Substitute

When it was all buried inside me and his pubic hair was brushing against my tender inner thighs and I was still gulping and groaning and moaning, he at last lost control and started pumping me long and hard and deep. My body thrashed about involuntarily, but he kept a firm grip in my upper thighs with those strong hands of his, holding my pelvis firmly against his while he fucked me in rapid strokes and to completion.

I ejaculated against up his belly as he went rigid for a brief second, stroked hard three more times, and then went rigid again, gave a deep, animal sound in his throat and collapsed onto my body.

He remained inside me, as he lay on top of me, his sweat slick and musky-sweet to the senses. And I felt him soften, contracting in my canal, and I almost felt a pang of loss as he did so. I was sore and at the edge of exhaustion from the exertion and release of the pent up emotions. The awe of the memory of the straining, flexing muscles of his body as he worked inside me, the undulating garden tattooing. All of that to possess me. Me bringing out that need and lust in him.

It was done. And it was more than I had imagined it would be. Could Cliff had done better? I would never know. The first time could not be repeated.

But the act itself could be repeated.

After only a few moments, the Horse rose up off me and stood over me, a look of satisfaction and possession in his face. A slight return of the sneer. He'd had me. And he'd been the first one to have me. That was something I couldn't give any other man. Another notch on his belt, but probably a special notch for him. I doubted that he got to fuck too many virgins.

I watched him roll the spent condom, its bulbous head ballooned with his prodigious semen, off his reawakening cock. And then he gave me a wicked smile and I watched him open another condom packet, roll it onto his cock, and stroke himself bigger while he dribbled more lube along his shaft.

"Roll over." It wasn't a request.

This time he took me more roughly, my hips on the sofa pillow again, and him on his knees behind me and stroking hard and long into me. He had his hands buried in the hair on my head and had my torso arched back and taunt as he gave me what was probably his usual long, hard, rough fuck.

After this time, I just lay there on the floor, exhausted and moaning and whimpering. Loving it, but hoping to hell he wasn't going to do it again—at least for a while.

And he didn't.

I watched his lithe figure move around the apartment with authority and familiarity, just like he owned the place. Just like he owned my body now. He moved like a cat, completely comfortable with his beautiful nakedness.

He raided the refrigerator. He quickly drank off a beer. He burped and then he farted.

And then he moved to Cliff's room and I watched, stretched out on the floor, while he fucked the passed-out Cliff quickly and brutally from the rear, a repeat of how he had just fucked me. I watched every stroke, remembering and reliving it as he had done it to me. Savoring it. Loving it. Almost wanting it again. Almost.

After the Horse was finished with Cliff, he went in and took a shower, leaving the door to the bathroom open so that I could watch the entire process. Then he dried himself in the doorway and gave me a full shot of stretching his leathers back on his beautiful body.

He leaned down and whispered something in my ear as he untied my hands. Then he sauntered slowly over to the door and was gone into the night.

* * *

"Wow, look at you," Cliff was saying the next evening as he leaned on the frame of my bedroom door and watched me pull a pair of tight jeans over my naked hips. "Lookin' good, man."

Cliff had just showered and a towel was fighting very hard to hold place around his hips and was about to lose the fight. I could tell from the bulge in front that he was interested in something. I couldn't remember that he'd shown any interest like this around me ever before.

He'd been eyeing me all through dinner and even had made some comments about me being different somehow. And I could swear that he seemed to be flirting with me.

"Goin' out?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think so," I answered, pulling a tight T-shirt down over my torso.

"'Cause, ya know, I thought we might stay in tonight and watch a movie, or somethin' . . . or somethin'," Cliff said. And he was giving me "that" look. I couldn't remember him giving me that look before.

"Sorry, can't," I said. "Got a date." At least I hoped I had. I hoped I'd remembered the name of the bar the Horse had whispered in my ear before he left.

I was humming when I walked out the door to the apartment and shut it behind me, leaving Cliff standing alone in the middle of the living room—right on the spot where I had learned I liked danger and a little rough.