By Chance

"Anything," I whispered.

Satisfied that he could have me, Armando pulled away. "It's been a long flight. I'll need to shower. You first or me?"

"I'll go first," I said. "I won't take long." Nothing was said about this being in preparation to fuck. Nothing had to be said.

"Buono--Good," he said, and, as I walked to the back of the room to where the bathroom was, he moved over to the suitcase and took up the dildo. I turned and looked at him and he turned to me. He ran his hand up and down the length of the dildo--it had to be at least nine thick inches long--he looked at me and smiled. Again, nothing else had to be said.

When I came out of the bathroom just a few minutes later, my waist wrapped in a towel, Armando was sitting on the foot of the bed, magnificently naked, lightly hirsute, with curly black hair on olive skin, his body perfectly proportioned, and with an erection that rivaled the size of the dildo. He was slathering the dildo with lube.

"Spoglialo--Strip it off," he said, his voice low, commanding. The mastering was beginning. And then, when I did unknot the bath towel and let it slip to the carpet, he drew in his breath and said, "Molto bene--very nice. You have a beautiful body. We will make beautiful sex. You are experienced, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He lay the dildo on a hand towel beside him on the bed. A couple of gold-foil Trojan Magnum packets and a tube of lube were there too. He was taking this for granted. I hadn't given him any reason not to. He rose, paused by me to take my chin in his hand and lean over and kiss me on the mouth, and then proceeded to the bathroom and the shower.

I sat on the bed, in the spot he'd vacated, panting slightly and keyed up, and perched there, nervously, looking down at the dildo, condoms, and lube while he showered. He was humming in the shower, the tune nearly recognizable, but not loud enough for me to pin it down. He clearly was happy, though. An Italian god was going to fuck me and I was happy about that. I was trembling all over.

When Armando came out of the bathroom, naked and drying off with a towel, I was reclined on my back on the bed, at the foot. I'd pulled two pillows down and stuffed them under the small of my back to elevate my pelvis. My legs were spread and bent, the heels of my feet dug into the edge of the mattress at the foot of bed. I was ready for him.

Armando laughed when he saw that I was prepared and had already surrendered. Nothing was said. He nudged in between my spread legs and picked up the dildo. He went to work immediately, hovering over me, close above me, staring intently into my eyes. He was still humming. With surprise I recognized the song now--it was one of the Italian love songs that would be in the concert I was practicing for.

I didn't have time to dwell on that, though. The bulb of the dildo was at my entrance. I cried out, arched my back, raised my pelvis, and latched onto Armando's bulging biceps as he penetrated me with the dildo and began to open me up with it. Panting and huffing, I rocked on the rubber shaft as he moved it in, out, going deeper, working me with it. He knew what to do to open me fully, and he did it.

I sensed movement beyond him and my gaze went to the picture window out onto the open corridor beyond. The curtains hadn't come completely together and I could see that a man--big, beefy, redheaded--was standing outside, peering in, watching Armando open me up with the dildo. I wanted to cry out, to tell Armando we were being watched, but the Italian stud was moving on.

"Molto bene. Sei aperto. Ora lo facciamo--Very nice. You're open. Now we do it," I heard him murmur. He was in command, assured. I was totally his.

The fuck was becoming real. I was open, stretched, gaping, and wet, and the dildo was coming out. I turned my head toward the towel as the slicked-up dildo was dropped and one of the packets of condoms was lifted, to be torn, the rubber extracted, the slit gold-foil packet dropped. I was already panting and moaning low.

Armando did it. Humming, he was mounting me, entering me, holding me in a closer embrace. My mouth opened in a silent scream of pain-pleasure as he filled and stretched me. There was far more pleasure--much of it psychological and emotion from having such a beautiful man and such a big cock inside me. The dildo had opened me well. He was stretching me further and caressing my channel walls in a way the dildo could not do, but the slide was more pleasure than pain. My hands went to his shoulder blades and then down to grasp his plump butt cheeks. He was inside me, going deeper. He was fucking me, stroking me deep. The bulb entered the core of me, caressing, slaying, making me fully his. I held him close, opening and closing my grip on his buttocks, helping to guide his thrusts forward and his glides back. Forward, back, in, out, deep, my channel walls shimmering, opening, grabbing, caressing.

