I really hate the airport. Don’t get me wrong, I like traveling. I just hate wading through the suffocating stream of jet lagged people coming or going like so many cattle. And the “hurry up and wait” tempo that air travel puts you through just drags me down. But that’s not a concern today. Today I’m just picking up a weary traveler and, since I haven’t boarded a plane, maybe I will be fresh and alive enough to lift his spirits. Maybe. I don’t even know this guy, so lifting his spirits may be a lost cause. After all, he’s been traveling for the better part of 24 hours now—all the way from South Africa. It’s weird how it worked out, but my wife opened our house to a foreign national student to study international business at the University of Texas for a semester and this guy, Uri Kriel, was the winning recipient of free room and board courtesy of me. I’m not complaining, we can afford it and it helps someone get his start in life.
So here I stand, cardboard sign in hand, watching the faces of the haggard flyers descend the escalator to retrieve their worldly possessions from the turning baggage claim platform. He catches my eye right after I scan his face. A brief nod and a tentative smile as he steps off the stairs onto Texas soil. He’s a good looking fellow. Well built, but not at all heavy. “Looks like he could take a punch,” I think to myself before even realizing it. Confession: I have a thing about the male stomach and wanting to hit it. I size guys up almost unconsciously. I’ve never really let it go beyond that outside of the playful tapping guys do to each other when they can one another off guard. But the thought is almost always there when I see a guy who looks like he takes good care of himself.
“Uri Kriel?” I ask as I extend my hand in a friendly Texas greeting. He pumps it vigorously with a heavily accented, “At your service!” We exchange the common pleasantries of inquiring about travel and discussing the heat in Texas as we wait for his bags to circle around. He’s 21 years old and excited to be visiting the USA for a few months while he finishes his degree. He’s a little taller than me, but about 25 pounds lighter by my guess. Dresses well enough for a student travelling abroad. He carries the conversation without much input from me which is a good character trait. Even after lengthy flights across the Atlantic, he’s alert and vibrant enough to talk about himself and his studies without sounding incoherent. Initial impression is this young man has his act together.
We arrive home to Stephanie, my wife, along with Jenny and Claire, our two daughters, and our dog greeting Uri with smiles and welcomes. The dog sniffs him thoroughly before offering her head for a pat. We all show Uri to his room and help with his bags. I figure he’ll want to crash pretty quickly after we eat dinner, but he’s seen the pool and wants to know if he can relax there afterward. “Sure thing,” I say. “Did you bring trunks?” “It’s winter at home,” he reminds me, “so I didn’t even think about it.” “No worries. You can borrow one of my suits until we can get you one of your own.”
Later I take him upstairs to let him pick one, which he does, and then proceeds to strip buck naked in front of me. “Okay! You’re certainly eager to get wet,” I joke. “Sorry, mate,” he says, “I’m just used to hanging around the guys and not even thinking about modesty.” He’s even better built than I thought. Slender frame, yes, but with some nice definition. Again, I think about hitting those abs and the thought almost takes control of me.
“Is that okay?” “What?” I ask coming out of my internal conversation back into reality. “Would you care to join me?” “Uh, yeah, just let me get changed, too.” He sits down on the bench in our dressing room while I grab a suit from the dresser. I notice that he’s not leaving and that he’s oblivious to the awkward situation developing. After an uncomfortable pause, I start undressing anyway. It’s cool. He’s cool. He’s just accustomed to different social norms. He’s talking about the pool and the water and — is he checking me out?! I instinctively blush and turn a little to the side, but he’s totally checking me out. Then I think, “Damn! Did he notice me doing the same?” I glance at him sideways and he’s smiling at me. “Don’t fret, mate! It’s okay to look sometimes.” He’s standing now as I pull up my trunks and tie them nervously. “I’m sorry?” I question him innocently. “I saw you giving me the once over before. It’s cool. I get it a lot at school. Mostly from the girls, but sometimes a guy will look too long at me and I know he’s sizing me up. Happens a lot when I run without my shirt on. I don’t mind really. It’s flattering, I guess.” I apologize and try to leave it at that.
“You’ve got nice abs for a guy your age,” he volunteers. Big mistake! “My age?! What do you know about my age?” “Not trying to dis you, mate! Just saying you look like you still take really good care of yourself.” “Still?!” I exclaim, incredulous that this guy I just met is raking me over for my age. “If you weren’t a guest in my house, I would say we would go a couple of rounds to prove who is still fit.” I am joking, of course, but silently hopeful he’ll bite on my challenge. “What do you mean?” “Oh, I was just kidding with you,” I chuckle. “Thought I’d throw a few punches at your abs and let you do the same to me. You know, just messing with you.” “Alright,” he states matter of factly. “Where should we do this? Right here or out by the pool?” “What? No!” I interrupt him quickly. ‘”We can’t do that! I mean, I’m not going to do that! You just got here and you’re a guest and I’m…” He cut me off mid sentence, “I’m game actually. We could just try it once or twice. Go ahead.” He’s standing there with his hands behind his back and abs tentatively flexed, feet spread apart. He’s done this before, I tell myself. So, reluctantly, I agree to a few light punches just to appease him. After all he is a guest, right?
