The Secret Tunnel by James Lear

shirttail. I was as hard as could be inside my underpants; the fabric was stretched to its full extent. As soon as the bulge was exposed, Bertrand pressed his face into it, rubbing it all over his cheeks, running up and down the length of my cock with his lips. I put both hands on his head, caressing him, pulling him into me.
    It was not long before the cotton barrier was too much for him, and he broke away, looking up to me to make the next move. I pulled my pants and underpants down, and my cock sprang free. After such a long and unwelcome confinement, it seemed to jump for joy.
    “Oh, Mitch…”
    “There it is, Bertie. All yours.”
    “It’s so big…”
    I never tire of being told that my dick is big; what man would? In truth, it is not a real monster, and there was at least one bigger on this train—Dickinson’s. But it was big enough, bigger than Bertrand’s, for instance, and to his eyes, and from that angle, it must have looked enormous.
    “Can you take it?”
    He said nothing, but smothered my cock in kisses, up and down the shaft, over the head, underneath and down to the balls. He squeezed it, weighed it in his hands, measured
the girth with his fingers. He was clearly delighted with me, and I with him.
    “Now open your mouth and suck me. I want to see your lips stretched around it.”
    He didn’t need to be asked twice. His pretty mouth opened, and his pink tongue protruded a little, as a kind of welcome mat. I let the head of my cock rest on that warm, wet platform for a moment, and then moved forward. His lips closed around me and I was in.
    Oh, his mouth felt good! Like plunging into a cool pool on a hot day, or a warm bath on a cold day. It felt like coming home tired from work, like a pint of beer after a long trip, like a feather bed after a night out. My dick got harder, thicker, and his lips opened in a larger O around me. I rubbed his ears and pulled him further down. He gagged a little—I let him come up for breath—but then, like the cocksucker he clearly was, he went straight down again.
    My head was starting to spin, and I wanted more, more, more. I stuck a foot into Bertrand’s crotch and started roughly pushing at his cock; he got the message, and undressed himself in that quarter. I could see his thick, stubby little dick jutting straight out from a thick bush of hair, and I wanted to feel it too. Fortunately, this being a first-class facility, there was a sizable marble surface around the washbasin, large enough for a man of Bertrand’s dimensions to lie on, if not fully stretched out.
    “Get up.”
    He got to his feet, reluctantly.
    “Strip.”
    He took off his jacket, and I pulled the shirt over his head. His torso was stocky, sturdy, a little fleshy, but not unpleasantly so. From his chest downward, he was hairy.
    “Jump up here.” I patted the marble surround.
    “Oof! It is cold!” He sat, naked except for his shoes and socks, his pants and underpants bunched around his ankles,
and we kissed again. I grabbed his cock, which was even harder than mine, and started gently jerking him.
    “Ohhhh…” he sighed. “That is good.”
    “Now suck me again.”
    I positioned myself against the wall, so he could recline awkwardly and get his head down to cock level. Soon I was fucking his mouth, but now I was able to caress his hairy body and play with his hard cock and tight little balls. It would not take much to make him come, and I enjoyed keeping him on the threshold, withholding release.
    I spat on a finger, and worked my way around to his ass; he obligingly crooked his upper leg to give me greater access. His hole yielded easily, and he felt just as warm and welcoming at that end as he did around my cock.
    “I must fuck you, Bertrand. I need to get my cock in your ass.”
    “Mmmmfff…” However much he wanted it as well, he was reluctant to relinquish what was in his mouth. I half thought of coming down his throat, fingering and jerking him off at the same time… But who