His Bulging Zipper and My Leaking Cock

Barrett stood near the wide windows of the hotel suite, the city lights glittering far below like scattered diamonds against the black. At thirty-two he carried the easy confidence of a man who closed deals for a living, broad shoulders filling out his tailored charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms after the long day of negotiations. His dark hair was still neatly combed, but a faint sheen of sweat clung to his collarbone where he had loosened the top buttons. Across the room Xavier watched him, twenty-eight and still buzzing with the adrenaline of the meeting, leaner, eager, his own white shirt half-untucked and the top two buttons already open. Their eyes locked. Neither looked away.

The air between them had been thick for weeks—glances across boardroom tables, the brush of hands when they passed folders, the way Barrett’s voice dropped half an octave whenever he spoke Xavier’s name. Tonight there was no more pretending. Barrett’s gaze dropped deliberately, and Xavier followed it. The hard outline of Barrett’s cock strained against the zipper of his trousers, thick and cut, the fabric tented obscenely, the ridge of the head clearly visible where it pressed upward. A dark spot of moisture already darkened the cloth near the tip. Barrett didn’t shift or hide it. He simply stood there and let Xavier look, a slow smirk curling one corner of his mouth.

Xavier’s own cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He could feel the wetness already slick inside his briefs, precum leaking steadily down the shaft. “Fuck,” he breathed, the word rough. “You’ve been like that all afternoon, haven’t you?”

Barrett’s voice was low, gravel-edged. “Since you leaned over the table in that meeting and I saw the way your ass filled those pants. Come here.”

Xavier crossed the carpet in three strides. The suite smelled of leather and the faint citrus of the minibar. He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough to feel the heat rolling off Barrett’s body. Barrett’s hand came up, not quite touching, just hovering near Xavier’s jaw. “You want this?” Barrett asked, the question plain, eyes dark with want.

“Yes.” Xavier’s answer was immediate, certain. “I’ve wanted it for months.”

Barrett’s fingers finally brushed Xavier’s cheek, then slid down to rest lightly at the side of his neck. “Then get on your knees.”

Xavier dropped. The carpet was soft under his knees. He looked up the long line of Barrett’s body—the flat stomach under the open shirt, the powerful thighs, and right in front of his face the heavy bulge that strained the zipper so hard the metal teeth looked ready to give. Barrett’s cock was thick even still trapped, the cut head clearly outlined, flared and leaking enough that a fresh dark patch spread across the fabric. Xavier’s mouth watered. He leaned in without using his hands, nuzzling first against the hard ridge, breathing in the warm scent of skin and musk and expensive cologne. His lips parted. He caught the metal pull-tab of the zipper between his teeth.

Barrett’s breath hitched. One big hand settled in Xavier’s hair, not pushing, just resting there, fingers threading through the shorter strands. “That’s it,” Barrett murmured. “Slow. I want to feel every tooth.”

Xavier dragged the zipper down millimeter by millimeter, the metal sliding free with a soft metallic rasp. Each inch revealed more of the black briefs underneath, already stretched tight around the thick cock. The head was so hard it had pushed past the waistband slightly, the flared cut crown shiny with precum. Xavier kept going until the zipper was fully open, trousers gaping. He nuzzled deeper, mouthing along the length through the thin cotton, tasting salt and heat. His own cock pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Precum had soaked a dark circle into the front of his own trousers. He couldn’t wait any longer.

Still on his knees, Xavier reached down with one hand, unbuckled his own belt, yanked the zipper open, and shoved his trousers and briefs down just far enough to free his cock. It sprang out heavy and wet, the head flushed dark, a long clear string of precum already dangling from the slit. He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave himself a slow, firm stroke from root to tip, spreading the slickness. Another thick bead welled up immediately. He stroked again, steadier now, gaze locked upward on Barrett’s face and the thick bulge still half-trapped in the open trousers.

Barrett watched every movement, pupils blown wide. “Look at you,” he said, voice rough with approval. “Leaking all over yourself just from unzipping me with your mouth. Stroke it slower. I want to watch you drip.”

Xavier obeyed, slowing the pump of his fist so each slide of skin over the wet head made a soft filthy sound. More precum spilled over his knuckles. He leaned forward again, teeth catching the waistband of Barrett’s briefs, dragging them down with careful tugs until the full length of Barrett’s cock sprang free. It was thick, cut, beautifully veined, the head swollen and shiny, a fat drop of precum already sliding down the underside. It bobbed heavily in the air between them, the tip almost brushing Xavier’s lower lip. Xavier’s free hand came up to rest on Barrett’s thigh for balance while the other kept working his own leaking cock in long, steady strokes.

