The door bell rings. When I answer he is standing there in black jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest and arms. Without a word he goes over to the couch and lowers his jeans. There is no underwear beneath them, just an already hard cock that bounces when it is released. Next he pulls off his shirt and drops down on the couch. Without a word he spreads his legs for me and stares down at his cock over the tattoos on his tight chest and belly.

He is tough and hot with his shaved head, goatee, and bold snaking tats -- but -- he just sits there. His dick reaches past his belly button, solidly thick, uncut, and leaking profusely. I love the heat of that long, skin-covered dick, and I love drinking a steady flow of pre-cum from it.

His showing up unannounced and stripping down is getting to be a habit. Once, I enticed this hot trade home and serviced him. It was so intense, I called him back a few more times. Now he just shows up, like this, on his own.

I'm not complaining. It is the best deal in the world for me. Although he says he’s straight, he comes back often. Although a top, he is oddly passive. He lets me use his body as if he were bound. I suck that meaty dick and he sits there with his tattoo-covered arms loose by his side. No sound. No sign he that likes what I’m doing. If I nudge him, he’ll roll over on his knees so I can lick his asshole.

When my tongue is tired and his scent is all slurped away, I flip him again and then sit on his pole. Putting his hands behind his head he lets me ride but makes no sound and no eye-contact. He just stares at my cock slapping on his hard abs. If I stop to rest he starts pumping into me, moving his hips powerfully.

With his arms up I bend into his pits. They’re dark and musky. Soon the smell and taste of him gets me going again and I start moving with his thrusts. When I do, he stops humping. It’s up to me to keep impaling myself on his hard, straight rod as if it were just a hot-blooded dildo.

He remains steel-hard from the point when he strips and plops down on the couch. Although he doesn’t seem involved in what I’m doing to him, his dick never falters, it remains as stiff as any cock can be and the pre-cum never stops oozing from the slit.

Being “straight” is all important to him. He’s tied up with that image and can’t think his way past it. He pretends to ignore what I’m doing, but his burning ass quivers and opens for my tongue. His cock shouldn’t rise for me, but it’s hard before he even drops his jeans. He must think that if he moves too much, it means he’s enjoying what he came here for, so he just lies there. He pretends he does not particularly want it. There's no doubt, though, that it makes him hot.

I sometimes catch him stifling a moan as I tease his ass open with my tongue. He doesn’t want to moan when my tongue is up his ass or when his throbbing cock head is deep in my throat, but he does in spite of himself. And then there's the fact that he keeps bringing that cock and ass back to me. He keeps stripping off his clothes so that I can get to them.

When I am tired of working him over I push him to the side and lie on my stomach. I don't have to encourage him. He climbs on me immediately, but he acts as if it were just a job.

One time I set up a video cam and filmed him mounting me. He knew the camera was on. He didn’t care. In review, I watched him taking deliberate aim with his pre-cum slick dick. He slid in slowly. The expression on his face never changed. On film I watched how his creamy ass tensed and dimpled as he dug his hooded cock into me. The lighting was perfect. The intricate tattoos on his back and arms glistened with sweat. His long cock showed clearly on film, slick and shiny, as he sawed my ass with a steady drive -- in and out, in and out. I remember feeling it deep. It’s always incredible having this conflicted straight man pumping in my ass.

It is obvious on the video when his rhythm starts breaking down. Alone in my bedroom, I watch that part over and over again and jack myself until the pre-cum froths under my foreskin. I’ve calculated that the twelve minute mark is where he starts tingling inside. You can see the muscles in his ass and legs tighten at that point. His thrusts become harder, deeper, more impatient. While I watch the film I can still feel those tough jabs that he drove into me.

There are forty-five more seconds of ecstatic, spastic drilling before he slams his hips against my ass and holds in tight while he injects himself into me. The first three shots burned in my gut. I see myself throw my head back when I feel them. I wish I could say I felt all fifteen seconds of him unloading into me -- delivering his load of steaming, straight guy cum. Watching his ass quiver and legs shake on the video seduces me into thinking that I felt each and every spasm. The truth is, after his first three bursts, my ass ring clamped down on him. I shot off and came spontaneously onto the couch. My body spasmed around his rigid cock and the feel of his hot cum pooling in my gut was lost in the chaos of my own orgasm.

When I jack off to this video, I imagine feeling every living drop that he plants in me. That triggers my dick to explode. It slings cum into the air, over my head and across my chest. The last of it puddles on my abs. My ass clinches as it remembers desperately trying to hold every ounce of his juice inside.

When he fucked me I came without touching myself, but I furiously beat my meat every time I replay it. It would have been devastatingly hot if he had jacked me while we fucked. But he made a point of not touching me more than necessary. He simply rode me, propped up by his muscular arms while his pelvis pounded my ass.

Every time he visits he lets me lick his asshole until it quivers. He lets me suck his long dick and slide my tongue under his foreskin, but he never holds my cock. I’ve seen him stare at it but he never reaches for it. Although he pumps ropes of cum into me, he’ll never jerk me off, twist my nipples, or lick my tight abs. He’ll especially never kiss me or touch me with his face. It would be too much for him to handle. He’s not gay - he says, but what he means is that he's bound by some masochistic impulse to not be gay.

Nevertheless, he arrives quickly whenever I call or he just shows up on his own, walks over to the couch, and drops his pants letting that beautiful, stiff prick bounce free. I replay it over and over again. It sounds wrong that a straight guy would want this kind of sex so regularly, but he does. I have it on film.