USUAL DISCLAIMER

"LIFE BEGINS AT TWENTY-FIVE" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

LIFE BEGINS
AT TWENTY-FIVE
by Andrej Koymasky © 2020
Written in June 27th 1994
translated by the Author
English text kindly revised
By a friend in New Zealand
CHAPTER 2
FORBIDDEN DREAMS

Jacques looked in his telescope. The building had reached the roof. Workers worked there day after day. He looked at his boy, the one that in his story was lover with the Arab, named Yves.

Being summer, he now worked wearing just shorts: he had lean, sturdy, beautiful legs. His shorts were rather close fitting, making his small and round bottom and his pleasurable swelling under the fly, stand out.

Jacques dreamed of having him there, to kiss him, to open his shorts, lower them to his ankles, kneel in front of him, take it all in his mouth and make the boy rejoice bringing him to orgasm.

At times the boy slipped a hand in his shorts, from the stomach, under the belt, to adjust his genitals. Jacques quivered with desire. He wanted to see him naked. That man seemed him to be the most desirable male he had ever seen.

He had to describe a scene where Karim took the boy there on the roof, under the sun, lowering his shorts and opening his own fly, being sure not to be caught by the other workers, since they all were down at the ground floor for the lunch break. To be more secure, Karim took the iron ladder connecting the roof with the last floor.

Karim went down from the control cab, climbing up there with the intention of taking him, because he knew that the boy desired him even if they never talked about it. In the preceding days the boy had fingered between his legs in a provocative way each time he was sure Karim was looking at him from his cab. For an answer, the Arab caressed his own chest, rubbing his own small, dark, hard tits, as they looked at each other in the eyes.

When Yves saw the Arab come and pull up the ladder, he smiled at him. Without a word, Karim took his arms, made him turn around, and leaned against his back; vigorously working his groin and his hard stake on the boy's fine bottom, so he could feel the intensity of his desire. Meanwhile he opened his belt, undid his fly buttons, and grasping with both hands the boy's shorts and pants at the sides, he lowered them with an apt, abrupt movement.

Karim opened his own fly, took it out and as Yves pushed back against him, offering himself to the man, the Arab grasped him by the hips and plunged into him with one determined stroke. Then started to ride him with force and virile passion.

Yves enjoyed that silent but vigorous fuck, arching his back against the man's wide chest. The Arab titillated his chest and was masturbating him with the rhythm of the strokes with which he was taking the boy. Yves turned his head and Karim kissed him deeply on the mouth, continuing to hammer into him. The love words will come later. Now just their bodies are talking, hungry the one for the other.

Jacques looked at the young mason, inventing that scene and he became highly aroused. He thought he had to insert it into the story, without writing details, the first time Karim had sex with Yves.

Continuing to look at the beautiful body lit by the sun, and fantasizing about Karim fucking the boy for the first time, Jacques opened his trousers and masturbated. He imagined feeling his protagonist's emotions. He felt a little like Karim, a little like Yves and he came, in his fantasy, together with them in the sunny roof.

He didn't realize that his mother had silently appeared in the door, she guessed by the fast movements what her son was doing and that she went away, even more silent, not to embarrass him.

"Poor son," she thought full of sympathy. "If he loved women, perhaps one day I could find a good girl ready to marry him and to be near him when I'll be gone. But what will become of him the day after I am dead?"

It was not the first time his mother saw the lonely practices of her son. Knowing he was gay, several times she thought she had to look for a boy for him, she was even ready to pay a pimp, but she never had the bravery to go to look for one. She knew there are young males selling themselves for sex with other males, but she would have been too ashamed to ask. She would also be ashamed to look for a female prostitute, if her son liked women. Just think about a male! If her son had at least a friend, friends like him, they could do it for him. But he had no friends of any kind. Of course, how can a boy that cannot go to a dance, to see a football game, or go to a pub by himself, how can he find friends? And who could like to have for friend somebody immobilized in a wheelchair? Jacques' mother was deeply sad for her poor son. But really she didn't know what to do.

Jacques didn't have the faintest idea that his mother had such thoughts. Between mothers and sons sex is never discussed. Between parents and children sex is never named. Or, if it is, that is done by hints, going round the subject without saying anything real, concrete, true, serious.

Anyway, what could Jacques say to his mother? That he desired that young mason up on the scaffoldings because he had an erotic body? Even if he could say such a thing, what could his mother answer if not: "My poor son!?" and suffer even more for him? No, such speeches were not possible with his mother.

