Tag: love

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His name was Giuseppe. He leaned against his Vespa, his shaggy black hair, slicked back but still a tangled mess, running almost to his shoulder. He sipped from an espresso, then tossed it into a nearby trash can. Rob watched from across the street, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
But it was obvious now that Giuseppe waited for someone. Rob knew he’d say no if he asked now, especially since that someone was almost certainly a female. So he watched.
Sure enough, she showed up moments later. She was stunningly gorgeous, dark-skinned, dark-haired, tough-eyed and thick-lipped. She came striding down the street in heels and a slinky dress that was entirely too fancy for an ordinary day out. She looked like a mafioso’s wife, Rob thought, and she attracted the eye of the other men on the street. It looked like some would have hooted at her if not for Giuseppe, whose come-hither eyes simmered darkly
Giuseppe nodded and puffed on a cigarette. The woman straightened her back as though to dare onlookers to catcall at her. But Giuseppe just nodded at her, and he glowered.
The silenzio between them was gravida and crescente.
Then she kissed him, and he swooned, bending her over in his arms. She clutched at his powerful shoulders and pulled on his shirt, revealing some of his coarse black chest hair. Giuseppe showed her something in the satchel he had slung around his scooter — Rob saw a bottle of wine and a block of cheese: makings of a picnic.
They spoke then, passionately, words of love or ire or both, Rob suspected, words dripping with intensity — arguing their love or loving their discord, he could not tell. He did not hear their parola, however, because of the Italian folk band coming down the avenue. They were lean men in white shirts with the sleeves rolled up and navy blue trousers, dancing in sync to an upbeat tarantella they played on tambourines. Three older men, more distinguished, with flecks of gray in their dense heads of hair, accompanied them on mandolin, guitar and accordion.
The music was loud, and, to Rob, pleasing. He was distracted by Giuseppe and his woman, however, who scowled at first as they were interrupted by the musicians. Then Giuseppe took her hand in his. He placed his things on the back of the motorcycle, and she coquettishly took his hand.
Her shyness vanished as soon as the dance began. It was rhythmic and fluid and more than a bit sexy — Rob had eyes only for Giuseppe, but the girl attracted a crowd of her own. They kissed and stroked, reaching between each other’s legs, clutching each other’s asses and even, Rob was fairly certain, some light fingering when Giuseppe slipped a hand underneath her dress and she audibly moaned.

A couple of the buttons of Giuseppe’s shirt ripped off too, and that fur-dappled caramel chest made Rob moan along with Giuseppe’s girlfriend. Giuseppe sang then, in florid Italian, his booming voice echoing among the ancient, crumbling plaster of the Roman cityscape.

All of the cittadini who watched burst into laughter, clapping along with the band. They danced too, in singles and pairs, even trios. Men danced with women; women danced with women; men danced with men. Rob blushed when he realized he stood out, the only one in the square not dancing.
The only words of Giuseppe’s song that Rob was able to discern was the repeated line: la ragazza con gli occhi come l’alba. He didn’t know what it meant (ragazza was girl, he knew that much), but he suspected it was a popular song, or adapted from it — the others sang along.
Then a man offered his hand to Rob, blushing, as some other men laughed and cheered him on. The man said, “Vuoi ballare con me, mio caro ragazzo?” It was apparent his friends had got him to ask Rob to dance as a dare or a bet.
But Rob batted his eyes and nodded as girlishly as he could. He loved making arousing men. This particular one wasn’t that sexy — he wasn’t ugly, he was a chef, with bits of uncooked pasta stuck in his beard hairs, in a sleeveless apron with a sleeveless shirt underneath, his big meaty arms tufted in fur.
He twirled Rob, swooned him in his arms and then even kissed him on the lips as the other dancers stopped to watch. When he was done, both the pasta chef and Rob blushed as red as a pomodoro imbarazzato. Rob hugged his thick, firm back as the music died down.
The tarantella band continued on. Rob was still excited. He had thought this was going to continue. He hoped to dance with Giuseppe and run his fingers through his hair.
But no, it was finito, and Giuseppe had his girl over his Vespa, locking lips, like they wanted to drive away but couldn’t stop kissing. Finally he pulled off her lips.
They looked into her eyes, and he spoke, his smooth voice like cigar smoke. Rob was close enough to hear now. He said, “Ho bisogno di te” and her whole back undulated as though she was about to orgasm right there on the sidewalk.
She hopped onto the scooter behind him, holding onto his denim jacket. Rob didn’t think they made denim jackets like that anymore. It made him giggle. The shirt he wore underneath it was incongruously fashionable, he thought, and looked expensive — made out of silk, it was a rich violet that seeped into the dark blue of his jacket. A gold chain glimmered around his neck, the crucifix on his chest ensconced in the kinky black hairs that escaped from under the shirt.
But he sighed too. He was here to jack off Giuseppe — Rob was prepared to pay for a taste of his dick. He might even get it up the backside, he thought, he was pretty sure Italians were usually okay with that.
