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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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November, 1940, Country Estate of Roger Morris, York, England

Lying on his back, legs bent and spread on the four-poster bed of newspaper mogul Roger Morris, Bryan Sinclair steeled himself to take the last, largest, of the graduated, tear-drop-shaped balls Morris was forcing into his ass. He’d had his eyes shut tight at the effort but opened them when the last ball, a good four inches across at the widest, wasn’t going in.

Four inches wasn’t that bad. As the afternoon wore on Morris was likely to get around to fisting Bryan’s ass. And his knuckles were more than four inches across.

Morris, tall, grizzled, ugly as sin, had risen from the bed and stood there momentarily, facing the reclining professional escort. At nearly thirty-six, blond and still breathtakingly handsome and immaculately groomed—although, by request, unshaved now for three weeks—Bryan had been a favorite male prostitute of the newspaper empire giant’s for fifteen years. Bryan was mainly based in New York, but he would come back to work on a demand from the London escort service—and at the client’s added expense. He had specialties that weren’t often in demand, but when they were, he was sought after. Morris himself had offered Bryan permanent employment three times over the years, but Bryan had not been willing to give up his other career. He was an on-the-scene journalist, and these were exciting times.

Roger Morris was just such a client that Bryan specialized in, as was evident now as he stood, naked, beside the bed. The man was monstrously hung, and one of the few sufferers of polyorchidism, He had three balls, two hanging low, seemingly the size of tennis balls at the bottom of a drooping ball sac, and a third, ping pong-ball sized one tucked up into his scrotum. One of Morris’ fetishes that whores like Bryan had to satisfy was teasing out, distending, and sucking the third ball with his mouth. Bryan was an expert in this. The reward was that the testicle fired on its own and could do so between recoveries of the other two. Beyond that, Morris’ uncut cock was a slab of meat over three-quarters of a foot and nearly three-inches wide in repose.

One of the ones who knew what the mogul was packing, Bryan always laughed when Morris was referred to in public as Mr. Iron Balls. They didn’t know the half of it. The man had to wear carefully tailored baggy trousers to hide his “gifts.” Luckily he had the money to pay the tailoring fee—and for the tailor’s silence.

The upshot of the condition was that Morris produced prodigious amount of semen—often, almost constantly—and required frequent servicing by a man who could accommodate his requirements. Once a session started, Morris could fuck his partner into the grave. For that reason, more often than not Morris turned to professionals who were trained for endurance. Bryan was one of four he used regularly—Bryan less so now that the world had heated up and his reporting skills were in high demand. Morris had paid his way across the Atlantic, with little clear idea, as war unfolded in Europe, when Bryan could return to New York. But for now the focus was on Europe driving into war, and Bryan wanted to come here anyway.

The bombs were falling here in England, not in New York. Not yet, at least.

This was a hunting weekend Morris put together occasionally for men of prominence who wanted to exercise their fetishes away from the inquiring press, which was ironic, as Morris owned most of the inquiring press. He kept this activity—and those engaged in it—quite private though. To Morris and his well-placed male friends, leaders in government and society all of whom fed Morris off-the-record secrets in exchange for invitations to his hunting weekends, a hunting weekend at this estate involved the hunting of men.

Each of Morris’ guests was invited either to bring his own partner or to select one from the portfolio of the exclusive London escort service that represented Bryan. Then, other than meals, and gathering after dinner, they were left to hunt as they pleased. Some were known to become so engrossed in the hunt that they missed meals.

Bryan knew that Morris would take his time enjoying Bryan’s body for the entire afternoon. They were in for the long haul. Morris had made no bones about wanting to go for a record of ejaculations this afternoon. He had recently turned sixty and he quite evidently was beginning to worry how much longer he would, literally, be able to keep it up. He was almost obsessed with the need to exercise it to hang on to the ability to harden.

That was the issue now, as he stood by the bed. He had gone flaccid. And this after only four ejaculations. For most men his age this would be natural. He had already fucked Bryan twice, jacked off once, and been sucked off once. But this wouldn’t do for Morris. He was reverting to toys to help him keep it up. Thus the titillation of feeding the graduated glass balls into Bryan’s ass to bring on the next hard on. It hadn’t worked, though. The largest dildo they made at the time, a Big Mike was laying beside mersin escort Bryan’s leg ready for use, but Morris opted to retreat across the room and pick up what was then a new invention, a suction erection tube.

The two men maintained eye contact, as Morris worked his cock up. He’d had to order a special one to fit him.

“Come here,” Bryan said. “I can do that.”

Morris pulled the tube off. The cock was in half erection. Even at half, it was monstrous. He drew close to the bed, and Bryan, turning onto his side, facing Morris, moved his arm around the older man’s slim hips, cupped a butt cheek, and drew Morris’ crotch to him. One after the other Bryan took the two distended balls in his mouth, sucked them, and gave the balls a hummer. Morris was harder, and Bryan, with effort, took the cock in his mouth while he still could. He rimmed Morris’ asshole with a finger, as the older man groaned, and worked it into the passage, searching for, and finding, the prostate. Morris’ cock filled out more and, gagging, Bryan was forced to pull his mouth back to the tip of the cock, with his lips pushing the foreskin off the bulbous knob, which he sucked hard, flicking his tongue on the leaking piss slit. In seventeen years of prostitution, Bryan had learned all of the tricks.

Morris grabbed Bryan’s head, running his hands through the still-luxurious blond curls, and moaned deeply, as Bryan’s mouth left the cock and started working under the balls, tonguing up into the scrotum to tease out the third ball. When he had gotten it to drop, he sucked it into his mouth, rolled it around, and started to hum.

With a grunt, Morris shot off on Bryan’s face. Bryan let loose of the third ball, and Morris leaned down, kissed him passionate on the lips, and licked his own cum off Bryan’s face and up into his hairline.

“Five,” he grunted.

Satisfied for the moment then, he knelt on the bed, and, as Bryan huffed and puffed, worked the last of the graduated balls into Bryan’s passage. He grasped Bryan’s hard cock with the other hand and stroked it. As he slowly pulled the balls out and then reinserted them, Bryan shuddered, moaned, provided a whispered commentary on the effect of the attention, and, when he was about to explode, requested permission to come. Laughing, Morris slapped Bryan’s dick, erasing the urge to shot, at least for now, and slowly pulled the balls out.

He entered Bryan’s ass with four fingers and teased him into thinking fisting time had arrived. Bryan groaned deeply and began to pant hard, but Morris laughed and pulled the fingers out.

Bryan was well aware that they had all afternoon for this and that Morris was a master at the sexual tease and torture. He played Bryan’s ass for a while with the oversized dildo, marveling at Bryan’s ability to bottom it and to move his pelvis on the hard, glass cock as Morris held it steady. Morris was masturbating himself and Bryan could see that he would be ready for release soon himself. And then, quickly pulling the dildo out, Morris wanted to bury his cock. He scrambled between Bryan’s spread legs, pushed his knees under the younger man’s buttocks, and penetrated Bryan with one long slide. Bryan brought his torso up and the two hugged each other, chest plastered to chest, arms encircling backs, mouth sucking on mouth, as they rocked back and forth, moving Morris’s cock deep inside Bryan’s passage, the expert bottom Bryan setting the muscles of his passage to undulate over the invading, throbbing staff, enticing the two men to ejaculate in a flood of cum nearly simultaneously.

“Six,” Morris muttered. “So far so good. Plenty of time.”

The third ball came into play. Morris was so aroused by the coupling that he pressed Bryan’s torso back, the younger man’s shoulder blades touching the bed, Bryan’s fingers working Morris’ nipples, as, instead of going flaccid, Morris remained hard, began to pump again, and brought up the reserve of his third ball to cream Bryan deep again.

“Seven.”

They lay there for several minutes panting and recovering. Then, at Morris’ signal they took a break, went for a piss and a towel off, and Morris called for beer. The two stood at the window overlooking the rolling countryside of Morris’ estate. Morris laughed to see one of his guests, an admiral, running down the guest he’d brought, one of his own stable hands, and, in spite of the January cold, trapping the young man in a gazebo and, after frenziedly readjusting clothing, bending him over a chair and fucking him. Finished, the guest rose, adjusted his clothing and departed, only to be replaced by another guest, who had been standing by and watching. He turned the stable hand onto his back on the chair, grabbed the young man’s legs and raised them, and commenced fucking him hard.

“Isn’t even Harold’s guest,” Morris said, with a laugh. “Wonder who’s fucking the young man I rented for him. Timothy’s his name, I think. Reminds me of you when you were younger,” Morris said, turning to Bryan.

“Does that mean you are tiring muğla escort of me, that I’m becoming too old for you?” Bryan asked.

“Not a bit of it. You’re at the top of your game. I’d have to train a young man to give me what I want—take what I want to give him. No one can tease out that third ball like you can. No one can take my fist like you do.”

“But you would enjoy doing that, wouldn’t you? Training a young man. There’s a cruel streak in you, Roger. You enjoyed training me to your needs. You enjoyed the pain it gave me.”

“And you enjoyed the pain more than any of the rest of the training. You loved being broken and used to the limit.” Morris could see that he’d hit a bulls eye with that remark, so he continued, “But it’s a moot question. I can enjoy you and train a young man as well.”

“I know you can,” Bryan answered. “As I said, you can enjoy being very cruel.”

The discussion—the remembering of breaking Bryan in—combined with watching the stable hand being fucked—a third guest had shown up to take over the honors—aroused Morris, and in a hoarse voice, he commanded Bryan to return to the bed. This time he brought leads down from the four corners and bound Bryan’s wrists and ankles. Already hard, not needing any toys or assists now, he moved between Bryan’s spread and trussed legs on his knees and fucked him hard and long.

“Eight.”

After he was done, he got up, went to the bathroom, and returned with a straight razor and a mug of shaving cream that he was working up into a foam.

“I hope your hand is steady,” Bryan whispered.

“I’m not too old to shave a man yet,” Morris answered.

Bryan knew this was one of Morris’ favorite sex acts. As bidden, Bryan hadn’t shaved since a week before he’d left New York. Not only was he bearded, but his pit, chest, thigh, arm, and groin hair had reappeared. It was blond down, but he normally shaved himself smooth—unless he knew ahead of time that a client wanted him hairy. Morris had wanted him hairy. He enjoyed the before and aftereffect in fucking his men.

Bryan held as still as he could, as humming, Morris shaved his face and then his pits and his chest. He moved then to the thighs. His cock was where Bryan could turn his head and suck it into his mouth, which he did—knowing Morris would like that and would want to be hard when he was finished with the shave. When the cock was too hard to get into his mouth, Bryan worked his tongue in below the distended balls and teased out the third testicle.

Happily, although he was moaning and groaning while Bryan sucked on the third ball, Morris’ hand remained steady as he shaved down Bryan’s bush. At the same time he was stroking Bryan’s cock, and he managed to swallow it as Bryan was firing off.

Throwing the shaving implements aside, Morris moved between Bryan’s knees. Bryan’s eyes popped open and his mouth opened to a silent scream, as Morris laced his fingers around the root of Bryan’s balls, distended them, and patted them. Bryan writhed as best he could as Morris closed his fist over the balls and squeezed them. Before Bryan’s screams could go vocal, however, the older man let loose of the balls, thrust his cock inside Bryan, and started pumping his ass hard again.

“Nine.”

A standing fuck at the window, watching the whole guest list gangbanging the stable hand. “Ten” At last Bryan screaming through the fisting. “Eleven.”

As the light outside was fading, Bryan was on his knees in front of a standing Morris, working the man’s cock with his hand and paying sucking attention to all three balls, until, ready again, Morris lifted him, turned him, belly down, on the arm of an overstuffed chair and fucked him like a dog.

“Twelve.” Ding, ding, ding. We have a new record. Who said a sixty-year-old man wouldn’t be able to get it up more than once a day?

The hunters, all with smiles on their faces and eyes blazing, gathered in the candlelit great hall for supper. There were twenty of them in all, all decked out in tailored evening wear, ten of them very pleased with themselves, and ten younger men in various stages of exhaustion. Seven of the young men were professionals and were able to handle themselves well despite the afternoon’s workout. Three had been brought by their partners. The two of those who were present were nearly falling off their chairs. The stable hand didn’t appear for the meal. Little did they know that the evening’s entertainment would be a game of changing cocks, and the two surviving amateurs as well as several of the professionals would be chased around the mansion for a game of gangbang.

Bryan wasn’t included in this, although he received propositions from several of the powerful men present. He was there with Morris and thus was untouchable—unless he agreed to it and Morris didn’t need him.

There was one man there, Harry Tharp, who was in the foreign office and able to arrange travel for people, even in these troubled times, who Bryan was willing to go with, for needs of his own. The man was a dwarf, nevşehir escort not quite five feet tall, and was as ugly as sin and deformed of body—with one exception. He was hung and an expert cocksman, and used young men’s assumptions of his safeness to get his cock inside them. Once saddled, the young men couldn’t get enough of him, though.

It was nearly legendary that a man could bring a nonprofessional guest to these hunting weekends, but the guest was more likely to leave on the arm of Harry Tharp than with the man who brought him.

Bryan discreetly made an appointment to meet Tharp during the hour that Morris was bathing.

Another offer disturbed Bryan deeply and he rebuffed the man possibly more abruptly than he should have. He should not have revealed that the proposition had disturbed him. Morris picked his guests carefully. A prostitute like Bryan should be expected to find the cocking of any of them acceptable. Lord Aynsley approached him as they were leaving the dinner table for brandy and cigars in the library before the evening hunt began.

“I’ve heard interesting things about you,” he murmured to Bryan. “I want to lay you. What are your fees?”

“Sorry, not interested,” Bryan has answered abruptly, a finality in his voice, and turned and walked off, leaving the other man looking bewildered and miffed.

There was no way, though, that Bryan was going to let his father fuck him. The man hadn’t recognized him. But then it had been nineteen years since he’d seen his father—when he was Paul Winslow. After four years honing his sexual skills and filling his bank account under an assumed name in London—to avoid discovery by his family—Paul had moved to New York. His mother was American and came from Boston, so Paul—now Bryan—had knowledge of and affinity for America. His London escort service connected him with a high-class one in New York, and he continued earning money that way, coming back to London for special clients like Roger Morris. He used the money to put himself through the New York School of Journalism. And, thus, the second career—all done without the need for his father’s family’s connections or his mother’s family’s money.

And there was no way that he would let his father fuck him any more than he had.

In the library, Bryan noticed another escort, Timothy, who, as Roger Morris had noted, reminded him of himself when he was nineteen. It was a memorable age, as it had been when he had lost his virginity to the Austrian baron—who was still trying to find him and to whom Bryan’s mother, Elizabeth, was still attached. One of the main reasons Bryan had come to Europe was to try to extricate his mother from the baron’s clutches in Austria and bring her to safety. It wouldn’t be long before being an American in the German areas of Europe—Austria had already been annexed two years earlier—would be untenable, and Elizabeth must be losing her charm with age now. Who knew how long it would be before the baron abandoned her?

As he watched Timothy, fairly new to the game but already good at it, drinking brandy and talking with three men, all of whom were revolving around him and feeling him up with their eyes and hands, Bryan began to form a plan. He’d have to find a moment or two alone with Timothy—obviously sometime after he’d been gangbanged on the table in the great hall, of course. As he was watching, the gong sounded, and the chase was on. Quickly told that he was fair game, Timothy had sprinted off, followed by the three guests who, knowing the game beforehand, had chosen him and made sure they were close by him at the gong.

Timothy, as Paul had predicted, had only made it as far as the great hall. Paul waited a few minutes before following them. Timothy was laid out on the table. Four had tracked him down. They were experienced and worked in a pack. When they were done with him, they would go off, together, to trap and gang fuck another one of the “rabbits.” Timothy was naked except for his socks and the garters holding them up. One of the guests was already fucking him, with one leg propped on his shoulder and holding the other one out to the side. He was a big-cocked man, and Timothy was sheathing the cock without effort. His head was turned to the end of the table and he was sucking off a guest. The other two were trapping his arms above his head, holding him in place and waiting for their turn.

Paul could see that he was smiling and laughing, though, when his mouth came off the cock. He was a tough one. He might do nicely for Paul’s forming plan.

Morris had one of the professionals under the table, on his back. He wasn’t professional enough to be taking on Morris. He was screaming bloody murder as Morris did pushups on his pelvis. Paul doubted the professional would be able to appear for breakfast.

The dwarf wasn’t around. Paul didn’t expect him to be in on this hunt. Tharp didn’t hunt men; they came to him. That’s what Paul now intended to do—to go to the dwarf.

“What is your price?” the foreign office dwarf, Harry Tharp, asked Bryan when they were alone in Tharp’s room. Both were naked. Bryan was belly down on a low ottoman, his arms stretched out to floor in front of him. The dwarf was in back of him, his chubby little hands gliding up Bryan’s inner thighs, coaxing Bryan’s legs apart.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

“Thanks again for coming to help me move in,” Logan said.

“No problem. You know I would do anything for you.”

Alexander and Logan were outside Brayden’s driveway sitting in Logan’s Mini Cooper. Logan had picked Alex up that morning to help him move in to his dorm at the University of Oregon. Alex had also taken the opportunity to walk around the campus for a bit.

“Have you talked to Ethan since he left for NYU?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, a few times. But I’m not sure if that’ll continue when school officially starts.”

Ethan was Alex’s boyfriend for a few months back in their senior year of high school. It all came about when Alex had to tutor him in math in order for Ethan to graduate. They broke it off at the end of the school year as neither wanted to do the long distance thing. But neither had regrets of the short time they had spent together.

“Hmm.” Logan understood what Alex was saying. “He had a nice ass though.”

“Yes, he did.” Alex smiled as he remembered when him, Logan and their other friends would steal glances at Ethan’s ass as he walked down the hallway.

“I bet you used to beat that ass up whenever you got the chance.”

Alex laughed. “I definitely did.”

“I remember when you used to beat my ass up to,” Logan said with a sly smirk.

“I definitely did that too.” Alex returned the same kind of smile.

Alex and Logan have been best friends since they started high school. They were instantly drawn to each other and one always had the other’s back. They even helped each other when it came to exploring their sexuality. They never moved passed anything platonic, but the occasional sex here and there was an added benefit. Gratefully, it never got in the way of their friendship but that added benefit ended when Alex made it official with Ethan and Logan was glad for them.

“It has been like what? Six, seven months since we last fucked?”

“Yeah, just about. But if you want, today could be a good day to catch up,” Alex pointed to the evident erection in his pants.

“My asshole is twitching right now but unfortunately I can’t.” Logan rested his head on the steering wheel. “I have to get to a late lunch with my parents.”

