Oliver and Seth Have Some Fun

Cleo's was a contradiction in neon--a seedy sort of upscale if there was such a thing. The kind of place with overpriced cocktails served in chipped glassware, where velvet ropes guarded peeling leather couches, and everyone looked too good or too tired to care. The music pounded through the space like a second heartbeat, lights strobing in violent color across smoke machine haze and sequins on the far stage. A drag queen with impossibly long lashes lip-synced to a pop anthem, hair teased to heaven, commanding the room but Seth and Oliver sat almost too quiet on the far side of the bar.

Seth leaned against the bar, one arm slung casually along the back of the booth where Oliver sat, looking smaller than usual in the riot of sound and movement. At 5'4", with slight hair dusting his arms and collarbone, Oliver looked like he might vanish if the lights hit him wrong. He stared into his drink--a whiskey sour, barely touched--and blinked at the chaos like it was happening through the glass.

Seth, broad-shouldered and sure in the way only someone built like a god could be, smiled sideways at him. Jet-black hair slicked back, shirt tight over his chest, he looked like he belonged here--or at least knew how to fake it. He hadn't missed the way Oliver had been retreating into himself lately, too quiet, too polite, too still. He was a contented husband now and hadn't been out in the three years he had been with Alexander. But the man was out of town for the weekend and the friend decided to finally drag him out, tossed him something vaguely fashionable to wear, and steered him into the heart of Cleo's with the determination of a man on a mission.

He nudged Oliver's knee under the table. "You're not gonna break if you have a little fun," he said, barely audible over the music but loud enough to make Oliver glance up.

Seth sipped his tequila and let the beat buzz through his chest, eyes scanning the pulsing crowd with the casual ease of someone who still knew every trick in the book. He grinned, more to himself than anyone else, then leaned in toward Oliver, their shoulders brushing.

"Remember when we used to tear up places like this every other weekend?" he said, voice raised just enough to cut through the noise. "Back when we thought three hours of sleep and a questionable Uber ride home was just part of the fun?"

Oliver let out a quiet laugh, his eyes soft. "Yeah. And when you thought mesh shirts were a personality."

Seth barked a laugh. "Still do, babe."

Oliver's smile lingered, but his gaze stayed low, swirling the melting ice in his glass. "Things change. I'm not that guy anymore."

"Sure!" Seth said, nudging him again. "You can still have fun. You're allowed to look around, you know. Married doesn't mean blind."

Just then, the bartender reappeared--a tall, glistening man in microscopic booty shorts, the kind that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He slid two fresh drinks onto the table with a wink and a flourish, then disappeared into the crowd with the ease of someone constantly watching.

Seth raised his glass in salute. "I mean, come on," he said, gesturing broadly to the crowd. "It's basically raining men in here."

Oliver followed his gaze. The room was a buffet of tight shirts, suggestive dancing, tattoos, stubble, and cologne hanging thick in the air. It was impossible not to notice.

He chuckled, a bit more relaxed now, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Okay, yeah. That one's definitely not wearing underwear."

"There he is," Seth said, clinking their glasses together. "Still got a pulse."

Oliver shook his head, but he was smiling now--real, this time. The kind that reached his eyes.

Out on the dance floor, the crowd moved like one heaving organism--grinding, swaying, grinding again. Shirtless men with glistening torsos and tight waists bounced to the beat under strobe lights, some caught in rhythm, others lost in each other. A muscular guy in leather harnesses and tight jeans danced with abandon, arms lifted, tattoos snaking across his chest and disappearing under the straps. Not far from him, a bearded man with a soft belly and thick chest hair wore a mesh tank that did nothing to hide the sweat rolling down his sternum. He looked like someone's fantasy came to life--solid, grounded, sensual.

A cluster of twinks dominated the center of the floor, all skin and cheekbones, moving with high-energy chaos, laughing too loud and dancing too fast. They seemed to float just above the music, limbs loose and eyes wide, glitter smeared across their collarbones. One of them wore bunny ears, another had eyeliner smudged down his cheek like war paint. They danced in a circle, breaking off to flirt with whoever dared to make eye contact.

