When I walk into the bar, I can feel every eye in the place land on me.
I can’t blame them. My form is beautiful, my face and body practically carved from marble. My hair is dark as coal, my jaw clean-shaven and sharp enough to cut granite. I stand roughly 6 feet tall, my toned muscles clearly visible in the slim-cut jeans and skin-tight t-shirt that adorn my body. My skin is pale as a ghost, my lips pouty and pink, but it’s my eyes that they can’t look away from—icy blue, like the frozen lake in the deepest circle of hell.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
A muscular blonde human stands in front of me, dressed in a tight tank top and loose pair of jeans. He has probably never had that question answered with anything other than a resounding yes.
“No thanks,” I say coolly as I push past him into the crowd.
I’m not looking for just any hunk of meat tonight. Yes, there will be sex. But not with just anyone. I’m looking for something specific. Someone to destroy.
Or someones, rather.
I spot them at a table in the corner roughly six minutes after I arrive. The shorter one is approximately 30 years old. He’s what this crowd might call a “cub,” a young and hairy brunette man with a slight belly. The taller one is dark-haired and possibly Middle Eastern, with bigger muscles and a thick, black mustache.
I watch them for a few minutes, seeing the way the taller one rubs his partner’s lower back. Tender. Every so often, the short one looks up at his beloved and smiles with the kind of love you only see from the happiest of couples.
They are my target.
I wait until the tall one leaves for the restroom. This is my moment.
When the little one’s back is turned, I approach, jostling him with my elbow.
“Oh my god!” I exclaim. “I am so sorry.”
I’ve knocked his drink over. He’s irritated, but he covers it up with a smile.
“It’s all right,” he says kindly. “It’s really crowded in here, isn’t it?”
He would not be so nice to me if he knew what I had planned for him.
I offer to buy him a new drink, which he initially declines. But I push, insisting. It’s only right. What is he drinking? Vodka cranberry? I approach the bar, immediately drawing the bartender’s attention. He ignores everyone else to give me what I want. He does not ask me to pay, nor do I tip him.
“Here you go,” I say, handing him his drink. “My name’s Sam, by the way.”
He tells me his name is Tanner. I ask him about his job, though I do not care. He works from home. He does something in sales. He lives with his husband.
“How long have you been married?”
Five years. They met in college. He’s the love of his life.
“Sorry, the lineup took forever,” his husband says once he returns. His hand drifts to Tanner’s lower back. “Who’s this?”
I introduce myself. He tells me his name is Cory. He’s an investment banker. He tries to keep his eyes on mine, but several times throughout the conversation, I catch him looking at my body, my lips, my crotch.
I know that I will have him.
“What neighborhood are you in?” asks Tanner.
“I’ve only just moved to town. Still looking for a full-time place.”
“Welcome,” Cory says, smiling at me. It’s a friendly smile.
“I don’t know anyone here,” I say. “Except my old man. I moved here to take care of him. He’s in hospice. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” says Cory.
I can tell he means it. I do not have a father.
“Well, we’d be happy to show you around the neighborhood,” says Tanner.
We make plans to meet next weekend. Brunch at some trendy café downtown. Tanner seems excited. Cory is more apprehensive. I know why.
When Tanner’s in the bathroom, I put my hand on Cory’s arm. “Your husband is such a cutie,” I say.
He flinches at my touch but does not pull away. “Yeah, he’s the best.”
“He’s so lucky,” I say casually. “But I’m sure he knows that.”
The blood flows to Cory’s cheeks. He likes being complimented, even if it is at his husband’s expense.
“I’m the lucky one,” he says, finally coming to his husband’s defense.
I just smile at him. I know he will be mine.
The three of us exchange social media handles. I am delighted to find that Cory has Snapchat. It is the sluttiest of social media platforms. Perfect for what I have planned.
Over the next few days, I post images and videos from my daily life. A cappuccino with latte art. A French bulldog with an underbite. A view from the window of my Airbnb, a high-up loft that looks down on the city below.
