Hot Italian Boy Arse

Tommy's been over quite a lot this week. He's so sweet, sexy, and hot.

“Shall I roll, or will you,” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“I’ll roll,” I say.

“So lets get to it.”

I love it. Hot Italian boy, smiling, sexy. He pulls the back of his track pants down, and bends over the arm of the couch, wonky-eyed, smiling wantonly.

“Nothing tastes quite as sweet.” He is quoting me.

He lies arms out stretched on my bed, just his t-shirt. He has muscular, hairy legs, and taught olive skin stretched over two firm round buns, a flowering of hair growing out between the two.

He slides a finger into himself and looks back at me with huge, brown eyes, but I'm building up to it, drawing it out, taking my time.

He pushes back now on my tongue, opens up so I can get right to the velvet. He says he loves it... and, he does. He says he wants it! He moans, pleads, cries out. Fucken hot!

Then he wants it in him, stretching him, tearing him apart. Three fingers are no longer enough. I think he's just about ready.

Of course, he wants it raw. "You've got no worries with me." If I was single, I would.

He still hasn't had sex with other guys yet. "You and me, it seems right, hot." He usually smiles at this point. "Other guys, well, grimace, that just makes me gay, hey?"

It has been worth giving up work just for this.


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