Ten days. Ten days I hadn’t shot. Piece of cake, I’d thought originally. With the holidays, with family continually around, with school out and something on the agenda every day, with seeing friend and never having any privacy, it would be easy to save up for ten days. Right?
Well, the first three days were fine. I was busy. Always on the go. Never alone. The week after Christmas wasn’t entirely bad, at first. There were sales that needed attention, still parties to plan for, shows to see. The closer my date to Kent came, however, the tougher it became to keep my mind off him. Off what I intended to do to him, when the moment came. I’d climb in my bed at the end of a long day. I’d slide between the rich flannel warmth of the sheets, pull them around me, turn out the light. Then I’d start seeing his sweet face in my imagination. Hear his voice. Feel the warmth of his lips on my skin. My cock would grind fruitlessly into the mattress as I’d close my eyes and begin to dream of Kent. When I’d wake up, I’d still be hard and wanting him.
Torture. Absolute, fucking torture.
The day before our scheduled meeting was even worse. All I could think about was fucking his tight hole. No matter how unromantic, how unerotic or mundane the circumstances, all I could do was think about my best boy and I, alone in his apartment, fucking like dogs. I carried my dick hard in my jeans for the better part of the morning; it flopped around in a state of turgidity for the afternoon, stimulated by the least thought of its use.
I am having a very, very, very, very hard time today holding off for another 24 hours, I finally texted him.
Some say the journey is the reward. Most of the time I agree, Sir, he replied. Right now I don't. Filling my hole with your seed and owning it is your reward.
That didn’t help.
Will you make a promise to me about tomorrow? I texted him back.
I tapped out my thoughts. In the heat of the moment, I am going to want to shoot inside you quickly. I need you to promise to help me resist that temptation. Because I want to experience and relish you before I let loose. Promise you'll help me remember this resolution tomorrow.
A moment later, his reply. I can do that, Sir.
He’s a good boy. Does what he’s told. I like that.
So this is exactly how it has been going down. I’ve tried my best not to act like a savage. Even when he welcomed me into his apartment, though all I wanted to do was shove put my hands on his chest and shove him down to the floor, to mount him, to take him with no preparation, no lube, no foreplay, I greeted him like a gentleman. I set my shoes neatly on the front mat, dropped my coat and my bag. I’ve made out with him. Reacquainted myself with his lips, with the warmth of his smooth skin, with the smell and taste of him. I’ve listened to his contented little sighs as my hands have slipped down the back of his pants to cup his ass, as my fingers gently massaged the pucker of his hole.
“Take off your shirt for me,” I tell him.
He struggles to his knees. Begins to lift the fabric of the T-shirt hugging his muscles. “How do you want me to do it?” he asks me. He has a lazy smile playing across the roundness of his lips. I can tell, as he speaks, that he’s trying hard to remember his promise to me. “Just . . . take it off? Or should I do it in a sexy way. . . ?”
I erupt with a little laughter. “Just take it off.”
So he stands on the mattress. Grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up might and over his head. Then he extends his palms to the ceiling and writhes there, stripper-like for a minute, looking any place but in my direction. “What are you doing?” I say, laughing with affection. “You’re showing off for me.”
“A little,” he concedes, grinning.
This time, when I speak, it’s a little raspy. “Get down here,” I order.
“Yes, Sir,” he replies.
I get his pants off. Turn him over. This time, I set loose my inner cannibal. For the better part of a half-hour I consume his hole. I salivate at the sight of it, I chew it, I slobber over its length. My tongue forces its way in there. He’s gasping at the other end of the mattress. Clutching his pillow like a little boy. Burying his head in it. I know it’s extreme pleasure he feels—I know my skills and how they work on him. In the mood I’m in, though, if he had been in pain, I wouldn’t have given a shit. Cock demands what it demands. And mine is heavy and ponderous between my legs, demanding satisfaction. It’s drooling, it’s leaving a trail of slime on the blanket he’d spread so neatly over the site of our coupling. My cock has been waiting for a week and a half to plunder this hole. One way or another, it means to take its due.
He pushes me off him. It’s difficult, but he manages. He looks me in the eyes. His eyebrows are raised slightly. I know the expression. It means he’s humored me long enough, indulged my whim, but now he’s done with it. “I know what I promised you,” he says. “But Sir, I think it’s time.”
“It’s time,” I agree. My jaw is protruding. My face is covered with the smell of him. I feel like a brute from the savaging I’ve already given his hole.
Then he speaks again. “Will you allow me to sit on it?” he asks. “Please, Sir? Allow me to work it with my ass? Please allow me to milk out that first load? Please let me make you come that way.”
I consider. I want to mount him and make him submit. I want to fuck him like I’m raping him. But I nod, and sigh, and allow him to push me back against the pillow and the headboard, and take control.