“Your loss.”

“I know,” Logan grunted. “Think of me while you jerk off,” he added jokingly. “Or of Brayden, since he is your preference.”

“That’s my sister’s boyfriend you’re talking about.”

“And? You’ve had a crush on him for about two years now.”

“Just a small crush. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means enough for you to want to ride that dick!”

Alex punched Logan’s shoulder. “Ow!”

“I do not want to ride his dick.” Alex retorted.

“Yes you do,” Logan said, still rubbing his shoulder.

“Yeah, I do.” Alex slouched in the car seat. Logan laughed at his best friend.

“You are a mess.” Logan shook his head. “Seriously though, I really do need to go meet my parents.”

“Yeah, okay. Say hello for me,” Alex said as he got out of the car.

“I will.” Logan started the engine. “Don’t fuck yourself too hard with your dildo.”

“Oh fuck off!” But Alex couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow for the Welcome Seminar.” Logan tooted his horn before moving off.

Alex sighed after he entered the house. He really did want to ride Brayden’s cock. But he couldn’t do that to his sister. Brayden currently wasn’t home as he had left that morning to see Jessica. Alex’s parents had visited him yesterday and Brayden had met them at their hotel around noon and they had all headed back together.

Alex had just opened his bedroom door when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. Clothes were folded on his bed. It was the laundry that he had in his hamper just this morning. This meant that Brayden was in his room. Alex began to panic a little but not because of the laundry. He moved his head slowly to the left, hoping not to see what he left there. But it was right where he left it, next to his laptop on the desk; his vibrator.

He had used it a couple times this week and he had plugged it in this morning to charge. He was in a rush when Logan picked him up this morning, so he just unplugged it and left. Now he wished he had taken the few extra seconds to put it up. He quickly walked over to it and placed it in his duffel bag. He sat in the window seat and wondered if Brayden had seen it. He checked his phone and there were not missed calls or texts. Maybe he didn’t see the vibrator.

Alex knew that Brayden would have found out that he was gay eventually but Alex preferred if he had found out in a less embarrassing way. There are straight men that like ass play so maybe Brayden didn’t think too much of it. There was nothing Alex could do now; he would just have to wait until Brayden came home tomorrow to talk to him. Alex went downstairs and took a beer from the fridge as that was the only alcohol in the house.

That Sunday evening Alex was preparing a sandwich when he heard Brayden’s truck pull into the driveway. After a few minutes Brayden came through afyon escort the front door. Their eyes met. He knew.

“Hi,” Alex said.

“Hey,” Brayden said while taking off his shoes.

“How was everything?”

“It was good.” Brayden ran his fingers through his long hair. “Well I’m going to take a shower.”

“Brayden?” Alex stopped him at the first step.

“Yeah?” Brayden walked down to the dinning table.

“You saw my vibrator.” Alex decided not to beat around the bush.

“Yeah.” Brayden scratched the back of his neck. “I wanted to do my laundry before I met your parents so I just thought I would do yours also. I actually only saw it when I brought back the dry clothes since your hamper is by the door.”

“Hmm.”

“I didn’t mean to impose on your privacy or anything.”

“No it’s cool. I appreciate you doing the laundry for me.”

“You’re welcome”. Brayden now had his hands in his pockets. “Um, just wondering. Are you… gay?

“Yes I am.” Brayden nodded at Alex’s response. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No! No. I just didn’t want to make any assumptions. I was going to ask your sister but then I didn’t want to unintentionally out you in case she didn’t know.

Alex smiled at this. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Does she know?”

“Yeah; my parents also.”

“Good. That’s good.” Then there was an awkward silence as they both stood there.

“Would you like a sandwich?” Alex asked trying to bring things back to normal.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Would a BLT do?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Brayden rocked backed on his heels. “Well I’m going to take that shower now.”

While Brayden walked up the stairs, Alex thought back to his parents arguing when he first came out. “Well at least it better than that time,” he murmured to himself.

—

The first week at UO was going just as Alex had expected. Introductions, course materials, advisors, paperwork and the few freshmen events here and there. Alex decided to stick with the courses he had chosen this semester. Most of his lecturers seemed to be pleasant. Ms. Marshall for Introduction to Business was a bit grumpy at times but in a funny way. But it was the math professor that had Alex thinking.

Professor Brooks, “Brooks” as he preferred to be called, was over Alex’s Probability and Statistics course. He was the same height as Alex at 5’10” and looked like he was in his late 30’s. He had short black hair that had a little grey at the sides and a full beard. During the first class Alex believed that Brooks was looking at him a lot during the lecture and he could’ve sworn that he was being checked out as he left the lecture theatre. But there were other students around, so Alex might just be over thinking.

Alex was currently at a cafe waiting for Logan. He was half way through an iced coffee when Logan joined him. He had a muffin and an iced tea in his hands. He sat down with a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong?” Alex asked.

“I’m so over it,” Logan said before taking a bite out of his muffin.

Alex chuckled. “It’s only Thursday.”

“I know. I’m just in a bad mood.”

“What happened?” Alex finished his iced coffee with one last slurp.

“It’s just the lecturer from the class I just came from. Mr. Whateverhisnameis. He just came off as a ‘know it all’ and so arrogant and boastful. Ugh. And you know I cannot stand those kind of people!”

“Yeah I know.” Alex reached over and took piece of Logan’s muffin.

“And he’s already given us assignments as though this isn’t only the first week!”

“Well my math professor already gave us an assignment also. It’s pretty simple though. He just wants to know where our preexisting knowledge is at”

“Of course it’ll be simple for you; you’re brilliant at math.” Logan finished his muffin and iced tea.

“Thanks. But I’m not brilliant.”

“Right, sure. You’re better at it than me.”

“Well that’s true.”

Logan placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. “I just want to forget about this morning.”

“I know a way you can forget.”

“Really?” Logan knew what he meant. “Well lucky for us, my roommate said he’s not going to be back until later this evening.”

“Lets’s go then.”

Logan’s dorm was located on the third floor of the Barnhart Hall. It was a large double room with bath and when Alex entered, he immediately knew which side was Logan’s. The right side was somewhat plain besides the inspirational quotes on the wall. But the left side had posters of Imagine Dragons and 21 Pilots; that was Logan’s. After scanning the room, Alex turned to the door and Logan was already in his boxers; his 7.5 inch cock tenting the front. Logan was 5’8″, pale and slender but not skinny. He only had hair on his arms and legs and the blond shaggy set on his head.

“Someone’s eager,” Alex said smiling.

Logan walked forward and pulled Alex’s shirt over his head and began kissing down his torso. He stopped at Alex’s navel and stuck his tongue in knowing that he liked aydın escort that. He smiled as Alex’s body shivered. He made his way further down and his eyes met Alex’s bulge. He ran his rose along it before unbuckling Alex’s jeans and pulling down his pants and boxer briefs together. His 8 inches sprung out and hit him in his face. He ran his tongue alone one side and then the next. He did this a couple more times before taking a hold of the shaft and tapping the head against his tongue. He then took the head in his mouth and lightly sucked on it. This caused Alex to softly moan.

Alex placed both his hands in Logan’s hair and pushed more of his length into Logan’s mouth. He was about half way in when he pulled out to the head and slid back in. He pumped his hips back and forth until Logan steadied him and took his entire cock down his throat.

“Oh, fuck.” Alex loved when he was deep throated. His head fell back has Logan moved his tongue under his length. Alex began moving his hips again and Logan moved his head in time with Alex’s thrusts. Every time Alex thrust inward, he entered Logan’s throat. He picked up his speed a bit and saliva began to run down Logan’s chin. He took some and reached behind Alex to find his asshole. He rubbed his middle finger around the entrance and then pushed the first knuckle in.

“Hmm. You know exactly what I like.” Logan pushed in more and fingered him as he continued to suck on Alex cock. “I think I’m going to need to sit down.”

Alex pulled his cock from Logan’s mouth and sat on his bed. Logan crawled between his legs and wrapped his hand around Alex’s cock. He kissed down the length until he took one of Alex’s balls in his mouth. He gently tugged on it and moved it around with his tongue. Then he moved on to the next one. He then came back up and engulfed Alex once more. Alex ran his hands through Logan’s hair as he bobbed his head on his cock. He thrust upward until his hips were coming off the bed. As Logan gagged, his saliva ran down Alex’s cock and pooled on the bed. After a few more minutes, Alex pulled Logan off his cock.

“Get the lube and a condom,” he told Logan. Logan went over to his side table and took the two items from the second drawer. He walked back over to Alex and gave him the condom and he put it on. Logan the squeezed some of the lube onto Alex’s cock and jerked him to spread it all over. When he thought it was enough, he got on the bed and squatted over Alex’s cock, facing him. He placed some of the lube on his entrance and then began to lower himself onto Alex.

Alex leaned back on his elbows and watched as Logan impaled himself on his dick. As the he entered Logan, they both moaned. Logan took in a couple inches and then allowed his ass to get accustomed to the intrusion. He lowered himself some more and then came up until only the Alex’s head was inside him. The bounced up and down until he took Alex’s entire length in. When he felt his behind connect with Alex’s pelvis, he leaned forward, resting his hands on Alex’s chest. He ground his ass against Alex; moving back and forth and in a circular motion.

“Damn, that feels good,” Alex said as he held onto Logan’s hips.

“You like that best friend?”

“Hmm-mmm.”

Alex moved Logan up and down by his hips and thrust upward to meet his own movements. Alex relished in the sound of his pelvis and Logan’s ass connecting.

“Yes, fuck me Alex… Your cock feels so good… Yeah right there… That’s it.”

Alex had Logan on top for a bit until he decided to switch it up. Logan was now on his elbows and knees with Alex behind him; his right knee up by Logan’s hip and his left knee down. Alex put some more lube on his cock and pushed his entire length into Logan with one stroke. Logan breathed in sharply. Alex held his hips and built up a steady pace. Logan reached under himself and began to jerk his cock.

“Harder,” he said. “Fuck me harder.”

Alex repositioned himself and held onto Logan’s shoulders. He drove into him harder; the clapping sound of his pelvis and Logan’s ass connecting, completely filling the room.

“That’s what you want best friend?”

“Fuck… yeah. That’s what… I want. Fuck, that feels good.”

Alex pushed Logan’s head into the bed and moved his own body so that he was now hovering over Logan. With the work that Alex was putting on his ass combined with his own self pleasure, Logan felt his climax coming.

“I’m going to cum,” he declared.

“Cum for me Logan; release that spunk.”

Logan jerked his cock a couple more times before ropes of cum released from his head. As he came, Logan completely collapsed to the bed; Alex followed still inside him.

“Where do you want me to cum?” Alex asked still grinding into Logan.

“On… my ass,” he answered between breaths.

Alex stroked him a few more times before pulling out and cumming all over Logan’s ass. He smeared it a bit has he became soft. He then smacked his ass.

“My best friend still got it.”

“So do you.” Logan chuckled.

Alex reached over to ağrı escort Logan’ side table and got some tissue. He wrapped the condom in it before throwing it in the trash can. Logan was still on his stomach when Alex laid next to him, propping himself on his elbow.

“We should probably shower and get dressed before your roommate comes back.”

“We probably should.” Logan turned his head to look at Alex.

“What?” he asked when it seemed like Logan was pondering something.

Logan shrugged. “I was just wondering if you had left out any of your toys at Brayden’s again.”

Alex sat up startled then sighed after a second thought. “I hate you.”

“You wish.”

Alex grabbed Logan’s pillow and hit him with it.

“Seriously though; I would’ve loved to see Brayden’s face when he saw your vibrator,” Logan said between laughs. “Imagine if he saw your dildo.” Logan was laughing louder now as Alex hit him a few more times with the pillow.

—-

It was around 5:30 pm the Friday evening when Alex was returning home from school. He only had one lecture and tutorial that day but he spent the rest of the day with Logan and some other people that he had met. He was walking up the street when he saw his sister’s Prius parked along the sidewalk. Alex wondered why she was a day early. It was probably like when he first moved to Eugene. When Alex opened the front door, Brayden and Jessica quickly separated. But Alex had opened the door fast enough to see that they were kissing. They were standing by the dining table.

“Hey Xan. How’s my little brother?” Jessica asked.

“A bit tired.” Alex took off his backpack and rest it on the floor.

“What happened?”

“Logan had an evening class so I decided to catch the bus. But it broke down. Instead of waiting on the next bus, I thought I’d walk the rest.”

“You could’ve called me; I would’ve picked you up.” Brayden spoke up.

“I didn’t mind walking.”

Alex noticed that Brayden was standing at an awkward angle and it wasn’t long before Alex realised that Brayden was trying to hide his huge erection. Brayden and Jessica were probably about to get into it before Alex interrupted.

“What you doing here?” Alex asked Jessica, trying not to focus on Brayden.

“Me and the girls are spending the weekend in Portland so I just thought I’d drop by on my way through. But I should get going. Everyone else is already there and I still have about an hour and a half of driving to do.” Jessica took up here handbag.

Alex looked over at Brayden and saw a somewhat disappointed look on his face. But it quickly changed when Jessica turned to kiss him goodbye. “Drive safely,” he said.

“Thank; I will. By Xan.” Jessica ruffled his hair as she walked passed him.

“Have fun sis.” And then she was gone.

Alex picked up his bag. “I’ll be upstairs.”

“Yeah. Do you want anything to eat?” Brayden was facing Alex now; his erection gone.

“No, I’m good. I bought something on campus.”

“Okay, cool.”

—

The sun had set and Alex was sitting on his bed going through his notes from his class that day. He was just about finished when a faint scent came through his room. He sniffed at the air and immediately knew what it was. It was weed. Alex went to his door and stuck his head out into the hallway. The smell was a bit stronger there. He knew that Brayden smoked sometimes but he still walked down the hall to his door. It was closed but not shut all the way in. Alex pushed it ajar but stopped at the sight before him. Brayden was on his bed with a lit joint in his left hand and he was jerking his cock with his right.

Alex was stunned by the sight of it. It must have been about 9 or 10 inches and thick like a soda can. It was also slightly more tanned than his olive skin. Alex knew Brayden was big; he always had a bulge no matter the type of pants he wore and the erection Alex saw earlier confirmed it. But seeing it now in the flesh so to speak, took Alex off guard. Brayden took a puff of his joint and Alex grew hard as he watched Brayden run his hand up and down his cock.

“Are you going to just stand there? Or are you going to come in?”

Alex jumped at the sound of Brayden’s voice. “Sorry. It’s just that I smelled the weed and wanted to confirm if it was you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Brayden had a wide grin on his face. “Sorry, I should have asked first. I hope it isn’t a problem.

“No, it’s fine.” Alex glanced down a couple times.

“Oh, I should probably put this away,” Brayden chuckled. He placed his cock back into his boxer briefs; the material straining to keep it in. Alex secretly wished that he would pull it back out.

Brayden tapped the space beside him on the bed. “Sit.”

His mind was telling him to turn back but Alex climbed onto the bed and sat on Brayden’s right. Brayden took another draw from his joint and then reached over to Alex.

“No thanks,” he said.

“Too good for drugs?” Brayden had an eyebrow raised.

“No, I’ve had my days of that. Just don’t want any at the moment.”

“Suit yourself.” Brayden tapped the ashes off in a saucer on his bedside table. “So how was the first week of school?”

“Good actually. Coursework seems pretty straight forward. I’m looking forward to seeing how things go.”

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Over the Years, I had tried mercilessly to get my wife Eve into another 3some, for me to share her with another man. I had even invited John to our place a couple of times for the night, all to no avail. She was not going to do it.

We came back to England, my Army career ended, and although I had kept trying to entice her into it over the years I gave up, deep down I really hoped it would happen one day, but on the surface I had given up.

On my way home from work one fine evening, as I pulled of the motorway and stopped at the traffic lights, my bladder decided that it needed emptying. Just off the roundabout I knew there was a lay-by, I just hoped there was room for me to park, normally there are a couple of Lorries parked in it.

As I approached to my joy, there was only a car there, I parked the car, got out, locked it and headed for the bushes. I had just got my cock out and started relieving myself when I heard a voice behind me, “Any more than 2 shakes is pleasure.”

I looked over, there was a guy walking towards me, “Sorry?” I asked, I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“If you shake it more than twice, that’s giving yourself pleasure”

“Oh I see, am I not allowed to pleasure myself then?”

All this time he had been walking towards me, slowly, “Not while I’m here, no”

“And why is that?”

He was now standing beside me, as he reached out a hand to replace mine holding my cock he said, “Because that’s why I am here.” He then kissed me.

I kissed him back, as I moved my hand to his cock. I rubbed his cock through his jeans, and gave it a squeeze, which made him moan slightly. My bladder was empty now, and my cock was starting to grow in his hand. “Shall we move back into the woods a bit more?” he asked, “There is a bigger bush over there, might give us a bit more privacy.”

“Sounds good to me” I told him, and then lent in to kiss him again. He didn’t disappoint, he returned the kiss.

We walked to the bigger bush, it was about another 100 feet into the woods, we got behind the bush, I hadn’t put my cock away, and it kilis escort was still standing proud from my fly. I undid my belt and button to allow my trousers to drop to my ankles. I removed my shirt and hung it on the bush. The guy saw me taking my shirt off, his jeans already around his ankles, he took his t-shirt off and hung it next to my shirt. He had a nice smooth body, not all muscles thankfully. We embraced. Our lips met, our bodies squeezed together as our tongues once again searched each other out.

I ran my hands down his back and gripped his arse cheeks and started massaging them, slipping a finger between his cheeks to his hole, teasing it, applying a bit of pressure made him moan. We broke the kiss. I started kissing his neck, I moved a hand around and gripped his cock and started stroking it as my lips moved down his body to his nipples. Taking each nipple in turn into my mouth to nip it with my teeth and suck it making them hard and making him moan again.

As I moved down his body, I used my other hand to cup his balls, gently squeezing them. Finally I was down to his groin, his cock in front of my face, pre-cum dripping from the knob. I stuck my tongue out and licked the knob, making him moan again. I ran my tongue along the length of his cock, I then licked his balls, sucking each of them into my mouth, playing with them with my tongue. I wrapped my tongue around his cock as I slowly took it into my mouth, “Oh fuck yeah.” I heard him say.

I took the full 7 inches into my mouth, relaxing my throat muscles allowing it to slide into my throat. I started bobbing my head up and down, sliding his cock in and out of my mouth. He started moving his hips, he held my head in his hands and started fucking my mouth. He carried on fucking me and after about 5 minutes of deep throating him, he shot his load into my mouth and throat. I swallowed it all apart from the last few drops; I kept them in my mouth to savour the taste of his cum. I stood up and kissed him, allowing him to taste the remains of his cum still in my mouth.

