erotica

Another rich, heart-felt Friday, late-late-late in the afternoon…



The sun is going down, dipping its head low against the breast of the earth past the long arms of cascading willows blowing lightly in the breeze. For a moment I look over my shoulder, the bare skin of my lower back pressed against the sinister, stained white of a painted brick wall. Heel twitching lightly against the floor, the long tip jerking anxiously like the tail of an agitated cat.



You’re late… and I hate it when you are late.



It makes me angry and reminds me of broken promises from my childhood. None of which have come from you, up to this point you have been such a good and stable boy yet my mind stalls then hiccups… life’s experiences have a way of catching up with us, haunting us, bending us over the most veneer of furniture and raping us violently from behind.



It is quite possible, I think quietly to myself that at this very moment as another second of the clock twitches past, that I hate you and I know, even before you arrive that trouble is brewing. My rage and anger are bubbling up from closed depths… and even though it is not your fault, it will be your loss because… my heel twitches with distraction… you are my temptation.



Outside the heated street tugs at the silhouetted people passing by…



I love the way the bluish-orange haze of the sky begins to flirt with softer shades of purple and all of the surrounding buildings loose the coloring of their faces as they stand firm and erect to meet the end of another day and the beginning of a new night; their identifying features becoming less discernible.



You wave, deep, mellow voice calling out “hello” with the slightest hint of a lisp.



I nod in recognition; lips curling with satisfaction as I rise from the disjunct twin of the other bed perched against the opposite side of the room. A thought back-fires from somewhere within the recess of my mind as I pull away from the window and involuntarily note the contrasting features of the two beds… the bedding of mine is twisted and wrinkled, the edge of one fitted sheet clings loosely to the top left of the mattress. The other bedding is pulled taunt and smooth, crisply into a near perfect picture of perfection… yet I wonder briefly for a moment, slender caramel fingers twining around the knob of my door… is this a metaphor of our lives?



The light from the hallway spills into my darkened room, right palm lingering against the threshold as I turn… it dips back in and flicks on the inner switch as I pull out into the hallway and begin to move forward to meet you. Today I am wearing plum-colored patent leather pumps with plaid leggings in a deliciously maroon medley. A taste of red here, a touch of navy blue there, all lavished over a soft cream like tightly pulled shibari. The print is small and the squared-off corners of the textured pattern meet and intersect at points that create a cornucopia of small squares that ride over my curvaceous hips like minuscule needle points.



“Good evening Charles,” I whisper, smiling like the Cheshire cat as I let your arms curl around my backside to pull me close against you. The warmth of our bodies bumping together as we meet sends small waves of excitement through me like sparks from an electric current running over water. I lean forward to press my mouth to your cheek, half-parted, the lips glide together over your skin to form a gentle kiss.



As one of your palms rolls over my ass pinching lightly and playfully in a discreet manner, I whisper, “you’re late,” then pull away.



“I’ve missed you.”



“We’ve only been separated for a couple of hours, damn.”



“I know.”



“We can’t be together every goddamn minute. I need some space!”



My door closes and the room grows still, for a brief moment we sit in silence while the rest of world continues to flourish outside.



I hear laughter, talking, and the giggles of girls fading as they walk down the street, backsides highlighted by fluorescent street lamps.



I’m sorry. I’m stressed… Got a lot of stuff on my mind. Things to do…” my voice trails off, deliberately stating all of the things you want to hear, striking the notes of sympathy that will give you temporarily relief… pause… comfort. I’m winding you up like the tiny springs and coils inside of an antique wristwatch.



Again, you begin to speak, voice soft and yielding, carefully, lovingly stepping across stones as you try to emotionally trudge you way through the overgrown path between us. I can see it in your eyes, a delicate pleading, that swirls around and around through the hazel haze, “help me…. please,” it whispers, clinging to the golden green flecks of your eyes like tangles of moss on rotten branches and mottled tree trunks.