I take a stance in front and reach out with my fist to test his abs first. I push in slightly to feel firm resistance behind the flesh of his stomach. A light tap or two just to get the spot right and then I look him in the eye to be sure he’s okay with this. His expression says he’s good, so I wind up and give him a punch that wouldn’t hurt your grandmother. “What was that?” he jokes. “Try that again, but harder this time.” I put more of my weight into this one and it smacks him just to the right of his navel and makes him step back slightly. “That was better, but you can hit harder than that. I’ll be fine.” So, without warning, I unload a three punch combo to his lower abs that causes an “OOF!” and two steps back. “Whoa! That caught me off guard, but I’m okay. Maybe one more like that and then it can be your turn.” One more like that, I think? Maybe and maybe not. So I let him almost get settled into his stance when I jab an upper cut into his solar plexus followed by two more solid punches on each side of his navel. “OOOH!” he gasps as the air leaves his lungs in a rush and he doubles over with his arms holding his gut. Too much, I chastise myself! You’re laying into him too hard!
But I’m surprised when he stands back up, because he’s obviously enjoying this. There is a telling bulge in those trunks that says he wants more. So I put my hand squarely in his chest and push him back against the wall. “You like this, don’t you? This gets your motor going, I think.” It’s his turn to blush now as he realizes what I know. “You want more?” “Please,” he whispers trying to brace himself for what’s coming.
Now I have to be a little more strategic. This could go on for a while if I play it right and pace myself and Uri. “Okay then. I’m going to slow it down some so we can enjoy the process a little more.” I start into a 10-minute rhythm of one-two combos that firmly plant around his mid-section and occasionally throw a few jabs into his rib cage or onto his pecs. He’s starting to glisten with sweat as his breathing becomes heavier, but he’s holding his own much to my pleasure. I place his arms over his head and indicate that he should hold them there for a while. This opens up his abdomen for a heavier onslaught of punches. He crumbles after the first two combos, but regains his strength and assumes the position again. We catch each other in the eye and give a competitive smirk before resuming. One-two. One-two. One-two. Over and over again sinking into his gut further and further with each punch until he waves me off and doubles over again. It’s been half an hour since we started and I’m sure Stephanie is wondering what we’re up to. Or maybe she just thinks we’re talking.
“Are you going to make it?” I ask. He’s nodding and standing up again. His hard on is most evident and he tries to hide it by cupping his hands over his crotch. I move them around behind his back and stare at his erection under my swim trunks. My own erection is beginning to stiffen and he sees it, too. He unties his suit and slips it down around his ankles and nods that I should do the same. What the hell is happening here?! This can’t be going on! But it is and I don’t stop it.
He takes my balls in his hand and gives them a squeeze. “Unh…” I sigh with pleasure. Then he takes my hand in his other and places it under his own balls. I gently squeeze and get a satisfied, “Unh” in return. Still holding his junk in my left hand I begin to punch his abs slowly and softly. His dick is rock hard now. Each punch I give him is harder, but he’s no longer resisting. They sink deeply into his unflexed abs and his dick trembles at every blow. I massage his balls and lower shaft in rhythm with my punches. His head is thrown back and he’s watching the ceiling. I step into him and our chests are almost touching. I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the sweat running down his face and chest. I continue to slowly and deeply push my fists into his soft stomach and feel his throbbing penis in my hand. My own is rubbing on his pelvis. I can feel the intense pleasure that leads to release building inside me. He mutters, “I’m going to cum soon” in my ear. I increase the pace and power of my punches and he groans with each one until he explodes in jets of cum that splash my lower torso repeatedly.
He rubs his juice on my dick and strokes it feverishly while I wind down my punches to his stomach ever slower and softer. We’re standing against one another and his moans and the feel of his relaxed abs feed my desire to the point that I, too, explode in a way that I haven’t for years. We are both shivering with delight while we hold each other up. I take it all in for what feels like ages and then step back and look into his face. We stare at one another not knowing what to say until he smiles and announces, “This is going to be a great semester!”
hardpunch (17)
8/16/2019 7:53 PMGreat story....and fantasy.
