1. Love At First Piss - Part 1


    Date: 8/15/2015, Categories: Fetish, Author: naughtybessparker, Rating: 9, Source: LushStories

    “Drink?” he slurred stumbling towards me. “Got one, but I’ll have another.” “Gary,” he shouted over the booming music. “Heidi,” I yelled back. “Heidi? Really?” “No but it’ll do won’t it?” Gary leered at me. “I like your bikini…and your tits.” Ugh, he was pissed. Still, what did I care? His shorts were tenting. Not bad. “I like your boner, is that for me?” With a grin on his face he brazenly stroked the erection confined within his Bermuda shorts. “Could be, if you play your cards right.” What an awful line. “Buy me a drink and I’ll think about it,” I replied. May as well give him a chance, I hadn’t had any better offers. “I’ll have a Vodka and cranberry. Make it a large vodka.” Deliberately choosing an expensive drink, I watched Gary’s reaction with interest. He didn’t bat an eyelid. Ok, so money wasn’t an issue. Big tick for that. When he turned to wave at the bartender I took a good look at him; around six feet tall, well-built but not too muscular. He looked like a sports player rather than a gym dweller. That was good so long as his sport wasn’t football. I hated footballers. Gary looked young, perhaps early twenties. He was neatly dressed but his face was unshaven and his hair massy. Another big tick as far as I was concerned. I loathed vain men. No man should spend more time looking in the mirror than I did. I peered at the back of his head, was he ginger? It was hard to tell under the coloured lights but his complexion backed-up the ginger theory - pale, patches of ...
    red where he’d overdone the sunbathing or forgotten his factor fifty, and freckles…hell, he was ginger and very obviously British. That was a London or Home Counties accent if I wasn’t mistaken. He was probably on a Club 1830’s holiday with his mates. That wasn’t so good. I should escape, quickly. “There you go. Cheers!” Hmm, too late. A tall glass of cranberry and vodka was placed in my hand. I took a sip; it was a double, just as I’d ordered. That was promising - he’d listened to me and my cash theory looked to be correct. Gary took a slurp of his own drink, a pint of lager (what a surprise). He beamed at me with a smile that was both warm and genuine. “Thanks Gary, cheers,” I said touching my glass to his. Right, so Gary would be my company for a while. I didn’t mind that. He had enough money to keep the drinks flowing and he wasn’t bad looking. Provided he didn’t try to talk too much we’d get along famously. I sat back on my bar stool, the flight instinct gone. I wanted sex that night and Gary would do. He was certainly up for it, judging by the size of his hard-on. He was another randy holiday maker looking for a quick fuck. Good. So be it. Like Gary I was British but I wasn’t in Cyprus on holiday. I lived there, least I did at that point in my life. I’d arrived at the start of the holiday season with a plan to stay as long as I could. Permanently, if I found enough work. I’d been lucky thus far. I’d secured a job before the end of my first week and found a second shortly ...
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