The Senator's Boy (closed for tamgreen)

Damien Hale finished answering the interviewer's questions and looked about the room. For a moment there was silence. Then uproarious applause. Once more he felt the surge of power and pleasure that he was now addicted to. He'd had the room in the palm of his hand. The crowd were his. The political prize was his. Junior senator at 40. They'd said it wasn't possible. That the voters were rusted onto his opponent and would let the old man stand down and retire gracefully at the time of his choosing.

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Well, Damien had proved them all wrong. The old man was licking his wounds somewhere in private. It had been a total victory. He scanned the room again, his eyes roaming the cheering crowd. He waved with both hands, mouthing thank you into the wall of sound.

In the wings he could see Susanna and the children. And Paul his mentor. Damien gestured for them to join him onstage. The sound seemed to double as they did. He kissed Susanna, then the children, before the happy family stood in the spotlight.

.....................

An hour later, Damien glanced up at Paul sitting opposite as the black limousine sped into the night. The older man's face gave nothing away.

"Susanna and the kids are spending the weekend with her mother," Damien said.

"And then?"

"Then," Damien began, hesitated and coughed, before beginning again. "Then I will wait for her attorney to call."

Paul raised an eyebrow.

"It will be enough to buy her silence, Paul. I know it. I know Susanna. She's as committed to the cause as I am. As we all are. Susanna knows this is a political marriage. Sure it means biding her time, but who knows? When I'm Senior Senator and the kids are a little older, that might be her time."

Paul smiled. It wasn't a long speech by Damien's standards, but it contained more substance than usual.

"So she'll agree to stand by you as if nothing has changed."

Damien folded his arms hoping to look stern. But he knew it was for his own benefit. It wouldn't fool Paul.

"Nothing has changed," Damien said. "I'm the same man she married, the same man they elected, the same man who'll start work tomorrow."

He waited for Paul to smile, for that telltale upturn of his mouth to show disdain. But Paul was good.

"I know that," he said, looking into the distance as the limousine slowed and turned into a side road. The bright neon sign pointing to the Country Club lit up the night. "Susanna knows that. But the party, the voters, the press, they know nothing. It's been hard enough keeping your..." Now Paul hesitated, struggling uncharacteristically for the right word. "...your predilection our secret up until now. But you're a senator, Damien. Everything is public. Nothing is private. I'm doing my best, but you've got to help me a little more."

Damien watched as Paul peered over his shoulder into the night behind the car as if he was looking to see if they'd been followed. A weekend of golf is what I need, Damien thought. To take my mind off...everything.

"I have you to thank for everything, Paul. I know that. We're a team. Always remember that. You keep things sweet and I'll keep making it worth your while. Senior senator in two years, four years at the most. Then whatever we want. VP? Maybe even the big one. Four years max. Chief of staff? Ambassador? Whatever you want. We can do it, Paul. Together."

The limousine curved between high hedges. Up ahead the lights from a car park broke through the darkness, and a large Tudor-style building came into view. The driver pulled up beside a stone staircase leading up to double doors.

"Together," Paul echoed, placing a hand firmly on Damien's knee. "But divided we fall, Damien. It's trite, a cliche, I know. But it's true. Other men with less confidence would have fallen by the wayside by now. Or been caught. Or simply made the decision that..." Again Paul hesitated. "...that aberrant sexual tastes were incompatible with striving for the highest offices in the land. But not you Damien. Nothing phases you. It's your strength. It's my raw material. And it's a risk beyond sober analysis. But if you insist..."

"I do." Damien nodded as much to himself as to Paul. "I do."

"Then it's your choice, but you need to trust me. Do you trust me, Damien?"

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Eighteen-year-old Tommy chewed unconsciously on his plump lower lip, walking at a cautious snail's pace as he carried a tray containing nothing more elaborate than a few empty plates and glasses, which he gripped carefully in two small, tense hands. It was obvious to anyone looking that he had no natural skills as a waiter or even a busboy, and hadn't improved during his first couple of weeks at the club. His grasp of caddying for wealthy older men during their golf games wasn't any better - he was built small and thin, and could barely seem to carry a golf bag. He was an all-purpose "gofer" for the staff, filling in here and there wherever an extra pair of hands was needed, and generally making himself available for accommodating the needs of the club's prominent members. He may not have shown much promise in any professional role thus far, but he'd at least found, for the first time in his life, something he was good at.

He made his small load of dirty dishes disappear, and then grabbed a pitcher of water to refill glasses throughout the lounge and patio, sneaking private little smiles at any man who caught his eye. When he first started here, he hadn't realized that they were looking at him, and when he did, it took him even longer to understand why. He'd never felt any sense of power in his life, but he had one now. Certain men wanted something from him, and if they believed they might possibly get it, they left awfully generous tips for him.

Tommy had initially come into the club like Bambi into the meadow, a wide-eyed, frail-looking woodland creature, tragically ignorant of the fate Man had in mind for him. He was in their sights from the first day, and was shocked when he realized it. He could hardly believe the truth of it at first, but indeed, the moment he got up the nerve to even make eye contact with a man here and there, to return a few smirks, he knew something new was happening. Little by little, he ventured further and further out of his shell of natural shyness and social phobias. He discovered what impact a small touch on the arm could have, a little lingering eye contact, a strategically coy or playfully effeminate pose here or there. He'd known it for sure the day a retired school trustee had dropped his napkin at least half a dozen times and asked him repeatedly to bend down and pick it up, grinning ear to ear each time, once or twice whispering to him with a wink, "Oh, please take your time, kiddo."

He'd gotten his biggest tip yet when he'd learned just how to tease that one.

Despite his recent awakening, Tommy was still in many ways completely oblivious of small movements and mannerisms that caught the hungry eyes of closeted or not-so-closeted older gents. The way he unthinkingly toyed with that luscious bottom lip; the way he occasionally sucked or nibbled at his fingertips when he was deep in thought; the way he sometimes stretched extravagantly, catlike, reaching for the sky, heedless of the way his little polo shirt rode way up and showed off flashes of his pale, smooth, flat belly and lower back, and sometimes teased the band of his snug underwear.

The tips kept coming, whether or not he'd done anything specific to invite them. Sometimes they were accompanied by small notes with room numbers, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to understand the meaning of them.

