I didn’t slam the hotel room door. Heck, I didn’t even say goodbye. Instead, I had eased out of the suite with my head down like a chastised dog. I now stood waiting for the elevator, wondering just what had I done.

I had allowed myself to become some guy’s slut boy. I had sucked his cock, relishing his precum. I had allowed him to fuck me. No, I hadn’t allowed him; I had BEGGED him to fuck me deep and rough and breed me. I loved the feeling of his hot load painting my prostate and filling my ass. Who was I trying to kid?

The elevator arrived with a loud ding, jarring me from my meditation. As I stepped toward the open door, I could feel cum start to leak out of my anus, prompting me to squeeze my cheeks and swish into the car. I felt guilty, but what came to mind was the image of a femme sashaying down the street.

Back in my room, I took a long hot shower, ordered room service, and packed my roller board for an early discharge the next morning.

My seven-hour drive from Chicago to Kansas City was uneventful. I pulled into the garage of my three-bedroom, suburban ranch, walked through the mudroom, and found my wife Donna chopping vegetables at the kitchen island. She smiled and turned her cheek for a peck. I gave her a kiss, circled her torso with my arms, and leaned my pelvis against her derrière. I really hoped she would grind her fine ass back against my hardening cock; but she simply squirmed away, laughing that I’d only been away for two days. I was disappointed. I needed to fuck her silly on the kitchen counter and prove that I was still heterosexual.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed back to the master bedroom and bath. I wanted to shower off the road grime, but I also needed to unpack my bag and deal with earthy-smelling khakis and tighty-whities. Into the hamper they went and into the shower I headed.

I shampooed my head and my manscaped one-inch by two-inch landing strip above my cock. I slipped my fist around my cock which was still semi-erect from my attempted seduction of Donna. As I pumped my shaft with my right fist, I circled the base of my scrotum with my other hand, forming a tight “OK” with the thumb and index finger. As I tugged my balls downward, my long finger discovered and slipped into my soapy rosebud. I had involuntarily closed my eyes and was envisioning the hard cock that had bred me just twenty-four hours before. I pulled my ball sack violently downward and crammed my finger deeper into my anus. After only two more strokes, I shot four heavy ropes onto the shower glass surround. The climax was so intense, I had to stifle a scream and catch myself from lurching into the wall. As I released my ball sack and commenced to retract my buried digit, the anal stimulation caused a second ejaculation onto the shower floor. This time I actually did collapse onto the shower bench. My first load on the glass surround was only inches from my face. To this day I can’t explain why, but I dabbed it with my right index finger, closed my eyes, and then painted cum onto my lips. I licked my own seed, got another gob (this time with two fingers), and slid them into my mouth. I stood up, harvested the remaining jizz and finger fucked my longing anus: breeding myself.

After cleaning up, I dressed and went back out to the kitchen. I gave Donna a light slap on the ass, grabbed another beer, and sat down to watch the news. Donna asked about my “silly grin.” I told her I’d heard a stupid guy joke on the way home. In reality, I was thinking that I loved my wife and the half dozen times a year we fucked; but going forward, those dry spells in between were a thing of the past.