me out.
“I see my favorite spot is occupied,” I lamely
stammered, the
testosterone-rush short-circuiting my brain. My cock
was getting VERY hard
now, and the resistance my jock, offered in response,
only made things more
exciting. I could feel the tingle of my precum
beginning to flow.
“Care to share your spot?” he replied, smiling, while
studying my now bulging
shorts, and casually wiping some of the sweat from his
stomach. As he did,
he allowed his hand to brush lightly across the frayed
jock-basket. The first
drip of precum slipped from the end of my unsheathed dick.
“Sure, I would like that,” I said, and I smiled. I
spread my towel next to
his, and began to remove my tank and shoes. “I like
your sun-ware,” I offered.
“It’s very sexy.” While grinning, I slithered out of
the nylon shell,
revealing my own Bauer and Black.
“Thanks. It’s a old piece of workout-wear that I
misplaced and recently
rediscovered,” he explained. “I thought it might be
hot to lay out in it,
with it being all frayed and abused.”
I started to put some oil on my arms and legs. “Yeah.
Looks like it’s seen
some heavy workouts,” I said, eyeing the holes in the
pouch. I thought I
detected a slight movement under the fabric. “You’ve
succeeded; it’s very
hot. Of course, I have a big-time jock-strap fetish,
so I’m kinda biased.
This Bauer’s my favorite.”
I began to rub oil across my stomach, under the jock
band and over the tops
of my thighs. He eyed my crotch again and broke into a
big smile. “I
understand. Fetishes can be great fun, when you give
into them.”
This time I could definitely see his meat stirring
behind the pouch. The
slight movement repositioned his cockhead, squarely in
a frayed area. I looked
at the smooth incline of the cockhead, and he saw me
looking at it. We both
smiled once again. He casually reached into his jock,
repositioned his uncut dick
back to where it had first been, put his sunglasses
back on, and reclined upon
his towel. “I like it when there’s no breeze. Makes ya
drip all over,” he
said.
"Umm-hmm, " I agreed, as I finished applying my
tanning oil. I reclined on
my towel, tilting my head, in a way so as to continue
watching him and his
jock.
After a few moments, I slowly reached over to his
crotch, lay my hand across
the jock, and began to squeeze his meat.
He turned his head my way, smiled, and said “Yeah.
That’s right. It’s been
waiting for someone to work it.”
Within a few minutes, it became very warm in the sun,
and sweat started to
roll down my chest and stomach into my crotch. The
edges of my jock band and
the sides of the pouch became damp, matching the
growing spot from my precum.
My uncut cock had grown to about three-quarters of its fully
erect 7 inches. With
each additional drop of sweat, my jock was becoming
translucent, and in its
wetness clinging ever tighter to my swelling cock.
As I continued to grip his basket, his dick began to
grow in my hand. At
first it grew in pulses, but then it began to expand
continuously. Soon, it
had enlarged and shifted to the point, where the head
once again, became
visible through the large hole in the pouch. I leaned
over and touched the end
of my tongue, to the tip of its head. With the first,
slightest contact, the
cockhead sprang through the hole. The frayed pouch
gently slid down the sides
of the increasingly engorged shaft, flowing lightly
across each bulging dick
vein. This slow-motion extension continued. until his
cock stood fully erect,
in its 9 inches of glory, glistening with sweat and
suntan oil.
Like him, it was well proportioned, with a nice length
and delicious
thickness. I could just make out the black cock ring,
encircling his meat,
behind the mesh of the pouch, which now rested on his
well-filled scrotum. I
opened wide and took him in my mouth, sliding down the
shaft, until my lips
touched the damp fabric, overlaying his ball-bag. I
caught a deep whiff of
sweat, oil and musk arising from his crotch. Slowly, I
moved my tongue up and
down the shaft several times, while he put his hands
behind his head, watching
me service his rod. I looked up across his glistening
chest-fur, and saw my
reflection in his mirrored shades.