And then, like some unspoken shift, a few peeled away from the crowd and headed toward a shadowy archway behind a velvet curtain to the left of the DJ booth. The back room. No signs, no rules--just a look between men and a parting of fabric.

Oliver instinctively reached for his phone, thumb already flicking up his lock screen. A message? A missed call? Nothing. Just the glow of the screen and that photo of him and Alexander in a vineyard last fall--sunlight, soft smiles, a moment too perfect to be anything but real.

Seth noticed. Of course, he did.

"Oh my god, again?" Seth groaned, snatching Oliver's wrist lightly and pushing the phone down. "He's at a conference, not lost in the Andes."

Oliver shrugged. "I just thought maybe..."

"What? He's boring. He's probably asleep"

"He's not boring!" Oliver protested.

Seth stood, grabbing his wrist with more intention now, his grin wide and wicked. "Nope. You're done. C'mon! No more screen time, time to sweat it out."

"Dancing... I thought this was just drinks," Oliver whined, not moving. But he was already being pulled to his feet, Seth's grip firm and familiar.

"Why go to the hottest gay dance club and not dance," Seth shot back over his shoulder. "You used to dance all night. You once ground on a bouncer just to get free water."

"That wasn't dancing, that was desperation," Oliver said, but he was already following, the music dragging them both toward the crowd.

They pushed into the pulse of bodies, the world narrowing to light, bass, and motion. Seth spun, looping an arm around Oliver's waist, pulling him in just enough without crowding him. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't a pickup--it was muscle memory, an old rhythm between them. The kind you never really forgot.

Oliver hesitated for one beat, then let the music catch his hips.

On the dance floor, bodies moved in a haze of light and heat, rhythm guiding them like instinct. Seth led with ease, his hips rolling, arms lifted, sweat catching on his collarbones under the low lights. Oliver, at first, danced with a guarded kind of grace--smiling but small, keeping his movements tight and precise, tucked in close to Seth's orbit.

Then came the two men--cutting through the crowd like they owned it.

Brad, with a shaved head and a tight black tank clinging to his wide chest, stepped up first. His chest hair was thick and wild, curling out around the low neckline, and his arms and thighs looked like they could break furniture. He moved with a grounded confidence, the kind that said I know exactly who I am and what I want.

Next to him, Jack had a thick, muscular frame under a shimmering black mesh top that clung to his sweat-damp skin. His buzz cut and beard gave him a sharp, masculine edge, but his smirk softened it just enough to make it dangerous. He slid into the space beside Seth like he'd been invited, close but not crowding--yet.

Oliver noticed them instantly, stiffening just a little, eyes flicking between the two. Brad started dancing nearby, close enough that his presence was unmistakable. Jack, meanwhile, was already syncing up with Seth's rhythm, their bodies catching the same tempo, close enough to share heat.

Oliver leaned toward Seth, voice raised to be heard. "What's happening?"

"Have you really become that much of a stiff," Seth just grinned. "Relax, it's dancing, not a binding contract."

"But--" Oliver began.

"They're hot. You're hot. It's fine," Seth said, then nudged him toward Brad. "Just go with it."

Oliver hesitated--but then Brad shot him a smile, slow and warm, and started to move closer, giving Oliver just enough room to decide. With a deep breath, Oliver stepped in, his movements tentative at first, unsure where his body belonged between the bass and Brad's gravity.

Brad didn't push. He matched Oliver's hesitance with a steady rhythm, keeping a respectful distance that still felt charged. His eyes never left Oliver's, as if inviting him to take up more space.

Meanwhile, Seth was already deep in the music, Jack now directly behind him, hips aligned, one strong hand resting on Seth's waist. Seth didn't pull away. He rolled with it, and leaned back just enough to make it clear he wasn't complaining. Jack's other hand drifted to his chest, tracing the line of sweat down the middle before sliding away again--teasing, not claiming.

Oliver saw it all through half-lowered lashes, caught in the slow unraveling of the moment. His pulse quickened--not with jealousy, but something else. A cocktail of curiosity, discomfort, and that old flicker of thrill he hadn't felt in ages.

