Shadows In The Night

Ray Butler gripped the wheel of his Toyota truck, jeans hugging his thighs, flannel shirt rumpled from the night's restless hunt. He cruised the shadowed streets, eyes sharp for the man who knew exactly how to wreck him just right. A sharp turn into the back alley, and there he was: Kris Lord, a vision in leather jacket and chaps that clung like a second skin, dark glasses hiding hungry eyes, boots planted firm, and a teasing g-string barely containing the promise beneath. Butler's mouth watered, a slick hunger pulling him from the truck. He dropped to his knees, hot tongue lashing out to worship those boots, tracing the leather's gleam with fervent strokes. Up he went, flickering higher over the supple chaps, then to the g-string's edge, tasting the heat radiating from Lord's core. The air thickened with their priming rhythm, breaths quick and ragged. Lord unzipped with a smirk, unleashing his premium dick-stick—a colossal beast, eight inches thick, eleven long, veins pulsing like a siren's call. Butler's lips parted in awe, devouring every inch, throat working greedily around the girth. He pulled back just long enough to beg, offering his puckering love-hole, tight and eager for invasion. But Lord savored the build. First came fingers, slick and probing, stretching Butler wide with expert twists. Then the big black dildo plunged in, a relentless intruder prepping the way for the mammoth prick to claim its throne.