He often went home feeling slightly ashamed, even though he'd never gone to any of those hotel rooms or even seriously considered it. He flirted and teased, and he knew it. Perhaps most of his shame was because he wasn't actually as ashamed as he thought he ought to have been. But was it really a sin to allow someone to get an eyeful of his backside in his little white country club shorts, if they should so choose to look and appreciate? Was it an abomination in God's eyes to flirt a little? It wasn't like he intended anything serious.

Did he?

Hadn't he already crossed so many little lines? Some days he'd handed out towels in the locker room, and oh heaven... he knew he wasn't supposed to look, but he did. And it was quite obvious when they wanted him to. Most of what he'd wanted for most of his sheltered little life was some positive attention from his uninvolved dad, and though he hadn't achieved it, he'd now found something even better - a new and much more exhilarating variety of positive attention from everyone else's dad. They invited his curious stares, at times appearing unabashedly proud of their occasional erections in the showers. Tommy couldn't help but wonder how much he must have missed out on, having been homeschooled and thus having no prior locker room experiences. But he supposed, after all, he hadn't missed much - it wasn't guys his own age he wanted to look at.

Was this Lust? Was it a deadly sin? If he cast his eyes upon men's naked bodies, and especially on those that were demonstrably aroused, and thought about them later at home while his hand squirmed beneath his covers to help himself to something he'd learned a few years ago would NOT, in fact, make him go blind, was he in danger of going to hell?

He didn't always think of cocks. Sometimes he just thought of climbing into a comfortable lap, feeling the warmth of another human body against his. What it would be like to kiss someone, particularly a man - the scratch of stubble, the aroma of aftershave. At 18, Tommy was still as smooth as he'd ever been, unsure now if he'd ever be able to grow a beard. He was a late bloomer, and always had been, in just about every way possible. He used to feel ashamed of himself, but now he found reason to take pride in his appearance, for the first time ever. He didn't need to look like a big manly man. He would much rather get attention from one.

He made the rounds with the water pitcher, passing out smiles as he went, making eye contact wherever possible. Things were slowing down; the day was waning. He brought the pitcher back to the kitchen, and one of the managers intercepted him.

"Tommy, they need more porters in the hotel lobby - hop to it, okay?"

"Okay!" Tommy chirped back, smoothing his hair back and rushing through the back corridors to follow instructions. This job was certainly going to get him in better shape.

The lobby was high-ceilinged and softly lit, with lots of plants and a central fountain contributing to the atmosphere. Tommy seized hold of a brass luggage cart and wheeled it toward the main doors. This job was at least straightforward, even if hefting up heavy suitcases wasn't exactly his forte. And he liked going up in the elevators, peeking into people's rooms. It made him feel, for brief moments, part of a life much richer and more exciting than his own.

Damien lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was light in the room even though the blinds were still drawn. Hotel sounds, indoors and out, came to him faintly. Squeaking wheels in the corridor, a door slamming, people chatting on the lawn. But nothing loud or alarming.

This was a game he played with himself on those rare weekends when he could sleep in. Or stay in bed at least. Damien wasn't sleeping well. The campaign had been hectic. What campaign wasn't? He could barely remember the last break, the last time he'd slept in. But still he could remember the game. How long could he stare at the ceiling without looking at his watch, or the phone, or the bedside clock? Susanna called it 'lying in state'. He guessed it was funny. She had a macabre sense of humour.

When he and Paul had parted last night they hadn't agreed on a plan for Saturday. Just to meet in the breakfast room or the garden or wherever they happened to be once they were both up. Damien even wondered if he could 'lie in state' all morning, and into the afternoon, just to see if he could do it, just to relax and tune out, just to be still and rest his head, if that was possible.

He thought back on the conversation with Paul in the car. 'Your predilection,' Paul had called it. 'Abberrant sexual tastes.' Was it aberrant? Damien thought hard on this. 'Departing from the acceptable standard.' 'Diverging from the normal type.' He guessed his sexual tastes were probably aberrant. Not that the media would use that word if his secret got out.

But Damien didn't regard himself as aberrant. He'd always been attracted to young men. When he was 18 he was attracted to 18 year olds. And now that he was turning 40...well...nothing had changed. Aberrant? His political colleagues, indeed many powerful men, kept young mistresses. Or traded in their wives for younger models nearly as often as they traded their cars. And they did it publicly, for pete's sake. Even the ones who proclaimed their devotion to family and Christian marriage. They were so devoted, the joke went in private, that they had more than one of them.

And there were even one or two gay politicians. In the North East. In California. Minnesota. The places you'd expect to find them. But in Maryland? The Old Line State. America in Miniature. Maybe not. Maryland was all 'burbs and boondocks, Democrat for sure, but no hotbed of social flux and experimentation.

And gay politician meant some guy with a solid partner. A professional. A careerist. Someone you could take home to mother. Like that old Jewish joke where the middle-aged matron confesses to her friend that her son is gay, but responds to the commiserations by joyfully declaring that his partner is a surgeon.

No, Damien was not the gay JFK. And this was not the 1960s, when the rule-bound print media, and trunk calls and telegrams and typewriters meant the personal staff worked hard to keep the President's sexual transgressions secret, but not as hard as Paul worked. Was going to work. Paul was the best, Damien was sure. But in the age of the internet and the 24 hour news cycle and fake news, was he good enough?

Tommy stifled a yawn. One of the worst parts of being a junior employee was the crappy shifts - several days a week, he worked the 4pm to midnight shift, which he didn't altogether mind, but it sucked to be scheduled for the 8-4 shift the very next morning. Especially since working mornings often meant being forced to fill in for any maid when might be absent. He didn't care much for cleaning up after people, especially when they couldn't even be there to look him in the eye. He'd rather be out in the hot sun having people laugh at him because he could barely carry a golf bag.

Still, his somewhat voyeuristic curiosity was piqued at times, when he was on bed-stripping duty. Sometimes people left unusual and fascinating messes behind, and he'd already heard plenty of stories behind the scenes from women who'd worked in this industry for decades. In an upscale place like this that was extremely selective with its membership, he didn't anticipate a horrorshow like dead bodies, or stuff that should have gone in the toilet ending up in the bed or all over the walls, but he could already tell that some people had interesting sex lives. Since he didn't yet have one of his own, it was fun to snoop around and let his imagination run wild. It somewhat mitigated the crappiness of this particular task.

He wheeled the laundry cart out of the elevator and around the corner. It was very quiet. He started at the end of the hallway and swiped his universal key card.

Damien woke again. He must have been dozing. This time he looked at his phone. 8.30am. Susanna always insisted once you checked the phone the game was over. You got out of bed.

