Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
First Edition: 2026
IN YOUR MOUTH
Berlín. A leather bar. He gives you a drink from his mouth and takes you to the back.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced without written permission from the author.
This story is for adults only (+18).
All characters are adults.
The bar is in Schöneberg. Leather, beer and men. Dark walls, low stools, thick air. At the back there is a door with no sign. From it comes a noise that is not music: moans, skin, someone asking for more with a broken voice. The dark room.
You have been at the bar a while when he comes to stand beside you. He sets his mug down, sits half-turned and looks at you.
“Klaus,” he says, and gives you his hand. It is large, hot, a little wet from the glass.
German. You hear it as soon as he speaks: the r’s, the short sentences, the dry humour. His leather waistcoat is open. His chest is fully visible, hairy, the hair already grey in the centre, damp from the heat of the room. His belly comes out over the belt — large, soft, furred — and in the middle you can see his navel, sunken, the hair around it stuck to the skin. The moustache covers his lip a little. Below the belt, in the leather trousers, you can make out the bulge without him doing anything to hide it.
You talk for a while. A bit of everything. The bar, Berlin, the beer, how you ended up at this counter. Klaus speaks little and clearly. He laughs under his breath. He looks at your mouth when you talk. Your knees touch and stay that way. He does not move his leg. You don’t either.
When he settles on the stool the waistcoat opens a little more. You see the chest better, the fall of the belly, the navel. Your eyes stay there. He likes you looking. He does not cover himself.
You tap the mugs together. Glass hits glass. You drink. The beer comes in cold and bitter, fills your mouth and goes down your throat. Your lip is wet. Klaus’s moustache moves when he swallows and he looks at you over the mug.
When he lifts his arm to set the mug down, the waistcoat leaves his armpit bare. Sweaty. Dark hair, wet, stuck to the skin. As he moves the smell reaches you. It is strong, not all at once: beer, heat of the chest, armpit. It stays in your nose. Your trousers tighten against the stool. Klaus drops his eyes to your crotch for a second and comes back to your face.