ClayPunch (1)
8/15/2019 5:51 AMI really hate the airport. Don’t get me wrong, I like traveling. I just hate wading through the suffocating stream of jet lagged people coming or going like so many cattle. And the “hurry up and wait” tempo that air travel puts you through just drags me down. But that’s not a concern today. Today I’m just picking up a weary traveler and, since I haven’t boarded a plane, maybe I will be fresh and alive enough to lift his spirits. Maybe. I don’t even know this guy, so lifting his spirits may be a lost cause. After all, he’s been traveling for the better part of 24 hours now—all the way from South Africa. It’s weird how it worked out, but my wife opened our house to a foreign national student to study international business at the University of Texas for a semester and this guy, Uri Kriel, was the winning recipient of free room and board courtesy of me. I’m not complaining, we can afford it and it helps someone get his start in life.
So here I stand, cardboard sign in hand, watching the faces of the haggard flyers descend the escalator to retrieve their worldly possessions from the turning baggage claim platform. He catches my eye right after I scan his face. A brief nod and a tentative smile as he steps off the stairs onto Texas soil. He’s a good looking fellow. Well built, but not at all heavy. “Looks like he could take a punch,” I think to myself before even realizing it. Confession: I have a thing about the male stomach and wanting to hit it. I size guys up almost unconsciously. I’ve never really let it go beyond that outside of the playful tapping guys do to each other when they can one another off guard. But the thought is almost always there when I see a guy who looks like he takes good care of himself.
“Uri Kriel?” I ask as I extend my hand in a friendly Texas greeting. He pumps it vigorously with a heavily accented, “At your service!” We exchange the common pleasantries of inquiring about travel and discussing the heat in Texas as we wait for his bags to circle around. He’s 21 years old and excited to be visiting the USA for a few months while he finishes his degree. He’s a little taller than me, but about 25 pounds lighter by my guess. Dresses well enough for a student travelling abroad. He carries the conversation without much input from me which is a good character trait. Even after lengthy flights across the Atlantic, he’s alert and vibrant enough to talk about himself and his studies without sounding incoherent. Initial impression is this young man has his act together.
We arrive home to Stephanie, my wife, along with Jenny and Claire, our two daughters, and our dog greeting Uri with smiles and welcomes. The dog sniffs him thoroughly before offering her head for a pat. We all show Uri to his room and help with his bags. I figure he’ll want to crash pretty quickly after we eat dinner, but he’s seen the pool and wants to know if he can relax there afterward. “Sure thing,” I say. “Did you bring trunks?” “It’s winter at home,” he reminds me, “so I didn’t even think about it.” “No worries. You can borrow one of my suits until we can get you one of your own.”
Later I take him upstairs to let him pick one, which he does, and then proceeds to strip buck naked in front of me. “Okay! You’re certainly eager to get wet,” I joke. “Sorry, mate,” he says, “I’m just used to hanging around the guys and not even thinking about modesty.” He’s even better built than I thought. Slender frame, yes, but with some nice definition. Again, I think about hitting those abs and the thought almost takes control of me.
“Is that okay?” “What?” I ask coming out of my internal conversation back into reality. “Would you care to join me?” “Uh, yeah, just let me get changed, too.” He sits down on the bench in our dressing room while I grab a suit from the dresser. I notice that he’s not leaving and that he’s oblivious to the awkward situation developing. After an uncomfortable pause, I start undressing anyway. It’s cool. He’s cool. He’s just accustomed to different social norms. He’s talking about the pool and the water and — is he checking me out?! I instinctively blush and turn a little to the side, but he’s totally checking me out. Then I think, “Damn! Did he notice me doing the same?” I glance at him sideways and he’s smiling at me. “Don’t fret, mate! It’s okay to look sometimes.” He’s standing now as I pull up my trunks and tie them nervously. “I’m sorry?” I question him innocently. “I saw you giving me the once over before. It’s cool. I get it a lot at school. Mostly from the girls, but sometimes a guy will look too long at me and I know he’s sizing me up. Happens a lot when I run without my shirt on. I don’t mind really. It’s flattering, I guess.” I apologize and try to leave it at that.