“Charles,” I whisper softly, getting up from my tangled bed and crossing the room to your crisp twin. My palms roam gently over your cheeks, caressing your chin, squeezing your shoulders. Ruby red claws trickle down your back scraping gently over your dress shirt. I come to my knees, kneeling between your thighs and it’s almost as if I’m standing at the edge of a dilapidated wall. Witnessing your body crumble, each cell collapsing and giving in as my hands continue to run down. Our bodies mingle, coalescing together into a muddled puddle of flesh and emotions, symbiotic… your yearning to be loved tears at my heart and I know deep down inside that if I dwell in this space for too long it will break.



“—–,” you call my name softly, voice quivering as I pull away and the words continue to tumble-down, spilling from your lips in the sweetest of confessions but I can barely hear them over the rushing of my own heart. “I’ve been with a lot of women through my life, had a lot of experiences… I’m ready, I want to settle down,” again those puppy dog eye’s tugging as they beg for acceptance.



“So you. Are. A. Hoe!”



Strategically placed, my tongue clucks over each word, swiftly delivering my first blow like a balled fist ramming into your gut.



Shock and desperation overwhelm you… I notice that your cheeks are beginning to glow like a stoked furnace. The humiliation creeps in slowly like an ember feeding on a hiss of hot air.



More rambling. An endless stream of hurried explanation on your part, you want me to understand that you simply want to be loved and cherished and I do… I hear, I understand but I haven’t decided if I want to give you love just yet.



“How many girls, Charles,” I whisper smugly as I reposition myself. “Do I need to be tested for an STD and if you are so ready to settle down than why didn’t you manage to hold on to any of those girls,” arms crossed, roosting now like a buzzard waiting for the last hollow breath of its prey. I look down on you from a position of power, like a righteous preacher delivering a sermon from the highest pulpit, my voice thunders with conviction, “those worthless sluts. You have no self-control! Why would I EVER settle for a worthless whore like you?”



“Where are they now!” I growl, talons digging into the edge of the desk, griping hard and tight until my knuckles burn as if on fire. “Did they leave your worthless ass?” Legs jutted out demanding the majority of the space between the desk, the beds, and us. You’re trapped in an area of limited space and I am sickened. My soul screams out in self-conviction. Parasitic! I’m most definitely going to hell, but I can’t help myself… you are my temptation.



Down… down… down we go, plunging into the rabbit hole. Clinging to the edges of our emotional roller coaster. My voice is low and steady like the grinding 8 liter W16 engine of a Bugatti Veyron rumbling down the tracks. I shove 1200 horse powered words into your face, tapping into your deepest, darkest, and most sacred fears. I know that you are a good and trustworthy man, that I am safe but still my words are inflicted, driving deep into your psyche like mortal wounds. Cold and calculated, subconsciously grinning, I watch the last bricks of your self-esteem tumble.



“No-nooooo,” you stutter.



It’s amazing! Did I imagine it or did I actually just hear and see your adam’s apple click; locking in silence, dwelling in confusion, your head shakes, your gaze plummets and my heart begins to ache.



You rush to your feet and I spring from my perch on the desk.



We circle each other like enemies preparing for a battle. Shouting! As I continue to feast on your emotions. The energy, the electricity, the improperly balanced synergy between us is exhilarating!



You dive for the door, hastily trying to make your escape but I get there first and plaster myself across it like a human shield.



“Where are you going charlenna…” my voice is sweet like honey as it bubbles over, “you’re such a bitch!” You stagger backwards, recoiling… possibly retreating.



My eyes widen. I stretch to the tips of my toes, Goodness! I’ve never seen you act quite like this before and it is simply delicious!



You utter a few broken words… we both strain, you struggling to speak and I working to decipher. We both are leaning forward from the waist. You’re weary, using the last of your strength to hold yourself up while I eagerly arch forward, weighted down by a desire to see, to feel, to experience whatever unexpected surprise may come next!



“Let me out.”