Once kırklareli escort we had finished kissing he started to move down to returned the favour, kissing and sucking his way down to my cock. It was aching by now and needed release. He didn’t suck my cock straight away, he started to suck my balls and then spun me around to lick my arse. I had been rimmed before, but I hadn’t been fucked for a number of years. The feeling was great, my arse was tingling at his touch, I couldn’t help but moan and push my arse into his face. After a few minutes he turned me back, he then took my cock into his mouth and started sucking, it felt really good. A few minutes later I was moving my hips in time with his mouth. I started fucking his mouth, as he had done to me, his fingers were playing with my arse; I felt the pressure as he pushed a finger into my arse. The feeling was great as he finger fucked my arse, I felt the pressure grow, I couldn’t hold back, I shot my load into his mouth.

He stood up and we kissed, my tongue searching his mouth, his searching mine, the taste of cum still in each of our mouths. “I would love to get you into bed,” he told me.

“Oh yeah that was great, I would love to have you for a night too,” I told him.

“Maybe we can arrange a hotel.”

Then an idea hit me. “Hold that thought,” I told him. I got my phone from my pocket and called Eve. “Honey are you away this weekend or next?” It felt kind of weird standing naked behind a bush with another man, talking to my wife on the phone.

“This weekend, why?” she replied.

The situation was turning me on, and my cock was growing again. “Oh, the boys were thinking of having a night out this weekend,” I told her. This guy was now holding my hardening cock, and cupping my balls.

“Yeah you might as well, I won’t be here.” She told me.

Trying to keep my voice normal, as I replied. “Ok honey, see you soon, Bye.”

I looked at the guy, we made our introductions. His name was Tony, and he was married too. “It was turning you on being here karabük escort with me, while talking to your wife on the phone.” More of a statement than a question.

I just smiled at him. “I am free this weekend, I told him, “can you get away?”

“Yeah I should be able to” he said, “I will tell my wife the same, going out for a beer.”

He still had hold of my now hard cock, He kissed me. “Let me get your cock wet, then fuck me,” he said.

He went down in front of me and took my cock into his mouth making it wet. He stood up and turned around leaning forward placing his hands on a branch for support. I wet my fingers with my own saliva and started playing with his arse. I slipped one and then two fingers into him, he moaned and started pushing against my fingers. I removed them from his arse, and lined my cock up. I gripped his hips and pushed my cock into his arse. Feeling a little resistance to start with, but as my cock slid into him the resistance soon faded.

Once I was fully in him, I held it there for a couple of minutes, then slowly started to slide my cock in and out of him. “Oh that feels good,” “Oh fuck yeah.” He kept saying as I started to pick up speed. He had a lovely tight arse, and my cock felt great inside him, I gripped his hips tight and started to fuck him faster and harder. I could feel the pressure building, I hadn’t fucked a guy’s arse in a number of years, I was loving this.

“I am going to cum,” I told him.

“Yeah fill me up.”

I pushed my cock in as far as it would go as it started squirting my hot cum into him, my legs were shaking as the orgasm rippled through me. “Fuck that was good.” I told him.

I looked down and he had shot cum into his jeans and boxers. “It looks like you made a mess,” I said to him.

“Yeah I always cum while I am being fucked,” He told me. We embraced, having a nice tender kiss, our tongues stroking each other’s mouths. As we broke the kiss, he hugged me. “I can’t wait to get you into bed on Saturday,” he told me

“It is going to be great fun,” I told him.

We got dressed and walked back to the cars, we swapped numbers. The arrangement was to meet in a pub local to where I live at 19:30 Saturday.

The story about the meeting on Saturday night is tiltled “Sharing my wife Ch 02” in loving Wives. As with all my stories, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

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He was laid to rest in the crowded little graveyard adjacent to the small Anglican church on the fringes of the Kyrenia Harbor in Cyprus. My mother had shown no interest in interring him in the States—or even in attending the burial ceremonial in Cyprus. But I thought that, in any event, this was a fitting place for him to be buried. This was where he belonged. He had taken his stand here and lived the last decade of his life here. I just wished I had been part of that last decade. Of course, that was as much my fault as it was his.

There was nothing simple about being the son of the novelist Malcolm Stephenson, who simultaneously was the most reclusive of men and the most revealed of men. Ten years ago I was living here too. And then my father made his decision of the life he wished to live openly, and my mother and her children were suddenly on a plane to New York, never to return again.

The world had been forgiving of my father—or, more likely, had embraced his notoriety—and his novels had skyrocketed in popularity thereafter. I never quite understood why, because this was when he entered his melancholy period, a period in which he was incapable of ending a novel with any sense of satisfaction or resolution—at least as far as I could see. It’s as if my father was more popular for not being able to gain happiness and stability in life—and, of course, for his lifestyle.

There were only four other people at the funeral service other than me. The rector of the church was wearing a confused look, not quite able to know what to say about my father’s life. My father was a renowned novelist, with an international following, so I guess the clergyman felt duty bound to say something significant—but given the life my father had chosen to lead, I’m sure he felt uncomfortable in whatever he said. I was just grateful that my father was well known enough not to be denied burial here. Then there was the landlady, the woman who had responsibility for renting out the hillside villa up in Bellapais that my family had occupied for five years and that my father now had lived in for an additional ten. It was the villa that my father claimed was his inspiration and that he refused ever to leave. And he didn’t leave it until the day after he died.

And there was me, of course, attending out of duty and out of curiosity, and, yes, in a last-ditch effort to try to understand my father—to try to grasp why he had thrown it all over for the life of a hermit and writer of dissolution and sadness.

I could understand his lifestyle choice—the radical change he had made—because I had chosen that myself. What I couldn’t understand was why it was so hollow. He declared the change, and he cut himself off from his wife and children, but then he seemed not to have done anything about it. He had moved on to an empty life of casual sexual encounters, and, if his reviewers were to be believed, he didn’t get the solace out of his subsequent books that the popularity of them should have brought him.

The third person attending the internment wasn’t really there at all. A not-young, but equally not old, handsome and trim Turkish gentleman, who looked vaguely familiar to me and who was elegantly dressed and of a sad demeanor was hovering on the fringes of the graveyard. He quite evidently was here for this funeral—but he kept back to the walkway beside the small chapel and seemed torn between coming forward and leaving. He obviously wasn’t comfortable with attending an Anglican ceremony. And he looked far too sophisticated in bearing to be any part of the local Turkish Cypriot scene at all.

The fourth person present brought an irony to the proceedings that my father would have loved and surely would have used to good effect in one of his novels. An impatient and bored Turkish Cypriot workman, the man who would fill in the grave as soon as the rector’s rambling and disjointed homily ended, was standing next to me, in the spot my mother would have occupied if she’d ever forgiven my father enough to appear in Cyprus again, and was muttering to himself in guttural Turkish—no doubt trying to jolly the rector into getting on with it so he could fill in the grave and be home in time for his supper.

When the clergyman had at last worn down in midsentence and on a rising tone that made it seem that nothing had been resolved—yet another image that my father, I think, would have found appropriate and amusing—I turned to depart and saw, somewhat to my surprise—but not for any reason I could assign to it—that the Turkish gentleman who had been holding back was gone altogether.

At the gate, after the rector had given me more-or-less empty words of solace that made him more comforted than they made me, I stopped and talked briefly with the ancient landlady of my father’s villa, Layla Ergun, who lived down in Kyrenia. She told me that my father had seen his impending death and had not railed against it—which was more comforting to me than anything the rector had said—and that his rent was paid up until the end of the month. And she said that, gebze escort of course, I was welcome to stay in his villa until then and to put his things, such as they were, in order and to take away anything of his that I wanted.

I hadn’t thought until then that I’d want anything that was his, but as she spoke to me, I realized that I did, indeed, want to connect with my father again, if only in death. That otherwise I would not have come. I realized that I could not separate from the hurt and pain he had inflicted on the family ten years ago, just as my mother and sisters couldn’t, but that I could not put him out of my mind as they so conveniently had done. Perhaps it was because I had made a similar decision to his—or perhaps it was because I felt in that final period of his writing—the period that brought him fame after so many years of writing in obscurity—he was searching for me just as I was searching for him. That, knowing the direction I had taken, he was trying to reach out to me and prevent me from making some mistake he had made. All of his final books were based on a mistake, a missed connection—and they all included a father and an unreconciled son. And always there was the father’s regret—which gave me hope. I needed, if I could, to find out what my father might have been trying to say to me. And I felt that the answer to that must be up there in that villa on the mountainside above the village of Bellapais.

Even when we’d lived in the villa, I had felt that it was a living, breathing organism and that it gave life to the muse of anyone living there. That was a logical conclusion. It had been the villa where the English novelist Lawrence Durrell had penned the classic Alexandria Quartet series, and later the portraitist Valery Cramner and novelist Mark Amalfi, famously doomed lovers, had lived there as well. It was why my father had brought us to Cyprus and had let the villa. And, in some way, he was right about the villa’s influence on the creative spirit, because my father’s writing had not come into international acclaim before the books he wrote while in residence here.

It was dusk before I ascended the narrow country road up into the Kyrenia Mountains hovering about the ancient Cypriot harbor town of the same name. Fairy lights in the trees surrounding the outdoor café in the Bellapais square had already twinkled on and the men of the village were gathering for their evening of sitting and watching when I reached the lower square in my father’s battered Triumph convertible and made the hairpin curve up to the upper village where my father’s villa teetered on the edge of a precipice overlooking Kyrenia and the Mediterranean.

The heads of the men lingering in the café and drinking coffee and beer and discussing the same topics they had done for twelve centuries all came up in surprise as I passed in the car. And I could understand this. For the briefest of moments I could understand that they had visions of my father—dead for a week—returning to the villa. The villa had somewhat of a “haunted” reputation I knew from having lived in it previously, and, with its connection with international authors and artists—not to mention a long train of residents who had lived a somewhat notorious and dissolute lifestyle—the villa and its occupants over the past century no doubt constituted the most excitement this traditional Mediterranean mountain village had known since Richard the Lionhearted sliced through it with his sword.

When I reached the villa, I turned on lights, all of which suffered from an inadequate wattage that, rather than irritating, gave a soft glow to the interior and flickered in a manner that gave the impression that the walls were breathing. After placing my bags in the master bedroom and taking a quick familiarization tour around and finding that it had changed little since I was last here as a teenager, I settled myself at my father’s desk in the main room, which served as living room, study, and formal dining room.

Across from where I was sitting, I could see through the French doors to the terrace overhanging the Mediterranean down the tumbling, steep hillside and see the lights from the terrace spots dancing in the water of the small swimming pool. I was feeling quite mellow, partially thanks to the Cankaya wine I had found in bulk in the kitchen. I had loved this house. And much of my resentment of my father a decade earlier had been for not giving a thought that his family enjoyed living here as much as he did.

The original manuscripts for the books he had written here were set on the desk between bookends—and I would most surely take those with me—and there were piles of papers strewn around from what had already been published and what he was working on when he died. Digging under the piles, I found a small packet of letters, encircled with a red silk ribbon, and I was about to investigate them when I heard the music coming up from the tavern in the square.

In my father’s books, he had written much about the siren song of the music gümüşhane escort drifting up from the Tree of Idleness café in the square, and hearing it now reminded me how central it was to his later writing. I found myself becoming absorbed in the sounds coming up from the square—not just the sound of stringed Turkish instruments and the soft, nasal singing of a tenor, but the sounds of the male voices in discussion too. And then I became aware of the atmosphere of the villa itself—the soft lights, the dancing water of the swimming pool on the terrace, the cool breeze coming up through the open French doors to the terrace. It was as if the villa was speaking to me, telling me to go down to the square—that I would find what I was seeking there. This, even though I didn’t fully comprehend what I was seeking by coming back here. If it was closure, that should have come from the globs of dirt dropping on my father’s coffin down in the Anglican cemetery in Kyrenia. But that didn’t seem to be it.

I let the packet of letters fall out of my hands, and I rose and left the villa and carefully made my way down the steep upper village street—not much more than an alley between the compound walls of other villas holding precariously onto the side of the mountain—watching my every step on the uneven cobblestones.

Like the villa itself, the central square of Bellapais, bordered on the downslope by the ruins of a twelfth-century Byzantine monastery and on the upslope by the indoor section of the Tree of Idleness café, had a mysterious glow about it from the soft lights in the trees and the candles burning on the tables.

All of the eyes of those gathered there settled on me as I entered the circle of soft light, and the conversations were suspended. Only the music of the stringed instruments continued. Even the tenor had broken off in mid lyric of his song. But I didn’t feel like an intruder—I felt like I was coming home. I found an empty table and sat at it and ordered an Efes beer, and the activity in the square resumed to the level that it no doubt had maintained for centuries of the village men meeting to gossip and speculate and to smoke their pipes and cigarettes and drink their evening sluggish coffee or beer.

There were only men in the square, and many of them were young, some younger than me. The younger men looked fit and strong and handsome. They were dark, with black, curly hair, and musculature that bespoke of honest labor. The older men were mere shells of the younger. Somewhere in one of my father’s books he had remarked that Turkish men were formed as gods and started deteriorating into old men by the time they hit their thirties. He went on to say that the Turkish men, therefore, should be plucked and used before they departed their twenties. But perhaps the less said about that the better.

I remained the center of attention and of whisperings at the tables surrounding me, and I had the sensation that the younger men were moving closer—that they somehow were in a dance of speculation on which of them would first come to me. And I found that sensation arousing, and I found myself taking furtive glances around and setting wishes on who it might be. I could well understand how my father had melted to this siren call.

I was on familiar ground here—not because I had engaged in this courtship process when we had lived here before, but because it was a central theme in the books my father wrote while he lived in separation from his former world here. And not just his books either. I had found the same motif in the books of the earlier novelist who followed in Lawrence Durrell’s footsteps in writing here, the Englishman Mark Amalfi. What went on here with the residents of the villa in the upper town had always been, in fact, a type of courtship, a mating dance—a primeval sexual choosing. A certain type of man lived in the villa and a certain type of young Turkish Cypriot man could be found in abundance at the Tree of Idleness café. I didn’t find this threatening in the least. I was that certain kind of man myself. I found all of this familiar, and comfortable, and, yes, arousing.

I was lifted out of my reverie on these thoughts by a sudden hush across the café, one that matched the greeting of my entrance nearly an hour earlier. I looked up and saw, just at the edge of the light where the road descended from the square down to Kyrenia the figure of a man. It took me a second to place him, but I slowly realized that he was the man who had come—but not quite come—to my father’s interment earlier that day. He had been moving into the circle of light and had captured the attention of all the men present, and I sensed that his presence had set them on edge somehow. He was Turkish and seemed as one with the rest of the men here but not really. His elegant dress and sophisticated demeanor set him apart, and somehow the reaction of the men at the café gave me the sense that he had once been with them but was now apart—not fully wanted in the square.

His movement was arrested izmir escort when his eyes fell on me. He hesitated and then I thought perhaps he was going to come to me. I found him appealing—and arousing—and something inside me wanted him to come to me—and to take me away and possess me. But just at the moment, the question had been resolved of which of the young men in the square was going to come and sit at my table, and, seeing the young man approach me, the mysterious man turned and faded outside the circle of light.

“May I sit?” The young man was saying. “My name is Sami. You are perhaps from the villa? You have come because of Malcolm perhaps?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m Richard Stephenson, Malcom’s son. Come to settle his business.”

“You are staying at the villa, no?” Sami asked.

“Yes, until the end of the month,” I said.

“You look like Malcom,” he said. “But younger. Better body.” He said it as if it had been a condition of him approaching my table. I could see that if he hadn’t, there were several other young men hovering around who might have.

“I am thirsty. You buy me beer? Yes?”

“Yes, why not?” I said with a laugh. I liked his open, straightforward manner; I certainly liked his sensual looks.

When they arrived, we drank our beers almost in silence, although I could tell he was looking me over very closely.

“You like Malcolm?” Sami asked.

I was confused and took a minute to answer. “I’m not sure what you mean. He was my father. I’m not sure if ‘like’ was a word to use.”

“No, no,” Sami said, giving me a piercing stare. “I mean you like fuck men like him? Like all of them at villa?”

I blushed and remained silent, nonplused by his directness. He didn’t misinterpret the blush, though.

“I give good fuck. Not same old same old. Interesting fuck. You take me to villa?”

Sami, in fact, did give an interesting fuck. We made love on the terrace, at first in the pool, where I lay on the still-warm stone edge, my legs resting on his shoulders as he stood in the water and sucked my cock in inventive ways and ate out my asshole until I begged him to take me. Then he bounded out of the pool and rolled me up onto my shoulders, with my ass waving in the air and legs spread and, in a maneuver I’d never experienced before, crouched over my pelvis with his hips, facing away from me and fucked down into me at an angle that moved his cock inside my channel in a movement that was new—and totally arousing to me.

When he was finished with that, he fairly carried me through the French doors into the master bedroom that occupied the wing jutting out beside the terrace and toward the precipice, lowered me to the bed, and vigorously fucked me almost to dawn. I loved what he was doing to me and spent as much time straddling his hips and riding his erect tool as I did spreading my legs and digging my nails into his undulating butt cheeks as he plowed me deeply.

When I was totally exhausted and nearly had drifted off to sleep—but wondering in the back of my mind why Sami was so familiar with the layout of the villa, he murmured to me that I was a very nice fuck—that I was young and capable of positions he liked—and he had enjoyed himself so much that he would take no money—that my father had paid him and the other young men but that I need not pay him whenever I wanted him to fuck me.

I took that as a compliment, while being slightly melancholy about what that told me of my father’s later sex life, and drifted off to sleep smiling. When I awoke, Sami was gone.

Satiated and content for the first time in some weeks, I padded naked into the kitchen and boiled water for coffee. Then I went out onto the sun-streaked terrace, coffee in one hand and the small packet of letters I’d found in the desk in the other.

There were four letters held together by the red ribbon. Three from Izmir and one from Istanbul on the Turkish mainland. The top one, at least, was written in a strong, elegant hand.

They were from someone named Mustafa, and the mere presence of the name on the creamy envelope surfaced all of the old hurts in me from the decade earlier. I had heard that name in the context of my parents’ bitter fighting while their marriage was dissolving.

The surfacing of the name distressed me so that I almost tore the letters up and tossed the shreds over the low retaining wall and down toward the Mediterranean. But something stopped me. I had come for answers. I couldn’t let what was past get in the way of any chance of finding closure on understanding my father and why it had all happened.

