CHAPTER 3
Bradford
“How did you get here?” asks Bruno as we emerge from the pub.
“A bus and two trains. It’s a bit of a pain, but I’m an expert these days.” I’m feeling impatient. More than a little eager to get this man somewhere I can ravage his body. “Let’s just take a cab. I’ve got a taxi card, so I get them for half-price.” I glance over at Bruno, shrugging my shoulders. “Unfortunately, I had to be ninety percent blind in order to qualify for it.” I really don’t want to go into how much I’ve lost. I don’t want him to pity me in any way.
Stepping forward, I signal to a passing taxi. The driver slows down, then takes off again. I follow the cab with my eyes, noticing how it stops to pick up people further down the block.
“What the hell did he do that for?” Bruno is frowning.
“This happens sometimes. They have to take guide dogs, but some of them don’t want a bar of it.” I keep my voice even. It’s not worth getting upset over.
“Fuck that. Arsehole.” Bruno strides forward, flagging down another passing taxi. He doesn’t speak to the guy, just opens the back door and climbs in, then waves for Brendan and me to join him.
Whether the driver is pissed off or not, I don’t know. “Where to?” he calls over to us.
“Bondi, thanks.” I’m still standing at the open rear door with Brendan, and the driver leans across to adjust the front passenger seat as far forward as it will go. I breathe a sigh of relief—he’s clearly well-educated on right-of-access for blind people with service animals. After I’ve climbed into the back seat and shuffled across a bit, Brendan hops into the rear footwell like he’s been trained to do.
I’m now squished in the middle, but it’s perfect. I have no choice but to be pressed up against the warm, masculine body of the gorgeous bear to my right. As the taxi takes off down King Street, I feel Bruno’s hand slide into mine. This small gesture of intimacy softens my heart, and a rush of pure heat storms through my body.
“Bondi, eh? Fancy,” says Bruno. The warmth of his breath caresses my ear. The melodious tone of his low mumble resonates through my soul. God, I need more of this.
“It’s an old apartment in the bowels of Bondi. Really, I was incredibly lucky to get it.”
“How so?”
I take a breath, launching into the super-short version. “I was paying a fortune to rent a tiny studio in Bondi when I suddenly lost a ton more of my sight. My doctor got me onto Housing Pathways, and they quickly found one of their places. Apparently some elderly person had passed away, and I was considered a high priority.”
I’m embarrassed by this. Government housing is notoriously hard to get, and I’ve always felt like there were other people more needy than I was. At times like these I have to remind myself: I lost my sight. Just because I’ve adjusted and learnt how to cope, just because it’s been over five years and I’ve nearly forgotten what it was like to be ‘normal’—it doesn’t mean things are easy.
“That’s bloody fantastic,” says Bruno. I can’t hear any judgement in his voice. Maybe I’m being too paranoid about all of this. “Were you with your partner back then?”
“No, I met him a year or so afterwards. Before that, it was really hard. I was blinder than I am now and I had months before it improved a bit with more surgery. By the time Jarrod moved in about four years ago, I was a lot more independent. I didn’t need quite so many visits from support workers.”
“Must have been great having him around all the time to help.”
I try to stifle a snort, but I fail spectacularly. “Jarrod may have been a lot of fun, but if anything, I was the one looking after him. Domestic duties are not his forte.” I’m trying my best to sound lighthearted. Bruno doesn’t need to hear me whinge about my trials and tribulations. He doesn’t need to know that Jarrod hasn’t been paying his share of the rent—rent that was raised back when I told the Housing Commission someone else had moved in. He doesn’t need to hear how I’d be better off alone. I’ve been trapped in a relationship that’s continuing out of habit, vainly hoping for a return to the way things used to be, back when Jarrod loved me. But I can see now that that’s never going to happen. I hate myself for believing too long.
Things fall silent between Bruno and me. I begin to worry that I’ve lowered the mood, but I feel him squeeze my hand. His thumb starts to stroke along my knuckles again and I relax into his touch. Familiar music wafts into the rear of the cab. I lose myself in the eerie orchestration, the melancholy drama of the accompaniment.
“You know this?” Bruno’s voice sounds surprised as it buzzes near my right ear. I hadn’t realised I’d been humming along. I’ve been caught out in a candid moment.
“Yeah, Beethoven. Fidelio . I sang this role in a minor production in Germany.”
