厚脸皮如我，肉居然一直是死穴= =每次都是码到一半面红耳赤关电脑下楼跑圈【。今天终于完成了第一篇肉，还是写成英文的才能坚持着码完。。大家谅解我。。。或者直接跳过它好了。。。艾玛。。【捂脸
【Bruce/Brandon】Until Next Time
Brandon was going to quit searching for girls before he met Bruce, a man somehow dressed in women’s clothes yet failed to look like one.
“He’s no drag queen, that o’ man” someone told him, smirking like there is something quite obscene with that. Brandon smiled faintly.
It was his first trip to Scotland; “For nailing it,” said his boss, “and for all the whiskey you can get your hands on.” He came for that, for sure, but mostly for prostitutes. He went into the bar looking for one. But for now, all he could think of is having a man’s leg wrapped tightly in black fabrics like those on the thighs of that man. Heels, garters, skirt and overcoat failed to cover up the body line of a male; blonde wavy wig, lipstick and slightly-smeared eyeliner altogether made poor combination with his unshaven face, but Brandon was helplessly drawn to it anyhow. He sensed the burn rising from his lower abdomen to his navel, rising up along the spine, tickling his brain for good.
And he must have felt Brandon’s glazing stare, for he winked at him - there’s a strange sexiness in it - and parted his gaudily-painted blood red lips, bit them hard, and suggestively grinned.
“Fuck,” he swore silently. He didn’t have to: it was too noisy anyway.
So he went up and took the man to his hotel room; it wasn’t hard, as always. The cross dresser claimed his name was Carole. Carole my ass, Brandon thought, they Scotches must have been real kinky.
“Bruce?” the man murmured in his artificial high-pitched woman voice when Brandon threw him on the bed and started to undress him. His Scottish accent somehow spiced up the process.
“Huh?” he replied absently, busying himself with buttons and zippers.
“Is that you? Bruce?” the man wiggled impatiently under his touch, yet insisted to ask.
“Who’s Bruce?” Brandon asked half-heartily, slightly amused. His fingers fondled with the garters, feeling the muscle under it flexed.
“Detective - detective sergeant Bruce Robertson, he’s - he’s my husband.” small, scattered sighs of satisfaction escaped those rosy lips between words. Brandon grinned for the hint, reached up to plant feather-like kisses onto “Carole”s neck. He noticed that despite the heavy make up, the man was transparently, morbidly pale. He felt slightly disgusted.
He nuzzled his ear, and whispered into it, “Take me as Bruce for tonight, if that’s what you want.” He felt his breath shattered, body shivering under Brandon’s words. “Because I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to fuck you hard; I’m not a considerate lover, dear, you may have to clean yourself up when its over.”
Brandon was not much of a talker during sex; he was in an exceptionally good mood tonight, though. He saw the pupils of the man dilated in arousal, and kissed them. “Close your eyes.”
On a whim, he removed the garters from those legs and blindfolded the man under him, who giggled as he did it. “Forget who you are.” he muttered in a deep, desire-filled rough voice, “forget where you are.” he took his belt and tied those hands to the wooden pole, above his askew blonde wig, which is the only thing he was wearing now. “You’re lying in front of one of those french windows.” His hands on the man’s body, Brandon outlined him.with his palms. The man hummed in a curious way.
Brandon reached down and bit on his pubic hair, pulling fondly, hearing the noise of him panting above his head, feeling his cock rubbing against his cheek. “Your eyes are closed so you can’t see them, gathering on the other side of the window to see you in this mess.” he put one hand on his cock, and gently kissed it. He took it slow, enjoying while fragments of gasps and moans finding their way out of those painted lips. He looked up and saw the man wetting his lips like he was in desperate need of water. Or something else. His fingers were playing with his hair; as if felt Brandon’s gaze, he started to put each of his fingers into his mouth and sucked them. It was obscene. It was perfect.
He started to run his tongue up the length of the shaft, and again, again, until it was saliva-slick. “But you feel them watching you.” he whispered, and suddenly swallowed his cock whole, feeling it against his throat, satisfied by the shaky “ahh” let out of those parted, welcoming lips.
He worked up for a few more times, trying to remember how the girls used to suck him, and realized he did well when he felt the man raising his hip, meeting the moves of Brandon’s mouth hastily; the belt slided up and down the pole, making soft noises.
Brandon sit back to enjoy the scene: the man arched his back, whimpering for more, his lips still red like hell even with the lipstick bitten away.
He reached up again for that kiss he longed for, and was responded lustily, “I am going to fuck you now, Carole.”
The name seemed to trigger something in the man. His breath harshened, eyebrows knitted and lowered, all of a sudden he looked like someone else. “The name is Bruce.” he said, lips formed a fiendish grin. The accent was even more prominent.
Brandon’s move stiffed for a second, but then he decided to leave it to his own. Everyone was broken, after all. “Yes, right. Bruce.”
He was going to get right inside him, but now he changed his mind, reaching out for lube on the night table, covered his finger with it, and slided into the man named Bruce.
“Ahh, yes, fuck.. yes,” Bruce threw his head backwards, and hit the wooden pole with a thump, but didn’t seem to mind it. Brandon noticed that he had dropped the mask of restriction that was keeping his mouth shut.
It wasn’t hard to slide in a second finger, and the third. Bruce wriggled in erotically under him, still grinning like an actual animal, responding each movement of his fingers with all kinds of dirty words; when Brandon slide out his fingers he even raised his hip and rocked invitingly.
Brandon rolled up a condom onto himself, guided his cock up against the already-slick hole of Bruce’s, and with a thrust Brandon buried himself into Bruce, who let out a long sentence of most unheard-of Scottish curses. Brandon started slow, pushing hard against him, plant kisses all over Bruce’s body, while Bruce incessantly yelling “fuck”s and “yes”es and “ahh”s.
Within some unnoticed process the patience were gone; Brandon didn’t know when he lost his pace and started to rocked his hip fast and hard, pressing deep into Bruce. The blindfold fell off during their intense sex, and under better lighting Brandon now saw a pair of pale-blue eyes. For a moment he thought of Sissy.
But then white-hot need for orgasm overwhelmed him: he thrusted half-unconsciously into Bruce, whose even more creative swears broke into unapologetic moaning and “harder - ”, hands white-knuckled around the post. His wig fell off, revealing shorter brown hair.
He can’t even stop now.
Orgasm hit harder than usual. He felt his whole body jerking as he emptied himself. Panting, he reached down to jack Bruce raggedly until he too came all over his belly, and collapsed onto him. Bruce let out a long, satisfied sigh.
Bruce’s eyes were closed for a long time as he breathed heavily while Brandon reached out to untie him from the pole. Then all of a sudden he stopped all these and opened his eyes, and somehow Brandon knows that Bruce’s gone and that Carole was back.
Bruce turned a little and looked Brandon in the eyes, and Brandon flinched in that gaze.
“Why do you look like you’re crying when you fuck?”He asked, in that high-pitched woman voice.
Brandon just turned away.
They lied in like this for a few minutes. Then Bruce started to put all his stuff on: garters, skirt, overcoat, heels, wigs, makeup.. until he was Carole again. Brandon just watched, wondering how broken a man can be.
Before he leave, Bruce leaned over to kiss Brandon on the cheek. “Until next time, sweetheart.”
“We both know there isn’t next time,” Brandon murmured, long after the door had closed behind Bruce.
