Soon he’s all the way in.
We find our rhythm.
His pelvis is warm against my nuts.
Is this really happening?
Am I dreaming?
“Mark…”
Hearing him say my name like that?
I could listen to it for hours.
I want him to say it again.
“Turn around,” he says. “Turn around.”
Chest against the wall, I spread my legs a little.
“Like that?”
“Good. Now bend for me.”
He enters with more confidence this time.
“Go deeper,” I tell him. “I can handle it.”
Holding me by the hips, he increases the tempo.
“Ohh… ohhh...”
I’m hungry for it. Ravenous.
“More of that. Do more of that.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck me the way you wanted to when you spilled that rice.”
Porter grips my shoulder, plowing into me until I cry out.
“Mark…” he groans in my ear.
I think of every wicked word I’ve heard in those videos.
Pound me with that cock.
Fuck that tight little hole.
Give it to me raw.
“Mark… fuck… ohhh fuck…”
I’ve never been more grateful for far away rugby fields.
And empty restaurants.