Brad leaned in, voice low and smooth. "You good?"

Oliver blinked, breath catching. Then he nodded. "Yeah," he said, a little surprised to find it was true. "I think I am."

The lights around them seemed to strobe faster, briefly casting everything in stark whites and shadowy blues. The music swelled, bass rattling Oliver's chest as he found a bit more rhythm, his body finally relaxing into the dance. Brad moved with confident ease--close but not pressing--until he leaned in, his lips grazing Oliver's ear.

"You wanna head to the back room?" Brad's voice was low, rich, almost casual--but there was a flicker of intent in his eyes that made it clear it wasn't just an idle question.

Oliver stiffened immediately, instinctively taking half a step back. "I'm married," he said, raising his hand between them to flash the gold band on his finger.

Brad's eyes flicked to it, then back to Oliver's face. "Doesn't always mean no," he said with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, his tone turning a shade more forceful.

Oliver didn't waver. "For me, it does."

There was a moment--just a pause, a beat where Brad's smile lingered a second too long, almost like a challenge. But then he shrugged, muttered something under his breath, and turned, disappearing into the crowd like smoke--gone as fast as he'd come.

Oliver stood there for a moment, catching his breath, trying to will away the flush of adrenaline prickling his skin. When Seth noticed the shift in his friend's posture, he broke away from Jack and came over, brow furrowed.

"What happened?" he asked, hands resting on Oliver's shoulders.

"Brad," Oliver muttered, shaking his head. "Asked if I wanted to go to the back. I said I was married. He didn't take the hint right away."

Seth's jaw tensed, and he glanced over his shoulder in the direction Brad had vanished. "Buzz kill!" Oliver gave him a glare, "Kidding. Well, it looks like he took the other guy with him." The pair noticed the mesh shirt man also disappeared.

Seth studied him a moment longer, then his expression shifted--half wicked, half curious. "You know," he said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I've never actually been in that back room."

Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Really? You?"

"Surprise! I'm not a complete whore?" Seth smirked. "Wanna check it out? Not like--like that, just... I'm curious. Come with me?"

Oliver gave a grossed outlook. He'd seen a few back rooms in his day, "You better not leave me for some meth head."

"Promise!" Seth threw his pinky in the air which Oliver took with his own. "That's the spirit!"

Seth led the way, parting the velvet curtain like they were stepping into Narnia--if Narnia were drenched in sweat, cologne, and poor decision-making. Oliver followed, heart ticking faster than the beat still thudding through the walls.

The back room was dim, but not seedy in the way he expected... and was used to. The lighting was moody--amber sconces glowing low along the walls, casting a soft golden hue that made everything look slick and warm. The air was thick, hot, almost humid, and carried a heavy, unmistakable musk--leather, sweat, cologne, and something primal underneath it all. It clung to the skin, to the back of the throat.

The music was still loud, the bass vibrating through the floor and into their bodies, but it was muffled slightly, like being underwater. Voices cut through it--low groans, breathless laughter, grunts, and the occasional sharp gasps. Somewhere nearby, a man moaned, long and unrestrained, followed by the sound of a wall tapping rhythmically behind one of the partially closed doors.

There were a handful of small, private rooms branching off from the main space--some curtained, some left invitingly open. In the center area, men lounged or leaned, clustered together in the shadows, bodies moving rhythmically with legs hoisted in the air. Shirtless and sometimes completely bare bodies gleamed in the soft light, tattoos and chest hair, and slick muscles on full display. A few leaned against walls, wrapped around each other. Others sat on benches, legs spread wide, hands drifting and head bobbing. It was chaotic, yet somehow still had an air of intention--choreographed in its decadence.

And, to Oliver's surprise... it was nice. Sleek black leather furniture, walls paneled in dark wood and velvet, not a sticky floor in sight. It was the kind of place where you could make a terrible decision and still feel like you paid a cover charge to do it.

Seth gave him a sly smile, elbowing him gently. "Not what you were expecting, huh?"

Oliver blinked, taking it all in. "Honestly? I thought it'd be more... grimy."

"Oh, honey," Seth chuckled, "even the filth is curated these days."

