Yvan, also known as member QueerYvan, is a historian of sexuality. In an ongoing series, he shares some of his favourite fetish encounters (in a whole lot of detail), as well as occasionally filling us in on the history of kink.
He told me to meet him at the abandoned station in Eltham just before dusk. I am waiting for him in the fading light, looking down the disused railway line, parallel tracks disappearing into an infinite point, positioning everything in relative distance. All of the railways are now closed in Bundjalung Country. Straight lines leading nowhere. The bridges over the creeks are quiet. The forests and farmlands are not disturbed by freight trains or passengers. The rooms of the station are boarded up. Leaves have blown over the platform. Anything worth stealing has gone; there is only empty space left.
I hear his voice call out behind me. "Meet me in the men's toilet block," he says. I turn to see his leather-clad form disappearing inside. When I catch up, he's in one of the cubicles, door closed. The next stall is open, so I go inside. I can see some movement through the glory hole in the wall. I crouch down beside the toilet bowl, stained with rust from the old pipes, the seat missing, a green frog hiding in the rim, and I peek through. He's wearing leather chaps, and leather waistcoat, no shirt to cover his hairy body, and the big black boots that I love seeing him in. I watch him pulling on the harness over his jockstrap, adjusting the buckles, getting his dick ready for me.
"Do you recognize it?" he asks over the wall. "It's the cast I made of your cock."
I can't take my eyes off it. I reach through the hole; it feels familiar in my hand. My own cock on someone else's body, made of another substance. Not warm and changing, like my own flesh-cock, but constant, hard, silicone-silk to touch. Wanking it is both familiar and novel, with spit in the palm of my hand, and rub my fingers over it the way I would my own. I open my mouth at the hole, waiting to put my lips around it, wide like I'm attending a sacrament, a communion of sorts. He feeds it into me slowly, letting me take my time but not retracting an inch. I am spluttering, just like all of those mouths that have spluttered around me, until I get to the base, and my face touches his harness. The leather smells of sex, and faintly of poppers. I can imagine how many arses have been pressed hard against it. He fucks my face like this, gently, listening to me gurgle, watching my beard around the simulacrum of myself.
"Come here and suck it. Suck yourself," he says after a while. "I want to watch you up close."
I am down on my knees in his cubicle, his cock dripping wet with my saliva. It slides back down my throat easily. I don't gag - he has used bigger toys on me than this. Instead, I get into the sensation of sucking my twin cock. It reaches in deep, past my gullet, to the part where my throat gets rough beyond my tongue. He holds my face, thumbs inside each cheek, his hairy stomach bumping my face. I can tell he is aroused by this - I can smell the wetness in his jockstrap, testosterone flooding my nostrils. I like the scent of his body when I am this close, smothered in his sex, intoxicated by what he does.
He puts my head against the wall, so he can push far down my throat while I cannot move, breathing, spluttering slightly, slurping. I am squatting, denim shorts open, my own cock in my hand, following the movements precisely, stroking my dick while he fucks my face, my tongue and fingers feeling the same girth, the same length. I am drooling from one end, precum glistening on my fingers at the other. I keep wanking like this, not letting myself orgasm, building up the tension until he is ready to give me release.
"OK, bend over for me," he says. "I want to fuck you with your own cock, so you can feel exactly the sensations you have given to everyone else."
He turns me around against the wall, and cuts a hole in my denim shorts, then rips out the seat, exposing my hairy arse. He has a great tongue and he pushes it into me, rimming me with all the passion that he kisses me with. I am moaning, desperate. He is fucking my hole with his thick tongue, pushing me to the brink of my first orgasm, and I am such a slut that I want it now. But of course, he makes me wait and I want him all the more for it. His arms around my waist, he moves me into a better position to sodomize. I bend over the broken toilet bowl, spread my cheeks, and wait for the sensation of the head of his dick - my dick - to push against my hole.
The lube is cold as he rubs it over my arsehole. He doesn't finger me to stretch me in preparation; I am so horny I don't need it. I want it to hurt if it has to. He covers his dick - my dick - in it, wanking it like he wanks me, seeing how excited I am watching him with my head turned back, when finally he laughs cheekily through his thick beard and tells me to slide onto it. He puts the head against my arse, and I rock my hips, welcoming it inside my body, letting the rhythm of my movement take me to the base straight away. I am moaning. Does it really feel this good to have my cock in your arse? I wonder to all of the guys I have ever fucked, but then he takes my hands and places them against the wall at the back of the toilet. "Don't move," he says. "I'm going to fuck you how I want."
Holding my hips in his strong hands, he starts to fuck. His stomach rubbing against my lower back; his hands pulling me back on to his dick as he thrusts forward. He fucks me right at the point where it might start to hurt and my moans tell him how much I am loving it. I keep moving, angling the shaft so he pushes against my prostate. He fucks me hard and long. Precum is dripping from my cock in long crystal-clear strands. Every time I come, which is often, he pounds me harder, bruising my hole as he thrusts into me. I tighten around his cock and then explode, over and over again, lost in the sensation of how good my cock feels, balls deep inside me. When he pulls out and touches my arse, I can feel how much I am gaping for him. When he thrusts it back in, his cock feels like the centre of my universe.
He wraps his fingers around my erection, and slows down his thrusts. My arse is so sensitive that the slightest movements make me quiver with pleasure. And then, gently, emphasising every move, he fucks me at the same tempo as his hand moves along my shaft. I am feeling my cock inside and out, doubling my pleasure. My body is pressed back against him, feeling his large body against my lithe frame, smelling the leather and my sweat, mixed into a heady concoction. We are both watching his fingers around my cock. He is whispering in my ear, telling me how he can feel my cock throbbing in his grip. I am rocking myself back onto his cock - my cock - our cock. He edges me like this until I am shaking and murmuring and weeping and then he tells me to come for him. Moving his fingers just a little faster, I cannot control myself any longer, and thick spurts of spunk jet into the toilet bowl and run over his thick fingers, my arse clenching around the base of the silicone cock he made to fuck me with. When he pulls out, my arse is gaping. I reach around and touch myself, feeling the soft folds of my arse hole, spreading it open for him to taste. He licks me there one more time, tonguing my arse deeply, enough to give me one last orgasm before telling me to go and wait for him in the car.