I watched him on my laptop via the camera hidden in his bedroom almost every evening over the next week and a half. I admit, I was getting a little obsessive. I could see it happening, but did nothing about it. After all, I was between jobs. My bank account was full, and the hollowed-out bible in my footlocker was stuffed with cash. I could spend my time any damned way I chose. Sleep all day, watch this fine man war with himself every night.

He wasn't having sex with his wife. She would make paltry efforts in the bedroom, from what I could see. She'd feel him up as they lay together, rub his belly, talk about nothings as if she wasn't actually thinking about getting his hard cock in hand. He'd always find ways to change the subject, always seem just tired enough. I began to feel a little bad for her, but I didn't let that change things. I really was a bastard.

One morning I woke feeling quite refreshed, vigorous, awake. I usually slept right through the first half of the day, but this one felt different. I checked the time. It was still quite early - perhaps, if I got over there in time, I might get to watch him undress. Today was Thursday, which meant he was working from home, and his wife would be gone. Perhaps he'd jerk himself off once, maybe even twice. He liked to do it on his back, on the bed - lucky me. How desperate I was.

It was shaping up to be a ridiculously hot day, the first sign of true summer. I parked a block from his house, on a little side street in the shade, and opened the laptop. His wife was getting dressed for work, half naked in her panties and bra. Ben was lying on the bed, half asleep, in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. His wife was talking at him, seemed a little tense. He shrugged at something she said, and his legs opened absentmindedly.

She turned on him suddenly, smirked, and crossed the room in three great strides. She pulled his morning wood out of his boxers and put it in her mouth. She obviously hadn't asked him, because he jerked upright, stiff and violated, a look of unpleasant surprise on his face.

She scratched through the bush of his pubes with her long nails, looking up at him as she went to town. He let her do it, though he looked confused by what he was feeling. I admit I was starting to get a little jealous, which just made my hornier.

He pulled her head off his cock, drew it up to his face, and kissed her deeply while he undid her bra. He had her on her back in no time, but he wasn't fucking her. She wriggled and moaned with a wide smile on her face as he pulled her panties off and shoved his stubbly mouth into her snatch, eating her out with gusto. She enjoyed herself, even came (I think) before she looked at the time and freaked out a little. She finished getting dressed, kissed him on the cheek, and was out the door.

He lay on the bed for some time after she was gone, his erection insistent, still throbbing outside of his boxers. I marveled at him. He had avoided fucking his wife - again - and had somehow made her feel just as desirable and satisfied as she needed to feel. Whether it was strategy or intuition, I didn't know or care. I began to stroke myself through my jeans.

Ben got up suddenly, filled with purpose. He crossed the room to his wife's dresser and began to root through it, until he found what he was looking for.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Well, I could believe it, did believe it, but never thought I'd get it on camera. He'd pulled his wife's dildo from her underwear drawer, an impressive 7-incher. It wasn't one of those bland, smooth numbers that was only about function. No...this thing was black and veiny, a perfectly produced mimicry of a real live cock.

He looked it over, ran his fingers across it, around it, gauging its circumference. He must have liked it just fine, because he dropped his boxers onto the floor, and his hard cock was in his hand a second later. He ran the dildo over his cock, pressed the underside of it against his balls, closing his eyes with his mouth half open. He rubbed it against his balls, his taint, knees slightly splayed as he pushed his hips down to meet it.

Blood was throbbing through my quickly hardening cock as I watched him debase himself. I was thrilled, absolutely thrilled. Here he was, a week and a half without sex, having not gotten off in his wife for longer - and he was reduced to this, dry humping a substitute dick.

He went into the bathroom and emerged a moment later with a pump bottle of moisturizing body lotion in hand. He left his shirt on and crawled across the bed. He pumped the lotion into his palm and lay on his back, spread his legs, reached down under his hard cock and pushed the creamy dollop into his hole. He began to push the head of the dildo into himself, knees wide, both hands between his thighs, completely occupied with the task of opening himself. He had his eyes shut, neck back, eyebrows turned down in pained concentration. I could see that it was already pushing into him, half way now... He took his bulging cock in hand, began to stroke -

My arm shot into the glove box of its own volition, nearly dropped the phone as I hastily dialed his number. What was I doing? I could say I wasn't sure, but that would be a lie. I was deadly sure. I didn't want him cumming with some lifeless synthetic toy up his ass. I wanted it to be me in there.

