The Secret Tunnel (9 page)

“These English laws…
Barbares
…”

“That may be, but unless you have time to lobby Parliament for a very rapid piece of legislation, I’m afraid you’re going to have to accompany me to the bathroom. If you want this, that is.” I grabbed his hand and brought it to my fly.

“Yes,” said Bertrand, ever the pragmatist. “This I want very much.”

“So come on.”

This time, thank God, the bathroom was free, and we locked ourselves in. The wind was howling outside, and it was practically dark; snow and sleet rattled on the windows. But we did not care about the weather. The moment the door was locked, I pulled Bertrand toward me, leaned down, and kissed him on the mouth. His lips parted, and my tongue forged ahead.

After so long a delay, I was ready to devour Bertrand. My lust was so extreme that I could barely contain myself: I wanted to fuck his mouth, fuck his ass, kiss him, lick him, and bite him all at the same time. I wanted two dicks, two mouths, and at least three pairs of hands for all that I had in mind. But when I opened my eyes and saw him staring up at me with what can only be described as devotion, I tempered my fury. The door was locked; we had a little time. If anyone else wanted to get in, that was their bad luck. They could piss second class, for once.

We continued to kiss, tasting the coffee and the wine that we had recently drunk, tasting each other. I cupped the back of Bertrand’s head with my hand, rubbing his short brown hair, massaging the tendons in his neck. With my other hand, I squeezed his buttocks; they were firm and full, just how I like them. I remembered how hairy he was down there, how his ass lips sucked on Dickinson’s finger, and thought how good my dick would look in the same place.

I broke the kiss.

“I want to fuck you, Bertrand.”

His mouth hung open, wet with spit. His face was so trusting, so open, it almost seemed a shame to be using him in this way. Were it not for the fact that he clearly wanted my dick inside him as much as I wanted to put it there, I might have hesitated. Might.

“First, I will suck you.” I’m not sure whether this direct statement was just the European way, or if his English was inadequate to express anything more complicated, but in any case he dropped to his knees and started unbuttoning my fly. I helped him by unbuckling my belt and pulling out my shirttail. I was as hard as could be inside my underpants; the fabric was stretched to its full extent. As soon as the bulge was exposed, Bertrand pressed his face into it, rubbing it all over his cheeks, running up and down the length of my cock with his lips. I put both hands on his head, caressing him, pulling him into me.

It was not long before the cotton barrier was too much for him, and he broke away, looking up to me to make the next move. I pulled my pants and underpants down, and my cock sprang free. After such a long and unwelcome confinement, it seemed to jump for joy.

“Oh, Mitch…”

“There it is, Bertie. All yours.”

“It’s so big…”

I never tire of being told that my dick is big; what man would? In truth, it is not a real monster, and there was at least one bigger on this train—Dickinson’s. But it was big enough, bigger than Bertrand’s, for instance, and to his eyes, and from that angle, it must have looked enormous.

“Can you take it?”

He said nothing, but smothered my cock in kisses, up and down the shaft, over the head, underneath and down to the balls. He squeezed it, weighed it in his hands, measured
the girth with his fingers. He was clearly delighted with me, and I with him.

“Now open your mouth and suck me. I want to see your lips stretched around it.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. His pretty mouth opened, and his pink tongue protruded a little, as a kind of welcome mat. I let the head of my cock rest on that warm, wet platform for a moment, and then moved forward. His lips closed around me and I was in.

Oh, his mouth felt good! Like plunging into a cool pool on a hot day, or a warm bath on a cold day. It felt like coming home tired from work, like a pint of beer after a long trip, like a feather bed after a night out. My dick got harder, thicker, and his lips opened in a larger
O
around me. I rubbed his ears and pulled him further down. He gagged a little—I let him come up for breath—but then, like the cocksucker he clearly was, he went straight down again.

My head was starting to spin, and I wanted more, more, more. I stuck a foot into Bertrand’s crotch and started roughly pushing at his cock; he got the message, and undressed himself in that quarter. I could see his thick, stubby little dick jutting straight out from a thick bush of hair, and I wanted to feel it too. Fortunately, this being a first-class facility, there was a sizable marble surface around the washbasin, large enough for a man of Bertrand’s dimensions to lie on, if not fully stretched out.

