Disclaimer:
This story is intended for adults interested in homosexual erotica. If that is not something that you wish to read then go no further.
All characters and situations are fictional, though hopefully plausible, and grounded in reality.
The work published here is all my own with all rights reserved.
The author is based in the UK so the diction reflects this but my stories involve characters of different ethnicities and many are set in locations outside the UK.
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Hope you enjoy
Barney
Barney's Weekend in Brighton
Summary
Having had a great time in the famous British seaside resort's only leather bar in the summer, red- headed Londoner, Alan heads off to Brighton for a weekend break, despite it being out of season. After discovering on his walk from the station, that his favourite venue has closed in the intervening months, he settles into his tiny hotel room, goes out for a meal and spends his first night cruising the nearby gay pub and disco dressed in his biker gear.
But when the only guy who catches his eye takes flight, he decides to cut his losses and have an early night, in the hope that Saturday might have something better to offer. However, a chance encounter on his walk back to his hotel along the rain-drenched promenade, results in him stumbling across just the sort of man and the sort of sex he was looking for. A happenstance that succeeds in transforming his weekend break into one that he will never forget!
- Folly
Despite my disgrace, after I'd washed off my coating of sweat/spunk and cooled down my face and arse with my second shower of the day, Thomas announced he wanted to spend more time with me and offered to show me around the resort he had adopted as his home.
The weather had changed for the better and sunshine greeted us as we ventured out of the hotel doorway and made our way down to the promenade. With his sexual frustration at least temporarily sated, the chef relaxed as he led me along the seafront until we reached Brighton's most well know monument.
As Thomas led me proudly around the Royal Pavilion, I paused to admire my handsome guide as often as the Mughal-inspired architecture of the Prince Regent's folly completed back in the 1820s. However, when we reached the pier, he was instantly transformed into an adolescent boy, insisting we play the fruit machines and then pose for pictures whilst standing in front a series of distorting mirrors.
I was more than happy to play along with this, but despite having eaten breakfast, found myself feeling ravenously hungry - I guess all the sex had given me an appetite! Plus, I knew the chef had not eaten since the night before. So, when we passed a half-decent looking caf , I persuaded him to sit down for us to have some lunch.
Once we'd finished, to my surprise he insisted on paying the bill and while he waited for his change, handed me a pen and demanded I write my phone number down on a serviette so he could arrange to visit me in London. I think he noticed my reluctance, but again ended up breaking my usual rule and gave him the correct number - though thought I might live to regret it! Although Patrick was lovely, he was a might unpredictable - especially after he'd had a few drinks!
Plus, he also had my number in the other sense of the expression, by not only taking my sexual submission to him for granted, despite my tongue in cheek offer to fuck him, but also having caught on to my liking for bondage and pubic sex, and the humiliation that accompanied it. He seemed to like it too, I deduced, as, but for a passing police car, I had little doubt he would have stripped me naked and fucked me outside in the seafront shelter, barely ten minutes after we had first met!
Back out in the late autumn sunshine, we finished our walk along the promenade at a huge pub built in the style of a mediaeval castle. Thomas led me to a table in a quiet corner nestled among the heavy wood panelling and went to the bar to order drinks. I sat back contentedly and watched the smoke from the cigarettes of the handful of customers drift lazily upwards, caught in the rays of sunshine that filtered in through the vast gothic-style windows. When Thomas failed to return, I snuck out to the loo to relieve myself and spotted him in the bar engrossed in conversation with a couple of his Pakistani or Indian buddies.
When I returned to the table, Thomas was waiting for me and handed over a pint of beer. As I sat down beside him on the plush red velvet seating and took a sip, he proudly announced that this was the place where he worked. I told him it was very impressive and got him to fill me in on his duties and responsibilities and his decision to become a chef. Reluctant to reveal too much detail about my own occupation and career, after that we drifted into silence as he continued to drain his glass of beer at a much faster rate than myself.
No sooner had he put his glass back on the table after polishing off over half of it in a single gulp, than I felt his hand resting on my thigh and then reposition itself over my groin. My cock instantly started to swell.
Without giving away to anyone who might be watching that anything untoward was happening, he gradually eased down the zipper of my fly and slid his hand inside the front of my pants. I looked up at him and spotted a, by now familiar, sparkle in his eyes.
"Am due t'start werk agin at four. Fancy cummin upstairs for a quickie?"
I swallowed hard as he yanked my cock out of my pants and began pulling on it - right there in the public bar! The guy was insatiable!
Despite the battering my body had taken just a few hours previously, my cock was soon fully hard. Either by accident or design, the chef had hit upon the sort of sexual scenario that I often dreamt about but had only rarely experienced.
Before I had the time to formulate a reply, my hardening cock had already given him the answer he'd been hoping for, leaving me to meekly nod my head in confirmation.
Thomas grinned, paused to take another long draft of his beer and then awarded me such a lust- filled stare that I began to blush. He returned his hand beneath the table and continued to slide his fist up and down my shaft as though he owned it. When I made no attempt to ward him off and swallowed hard, his grin widened.
Soon my cheeks were burning again and I began to gasp and squirm. Pinned down behind the table fast losing control of my body, my fate now lay entirely in the chef's hands. I cast my eyes around the bar nervously. Thankfully few other customers were close-by but someone could arrive through the nearby entrance at any moment!
"If you carry on much longer, I'm going to cum!" I hissed at him, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard, but making no attempt to fend off his hand.
"A thout tha'd like it!" the chef grinned in response, in his "sexy" voice.
If Thomas was reckless enough to wank me off publicly at his place of work, who was I to quibble, I thought. I was enjoying every humiliating moment of it! Plus, the way things were going it would all be over pretty quickly, so with any luck no one would notice.
But as though the chef was reading my thoughts, following my warning, he slowed the pace of his wanking, drawing out my excitement and holding me on the brink of orgasm until I was so desperate to cum that I began thrusting my thighs up and down in my seat to hasten my climax.
If this didn't draw attention to us nothing would, I thought, realising that it now looked as though I was the instigator of this public outrage rather than Thomas, who still sat beside me contentedly quaffing his beer!
Gasping for breath with my face flushed red, my lips parted and uttering any number of groans and whimpers, it would be plain to anyone who passed by that I was sexually aroused! But by now I was just desperate to cum!
So, when I heard the sound of raised male voices outside, I stepped up the pace of my upward thrusts but it was not until the door swung open that my cock finally erupted.
I shuddered, gasped and did my best to stifle a moan as a troop of soccer fans bedecked in striped scarves and hats filed past us on their way to the bar.
The chef calmly removed his hand from my dick, took another gulp of his drink and grinned at me over the top of the glass, as, regardless of who might be watching, I shot spurt after spurt of my pent-up cum onto the furniture, unable to contain my pleasure for a second longer.
"Tha's a right slut!" the chef whispered in my ear with a laugh after the intrigued football fans had passed us by, "Na am goin ta tek thi upstairs and fuck thi agin!"
Unable to hide my delight at the public humiliation he had just imposed on me, I smiled back at him sheepishly and tucked my spent cock back into my pants. The handsome Pakistani was welcome to do whatever he liked with me!
"Sup up!" he instructed, downing the rest of his pint in a single swallow.
Appreciating that a quick getaway was in order, to avoid us being deemed responsible for the pool of spunk dripping down from the underside of the table and pooling at my feet, I tried my best to follow the chef's example. But when I was unable to finish it all off in one go, Thomas intervened to take the glass from my hand and quickly dispatch it.
"Let's be avin yer!" he added with a grin.
I'd had my fun, now it was his turn, again!
To be continued...
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