“Fuck, Barrett,” Xavier whispered against the hot skin. “It’s even bigger than I imagined.” He dragged his tongue flat along the underside from base to tip, collecting that drop, then took just the head into his mouth and sucked gently, tasting the clean salt of it. Barrett groaned, hips twitching forward a fraction, but he held still, letting Xavier set the pace. Xavier hollowed his cheeks, took another inch, then pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit and precum connecting his lips to the glistening crown. All the while his fist never stopped moving on his own cock, the wet sounds of his stroking filling the quiet suite.

Barrett’s fingers tightened in his hair, guiding without forcing. “Keep stroking yourself while you work me. I want to see how messy you get just from having my cock in your mouth.”

Xavier moaned around the shaft as he sank deeper, taking half of the thick length now, tongue swirling under the head on every withdrawal. Spit ran down his chin. His own cock jumped in his fist; another heavy pulse of precum spilled over his fingers and dripped onto the carpet between his knees. He pulled off just long enough to speak, voice ruined. “I’ve thought about this every night after those late meetings. You walking around with this fucking bulge, me hard under the table. I used to go back to my room and jerk off thinking about dropping to my knees exactly like this.”

Barrett’s laugh was low and dark. “And now you are. Look at you—on your knees in a five-star suite with your pants open and your cock leaking while you suck me. Keep going. Take more.”

Xavier sank down again, throat relaxing, taking Barrett deeper until his nose brushed the dark hair at the base. He held there, swallowing around the thickness, eyes watering, then pulled back gasping for air only to dive forward again. His hand on his own cock sped up, the strokes wetter, louder, precum frothing slightly around his fingers. Barrett’s other hand came down to cup Xavier’s jaw, thumb stroking the stretched corner of his mouth.

“That’s perfect,” Barrett said, voice strained now. “You’re so fucking eager. I can feel how hard you are just from the way you’re shaking. Don’t come yet. I want to watch you edge yourself while you get me wet.”

Xavier nodded as best he could with his mouth full, slowing his fist again, squeezing the base of his own cock hard whenever the pleasure spiked too close. He pulled off Barrett’s cock with a long wet slide, then licked down the shaft, mouthing at the heavy balls, sucking one carefully into his mouth while his hand kept pumping himself in deliberate, slick strokes. Barrett’s thighs flexed under his palm. The older man’s breathing had turned ragged.

“Up,” Barrett ordered after a long minute. “Not all the way—just lift your head. I want to see your face while you stroke that leaking cock for me.”

Xavier sat back on his heels, lips swollen and shiny, chin wet. He looked up at Barrett while his fist worked his own shaft in full view—long slow pulls that made the head flare and drip steadily onto the carpet. Barrett’s cock stood rigid and spit-slick right in front of him, twitching with every heartbeat. Xavier leaned in just enough to drag his tongue across the slit again, collecting a fresh bead, then sat back and kept stroking himself, eyes never leaving Barrett’s.

“Tell me what you want next,” Barrett said, voice rough with restraint. His hand stayed in Xavier’s hair, gentle but possessive. “You’re the one on your knees leaking all over the floor. Tell me.”

Xavier’s voice came out hoarse. “I want you to fuck my throat until I can’t breathe, then bend me over that couch and open me up with that thick cut cock. I want to feel every inch. I’ve been empty for this for so long.” His fist never stopped moving; another thick strand of precum stretched from his tip to the carpet. “But first I want to keep sucking you while I stroke myself just like this. I want to taste more of you.”

Barrett’s eyes flashed with raw hunger. He stepped half a pace closer so the wet head of his cock brushed Xavier’s lower lip again. “Then open up. And keep that hand moving. I want to watch every drop that leaks out of you while you take me.”

Xavier parted his lips and took the head back into the wet heat of his mouth, tongue working the underside, cheeks hollowed. His fist slid faster now, the wet slap of skin on skin rising to match the soft wet sounds of his mouth on Barrett’s cock. Barrett’s hips began a shallow, controlled thrust, fucking Xavier’s mouth in short strokes that never went deep enough to choke yet, just enough to keep the thick head rubbing over his tongue again and again. Xavier moaned around him, the vibration making Barrett curse softly. Precum and spit ran down Xavier’s chin and dripped onto his own working fist, mixing with the constant leak from his cock until everything was slick and shiny.