All summer long Jacques and his mother remained in town, because they didn't have the money to go on holiday. Jacques continued his work, polished his story about Yves, looked at the progress of the works in that far house, at the other side of the park. The masons finished their work and his beautiful mason, his imaginary Yves, wasn't there any more.

Men were furnishing the rooms, others were transforming the wide terrace on the roof into a garden. Trees, bushes, flowers. Jacques' window was right in front of the roof garden, one floor higher than the last floor of the house. In front of his room there was a room with all a wall made in transparent glass. It seemed like an aquarium. Who knows who could live there? A painter, he guessed. They were bringing in the furniture: it was a bedroom. Perhaps a study? It will probably be used by a boy or a girl. Let's hope it will be a nice boy, Jacques thought. On the other hand he could be an old bachelor... it wasn't a bedroom big enough for a couple, the bed was a queen size. Furniture of the end of last century, rather beautiful, simple. No, his new neighbour couldn't possibly be a young man. An old spinster, probably. The kind that spends hours to put on make up in the illusion to show a long lost youth, to restore a charm implacably withered. But amongst the furniture pieces, there wasn't a dressing table.

They installed the curtains. Modern, white, rigid sliding panels, about 1 foot wide and full room height from floor to ceiling, like the glass. Jacques counted sixteen panels, while the man that placed them was controlling the sliding system. They could rotate ninety degrees and be gathered together against the walls, half at the left and half at the right. How would the new tenant keep them?

The bed was against the glass wall, as well as the desk. On the wall opposite the glass wall there were three doors: the entrance, the shower and the toilet door. He knew that because he had seen when they brought the fixtures inside and installed the toilet and the bathtub. Between the entrance door and that of the shower sat a low piece of furniture with a TV set on it. Above the TV were some empty shelves. On the right wall of the room a wide bookshelf covering all the wall, with a stereo. But still nothing for Jacques to guess who would inhabit that curious aquarium-room.

Summer ended. Finally he saw the new people in the house. The first time, he saw them on the roof garden. They were evidently the new tenants of that luxurious house. He carefully studied them with his telescope. Father, mother, three children. The eldest probably was nineteen, and was he beautiful! He wore very tight jeans, wrapping muscled legs, a light blue T shirt showing a wide chest, and a smiling, tanned face crowned by golden hair, of the colour of ripe wheat. Jacques held his breath. Saw them wander, then disappear. After a short while they all were in the aquarium-room. Then all five went out. He waited and waited... After a little less than one hour, the room door opened and he entered, the nineteen-year-old boy, his arms loaded with a big box. He put it in front of the TV shelf and begun to take out sports trophies that he placed on the upper shelves.

Jacques exulted. Young, beautiful and a sportsman!

He saw him go in and out of the room several times, putting his belongings in order. A middle aged woman he didn't notice before appeared at the door and said something to the boy. He turned to answer. Then they went away and the room was empty.

Jacques' mother called him for dinner. The youth unwillingly left the telescope, pushed the wheels of his chair and went to the kitchen.

His mother served the food and started to tell him about the liver illness of the professor living at the first floor, about the dog of the tenant of the last floor that had delivered some nice puppies, about the daughter of the bartender smoking grass, and how her father had bashed her because of that...

Jacques nodded, said a few words time to time. But his head was still there, at his telescope, as he thought of the boy that would be his companion from now on.

"Jacques! Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, mum, you were saying that Babette fell in love with a married man, right?"

"Yes, exactly! And just think that he has two children. Of course my sister is upset and wanted her to leave him. But you know your cousin, how stubborn she is... But she has been so from her childhood. So, I was saying..."

Jacques thought that he didn't care at all about the itches and loves of his cousin Babette. If she just saw a man she lost her mind. On the other hand he was not so different, he thought, amused with self irony that just a little while before, he had seen trousers and couldn't think about nothing else but just of their contents. At least his cousin could also have the possibility to open the trousers she was attracted from and fully enjoy their contents. Not him...

When the dinner was over, he immediately went back to his watch point. The room seemed deserted. Perhaps he was still having his dinner. Sooner or later he had to come back, and, above all, to go to bed so Jacques would see him at least in his underpants. But he yet knew he was beautiful.

