Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 01:16:36 -0500
From: Writer Boy <writerboy69@hotmail.com>
Subject: boys of summer - part 10

Obligatory warnings and disclaimers:

1) If reading this is in any way illegal where you are or at your age, or
you don't want to read about male/male relationships, go away. You
shouldn't be here.

2) This story isn't based on anyone in particular, alive or dead, so any
resemblance to anybody is unintentional.

Questions and commentary can be sent to "writerboy69@hotmail.com". I enjoy
constructive criticism, praise, and rational discussion. I do not enjoy
flames, and will not tolerate them. Unless I often hear from you and would
recognize your address, please put the story title in the subject, or my
junk mail filter may screen you.

Thanks to everyone who has written so far. To answer a frequent question
from those who are unfamiliar with my other stories, they're called "Brian
and Tommy", "Thieves", "JC's Hitchhiker", "Tangle", and "Rebound", and they
can all be found in the Boybands section, which is a subset of the
Celebrity section of the Nifty archive, for those of you who have not been
there.

***

The only thing that would have made the upstairs look more like the set of
a daytime tryst, a secret rendezvous from "Days of Our Lives" or "As the
World Turns", or, really, since I was with Casey and he was one of the
hottest guys I'd ever seen, maybe "The Bold and the Beautiful", would have
been a thousand candles arranged on every possible surface in utter
disregard for possible fire hazards or rules of safety. The whole thing
just seemed so surreal, me being led up the stairs by the hand, through
shaded hallways toward the last room at the back of the house where all the
windows were open but the shades were half down, leaving everything in a
pattern of shadows that shifted and danced as the thin curtains all the way
around the room fluttered in the breeze. I was half listening for the
background music to swell, or for Casey to tell the camera crew to zoom in
and put a hazy filter on as we stood in the middle of what I took to be his
bedroom.

It had to be, because I could smell him in here, lightly, drifting on the
wind. It wasn't a stink, like he permeated the room. Instead there was just
a slight hint of the aftershave he used, a smell that I couldn't identify,
a scent that immediately put me in mind of him, of the way he looked and
the way his voice sounded and the way his hair shaded from dark brown to
light gold when the sun hit it from behind in the driveway. I looked around
the room as we stood, my hand dropping out of his as I tried to figure out
what I was supposed to do next. The room was neat, the bed made and the
folding closet doors closed, the d‚cor kind of neutral in cream and tan
with a dark brown carpet.  His leather jacket was neatly draped over the
arm of a chair, and a pair of sunglasses, dark black aviators, was folded
closed on top of the dresser, a long, low slung piece of dark furniture
with a large mirror attached to the back. I was surprised to see a stack of
books with decimal codes from the town library on their spines, and walked
over as Casey watched me.

"You like to read?" I asked, picking up the top one. I noticed a dollar
bill sticking out from the pages, about halfway through. I touched it with
my fingertip, and felt Casey's hand close softly around my wrist, not
gripping me hard or trying to wrench me away, just stopping what I was
doing. I looked up, and he was right next to me, his dark hair falling in
soft waves around his face, his dark blue eyes widely staring into
mine. This close, I was reminded that he hadn't shaved today, and I could
see the pattern of dark hair around his mouth, dusting over his cheeks and
covering his chin. His soft lips were framed in the middle of it, and I
wanted to feel them suddenly, to see if they were as smooth as I
remembered, so I leaned forward, pressing my mouth against him.

He was surprised, I could tell, but he leaned forward, turning his head a
little, and one of his hands slid up to rest on my shoulder, his fingers
hanging there and his palm resting against the top of my chest. He was the
lightest bit shorter than me, so that when we kissed he had to lean up a
little and I had to angle my head down, and I felt like I could feel him
straining toward me, reaching out with his lips to show me how he felt. He
wanted me. My mind spun at the concept, as if it was too good to be
true. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. Why else had he brought me
upstairs? Why else, right now, could I feel his whiskers rubbing my chin,
scraping against the skin just above my top lip? He wanted me, wanted to
touch me and kiss me and do things to me, and I wanted him to. All my
doubts were pushed out of my head right now, all of the things I was
worried about. Right then, the two of us could have been the only people in
the world.

That bedroom was the entire universe.

Casey stepped back, pulling away from me, and I felt like my whole body was
deflating.  Well, maybe not the whole thing.

