Vinnie’s boxer-briefs

by BRK   

Vinnie has a little time before he has to be anywhere, so he decides to indulge in one of his best-loved pastimes: groping his half-hard meat through the fabric of his favorite pair of boxer-briefs.

Vinnie opened his hotel bureau drawer and pulled out his favorite pair of boxer-briefs. Cobalt blue, comfortable as fuck, and always ready and willing to cup his thick Italian sausage and heavy meatballs like it loved its job just as much as he loved playing the violin for a loving. These briefs wanted to be on him and nuzzling his junk, and that was exactly what Vinnie needed right now. He had four hours before the baton went up—plenty of time.

Catching sight of himself in the big mirror above the bureau—naked, tanned, morning-mussed, and ripped like a Greek statue turned into hot, olive-dark Mediterraneo flesh—he paused right there and brought the shorts to his face, taking a long whiff. His jizz must be getting potent as all hell, he thought, because he’d accidentally blasted a huge load in these briefs last week and even after washing them twice he could still smell his very own spunk. His dick chubbed up just thinking about it.

Winking at his reflection, he slid the briefs on and went back to lay in his bed, already rolling his thickening dick with his left hand as he crossed the room and climbed onto the midnight-blue duvet, feeling his growing arousal as his mind became saturated with a disorienting, all-consuming craving for the coming pleasure. He stretched out, mauling his fat, swelling uncut cock with his left hand, and moaned a little, closing his eyes. This was his favorite part, squeezing and stretching his half-hard cock. He could do this for ages, then let himself get hard as iron and stroke himself ferociously until he exploded hot ropes of cum all over his hairy chiseled abs and his much-admired chest.

Digging into the front flap of the boxer-briefs he hauled his thick, throbbing half-boned meat through the opening and started gently pulling and twisting his big Italian sausage. God, he loved this. He could immerse himself completely in this sensation, almost like he was just his heavy, half-hard cock and the strong left hand molesting its length and girth. He gripped it firmly and tugged it hard, and the pleasant strain he felt at the base almost felt like he was yanking out another inch of turgid, yielding cock. He tugged again, harder, and moaned at how good it felt, letting himself pretend he’d really yanked another inch out of himself like hose from a firetruck.

His brain fevered to the point of nonfunctional, swamped in a sauna of swirling, concentrated lust, the rest of his body was left to its own devises. Vinnie became a creature of feeling and sensation. Of his own accord his other hand drifted down to firmly cup his jumbo-egg-sized testicles, and he moaned as instead it squeezed the heavy, half-boned dick it found there through the fabric, loving how the beast curled and hugged around his balls, waiting for him to grope them all together. His hands squeezing turgid sausage cock filled him for long moments uncounted, the loud rhythmic pounding of his heart and his own pants and murmurings the only sound in his closed-off universe. He willed himself to stay like this, not getting all the way hard yet, just enjoying the wrenching of his partly thickened prick-meat in his hands, not ready for this delicious feeling to end, maybe not ever.

Then he remembered—it was more an instinct than a thought—how much he loved hauling his still mostly pliant meat through the flap in his briefs. Acting instantly on the impulse to make that very thing happen he reached through the slit in the dark blue briefs with his right hand, letting his left hand keep doing what it was doing, and heaved his big, logy half-boner all the way out of his briefs and into the warm, sex-tinged air of his room.

Then for a while he was lost in the the mindless pleasure of his hands tugging and twisting fat, flexible cock-meat. It was sublime, but he wanted to keep groping his dick through the fabric of his briefs, too. It was too bad he didn’t have another hand. Instead he passed the thick half-boner in his right hand over to the left, so that that hand could take care of all of the cock-meat, though it was quite a lot even for his unusually dexterous, long-fingered hands to manage. He grabbed tight and pulled with his left hand, soaring with the resonating thrill of flesh being pulled out of him that shivered through him in stereo. He wanted to run his hands through his long, loose hair, too, maybe touch his chest and tweak his nipples—but his right hand knew its mission and did not deviate. It slid down once more and began fiercely gripping his heavy welcoming cock-tube through his briefs. Fuck, it was like that was what hands were for.

Pulling his long, fat, ponderous half-erection through the flap. Yeah, that. He needed to do that.

It was more difficult this time. There wasn’t much space left after the meat he’d already pulled through it that his left hand was reverently pulling and wringing and gripping, so he left go of the tube he was fondling and pulled hard at the opening in his briefs, the other side braced against the meat he’d already pulled through. He made enough room to reach in with finger and thumb and wrench his big, bendy partial boner into the open, shuddering with the pleasure it gave him.

He thought he would just do this for a while, twisting and tugging at his meat with both hands, mashing it all together and letting his long-reaching hands work together. But his mind drifted, lost in the bliss rocketing through his body from what was happening with his wonderfully sense-evocative meat, and he realized his left hand was holding all his cockage and his right was mauling his fat sausage through his briefs again. Oh, fuck, that was impossibly good. His climax was creeping toward him, as unstoppable and relentless as a prowling mountain cat, and he was dimly aware he was in danger of spooging up his drawers all over again, just like last week.

Haul it out. He had to haul it out.

This time there wasn’t room. His release building, he reluctantly used both hands and yanked hard at the opening in his briefs until he heard the seams start to give. Poor boxer-briefs. He hoped he could still wear them after this, because he knew they’d preserve the memory of this perfect pleasure. Hastily he heaved the final cock-tube free just as his resolve gave and he couldn’t hold back full erection any longer. He released his trapped dick just in time, too, because between one thundering heartbeat and the next he was fully, lusciously, iron-girder erect. He stroked himself fiercely with both hands for mere seconds before massive quadruple bursts of his own hot seed were erupting from his massive balls and pelting his hairy chest and abs; and the feel of it was so euphoric his release actually intensified, so that he realized he was now shooting his endless load of thick, warm spunk all over his mouth, cheeks, and forehead.

It seemed like ages before his release tailed off and Vinnie finally relaxed and melted back into the bed. He was totally spent, his arms dropping bonelessly to either side, lips and tongue tasting his salty spend. His wide, heavy cockmeat, though, still embraced at the base by his favorite pair of boxer-briefs, softened only enough to slump across his cum-coated torso, no doubt wondering how long it would be before it could all happen again.

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