Czech Tales, Part 1

Morning light filters through the curtains as the coffee percolates, its rich aroma filling the air. But Dario ignores the golden croissants on the counter, his hunger fixed on Ben's throbbing cock and heavy balls instead. He drops to his knees, mouth watering, and takes Ben deep, sucking with greedy fervor. Ben groans, gripping Dario's hair, thrusting into that warm, eager throat. They devour each other like starved wolves—Ben flips Dario over the table, spreads his cheeks, and plunges in raw, pounding relentlessly until sweat slicks their bodies and cries echo off the walls. Dario comes hard, spilling across the wood, and Ben follows, flooding him with hot seed. Sated but rushed, they bolt from the apartment, shirts half-buttoned, nearly barreling into Boris on the stairs. He stumbles back, fury flashing in his eyes. Those two idiots, he thinks, all flushed and disheveled. What he wouldn't give to pin them down right here, strip them bare, and fuck the living daylights out of them—alternate between their tight holes until they beg for mercy.