“Nope.”



“LemmeoutIwanna… leave!”



“NO!”



“You want to get through this door,” my heel stomps down, “you got to get through me first!”



Uh-oh… you stand erect for one brief moment, looking as though you will decisively step forward but crumble instead.



Suddenly I notice the soft mews, the sputtering, the whines reverberating dully around us.



Hot tears splash down your face or rather I finally notice them for the first time and I rush forward to gather you in my arms. You fight at first, pleading… “I jus-just wanna leave.”



“You can’t go… you can’t leave,” I whisper through kisses, desperately working to repair the damage I’ve done. “I’m not going to hurt you… charles…” my voice raises, “Charles!” I grab your face and stare deep into your eyes, commanding you to come out of your subspace. I refuse to let you retreat to a place of numbness. My hands are everywhere on your body, massaging the flesh, compelling you to open up and return to life. My lips crush against your cheeks, brow, and eyes then neck, flooding you with the love you deserve. Gently at first I continue to shower you with hot, wet, sloppy kisses until I lose patience and devour you…



Yanking at your clothes, I force you backwards. Your knees buckle against the bed. Dress shirt buttons snap, raining down onto the floor. My mouth is on your chest, teeth gnashing and gently nipping, pinching! Your zipper comes undone then my hands dive inside closing around you. Feeding off of the warmth of your cock as you press firmly against me. I moan into your mouth and begin to stroke… roughly drawing you out, exposing your vulnerability.



I pin you down and we begin to fuck… my hips bucking and thrusting over you. Our bodies coming together, limbs entwining like a needle pulling thread. I pleasure myself while mending your soul.

This story is dedicated first to jfinn, who’s story the The Human Condition at Lit inspired me to try my hands at gay erotica, and second to Annie Proulx, for being able to do in one line what I can’t do in a hundred. If you haven’t already, read her short story, Brokeback Mountain, or go watch the movie!



A special thanks to my editors: Scintillating, danielle t, tami teshima, Trisha Hernandez, Amy, Evelyn Caroll, Johnny Smith, Mara Copland, Hex ElfWitch, Jennifer Catherine, Elaine Ricci, Angel Love, MrVern, Persistance, Shez Grant, Koolpoppaphonse, Katie, Mandy Marie,



All characters are fictitious and any resemblance between the characters and any real life person is mere coincidence, though a very hot coincidence if I may say so myself. Please do not copy or distribute the story without the author’s permission.



**Kelvin**




———————-



It was only a quarter past three and already everything was almost dead. The streets were dead; the city greenery was as good as dead; overheating dogs played dead on lawns; even the few hardy souls outside walked as though they were dead. It was just one of those days.



I was just about nearing death myself when I stumbled into the cool, air-conditioned paradise that was an office tower. I had only a few minutes to savour my survival before I was assaulted by a saucy Irish accent belonging to a sixty-year-old grandmother.



“Good ev’ning, hon! Hot eh, Dearie?” she chirped.



“Hello, Anne,” I greeted warily.



“So, Dearie. How are things going with you?”



“Fine.”



“You know, Tyler, you’ve been working awful hard lately. Ever t’ink about takin’ a break, a holiday maybe? I’m sure Gary —”



I snapped. “Would you stop the fuckin’ small talk already and tell Gary I’m here?”



Anne blinked and then sighed. “Alright, alright. Don’t tie yerself into a knot.” She picked up the phone. Anne was the lobby receptionist. “Gary? Tyler’s here to see you…Okay, I’ll tell him.” She hung up and winked at me. “You can go up. He says he’s got a surprise for you, hopes you brought extra condoms.”



I didn’t like the sound of that. Gary was the one who was supposed to provide the condoms.



“Great. Thanks.” I scowled as I began walking to the elevator.



