The Secret Tunnel by James Lear Page A

knew if I would get another chance to get up his ass? I would never forgive myself if I passed up what could be my only opportunity to fuck him.
    I pulled him up. His face was red, and wet from saliva, sweat, and my precum. Both of us were close. I had to fuck him fast.
    I lifted him down, kissing him again as I did so, and pushed him into a kneeling position, his elbows resting on the toilet lid. In this way, there was just room for me behind him. I slicked up my cock, and positioned the sticky head between his cheeks.
    “Have you been fucked before, Bertrand?”
    “Please… Do it to me.”
    “Have you?”
    “It doesn’t matter.”

    I realized he had not.
    “It will hurt. I don’t have anything to make it hurt less.” There was hair cream in my luggage, and a jar of Vaseline, of course—but I was not prepared to risk my chances by going to get them. I thought of using soap, of which there was a pretty fragranced bar by the sink, but did not want to sting the delicate interior of his rectum.
    “I don’t mind. I want you.”
    “Okay. Just try to breathe deeply…”
    I spat copiously into my hand, slathering the thick saliva over my hard penis until it glistened. I spat again and worked it around the opening of his ass. Was it my imagination, or was he drawing my fingers inside him? He was ready. I was going to hurt him, but I hoped he would soon think it was worth the pain.
    “Mitch…”
    I pressed forward, so the tip of my cock was inside him. God, he felt so hot!
    “Yes, Bertrand?”
    “Mitch, I… Oh, mon dieu …”
    I pushed in further, and the whole head disappeared into his hairy pink hole.
    “I… Oh… Oh! Mitch… I…”
    I pushed gently but firmly, and another inch slid inside.
    “Is it good? Does it hurt?”
    “It hurts, but it is good. Oh Mitch, I have to tell you… I…”
    “What, Bertrand?” I gave him another inch, and another; he was whimpering now.
    “I… I…”
    I pressed in further, all the way to the base. He had every inch of me. He was entirely mine, and I entirely his. His face, pressed against the lid of the toilet seat, was dark red, working with emotion.
    “Mitch… I love you…”

    The words were hardly out of his mouth when the train gave a violent lurch, throwing me forward, and farther, harder, up Bertrand’s ass. He yelped, but stifled the cry with his fist. I had hurt him a lot, I think, but he was determined to take it.
    And then there was another shuddering lurch, and the screaming squeal of brakes, a violent hiss of steam, and the train came to a sudden stop, and all the lights went out.
    It was totally, utterly dark. Pitch black. From outside the window, not a ray of light penetrated the carriage. I saw nothing, only heard my breathing and Bertrand’s stifled moans, smelled his hot body and the scent of my own rut mingled with the floral bouquet of the soap.
    We had stopped, and it seemed the outside world had stopped as well.
    But it was too late. Not everything could stop. I kept pumping Bertrand’s ass, my orgasm finally claiming its release. I fucked him hard and rough in the dark—I made him shout out, whether in pain or pleasure I was not sure, and I pumped a heavy load inside him. Gripping his cock, I jerked him in time with my last few thrusts, and felt hot jets squirting out of him.
    And then we lay, panting, in the utter darkness, going nowhere.

V
    WE STRUGGLED TO OUR FEET AND GOT DRESSED IN THE dark, cleaning ourselves as best we could with toilet paper. I had come inside Bertrand, so I wiped his ass and shoved some tissue inside his underpants to soak up any leakage, but he had shot all over the place. For a small man, he produced a large load. It was impossible to see where it had gone, but every time I touched him or his pants my hand seemed to encounter yet another sticky glob.
    “What happened?” His voice trembled, possibly through fear of the dark, possibly because he had just been fucked so hard that his legs were shaking.
    “I