The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 08

Swallow's promotional advertisement ended with a frozen image of Carlos that must've been lifted from an anonymous youtube clip. It was a close-up shot of his wide-open mouth, with his fat Mexican tongue hanging out, as if begging to be inseminated. The website for ticket sales appeared across the bottom of the screen.

The commercial could've been followed by a Presidential announcement about the start of a nuclear war, but neither Pete nor Carlos would've noticed it. They looked at each other, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Fuck, dude, did you fucking see that?" Carlos screamed.

Pete nodded so hard his head might've fallen off.

"Did you know Swallow were advertising the tour on TV?"

Pete shook his head from side to side. "I had no idea, but that commercial fucking rocked! And we were in it!"

They stared at each other for a few seconds. Time seemed to stand still. Whatever was going to happen over the next few weeks, they were ready for the rollercoaster, and they were glad to be strapped in for the wild ride together.

Carlos spoke next. "I'm so fuckin' horny right now, Pete."

Pete leaned forward to kiss his boyfriend. Within seconds, their mouths had opened wide and their tongues were engaged in fierce battle, desperately fighting for territory.

They might've been in Carlos's apartment, but Pete knew exactly what he wanted, and he was going to make sure he got it. He gazed into Carlos's eyes and reached down to touch his dick. He stroked his boyfriend's sausage through his tight denim. "Fuck me," he whispered. His eyelids were droopy with lust.

Their faces were so close they could feel each other's sweaty, desperate breath. Their mouths locked again. "I want you so fuckin' bad right now," breathed Pete.

Carlos broke the kiss. He lifted Pete's t-shirt and began hungrily sucking on his delicate chest. Pete moaned as his nipples hardened and stood to attention. Blood flooded into his cock as he began touching himself through the outside of his pants. Carlos returned to Pete's mouth, delicately gripping his boyfriend's jaw in both hands as they kissed.

Pete was so desperate for sex he couldn't form complete sentences. "I need ... I need you to ... please, Carlos."

Carlos grabbed Pete by the hand and was about to drag him to bed when the intercom sounded. Fuck, they'd forgotten all about their Chinese food delivery.

Carlos buzzed the delivery guy into the building, and half a minute later, they heard a polite knock at the door. He took their food from the delivery guy and closed the door again.

Pete was still in heat. "You've got a microwave, right? We can eat later? Like, after we fuck?" He was hungry, but getting boinked by his hot boyfriend was way more important right now.

Carlos smiled. "You want some spicy Mexican before the Chinese, don't you?"

Pete nodded, barely able to breathe.

Carlos left the takeout containers on the kitchen bench. They were warm, and he knew they'd cool, but just like Pete, he'd temporarily lost his appetite for food. He led his drummer to his bedroom.

They stood beside Carlos's mattress, fingers entwined, as their tongues engaged in a take-no-prisoners game of tonsil hockey. They each felt a vaguely hollow feeling in their stomachs from a dinner bought but not yet eaten.

They slowly undressed each other, gazing into each other's eyes.

Eventually, Carlos placed his hands on Pete's naked chest, gently pushing him down onto his mattress. Through the semi-darkness, Pete looked deeply into Carlos's dark, fiery eyes. "I love you so fucking much, dude." They lay side by side, their arms enveloping each other.

Carlos smiled. "I feel the same way about you, Pete. I can't explain it. I can't put it into words. I feel so lucky we met."

Pete looped his hand around the back of Carlos's neck and pulled his mouth into his, never wanting to let him go.

This moment was perfect.

Pete spat onto his palm and reached out to touch his boyfriend's fat Mexican sausage. Carlos moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head as he felt his drummer's sweet, delicate touch.

"Fuck me?" pleaded Pete.

Carlos's cock was rock hard. He gazed at Pete's wet mouth, his sweet Irish-red hair, and the constellation of freckles that decorated his beautiful face.

He felt Pete's breath on his cheeks as Pete massaged his cock with his wet fingers.

Carlos couldn't help it. He lost control, violently shooting his load into Pete's wet palm and all over his fingers. Pete's hand felt so fucking good.

"Fuck, dude, I'm so sorry," Carlos apologised.

Pete placed his cum-soaked hand in front of his face and licked it clean. "No need to apologise," he smiled. "I'm enjoying my sweet Mexican appetiser." He kissed Carlos on the cheek.