Well fuck Susanna, Damien thought.

And no texts from Paul. No missed calls. Damien wondered if the phone was broken. Or maybe the country club was a reception black spot. Now that would be something worth remembering if things got too hectic.

The bed clothes had slipped off while he was dozing. Damien lay on his back, naked, staring again at the ceiling. It wasn't as late in the morning as he'd hoped. They would still be serving breakfast.

Reception black spot. Damien wondered at the chances of there being anywhere in America you couldn't be reached by phone. It reminded him of holidays spent in the Adirondacks while he was at college. At the lake house. Where he and his rich friends could spend the summers, free of any requirements to work while they spent daddy's money, trees swaying, water lapping, while they fucked themselves silly on the dock or in the woods.

What were those guys doing now? Steve and Leo and Josh. Beautiful, sweet, shy Josh. The first guy he'd known who'd worn a g-string, who'd deep throated like there was no such thing as a gag reflex, who'd initiated him into things Damien had heard about. And some he'd not.

Damien could see Josh now, blonde hair flopping across his forehead, girlish curve of his butt gliding into the water, sweet red lips searching for his cock....

He closed his eyes, hand on his stirring cock, stroking, concentrating as images of Josh swirled behind his eyelids...

He didn't hear the card swiped in the lock or the door ease open.

Tommy slipped into the room, anticipating an empty bed. Instead there was a man. A naked man, gloriously naked, spectacularly aroused, stroking himself.

The image cemented itself into Tommy's mind immediately, earmarking it for perpetual spank bank material. His heart raced, and all of him felt flushed. Thrill wove together with panic.

Get out! his brain demanded, but his legs weren't yet obeying. He knew the right thing to do - avert his eyes, humbly apologize, and get the hell out. Instead he stood frozen, lips slightly parted, as the door clicked shut behind him.

You're going to be in so much trouble! his internal voice screamed. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen plenty of naked men around here, plenty of dicks, even hard ones. But this wasn't an open shower where men practiced shameless exhibitionism. This was a member's private room, and he was intruding in the worst way.

But there was no sign hanging from the door handle, was there? He always checked for the Do Not Disturb sign!

It had only been a couple of moments but it now seemed half an eternity that his eyes were glued to the masturbating man. He tried to summon the resolve to do the right thing, but he could only manage a tiny gasp.

Damien worked his cock furiously, gripping the shaft and running his hand from torso to tip. Images in his head of Josh at the lake house, smiling, holding out a hand, emerging dripping from the water, offering his mouth for a kiss and then to suck cock, flashed through his brain. Like all such daydreams there were myriad images to glimpse, but nothing ever seemed to stay. They were fleeting, like a slideshow on fast forward. If only he could pause the show, or just loop through the best ones, the ones where Josh took Damien's cock deep into his mouth, let him hold it there longer than Damien thought anyone could, and then slide back until just the cock head received a tongue tease, before starting all over again.

Josh. Damien was no slouch. No shrinking violet. He'd lost his virginity young and taken every opportunity to fuck his way through his senior year, college, travelling, internship, and beyond. But someone is always extra special. Josh was the one.

Damien upped the tempo. He'd looked at his watch so would be out of bed soon. That was Susanna's rule. Just time to jerk off here on the warm bed, safe in the still-quiet Saturday morning, before he'd have to go downstairs, find Paul, and inevitably be recognised.

And then, as he felt orgasm closing in, sap rising, he heard a slight cough. A gasp. An intake of breath. Hand still gripping his cock, Damien opened his eyes.

"Jesus Christ!" There was a kid in the room. A beautiful doe-eyed boy with clear skin and long dark hair. Dressed in the white uniform of the country club, polo shirt and tight shorts, name-tag on his chest. 'Tommy'. Damien knew instantly he should cover himself, hide his erection, make some excuse, tell Tommy to go.

But the beautiful boy was fixated. And why not? Damien's cock was fully erect and close to discharging. In the brief moment since Damien had opened his eyes, Tommy had made no eye contact, but just stared with a mix of horror and fascination at the animalistic display going on between Damien's legs.

And without really thinking it through, instinctively Damien decided to give Tommy a show. There was one thing, however, which flashed through Damien's brain like firing a warning flare. He heard his own voice before he even registered what he was going to say.

"How old are you, Tommy?"

The moment the man uttered his blasphemy, Tommy turned bright red and stammered out a weak apology. He took one small step back, but still wasn't fleeing like he knew he should. The man on the bed hadn't moved to hide himself - his purple-headed erection was on full display, with a glistening bead of moisture at the tip that Tommy could scarcely tear his eyes from.

He was about to finally force himself to turn around, lest he get himself fired for being a voyeur, but then the man asked him how old he was.

What?

Tommy's eyes finally left the hard cock in the man's fist and slid up to his face. Oh lord. The man didn't just have a nice body and a gorgeous dick - he was dreamy. Tommy gasped again, his eyes darkening as his pupils dilated. He breathed in the mingled scents of sweat, sex, and rich guy aftershave and almost groaned. He could drown himself in such an aroma.

"Eighteen, sir," he said breathlessly, and placed his hands demurely over his reddening cheeks.

Was something actually happening here? Was a crazy fantasy on the verge of reality? If this man wanted him to leave, why would he ask him his age? Tommy's mind flipped to the occasional notes with room numbers scribbled on them that had been left with his tips. Would he have come upon a sight like this, has he gone to any of those rooms?

His eyes went to the hard cock again. His blood was rushing to his own groin so quickly now that he actually felt dizzy. His snug briefs and shorts had never felt so tight.

How far would he go for tips? And would he really be doing it for the tips, in the end?

He looked again at the man's handsome face, trying desperately to read his expression.

Eighteen. Damien rolled the boy's breathless answer round in his head. This kid was a cutey. And he just stood there, staring. Damien kept his eyes planted on Tommy's face, but the boy resolutely fixed his gaze on the older man's cock. Damien gave himself a long, languid stroke to keep on edge, and then tapped his fingertip in the precum pooling at the summit. As the sticky liquid stretched up with his finger, he couldn't help but notice Tommy's eyes widen a little further.

Damien's thoughts wandered back to when he was eighteen. Senior high school. Graduation. He was already part of a full-on circle jerking group of peers. Porn. Weed. Booze. Debauched weekends going from house to house, basement to basement. Videos of guys like themselves, or older men fucking younger guys, watching, re-enacting, learning how to suck and tease and deep throat and swallow. Getting used to the taste of cum and controlling the gag reflex. And ass play. Inserting fingers and tongues and toys and whatever came to hand. The year he finally lost his anal virginity. It was fucking horrible, he recalled, but a necessary hurdle to jump. He wondered what his English teacher was doing now, the evil cunt. But Damien was grateful all the same.

