When he opened the bathroom room, he didn't realize it adjoined your motel room. There you lay, on your back on the hardwood floor, shirtless and sweaty under the whirring fan, waiting for the heat of the day to pass. He stood over you, wet, fresh out the shower, no towel around his waist, and suddenly, gazing up at him, your lips parted. Your breath caught in your chest.
You couldn't hide it. He saw it in your eyes. Impassive, foreboding, he stared down at you, as you physically could not tear your roaming eyes off his arms, his powerful chest, his wet abs, his heavy balls and that thick, uncut cock hanging over you.
Other men would have grimaced. Or laughed. But not you. Lust consumed you, destroying your well practiced secrecy. He caught sight of the desire burning in your soul, and in a single moment, as all men do, he knew your role in that ancient game of men mounting men.
He took a step forward. Slowly, deliberately, he beckoned you. You rose to your knees before him. With a hand tousled in your hair, he brought your lips to his cock, and moaning, he sunk balls deep into your throat.
And then he skull-fucked you, hard, brutally, crushing your lips against the hair that curled at the base of his cock and pulling out until his thick, uncut head dragged across your tongue. In and out, over and over, until his balls pulled tight, and he shuddered, stumbling over you, pushing deep and pumping blast after blast of his seed down your throat.
After a moment, his breath steadied. He grunted "Thanks" as he eased you back down on the hardwood floor. You lay there, panting, sweaty, your lips wet with his cum, as you heard his door click shut. Slowly, peacefully, your eyes fell closed again as you listened to the whirring fan, tasting his seed in your mouth and stroking your cock to the thought of him.