Bruno shifts slightly, turning towards me. “Really? You were an opera singer?”
I laugh quietly. Another thing I lost . “Only a small-time one. I did my music degree at the Conservatorium here. Sang professionally in the chorus at the Sydney Opera House from time to time. The odd principal role for small opera companies too. Then, when I’d saved up enough money, I spent a few seasons in Germany, singing in minor productions for modest performance fees.” I grin across at Bruno. “So I wasn’t exactly a star.”
“But you did it for a living! That’s so impressive!”
“Nah. I just got paid here and there from it. After my degree I also did my education diploma, so teaching music part-time was my bread and butter.”
“You were heldentenor ?” A voice sails across from the front seat of the cab. Our driver must have heard every word of our conversation.
“Well, I had the heavy tenor voice. It was easier to get work if you were loud.” I shouldn’t minimise my former skills, but I’ve always been bad at self-promotion.
“You sing! You sing for me!” The driver’s European accent is insistent.
“Nah, I’m very rusty.” I laugh, suddenly bashful.
“I want to hear!”
“Yeah! Go on, just a little bit?” Bruno squeezes my hand.
The aria playing on the stereo has moved well into the final section. Conceding defeat, I take a huge breath. The sound of my opera teacher’s voice rings in my ears: “Take the air right down to your balls!” Throwing caution to the wind, I launch into the closing lines of Beethoven’s masterpiece.
“Der führt mich zur Freiheit, zur Freiheit ins himmlische Reich,
Zur Freiheit, zur Freiheit ins himmlische Reich.”
“Wow, that’s incredible!” Bruno laughs, as whistles come from the front of the cab.
I guess the residual alcohol has liberated more than my sexual inhibitions. Despite no warm-up, my crunched-up sitting position, and my lack of technical and musical polish, I’ve managed to generate a large sound. “Thanks, fellas. It’s definitely not up to scratch, though. I’m lucky if I can afford to see my opera teacher once a month these days.”
“Jesus,” says Bruno. “I was about to bring up my amateur attempts at singing, but it’s nothing like that.”
“Really? Tell me more.” I’m fascinated to hear we have this in common.
“It’s not really worth mentioning, honestly. My dad always wanted me and my twin sister to sing. Mainly Italian songs.” I can see Bruno’s cute little blush making another resurgence. “I never turned out to be the Mario Lanza he hoped I’d be. Gabriela’s a lot better than I am. She just played the lead in Mamma Mia for Miranda Musical Society.”
“Really? That’s pretty damn impressive. They’ve gotta be the most competitive amateur company in Sydney.”
I’d prompt Bruno to sing a bit for me, but the taxi has now pulled up and I can spot my daggy sixties apartment building to the left of us. “Thank you for the performance!” the driver says, after I’ve put my taxi card through and paid for the remainder.
“No, no—thank you for listening.” I’m grateful for the validation. I feel better tonight than I have in ages.
Bruno and I stroll up the street a bit so Brendan can stretch his legs and do his business before bedtime. There’s a slight ocean breeze making its way through Bondi, tempering the worst of the steamy late January heat. I go through the motions with Brendan—finding a grassy area, removing his harness, then holding his leash as he dutifully circles around me, searching for exactly the right spot.
“My God, there’s such an art to it,” says Bruno.
“It’s all part of the routine. Brendan knows what's expected of him and exactly when it will happen.”
“What, like crap-on-demand?”
I erupt into loud laughter that turns into cackling as Brendan looks up at me in confusion. “Beats having him squat in the middle of the food court at Westfield.”
When Brendan is all taken care of, we head back to the apartment building. Passing by the bin, I ditch the offending doggie bag before leading Bruno inside and along the corridor to my front door. “Ground floor, eh?” he says. “That’s handy.”
“I know, right? And the back door of the apartment leads to the common area behind the building. Perfect for Brendan.”
“You have a garden?” says Bruno, following me through the narrow hallway entrance.
“Nah, just a concrete area with clotheslines and a strip of lawn. Nothing fancy here.” I wave towards the open bathroom door. “See? Handrails and open shower, courtesy of the previous tenant’s disabilities.” I lead Bruno through to the small lounge room. To the right of us is the main bedroom, but we won’t be going in there tonight. It just seems a bit weird. Open relationship or not, it’s a line I won’t cross. Plus, I have a sofa bed in the spare room. “Take a seat, Bruno. Can I get you a beer?”