Tommy just kept staring. What to do? The door was obviously unlocked, or accessed by a pass card. It was closing in on mid morning. Someone would come looking for Tommy, or Paul for Damien.

But contemplating the risk was sweet. More than sweet. Intoxicating. Tommy's arrival was made for dalliance. Indulgence. An opportunity no red-blooded cock-hungry guy could turn down, wherever it might lead. Even just a quick stroke, a hand job, or no more than an exhibition and the pleasure of knowing, or hopefully seeing, Tommy's unplanned response.

Damien stroked himself again. I am the man people warn young guys about, Damien thought. People like Paul. Fuck Paul. Fuck people.

Tommy was looking into his eyes now. As if he was pleading for something. An explanation? Validation? Invitation?

"Tommy, do you want to touch it?"

The boy's eyes were big and round. Saliva filled his mouth when he saw the man's cock drooling in anticipation of his release. Was he actually hungry for what he saw? Like those guys he'd seen in snippets of porn he'd snuck from time to time when he could get around the parental filters on the home wifi, thirsty twinks who seemed to genuinely enjoy devouring another dude's hard-on? Could he be that guy?

He took one step toward the bed and paused again. Some part of his mind whispered, What if it's a trap? Yet, what would be the point of such a trap? What would the guy gain from getting a complete stranger in hot water?

He did want to touch it. He wanted a lot of things. But he was also afraid of all of those things. Maybe this was why he needed to do something bad. He'd always been afraid, and his overly sheltered childhood had made it exponentially worse. He needed to prove he actually could be an adult, even if that meant being the exact opposite of the sort of adult his parents had expected.

Tommy desperately wanted to know that he could do something he wanted for once, and the world wouldn't eat him alive for it. He craved to knock down walls and defy boundaries. He longed to make all the mistakes he'd always been protected from, and taste the sweet-and-sour tang of reckless hedonism. A stiflingly religious, no nonsense, Internet restricted, socially isolated homeschooled upbringing had shielded him from everything, had insulated him from harm but also from anything good or real. If he went completely off the rails at this point in his life, was it really his fault, in the end? This stranger in a hotel bed, offering his hard, dripping cock was offering so much more to the young man than any other aspect of his life ever had.

"Seriously?" he whispered, the soft word seeming so loud in the quiet of the hotel room.

"I mean... you're not mad? Are you sure? You don't want me to... go?"

He took another cautious step forward, breathless and trembling, as if approaching the precipice of a volcano he might be in danger of tumbling into.

He giggled nervously, and slapped a hand over his mouth when he heard the absurdity of the childish sound that was burbling forth from his half-choked throat.

"I'm sorry," he managed, still hiding behind his hand, once the hilarity had calmed. "I've never done anything like this. I could be in so much trouble."

Damien just lay back on the bed, naked, smiling, hand stroking his cock, enjoying Tommy's indecision. He could see the 18 year old was hugely turned on, if the growing swelling in his tight white shorts was anything to go by.

"Of course I'm sure," Damien said. "I wouldn't have asked you otherwise."

He beckoned Tommy over with his free hand. He was close to the edge now, and trying to stroke slowly. If he was going to cum he wanted it to give Tommy everything they both wanted. A memorable experience, Tommy's first live cock, and another notch on Damien's gun belt. But what a notch. A cherry.

"You've never done this before?" Tommy shook his head. "A beautiful young man like you? I don't believe it," Damien said, almost ashamed of himself. But enormously aroused at the same time. For Tommy, Damien knew what was about to happen would be momentous, a day he'd never forget. For Damien, well, he'd plucked cherries before. They didn't come along too often and when they did they were special. Christ you had to be careful, he told himself. Cherries are trouble. But worth it. Oh so worth it.

His cock was beginning to spasm now, at these thoughts. He needed to back off, just to make sure he lasted long enough to get what he wanted and give Tommy a show.

"Don't be shy, Tommy. You won't get into trouble. This will be our secret, OK? Now come over here and give me a hand. Have you watched gay porn?" Tommy nodded. "So you know what you like. And maybe you can guess what I like."

Tommy chewed anxiously on his plump and reddened lower lip, drifting closer and closer to the bed as if mesmerized. The man's voice was low, soothing, dripping with honey. He'd called him beautiful. Tommy's heart skipped several beats. He had to remind himself to breathe.

He felt his leg bump against the edge of the bed. He was close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of the stranger's flushed body.

"Oh my god," he whispered shakily, extra excited now even by his own blasphemy.

Crossing one small line after another, he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. He even slipped off the boat shoes he was wearing and tucked his legs up in an unconsciously feminine posture.

He was on the bed now - how did this even happen?

"Well...," he stammered, as if arguing aloud against all the little inner voices that screamed about how wrong this was, "I... um, my boss told me to be accommodating of our members, so...."

Another giggle escaped.

He wrung his hands, clearly still debating within himself. He licked his lips, eyeing the glistening pre-cum pooling on the man's toned belly. Tommy's gaze travelled upward, getting another long look at his face. He pulled in a small gasp, finding that the face now seemed familiar to him. Not in a way that he'd seen him around the club, but like he'd seen him on TV or something. Who was he? Someone really important maybe, and didn't that mean he might have a lot to lose should anyone find out what was happening right here and now?

The mutual risk was sharp and delicious. Tommy's small, soft hand, innocent until now of any real hard work or corruption, lifted cautiously, approaching its goal with a visible tremor.

"This is so wrong," he sighed, the gleam in his eyes and bulge in his shorts betraying that wrong wasn't at all a negative thing for him at the moment.

When he was inches from touching the man, he paused and stared for a few moments at the contrast between their hands. That was when he noticed the small flash of gold.

"You're married!" he gasped, unsure why this particular aspect should be more noteworthy than any other sin here. He had to think hard about how he felt about this. Was it digging at his conscience? Or was it just another thrilling layer of rebellion to spice this unprecedented encounter? Was this an affair? The thought of it seemed so adult! And at eighteen, he was an adult now, wasn't he?