Carlos knew exactly what he wanted to do. He scooted down towards the end of the mattress, dangling his feet over the edge. Pete's dick and balls were in his face. It was nearly dark in the room, but there was just enough light for Carlos to briefly see Pete's erect cock throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Carlos began by kissing and licking Pete's inner thighs.

"Fuck, dude ..."

Pete closed his eyes.

All of Pete's senses were focused on what Carlos was about to do to him. Feeling his boyfriend planting butterfly kisses on the inside of his thighs got him harder than steel. He reached down to touch himself, but Carlos brushed his hand away.

"Just lie back," said Carlos. "Put your hands behind your head."

Pete complied, relaxing onto the mattress, nearly whimpering in submission. He felt Carlos's fingers tickling his balls and anus. He felt beautiful, delicious pressure as Carlos massaged his shaft and teased his head. His breathing was shot to hell, he was aroused as fuck, and he was trying incredibly hard not to squirt his hot seed all over Carlos's sexy face.

For the briefest of moments, he lifted his head and looked down as the man of his dreams toyed with his dick. He saw Carlos's beautiful eyes and long hair. Carlos smiled lovingly at Pete as his tongue flicked across the bulging, purple head of his erect cock.

He felt sleek warmth and liquid heat as Carlos took him into his mouth, and it was all over before it even started. Pete tried so hard to hold out, but his hips involuntarily rose from the mattress. He erupted like a volcano, flooding Carlos's tongue with his sperm. As he felt Carlos gulping his load down, he groaned in bliss, and came even more.

Pete couldn't ever remember cumming quite that hard. He felt a vague yet unbelievably pleasant ache hidden somewhere in his balls. There was absolutely nothing left.

"Thanks," said Carlos, licking his lips like a cat after a tasty meal. "Yummy." He scooted back up to embrace his boyfriend, and they hugged and kissed each other for seriously like forever.

Even though they'd just eaten each other's load, a second wave of hunger was beginning to set in.

"Hey, dude," Carlos smiled, "we've still got Chinese out in the kitchen, you know."

Pete's face exploded into the biggest, happiest grin ever seen on earth. Tonight was absolutely fucking perfect. "Race you," he challenged.

The two naked metalheads jumped up off Carlos's mattress, making a beeline for the kitchen, hair and cocks flailing everywhere. Carlos determined that their food was still warm enough to eat, and the microwave was asked to stand down from duty.

Seconds later, pairs of chopsticks feverishly attacked the takeout boxes as they sat on Carlos's couch. The TV was still on, but it was little more than background sound.

They sat side by side as they hungrily smashed food into their faces, each lost in their own internal worlds, wondering what the next few weeks would bring. They were each thinking about how to arrange leave from work to go on the tour.

It was easy for Carlos to take leave from Eternal. It wasn't cool to just disappear overnight, but he had enough time to let his workmates know that he was heading out on the road again without causing chaos. He knew the tribe at Eternal would wish him well, and they'd willingly cover his shifts. He wondered whether anyone from the bar had seen the TV commercial Swallow had cut.

It was completely different where Pete worked. His colleagues liked him. They appreciated his intellect and recognised his potential to do well in law, but none of them gave a shit about Pete's band. Pete had even prepared a fake name in case a colleague ever asked what his band was called, but the question had never come up. His colleagues' enthusiasm for his extra-curricular creative activities ranged from indifferent to negative to 'is this guy serious about his career?' to 'if word got out that we've got a satanist on our payroll, it'd be a bad look for the business'.

Pete had been selected for an internship based on his stellar grades. The senior partners who completed his final pre-employment interview insisted that Pete work hard, and indeed he had. There was no evidence to suggest his grades, attendance or performance had been affected by the time he spent with his musical friends. Concerns only arose for the first time when Pete requested time off at short notice to visit Canada. He was asked for a reason, and when he explained that it was to tour with his band, deep worries began to emerge at senior levels. Even though Pete's request was granted, they worried that their intern wasn't prioritising his career, nor that he had the best interests of the firm at heart.

Pete heard Carlos snoring lightly beside him. He was due to rise early tomorrow morning, but there was a weight on his mind. He stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.