He was positive, however, that he wouldn’t get Giuseppe as long as a female was on the scene. Rob had been watching because Giuseppe seemed to be sleeping around with multiple women, many of them married — including, Rob was fairly certain, this one — so he figured sooner or later, Giuseppe would get dumped by all of them when his lies caught up to him.
The scooter had barely moved an inch when it stopped short. A different, older Italian man stood in front of it.
“Sei con mia moglie, stronzo!”
All of a sudden, bedlam erupted. Rob eventually deduced that that second man — who was kind of a warm daddy-type, with a mustache and a bit of a belly — was the woman’s husband. Giuseppe and the woman argued with each other as well as the man, and Rob wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the woman had said she had separated from the man, so Giuseppe felt this was not his fault?
Rob spoke a little Italian, but they talked all together and way too fast for Rob to understand very much of it. It was booming and loud, hands flying to make florid gestures. It didn’t seem they could possibly be understanding each other because they spoke over each other, bellowing, and even the woman’s voice somehow outshone the mens’.
The men started shoving each other. The woman slapped her husband, then Giuseppe. The husband seemed about to smack her back, but Giuseppe stopped him. The men came to blows. They nearly knocked over an espresso machine attached to a nearby street vendor’s cart, but the vendor pulled his cart away at the last moment.
And then, somehow, it was all over. Giuseppe’s jacket was in the street, his hair a mess, a trickle of blood down his chin, a tear in his silk shirt revealing a toned, hairy chest. Giuseppe shouted something in Italian as the man left, screaming his own list of obscenities that Rob couldn’t hope to follow. The woman was in tow. She and Giuseppe exchanged florid words, which Rob gathered were just a string of insults on either end.
Giuseppe was left alone, his jacket in ruins and his shirt not much better. He scowled and took it off. His bronzed body made Rob’s dick stir.
It had all taken only a few moments, and the folks who had just minutes ago spontaneously danced the tarantella together now all ignored the exchange, as though non era successo niente. Rob was the only one who seemed shocked.
This, he thought, was the perfect opportunity. He walked right up to Giuseppe and spoke in English. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Rob.”
Giuseppe nodded and furrowed his brow. “What do you-uh want-uh?” His hands gestured in the direction he was about to go in. His English was not very good, but it was better than Rob’s rudimentary Italian.
“I wanted to offer you money. I’m sorry your woman left you-“
“It is, uh, none-uh of your business-uh,” he said. “She is a… A… how do you say?… Hor-ay? La prostituta?”
“Whore.”
“Whore-uh, si. She is a whore-uh.” Giuseppe spat on the ground and motioned away from himself. “It is good-uh to be away with her, yes? For her is now-uh gone?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess so,” Rob said.
Giuseppe grabbed his dick through his jeans, which Rob guessed was — like the now-ruined shirt — worth a lot of money. A few beads of sweat shimmered on Giuseppe’s chest. “You-uh will offer-uh money-uh?”
Rob blushed. He had forgotten to actually ask because he was imagining the taste of Giuseppe’s chest hair.
“Do you want to cornhole me? I’ll give you five hundred euros and all you have to do is lie there, I’ll do-“
“You will have me-uh become-uh a prostituta like her? A whore-uh? I will not do this for any five-uh hundred-uh of euros, I want not your filthy whore-uh money-uh!” He shouted and waved his hands about above Rob’s head. Since he was shirtless, Rob was too entranced by his broad chest and thick black hair to be scared he would be violent. He licked his lips. He knew Giuseppe would do this for the right price, it was just a matter of finding it.
Rob giggled. “A thousand euros.”
Giuseppe was silent for a moment. “Si.” His anger was gone. He clasped Rob on the shoulder, then let go when he realized Rob was aroused, then put his arm back more gingerly. Rob smiled and kissed his bare shoulder. Giuseppe blushed. “Come on then-uh. I know a place, it is good for the making-uh of love, yes-uh. We can do also the dick-uh, si.”
Rob got on the back of his scooter, smiling because he got to ride up behind Giuseppe, gripping his chest and belly and even laying his face against the sweat-dappled muscle of his bare shoulder blades. Giuseppe drove off, weaving in and out of traffic as he headed out of Rome.
At first Rob was so engrossed in the firm meat of Giuseppe’s back and the hair on his chest where Rob’s hands snaked around that he didn’t notice how Giuseppe careened blindly through the streets of Rome. He went through parking lots and on sidewalks, weaving across lanes and even ignored a uniformed police officer who attempted to wave him down.
Relief flooded Rob when they finally left Rome, and the urban streets gave way to suburbs and then dense wooded glens and ponds among the septet of rolling hills around the city. He slowed down a little finally then, even though the roads were empty and he could have sped up.
When Rob pulled his face away from Giuseppe’s back, there was a layer of his sweat there, and it tasted bitterly of olive oil. He ran his fingers through Giuseppe’s hair too, until Giuseppe swatted his hand away.
