Second Wind

By BigMetalHusband
published November 21, 2021
7503 words

A retired Olympian struts his stuff on the beach, but when he finally met his met. He gets far more than he bargained for.

“Huuuuargh!” The titanic Texan bellowed, sending his young opponent into the sand. Wrestling was still one of Bronson’s favourite pastimes even in retirement. Muscle beaches were his favourite hunting ground. Dozens of hot headed young men waiting to be put in their places. Despite being in his early fifties, they were a mere shadow of the man he was.

“Any more challengers!?” The old man cried out to the crowd that had gathered to watch this spectacle. None came forward. Bronson looked out over the crowd, shielding his eyes from the late August sun.

After the third combatant; who was just being pulled from the sand by who he assumed was the poor sap’s friends. The crowd had grown far less confident. Disappointing, usually he could go through six or seven before they gave up.

“Uuugh, how long are you going to keep showing off?” Bronson heard his daughter; Bria chastised him from the sidelines. Why was she so annoyed? He only just started. The auburn haired teen’s expression was obviously bored. More so than usual, for a 17 year old.

He had sole custody of her since she was 9, they were close. Especially after he moved from California to escape his ex-wife’s family. He protected her. She was always usually so supportive that he kept wrestling even after retirement. He was as cool as a dad could be, her own words. A high compliment from a teen, but now she was just staring off into the middle distance.

“Her loss.” Bron grumbled to himself, trying not to let her detachment affect the pride he just renewed. This was the first real vacation they had since the divorce. Retirement gave him actual wiggle room for stuff like this. If she didn’t want to join in the fun. That’s on her.

“ARE YA’LL AFRAID TO FIGHT ME?” Bronson bellowed, trying to goad another man forward. They should have been from the start. They had the gall to act like they didn’t know how he was. A Former Olympian!

“Is this all California has to offer?” There was a brief moment of silence before he heard a voice come not from the crowd but behind him.

“I will, loud man.” Said a man in a low baritone, the accent was distinctly Russian. Uncommon in SoCal. Bron turned to face him and was greeted by the flare of the sun. It was like looking into the sun, harsh light refracting the smooth dome of this newcomer.

Before him stood a tall man, only shy of his height by maybe an inch but or two matching in formidable size. Shoulder width a little over a meter across, his girthy muscles were decorated in what looked intricate tattoos, woven blue and black lines locking into solid shapes. Accentuating his muscles on his entire left side. From his boulder shoulder to sturdy foot, even up the back of his head.

It was rare for the old man to find anyone anywhere near his size. He was remarkably pale for this time of year, definitely not from around here. Clad in only a speedo, sunglasses, a pleasant smile and the thickest handlebar moustache Bron had ever seen.

Which stood strong and true in complete defiance of any wind or water that may have touched it. Despite his obvious virility, the man was bald with an obvious horse shoe of dark brown stubble that wreathed his head before blending into the man’s five o’clock shadow.

It was almost tragic to see such a specimen fall short of perfection but he couldn’t fault him for it. This man could finally give him some entertainment. “Perfect. Ok big man, come join me in the ring.”

The opposing titan confidently strolled into the makeshift arena Bron had constructed, “Pasha.” His opponent said, extending his hand. ”Bronson.” Bron returned the introduction, shaking Pasha’s hand. “May best man win?” Pasha said, “I will.” Bronson gave the man a toothy smirk.

On the volunteer referee’s signal, the two men charged each other. It was like watching two mountains crashing together. Arms locking, feet digging into the sand. Neither man was willing to give the other an inch, this was exactly what Bron wanted; A real chance to prove himself.

Mere force wasn’t going to be enough, he was going to have to get clever. With more speed than any man his size should have, he dove for Pasha’s center of gravity only for Pasha to match him. Shoving his shoulder into Bron’s face forcing the man to disengage. The two men circled each other probing for weakness.

Bron struck first, going low only for Pasha to sidestep him. Taking him by the hair and using his own monument to send him into the beach. The crowd gasped as Pasha leaped on top of him, pinning Bronson to the ground.

Bronson was stunned, This was inconceivable. So stunned by Pasha’s expert reversal he didn’t realize the ref was counting until he hit ten. He lost, perfect win streak shattered. The crowd cheered.

“Wait!” The older man shouted, brushing the sand from his beard. Righting himself after his opponent climbed off him. “A rematch! Again!.” He demanded. The bald man chuckled good naturedly. “Very well.”

On their marks Bronson steeled himself, this man wasn’t someone to underestimate. They charged each other once again, clashing like lions on the Serengeti.

