Just a Bit Wicked (Straight Guys 7)

Vlad went rigid. This was sick, wrong, and disgusting, but, for some reason, he was achingly hard, and he wanted—

He jerked away and wiped his mouth furiously before shoving the faggot against the wall. “What the fuck?” he growled out, pressing his forearm against Sebastian’s throat. “I told you I wasn’t a homo. Do I have to spell it out on your face?”

Sebastian grunted, struggling to breathe, and yet he continued looking at him with challenge. “What does it say about you that your girlfriend liked a homo better than you?”

The stupid shit really had a death wish.

A blow to Sebastian’s stomach made him double over. Another to his ribs sent him to his knees, breathless and in pain.

Vlad grabbed a fistful of black hair and yanked Sebastian’s face up. “I should fucking beat you to death for your big mouth.”

Panting, Sebastian smiled up at him before croaking out, “Why don’t you put my big mouth to better use?” Before he could react, Sebastian pressed his parted lips against the outline of Vlad’s hard dick.

Vlad’s muscles locked up. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could do nothing but stare as Sebastian dragged his red lips over his clothed dick, all the while looking up at Vlad.

“Stop that,” he heard himself say, his body vibrating with restrained tension, his cock so hard it was painful. Why was he so hard, dammit?

Looking him in the eye, Sebastian rubbed his cheek against Vlad’s erection like an overgrown cat, murmuring, “How does it feel to know that a homo gave you a boner, straight guy?”

And Vlad snapped. He yanked his zipper down, grabbed his cock and pushed it into the faggot’s mouth. Sebastian grunted, gagging on the thick length in his mouth, his eyes going comically wide. The sight was immensely satisfying. Clearly the guy had been bluffing. He expected Sebastian to struggle and free himself now that Vlad had called him out on his bluff, but Sebastian didn’t. He looked up at Vlad, tightened his lips around Vlad’s cock, and sucked.

Vlad’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, a low groan slipping out of his mouth. The warmth, the wetness, the perfect amount of suction were too much, and suddenly it wasn’t about calling the faggot’s bluff out, but about a warm, wetwetwet mouth wrapped around his aching cock. Before Vlad could stop himself, his hips were thrusting in and out of the guy’s mouth, disgust and overwhelming need to fuck that mouth raging a war inside his body.

He wanted to say, “Stop,” but nothing came out. He wanted to shove the faggot away, but his body didn’t obey. He could do nothing but ram his cock into the guy’s throat, growling lowly at the sensation as he fucked it for minutes, maybe for hours; he had no idea. Sebastian’s mouth was fucking perfect around Vlad’s dick, and Vlad was losing it, thrusting into it like a man possessed, cradling Sebastian’s face in his hands, needing—fuck—

Before he knew it, he was groaning and coming down the guy’s throat.

For a long moment, there was only silence and overwhelming pleasure.

And then his brain kicked back into gear.

“That didn’t happen,” he said hoarsely, wide-eyed and breathless.

Sebastian wiped his mouth, watching him with a thoughtful look that would have made Vlad uneasy if he wasn’t already freaking out of his mind.

“Sure,” Sebastian said amicably. He got to his feet and smiled. “Thanks for the visit. It was...interesting. You know where the door is.”

Vlad didn’t need to be told twice. He was almost out of the room when Sebastian said, “I would apologize for giving your girlfriend an orgasm, but now she and you are even.”

Vlad slammed the door shut.

He made his way out of the building, nausea rolling in his stomach. His jaw clenched, he looked straight in front of him, avoiding meeting other people’s eyes. He’d never felt so self-conscious and sickened in his life. Could people look at him and see what had happened? Was it written on his face that he had fucked another man’s mouth? Did it make him a faggot, too?

Pidoras, pidor, goluboy, pedik—familiar Russian equivalents for “faggot” echoed in his mind in a scathing, disgusted voice. It sounded a lot like his uncle’s, and it brought up half-forgotten memories of his childhood.

Vlad had grown up in a small Russian village far from any major cities. The village was so old-fashioned it seemed stuck in the first half of the twentieth century in many ways. With only one black-and-white TV in the entire village, they all were basically cut off from the rest of the world. Vlad hadn’t been unhappy about it; he simply didn’t know better. He and his brothers spent their childhood working hard on their small farm under the stern, watchful eye of their uncle. A former Army sergeant, Uncle Stepan didn’t believe in “lazying around.”