Primal Eclipse
Navigate the surge: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 1: Whispers from the Tracks
The train screeched into Manchester Piccadilly like a beast dragging its iron bones, and I stepped out into the bite of northern English air. Ronan Kelly, twenty-seven, fresh off the boat—well, the ferry and then this rattling gut of a train—from the wilds of Kerry. My red hair stuck up damp under my wool cap, pale cheeks flushed from the endless sway. God, I missed the salt spray off the Atlantic, the way it clung to your skin like a lover’s sweat. Here, everything smelled of diesel and wet concrete, sharp and unforgiving.
I hauled my duffel to the nearest dive, a dimly lit sports bar called The Iron Mule, tucked under the station arches. Bodies packed the place—blokes in trackies fresh from the gym, laughing loud over lagers. I slid onto a stool, ordered a Guinness that tasted thinner than Dublin mud. The barman grunted, sliding it over with a foam mustache of its own.
That’s when Kai loomed up beside me. Christ, he was a wall of a man, thirty-two maybe, broad as a barn door with skin like polished mahogany, shaved head gleaming under the neon. His tank top strained over pecs that could crush walnuts, arms veined like rivers after rain. Sweat still clung to him from whatever weights he’d just demolished. Our eyes locked, and something primal stirred in my gut, a low growl I hadn’t felt since chasing pints back home.
“New blood?” His voice rumbled deep, like thunder rolling over hills. Accented Manc thick, friendly but edged with hunger.
“Aye, just landed. Ronan.” I stuck out my hand, smaller than his paw. He gripped firm, thumb brushing my knuckle a beat too long. Electricity zipped up my arm.
“Kai. You look lost, mate. Let me buy the next one.” He signaled the barman, our pints clinking with a spark. We talked shite—weather, football, how Manchester chewed up outsiders and spat ’em shiny. But under it, his knee nudged mine, heat bleeding through denim. His scent hit me then, musky sweat mixed with that primal tang of effort, cock stirring in my jeans unbidden.
“Fancy warming up proper?” he murmured, breath hot on my ear. No games. My flat was a ten-minute walk, boxes still taped shut. Heart pounding, I nodded. We bolted into the night, wind whipping, his massive hand guiding my back like I was already his.
Chapter 2: Unpacked Hungers
The door to my cramped flat barely shut before Kai pinned me against it, mouth crashing down. His lips tasted of hops and salt, tongue invading like a conqueror. Rough hands yanked my cap off, fingers twisting in my ginger curls. I gasped into him, that primal urge uncoiling, cock hardening against his thigh like forged steel.
“Fuck, you’re fire,” he growled, peeling my jacket away. We stumbled to the living room, a mess of half-unpacked crates and that old lamp casting shadows like lovers’ limbs. I shoved him onto the sagging couch, straddling his lap. His hands roamed my lean chest, thumbs circling nipples till they ached peaks.
Memories flashed—Grandad’s weathered face the night before he faded, pressing that tarnished brass bell into my palm. “Special, boyo. Rings true desires.” I’d laughed then, eighteen and cocky. Now, in this haze of lust, I spotted it on the shelf amid dog-eared Yeats and Joyce.
Kai’s eyes followed mine, dark pools gleaming. “What’s that, then? Trophy?”
I snatched it up, metal cool and heavy. “Heirloom. Watch.” Thumb and forefinger pinched the clapper. A chime sang out, pure and haunting, vibrating through my bones.
Warmth bloomed in my chest, defiant gravity. My boots left the rug. I hovered, arms out, grinning down at his slack-jawed awe. Air buoyed me like ocean waves, that primal freedom surging—untethered, raw.
“Holy shite,” Kai breathed, scrambling up. His bulge tented obscenely, massive ridge straining cotton. “You’re… fuck, that’s hot. Gimme.”
I dangled the bell. He grabbed my hand, chime ringing again. Up we rose together, bodies brushing mid-air, his heat enveloping me. Our mouths fused, tongues dueling in zero-g frenzy. Hands everywhere—mine on his traps, rock-hard from endless reps; his squeezing my arse cheeks, fingers probing the cleft.
We spun lazy, kissing feral. Winded, I let go—he dropped with a thud, laughing wild. “Again,” he demanded, primal fire in his eyes.
Chapter 3: Aerial Appetites 🔥
Clothes flew off in a frenzy. Kai’s tank ripped over his head, revealing a chest sculpted for sin—nipples dark coins, abs a ridged washboard trailing to that V disappearing into low-slung sweats. I floated shirtless, pale freckles stark against his bronze. He shucked his pants, thick thighs flexing, and out sprang his cock: nine inches of veined monstrosity, uncut, foreskin peeled back to a glistening plum head leaking pre.
“Suck it,” he ordered, voice gravel. I descended, bell chiming soft, knees hitting carpet before him. That primal scent assaulted me—sweat-musk, balls heavy and hair-trimmed. Mouth watering, I engulfed him, lips stretching wide. He groaned low, hand fisting my hair, guiding deep. Salty tang flooded my tongue as I bobbed, throat relaxing for those final inches till nose buried in pubes.
