Lover Boys Forever (23 page)

“
It’s breathtaking.”

“
I want you.” I caressed his abdomen still warm from all the sun he had taken and pushed the tips of my fingers into his speedo, enough to feel his humid pubes.

“
Stop it. He’s coming back!”

“
So what ...”

We heard the Austrian
’s heavy steps up the stairs and stopped immediately. He came back with a bottle of vodka and every kind of juice.

“
Would you like the lights on?”

“
It’s beautiful like this, thanks.”

He positioned the tray on the table in front of the couch
where we were sitting, and in doing so, he got so close to my right knee that it ended up an inch away from his crotch. I had my feet on the table. My blood was already all up in my head and down in my pants, and in a second of folly, instead of moving my leg away, I delicately pushed my knee into his pants, until I hit his leg first and then, while he was pouring the vodka and the juice into the glasses, his huge bulge. He didn’t move away, but continued to pour, and the flowing of liquids inspiring me even more, I slowly started to rub his balls. Still nothing. Only one glass left to go. I pushed further to make sure he understood it wasn’t a mistake and put my hand behind his knee, distractedly. With my fingertips, I caressed the back of his leg, and then I finally felt his hard cock pushing against my knee. At that point, sure he liked our game, I grabbed his balls and cock with my hand, and I squeezed so much that he poured some juice out of the glass and on his hand. Kootcho blocked his arm midair and sucked the cranberry juice off his fingers, one by one.

“
You are so fucking hot.” I told him, and he started to smile.

We pulled him down on the couch and started kissing him on both sides. I pressed my lips against the scratchy beard that was slowly coming back
, and Kootcho teased his ear, then we met on his lips and had our first three way kiss. He emitted the sexiest groans, as if he hadn’t had sex in ages, or ever in his life, and buried his hands in our still wet shorts. I sighed deeply when he dipped his powerful middle finger into my asshole while with the rest of his hand squeezed my butt cheeks. I could taste the coffee he was drinking behind his desk down my throat, and watching the rhythmic movement of his hand up Kootcho’s ass made the same treatment reserved to me even more irresistible. My only worry was how he was gonna fuck us both at the same time.

He took his jacket off while Kootcho unbuttoned his shirt
, and I undid his pants, our breathing and the tropical birds in the back the only noises on the terrace. I unearthed a huge cut cock from his pants and inserted it in my mouth right away, not resisting another second to the pleasure of sucking that big boy. Kootcho took his speedo off and sat his ass on Mario’s open mouth, feeding him like a famished baby. He took big mouthfuls of that offer and, when he could, pushed my head down on his dick making me feel it in my neck. At that point, I decided to take the initiative and spread my legs over his crotch, wetting my asshole with the thick pineapple juice he’d brought until he stroked my arm and pulled it away, finishing the work I had started, never neglecting the ass in his mouth. I sat on his obelisk, and after the first resistance, I took it in, altogether, happy only when I felt I was squashing his balls. He rode me with no manners, thrusting his hips inside of me and forcing me to hold on to his petrified chest in order not to fall off that pleasure machine. Once I got the rhythm, I joined him in Kootcho’s ass and shared with him the juice, the salt and the sand that was trapped in the delicate folds of his skin. We exchanged ass, sand and saliva, and he never stopped pumping me.

“
I wanna fuck this ass, too.” He moaned into Kootcho’s groin, and he spanked me to signal to me my dose was finished.

“
Fuck me, Mario, please, fuck me as hard as you can,” implored Kootcho.

I was still hungry
, and as he entered the hole and started injecting Austrian energy into my boyfriend, I felt the urge to be in there with them, and I made my way.

“
I wanna fuck you, too, Kootcho.”

Our arms were intertwined
, and in that nest of flesh, I attempted my crusade. I pushed my dick in between Mario’s hard stick and Kootcho’s already dilated fun door. With extreme patience, we managed to fit and performed what I considered the best fuck of my life for a long time. Our cocks were synchronized inside Kootcho’s ass, and my balls kept banging on Mario’s hardened testicles with every thrust. Kootcho couldn’t resist the pressure inside anymore, and he came three consecutive times without even touching himself, forming a warm river that went down on Mario’s chest and abdomen. Then Mario clutched with both his hands my ass and caused me to flood Kootcho’s back, who in the meantime had lain down on him. Finally, it was the Austrian’s turn. He extracted his sword from our lover’s ass and positioned us both on the couch, like conquered preys. He stood in front of us in all his genuine power, cupping with his left hand his swollen sack and stroking his dark red head with his right until he shot his boiling juice on our faces and our chests, filling our mouths more than once.