He had left us for Mustafa. The big question was why there was no Mustafa here—and apparently never was. I could understand and accept if Mustafa and he had been lovers—I had no trouble accepting one man loving another one in all of the physical as well as emotional senses—but if my father hadn’t left us for a lover, why had we just been discarded? Were we intruding on his writing—and was his writing more important than my mother and my sisters and I were to him? I could not even begin to accept his acclaimed books with the thought that they were more important to him than his own flesh and blood. It was a perpetual sore that had been reopened each and every time someone asked me if I was the son of the author of the Bellapais Quintet.

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A/N: Edited version of Chapter 2 – there is a little something at the end that’s new – most of the rest of the changes are fairly small and for characterization development purposes.

* * * * *

Things are a little weird inside my head for a few days. It comes as an unpleasant shock to discover that I liked Alister right at the point it became moot. Sure, I’ve never had a relationship before, but I already know that kind of betrayal isn’t going to wash with me — I mean, I don’t have that much I can have pride about, which may be why I’m so hell-bent on maintaining dignity, so I’m not going to let some guy walk all over my emotions and then expect me to just let it go.

He’s tried to call and message a few times, but I’ve deleted everything as soon as it comes in, including Grindr — not going back to that shit show.

It’s helped that Mad and Tay have been here for me this weekend, dropping their other plans to be by my side, although, now, sitting on Mad’s bed, I think I might shoot myself if she doesn’t stop sending sad-eyes my way.

“Mad, sweetie, can you stop looking at me like my puppy just died.”

Taylor lets out a guffaw.

“Babe, you really are. Stop it, you know Ry is too tough to let this bring him down for long,” he turns to me. “You know what you need Ry?”

I shake my head, though I’m pretty certain I know where Tay’s mind is heading, because it’s where his mind always heads. For a guy who’s only ever had sex with one person, he sure is thirsty, and he’s probably more crushed than I am that this ended the way it did; he was inordinately proud of me for getting out there.

“You need to wash that man right out of your hair, with a new man.”

“Taylor, I’m not sure that’s a great idea. Ryan is fragile right now, maybe he should stay away from guys for a while. I don’t think Grindr is a great idea.”

“Not saying that. Ry, you have plenty of other options. I know at least four guys at school who’d love if you’d pay them some attention.”

I sort of want to go off at Mad for calling me ‘fragile’ but Tay’s words have me intrigued. Four guys? I only know of three gay guys who are even at school other than me, and two of them are in a relationship with each other.

“Taylor, I hope you’re not trying to set me up with your straight jock buddies. You know how I feel about that, I’m not Robbie.”

“Whoa,” Mad holds her hands up, “I thought Robbie was your friend now, that was kinda mean.”

It was? It was more a factual statement, I thought.

“I am friends with him, but he does go for straight guys — and I don’t.”

Taylor shrugs and nods at Mad to confirm what I’m saying. When it comes down to what goes on with the jocks Tay’s in a good position — locker room talk is free and explicit and he’s the kind of open book that people share stuff with, but I had no idea Mad wasn’t aware of it, as I thought they told each other everything, and he’s certainly revealed plenty to me in the past. I kinda know more about Robbie’s sex life than I ever wanted to.

Mad is trying to work this out, “So, why does he spend so much time with Alex then, if he goes for straight guys?”

I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, Robbie and Alex are hanging out a lot, but they still’ve never made anything overt about what their relationship entails, and I’m sure not going to ask them. Then my brain catches up with my ears.

“Er, hang on, what do you mean-? “

I’m interrupted by Mad, in full enthusiasm mode, “So, Taylor, who are all these guys that want a piece of our Ryan? You know we’ve got to vet them after the last one.”

“Well, the only ones I know for sure are Hai, obviously- “

“My friend Hai?”

“You know any others?”

No, I don’t, but I had no idea Hai swung the same way as me. Although he’s so shy I can’t be that surprised that he’s flown under the radar.

“Anyway, I can’t be fully sure about him. I’m basing that one just on the way he looks at you, but it’s pretty damn obvious.”

“Dude, you just said you were sure, and then that you’re just guessing. Can’t have it both ways. Are all your amazing options this flaky?”

“Nope, I did Hai first just because I haven’t heard confirmation from his own mouth. The others, I know for sure, although I’m not sure I should tell you, you know the locker room confessional is sacred.”

Mad throws a pillow at his face, even though he’s clearly joking.

“Not to you,” she screeches, “you tell me all sorts of stuff, there’s no way you’re holding out on us now.”

There’s distraction for a few minutes while Tay and Mad pseudo-wrestle on the other side of the bed. I try to ignore their slightly sickening foreplay by deleting a new message from Alister without reading it. Finally, they come up for air, red-faced and panting.

“Okay, okay, you win, I’ll talk.”

Taylor throws himself onto the couch in a bid to escape Mad. She does fight like a fucking mongoose, so I’m not surprised he needs a break.

“Okay, the first two aren’t van escort that exciting, cos I’m guessing you’ll already know, but it’s Charlie and Zack.”

“Huh, no way – they’re not into me, plus they’re super into each other.”

Charlie and Zack are the two guys who are together and have been since last year. I became pretty good friends with Zack when he joined the school at the beginning of the year — he’s a cute geek with big brown eyes and floppy hair and he’d had to leave his last school because he had such a hard time when he came out.

Miss Melthrop had seen that he was struggling at Lincoln too — he’s very sweet and just had no come-back when people gave him trouble. If you’ve ever met teenagers, you’ll know that they descend like a pack of ravenous animals when they spot a weakness, and Miss M knew that I’ve never let the pack get into my head, so she asked me to sort of mentor him to help him toughen up.

I did a pretty good job of it, and you wouldn’t recognize the Zack of today compared to what he was like then, though he still has a very squishy interior under the much more world-wise shell. Charlie, on the other hand, has always had a lot of spikes and was a total douche the whole of high school. I’m on the swim team with him, he’s going to be the captain this year, and he gave me a lot of shit, which got even worse when Zack and I became friends.

To cut a long story very short, it turned out Charlie was a walking stereotype — a sporty homophobe who was terrified of the fact that he was actually into guys. Once he got past that, he and Zack became serious quickly, and Charlie came out in a big way — attacking other people’s uncertainty the same way he attacks everything else; with overweening confidence. We’re friends now, mainly because of Zack, although it is sometimes difficult to forget how awful he used to be.

“Yeah, they’re into each other, but we had a team cook out last week and Charlie was there. Conversation got onto guys and girls and Jett asked Charlie if he was only into Zack or if he was just liked guys in general and Charlie just came out and said he was definitely fully gay, and that he and Zack had discussed how into you they both are, and that you were on both of their free lists.”

“‘Free lists’?” Mad’s confused.

“You know, the list of people you have a free pass to fuck?”

I almost choke on the water I’ve just taken a swig of. Okay, so that’s a thing then — I had no idea, though I guess it is kind of a salve for my ego to have two cute guys into me after what happened with Alister.

“Oooh, sweet Ry. They’re both so hot. You could have one this week and the other next week. That would be a great way to take your mind off of things.”

Well, that’s one way of putting it but I’m not sure how I’d feel about hooking up with Charlie and Zack — with them being friends I’d hate it if things got weird, either between us or between them, especially if it was as some kind of fantasy fulfillment for them.

“Anyway,” Mad hasn’t forgotten Taylor’s promise, “who’s the last one you know for sure?”

Tay looks nervous, “I don’t know about this one. ‘Cause I don’t think Charlie will care if you know about him, in fact I think he might had hoped that I’d tell you. But the last one is a biggy. It’s someone who isn’t out, and he told me in confidence because he was struggling with some stuff.”

I’m content to let this go. I’m not here to force people out of the closet before they’re ready and, to be honest, this conversation is making me feel a bit weird. I know I’ll be trying to work out if Hai is looking at me differently, and I’m going to be reading into stuff Charlie and Zack say now, and I’m just not sure I’m happy with any of that. But Mad isn’t having it.

“Tell us, now. You promised. And nothing will get to anyone from us, you know that.”

Tay just blurts it out: “It’s Jayden.”

Mad and I both have our mouths open. That is not a name I would have guessed. Jayden is a cool guy, one of the few jocks I like, and he’s always been nice to me — in a very normal, guy-to-guy, not-at-all-into-me type of way.

I can’t help a slight pang that Taylor’s last name wasn’t Alex. It had been in my mind when he started. Maybe, just maybe, Alex had said something. Taylor is notoriously good with people — they talk to him, tell him things they wouldn’t tell anyone else. Alex has given me no clue at all that he might like me that way, but even before things went south with Alister it was obvious to me I have a little something going for him. Maybe, even, that it was those feelings that stopped me opening up to Alister.

I know it seems like telling Tay secrets would be a bad idea, like he couldn’t keep one to save his life, but in reality it’s only me and Mad he tells these deep dark confidences to, and we don’t tell anyone else. Regardless of the friendship I feel for the others, I still haven’t betrayed the trust of any of the things Tay’s told me.

But Jayden, huh? He’s pretty damn yalova escort hot — not quite as built as Tay, but close — six-four of broad, solid muscle, light brown skin, and golden-hazel eyes. And now my lust-life just got complicated. Because I could definitely be into Jayden, but in-the-closet counts as straight in my book and I steer well clear of straight.

With that in mind, I turn to Mad.

“Babe, what did you mean earlier, when you said you were surprised about Robbie and Alex if Robbie goes for straight guys?”

She looks confused for a minute, then remembers her thought, “Oh, nothing really, it’s just a lot of the girls have been drooling all over him and he’s not shown any interest, even in Shelly, and you know how pretty she is, and she’s been throwing herself at him fairly hard, and with all the time he seems to spend with Robbie I figured there was something there. But if what you say is right it’s probably just that he’s having his needs fulfilled so isn’t interested in a relationship.”

Damn, no real elucidation there then.

* * * * *

At lunch the next day we’re sitting in the cafeteria, when there’s a disturbance over at the popular table. Mad and Taylor are standing close, whisper-fighting, while the others all stare at them wide-eyed. No one likes it when mom and dad fight. I can’t hear what’s being said, but I think they can over there, as there’s a lot of nudges and undertones. Finally, Jayden stands and claps Taylor on the back.

“Buddy, just do it. We’re going to be okay. You’re allowed other friends you know.”

Taylor bro-hugs him hard.

Cassidy hisses up at Madison, “You can’t go, you know. Those boys are stupid, we need you here, what would people think?”

I see Mad roll her eyes, but she slumps down into her seat and waves Taylor off with a flick of her wrist. To my surprise, Tay heads straight over to me and takes the seat by my side. He leans in to hug me from the side.

“Just thought you could use some extra support today, after all it’s your first day back since- “

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine Tay, thanks.”

I haven’t told the guys about what happened with Alister, I mean they barely even knew we were dating, and I don’t need a bunch of pointless sympathy. But it’s too late. Robbie has some kind of supersonic hearing, and low-level bitch-factor for any kind of juicy gossip.

“What’s the matter Ryan? Something happen with your boyfriend? Is that why you didn’t come to school on Friday?”

“Not my boyfriend, Robbie, just a guy. I’m not seeing him anymore. It isn’t a big deal.”

“You’re not seeing that Alister anymore?” Alex asks, “You seemed pretty into him the other day.”

I scowl, although feel slightly smug that my little show did have an impact on Alex, as that’s what it had been for.

“Yeah, well, shit happens. Besides, I’m eighteen, I don’t need to be tied down yet.”

“Oh, I dunno, getting tied down can be fun.” Alex winks at me before getting up to bus his tray, and I’m left with my mouth agape. What was that supposed to mean? And why did it make my stomach do a somersault?

* * * * *

Aubrey passes me the daisy chain she’s crafted from the blooms that surround us and I place it on my head, making me the king of the fairies. I tell Robbie and he snorts.

“That’s my role, I think,” but he’s grinning, and happily takes the necklace Aubrey’s made for him.

I lay back onto the well-tended grass at the edge of the field, feeling the scratchy tickle of the green blades against the back of my hands, nestled under my skull.

“So,” Aubrey pseudo-whispers, conspiratorially, but sounding a little sarcastic, “I assume we came here so we can watch the boys practice their highly masculine game of try-to-give-each-other-head-injuries?”

“It’s always fun to do, you looking at anyone Aubrey?” Robbie smiles.

“Nup, I’m a bit too gay for that. Not gonna lie though, the cheerleaders might be catching my attention,” she grins, and Robbie grins back, unfazed by the new information.

I have to ask, even though I know it’s none of my business.

“So, Robbie, have you got your eye on anyone in particular?”

I don’t want his answer, thinking I know what it’s going to be, but I wasn’t able to help myself. He regards me for a moment, a serious cast to his face, and shrugs.

“Not really looking at the moment, not needing to, I guess,” he looks down, “not for any long-term reason, you understand, just happy with being happy in the moment.”

It’s cryptic, but I think I get what he’s saying. It’s his way of admitting there’s something going on with Alex, without actually admitting it.

I’m not certain if Robbie worded it that way because I haven’t been successful in hiding these thoughts about how I view Alex, which are not getting any lighter as I get to know him from the sidelines. Or maybe because he’s been burned in the past and is reluctant to be too open about his personal life.

I’m embarrassed that he might çorlu escort have realized that I’m attracted to Alex. I don’t want to go public about how I feel; as it stands I don’t even know if Alex has the capacity to be into me — Robbie isn’t exactly a good gauge on whether a guy might be into other guys, but even if he is, well, there’s Robbie. Just because a relationship’s not his usual modus operandi doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed his mind this time.

I’m left wishing I hadn’t opened my stupid mouth to ask the question in the first place.

Just then, Alex jogs over, pulling his helmet off, kicking his hair loose with a flick. He greets Robbie with a high five and bends over to hug Aubrey, saying a quiet ‘hi’ to me but not making eye contact. And that’s another reason, as if I needed one, why I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been watching him, now, practicing football, in class, when we hang. I can’t even tell if he likes me as a friend, never mind anything else.

I know it’s just lust I have though, for his easy smile and broad shoulders. For his laughing green eyes and full lips. Hell, I tell myself, it’s probably just a knock-on effect from what happened with Alister leaving me feeling uneasy and unwanted. Seeking a bond where there isn’t one. I’m not exactly feeling like the best judge of character right now.

“Hey, you guys coming to the Homecoming game on Friday?”

He glances around, his eyes bright and hopeful. I’m not sure why, I know he isn’t that impressed with the whole concept of football, he says the game he used to play in Australia was a lot wilder and more fun.

“And to the Homecoming dance after?”

Aubrey fields it, “Of course we are, bud, we wouldn’t miss it for the world,” and his nervous smile melts into warmth that I feel in my gut.

He heads off to change and I turn to Aubrey.

“We are? I’m not exactly prepared for that.”

“Of course we are. Don’t you normally go, to support Taylor?”

“Not normally. He has Mad. I think I’d be pretty out of place. Everyone takes dates to the dance, and it would be a prime place to cop shit from the jocks who aren’t as cool as Taylor.”

“Really?” Robbie puts his head to one side, “I thought you got on okay with them? And Charlie and Zack go too.”

I hate the way he’s pinning my insecurities down without even trying. Bringing to the fore the things I keep hidden even from myself. That’s what Robbie does though — say incredibly on-the-nose perceptive stuff with a little twist to his head. Of course Charlie and Zack are fine, Charlie’s gold-plated. And I do get on ‘okay’ with almost all of them, but the way I don’t get on with the few is enough to have me running scared.

I shrug though, if Alex wants us there, I guess I’ll do it, for a, hopefully, friend if nothing else.

* * * * *

On Homecoming I get ready after the game at Aubrey’s. I’ve brought the single pair of smart black trousers I own and my single bright white shirt, long sleeved with a fit close to my body. I barely wear these, to keep them in their best condition, and they look good. I know I’ll be underdressed compared to a lot of the guys, but I can live with that, because at least I’ll be comfortable, and Aubrey lends me a slim black tie that used to belong to her father, a generous gesture that blows me away.

Aubrey looks incredible in a body-hugging black floor length dress, with lace sleeves. She kinda looks like Morticia Addams, in the best possible way.

When we go downstairs, Aubrey’s aunt Linda bustles in with a large box.

“Darling, when you told me you were going to Homecoming with all your friends, I thought it would be delightful for you to all express your friendship with matching flowers.”

She waves a beautiful white rose corsage with a pleased look on her face, ignoring the way Aubrey rolls her eyes.

“That’s so kind, Linda,” I smile as she hands me the boutonniere, which Aubrey fastens onto my shirt.

She might think it’s all too much, but Aubrey can’t hide the secretly pleased look on her face as I tie her corsage around her slim wrist.

When the others arrive we sort their matching boutonnieres and aunt Linda takes the obligatory pictures. Everyone looks good: Hai in a dark blue suit with black trim and Robbie in braces and a bow tie.

Biased I may be, but Alex looks the best, in a simple charcoal-gray three-piece suit that fits his broad shoulders like it was tailor-made, his unbuttoned shirt collar and surfer-hair giving it a relaxed air. He may look relaxed, but I’m not: it’s all I can do not to lick my lips.

We ride to the party in a limo organized by Alex, who’s sitting next to me, with Robbie on his other side. I’m trying to see whether they’re touching, without being obvious, but clearly failing.

“You okay? Alex asks, “You seem a bit on edge.”

“Just never been to anything like this,” I say, disingenuously, as I’m not going to tell him the real reason I’m tense.

We’ve been getting on these last few days. Alex suddenly seems more inclined to speak to me, not ignoring me when we’re together as a group, but it’s not really helping my attraction, which is getting worse by the day.

* * * * *

Mad spots me as soon as we arrive, launching herself at me for an impromptu spin.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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I’m baaaaaaaaack and I’m so sooooooooooo sorry for my long ass hiatus. Lots of love to those readers that emailed and stuck with me. Its summer now and I will be updating like crazy (I hope). Just had a really busy year but I won’t go into that.

As for story updates, these are eth stories that will be continued.

Gilded in Gold, The Dark in Your Blue Eyes, Stone Cold Steele, and a few new stories (I know I know you’re going to say dammit, finish your old stories lol but you know how fickle I am). But on a happier note, I will be finishing Gilded in Gold this summer, or my editor AdriannaBelen has permission to slap me silly. It is not a light threat.

Anyhow, just wanted to put this out as I work on the finishing touches on Gilded in Gold, this will have three mare installments of similar length so I hope you enjoy.

Unbeta’d so all errors are my own.

Also, anyone want to edit my mm stories since AdrianaBelen mostly does Gilded in Gold. If you want to please email me, thank you.