Cory watches everything. He posts a selfie of himself and his husband out to dinner, smiling at the camera. A mirror pic at the gym, the slightest of thirst traps. Respectable for a man with a husband, but still someone who likes to be looked at.
On Wednesday, I kick things up a notch. I post one photo of myself on my bed, lying on my stomach. You can see my back, the muscles and definition of my slim, pale frame standing out from my blood-red sheets. At the edge of the frame, the top of my ass is visible, the rest hidden by the sheet.
Borrrredddddd, reads the caption.
Cory looks at it. He can see the padlock in the corner. He knows the video is for a select few, a private list that he’s been added to.
He does not know he is the only one on the list.
An hour later, I post another picture. This one shows my torso, my head cut out of the frame entirely. You can see my pale, slim body, my light pink nipples, the outlines of my abs. I have very little hair, only a slight treasure trail leading to a suggestive patch of black at the bottom of the frame.
Tipsyyyyyyyy
It is past 11. Cory is probably in bed already. Tanner may already be asleep.
He views it within six minutes.
I wait half an hour, then post one final photo. My belly button is at the top of the frame. You can see every single muscle in my abdomen, jutting out in ridges. The tops of my thighs are lightly hairy. In the center of the frame is my cock, covered by my palm. My hand grips my crotch, leaving only a flash of my dick and balls visible.
There is no caption for this one. There does not need to be.
It is midnight. Cory views it almost immediately.
I go to his profile and send him a message.
Omggggg I’m so embarrassing. Pls disregard.
He doesn’t respond for several minutes. Then:
It’s okay lol. We’ve all been there.
You’ve also had an entire bottle of Prosecco and gotten horny for your ex? I write.
Just one bottle? Lightweight.
I smile. We’re flirting already.
What can I say? Alcohol makes me horny. I make bad decisions.
No judgment here.
Does Tanner like to get frisky when he’s drunk?
The message is a risk. But I’ve been around long enough to know when it’s worth it.
Sometimes. He’s asleep right now.
Too bad. He doesn’t know what he’s missing 😛
Again, he does not respond right away.
I get pretty horny when I’m drunk, too, he eventually writes.
I smile at my screen. Then I turn my phone off and go to sleep.
I leave him till the morning.
The next day, I wake up to four messages from Cory.
Sorry if that was TMI.
You still up?
I didn’t mean to overstep.
Forget I said anything. Have a good night!
I wait until midday before responding.
Omg no you’re totally fine. It was all me. I told you, I’m nutso when I drink!
He responds almost immediately, even though he is at work.
No, it’s totally my bad. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just tired.
Of course, I write. I won’t say anything to Tanner if you won’t.
Thanks.
I come up with a last-minute conflict for Saturday morning brunch, so it winds up turning into dinner and drinks at a hotel downtown. I tell them my college roommate is in town and ask if I can bring him. They say yes.
I do not have a college roommate. They do not have college in hell.
I show up at the restaurant with a six-foot-four, muscular man. He is handsome, black, charming. He is my best friend, Asmodeus, come to do me a favor.
“I’m Mo,” he says as he shakes Cory’s hand. Then he turns to Tanner. “Hi,” he says, his voice low and filled with sex.
Tanner looks like a giddy schoolgirl. “Nice to meet you, Mo,” he says.
Cory barely notices his husband’s flirtations. He only has eyes for me.
Dinner is foreplay. The four of us chat about trivial things—Mo and I’s “college days,” Tanner and Cory’s wedding. They had 250 guests and a Neil Diamond cover band.
“It was the best day of my life,” Tanner says, smiling at his husband.
Cory watches me stretch, sees the way my shirt rides up to expose my waist. He tears his gaze from me and gives his husband a fake smile. “It was great,” he says.
Soon, dinner is over, and Mo is suggesting we head to the club for drinks and dancing. I can tell Tanner is tired, but Cory says yes before he has a chance to decline.