The place he went was a vineyard a few miles outside of the city. He drove his scooter to a dirt road and down to an abandoned wooden shack. There was a big vat in it and a sour smell that was not exactly pleasant, but somehow smelled good to Rob.
“It is… how do you say… Aceto… it is wine, but it has spoiled?” Giuseppe said when he got off the Vespa.
“Vinegar?”
“Si, si, vinegar-uh, yes,” Giuseppe said. Rob had to smile — he would have never guessed what Giuseppe meant if he had said vinegar as he pronounced it: vweeneggerruh.
Rob placed the smell now. It was the scent of fine vinegar, wafting from that vat. The aroma was rich and heady, filling his nostrils with warmth. Through the slats in the side of the building, Rob could see rows upon rows of grape vines that stretched off over the sunny hills surrounding this barn.
The scent disappeared suddenly, replaced by acrid cigarette smoke. Giuseppe took a deep drag. He offered one to Rob, who declined at first, then thought when in Rome… and took it. He smoked for years but had quit eleven years ago. So when he lit it, he coughed a few times, earning a harsh scornful stare from Giuseppe, and then was momentarily struck dizzy by the rush of nicotine.
Ah, he loved smoking. Il fumo di sigaretta è il più alto risultato di aria!
For a moment, Rob basked in the warmth of the cigarette smoke. Giuseppe uncorked the wine he had brought for the picnic. He took a long drink from it and passed it wordlessly to Rob, who drank as well. It was fine wine, thick and unctuous on his tongue. It was red, very dark, mysterious and full-bodied, possessing il sapore di mille fasci di oscurità.
“Come-uh here,” Giuseppe said. His voice firm but kind. He led Rob to a grassy spot, where they sat together. The smell of grape-blossoms filled the air, mixing with the heady profumo del vino. Giuseppe smiled a little nervously. “Do you think I am handsome-uh?” His voice was smooth like a buttery pasta sauce, and it hung low in the air, resonating in Rob’s ear.
Rob blushed. He took a deep drag from the cigarette. He nodded. “You’re real handsome.”
Giuseppe leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then in one smooth motion, he wrapped Rob up in one arm and laid him on the ground. The wooden floor of the barn scratched at his back.
Rob wasn’t used to being seduced like this. It happened so fast there was a certain instinctual need to protect himself, and he squealed, clutching at Giuseppe’s powerful arms.
Once he was on the ground and didn’t feel like he was falling anymore, Rob kissed Giuseppe on the lips. Giuseppe was slightly hesitant. Rob only really got cornholed by alpha males, who did not normally kiss him, certainly not as part of a passionate make-out session.
But Giuseppe had never been with a woman he didn’t “seduce”. Even when it was obvious early on that she was going to let him have sex with her, Giuseppe always went through the motions of rubbing her shoulders or feet or taking her out on a picnic or doing whatever it took to seduce her. It just felt right to him. Making love to a woman he barely knew, or making love to a woman he did know but doing it in a quick and dirty way just made Giuseppe feel like a filthy manwhore.
He didn’t want to feel like that, and he didn’t want his women to feel like that either. Giuseppe had no experience making love in any other way.
So he let Rob kiss him on the lips. Then he let Rob kiss a trail down his chest. That was weird for Giuseppe — he usually took the lead with his women, and he was the one who showered the other with kisses. It was strange and even a bit ticklish, he thought, to let a man do it.
But soon Giuseppe was laying on the ground, feeling the barn floor beneath his back, as Rob took his handsome uncut cock out and put the tip in his mouth. He looked up at Giuseppe, who made eye contact with him and moaned. Rob cooed in desire at those deep, dark soulful eyes il colore dell’ombra del carbone.
“Succhi il cazzo, per favore, ho bisogno della tua bocca su di me!” Giuseppe let out a moan. Rob couldn’t decide if Giuseppe was still being seductive or not. He had a feeling Giuseppe told girls he loved them all the time when he seduced them, and he was fighting back the urge to say that now out of pure habit.
And he popped the rest of his dick into his mouth, deep-throating him the best he could. Giuseppe was uncut, which Rob thought was hot. He rammed his head all the way down, ingoiare ogni parte della sua virilità virile, figuring that Giuseppe had never been deep-throated like that.
That was true, Giuseppe spent most of his love-making sessions licking his partners’ womanhoods — assaporando il sapore della femminilità and using his tongue to bring them the beatitudine assoluta. That was how a woman could be truly seduced, not just physically, but emotionally e spiritualmente too. He could make her his if he sucked on her pussy in just the right way.
Giuseppe found himself experiencing an orgasm more intense than he thought possible. Without even realizing he was doing it, he had grabbed Rob’s head and held on. He slammed his dick into Rob’s mouth, all the way in, deep into his spasming throat.