Damien willed Tommy to come closer, step up to the bed, climb on or stand there, but to touch him, place his hand on Damien's cock, anything, just progress things. Damien was close now and not sure how long he could hold back his orgasm. Tommy was going to get his show, one way or another, but Damien was hoping for interaction and not a solo.

To his delight Tommy stepped up, then sat on the bed, slipping off his shoes and bending his legs up onto the bed. It reminded Damien of the way Susanna sat on the bed...

Damien watched him closely, the tentativeness, the nerves, and the unbridled wide-eyed desire. Tommy giggled and said something about 'being accommodating'. Damien wondered if the boy was being funny. But the way he looked, sat, giggled just emphasised Tommy's freshness, his virginity. Damien was even harder with anticipation. If only he could get Tommy to touch him now.

Tommy reached out, as slowly as he'd approached the bed. Damien continued to stroke, but lower on his shaft to give Tommy a full view, and access if he wanted to place his hands on Damien's cock or, hope against hope, put his mouth over the head. Damien reached down with his other hand until he could stroke Tommy's shorts.

And then, with Tommy's outstretched hand an inch away from its goal, the boy pulled away.

"You're married," he said. Tommy had seen the wedding ring.

Damien took a deep breath, wondering if this was going anywhere. "Sure I'm married, Tommy. This is the 21st Century. My wife and I...we have an understanding. She fucks whomever she likes (Damien heard his voice, but was this true?) and...hmmm...so do I. Hey man, I'm gonna cum. Very soon. You've just got to touch me now. Make me cum, Tommy."

Tommy studied him, trying to come to terms with a husband and wife fucking whomever they liked and it being totally okay with both of them. When the concept settled, he found himself oddly disappointed. He was surprised to find that he was more turned on by the idea that they were cheating together than that he was with someone who was free to fuck around with anybody. What sort of person was he becoming?

I'm gonna cum. Make me cum, Tommy.

Nobody had ever said such things to him before. It was surreal and so hot, he felt himself throbbing, especially when he felt the man's hand touching his thigh. The touch made it all real for him. He could just about make a mess in his shorts.

He almost giggled again, imagining returning downstairs all dishevelled and telling his supervisor, A gentleman requested me to make him cum. I was just being accommodating.

"You want me to...?" he attempted, but in the end, he couldn't even say it. He wanted to try out the dirty talk, but it wouldn't come.

You want me to make you cum, sir? You want me to jerk you off? Are you sure your wife is okay with this? Are you sure you wouldn't be in so... much... trouble? Aren't we so BAD?

He wanted to say these things, and more, but he felt on the spot, like he had been shoved onto a stage with bright lights on him and everyone was waiting and he didn't know his lines. Also he had an achingly persistent, obvious boner.

"So bad!" he finally managed to gasp out.

His clumsy, inexperienced hand finally lunged forward. He couldn't even look at it now, but kept his eyes on the man's face as his fingertips found the warmth and sticky wetness of the massive leaking cock. He let out a small squeaking noise of surprise when he finally made contact. He wasn't gripping it yet, just touching. One small line at a time.

Tommy gave himself an inner kick. Why was he being such an awkward nerd about this? He wanted this. He screamed at himself inwardly to just go for it, to be a man. He had a great big open door in front of him and barely dared to stick his toe through it.

"I... I wanna see it," he admitted shakily, and finally coaxed his hand to wrap around the upper part of the stranger's rigid shaft and give it a squeeze. Moments later, he suddenly wrenched his gaze away from the man's face and leaned down, as if going in for a blowjob, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He just gripped the cock and leaned over it, flushed, fractured, and seeming quite shocked to find himself in this position at all.

Damien watched Tommy struggle with what was happening. He knew what Tommy was going through. It was normal, well for many guys at least. Damien didn't remember any personal struggle, but maybe he was rationalising to himself, he thought. He remembered the first time he received anal, and how much it hurt, but he put that out of his mind.

For now, he was close, Tommy was close, and he was consumed with the need for his own pleasure. If Tommy got something out of it, good. If not, well, Damien hadn't invited him into the room and the young guy was free to leave at any time.

Damien just hoped he wouldn't leave.

'So bad,' he heard Tommy say. Bad? Poor Tommy. But then the 18 year old put out his hand and awkwardly made contact with Damien's cock. It was a clumsy, glancing blow, and not sexy in itself, although Damien was aroused for them both. And with his own free hand, he found his way inside Tommy's shorts, bunched as they were, trying to find Tommy's cock, any part of it, just to close the circle.

Damien could see Tommy wasn't even looking at the prize but kept his gaze on Damien. The older man nodded, letting Tommy know with his eyes that everything was OK. He could take a little time, do whatever he wanted, there was nothing to worry about, or get right or wrong.

Finally Tommy closed his hand around the top of the shaft and gently squeezed. Damien felt a shiver at the contact. Tommy was no way a quick learner or precocious. This might take all day. Except now Damien didn't have so long.

And then to Damien's surprise, Tommy leaned his head down. Damien watched him lick his lips, anticipate the newness of oral contact with a hard cock, eye the prize, ease closer. Do it, Damien urged to himself, his precum running down onto Tommy's hand, trying so hard to hold off the orgasm which was threatening to explode in his new young friend's face.

"Do it, Tommy. Just open your mouth and let yourself go down onto my cock. You can't hurt me. Or yourself. I know you've seen men sucking each other on the internet, in porn movies. It's easy and natural and beautiful. You know you want to, Tommy. Just do it."

Tommy's breath shivered. The smooth yet strong, well-manicured hand that was reaching into his shorts unexpectedly was finding a not large, but still steel-hard organ there, twitching and drooling and throbbing for more, more, more of whatever this was. It distracted him from what his own hand had been doing - touching another cock was so new, and having his own touched by another hand was equally new, and he didn't want to miss a moment of any of this.

Yet the man was urging him onward (what was his name? would he want to kiss? did his wife really know?), pushing him to cross another line, to suck his cock. Oh god - what would it taste like? What would it feel like? Would he regret the whole thing, or find his purpose in life at last?

Gay. Cocksucker. These were words unruly boys threw at each other as insults, crass things they growled and spat and used as weapons to tear one another down. It had been so very many years ago already that he'd come home from school one day with bruises, blood, and tears, asking his mother, What does 'fag' mean? And the look on his mother's face had been burned into his memory. He hadn't even been old enough to consider whether he wanted to kiss a girl or a boy or anyone at all, but somehow he'd been instinctively flagged as an Other among the boys, and snapped at like the weak member of the herd. Away from school he'd gone, mother keeping him safely at home from that day onward, insulated from the pain as much as from the pleasure of his own growing up years, and only now did he think of that expression of horror on his mother's face and wonder if she had been more upset by the way he'd been bullied or at the idea that he actually might be what they accused him of being.