He stopped working the dildo when his phone rang. He seemed to contemplate ignoring it, and then his eyes shot open. The dildo squirted out of him and bounced across the hardwood floor as he scrambled across the room to grab the vibrating thing off the end table. He answered, a little short of breath. "Hello?"

"Hey there, stud." I did my best not to sound smug, like I knew exactly what he was doing. "I was in the neighborhood, and I thought you might be up for a little...playtime?"

"Yes," he said quickly, too quickly. He caught himself, rubbed the back of his neck as he backtracked. "I ah...yeah, this is a good time, I mean. My wife just left for work. I don't have to be anywhere. I can ah..."

"I'll meet you at the normal place," I told him. "Ten minutes. Get yourself ready, ok?" I hung up. He looked at the phone, his hard cock, and mouthed some curse word with a slight smile on his face. He stripped of his shirt and went into the bathroom. I closed the laptop and drove over to Milton Street and parked, waited, tried to ignore the raging boner in my pants.

He showed up well within ten minutes, hair wet from a fresh shower, a darker brown that clung to his forehead, the back of his neck. He wore his white shorts and his sandals, his loose linen shirt and a golden chain around his neck and beneath its collar. I could tell he wasn't wearing underwear, and I could also tell he still had a raging hard-on. His skin was slightly pink from the hot shower, and he smelled wonderful as he climbed into the passenger seat of the van, like lavender and sweat. "Not a lot of warning, was that?" he said as I pulled away. He couldn't make himself sound indignant.

"Like I said, I was in the neighborhood." I looked sideways at him. "You look...flustered. Were you working out?"

He blushed a little, not meeting my eye. "Yeah, just took a run."

I nodded, smiled, ran my hand over his thigh. He stiffened, but he didn't move away. "Runs always make me feel horny," I said. "All those endorphins, all that sweat, the movement - makes me feel like I could fuck for hours." I rubbed the tip of his hard cock with my fingers, and his breath quickened. "Does that mean it's the same for you? Or are you just happy to see me?"

He didn't have a witty answer, so he kept his mouth shut. It occurred to me soon after that I hadn't made any arrangements for this - after all, I'd meant to wait another few days before having my way with him again. I stayed quiet as my mind raced. I took the highway, scanning each side for possible accommodations - and came to the conclusion that it didn't matter where it happened. The mutual erections burning holes into our shorts needed to be satisfied, and that could happen right here in this van for all our bodies cared. Besides, it had worked the first time - why not now?

I pulled off the highway and turned into the first large parking lot I saw. It was a mall, a big one, a gargantuan pile of boxlike structures obscured by a haze of pollen in the rising heat of the morning. A sea of mostly-empty parking spots surrounded it, which was to be expected at this time of day. I chose a spot near the back of the lot, under the shade of some trees, well out of the way. Ben looked a bit confused as I parked. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Nowhere." I reached over and took his glasses off him as I undid my seat belt. I stowed them in the glove box and put my hand on his cock, wrapped my fingers around its stiffness through the thin fabric of his shorts. He looked more than a little bit nervous, glancing around the empty lot, obviously concerned about someone showing up. Whatever his reservations, his cock wasn't getting any softer.

"The windows are tinted back there," I told him as I undid the top button of his linen shirt, ran my hand over the light hair of his exposed chest. "If you don't want anybody to see, you'd better get back there, because I'll do you right here."

He undid his seat belt and crawled clumsily over the gear shift and the footlocker. He tumbled into the back of the van, shaking the whole thing as he went. I laughed and crawled after him, pushing him into the piles of musty quilts and egg crates on the floor. He righted himself on all fours, and I took the opportunity to smack his perky ass. He grunted and turned to face me, squatting juicily with his knees apart. I dove between his legs, nibbled a bit at his heated crotch, and he cried out and stumbled backward into the quilts. I didn't give him a second to catch his bearings. I undid the button of his shorts and yanked the zipper open, releasing his sticky erection and his lush scrotum and the light bed of golden brown pubes. I held his hips down and took his cock in my mouth, slurping off the precum while he gasped and held my head in his hands. I'd been letting my hair grow out, and he grabbed it as best he could, not daring to direct me, but because it was the only thing he could do.

I took the base of his cock in hand and squeezed. I pulled his foreskin back and tongued the underside of the head, tasted his slick precum, and he moaned deeply. "Don't...don't do that too much..." he breathed.

"Why?" I asked him. "You gonna cum too soon if I do?"

He looked away, but of course I already knew the answer. I took his heavy legs one by one and pulled off his sandals, then stripped off his shorts. He unbuttoned his shirt and wriggled out of it, putting his twisting torso and naked hips on display as he did. Before long all he was wearing was his gold chain, and I liked what I saw.

