Headgames

In the haze of laughter and empty bottles, Anthony Shaw—the golden favorite of the Falcons—watches the spinner slow to a halt, pointing squarely at him. He's lost. Again. The newcomer, Alex Le Monde, grins with that fresh-faced mischief, his eyes gleaming. The rule is simple: strip spin the bottle demands a forfeit, and tonight, Anthony's prize is Alex's thick, uncut cock, already straining against his jeans. Anthony's fingers hook into the waistband, tugging it down slow, deliberate. The shaft springs free, heavy and veined, foreskin hooded over the swollen head. He wraps his hand around it, feeling the pulse throb hot under his palm. Alex sighs, hips bucking forward. Anthony's mouth descends, lips parting to take in the girth, tongue swirling back the skin to taste the salt-slick tip. He sucks deep, cheeks hollowing, as Alex's fingers tangle in his hair, guiding the rhythm. Pleasure builds like a storm, Anthony's own arousal forgotten in the heat of the task—servicing the new blood until he unloads, thick ropes spilling across Anthony's tongue.