And here he was now, eighteen years old, supposed to somehow be an adult now, cast out into a cruel world with no armor on him and no sense of identity, and a man's cock in his face begging for pleasure.

Cocksucker! Inside his head the word was a jeer, jabbing at his conscience, at his own deeply shaken sense of self-worth. But couldn't he be brave enough, at least this once, to take an insult and turn it around, to make it a proud flag he could claim for himself? Maybe he would love being a cocksucker, and then no one could use it against him. But once he crossed that line, he couldn't un-cross it.

The man's smooth words slid deep into his mind, winding around it, like silken threads. He couldn't help picturing that old trope of having a little angel and a little devil on one's shoulders, each of them whispering into one's ear to coax their own agendas. Did this make the man on the bed the devil incarnate?

It's easy and natural and beautiful.

Was it? Certainly his parents would find it anything but natural or beautiful, but it wasn't as if they ever had to find out.

He dipped his head down another inch or two. He inhaled the man's scent, dark and rich and mysterious. He smelled like sin.

You know you want to.

Get behind me, Satan.

An inch more. A hair's breadth away. As Tommy squeezed his shaft again, one plump, red, trembling lip brushed against a crystalline droplet oozing forth from the man's piss slit. Tommy pulled back slightly, a glistening strand connecting them momentarily. He licked his lips and took in the trace of salty sweetness. His eyelids fluttered, and he exhaled a long, warm breath all over the wet tip of the stranger's cock.

Damien was so close. And Tommy was proving extremely hesitant. I mean Christ, he thought, I could have taken him in every tight fresh hole by now, initiated him in ass to mouth, and still had time to cum on his face.

But the boy was cute and held Damien's cock like it was the most delicate and precious thing he'd ever felt in his palm. And watching the boy's lips descend in slow motion onto Damien's throbbing, oozing cock head was captivating. So much so, that Damien vowed this wouldn't be their only encounter.

Finally, the gap between Tommy's quivering lips and Damien's engorged cock closed. Damien felt the slightest brush of flesh on stretched flesh, and then when Tommy drew back, the lustrous thread of precum which joined the two men caught a sunbeam. Tommy's face was dark, within a halo of light from the window. Damien found himself trapped between reaching further inside the boy's shorts to grasp at his cock, and just giving in to his most basic instinct.

Tommy's exhalation pushed Damien over the edge. Warm breath coursed over his tingling cock head. The shaft bucked in their hands and from deep inside, Damien discharged, a sudden gloop of cum splashing onto Tommy's lips and instantly pooling and sluicing down to his chin. And then a second discharge and a third, each one spraying the white sticky seed over a little more of Tommy's virginal face.

Damien heard himself, verbalising, grunting as he urged his seed out of its reservoir and down the channel to its target, marking Tommy with semen. The fourth shot wasn't quite so strong, and slopped out, running down the shaft onto Tommy's fingers which still held Damien tight.

And as Damien wound down from the moment of orgasm, he took stock of what he'd done. And revelled in the realisation that for all of Tommy's awkwardness and uncertainty, the 18 year old hadn't recoiled at the assault he'd received, but stayed put and took Damien's discharge full in the face.

Tommy held his breath when he felt the first hot spurt strike his lips. He didn't dare to move but quickly closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the man's semen paint his smooth face all over until he somewhat resembled an iced pastry. His lips remained slightly parted, and when his eyes opened again, it was with an expression of almost comic startlement.

His breath finally exhaled in an almost hysterical giggle, and he immediately quieted himself, blushing. He let go of the deflating shaft and looked down at his hand, almost as glazed in white as his face, in pure awe. Experimentally, the tip of his tongue darted out to try a tiny taste of what was clinging to his lip. He wasn't sure what to make of it, and he certainly wasn't sure what to do now.

He turned his head just enough to catch his own reflection in the mirrored closet door nearby.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, turned on by his own blasphemy as much as his cum-splattered appearance. What if he went home like this? What if he let the whole world see? His family?

Adulting - am I doing it right? Am I, dad? How do you like me now?

Tommy returned his eyes to the man on the bed and then down at the bulge pressing against his own shorts. If they'd been anything but white they might have showed off a distinct wet spot. He had no little angel on his shoulder whispering to him in this moment - only two devils. But he still didn't have the confidence to push anything further.

"Um... sorry," he whispered, unsure what he was apologizing for. Intruding? Failing to actually give a blowjob? Being turned on?

What was expected now? Would the man like him like this - all covered in his semen? Or would he be done with him now? His heart thumped.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, caught between excitement and bashfulness. "Should I... go clean up?"

Damien sat back on the pillows and admired Tommy's cum-splattered face. The 18 year old was nonplussed, clearly in two minds about whether something else was expected of him or just to go clean himself up. Damien heard him apologise, and smiled. If only he was close enough to reach out, grab Tommy's cock which was obviously bulging in his shorts, and bring him to orgasm, if he hadn't cum already.

"What do you want me to do?" Tommy asked. "Should I go clean up?" Damien could hear the breathless excitement in the younger man's voice. He thought for a moment about what to say next. But there was nothing to say. The morning silence was overwhelming. No one moved in the corridor. Voices outside the window were hushed. There was just Damien, naked, proud and still hard, and Tommy, fresh and virginal, looking as if a cock spewing cum was something he'd never heard or thought of in all his 18 years, and yet his pretty face was dripping with the evidence.

Damien said hush, and still smiling, leaned forward. With one hand on Tommy's shoulder, Damien pulled the boy close. Then with the other hand he carefully swept up his cum from Tommy's face, first one cheek and then the other, before pushing his dripping goo-laden fingers inside Tommy's mouth. "Lick it, Tommy. Fucking lick my fingers. Suck up my cum." The boy did as he was told.

Damien pulled him even closer, pleased that Tommy offered no resistance. He pushed his face right up to Tommy's, then kissed him, first on the mouth, a teasing, tongue-probing kiss, forcing the boy's lips apart and lapping greedily at his own cum on the boy's tongue. Then Damien kissed the boy's face, slurping up the rest of his own cum. Tommy just sat stunned, hard against Damien's naked body, pinned by the older man's arm, as he was orally assaulted. Damien finished the clean up, and returned to Tommy's mouth. Again the boy opened wide inviting Damien to transfer the rest of the cum with his tongue. But Damien had other ideas.