“Thanks, but only if you’re drinking too,” he says, settling onto the couch.
I could definitely do with a boost of Dutch courage. Jarrod and I agreed to this extramarital arrangement well over a year ago. Really, it was just a technicality, because I knew he was already screwing other guys. To date, though, I’ve only exercised my freedom a scant few times, and never back here at my flat.
Brendan follows me to the laundry and I free him from his harness. He knows the drill and his thick tail swishes as I fill his bowl with dog biscuits. Then, I dash to the kitchen, grab a stubby of Cooper’s for Bruno, and rummage around in the top cupboard for my bottle of Bundy. The best thing about my penchant for dark rum is that my alcoholic boyfriend hates it and usually won’t touch it.
Back out in the living room, I furnish Bruno with his beer and place my oversized tumbler on the coffee table. Then, I pause for a moment so I can lose myself once more in Bruno’s dark puppy-dog eyes. God, he’s so bloody beautiful. “Are you gonna be right if I leave you here for a few minutes?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m fine.” Bruno smiles up at me. I can tell what he’s thinking. Time to go and wash down there. But there’s no need, I’m primped and preened already. I knew what I wanted tonight.
Instead of taking off to the bathroom, I pass by the linen cupboard near the laundry and stock up. Then, I head to the spare room and switch on the portable air conditioner. Given how stuffy and warm it is in here tonight, I know we’re gonna need it. After that, I set up the sofa bed. It’s no rickety grandma fold-out—it’s a super-comfortable upmarket number that I got for a bargain. I throw on the sheets and blankets, then stand back and admire my handiwork. It’ll do. It’s not nearly as big as the queen-sized ensemble that Jarrod and I sleep on in the main bedroom, but I kinda like the thought of forced proximity with Bruno. I have high hopes for a long and drawn-out cuddle session.
The last thing I do is take two hand towels and tuck them under the edge of the sofa bed. Shutting the door to the spare room behind me, I pass by the lounge room sound system, firing it up to resume the renaissance playlist I’d had on before I went out tonight.
As I grab my drink and take a seat next to Bruno, I suddenly feel inhibited. It’s silly—we’ve already had a comprehensive make-out session in the men’s toilets and a cosy cab ride home, but now we’ve broken the rhythm. This change of scenery has me feeling like I need to start all over again for some reason.
“Is this more opera?” asks Bruno.
“Uh, it’s a motet,” I answer, snapping out of my wandering thoughts. I catch Bruno’s inquisitive expression. “A choral piece, kind of like a song with multiple vocal parts.” I don’t like to ramble on about these things to people who aren’t students. For all I know, Bruno might just be feigning polite interest, but he seems attentive. “It’s from 1603. Ave Dulcissima Maria by Carlo Gesualdo.”
“That all sounds very cultured and elegant.” Bruno grins, and the light dances across the surface of his eyes.
His description makes me snicker. “He was a bad man, by all accounts. An Italian prince who murdered his wife and got away with it because of his social status. But musically, he was a genius. Hundreds of years ahead of his time.”
“It’s beautiful,” mumbles Bruno. “So soothing.” He relaxes back, taking a swig of his beer and closing his eyes. I wonder if he’s nervous like me. We sit there for a while, letting the angelic sounds wash over us. Between the alcohol and the music, I’m starting to ease into the moment again.
I smile as I watch Brendan quietly pad back into the room, lie down on his bed in the corner, and start hoeing into his favourite chew toy. He’s so attentive, so in tune with me, it’s like he can sense that he needs to keep a low profile.
Bruno makes the next furtive move, sliding his fingers over to interlock with mine. It’s the precise segue I needed. Ditching my now-empty glass, I pull his hand to my mouth and place a line of soft kisses over the back of it. The skin is warm and the hair covering it dances across my nose and moustache. My response pays off and Bruno leans forward suddenly, locking his lips with mine. It’s a much more gentle prelude than the one we’d enjoyed in the toilets at the pub. His voice hums as he moves, his mouth softly nipping away at me. Our moustaches brush together as our noses nudge side-by-side. The combined heat of our skin lingers in the air, driving the urgency inside me up another notch. I clasp my hand to the back of his head and we begin to move faster. He’s kissing my cheek, moving further back towards my neck. As his humid breath wafts across my ear, I begin to moan. At once, his strong arms are around me, clutching me tight in a secure embrace. His gentle kisses rain down behind my ear, then trail along my neck. A rush of energy climbs its way up to my scalp, ripples of heat that reverberate through every hair follicle. His tongue traces my throat and I let out a small cry. This kind of sensuality is something I’m not accustomed to. I can’t believe I’ve gone through so many years without it.