(p.s. sex tags apply to later installments so don’t feel duped if you came here for that and got no smut in this chapter)

*****

Percy Windham was unceremoniously shoved into the dark and dank cell, the guards laughing as he tripped and fell on his hands and knees. The finality of the cell’s bars locking in place made the last of Percy’s stoic façade crumble. Percy quickly blinked back the tears but couldn’t help his low whimper as he slowly got back on his feet, his hands and knees smarting. Sniffling, he went over to the small sink above a toilet and flipped on the faucet. The ice cold water hit his scraped and bleeding palms like a thousand needles, making him gasp. Quickly, he brought his wet palms up to his lips and licked at his wounds. As a wolf shifter, his body rapidly healed wounds and his saliva helped to quicken that process. The pain quickly abated and the skin regenerated until they were like new. His knees took a bit longer, but after a few minutes of moving his legs up and down had them healed.

He jumped when he heard a rustling of clothes. A large shadow at the corner of his cell began moving towards him. Percy backed away until his back was pressing up against the silver bars. He hissed and jerked forward as the metal made contact with his skin, lightly burning his exposed skin.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the menacing shadow spit at him.

The man stepped out from the shadows and the dim prison lights illuminated his face. He had silted green eyes, sharp cheek bones, and thin pale lips. Percy could cut himself on those cheek bones. Wrapping his arms around himself, Percy shivered under the man’s gaze. Peering up from under his lashes, Percy saw a large, tall man. He was even bigger than the guards. He smelled like some kind of reptile shifter.

“I-I killed a man,” Percy whispered. The man snorted in derision.

“A little squirt like you? You’re still wet behind the ears, pup.”

Percy quickly glanced up at man, wondering what the other man was in here for. His tongue darted out in a quick swipe to his lips.

“Did you kill a man, too?”

“No.” Percy let out a relieved breath. The man couldn’t be so bad then. Before the guards had thrown him in here, they’d been laughing about putting him in here with the “Killer”. They had probably just been trying to make him scared.

“I killed a bunch of men.”

All of Percy’s relief instantly flew out the window, or rather the cell bars at the man’s confession. Gulping down a big wad of spit, Percy almost swallowed his tongue.

“Did they deserve it?” Although he’d never condone murder, there were times when it was just inevitable with certain bad men.

“The man you killed, did he deserve it?” the man asked, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. Percy looked up in surprise. This man was the first to ask him that question. When his Alpha had found Percy next to the bleeding body of the pack’s beta, he’d been instantly condemned. They hadn’t asked about the vicious bruises on Percy’s own body, or the bleeding from the many bite marks on his body. The council had quickly decided his fate and before he could say anything in protest, he’d been driven here to the paranormal correctional facility.

“I thought so at the time,” Percy mumbled as he maneuvered around big man so that his back was against the cement wall instead of the bars. If the guy planned to attack him, he preferred that his skin wouldn’t also be burned. He was already in enough pain for ten people and he didn’t need to compound on it.

The man followed him step for step. “And you don’t think so now?”

Percy just shrugged, looking at the various stains on the floor. “I got exiled form my pack, my parents won’t talk to me, and I’m stuck in here with you for foreseeable future.”

“If I was a little more sensitive, I’d think you didn’t like me,” the man teased with a small smile. Percy glanced up to catch a fleeting sight of the smile and he trabzon escort answered in return.

“My name is Percy,” he offered in a soft voice. He reached a tentative hand out to the man, wondering if he would take it. The big man stepped forward until Percy had to arch his neck up at an uncomfortable angle to look up the man. His large, calloused palm griped Percy’s and he gasped as a sudden tingle went up from his fingers to spread throughout his body. He jerked up to meet the man’s curious amber eyes and bit his lips to suppress yelling out that this man was his mate.

“Name’s Sabre.” Sabre quickly pulled his hand away with a bemused frown, looking at his hand. “You’re a wolf shifter?”

Percy savored the sound of his mate’s name in his head. Sabre. It suited him.

Percy nodded. “I’m from the Wind Heights Pack. I was the omega up until, well, you know. I smell reptile on you. Are you an alligator or a lizard or something?” He wanted so badly to know more about his mate. It didn’t matter that he’d always pictured his mate as a wolf. After all these years and he finally found him in the last place he’d think to look. Percy hugged himself tighter, the urge to reach out and touch his mate overwhelming him and making his body shake.

“Something like that. Look, I haven’t had anyone stay in my cell for all the years I’ve been here and I like it like that. I’m sure the guards will come back in the morning and take you to another cell.”

It was like an arrow to his heart to hear that his mate didn’t want him around. Hell, the man didn’t even look like he knew that they were mates. Percy knew he couldn’t be wrong, the man’s scent, his touch-it all called to his wolf. If he’d been in his wolf form, he’d be wagging his tail with his tongue lolling out.

Offering a trembling smile, Percy offered Sabre’s own words back to him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’t like me.”

Sabre cocked a brow at him and he blushed, ducking his head down. The man’s wry laughter filled the cell.

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?”

Percy nodded. His Alpha had always harped on his lack of social skills, always pushing him into situations that made him uncomfortable. His family had been of the same mind. Percy wondered if his shyness would be unattractive to his mate.

“You wouldn’t even make a good midnight snack for me, little wolf.”

“You don’t know that,” Percy retorted, absurdly insulted.

Sabre smirked. “It sounds like you actually want to stay with me.”

Percy pouted. “And if I want to?”

Sabre blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. For a moment, he looked at a loss for words. The little wolf was certainly turning out to be a surprise.

“Trust me, pup, you don’t. If you knew all the things I’ve done, you’d be clawing at those silver bars there trying to get out.”

Percy opened his mouth to protest, wanting the man to understand that he couldn’t. He didn’t understand why Sabre didn’t know they were mates, but he was sure time together would make the reptile realize they were fated for each other. But before anything could come out of his mouth, a guard’s yell interrupted them.

“Lights out! Get to bed, you sick fucks.”

All the lights systematically shut off, until all Percy could see was the glowing amber of Sabre’s eyes. Many of the other inmates growled and yelled obscenities as the guards banged on a few cell doors, trying to get them to go to bed. A low buzzing started and the silver bars began vibrating.

“A witch’s spell. Touch the bars and they’ll slice your fingers off,” Sabre answered Percy’s unspoken question.

“D-did you cut your fingers on one of them?” Percy’s heart ached at even the thought of anything hurting his mate. He might have just met this man a few minutes ago but he already felt the mating pull. His skin itched with the need to be touched by his mate, his wolf clawing at his human skin to be let out.

“I once pushed an inmate’s face in them,” Sabre stated, his amber eyes flashing.

Percy nodded, not wanting to know anymore. He couldn’t imagine under what circumstances Sabre would want to main a man like that, but he just couldn’t imagine his man as a bad mate. He didn’t think fate would pair him with a man that was a senseless killer. So far, Sabre seemed like a man who kept to himself nothing screamed out sadistic in the man’s behavior.

“Um, I’d like to go to sleep now.” It had been a long day, but Percy also needed time to think. Maybe it was the mating pull that made him want to believe Sabre was a better man than what he actually was.

“There’s only one bed. Take the floor.”

Percy slowly slid to the floor, Sabre’s harsh tone sapping away the rest of Percy’s energy. He’d been attacked, kicked out of pack, thrown in prison, met a mate that didn’t even know they were mates let alone want him and he just had enough. It was more than what one omega could take in day and now tunceli escort he just wanted to loose himself in the oblivion of sleep. He’d rather be snuggled up in his mate’s arms taking comfort in his strength, but Percy doubted Sabre was the cuddling type. Hell, the man could be straight and Percy wouldn’t be surprised. The way his day was going, he half suspected fate would try to screw him like that. Maybe that was why Sabre didn’t want to acknowledge that they were mates.

Curling up in small ball to ward off the chill, he burrowed his head in his arms. The floor was sticky and smelled distinctly of vomit and blood. Percy couldn’t be bothered to care, not now. The floor was hard on his bruised body, the healing bite wounds still raw. The beta had really done a number on him after getting him alone and cornered off from the pack. When Percy had refused to do what the man demanded, the stronger wolf had attacked Percy. He could still feel the razor sharp teeth ripping through his tender flesh. The beta’s jaws had bitten down on his neck, holding his down while his claws hands had raked down his back and …

Percy whimpered at the dark memory, willing himself to forget. His heart rate had gone up and his upper lip and forehead was sweaty. He wanted to splash some water on his face, but he was too afraid to get up least he disturb his mate’s sleep. The man didn’t snore, but Percy could tell he was sleeping by the man’s even breathing.

He must have dozed off for a few hours but when he woke up, all he could see was an impregnable black. He could barely see his hands that were just a few inched form his face.

Without warning, he felt rough hands grab at his body. Screaming out, Percy thrashed against the hold. He was reliving all those angry, frantic moments when he’d struggled for his life. The taste of blood filling his mouth, his own sweat mixing in with his tears, the bruising grip on his thighs…it came back rushing to him. But this time the beta wolf was too strong; he was going to finally take Percy. He was shoved onto a mattress face down, his yells muffled by the pillow. Sobbing, Percy got onto his knees but the beta’s hands pulled him back and flipped him over. Vowing to make this as hard on the beta as possible, Percy clawed at his attacker’s face with his shifted claws. Blood splattered down on his face but he didn’t care.

A sudden, sharp slap to his face snapped him out of his nightmare as he realized that the beta couldn’t be attacking him. He was dead. Percy had killed him himself. His breathing was hard and shallow as he tried to find his bearings.

“What the hell was that, little wolf?” Sabre’s hot breath hit Percy’s face. He looked up into those amber eyes and shook his head, whimpering.

The man seemed to understand that he couldn’t talk about it now, so he let it go. Percy felt the man tuck himself behind his smaller body and pull a blanket over them. A single tear slid down Percy’s face as he felt his mate’s body slowly warm his own. He clasped his shaking hands over his mate’s wrists and locked them around his body.

“Please don’t let me go,” Percy pleaded, feeling safe for the first time in years in the cage of his mate’s embrace.

Sabre cleared his throat uncomfortably, but tightened his arms around the smaller man.

“You were thrashing around on the floor, yelling out for help. You looked cold,” Sabre grumbled. Percy snuggled farther into the reptile’s hold, not caring that he was probably pushing his boundaries. He needed to be held by his mate. The reptile’s clean and sharp scent was intoxicating, and he inhaled deep. This might be the only opportunity to be this close to this man and Percy fully intended on taking advantage of that.

“I’m okay now,” Percy sighed, feeling the man’s heartbeat thump against his back and though his body. It was slowly lulling him back to sleep. For the rest of the night, his mind was blissfully devoid of any dreams.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sabre had learned from early on to sleep with one eye open, especially if he was in prison. In his two hundred and thirty eight years, he’d been imprisoned five times now and he knew the drill. So when he woke up from a deep sleep to find he was nuzzling into chocolate brown curls, his immediate reaction was to grab the man’s throat and throw him off. But just as his fingers curled into a crushing grip on the man’s throat, he whimpered and tried to duck down under Sabre’s armpit. Realizing he presented a greater threat to the curly haired man than the man did to him, he slowly released the skin and watched as a blood red handprint appeared on his pale throat.

Feeling just a little bit guilty, a first for him, he rubbed a thumb over the mark, awed that he hadn’t yet woken the little wolf. Sadistic bastard that he was, he liked looking at his hand print on the man’s neck. He ran his tongue over his abnormally elongated fangs, longer than even a normal paranormal’s should be. Being uşak escort the kind of reptiles that he was, his fangs were extra sensitive. He grunted when the wolf squirmed in his arm, rubbing his face against one of his pectoral muscles.

Sabre tried to untangle himself from the mess of limbs but the wolf was surprisingly strong, his legs and arms twined around his body like a vise. He felt a familiar bulge against his thigh, not unlike his own. The wolf’s hand was dangerously close to his own hard cock, the fucking moron more than ready for Sabre to flip the clingy wolf over on his stomach and shove into his tight ass. Disregarding every warning signal from his brain, his other hand smoothed down the wolf’s back to grab at the man’s ass. He bit back a hiss when he felt the firm globes fit perfectly within his palm, almost begging to be slapped.

Fuck, he was screwed.

Having had more than his fair share of ass, both female and male, Sabre had no compunctions about indiscriminate sex; but something about this particular wolf had him on edge. The moment he’d smelled the man’s scent coming down the lone corridor towards his cell, his cock had been doing a happy dance behind his pants. When’s he’d been shoved into the cell, Sabre had both wanted to growl at the guards for daring to touch the man but he’d also wanted to thank them for handing him such an appealing little twink. He was in fucking prison, not a fuck service. It would be beyond moronic to get involved with some jail bait like him, who looked like he hadn’t even hit fifty yet, the usual age of maturity for paranormals.

“Wake up inmates!”

The guard’s shout was immediately followed by glare of lights from the florescent tubes on the hallway ceilings. Not wanting any of the guards to see them both entwined like lovers, Sabre quickly shoved off the bed and got up off the bed. Percy moaned in protest at the sudden lack of warmth and curled into himself. Shaking his head at the defenseless wolf, Sabre wondered how’s he’s make it in the world so far. As beautiful as the shifter was, had he been thrown in any other cell he’d be waking up screaming a cock already shoved in his ass. The pup needed to be taught that he couldn’t just curl up against an inmate like that and fall asleep without worry.

The cold water from the sink served to shock the last of the sleep from his eyes. Brushing his teeth in quick strokes, he did his business and shook himself off before washing his hands. When he looked back at the bed, Percy had turned on his stomach and the waistband of his pants had ridden down until Sabre had a great view of the two, adorable little dimple over the man’s ass. Those tiny little indents were the perfect place for Sabre to press his thumb into as he held onto he smaller man’s waist and thrust his dick into his ass. Sabre let out a growl when he felt his cock hardening again at the thought. Walking over close to the bed, he flicked his still wet fingers towards the man’s face.

Percy squeaked and his eyes popped open as the small drops of cold water hit his face. He looked up fearfully at the man scowling down at him and pulled the covers up to his chin in a futile attempt to protect himself. Percy highly doubted some scratchy wool would be sufficient protection against the hulking behemoth.

“Get up.”

Percy nodded and scrambled from the bed, his legs getting tangled even further in the blankets. With an impatient snort, Sabre jerked the covers from Percy’s body. But that sudden move made Percy fly from the bed to fall to the floor in an inelegant heap. Sabre sighed loudly in exasperation and Percy quickly clambered to feet.

Sabre nodded towards the sink, but Percy stood mesmerized by his mate. This morning, without the confusion and heartache of being thrown from his pack to this miserable place, Percy was able to fully appreciate his handsome mate, well, he thought Sabre looked handsome. His face was all harsh angles, with a blade nose and broad, sharp cheeks. Thin lips were pressed tightly in a frown, but they were unbelievably pink and looked so very soft and pink. Percy had an almost unmanaged urge to lick at those lips for hours, until Sabre might deign to open his mouth and allow Percy entrance.

“Percy!” Sabre snapped. Percy jerked his eyes to meet the man’s gaze and flushed in guilt. “Go wash.”

“Yes, sir.” Percy quickly turned his back on the man and went to do his business. He heard a low groan from the man, as if he was being tortured but he was too scared to ask. This morning, Sabre was acting aloof, and seemed nothing like the man who had carried him to bed and warmed him through the night. It was a little embarrassing to go on the toilet, especially knowing his mate was watching and listening so Percy screwed his eyes shut, shoved his pants to his knees and quickly did his business. But the time he’d washed his hands, all the blood in his body had taken up permanent residence on his face.

Taking a deep, he slowly turned around but couldn’t lift his gaze above Sabre’s knees. With his hands clasped in front of him, he waited. For what, he didn’t know.

“Um, what do we do now?” Percy asked when he had stood there for more than five minutes watching Sabre stretch his limbs out without either of them talking.

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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

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Although Danny saw it in him, he’d refused to believe it, until now. He drove his car, trying not to think. The streets were almost deserted, because of the weather and the hour, the snow muffling the noises of the world, making it seem as though he had somehow entered a strange, new world.

He had, in a way. He’d come from the farm for University, the only one from his high school class to do so. And now it was winter, in Minneapolis, and it was lonely. He’d been lonely since September, since the achingly uncomfortable orientation, when he didn’t know what to say to anybody. They’d all seemed so different than him, so much more at home here in the city.

He’d made a friend, sort of. Danny. His dormmate. It was an obligatory relationship, at first. But, they had quickly developed into more than that. A study buddy, a lab partner, a bit of human contact in this lonely, empty city. Somehow Danny had guessed his secret. It felt good to finally let it all unravel and have someone see it and know it. Somehow, Danny had guessed that all his life he’d been a slender, shy farm boy who dreamt, not of tractors or soil, but of the men who worked those fields, their shirts clinging to their bodies made hard by work.

It had been an awakening then when, after hours of working together at the table in their dorm, Danny stood up and stretched and Douglas could clearly see that outline of Danny’s fat erection beneath his sweat pants; and when Danny saw him gaping, he smiled a little and said: “Sorry, but Chemistry always makes me hard.”

They laughed, but that had been the end of it, just then. But, Douglas sat awake at night thinking about what he’d seen and for the next while, whenever he reached down into his briefs to grab at his own throbbing manhood, he thought of Danny.

Weeks went by and finally exams were over. Danny was out somewhere, celebrating. Douglas had stayed home to drink alone and masturbate. In the early morning hours, Danny came home. Douglas was still awake, watching a movie in his room with his headphones in, feeling relaxed and for the first time, almost himself. He didn’t hear Danny come in. When the movie was finished, he went to the bathroom they shared and found Danny completely naked, masturbating in front of the computer.

“Oh my dear Lord,” said Danny, looking for a place to hide.

Douglas walked into the bathroom as if he hadn’t seen anything. He peed, flushed the toilet, and then took off all his clothes and walked back out of the bathroom. If he were to look back at that moment, he would think to himself, how very unlike me, but now here he was driving to a party and he wasn’t exactly sure who he really was anymore.

Douglas was as hard as he’d ever been. By the time he returned, Danny had thrown on a pair of sweats and was preparing an explanation. Douglas felt the sweat rush of shame and adrenaline he would chase forever after. The words died on Danny’s lips as he looked at Douglas, naked and erect, standing before him.

“Can I join you?” asked Douglas.

Danny let his sweats fall back to the floor. They stood close together, their left hands on the others’ ass, right hand pumping furiously, eyes locked. They came quickly, Danny first and Douglas seconds later; they were close enough to be spattered by the others’ thick, hot cum and to smell that smell that always smelt like relief.

The next day, Douglas went home to the farm for the holidays. He’d been looking forward to it for months, since he arrived, urfa escort really, but now he didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay and explore this new world he had stumbled upon. Danny suggested they should talk by Skype, and they did, always late at night, and always naked and longing.