He pulled Tommy over until the boy's head was down against Damien chest. "Open your mouth," Damien said through a slick of cum. "Open wide." And when Tommy did so, Damien positioned himself so he could dribble the rest of the cum in a long white rope from his own mouth into Tommy's.

He looked down into Tommy's eyes, expect to see a little fright, but instead the boy seemed wide-eyed and open to anything that might happen. Damien dribbled until the stream of cum was nearly gone, then spat the remaining globs directly into the back of Tommy's throat. Finally the boy reacted, gagging and coughing at the unexpected load. Damien pulled Tommy's face back up to his own, and for a second time, cleaned the boy up with his mouth and tongue, before they kissed again, the cum swilling and bubbling between them.

And when Damien was done he inched back a little, he eyes boring into Tommy's.

"Mmmmm...that was fucking wonderful, Tommy. You can swallow now, like a good boy."

He reached down to where Tommy was swelling his shorts. He felt the 18 year old squirm under his touch, and adjust himself as Damien gripped and stroked.

"Maybe we should get you out of those fucking shorts, Tommy. What do you say? Maybe there's something I can do for you now. To say thank you."

Tommy hadn't had any idea what to expect in this quiet hotel room, but being force-fed a stranger's cum wasn't among the possibilities he might have considered. He could hardly breathe as the man said filthy things to him and scraped the mess into his mouth. He wasn't sure he liked the taste of it or not, but he decided he liked those fingers pushing aggressively into his mouth.

Even better was the tongue invading him before he even realized he was being kissed. A man's tongue was in his mouth, licking his own semen from every surface. Then the tongue was all over his face. Tommy just closed his eyes and took it. Any thoughts of worrying about his job or his boss had evaporated by now - this was his job, this was his boss. This, he, was everything.

Then he was bent back with his mouth open, streams of cum drooling back into him, coating his tongue. Tommy flinched when the man spat, causing him almost to aspirate his lewd mouthful, but he managed to recover himself and found himself harder than ever - why was this so fucking hot? Being spat on?

After passing the load of cum and spit back and forth between them plenty more, Tommy had thoroughly warmed up to it and wished there was another fresh load. He swallowed and felt smug and gleeful at the thought of millions of a stranger's sperm swimming around inside him fruitlessly trying to make babies.

He groaned at the touch of the man's hand on his aching bulge, nearly bucking against him. He was quite desperate by the time the suggestion came to remove his shorts - he was practically tearing through them.

"Oh, fucking yes sir!" he exhaled, squirming around on the bed to wriggle his way out of his confining bottoms. "Thank you, thank you - can I take off everything?"

He dropped his shorts and briefs together, and his polo shirt followed. He faced the man on the bed, rising up onto his knees as if to show off his not impressively sized, but obviously painfully rigid shaft, tipped in purple and drooling a clear bead of precum. His chest was boyish, without a hair on it. His smooth, young skin broke out in goosebumps at the novel experience of being looked at while naked and aroused.

"I need to cum so bad," he whispered shakily. "It won't take much. You don't need to do anything for me but I'd just love to get off. Do you like it? Do you like me? If you touch me, I'll probably cum so hard."

Damien couldn't believe his luck. He knew why Paul had brought him here, to hide him away in a country club for a weekend, to calm things down, plan the following weeks, lecture him about self control. But instead here he was having cum across a young guy's face, then force fed him the cum, and now the kid was naked on the bed asking him to do whatever he liked.

Damien really wanted to fuck this little guy's ass and in other circumstances he'd have jumped at the chance. He was pretty sure he hadn't packed any lube. Fuck! And he'd already cum. He could feel his cock going down, not quickly, but probably fatally if he was to deliver Tommy a proper ass fuck.

And besides, Tommy was a lot closer to cumming now than Damien had been when his new 18 year old friend had suddenly appeared at the foot of the bed. He was amazed that Tommy hadn't cum when he'd received the facial, or even before. If Damien had learned anything fucking younger guys it was that self control and delay, overriding the instinctive urge to spray your seed prematurely, was the last thing they were good at. It was why when he could manage to arrange it, that Damien used discrete clubs where he could hire more than one young guy at a time.

And Paul would be at the door soon. A sleep-in was just fine, but the breakfast room would be finished soon, and a round of golf about to start. There would be people to meet, flesh to press (Damien smiled involuntarily when those words popped into his head), political platitudes to deliver.

Tommy was offering just to be touched, but Damien understood a mutual obligation when one arose. He should suck Tommy to orgasm. It would be quick, but immensely enjoyable for them both, and besides, however this morning ended he wanted Tommy to be back in his room tonight, in his bed as early as Paul's political demands would permit.

"I can see you need to cum bad, Tommy," Damien said letting his eyes drop to the boy's swollen cock, but being oh so careful not to touch it again, however lush and inviting it presented. "After what you did for me, I'm going to reciprocate."

Damien rolled over and crouched on his knees, bending down to lower his mouth over Tommy's cock.

Tommy gasped so hard he felt lightheaded for a few moments. He already had few resources to work with, considering all of his blood and energy was pooling in his core where the man (he still didn't know his name - did that make this even hotter somehow?) had placed his mouth and was taking Tommy inside him with exquisite warmth and wetness.

"Omigod!" he grunted, bucking his hips involuntarily. "Oh... mm...!"

His desperate vocalization escalated into a howl, and quickly he stuffed a fist into his mouth, remembering belatedly that keeping quiet would probably be a good idea. His climax was breaking over him in a massive wave, terrifying in its intensity, causing his back to arch and his whole body to seize. His whole being was concentrated upon the man's lips and tongue. Several hot, powerful jets of fresh young cum leaped into the man's mouth, and Tommy finally gasped in a breath and began to shudder, his hips jerking a few more times. He clutched the bedspread desperately, as if needing to grab hold of something to keep him from flying off into space.

Concluding with a whimper, Tommy looked down at the man in awe and gratitude. His wide eyes searched for signs of his seed lingering on the man's tongue, wondering if they would share it between them again. His fingertips found the man's hair, stroking it experimentally, and then moving down to feel the stubble along the strong jawline. He had no idea what was expected of an encounter like this, having experienced nothing even close to it, but it seemed wrong somehow not to give a little affection. Certainly the man was handsome (and talented) enough to worship. How had Tommy been so lucky as to be able to experience something like this with him?