“Oh, God,” he whispers. The shaking in his voice, the potent sense of passion in his tone unleashes something wild inside me and I clamber onto his lap, my knees straddling his hips. I launch myself at his lips again, delving my tongue in deep, fighting with him in a burst of desperate need. My hands clutch at his neck, his shoulders, the back of his head, as I battle to get further into his mouth. Bruno grips me tight, his fingers kneading at my back, one hand working its way down till it slips under the waistband of my shorts. I feel his fingers travelling hastily along my bare arse crack and my groans hurtle into a sudden crescendo.
My rampant lust is spiralling out of control. Our faces are so profoundly entwined that I don’t ever want to let go. Bruno kisses with such intensity, it’s like his whole mouth is dying to own me. Our tongues are thrusting, tasting, swallowing, our grunts are coming at a rate of knots, our arms are grabbing at each other in a frenzy. Somehow, one of his fingers has found its way to my arsehole. It’s pressing eagerly, working its way just inside. My entire body tenses. I can no longer restrain the urge to move into the second act.
“Jesus!” I moan, tearing myself away from Bruno’s lips. “Let’s go.” No further explanation is needed as I shuffle off his lap and drag him towards the spare bedroom. After shutting and locking the door behind us, we find ourselves in a mad scramble to try and undress. I stagger around, unzipping my work boots while I watch Bruno fairly flinging his t-shirt over his head. I can’t get rid of the bloody steel-caps fast enough, stumbling as I prise them off at the heel, immediately followed by my footy socks. With one manic shove, my running shorts and jockstrap are down at my ankles and I kick them to oblivion. The very last thing I do is rip off my t-shirt before I allow myself to look at Bruno again.
Taking a small step back, I ogle him in wide-eyed wonderment. He’s absolutely breathtaking. A searing vision of naked, bearish beauty. Bruno is the perfect mix of broad stockiness and cuddly curves. I advance towards him as if I’m hovering on a cloud. That first touch is pure magic. The softness of the forest on his chest, the tactile delight my fingers experience as they move through it—I’m breathless all over again. Bruno’s hand roams my pectoral, brushing my nipple as I whine openly. Over and over my dick flexes, consumed by an ache so sublimely intense it's like I’m about to come already.
This is the eye of the storm for us. Sliding his arms around me, Bruno kisses me gently on the lips and we move in tandem towards the sofa bed. It’s still a bit warm in here, so I throw back the covers. Bruno climbs onto the mattress, holding his hand out to guide me down beside him.
I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed snuggling up to a man this much. I can recall one or two wonderful instances when I was a lot younger, and they’ve lodged themselves in my memory firmly enough that the feelings are now rushing back to me. But there’s something about the way this man is touching me that blows those other men out of the water. His hands traverse the fur on my torso with such reverence. His dark eyes stare deeply into mine, a concentrated mass of tender yearning. I could just about drown.
My fingers trace the lower curve of his belly, raking softly through the hair above his cock till I feel the warmth of his shaft against the back of my hand. It’s standing at attention silently, waiting for me. And it’s bloody magnificent. I don’t grasp it; I stroke my fingers along the length, till the tip of my pointer lands on the puckered end of his foreskin. The opulent hood is still in place, covering the prize underneath. I trace the edge of it, the tiny folds and furrows just detectable under the pad of my finger. I’m savouring this discovery. Bruno breathes heavily when, at long last, my hand closes around his substantial girth. I’m fascinated at this throbbing warmth I’m holding. I can’t wait to find out all the wonderful things it can do.
I know how to work a dick like Bruno’s. Slowly, I begin to move his foreskin up and down, letting the underside of my index finger brush against the back of his unsheathed knob each time. Bruno shudders and moans, and I’m well aware this is my cue to increase the pressure slightly. I can feel the lower ridge of his knob through the rolling hood, and I bump the curve of my fingers over it every time my hand goes up and down. “Oh, man,” Bruno pants. “You’re so good at this.”
