Tom Prescott woke up with a hot mouth wrapped around his stiff cock. It was still dark and he could hear a soft rushing sound in the distance. He guessed it was the wind.
It had been five days since Tom had gotten lost in the Rugged Mountains and found his way to Clint Hardwick's camp. Tom had been straight, with a girlfriend, but Clint and some of his lusty friends had taught the young man how good man-on-man sex could be.
Yesterday, two sexy U.S. Forest Rangers had teamed Tom while Clint watched. Now, he and Clint were at Stonewall Ranch, where Clint lived with several other gay men.
Tom had gone wild when they were finally alone in Clint's cabin last night. He'd sucked Clint's cock aggressively, eaten his ass, and then hammered his butt relentlessly. Worn out, they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms.
Tom was sure awake now. "Wow, Clint," he whispered. "This is a great way to start the day."
The man didn't answer. He was just an indistinct shape kneeling between Tom's legs in the darkness, bobbing over his rigid pole and kneading his tight balls.
"Oh, man!" Tom rolled his hips, driving his hard-on deeper into the cocksucker's mouth. "Keep doing that and I'm gonna come."
The dark figure lifted his mouth off Tom's throbbing tool and reached over to the nightstand. A moment later, his hand—now slick with lube—closed around Tom's straining cock. The hand stroked Tom's hard rod, coating it with the slippery gel.
"You gonna sit on my cock now?" Tom asked.
The man answered by straddling Tom's hips and lowering his butt onto his turgid pole, taking its length in one easy slide. He rolled his hips, smoothly riding Tom's hard hot rod.
"Oh fuck!" Tom groaned as the pressure built in his balls. "I'm getting close." He reached up and jacked the man's stiff cock while he bounced on Tom's rod.
"Jesus!" Tom came, firing thick pulses of hot cum up his partner's ass.
"¡Oh Dios mío!" the man riding Tom's cock gasped, splashing cum on his chest. "Come for me!"
"What?" Tom pulled the man's face down to his and kissed him fiercely. He didn't have Clint's beard, just a sparse mustache. "Who are you?"
The wind sounds had stopped some time ago. The bathroom door opened, flooding the sleeping area with light. Clint stepped out. He was naked and dripping wet. "Sancho!" he growled. "What the hell are you doing with Tom?"
A HALF HOUR EARLIER . . .
There's nothing like waking up beside a sexy stud . . .
It was still dark when Clint woke up. He looked out the window at the night sky. It was about two hours before dawn.
Tom was snoring softly beside Clint. His hard athletic body was an indistinct shape in the darkness.
He reached for Tom, but then pulled his hand back. Let him sleep for a while longer.
Tom groaned and rolled onto his stomach. Clint stroked his hard cock and kneaded his balls while fantasizing about the other man's muscular buttocks . . . and the hot little hole between them.
It was either fuck Tom or get up. Clint decided he really needed a shower, after a long drive and all of yesterday's sweaty sex. And waiting would make the next time with Tom even better.
Clint went into the bathroom and closed the door. It was cold. The little room had an electric heater, but it wasn't turned on. He didn't bother with it. Instead, he turned the shower on.
He studied himself in the mirror while he waited for the shower to heat up. Not too bad for a guy in his late 20s—tall, slender, and rawhide tough, with weatherbeaten features, collar-length black hair, and a short black beard. And an unusually large cock, hard from thinking about Tom, sticking straight up from a forest of black pubic hair.
He adjusted the water temperature and got into the shower. His dick was rock hard. It stayed hard as he soaped and rinsed his body. He played with it, a little, teasing himself and fantasizing about Tom's hot butt.
Clint turned the water off and got out of the shower. The windows and mirror were fogged. He opened the door to let the steam out.
