The Story of Rafa and Dani XX1 (HARD)

Javi unbuttoned his belt slowly. The metallic buckle's click resonated in the room like a gunshot. He pulled down his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth opening one by one like a countdown. He pulled down his jeans to his knees, revealing grey cotton boxers underneath, ordinary ones from Primark or Decathlon, the kind a regular guy would wear, a family man who buys his underwear in packs of three because he doesn't care what he wears underneath since no one sees it, since his wife no longer looks at him there, since boxers are just a formality between the shower and his pants, an irrelevant wrapping for what's inside.

He stretched his hands upwards, his fingers hooking into the elastic band of his grey Primark boxers, those of a family man, of a guy who buys his underwear in bulk because he doesn't care what he wears underneath. He pulled down.

And there it was.

Twenty-four centimeters of living flesh emerged from his boxers like an animal that had been caged and was finally being set free. It didn't fall; it didn't hang. It projected forward with the rigidity of something that had been hardening in secret for hours, days, weeks, accumulating pressure like a boiler without a safety valve, like a pipe about to burst, like a volcano that had been dormant for centuries and when it awoke, it would destroy everything in its path.

Thick. Obscenely thick. As thick as your wrist or more, with veins that ran through it like rivers on a topographic map, blue-veined and pulsating with each beat of his heart, swelling and contracting as if the cock had a life of its own, as if it were an independent organism from the man it belonged to, a symbiotic parasite that had taken control of the host and was now giving the orders. The glans was outrageous. A missile head. A clenched fist of purple flesh that glistened under the light bulb as if it were varnished, tense, swollen, with the urethra's opening slightly ajar like an eye looking at you from above with the same indifference with which you looked at the damp stains on your bedroom ceiling.

And below, the balls. Two. Enormous. Heavy. Hanging like ripe fruit from a tropical tree, like two avocados in a bag of dark skin, tight, full, loaded with what they had been manufacturing and storing for this moment, for this night, for this mouth, for this ass.

The smell hit you. Not dirty. Clean mixed with animal. Shower gel and testosterone and glands working at full capacity, pheromones that your primitive brain identified before your conscious mind could process them. A smell that activated something at the base of your skull, something reptilian, something that had nothing to do with desire or disgust but with pure survival instinct, telling you that what you had in front of you was bigger, stronger, and more dangerous than you, and your only option was to surrender.

"Beautiful, huh?" said Dani from the chair, the joint between his lips, a crooked smile...