Anne’s voice followed. “Oh, by the way Tyler, I thought you should know: Blaine’s -”



Thank God the elevator door closed before I could hear the rest. I didn’t give a flying fuck about Blaine. As far as I was concerned, he could keep screwing his life all he wanted, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to pull me down with him. I wasn’t going to go sniff some “Tina” with him, or listen to his lies anymore. Even when we used to have sex it wasn’t him I was fucking, it was his drugs. I was through with him.



Oh, I was honest enough with myself to know I was damaged goods. I practically screamed “walking wounded”. I had for months. What I couldn’t stand was the way people still talked to me with that concerned, sympathetic expression on their faces. Stupid friends. It was amazing, really, that I still had any.



All I wanted was to be left alone.



I punched the button in the elevator for the fifty-first floor. It was just like Gary to pick the third highest floor of the third tallest building in Philadelphia: St. Boniface Tower, no less. On the day we filmed The Travails of St. Horniface, Gary had dressed up in drag and had us march half-naked right through a banker’s function. In that single, brilliant stroke, he’d offended just about everyone in conservative corporate America. I had even smiled.



Almost.



The sex had helped, actually. At first, everyone I fucked reminded me of Blaine. Especially the blonds. After one particularly bad incident, Gary took me aside and we talked. After that, things became easier. There were no more blond hunks, at least when I was on set. It became all fuck and cum, fuck and cum. All in a day’s work.



The elevator door slid open with a ding at the thirty-first floor. A man was walking backwards with his back to the elevator, apparently talking to some other guy. “Alright, Brent. Gotta run. Gary keeps a bitch of a leash on me, even though I’ve quit. Thanks for everything.”



Something inside of me lurched perilously close to a precipice in that moment. Even from behind, I recognized him. It wasn’t just the hair, which I noticed he’d cropped short. Or the scar on his neck, which he’d gotten from his father as a birthday present. I knew him by the sound of his voice, the gait of his walk, the flex of muscles on his back; I knew him by all the little things which made him who he was, intimately.



The look he gave me said it all. His eyes, which widened with shock, were as blue-green as they ever were, though they seemed to have lost their sparkle. His high cheekbones and jaw still kept him handsome, but there were lines on his face which hadn’t been there a year ago. He’d lost muscle too. No one could take him for a gay porn star now. He stared at me as though I was some kind of apparition. I wasn’t sure if he was.



The elevator dinged again and slowly began to close. Through the shrinking window, I saw Blaine set his jaw. He moved fast, slipping in just before the fooom of the door.



I backed into a corner, putting myself as far away from him as I could. My throat felt constricted. I tried to swallow. I saw Blaine trying to do the same. God, I could smell him. I trembled. I forced myself to stop. I looked up at the ascending numbers. Not at Blaine.



Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four…



“Ty.” Why’d you leave me, Blaine?



Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven…



“Ty?”



God, why was this elevator so fucking slow?



Thirty-eight, thirty-nine…



Suddenly, the elevator heaved as though some great whale had beached underneath the building. Everything went dark. I staggered, my stomach churning and adrenaline pumping through my veins.



In the ensuing stillness, I became aware of Blaine’s body, warm, against mine.



“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarled, wrenching myself away from him.



There was a brief silence. “Sorry,” he mumbled. His voice sounded odd. Blaine wasn’t one to apologize for anything, even when I was angry at him for something he did or didn’t do. Like the time I found out he was HIV-positive. Not the Blaine I knew, anyway.



“What the fuck happened?” I asked. I was glad he couldn’t see my face.



“Beats me. Earthquake?” suggested Blaine.



“No,” I said flatly, “didn’t feel like it.”



“Power outage, then. Lightning.”



“It should turn back on in a minute.”



There was a tense silence. It stretched like an eternity.



“Well,” asked Blaine at last, “What do we do now?”



“I think I saw an emergency phone in here. On your side,” I said.



I heard him feel around for a bit before stopping. “I found it.” He pulled a couple of times. “I think it’s stuck.”



