Dim room. Late night. Radio crackles on Rêvebébé. Brodsky’s voice hits the airwaves, raw and mocking. ‘Salut les branleurs,’ he growls. My cock stirs in my pants. He’s ripping into that troll who trashed his story. Phone buzzes—Lilas chewing him out. I smirk. She’s feisty. He flirts back, ‘I prefer when you rip my clothes off.’ Heat builds low in my gut. My hand drifts to my zipper. This is it. The switch flips.
His words pour out. Ass drives history, not Marx’s bullshit. Freud nailed it. Libido rules. Antony and Cleopatra. My breath quickens. Picturing her Egyptian curves, him balls-deep, chasing her pussy over battles. He picks sea over land for her wet slit. Stupid horny fucker loses everything. My dick hardens fully. Throbs against fabric. I yank it free. Skin hot, veins pulsing. Pre-cum beads at the tip. Forbidden thrill spikes—society’s eyes off me here. Just me, Brodsky, and history’s dirtiest secrets.
The Awakening Rush
Pulse races. Saint Bartholomew massacre. Duke de Guise, cock-aching for Queen Margot. Jealous rage over her Navarre fuckboy. Bloodbath for a broken heart. I stroke slow. Grip tightens. Imagine her tits heaving, legs spread for that garlic-stinking prick. Guise watching from shadows, fist pumping fury. My balls tighten. Sweat beads on my chest. Brodsky chuckles—Henri IV dodging war for a teen Spanish pussy. Ravaillac saves the day, knife in gut. My thumb circles the head, slick now. Excitement coils, illicit fire.
Decision made. No turning back. I strip pants off. Naked on bed. Legs spread wide. Brodsky dives deeper—Louis XIII’s gay ass, Anne desperate. Mazarin her Italian stud. Fake royal fuck at the hunt. One pump, boom—Sun King born. Bullshit divine will. Pure cock trickery. My fist flies now. Up-down, relentless. Heart hammers. Room spins hot. This taboo rush—jerking to history’s cum-stained pages. No one knows. My dirty core exposed only here.
Diving Into the Forbidden Fuck
Fantasies crash. Cleopatra rides Antony reverse, ass bouncing, waves rocking the ship. Margot screams orgasm as Navarre plows her, Guise spurts alone. Anne grinds Mazarin in shadows, king oblivious. My cock swells, purple head angry. Grip vise-like. Hips buck. Grunts escape. Balls slap thighs. Pressure builds, molten. Close. So fucking close.
Explosion hits. Cum ropes out, thick white jets splatter chest, abs. Pulse after pulse. Body shakes. Guttural moan. Waves crash, then ebb. Sticky mess cools. Brodsky wraps up—’Le cul, moteur unique.’ Antenne off. Silence.
Reality snaps back. Wipe up with shirt. Heart still thuds. Mirror shows flushed face, guilty grin. Pulled it off again. History’s horniest lies, my fuel. No one suspects. Wife sleeps next door. Job tomorrow. But this? My vaulted thrill. Transgression’s afterglow warms me. Dared the unspeakable. Craved it raw. Will tune in next week. Secret safe. Obsession fed.