Damien knew Tommy would cum in a hurry once he'd had his cock sucked, and he was right. The older man had the chance to complete only one or two full turns with his lips and tongue on the fresh young organ before Tommy discharged his load. Damien felt Tommy shake and buck, then his hips thrust and the warm sticky goo sprayed into his mouth, coating his tongue and insides with slimy man milk. Damien did all he could to maintain eye contact, pulling back and opening his teeth wide so that Tommy could see the head of his cock inside his older lover's mouth, and the white seed jetting forth.

But Tommy's attention was all over the place. Damien watched him throw his head back, his body straight, hands clutching the bedding, pushing his hips forward, as if to make sure his cock was as deep inside Damien as it could go.

But when he was spent, Damien saw Tommy looking at him, surprised and gratified at being shown the joy of oral sex. Damien felt Tommy's hand slide down from his hair to his cheek and then his chin, stroking him like a kitten.

Damien smiled, lips closed tightly, holding the semen in his mouth. And as before, when it was his own seed he'd shared with Tommy, this time Damien leaned forward and kissed his young friend, sluicing Tommy's seed back into the boy's mouth with his tongue. The boy accepted it without a whimper or revulsion, if anything an even more willing and enthusiastic kisser than their first time only minutes before.

When they disengaged Damien smiled at Tommy. "Remember what we did when I came in your mouth? Remember? I dribbled it back into you. You enjoyed that, I could tell." Tommy nodded. "Well," Damien said, "why don't you spit your seed back into me? Keep your mouth shut, push me down on the bed, hold my mouth open if you like, and then fill me again. Dribble or spit or whatever. I want to taste you again, Tommy. Don't be shy."

Tommy's heart thrummed with pleasure when the older man smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. He melted into the man, drowning himself in the decadence of having his own cum slopped across his tongue by a much more experienced one. He had no idea how to kiss, but in the midst of this delicious mess, it didn't seem to matter - he accepted the heated invasion of a warm, cum-coated tongue, and thrust his own back in return. It was like they were both trying to feed each other and devour each other at once, and he was totally into it, his cock still rampantly hard.

Holding onto his mouthful once the kiss has ended, the overexcited 18-year-old hung on the man's every word. The way he spoke to Tommy, as gentle and coaxing and carefully instructive as a swimming instructor trying to encourage a young student into a terrifyingly deep pool, was almost hypnotic to the teen. Tommy wanted desperately to do well, to please teacher. He reached out with his soft young hands to ease his spontaneous lover back on the bed.

Tommy had not been keenly aware until this moment, when he leaned his body over the older man's, how naked they both were. He shivered, and his heartbeat quickened. His curious fingers found the man's chest hair and toyed with it while his other hand guided the man's lips apart with bashful tenderness. Placing his mouth several inches above the other's, he parted his no longer virgin lips and let his mouthful of cum begin to drool onto the man's tongue. When most of it had been delivered, he hesitated and then lightly, experimentally, spat the rest. Some of it landed in spatters across the man's cheek.

Tommy had been weirdly excited about receiving this treatment, but it didn't feel quite as right to give it. He dove down to clean up the mess he'd made, almost reverently, kissing away each drop, and ending with a light but warm peck on the man's lips, delighting in the soft smacking noise they made.

He took a few moments to catch his breath and gave a wet-lipped grin, his cheeks a deep blushing pink. He studied every aspect of the face he was gazing down at and was again struck with a surety that he'd seen it somewhere before - on TV, on the Internet? Who was he? Tommy was both gleeful and nervous thinking that he might have just unwittingly shared his first sexual experience with a famous person.

"Is this a weird time," he whispered, "to ask you who you are?"

Damien felt elated. He lay on his back gazing up into Tommy's fresh young face, framed by his long dark hair, and let the boy dribble his own cum into an older man's mouth. Damien loved how eager and tender and dirty and awkward Tommy was, all at the same time, drooling with deep concentration, then spitting all over Damien's face. And to his continuing delight, Damien just waited while Tommy cleaned up the mess he'd made, running his mouth and tongue across Damien's face, then kissing him again.

The two men sat quietly for a moment, Damien coming down off the high and wondering where he could take the newfound relationship next. It was really getting late and he couldn't believe Paul hadn't missed him. And Tommy seemed to be eyeing him very closely, making no attempt to clean himself up or get dressed or leave. Damien was sure he'd packed lube somewhere. The thought of some ass play was even getting him hard again.

And then Tommy asked his name. It was an obvious question for sure. They'd just cum in each other's mouths. Their faces and tongues and inner cheeks and throats were slick with semen. Tommy had entered the room with a name tag, but Damien had been naked and nameless throughout.

So what should he say? He hesitated. Damien liked anonymous sex. He craved it, seeking it out in places he convinced himself he wouldn't be known or seen or identified. And he took risks, like this weekend. His name would be in the hotel register. He was on the news. Every day. Tommy must know he's seen my face before, Damien thought. Yet something held him back.

And then they were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. And Paul's voice, calling 'Damien'.

He looked at Tommy and shrugged. "There you have it," he said. "Quick, I gotta talk to this guy. Grab your clothes and clean up in the bathroom."

Tommy did as he was told. Damien spent the last few seconds alone together longingly watching Tommy's smooth tight ass cross the floor, his cock swinging alluringly between his legs.

"Coming," he called, threw on his robe, and opened the door.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Sure," Damien said. "Late, I guess."

Paul wore a polo neck and bermuda shorts, and that impatient look on his face.

"Breakfast is finished, and I've got a few guys downstairs ready for a round. You've gotta meet these guys. Supporters. Or soon will be once you work your magic." Damien saw him examine the abandoned hotel trolley and scan the hallway to see who might have left it there.

Damien said he'd shower and be down in ten. He shut the door and turned to find Tommy peeping from the bathroom.

"My best mate Paul," Damien said. "I gotta go. You run along."

Tommy stepped past him and reached for the door.

"Hey," Damien said. "That was great. Fucking great. You are a hot young guy. And you know how to suck cock. Can't believe you've never done that before."

He reached over to touch Tommy's face, but decided on impulse to run his hand through the 18 year old's hair. It was then he realised his hand was still coated in cum. Tommy's hair stuck to his palm and when he pulled back, the hair formed up into a greasy cum-drenched crest. He wondered if Tommy knew what he'd done, but the kid just smiled and left, closing the door behind him. Damien looked down at his hand, and the few strands of Tommy's hair still clinging to the cum.