Oliver couldn't help but laugh. As they moved deeper in the lights grew dimmer. One man caught Oliver's eye--a silver fox, lounging with a drink in hand, watching a couple grind in front of him with lazy amusement. Another man, younger and stockier, knelt between someone's legs a few feet away, completely focused and entirely unbothered by the rest of the room.

Oliver swallowed hard, torn between fascination and guilt. "This is... a lot."

Seth didn't respond. Oliver turned to see his friend was gone. His breath caught.

He scanned the low-lit space, but the shifting crowd and shadows made it hard to track anyone. Bodies overlapped like layers of a dream--or a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it.

Before he could move, a man stepped into his path--tall, toned, maybe late twenties, wearing only a harness and a cocky grin.

"You looking for something?" the guy asked, eyes raking over Oliver like he was inventory.

"Just my friend," Oliver replied, polite but firm.

"You sure that's all you're looking for?" The guy stepped in a little closer, hand already twitching like he was about to reach out.

Oliver held up a hand. "I'm married."

The man shrugged and moved on, unfazed. As if "no" was just one answer in a list of possibilities.

Oliver kept moving, weaving through the crowd, dodging wandering hands and half-lidded stares. The deeper he went, the thicker everything felt--the lights more blinding, the fog machines pumping out dense clouds that swirled at ankle height like rolling mist on a battlefield. The music was relentless, pounding in time with his heart, and every few feet brought a new scent: sweat, lube, cheap body spray, expensive cologne, and something raw and unmistakable.

Another man leaned in close as Oliver passed, voice rough. "You want a good time?"

"No thanks."

"You sure? You look like you need it."

"I said no," Oliver said, a little more sharply this time, trying to keep his voice steady as his skin prickled.

He pushed forward, brushing past a couple pressed into a wall, another man on his knees before them, his eyes locked with Oliver's as if daring him to stop and watch. Oliver didn't. He kept going, through another curtain, past a door hanging half open, where two men were tangled together on a leather bench, grunting low.

Then the hallway opened into a larger space--wide, lined with low tables and dim seating. The lighting here was redder, warmer, but no less dizzying.

And the room was full of men--bent over furniture, knelt between legs, tangled together in every imaginable combination. Flesh moved everywhere, glowing slick in the low light. Some groups moaned openly, others whispered dirty promises just loud enough to rise above the music. One table shook under the rhythm of two men pounding into each other like they'd never get another chance.

Oliver froze.

It wasn't fear. Not exactly. It was everything: the scent, the sound, the constant throb of the bass, the hunger in every gaze that slid over him like a hand. It was like being at the center of something--something ancient and primal--but entirely out of place at the same time.

He blinked. His hands were clammy. His heart raced.

"Seth," he muttered, to no one. "Where the hell are you?"

Oliver barely had time to register the room--before a shadow blocked the low red light behind him.

Brad.

He stepped in close, that same smug grin spread across his face, but this time darker. Hungrier. His shaved head glinted in the haze, and sweat rolled down his thick, hairy chest.

"Well, look who wandered too far from the safety rails," Brad said, voice low, too close. He moved like he owned the space like Oliver had shown up here for him.

"I thought you were married," he said with mock surprise, eyes flicking to Oliver's hand again.

"I am," Oliver snapped, already trying to step aside. "Which means this is a no."

Brad blocked him easily, palm landing flat against the table behind Oliver, hemming him in. The scent of the room--sex and sweat--was nothing compared to the heat radiating off Brad himself.

"Sure, doesn't look like a no," Brad said, voice dipping, fingers brushing the side of Oliver's hip. "You came all the way back here, didn't you?"

Oliver flinched away from the touch. "I'm looking for my friend."

But Brad didn't listen. His other hand came up fast, grabbing the side of Oliver's face as he leaned in, lips crashing against his in a rough, possessive kiss before Oliver even had the chance to react.

The kiss hit Oliver like a sudden storm. It was rough and unrelenting, but something about it lingered on him, like a mark left in the wake of an encounter he hadn't prepared for. He shoved Brad back, but there was a warmth left behind on his lips--a tingling under his skin that he couldn't shake.

