The Lollipop Hole-Plunder

The villa clung to the cliffs above Lake Garda like a lover’s grip, whitewashed walls glowing under the relentless Italian sun. Early June scorched like a beast; forecasted 40°C peaks thickening the air with jasmine and sweat-soaked sin. We’d driven up from Milan in the rented Alfa, windows down, my hand squeezing Jamie’s thigh just enough to make him squirm in his immaculate chinos. Twenty-five, my twink perfection: fashion editor with dress sense sharper than a stiletto. But I knew the truth, he craved me stripped bare, my thick cock dangling free between my legs.

We unpacked in the villa’s cool marble embrace, floors a balm against the heat. Jamie fussed with his cases, unfolding shirts precisely. “Erik, this place is divine. That view...” He trailed to the terrace, the lake shimmering 200 metres below, mountains cradling it, much like my arms around him at those fashion events he’d dragged me to last year.

I stripped fast; shirt, shorts, and boxers shed in one fluid motion. Naked now, my piercing blue eyes locked on him; my cock swung heavy, semi-hard from the drive’s tease. “What do you think, boi?” I stepped close, my meat brushing his arm. He froze, eyes glazing as my gaze pierced him deep. I knew it: he was already leaking.

“D-Daddy,” he whispered huskily. “Not yet... dinner first?”

Tease accepted. We dined on the terrace as dusk gilded the lake. Caprese, prosciutto, chilled Verdicchio. Jamie impeccable as always. Me? Naked, legs splayed, cock draped over the chair edge, my size 9 foot rubbing his crotch under the table.

He whimpered, napkin crumpling. “Erik... people might see.”

“No one sees, boi. Pass the salt, and worship Daddy’s foot.” He slipped off his loafers, knelt discreetly, and flicked his tongue against my size 9 sole. Heat lingered at 28°C; sweat beaded regardless. Tension coiled in me; my cock thickened, dangling inches from his wine glass.

Night one: I led him to the master suite, balcony open to the stars. “Strip slow, baby.” He obeyed; shirt unbuttoned pearl by pearl, chinos pooling at ankles, revealing his smooth twink body, cock bobbing desperately. But I stopped him. From my bag: sheer black babydoll, stockings, garters, crotchless thong to frame his pucker. “Dress for me”.

His fingers shook, complying, lace hugging his lithe frame like sin. “Look at you, good boi. Twirl.” He spun, arse cheeks peeking, hole winking. I paced naked, my 8-inch cock swinging hypnotically; slap against left thigh, right. Hands behind his back now, he watched. “Kneel. Worship it, but no touching.”

He dropped, nose inches from my meat, inhaling deep musk. Tongue lapped my balls—sweat-salty, as he was tasting my musk gently. My piercing blues bored down, making him drip on the tiles. “Good boi... no cock yet.”

Days blurred in heat haze. Mornings: coffee on the terrace, me naked, striding past; cock flopping casually, Jamie in his tight linen shorts.

Afternoons by the pool: I lounged nude, oiled muscles gleaming, feet propped for worship. He’d strip to lingerie under a sarong, kneel poolside, sucking toes as boats chugged distant. “Deeper, boi.” Tension ratcheted; his hole clenching air, my shaft leaking untouched. I knew I couldn’t keep this going much longer.

Day three: 39°C scorched the earth, villa sauna-hot. “Hot tub tonight,” I growled over lunch. Jamie lit up; his little clit twitching in his linen shorts.

Sunset primed the tub, jets foaming at 41°C, hotter than hell. I entered first, water parting my bulk, cock floating semi like a serpent. “Join me, baby.” Jamie shed the sarong: slut-red lingerie matching the sky. He slid in facing me, legs astride my lap, lace crotch kissing my meat.

Tension simmered. My hands roamed, kneading his arse, parting cheeks underwater. Fingers teased his pussy, dipping shallow. “Beg,” I commanded, piercing blues locking his gaze.

“Please, Daddy... use my pussy.”

“Not yet.” I rocked him slow, cockhead nudging thong aside, prodding his hole without entering. Bubbles masked moans. Tongues warred deep, tasting salt-sweat. From the ice bucket: cherry-red lollipop, fat as a cockhead. “For you, pup.”

Eyes locked, my piercing blues melting him. I stood from the water, stroking candy slow along my shaft: cool on hot skin, foreskin peeling back, pre-cum mixing sticky. Trailed down his crack, circling his pucker romantically. “Breathe for me.” I inserted it gently, twisting like a promise, pumping his pussy slowly by stirring walls, melting the lollipop to slick syrup in his heat. Jamie arched:

“Fuck, Daddy—it’s yours now.”

I withdrew the gleaming lollipop. Gripped my cock—veins throbbing from denial—and erupted. Thick ropes lashed it, white glazing red, excess dripping to the tub. Fed it past his lips; he sucked it devotedly, moaning around the salty-sweet mess, his eyes blissful.

I lifted him out, water sheeting our golden bodies. Laid him terrace-side, arse high, lingerie hiked. “Time for Daddy’s dessert.” I dove in feral: tongue spearing his ring, broad laps from taint to dimples. Fingers spread cheeks wide. Ate like plunder. My teeth nipping and tongue-fucking deep. Jamie shattered: “I’m gonna cum!” He instantly splattered the tiles, his whole body spasming.

But I held him firm. Flipped and worshipped his back.

Storm brewed over Garda; clouds boiling, thunder growling. Nature sensed my need. Rain pattered on the hot tub as I bent him over the edge, legs spread. My cock nudged his sloppy cunt.

“Breed me, Daddy—plunder my hole raw!” Jamie begged, shaking with need.

I went balls-deep in one brutal stroke. Pounded relentlessly, hips slamming, lace shredding against my abs. “Suck my fingers so you can taste your pussy.” He came again quickly, milking me with his spasming hole.

Lightning cracked the lake as I bred deep. Flooded his guts with thick ropes; collapsed atop him.

Rain cooled to 25°C as I massaged his sore hole, feeding him limoncello from the bottle. Towel-wrapped together, Jamie nuzzled my shoulder, spent. “Yours forever, Daddy,” he murmured, drifting off.