“Get up.”

He got to his feet, reluctantly.

“Strip.”

He took off his jacket, and I pulled the shirt over his head. His torso was stocky, sturdy, a little fleshy, but not unpleasantly so. From his chest downward, he was hairy.

“Jump up here.” I patted the marble surround.

“Oof! It is cold!” He sat, naked except for his shoes and socks, his pants and underpants bunched around his ankles,
and we kissed again. I grabbed his cock, which was even harder than mine, and started gently jerking him.

“Ohhhh…” he sighed. “That is good.”

“Now suck me again.”

I positioned myself against the wall, so he could recline awkwardly and get his head down to cock level. Soon I was fucking his mouth, but now I was able to caress his hairy body and play with his hard cock and tight little balls. It would not take much to make him come, and I enjoyed keeping him on the threshold, withholding release.

I spat on a finger, and worked my way around to his ass; he obligingly crooked his upper leg to give me greater access. His hole yielded easily, and he felt just as warm and welcoming at that end as he did around my cock.

“I must fuck you, Bertrand. I need to get my cock in your ass.”

“Mmmmfff…” However much he wanted it as well, he was reluctant to relinquish what was in his mouth. I half thought of coming down his throat, fingering and jerking him off at the same time… But who knew if I would get another chance to get up his ass? I would never forgive myself if I passed up what could be my only opportunity to fuck him.

I pulled him up. His face was red, and wet from saliva, sweat, and my precum. Both of us were close. I had to fuck him fast.

I lifted him down, kissing him again as I did so, and pushed him into a kneeling position, his elbows resting on the toilet lid. In this way, there was just room for me behind him. I slicked up my cock, and positioned the sticky head between his cheeks.

“Have you been fucked before, Bertrand?”

“Please… Do it to me.”

“Have you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

I realized he had not.

“It will hurt. I don’t have anything to make it hurt less.” There was hair cream in my luggage, and a jar of Vaseline, of course—but I was not prepared to risk my chances by going to get them. I thought of using soap, of which there was a pretty fragranced bar by the sink, but did not want to sting the delicate interior of his rectum.

“I don’t mind. I want you.”

“Okay. Just try to breathe deeply…”

I spat copiously into my hand, slathering the thick saliva over my hard penis until it glistened. I spat again and worked it around the opening of his ass. Was it my imagination, or was he drawing my fingers inside him? He was ready. I was going to hurt him, but I hoped he would soon think it was worth the pain.

“Mitch…”

I pressed forward, so the tip of my cock was inside him. God, he felt so hot!

“Yes, Bertrand?”

“Mitch, I… Oh,
mon dieu
…”

I pushed in further, and the whole head disappeared into his hairy pink hole.

“I… Oh… Oh! Mitch… I…”

I pushed gently but firmly, and another inch slid inside.

“Is it good? Does it hurt?”

“It hurts, but it is good. Oh Mitch, I have to tell you… I…”

“What, Bertrand?” I gave him another inch, and another; he was whimpering now.

“I… I…”

I pressed in further, all the way to the base. He had every inch of me. He was entirely mine, and I entirely his. His face, pressed against the lid of the toilet seat, was dark red, working with emotion.

“Mitch… I love you…”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the train gave a violent lurch, throwing me forward, and farther, harder, up Bertrand’s ass. He yelped, but stifled the cry with his fist. I had hurt him a lot, I think, but he was determined to take it.

And then there was another shuddering lurch, and the screaming squeal of brakes, a violent hiss of steam, and the train came to a sudden stop, and all the lights went out.

It was totally, utterly dark. Pitch black. From outside the window, not a ray of light penetrated the carriage. I saw nothing, only heard my breathing and Bertrand’s stifled moans, smelled his hot body and the scent of my own rut mingled with the floral bouquet of the soap.

We had stopped, and it seemed the outside world had stopped as well.

