STORY EXCERPT

“Waste one more second of my time, twinkle-toes, and I’m shoving your contract so far up your ass you’ll need a fucking endoscope to read it!” He couldn’t be sure, but Mario thought he saw the Maestro’s expression soften slightly. They both knew there was no one in the whole state of Kansas who could take his place before the show went up in two days, and the struggling Topeka Grand Opera had no means to fly in another singer, never mind a lyric tenor. Still, Mario hated to disappoint.

“Sí, Maestro.”

“All right. Again. Violins, this isn’t your aria, no matter how much Sir Sucks-a-lot here...sucks. Measure twenty-four. Is, ah!”

As the Maestro led the orchestra in, the familiar introduction of “Il mio tesoro” flooded Krause Hall. Mario closed his eyes and slowly drew a breath into his core to center himself and flush out any thoughts of the young wingman devouring his cock after rehearsal. He opened his eyes, no longer Mario Antonio DeLuca, acclaimed tenor, gourmet chef, and expert cocksucker, and began to sing.

Il mio tesoro intanto,

Andate a consolar...

My dear beloved treasure,

I go to her to console her...

He was the embodiment of Don Ottavio—the slight, timid suitor of Donna Anna, weaker in body as well as in spirit than the womanizing rake, Don Giovanni. But in this aria, he must spring forth from pussydom to preserve his beloved’s honor by laying to waste the man who took her innocence—a more accurate description of Mario, who identified in many ways with the Don, his catalogue spanning volumes of an unabridged encyclopedia of conquests. He let his inner monologue take the reins. Who focused on text anymore anyway?

I am the fucking Mozart king. I spank Amadeus’s ivory, masterpiece-birthing, juvenile ass. I impale the young master on my—fuuuuuck!

“Stop! Stop! Goddamn it, celli, are you as deaf as he is blind? Fucking stop!” Again, his statements were accompanied by wrist waggling. “We’re done here”—the Maestro glared up at Mario—“Lady DeLuca, hit the showers, go back to your hotel, and pray for your career.”

Mario squinted and looked into the pit. The orchestra was more than willing to disperse early, as half of the second violins already had unlit cigarettes between their lips. A couple of bassoonists, Ginger Brooke and Jasmina Szymanovksi, lingered at the podium, exchanging pleasantries with the Maestro, the promise in their eyes of a pending nocturnal rendezvous palpable. Rumor was that the Maestro’s baton was finely tuned, hearty as the proverbial “fat lady,” and rhythmically impeccable.

Mario had one foot on the stage and was two steps away from introducing himself to his adorable adoring fan when the Maestro changed his mind.

His raspy voice came from the podium. “Twinkle-toes. A word?”

Goddamn it. A groan escaped Mario’s lips. He took the remaining two steps anyway and flashed the young mystery man a wide grin. The boy’s big blue eyes grew even bigger. “Hi,” Mario said in a deep whisper, “I’m Mario.” He extended his hand, and when the other man took it a shock of electricity ran through his body. Holy shit. Mario jerked his hand back, and the boy looked just as startled. He thrust his slender hand back into his pocket.

 “I know who you are,” he blurted out, immediately looking embarrassed at his outburst. Mario grinned wider. “I’m Philippe. Philippe Martin.”

“Aha,” Mario mused. “The Philippe Martin. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Philippe cocked his head.

“Why are you here?”

“Right. I’m filling in for Bruce...Scalia, was it? He dropped out yesterday?”

Mario’s eyebrows raised as his heart pushed down on his chest. He was going to be in the production with him. The hottest young American baritone, so-called by Opera News, was going to be sharing the stage with Mario for the next two weeks. He immediately envisioned the young man’s rigid cock in his ass, pumping mercilessly in and out.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Philippe spat out. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.” He beamed at Mario. The expectant look in the rising star’s eyes reminded Mario so much of himself in his own youth—so passionate and eager. So sexy. But there was more. The energy that remained from the brief touch of Philippe’s hand still buzzed inside his body. He had the urge to drop down to his knees, unzip his perfectly tailored pants, and gorge himself on the boy’s undoubtedly delicious cock.

“Ahem!” The Maestro gave an exaggerated cough.

Mario sighed. “Right. Well, it’s nice to meet you, too. Um...maybe...we could...talk, later? This shouldn’t take long...You could...meet me in my dressing room?” God, the words sounded so sleazy. He may as well have asked him to the “E-Z Inn” down the street.

“Yeah!” The word came out awkwardly loud, and Philippe blushed and looked down. Mario smiled and felt his own face heating up. He felt like a horny fifteen-year-old on the last day of summer camp.

“Okay. See you in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Smile.

“Okay.” Grin.

Wink.

Fuck.