"You'll lose my place," he said, gently tugging the book and the dollar
away from my fingers. I watched him set it carefully back onto top of the
stack, and then he turned back toward me. "My last name is Robertson, I'm
nineteen years old, and my aunt and uncle told me to stay here as long as I
need to. Does that answer enough questions for now?"

Yes.

No.

I don't know.

How could I even begin to answer that? I didn't know what we were about to
do, what it meant or how important it would be. I didn't know where he was
from or why he was here or why he wanted me when someone who looked like
him could have anybody. I knew that he was clean, but why had he been
tested? I knew that he was nineteen, but what had he done in that time? I
knew his last name, but what about his family? Who were they? Who was he?
Why was he here and not with them? What kind of timeframe was as long as he
needed to? Would he be gone next week? Next month?  Tomorrow?  And what
about what he had said downstairs, about what he thought I was going to
say?  Where had he heard it before? When? From whom?

The movement of his arms snapped me out of my thoughts, and I blinked as
his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up over his
head. He shook out his hair as he tossed the shirt aside, flinging his head
back once to shake the hanging bangs out of his eyes, and I wondered if it
was a pain in the ass having longer hair like that, or what it would feel
like to run my fingers through it slowly, playing it out between them
rather than gripping it tightly like I had last night. His chest heaved a
little in the bedroom, broad and tan, everything I had seen already that
day in the driveway, everything I had thought about. My eyes darted over
the ripple of abs, running up the thin trail of dark hair to his navel,
sliding over the curves of his pecs as they pressed outward, fanning down
from his shoulders, capped by brown nipples that stuck out a little, the
tips hard. My eyes slid up to his and saw him watching me, watching my eyes
take him in, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a slight smile.

I liked what I saw, and he liked that I liked it.

"Come here," he said, softly, standing barefoot in his shorts. "Come over
here, Nate."

I went.

I hadn't seen his chest up close before, except for that time in the
driveway, and then I had been afraid to look too long, afraid to let my
eyes travel it and explore it and engrave it into my memory because I
didn't know what he was thinking then or really even what I was thinking
then, but now I apparently had permission. Now I could see that his chest
wasn't just built, but defined. The muscles in his pecs were almost
striated, like the ones in an anatomy diagram, and this close to him his
tanned skin looked almost translucent, like the muscles were about to burst
from underneath. I could see now that there was the slightest dusting of
dark hair between his pecs, not more than a handful of strands, total,
right at the bottom of the crease between the two fanlike slabs of muscle.
This close, I could see the way his nipples puffed up from the aureole
around them, the way they pressed out in little nubs like pencil erasers.

This close I couldn't see anything else but his body.

I stood in front of him with my mouth hanging open, my eyes wandering
across the hills and valleys of his torso, like it was the first time I'd
ever seen him, and he was content to just let me look. As my eyes traced up
his neck, following the lines that angled past his adam's apple, the place
where that husky voice I was growing so fond of originated, I finally found
his again, and I blushed as I realized that he'd just watched me fondle him
with my gaze. I felt my cheeks start to redden, and I started to turn away,
but his hand came up quickly, catching my jaw.

"Don't," he said softly. "Don't, it's ok. This is what you want,
Nate. Don't be afraid of it."

"I'm not afraid," I said, but it wasn't true.

I might not have been afraid of what was going on, afraid of what I wanted,
but now that the time had come and we were actually here and he really did
want me, I was afraid of doing it wrong. What was I supposed to do now? Was
I supposed to kiss him again?  Were we supposed to tear each other's
clothes off, roughly gabbing each other like last night? What did two guys
do together? I knew, in my head, the basics of what was involved. Guys who
said they had no idea what gay sex was all about were full of shit, lying
to protect themselves or their self-image or whatever else, because it
wasn't possible to not know what two guys could do and how they did
it. That didn't help me, though. I had no idea of how to actually give a
blowjob, or, Jesus, did I have to let him, oh my God was he going to fuck
me?

My whole body tensed at the thought, my ass clenching at the idea that he
might put himself inside me. I knew that it was supposed to feel good in
some way, or guys wouldn't keep doing it, but he seemed so big, so
hard. Wouldn't that hurt?  And what were we supposed to do before that?
Just strip down and get on the bed and let him, let him do that to me?

"Hey," Casey said, letting go of my jaw, touching the side of my face
instead. "Don't be afraid, please, Nate. I know you're confused. I know you
came over here to talk to me about it and that there's a lot of stuff going
through your mind right now, and I want to help you."

