Club Doblar

The thinnish guy, John, who was the long and thick one, was doing most of the work and a lot of the grunting and groaning. He was the one crouched between my legs. He was the one stroking me deep and hard with his cock—sliding his cock over Bill’s, the two of them sighing and groaning in unison, making love to each other—probably long-time lovers—while they made sex inside me. It was John who teased my nipples with his fingers and his lips and teeth as he fucked me. It was John who grasped my cock and worked it until I had ejaculated up the belly of his expensive silk shirt.

When John dipped his face to my chest, it was Grady’s face I had to look past to see the double fucking performance on the stage. I didn’t think they were doing any better at it on stage than these three men were doing to me—but then I was so much more intimately involved with what John and Bill . . . and Grady were doing.

Grady was hunched over the table, his hands grasping and holding my legs up and out over the table as John worked between my spread thighs. Grady’s eyes were boring into mine, and he was whispering to me throughout the whole servicing of the two men, assuring me that I was doing great and that I loved every stroke of it—telling me not to screw this up.

John and Bill came almost together and collapsed into a deep shared kiss over my shoulder. Long-experienced lovers. Needing this to bring out the most in a fuck.

They hadn’t moved, still inside me—they’d lasted longer than the guys on the stage had—when Bill murmured, “That was very nice. Can we take him to our hotel for the night?”