We go to a gay club downtown, different from the one where we met. This one is loud, crowded. Many of the men on the dancefloor are shirtless. Mo offers to get us all drinks. Tanner goes with him to help him carry them.
“Dance with me,” I say, pulling Cory onto the dancefloor.
He looks back at his husband, but I have already pulled him into the crowd.
Bodies pack in all around us. Bass music pounds in our ears. The heat is unbearable. I strip off my shirt, tucking it into my back pocket as we dance. Cory stares at my body, drinks in my pale skin and tight core.
“Come on!” I yell over the noise. “Live a little!”
I tug at the hem of his shirt. He raises his arms so I can lift his shirt off. His body is tan and beautiful. He is muscular, but not cut. His chest is covered in a rug of hair that trails down his stomach to his groin.
I grab his hand and pull him in closer. Our bodies are an inch away. The people around us crowd in closer, as if taking advantage of the extra space. There is nowhere for us to go. No one can see. Our torsos are touching. His belly is pressed against mine. I can feel his crotch against my leg. We move to the music. He is looking down, avoiding my gaze. I put my hands on his shoulders. This is not cheating. We are just friends. I run my fingers down his shoulders, across his arms. My hands are on his chest. He looks up at me. Our lips touch.
The kiss lasts barely more than a moment. He pulls away in a flash, his eyes wide with fright. One word escapes his lips. Tanner.
Then he turns and is gone.
The four of us reunite at the bar. Mo and Tanner are chatting casually, sipping gin and tonics. Cory’s shirt is back on. He does not look at me as I approach.
“I hope you like a G&T!” Tanner calls out over the noise.
He hands me my drink. He does not know.
We finish our drinks and head out to the dancefloor together. Cory still does not look at me. He dances closely with his husband while I dance with Mo.
“The little one is sexy,” Mo says in my ear.
“He’s not the one I desire,” I respond.
He laughs. “God help the poor soul that catches your eye.”
Mo and I kiss. I make sure Tanner and Cory can see. It is all part of my plan.
Cory whispers something in Tanner’s ear, then slips away. He is going to use the restroom.
This is my moment.
The restroom is dirty. A flickering light bulb hangs from the ceiling. When I walk in, Cory is standing at the urinal.
I stand next to him. I do not say anything.
We piss side by side. I do not look at him.
“That was a mistake,” he says.
When I finally look, his face is creased with fear.
“I love my husband,” he adds unconvincingly.
I say nothing. I turn ever so slightly.
He does not want to look. He tries not to look.
He looks.
He gasps at the sight of my cock. It is long and thin. I stroke it until it gets long and thick.
“Do you want to feel it?” I ask.
He says nothing. He just looks.
I take him in my hand. He is fully hard. He is thick and uncircumcised. Much larger than the average male.
“Tanner,” he whispers, but I cut him off with a kiss.
Seconds later, we are in a stall. His tongue is in my mouth. Our dicks are in each other’s hands. He is moaning. He wants me. He hates himself. He is scared. He is excited.
I slide to my knees and take him in my mouth. He braces himself with one hand against the door. His other hand goes to my head, fingers curling through my hair. He loves my tongue, the way I slide it around his cock. He does not think about his husband anymore. His only thought is me.
“Fuck… I’m cumming,” he groans.
I swallow his seed, savoring the taste of his defeat. They always give in. Some sooner, some later. But they all fall eventually.
Clarity hits him after he cums. “Fuck… what have I done?”
I stand and grab the back of his head, leaning my forehead against his. “Shhhh… It’s okay,” I say soothingly.
“But Tanner–”
“It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t have to know.”
He looks at me, eyes wide with fright. They close when I kiss him. “It’s all right,” I whisper. “No one has to know.”
We kiss for a few minutes, gentle and sweet. When I pull back, he is calmer. “Let’s go back,” I say.
When we return, Cory is back to normal, and Tanner is none the wiser. The two men dance together, but I see Cory’s glances every now and again. I smile at him, and he smiles back.
Things are only just beginning.
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