He wasn't sure what was more disorienting: the feeling of Brad's lips on his, or the unexpected rush that followed.

Oliver stood there, breathless, trembling. His heart pounded, and though his mind screamed to push away the lingering sensation, a part of him still burned, wanting something more than he could define. The warmth spread through his chest as he wiped his mouth, his head spinning from the strange collision of sensations. The adrenaline was still coursing through him but beneath it... there was something else.

That warmth.

A flash of guilt swept over him--he was married. And yet, the rush from the kiss, from the forceful heat of Brad's touch, had stirred something inside him he hadn't felt in ages. Not from his husband, Alexander. Not in a long time.

The marriage was steady, predictable, and comfortable. It had to be. But every day felt a little more worn down. Familiarity had settled in like dust on a forgotten shelf.

He loved Alexander. He knew that. But this moment--the force of the kiss, the unexpected connection--reminded him of a warmth that had become... stale. That desperate edge. The thrill.

Fighting the urge to lean back into Brad's touch, he took a step back, but Brad wasn't done.

Before Oliver could pull away, the man's hand shot out, grabbing his wrist with a firm grip, and pulling him closer. Brad's other hand ran down Oliver's chest, tracing the contours of his body as he tugged him in tighter. His fingers slipped underneath Oliver's shirt, touching his skin, hot and persistent.

Oliver's pulse raced. He fought the urge to give in. To let the moment stretch longer than it should. The warmth was there again--dangerous, insistent, creeping through him like the flicker of a fire that could burn out of control.

"I'm married," Oliver said, his voice tight, but his body betrayed him. He couldn't look away, couldn't push past the pressure. Brad's hands moved lower, teasing, relentless, his lips just brushing Oliver's ear.

Brad smirked, his fingers continuing their slow journey over Oliver's skin. "So? You came here for more than just the dance, didn't you?"

Oliver's heart was thundering, trapped between guilt and temptation. The kiss--the warmth of it--kept pulling him back, kept teasing him with something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. Brad didn't stop. Instead, his hands slid lower, and Oliver realized just how close they were to crossing a line he wasn't sure he could come back from. The brunette could feel his dick stiffening in his pants.

Brad's grip on Oliver tightened, his hands now pulling him forward with a raw intensity. Before Oliver had a chance to protest, the man hoisted him onto the table with surprising ease, sending a ripple of shock through his body as he landed, the cool surface beneath him sharp against his back.

Oliver's breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with disbelief. His heart pounded harder, the air thick with a dangerous mix of lust, anticipation, and something he didn't quite want to acknowledge. The sounds of the room--the moans, the grunts, the slapping of skin--grew louder, but none of it seemed to register as much as the pressure of Brad's body above him. His hard-on was begging to be released.

The warmth that had started with the kiss was flooding him again, in dangerous waves. He could feel Brad's hands already slipping down his chest, tugging at his shirt, his body moving with a force that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

A few feet behind him Oliver could hear the sounds of another couple getting heated mixed with the heavy music. Their desperate noises--guttural, raw--seemed to amplify everything. The smells, the sweat, the heat--it all pressed in around Oliver until he could hardly breathe.

But as Brad leaned in, his lips teasing Oliver's neck, fingers trailing over his exposed skin, the thought of pulling away began to feel like it belonged to someone else. The fire that had been stoked by the kiss, the heat spreading through his body, was now a flood. It felt so easy to lean into Brad's touch, to let go of the tension that had been building for so long. The warmth was so inviting, so real, that Oliver almost forgot where he was.

His breath hitched again, his pulse erratic. His hands, which had been gripping the edges of the table, now slid across Brad's back as if to pull him in closer.

Brad's lips hovered just above Oliver's ear, whispering softly, "You don't have to fight it, you know."

Oliver's body betrayed him as Brad's hands began to work at his jeans, pulling them open with swift movements. As the bands moved over the surface of the table the clear definition of his erection pressed against the fabric of the red boxer briefs he wore. The urge to lean into the touch--to surrender to the heat of it all--was hard to fight.