Pasha’s defences were strong but his offence lacked against him. Bronson threw out his arm in an attempt to closeline Pasha, but the bald man just ducked the attack.

He reached out. attempting to pin that arm behind Bron’s back. But he wasn’t going to be cowed so easily, following the arc Pasha pulled him in. He turned to face the Russian brute and brought his head down against his dome. Pasha staggered back, giving him his opening.

He grabbed Pasha by his waist and in an impressive feat of strength. Picked him up off the ground, throwing both of their bodies backward. Attempting to suplex him…

The impact never came. Instead of letting himself get driven into the sand, Pasha caught Bron around his torso, planting his own feet into the ground. Leaving them in this awkward crab formation.

Pasha sprung his trap, performing a death roll dropping Bron face first into the ground, arms locked around his opponent’s own torso. Helpless, he could hear the crowd’s muffled cheers under the sand.

At 10, Pasha let the old man stand again. Bron’s long white hair and beard tinted yellow from all the sand plastered to his sweat. He was humiliated, exhausted and… exhilarated, he couldn’t let it end this way.

“Rematch! Again.” He bellowed, furious at his own downfall. Pasha smiled in return, a hint of sadness in the expression… The round was over before he knew it. “Best five out of seven!” Bron bellowed.

They fought for the rest of the afternoon, until the sun started sinking towards the horizon. Long after the crowd grew bored with this one sided brawl and dispersed, until there was one sole spectator.

“Seriously Dad? Haven’t you had enough now?” Bria said her tone was more concerned, watching as Bron pulled himself up from his latest defeat. That concern was wasted. Sure he was going to be sore in the morning but he hadn’t had to beat this fucker at least once!

“Fine, but I am going back to the hotel. Let me know if you end up in the emergency room.” She shook her head, tossing her auburn locks over her shoulder. Walking away in a huff.

What was her problem? Doesn’t she care about her old man’s pride? “I have no more reason to fight you anymore, friend.” Pasha chimed in watching the young lady storm away.

“What do you mean?” Bron barked back, “I only fought you so you would stop bullying those kids.” Pasha shrugged, rolling his enormous shoulders. “Bully? ME?? NEVER.” Bronson shouted legitimately offended, sincere enough to surprise the bald man.

Pasha strode forward, offering a hand to help the man up. “Hm… come friend, let me buy you a drink. We have much to discuss.”

“You’re too eager to prove yourself.” Pasha stated bluntly, sliding some strange white fruity drink towards him. It was good, tasted of pineapple and vanilla; much lighter than anything he usually drank. A welcome change.

“I was only reminding those kids, I wasn’t just some pushover. They were mocking me for working out on their beach. Saying I am too old for it.” Bron shot back.

Pasha sipped his own cocktail, pursing his lips as if he just drank something bitter. It wasn’t the flavour of the drink that was bothering him. “You are professional, I can tell. You are far stronger than any them and you knew that.” Pasha sighed, turning to face towards the sunset.

“They were looking down on me…” Bron mumbled, his resolve suddenly shaken at the sight of Pasha’s disappointment. “I couldn’t let them walk all over me.”

“Does it matter what young man thinks of you? Wouldn’t say… opinion of your daughter matter more?” Pasha shot back. Bronson stared at the bottom of his drink. He never thought of how she might feel watching him bull charge at men half his age… Was that why she seemed so disappointed?

It was her idea to come here, spend some time together and relax together for once… but as fun as it was, Bron realized he didn’t actually spend any of this day with her really.

“The only reason I was able to beat you so easily was because you charged so blindly. Over and over, You are too impatient.” Pasha took a sip of his drink and continued. “Are you afraid of what people think? Even strangers? I can tell you have nothing to prove. You are true modern warrior, do worry about opinions of strangers.”

“You sound like my Ex-wife. She was always complaining about how overconfident she thought I was.” Bron sat towards the bar. He tried to dismiss those words. But they still hit their mark. “But she never complimented me after.”

Most just dismissed his overconfidence out of hand. It wasn’t often someone could see through it so easily. Had he really wasted a day his own daughter reserved for them just to bolster his ego?

“You must be very lonely then.” Pasha said, the words stung a little. His from wound of their divorce still felt so fresh. A shadow that hung over him despite the decade between him and the event.

“I am fuckin’ fine.” Bronson groused, defensively crossing his arms and averting his eyes to the sea. He didn’t need the perceptive Slav’s stare cutting through words again.

