A Bitter Pole
by David Heulfryn
Marek didn’t particularly enjoy working the nightshift, but it wasn’t too bad. He had very little to do, just watch the CCTV monitors occasionally and check-in, or out, the few guests who either landed late or had to catch early flights. The hotel was directly under Heathrow Airport’s flight path, but after three months of working there, Marek didn’t notice the noise as the aeroplanes came into land.
For most of the night, Marek was bored. He wasn’t on his own, another man worked nightshift with him. Still, one had to dutifully sit at the reception desk anticipating the person who walked though the door expecting a late room, or for the phone call from a guest with some peculiar request. In contrast, the other sat in the backroom, keeping an eye on security. As Marek’s English was not too good yet, he always sat with one eye on the CCTV monitors and the other eye on the television where he watched the late-night programmes – it helped him with his English.
Marek came to England a year ago, and it didn’t take him long to get this job at the hotel. When Poland joined the European Union, many of his friends came to England to give themselves a better life, but Marek stayed at home with his family. Whenever his friends either wrote to him or rang him, they would tell of the extraordinary life they had, their wages, and the flats they had rented. To Marek, it seemed they were living in palaces as he had to share a room with his two brothers and all his wages he earned working at the local abattoir were given to his mother to feed the family and pay the rent. At twenty, Marek wanted more, and his friend’s stories made him dream of a new life in England. His mother pleaded for him to stay, as they needed his wages, but they came to an agreement. While the youngest brother still had many more years at school, his other brother left school very soon, and as soon as he found a job so that he could support the family, then Marek could go, but he promised to send money home each month.
So, twelve months ago he packed his things into his old and beat up VW Golf and drove himself to Calais where he caught the ferry to Dover and the start of a new chapter in his life with his old friends; who had made room for him in their rented flat.
It was a little after four in the morning, and Marek was nodding off, his eyelids became heavy, but each time they closed fully, he would spring them open wide. It would not look good for him if he were caught napping on the job, the last person was fired for that, and that’s why he got the job.
Suddenly, his ears were assaulted by the shrill siren of the fire alarm. He instinctively slapped the mute button which gave him two minutes to ascertain if it was a false alarm. He shot to his feet and looked at the alarm board. A single light was flashing; the sensor in room 116 had caused the alarm. Picking up his walkie-talkie, he dashed out and blurted out the room number in Polish to the man on the front desk. As Marek rushed by him, he shouted back to him some instructions, also in Polish.
Marek ran all the way to the room and, without knocking, used his pass key to let himself in. As soon as the door opened, he smelled smoke, cigarette smoke.
“What the hell!” A man shouted to Marek at the noisy intrusion.
Marek saw the man sitting in just his white briefs on the windowsill, the window wide open and his head poking out as he expelled a lungful of smoke into the night air.
Marek held his walkie-talkie to his mouth and pushed the button the talk. The man heard a conversation between Marek and the front desk, understanding nothing of what was said and just listened to the strange language.
The guest watched as Marek clipped his walkie-talkie on to his belt and walked up to him.
“Sorry, Sir, but this is a no smoking room.”
The man looked at him and seemed to shrug.
“The alarm sounded because of the smoke.” He pointed to the smoke alarm at the centre of the ceiling and the small LED flashing indicating it had detected smoke.
The man stubbed his cigarette out on the window sill
“I just tell it was false alarm, but you wake up many guests.”
“Sorry.” The man saw Marek’s eyes drift down to the bulge in his briefs. With one leg resting on the floor, his other rested on the window sill, accentuating and further pushing his bulge.
Marek watched as the man shifted his feet, his dick crushed and flattened against the stretched fabric. He could barely see the outline of his shaft, but the ridged helmet was clearly seen. He stared and watched the helmet travel down to the base of his squashed ball sac; his shaft thickened and became visible through the white cotton.
He heard the man clear his throat, which broke his gaze and looked at the man’s face. He was smiling. Standing up, the man stepped closer to Marek and extending his hand.
Marek recognised his accent as American and shook his hand. “Marek.”
“No Polska… Polish.”
“Oh. I have an early flight to catch, but woke far too early.”
Marek could smell the humid air and the hotel’s complimentary shower gel’s scent, Jake smelled fresh and clean. Marek was close to him now, and as they looked at each other’s faces, he felt his nervous system jolt, and his body trembled. His dick surged and filled out his crotch as he recognised the desire in Jake’s face. He wanted him too, if only for the next few minutes.