"Shit, yes! Fuck me. FUCK ME!" But he didn't need my permission or encouragement. He was in charge. He was inside me, deep, moving in my inner core, conquering me, making me his.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. OH, FUCKING SHIT!"

With a jerk and a little cry, digging my nails into his biceps and nearly sobbing my surrender, I came... and then released again... and again. He fucked on.

* * * *

Armando went to sleep on me--literally on top of me and still inside me, although not until he'd done me in a couple of exotic and demanding positions. He obviously like to fuck and I enjoyed being fucked by him. He didn't immediately zonk out on me, but he did pass out before we experienced the fireworks. We had a couple of flares and quick recoveries, but not, as yet, a final fireworks display on his part. I, of course, went off left and right multiple times. The man could hold and use an erection forever.

We were stretched out on the bed, me on my belly and him on top of me, embracing me close, only our pelvises moving, him languidly fucking me in a doggy and me rocking my hips with the fuck. The plane ride from wherever he'd flown into San Francisco that morning--he hadn't gotten around to telling me where he'd come from--must have been long. He went to sleep.

I rolled out from underneath him and went to the shower. He was in the same position when I came out of the bathroom, so I left him my phone number on a sheet from the hotel message pad on top of the dildo just in case he'd want to meet up again, and I quietly left him to sleep.

I was out on Larkin Street, headed back toward the symphony hall, even though I had a couple of hours to kill before the afternoon rehearsal. My best buddy, Timothy, shared everything, and my session with Armando was just too delicious not to share, so I had my cellphone out and was leaving a teaser on his voice mail when, at the intersection with Turk Street, I tripped on the curb and went down in the street. It wasn't even clear for me to cross the street. By chance, though, a hand came out of nowhere from behind me, grabbing the back of my T-shirt, and pulling me back to safety. As I came up with a smear of mud on my arm, I heard and felt the rip in my T-shirt.

"Careful, guy, you're too good looking to be flattened by a truck." The voice was deep and had a tone of amusement.

I turned to look at who had saved me--big, burly, muscular, red headed. It was a redheaded guy, and, instantly, I knew where I'd first seen him. He was in the trumpet section at the concert rehearsal that morning.

"Good thing I happened along," he said as we moved out of the stream of pedestrians to the side of a building.

"This wasn't really by chance, was it?" I asked. "I think you've been following me around and spying on me."

"Not following you around. But by chance seeing you a couple of times. You've been a busy little boy."

"Well, thanks for saving me," I said. "My name's Grant James. I play the cello."

"Yes, I know you play the cello. I've been watching you all morning. And salivating, if you don't mind me saying so. I don't think we need to dance around what you'll do with a guy. I'm Josh Fisher."

"I don't do it for everybody," I said, defensively, realizing that he was the guy who had seen me with Ronald Dunston at the concert hall and then again with Armando in the hotel, but I took a good look at him. He was big, but not fat. He wasn't what I would call handsome, but his face was good enough. His body looked like it was more than good enough, and the reddish-blond hair was intriguing. As far as I knew, he blew a good trumpet. He must to be in the symphony. "We have to be back for a rehearsal at 4:00, and I'll need to find someplace to clean up. And this T-shirt is all ripped up. I should go tend to that."

"You could come back to the Phoenix. I'm checked in there. You could get a shower and I have a T-shirt you can wear. You'll be swimming in it, but you'll be covered."

"You're at the Phoenix? You don't live in San Francisco?"

"No, I'm up from L.A. They needed to fill in the San Francisco symphony for this concert. They brought me in."

"Me too," I said. "I do live here, but I was brought in to fill in."

"So, you want to come back to my hotel room."

"Umm, I don't know."

"It's that you don't do it for everybody thing? I don't live up to your standards."

"No, sorry, I don't mean that at all." He certainly knew how to put a guy on the defensive and pin him down. I had to give him that.

"There's a menswear store here in this block," he said. "Maybe you really need a smaller T-shirt than I can provide--although I like you just fine with that one hanging off you in shreds. You are a gorgeous little piece, you know."

I bristled at the words "little piece," but in retrospect, wasn't that what I really was to men like Dunston and Armando, and this redheaded hunk? Wasn't I just a little piece to be dominated and used? And so what if I was. Wasn't that what I wanted from a man--assured dominance. Wasn't that the face I showed to men? Wasn't that why I had moved to San Francisco? Yes, that, and big cocks--I craved big cock. I almost laughed, but turned from him so he didn't see that.