“Si, you are-uh… You have-uh…” Giuseppe rolled his eyes as a spasm of pleasure ran up his spine. “You have a mouth-uh, it is made of silk-uh, yes, si? I am, uh, how do you say… in love with your mouth.” He smiled down at Rob and wiped away the moisture that ran down Rob’s cheeks.
jacking him off got Rob as hard as a conchiglia too. Giuseppe’s cock tasted, like his sweat, of olive oil and sunlight. It was the tastiest cock Rob had ever jacked. He relaxed his throat and trusted Giuseppe to make sweet love to his throat until that hairy ballsac slapped against Rob’s chin.
Eventually even Rob needed to take a break, and he pulled away from Giuseppe’s cock. It twitched and leaked precum down the shaft, while Giuseppe’s hairy chest muscles all flexed at once.
“Baciami. Voglio assaporare il mio amore sulle tue labbra,” Giuseppe said. He gently but firmly grabbed Rob and brought his face up to meet Giuseppe’s. Again, Rob never thought Giuseppe would kiss him so much, but he didn’t even seem to mind sucking his own precum off Rob’s face. He planted his lips right on Rob’s, and Rob swooned.
“Will you plow me now? Please? I need your cock!” Rob yelled out, begging as he bent over on all fours.
Giuseppe’s dick throbbed above his face, while Rob still hoarsely tried to recover his breath. He kissed every inch of Giuseppe’s thighs and sucked on his body hair, and even his balls while Giuseppe recovered from his orgasm, ignoring his question.
“Yes, I am ready now,” Giuseppe said, when he had regained his composure. Those deep brown eyes were so big Rob lost himself in them, wordlessly craving another kiss, which Giuseppe provided. “I will make-uh sweet and sugared-uh love upon you, my darling-uh.”
Giuseppe enjoyed the lovestruck look on Rob’s face — it felt just as victorious and triumphant as when he made a woman look like that. He had conquered Rob just as he had conquered so many females e li sedusse completamente. Giuseppe stared at his own spit-dripping cock, waiting for himself to calm down enough that he could stick it in without blowing his load right away. He gave it one stroke with his own hand and groaned. He had never felt so horny. He just wanted to get his cock back in a tight, moist hole, and he didn’t care whose.
“I will make-uh you feel like-uh… how do you say?… A hundred-uh dollars-uh!” Giuseppe tried to say that with a cowboy accent, like John Wayne, but it wasn’t very good and Rob didn’t even notice that he was affecting an accent.
Giuseppe decided he was ready as Rob displayed his bare ass and spread his cheeks — which Giuseppe assumed Rob did only because he was so turned on by Giuseppe’s John Wayne impression.
Keeping a firm, flat smile on his face, Giuseppe gulped but pretended not to be nervous. As far as he was concerned, it wasn’t pervy if he was on top — if Giuseppe weren’t so successful with married women, he’d have probably done this multiple times by now, so really, he thought, his lack of practice signified that he was more manly than those mafioso and thugs who did it on a regular basis. Giuseppe tried to convince himself of that, unsuccessfully, as he blushed and awkwardly wedged his cock between Rob’s cheeks.
He took a deep breath. Before he could start plowing, Rob turned his head and kissed Giuseppe on the lips once more.
“Stick it in me!” Rob said, desperate for it to begin.
“I will-uh enter-uh you now. You will feel-uh much of the pleasure-uh…”
By now, Giuseppe was so aroused to begin with that he kissed back without a second thought — on the mouth this time, with tongue, and with his hands caressing Rob’s body where his tits would be if he had any. He plunged his tongue between Rob’s lips. His arms caressed Rob’s body and spread his asscheeks.
A jolt of pain shot up Rob’s spine, but it lasted only a moment, just long enough to bring the pleasure it came with to the forefront of Rob’s spine. It had been a long time since any man made him feel like this. He wanted to both cry and beg for more allo stesso tempo. He clutched Giuseppe’s well-muscled forearm for support.
Rob quivered just like a girl did when she wanted to get fucked so bad she could taste it. Giuseppe grinned. He loved bringing girls to this state, and, it seemed, he was so sexy he could do it to a man too. Giuseppe thought he should be famous on account of being so prestante.
“Vedi, io sono l’ultimo amante del mondo.”
He slid his dick in. When Rob let out a long, loud moan, Giuseppe again assumed his dick was exceptional and that that was why it felt so good to Rob. He smiled with pride as Rob’s whole body writhed beneath him, and Giuseppe could see the pressure and agony turn to bliss as his dick teased Rob’s prostate.
“Ah, si… Open your bottom-uh…” Giuseppe crooned into Rob’s ear, making Rob cringe and moan. “I will fill you up with love-uh…”
Rob was on all fours, so he couldn’t jack himself off because he used both hands for support. But he could lift his head and lean back, so he could kiss Giuseppe as he got rear-ended. Giuseppe supported his chest with one arm, giving Giuseppe perfect access while making Rob unable to do more than writhe in sync with his penetration.
Actually there was one other thing Rob could do, as his desire to cum built up to explosive levels: He grabbed Giuseppe’s hand and brought it to his cock.
Giuseppe didn’t hesitate. He didn’t know if a reacharound was a normal macho thing to do or not. Probably not, he thought as his hands wrapped around Rob’s shaft. Almost certainly not.