His warm fist wraps around my own shaft and begins to mirror the movements I’m making on his dick. “I don’t have a foreskin, so you’re gonna need some kind of lube with mine,” I whisper.
“Oh, sorry, of course. And what about this?” He tickles his finger over the rear of my knob, jiggling the Prince Albert ring and making me squirm with pleasure.
“Best thing I ever did. I had to change my… erm… wanking technique, but it adds this extra come-blasting dimension.”
This clearly amuses Bruno, who laughs as he brushes his hand lightly up and down over my knob, driving me crazy as his fingers strum against the titanium jewellery. “Well, it seems kinda weird asking for instruction on something we’ve been doing since we were twelve, but maybe you’ll fill me in on this technique?” Bruno’s face is right next to mine and his playfully-raised eyebrow makes me snort with stifled laughter. It’s probably not the right thing to be doing in the heat of passion, but I love how comfortable we seem to be with each other.
“Um… just kinda come at it from underneath while you’re stroking. Nothing to it, really.”
“Well, I want a taste of this dick of yours first, and I’m not keen on a mouthful of lube.” In no time at all, Bruno’s flipped over to lie in the opposite direction and my cock is submerged in the wet heat of his mouth. His tongue swishes all around my glans, frantically teasing the piercing, making it twist and turn and set off the nerve endings inside. When my heavy panting turns into stifled moans, he sinks down further onto my shaft, taking every inch of me into his mouth, then sliding back up to once again lavish my knob with every blessed movement he can muster. My back arches in ecstasy, my arse clenches, my balls draw up tight. I need to amplify this. My fingers move up to stroke my nipples. Somehow, I’ve begun to cry out. He’s incredible. Nobody has ever blown me with this kind of skill. Nobody has ever sucked me off till I’ve come, but I could see it happening right now. A sudden surge of pleasure has my hips thrusting upwards. At the same time a moist finger finds its way into my arsehole and I practically wail.
With lightning speed, Bruno leans over me, pushing my legs right up and burying his tongue where his finger has just been. Jesus Christ, I can barely remember the last time someone rimmed me. Jarrod’s certainly never been into it, despite how much I love it. My rampant groans are tempered only when I turn sideways and see Bruno’s fat prick just inches away. Reaching underneath him and grabbing his hips, I hoist him over me into a sixty-nine. Instantly, my mouth is filled with his colossal member. I work back his foreskin and feast on the flavour of him. He’s bloody delicious. His knob is thick and firm as it drags up and down against my tongue. I start to suck and swallow and thrash around, devouring him with all my might.
Everything about this is glorious. A tongue is being thrust deep inside my arsehole and I’m gorging myself on the most heavenly dick I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting. I’m starting to feel giddy. I slide my hands up the back of Bruno’s thighs and discover heavy, hairy balls. Oh God, I need some of these too.
Bruno’s penis springs free of my mouth as I push upwards on his butt cheeks. Pulling him back down towards me, I shift my face up and bury my nose in his manly crown jewels. Bruno is well-showered, I can tell. But his musk is there in spades. It’s sending me completely feral. I slather my nostrils all over his scrotum, drawing in as much of his scent as I can. My tongue follows suit, tracing around each big, beefy testicle. A large vibration rocks against my arsehole as Bruno groans. Oh? Have I discovered something special here? I repeat my move, dying for an encore. I want to hear him bellow. I want to feel his tongue thrum deep inside my anus again. Bugger me, this is pleasure overload.
As Bruno’s second vocal vibration strafes my sphincter, I run my hands inwards across his arse cheeks and straight into his furry crack. One of my thumbs lands smack-bang on his perfectly-puckered little quoit. I stroke up and down over it, desperate to discover every detail. Now, I’m bloody ravenous .
Craning my neck up as far as possible, I clutch onto his buttocks and pull them apart. I need to eat Bruno’s beautiful arse in the worst way. I’m trying my utmost, but he’s so much taller than I am. The best I can manage is to slather my tongue over his taint while my nose is pressed against his hole. His masculine aroma storms into my nostrils, driving my libido through the roof. “Turn over!” I gasp.