But it was too late. Not everything could stop. I kept pumping Bertrand’s ass, my orgasm finally claiming its release. I fucked him hard and rough in the dark—I made him shout out, whether in pain or pleasure I was not sure, and I pumped a heavy load inside him. Gripping his cock, I jerked him in time with my last few thrusts, and felt hot jets squirting out of him.

And then we lay, panting, in the utter darkness, going nowhere.

WE STRUGGLED TO OUR FEET AND GOT DRESSED IN THE dark, cleaning ourselves as best we could with toilet paper. I had come inside Bertrand, so I wiped his ass and shoved some tissue inside his underpants to soak up any leakage, but he had shot all over the place. For a small man, he produced a large load. It was impossible to see where it had gone, but every time I touched him or his pants my hand seemed to encounter yet another sticky glob.

“What happened?” His voice trembled, possibly through fear of the dark, possibly because he had just been fucked so hard that his legs were shaking.

“I don’t know. But I think we must be in a tunnel.” It was impossible to be sure; the window was heavily frosted, so I could not see if there were walls around us.

“
Viens
. We must get out of here. It is too…ooooffff… claustrophobic.”

I slid back the bolt and pushed the door; it did not move. I tried again, harder; it yielded maybe a quarter of an inch, but no further. We were trapped.

“I think there’s been an accident, Bertrand.” I put my hands on his shoulders, felt him shudder. “You must be calm.”

“I detest the dark…and closed spaces…”

“You’ll be fine. You’re with me.” I kissed him on the mouth, holding him until the trembling stopped.

“
Bien
. Now I am a man again.”

The door would not budge. I imagined all sorts of horrors: a collision in the tunnel, the carriage mangled, wreckage outside the door trapping us inside. It was difficult to gauge how hard the impact had been; we had been fucking so vigorously that we’d probably have ignored an earthquake.

I pressed my ear to the door and listened. There was no sound at all. No creaking and groaning of twisted metal-work, no obvious sounds of fire. No moaning or crying of other passengers. Either they were all dead, or they were all right.

I heard running footsteps approaching, and I called out, “Hey! Hello! There are people trapped in here.” The footsteps came to a halt, and I banged on the door. “Hey! In here! Can you help us?” Still the door would not yield—and the footsteps proceeded, quieter this time, not running, betrayed only by the softest of thuds.

“What the fuck is going on?” I said.

“I don’t know… It is like a nightmare.” Bertrand sounded bad again.

I fumbled for my lighter and flicked it on. In the wavering light of the flame, I saw his ashen face and wet eyes. His mouth, where I had kissed and fucked it, was red. He relaxed a little in the light.

“We’re going to be okay, Bertrand. Don’t go crazy. Everything is fine.”

“
J’ai peur
… I’m sorry, it is ridiculous. I am an adult. I should not be afraid of the dark, like a child in the nursery. I am ashamed of myself.”

I kissed him again. “Don’t be. You can’t help it.” The strangeness of the situation, and Bertrand’s extreme vulnerability, were making me hard again. “Why don’t you just close your eyes and suck me for a while. Forget everything else.”

“May I?”

“You may.” I extinguished the lighter, which was starting to burn my fingers, and unbuttoned myself, guiding Bertrand’s hand to my cock. He caressed me and sank gratefully to his knees, burying his face in my groin. Thus occupied, he was quiet and comforted. In truth, I found this distraction a comfort as well. There was something eerie about the silence, the darkness, and those inexplicable footsteps…

Bertrand sucked very well. Very enthusiastically. Perhaps he thought we were about to die, and wanted to go with a dick down his throat…

There was a bang on the door.

“Is there anyone in there?” A man’s voice.

“Yes. I’m okay,” I replied.

“Are you hurt?”

“No…”

“I thought I heard someone groaning.”

Shit: I had been so transported by the darkness, the silence, and the intensity of Bertrand’s sucking that I had forgotten to silence myself.

“I’m trapped. The door won’t open.”

“Hang on.”

The door handle rattled and turned—and the door swung open. The light of a candle dazzled my eyes—and behind it, the face of the mean conductor, the one who had abused Bertrand before.