He came at me, a mountain of lightly furred muscle with a wanton smirk on his face. He pushed his hands under my shirt, making his desire known - but I batted them away. "Nah...I think I'll keep these on, for now," I said. He only looked a little disappointed before I worked my hands down the gentle curve of his back, found his fleshy ass cheeks, and squeezed. This put him completely into heat, and he purred into my armpit. "You're a horny boy today, Benjamin," I said as I pushed my finger into his ass crack, played with his hole. It was soft and velvety, having been bathed in lotion before being thoroughly washed, and widened out before that.

"Yeah," he groaned lustily into my shirt.

I leaned over him and spit into his ass crack, used its wetness to push a finger into him. He squirmed and pushed his ass back to meet me, and I found myself in to the second knuckle without lube or complaint. He was grunting softly and mouthing my hard cock through my jeans, his entire body radiating lust. Things were really progressing nicely.

I pulled my finger out of him and got behind him, laid him face first over the foot locker. His hips were bent, ass perked at me wantonly. He grabbed the seats in front of him, much like I'd done the first night we'd fucked. It was nice to see how thoroughly the roles had been reversed. He was shivering, breathing heavily, anticipating. I didn't keep him waiting - I spread his cheeks and pushed my mouth into his ass, ate it hungrily and desperately, like a pig at the trough. He smelled like sweat and musk, fading lavender. He tasted even better. I couldn't get enough of it, that fuzzy flesh on my stubbled cheeks, the muscly velvet of his hole as it quivered and opened for my tongue, the wet heat within...

"Fuck me..."

I paused in my feasting, looked up at him. His head was hanging between his shoulders, his hair plastered to the back of his neck with sweat. The heat was getting significant in here, the summer sun outside seeping in and baking us through the tinted windows and the tapestries that hung over them. "What was that?" I asked him, thumbing his taint.

He looked back at me over his shoulder, brimming with embarrassment but saying it all the same. "I...I can't wait for you to...I want you to fuck me."

I smiled at him warmly, pushed a finger into him, made him grunt. "Maybe." I kneaded the inside of his ass, felt it pulsing around my knuckles, pushing out as I pushed in. I added another finger, and slowly began to twist them in and out of his hungry cunt. He shuttered and grunted, legs wide, arms straining as he held onto the seats. "How's that feel?" I asked.

"Pretty, hungh, intense..."

I pulled my fingers out of him and produced the small bottle of lube from beneath an egg crate. I lathered my fingers in it and squirted it onto his twitching hole. It had been in the van all day, and it was just as warm as his skin. It glazed over every swell and crevice of his sphincter, his taint. I pushed it into his hole, got it as slick as I could get it, inside and out, before I pushed three fingers into him, past the rings of strong muscle at the entrance of his chute, deep into the soft, hot cradle of his cunt. I watched the valley of his ass quake around my knuckles. I listened to him squeal and moan, surprised pain tinged with pleasure.

I began to finger-fuck him. His ass was tight around my digits, too tight. I pinched the lower half of his ass cheek, made him grunt, made his hole loosen up reflexively, if only for a moment. I used this window to add my pinky, really stretching his ass out. It was red and twitching, its soft, wrinkled flesh pulsing around my lube-slick knuckles.

He cried out, bucked, sounded worried. "That's too much!" he bellowed. His ass tried to get away from my hand, but I held it still, pushed his hips into the footlocker. He could have tried much harder to avoid the brutal invasion of his rear end, and that said something. He was a puppet, I the master. I curved my fingers inside of him, down towards his cock, his prostate, and kneaded him deeply, firmly, deliciously. His shrill, pained cries immediately melted into a low, rumbling moan. His ass squeezed tightly around my knuckles, pulled me in.

"Keep trying to relax," I told him, rubbing his ass cheek, thumbing his taint. "I'm not anywhere near done with you."

A shaky "yeah" was all he was able to produce.

I pulled my fingers out of him, drenched them and the rest of my hand in lube before pushing into him again. His whole body was trembling with effort, and he moaned like a pig as my curved knuckles split him open again. I kept my thumb out of him, used it to massage his taint, holding onto the hidden base of his cock like a steering wheel. I'd found a wonderfully naughty place somewhere between finger-fucking and outright fisting, and he was taking it like a champ. His arms bulged as he gripped the seats, pounded them with his fists, grunted, moaned. He was pouring sweat, his straining back glistening with it, quivering ass cheeks shining like honeyed hams as I ran my tongue across them, enjoying their salty wetness. His thick cock was caught against the footlocker, pushed down towards the floor of the van, on display beneath his hanging balls. It was leaking precum steadily.