"By taking your shirt off?" I blurted skeptically. He snickered, too, and
it broke the tension between us. My body started to unclench, but I still
wasn't sure of what, exactly, I was supposed to do now.

"Well, no," Casey answered, still smiling. "I took my shirt off because I
want to be with you, but I told you, we aren't going to do anything you
don't want or aren't comfortable with. Now, what do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure," I answered, leaning into his hand. God, he was touching me.
He had his hands on me, and his voice was so soothing, and so close, like
his body, so close, right up near me. My heart was thumping and my knees
felt like they were about to give out and I had no idea what to do but God
I wanted him so bad I could taste it.

"When you watched me," he coaxed, leaning in closer, his bare chest
pressing against my shirt, his lips right near my ear, sliding over my skin
as he spoke. "When you stood in your window and watched me in the driveway,
when you watched me leaning over the car, standing there in my shorts,
letting all of that water run down my body and letting the sun beat down on
me, what did you want to do? When you were hiding behind the curtain,
watching me, with your cock in your hand, what were you thinking about?
What did you want to do with me while you were stroking yourself, while you
were pushing your hand up and down your hard, throbbing cock, while you
were jerking all of that cum out of your tight balls and spraying it
everywhere, what did you want to do?"

His breath was hot on my ear, and I let out a soft whimpering noise as he
licked my ear, his tongue sliding up the curve of it from my earlobe and
all the way over the top. His voice, those words, his tongue, my cock.

"What did you want to do to me?" he asked again, his hands lightly stroking
the tops of my shoulders. He caught my earlobe in his teeth and tugged,
nibbling, and I felt myself throb in my shorts.

"I," I stuttered. Words. Words needed to come out of my mouth now. "I,
Casey, you."

Yeah, I was doing a great job of talking. Maybe when I was around him my
brain just didn't get enough blood because it was all in my dick. My dick,
the hard one in my shorts. In my head I had a weird thought of just
throwing myself against him and rubbing on him until I came, until it
exploded out of me, but I couldn't string it together. He wanted to know
what I wanted, and I wanted to cum, with him, right now. Now!

"Do you want to touch me?" he whispered, nuzzling the side of my neck now,
his head pushing my head aside so that he could kiss, light, firm little
kisses on the spot behind my ear. "Is that what you wanted? To touch me, to
put your hands on me?"

"Yes," I panted, feeling like I was about to drop. I realized that I was
trembling, that my whole body was shaking, and as he kissed my neck,
scraping his teeth along my skin, sucking lightly but not hard enough to
leave a mark, my head dropped backward so limply that I thought I might
fall over. Casey had both hands on my back, holding me up, pressing me
against him, and I felt like I would have melted into a puddle on the floor
without him. Then again, without him I wouldn't be in this condition to
begin with.

"Touch me," he sighed. "Touch me, please wherever you want to."

Leading, not forcing, Casey tugged me toward the bed, walking backwards,
keeping me in the circle of his arms. They were strong around me, firm, and
I could feel his biceps flexing as he held me up and move me
forward. Somehow our legs, sliding against each other, his calves dancing
over mine and the hair on his legs brushing against the shorter, stubbly
hair on mine where my swimming shave was growing in and needing to be cut,
managed not to tangle with each other even though neither of us were
looking down at our feet. I felt his heart thumping against mine and
realized that he was excited, too, that he was as worked up as I was. Even
if I couldn't tell that way, I could feel his cock, his hardon, firmly
pressed against mine. Instinctively my hips thrust against him, rubbing my
dick against his, and he let out a low noise of pleasure, almost a purr,
against my neck as he pulled me down onto the bed.

The breath rushed out of both of us as we fell, me landing on top of him,
his legs coming up on either side of me, and he pulled back, looking up at
me as I stared down into his deep blue eyes. His hair fell back behind him,
spreading like a halo, and his hands rubbed up and down my back. He leaned
upward, his face reaching toward me, and I dropped down, pressing my mouth
to his, letting him push his tongue inside of me.  God, he was hot. He
tasted like warm chocolate, candy, maybe whiskey, maybe just him.  Whatever
it was, I wanted more, and I suddenly became the aggressor, jamming my
tongue into his mouth, seeking it out, tasting him. His thighs were on
either side of my hips, squeezing together, and one of his hands slid under
my shirt, wrinkling it upward as he slid it along my back, caressing me. I
hummed into his mouth, groaning, and felt his chest vibrate as he groaned
back.

His chest. I had permission to touch his chest.