Bruno hears the urgency in my voice and his tongue vacates my arse immediately. Scuttling out from beneath him, I push him down onto his stomach. There, in all its hirsute naked glory, is that sexy butt I’d lusted after back at the bar. “Big fat arse”, my Aunt Fanny. Sure, it’s beautifully cheeky and chubby, but it’s also rock solid with muscle under that padding—a prime picture of bearish grandeur. Straight away, I shuffle into position, sinking my face inside. I am engulfed in manly bliss. I breathe deep, rewarded with another heady pheromone rush. Oh, my God. Heaven. I can’t hold out. My tongue gets to work straight away, licking hard at his succulent pucker, getting it nice and wet as I salivate at the sapid taste. I’m pushing inside his hole as fast as he did with mine. I just can’t get enough. I’m growling, losing control. My fingers join the exploration, sinking into hot, velvety depths, massaging against his tight ring of muscle. “Fuuuuuck!” Bruno wails.
As I diligently pump my digits into him, loosening him up, I recall what he told me at the bar tonight:
“I don’t even get a look-in, because the second I’m naked with a guy, their legs are straight up in the air.”
Well, now he’s met me. He hasn’t seen what I’m capable of. I scurry up his body, lying on top of him and leaning forwards to rummage in the small chest of drawers next to the sofa bed. I know there are supplies in here. I’m pulling things out and plonking them on top of the drawers, groping around for the condoms. Finally, I locate a strip.
“Um, I’m happy to use those if you want,” Bruno’s voice calls out from beneath me. He reaches across and picks up something I’ve tossed onto the top of the drawers. “But if we’re both on this…”
He’s holding my bottle of PrEP, the one I hide from my thieving partner. I’m certainly not bankrolling Jarrod’s extramarital lifestyle.
My erectile muscles tense hard. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m a good boy and get all my tests done.”
“Me too.” Well, plus the fact I’m a homebody who rarely has sex these days. I wiggle my flexing erection against his wet, well-fingered hole. “You do feel amazing like this.”
Bruno laughs as I push a little more firmly. His anus is starting to open up. He squirms a bit and thrusts his arse upwards just as I apply even more pressure. Suddenly, my knob is inching into his hole. It looks like I’ve done so well in getting him ready that we don’t even need lube. Further and further I sink. The moist warmth envelops my cock. The metal ring in my piercing rubs inside my shaft as it presses deep up Bruno’s arse. I’m plunged into white-hot nirvana and I’m absolutely lost for words.
Bruno’s moans morph into whimpers when I start to thrust in earnest. My arms are braced on the bed, my knees are pushed against his widely-spread legs, and my abdomen is jammed against his furry butt cheeks. With this great big bear beneath me, his soft cries coming in a steady stream, and the searing sensation of being buried in his most personal place, I don’t think I have ever enjoyed topping a man so much.
“Jesus Christ ,” Bruno groans. “I swear I can feel that ring grinding right into my fuckin’ g-spot.”
Keen to pick up momentum, I lean forwards and wrap my arms around him, plastering my nose and lips against his shoulder blade. He’s such a man. The smattering of fur lining his back makes my cock flex even harder as I pump more forcefully into his arse. I clutch him tightly, breathing him in deep, rocking my hips up and down. I’m giving him exactly what he craves. This thought spurs me along even more.
My excitement shoots skyward as I feel his hips raise off the bed. I lift myself up again and notice that he’s snaked a hand underneath himself. It’s shuffling hard on his cock—I can see the frenetic movement in his arm, I can hear the brushing sound against the sheets. Bruno’s vocalising grows louder as I pound him into submission. I’m going to make him come. I’m going to send him to the goddamn moon and back.
My head is in a whirl. I wonder whether I can orgasm at the same time as him. It certainly seems like it’s possible. My God, he feels so —
“Stop!” Bruno gasps, wriggling out from under me. “I’m not gonna be happy unless you get a turn with my dick.” His face comes close to mine. It’s flushed, it’s euphoric, and it means business. Bruno pushes me down onto my back and clambers between my legs, shoving them right up in the air. “Jesus, this mancunt of yours is so fucking hot, ” he growls.