“Sigh. Is this what they teach their Olympians in America? That every man you meet wants to take you down peg?” Pasha asked, his words tinged with disappointment. Bronson flinched, that was half true if only indirectly.

He turned towards Pasha, excusing dying on his lips. Catching the tattooed beast’s profile in the sunlight. He was a specimen, jaw jutting forward, hawkish nose and pronounced brow giving him a potent profile.

Light of the setting sun refracted from the peak of his forehead. Gliding along the strong contour of his skull as he turned his head towards Bron. He regretted his early dismissal of the man’s male pattern baldness.

It never struck him how masculine it could look but then again he never met a man like Pasha before. It…reminded him of something he had buried. Lock away behind overachieving and athletics.

Bron stood there locked with Pasha’s smiling eyes, he didn’t even realize the titan was talking to him. “What?” Bron shook his head. “You’re staring with such longing.” Pasha said, clearly amused.

The old man felt a little embarrassed, stroking his beard to distract from his fidgeting hands. “No idea what you are talking about.” Bron huffed. “I am just a little tipsy. Makes me space out.”

Pasha laughed, his voice was so thunderous. Bron’s air of nonchalance fell apart as Pasha’s hand snaked over his shoulder, easing him closer to the other giant. “It would take great many more drinks to get men our size ‘tipsy’, friend.”

“No, It’s more than that…” Pasha chuckled, Bronson swallowed dryly. Was this tension just in his imagination? That look in the Russian’s eyes. He couldn’t be flirting with him could he?

“Look I’m not… I haven’t…I don’t do stuff with other guys.” The weary giant lied, noncommittal. Suppressed memories stirred, days in his distant youth he had tried to stamp out.

“Is shame to see such specimen be so lonely.” Bron found himself following Pasha’s lead. Closing the gap between them, their own immense physiques being the only thing that kept them from getting closer.

“Come join me in my hotel room tonight…” Pasha smiled that godly smile. A radiant glow that cut through the flimsy defence Bron tried to put up to keep these desires out of his head. “I think I will…” Bron said as Pasha finally kissed him.

The old man whimpered, feeling the other man’s lips against his. Their thick whiskers meshing. Pasha wanted in… and he wanted it too. Despite them being in public, despite the social ruin he could face if anyone knew saw him with another man.

Bronson parted his trembling lips, allowing Pasha’s tongue to overtake his. Wrapping his arms around the bald man, the man had earned this after all.

Bron grunted as Pasha shoved him against the wall of his hotel room. Roughly pulling off the man’s tank top and discarding it to the floor. Both men stripped from their street clothes before the door was fully shut.

Bronson had been mostly honest, he hadn’t shared himself with another man. The desire had always been there. Growing up in Texas, even entertaining the idea of being gay could get a man killed.

He had been so desperate to hide from those feelings. He married the first woman that fancied him. Fresh off a gold medal and an assload of endorsements. He earned his white picket fence life. A wife, a kid, a nice car, a big house. His parents were proud of their star athlete. It should have been his happily ever after.

It was hollow instead.

This? This was different. It was intense, demanding. Pasha knew what he wanted and was firm about getting it. Bron was too exhausted from the brawls to really resist. The pale man ran his hands through Bronson’s thick hair. He had long since bothered to maintain it over the last few years.

Only a small elastic band keeping it out of his face. Pasha snapped it with a sharp tug of his thumb, tossed him onto the king sized bed. Leaving Bronson exposed, long silver locks of his beard and head spread around him. A proud Lion’s mane.

Pasha lorded over him, his full grandeur on display. Bronson may have been a few inches taller but Pasha made up for it by being a few inches longer. Pasha truly was a radiant beast of a man.

The younger man climbed on top of him, his eyes drinking in Bronson’s tanned and furred muscle with the same hunger. They locked lips, their hammers clashing at the waist. Tongues battling it out with the fairer skinner man winning out right, just as he did out on the sands.

Calloused hands running through Bronson’s hair as he guided where his head would tilt. Pasha surfaced first leaning Bron to catch his breath as he travelled south. Bron watched as the pale man descended under his arm. Taking a deep drag of the old man’s musk, a heady scent built up under the hot sun and vigorous exertion.

Lifting his own to allow Bron to do the same. He hesitated, watching Pasha inhale his musk deeply. Savouring it. Bron accepted the offered pit, wincing as he planted his face into damp body hair. It hit him immediately, he loved the way this man smelled.