"You still need to clean up," he continued, "but let's stop in at the store and find something you like. I'll pay, of course. I tore that one."

Yep, he sure knew how to box a guy in. He'd even gotten in some signaling. He had me at an advantageous. He'd seen me getting fucked twice today already. I took another look. He looked like he was a stud. Being honest, didn't I like the attention--even the assuming a commanding dominant would do with me? If I met him in a bar, would I go to a hotel with him? I did laugh under my breath then. He was proposing I go to his hotel with him--and both of us knew I would.

When we got to his Phoenix hotel room, which was on the first floor, just steps from the pool, Josh went immediately to the window and drew the curtains. The curtains in this room drew completely shut, and the act of doing so conjured up the gap in the curtains in Armando's room and the certainty that it had been Josh who had seen Armando fucking me through the gap in the curtains upstairs from here. And that raised the question of what Josh was doing on the second floor of the hotel when his room was on the first floor. Had he been following me? I was certain that he'd seen Ronald Dunston fucking me in his office at the symphony hall and had been following me since then.

And, if so, was he expecting the same from me? Why else would his first thought upon entering the room be the need for privacy--privacy for us, not just him. That, at least, was answered quickly, not least because the next thing he did as I stood there, my T-shirt in tatters, holding a store bag with a new sports shirt in it, was to go to the luggage rack next to the door, open it and pull out a couple of those telltale gold-foil Trojan Magnum condom packets and a bottle of lube.

"Uh, thanks for saving me down there on the street and for this shirt, Josh... it's Josh, isn't it? I don't think I know how to thank you enough. I'll just shower and go--"

"I think you know how you can thank me," Josh said, his voice thick with obvious lust, which I could also see in his eyes.

"I don't know what you think, Josh. I didn't recognize you from the concert rehearsal right off, and now we've met by chance, but--"

Josh laughed. "We're not here by chance, Grant. I saw you. You're a sweet little piece and I saw you take cock twice today. The last time you took a foot of dildo and nearly that much from the Italian. You were taking it, like you loved it big. I may not be much of a looker, but I can satisfy you. I know what you'll do for a guy who can give it to you good." As he was saying this, Josh unbuckled, unzipped, and pushed his trousers and briefs down, stepping out of them. He was in full erection, and his shaft, nestled in strawberry blond curlies, revealed that he was as big there as everywhere else in his body.

"Listen, I didn't come to your room to--"

"Yes, you did. We both know why you came here with me. You can't get enough cock--big cock. And I've got big cock for you. You aren't going to fight me on this, are you? You're going to give me your hole, aren't you? I've been following you around all day for the opportunity of spiking you--and you've been giving it to every other man who wanted it." He was fingering one of the gold-foil Trojan packets.

"I'll think about it," I said, my attention focused on that long, thick shaft standing proudly out between his thighs. He had my juices going. He was being commanding, which always turned me on. "First a shower." With that, I walked to the back of the room and into the bathroom. Stripping off my clothes, I turned on the shower, and climbed in.

I'd left the bathroom door open. That's all the "yes" Josh needed.

I'd barely gotten into the shower and gotten the muck from the street cleaned off my arm until he was there, at the shower, opening the stall door, naked, a big bear of a young man, muscular, covered with a down of reddish-blond curls, powerful of body, his erection monstrous.

"Have you thought long enough?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer. He was handing his huge cock, projecting it at me. "You want this. Go down on your knees and worship this."

He put his big mitts on my shoulders, pressing down, making obvious what he wanted.

I did manage a "Yes" on my way down onto my knees under the cascading water of the shower. I opened my mouth wide to the cock, took him inside, and gave him head as he held my head between his hands, holding me captive there and moving my head where and as he wanted to get his pleasure from me.

At length, he withdrew, raised and turned me, facing the wall, and went down on his knees behind me, burying his face between my butt cheeks. Raising my arms and pressing the palms of my hands and my cheek to the slick tiles of the shower wall, I jutted my butt back and moaned. "Yes, yes, yes," I whimpered, surrendering all. "Give it to me. Put it in."

"What do you want?"

"You. Your cock. Fuck me."