But in the heat of the moment, it seemed decente. Giuseppe was bragging to himself about how much pleasure he was bringing Rob, so it made sense. He had heard men in prison talk of pleasing their “prison wives” with a reacharound, and in the Italian military, officers were allowed to cornhole recruits so long as they gave a reacharound (or so the rumors suggested). Giuseppe thought it might be normal in America too. It might even, he decided, be something John Wayne would do.
So he did it. He gripped Rob’s cockshaft and stroked it, somewhat awkwardly because he had never done that, never even touched a limp dick besides his own, much less a stranger’s.
He might have lost his nerve to keep stroking if they hadn’t reached a climax moments later. As soon as he touched Rob’s dick, Rob’s prostate exploded within him, sending pangs of pleasure up Rob’s spine. Rob cried out and went back to all fours, but this time Giuseppe went with him, pounding away and stroking him off.
Rob shot his wad into the dirt, ending up on his side as Giuseppe plowed in with all his potenza. “Oh god!” Rob cried out. He dug his fingers into the soil, bringing up clods of dirt as the most intense orgasm of his life wracked his body.
Cum flowed within Rob, who sighed. He loved that feeling, a man’s heavy balls filling him up, the sensation of creamy cum seeping into his flesh. He became Giuseppe in that moment, as he felt his dick turn all moist and cummy, still rock-hard where it throbbed within Rob.
And then it was all over. Rob gasped for air. His own dick was done, and he felt his climax draining away. Giuseppe’s dick still shot the last few drops of cum before it too limpened inside him. Giuseppe didn’t pull out until then.
“Damn…” Rob said. He leaned back, spread-eagled, on the dirt.
Giuseppe kissed him on the lips once more, then stood. “That was good-uh, si? You will pay?”
Rob nodded. “Yeah. Hand me my pants.” Giuseppe did so, and Rob counted out the money: un migliaio di euro.
Giuseppe took the cash. “You are… You will be in Rome-uh for some time-uh?”
“No,” Rob said. He yawned and stood, stretching his legs before putting his clothes back on. “I’m leaving soon. I’m going back home, to America” He ignored Giuseppe’s annoyed expression — Giuseppe was not used to people breaking up with him. Giuseppe might lose interest, or a husband might come into the picture, or a woman might be forbidden by her father to see him, but Giuseppe was not dumped. That had literally never happened, and Giuseppe’s mind raced to comprehend it.
But Rob was ready to move on. He’d had his fill of Italy, and he was ready to return home.

Read it now as an ebook from your favorite ebookstore!

Rob’s World of Men: Chapter Two

Read it now as an ebook from your favorite ebookstore!

Rob didn’t discover that the men were lumberjacks and that they were on strike until much later. When he happened upon them, they appeared to be a couple dozen of the most muscular men he had ever seen, lounging around, drinking coffee and looking nonchalant when pretty girls walked by. It was a very sedate strike.
Rob was here in France in order to taste the masculine fruit of the country. And there was no sweeter fruit than these lumberjacks. Their muscles bulged against the black and white-striped shirts they wore, with low v-necks that showed off their strapping chest muscles.
One, in particular, attracted Rob’s gaze. He was tall, broad-shouldered, mustached and grizzle-chinned, with a tattoo of a French flag visible on his chest and one of Marianne on his left bicep, which was bare beneath a sleeveless shirt.
“Bonjour,” Rob said. He knew his French was good, if Quebecois-accented, since his French teacher was de Montreal. “Je m’appelle Rob.”
The man grunted. He screwed up his nose when Rob sat next to him at the little cafe table. He looked like he was about to say something, but then a pretty middle-aged woman walked by, gabbing on her cell phone. The man watched her with intent interest.
“I would like to pay you money,” Rob said. He blushed, momentarily at a loss for words as the man glared at him.
“I am on strike,” he said.
“No, no, I’m not going to pay you for your job, I have something special in mind,” Rob said. “I want you to come back to my hotel room. I’ll pay you five hundred euros.”
“Quoi?”
“Five hundred euros. You just come back to my hotel room, and… y’know, let me do some stuff.”
“Quoi?”
“You know…”
“You show me,” he said as though he had a good guess and simply wanted confirmation. He frowned. “Under table.”
Rob looked among the other lumberjacks, who smoked cigarettes and lazed like they were taking the day off instead of striking. One of them looked at the man as though he wanted to know what was happening, but he did not ask.
Shivering with fear and anticipation, Rob dove underneath the cafe table. Tourists walked by, sneaking glances at him. The man wore blue pants made of some thick fabric. He didn’t what he was expected to do, but he stuck his head between the man’s legs and kissed his cock.
“Tu es sale.”

The man wore no underwear. His massive, limp dick was palpable beneath the fabric of his pants. He laughed a deep, baritone boom when Rob kissed his dick. When he laughed, his dick twitched.