Bron couldn’t help but run his tongue along the sweaty warm pit. Curiosity overpowering his fear, savouring Pasha’s richness. It wasn’t long before Pasha followed suit, tasting him in return.

He could have dined there forever but Pasha had other plans. Departing from his detour, Pasha pressed further south. His hands and lips worshipped every scar on their journey downward.

Bronson watched him breathless as he descended down his hairy torso. Stopping at his prize, Pasha held Bron’s cock up with finger and thumb. Starting from the base, traced the length with his tongue. Gave the head a kiss before swallowing the length whole with a practiced ease Bronson had never witnessed in his 51 years of living.

Bronson moaned, his lungs pushing further into a bellow than he realized. His hands instinctively pressed down on Pasha’s bald head. The man’s smooth scalp felt wonderful against his calloused fingertips .

Their presence was mere lip service; between the skill of Pasha’s tongue, his throat and the soft texture of his moustache gliding over his cock, Bron wasn’t in any state of mind to be making any calls.

He was so preoccupied he didn’t even see Pasha grabbing the lube from the nightstand. Didn’t hear the bottle opening. What the bald man had planned was completely over his head until the foreigner was spreading his legs. Sending them up over his head to join them. Maybe then only because he stopped sucking to do it.

In a coordinated assault, the pale man eased Bron’s cock down his throat as he pushed two fingers against the older man’s hole. Bron’s body gave in with a shutter.

It didn’t take long for Pasha to find what he was looking for and nudge it with his digits. Bronson’s hips bucked reflexing causing the bald man to choke for the first time since they started. Even though Bron was just over 10 inches in length.

Bron opened his mouth to apologize only to have the thought flattened as Pasha resumed his oral work with renewed hunger.

Pacing pressing down on the old man’s prostate while working his cock at different speeds. Pasha played the old man like a lewd instrument, leaving him to buck and moan wildly on the empty bed.

This was a sexual revelation,never in all his years could he imagine a blow job could feel this good. Bronson didn’t last long, the old man came. His companion drank deeply, letting Bronson spasm until this orgasm subsided.

He wasn’t left alone for long, his tattooed lover climbed on top of him and their lips met once again. He could taste himself on Pasha’s tongue but he didn’t mind.

Bronson just wanted to savour this night anyway he could. “Round 2?…” He whispered as Pasha broke their tender kiss. “I…am afraid you aren’t ready for that.” Pasha said back.


“What do you mean?” Bronson pushed Pasha off of him, the man looked a little guilty for it. “ I need something from the men I bed, but I can’t ask that of you. We just met and you are virgin.” Pasha sat up right, looking down at Bron that warm comforting smile back on his face.

“We’ve only just started. I’ll give you what you want, I need this.” Pasha took in the Texan’s response and stood from the bed, he walked away into the small bathroom attached to his room.

“Hey, wait.” Bronson said, reaching for the pale man. He knew he must have sounded pathetic yet he couldn’t mask his longing. Pasha returned holding a black box. What was this some sort of bondage play?

Pasha carefully opened the box, pulling out a set of heavy duty clippers. Bronson’s eyes grew wide. “See there? That’s response I expected, you see. I sculpt men I lay with. Leave them more than what they were when I met them. But I won’t ask that of you, we keep our play light.”

Pasha’s eyes showed his sadness, his bushy brows turned upward despite his attempts to hide the sting of rejection he was anticipating. What an odd request, yet that didn’t look like the kind of shaving kit a hotel would supply. He must have been carrying it in his luggage.

It struck Bronson that this really meant something to the bald man. And yet, he’s attached so much of his masculine ideal to his mane. For his entire life his locks were untamed, majestic.

Could he really part with them for a night with this man? Let him shear the lion? What would everyone think of seeing his naked head, what if he looked weird? Ugly? Pathetic? A sad shadow of his companion’s masculine skull? How it shone like a star under the summer sun.

Could he really let his pride cost him an intimate moment with this man? Was he really going to hide again? Pasha went to put the clippers away, the sexual energy draining from the room. “Wait.” Pasha stopped at the sound of the old man’s voice.

“I’ll let you… uh, shape me. But only on the condition I can spend another night with you after this.” Pasha couldn’t believe it. He looked Bronson face red with blush but eyes fixed in that same determined stare his eyes met with in the arena. He plugged the clippers in, they roared to life. “Come then, kneel in front of me.”

Bronson sank to his knees slowly before the other man. His tamer’s weapon standing straight out infront of him. It was no secret, Pasha was excited to do this. Bron tried to swallow his nerves.

