“I’m not offering you money,” Jack said flatly. “It was a request.”
Olly rubbed his eyes and then sat back. “I don’t do the whole…” he waved his hand ambiguously, “one-night-stand thing. I’ve never done it before. It’s just not that appealing.”
“Why don’t you try it once, and then judge it from experience?” Jack rumbled.
He had to admit that Jack was attractive. And rich. And powerful. If Candi or Sasha or any one of the other girls had been in his shoes, they would have spread their legs in a half second. But he wasn’t a stripper or a whore or anything of the kind, he was just a bartender, getting a request from a wealthy patron. There wasn’t anything odd or creepy about that, right?
“Okay,” he said finally.
[3]
They ended up on the deep pile rug on the floor, because Olly had an aversion to velvet and wasn’t about to get fucked on that material twice in his life. Jack was shirtless, revealing an impressive physique for his age, which Olly was guessing to be close to fifty. He tried to turn his mind off—the age gap thing would drive him insane if he thought about it too long.
The kisses though, they were something else. Kissing women was all about elegance and strength and respect—kissing men was like fucking with mouths, all teeth and tongue and angry panting breath, with hair pulling and lip-biting. Jack sucked a harsh bite into the side of his neck and Oliver whimpered.
“Your blush,” Jack snarled, his voice low and thorny from the alcohol, “How far does it go down?”
In response, Olly moaned articulately, and allowed his thin white shirt to be ripped in pieces. This probably wouldn’t have worked if the tank top in question hadn’t been roughly the width of paper; honestly, it made him feel sexy. Jack scraped his teeth against Oliver’s collarbones and then pressed searing, open-mouthed kissed down his chest and across one pectoral. Olly’s breath hitched in his throat and he bit his fist to keep from moaning indecently.
Jack paused, and pulled the hand out of Oliver’s mouth. He pressed it hard against the deep pile rug, pinning both wrists above his head. “I want to hear you,” he commanded. The order sent a delicious little shiver up Olly’s spine, and he obeyed without a word.
The older man rubbed the bulge in Oliver’s jeans, teasing the zipper. “Should these come off?” he asked playfully.
“Please,” Oliver said, not liking the desperate whine that had crept into his voice. His hips inched upwards into the warm curve of Jack’s hand.
Either Jack wanted to spare him further begging or simply didn’t have the patience. Oliver suspected the latter but held his tongue, and within moments he found himself clad only in his boxer shorts. The pile of clothes that had been cast aside grew steadily, and before too long Jack was in a similar state of undress.
“Up,” Jack commanded, and Oliver got on his knees, only to be turned around roughly and planted on all fours. The quick, dominant movements were turning him on incredibly. His cock had never been this hard before, and he couldn’t bite back the moan when Jack reached around and stroked his cock through his boxer shorts.
The curve of Oliver’s ass came into view, and Jack swatted it almost affectionately. The slap sent another throb of blood towards Oliver’s cock and he had to bite the carpet to keep himself from groaning.
There was another slap, this time much harder. “Stop biting the rug,” Jack snapped, “I said I want to hear you, you cock hungry little slut.”
“S-sorry,” Oliver stammered, and didn’t make any attempt to stop the strangled moan of pleasure when Jack pulled his boxers the rest of the way off and began stroking his uncut cock slowly.
“Better,” Jack agreed, and spanked his ass again. “Do you like having your arse beaten, Oliver?”
“Y-yeah,” Olly managed, “Didn’t know I was into that, honestly.”
“You evidently are,” Jack murmured, studying the arch of his lovely back. He spanked Olly harder, enjoying the little wriggle and the stifled groan from his companion for the night. There was such a thrill in this, something that couldn’t be rivaled, and Jack was trying to be slow and considerate. He was not a patient man.
Something warm and slick spread over his ass cheeks, and Oliver arched his back again, bringing his hips higher in the air. The answering, approving smack on his ass cheek sounded filthy with the oil spread all over it, and Olly bit his lower lip, eyes fluttering shut. He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper being ripped open and he shuddered in anticipation.
“Oh, the things I’d like to do to you,” Jack murmured above him. “I’d take you over that billiard table twice until you screamed for mercy. I’d make this arse glow cherry red from my belt and you’d love every minute of it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yesss,” Oliver whimpered, and felt a finger enter his ass. “Ah! God, yes,” he said inarticulately. It had been so long since he’d been fucked, it felt like an eternity.
His companion was quiet for a moment, seemingly content with stretching him out with his fingers and smacking his ass alternatively. With each surprise blow, Oliver’s asshole clenched around Jack’s fingers and he moaned again. Why hadn’t any of his previous lovers tried spanking him? Why hadn’t anybody told him spanking could feel wonderful? All the years he’d gone without spanking. He felt deprived.
Once Jack added a third finger, there was a not-entirely-pleasant burn from the stretch, and Olly hissed in discomfort. “Breathe,” Jack commanded, and stroked the fat, throbbing length of Oliver’s cock. “You’ll cum soon enough, but not ‘till I’m inside you, understand?”
He squeezed the base of Olly’s cock, almost painfully. “Understand?”
Oliver’s head bobbed frantically. “I understand! Of course! Just please—Oh JESUS!”
Jack’s fingers had twisted and nudged his prostate, and the burst of pleasure had been enough to white out his vision. He bucked and sobbed into the carpet as Olly did it again mercilessly, and he even heard a dark, rumbling chuckle above him. Oh, god, he was enjoying this. Of course he was—he had a young man on his knees and elbows, spread lewdly and begging to be fucked. Who wouldn’t be chuckling?
Despite the preparation, the oil, and the stretching, the tip of Jack’s cock still burned like hell. From experience Oliver knew that tensing was the worst possible thing to do, so he focused on relaxing his muscles and breathing through his nose. Of course, this was rather hard to do when a solid eight inches of cock were being slowly pushed into his ass—the stretch and burn was familiar, pleasant, and he wanted more.
The need to cum was overwhelming, and Oliver had to sink his teeth into his wrist in order to keep his mind off his cock. It seemed like an eternity, but before too long Jack was fully sheathed within Oliver.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Jack snarled, nearly breathless. He bowed his head and rested on Oliver’s back, between his shoulder blades. “Ah, Christ…when were you last fucked?”
When Oliver didn’t immediately answer, Jack pulled on his hair, causing him to rise upwards with a moan and a yelp. “I said,” Jack hissed in his ear, “who was the last person who fucked you?”