This story is just fiction, et al. See part 1.
The very intense, masculine Colin heard a surprisingly submissive whimper die in his throat as Brandon's slender fingers danced along his crack. Colin wanted to cry out, ask Brandon what he was doing, but was afraid to confront his own emotions. So he stayed silent, watched that frizzy blonde afro lick up and down his baggy, shaved balls while that finger slipped past his tight sphincter.
Cristie would never, ever touch his body in such an intimate fashion. She never even gave him head. She was frigid at best. To feel a man touching and corrupting his bronze, buff, bare body in ways a woman never had shamed Colin, but also excited him. When Brandon roughly rolled Colin over onto his stomach, Colin knew what was going to happen next. He, perhaps, welcomed it. As Brandon spread those marble cheeks apart, all Colin could do was sweat and squirm with anticipation and dread.
The walls shook from the moans and groans of utter debasement when Colin felt Brandon's thick tongue shove up his tight manhole. No one had EVER touched him this way. Made him feel so weak, and yet so pumped. Brandon licked up and down his broad, straight spine, kissed his shoulder blades, and daringly sank his teeth into Colin's meaty mounds.
Colin gripped the sheets with his hands and toes as Brandon spit onto his own erection. Colin knew what was coming next.
A strong grip on his slender hips prepared Colin for entry. Brandon was inside him. Pumping in and out of him. Slowly, but steadily. He'd obviously done this before. When Colin let out a brief cry of pain, Brandon leaned over, that halo of hair brushing against Colin's smooth, soaked neck. Brandon kissed his ears, suckled the dangling lobes, rubbed Colin's back, whispered words of comfort into Colin's ears before gouging them with that talented tongue.
The jabs became harder and more focused as Colin's prong sprang back to life. Brandon's soft hand gripped the pulsating rod, joinging Colin's own rough jerk, settling him into a more calm and collected and painstaking stroke session. Colin could trace every vein throbbing in his meat thanks to Brandon's methodical control of the motion.
As Brandon timed the strokes to his own increasingly precise hits home in Colin's violated rectum, Colin gave in, gave up. Poured out. Gallon after gallon of suppressed seed. Colin was totally unrepared for the size and fury of his orgasm. He had never lost control this way. His tight assring spasmed so mightily that Brandon also succumbed to the pressure. Hot white lava scorched Colin's no-longer-virgin anus. He had been branded, by...Brandon. The thought would have made him laugh if he weren't so confused. And exhausted.
Before he could really notice, Brandon pulled out of him. Layed beside him on the bed. Brandon didn't even make eye contact. He seemed to suddenly be ashamed of what he'd done. But as tired as Colin was, he couldn't let Brandon just pop his and walk away. His massive arm clamped down on Brandon's midsection, pulled him close, their drenched nude bodies in close, heated contact.
"We have to talk," Colin whispered. Those eyes, those lamp eyes, bored into Brandon.
Brandon gulped.
And began to answer.
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