He wouldn't have to tell me twice. Still kissing him, I sort of rolled onto
my side, still between his legs, trying not to pin his arm under me as I
propped myself up on one elbow. I brought my free hand to the center of his
chest and just rested it there for a minute, feeling him. His skin was so
soft, smooth like velvet, and that little patch of hair was like a wisp of
silk. He was warm, as if his tan had stored the sunlight and was radiating
it back through my fingers, and I felt him stiffen as I slid my hand over
and rested my palm over his rubbery hard nipple. It tickled the center of
my hand, sending a shiver through me, and then slid my hand down to let my
fingertips play over it. I caught it between my thumb and forefinger,
testing it, finding out for myself that it wasn't firm or rubbery but was
instead somehow both. It felt just like mine did, sort of, but at the same
time felt completely different, and I noticed when I pinched it that
Casey's back arched, pushing his chest against me.

"Oh, Nate," he sighed, closing his eyes.

As I slid my hand back over his chest he tensed for me without being asked,
flexing his pec, and I held it for a second, savoring his strength. His
skin was soft, but underneath he was so firm, so hard, like a coiled up
spring about to burst out. I still couldn't believe I was touching him,
touching the body I had stared at and fantasized about and lusted over.  It
was everything I'd thought it would be, but was also something more. Not
only that, but I was touching another man. I was doing what I'd thought
about for most of my life, what I hadn't wanted to admit and had tried to
tell myself was just a phase and what I'd tried to push deep, deep down,
below everything else. I was touching another man, and I liked it. All my
life I'd felt like I had to deny it, but here was the most beautiful man
I'd ever seen, laying under me, giving himself completely to my whims,
telling me to do whatever I wanted.

Looking down at him, his head thrown back, breath hissing a little through
his teeth, all that hair spread around his head on the sheet, I understood
for the first time in my life what the word "erotic" really meant.

I ran my fingers over his arm now, touching his bicep, feeling the way
everything fit together. I traced over his forearm, feeling the light
webbing of hair, watching him shiver as I touched the inside of his elbow
and ran one fingertip across his wrist.  I touched his palm, running my
hand over it, sliding my fingers through his for a second and smiling when
he gripped them, letting go the instant I started to pull my hand back.  He
had calluses, and I was certain I would find them on the other hand, too,
if I touched that one.  I wondered briefly where they had come from, what
kind of work he'd been doing to get them, but then I remembered that there
were other, more important things to think about.  If he was going to
completely surrender to me like this, then I could finally touch his hair.
I could run my hands through it and fan it across the table and smell it
and whatever else I wanted to do, and that was a hell of a lot more
important than wondering what he'd been doing for an after school job.

My hand danced back up his arm as I slid off of him, still propped up on my
elbow but laying alongside him rather than inside his legs as I had
been. He lowered his knees, stretching his legs out, but still kept his
eyes closed as I ran my hand over his neck, feeling him breath, feeling his
pulse, feeling his throat vibrate as he made a soft moaning, whimpering
noise. I ran my hand over his jaw, feeling that stubble again, letting it
rasp against me as he nudged his head into my palm, nuzzling against me. I
smoothed over his forehead, up his temple, and then my fingers were in his
hair. It was as soft as I thought it would be, as soft as I remembered from
last night, but this wasn't like it had been then.  Last night I was just
using it as something to grab onto, something to grip while I pulled his
head closer to me, but now I let it trail through my fingers, playing with
the ends, brushing over the curling tips that curved outward at the
ends. Casey sighed, his whole body sinking into the bed.

"You like that?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair over and
over, pulling them through it softly.

"Yes," he breathed, still not opening his eyes. "I like everything you're
doing."

"Nobody's ever let me touch them like this before," I half-whispered. Both
of us were quiet, speaking in hushed tones, like we were afraid of breaking
a spell.

"Whatever you want, Nate," he repeated. He trusted me completely, even
though he barely knew me, and that made me even more secure in my feeling
that I could trust him.

I stopped touching his hair, reluctantly, already counting the minutes
internally somewhere until I could run my fingers through it again. I'd
never really been a hair person, never been one to notice a girl's hair
unless there was something really wrong with it, but his hair just
fascinated me. All of him fascinated me, though, and I caressed his face
again, feeling the strong bones underneath. I ran my thumb over his lips
and they pursed, kissing it. As I rubbed it back and forth, he continued to
kiss my thumb, and then his lips parted, and I slid my thumb inside. Casey
sucked it into his mouth, rubbing his tongue over it, nursing on my thumb
the same way he hand nursed on my cock last night, and my hips lurched
involuntarily with the memory. I pulled my thumb out and replaced it with
my index finger, lightly pulling it back and forth in his mouth, and he
wrapped his lips around it in a tight ring, humming contentedly and working
it over with his tongue, and I couldn't help but groan, too.