He was but he wasn’t going to let this wonderful night end over something so trivial as his few strands of hair. Not after finally experiencing masculine love.

“Suck.” Pasha instructed, and Bron nodded, easing forward. He had to marvel at it, Pasha’s cock was magnificent. Girthy with a graceful curve to it. The old man wrapped his paw around it. Stroked it, peeling back the foreskin.

This was going to be a night of many firsts. The musk was making his head swim, spurring him onward. The pale men brought the humming blades to Bron’s forehead, causing the old man to freeze. He looked meekly up, his trepidation transparent.

“First move is yours my friend, you don’t have to do this.” Pasha said, his face nothing but sympathetic. Those beautiful blue eyes lit a fire in Bronson’s spirit. His bravery burned through his doubts. It would be worth it. He decided right there to show his commitment.

He pushed forward letting the head slip past his moustache. The blades bit into his hairline as he took Pasha into his mouth. Letting that exquisite warmth pass over his tongue. Both men purred in unison.

The clippers felt remarkable against his head, slicing through decades of pride. Sending years of precious growth, rolling to the floor in an instant. Yet despite his sudden bravado, Bronson was still an amateur and could not sink far enough down to finish a full pass over his head.

“Easy, don’t gag yourself…” Pasha said comfortingly, motioning Bron to keep still. He began to mellowly thrust into the old man’s mouth, his real attention focused on Bron’s head.

Bronson found himself leaning into the clippers and they carved another swathe of hair from his head. More than a foot of silver hair pooling at his feet. A third pass and Bron’s own cock was at attention. Fully rekindled. A fourth and Bron forced himself to swallow another inch, earning a surprised gasp from his barber. Fifth and Bron struggled further still despite Pasha’s protests. Overeager to give Pasha easier access to the back of his head even if it meant half gagging to do so.

Pass after pass, more and more of his precious silver locks gathered around him . Fell on his shoulders, into his lap. Each stroke only drove his arousal further as this new form of domination carried his mind away.

All at once it ended, Pasha pulled his cock from Bron’s hungry maw and stood the man up, before Bron could protest. Pasha sent those clippers pillaging into his billowing beard. Attachment now equipped, Pasha merciless trimmed that enormous unkempt beard into a manageable length. When the clippers finally went silent, Pasha spun the old man towards the mirror that was on top of the room’s dresser.

A stranger stared back at him.

Bronson was stunned, oblivious to Pasha’s hands wandering up his form. The pale man’s erection pressed against his back. The buzzcut, it was like staring at a new person. Not the insecure wreck that scrambled endlessly to establish dominance in every room. It was the reflection of a composed, more confident man.

Realizing he was being a little too unresponsive for just a mere surprise, Pasha asked “Ah, you don’t like it then?” snapping Bron from his reverie. Seeing Pasha shrinking back, an apology written on his face.

“No wait, it’s ok…” Bronson grabbed onto the northerner’s hands with his own, stopping his retreat. Bron didn’t turn from the mirror, Pasha had to watch him through the reflection. The pale man looked bemused, questions on his lips hidden by that moustache.

“I was so used to looking a certain way and this? It’s like becoming someone else.” Bron said humbly. “It really floored me is all.” Pasha moved closer, far more cautious than he was at any other time since they met. Wrapping the old man’s body into a hug.

“I knew there was an incredible man hidden behind that bravado. You just needed to find him.” Bronson smiled if only a little at that, brushing the stubble for the first time. His head felt like fine sandpaper, it was nice… but not as nice as how Pasha’s dome felt.

“You’ll help me find him?” Bron said, looking over his shoulder. “Course.” Pasha smiled back.

“Well then.” Bronson finally turned to look the Russian goliath in the eye. “Down to the skin, like your’s? The rest of this beard can fuck off too. I’m inspired to adopt a more refined brand of facial fur.” The Texan chuckled slyly, kissing not Pasha’s mouth but his moustache. Pasha’s eyes lit up at that, as if he was surprised anyone else would want to look as beautiful as he did.

Bronson said, back pressed against Pasha’s hairless chest, legs pulled back as far as he could manage with just one arm. The other slowly easing out a viberator in and out of his hole.

Pasha’s recommendation, if he was really new to this as he said he was. He was going to need some warming up before he could take all of the northerner into him.

Bron had a feeling it had more to do with how Pasha timed each gentle stroke of the razor with every time Bron pushed the toy inside himself. The man he was mere hours ago would never have been able to comprehend where it was now. On the floor pressed closed to another man; his hole, washed, douched and now quite limber.

