Kneel, boy. Cold earth bites knees. His mouth on me. Warm. Hesitant. Prepuce skin velvet under lips. Cheap cologne? No, my Tom Ford, musky, elite. Woods amplify it. Intimate fog. Cock swells. Fills him. Hand strokes shaft. Gland gleams, fat, smooth. Bigger than his boyish one. Balls tight in cold. His hand cups them. Gentle. Mine on his head. Guides rhythm. Saliva drips. Pressure builds.
Stop. Pull out. Glossy. ‘Pants down.’ He obeys. Jacket up. Jeans, boxers low. Cock soft from nerves. Mine caresses it. Fingers probe cleft. Anus clenches. He turns. Bends. Hands brace tree. Bark rough. Ready.
The Privilege
Condom on. Slick fingers lube latex tip. His hole. Press. ‘Bend knees. Tilt.’ Third push. In. Muscle yields. Hot. Tight. No pain cry. He moans soft. Warmth floods me. Gentle thrusts. Saliva lubes more. Pace quickens. Hands grip hips. Calloused? No, manicured, yet firm from gym. He submits. My toy. Fucks back subtle. Ass milks me. Pleasure raw. Elite control in crude surrender.
Climax nears. Jerky. Deep. Growl escapes. Bury to hilt. Pulse. Fill rubber. Hold. Withdraw. Knot it. Toss. Wipe with linen handkerchief. Silk initialed. Offer one. ‘Liked?’
‘Yes.’ Shy echo.
‘Need ride?’
The Excess
‘Path through fields. Home.’
‘I come Saturdays. Spot my car. More pine coups.’
‘Married?’
‘No.’ Disgust flick.
Walk away. He lingers. Anus tender, dilated thrill. I to Corsa. Engine purrs smooth. Champagne aftertaste. Penthouse awaits. Secret sealed in forest hush. No traces. Elite discretion absolute. Cock twitches recall. His fresh ass. Virgin no more. Mine.
