I got a chill up my back. I could feel my goose bumps.
“Okay if I touch it?” he said from just behind my right ear.
I couldn't talk. I just nodded a little. I was as nervous as a grasshopper.
His fingertips touched the top of my shoulder and traced lines down my back towards my middle. And I shivered like a horse tormented by flies.
“Flawless,” he said.
I could smell his shaving lotion, spicy and tangy.
He was tilting my head about, his face only inches from mine.
“You smell good,” he said in a hoarse almost-whisper.
“Good enough to eat?” I smart-mouthed back.
“Good enough to get in really deep trouble if you aren't careful,” he said with a grunting little laugh, pulling back. “I'd hate to see you get hurt.”
The ice was jangling, I'm sure. I was trembling.
Was he going to fuck me or wasn't he?
I wanted to see what it would be like. But I couldn't just say that, could I?
Putting the glass down on the table next to the fridge, “You won't hurt me.” I didn't dare look at him when I said that.
“No. Never,” he said.
He was behind me again.
“Will you?” I asked quietly, as I poured tea into each glass.
“What?”
“Show me a little serious trouble?” I asked, topping off his glass, putting the stopper over the air inlet of the tea jar.
“Sure?” he asked.
He knew what I wanted.
He was behind me, a little to my right.
“Yes,” I said without a moment's thought.
I put the teapot down on the counter, making no move to put it back in the fridge.
“Now?” I could feel his breath on the back of my shoulder, just slightly. I teetered, hoping to brush against him.
I had to force myself to breathe so I could respond.
“Yes.”
His fingertips touched me again, reaching around in front this time, lightly tracing the muscles, tense for some reason, moving up to my pecs, to my shoulders. I turned my head around, twisting my body in his arms, and our mouths were only a centimetre apart.
“Sure?” he whispered softly one more time, his sea-green eyes drawing me closer. His hands were on my back, strong yet firm, holding me steady, not pulling me towards him, but keeping me right where I was, gently massaging my skin. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I put them on his hips, my thumbs resting on the belt.
“I.” I stammered. “I want . . .”
“This?” he said in the barest of whispers as his lips closed the gap and landed square on mine.
They were soft, moist, slightly open, and before I knew what was happening, his tongue had slipped through my lips and was exploring my mouth. My tongue caressed his, exploring, just like my hands were all over his body, trying to get under the shirt, touch his skin, feel the heat of him. I managed to get my right hand under his shirttail, exploring the ropy muscles I'd watched ripple under his bronze parchment skin for as long as I could remember, wanting mine to look just like his.
His hands were on my back, holding me to him, not crushing, but immensely strong, reassuring.
The kiss finally broke as we came up for air, chests heaving, pants straining as our things tried desperately to touch the other.
“Yeah,” I said. “That. More. Now.”
I got what I wanted, at least for a minute or two. His shirt came off somehow, and I felt his skin against me, warm, electric, rubbing my suddenly tender nipples into an electric frenzy, as my hands went up his spine, over his shoulders a little, around his neck. Our teeth cracked together at one point, and he pulled away, kissing my face, my eyelids, and my nose.
I was breathing so hard, I couldn't think, and my heart was thumping in my ears.
My shorts fell to the floor as soon as he undid the button, and his fell a second later, his keys jingling as they hit the floor, right next to my bed.
He wasn't wearing any underwear, and I felt his cock snap up against my thigh. He pulled his hips back a little to let it arc upwards, and pulled me back into him, his cock now against my briefs, touching my skin up to my belly button.
It felt huge, hard, and slippery.
I started to say something, but he stopped me with another kiss, at once hard and tender, his lips so soft, and his tongue so insistent. I held him to me, and his hands went to the sides of my briefs, pushing the elastic down, freeing my cock, which snapped up between his legs, stopped in his yoke.
We stood there, for I don't know how long, our mouths making urgent love, my briefs frozen above my knees, his hands all over my back, down to my bottom, massaging, and smoothing, exploring, loving, sending waves of shivers through me.
We started to lean, then fall to my bed, the covers still open where I'd left them when I got up, the cool sheet against my back as he somehow supported me in the fall, gently lowering me, his cock no longer touching me, mine now wedged against his stomach.
He whispered into my face, his breath heavy on my lips as I opened my eyes again to look at him, his beauty, the bronzy aquiline nose, the long dark eyelashes, the flashing green irises. I didn't know what to say. I couldn't speak anyway.