Little by little the house became an undistinguished silhouette and the glass wall was no longer visible. But he will be back, switch on the light... provided that he didn't close the curtain. Perhaps just before to undress... perhaps just the half in front of his bed...

He could only wait and wish on his lucky star for his chance. He looked at his watch: it was 9:38. Probably the boy was watching TV with his family. But Jacques was patient: he did have that virtue.

"Don't you switch on your light?" his mother asked from the kitchen.

"Not yet. I feel OK this way." answered Jacques.

"It's not too hot tonight, isn't it?"

"No, it's nice. What do you do, tonight, do you work?"

"Yes. Mireille invited me to play cards, but..."

"And why don't you go? You know she will be glad, and you like to be with her. Go there, all right?"

"Don't you mind?"

"No, mum! How many times do I have to tell you!"

"Bah, then I've half a mind to go... I won't be late."

"Be late as you want, mum. When I feel like it I go to bed."

"By yourself?"

"Yes, yes. You know I can manage, right? Do me a favour and don't worry too much! Go and stay as long as you feel like!"

"OK. Bye, then. If you need something, you have Mireille's phone number, right?"

"Of course, mum. Bye. Enjoy yourself."

Finally alone. There was not such a difference, but sometimes he felt all right being alone. Especially tonight.

At last the light came on. At night that light rectangle in the darkness seemed even more an aquarium, he thought. He turned to his telescope. Of course, it was him. He sat at his desk and it seemed as if he was putting some papers in order. Jacques turned the knobs moving the lenses, adjusted the focus and got a nice foreground of the boy's upper part. God was he beautiful!

He couldn't see the colour of his eyes, but his nose was straight and fine, his soft lips, the corners slightly turned upwards, the regular face features, the soft hair casque, the straight, well drawn and nice eyebrows... were all perfect.

"Ah, could I kiss you..." Jacques murmured with emotion, admiring him.

He didn't watch for a moment, to light a cigarette. When he looked again in the telescope ocular, he was gone. He widened the field and focused again: he was no longer in the room. The light was on, so he had to be back soon. In a while he emerged from the toilet, his trousers open. Went near his bed and started to undress. Jacques watched him, holding his breath, looking forward to the vision he was going to get. The boy leaned down, probably to untie and pull off his shoes, then pulled down his trousers, took them off, then folded them putting them on the chair. He crossed his arms, took his T-shirt at his sides, and slipped it off over his head. Jacques emitted a sigh: God what a perfect torso! Then the boy lowered also his underwear and Jacques emitted a sob: he was perfect there too!

And now he was naked, completely naked, and was offering himself, unknowingly, to Jacques. For the boy on the other hand in front of his room there was the darkness of the park. He was higher than the highest trees, and the other houses were far there at the other side of the park, so he could not imagine that a modified telescope was aimed at his splendid nakedness.

Jacques held his breath. The boy turned, even his back was wonderful. He entered the shower and disappeared from his view.

Jacques rapidly adjusted the lenses and focused on the shower door in order to have a foreground image of the boy's body when he would come out. He waited twenty minutes.

The door opened again and he was there, vigorously rubbing his body for a long while with a small orange towel. Jacques admired him at ease, excited. Above all, Jacques admired his member, soft and sweet, with his halo of blond hairs that described a wide and low pentagon, and the pouch of his testicles that was partially seen, full and firm under the pole at rest and yet of good size.

The only member he had been able to admire (and also have) to this moment, besides those when he was a young boy and he quite couldn't remember, or in pictures, was that of the boy who had answered his ad a few years before. This boy's seemed really wonderful to him. Who knows how would it be when erect?

Who knows how many girls had the privilege to taste it in one way or another? A stud like that must have all the girls at his feet, ready to satisfy any desire he had...

The boy turned and threw the towel inside the shower, closed the door with a foot, then went to his bed. Jacques, moved, thought that those two really plain gestures had all the grace of light, manly carelessness.

The boy removed the sheet and folded it at the bottom of the bed and lay down, not wearing pyjamas and without closing the curtain.

Just now Jacques noticed one thing: the boy's tan was complete, there wasn't the faintest trace of the whiteness of skin hidden by swim trunks. That boy loved complete nudity, much to Jacques' pleasure. He admired it for a little longer, until he saw the boy stretch his arm toward the wall and the light flickered out.

Jacques emitted a long sigh.