I bent my fingers and found it again, that swollen knob of him a couple inches past the entrance to his chute. I pressed into it, massaged it at varying intervals. He sounded like an animal in heat, a gorilla rutting in the jungle. His skin was on fire, quaking and alive. "Fuck, shit, I'm gonna cum," he cried. "I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that!" His cock stiffened and jumped between his thighs, aching for release.

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe not." I kept kneading his g-spot and knelt down between his legs, took his balls into my mouth, filling the van with his low, desperate moaning. I kept him on the edge for some time, milking his swollen prostate, biting his thighs, his ass, his back. My cock was hurting, it was so hard. It throbbed in my jeans, neatly contained in its sticky prison.

After some time of this heavenly bliss I felt his body stiffen, inside and out. The pitch of his moaning became higher, crazier. I quickly bent low and pulled his cock back into my mouth, milking him all the while. Not a second later he exploded in my mouth with a womanly wail, his engorged cock pumping wave after wave of hot cum down my throat. There was so much of it - too much! I choked on it, nearly gagged, but kept swallowing. I was ravenous for it. I loved its raw heat, its rich mineral tang. I loved the hot trail it was paving down into my stomach. Gush after gush of it spurted from the slit of his cock, each as strong, and as delicious, as the last. His body convulsed above me, around me, gasps coming out of him in lost, impotent yelps.

Even something this good had to end, however. His body slowly relaxed as his orgasm subsided, the yelps turning into low pants of exhaustion. I let my fingers slide out of his ravaged cunt, let his spent cock slip out of my sticky mouth. I got up on my knees and wiped the lube from my hand onto my jeans, breathing heavily, sweating like a pig, nearly as exhausted as he was.

He remained laid out over the footlocker, his shoulders draped between the seats, panting like a dog. "That was fucking incredible," he managed to breath. His hole was dripping lube, red and used, still slightly open. He put his elbows under his chest and turned, looked back at me, at my crotch.

I shrugged, rubbed my hard cock through my jeans. I'd been so intent on getting him off that I'd not given a thought as to how - or if - I'd be getting myself off. "I can take care of it," I said, and immediately regretted it.

He slid off the sweat-drenched footlocker and crawled to me, a vision of loveliness, a sweaty, naked man, sexily listless in the afterglow of what I suspected was the most intense orgasm of his life. He didn't ask, just lifted my shirt, tongued my naval, undid the button of my jeans. So spent was I that I didn't resist, didn't care that he was acting on his own, without orders. He unzipped me and pulled my rock hard cock from my boxers, ran his tongue across the head of it, slurping up the precum as I'd done his. I leaned back, heels digging into my ass, and let him do what he wanted.

He pulled my jeans down my thighs, then my boxers, making my cock bounce as he freed it. He held the base of it and licked up the underside, managed to get a moan out of me. He sniffed deeply of my pubes, my balls. Was this the same guy? The same one I'd had to practically force into bed, the same one who had grimaced at the mere thought of giving head to another man? For all the complaints he'd made, he sure seemed to be enjoying himself now. He was good at it, too.

He lifted my shirt and put his hands on my stretched stomach as he lowered his throat around my cock. His lips and his tongue slid over my shaft as the head of it nudged the back of his throat, made him gag a little. His head bobbed on it, doing his best to suck me off. I was grunting with appreciation now, holding his broad shoulders, enjoying the feel of him below me.

He pulled back well before I was anywhere near orgasm. "I still want you to..."

I grabbed his hair, pulled his face up to meet mine. "Yeah?"

He looked away, genuinely coy - though the faint curve of a half smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "I still want to get fucked. I don't want to wait another two weeks for it."

I suppressed a grin. "Maybe. What do you say?"

He blushed, looked up at me with his blue eyes. "Please." It wasn't a question, really. It was almost a demand.

I reached down below the subtle curve of his hips, found his cock. It was hard again - not the engorged beast he'd been sporting earlier, but hard, and ready. I didn't have to check his hole.