“Geeze, Blay.” As I reached for the wall, I touched him and we both recoiled. I heard him draw a ragged breath. I realized I had called him by his nickname and trembled a little. God, what you do to me, Blay. God, what have I done to you?



I pushed the thought aside. “Get the fuck away,” I said roughly.



I felt a knob near the door and yanked it hard. It wouldn’t budge. I spread my legs wide and planted them against the wall. I pulled with all my might. Nothing.



“Shit!” I swore. “It won’t budge! What kind of friggin’ useless emergency phone is this?”



“Here, let me help.” I felt his shirt brush against mine. I knew it had to be a size too small for him. He liked them tight. “We pull on three.” He put his hand over mine. I struggled to breathe evenly, hesitating. We had to get out of here, fast. This was hazardous to our health.



Blaine started counting. “One…two…three!” We pulled, we strained. It didn’t work.



“Ok, let’s try it again.” We tried. Pretty soon we were hot, sweaty, and winded.



“Alright, last time, ‘kay?” I gasped, finally. “Then I’m calling it quits.”



Together we said, “One…two…three…ARGGH—!”



One moment we had our feet planted firmly on the wall, the next we were a tangled, sweaty heap on the floor.



“Ow…”



“You alright, Ty?”



“I think I hit my head.”



I felt Blaine’s hand touch the back of my skull. I winced. Not just from pain.



“Yeah, feel a bump.” He let his hand fall, shifting slightly.



“Well, at least we got…” I stopped. Then I started laughing. Once Blaine figured it out (he always was a little slow with jokes), he joined in with his familiar baritone. We were still holding the knob of the phone-cabinet. We had ripped it right off the wall.



Pretty soon I was laughing so hard I was in tears. And before long I wasn’t sure if I was laughing or crying. It had been a long time. It was as if an enormous dam had broken. All this time we kept holding the handle, where our hands were joined.



“Ty…” Blaine reached for me. I pulled away, stilling. I wasn’t ready. Now it was Blaine’s turn to become still.



I took a breath to steady myself. “Blay, where have you been?”



He was silent for a moment. “In rehab.”



“Really?” I kept my voice cool. I had to be careful.



He hesitated, sensing the change in my tone. “Yes.”



“Since when?”



“Since the morning after you left.”



“Why didn’t I know?”



“I made Curtis and Sandy promise not to tell.”



I thought about that. Curtis and Sandy were two of our better friends.



“Why?” I had to know. I wasn’t sure if I believed him.



“I… couldn’t risk seeing you. I’m still not sure if I’m ready.”



“That’s not what I meant. What made you quit using?”



He took a quavering breath. “Because I woke up with my breath smelling like puke and realized… I just shouldn’t have let you go.” The last phrase came out in a rush, as though he had to get it out before his mouth closed, locking the words in. I had never seen him like this. I resisted the urge to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be alright.



“I thought I was just ‘an amazing fuck.’”



“You…” He struggled. “You were never just ‘an amazing fuck!’”



I closed my eyes, against the tears. So many memories. Guilt, too. “I thought you said you were straight.”



“I was. Until I met you.”



“You said that you were straight even after we were together. For four fucking years!” I didn’t try to keep the anguish out my voice.



“I…lied. Not just to you. To myself.”



“How do I know you aren’t still?”



He flinched. I wondered if I had hit him. It didn’t matter.



He was quiet for a moment. “You don’t,” he said softly.



Thinking, I listened to his breathing.



Blaine spoke again. “After the first time you left, y’know, after you found out I was positive… I was scared to fucking death about how much I needed you. I couldn’t bear it, and I never got over it. I wanted to push you away. So I did.”



I remembered. It had been almost two years ago. That night, we were both pissed drunk from clubbing at Tibare’s. Normally he’d refuse to bring me to his place, even when it was closer than mine, but for some reason he let me in this time. As soon as we got into his apartment, we tore off each other’s clothes and he pulled me to his bed. I was hot and wanted him, but nature called. So I went to the bathroom and ended up fishing around in the cabinets for something. I don’t remember what. That was when I saw the pills, rows and rows of them. I recognized the names.



