Bloom of the Bull
After Hotwife Dream, a man is soon discover his fate as a bull.
It started one night, restless in bed, my hand wandering across the screen instead of my body. The glow of my phone was the only light in the room when I found it. Ysos. I don’t know what I expected, but something in me knew, even before I downloaded it, that this was a door I wanted to open.
I tapped, scrolled, watched a new world unfold. Not the secretive dark corners I had stumbled through before, not the cold anonymity of swipes and likes, but something warmer, wetter, fuller. Couples, women, men—faces alive with hunger, eyes daring, bodies blooming open like roses at midnight. They wanted connection. They wanted play. And they wanted me, or someone like me.
A single man. A bull.
I had heard the word whispered before, always with heat around it, always tinged with mystery. The bull: the one invited in, the one who brings strength, stamina, rawness. I looked at myself in the black mirror of my screen—my reflection hovering over those profiles—and I thought: could that be me?
The thought alone made me swell under the sheets. My cock stirred, thickening against my thigh, as if my body answered faster than my mind ever could. I stroked the screen with my thumb the way I wanted to stroke her skin. The wife in the photo biting her lip. The couple leaning close, grinning, as if they knew something delicious. Every image lit another nerve in me, another possibility.
I let the fantasies bloom.
I pictured myself at their door, the couple waiting, their eyes shining with mischief. I pictured her sliding her dress down, nipples hard, thighs opening for me while he watched. I pictured the weight of their desire pressing me forward, her breath hitching as I filled her, his voice urging me deeper. The three of us tangled in a rhythm as old as the world, a rhythm that pulsed even now in my fist.
Yes.
I whispered it, barely aware of myself. Yes, I want this. Yes, I am this. Yes, I will bloom into it.
My hand wrapped around my cock, finally, fully, as if Ysos itself had pulled me into its embrace. I stroked slow at first, savoring it, imagining her tongue, his gaze, the heat of being wanted not just by one but by two. My hips lifted. My chest arched. The air felt thick with jasmine, even though I knew it was only my own sweat rising around me.
Yes, faster now. My palm slid wet over the head, gathering slick. I moaned, louder than I meant to, shameless in my own room. The app still glowed beside me, a constellation of possibilities, and each profile was another wave crashing into my fantasy. Her moan, his hand on my shoulder, my cock plunging deep again and again. I was the center, the bull, the bloom.
The climax rushed me—no stopping it, no slowing it. My fist pumped hard, my belly tightened, and with a guttural cry I spilled, hot and thick across my chest. Rope after rope, my whole body shaking with release, my mind dizzy with yes yes yes yes.
I lay back, panting, cock twitching in the afterglow. Sticky, sated, smiling at nothing and everything. My phone buzzed softly with a new notification. Another couple, another invitation, another bloom waiting to open.
I laughed, breathless, wiping my stomach with the back of my hand. I wasn’t just a man anymore. I was a bull. And tonight, with Ysos in my palm and my seed still cooling on my skin, I had finally said yes to the sensual world that had been waiting for me all along.