Brad's hands moved swiftly, tugging at his own clothes with practiced ease, the sound of fabric pulling free from his body echoing in the thick air. As he shed his tank top, Oliver could see the muscular definition of his chest, the dark patch of hair that trailed down to his waistband. The heat between them intensified as Brad's hands quickly undid Oliver's belt, pushing his pants down to his ankles. Before Oliver could protest, Brad's fingers worked the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down as well, leaving Oliver exposed and vulnerable beneath him, his stiffened dick stood like a flagpole in the air.

It had been years since he had been naked in the back room of a questionable bar like this. He was almost ashamed to be seen like this after all this time. Looking down past his own stiff erection he watched as Brad's pants hit the floor. Oliver's eyes widened as he stared at the biggest cock he'd seen in years.

The stiff member stood at least nine inches straight out from the man's muscular form. A large dark bush nestled against the thick rod.

"Fuck..." Oliver muttered. Before he could comprehend the situation, he felt Brad's firm grip grab his thighs pulling him closer to the edge of the table. His mind was racing. This man was almost double the size of Alexander! He hadn't had a dick like this in almost a decade. And it looked so good!

Brad grinned, his hand moving to Oliver's cock. Oliver moaned, his hips bucking up to meet Brad's touch, as his head fell back against the table.

"Damn, you need this bad!" Brad laughed. He took a few moments to run his hand over the man's stiff member. Brad didn't want to take it too far. This married man might bust his nut right there. Finally, the married man looked down to Brad's dick.

"You're so fucking hard," Oliver whispered, his hand wrapping around Brad's cock.

The man groaned, his hips bucking into Oliver's touch. "Fuck, yes. You're driving me crazy."

Brad stuck his fingers in his mouth slicking hem with his spit. His eyes locked onto Seth's as he slowly inserted one finger into him. Oliver watched, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"More," He groaned. "I want to feel you stretch for me."

Brad added another finger, his breath hitching as he stretched the tight hole. His husband must not top too often or he had one small dick. Brad's cock ached, desperate to be inside Oliver.

Continuing to spread and stretch the pink hole, the large man watched as Oliver's face shifted from pain to pleasure from one moment to the next. Glancing up he watched as the pai on the other side of the table were also starting to pick up the pace.

"I think... I'm ready." Oliver squeezed his hole against Brad's thick fingers. The dominant man smiled. While his face was almost obscured by the dim light his pure white smile seemed to glow.

Once Oliver was ready, he positioned himself over the brunette, his hand guiding his cock to the married man's entrance. Helpless on the table he watched as Brad slowly pressed the head of his cock against his hole. Taking a deep breath Oliver winced as the thick cock began to push into his ass.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Brad growled. Still, he pressed on.

Oliver's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering closed. "Fuck... you're so big!"

Brad's hands gripped Oliver's hips, guiding him as he thrust inwards. Oliver's moans filled the room joining with the orchestra of grunts and muffled groans around him. As the full length disappeared into his busy, he felt Brad's uncontrollable pubes press against his backside.

It was only a moment before the dominant man began to thrust his massive rod into the man's hole. Oliver felt his body almost lift off the table as his insides stretched to accommodate the man.

Oliver found himself in heaven.

"You are so, ugh, big." In between breathless gasps, Oliver spat out the words.

"Now you say that! I'm going to ride your bitch ass, so fasten your seat belt."

Brad began a rapid in-and-out motion by slowly pulling away and then pushing back into the man. Oliver alternately gasped and moaned as Brad's massive tool opened up his ass and rubbed his prostate, sometimes with a hint of pain and more often with ecstasy. For a few minutes, Brad held him by the waist and gave him a hard pounding. The man was almost foaming at the mouth.

Oliver felt the man at his back fall back, their head landing almost next to his.

"Does it feel good?" The man said through a moan of their own. Oliver's eyes widened as the voice was all too familiar. Looking to the man he saw his friend Seth with a wide smile smeared across his tanned face.

"Fuck..." Oliver groaned.

"I knew you'd like Brad's dick!" Seth laughed. His humor was quickly overtaken by the man pounding at his waist. Oliver looked up to see Jack, still wearing his mesh top thrusting into his friend's ass.