The man stood up, and Rob crawled out from underneath the table. The man stood there. He lit a cigarette. When Rob stood near him, the man pointed to the ground. He ashed right on Rob’s head.
“Crawl,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer. He just turned around and walked away, and Rob got down on all fours. He followed after him, keeping his head up and as close as he could get, so he could smell the man’s thick asscheeks.
He didn’t leave the cafe. He walked to the counter, and Rob blushed intensely. The pretty girl clerk looked at him with a curious expression as she sold the man a baguette. She smiled flirtatiously at him, and she called him Hugo.
Hugo smiled at her. “Tu es très jolie,” he said. He kissed her on the lips, and she swooned into his arms.
For a moment, Rob thought he was forgotten, that Hugo was going to take this girl into the men’s room and make love to her. But the girl pushed him away. She squealed and slapped him lightly, though she laughed and blushed as though she was happy to have kissed him despite the slap.
Hugo left her with a shrug, like he didn’t care that she had rejected him. He returned to his table, grabbed the beret he had left there, finished his coffee and walked off. He didn’t glance behind him at Rob, who scampered after him.
“I thought we’d go to my hotel room. I’ll jack your dick and lick your asshole and you can cornhole me,” Rob said. “I’ll do anything you want. Five hundred euros.”
“Oui.”
“Okay. Thanks, Hugo,” Rob said. “My hotel is-“
“Non,” he said. He stopped walking. They were in the cafe’s backyard. It didn’t appear to be used very often, but it was maintained. It was a small grassy plot that faced a cobblestoned alley. There was a row of shrubs that prevented anyone from seeing fully in, but the yard was not concealed — no one could see anything roughly below Hugo’s waist. Of course, people in the cafe’s kitchen could see through a window, but it seemed Hugo didn’t much care about that.
Hugo took off a hunk of the baguette with his teeth. He loudly munched on it, while Rob settled on his knees in front of Hugo’s body. His face was just inches from Hugo’s crotch.
“Is it… do you want me to just…?”
“Lick it,” Hugo said, his mouth full of bread. Baguette crumbs landed on Rob’s face. “Sucer.”
Rob unzipped Hugo’s fly and pulled his pants down. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so his thick cockshaft popped right out. It hit Rob in the face, making Hugo laugh.
“You have a big dick.”
“Oui,” Hugo said. His face was flat and expressionless. He puffed on the cigarette in one hand, then took another bite of the baguette. His burgundy beret almost fell off his head.
Rob kissed his cocktip again. It twitched just like before, but now Rob could taste the musty smell of his sweat. His uncut cock tasted something like a vineyard, Rob thought, not the wine part, but the unused mash, the waste left over after making wine. It was musty and sweet and strong, and it made Rob’s dick hard.
“Colette,” Hugo said. His voice was as grim and flat as his face. Rob didn’t know what he meant at first, but then Hugo repeated it. “Colette.” He took a few steps closer to the window that faced the cafe’s kitchen. Rob had to scramble after him to stay in front of his still-limp cock. That placed Rob up against the ancient brick wall of the cafe, while Hugo’s big body filled the open window into the kitchen. “Colette…”
That pretty waitress from inside walked in there from the cafe. She scoffed at Hugo. “Eh, Hugo, va-t’en, je suis occupé,” she said in French.
From her position in the kitchen, she couldn’t see that Hugo’s dick was out, and she couldn’t see that Rob was letting that entire shaft drop into his mouth. He suckled on it, as passionately as he could without making much noise.
“I have written a poem,” Hugo said. His dick firmed up now that Colette was paying attention to him, and it throbbed in Rob’s throat.
She blushed and laughed again. She waved him off, but she also moved closer, washing dishes near enough to the window that she could hear him.
“Let me see your breasts,” he said. His cock throbbed in Rob’s mouth. “Or just one. They are so beautiful, they are like poems of the flesh. My words can never be as inspired as they are.”
She undid her blouse, and she let one of her tits fly free. She made it look rather casual, as though it was an accident, though she had clearly done so deliberately. Hugo lowered his head and tried to suck on her nipple, as his dick fully perked up to full erection in Rob’s mouth.
“Hush, Hugo, I am married,” she said. She took her breast away and covered it up. “Let me hear your poem.”
He straightened his back. His dick twitched in Rob’s mouth, and he lit another cigarette. He exhaled the smoke away from the cafe. He put the baguette down on a table that sat out back — it had a wobbly leg, so it tottered when he put the baguette on it. His heavy, hairy balls rested on Rob’s chin, dripping sweat onto him while the first few drops of salty precum hit his tongue.