While Pete wasn't completely committed to his career and study right now, he knew how stupid it'd be for him to throw all his hard work away. But he also knew that opportunities in the music industry were unpredictable, and it'd be madness to let this one slip away. He remembered the frowns and furrowed brows he received when he asked for leave to tour Canada, and he expected more of the same again. He knew he had to have the conversation tomorrow -- the longer he left it to ask for time off work, the less likely he'd get it.

"Hey, Carlos," Pete whispered, gently awakening him. "I need to get up early tomorrow. I'm really sorry, but I came here straight from law school where they don't care much how I dress, but I can't go into the office in a t-shirt and jeans. I'll need to go back to my place to get changed first."

Carlos's eyelids fluttered briefly. "Cool, with me, dude. Wake up when you want, and fix yourself a coffee and something to eat, but I'm gonna sleep."

Pete smiled before kissing Carlos on the lips. He rolled over onto his side and checked the alarm on his phone before relaxing. He felt Carlos's arms envelop him from behind.

*

Pete rose with the sun the following morning. He brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush he'd left in Carlos's medicine cabinet (Carlos had done the exact same thing at Pete's place) and threw last night's t-shirt and jeans back on. He lovingly ran his hands through Carlos's thick black mane of hair and kissed him on the cheek before leaving. He ubered back to his apartment where he made himself a coffee and dressed for the office. Ties weren't mandatory at his law firm, and he usually hated wearing them, but today, he wore one for good luck.

He walked briskly through the office doors at 8.45am, takeout coffee in hand. He switched his computer on and began to organise his day. After checking his emails, he requested an appointment with Human Resources to discuss a request for time off work.

He'd been working for about an hour, struggling to focus, when the phone on his desk rang. The voice on the other end of the line confirmed an appointment with James, from HR, at 10am. He tidied up a few loose ends and rode the elevator up three floors.

James came out to greet him. He was in his late 40s or early 50s, balding and greying, and wearing a dull but otherwise unremarkable beige suit. His face was pale and thin. He wore glasses, but the frames were way too large for his face, giving him a slightly comical appearance. "Hello, Peter, good to see you." He led Pete into his office. "Please, take a seat. What can I do for you today?"

Pete got straight to the point. "I need to take some time off work. Probably two weeks at least, but maybe a few days more."

James checked Pete's personnel file and frowned. "It says here, Peter, that you took some time off not very long ago."

"I know. Yeah, that's true. But I need some more."

James's frown persisted. "We have a very generous leave plan at our firm, four weeks per employee each year on full pay, but you've used up more than half of your yearly entitlement already. According to your file, you only have a week and a half left for the rest of the year. It will be very difficult for us to grant this request, because not only will it mean your entitlement will be exhausted until the end of the fiscal year, but when you get back, you'll owe *us* time."

Pete was prepared for this. "That's no problem. If I'm in the red, I'll work for free until the time is made up. I can come in on Saturdays. I'm already working around my law school classes on weekdays as it is."

James's frown turned into an uncertain smile. "Now, Peter, we both know that can't happen."

"But ... but this is really important to me! I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't!"

James asked for justification. "Not that it's any of my business, but can you tell me *why* you need to take time off that you haven't yet earned?" In this scenario, reasons acceptable to James would include the death or terminal illness of a family member, but probably not much else.

"I'm in a band, and we've been offered the opportunity to play some shows with other similar bands in cities across the US."

James sighed. "Isn't your band the reason you gave last time you took time off work?"

"Yes. Kind of," said Pete, "except that was for shows in Canada."

James furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure about this, Peter. To be honest, I'm feeling quite uncomfortable. I'm going to need to think about it. If you were seeking time off that you'd earned, I wouldn't have as much of a problem, but ... you see ... you're asking for time off that you aren't yet entitled to. Are you able to change the dates so that your planned leave fits within your available envelope?"

('Fuck, listen to the way this cunt talks,' Pete thought to himself. 'Did he eat a dictionary for breakfast?')

"That's the thing," Pete began. "At the moment, I don't know the exact dates I'll be away, but at present, all I know is it'll be two to two-and-a-half weeks, sometime next month. But the exact timing is out of my control. It's even out of my band's control."

James stood up from behind his desk and smiled thinly. "I'll have to consult with others. I'll get back to you this afternoon, Peter."

