Bicycles and Cigar Play (mm smoking)

My buddy and I, well, we like to bicycle.

Sure, we like our motorcycles too; we should, they're Harleys. We feel good wearing the chaps and boots and jackets and all, but we also really enjoy bicycling. And it?s helped keep us in shape, you know, tight-butt kind of shape.

Last Saturday, we were riding a long ride, the kind where the thighs start to hurt, and the ass feels the pain. We were down in the valley next to Little River; know the area I mean? We were in the wooded area just past the old bridge.

It was an early spring day, sunny, warm; an excellent day; and Chris had us stop at the turn. It was a secluded area where there wasn't much traffic. "This will do," he said, and we placed our bikes by a tree and wandered down near the water. Yeah, he was right. This was a perfect spot.

We both like our cigars; we each carry a couple when we ride, and this was just the place for him to pull one out. He reached in his pack, and selected one of his biggest, one of the fine Hondurans that I love to watch him smoke. "How's this look to you," he asked waving it carefully just in front of my face. It looked great, it smelled great, and my dick began to rise in anticipation. Just seeing Chris lick it, and clip it, and prepare it made me excited. I lowered myself to my knees in response. Out here in the daylight, under the trees, next to the river he would become my cigar Master. The location was ideal. "It looks real hot," I replied quietly. Here he would choose to reduce me his cigar slave.

I looked up at him, my favorite fuck buddy, and he looked so good in his ass-tight lycra shorts and that silly, colorful top. He was still wearing his bicycle helmet when he put that giant cigar in his mouth and brought the lighter up. He set flame to it and he puffed on it, and it came to life, and the smoke began to swirl.

The smoke began to spread as he puffed. It hung in the air around him. There was no breeze; it sank down around my face and nose and smelled so rich. My cock was bobbing, and my mouth watered. I knew my role.

"Yes, Master," I consented without further persuasion, and I undid his shorts.

I pulled out Chris's dick, and said: "I must obey your cock, Master," and began to lick and suck and I let myself slip in to heaven.

By the way I suck dick, you?d never know I'm a top. But I know that the one giving the job is the one who?s really in control. The recipient of my mouth, no matter how tall he stands above me, pretending to be the master, smoking on his great cigar, acting tough, commanding, and ordering me about, always weakens when he feels the pleasure of my mouth. The strength just drains from him and he surrenders to warmth of my throat. I squeezed on the base of his shaft with my lips, and Chris gasped obediently and slid back against the tree, overcome by my skills.

I know how to do it well. He was flooded with pleasure as my tongue wrapped around his shaft, and he lost all focus. He may have been enjoying his heavy smoke, the feel of that great, hefty, weighty cigar in his teeth, but he was falling under my control. His relaxed, hot body lay heavily against the bark, his eyes half closed. And he murmured a mere: ?oh yeah. Damn, that feels so good.?

That?s how I know I'm the one who?s really in charge.

And so, out under the trees, on a bright spring day, just out of sight of the cars, we both engage in a mutual fantasy, and it?s good. he's my cigar smoking Master and I'm nothing but his cock sucking slave, and he says ?Suck, boy, suck my cock, boy. Suck your Master?s cock, boy. Yeah, you?re such a good boy,? and I let commands sink in deep. He lets the ash fall on my shoulder; I like that; and the cigar smoke surrounds us and begins to waft through the branches.

And suddenly he tenses up. This is not part of the scene.

"Shh, stop, don't move. I think we're being watched. There's some guy across the river looking at us from behind the brush. No, don't look up, keep your head down." I always panic a little. Sure, I'm excited by the idea of being caught, but I don't really want to be turned in. "Oh shit, does it look like he's about to call the police on us?"

Chris pauses, and then laughs: "No, I don't think so. he's just dropped his pants. he's starting to jerk himself."

"No kidding? Really?" But I don't turn to look. "What's he like? How old is he?" Sometimes, it's just more fun to imagine the person spectating.