The suite was quiet except for their breathing, the wet sounds, and the distant hum of the city far below. Barrett’s fingers stroked through Xavier’s hair almost tenderly even as his cock slid in and out of that eager mouth. Xavier’s free hand braced on Barrett’s thigh, feeling the muscle jump every time he took him deeper. His own climax hovered right at the edge—he kept squeezing the base hard, denying himself, keeping the tension razor-sharp the way Barrett had ordered. Every time he pulled off to gasp for air he looked up and met Barrett’s eyes, then sank back down, taking more, swallowing around the thick shaft while his fist pumped steadily.

Barrett’s voice dropped even lower, almost a growl. “You’re going to ruin these trousers with how much you’re leaking. Look at the mess you’re making just from having my cock in your mouth. Keep going. I want you so worked up you can’t think straight when I finally bend you over.”

Xavier moaned agreement around the shaft, eyes fluttering. He pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing the wet head with every word. “I’m already there. My cock’s so hard it hurts. Every time I taste you I leak more. Please—let me keep sucking you. Let me get you even wetter.” His hand never stopped its steady rhythm, the head of his cock shiny and dark, another heavy pulse of precum spilling over his fingers.

Barrett guided him back down by the hair, slow and firm. Xavier opened willingly, taking the thick cut cock deep again, throat working, spit running freely. His own fist stroked in perfect time with the shallow thrusts into his mouth. The tension between them coiled tighter with every wet sound, every shared glance, every ragged breath. Barrett’s cock throbbed heavily against Xavier’s tongue; Xavier’s leaked steadily into his pumping fist. Neither man was finished—not even close. The night stretched ahead of them inside the suite, raw and unfinished, both of them hard and leaking and hungry for whatever came next.

Barrett pulled back without warning, his thick cut cock springing free from Xavier’s stretched lips with a wet pop. The heavy shaft slapped hard across Xavier’s cheek, leaving a shiny streak of spit and precum along the sharp line of his jaw. Xavier moaned at the impact, eyes fluttering, then leaned forward eagerly and swallowed Barrett down to the root in one hungry glide. His nose pressed into the dark thatch of hair at the base while his throat worked convulsively around the thick intrusion. Barrett’s low curse vibrated through both of them.

Xavier never stopped the steady pump of his fist on his own leaking cock. Precum poured freely now, slicking his knuckles and dripping in long strands onto the carpet between his knees. He hollowed his cheeks on every withdrawal, tongue swirling under the flared cut head, then sank forward again until his throat bulged. Barrett’s fingers tightened in his hair, holding him there for a heartbeat, then guiding him into a relentless rhythm—deep, wet, relentless. The wet sounds of Xavier’s mouth and the filthy slap of his fist filled the suite. Barrett’s hips rolled in short, controlled thrusts, fucking into that eager heat while Xavier stroked himself harder, the dual sensations locking them together in raw need.

“Fuck, look at you,” Barrett growled, voice strained. “Taking every inch while you jack that dripping cock like you can’t help it. Spit running down your chin, leaking all over my carpet. You were made for this.”

Xavier pulled off just long enough to gasp, “I was. Every fucking meeting I imagined choking on this. Don’t stop.” Then he dove back down, throat relaxing further, taking Barrett deeper still until his eyes watered and his free hand clutched Barrett’s thigh hard enough to leave marks. His own cock throbbed violently in his grip; he squeezed the base whenever climax threatened, edging himself ruthlessly while he sucked. Barrett’s cock pulsed against his tongue, heavy veins dragging over his lips, the clean cut head leaking steadily into his throat. They stayed locked like that for long minutes—Xavier’s head bobbing, fist pumping, both men breathing hard, the air thick with musk and the citrus tang of the suite.

Barrett’s control finally cracked. He hauled Xavier up by the hair, spinning him and shoving him forward until Xavier’s chest hit the back of the leather couch. Xavier scrambled to brace himself, trousers and briefs still tangled around his thighs, ass bare and presented. Barrett spit into his palm, slicked his thick cut cock generously, then pressed the broad head against Xavier’s tight hole. “You still want this?” he asked, voice rough but clear, the head already nudging.

