Okay, so, good news! Dario Dalla Lasta’s Squeeze Pants is hot off the press! You can now buy it (both digital and print) from Amazon, and then proceed to have the night of your life. In honor of Squeeze Pants‘ long-awaited arrival, how about another excerpt, hm?
You remember Trace and Jeremy from “Game Set Match,” right? Well, meet Southern-boy-turned-city-boy Ezra, who was in a monogamous relationship with Trace until poor Tracey-poo, you know, went off to join the big, all-night bubble disco in the sky. As a result, Ezra has spent his time healing by screwing his way through New York City, and in “A Hotel Hookup, Haunted,” he manages to find not one, but two guys who are down for a little suck and fuck—no strings attached. The only thing that makes this encounter different for Ezra is that he’s actually fucking Trace’s college crush, Jeremy, and it feels—to Ezra, at least—like Trace knows it. Is that the spirit of Trace haunting the hotel room where the men are enjoying themselves, and will Trace interfere with Ezra’s three-boy fun?
Oh, we both know that you’re DYING to find out. Get your answers here!
Garnering the attention he wanted so badly from these hotel guests he would never see again, he stood up, kicked his shoes to the side of the couch, and pulled his pants all the way off to expose his cock bulging through form-fitting Calvin Kleins. José took a short step back, mouth slack with lust. When Jeremy saw Ezra’s packed undies, he made a sound—pffft!—and out flew a stream of champagne from his mouth onto the rug, causing all three to laugh, thereby breaking the ice once and for all. The games could now commence.
Forgetting the champagne, José dropped to his knees and ran eager hands up Ezra’s thighs, which were covered with a forest of soft hair. When he got to the waistband of Ezra’s underwear, he hesitated. Eyes half-lidded in sexual surrender, he slurred drunkenly to his cohort, “C’mon and help me with this.”
Without any encouragement, Jeremy slid off the couch until he was knee to knee with José, any misgivings having evaporated upon seeing Ezra in his skivvies. Grinning, Jeremy reached his hand up to the waistband of Ezra’s shorts in imitation of José’s grip. “On the count of three,” José said, nodding. “One, two, three!” Their hands pulled his underpants down so hard that the elastic snapped, the briefs falling around Ezra’s ankles in two shredded pieces. José wasted no time clamping his mouth around the thick tool before him, wrapping his throat around Ezra’s fat prick before Jeremy began licking and sucking Ezra’s balls, slathering up the nutsack until it shone with spit. The feeling of being worked over by two mouths was liberating. Guttural moans and slurps filled the air with beautiful music, counterpointed with the wailing of Coltrane’s searing saxophone that Trace had admired so much. Ezra almost lost himself in the moment, remembering how Trace attempted to sing along to the manic sax improvisation until they would both dissolve into laughter.
Someone laughed out loud.
Startled, Ezra shivered violently and almost interrupted the tongue bath below. The two men were devouring him down there. They certainly hadn’t made any noises besides the aforementioned moaning and slurping. Trace. For an awful moment, Ezra thought it had to be his deceased soul mate, giggling, here in the suite they had once shared. No, he scolded himself, ghosts aren’t real.
Soon the guys switched places, and thoughts of going mentally ill over Trace disappeared for the moment. Although Jeremy was really no good in the cock-sucking department, he sure seemed to enjoy himself. His beard whiskers tickled Ezra in tiny little spots, adding an unexpected touch to his blowjob. José ended up helping him out, and Ezra watched as the two eager beavers at his feet licked and sucked and stroked his boner, sneaking in a little make-out session of their own. Once their attention was diverted, Ezra pulled back. They stopped kissing and formed twin looks of surprise. In response, Ezra smirked and pulled Jeremy up to his feet, copping a feel of the defined pecs under his shirt that were just begging to be manhandled. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he said, instructing José to do the same. No one argued.
When they were both naked, Ezra squatted on his haunches and took a cock in each hand. They were both different, delectable in their own way. José’s lovely piece was dark and slender, with a slight upturn. His balls hung low, one side dangling down more heavily than the other, both covered in soft dark fuzz. Ezra licked off a pearl of pre-come, enjoying the briny goodness, then slurped the whole thing down his gullet in one fell swoop. José whimpered like an animal and called out in Spanish. After a few slobbery sucks, Ezra pulled off and eyed the bright red head glistening with juice, the entire organ beating in time with José’s rapid heartbeat.
Read more in Squeeze Pants, for Kindle or in print!
Photo of hotel room on home page courtesy of Todtanis (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0) or GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html)], via Wikimedia Commons.