“I want to make you feel better than anyone on earth,” he whispered in my ear, his legs between mine, his elbow supporting most of his weight. “I want you to be mine.”
I wanted to be his, too, wanted him to love me, take me with him wherever he was going, hold me like this until we grew old, and turned to dust.
I felt his thick cock between my legs, under my balls, and suddenly knew he was going to put it in me down there, fill me with it, put his cum into me, deep into me.
I briefly thought of the hurt, then wanted him there, wanted him inside me. My cock throbbed, and I suddenly felt the pang of my insides contracting, ready to spit out my cum.
“Ahhh . . . !” I moaned. “I'm coming . . . !”
He plunged down, and took my cock in his mouth before I knew what was happening, just in time to catch the first spasm, his mouth doing something to it that made my coming more intense than I'd ever felt before, even using warm soap and water or warm cooking oil, up to then the best ever.
I hollered out my release, the feeling so good it almost hurt, his mouth continuing to pull the spasm from me.
It was minutes later, but way too soon over, but he made it up to me, covering my mouth with another of those kisses that raised my blood pressure instantly, my legs somehow around his waist, lifting my bottom towards him, almost inviting him inside.
“Not yet,” he said. “Soon, but not yet.”
I trembled with the urgency of my need to make him come inside, make me part of him, show me what it felt to be loved, and said something like, “Now, Christos. Now.”
He pulled away from me, pushed my legs down, and was suddenly beside me, not on top of me, his cock sticking over my hip bone, pushing under my still-hard erection.
His kiss was back, and his tongue made love to mine, first inside my mouth, then inside his. His teeth felt smooth as oiled glass, the roof of his mouth ridged but smooth in the back. He was moaning with his need. I reached down with my left hand and felt him.
It felt huge, bigger than mine, soft, with skin loose even when he was hard, easily moving back and forth as I moved my hand.
He broke the kiss for a second and looked up over my head, then resumed in the space of a hummingbird's wing beat. His arm reached over me, and I knew it was for the hand cream I kept on the headboard, supposedly for my dry hands, but more to aid my solitary sexual pursuits.
I knew he was going to do it, and felt, good, I guess, glad he still wanted to show me, take me.
He never broke the kiss, even as he turned me a little on my side, my right arm underneath his shoulder, as he popped the top of the lotion and squirted some, a lot, of the cool liquid on my belly, in a pool in the hollow under my button. He put the plastic bottle back on the top of the headboard, and moved his hand to the pool of lotion, spreading some of it on my still-hard cock, and then moving his hand under me, spreading it in the crack of my legs, under my nuts, around my hole, but not in it.
His hand went back for more lotion, and he pulled his hips back a little, his cock slipping out of my hands. I knew he was smearing it with lotion, getting it ready to move inside me, taking his time with me, loving me.
He rolled my bottom half a little further, so my cheeks were almost like I was laying on my side, but my back still flat on the bed, his left arm under my shoulders. I felt his thing move between my legs, warm, slippery, hard like bone.
I broke from his lips, and said something dumb, like, “Take me!” or some shit.
He just kissed my cheek, even as his legs wrapped around my left leg, and he rolled me a little back towards him, his thing now sticking up between my legs, my bottom almost resting on his lower belly.
“I love you,” he said in a whisper.
He began gently rocking, his erect bone moving under my balls, the shaft moving across my hole.
“This has to be special. Slow and special. Just for you.”
I whispered back. How foolish I was. I didn't know what was love, not really. I was in heat, in lust, in thrall, in ecstasy, and I wanted his cum inside me, wanted to feel his thing deep inside me as he spurted like a fire-hose, drowning my need of him, if only for a while.
He moved his hand to my chest, touching my left nipple, making a circular motion over it. His left hand was on my left nipple, his fingertips gently tweaking. He flexed his arm muscle and thus raised my head more to his lips, and my right hand moved up and down his back, over his spectacular backside, over the globes of his cheeks, up to his hipbone, jutting away from his taut body. Chills went through me, the stimulation too much, yet not enough.
His hand with lotion went to my cock, and he grasped it lightly, just at the top, my foreskin in the middle of his palm only. I thrust upwards a little, more to feel his hand on it, and I felt his cock move down and under me, the head now under my balls, almost at the hole.
I wriggled a little, trying to get it in the right place, but he pulled back a little, teasing. I moaned into his mouth my frustration, but he just took my moan and swallowed it, and returned a little moan of his own, his tongue now deep in my mouth, almost to my throat.
