Characters
Don't lose track of the men that catch your eye
The five strands of story here on the Hunter Hilton Substack intertwine, with characters from one sometimes cropping up in others. Here, you’ll find clues and images of some of your favourites to help you follow them through from one story to the next, together with links to their first and then subsequent appearances. Happy Reading.
Hunter
Conor
A tenant.
“His hair curls chestnut and sweet onto my lips. Holding his shoulders and sliding lower I find muscle, tits of responsive rubber, nipples of fire that seem to grow between my fingers, and chest hair in light curls that only invite me lower. He arches his neck backwards and our mouths meet, and if I reach far enough I can find his cock at last, and attempt to take it all in the palm of my hand. It is too big. Too heavy. I want to be on my knees for the sensation of playing with this guy’s cock.”
Danny Hyde (left)
An ex-soldier with a small problem
“We talk and he jokes, but for once he tries for jokes that don’t land. He tries for the dominance that cowers every man in every space I’ve ever seen him in. It doesn’t happen. And he shrinks before my eyes. He sees it happening. Every race run? Prize re-awarded. My eyes do slide then. Over the hard lines of his pecs. Down the flanks, where beautiful obliques guide me lower. He is extraordinarily, beautifully masculine.
“And when I get there, there’s no ‘there’ to visit. An inch? Perhaps an inch? Danny Hyde’s hung like nothing I ever saw. Danny Hyde’s hung like nothing at all.”
Eddie
A barber.
“Picture him glistening with cum, his body slippery with it, moonlight on his skin and dripping silver. I use his T to wipe him down when it is over. He sits naked with me in the grass as the last dazzling lights slip over us and away. I hold him tight in my arms, tight against my chest, and for once he isn’t hard. He has no more. They’ve fucked it out of him, these eight men.”
Fatass Frankie
A hole.
“Focus on him on his knees by the car’s open door. See me slouched low, and legs spread wide. His head is careful, and controlled as he lowers it. My hands are gentle and smooth on his ears as he sizes up the task. His lips are fat and full, rose-gold in the late afternoon. He is gold in the golden hour. An artificial blonde, his eyelashes are dark and long, enticing me into the hazel pools of his eyes.
“He noshes me off just fine. Sucks a great load out of me, swallowing and wanking out every drop. Doesn’t give up until the last.”
Jack Hackett
My topping buddy.
“He’s a handsome man. Nothing ever goes bad after smiling at the handsomest men. Bald. Tanned to toast. Severe planes of flesh and bone and muscle. Fucking huge tits. Overpowered? Not to my taste? No. He’s mighty fine from the blonde stubble of his beard to those eyes – of course – and down lower, to where the muscle mounds in his ass work their magic. In his gear his cock slides halfway to his knee. I don’t expect to fuck the man. A cock like that needs a hole, just as mine does. Yeah. Jack is grade A beef.”
Jake One
My tattooist.
“We hadn’t co-ordinated but if we had done we couldn’t be more of a match. Ink peeping at the neckline is fully and beautifully on display down the sleeve. His sharp cut may be blonde and mine more a dark brown. Scruffy stubble beards. But yes, we’re a match, this cunt and me. I know my cock fits his hole to perfection: we’ve been there many times to check.”
Jake Two
A wedding guest.
“He stands beautiful in summer sunshine as I pull up outside his door. Dark jeans low enough to reveal sharp hip bones and an inch of golden skin. A suitcase, a holdall and a suit-carrier too. He’s come prepared. And I like a boy who prepares.”
Jamie
A trainee.
“Up close, he is even more striking – hazel eyes dilating in the dim light, his head shaven at back and sides and cropped short and dark up top, lips slightly parted, flush spreading across cheekbones that could have been carved in ivory. He holds himself still, in a handsome – a beautiful – vulnerability.”
Julio
A tenant.
“He has a beautiful peach of an ass. Smaller. Tighter. My cock looks absurd as it rests silver-lined against the warm flesh. Larger, brutishly wrong-sized in comparison. His eyes in the mirror hold fear as well as lust. I don’t blame him. I hold his mouth to mine as I slip a hand down between our bodies so I can begin to open him up.”
Lenny
A lover that is looking for more.
“Lenny’s cock hung down hard and fat between his legs as he kneels on the bench in the cab, his balls heavy and bouncing, his hole dark and tight, and he looks down and around, squirming to find my face as I let slip the strands through my fingers. He finds the bulge in my jeans, and follows it with his gaze down my leg.”
Luc
A Belgian businessman, and a good boy
“And he sits beside me, his cock risen in an upwards curve towards his chest. And at a nod from me he reaches for the hood, stretching the black latex wide between his hands before slipping it on and then adjusting it to midnight pitch and smooth perfection. His lips are a glossy, fleshy line beneath the diamond shape of the rubber. A man reduced to flaring nostrils and a hole.”
Matt
A roadside entertainer.
“I slap a little encouragement into his ass as he climbs up into the cab. Unzip as I climb after him and make sure Little Hunter’s ready for the game. His ass is asking for it. He unzips and rolls down an inch or two of denim: I grab and pull and his arse pops out and it’s all the cake in the world right now. Pale and smooth and creamy. He arches his back straight to the angle. Climbing on this boy is what life is made for.”
Niels
A sex performer.
“Niels loses the ripped shorts and slides instead into swimming trunks so obscenely tight he is for a minute a wonder of the entire gay world. His cockhead above the waistline like a pink shark fin, his balls bulging out the fabric, two large and straining handfuls of perfect happiness.”
Philipp Weber
A German fan.
“The jock hangs from his lips, this Philipp Weber. German cuntboy. German slut. It hangs from his teeth, dripping and slipping juice across his lips and tongue, and he closes his mouth tight around it. His cock is fat down his leg, while both hands now circle at his chest, pulling at the nipples, those monuments to excess past. And while he knows I watch, and knows what he shows me, he cannot dare to grasp what I’m about to do to him.”
Rory Nicholls
A businessman, and rugby referee
“He takes his share. Rory Nicholls. Strong fingers, clear intent. He looks into my eyes and we know each other, he and I. We know what we are like, and the things we will do. He knows that standing roped to a stake in a summer sunshine garden is nothing to me. Knows I don’t blink as these men kneel to lick my hole, kneel to kiss my inner thighs, kneel to take my ballsac on their tongues.”
Sam
A driver.
“The blonde comes round again. A second turn. And Sam’s tongue is out and whipping wet around the shaft as keen as ever. He’s a pro, alright, this boy. His face is covered in cum. It slides down his neck, sheening over his tattoos until they glisten purple-green-blue. A dragon. A tiger. A slut.”
Unknown Man One
A hole.
“He isn’t naked yet. He’s poured himself into skintight denim, and a T so tight to his form that it seems to cut off his oxygen. His head is shaven, though it was once blonde, and could be again. There’s a fuzz that enjoys my fingers rubbing through it. He’s a sensory experience, the boy is. A customer of Jack’s, turned willing hole. Turned heated cunt. We play with his body. We play with his soul.”
Will Ponting.
A hard man. A voyeur.
“I know even now that Ponting himself will just watch. I don’t know how I know this. His pants slide to his ankles. His shirt is open, and his hands smooth over the considerable muscle lines beneath. His fingers find his nipples, and reach out to take a glass. Low light flickers off the rim, from his golden signet ring, from the drop of juice that bubbles from his slit.”