FP-2032 Willow Song
Willow Song
Freeway Press
FP-2032
Richard Amory
$1.95
Excerpt
Strickland could feel the tightening muscles of the willow man’s buttocks on his lower stomach, and watched the soft bell, its head like pink sterling silver, rise upward again, stiffly, and yawn crystaline dew onto his stomach. Wilghe was smiling, almost grinning; his right eye always narrowed a little more than his left when he did so. “Damn,” Strickland said, and passed his hand up the hard ridges of the willow man’s belly, up to one nipple, and felt it harden into little nobs, like a young strawberry. The fine golden hairs fanning across his chest were like dandelion fluff; in the center, a triangle of curly aster petals, glinting in the slanted sun rays. With both hands then he reached behind the willow man’s hips and pulled him forward. Wilghe rose to his knees, waving his spring-budding branch outward. Gently, Strickland slid his hands down over double-rounded tension, down, to the backs of the man’s corded thighs. The soft-skinned cockhead met his tongue.
Wilghe shuddered, and braced his arms against the wall behind Strickland’s head.
Past his lips and onto the curl of his tongue; Wilghe was gently concerned, and thrust no farther. It was a rounded cone in Strickland’s mouth, as soft and sweet as ice cream, as warm as a sun-ripened plum. He knew the sharp flare of it, the way it curled into a heart on the underside and barreled out like the grip of a hammer towards the middle, and the bronze snarl that it rose from.
Wilghe thrust, tensely, and Strickland could feel faint tremors in the man’s thighs. He curved his tongue and darted it snakelike over warm sateen. The man’s balls hung loosely, warm from the night under blankets and sheets; Strickland touched the taut, triangular cord behind them, surprised at its thickness, and followed the narrowing vee back to the velvet eye, purple under his finger, tightening, and sweetly warm. “Ah, Alor!” Wilghe sighed, and the flare of his cockhead sharpened.
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