I was talking on the phone to my girlfriend one night. She had been a bit irritated lately because of my lack of attention, and I was trying my best to reassure her.
My stepfather came home from one of his late night meetings. When he walked through the front door, he was exhausted and drenched in sweat. He smiled and waved to me across the room as I sat cross legged on the floor with the phone to my ear. He was heading to the shower.
As it had become a morning ritual, he had sucked me off while I lay in bed half awake. But as always I had been horny all day, especially since we had missed each other for dinner. I put my hand over the phone and said to him as he headed for the stairs, “Don't shower.”
It was the type of cryptic statement that had become common between us in the past few days whenever one of us wanted sex. He stopped, looked back over his shoulder, nodded, and continued up the stairs.
When I hung up the phone ten minutes later, I was already hard. I walked upstairs and found him doing sit-ups on the floor beside his bed.
I stood over him and pulled my shirt off over my head.
When he was done, he stood up and faced me. Then he pulled down his gym shorts and stepped out of them. I looked down at his crotch and saw it was damp and his cock was shrivelled and lying over to the side over his balls. His long wet pubic hair was matted against it.
“Hope you’re not too tired,” I said.
“I'm whacked,” he replied wearily. “But I've got a feeling that doesn't matter.”
“You're right,” I answered moving toward him.
I grabbed the bottom of his shirt and started to pull it over his head, partly.
He pulled his arms down through the short sleeves, but the neck of the shirt never got over his head. I flipped the shirt back over his face, with its neck still around his.
“What is this Klan night?” he said sarcastically. I could see his stomach muscles tighten in a short laugh.
“You got it Grand Dragon,” I said, trying to temper my chuckling with a stern tone.
I grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands behind his head.
Then I paused for a moment and let the new found feeling of sexual domination ripple down my spine until it twitched my cock. It was a welcome friend, first met when I had mustered the courage to fuck him. I liked the opportunity to get to know it better.
He knew I was going to be in charge this time, and I heard a brief sigh leave his lips from behind the cloth that covered his face. He voluntarily spread his legs further apart, and locked his fingers behind his head.
I just stared for a moment and felt my mouth get wet as I looked at him. I could feel the back of my eyes get hot as they searched his body like blue lasers in the dark.
I stepped forward and grabbed his left shoulder with my left hand. At the same time, my right hand gripped his huge left bicep. A quick smile crossed my mind when I realised that I barely had time to curl my lips back before my mouth descended into the thick wet hair of his armpit. I licked this sweaty forest like a kid with an ice cream cone. Then forced my face even deeper, inhaling, and rubbing my nose back and forth.
Loving the feeling and smell. Loving the taste of his running sweat. Loving it, taking it, without hesitation or shame.
I switched to his right side when I was done. Then I raked his chest and nipples with the same blunt ravenous appetite. Long slow greedy licks. The flavour of sex settling deep into the taste nerves at the back of my tongue.
When I was done, I pulled the shirt off his head. I could see the new sweat beading on his forehead, and he looked at me with a welcome, weak grin.
I pushed him towards the bed; he stumbled briefly before collapsing on his stomach in the middle of the big mattress.
While I was taking the rest of my clothes off, I saw him reach up and wrap each of his hands around the spindles of the bed’s headboard and spread his legs.
I loved that he did it voluntarily, without a word from me.
When I got up over him, I reached down and spread the cheeks of his arse. My first impulse was to drive my tongue into that wet hairy crack, but I stopped and just looked down at it. I moved my tongue back and to the bottom of my mouth and let the spit gather.
When I leaned forward and stuck out my tongue it was a funnel. The saliva poured down and coated his crack, and I watched it stream down in slow motion. Surrounding that dark hole like a wagon train waiting for the Indians.
Then it was my fingers for a few moments, then my cock.
Slowly at first, then a strong push. He grunted and whimpered, his head in the pillows and his hands clenching the headboard.
I took him gently at first, leaning forward to lick his back and bite his sweaty shoulders. Then faster, leaning back on my knees with both hands holding his cheeks apart so I could see the delicious damp sight of my cock going up his hole.
I came with a loud yell, and shivered as the cum left my body and entered him. He responded by bucking his hips up to meet me, holding them up in brief rhythm while I pumped down and shot my sperm deep into his arse.
When I was done with him, I just lay on top of him exhausted.
After accommodating my slow descent for five minutes he began to stir. It started as a slow motion that caught my attention because it started to push my cock out of him. I pushed forward to keep it in, and he rose slightly off the bed.
Then he began to move more quickly as he fucked the bed. I joined his movement and rode him carefully, my hands squeezing his shoulders as he shoved his crotch into the sheets.
When he came, it was with a loud sustained groan. I thought about reaching around and feeling the hot cum spurt from his cock, but instead I cupped my hands on his sweaty pecs and let him finish.
Then I pulled out slowly and left him there to sleep.
Sex had settled into our daily routine. He would suck me off each morning, sometimes coming on me as I lay half asleep, sometimes squeezing my mouth open and coming in it.
I never really woke up when he did this. I just lay in that luxuriant state of half sleep and let him use me.
Then in the early evening we would be sucking and licking each other in the living room or kitchen. Often we would do it again upstairs before going to sleep.
It was constant, different each time, and I couldn't get enough. We were acting out every random fantasy that crossed our minds. Most often with barely a word or two spoken. One of us would initiate the action, and the other would immediately respond, knowing their role.
It was as if all our previous competitiveness around sports trivia, sports, arm wrestling, and everything else we competed about had collapsed into a dense critical mass. A black hole, a single focus.
The competition now seemed to be to prove to each other that anything was fine. The loser would be the first one to balk. To hesitate, or question, or say no. But I sensed that this competition also was being acted out within each of us.
We would often kid each other briefly after sex, or the next day, about what we had just done. Kidding, teasing, even veiled compliments at the new act, the new position, the new stretch in our respective ability to act more passive or more aggressive than the other.
But I also began to realise that he had a much deeper well of fantasy and experience to draw on than me. This turned me on at first, but I became aware that I was not as creative as him. I was especially not able to match him at the creative tension we would each try to achieve when one of us had chosen to be the dominant one in our encounters.
This, plus the fact that while he had used my arse with his fingers and tongue a number of times, he had never really tried to fuck me.