Noticing the almost imperceptible shudder, Jake edged even closer, and his hand crossed the small divide between them to grasp his crotch. Jake’s squeezed and rubbed Marek’s crotch, feeling it the spongy area become firmer under his palm. He said. “I could do with some breakfast but if the kitchen doesn’t open before I have to leave. Perhaps you could give me something.” He knew it was corny, but as the man was Polish, he figured it would be new to him.
Before Marek would respond, Jake released Marek’s crotched and with both hands gripped his head to brought closer to him. Jake pressed his lips against Marek’s, sensing no reciprocation. He poked his tongue out to invade Marek’s mouth. He opened up easily, groaned and started pushing his own tongue against Jake’s.
Marek traced his hands down Jake’s back and slipped his fingers under the waistband of his briefs to knead his buttocks and push their bodies together.
Their tongues continued to duel as Jake kissed hard and passionately. Marek felt their spit dribble down his chin, its coolness making him tremble. Jake was frantically rubbing his hands all over Marek; his shirt had become untucked and had ridden halfway up his back so that Jake could feel his smooth off-white skin.
Marek pushed Jake away from him, and their kiss was broken, panting, they looked at each other and the spit that coated each other’s face which glistened from the streetlight outside the window.
Falling to his knees, Marek yanked Jake’s briefs down to his ankles and watched as his hard dick sprang free and slapped against his belly. Marek gripped the shaft and prised it towards him. His lips parted and were about to take Jake’s dick into his mouth, then he suddenly stopped.
Jake looked down at him. “What’s wrong?”
“Your dick is…not complete.” Marek searched his English.
“What! Oh, yes.” Jake now understood. “Most of us Americans are cut when we’re born.”
“I never seen one before.” Marek played with Jake’s dick. The head looked dry and wasn’t as red as he was used to. He pulled the skin back, noticed it wasn’t attached to his head and watched as the shaft was revealed. He let go of the hard dick and let it slap against Jake’s belly again. He examined the underside and pressed his finger where his removed foreskin should have been attached. Marek expected Jake to react at the touch, his dick to swell, but he felt nothing, no reaction at all.
“Are you just going to examine it or are you going to fuck it!” Jake was getting irritated at the diversion. “It’s just a fucking dick.”
Holding Jake’s dick again, Marek tentatively placed it into his mouth. He was gentle and liberally coated the dry knob with spit. He didn’t want to hurt Jake and knowing how sensitive his knob was when exposed, he took it very slowly, much to Jake’s annoyance.
“Oh, fucking hell, this is ridiculous.”
Jake pulled a stunned Marek off his dick and pulled him to his feet. He pushed him onto the bed and straddled his chest. Edging forward, Jake took hold of Marek’s head and pressed his dick against his lips. Marek opened up and allowed Jake to slip his dick inside. It touched the back of his throat, and he felt Jake withdraw. Then Jake began to fuck Marek’s mouth. Jake thrust forward as he pulled Marek’s head towards him. Each time he pounded Marek’s throat, he would grunt.
“Swallow it!” Jake demanded.
Not because of his demand, but purely due to the pounding his throat was getting, Marek did open his throat and felt, with each thrust, Jake’s dick slip down and his nose pressed hard against the thick mat of black pubes.
Jake carried on face-fucking Marek and could feel his balls ache. He would cum soon and planned to deliver his load directly into Marek’s stomach. Marek lay limp as Jake used him for his pleasure, it was easier than struggling and knew Jake was close. His breathing was hard and laboured, and then he felt Jake’s dick pulse as they were still, Marek’s nose pushed hard against Jake’s pubes and his dick halfway down his throat.
He knew Jake was coming, but Marek could feel nothing except the pulsating dick. He neither tasted nor felt the cum Jake spewed into him as it travelled directly to his stomach.
Finished, and breathing heavily, Jake pulled his dick from Marek’s mouth and fell on the bed next to him.
Trying to relieve his sore throat, Marek coughed and with it regurgitated a little of Jake’s cum into his mouth. Trying not to taste it, he swallowed it again.
Marek got off the bed and began tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “I better go.” He went over to the mirror to ensure he looked as he should. He didn’t want his friend on the front desk to suspect anything. Any inappropriate liaison with a guest would not be tolerated.
Looking back at the bed, he saw Jake lying still, his abdomen rising and falling with each breath and his softening dick covered in Marek’s spit.
He left the hotel room. As the door closed, he muttered under his breath. No-one could hear, nor probably understand. But the words sounded harsh and bitter.
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