All courtesy of the hotel.

That night was only the beginning though. The day after, we engraved bracelets with the letters:
“KXM,” which stand for Kootcho, Xavier and Mario. We discovered the sex we could share didn’t have an end, and the love that came out of that made us feel even more complete. We all live in New York now, and our two-year poly-amorous relationship is strong and invincible. We even play with a fourth every once in a while!

R. W. Clinger resides in Pittsburgh. He writes for STARbooks Press
, and his naughty man-tales can be found in their numerous compilations. He can be reached by e-mail at
[email protected]
.

“You cute little bastard, get over here and kiss my face,” Cooper “Coop” Diller said, winking at me and glinted with a smile. He was seated behind his laptop, half-concealed by the device, working. I could still make out his hairy chest, a perky nipple, and one or two of his perfectly sculpted abs. Coop was into taking care of his body, which meant he worked out about five times a week, ate a lot of vegetables, and obtained his eight required hours of sleep. Never had I seen an inner tube of fatty tissue around his middle.

“
I want to kiss your cock instead of your face, if you want to know the truth.”

Coop liked sex but not at our office. He shook his head and claimed in a playful manner,
“I don’t do dick.”

“
Yeah, right. Then how come you do my dick?”

“
I rather like your dick, Mark.”

“
Good answer, guy,” I replied and shared a laugh.

The air conditioner in the office of Our Bad Bromance was on the fritz
, and we were both shirtless because of the impossible heat. If it were any day but Saturday, we would have toughed the heat, since the office had about thirty workers. Coop was certainly not the type of man to flaunt his good looks at our employees. In truth, both of us liked to be professional, and that’s how we ran our business.

When the staff was away, though, we played. But not on that Saturday, unfortunately. In brief, Our Bad Bromance was a dating
website for queers, which we established seven years ago. To date, we had almost three million clients worldwide. Each paid a monthly fee to use the site, which paid the bills and our thirty employees, including insurance plans. The reason we were working a Saturday was simple: we needed to update the website’s services. By Monday morning, we wanted Our Bad Bromance site to be brighter, sexier, and beefed up with better security. Of course, we could accomplish our goal if Cooper and I stopped flirting with each other.

When did the hot guy across the room become my boyfriend? Since we were young bait in a Pittsburgh high school along one of the city
’s three rivers. Since Mr. DeBoir’s gym glass and we had to climb that fifty foot rope to the gymnasium’s ceiling. Since that sleepover when were eighteen and on the roof of his house, outside his bedroom window. Since sleepy-time in kindergarten. Since our mothers had us in strollers on Birch Street in Gibsonia, a suburb of Pittsburgh.

I studied his sexiness again, consuming it with lavish pleasure: six
-two frame, 210 pounds of chiseled meat, chestnut brown hair, pool-blue eyes, a beefy hairy chest that was beautifully sculpted, and a puckered navel that I always liked to dip my nose into and give a good whiff. Coop was forty-two now. No longer a boy. More like a solid man who was completely mature. Once a lover boy and now my husband, who I immensely adored and wholly loved.

“
Don’t even give me that look, Markus Blue.” He eyed me from head to toe, taking in my good looks: 180 pounds and suggestively fit at forty-two, five-eleven structure, smooth and freshly waxed chest, ab-lined stomach, blond hair, emerald green eyes, tiny crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes, narrow treasure trail the color of honey, which fell into my tight khakis.

“
What look is that?”

“
A look that clearly states that you want to remove your jeans and take a ride on my middle.”

I admit … I craved his nine
-inch cut dong and how he indisputably (and rather roughly) used it on my bottom. Some queer men had a fondness for inflated rod and liked a good ride. I just happened to be one of those men, and Coop knew that.

“
Who said I wanted to sink on your cock?”

“
Trust me, we’ve been in our bad bromance for some years now, and I just know when you want a ride.”

