“This is all I want,” are the words he says as he falls to his knees.
His eyes implore me for the permission he knows I’m going to grant. I nod. His fingers race to unbutton my jeans and tug down the zipper. The bedroom is cool. Gooseflesh covers my thighs. Each hair is a miniature flagpole atop its own mound. I clear my throat. “What is it you want?” I ask.
“Your manhood in my mouth,” he pleads. “Just to service you the way you need.”
He’s pretty. Clean-cut, shaved smooth, worked out. He’s arrived in athletic gear, as if he’s expecting a workout. I run my fingers through his chestnut hair. “The way I need?”
“The way you deserve.” My hard cock is still contained in its pouch of cotton. It’s positioned just above his face. All he’d have to do is lean forward an inch to touch it. So far, he hasn’t allowed himself to do so. “You deserve worship. You and that dick deserve a boy who worships you.”
I nod. That’s right. At moments like these I don’t have to indulge in false modesty. He and I both know we’re beyond it. I could deny him. I could pull up my pants and let him dream forever of how close he came to getting what he wanted.
But I don’t. Instead I hook my thumbs into the elastic of my shorts. My cock springs out, free of confinement. I hear the man hiss and sigh at the sight of it. “So beautiful,” he says, with the reverence he knows I crave. His fingers moves up, half-turned, half-open. But his eyes are locked onto mine. He looks like Adam, on the Sistine ceiling, reaching for the hand of God. “Please let me.”
I nod again.
He doesn’t waste a moment. I’m already half-leaning against the foot of my mattress. He pushes me back onto the bed and ingests my cock in one gulp. The length doesn’t even give him pause; I feel his throat open and take me in as if he’d been planning the maneuver for months. Maybe he has.
His eyes are closed. He’s making satisfied noises to himself as might a baby with a pacifier. His hands knead at my thighs as he nurses me like a starving kitten. Slobber is making his chin shiny. He doesn’t care how he appears. All he cares is that I feel good.
His eyelids fly open. He looks at my face as his tight lips slide up and down my meat, watching my reaction, judging his own performance. My own mouth is dropped a little, working from side to side. This guy is good. Really good. He knows exactly how much pressure I like on the head, which parts of the shaft are most sensitive. Where to give that extra little attention. Little smiles are crossing my lips. I give him the slightest of nods to continue. After a long time, I ask him, because I’m curious, “Are you happy?”
“Yes!” he responds with a rush of air to his lungs. “Fuck yes. This is perfect, you are perfect, this cock is just what I wanted.” He takes another slurp to the base, nuzzles my pubes, and comes up for air again. “I bet you get a lot of men wanting this cock.”
I nod. It’s the truth.
“So I’m just another cocksucker to you,” he says. His pupils are dilated with sexual excitement. “Just another hole for your member’s pleasure.”
I know the answer he wants. “Pretty much.”
I can smell his spit on my engorged flesh. He’s positioned beneath it, looking up at me like a supplicant. “I figured.”
“Does that offend you?” I ask. I already know the answer.
“Noooooo,” he breathes. “Fuck no! I am just so fucking lucky to be one of your holes.”
“Damn right,” I tell him.
I drag him up onto the bed, where he lies between my legs. He’s still in his Under Armour top and his sweatpants. I see his round ass shoving roughly into the mattress as he spears himself with my dick, taking it down to the base and pushing to get even more.
“Keep doing that,” I say, scratching his scalp affectionately, “and you’ll be one of my regulars.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He pushes me back against the pillows and lets me sink into them as he, in turn, forces my dick to sink even more deeply inside his gullet. I watch as he loses himself in sucking my cock, loses himself in the raw sensations of my hard shaft sliding in and out between his lips. His pleasure in service is taking him beyond the humdrum of his everyday life, beyond fantasy, beyond all his worldly cares and regrets and worries. My cock is his present, his past, and his future. It’s all he cares about. All he needs. It’s all he wants.
My orgasm starts more as a painful itch than pleasure; it builds to a seething boil, a hot desire to rid myself of it at any cost. I grab the back of the cocksucker’s head and hold him down. His cheeks bulge; he looks up me with rheumy eyes and a red face that darkens the longer he’s deprived of air. My dick pulses and throbs and lets loose my load.
He’s close to choking, but he knows his duty. Not until he’s gulped down every drop does he allow himself to drag air through his nostrils into his starved lungs. Not until my cock subsides and softens slightly does he even allow it to slide out of his throat. Then with respectful lips he cleans my cock, careful of the sensitive bits. When he withdraws his mouth, he’s panting.
“Maybe you’d like to be one of my regular cocksuckers,” I tell this handsome man, as he looks up at me once more with those green eyes.
“Please,” he says, even more aroused at the thought of a repeat performance. “If I did good enough work, sir. Please.”
“You did amazing work,” I’m barely able to whisper. “You’ll be back.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s your cock that’s amazing, sir.”
I nod, and sigh, and relax. He’s not wrong.