Lucas lounged against the velvet headboard, his sharp green eyes scanning the dimly lit hotel suite as Marcus lumbered in from the bar. The tension had built all evening through their witty banter at the lounge downstairs. "You really think that line works on anyone, Marcus?" Lucas had quipped earlier, sipping his whiskey. "Your charm is as subtle as a sledgehammer." Marcus chuckled, his bulk filling the space. "And your sarcasm is as sharp as your jawline, pretty boy. Bet you can't handle a real man." Their dialogue crackled with flirtation, each jab layering on the heat until Marcus's hand brushed Lucas's thigh under the table. Now in the room, clothes shed quickly, Marcus's heavy frame pressed down. Lucas felt the weight but played along, moaning theatrically as the fat man's small cock nudged against his ass. "Oh yeah, give it to me," Lucas panted, though he felt almost nothing. Sweat beaded on Marcus's brow as he thrust weakly. Lucas arched his back, faking the wetness and dripping sensation he wished was there. "Harder, you beast," he said with a wink, hiding his boredom behind witty remarks. "Is that all you've got? My grandmother moves faster." Marcus grunted, flipping them over with effort. Lucas began to ride, bouncing on the tiny cock while screaming fake cries of pleasure. "Fuck, your cock is driving me wild!" he lied, panting and sweating, pretending to come with a dramatic shudder. Marcus came with a low groan, cum spilling uselessly. Lucas collapsed beside him, heart racing from the performance alone. As Marcus dozed, Lucas's mind wandered to what real desire might feel like next time.
The night had started with electric glances across the crowded bar, where Lucas's clever retorts drew Marcus in like a moth to flame. "You look like trouble wrapped in silk," Marcus had said, his voice thick. Lucas replied, "And you look like you need someone to keep up with that appetite of yours." Their conversation flowed with sharp edges, building horny anticipation. Back in the suite, the blowjob started it all—Lucas on his knees, taking Marcus's small member into his mouth, making wet sounds to sell the act while his own cock stayed soft. Marcus's belly jiggled as he moaned, but Lucas felt detached, focusing on the performance. "Mmm, you taste like sin," Lucas murmured between licks, though it was a lie to heighten the tension. Marcus pulled him up, kissing sloppily, hands groping Lucas's ass. The foreplay stretched, full of teasing words: "Bet you can't make me beg," Lucas challenged. Marcus huffed, "Watch me try, smartass." They tumbled to the bed, Lucas under the heavy man, stomach pressed by the overhanging gut. The small cock entered his ass with little sensation, yet Lucas gasped and writhed, calling out, "Yes, fill me!" He faked every thrust's impact, body sweating from effort not ecstasy. Marcus flipped them, and Lucas straddled, riding with exaggerated hip rolls, his voice cracking in mock orgasm as he yelled about the hardness he barely felt. Panting hard, Lucas milked the moment until Marcus came beneath him. The room smelled of musk and deception. Lucas smiled faintly, already plotting his next encounter.
After the flip, Lucas controlled the rhythm, his strong thighs working while he delivered lines like, "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Me dripping all over you?" Marcus nodded, lost in the illusion. Lucas's ass clenched around the inadequate cock, but he sold it with cries and fake cum-like shudders. The build had been masterful—witty exchanges turning to touches, then the blowjob that left Marcus hard but underwhelming. Now the climax hit with Lucas's theatrical release, body glistening with sweat, words tumbling out in a rush of pretended passion. Marcus finished, and they lay tangled, the fat man's breathing heavy. Lucas stared at the ceiling, satisfied only in his acting skills. A single thought lingered: tomorrow might bring someone who made the moans real.
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