Dear Sir

18, 5’6”, 160#, bottom.

The profile text is splayed across a photo of a bubble butt hugged by skimpy black cotton.

Fetishes: Hung cocks, hard cocks, cum, daddies.

Into: Oral (give only), fucking.

I absorb the slight information. It’s the sight of that ass that makes me click on the dialog bubble, where a red dot indicates a message. Very little gets my attention more quickly than a pretty ass, particularly this early in the morning. My hunch is that this kid knows how to show off the goods. It’s a suspicion corroborated by the series of photos with which he’s chosen to kick off our interaction: another of his butt and lower back, this time displayed in a pair of tight gray trunks that fall lower and lower around his thighs until they disappear altogether. The final pic is of the lower half of his face. The boy’s mouth is open, tongue out. His skin is pale as bone china; his lips, the prettiest shade of pink.

My juices are already flowing. I love what I see, so far. Then I read the message beneath the several photos he’s sent. Interested in a tight virgin ass…?

Ugh.

No, I’m rarely interested in a virgin ass, especially the tight ones. I know some men salivate at the thought of a young cherry, ripe for plucking. The thought of it makes me deflate. I’ve had my share—and then some—of first-timers. I know how quickly downhill that scenario often goes. It’s all giddy anticipation and pleasure on both sides until the moment comes to slide into that unused hole. Then, no matter how gentle and solicitous a lover I am, it’s complaints and whining. Kids these days have been watching internet porn before they even figure out masturbation; they imprint on experienced models who take monster rods without so much as a change of expression. They see holes opening to accommodate tops with horse-sized dicks, and assume their own puckers will magically blossom the first time they’re opened.

And the thing is, holes usually don’t work that way. They can, certainly. Over time and with practice, they will. But with virgins, the one thing that attracts them to me—the size of my dick—is usually the biggest impediment to anyone’s pleasure. Admiring sighs of It’s so huge! turn quickly into whines and complaints of It’s too huge! 

I don’t get off on inflicting pain. Deflowering virgins is very low on my list of enjoyments.

Listen, I tap back to the kid. You’ve got an amazing butt, but I’m usually too large for inexperienced hole.

His reply arrives in seconds. Thanks!! Hmm, I’m down to suck you and try fitting it in and if it does I’m sure it’ll feel great! I wish I had his confidence. I’m sure he’ll be howling once I’m in past the head. But before I can reply, he sends me another photo. This one’s of him completely in the nude, shot from behind. He’s kneeling on a mattress, legs spread, ass prominently on display, balls hanging heavy on the coverlet. Above the smooth cheeks rises his torso, back arched, his narrow waist rising to broad shoulders.

I feel my breath catch, a little. You truly are beautiful, son.

Thank you!!! Love that big cock, too. Don’t you want to be my first?

I’m a weak man. The triumph of that ass, so artfully on exhibit, has eroded my good judgment. Or nearly has, at least.

I do, I concede. But I really don’t want to hurt you. Sorry.

He doesn’t reply immediately. That’s okay. I almost expect no reply at all. A few minutes later, though, I check back to see another message. I got it. Can I ask something, though?

Sure, I tell him.

I would like you to reconsider your decision, sir. Can I file a formal appeal, with your permission?

My lips quirk upward on one side to the unexpected response. He’s managed to disarm me. I’d been so ready to dismiss the kid before, to shunt him into the expansive bin where mentally I toss all men whose appetites outsize their actual capacity to follow through. With this single twist, though, he’s made me curious to know more. What did you have in mind?

If you share with me your email, you’ll see. I hesitate long enough that he follows up with the promise, I won’t abuse it, sir.

It’s pledge enough that I take the chance and send him the address.

You won’t regret it. You’ll see.

Hours pass. By noon, I stop expecting an email. What would it have contained, anyway? More photos of that round little bubble butt? Maybe a video of the kid jiggling the jelly for the camera? I don’t know. I’ve forgotten completely about it until the late evening, when I crawl into bed and try to settle down for the night. I make one last check of my email. Only one subject line leaps out: I hope this is you. I read it through, several times in succession, clearing my throat repeatedly.

Dear Sir,

I hope you will consider this my formal appeal to your decision not to take my virginity. My reasons are as follows.

1. You are hot af and basically my dream daddy. Looking at your pics makes my insides gooey and I really want to look in your sexy blue eyes when you open me up for the first time. I don’t want to settle for anyone less and that’s a fact.

2. I know you are SO BIG and I am a virgin but I have a dildo that I’ve been working on myself with, so it won’t be exactly like I’ve never had anything up me before. I have been wanting big dicks in my hole for a few years and I finally am ready to do it, and I want to do it with you. (See #1.) Also I have watched videos and know how to get everything clean so don’t worry about that.

3. I promise to be obedient and do everything you say.

4. If I cry or complain and get on your nerves, I give you permission to slap it out of me if you’re into that.

5. I know you must get a lot of guys hot for you and your big dick (see #1 again) but I will be worth your time. I will focus on you and your big dick and what it wants and needs and not worried about mine. In fact I don’t care if I get off at all. I just want to make sure daddy enjoys himself in my hole.

6. I know that I have picked the right man to do the job. You look like you know what you’re doing (which is important!!) and I am guessing that you’re really a decent man as well. I am not looking to marry you (yet, lol!) but it would be really nice to have my first time with a guy who is going to treat me okay and I think that will be you.

7. By the way I am not a total virgin, I have sucked two dicks before and think I am pretty good at it, it’s my hole that’s virgin. Hopefully not for long.

8. If you don’t like me when you show up, you can just walk out.

9. I don’t intend for you to have to go to any trouble or expense to make this happen, because that’s not right, so I will schedule it to your convenience and pay for a room to meet. I would even pay for an Uber for you so all you will have to do is show up and fuck.

