He's always been the strong, silent type, but an irresistibly sexy man with the magic touch can turn him into an insatiable bottom. Today, they meet up at our hero's place, where the paper-thin walls ensure that the slightest moan or whimper will give away his secret lust for sex with men. Contains nipple play, ice play, dirty talk, plenty of sex, and LOTS of screaming!
On Saturday he makes good on his threat, and shows up at my place with a bottle of single-malt scotch and a big fucking smile on his face.
“Hello, you bastard,” I beam as I open my door.
“Gonna invite me in?” he grins.
I pour doubles into plastic glasses and we drink them while sitting on the edge of my bed. The scotch goes down my throat like a warm blast, and waves of relaxation radiate out from my stomach.
“Hey, don’t just gulp it down,” he says. “Hold it in your mouth. Let the flavors spread across your tongue.”
He holds my plastic cup to my lips and I take in a mouthful of scotch. I let it roll around in my mouth. Mmmm. He’s right. Spice fills up in the spaces between my teeth. Roses bloom on the tip of my tongue. His hand is on my thigh and I know we’re going to be naked before my glass is empty.
“Hold it in your mouth like it’s my cum,” he murmurs. A shiver runs through me, and my cock springs to attention. I lick my lips for him.
All around us, taxis honk, police sirens scream, and my neighbor’s TV bleeds through the wall. We can hear doors slamming in the hallway, people dragging garbage bags and grocery bags down the hall, and my neighbors yelling at each other again. They’re straight and married and haven’t fucked in about ten years, and all they do is get on each other’s nerves. We can hear them radiating through the walls, his voice low and grumbling, hers a high-pitched shriek.
“Should we knock on the door or something?” he asks.
“Nah. They never do anything to each other. They just like to yell.” I sip my scotch.
He strokes my thigh through the fabric of my jeans. “You really can hear everything through your walls, can’t you?” he says. He has that fucking look in his eyes. The one that says "I’m gonna get you in trouble."
“Uh huh.” I take another sip. “You want to fuck me, don’t you?”
He smiles one of those brilliant smiles, the kind that make my every last resistance disappear, and nods vigorously.
“You want to stick your cock in my ass and work it in and out real good, don’t you?”
“Mmm, yeah,” he growls.
“You want to make me scream, don’t you?”
“Oh, all the time,” he moans. He presses his hand to his chest and runs it down his stomach, between his legs. He massages his growing cock. “I love the way you scream.”
“You want everyone on my goddamn block to know I’m a fag, right?”
“Technically, aren’t you a fence-rider?” he asks, sipping his scotch.
“Doesn’t matter. Around here there’s only one kind of man who loves it in the ass.” I swirl the last of my scotch in my glass, and then toss it back. “You fuck me in the ass, and I’m gonna get funny looks in the hallway and brochures about Jesus slipped under my door for as long as I live here.”
I lick my lips, and I tell him, “You want in my ass, you’ve got to make it really count for me. You gotta make me cum so hard I lose my fucking mind.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Maybe it is.”
He puts his glass of scotch aside and reaches for me. We kiss. He does that little fluttery thing with his tongue that always sends shivers through me, and I open my mouth and let him inside.
About Alastair Anders
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Published October 22, 2012
Erotica, Gay & Lesbian, Literature & Fiction.