I feel the cold of the lube has he reaches down and behind to apply it to my dick. My dick’s head slips up and down his crack as he maneuvers another payload of the stuff to his hole. And then, a moment or two later, I’m in. He’s sliding down my pole as he pulls apart his own ass cheeks. All I’m conscious of is the sheer heat of him, the warmth of his flesh as it wraps around me and engulfs me to the base. That beautiful face of his breaks into a smile the moment he’s managed the feat. He’s surprised at himself yet again for managing it. He’s relieved it’s in.
But mostly, for a naked moment, he’s happy. That’s the biggest compliment he can give me, that smile. He’s at his most himself, and where he wants to be.
I am too.
I let him ride. He gains in confidence the longer I’m in there. It’s not long before he’s sliding up and down with vigor. Every time he reaches the top of my dick, he squeezes with his hole. It gives the head a little extra sensation. I know I must be leaking precum like crazy inside him; the longer he rides, the slicker he gets.
The entire time, he watches me. He judges my reactions. He adjusts the tempo, the intensity, to match them. He studies me, his eyes boring into mine. At long last I break the velvet silence of our fucking. “You know what I like about you?” I whisper, then immediately correct myself. “One of the many things I like about you?”
He shakes his head. No. He doesn’t.
I allow him to continue drawing quivers from my body as I stare him in the face and speak. “Most guys . . . when they give me pleasure . . . they do it accidentally.” I’m panting, like a man who’s run a marathon. It’s difficult to form the words when all I want to do is groan. I resist being subdued into wordlessness and finish my thought. “They don’t know what they’re . . . doing.” He’s squeezing his hole again, gripping me so tightly I cry out. It’s a challenge to make myself heard, at the hands of such cruel carnality.
“You, though. . . .” I manage to say. “You dole out pleasure almost . . . scientifically.” My eyes are heavy, lidded. All I want to do is sink into a barely-conscious state in which I’m wallowing in the sensuality of the moment. But I need to make my point. “You apply stimulus. You observe the outcome. Judge it. Then you repeat the . . . ah! . . . process.”
He smiles at that. Then crashes down on my dick, swallowing it completely. Cruel fucker.
“You know exactly what you’re doing to me.”
He nods, admitting it.
I have to stop his assault on my cock. I raise myself to my elbows, still him with a palm to his chest. He rests on my dick, not moving. Listening to what I have to say. “You even knew we’d end up here—with me craving you like this, with me needing you so badly—you knew we’d end up here from the start. Didn’t you? From that first message you sent me?”
After a moment, he nods. “I suspected we would, Sir. Yes.”
I have to know. No, I need to know. “How?”
By way of reply, he looms over me. Puts his hands on either side of my shoulders, so that he’s looking down into my face. “I had an intuition.”
Straight into my eyes he looks. “Because you are such a beautiful man. And I wanted you.”
From deep within rises a rose of a blush, red and thriving. I feel it blooming all over my body, blossoming from the base of my spine up and down every limb. It enflames every square inch of my body, taking me aback. I seize his words gladly. I don’t fret about if I deserve them. I don’t repay generosity with disrespect by batting them away. I take the compliment, and let it enhance the sensations already overwhelming every nerve ending in my body. Knowing it comes from a beautiful man with a beautiful soul helps me relish it all the more.
“You make me feel. . . .” I can’t find the words. There are no superlatives superlative enough. “Magnificent,” I tell him at last.
He pushes me into the mattress. I’m submerged beneath increasing waves of pure sensation. I never want to rise up, never want to breathe lesser air, not ever again. Then, just before I drown in his pleasures, I hear his last words. “I only bring out magnificence that’s already there. Sir.”
“Come with me,” I order. His eyes widen. “You’re going to shoot with me,” I tell him. I struggle out from under him. Pulling out from inside him is a shock to both our systems; we fit together too well to be apart for long. I flip him onto his back. Shove the pillow beneath the small of his spine. Then I shove my inches back into him like the savage I can be, not caring for his pleasure, but whimpering for the sake of mine.
It doesn’t take long. I hit the button inside him that sends the electricity shooting to his cock. Again and again I ram it, as he spreads his legs wider. Deeper I plunge into him, making my mark on that hole that’s already mine. My boy’s breathing comes faster and more shallow with every thrust. “Oh god,” he moans.
When we come, it’s together. I’m vaguely aware of his spasms beneath me, but mostly because they contribute to my own orgasm. Every pulse of his body grips my cock, pulls more juice from it. My forehead bangs his wall. My ten-day load erupts almost painfully from my body, leaving my nuts feeling as if they’ve ejected molten lava. They feel distended yet empty, as if their shrinking will leave the sweetest ache. When I look down at Kent, I see his torso glistening.
Two men, covered in spit and semen. Two men, smelling like the beasts they are together.
Two men, bringing out magnificence in the other.