“Yes—fuck me, Barrett. Hard. I’ve been empty for you.” Xavier pushed back, needy.

Barrett pushed in. The stretch burned deliciously as the fat head popped past the ring of muscle. Xavier groaned long and low, forehead dropping to the leather, while Barrett fed him inch after thick inch until his hips were flush against Xavier’s ass. He held still only a second, letting Xavier adjust, then pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in. The couch creaked. Xavier cried out in pure pleasure, one hand braced on the cushions, the other reaching under himself to fist his still-leaking cock.

Barrett set a brutal pace immediately—deep, pounding strokes that drove the air from Xavier’s lungs. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed through the suite. Barrett’s heavy balls swung against Xavier’s with every thrust. He gripped Xavier’s hips hard enough to bruise, yanking him back onto every stroke so the thick cut cock speared him to the root again and again. Xavier’s prostate lit up on every pass; precum sprayed from his cock in thin arcs onto the carpet below the couch. “Harder,” Xavier begged, voice wrecked. “Fuck me like you’ve wanted to for months. Use me.”

Barrett growled and obliged, hips snapping faster, the rhythm turning raw and animal. Sweat dripped from his collarbone onto Xavier’s back. He leaned forward, chest to spine, one hand sliding around to wrap over Xavier’s pumping fist so they stroked Xavier’s cock together in time with the fucking. The dual stimulation wrecked Xavier; his hole clenched and fluttered around Barrett’s shaft, milking him. Barrett’s breath burned hot against his ear. “Your ass is so fucking tight. Taking me like you were built for my cock. Feel how deep I am? That’s where I belong.”

Xavier could only moan brokenly in answer, pushing back to meet every thrust. The couch scraped an inch across the floor with the force. Barrett’s cock swelled thicker inside him, the ridge of the cut head dragging over his prostate relentlessly. Pleasure coiled tight at the base of Xavier’s spine; he stroked himself faster under Barrett’s bigger hand, the wet sounds of his cock and the wetter sounds of Barrett pounding his ass blending into one filthy soundtrack. Barrett’s rhythm stuttered, then hammered even harder—short, deep punches of his hips that made Xavier see white.

“I’m close,” Barrett gritted. “Gonna pull out and paint this pretty back. Stroke that cock for me—come when I do.”

Xavier nodded frantically, fist flying. Barrett slammed in three more times, buried to the hilt, then yanked free with a wet sound. He straddled Xavier’s thighs, fist working his spit-and-precum-slick cock in a blur, and came with a guttural shout. Thick ropes of cum erupted across Xavier’s back—hot, heavy stripes that landed from the small of his back up to his shoulders, some dripping down his sides. The first pulse hit just as Xavier’s own orgasm crashed through him. He stroked himself through it, cock jerking hard, thick jets of cum shooting onto the carpet in messy arcs while his hole clenched on nothing and his whole body shook. Both men groaned through the shared release, Barrett’s last spurts landing lower, coating the cleft of Xavier’s ass as Xavier milked every last drop from his own cock onto the floor.

They stayed like that for a long moment, panting, Barrett’s cock still twitching against Xavier’s ass cheek, cum cooling in shiny trails down Xavier’s spine. Barrett finally eased back, helping Xavier straighten. Xavier turned, legs unsteady, and Barrett pulled him into a heated kiss—tongues sliding, tasting each other, the salt of sweat and the faint bitterness of precum still on Xavier’s lips. When they broke apart both men were grinning, filthy and satisfied.

“Next night,” Barrett said, voice still rough, thumb stroking the cum-smeared edge of Xavier’s jaw. “Same suite. I’m going to wreck you even slower.”

Xavier laughed, low and wrecked, forehead resting against Barrett’s. “Promise. I’ll be leaking for you the whole day.”

They kissed again, slower this time, bodies still pressed close, the city lights glittering beyond the glass. Barrett’s hand rested possessively at the small of Xavier’s back, smearing his own release. Xavier smiled against his mouth, already imagining the next round, the next night, the way Barrett’s thick cut cock would feel splitting him open again.

Barrett grinned too, but behind his eyes he held the one detail he had never shared: tomorrow’s “negotiations” were a fiction he had manufactured weeks ago, a private excuse to lock the suite for three straight nights and keep Xavier exactly where he wanted him—naked, dripping, and his—until neither of them could walk straight.