I Need That Bare Dick Inside Me

A bare dick inside me is like nothing else

 

A bare dick inside me is what I am after. He’s at the toilet, pissing heavily into the bowl. I’m standing behind him with my arms wrapped around his waist, gripping him ever so gently so I don’t put him off or change the direction of the stream. Both of us are staring down at the task at hand. The fat head of his flaccid cock gripped between his thumb and forefingers. When he pushes out the last few drops, he grunts a little at the back of his throat. The same way he sometimes grunts when he comes inside me. When he’s finished peeing, he turns his head towards me and whispers in my ear ‘what do you want?’

He already knows the answer, but what he wants is to hear me say it. Say ‘I want your bare dick inside me,’ so that’s what I say. It’s far from the first time I’ve had him without a condom, but it’s the first time I’ve said it this way aloud: your bare dick inside me.

Naked. No condoms. Just you.

He stands in front of the toilet, surrounded by mirrors. And I drink in the sight of his cock as I whisper:

“I want your bare dick inside me.”

“I want to spit on my fingertips first. Pull back your foreskin, and lube up the head. Feel how shiny and taut and hard you are at the idea of getting in my cunt with no condom. I want you twitching and gagging for it.

“I want you to slide inside me really slowly, let me feel every inch of it. Want your skin on my skin? Inside my skin.”

I touch him as I say it. Run flat palms down the curve of his stomach and press them against the thickening length of his prick. He closes his eyes and I can see his expression in the mirror: my favorite one. One that speaks to an aching need.

He has beautiful eyelashes. Big, gentle hands. The skin of his neck is so soft as I press my lips to it. But above all, his dick is stunning.

The weight of it, flaccid in my hand, grows harder and thicker as I squeeze in exactly the places he’s taught me. In that bathroom, with all the mirrors I admire it from every available angle and wonder which is doing more to make it grow: my words or my hands. I’m craving his bare dick inside me. I need some deep pussy stretches.

“I want your fucking cock inside me,” I tell him as I squeeze. “It’s been so long since I got to feel the thud of your cum. That’s what I want.”

A moan. A twitch. He reaches one hand back so he can pull me closer. I press my lips against his ear.

“You can come wherever you like,” I tell him, “as long as it’s inside. Unload in my ass if you want to. Pull your bare dick out of my cunt at the moment before you come, then push my face into the duvet so I can squeal without disturbing the neighbors.

“Lube up and then hold the tip of your hard, wet, bare fucking dick inside my ass and slide it in.”

I loved that man so much. I loved his dick. And to this day I cannot separate the two. How much of my love was for him, how much for his cock.

So then, on top of that, how much of the latter kind of love could be chalked up to the fact that he’d give it to me bare? Naked. Sans condom. Just me, and him, and the atoms of his cock, stretching my cunt out in a way that felt like we perfectly fit each other.

I felt the same about the man I loved before him.

And the one I loved before that too.

So maybe I should never fuck men bare. It’s not good for the heart. It’s too raw and intense. Too much like being nourished with spunk, till you trick yourself into thinking that a one-item diet is enough to keep you alive.

I stood behind him in the bathroom and looked at his face from every angle in those mirrors. Squeezed his cock till it was straining in my fist and trembled with need as I whispered:

“Put that bare dick inside me. Fucking please.”

Do you love fucking bare too?

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