DISCLAIMER: Most of this story is fiction, and I do mean most. Maybe you'll be able tell what is or isn't the truth, but I am as unreliable as my narrator! As always, please hit that Back button if this content is illegal for you to consume according to the laws of your land. Otherwise, enjoy! And please feel free to send feedback, bouquets and brickbats to agospelpipe@yahoo.com.
Moth to A Flame.
Chapter 1.
"He seems like he's good for you," Will smirked. "Why are you here?"
"You know why," I said reaching for his hardening cock: hot to the touch, and the wetness of his precum making his briefs translucent...he was...he drove me wild.
"Yeah?" He snarled. "You want it? You little whore?"
I sat down on the bed behind me and looked up at him.
"I want to fuck that handsome face of yours." 'Aww, he thinks I am handsome!' I thought.
"What's stopping you?"
"Take it out."
His cock bounces free from his briefs, and I eagerly take him into my mouth. He groans gutturally as he grabs my hair, and proceeds to do exactly as he promised. "Fucking take it!"
Tears stream down my face as I try to control my gag reflex.
"Fuck it," he murmurs as he pulls out of my mouth, and pushes me back on the bed.
"Get on your stomach, whore."
He rips off my sweatpants, and pulls my butt cheeks apart to spit into my hole. I know this ritual well so I have lubed up in advance. Does he actually think that his spit is all the lube I need? I don't know, and I can't think about this further because a piercing pain suffuses through my body as his thick, hard cock forces its way past my ring, and then the pain is replaced with ecstacy.
I am moaning into the pillow before me. It's not just his cock lighting up my nerves, but the heat of his body, the slight sheen of sweat on his muscled chest pressed against my back, his own grunting...all of it. I love all of it. I never want it to end.
He pulls out, and flips me over. My ankles are pressed up against his rounded, capped shoulders. He rubs his cock gingerly against my hole. The tease is unbearable. I moan. "You look so hot with that look in your eyes. That cock-hungry look."
"Because I am."
"What? What are you?"
"Hungry?"
"For what? Say it."
He leans forward, pinning my arms by my head, his dark eyes boring into mine, his hot breath mildly redolent of beer.
"Tell me what you want!" He growls.
"You. I want you inside me. Please. Please."
His crooked grin signals his approbation as he slides into me again.
As I look down between us, it's always surprising to me how I am able to accommodate his impressive girth. My hands range across the muscles dancing in his back as he continues to thrust.
"Love...the way... your pussy...grips... grips...fuck...my cock." He says panting as he continues to plumb my depths with his tool.
"Please don't call it that," I admonish from my own haze of ecstasy.
"I am gonna fill you up! I'm gonna cum inside you. You want that?"
"More than anything."
"Good bitch."
His breathing grows heavier, and with a groan he slams into me, spasming. It hurts. It's the best feeling in the world. His load is buried deep inside me. I will feel it seep down my leg when I am on the train heading home to my boyfriend. I will cry because I hate myself for doing this to him. And yet...
"Motherfucker..." Will sighs as he rolls off me.
"That was fucking hot."
"Mmmm," I agree, stretching. The afterglow is exquisite.
He's holding me close. "Does Cole fuck you like this?"
"Caleb."
"Whatever."
"Don't "whatever" my boyfriend, you lout!"
"You should be with him. He seems like he's good for you. I can't..."
"I have never expected anything from you...except for not calling my hole a pussy. I do so hate it."
He guffaws.
"So, does he?" He asks after a brief pause. "...what?" I am being avoidant. My Caleb doesn't belong here.
"Caleb. Does he fuck you like this?"
"That's incredibly personal."
"I just came in you."
"It's different with him. It's gentler. Sweeter."
"And you want to be disrespected, don't you?" I can feel him hardening again. This man is as insatiable as I am.
I met Will on the train. We kept sneaking glances at each other as I pretended to read. 'Far drom The Madding Crowd:' I still haven't finished it.
I was in my work attire: a midnight blue slim fitting suit. He was in army fatigues that clung to every cut and contour of his muscled physique. My stop came and went. I didn't want to get off yet. I didn't want to go home to my warm, giving boyfriend who'd hand me a cocktail as soon as I walked through the door while solicitously enquiring about my day. I yearned for some darkness.
The train emptied as we neared the final stops. It was just me and him by the time we reached Harvard Square. "You should get off at the next stop." His voice: deep, rich and somehow perfectly coherent over the din of Boston's trusty old trains. I was a bit startled at the audacity, but I nodded, throwing caution to the wind. Maybe I was about to get gay bashed within an inch of my life. But, hey, those ill-advised decisions make for great stories if you survive them.
He followed as I got off at Porter Square. And there, on the empty concourse, he kissed me. Hard. Forcing his tongue into my mouth. That was the first night he fucked me. We didn't need words. He knew exactly, instinctually how to make me feel good. Maybe this man saw the wild coked up little slut that I was 10 years ago in my early twenties instead of the very put together Director of Research Ethics that everyone else sees. So he fucked me like the wild, coked up and perennially buzzed whore that I used to be. He made me feel dirty, like a slut, a plaything...and I relished it.
"Get the fuck on top. Sit on it!" He'd commanded that night. I moaned loudly as his shaft entered me. I rode him with gusto, contracting and expanding my ass muscles around his manhood. His hands on my pecs, his fingers manipulating my nipples.
"My name is Will," he'd finally said after he'd cum all over my hole, and shoved his jism into me with his still hard cock. "It's nice to meet you."