You are pretty like Paris
When it lights up at night
You are an oasis of illumination
In a desert of night-time
You are where the camel drinks at last
Before it dies
Under the fierce Algerian sun
You are my canteen
The final drink
The last one I need
To die on sand, satisfied
And thirst, quenched

Vous êtes jolie comme Paris
Quand il allume la nuit
Vous êtes une oasis d’illumination
Dans un désert de nuit
Vous êtes là où le chameau boit enfin,
Avant qu’il ne meurt
Sous le soleil algérien féroce
Vous êtes ma cantine
La boisson finale
La dernière que je dois
Pour mourir sur le sable, satisfait
Et la soif, trempé

She blushed and smiled. “That is very pretty, Hugo,” she said. She patted him on the muscular belly beneath his lumberjack shirt. His skin puckered at her touch, and his dick twitched. She bared her tit again for him, making him growl with desire. She covered it back up with a giggle. “But you did tell the same poem to Maria last week. She has told me about it.”
Hugo’s mouth opened but no words came out. His deep voice rumbled. He had obviously not meant to get caught at this. She laughed at his reaction, then turned around and walked away.
“Damn it!” Hugo snorted when she was gone. “Merde!” The kitchen was empty.
He pistoned his hips before Rob could react. That pushed his entire cock down Rob’s throat. Rob choked and spasmed, and his own dick leaked precum into his fingers. His head banged painfully into the wall behind him.
He slathered spit all along the shaft, coughing up so much saliva it dripped in clumps. Hugo’s muscles bulged beneath his black-and-white striped shirt, which had a few dark spots now where he sweated through it.
Rob’s hands stretched up to Hugo’s chest, slipping under that shirt to massage his hairy muscles. He had a thick nest of fur there on his torso, which Rob loved. He wished he could get up and lick his chest clean, but he had a feeling Hugo would not allow that.
As Rob groped Hugo, Hugo groped as well — his hands slipped into the window, where he felt around until he found a cheese plate. He pulled it out. The smell of funky cheese filled the air, overpowering even the precum and sweat scent of Hugo’s cock.
As he pumped his hips, forcing his cock into Rob’s throat, Hugo ignored his choking and his frenzied jacking. He just grabbed the baguette he had half-eaten, and he made himself a cheese sandwich, just by ripping off hunks of bread and cheese. He ate it vociferously, crumbs landing all over Rob and even on Hugo’s dick so Rob could taste the bread and the sour cheese.
All of a sudden, Hugo pulled off Rob’s face. He jammed the baguette into Rob’s face as though trying to make him deepthroat that as well. He laughed cruelly when the baguette left crumbs all over Rob’s cheeks.
“Lick my ass. Lécher mon cul.”
Then he turned around. His asscheeks were big and plump and tanned brown. They were hairy, but not extremely so, they were just hairy enough for Rob. He dove his face between those cheeks.
Hugo grunted like he was surprised. Rob loved licking ass though, so he enthusiastically lapped at the sweat that trickled between Hugo’s cheeks. His body was big and plump, so his ass was juicy. Rob’s entire face fit between those delicious cheeks. He slurped up every inch of Hugo’s funky hole.
His eyes and his nose were covered, but Rob could hear that something was happening. Hugo shifted his weight a little, like he faced a different direction now. Hugo said something and laughed — was that aimed at Rob? He couldn’t tell.
Eventually Rob had to come up for air. He was still pinned between the wall and Hugo’s big ass, but he could see just barely that there was a white-faced mime in the alley. He must have been walking by and seen Hugo getting his ass licked.
Now the mime was bent over, leaning against the fence with his ass in the air. He wiggled his ass like a dog trying to scratch an itch. That made Hugo laugh, and Rob joined in — the mime was making fun of them. He was in the same position as Hugo, moving his ass as though an invisible man licked it.
Rob licked all the way from the top of Hugo’s ass, right at the small of his back, down his asscrack, over his hole and through the funky hair of his taint. Rob’s head appeared on the other side of his body, where Rob swallowed his heavy ballsac.
Hugo grunted. He lifted his balls up, then plopped them back in Rob’s mouth a few times.
Sensing that Hugo was ready to move on, Rob stood up, very slowly, keeping his tongue out so he licked Hugo’s cockshaft then all the way up his chest and over that black-and-white striped shirt he still wore.
He nearly managed to lick all the way up to Hugo’s face so he could kiss him on the lips, but Hugo roughly pushed his face away.
Oh well, Rob thought, that was okay with him. He knew what he wanted to do next. He dropped his own pants to bare his ass, while Hugo watched. He reached into the kitchen again, this time pulling out a bottle of red wine and a glass. He poured himself a drink. He laughed at the mime who mimicked everything Hugo did.
The mime finished his invisible wine and smashed the invisible glass on the road. Then he grabbed an invisible ass and pretended to cornhole it, making Hugo laugh some more.
As Hugo actually bent Rob over for real, the mime beckoned for someone. Rob blushed as he realized he was about to have an audience.
He bit his lip and threw his head back as Hugo rammed his dick in without a word of warning. He didn’t use any lube at first, but he started to spit on his cockshaft once he felt resistance. The pain in Rob’s ass was extraordinary, and he moaned in both desire and agony.
It turned out the mime beckoned a musician, an accordionist who laughed when he saw Hugo cornholing Rob. The accordionist began playing musette, which made the entire experience seem almost romantic to Rob. The crooning accordion filled the air, covering up the sound of Rob’s gasping as he accepted more and more of Hugo’s meat.