“Yeah, take that meat, Irish boy.” His hips bucked gentle, fucking my face with restraint cracking. Spit drooled down my chin, mixing with his drip. I hummed around him, vibrations pulling guttural moans.
Bell in one hand, I rang it mid-suck. Lifted, his cock sliding free with a pop. I hovered crotch-high, legs splayed over his shoulders. He yanked my jeans down, boxers snagging on my own rigid six-incher, curved slight right, head flushed crimson.
“Sweet hole,” he rumbled, tongue spearing my arse without warning. Wet heat lapped my pucker, rimming circles, dipping in to taste my clean musk. Fingers pried cheeks wide, nose grinding my taint. I floated steady, one hand bracing his skull, bell chiming to adjust height.
Primal waves crashed—his beard stubble scraping tender skin, slurps echoing filthy. My cock wept, untouched, balls drawing tight. “Gonna wreck you,” he promised, popping off to slap his slab against my cheeks.
New urge hit. “Shower first.” I led him, naked bodies bumping. Steam filled the tiny bath, water scalding our skins. Soap slicked us—his hands soaping my crack, digit breaching slow. I rang the bell under spray; we levitated, water beading off like mercury. Spun weightless, his fingers scissoring my hole open, prostate singing.
Chapter 4: Suspended Onslaught
Back in the living room, rug damp underfoot, Kai shoved me face-down on the couch. But no—I chimed, hoisting us both. We tangled mid-air, limbs entwining like vines in storm. His weight pressed delicious, cockhead nudging my slicked ring.
“Breed me,” I begged, voice hoarse. He thrust up savage, breaching in one brutal slide. Burn bloomed to bliss, walls clenching his girth. Inches invaded, ridges dragging inner walls till balls slapped my arse.
“Tight fucking vice,” he snarled, pounding airborne. We rotated slow, bell clutched tight in my fist. Gravity gone, each slam deeper, prostate hammered relentless. Sweat flew off us, scents mingling—his primal ball-sweat, my arse tang, pre and soap.
Visual feast: his muscles bulging, veins popping, face twisted feral. Sounds obscene—wet slaps, grunts syncing like drums. Taste lingered, his skin salty on my bitten lips. Touch overwhelming: full, stretched, floating free.
“Flip,” he rasped. I did, impaled reverse now, facing away. Chime adjusted; I rode him hard, arse slamming down while he anchored with strong arms. His free hand jacked my cock, fist rough, thumb smearing slit.
Flash of conflict—Grandad’s voice warning “power tempts,” but lust drowned it. Kai’s primal roars built, hole spasming around him. “Cum in me!” He did, flooding hot ropes deep, pulsing jets painting my guts white.
I erupted next, seed arcing weightless, splattering his abs in pearly strings. We clung, chiming down gentle, collapsing in heap. Bodies trembled, breaths ragged. His hand stroked my back tender, contrast to the ravage.
“More,” he whispered, cock twitching inside. Vulnerability cracked—me sharing the bell’s curse-gift, loneliness since Da’s death tying it to home. Kai listened, callused thumb tracing my jaw. Bond deepened, not just fuck.
Night wore; we dozed tangled, but dawn hunger stirred. Balcony beckoned—new scene, risky thrill. Cold air nipped as I chimed us up, hovering over railing, city waking below.
Chapter 5: Dawn’s Reckoning 💋
Sun cracked horizon pink, painting our suspended forms. Kai’s cock, semi-hard again, slid into my cum-slick hole easy now. Primal again—dawn light gilding sweat-slick muscles, his grunts echoing off bricks. I faced him, legs hooked his waist, bell singing intermittent.
“You’re mine now,” he claimed, thrusts languid building fierce. Fingers dug my hips, bruises blooming badges. My hardness rubbed his abs furred coarse, friction electric. Scents shifted—morning dew mixing our spent seed, earthy and sharp.
We fucked slow then feral, rotations wilder. He spun me mid-plunge, back to chest, one arm banded my throat light, other fisting my meat. Prostate milked again, cum from night leaking down thighs sticky.
“Feel that primal pull?” I gasped, bell warm in palm. It thrummed, amplifying everything—senses razor: distant traffic hum, his heartbeat thunder against my spine, metallic bell tang on lips kissed.
Climax crashed mutual. He unloaded second load, thinner but fierce, overflowing to drip trails. I painted the balcony tiles white arcs, ropes flying free. Descent chimed soft; feet touched chill stone, knees buckling into embrace.
Afterglow lingered heavy. We showered again, hands gentle soaping wounds and wonders. Kitchen next—bacon sizzling, his massive frame dwarfing my nook. Talk turned real: his construction graft, my freelance graphic gigs seeking roots. Bell sat between us, chiming faint as coffee steamed.
“Stay,” he said, eyes soft under hard shell. Hesitation flickered—outsider fear, power’s isolation. But his primal warmth anchored. “Aye,” I murmured, hand over his.
Manchester no longer alien. Home remade in sweat, chimes, and that unbreakable gaze. The bell gleamed, silent witness to flights taken, bonds forged in air and flesh. Desire’s echo, primal and profound. 💋