I should have recognized the terror in his eyes when I confronted him, the tremor that went through his body, the whiteness of his knuckles as he clutched the sheets. Or listened to him when he stammered he’d gotten it from a guy a year ago, when we were still just favourite fuck buddies. He could prove it with the date on all the pills, he said. Even after we became a somewhat exclusive couple, we still had safe sex. But I was too angry and afraid. I left.



A month later, guilt drove me back to him. I told him I forgave him for not telling me, and he forgave me for leaving. Blaine eventually told Gary about his HIV status. It didn’t really affect his job at the time because by then we were only interested in fucking each other anyway. But as far as our relationship went, the damage had been done. I no longer trusted him to tell me the truth, and he no longer trusted me to commit to him. Six months later, I found his stash of crystal meth.



Blaine was talking again. “Well, that was a fucking mistake. It took me a whole year after you left to figure out that there’s just no way I could ever quit you. It didn’t matter who I was with… God, I tried, Ty… girls, men, drugs, booze…I couldn’t get you out of me. I just kept wanting you even more.” His voice broke. Blaine, who never cried. “I know we can’t keep this up. It’s over, you and me. And I’ll survive, I guess. My councillor, my rehab group, they’ll get me through. But sometimes… it just hurts so bad.”



I felt a torrent of conflicting emotions. One part of me wished that he had never gotten out, that he’d kept on using. That part of me wished he’d died and taken all his fucked-up psychological shit with him. Another part of me wanted to beat myself into a pulp for not understanding, for not being there for him the first or the second time. And still a third part of me didn’t give a fuck whose fault it was, all I wanted to do was hold him.



I let go of the broken knob, letting him hold it alone.



Then I pulled his body towards me so hard that I crushed him in an embrace intense enough to hurt. “Fuck you, Blay…Fuck you…Fuck you,” I swore. I inhaled him, that smell I could never get enough of.



And Blaine, he buried his face in my neck, chanting “Ty, Ty!” over and over again. I held him and he held me, our hearts thundering like a pair of unsynchronized horses. We shook and rocked like a four-wheeler forging through uncharted wilderness. We were finding our way back to each other.



Eventually, my mouth found his. It was wet, sweet and full, just like I remembered it. He moaned into mine, starving and desperate. I was just as hungry, licking at the wet underside of his tongue, fucking him with saliva and the growing hardness in my groin. Blaine clutched me by my shirt and slammed me against the elevator door. I writhed, groaning, frantically touching him. I wanted to fuse myself into that flesh which I had been denied for far too long. Plunging an arm underneath his shirt, I revelled in the stickiness of our exertions.



Blaine pulled away, gasping for air. “I’m not worth this, Ty,” he said hoarsely.



I pulled him towards me, panting. “I’m just a fuck toy, without you. We’re not worth anything except when we’re together. Then we’re the most beautiful fucks, the most beautiful fucks the world’s ever seen.”



Blaine let out an unintelligible sound and I claimed his mouth again. I felt his stubble rake my cheeks, spreading fire and light to my eyes until I felt as though they were blazing like meteors. Shadows cold and venomous drowned without a sound in that light, and something long dormant began to stir.



In that living, panting darkness, I groped at Blaine’s shirt and tugged it over his head. I sculpted my hands over his naked pectorals, his six-pack abs and his lean, narrow waist. He had let some of his chest hair grow back instead of keeping it porn star bare. I wanted his hot, sweaty skin against mine, to have our hearts hammer against our souls. Clumsily, he tried to unbutton my shirt, but decided in the end to simply tear it open as he licked my collar bone moist. He wrapped his great furred arms around me and alternated between kissing my throat and sucking my nipples.



“Do you remember how we first met?” I asked, nibbling vehemently at his earlobes.



“Like yesterday,” he whispered. “You were the dark, sinful God from Hell.” He grazed my nipples with his teeth and my straining cock twitched.