“Ooh la la,” Rob said through his moans. His prostate came alive and sent tingles through his body. His pleasure grew in waves with every touch of Hugo’s cock inside him.
Hugo’s sausage-like fingers grabbed ahold of Rob’s back and held on. His dick was all the way in Rob’s ass now, his balls slapping against Rob’s thighs. Rob squirmed. Hugo grunted.
The tune coming from the accordion changed to a new song. Rob recognized it but he couldn’t place it at first. He was too overwhelmed by sensations from deep within him to think about it.
It was only when Hugo began singing that Rob recognized the words and placed it to the tune — it was “La Marseillaise”, the national anthem of France. It was a bloody, martial song and, despite the romance of the accordion, that atmosphere shone through because Hugo sang it with his deep, baritone voice, crackling, booming, pumping his biceps and his pecs on the accented words. He sounded like a soldier marching off to war, Rob thought, covering up his own moans so he didn’t overpower the sound of Hugo singing.
At last an orgasm ran through Rob’s body. He loved cumming with a man’s cock in his ass because it always made the top react — Hugo stopped singing for a moment. He grumbled, then groaned in surprise as Rob’s asshole clenched around his cock.
When Hugo began to gyrate his hips again, the pain was worse than ever on account of Rob’s orgasm-tightened ass. That didn’t last long, however, as the smell of cum filled the air, crowding out the bleu cheese and wine that still lingered, and the passion of Hugo’s thrusting made Rob relax
Now he shuddered, aftershocks of his orgasm wracking his body. He was fully limp though, barely able to remain on all fours in front of Hugo, with his ass in the air and his head on the ground.
Since Rob no longer jacked himself off, Hugo could — and did — treat him like a ragdoll. He held onto Rob’s asscheeks tightly, riding him, grinding his dick inside Rob’s body as though he needed to cornhole every inch of Rob’s innards. He grunted out a few indecipherable French syllables.
Once he finished his wine, he smashed the delicate glass on Rob’s back. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the ground at Rob’s feet, and the slight twinge of pain made Rob writhe. The smell of wine was strong now. Rob squirmed but Hugo kept a tight grip on his body.
“I will drown your ass now,” Hugo said with a broken moan. “Je vais noyer ton cul maintenant…”He slapped Rob’s cheeks and watched them ripple. His own muscles flexed and rippled as well, as an orgasm washed over his body.
His lit cigarette fell out of his mouth and landed on Rob’s back, scorching him briefly before it rolled off him and fell onto the ground. He yelped a little, as the pain reawakened the exquisite sensations in his asshole.
Hugo plowed in and out relentlessly, still breaking into the words of “La Marseillaise” every few seconds as the accordionist continued the song (or maybe started it over, Rob couldn’t tell). Hugo grunted and roared, and cum spurted out of his uncut cock.
It filled up Rob’s ass, dripping into every corner of his body. He shot so much that some of it slipped out his ass, coating his butt and his inner thighs in creamy goodness. It was hot and thick, and it made Rob moan when he felt wad after wad of semen land on his prostate.
He squirmed. He moved his ass back and forth, rubbing his insides with Hugo’s dick. Hugo stood perfectly still. He lit yet another cigarette as he still moaned with the power of his own orgasm.
“Ooh la la…” Hugo murmured with a dry, throaty chuckle.
Then his dick was perfectly limp. Rob pulled off him and sighed. The most incredible relief of his life flooded his body now that his ass was empty. He turned around and dove his face between Hugo’s lumberjack arm and his body. As Hugo breathed heavily, and the mime and accordionist walked away, Rob licked all the sweat that had collected there in Hugo’s damp armpit.
At last it was over. Hugo flopped his limp dick between his fingers, and he wiped his shaft off with the last little bit of baguette. He rammed the crusty, ass-and-cum-soaked bread into Rob’s mouth, laughing when it made Rob cough and choke.
He pulled his pants up, took a drag off his cigarette, then glanced towards the street. There was a pretty girl walking past, and Hugo’s eyes lit up.
“Money,” Hugo said. “Argent, maintenant.”
Rob had forgotten he hadn’t actually paid yet. He pulled out his wallet, carefully counted out five hundred euros and handed it over. Hugo took it, nodded, then took the rest of the cash out of Rob’s wallet. He pushed Rob away and walked out to the main street, calling after the pretty girl.
“Antoinette! Antoinette! Attends-moi!”
Finally left alone, Rob sighed. He pulled his own pants up and leaned against the fence. Inside the cafe’s kitchen, Colette had returned with a plate of dirty dishes. She wrinkled her nose at Rob as though she either thought he was homeless or knew he was a tourist and didn’t like them.
But she didn’t tell him to leave the yard, so Rob just stayed there, smelling the wine, bleu cheese and cum, the combined scent of which would forever make him think of France and the greatest French stud he had ever met.
He smiled. This European tour, he thought, was going to be even better than he had hoped.