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Two terse tales of taken tourists

I had a nightcap (well, two) at Stella last night and I’m glad I did. I hadn’t seen Jirka-K since I’d had Andre at his and Adam’s apartment weeks before. So, when he came into the sofa room I literally jumped up as he offered his hand. “Fuck that,” I said and hugged him. “I …

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Night out at the baths

He had me all-hard all right and was using both his hands to pull and twist on me roughly, and his mouth and tongue to twirl and soften the suck. I was swaying backwards and forwards as he tugged on me for all he was worth. No lie: In no more than a minute or so, Vašek had yanked a nasty, loud, slightly painful, exhausting load out of my smarting, stinging dick.

The boy from Misiones

How do you know when a boy’s for sale? Here’s how you know for sure: After everyone else leaves the room, and if the boy takes his shirt off and dribbles red wine on his chest, and laughs and throws his head back, with eyes closed as you whorl it around on his hot, brown skin with your thumb, lick it off, then kiss his neck, just as hot. His laugh like the short bark of a very happy dog. Then you know.

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