I pulled my finger out, feeling him suck at it, and let it slide down over
his chin. I drew a wet line with the tip of my finger down his neck,
through the hollow of his throat, and down the center of his chest. As it
went lower I replaced it with my whole hand, touching him with my palm
again, and I rubbed across his abs. He sucked in his breath when I slid off
of his pecs, venturing lower than I had before, and his abs tensed, locking
up into a washboard grid of firm muscle. I traced along his side, touching
his ribs, outlining his abs, and then traced a circle around his navel. He
had a little innie belly button, but I was more fascinated by that trail of
hair under it, and I ran my finger up and down it, listening to him inhale
and exhale each time I got closer to the waistband of his shorts. I wanted
to touch him there, too, but wasn't sure if he was giving me permission for
everything. He said to do whatever I wanted, but did he mean that, too? I
let the tip of my finger trail under his waistband, realizing with a start
that he wasn't wearing any underwear, that he was completely bare beneath
the baggy shorts.

"Casey, can I?" I asked, wanting to.

"Let me," he answered, sliding his own hands down his body.

I pulled my hand back, watching, as he unfastened the button at the top of
his shorts, and then reached for the zipper. As he pulled it down, I saw
curls of dark brown pubes, and I felt my pulse start to race in
anticipation. Casey lifted his hips as he tugged the shorts down, his eyes
still closed, and then he kicked them off as his hard cock burst into view,
slapping against his abs. I gasped as he lay back, the shorts making a soft
rustling sound as they landed at the foot of the bed somewhere, and I
realized that Casey was breathing a little faster now. He looked relaxed
before, but now that the shorts were off I could see that my wandering
exploration of his body had left him extremely excited.

It's not like I'd never seen a penis before. I had one, and Sam had one,
and my roommate at college and the guys on the swim team and lots of other
people I knew all had one, but this? I'd never seen a hard cock before,
never seen one up close and throbbing and leaking. As I watched, a
glistening drop of precum leaked out of the end and hung there, waiting,
but I was too busy taking in the whole to dwell on just one part.  Casey
was bigger, bigger than me but not unnaturally freakishly large, and
thick. His cock lay against him, but not flat. It curved outward, and then
back in at the head, and arc of hard flesh crisscrossed with veins. In
sharp contrast to the rest of him, with that all over brown bronze tan, his
skin beneath his shorts was a stark white, not unhealthy or chalky but a
translucent alabaster, and I found myself running my fingertip over the
tanline on his hip as if I could feel it. I was so close, but hadn't
reached all the way over, hadn't touched him yet.

Like I said, I'd seen a lot of cocks before, but his seemed to fit him. He
was a big, strong, manly type of guy, and this was definitely the kind of
piece that I imagined would be swinging between his legs, but still I was
almost in awe of it. It wasn't just the size, or the large pair of balls
hanging beneath, dusted with more of the dark hair that covered his
groin. It wasn't just the head, wide and pinkish, almost a dark red, with a
deeply cut slit in the end from which a steady stream of precum was now
leaking, dripping into a small puddle on his lower stomach. As I stared at
it, at him, at the secret heart of him, I realized that he was like this
because of me. He was hard because I had been touching him, because I was
close to him, the same way that I was hard whenever he was near me. I did
this to him. I was the reason why he was almost panting as I ran my finger
back and forth over his hip, I was the reason he sucked in another sharp
breath as I dropped my hand to his thigh, feeling the muscles bunch. His
legs were falling open because my hand was there, and he was leaking that
precum, that slick, sticky looking thread, because of me.

I was doing this to him the same way he had done it to me, and I wanted to
do more.

"Casey, can I?" I asked again, leaning in close to his face. We both knew
what I was asking for.

"Yes," he answered. His voice was tight, pleading, taking on a whining tone
I'd never heard before. He needed me. He had offered himself to me, to help
me with my needs, and now he needed me to touch him. "Please, Nate,
please."