Adult Excerpt

“Stop it, goddamn it, I can’t get the damn thing to open!” Mario fiddled with the hotel key as Philippe gripped his waist and ground his hips into his slacks-clad ass. “I’ll get it open,” Philippe said with a lecherous growl. His hands went straight to Mario’s fly and made fast work of the short zipper, letting his weeping cock bounce forward, hitting the hotel door and leaving a smear of salty pre-cum.

“Dammit, Philippe!” Mario spun around and picked Philippe up, mashing their faces together. Philippe complied and wrapped his legs around Mario’s waist, furiously rubbing his caged cock against his mate’s chest. Mario turned back to the door and resumed fumbling with the key card while Philippe moved his left hand down to grab his dangling prick. Mario grunted when the green light finally signaled his success, and he all but broke the door down, using Philippe as his battering ram. He didn’t bother to make sure it shut behind him, and it stopped short, leaving a six-inch crack through which a neighboring guest could catch a peep show.

He let Philippe fall onto the unmade bed and immediately stripped him of his jeans, revealing his hungry, steely dick. Hungry though it may be, it was Mario’s turn. He licked the shaft up and down before swallowing it whole and slowly fucking his mate with his wet mouth. Philippe groaned and twisted his head to the side to watch his lover take control of his cock.

Mario sucked with voracity and felt his own asshole clench in anticipation. Maybe he would give Philippe what he wanted after all, before pummeling him silly. He popped his mouth off of his mate’s cock and shimmied out of his own pants, which were already hanging around his thighs.

Philippe sat up on his elbows and gave Mario a confused look. Mario smiled and shoved his fingers into his own mouth, preparing to prepare his own asshole for his lover. He pushed Philippe farther up the bed and kneeled on top of him, reaching back to his puckered star and sitting down upon two of his digits. He thrust his fingers in and out of his eager asshole, until he was just stretched enough that he would still feel the pleasurable burn of Philippe’s giant cock piercing his tender cavity. He lined his hole up with his mate’s prick and sat down on its entirety, letting out a sharp yell. The pain was so delicious he thought he would blow right there, in Philippe’s wide-open mouth. “Fuck, baby, you’re so big.” Mario let his head fall back on his shoulders as he let out a moan. As Philippe began to buck and grind, Mario’s gaze snapped back down to his lover. “No, sweet boy, you just relax. You’re gonna need your strength in a minute.” Mario’s assertion was all Philippe needed to fall over the edge, and Mario saw his mate’s orgasm overtake his body, bucking up against his wishes, shooting his seed into his mate’s tight asshole.

As Mario watched his love grit his teeth and writhe in the throes of climax, he had to clamp a firm fist on his dick in order to keep from coming himself. He had other plans for his angel. He gently pulled off of Philippe’s receding cock and leaned down to kiss him sweetly on the lips. He still had his eyes closed, reveling in his recent eruption, when Mario’s firm hands grasped his hips and rolled him over onto his stomach. Philippe let out a high-pitched, guttural moan in anticipation for this sudden role reversal.

He gasped as Mario ran his warm tongue between his ass cheeks, laving his crevice, searching for his tight, rarely fucked pucker. Mario stabilized himself with his left hand in the crook of Philippe’s knee, and his other hand wandered in between his legs, holding and massaging Philippe’s delicate ball sac. Philippe whimpered when Mario pushed his index finger at his quivering entrance. Mario teased his lover’s hole, lightly caressing it and drawing gentle circles, until he slowly pushed it in, stopping at the first knuckle to let his mate relax. He could tell his lover hadn’t bottomed very often, as the skin on his back sported tiny goose pimples. “Shhh, baby, relax. This is for saving my life today.” And he inserted his finger all the way in, delicately massaging the hole to open up and accept it. When he felt Philippe let up, Mario added another finger, making the body he held shudder with arousal. “I can’t wait to feel your tight hole around my cock. Are you ready?”

Philippe was silent, taking long, slow breaths. He nodded.

Mario lined up his dripping cock with Philippe’s tight entrance and very slowly thrust just the head in. Philippe sucked in air, and Mario felt all of the muscles in his mate’s body tense. Mario growled, feeling his lover’s vise grip on the tip of his penis. All at once, the tension gave way, and Mario slid all the way in, resting his chest against his mate’s back. Philippe’s arms were shaking, and Mario gently pushed him down all the way onto his stomach. “Do you like it, sweetheart? Do you like what I’m doing to you?”

“Ffffuck.” Philippe hissed. “Yes, Mario, yes,” he whispered, his breath beginning to speed up. Mario started grinding his hips, slowly fucking his beautiful mate.

“That’s my boy. You’re so fucking tight,” he said through clenched teeth. He grabbed Philippe’s hips and thrust deeper, hitting his prostate, and a spontaneous yell escaped Philippe’s lips. Mario gripped tighter and started rocking his mate in deep thrusts, hitting the sweet spot each time. He could feel the pent-up orgasm he’d been suppressing rise to the forefront. “Touch yourself,” he ordered. “I want you to come again. With me.”