Then he went to his desk, switched on the lamp and started the computer. He opened a new file: "my-boy-01" and began to write, fast, before his emotions could attenuate and become confused in him.

"When someone has to describe his own boyfriend, he says 'He is wonderful'. Love, or desire, and eyes do change reality. But he really is the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He is about 5'10", he plays many sports, his trophies and cups witnesses that, but above all his muscles are harmonious and strong, not like a body builder but like a real sportsman. His hair, as well as the small tufts under his armpits or the halo on his pubis, are of that warm blond that summer offers us in the ripe wheat fields. Soft and silky, for the joy of dreaming finger tips. When he is bare, he is splendid. I don't know if he is conscious of himself, yet he doesn't seem to be a narcissist. But he must love his nudity because he exposes his body to the sun completely naked and sleeps completely naked. Possibly he loves freedom that nakedness is a symbol of.

I say "possibly" because he doesn't know even that I exist. Nevertheless, the first time I saw his smile, one morning in the garden while he was talking with others, I loved him so he is my boyfriend.

Of course I cannot continue to call him "him", so I will give him a name. I will call him Paul. Because Paul means "little" and he, even if doesn't know that, is my little one. The one I would like to hold in my arms, cuddle, to whom I would give all my love accumulated in years of waiting for Paul. My eyes, filled with wonder, have admired his figure, and my heart, in kind, was filled with wonder that such perfection could really exist in this world and then be revealed just to me.

I would like to be a poet, to do justice to his beauty. Beauty that transcends the physical kind. But I am a poor writer and I'm not able to find words to write what his vision meant to me.

I desire him, and my desire is heightened by the fact that he doesn't, and never will, know that he is desired. Not by me, anyway.

Now he is sleeping, laying unveiled on his wide bed, his body offered to the night like on an altar. I envy the night that can embrace him, I envy the sun that can caress him. I would like to be night, I would like to be sun. But probably it is good I'm not the one or the other, or else, owing to my love, all humanity would be immersed in an eternal night or in a day without end, because I would never leave my beloved, even for a single instant.

But I am just an human being, and I have to be content to remain alone with my poor love that never I can express to him or reveal to him. And he can quietly sleep, he can live in peace.

Paul, my Paul, what do you dream of now? I would like to know everything about you. Just as I thoroughly scrutinized the luminous shape of your precious nakedness, I would like to search inside your soul, that must be as beautiful as your young, fresh, vigorous muscles that have charmed my eyes. I would like to understand what is now charming my soul. Are you man or angel? Reality or vision? Or perhaps the one and the other at the same time? Sweet and intimate caresses my hands will never be able to give you. But my fantasy will give you them...

Jacques was writing fast and sure. He overran himself to describe the body he so much admired with accents of verism and lyricism at the same time in a text full of erotic beauty. He wrote pages and pages without end while he felt that his heart was about to burst because of the intense emotion.

He saved the text, switched off the computer and went to bed.

We are both lying, our bodies parallel, on the bed: only an enormous, dark park divides us... Jacques thought, with sweet nostalgia for that figure he had spied and admired until a little while before.

He heard his mother coming back, very late. The woman called him in a low voice, but he pretended to be sleeping and didn't answer. He heard her to go to bed. But his mind was there, in the aquarium, lying near that body he adored.

He fell asleep several hours later, when the sky was lighting up. He woke up at lunch time, called by his mother. He went to the bathroom to wash. Looking at his own body, made soft by several years of scarce physical activity, he thought that it was luck if that boy didn't know of his existence. That poor body so pale: he would have been terribly ashamed to show it to him, for the fear to read in his eyes, if not contempt, pity. But, he thought, he surely wouldn't run that risk. Before the incident he was growing sound, he could have become an handsome boy, but on the contrary... But after all what did it matter? Even if he was an Adonis, in these conditions it would be a wasted beauty.

That day Jacques's life reached a turning point. His mother didn't even realize it. She continued to tell her son about the price of the carrots, about the grocer's, about the Sanitation department that didn't do a good job, and the assembled glass and plated metal necklaces, plastic flowers or felt pen boxes, for the firm she was working for these years. The man who came to bring and to collect the boxes with the material, almost every time stopped at their home about one hour to drink a coffee and to chat with his mother. So they chatted about politics, TV programs, or about the last fantastic prize won at the lottery by some unknown person. All seemed to follow exactly like before, but to Jacques nothing was the same as before.