Pasha seemed to be taking his time. Not that he minded, he enjoyed the feeling of that sharp blade dancing gracefully over his scalp. Even as the Russian shaved him for the second time. He found himself just relishing in the act. For such a strong man, Pasha was surprisingly delicate, gliding the sharp blade over the contours of his emerging scalp.

Pasha’s precise skillful movements devastated what stubble remained but leaving Bronson’s virgin dome damaged. How sensitive it was to each time his burly barber tilted his head to reach another tricky angle. Set on not leaving a single hair left on his new lover’s head.

Over a chin that had not seen the light of day since he was 21, now rendered smoother than his favourite lager from back home. Pasha had fully transformed the once shaggy old wash-up into someone completely new and Bron was eager to meet that man in time.

“I think you’re ready.” he heard Pasha purred in his ear before running his tongue over Bronson’s new, pristine, bald head. He had to bite down on his lower lip to keep from climaxing right then.

“How do you want me to take you?” the pale man asked, his voice dark. Bron swallowed his throat dry, his head spinning. This was the point of no-return. “On my back…I want to see your eyes.”

Bronson was eased back onto his bed, the feeling of the cool silk of the pillow hit against his virgin scalp first. Followed the viberator being replaced by something meatier and thicker. His breath caught in his throat.

God, he wanted this. He really wanted this. Pasha leaned forward kissing Bron’s bare forehead. “Just relax.” He deftly raised the old man’s legs, letting them rest on his shoulders. The pale man gave Bron a nod, a signal and pushed forward with a causal ease, not breaking eye contact as he speared Bron open with his hardness.

The old man’s hole opened for him easily as he planned it would. Bron grasped the bed sheets tightly, a sensation like nothing else filling him. There was an intense discomfort as his body tried to acclimate. Something else hidden underneath. Something that made him feel complete.

Pasha sat up right, drawing his hips back. Taking his sweet time slowly drove it home, earning another gasp from his fledgling bottom. He wasn’t in any hurry, especially if this man insisted on seeing him again. Oh he was going to give this old man his money’s worth.

He ramped up his pace with the skill of a master. Watching for signals to increase his speed, add more force. When Bron’s eyes rolled back, when his furrowed brows relaxed, when his moans grew louder. It wasn’t surprising this man was a vocal bottom, all things considered.

Pasha watched as Bron sank deeper and deeper into the act. Sweat formed on the peak of his newly balded head, gliding down over his features. It was a beautiful sight, nothing filled Pasha with more satisfaction than showing another man the 2 most wonderful pleasures he knew. The feeling of a bald head, and submission to a true professional, he knew nothing better he could offer. Save for one.

Pasha took one of the scarred legs off his shoulder and examined the foot attached to it. Without hesitation he pressed the thick sole into his face. It was easily a size 40. Enough to eclipse his entire face. Absolutely heavenly.

He gave the foot a long slow lick, feeling its owner twitch in response. The pale man glanced at the man beneath him as he swapped to sample the other. Bron looked up at him, one good eye bewildered. Yet his hand still stoked his length as he watched the once composed man slobber on his feet.

Pasha peaked from behind the meaty extremity. “Don’t be in such rush to finish, love. Play with your chest, rub your head. I’ll bring you to climax. Trust me.” Bronson complied, bringing one hand to his head. Just in time for Pasha to thrust again, sending another bolt of pleasure up the old man’s spine.

The pale man resumed tracing slow circles on the pads of the other man’s feet. In truth Bronson was reluctant to feel his new look for himself. He was so worried he wouldn’t like it, it was so different so weird and yet… It felt amazing, he didn’t think what the tattooed behemoth was doing to him could feel any better but he was wrong.

His delicate scalp tingled under his rough hand, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sensation. That silky smoothness was his. His body throbbed with pleasure that only grew with each shove of Pasha’s hips. He was so full he thought the man was hitting his stomach. A fantasy to be sure but in the moment it felt real to him.

He knew the northern giant wasn’t lying, he wasn’t going to last much longer. Between the stimulus coming from his feet, his head and his ass, he was a time bomb just waiting to go off.

Each thrust sent his sex addled mind over the edge. They were coming harder now, enough to make his giant bulk buck with the impact. Pasha’s own feasting seemed to fuel his own fire. His once immaculate moustache fanning out around his feet as the man sucked down Bron’s toes in pairs. The sound of flesh against flesh joining the symphony of moans and creaking wood around them as Pasha’s thrusts gained intensity.