I kinda love his dirty words. They don’t come so naturally to my own lips, but it’s like I’ve ignited some kind of filthy fire in him and he can’t restrain himself. One of his fingers is already rubbing against my anus, insistently working its way inside. As he probes, Bruno reaches across to the bedside table and grabs the bottle of baby oil I’ve plonked on there. I’m glad he’s doing this. I doubt I could take his fat penis with just spit and fingering. I feel a large slippery stream hit my taint, then a flurry of digits begin rubbing it into my pucker. A couple of these fingers thrust straight inside me, seeking out my prostate. My moan turns to a roar as another moist hand grips my cock and begins to slide up and down over my knob, bumping into the PA as it goes.
“Just hold on a moment,” whispers Bruno. “I’m gonna make it even better.” His fingers slide out of my hole and a big, thick knob presses on it. I counter his move, pushing my sphincter out against his cock while I look up into his eyes. His salacious grin verges on evil. I feel a wonderful stroking sensation on my dick and realise he’s still holding onto it. His surprise distraction does the trick and the tip of his cock is suddenly inside me. In quick, tiny thrusts he advances into my arse, watching the expression on my face with each move. I’m amazed. I’m stretched to oblivion but it doesn’t hurt. It’s unbelievable. He’s managed to get that massive dick right up me with exquisite technique.
I can’t even contain my whines as he begins to drive slowly and steadily in and out of my hole. I could cry, it’s that good. And when his hand starts sliding up and down over my knob again, I know it’s all getting past the point of no return. I’d almost reached a monumental climax when I’d been pounding his beautiful arse. Now, I’m arriving way too fast.
Should I stop him?
Jesus, no! Are you mad?
My eyes roll back as my body begins to stiffen. Suddenly, Bruno’s stomach presses against me and my right nipple is sucked into his mouth. As soon as his tongue starts to swish over it, I bellow. I can’t even tell him that I’m coming. I’m too busy hollering at the top of my lungs, giving in to the delicious agony in my arse, my balls, my cock, as an almighty tension seizes me. I'm lingering at the apex for an eternity. Tension gives way to a mind-bending explosion, and the sweetest pain of all rocks me to the core. My prostate goes into overdrive and I feel every spurt of come projecting out of me, punctuated by Bruno’s tongue bombarding my nipple, his hand squishing over the end of my dick, his cock ramming up my back passage. The holy trinity of orgasms.
I’m dizzy with euphoria. I gaze up at Bruno, who grins back down at me. Without a word, he pulls out of my well-sated rear end, climbs over me and sinks my residual erection straight back into his arsehole. He’s straddling me frog-style, jerking fast on his cock, panting as he thrusts his hips back and forth. I watch his face as it morphs into a pained state of bliss. “Nnnnnnnnngh!” he groans, bouncing hard as his hand slows down on his penis and thick jets of spunk begin to skim across my torso. His anus squeezes my dick with every shot as he rubs out his orgasm. His body continues to jolt in the aftermath, shocked by the intensity of it all. It’s a marvel watching this man at the peak of his pleasure. Truly breathtaking.
Bruno closes his eyes, releasing a long breath with a serene smile on his face. I’m immensely proud that I played a pivotal role in making him feel this way. He’s certainly just sent me to places I’ve never been before. Leaning forward, he lets my still-firm cock slip from the warmth of his arse. “That was fucking incredible ,” he chuckles.
“Absolutely, Bru.” I’m grinning like a total dork. I want to gush and tell him it’s the best sex I’ve ever had, but there’s no way I’m gonna embarrass myself like that. Instead, I focus on just how much come is painted all over my chest and stomach. Rummaging on the floor under the sofa bed, I locate my strategically-placed hand towels and pass one to Bruno. After rubbing it all over his cock and balls, he reaches behind himself and grinds it up and down inside his arse crack, smiling at me the whole time. It’s such a divine spectacle that I barely pay attention to my own clean-up efforts.
Once I’ve thrown both towels over near the door, Bruno lies down and scooches in against me. I purr with contentment as he nuzzles my neck, his hand sliding across my chest. Maybe if I don’t move, he’ll stay right here like this all night.
I’m not an idiot, I’m well aware our intimacy isn’t real. He’s just a nice man. Insanely good in bed. Sensual and tactile and gorgeous as hell. But we don’t really know each other. We have our own lives, our own baggage. Right now, though, I want to pretend. I want to imagine that all these good things I’m feeling are here to stay. Reality can bugger off. I need this little glimmer of happiness.