“And you were like an angel, dressed all in white,” I smiled.



Blaine paused, replying bitterly, “Some angel I turned out to be.”



I pulled him up so that he was standing on his feet as I placed a finger to his lips. “We’ve got lots to talk about, Blay. But not right now. Right now, I just want to suck you.” I warmed at the way Blaine’s breath caught. I began unbuckling his belt while we kissed. I was taking control now. Momentarily I wondered about that. Before, it had always been the other way around. “Tell me what happened next, after we met.”



“Well… Gary introduced us. Said we’d steam up the ranch ‘just fabulously.’ We talked a bit; you were telling me how ironic it was for a half-breed like you to be playing cowboy. Then we stripped to our waists and started the shoot kissing. God, you were a good kisser. I was seeing stars…”



I locked lips with him passionately.



“Seeing stars yet?” I asked after a bit.



I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was smiling. “Ahuh.”



“What happened next?”



“Then you knelt and…”



Blaine groaned as I pulled down his pants and boxers, freeing his beautiful cock. I could smell his arousal, that sweet, primitive smell of an animal in heat. The odour was strong in the dark. I began licking between his pecs, downwards to his stomach where I dampened his curled treasure trail. Down…down… I licked him all the way.



“And then?” I teased.



“Then…God… you started to play with my cock.”



I grinned. Ever so slowly I licked him along the underside of his cock, from its base to where the shaft dipped and flared into the head. There I lingered, outlining his cock head with my taste buds. I knew it would drive him wild.



“Then?” I licked again.



“Then you… I…Ty, you’re killing me!”



“And then?” I insisted, refusing to take his throbbing cock though I desperately wanted to.



His voice coarsened, need overtaking him. “Then you sucked my fucking cock.”



I slid him into my mouth. Blaine gasped and his body spasmed. I let my tongue feel every vein in his cock as I coated his organ in my saliva, knowing exactly how to manipulate it. I took him all the way, all of Blaine. I felt it throb, hot and salty with precum. I pulled back, then slammed down again, slicking his powerful tool further. I felt Blaine push his fingers through my hair, holding my head to him as he thrust into me, fucking the mouth that had kissed him. I gripped his waist tightly, using the weight of his heaving body to propel him in and out. I added a surprise twist here, a graze of teeth there, to remind him who was sucking who. As the pace at which I rammed his cock down my throat increased, his pants became grunts, his grunts turned into moans, and his moans grew into cries. Blaine was on the brink, and amazingly, I wasn’t far behind.



“Uh!…Uh!…Ty!…Uh!…” he shouted, slamming a fist back against the wall in synchrony with the rhythm of his thrusts. Blaine’s cock was my instrument, and the slick wet sound of my lips stroking his meat was our music. I was playing him to a deafening crescendo.



“Ty!…Ty!



One.



Two.



Three.



His sweat-drenched ass flexed, his virile cock expanded, and his warm, fertile seed ejaculated violently into my orifice. Spurt after spurt, Blaine gave me his essence. His salty sperm was his precious offering, the satisfying reward for my pleasurable labour. I swallowed his virulent cream, digested each load, rendering it harmless.



Eventually, his spasms subsided and I let go. Blaine sighed, slouching against the wall as his knees buckled. I stood up and pressed into him, kissing him and letting him taste himself. “Mmm…” was all he said, spent.



“Not so fast, buddy,” I grinned tightly. “What happened next?”



Blaine laughed quietly as he stroked my face with a calloused hand.



“It’s never gonna end, huh?”



“Never.”



“Don’t leave me, Ty.”



I put my forehead against his.



“Never,” I said, and meant it.



He tightened his arms around me for a moment and nuzzled his face into mine. It was moist again, I noticed. Then he began unbuckling my belt. I dug out a condom from my pocket. I was always prepared.

Categories
April 2017
M T W T F S S
« Feb    
 12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930
Categories