He then reached over to my thigh, and guided my crotch
toward his face. The
tip of my unsheathed dickhead was now just rising above the edge
of my jock band, and a
steady stream of precum drizzled across the material,
and onto my thigh. He
began to lick the pouch, from the V where it met the
leg straps, across my
tingling balls, all the way up along my cockshaft,
across the waistband, and
over the barely visible dick tip. A release of
adrenaline, made my heart pump
harder, and therefore my cock started to throb. We
repositioned our sweaty
bodies, so that the 69-ing could proceed unhindered. I
moving up and down on
his meat, which was distended through the hole in the
jock, and he was licking
and sucking mine beneath the moist-mesh. He then
pulled the front of my Bauer
down beneath my scrotum, so that the waistband
continued to support my balls,
and began licking my naked cock.
I reciprocated, by returning his cock, to a place
beneath the fabric, while
positioning his balls, beneath the hole in the pouch.
I started to lick and
suck his balls through the worn pouch. In my mouth, I
cradled each
mesh-wrapped ball individually, until I could gently
suck it out through the
hole. Upon bringing the second ball out of the elastic
sack, he REALLY moaned
in pleasure, stopped licking my tool, and laid back
upon his towel. His
ballsac, now flopped through the hole in his jock.
I paused to watch the balls shift within his ballsac.
His cock was held firm
against his torso, behind the elastic mesh, but it was
visible through the
numerous wear spots in the pouch. Sweat from my head,
began to drip onto his
crotch. My final assault for his manjuice then began.
After licking his
balls for a few minutes, my nose pressed into his
crotch, so that I could smell
the sweat and the heat. I reached down and grabbed the
jock, pulling it up, so
that now his cock came back through the hole, in the
pouch. Soon his balls,
cock and cock ring were on this side of the elastic
mesh. I placed my right
hand around the base of his meat, and began to stoke
his rod, while holding my
mouth at the end of the pulsating shaft.
He decided to stand, so I placed my own throbbing cock
back inside my
jock-pouch. I knelt before him and resumed sucking his
tool, and he again
placed his hands behind his head. I put my left hand
on his tight furry ass,
entwining my fingers under the left leg strap.
He began thrusting his groin to meet my mouth, pushing
and pulling, as I
stroked his cock. Slowly, but steadily, I picked up
the tempo, with the
frequency of his groans, matching the increasing pace.
I could feel the final
swelling of the cockhead, which let me know his shots
of juice were close. I
pulled my face away, as he reached down to replace my
hand and stoke his own
now inflamed, throbbing fuckstick. He stroked it
faster and faster, while I
licked the tip and reached down to clutch my own
jock-wrapped rod. As he neared
climax, he let out a long pleasured groan. His first
load shot explosively out
of those nine inches, and splattered across my chest.
It continued to burst
forth in steaming shot after shot, the smell of the
cum heightening my own
arousal.
I leaned in to smell his sweaty crotch, and splatters
of his load began to
run slowly down my chest, past my navel, and into my
own musky cock-space. The
feel of the Bauer pouch against my balls, and the
smell of sweat, oil, cum and
the outdoors, brought me to climax in seconds. My jism
spewed forth through
the jock mesh in thick, ropy strands. The leg-straps
of the B&B cupping the
sides of my contracting ass, with each of my shots.
From someplace far off, I
could hear a growling “Yeah, attaboy. Blow your load
into that jock.” Waves
of pleasure flooded by brain, as the orgasm washed
over my body, from head to
foot.
We both collapsed to the ground, and laid still for a
while, as we listened
to the peepers, whom we hadn’t seen sneak up during
our jocks ex, shoot their
own wads and retreat into the bushes. Once I was back
on earth, he leaned over
and smiled, giving me a warm, wet kiss. “Thanks. That
was really hot,’” he
said.
“I think I like your fetish.”
“Yeah, I do, too,” I replied. He wiped the remains of
his cum from his cock,
and as he did, he slipped out of the abused BIKE and
wiped it across his sweaty
stomach. “Here, I think you should keep this,” he said
as he offered me the
limp jock strap.
“I’d love to keep it. Wanna trade?” I asked, getting
ready to hand him my
own cum-soaked Bauer.
“Naw, I’ve got plenty,” he replied as he rummaged
through his gym bag and
found a black Grid jock. “Besides,” he continued while
he slipped the dark
jock on and returned to sit upon his towel, “it’s your
fetish, and that’s your
favorite 'strap,” he winked.
"I think I have a new favorite now, " I replied.
I wore that abused BIKE everyday and slept in it for
many weeks.