I pushed him onto his back, splayed him on the quilts. I bunched one of them up under his hips, raised his ass to meet my cock, and slid the whole thing into his hungry hole with one determined thrust. There was a low, wet farting noise as the quick invasion of my cock pushed trapped air out of his used chute, creating a brief, pleasant vibration between the walls of his cunt and the rod of my cock. His back arched and he cried out, gripped the quilts under him with tight knuckles. His ass sucked me in wetly, pulsed around me. He was blushing deeply again, alight with embarrassment. "I didn't - "

"I know." I leaned over him, planted one hand beside his head, took his scruffy jaw in the other. I began to pump into the hot, gushy mess of his ass, held his face under mine and watched it melt as my cock pumped across his prostate and the hidden, inner base of his own shaft. His legs swayed in the air between my straining back, and his hands gripped my gyrating hips while I fucked him. I became rough pretty quickly, a privilege allowed by the state of his hole, open and looser and more lubed up than it had ever been.

When I had him moaning as lustily as he had been with my hand inside of him, I pulled back, grabbed his hips, and turned him on my cock. He got on his hands and knees, instinctively arching his back, pushing his ass up to meet my cock, assuming I wanted to do him doggy style. I reached under him with both hands, grabbed his chest, and leaned back into the sweaty musk of the quilts, pulling him with me. Before long I was on my back with his heavy frame lying on top of me, both of us facing the ceiling, my cock still buried in his ass.

I held his throat and ran a hand over his chest, his hard nipples. He steadied himself with his feet, his hands, hole tight around my shaft. My head was next to his, our ears touching. "That's...that's different," he said softly.

I pushed my knees between his thighs and bullied his legs apart, easily stabbing up into his defenseless hole. He yelped and moaned as I began to fuck him again, surprised by the ease of this new position. I ran my hands over his body, around his hips. I held his groin tightly, intimately as I railed him, his hard cock bouncing between my thumbs. He was moaning throatily, hips gyrating lazily against my pummeling cock. When my hands resumed their trek across his torso, he purred happily and put his hands behind our heads, stretching the luscious, lightly fuzzed landscape of his body as I plundered every inch of it with my fingers.

His cock was about ready to burst again, which I found exceedingly impressive. I grabbed it and worked it like I'd work my own if I were lying back here alone on a boring weekday afternoon, made all the easier by our mirrored positions. He moaned happily and ran his hands below him, over my flanks. He reached under his hips and grabbed my thighs, held my lower half against him while he pounded my cock with his open ass and mewled hotly.

I had his hips in hand again when I felt the dull heat of carnal need well up in me. I increased my pace, pounded him hard. He shivered in my hands and yowled vigorously. I growled into his ear as I came deep in his ass, pumping into its heat long after the last of my jism had oozed out of it and onto my balls. He took his own cock and pumped it desperately. He came himself after only a few strokes, drenching his belly in pearly-white cum. Not nearly as much as I'd swallowed earlier, but impressive enough.

We lay there, panting and entwined, for some time after this. I had my arms wrapped around his trunk, one hand on his belly, the other cradling his rib cage. He was slack and spent on top of me, his cock slowly going soft as it swayed between his splayed thighs. My cock eventually slid out of the gooy mess of his ass, somehow cold now, even in the oven-like heat of the van. Our breaths came and went in deep, simultaneous waves, each swell of air pressing our bodies harder against each other. Cars were rumbling by in the parking lot outside, lunch hour fast approaching. I couldn't care less, myself - this van was our world for the moment, this hot, shadowy, sweaty den of spent lust.

He grumbled and slid off of me, sat up, a dazed look on his face. I sat up as well, play-punched his arm. "That was something," I said, body buzzing with satisfaction.

He only nodded absently. "You...you have a towel?"

I pulled it out of the footlocker, tossed it to him. He began to wipe up the half-dried cum from this belly, the cleft of his ass. He was looking at me, perhaps with interest, perhaps just mere curiosity. "You never told me - what's your name?"

I said nothing, taken by surprise. I slipped my shirt back on, straightening it over my sweat-soaked skin.

"I know you put 'Buddy' into my contact list, but it's not that, I hope." He'd gotten as much cum off of him as he was going to get, and was on his back, pulling his boxers over his legs and talking half to himself. "I mean, you know my name, so I'd think it's only fair...but I guess I can understand why...why you wouldn't want me to know. You're not exactly an upstanding citizen, are you?" He was pulling his shorts on, still shirtless, still sweating, still on his back. "Or maybe you get off on my not knowing..."

"Johnny," I said. I put out my hand. "Name's Johnny. Pleased to meet you, Ben."

He sat up and looked at me, the outstretched hand. He shook it. "Nice to meet you, Johnny." I liked the sound of my name on his lips.