Douglas woke up with pictures of Danny’s cock on his phone. Douglas slipped off that morning, urgently, for his own photography session.

Danny broached the subject slowly. Maybe it hadn’t been a complete accident that Douglas had found him there, naked, that night. And then: it wasn’t his first time. He’d grown up with some guys and that’s what they did. Yes, he’d said gently, he still saw those guys, and he liked it that way.

At first, Douglas was floored, disappointed. He went into radio silence. He thought and brooded. He got a text from Danny that said: You should come to a party, after the break. I’ll introduce you. He ignored it and thought some more.

The crazy thing was that when he was in high school, plotting his way off the farm, he’d spent wide-eyed nights staring into the darkness fantasizing about being at a party with a bunch of naked guys, jerking off together. He’d imagined so much more than that, but it always started at a party, getting undressed, feeling the others watch him, their gazes strolling contentedly down his body toward his thick, unflagging cock. And now, here it was, his fantasy come to life, beckoning to him. And he was afraid?

He responded days later: I’m thinking. Hours later he got a picture of Danny, using a selfie stick, sitting in the middle of four other guys, all naked. It was captioned: the gang.

And so it happened that with just a little more gentle nagging, Douglas found himself driving to a party through the snowy, silent streets, feeling again like he was entering some new dimension.

The apartment was in the basement of a three storey walk-up in Dinkytown. He walked down. He knocked, expecting the worst, or not knowing what to expect at all. A young man opened the door. He introduced himself as Patrick; he was slender and sunken cheeked, not unlike Douglas, but with a tousled mop of curly hair, where Douglas’ was cut short. He was dressed comfortably in a t-shirt and black track pants. His feet were bare.

Douglas felt his heart rate decrease slightly. The round of introductions began. Anthony: tall, dark, and handsome, a cliche of sorts, smiling, but shyly; Ethan: louder, lanky, but with serious dark eyes; and Ryan: big, broad chested, in a Twins cap, he was older, he’d brought the beer. And then, of course, there was Danny, inviting him in, telling him to sit.

They sat and talked for a while, there were beers passed around and to Douglas, the room seemed to be getting hotter. And then it was time.

“We’re going to hotbox the bathroom,” said Patrick. He’d just returned from blocking the vents and turning on the shower as hot as it would go. “Should be ready in a minute or two.”

Drugs were produced. Two joints. Douglas had smoked before, on a camping trip with his cousins, but he hadn’t expected to tonight, and he was thrown slightly. His eyes met Danny’s who gave him a look of reassurance.

“Onward,” Anthony said, pulling his shirt over his head.

“We get naked now,” said Danny. “It makes it better. Trust me.”

Onward, Douglas thought, pulling off his shirt, unzipping his pants, pushing them off awkwardly, and then, at the last minute, after sivas escort he saw that everyone else was already naked, lowering his briefs and following the others to the bathroom.

The bathroom was filled was a dense steam and as the joints were lit and the six boys piled in, the heat and the smell assaulted Douglas’ senses in a way that seared the memory into his brain. He felt, with no small rush of exhilaration, the press of other bodies against his; he felt himself start to sweat, the beads forming at his spinal column, the humidity in his armpits; he felt his own cock become hard and he shoved it up against the mash of bodies; as he smoked, he felt the worries in his brain subside and he felt, acutely, all the joyful possibilities of life and how they were already his without him having to do a thing; he felt, now, a hard cock pressed into his ass crack, rubbing itself against him as if it were preparing to nest; at the same time, Danny was in front of him, putting his hands on his hips, drawing him closer and pushing their cocks together.

“Having fun yet?” asked Danny.

“I am, I really am.”

And then someone opened the bathroom door and they all spilled out into the relative coolness of the apartment. It felt to Douglas that he was seeing it all over again for the first time.

Douglas, Danny, and Anthony collapsed together onto a leather couch. Ryan, whose apartment it was, put porn on the tv. Patrick brought out lotions and tissues, and everyone settled in, stroking their cocks and watching everyone else. Douglas had to be careful. He didn’t want to cum yet, but every time he touched his cock, it felt like he was about to explode.

Danny noticed and said: “Hey man, don’t worry. There’s a round two. I’m about to go in like three seconds.”

Ethan, from the easy chair across the room said: “Hey, are we still doing ‘Come on the New Guy’?”

They all looked to Douglas. He said: “I don’t see why not.”

With that invitation, Ethan got up, cock in hand, and when he was in position, with a few strokes, he fired a splash of warm cum across Douglas’ chest. The rest lined up behind Ethan, and with varying accuracy, spilled their cum onto Douglas, until he himself, without much choice, joined them. He looked down at himself, covered in the cum of other men, dirtied, stained, marked, chosen. He rubbed his fingers through it, and then brought it to his mouth to taste it. He smiled.

“Thanks for having me.”

Then there was a break. Remaining naked, the watched a television show, but mostly laughed and talked and smoked a bit more. They enjoyed the freedom of nudity, but also, that particular feeling when you get up to get a beer from the fridge and you feel everyone watching you, and so that walk to the kitchen becomes a momentous occasion.

Round two began without warning. Douglas went to the bathroom and he came back to find Patrick on his knees, sucking Ryan’s dick while he reclined in the easy chair. The others were watching, but Douglas saw Ethan’s hand slip in between Danny’s legs and he felt a twinge of jealousy, which was quickly displaced by the feeling of Anthony behind him, pressing himself into Douglas’ ass, his strong hands holding Douglas firmly by the hips.

He felt Anthony’s hot breath on his neck: “Don’t be alarmed,” he said gently. “You can watch if you want. No pressure.”

Douglas thought for a moment, but then said, “No. No, I don’t want to watch. Show me.”

With tekirdağ escort that, Anthony softly, but firmly pushed him down to his knees, turned him around, and presented his hard cock for him to suck. Douglas tentatively put it into his mouth, tasting its saltiness, and the wonderfully sweet smell of sweat and cum. Anthony let out a low groan, and Douglas wanted him to make more of those sounds, so he took him deeper, then out just to the tip, then back down again, his lips putting just the right amount of pressure on the throbbing head of Anthony’s cock. He pulled off again, then back down, burying his nose in the thick patch of dark pubic hair, breathing it in deeply. When he pulled out again, he felt drool running down to his chin and he heard Anthony make that sound again, a deep, melodic groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul.

Anthony pulled out. He said: “God, if I let that go on any longer, I’d be done for.”

They moved back into the living room and Anthony guided him so that he was kneeling on the couch, supporting his elbows on the back on the couch. Suddenly, he felt the most amazing sensation he’d ever known (up to that point); Anthony was gently probing his asshole with his tongue, licking the back of his ball sack, and then plunging in for more. It was wonderful.

For a moment, he watched Danny sucking Ethan’s cock, but then he looked around the room where Ryan was eating Patrick’s ass. It was a magical moment to see the hunger and the desire meet their fulfillment, to hear the grunts and groans echoing across the room, to see bodies engaged in that ancient ritual of lust actualized. He looked to the ceiling and sent his moans heavenward, as a skillful tongue touched and soothed his darkest secret.

After a while, firm hands spun Douglas around, and he was surprised to see that at some point, Ethan had replaced Anthony, and when he was offered, he went hungrily after Ethan’s cock also; it smelled like a walk in the woods after the rain and it was shorter, but just as thick. Ethan stroked his hair and offered enthusiastic encouragement.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patrick on the couch, facing him. Ryan was behind him and even though he couldn’t really see, he knew from the tousle-headed boy’s expression that Ryan’s cock was in his ass. He had to stop sucking Ethan’s cock to watch. Patrick’s face was slack, his softening cock swinging between his legs, his eyes empty of everything but that moment. It was like he couldn’t see in front of his face.

The others were shouting encouragement as Ryan’s strokes became more rhythmic and forceful; with each push, both boys grunted, unconscious, driven along by their bodily needs.

At no time in his life had Douglas ever wanted something so much. It surprised even him. He felt a thick feeling in his mouth and all around his body. He hadn’t understood who he was up until this point.

And then it was over. Ryan pulled out, spraying cum everywhere. The others hooted and cheered. Douglas went back to Ethan’s cock, which he took with renewed vigor, forcing it deep into his mouth until Ethan couldn’t help but cum into the back of his throat. Again he felt the satisfaction of having bested another, satisfied another’s hunger, quenched the thirst, briefly.

Danny was on the floor kneeling, sucking Anthony’s cock. Douglas slid in underneath, jacking off while sucking on Danny’s balls. It came up in him quicker than he thought it would. There was nothing that could hold it back. He came, ferociously. It was everything he had dreamed about.

That night, he drove back to his dorm through the empty streets, this time with Danny in the passenger seat. It was snowy and cold, but he felt something new. The streets began to look like home.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

I made multiple mistakes.

I decided to go hiking on along a remote mountain path in Sweden in early March. I packed well, including the gear I had used on my trip to the Himalayas a few years previously. I was well skilled at winter hiking. But, I had forgotten to check the forecast before I left. I had planned the route well, but I didn’t take into account the risk of there being a blizzard lasting multiple days. That was my first mistake.

It started on the third day into the trip. I had planned for the hike to take approximately eight days, along a remote trail between two towns in Northern Sweden, between several lakes and forests. I was well provisioned, and I had even brought along a .22LR rifle that I had rented from a town along the way. But then, the blizzard hit on that third day. For the first day, I remained in my tent, only popping out to complete the necessaries. I ate most of my dried provisions that day, thinking the blizzard would pass that day. That was my second mistake.

The second day, I had to boil some water, but I had a hell of a time getting the camping stove lit. On top of that, I had to keep heading back into the tent to warm up. That was my third mistake. When I returned outside the last time, I realized that I had left the gas on without lighting it and the tank was empty.

The third day I was getting desperate, so I packed up my tent and headed out to find some shelter. That was my fourth mistake. If you’ve ever tried navigating in a blizzard, you’d know that you quickly get lost. But I was running out of water and food and getting colder by the hour. After several hours, I ended up finding the edge of a forest. I was exhausted, freezing, and starving, so I dug out a small snow cave near a tree and went to sleep. That was my last mistake. If you’ve ever tried sleeping while you are cold, you’d know that it’s almost impossible. You don’t want to move, yet you can’t drift off because you keep waking up shivering.

At some point, I woke up. I had to piss really badly. Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was get up or open up all the layers I had on just to get to my dick. But I knew I had to do it. I pulled myself out of the snow cave and stood up near the tree. I thought about peeing right there, but I didn’t feel right doing so. I walked a little further away and pulled out my dick and peed. It was heavenly. I did what all men do when you pee after waiting for so long: I looked to the heavens and sighed in satisfaction (or as close as I could get while shivering). That was when I saw it. A light, off in the distance.

I finished my piss and put my dick back in my pants and stared. It was definitely a light, and it wasn’t natural. It had a geometric shape and wasn’t diffuse. It looked close, too. Maybe a few hundred meters. I grabbed my pack and started walking.

As I got closer, I could make out more details. It looked like a cabin. I also caught a smell on the wind: woodsmoke. Now I knew that there were people and I might be okay. I was about halfway there when I stumbled for the first time. I was starting to feel my exhaustion even more now. My fingers and toes had become numb. The blizzard had also gotten worse. I was starting to lose the light from the house. I sped up my pace. I stumbled again closer to the house, but I kept on. As I got within a few dozen meters, I called out. I can’t recall what I said, but I knew I was too hoarse to be heard. I reached the bottom of a set of steps and fell onto them. I wasn’t able to lift myself to stand. I crawled up the steps. Luckily, there was only a few of them. I crawled across the porch. I saw the door. I reached out to it and before I could touch it, it opened.

There, standing in the doorway were two naked men, one blonde and one brunette. As I slipped into unconsciousness, all I could focus on were the monsters dangling between their rippling legs.

I only remember glimpses of what happened next. I remember being lifted like a baby. Then, I recall being moved to another building. These two men lay me down in a room that was extremely warm. The blonde one remained naked and undressed me so I would be better able to absorb the warmth. Then, he spooned with me in this room while I got warm. The brunette returned to the room, letting in blast of cold air, and poured water into my mouth. I recall accepting it greedily and then falling asleep again.

I became fully aware some time later, and I was in a bed, fully naked. It was heaped with blankets to the point where I felt almost crushed by them. I looked around. The room was small, with only this single bed in it, or what Europe considers a single bed to be, anyways. One side of the room was solid logs, meaning the cabin was an old-style log cabin. There was a window with light streaming through a single blind, which meant that it was daytime and I had been out for some time. The room was well-appointed as well, nicely decorated without being cluttered or garish. Simple, but rize escort effective. I also saw that my clothes and pack were in the room. My clothes looked like they had been cleaned and folded and were on a dresser, and my pack was resting against the same dresser. The room was also quite warm and I spotted a baseboard that was clearly responsible for that.

I climbed out of bed and went over to my pack. It was empty, so I opened the dresser to find all of the clothes in my pack had been put away. Well, at least these Swedes were as hospitable as all the other Swedes I had met so far. I put on some long johns, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a light sweater, and some socks and decided I should meet my hosts. I went to the door and opened it. I was welcomed by one of the most pleasant smells anyone can ever wake up to, cooking bacon. The door opened up into a common area, with a kitchen off to the left, the entryway off to the right, a bunch of couches and furniture directly in front, and a stairway in the back.

Sitting on one of the couches was the brunette, wearing little more than a pair of tight, white underwear. I was in awe of him. I had never been attracted to men and had never had trouble getting girls, but I knew that this man would have had it much easier than I did. I was 175cm tall and 80kg pounds of mostly muscle thanks to a regimen of fairly constant exercise throughout high school and college. I had a 12.7cm cut cock that was fairly thin, but I had never received any complaints.

But the brunette was much bigger in every way. I could tell that he had to be at least 200cm tall and 115kg of solid muscle. He was also packing some heavy heat in those white underpants. I mean, I couldn’t tell if he was a grower or a shower, but as long as he didn’t shrink when he got hard, he was already much bigger than me. He was reading a book while I stood there stumm, staring at him. He looked up and saw me.

“Ah, Sven, our guest has woken up.” He put down the book and stood up, verifying my previous estimate of his size. He walked over to me and put out his hand. “How are you doing? Have you recovered? I am Bjorn, and over there in the kitchen is my friend Sven.” He pointed over to the kitchen where I saw the blonde waving at me. Once again, I realized that my state the previous evening had left me unable to accurately estimate how large these men were. Sven was taller than Bjorn and slimmer. He must have been 205cm and 105kg. He also was wearing only some tight underwear, but he had an apron over it, clearly to protect him from the bacon grease.

“Uhhh, hi. Sorry, I’m still somewhat out of it.” I lied. In reality, I was feeling pretty fine, but I was just a little overwhelmed that I had been saved by two stunning Swedish athletes and was feeling some strange feelings I had never had before.

“Of course, please come sit down on the couch, Sven will have breakfast ready in no time. He is really a very good cook.” Bjorn took my hand and pulled me to the couch. I sat down and he sat down beside me and rested his hand on my thigh. It felt very intimate and I began to feel flushed fairly quickly. “You know, in some cultures, it’s considered rude not to tell someone your name when they tell you theirs.” Bjorn smiled at me, clearly not meaning that I had been rude.

“Sorry, of course. My name is Brad, which is short for Bradley.” I responded.

“Yes, we know. Sven and I have both lived in English-speaking countries for a time. Isn’t that right, Sven?” Bjorn spoke a little louder when he called to his friend.

“Ja, Sakert!” Sven responded.

“English, Sven!” Bjorn replied. “Sven lived in Toronto for a year in high school and then in Los Angeles for a year in university. I lived in Miami for a year in high school and then I went to a music school in London.” It was true that I didn’t notice much of a Swedish accent for Bjorn. In fact, he had that received pronunciation vibe in his accent, or what some would call the posh English TV accent. I hadn’t heard Sven speak English yet, so I didn’t know what he sounded like. “So Brad, where are you from?”

“Colorado, originally. But I’ve moved around a lot. Military family.” I replied.

“Ahhh, cool! Our family were also in military when we were younger. But now, there isn’t so much need for military so they do other things. Like us. So, tell me: what were you doing out there in that blizzard? Did you want to die in the beautiful mountain fastness of Sweden, or was it by accident?”

“No, I certainly didn’t want to die. Honestly, it’s a miracle that I found you when I did. I was lost out there for several hours before I made a snow cave for sleeping. Then when I woke up, I saw the light from this cabin and I headed towards it. I was so exhausted that I think I must have passed out on your porch.”

“Ja, you did. It was also lucky that we were heading out to sauna when you fell down. We heard the thump, but if you had been an hour later, sakarya escort you might have frozen to death out there. But when we saw you there, we took you to sauna with us and got you warmed up before bringing you back inside to bed.” Bjorn’s hand began lightly stroking my thigh as he recounted what happened to me. It was strangely arousing, despite my feeling that it was somewhat more motherly than erotic.

“Well, I can’t thank you enough, you really saved me.”

“Frukost!” I heard Sven yell at us.

“English, Sven!” Bjorn replied. “I’m sorry, Brad, but he is ever a pain in my ass.” Bjorn winked at me after saying that.

“Breakfast.” Sven called. I could now hear the slightest hint of a Swedish accent in his voice. I realized that my stomach was growling at the smells that were going on in the house and that I was fucking famished. Bjorn hopped up onto his feet, somewhat more spry than I would have thought for a man his size, and I followed. We headed into the kitchen where there was a small, solid oak table laden with food. There were fresh breads, sausages, pickled fish, pate, eggs, bacon, and an array of cheeses. The table was big enough for four people, but there were only two chairs. Sven pulled a stool out from the kitchen and put it down on one side of the table near a plate and indicated that I should sit there.

I did so, and watched as Bjorn and Sven both sit at the chairs. They spoke to each other in Swedish for a moment and then Sven looked at me. “Please, go ahead and eat. You are our guest and it is proper for you to eat first.”

I blushed, truly honored by their hospitality. “Thank you, you are so kind.” I reached forward and grabbed a piece of bread, breaking off a piece and placing it on my plate. I then dug in to everything else. The three of us ate mostly in silence. I was famished, but I ate only a portion of what Bjorn and Sven ate. They inhaled huge amounts of food. I was astonished that Sven could fit that much food in him considering how skinny he was.

When I was done and I saw that they were slowing down, I decided that I should once again thank them for their kindness. “Thank you again. It was truly delicious. Bjorn was right, you are a great cook, Sven.”

After he swallowed his bite, he said “please, it is no problem. As I said, you are our guest and it would be improper for us not to feed you. Besides, we have plenty of food.”

I felt almost ashamed at how well that had been treating me and I felt that I should leave before I was even more indebted to them. “Well, thank you again. I should probably pack up my things and go so that I do not take advantage of your hospitality anymore.”

