SURFING SECLUSION
The sun baked the sand of their private cove, turning the air thick and hazy. This was the one place their tailored suits and wives’ expectations couldn’t reach. Here, they were just two guys, bodies bronzed and hard from a life of privilege, clad only in tight, damp speedos that left nothing to the imagination.
This was their secluded surfing island.
“Fuck, I needed this,” one grunted, watching the other stretch, the muscles in his back flexing like a coiled spring.
“Yeah, no shit,” the other shot back, a smirk playing on his lips. “Look at you. All wound up. Bet the old lady’s got you on a short leash.”
“Fuck you, man. You know how it is.”
They stood for a moment, the air crackling with unspoken shit. Then, one closed the distance. He didn’t go for a kiss, not at first. He just pressed his body against the other’s, chest to chest, the hard planes of their pecs meeting. He grabbed his friend’s ass, pulling him closer until their groins were pressing.
“Goddamn,” he breathed, feeling the other’s hard cock straining against the thin fabric of his speedo. “You’re already ready to go, aren’t you?”
“Shut up and rub, asshole,” the other growled, but his hands were already gripping the first guy’s hips, pulling him into a grinding rhythm.
They started to frot, a slow, torturous slide of nylon-clad dicks. The friction was electric, a dry, heated promise. They could feel each other’s length, the thick heads dragging against their inner thighs, the fabric growing wet with pre-cum. It was raw and masculine, a battle of wills and need. Their sweet nothings were grunts and curses.
“Like that, you bitch?” one panted, his teeth grazing the other’s shoulder.
“Harder, fucker. Make me feel it.”
They moved against each other, lost in the primal rhythm, the smell of salt and sweat filling their lungs. It wasn't enough. It was never enough.
One of them dropped to his knees, yanking the other’s speedo down just enough to free his heavy, leaking cock. He didn’t wait. He just took it in his mouth, the taste of salt and skin overwhelming. He sucked hard, his head bobbing, his hands gripping the other’s powerful thighs.
“Fuck… yeah… take it,” the standing man groaned, fisting his hair, fucking his face.
But he wanted more. He pulled his friend up, spun him around, and bent him over a sun-warmed boulder. He ripped the speedo to the side, exposing the tight, hairy hole he knew so well. He spat, using his thumb to work the saliva in, then he lined up his cock and pushed inside in one long, guttural thrust.
The man on the rock cried out, a mix of pain and pure pleasure. He braced himself, taking every punishing inch. “That all you got?” he choked out.
The answer was a harder, deeper thrust that stole his breath. They fucked like animals, their bodies slapping together, the sound lost in the roar of the waves. It was desperate and visceral, a release of a month’s worth of lies. The man on the bottom reached down, stroking his own cock in time with the brutal pace.
“Gonna cum,” he gasped.
“Do it. Fucking cum for me.”
With a strangled cry, he shot all over the rock, his ass clamping down like a vise. That was all it took. The other man buried himself balls-deep and unloaded, a hot flood of cum filling his secret lover.
They stayed like that, panting, sticky, and spent, until the sun began to dip below the horizon. Tomorrow, it was back to the lies.
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