Pete rode the elevator back to his desk. He tried to concentrate on work, but failed dismally. What would he do if they said no? He'd have to choose between his career and his band.

Lunchtime rolled around, and he headed downstairs for a toasted sandwich and a strong coffee. He ate quietly, thinking deeply, wondering what he'd do if HR said no. He thought about texting Carlos, but eventually decided against it. Better to wait until he heard back. On a whim, he visited an electronics store and bought a pocket-sized miniature tape-recorder and a blank cassette. He tested the device before returning to the office, just to make sure it worked.

Around 2pm, his desk phone rang again. "Good afternoon, Peter," said James. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but do you have a minute to spare?"

"Sure," Pete replied. "Your office? I'll be there in a minute." He pressed record on the tape-recorder and put it in his pocket.

As he rode up in the elevator, an aviary of butterflies magically appeared in Pete's stomach.

James opened the door to his office. "Peter, welcome. Please come in again. Take a seat."

Pete sat in the same chair he was sitting in this morning.

James sat back down behind his desk. "I've been speaking with some of the partners, Peter, and like myself, they're concerned that you're seeking some more time away from work so soon after your last absence. Your internship is important to us, and we'd like to think it's important to you, too." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, as if about to share some important confidential information. "I've been exactly where you are right now, you know. Many years ago, I was a junior employee here myself, and I know from first-hand experience the temptation to travel and party. I mean, you're only young once, right?"

Pete gazed at the dull man sitting behind the desk and wondered if he'd ever been to a party in his life.

"But," James continued, "if you travel too much and party too hard, Peter, I worry that it'll eventually get in the way of your studies and your career. We've been very impressed with your work so far, Peter. We've all heard about your success with the McCray account, so please accept my belated congratulations. But I'm worried that your ... err ... umm ... extra-curricular interest in music ... has the potential to hinder your short-term performance and restrict your long-term career opportunities." He paused for a second. "If you really apply yourself, Peter, you could become a partner here one day. No question about it. I've seen some very talented interns come through this place, but you're one of the best, brightest and most promising I've ever seen. As a fellow law professional, I'm begging you, Peter, don't throw it away."

Pete echoed James's last words. "Don't throw it away? What do you mean by that, James?"

James grimaced. "We can't agree to your request, unfortunately, but we can offer you a $20,000 bonus if you agree to leave your band and refocus on your career. That's how highly we value you, Peter, and it's a measure of how much we want to keep you."

Pete didn't understand, and the money didn't matter. "But ... wait a second ... if you value me that much, surely you can let me take some time off for this one tour?"

A sigh escaped from James's thin lips as he leaned back in his chair. "I'll freely admit, Peter, that I don't understand much about the modern-day music business. I'm much more of a classical man myself. All the people who wrote the music I listen to are dead, and their creative copyrights have long since expired. But I'm led to believe that musical acts who are invited onto corporate travelling ventures such as these have proven themselves, at least to some limited and narrow extent, to be competent in their creativity and execution, and have demonstrated an ability to attract paying audiences?"

Pete laughed nervously, wondering if James talked to his wife in advanced legalese. "If you're asking if we rock out, James, then yeah, we do."

"Then will this travelling venture be your last?" asked James. "Or will there be subsequent ventures?" He took his glasses off and cleaned them nervously. "You *do* see where I'm going with this line of questioning, don't you Peter? If this particular venture is successful and others follow, I foresee a future where you spend more time away from the office than at your desk."

Pete remained silent.

"That's our final offer, Peter. A $20,000 bonus if you agree to leave your band."

"You don't understand, James," Pete replied. "It's more than just me being in a band. I'm emotionally connected. You see, my boyfriend is in the band too."

James cleared his throat. He had no idea Pete was gay. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut about him maybe being a partner one day. Never gonna happen.

"So if I left the band," Pete continued, "it'd cause problems for my relationship, which in turn would make it hard for me to focus on work. The way I see it, you're asking a lot of me, both professionally and personally, when all I'm asking for is the time off that I've already earned, plus a few extra days which I'll make up for free when I get back, meaning the firm isn't out of pocket. If you think I've got so much long-term potential, what difference does a few days here and there make? Isn't there any room for some flexibility?"