The Tourist

Visiting isn’t a science, at least not for me. It’s just what I do. Not that I mind, though. It’s not a bad thing, you understand, to find yourself in someone else’s body, stepping into a hot shower stark-naked and sporting a decent-sized morning wood.

Ace is a tourist. A spirit who spends his time visiting the lives of others for entertainment and sexual satisfaction. He can’t make anyone do anything they aren’t willing to do–but he is able to push them to their personal limits.

He’s currently visiting Dan and his lover, Ricky–a couple struggling with jealousy and words left unsaid. Emboldened by Ace, Dan becomes more sexually aggressive, a pleasant surprise for Ricky. But when an abusive ex threatens their newfound happiness, how far will Ace want to get involved? Will his fascination with the couple’s sexual games tempt him to protect them from a very real physical danger?

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© Clare London

It isn’t a bad thing, you know, to find yourself stepping into a hot, fresh-smelling shower, stark bollock naked and sporting a decent-sized morning wood. Even if the period immediately beforehand is a bit of a blurred memory. Even if you can’t remember where the hell you are, exactly how you got there, what day it is, or even how much shampoo you’re going to need because you can’t remember if you’re bewigged, buzz-cut or bearded.

I reached for the plastic curtain, not sure how firm my grip was, tugging it back awkwardly. When I stepped forward onto the smooth tray, I stubbed my toe against the tiled wall and yelped. Seemed I couldn’t even gauge the size of my own bloody feet.

You see, visiting isn’t an exact science. Hell, it’s no science at all, at least not for me. It’s just what I do. I drift in my strange but by-now-familiar limbo, jumping in and out of human bodies for a bit of a laugh and—you must understand, I’m not going to lie about it—for sexual satisfaction. From men.

I get a thrill from it; I get off on it.

The last thing I remembered? A rewarding couple of days in the bed of two very limber athletes. Moroccan, maybe. On a work visa, staying in a tiny but over-warm bedsit, the best they could afford so close to London. I never knew whether they were legally in the country or not, and didn’t really care. I was only passing through. They were dark, with sun-salty skin, and full of youthful strength and stamina. An imaginative collection of toys, too. Delicious. But their bickering wore me ragged in the end, even though it was their idea of foreplay. And so I moved on. Took that deep breath of virtual anticipation, and jumped. Never knowing quite where I’d end up.

But, like I said, it wasn’t always a bad thing. Particularly when I found myself pressed up against the side of another body in that shower, equally naked, slick with water and warm with sexy, willing enthusiasm. How did I know “willing”? Pretty obvious, if you ask me. He had a thick, solid dick, happily nudging against my thigh. Just what I like the best. There was barely enough room to turn one person around in there, let alone two, but it didn’t seem like either of us resented getting up close and personal.

I leaned in, just to make sure, and he moaned with pleasure. Yeah, that confirmed it. I gave up worrying about shampoo and went for groping his hips instead.

“Hey, there.”

He sounded startled and I paused. I mumbled something under my breath that could have been taken as a tentative apology.

“No. It’s fine.” He twisted around to face me and that delicious dick rubbed against mine. It was long and curved up toward his belly, eager for action. Mine was no slouch, either. Looked like I had plenty of inches, and at the moment they were all standing to attention. “Just…it’s a surprise, that’s all.” He tilted his head and touched the side of my neck with his lips, quick and sloppy. “I didn’t want to wake you just yet. It’s not your fault I’m up so early.”

“Up?” My voice was low and firm. I liked the sound of it. I smirked and ran my hand along the length of his cock. It was a broad hand; looked strong, the skin tanned, fingertips calloused.

He sucked in a breath. “God. Yeah. I know you’re not so keen on the morning…”

I squeezed, not that gently, and he shut up immediately. “You think you should be telling me what I am and what I’m not?”

He stared at me. Deep brown eyes, an expression of excitement and confusion, all mixed in with the twinkle of morning lust. And something else even more promising. “I…guess not. Sorry.”

His hair must have reached just under his ears when it was dry. The water made it cling lower to his neck, creating small dark licks of sensuality. I imagined twisting one around my fingers and tugging. Hard. “So make it up to me.”

“Dan?” He laughed shakily. “What’s up with you this morning?”

“Nothing different. You feel good and I want it.”

He shuddered and his lips dragged across my jaw. I had quite a lot of morning stubble. His hand grasped my hip, his palm slippery with soap. “Well, this is a surprise, but a very pleasant one, you know?” He moaned softly and his fingers tightened on my flesh. “Very good. I think you can tell—”

I pressed against him again and he sucked the words back in. After a second’s hesitation, he stepped back, close up to the tiled wall. His heart was beating so fast I could feel the vibration in his chest. I knew then what he needed. Doesn’t take me long to know what a man’s like, not nowadays.

“I think you do far too much of that,” I said. “Thinking. I’m not a whole lot keen on it myself, at least not at this moment.” As far as I was concerned, feeling was taking up most of my attention. I knew what I wanted, I knew what my body was aching for. Good. It’s a special treat when I find a like-minded libido to host my fantasies.

I rubbed my dick against him again, this time bending my knees to get better effect. I was an inch or so taller than he was and I needed that angle so that I was sliding against his cock, not into his navel. Though that looked and felt pretty fine, too. The whole torso was nicely defined, not too muscle-bound. He was what they called hot these days, well-proportioned like one of those underwear models who were so popular in magazines. I reckoned he was younger than me, but not too young. Perfect. His skin was slightly plump, with a healthy sheen and barely tanned. I nudged again and dropped my lips to the junction of his neck and throat. His head went back and he gasped.

He wasn’t as broad as I was—I could instinctively tell from the position of our arms—and his pecs were covered with a mat of fine hair. The nipples were dark brown mounds poking up through it. Made my mouth salivate. Another thing I knew instinctively—I loved nibbling. I sucked at the skin of his neck and the little buds tightened. I felt them push against my own chest, and the excitement rippled straight down to my balls.

His treasure trail was darker, though that might just have been from the water running over his shoulders and down his front. My eyes slid downward, following its path, over the gentle mound of his belly, down to the curls at his groin, glistening, tangled, and then to our cocks, dancing their own version of a thrusting tango, seeking friction, swelling even further with eagerness.

He chuckled softly. “Dan, this is…”

I say what it is.” I glanced back up at his face. The water pattered onto the tray at my feet and my voice had been more growl than whisper. For a second, he tensed and I wondered if I’d messed up already.

Then he relaxed, letting out a long breath. His eyes half closed. “Yes,” he murmured, delight in his tone. “You do.”


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