One day he managed to persuade his mother to push his wheel chair to the other side of the park, crossing it all. While crossing the park he found out his ideas were right, from the park it was absolutely impossible to see the house and the aquarium. That's why his "Paul" didn't bother to close the curtains, luckily for him.

And finally he had seen the facade of his "Paul" house, with a large gym at the ground floor called "American Fitness One". Probably it was there where "Paul" trained? He hoped to see him, but he didn't have that luck. But at the same time he was glad: he didn't want the boy seeing that poor invalid in a wheel chair pushed by his mother, a woman a little bit slovenly and chatty.

The building was very beautiful, modern, elegant. Paul's family had to be wealthy. He felt tempted to ask to his mother to look what name there was on the entrance door of that building, but then he changed his mind: he preferred his boy to remain Paul and nothing more. Like in fairy tales: did Hansel and Gretel ever have a family name?

"Let's go home, mum."

"As you wish. We had a nice walk today? We have this more often." the pleased woman said starting to push the wheelchair on the way back, merrily chatting with her son that heard her with one ear.

Jacques continued, day after day, to look at Paul in the telescope. The morning when he looked at him waking up, the evening when he looked at him going to bed after the unfailing shower, he could savour at full ease his enticing nakedness. And continued to write at the computer his thoughts, his sensations, his fantasies, his secret love for that splendid boy.

One evening, he saw Paul sitting naked on the bed, turned toward the glass wall, with an album he was slowly leafing through laid on the mattress. He saw rising between his legs a splendid erection: the boy's member was erect upwards, quite parallel to his stomach.

He observed with emotion the boy caressing his own body, then lower his hand to take his pole, and starting slowly to masturbate while continuing to leaf through his album. Then Jacques followed suit, daydreaming that his hand held Paul's member and Paul was masturbating him. Jacques saw the boy lying down on the bed, the handsome body tensing, and finally he saw the spurts of white liqueur to vault high, then to fall down scattering on the chest and the stomach of the boy, while his body arched in orgasm. And Jacques too, came with him.

Paul lay for long moments, his body languidly abandoned, the wide chest rising in a slow rhythm while relaxing. Then he began to stir then rose, lean and good looking going to the shower room.

Jacques realized he was soaked in sweat due to the erotic tension. To have seen the solitary enjoyment of the boy had almost wearied him. It has been a too beautiful scene, too exciting. He could not see the album, he guessed it contained erotic pictures. So, even his boy masturbated. He was very beautiful, while he was reaching the peak of pleasure. In any case, it made sense that a nineteen-year-old boy with a normal sexuality did that.

The seductive event repeated for about ten days, almost every evening. Then, suddenly as it started, it stopped. Jacques tried to understand the sudden sexual explosion followed by a new period of absolute calm. But he couldn't find a logical explanation. Or, to be more accurate, he found too many to understand which could be the right one. It wasn't so important.

Anyway he described the scene in the smallest details in his computer, alternating the description with his sensations, his desires, his thoughts:

"... and I would like to suck your small dark nipples, feeling them become turgid between my lips, like tasty small blackberries, whilst my hands caress another turgidity in your body, to give you the pleasure you are pursuing and to communicate, more with my body than with words, the consuming love I have for you. To feel you tense while your fingers claw the sheets, to hear you hold your breath, to see your beautiful body arching like the bow ready to shoot the arrow, to spy the approaching of the explosion, and finally welcome between my lips the necklace of luminescent pearls that show me your enjoyment and delight. To caress you while you smile, panting slightly but sated and on your face the bliss of pleasure, and to know that the source of that pleasure was me, really me."

Jacques didn't know that what he had called a sexual "explosion" was due to the fact that Alain had parted with his summer friend, and it had lasted until he had found a new partner. So Jacques waited with anxiety to enjoy again of "Paul's" pleasure. But for the moment Alain was sated by his visits to his new friend's home, so he didn't feel compelled any more to find solitary satisfaction.

Jacques arranged the text he had written about his "boyfriend", corrected it, improved it. It was too long a text to be a story, too short to be a novel. So he decided to wait for more new material. Then he would try to have it published as a novel, in the "confession" style.


Alain had found his new lover right on the gym under his house. He was a twenty six year old young man, a fashion model, really handsome. Probably a little too conscious of his own beauty, but all considered he seemed to be likeable enough and he was definitely sexy. Alain had hooked him because, after cutting with his school mate who wanted to have exclusive and steady relations with him, he felt he missed a partner. And the self satisfaction was clearly not his preferred pastime.

