The Men's Club
by Sim
Your eyes meet from across a smoky room, mutual lust sparking between you. Your eyes shine with unspoken invitation and slowly he unfolds his long, muscled frame from his chair, never breaking the gaze. His barely concealed sexual tension manifests in the way he nearly violently strides towards you, the corded muscles of his hard thighs rippling under the skin molding leather. The breath catches in your chest as you experience the base fear of being helpless, at the same time the predatory look in his coffee eyes drives you to the brink of arousal.

After what seems like eternity, he is in front of you, standing between your casually spread thighs. The heat from his hard body radiates onto your already perspiring skin as he runs his strong, experienced hands across your jean clad hips. The sound of your zipper being pulled over the tight bulge of your erect cock echoes dully through your mind as sparks of pleasure penetrate the veil of surreality. You look around and gasp at the blatant lust and desire you see printed across the faces of other men of the club as they watch him seduce you. Ares seems to like having an audience, he flashes a devious grin before he bends to devour your now exposed, quivering rod.

Gooseflesh raises on your arms, hair prickles on the back of your neck as you watch this mastodon of a god play the subservient role, both of you knowing full well he's the master and you the plaything. Rivers of pleasure wash over you as he passes the tip of his moist, hot tongue lightly over the engorged, mushroomed head of your cock, licking away the salty drops of semen that clung to the skin. You wish he'd kiss you then, imagining the taste of yourself on his tongue, but he knows what you are thinking and refuses to comply, refuses to relinquish the power. Slowly, too slowly, he presses your spasming organ through the barrier of his lush, closed lips, and you, focused on the feeling and visual of your flesh entering the wet cavern of his mouth, hold your breath. The smouldering look in those eyes of his are nearly your undoing.

Suddenly you are on your stomach, lying across the bar with your bare ass in the air. The smooth, cool surface of the polished wood against your hot, sweating skin arouses you further and you more than welcome the oil slick finger that Ares slips inside your tightness. As your flesh contracts around the questing finger, the god reaches beneath you to grab the pendulum of your cock, squeezing and releasing as he lets it slip through his fist, catching and repeating until your voice become hoarse from moaning. Only then does he place the hot, hard tip of his enormous cock against your opening and eases inside, stilling as you adjust to his immense girth and length. The throbbing of his cock buried deep inside you and the firm ministrations of his talented hands as they caress your own cock soon bring you to a squealing climax. You come then, spurting your hot juices over your belly, the bar, his legs, but it isn't over. His breath hot against your neck, he begins rotating his hips in time with the thrusting of his tongue inside your sensitive ear, your nerves bursting into a tumultuous, all consuming fire. The veined surface of his cock rubs against the erogenous rim of your anus, creating unbelievable friction as he pistons inside you, his lean flanks caressing your own in a dance of sex and power. The only sound audible is the slap slap of sweaty skin against sweaty skin and the sound of your own screams of passion as he rides and jerks you off. Absent-mindedly you wonder if the men watching have brought out their hard cocks and were masturbating in time with Ares' thrusts, wishing they were you. Suddenly an earthshattering orgasm bears down on you, enveloping you, whisking you away to a light filled place as you faint from the emotions assaulting your mind and body.

Recovering almost instantly from the pleasure induced swoon, you hear a throaty laugh near your ear, the basely animal sound of it sending shivers down your spine. Then he's gone, disappeared in a puff of blue smoke and sparks. You are alone again, reclining on your chair, your casual clothing just as it had been before. Your mind asks if perhaps it wasn't all a dream, but no, your body says, the stickiness of his and your drying semen
on your thighs, the pleasurably swollen anus and languidly limp cock tell you it wasn't. You should come to the Men's Club more often.

The End