As the sun dipped below the Caracas skyline, casting a warm orange glow over the city, I settled onto my worn leather armchair, the creaking of the wood echoing through the room like a promise of pleasure to come. My hand wrapped around my cock, stroking it with a firm yet gentle touch, as I gazed out the window at the vibrant street life of Venezuela.
My mind wandered to the porn films I’d watched that morning, the images still seared into my brain like hot coals on my skin. The way the men in those videos fucked each other senseless, their moans and groans a symphony of desire, had me aching for some dick in my hole.
I thought of Bastian Karim, his ass so plump and inviting, begging to be taken hard and fast by some lucky stud’s cock. And Gianni Gio, that priest with a dirty secret – he was a master of the art of anal sex, able to thrust his dick balls-deep into any willing hole, making them scream for more.
My thoughts were interrupted by my own cock, begging for attention as it grew harder in my hand. I began to stroke it faster, imagining Gianni’s dick replacing mine, and Bastian’s ass wrapped tight around it, the way they’d suck and lick each other’s cocks with reckless abandon on those screens.
The fantasy took hold, and I was there, sucking cock, taking a hard fuck, my mouth stuffed with dick as I sucked and swallowed every last drop of semen. The chair creaked beneath me, the only sound in the room as I rode out the waves of pleasure that crashed through me like a tidal wave.
When it was all over, I lay back in the chair, spent but sated, my cock still throbbing with the memory of those porn stars and their filthy, glorious sex. I knew I’d be back to watching those videos soon, craving more of that hot, raw, gay sex that never failed to leave me breathless and begging for more.