I fastened my mouth over his as I leaned over him, my tongue and his
fighting against each other, sliding over each other like snakes wrapped my
hand around his shaft. Oh, God was he hard, harder than he'd looked,
somehow like a bar of steel wrapped in more of that soft skin. He was cut,
but there was still a lot of loose skin there, a lot of folds and silky hot
velvet for me to hold onto. I pulled his cock away from his body, getting a
feel for the thickness, for the weight, for just the fact that it was there
and it was hard and it was in my hand, and he continued groaning into my
mouth as I began to slowly pump his cock, not touching the head but letting
my fingers jar against the ridge where it met his shaft, hitting the bottom
of it. I'd jerked myself off enough times to know how to do it, to know
what felt good, and I wanted him to feel that way now.

He was hard, because of me. He was throbbing in my hand, because of me. I
rolled my hand over the head, slicking it with the sticky, steady stream of
precum pulsing out, and I knew it was all because I was turning him on this
much, because I was working him over.  His eyes were still closed, but now
they were squeezed shut, and his groans into my mouth were coming faster
now, more urgent. His knees started to bend, raising his legs a little, and
his hips started to push back against my hand, thrusting his cock in and
out of my grip. I felt my own balls tightening up, felt my body tensing,
but I wanted him to get there first, wanted to bring him to the same kind
of place he'd brought me to last night. I wanted him to let go, to spill
his seed, to feel himself released and complete. I wanted to show him how
much I wanted him, how much I needed him, too, and I wanted to give him the
kind of pleasure he'd given me. I felt like I had to, to make up for what
I'd done afterward last night, to make up for the way I'd made him feel. I
wanted him to understand that I did want this, and that I wanted it with
him.

"Unh, Nate," he grunted, pulling his mouth away from mine.

I looked down, my eyes running the length of his body, and saw the muscles
tensing, the cords in his throat tightening up, the pecs heaving, his
nipples hard, his abs crunching up as his knees came together, and then a
thick spray of cum splattered out of his cock. I watched the head swell,
darkening almost to crimson, and then thick white cum gushed out onto his
abs as he let out a sharp cry, throwing his head back into the pillow. I
let out a grunt of my own, squeezing him harder than I'd intended to as I
throbbed.  After the first burst, his cock kept throbbing, the lips
pressing open as they let out another stream on cum, and then another. Both
of us were panting, our breath mixing, sweat dripping from my forehead onto
him, and then his eyes popped open, staring into mine.  He pressed his
mouth against mine again, kissing me hard and deep as he grabbed my hand
with his, stopping it from jerking him anymore.

I didn't resist as he pushed me onto my back, and then he was grabbing at
my shirt, pulling it off of me and throwing it somewhere. So much for the
neat bedroom. I gasped as I felt the warm sticky puddle on his stomach rub
onto mine, and then his hands were scrambling at my shorts, fighting them
open. He reached down and gave my cock a squeeze through the fabric, his
hand pressed against the wet spot, and it was my turn to groan, almost
coming in his hand right then before he even got me free. I inhaled
sharply, my hands clenching into fists as I fought to hold it in, to keep
myself from going over the edge, but if he touched me again I wasn't going
to last very long.

"You need it, don't you?" he panted, finally getting my shorts open. He
grabbed them and my underwear together and jerked them down, sliding
quickly down the bed as he tugged them off of me with the same rapid haste
as my shirt. "You need it now, don't you?"

"Yes," I answered, feeling his breath on my thighs. "Yes, God, yes."

Casey was on me, then, his mouth on me, my cock pushing into his mouth as
he sucked at the head, but I was too far gone to savor the feeling. He
sucked once, twice, washing his tongue over it, and then I tensed up,
feeling myself let go, wanting to warn him but unable to even breathe. He
seemed to be expecting it, swallowing as he kept a hand wrapped around my
shaft, pumping every drop out of me, sucking hard to get it all until I
gasped and begged him to stop because my head was too raw, too sensitive to
feel his tongue scooping every drop out of my slit like that. He kissed his
way back up my body, running a hand along my torso, and stopped as his face
hovered above mine. I opened my eyes, looking into his, and knew what he
was waiting for.

Reaching up, I grabbed the back of his head and pulled it down to me,
bringing our mouths together again. I wasn't going to push him away this
time. I tasted his tongue, tasted the inside of him and a thick, salty
taste that could only be the cum he'd just swallowed, but this time I
didn't care. I knew what I wanted, and it was this.

He collapsed against me, panting, our naked bodies entwined, the cum from
his chest smeared onto mine, and I let my eyes fall closed.

***

To be continued.