The old man braced himself, as his cock twitched. Hands desperately reaching out to grab hold of something. His soulful moans rose an octave, his head tossed back and he came, came hard.

Harder than any time he could recall. His seed shot out like cannonfire, nearly hitting the headboard. String of seed christening his bare head and newly carved moustache as his vision went white.

He was only dazed for a moment but Pasha was already kneeling over him, tossing the towel he used to wipe himself off with aside. Dick aimed directly at his face. Without thinking he open his mouth for it. His tongue forming the road, the slick meat slid easily into his eager maw. A strong guiding hand placed itself on his sensitive head. Bronson let out a needy whimper in response. The combination of a firm grasp stroking his head and his mouth filling with another man’s masculinity overpowered his need to maintain his mask of heterosexuality.

He couldn’t help but push forward as deep as he could. He wanted nothing more but to bury nose in Pasha’s hairless groin. He was many months of practice off from such a feat, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it.

Pasha couldn’t contain his sense of paternal joy looking, watching Bronson sink further and further into his devotion to his new look. Good, the world deserved to see Bron like this. He gave Bron’s dome another stroke as he gave the man’s mouth another lazy thrust. The old man purred like an enormous house cat around the meat in his mouth. Yes, more people needed to see this grizzled old brawler EXACTLY like this.

It was a disservice to hide who he truly was. He took his hand away letting the old man suck down as much as he could without intervention. Tuckered out from intensity of the sex. Bron settled into a more languid pace. Slowly bringing Pasha to finish. It was for the best his technique needed work but his earnestness made up for that. He only got to enjoy himself for a few moments before Pasha pulled away. Bron looked up confused, watching the younger man stroke himself.

Pasha stared down at him, face fixed in concentration as if he was holding back for something. It clicked, what Pasha wanted and Instead of asking questions Bron lowering his head to expose more of Pasha’s handy work.

He heard the man grumble above him, something that sounded like ‘good man’ before the tattooed beast came too, giving his head a second baptism.

Bron woke to bright sunlight spilling through the room’s white curtains,a hefty tattooed arm draped haphazardly over him. Pushing it aside, he sat up right head still swimming. Reaching up to scratching his head.

His hand met bare skin, it all came back to him in a rush. Clarity snapping him from his half sleep state, he leaped from the bed. Pasha, completely undisturbed by his sudden movement. Bronson made his way directly in front of the mirror. To get a good look at the stranger staring back at him.

An old man with a broad box jaw easing into a smooth pale dome stared back at him. Light from behind him shining off his denuded head like a beacon. His chin was so much wider than he remembered, he really grew into it.

He ran his hand over the thick perfectly rectangular moustache that still hid his mouth, it looked surprisingly good on him. He never pictured himself without a beard before, and he’d certainly grow it back eventually. Just not right away is all.

His features really refined themselves with age; strong nose, striking cheekbones, distinguished wrinkles. He knew he was handsome before but wow. The white colour of his hair showed no shadow on the rest of his head. It was like there was no hair there to begin with. The old man smiled, craning his neck from side to side admiring the strong curve of his head, how it caught the morning light.

Sure he had to give it some sun but he had a feeling his head was going to get plenty of it in the future. Something caught his eye, nearly blending into white carpeting, discarded hair still on the floor. He turned from his reflection.

Picking up the silver threads from the carpet, it was odd. Shouldn’t he feel a greater sense of loss than this? Instead he felt… free, freer than he ever had been in the many decades he walked this earth. Maybe this was a sign, to take some of Pasha’s words to heart. The original bald man rolled in his sleep, the new bald man smiled to himself. He owed that man a lot, and he knew just how to repay him…but first. He didn’t do the best job wiping off when he went to bed, a proper shower was in order.

The great Russian bear stirred from his rest to the sound of Bronson’s voice. Only catching pieces as his mind struggled to turn on. Apologies, some place, a woman’s man…? What was he saying?

“Yeah, it’s exactly how it sounds. I spent the night with him…”

Bronson stood at the mirror in only a towel borrowed from the hotel bathroom. It was obviously too small to wrap properly around his waist. So the big man was forced to do most of the work himself. His phone looked almost comically small in his enormous mitt, held carefully between thumb and middle to his ear.

“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t mind. Your generation was better about this stuff… I’ll wait, test the waters before I tell anyone else…” The Texan was speaking in a soft voice, as if he could disturb the other goliath.

“What do you mean you already figured it out?…” Bronson harrumphed, sounding flustered. “Fuckin’ hell, Fine. Enjoy the clout for having a big gay dad.”

