Read Online Dark Soul Vol. 1 by Aleksandr Voinov - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aleksandr Voinov
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terrycloth. Could he get off without making a sound? He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t be spying, but he was , and he couldn’t ignore what it was doing to him. Short of begging to join them, this was the only option.
He pulled the towel apart, spit into his hand and began to stroke. Pleasure raced through him, his body jumping at the touch like an eager dog, as if mocking him for his prior self-control.
Men are animals, Donata sometimes chided him. Like that evening when he’d stopped the elevator, pulled up her cocktail dress and tugged her barely-there g-string out of the way. Fucked her right there, standing up, from behind, her pussy wet and clenching around him.
He realized he was jerking in time with Falchi’s thrusts, which made his skin crawl. He wanted to imagine himself fucking Silvio, so he concentrated on Silvio’s face, his movements, but the view of Falchi’s cock thrusting in and out was impossible to ignore, and besides, he didn’t have the focus to ignore anything when he was so desperate to get off. Falchi was just a proxy; Silvio was the main attraction.
Falchi paused to whisper something into Silvio’s ear. But what? Do you like it, bitch? Stefano couldn’t imagine him being so crude. Not the gentleman.
Silvio’s chest expanded with several rapid breaths, then a few slow, deep ones.
The reason for which became disturbingly clear when Falchi grabbed Silvio’s head and pushed it over the rim into the whirlpool.
Stefano jolted, shocked, as Falchi kept Silvio down with one hand and held him in place with the other while thrusting deep, long, and brutal into that tight ass.
Silvio resisted—didn’t fight so much as squirm —but no bubbles rose from the water. In Silvio’s place, Stefano would have thrashed and screamed and probably lost every bit of breath in an attempt to free himself.
But Silvio didn’t, even though every harsh line of his body spoke of panic held in check with an iron will and a dark lust that Stefano could almost taste. Falchi’s thrusts grew ever faster and harder, but Stefano couldn’t keep pace. He was too worried, even scared, and his erection faltered. He couldn’t interfere. How long had it been? A minute? It felt like five. Fuck, it felt like an hour.
Thank God, Falchi climaxed and immediately released Silvio, who came up spluttering and drawing breaths in huge, noisy gulps, Falchi still buried to the hilt inside him.
Silvio pushed back from the rim and lay down, tension draining from him, although he was still catching his breath.
Falchi gently bit his neck, his shoulder, and Silvio blinked like he was waking up from a long, deep sleep, rather than returning from death’s door. He twisted to kiss Falchi, and Falchi responded by running his hand down Silvio’s stretched throat, rewarding him, pleasuring him while they were still locked in that intense but oh-so-tender kiss.
When Falchi pulled out and rolled to the side, Silvio crawled over and turned to place his head on Falchi’s shoulder. How could he be so calm and tender after what Falchi had done to him? Hell, judging from his reddened ass, Silvio was still in pain.
Yet there he was, as soft and pliant as a newborn, if half-drowned, kitten. Even more shocking, he’d clearly had his pleasure, his cock soft and a splotch of come marking out the lines of his belly.
Stefano gathered up his towel, fastened it around himself again and made his exit before Silvio and Falchi started noticing anything beyond one another.
Stefano wanted to skip dinner, but when Silvio came to fetch him, he didn’t have any good reason not to attend.
Dinner was served in a large dining room, its floor-to-ceiling glass doors folded open to the cool evening breeze. Falchi was a pleasant enough host, which helped Stefano not to think of him as freak and pervert. He knew he was being unreasonable, though. Falchi hadn’t exactly meant for Stefano to watch him half-drown his lover during sex. Their house, their
He pulled the towel apart, spit into his hand and began to stroke. Pleasure raced through him, his body jumping at the touch like an eager dog, as if mocking him for his prior self-control.
Men are animals, Donata sometimes chided him. Like that evening when he’d stopped the elevator, pulled up her cocktail dress and tugged her barely-there g-string out of the way. Fucked her right there, standing up, from behind, her pussy wet and clenching around him.
He realized he was jerking in time with Falchi’s thrusts, which made his skin crawl. He wanted to imagine himself fucking Silvio, so he concentrated on Silvio’s face, his movements, but the view of Falchi’s cock thrusting in and out was impossible to ignore, and besides, he didn’t have the focus to ignore anything when he was so desperate to get off. Falchi was just a proxy; Silvio was the main attraction.
Falchi paused to whisper something into Silvio’s ear. But what? Do you like it, bitch? Stefano couldn’t imagine him being so crude. Not the gentleman.
Silvio’s chest expanded with several rapid breaths, then a few slow, deep ones.
The reason for which became disturbingly clear when Falchi grabbed Silvio’s head and pushed it over the rim into the whirlpool.
Stefano jolted, shocked, as Falchi kept Silvio down with one hand and held him in place with the other while thrusting deep, long, and brutal into that tight ass.
Silvio resisted—didn’t fight so much as squirm —but no bubbles rose from the water. In Silvio’s place, Stefano would have thrashed and screamed and probably lost every bit of breath in an attempt to free himself.
But Silvio didn’t, even though every harsh line of his body spoke of panic held in check with an iron will and a dark lust that Stefano could almost taste. Falchi’s thrusts grew ever faster and harder, but Stefano couldn’t keep pace. He was too worried, even scared, and his erection faltered. He couldn’t interfere. How long had it been? A minute? It felt like five. Fuck, it felt like an hour.
Thank God, Falchi climaxed and immediately released Silvio, who came up spluttering and drawing breaths in huge, noisy gulps, Falchi still buried to the hilt inside him.
Silvio pushed back from the rim and lay down, tension draining from him, although he was still catching his breath.
Falchi gently bit his neck, his shoulder, and Silvio blinked like he was waking up from a long, deep sleep, rather than returning from death’s door. He twisted to kiss Falchi, and Falchi responded by running his hand down Silvio’s stretched throat, rewarding him, pleasuring him while they were still locked in that intense but oh-so-tender kiss.
When Falchi pulled out and rolled to the side, Silvio crawled over and turned to place his head on Falchi’s shoulder. How could he be so calm and tender after what Falchi had done to him? Hell, judging from his reddened ass, Silvio was still in pain.
Yet there he was, as soft and pliant as a newborn, if half-drowned, kitten. Even more shocking, he’d clearly had his pleasure, his cock soft and a splotch of come marking out the lines of his belly.
Stefano gathered up his towel, fastened it around himself again and made his exit before Silvio and Falchi started noticing anything beyond one another.
Stefano wanted to skip dinner, but when Silvio came to fetch him, he didn’t have any good reason not to attend.
Dinner was served in a large dining room, its floor-to-ceiling glass doors folded open to the cool evening breeze. Falchi was a pleasant enough host, which helped Stefano not to think of him as freak and pervert. He knew he was being unreasonable, though. Falchi hadn’t exactly meant for Stefano to watch him half-drown his lover during sex. Their house, their
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