When he stood, I realized he'd brought a condom packet with him. Catching the flash of something gold, I looked down to see a split Trojan packet floating in the water on the floor of the shower stall. Almost simultaneously, I gasped and gave a little cry, as, hands on my hips to hold me steady, I felt him penetrating--thick, insistent, brutally demanding--my ass.

"Yes, YES! Oh, shit YES!"

I stretched for him, constantly just short of accommodating his lustful demand. But then I had. He was inside me, deep, pumping. Gasping and groaning, I went with the glorious fuck.

We didn't finish there. After I came, still stretched out on the shower wall, with my arms over my head, my palms pressed to the tiles, and my finger opening and closing to the rhythm of his thrust, and him holding my hip with one hand, the other one snaked around, fisting my cock, and stroking me off, he pulled me out of the shower.

"That's what you wanted," he declared.

"Yes," I agreed.

"You want more of it."

"Yes," I agreed again.

We dried each other off, and he took me to the bed. "I'm gonna fuck you good."

"Yes." It was the big cock. There was nothing else about him... it was the big cock.

Josh sat on the end of the bed, and I sat on his lap, facing him, skewered on his shaft, rising and falling him under my own power, leveraging off my knees buried on either side of his hips until he wanted to finish under his full control. At his direction, I reclined back, my torso streaming down to the carpet between his spread legs, my head resting on the floor, and my arms raised over my head, in an attitude of total submission, as Josh gripped my hips and pulled me on and off his cock to his completion.

"It's good for you. It's great for you," he murmured.

"Yes," I agreed.

Making my submission complete, as we nuzzled together afterward, me raised to his close embrace again, the two of us kissing, both of us concentrating on him going flaccid inside me, I reached over and picked up the second gold-foil condom packet. "Again, please," I murmured, accepting what I was, what I wanted, what I would give to a man on demand. I wasn't embarrassed. This was San Francisco. I could be open and honest here--I could accept and not hide my wantonness.

"Not now, I'm afraid--although you are a great lay. We just about have enough time to shower again, get dressed, and make it to the afternoon rehearsal."

"And later?"

"I'm still here tomorrow--beyond tonight's concert. I thought that, as long as I was in San Francisco, I'd do a little cruising up here. I don't have to put a lot of effort in that now... if you aren't doing anything else this weekend."

"Molto buono?" I said, with a laugh.

"What's that?"

"It's Italian for 'very good,'" and laughed again. I didn't think I'd tell him what the joke there was. I wasn't proud at how easily I had surrendered to him, just because he had a big cock. But I had been well fucked.

* * * *

"You're late to the rehearsal. I rather hoped you would come back to me after you'd had lunch."

The voice of the concert conductor, Ronald Dunston, was in "hurt" and "pouty" mode. No doubt he'd planned to have another go at me in his office after lunch. Well, I needed to keep him happy, but he didn't have a big cock like the cocks I had after him today.

"Sorry, I didn't know you wanted me to come back earlier," I said. He was speaking to me out of the side of his mouth in the middle of a milling crowd. Josh Fisher and I weren't the only ones who hadn't been sitting in their chairs at the strike of 4:00. Not wanting to be seen with a musician as junior as I was here--in fact, just a substitute player--grated on me a bit. He certainly didn't mind having sex with me. "You just reminded me that the afternoon rehearsal was at 4:00. I didn't hear you say I should come back earlier."

He harumpfed and looked away, smiling at the first chair of the violin section as the violinist tried to get her section settled in their chairs. That gave me the moment I needed to look back at my Italian lover, Armando Rizzo, perched calmly on a stool next to the conductor's stand. Armando had given me quite a turn when I saw him in front of the range of orchestra positions when Josh and I entered the auditorium. But I guess I should have known that Armando was the Italian vocal soloist the orchestra was backing for this concert. It was a concert of Italian love songs. Armando was an Italian--and he certainly was a lover. He was just visiting San Francisco on business. He hadn't told me what business that was, but I hadn't asked either. He was humming one of the songs in the program while he was fucking me. And, for that matter, he had been booked at the Phoenix Hotel. Josh Fisher, an out-of-town musician brought in by the symphony, had been booked there too. No doubt the symphony used the Phoenix for all of its bookings. All of that hadn't come together just by chance.