“You’re telling your family already? That’s good, honesty will do wonders.” Pasha rolled onto his back, bleary eyed. Instinctively rubbing his fingers over his moustache in an attempt to straighten it.

Bronson glanced over his shoulder, seeing his new companion stir. “He’s awake, I have to go… Yes, I’ll see you soon Bria…Good morning!" The old man turned to face him. Joy radiating off his face, prominent laugh lines and the crinkle of crows feet accenting his smile. Why he ever covered that gregarious face under the mop was beyond Pasha’s understanding. The Northerner sat up, as the old man strode towards them letting his towel fall to the carpet.

Pasha rose to meet him, their lips meshing together like puzzle pieces. Pasha’s prominent moustache mingled with Bron’s fleshly cut one in a movement so graceful it almost looked rehearsed.

The pair collapsed into a heap on the bed; tongue and moustaches tangling as two men explored each other’s bald heads. Pasha’s hands gliding along his chin to cup his head sent chills throughout Bron’s body. His own hands couldn’t help but to toy with the border between the narrow band of stubble, what little remained for Pasha’s hair and his bald spot. What a scintillating contrast.

What a privilege for nature to gift this wonderful man such beauty… for him to share it with others. Bron broke their kiss, smiling dumbly. “Last night was like nothing I’ve ever felt before…” That smile only broadened as he felt the other man’s hand snake up the back of his cranium. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into Pasha’s paw.

“Mmmh, trust me. Feeling never loses its luster. It would be lie to say I didn’t want to do this to you moment we sat at bar.” Pasha said, letting his hand slide over the old man’s bull neck returning to the curves of his back. That’s when a thought struck the old man, a rarity for him.

“Do you, uh… do this to a lot of men?” Bron asked out of genuine curiosity. Pasha retreated, if only slightly looking pensive. “Occasionally, not as often as I’d like but not everyone I’ve slept with is willing. I hope that doesn’t ruin our night together. I do not wish for you to walk away from this with regrets."

Bronson gave it some thought but just as the worry started to bubble in Pasha’s gut, the daft bastard gave him a playful jab on his tattooed pectoral. “HA, the only regret I have is that I won’t be able to let my hair grow out long enough to let you cut it off again.” The old man guffaws, reeling Pasha back in. They were addicted to each other’s lips. Both men sliding into their respective roles like gloves. Bron, open and welcoming, Pasha, hungry and passionate. Grinding their growing erections until they were sore with want.

“I need your hole, Bron…” The tattooed beast growled, “Shit, Pasha. I’m still a little sore. Go easy?” Bronson mumbled, a deliberately weak defence. He’d lost so much time already. He didn’t want to waste another second with a man again if he could help it.

“I’ll kiss it better.” The mighty northerner rumbled, rolling the Texan on his back. Bronson looked over his shoulder, exposed. His fuzzy ass spread by his new lover’s greedy hands.

The look in Pasha’s eyes was so hungry, he didn’t just want him. The tattooed beast NEEDED his body just as much as Bronson craved his. Damn, that was strangely gratifying. He arched his back, offering his hole. Leaving himself open, wonderfully vulnerable. The great Russian bear took the invitation.

He buried his face between Bronson’s hairy buns, choking out an “Oh, shit!” From the startled man. “Oooh shit…” The old man repeated airily, feeling Pasha’s ambitious tongue, twist and tease his hole open. Two out of two holes agreed, the Slav was one hell of a kisser. Bron let his voice ease into his higher register, moaning in needy delight. Deliberately provoking Pasha’s need to please him. Sending the eager northerner into a feeding frenzy.

Pasha pressed his wriggling appendage down as far as he could manage. Slowly stroking the Texan’s leaking cock. More to keep Bron under his control than to please him. No, he knew how to eat a man’s hole. It was a ravenous bruteforce tongue fuck. Milking the mewling bottom to climax in mere minutes. His hole a spit soaked mess.

It wouldn’t be the last time Pasha brought him to climax that day. Again in the shower, after touching up each other’s shaves. The old man pressed against the shower wall, letting Pasha’s strength overwhelm him. When they got back to his room after a proper day at the beach with Bria. The 2 colossus, locking into a carnal 69. Taking their sweet time to appreciate the favourite parts of the other man.

Having Pasha love on him was an experience Bronson came to cherish. Savouring his company the next morning and the day after and nearly every other day that followed after.

Wanking material
You've created tags exclusively for this story! Please avoid exclusive tags!