It didn't take long to get him back home. Neither of us said anything during the drive, but it was far from the pained, awkward silence I was used to. It was content, elated, a sexual afterglow. We were back on Milton Street before long. "Don't be a stranger," he said as he got out of the van. I watched him go, a riot of feelings coursing through me, most of them centered on blind, bestial lust.

The next month was nothing like the previous. Our testy, brutal encounters had transformed into naked, mutual craving, an all-out affair, each of us just as hungry for it as the other. It was an odyssey of fucking, in all sorts of places. I was no longer calling in favors to impress and confuse him. Most of it was done in my van, or places that were cheap, or free.

One afternoon I had him in a seductively seedy motel room across town with a bottle of fine whiskey and a bucket of ice cubes. Summer was really settling in, and the room had no air conditioning. We didn't mind at all, reclined naked across the bed like lazy otters. I was pushing ice cubes into Ben's ass, giggling when he hissed and twitched, letting him pop them into my glass of whiskey before they melted, both of us laughing when they missed and skittered across the floor.

One night I had him bent over a counter in an unfinished house in a newly constructed neighborhood. The whole street was clustered with hollow houses, all of them quite empty of inhabitants. I probed his ass with a dildo I'd brought, remarkably similar to the thick black monster in his wife's underwear drawer. I shined a flashlight on it and watched it disappear into his hungry, gaping hole while he writhed in the dim shadows beyond, moaning into a ball gag.

One evening I brought him out into the country. It was a perfect night, cloudless and lit by a full moon. I took him down a dirt road and into a wide field, nothing but empty farmland for miles. Ben seemed weary of this, perhaps reminded of the tumultuous night I'd roughly plundered his cherry. He hung back as I went into the van and pulled out a fresh quilt and a large bottle of wine.

I took him out into the field and laid the quilt down. We sat in the blue moonlight, drinking silently. We never said much during our trysts, mostly communicating with grunts and growls, submissive moans and body language. But he was talking now. "This is...nice, I guess," he said.

I took a swig of wine. We were drinking it right out of the bottle. "Don't worry," I told him. "I'm not trying to charm your pants off or anything." I was. "I just thought this would be...relaxing. A switch."

He started to say something else, but I pushed the wine into his hands. He drank some more, and deeply, as I undid the buttons of his shirt, opened it, exposed his naked chest to the moonlight...

"Can we not...do it out here?" he asked meekly.

I studied him. He was looking down in that openly embarrassed way that I was, by now, quite familiar with. "I want to do it out here," I insisted. "It'll be hot."

I ran my hand into his shirt, pinched his nipple. He jerked, moved away. "It's not like I don't want to - I just...I don't want anybody to see us."

I spread my arms, looked around. "Do you see anybody? No one is here, not for miles - trust me. If anything some redneck will get an eyeful, and so what? He'll probably get off on it." I grinned "Which would be hot, don't you think? Take off your shirt."

He shook his head. "I really don't want to, Johnny." He didn't say my name often outside of one or two times during climax, and it melted something inside me. I was ready to invoke my right to his body whenever, wherever I wanted it, ready to tie him up again for disobeying me. I still had the leash in my footlocker, and some handcuffs that certainly weren't fake. He was my bitch, and I thought about reminding him of that. I could have had him hogtied and mewling out there for anyone to see, could have flogged his ass with my belt until he liked it - but I didn't.

I sat back, shrugged. "Okay, okay...that's okay. No worries. Let's just enjoy the wine then, shall we?"

We drank some more. "I'm sorry," he said eventually. "It's just a...kind of a phobia, I guess. I don't want some random stranger to see me...having sex. It just...it freaks me out a bit. We've been pretty risky with it, but right here in a field..."

"Seriously, no worries." I squeezed his bicep, and let my hand drift down and across his crotch. It was hard.

We retired to the van soon after, where Ben sat on my cock and rocked his hips in a slow, sensual fuck that lasted over an hour. I cradled his broad back in my arms with my hands gripping his ass. I sucked on his nipples while he ground his ass into my lap and moaned into my ear. It was slow, and sweet, and felt very right - but also very wrong.

I had a nagging feeling even then, with my cock impaling him. I never should have told him my name. We had forgotten why we were both there, the crucial dynamic of our fucked up relationship. Things like this aren't meant to last, and every kind gesture or innocent touch that passed between us now was founded on a bedrock of indecency and betrayal.

Did I let these thoughts keep my from cumming in him? Did I let them stop me from laying with him afterwards, from sucking him off to a second, glorious climax? Did I let them stop me from calling on him again the next week?

I certainly didn't.




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