“You’ve got nice abs for a guy your age,” he volunteers. Big mistake! “My age?! What do you know about my age?” “Not trying to dis you, mate! Just saying you look like you still take really good care of yourself.” “Still?!” I exclaim, incredulous that this guy I just met is raking me over for my age. “If you weren’t a guest in my house, I would say we would go a couple of rounds to prove who is still fit.” I am joking, of course, but silently hopeful he’ll bite on my challenge. “What do you mean?” “Oh, I was just kidding with you,” I chuckle. “Thought I’d throw a few punches at your abs and let you do the same to me. You know, just messing with you.” “Alright,” he states matter of factly. “Where should we do this? Right here or out by the pool?” “What? No!” I interrupt him quickly. ‘”We can’t do that! I mean, I’m not going to do that! You just got here and you’re a guest and I’m…” He cut me off mid sentence, “I’m game actually. We could just try it once or twice. Go ahead.” He’s standing there with his hands behind his back and abs tentatively flexed, feet spread apart. He’s done this before, I tell myself. So, reluctantly, I agree to a few light punches just to appease him. After all he is a guest, right?
I take a stance in front and reach out with my fist to test his abs first. I push in slightly to feel firm resistance behind the flesh of his stomach. A light tap or two just to get the spot right and then I look him in the eye to be sure he’s okay with this. His expression says he’s good, so I wind up and give him a punch that wouldn’t hurt your grandmother. “What was that?” he jokes. “Try that again, but harder this time.” I put more of my weight into this one and it smacks him just to the right of his navel and makes him step back slightly. “That was better, but you can hit harder than that. I’ll be fine.” So, without warning, I unload a three punch combo to his lower abs that causes an “OOF!” and two steps back. “Whoa! That caught me off guard, but I’m okay. Maybe one more like that and then it can be your turn.” One more like that, I think? Maybe and maybe not. So I let him almost get settled into his stance when I jab an upper cut into his solar plexus followed by two more solid punches on each side of his navel. “OOOH!” he gasps as the air leaves his lungs in a rush and he doubles over with his arms holding his gut. Too much, I chastise myself! You’re laying into him too hard!
But I’m surprised when he stands back up, because he’s obviously enjoying this. There is a telling bulge in those trunks that says he wants more. So I put my hand squarely in his chest and push him back against the wall. “You like this, don’t you? This gets your motor going, I think.” It’s his turn to blush now as he realizes what I know. “You want more?” “Please,” he whispers trying to brace himself for what’s coming.
Now I have to be a little more strategic. This could go on for a while if I play it right and pace myself and Uri. “Okay then. I’m going to slow it down some so we can enjoy the process a little more.” I start into a 10-minute rhythm of one-two combos that firmly plant around his mid-section and occasionally throw a few jabs into his rib cage or onto his pecs. He’s starting to glisten with sweat as his breathing becomes heavier, but he’s holding his own much to my pleasure. I place his arms over his head and indicate that he should hold them there for a while. This opens up his abdomen for a heavier onslaught of punches. He crumbles after the first two combos, but regains his strength and assumes the position again. We catch each other in the eye and give a competitive smirk before resuming. One-two. One-two. One-two. Over and over again sinking into his gut further and further with each punch until he waves me off and doubles over again. It’s been half an hour since we started and I’m sure Stephanie is wondering what we’re up to. Or maybe she just thinks we’re talking.
“Are you going to make it?” I ask. He’s nodding and standing up again. His hard on is most evident and he tries to hide it by cupping his hands over his crotch. I move them around behind his back and stare at his erection under my swim trunks. My own erection is beginning to stiffen and he sees it, too. He unties his suit and slips it down around his ankles and nods that I should do the same. What the hell is happening here?! This can’t be going on! But it is and I don’t stop it.
He takes my balls in his hand and gives them a squeeze. “Unh…” I sigh with pleasure. Then he takes my hand in his other and places it under his own balls. I gently squeeze and get a satisfied, “Unh” in return. Still holding his junk in my left hand I begin to punch his abs slowly and softly. His dick is rock hard now. Each punch I give him is harder, but he’s no longer resisting. They sink deeply into his unflexed abs and his dick trembles at every blow. I massage his balls and lower shaft in rhythm with my punches. His head is thrown back and he’s watching the ceiling. I step into him and our chests are almost touching. I can feel the heat radiating off his body and smell the sweat running down his face and chest. I continue to slowly and deeply push my fists into his soft stomach and feel his throbbing penis in my hand. My own is rubbing on his pelvis. I can feel the intense pleasure that leads to release building inside me. He mutters, “I’m going to cum soon” in my ear. I increase the pace and power of my punches and he groans with each one until he explodes in jets of cum that splash my lower torso repeatedly.
He rubs his juice on my dick and strokes it feverishly while I wind down my punches to his stomach ever slower and softer. We’re standing against one another and his moans and the feel of his relaxed abs feed my desire to the point that I, too, explode in a way that I haven’t for years. We are both shivering with delight while we hold each other up. I take it all in for what feels like ages and then step back and look into his face. We stare at one another not knowing what to say until he smiles and announces, “This is going to be a great semester!”