We rocked like that for an eternity, a millisecond as my still-hard cock moved in and out of his hand, still only lightly, just enough to make me ever more horny, want him to apply a little more pressure with his hand, speed up a little, make me come again. I knew I could, felt the shivers in my insides that said I was not that far from coming again. If only he would increase the pressure a little.
I felt it right at my hole; pushing lightly then pulling back, in rhythm with me, the pressure always just enough to make me tingle, make me want it inside me, but never enough to really push into me. I tried to push back, but he retreated every time, making me whimper in frustration.
I eventually stopped trying to get him inside, and just let him tickle me, relaxing as the feeling in my cock started to build up.
Opening up to the pressure, I felt the head of his cock pass into me. It didn't hurt at all, just a twinge, a tiny twinge.
“Don't clamp down,” he said. “Just relax, let it come in, really slow. Don't push, either.”
I trusted him, loved him, knew he wouldn't tell me wrong, and let my hole down there stay loose, but not trying to force it out.
We kept rocking like that, my cock moving more and more in his hand, until almost the whole thing was going through it, but he wouldn't increase the pressure, wouldn't bring me off, no matter that I was getting intensely close to the edge. His hand was like smooth feathers, like running water.
I felt full inside, a little uncomfortable at first, but it didn't hurt, just another twinge.
Suddenly, I felt something ripple against the inside, the underside of my cock, but inside me, where I never felt it before, and it happened again and again, building the pressure and I lost it again, my cock exploding in his hand, the white liquid spurting up to my chest, my moan deep inside his mouth, his hand softly coaxing more of my cum from me, more by vibration than by massage. I broke away from the kiss, trying to catch my breath.
“Oh, God!” I whispered into his neck.
“Good?” he whispered, his lips tracing from the top of my head, over my forehead, down my nose.
“I never felt like that before,” I whispered.
“You almost made me come,” he said on the tip of my nose. “Your insides grabbed me like a fist.”
“Can't you come like this?” I asked back, still on cloud ninety.
“It won't take long,” he said. “I can't hold back too much longer.”
“Come inside me, Christos,” I said. “I want to feel you come inside me.”
“I'm not all the way inside yet,” he said. “Stay relaxed.”
I did, and he kept slowly rocking, his hand now gripping my cock more firmly, the strokes getting longer and longer. His mouth went over mine again, and I pulled at his right shoulder with my left hand, urging him deeper into me. He was really stretching me now, as the thick part of his cock gradually forced open a path, and I felt a twinge each time he moved deeper inside me, always with that tingling feeling inside under my dick, but twice, once on the inward once on the outward strokes.
“I'm in,” he said again, and I felt his abdomen tight up against the inside of my right cheek, his legs grasping my left leg in a vice, my right leg hooked over his right thigh. I felt with my left hand, and his balls were tight up against the inside of my left leg, big as golf balls, maybe bigger, soft, his sac full, ready to burst into the opening made by his cock.
“Play with them,” he said. “Roll them around. Let me get ready to fill you.”
I started to speak, but he sealed my lips again with his, and started moving a little faster, not taking it all the way out, only maybe halfway, his balls stretching with each thrust.
I felt his cock, underneath, as it moved in and out of me, amazed that anything so big could fit in there. I was so proud, so happy he was about to come inside me. He gripped my cock more and more tightly as his thrusts increased in speed and length, and his hand moved up and down in perfect rhythm, sending waves of pleasure through me, just as the movement inside me was sending the tingling feeling right to my toes.
I was sweating, just as he was, and our whole bodies, everything, seemed to slide together in time with his thrusts, my bed thumping up against the wall every time he hit bottom, sending more waves back into us.
“I'm going,” he half whispered. “Here it comes!” He took a deep stroke out, and then plunged back into me. “I love you!” he cried, just as he put his mouth over mine again, and I felt the huge head of his thing surge past the tingly spot and I squeezed down to hold him inside me.
From nowhere, from everywhere, I got the feeling all over again, so hard it almost hurt. I could feel my muscles or whatever they are bear down on his cock, and with my fingertips, felt the contraction of the muscles behind his balls as he fired into me, just as he got to the end of his plunge and stopped. I felt him pump into me again and again, even as my orgasm evaporated, probably too intense after too short a pause to last for long.
He stayed like that for as long as he was coming, moving back and forth no more than an inch or two, timing it so that the spurts were always at the deepest part of the movement, moaning inside my mouth, then gasping for breath as the coming took the last of his strength, wrapped it up in his sperm, and sent it into me.