Page 4 of Hollywood Heartthrob
He grunted as he pulled out to the tip, giving my sore insides a brief rest, then pushed forward again. This time was smoother and I could feel his leaking pre-cum coat the walls of my hole. The weight and heat of his body mixed with his sexy smell and soon I found myself in a dizzying state as he proceeded to fuck me hard.
After the fifth or sixth thrust in and out of me, the pain had melted away and then all I felt was the wonderful fullness of his cock. He was breathing heavily in my ear, his mouth lingering over my neck as he took command. I wanted him to kiss my skin, to trace his tongue down my shoulder, but this was purely an animalistic fuck.
So I settled into the pillow as my own hard and leaking cock lay neglected beneath me. He began going at it harder, driving his cock all the way to the root. His sweaty low-hangers slapped against my thighs. He grazed against my prostate with each thrust, sending tingles through me.
"Oh, yeah, that feels so good," I moaned.
He put his big hand across my mouth to silence me. "Shut up."
I should have been offended, but his brutal assault only seemed to turn me on more. He didn't want to see my cock, didn't want to hear my voice, and didn't want to see the look on my face as he fucked me. I was beginning to get an idea of what he was trying to pretend when those dreamy chocolate brown eyes of his were clenched shut. But I didn't care. He could pretend I was his wife and fuck me raw every night if he wanted. I'd take it.
Still covering my mouth to silence my involuntary grunts, he used his other hand to steady himself on the bed as he began fucking me like a wild animal. I could tell he was close. His body was getting slick with sweat, pressed against my skin, and he was pumping faster and faster.
Then he tensed and tightened against me and his cock seemed to expand in my hole. He blasted a thick load of cum deep inside me, then shot another two or three rounds, filling me to the brim. When he'd finally pumped himself dry, he let go of my face and collapsed on top of me, allowing himself a moment of surrender as he panted breathlessly.
I was so turned on, all I wanted to do was roll over and get myself off. When he unpinned me and stood up from the bed, I thought that was what would happen, but instead, he grabbed a fresh towel and wiped himself down, cleaning off the sweat and fluids, then he grabbed his baby blue button-down shirt from a hanger in the small closet and put it on. Next came his white jockey shorts, and his black slacks.
I rolled over onto my back and watched him. "I had a good time."
He grunted something that sounded vaguely like an acknowledgment, but he wouldn't look at me.
Was he angry?
No, ashamed. That's what this was. He was embarrassed about fucking a man.
When he'd finished getting dressed, he forced that ridiculous wig back over his head, put on his sunglasses, and stomped out of the room without even giving me a second glance.
Then I was alone, left in a mess of tangled sheets that smelled like him. I dipped my fingers between my butt cheeks and scooped out a bit of the sticky cum that was seeping from my bruised hole. It was still warm. I sniffed it, enjoying the familiar bleach-like scent, and licked it from my fingers. It tasted tart and salty. The nectar of a Hollywood heartthrob.