Bjorn immediately looked at me in shock. “Nonsense, Brad. You have not imposed upon us at all. It is our pleasure to have such a good looking American man in our country, let alone share our cabin with us. Besides, the blizzard hasn’t completely passed yet. In Norrland, they can last some time.”

“Yes, and we haven’t even entertained you yet. We have only fed you and housed you.” Sven stated.

I looked around. There wasn’t a TV that I could see, or a computer. I didn’t see any board games, and I hadn’t noticed a bookshelf in my room or the living room. “Entertained?” I asked.

Sven stood up and removed his apron. He pulled off his underwear and exposed a growing, solid tube of flesh. “Ja, entertained.” He reached down and began stroking his massive, cut, tool. It was easily 28cm long and as thick as a beer can, but tapered at the head. I was mesmerized.

Bjorn tsked Sven and chuckled. “Sven lacks subtlety, I am afraid, Brad. But what he lacks in subtlety, he makes up for in confidence.”

I had heard my name, so I responded with a non-committal “Uh-huh” and heard Brad’s chuckle. Sven moved over in front of me and I turned to face him directly. He was stroking his turgid cock in front of my face and I remained in awe. It was mere centimeters from my face and I could smell it’s scent. It was masculine, musky, and powerful. I instinctively leaned forward to smell more of it and Sven moved forward until my mouth hit the head of his dick. I opened my mouth to accept his cock. My tongue hit the head in my mouth and I swallowed the first taste of it and I was instantly fully aroused. In that moment I became cock-hungry. I reached up with both hands and grasped his shaft as I began to make love to his dick with my mouth.

“Yes, American boy. Suck my Swedish dick. I am so glad that you got lost in the blizzard. I haven’t had American in some time. It will be good to show another one of you how real men fuck.” I was barely paying attention to what he was saying. I was too busy enjoying my first cock, especially considering how perfect it was.

“Sven, don’t insult the poor boy. It’s not his fault he doesn’t have our genes or experience.” I heard Bjorn say nearby, only to realize that a new cock had joined the fray, just to my samsun escort left. I looked there as I continued sucking on the head of Sven’s cock to see Bjorn’s member in its fully revealed glory. It was longer than Sven’s but also thinner. I estimated it as 32cm long and as thick as a golf ball. Bjorn reached down to grab my left hand and placed it on his cock. Together, Bjorn and I stroked his dick. I continued sucking and looked up at my new Swedish friends to find that they were locked in a passionate embrace, kissing one another intensely. It was deeply arousing.

At some point, I swapped over to sucking on Bjorn’s cock, finding it was much easier to take into my mouth. I managed to go quite deep before I gagged. I sucked them both like this, swapping back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. My jaw began to hurt, and my moans became grunts, but I still wanted to continue.

“Look at him, Bjorn. He grows tired already. Why don’t you take him upstairs and show him the true meaning of our hospitality while I clean up.” Sven said to Bjorn.

“Good idea, Sven. You’ll join us when you are done?” Bjorn replied.

“Don’t I always?” Sven kissed Bjorn on the mouth and then pulled away, taking his cock with him. Bjorn reached down and took my hand and lifted me up off the stool to where I was standing, looking up into his eyes. He leaned down and I kissed a man for the first time. He was sensual, yet forceful, as if he was fucking my mouth with his tongue. He reached down and grabbed my ass and picked me up off the ground. I was now a few inches taller than him as I wrapped my legs around his back and he began moving us. I was light as a feather in his massive arms, and he showed no difficulty taking me up the stairs at the back of the common area. We continued to kiss passionately as he carried me upstairs. He pulled out of my mouth for a moment, and I kissed down his face to his neck.

He whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do. But I don’t think that will be a problem, do you? I think you want to learn what sex is like with us, don’t you?”

I paused to say “Yes. I’ve never felt this aroused in my life. I feel like I could cum from sucking your dicks alone. You are so fucking sexy. Do whatever you fucking want to me, you save my life, I trust you completely.”

Bjorn pulled me away and smiled at me. “I think we are going to get along well, Brad.” And then he tossed me on the bed. I looked around and saw that I was now in a loft area above the main area and that the bed I was on had a large mirror on its ceiling. Brad reached down and began undoing my pants, which he managed in record time. Then, grabbing my jeans and underwear, he quickly pulled them both off of me, exposing my hard and wet cock to him. “Nice dick, Brad.”

Bjorn leaned down and took my entire length to the root. Then he began stroking it with his tongue and throat without moving his mouth at all. I groaned and released my load almost immediately. I saw stars, as that was easily the quickest orgasm I had ever had, and it had been amazing.

I collapsed somewhat back onto the bed, shuddering. Bjorn still hadn’t released my dick yet, as I continued to jerk my body. He slowly pulled his mouth off of my dick. He then moved onto the bed and kissed me. I realized that he was sharing my load with me, and thought that was pretty hot. I didn’t taste much, but it was good to be kissing him again. He reached down and began taking off my sweater and shirt. I let him, of course. He then moved down my face, onto my neck and then my chest, kissing all the way. He returned to my dick and stroked it, but his mouth went past, licking my balls and moving further down. I knew when he reached his goal because he stuck his tongue out and slowly penetrated my anus. I jerked, feeling somewhat strange at this new feeling, as I had never let a girlfriend touch me there. But, I had to admit that it felt good.

Bjorn licked, prodded and then penetrated me with his tongue, slowly working more and more of his long tongue inside of my anus. He then pulled away and started to lick my balls and shaft as his fingers took over the invasion of my ass. I lay there with my legs high in the air as this massive Swedish man fingered my asshole and sucked on my dick in total bliss. I wasn’t going to come anytime soon, but I was certainly enjoying myself. Every now and then I heard a sound from downstairs as Sven was cleaning up, but I was sure that he heard more of my moans than I did of him.

“Okay, I think you are ready.” Bjorn said.

I felt a slowing emptiness in my ass as Bjorn sat up and positioned himself below me, his cock reaching well past mine. “Ready? Huh?” I replied, somewhat delirious.

“Yes. Your man pussy has adjusted to take all five of my fingers, so you are now ready for me. I am going to fuck you and you are going to cum so many times that you will lose count. Then I will cum inside of you. And then Sven is going to come up here and fuck you some more. Then we will take turns for the next few days, fucking you over and over again throughout this house, whenever we want. In short, you are to become our portable fuck toy, taking our cocks and cum whenever and wherever we want. Does that sound good, Brad?”

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November, 1940, Country Estate of Roger Morris, York, England

Lying on his back, legs bent and spread on the four-poster bed of newspaper mogul Roger Morris, Bryan Sinclair steeled himself to take the last, largest, of the graduated, tear-drop-shaped balls Morris was forcing into his ass. He’d had his eyes shut tight at the effort but opened them when the last ball, a good four inches across at the widest, wasn’t going in.

Four inches wasn’t that bad. As the afternoon wore on Morris was likely to get around to fisting Bryan’s ass. And his knuckles were more than four inches across.

Morris, tall, grizzled, ugly as sin, had risen from the bed and stood there momentarily, facing the reclining professional escort. At nearly thirty-six, blond and still breathtakingly handsome and immaculately groomed—although, by request, unshaved now for three weeks—Bryan had been a favorite male prostitute of the newspaper empire giant’s for fifteen years. Bryan was mainly based in New York, but he would come back to work on a demand from the London escort service—and at the client’s added expense. He had specialties that weren’t often in demand, but when they were, he was sought after. Morris himself had offered Bryan permanent employment three times over the years, but Bryan had not been willing to give up his other career. He was an on-the-scene journalist, and these were exciting times.

Roger Morris was just such a client that Bryan specialized in, as was evident now as he stood, naked, beside the bed. The man was monstrously hung, and one of the few sufferers of polyorchidism, He had three balls, two hanging low, seemingly the size of tennis balls at the bottom of a drooping ball sac, and a third, ping pong-ball sized one tucked up into his scrotum. One of Morris’ fetishes that whores like Bryan had to satisfy was teasing out, distending, and sucking the third ball with his mouth. Bryan was an expert in this. The reward was that the testicle fired on its own and could do so between recoveries of the other two. Beyond that, Morris’ uncut cock was a slab of meat over three-quarters of a foot and nearly three-inches wide in repose.

One of the ones who knew what the mogul was packing, Bryan always laughed when Morris was referred to in public as Mr. Iron Balls. They didn’t know the half of it. The man had to wear carefully tailored baggy trousers to hide his “gifts.” Luckily he had the money to pay the tailoring fee—and for the tailor’s silence.

The upshot of the condition was that Morris produced prodigious amount of semen—often, almost constantly—and required frequent servicing by a man who could accommodate his requirements. Once a session started, Morris could fuck his partner into the grave. For that reason, more often than not Morris turned to professionals who were trained for endurance. Bryan was one of four he used regularly—Bryan less so now that the world had heated up and his reporting skills were in high demand. Morris had paid his way across the Atlantic, with little clear idea, as war unfolded in Europe, when Bryan could return to New York. But for now the focus was on Europe driving into war, and Bryan wanted to come here anyway.

The bombs were falling here in England, not in New York. Not yet, at least.

This was a hunting weekend Morris put together occasionally for men of prominence who wanted to exercise their fetishes away from the inquiring press, which was ironic, as Morris owned most of the inquiring press. He kept this activity—and those engaged in it—quite private though. To Morris and his well-placed male friends, leaders in government and society all of whom fed Morris off-the-record secrets in exchange for invitations to his hunting weekends, a hunting weekend at this estate involved the hunting of men.

Each of Morris’ guests was invited either to bring his own partner or to select one from the portfolio of the exclusive London escort service that represented Bryan. Then, other than meals, and gathering after dinner, they were left to hunt as they pleased. Some were known to become so engrossed in the hunt that they missed meals.

Bryan knew that Morris would take his time enjoying Bryan’s body for the entire afternoon. They were in for the long haul. Morris had made no bones about wanting to go for a record of ejaculations this afternoon. He had recently turned sixty and he quite evidently was beginning to worry how much longer he would, literally, be able to keep it up. He was almost obsessed with the need to exercise it to hang on to the ability to harden.

That was the issue now, as he stood by the bed. He had gone flaccid. And this after only four ejaculations. For most men his age this would be natural. He had already fucked Bryan twice, jacked off once, and been sucked off once. But this wouldn’t do for Morris. He was reverting to toys to help him keep it up. Thus the titillation of feeding the graduated glass balls into Bryan’s ass to bring on the next hard on. It hadn’t worked, though. The largest dildo they made at the time, a Big Mike was laying beside mersin escort Bryan’s leg ready for use, but Morris opted to retreat across the room and pick up what was then a new invention, a suction erection tube.

The two men maintained eye contact, as Morris worked his cock up. He’d had to order a special one to fit him.

“Come here,” Bryan said. “I can do that.”

Morris pulled the tube off. The cock was in half erection. Even at half, it was monstrous. He drew close to the bed, and Bryan, turning onto his side, facing Morris, moved his arm around the older man’s slim hips, cupped a butt cheek, and drew Morris’ crotch to him. One after the other Bryan took the two distended balls in his mouth, sucked them, and gave the balls a hummer. Morris was harder, and Bryan, with effort, took the cock in his mouth while he still could. He rimmed Morris’ asshole with a finger, as the older man groaned, and worked it into the passage, searching for, and finding, the prostate. Morris’ cock filled out more and, gagging, Bryan was forced to pull his mouth back to the tip of the cock, with his lips pushing the foreskin off the bulbous knob, which he sucked hard, flicking his tongue on the leaking piss slit. In seventeen years of prostitution, Bryan had learned all of the tricks.

Morris grabbed Bryan’s head, running his hands through the still-luxurious blond curls, and moaned deeply, as Bryan’s mouth left the cock and started working under the balls, tonguing up into the scrotum to tease out the third ball. When he had gotten it to drop, he sucked it into his mouth, rolled it around, and started to hum.

With a grunt, Morris shot off on Bryan’s face. Bryan let loose of the third ball, and Morris leaned down, kissed him passionate on the lips, and licked his own cum off Bryan’s face and up into his hairline.

“Five,” he grunted.

Satisfied for the moment then, he knelt on the bed, and, as Bryan huffed and puffed, worked the last of the graduated balls into Bryan’s passage. He grasped Bryan’s hard cock with the other hand and stroked it. As he slowly pulled the balls out and then reinserted them, Bryan shuddered, moaned, provided a whispered commentary on the effect of the attention, and, when he was about to explode, requested permission to come. Laughing, Morris slapped Bryan’s dick, erasing the urge to shot, at least for now, and slowly pulled the balls out.

He entered Bryan’s ass with four fingers and teased him into thinking fisting time had arrived. Bryan groaned deeply and began to pant hard, but Morris laughed and pulled the fingers out.

Bryan was well aware that they had all afternoon for this and that Morris was a master at the sexual tease and torture. He played Bryan’s ass for a while with the oversized dildo, marveling at Bryan’s ability to bottom it and to move his pelvis on the hard, glass cock as Morris held it steady. Morris was masturbating himself and Bryan could see that he would be ready for release soon himself. And then, quickly pulling the dildo out, Morris wanted to bury his cock. He scrambled between Bryan’s spread legs, pushed his knees under the younger man’s buttocks, and penetrated Bryan with one long slide. Bryan brought his torso up and the two hugged each other, chest plastered to chest, arms encircling backs, mouth sucking on mouth, as they rocked back and forth, moving Morris’s cock deep inside Bryan’s passage, the expert bottom Bryan setting the muscles of his passage to undulate over the invading, throbbing staff, enticing the two men to ejaculate in a flood of cum nearly simultaneously.

“Six,” Morris muttered. “So far so good. Plenty of time.”

The third ball came into play. Morris was so aroused by the coupling that he pressed Bryan’s torso back, the younger man’s shoulder blades touching the bed, Bryan’s fingers working Morris’ nipples, as, instead of going flaccid, Morris remained hard, began to pump again, and brought up the reserve of his third ball to cream Bryan deep again.

“Seven.”

They lay there for several minutes panting and recovering. Then, at Morris’ signal they took a break, went for a piss and a towel off, and Morris called for beer. The two stood at the window overlooking the rolling countryside of Morris’ estate. Morris laughed to see one of his guests, an admiral, running down the guest he’d brought, one of his own stable hands, and, in spite of the January cold, trapping the young man in a gazebo and, after frenziedly readjusting clothing, bending him over a chair and fucking him. Finished, the guest rose, adjusted his clothing and departed, only to be replaced by another guest, who had been standing by and watching. He turned the stable hand onto his back on the chair, grabbed the young man’s legs and raised them, and commenced fucking him hard.

“Isn’t even Harold’s guest,” Morris said, with a laugh. “Wonder who’s fucking the young man I rented for him. Timothy’s his name, I think. Reminds me of you when you were younger,” Morris said, turning to Bryan.

“Does that mean muğla escort you are tiring of me, that I’m becoming too old for you?” Bryan asked.

“Not a bit of it. You’re at the top of your game. I’d have to train a young man to give me what I want—take what I want to give him. No one can tease out that third ball like you can. No one can take my fist like you do.”

“But you would enjoy doing that, wouldn’t you? Training a young man. There’s a cruel streak in you, Roger. You enjoyed training me to your needs. You enjoyed the pain it gave me.”

“And you enjoyed the pain more than any of the rest of the training. You loved being broken and used to the limit.” Morris could see that he’d hit a bulls eye with that remark, so he continued, “But it’s a moot question. I can enjoy you and train a young man as well.”

“I know you can,” Bryan answered. “As I said, you can enjoy being very cruel.”

The discussion—the remembering of breaking Bryan in—combined with watching the stable hand being fucked—a third guest had shown up to take over the honors—aroused Morris, and in a hoarse voice, he commanded Bryan to return to the bed. This time he brought leads down from the four corners and bound Bryan’s wrists and ankles. Already hard, not needing any toys or assists now, he moved between Bryan’s spread and trussed legs on his knees and fucked him hard and long.

“Eight.”

After he was done, he got up, went to the bathroom, and returned with a straight razor and a mug of shaving cream that he was working up into a foam.

“I hope your hand is steady,” Bryan whispered.

“I’m not too old to shave a man yet,” Morris answered.

Bryan knew this was one of Morris’ favorite sex acts. As bidden, Bryan hadn’t shaved since a week before he’d left New York. Not only was he bearded, but his pit, chest, thigh, arm, and groin hair had reappeared. It was blond down, but he normally shaved himself smooth—unless he knew ahead of time that a client wanted him hairy. Morris had wanted him hairy. He enjoyed the before and aftereffect in fucking his men.

Bryan held as still as he could, as humming, Morris shaved his face and then his pits and his chest. He moved then to the thighs. His cock was where Bryan could turn his head and suck it into his mouth, which he did—knowing Morris would like that and would want to be hard when he was finished with the shave. When the cock was too hard to get into his mouth, Bryan worked his tongue in below the distended balls and teased out the third testicle.

Happily, although he was moaning and groaning while Bryan sucked on the third ball, Morris’ hand remained steady as he shaved down Bryan’s bush. At the same time he was stroking Bryan’s cock, and he managed to swallow it as Bryan was firing off.

Throwing the shaving implements aside, Morris moved between Bryan’s knees. Bryan’s eyes popped open and his mouth opened to a silent scream, as Morris laced his fingers around the root of Bryan’s balls, distended them, and patted them. Bryan writhed as best he could as Morris closed his fist over the balls and squeezed them. Before Bryan’s screams could go vocal, however, the older man let loose of the balls, thrust his cock inside Bryan, and started pumping his ass hard again.

“Nine.”

A standing fuck at the window, watching the whole guest list gangbanging the stable hand. “Ten” At last Bryan screaming through the fisting. “Eleven.”

As the light outside was fading, Bryan was on his knees in front of a standing Morris, working the man’s cock with his hand and paying sucking attention to all three balls, until, ready again, Morris lifted him, turned him, belly down, on the arm of an overstuffed chair and fucked him like a dog.

“Twelve.” Ding, ding, ding. We have a new record. Who said a sixty-year-old man wouldn’t be able to get it up more than once a day?

The hunters, all with smiles on their faces and eyes blazing, gathered in the candlelit great hall for supper. There were twenty of them in all, all decked out in tailored evening wear, ten of them very pleased with themselves, and ten younger men in various stages of exhaustion. Seven of the young men were professionals and were able to handle themselves well despite the afternoon’s workout. Three had been brought by their partners. The two of those who were present were nearly falling off their chairs. The stable hand didn’t appear for the meal. Little did they know that the evening’s entertainment would be a game of changing cocks, and the two surviving amateurs as well as several of the professionals would be chased around the mansion for a game of gangbang.