The irony of his comment was rather elementary: we didn
’t have a bad bromance together. In fact, our love affair with each other was almost three decades old and the complete opposite of bad. We never fought, never failed to run out of things to talk about, and never carried out affairs on each other. The sex between us was still XXX stuff, if the truth be told. I’m talking about Titanman, Chaos and Falcon naughty. I’m talking about the dirty games we would play together called Jock & Coach, Bad Cop & Burglar, Professor & Student, Master & Servant, Hustler & Client, and Hitchhiker & Driver. And even more naughty sex games: Shave Me, Tie Me Up, Spank My Bottom, Choker, and You’ve Been s Very Bad Bad Boy. Bottom line: no, our bromance wasn’t bad at all, even with all the rough play. It was the bomb. The best. I couldn’t have asked for better.

“
There’s no time to play with your crank, Mark.”

Whatever. I relaxed in my office chair, spread my legs ever so slightly, unzipped my khakis, discovered no Aussiebums, Rufskins, or a cotton C
-IN2, and pulled out my cut, eight-inch toy that he loved to play with like a little kid, or a dog with its bone. The power of a cock was unbelievable; both of us knew that. The poker was already hard between my legs, and I shook it to and fro like a flag, teasing him. “Coop, why don’t you humor me by getting on your knees and eating this slammer?”

“
I wouldn’t dare. That thing has been around the block. Put it away.”

I gave the beef a stroke … two strokes … three strokes … and felt a sting of euphoria shift northward through its length. Then a pearl
-white bubble of ooze surfaced at its reddish, mushroom-shaped cap, which I removed with two fingertips and licked away with my outstretched tongue and endless hunger.

My sidekick adjusted himself. Obviously
, he had grown a boner in his denim, which was a total turn-on for me. Sweat gathered on his forehead, shoulders, and hairy chest. He gulped saliva down the back of his throat and admitted, “You have me. Now what?”

“
You don’t give me many options.”

“
That’s bullshit, Mark. I give you plenty of options the way you use me up like a whore.”

“
Just remember, you’re the most attractive and sweetest whore on the planet.”

He rubbed his denim
-covered dick again and said, “Save it, pal. Don’t shoot your cream. I want to play a sex game with you tonight after we accomplish this work.”

I was surprised by his request, stopped jacking the beef at my center, and inquired with interest,
“What kind of game are you talking about?”

“
Find a Flag.”

I laughed, raising an eyebrow at him.
“Don’t you mean Find a Fag?”

“
I call it Flag and you call it Fag. It’s the same thing no matter how you suck on it.”

“
Who cares what we call it. Both of us know it’s a great game, which we haven’t played for a very long time.”

He agreed, grinning from ear to ear.

To play Find a Flag was every married guy’s dream. Coop and I dressed up for a night on the town of bar-hopping. We usually went to The London Boy Bar, Brawny’s, or Mechanical Interests. Together, we scouted a male patron who turned the both of us on. We bought the guy drinks. We danced the night away with him. Then we asked if we could bring him back to our apartment in the city, to which he always agreed.

Our pick was usually always the same: a redhead with shimmering green eyes, six
-one frame, a beefy chest and arms, and was preferably a bottom. The man was always in his early twenties, innocent looking, and wasn’t afraid of us.

What we did with him in our apartment was naughty by nature. Coop and I took turns banging the guy
’s throat with our tools. Then we blasted his ass for an hour or more. Safe sex was important to us so we always wore condoms. And after the dude was kicked out of our apartment, we showered. Never did we get his full name, address, cell number, or where he lived. Coop and I really didn’t give a shit about those details. The man was simply a tool for us, pleasure discovered in our long-term relationship. A fag (or flag) that was found, used up, and nothing more.

“
Don’t even think of backing out of the game tonight now that you mentioned it,” I scolded my lover. “I know how you work. You labor over the site all day, eat Chinese for dinner, and fall asleep.”

“
I do not.”

“
You do,” I nagged, placing my cock away for the time being. “Don’t get me all excited about something that isn’t going to transpire tonight.”

“
We’ll do it. I won’t back out.”

“
Promise me, Coop.”

“
Cross my heart.”

I held him to his word. He was caught, like always. Game on.