"You planned this?" Oliver asked. Just then he felt Brad slam his rock-hard cock into his loosened hole and let out a yelp.

"You needed a fun night out, babe!" Seth's eyes rolled back in his head as Jack began to power thrust into his hole. The man let out a series of grunts as his pubes collided with the man's balls, "You needed to remember the slut that you are!"

The sound of their bodies slamming against one another reverberated off the walls, mixing with the surrounding clientele of the bar. Reaching down, Oliver put his hand around his own cock and began to stoke as Brad buried himself inside him. The man's body began to fill with pleasure, even if his dick was being ignored.

"You like that don't you bitch?" Brad snarled. Oliver was unwilling to respond to this haughty man. His head jerked back abruptly, and Brad grabbed his dark hair and said, "I asked you a question, bitch!"

"God yes!" Oliver called out through the pain. The broader man laughed and began slamming his cock deeper into the married man.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Oliver shouted as small tears began to form in the corner of his eyes. His best friend looked over at him with a wicked grin.

"What about Alexander?" He asked.

"Who?" Oliver replied with a grin.

"Oh fuck..." Seth's smile faded to a look of pain and pleasure. His body convulsed. Jack was clearly having a great time. Oliver reached out above him and took Seth's hands into his own to help support the man taking the massive dicking.

"Fuck!" Jack called out over the two men, "You're the real faggots!"

Seth screamed, "Fuck, God damn!" Oliver felt his friend's grip tighten in his hands. Without any warning, he saw semen begin to fly through the air nearly hitting him in the face. He watched in awe as his friend shook on the flat surface losing himself in an orgasm. He had many raunchy members with the man but never quite like this evening. Oliver was pulled back into his own fucking as Brad shifted into upward thrusts.

"Fuck! That is a huge dick!" The brunette groaned as the man's hands tightened on his waist. He could feel his own orgasm beginning to build.

"That's a real man's cock, bitch!" Brad shouted. "You forget about it when you get married to some sad cuck!"

At Brad's words, his cock started to pulsate. Oliver let out a low groan as his dick shook violently and his own cum began to fire into the air. He slammed his head back against the table as rope after rope of his sperm shot across his body.

"Fuck yeah, Oliver!" He heard Seth call out.

His orgasm seemed to travel in waves over his body. He hadn't had an ejaculation like this in he didn't know how long. As it slowly began to fade he felt the full length of Brad's dick almost completely slip from his hole before slamming back in, over and over again.

"God I needed this so bad!" The brunette shouted.

"I'm gonna fucking cum!" Brad shouted. He quickly removed his dick, "On the floor now!"

"Both of you!" Jack said from behind him.

The pair of friends acted as if the building was on fire. Seth and Oliver jumped to their feet, each of their holes ablaze from the hard fucking. Moving to the side of the long table they landed on their knees side by side as the two grown men towered over them, dicks in hand.

They both looked up in anticipation as the two shimmering cocks disappeared and reappeared in the hands of their respective owners.

"God damn!" Brad was the first to thrust forward releasing his load over their faces. Oliver held his mouth open accepting as much of the man's seed as he could. It was only a second before Jack grunted and a second round of semen blasted the friends.

Seth reached up taking Jack's cock in his hand, squeezing every last drop from the thickened rod. Oliver wasted no time licking the head of Brad's sensitive dick causing the buffer man to moan into the air above.

"I told you, you needed to have some fun!" Seth said. Looking to his fried he wiped off some of Brad's semen from his face before licking it off his own hand. Oliver laughed before grabbing a handful of his Latin friend's hair holding his head in place as he licked Brad's sperm from his cheek and forehead.

"What can I say, you were right. I miss this." He admitted.

Oliver watched as Jack rubbed his cock along his friend's lips and face removing whatever residual sperm he had left on his dick before backing away from the pair.

Watching Brad begin to walk silently away without a word, Oliver could feel some of the man's sperm run down the side of his neck. Quickly he fingered at the liquid. As he brought it to his mouth his eyes fell on the golden band wrapped around his finger. Seth noticed. He only hesitated a moment before slipping the last of the strange man's sperm into his mouth.