Bryan wasn’t included in this, although he received propositions from several of the powerful men present. He was there with Morris and thus was untouchable—unless he agreed to it and Morris didn’t need him.

There was one man there, Harry Tharp, who was in the foreign office and able to arrange travel for people, even in these troubled times, who Bryan was willing to go with, for needs nevşehir escort of his own. The man was a dwarf, not quite five feet tall, and was as ugly as sin and deformed of body—with one exception. He was hung and an expert cocksman, and used young men’s assumptions of his safeness to get his cock inside them. Once saddled, the young men couldn’t get enough of him, though.

It was nearly legendary that a man could bring a nonprofessional guest to these hunting weekends, but the guest was more likely to leave on the arm of Harry Tharp than with the man who brought him.

Bryan discreetly made an appointment to meet Tharp during the hour that Morris was bathing.

Another offer disturbed Bryan deeply and he rebuffed the man possibly more abruptly than he should have. He should not have revealed that the proposition had disturbed him. Morris picked his guests carefully. A prostitute like Bryan should be expected to find the cocking of any of them acceptable. Lord Aynsley approached him as they were leaving the dinner table for brandy and cigars in the library before the evening hunt began.

“I’ve heard interesting things about you,” he murmured to Bryan. “I want to lay you. What are your fees?”

“Sorry, not interested,” Bryan has answered abruptly, a finality in his voice, and turned and walked off, leaving the other man looking bewildered and miffed.

There was no way, though, that Bryan was going to let his father fuck him. The man hadn’t recognized him. But then it had been nineteen years since he’d seen his father—when he was Paul Winslow. After four years honing his sexual skills and filling his bank account under an assumed name in London—to avoid discovery by his family—Paul had moved to New York. His mother was American and came from Boston, so Paul—now Bryan—had knowledge of and affinity for America. His London escort service connected him with a high-class one in New York, and he continued earning money that way, coming back to London for special clients like Roger Morris. He used the money to put himself through the New York School of Journalism. And, thus, the second career—all done without the need for his father’s family’s connections or his mother’s family’s money.

And there was no way that he would let his father fuck him any more than he had.

In the library, Bryan noticed another escort, Timothy, who, as Roger Morris had noted, reminded him of himself when he was nineteen. It was a memorable age, as it had been when he had lost his virginity to the Austrian baron—who was still trying to find him and to whom Bryan’s mother, Elizabeth, was still attached. One of the main reasons Bryan had come to Europe was to try to extricate his mother from the baron’s clutches in Austria and bring her to safety. It wouldn’t be long before being an American in the German areas of Europe—Austria had already been annexed two years earlier—would be untenable, and Elizabeth must be losing her charm with age now. Who knew how long it would be before the baron abandoned her?

As he watched Timothy, fairly new to the game but already good at it, drinking brandy and talking with three men, all of whom were revolving around him and feeling him up with their eyes and hands, Bryan began to form a plan. He’d have to find a moment or two alone with Timothy—obviously sometime after he’d been gangbanged on the table in the great hall, of course. As he was watching, the gong sounded, and the chase was on. Quickly told that he was fair game, Timothy had sprinted off, followed by the three guests who, knowing the game beforehand, had chosen him and made sure they were close by him at the gong.

Timothy, as Paul had predicted, had only made it as far as the great hall. Paul waited a few minutes before following them. Timothy was laid out on the table. Four had tracked him down. They were experienced and worked in a pack. When they were done with him, they would go off, together, to trap and gang fuck another one of the “rabbits.” Timothy was naked except for his socks and the garters holding them up. One of the guests was already fucking him, with one leg propped on his shoulder and holding the other one out to the side. He was a big-cocked man, and Timothy was sheathing the cock without effort. His head was turned to the end of the table and he was sucking off a guest. The other two were trapping his arms above his head, holding him in place and waiting for their turn.

Paul could see that he was smiling and laughing, though, when his mouth came off the cock. He was a tough one. He might do nicely for Paul’s forming plan.

Morris had one of the professionals under the table, on his back. He wasn’t professional enough to be taking on Morris. He was screaming bloody murder as Morris did pushups on his pelvis. Paul doubted the professional would be able to appear for breakfast.

The dwarf wasn’t around. Paul didn’t expect him to be in on this hunt. Tharp didn’t hunt men; they came to him. That’s what Paul now intended to do—to go to the dwarf.

“What is your price?” the foreign office dwarf, Harry Tharp, asked Bryan when they were alone in Tharp’s room. Both were naked. Bryan was belly down on a low ottoman, his arms stretched out to floor in front of him. The dwarf was in back of him, his chubby little hands gliding up Bryan’s inner thighs, coaxing Bryan’s legs apart.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

“He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff . . .”

The rich, resonating, calming baritone of the La Lectura began to weave Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea for us for perhaps the hundredth time, as we Torcedores settled once more into the rhythm of preparing our bunches of tobacco leaves perfectly for the press. We could not have done our demanding work without La Lectura, the reader who sat on the dais on the cigar factory floor, reading to us, first from the daily press and then from classical works—and sometimes, to our great privilege, reciting poetry to us in perfect rhythm to the set movements of our leaf bundling.

In this way he was not only transporting us from the onerous work of bunching the leaves of a perfect Vegas Robaina cigar in the demanding style of the Entubado, rolling each of five varieties of tobacco leaves separately and covering them with the binder Capote leaf before sending the bunch to the press, but also in transporting us beyond the drabness of the factory.

Day in and day out, we gathered in the dusty outskirts of Minas de Matahambre in Cuba’s Vuelta Abajo region, famous for its premium cigars, at this dimly lit, factory—more a cavernous open-ended shed than a building—to repeat again and again, the perfect bunching of cigars that each would sell on the European market for more than one of us made in two week’s time.

La Lectura was salvation for us—and more for me than any of the other workers here. Only he, Estaban, and I were of Spanish stock. All of the other workers here, peasants all, were Mulattos or Mestizos. I had worked among them for nearly two years in almost complete isolation, and not only because of our different statuses. I chose to live not in the village but in a small, crude shack at the seaside, more than an hour’s walk from the factory. Isolation was my protection; I had my secret to bear. I lived in fear that the others would find me out and I’d lose even this existence and have to retreat even farther into the island’s interior.

I rested for a moment from the work of the Torcedore, the cigar roller, to gaze at Estaban, La Lectura, the glorious alien presence in this room, delivering culture and transport from this world of care in his rich baritone voice.

Estaban paused in his reading, seemingly sensing someone was watching him. I lowered my face, not wanting him to know it was me. But I slanted my gaze and saw Estaban’s eyes stop and link with those of Teotilo, the dark-skinned Mulatto, small and somewhat effeminate of stature and slow of wit runner, who took our bunched tobacco packets from our rolling tables to the cigar presses. Teotilo was barely as old as I was, but he had been working here for ten years or more, since he had been a boy of no more than nine or ten. He was a good-looking young man of pleasant humor, despite the drabness of his never-varied, subsistence life. But, like any of us who could not escape this life, his prime would be over before he reached twenty-five and then, overnight, he would become an old man. In his case, as small-boned and thin and slow-witted as he was, I could not see him living into his thirties. But, then, maybe being a little dense helped him endure this monotony.

He had stopped in the rhythm of his running from factory tables to press and was looking at Estaban in total awe and admiration. Estaban was from Havana, another world altogether from Minas de Matahambre, a paradise, albeit thin veneered, of culture and sophistication and beauty to country peasants who had never been outside their isolated provinces in the remote peninsulas of Cuba. And Estaban was a handsome, well-built man of pure, patrician Spanish stock. This was in addition to being educated and refined and to having that rich baritone voice that had brought him to the highly honored position of La Lectura for one of the best of Cuban cigar brands, the Vegas Robaina, in the heart of the island’s tobacco region.

I saw the grin spread across Teotilo’s face as he realized that La Lectura had singled him out for attention and a smile. The women rollers near me, Estelle, Maela, and Yelina, all as smitten as Teotilo with the handsome, mysterious, velvet-voiced La Lectura, sighed at the realization that Estaban’s smile was not for them and returned to their leaf bunching.

Teotilo seemed almost to kütahya escort melt on the spot in the sunshine of Estaban’s smile, and I almost melted with him. I was so, so lonely among these Mulatto and Mestizo peasants, and so, so bored with the monotonous repetition of the leaf bundling. If it wasn’t for Estaban—a Spanish city-formed soul like me—and his rich baritone reading connecting us with and transporting me to the outside world, I could not endure this existence for much longer. I would have given anything if that smile had been for me. But I could not even think of it; it brought me too close to the raw edge of my secret, what had banished me here in the first place.

“Ssst. You are lagging behind, Ramon,” hissed Ernesto, the shift foreman, one of those barely thirty-year-old countrymen who had already collapsed in on himself in ugliness and ill health, one foot in the grave, the other foot on this factory floor until the day he no longer could stand.

“Take care of that one,” Ernesto continued in a hoarse whisper, nodding his head toward the dais. “He does not belong here and may not be here for long, not if the rumors of what sent him out of Havana are true. Best leave him to the half-wit, if the rumors are true.”

And then, leaving me to ponder that and to reach for a leaf of the first variety of tobacco to be rolled and bunched into a perfect Vegas Robaina cigar, Ernesto took two steps along the edge of the factory table and cuffed the runner, Teotilo, roughly on the back of head.

“The presses are waiting, dim-wit,” he hissed. “Stop gawking and pick up the rhythm.”

With that, La Lectura broke his glance at Teotilo, lifted the book in his hand, and began reading in that rich baritone of his, rhythmically, providing the beat for the preordained, precise, movement-efficient steps of the leaf bunching process.

“. . . and he had gone eight-four days now without taking a fish.”

Not too many days after that a hurricane brushed past the northwest peninsula of Cuba in the night, appearing without warning in our remote, almost-forgotten Vuelta Abajo region, stripping the trees of their leaves and smaller branches and churning up the gravel and mud in the already deeply pitted paths that hardly classified as roads. I had no means of communication even if the telephone service had withstood the winds. And not knowing how Minas de Matahambre and the cigar factory had fared in the night’s storm, I had little option other than to pick my way through the fallen debris for two hours on what was normally a one-hour trek from my seaside shack to the town.

Most of the workers were gathered at the factory when I arrived. The town’s electricity was out, and, more seriously, the only roads into the town were impassible. Ernesto informed us there would be no cigar rolling that day. The freshness of Vegas Robainas had to be guaranteed, and there was no guarantee when a shipment could be gotten out of the town and to Havana, so production was just being suspended until more was known on possible scheduling. Ernesto did say that if I wanted the day’s pay, I, as the strongest of the workers present, could stay and move bales of tobacco onto pallets in case the stream running next to the factory flooded. I readily agreed to stay, not wanting to miss the pay, such as it was, and having already walked into the town. There was no question that La Lectura would be expected to do such work, and Ernesto dismissed Teotilo with a sniff as being too small to lift the heavy bales and not bright enough anyway to understand where they should go to escape the danger of rising water.

For Ernesto’s part, he happily decamped to the café in the town’s square with Estelle for a thimble of wine and an unexpected fuck in the café’s back room while his wife assumed he was safely hard at work at the cigar factory.

Not long afterward I was moving bales of tobacco into the factory’s store room when I heard noises from a dark corner of the shed, behind some tobacco bales. Instinctively, I sauntered over to see what was making the noise and just barely was able to hold myself in check before revealing my presence, just on the other side of a stack of bales from where the two were fucking.

They were both naked, Estaban’s finely formed, light-skinned body more manisa escort easily discernible in the dim light. Teotilo’s smaller, squatter dark-skinned body was belly down on a tobacco bale. The balls of his feet were barely able to stretch to the floor and he was rising and falling on his toes to the rhythm of the thrusts of Estaban’s cock between his butt cheeks. Estaban was covering the small Mulatto figure closely from behind, his chest pushing Teotilo’s down on the fragrant broad, compacted tobacco leafs at the top of the bale, and his mouth very close to Teotilo’s ear. Teotilo’s smile at the taking was beatific.

The sound that I had heard and that had brought me to this corner of the shed was the rich baritone murmuring of La Lectura.

He was reciting love poetry to Teotilo as he fucked him. “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain. If I . . . ,” he was whispering in the young peasant’s ear. Teotilo certainly didn’t recognize the poetry of Emily Dickinson when he heard it, but I, city raised in the family of a prominent doctor, did. But Teotilo obviously didn’t care. He was completely transported not only by the fuck but by the overwhelming presence of the cultured and strong-cocked La Lectura. He was being taken into a new world of passion and desire he never before had imagined possible and possibly never again would be able to attain. This was his moment, the sum total of any excitement he would be able to wrest from life was, quite possibly, wrapped up in this fully possessing fuck by a master of lovemaking in the back corner of a cigar factory shed in the remoteness of the Cuban countryside.

And I was transported as well. Standing there, in the shadows, voyeuristically sharing in Teotilo’s taking, my hand stroking my own hardened cock through the thin cloth of my trousers, I ached for what Teotilo was receiving. The husky-toned love poetry; the strong, virile body of Estaban encasing mine; the movement of his manhood inside me.

They were kissing now, and Estaban was stroking in a strong, steady thrusting. Teotilo was sighing and moaning. I was moaning too, but I didn’t really realize I was until Estaban’s head turned toward me.

I have no idea whether I retreated farther into the shadows in time, but I sensed that Estaban’s gaze had taken me in, possibly not realizing it was me, but surely knowing someone was there. But it didn’t seem to matter. Teotilo grunted and groaned at some more intense change in Estaban’s fucking, and La Lectura began discoursing again, this time from Shelley, in a stronger voice than before, a voice that clearly carried to me halfway back across the shed to where I had been working and where I, full of envy and jealousy and want, resumed moving bales.

“I bring fresh showers for thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light . . .” Not only love poetry, I realized, but poetry that transported the one he was making love to out of this dreary existence. I ached for the attention that Teotilo, the half-wit Mulatto, was receiving, probably not even half capable of fully appreciating the gift he was receiving.

It did not get back to my shack by the sea until late that evening. I had worked hard all day, trying to purge myself of what La Lectura had awakened in me. Those dangerous secrets, the weakness that had caused me to escape Havana and to seek the isolation and scourge of the hard but honest work in the remote cigar factory. The urges were nearly overwhelming. I wasn’t even sure I could return to the factory. Ernesto had been more right than he imagined. La Lectura was a danger to me. I wasn’t even sure that my hands could control their trembling in La Lectura’s presence and under the influence of his stroking baritone voice enough to be able to go through the demanding movements of the leaf bunching.

I stripped down to my undershorts by the door to my shack and pumped the water up until it rose up the water pipe by the door. I pumped for some time, standing under the cold water sluicing down onto my tired, aching, but yearning body. I dried myself with the towel hanging there and entered the dark single room of my shanty.

The voice was low, rich, husky, mesmerizing. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely . . .” Shakespeare. I had been mardin escort chilled by the cold water sluicing over my body, but I began to tremble in earnest now, my knees knocking together. My first instinct was to turn and flee, but my feet moved on their own command. They drew me closer to my cot, to the source of the poetry.

“Come to me,” La Lectura murmured. “You want me, don’t you? I could see it in your eyes.”

“No.” I whimpered. But I was still shuffling toward the bed.

“No? Could I have been wrong?”

“No.” I said again. This time so much weaker. Resolve draining out of me.

“No, what?” The voice. I would melt for the voice alone. But so much more was on offer than the voice.

“No, you weren’t wrong,” I capitulated in a whisper.

He was on his back on the cot, naked. Beautiful. Fully aroused. Ready for me.

I stood, at his direction, a leg on either side of the cot, over his chest, as his soft mouth came up to my cock and swallowed me and transported me beyond this world. He had lubricant and while he played my cock with lips and teeth, his fingers opened my canal and prepared me for mounting.

I stood there, whimpering and remembering. Remembering what had sent me into the countryside. Being overwhelmed with the realization of how much I had missed this, how much I wanted it. How much more I wanted it from La Lectura.

When we were both ready, he capped his sword and pulled me down onto the center of him. I cried out as ever before at the initial entry, but the memories flooded in, and my walls luxuriated in the expanding of the throbbing invasion and closed lovingly around his prodigious tool. He was holding me by my hips with his hands, but the balls of my feet knew the rhythm, remembered what to do, how to leverage off the floor on either side of the cot, and I was rising and falling on his manly staff, drawing him ever farther into me.

“I knew it. I knew it would be like this,” he murmured, his voice turning dreamy. “I have wanted you since the first moment. I have dreamed thee; I have sought thy essence, to assuage thy sadness. To see thee smile; to smile for me alone, to melt and meld to me and to be mine to the depths of thee.”

Not any poetry I’d ever heard, but poetry to me. The words of love I’d longed to hear for a lifetime, that I’d never even heard in Havana.

He had lifted his head to me and he was kissing my nipples and my sternum. His lips went up my chest and into the pit of one of my arms and he was licking and snuffling me in there, inhaling my essence.

“So young, and beautiful and perfectly formed,” he was whispering. “And so tight and deep and warm inside. I want to possess you—to the quick, moving as one.”

He was stroking my cock with his fist, and I was sighing and moaning for him, lost in his attentions; awed that he was making love to me with his rich voice and his throbbing cock.

When I had cum in a great spouting of pent-up cream, he turned me on my belly on the cot and covered me closely with his body and began a rhythmic stroking of his cock down into me between tightly encased butt cheeks. He was growing larger and my channel was more constricted than before. The full circle of my interior walls felt every vein and tremble of his moving cock. And loved it, remembering, remembering.

I was so fully focused on the waves and waves of pleasure rising up from the center of me that I have no idea when he’d begun reciting again in whispering lips at my ear lobe ” . . . Kissing with golden face the meadows green; Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy . . .” Surely Shakespeare again.

I melted and drifted off into another, more beautiful world.

I awoke hours later, in his arms, his cock tumescent inside me, spent after multiple takings and flowings in the earlier hours. His breathing was regular, and I didn’t realize he was awake.

“You’ll come when I call?” I was amazed, flattered that he even phrased it as a question in that rich, possessing voice of his.

“Yes. Anytime, anywhere.”

“Here. Now.”

And I was being lifted onto my knees, and he astride my hips and was quickly rising inside me again, and a hand came around and across my belly, taking possession of my ball sac and the base of my cock. And I was moaning and sighing and being stroked in dulcet tones with snippets of Shakespeare’s sonnets as La Lectura, my lover, restored purpose and pleasure to my life. I could sing for joy now as I rolled those perfect Vegas Robaina cigars just as long as La Lectura was there on the dais and in my bed to provide rhythm and poetry to my life.

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