Dominique caught his attention at once. He looked in the files drawer; the young man wanted to do light exercises just to maintain a perfect shape for his work. He was attended by Ben, the American trainer. Jacques studied his schedule so to be able to be in the sauna with him, and started to court him. It didn't take too long, as Dominique also was looking for a partner and Alain was a good morsel. The third time they met in the sauna, as soon as they were alone, Alain was about pulling out the towel from around his hips but Dominique beat him. He stood up from the bench, letting his towel slide on the floor, and addressing a smile to the other, with a low and warm voice said:

"I can't understand why those stupid rules sheet at the door that in the sauna and in the showers room say you cannot be naked!"

"Nobody follows this rule. Only people ashamed to show what Mother Nature gave them do." Alain answered uncovering himself at his turn, but remaining seated.

Dominique looked between his legs and whispered: "Mother Nature was generous to you."

"It seems to me that you have nothing to complain about."

"Well, no... not really." said Dominique approaching with a smile and stopping in front of the other, within hand's reach.

Alain looked at him and noticed that the young man started to have an erection. "You are a model, right?"

"Yes," the other answered, not caring about the turgidity that was rising between his legs, continuing to look at Alain with a smile.

"Do you pose naked?" Alain asked him without moving his eyes from the now conspicuous erection.

"Sometimes, for women's magazines like Playgirl."

"And do you like it?"

"It's always very agreeable to be admired, non? Like you're doing now." the other answered with a tempting smile.

"It's also nice to be desired." Alain suggested.

"Yes, by anybody, either women or men."

"I would like to know you... better. To continue this conversation perhaps privately..."

"Good. Why don't you pop over to my place, now?"

"With pleasure..." Alain answered and finally went with his hand to test the solidity of the youth's member, now fully erect.

Dominique widened his smile and started to titillate the boy's nipples: "Come on, let's go to the showers. I've got the car, and in a moment we can be in my pied à terre. Then I'll bring you back, if you want."

Alain followed him to the showers, they washed, dressed up and went out.

As soon as they were in the small 'single's' apartment, still in the corridor, Dominique held him in his arms and with his voice husky with desire, asked: "Hey, you want to fuck my ass, right?"

"Of course... I like you!" Alain answered starting to unbutton the youth's trousers.

They undressed each other going towards Dominique's Turkish bed, reaching it finally naked and aroused, leaving behind them a track of clothes. Dominique lay down on his back, spread-eagled, and raised his legs wide to his chest, in an eloquent invitation. Alain, really wanting it, knelt in front of him and rose toward him.

"Wait... put this lubricated condom on..." the young man said giving him the small package.

Alain opened it and wore it, then leaned on the handsome body and, with calm and skill, glided into the offered hole.

Dominique emitted a light pleasure moan: "Aaaah, that's goood! You are the right size. Fuck me, go on, make me enjoy it! Push it all inside... all of it... yes, that way..."

Alain started to piston inside him. He liked that, but he would have liked it more if there were more preliminaries. But you cannot have everything from life, he thought while riding that fine figure of a young man. Anyway Dominique was skilled; he lightly rocked his pelvis, he made his asshole throb, increasing Alain's pleasure. Yes, lot better two than alone, the boy was thinking while he continued to pump into the other with real pleasure.

"Oh, yes, so! Go on, fuck me, make me feel it for good. Push to the bottom. God, what a raging male! You like my ass, don't you? Tell me..."

"Yes, sure." Alain answered, slightly annoyed by that language, but anyway pleased by that body that was given to him with such enthusiasm.

Dominique continued in his soliloquy: "Oh, what a fine cock do you have! And how do you use it right! Fuck me for good, let me feel you are the male. Go on, ram, push it all inside, do it; come out from my mouth! Fuck me hard, that way, yes. Tell me I'm your slave. Tell me I'm yours and fill me with cum!"

Alain, with all his good intentions, wasn't able talk that way, but it seemed enough for the other to say those words by himself.

And he continued, under the strong and firm strokes of Alain's pleasure, to say: "Ooooh, yes! Fuck me, ride me, mount me, let me feel your command stick. Ohh, sooo, yes, good. Hammer in me, go on! You are a bull in heat! Yes..."

And finally, they came.

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 3


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