"I can't tell; too far away. He might be that guy we saw fishing back where we crossed the old bridge. You remember the one who waved at us? I don't know." He stops and I wait. "Yeah, I think it's our fisherman friend; a good looking kid. he's late teens maybe, twenties probably." Then he adds: "One thing's for sure, I can see his cock from here so it must be pretty huge." And that sounds just fine to me. Chris's cigar smoke must be drugging me; plus I'm getting extra aroused by the thought of an audience. I wait a second. "Now what's happening?" I just waved my cigar at him and he gave me a thumbs up, so I gave him a thumbs up back. Damn, he's as horny as hell! Well then, we may as well give him something to watch.

I return my attention to my buddy's crotch. I lick it and I take it in. It grows; it hardens as it slips past my lips. I feel the velvet sensation of it passing over my tongue and finally the head touching the back of my throat. It feels so really good back there; I forget our friend.

See, when I'm sucking a cigar-man's cock, I lose all track of time.

I look up at Chris. he's lying back against his tree, those black biking shorts, that shirt, and that helmet, and he's puffing on his smoky cigar. Later tonight, we'll arrive at a real cigar party on our hogs, in our full leather, both looking real tough as cigar smoking Harley riders. But right now, I'm enjoying seeing Chris dressed in his tight bicycle gear with that great big, fat cigar in his mouth, and he looks just fine to me.

And he's still pretending like he's some kind of master. The thick smoke and the fantasy engulf us both. He puts his stog? between his teeth and smiles down at me. He holds his cigar in front of him contemplating it: its size, its wrapper, and its strength. He flicks some more of the ash on my head, and that makes me hard. Damn, he looks so hot up there above me.

And I take him in so deep.

I feel his hard cock in my mouth. It?s large and it?s solid and I run my mouth and tongue around it knowing how it will respond. And his cock obeys my every whim, does what I want it to do. Damn, I love to suck cock.

And I look back above me again: Chris with his cigar, so relaxed, eyes closed, overcome by the sensation, defeated by pleasure. He slips off into dreamland, lost in some distant, sexual, cigar fantasy of his own. But I don't mind; I'm living own my favorite cigar fantasy right here, out in these woods, with his throbbing cock in my mouth.

I could have gone on like this for ever, but I know from experience when it's time. I know when the results will be their best. So I reach behind his smooth shorts, and grip his ass. I tug on his cock, and I squeeze his butt just as I pull, and he cums on command. He practically screams when he creams, filling the back of my mouth with his squirt. And I let the sensation last, and then I swallow. And I lick his head clean.

And we both look at each other satisfied. My cock is still unfulfilled, but that?s ok. I'll take care of myself later. Half of the fun of pretending you're the bottom is making yourself wait until later.

And I bury my nose in his ball-fur and smell the residual cigar. And as I nuzzle his cock, I ask: "Is our friend still there?"

"No," Chris answers, "he must have shot himself off and left while I had my eyes closed. I sure hope he enjoyed our show."

And so we cleaned ourselves off, and we found a spot to sit, and we sat there, sat down on a log by the river, and watched the sunlight dance on the water, and everything was good. And I watched as my buddy finished his cigar. He puffed on it slowly, truly enjoying it, and I sat there enjoying his enjoyment.

And then, after a while, we returned to our bikes.

We rode back along the river, it took a while, and we crossed the old bridge, and there we discovered our young fisherman friend waiting for us at the edge. He looked up at us, and smiled at us, all warm and friendly-like, and he waved. Good looking? Yeah, I'll say. he's what I call candy for the eyes: a built country stud, a kid with sandy hair and an easy smile. And he had a real easy way about him as he flagged us down.

And he was so very uninhibited too, I listened to him laugh out loud and my fangs grew.

"Hey guys, thanks for the sex scene. That was nice. I must have shot out a whole quart!" he boasted so innocently. The kid had a slight country twang, and listening to him made my dick grow; it was telling me it didn't want to wait any longer.

"We enjoyed it too," responded Chris with a grin.

Then fisherman boy motioned us to his tackle box and we looked where he pointed and we saw his prize. That was where he kept his own personal stash of cigars; a bundle of really fine, great big, monster cigars. Wow. So the kid liked cigars too! We looked back over at him and he just smiled back at us, broadly, knowingly, with a playful gleam in his eyes. "So, guys, you like to fish?"

Yeah. Yeah, we sure do now.