Layover in Paris with a British Twink [MM]

Bear with me, is one of the more spontaneous things I’ve ever done. Even now, I still find myself excited at the thought, aching to do it all over again.

I’m twenty-three, about five-eleven. Covered in hair, about average size with an above average cock. Long, thick, but not too much of either. I’ve been told, “daddy vibes,” and accepted that. Having started grad school, I’d decided last minute to take a solo-trip to Paris, really get out there and see the world. Felt like Covid had taken some of that from me, the boyish freedom. Can’t say online classes living at home was great for the sex life.

It was amazing all around, a gorgeous city full of life, but in those nights, I found myself wanting something even more passionate. I wanted that no-strings attached night you fantasize about, a situation only made worse by life in the hostel. Shared bathroom, hardly isolated pods. Wasn’t like I could stroke, bring a guest. Grindr wasn’t helpful either, dudes not my type only feet away, trying for something quick and dirty in the bathroom. All this to say, I became pent up, desperate for a release. I’d feel my cock swell, beads of pre-cum drip down as I resisted the urges. Good things come to those who wait.

My returning flight was cancelled, at the moment I wanted home most, waiting for the red-eye. All that stress, the walk of shame back from the airport, it washed away the second I stepped into the luxury hotel the airline has up. A real step-up. Felt it wash off me in the first hot shower I’d had in a week. Then it hit me. The lust. I flopped on the king bed in my robe and reflexively opened the app. My eyes caught one, at the top, a blank profile. Two-hundred, thirty-six feet. A risk. I scanned it. Five foot six, slim size. An Asian bottom, twenty-five years. “Flight early tomorrow morning.”
All I had. I asked, “looking for now?” Waited. I’d been in the hotel under half an hour.

“Yes. Very quick. Need to be asleep soon.” All I needed. Snapped a pic, rock hard, a bead of pre-cum, flowing down my shaft. Another wait.

The response. Close, his face. All I could see was a soft, smooth chin, with an open mouth, no sign of eyes. His pink tongue sticking out. “Only oral?” I was on autopilot. Agreed, got his room number, and threw on sweats and a t-shirt, without really considering what I was doing. How little either of us knew. Pure carnal instinct.

Up the elevator, down the hall. Suddenly conscious of my heart beat. “Getting close, can you open door?” A click in the short distance. The peek of a head, shaggy hair around his ears. I waved. Inside. A single soft light, the bedight lamp. He closed it behind me. When I tell you, adorable, you picture, the perfect ten. Just a flawless boy next door, face rounded and sharp in all the right places. Breathless, “hi,” met by an equally nervous, “hello.” Clearly, neither of of us experts. I sat on the bed and scanned him, head to toe as he placed his phone down to charge. Slim, yes, but with a plump ass, accented by his leggings, the bend at the hip. He popped back up, face flush. Wordless.

“Are you ok?” I ask.

“Y-yeah, mate, I’m good,” he stutters, betraying his posh British accent with a full sentence. I feel myself growing bolder, to compensate, taking the reins of the situation.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you don’t want,” I offer. He shakes his head to disagree, elvish features rim-lit by a soft yellow light. So I pat the bed. He joins me. Place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart race. At once, we both glance down, my hard cock pitching a tent, his held snug against his body.

“Ever done anything like this before?” I whispered. Another nod, another no. Heart skipping a beat as his bangs swayed, glinting light onto dark, revealed eyes. Full of desire.

“Me neither,” I smiled back, “guess we’ll make it up as we go along?” A nod, “yes,” was all I needed. I placed my hand on the back of his head and pushed forward, slowly, eyes trained on his. He felt it, fluttering his closed from the tension, a light moan escaping his parting lips. We pressed together. Soft pillowy on mine. I pushed, that familiar tongue curling around mine. He moaned into me, finding his courage, hands beginning to explore my body. One slipping under my shirt, brushing against the hair on my chest. The other resting on my pants, palm digging into the damp patch. We broke, strand of spit between our mouths. I hungrily dove for his neck, drawing a sharp pant, a squeeze on my shaft.
“I want you…” he whispered in my ear, with his tongue tracing the lobe. Broke again. Grabbed his chin and inspected him. He looked up at me, desperate, lip quivering. I moved my hand, my thumb into his mouth, resting on his tongue.

“On your knees,” I commanded. He darted to the floor, hands gripping my thighs. Lifted up so he could tug off my pants in one tug, no boxes to keep us apart. My fat cock bounced back, hitting against his face with a wet slap. We both grunted, breathing through our mouths, that dumb horny look you get, with the half-closed eyes. He took charge, running his tongue up from my balls to the very tip, tracing another bead of pre-cum. Lips closed around the tip, then back off with a pop.
“You taste so, good, daddy” he moaned, before becoming suddenly self-conscious, “can I call you daddy?” My turn to nod, silent, stunned by him. His radiant beauty in the soft light.

“I want all your cum, daddy,” he insisted, “every fucking drop.” Took all I had in me, every once of willpower, to not bust right there. He took my shaft in his mouth, slightly struggling to fit it all. Determined, to make it. And he did. Eyes watering, looking back up at me, desperate to please. And back to the tip. Just to prove he could do it. From there, he hovered around the middle. One hand entangled with mine. I squeeze. His other on my cock, wet with his spit, stroking the portion he wouldn’t reach. It was a battle, struggling to not pop, wanting it to last forever, him aching to make my cum, hard and fast. The best sucking I’d ever had. After five minutes, and a week without cum, I did. Barely able to grunt out a warning, the dam suddenly burst. He could tell though, with the way I throbbed, suddenly crushed his hand. I felt hot rope after rope shoot out of me, and like he promised, every drop pouring down his throat. He pulled back in time for the last to spurt right onto his tongue. The image I’d seen earlier, completed by my spunk. He smiled shyly. Closed. Swallow.

I pulled him onto the bed, not wanting to be a selfish lover. Against started sucking his neck as I tore off his shirt, revealing a smooth chest, and pulled his leggings down, “this okay?”

“Yes, daddy, please,” he insisted. I held my hand to his face.

“Spit on this,” and he did. I wrapped it around his cock, my length but skinny, easy to stroke. The other hand back onto his neck. Looked him in the eyes. He hardly lasted. After about a minute, my firm hand made him erupt, ropes slapping against his chest. A sharp, high moan. As he fell back onto the bed, I dove onto his hairless chest. I dove myself, lapping up the cum with my tongue, only to move back to his mouth. Spitting it inside. I stood up, both of us sweating messes, like I’d run a marathon. I smirked.

“Have a good flight, dude.” And with that I pulled up my pants and left. Heart still pounding. Back to my room, not exactly processing what must have been no longer than twenty minutes from the first message, or an hour from the cancelled flight. Hit the bed, and crashed. Hard.

As I woke up the next morning, I flipped open the app, expecting to be blocked from someone discrete. Instead, I saw it.

“Heyyyyyyy.” Five minutes between messages. A stirring in my pants.

“My flight got cancelled…….”

There’s more, but that’s enough for now, still just so insane to me. Let me know if people would like to hear the rest!

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/11rj3sb/layover_in_paris_with_a_british_twink_mm