If you have any questions just ask me and I will tell you anything. I hope that I have eliminated any doubts about my qualifications and sincerity to serve. I am happy to submit any supplemental materials you require but mostly I just want to submit.

Thank you, Sir. I the undersigned attest to the best of my ability that all the above information is true and I anxiously await your response.

Please reconsider.

Jason

The kid has made only one miscalculation: I never merely show up and fuck. I’m in a darkened room of a mid-grade hotel chain adjacent to the freeway, my ass squeaking across the faux leather of its single armchair. Legs spread, my chin rests on the back of one crooked index finger. My free hand drapes across the denim of my jeans. This boy stands a few feet away from me, shyly twisting his naked torso, waiting for instruction.

I remove my finger from under my chin, point it to the ceiling, “Turn.” The soft syllable shatters the silence. “Show me.”

The boy obeys. From the moment he opened the hotel room door, a few minutes before, his sole instinct was to hurry. He needs to be taught restraint. When he’s lunged, I’ve pulled back. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it at my pace. He’s picking up on my cues, though. Now, at my whispered command, he hesitates. A hint of smile crosses his lips. His shoulders twist first, as his puppy brown eyes continue to watch me. Then his hips follow. When he faces completely away from me, he turns his head to look at me once more.

I nod. Slowly. Deliberately. Signal my approval with a lick of my lips. I’d already made up my mind to stay, the moment the kid had greeted me at the door. He’s got the All-American looks of a small town athlete—the tousled, sun-kissed hair, the square jaw, the Clearasil complexion. He’s short, but with a wrestler's build. I make it clear to him that I won’t be up and leaving, by kicking off both my sneakers. They join his t-shirt on the carpeted floor, near the dresser. “That’s a good boy.”

“Thank you, sir.” His voice is deep. Husky with desire.

I can sense he wants to lunge at me again, but it’s not yet time. “Socks.” He’s in such a hurry to hook them with a finger and rip them off that he hops on one foot and nearly topples over. “Slow,” I remind him.

He understands. He props his behind on the mattress. Leaning over, maintaining eye contact, he removes them one after the other, waiting for my approval. I nod at last, then signal for him to stand once more.

Around his narrow waist hug a pair of ridiculous boxer shorts imprinted with anime characters I don’t recognize. They’re the only article of clothing he has left. “You want to take those off, don’t you?”

The boy has his thumbs hooked beneath the band, ready to plunge them to the floor, before he remembers our unspoken game of Simon Says. “Do you want me to?”

I don’t answer. I signal he should turn again, then fold down my fingers. He bends to show me his ass from this new angle, supporting himself with his hands on the mattress. “You understand what’s going to happen, if you do.”

His catch of breath is unmistakable, in the room’s quiet. “Yes sir.”

“What?” I ask. “What’s going to happen. Say it.”

Looking at me from beneath his armpit, he rasps out, “You’re going to take my virginity.”

“I might.” Boys work harder when they’re given a carrot on a stick as guidance. “You know what that means, though?”

He hesitates, so badly wanting to provide the correct answer. “Tell me, sir?”

“Stand.” He obeys. When his arms unconsciously cross his body, it’s as if he’s ashamed of his nakedness. The real nakedness on display, though is his desire for me. I can see it in the way he hungrily looks me over, up and down, as I sprawl, relaxed in my chair. I can see it in the way his lips waver, in his posture, in the tent of his shorts. My own pants are becoming tighter at the sight.“Very nice, son.”

“What does it mean, sir?”

I crook a finger and beckon him closer. My hands grasp onto his hips and turn him around. I cup one of his cheeks; it’s a meaty handful. “If I decide to fuck you,” I say in a voice so low that he bends to hear, “if I decide, it means that you are going to do everything I say without question. If I decide to fuck you, you will listen, and speak when told to.” 

“Of course.” His hand flies to his mouth as he realizes he’s already made a mistake.

“If I decide to fuck you.” Repetition of the conditional sentence has hypnotized him into a glassy-eyed state. “It means you’ll have my big, fat cock shoved deep in your guts. It means I intend to fuck you until I shoot deep inside you. It means that you’ll be giving up your hole for my use. My enjoyment. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He can barely whisper his response.

“I didn’t hear you.”

The second attempt is stronger. “Yes, sir.”

Our eyes lock. I wait for a very long time before saying, “Take down your shorts. Slowly.”

He steps back, eyes watering and full of adoration. In this moment, the boy wants nothing more than to please. Head turned to observe my reaction, he lowers his boxers, inch by inch. There’s a moment when the elastic can no longer contain the restrained flesh; his bubble butt pops out over it, cheek by cheek. My gasp at the sight is genuine.

Our eyes lock again. He’s pleased at my reaction. “Spread your legs.”

His thick thighs spread apart as he separates his feet. Once again he grabs the bed’s edge, this time arching his back to show off the goods.

A soft sigh escapes my lips. “Beautiful.” I haven’t given him permission to speak, but mute gratitude fills his eyes. Every boy wants to hope he’s pretty, and this one truly is. I want to remember forever this moment, this perfect symmetry, this ideal application of the Euclidian geometry of globes. “Show me.”

He understands the command. His hands reach back and pull apart his cheeks. I see a whorl of sandy hair protecting his pink little hole. This time, I grunt. My mind might have been made up, minutes before, but from this point on, there will be no stopping me.

He doesn’t expect my hand on his naked flesh when I kneel on the floor behind him. “You have a perfect butt,” I whisper. My lips graze the porcelain-smooth skin; where it traces, my breath leaves in its wake a trail of goose flesh.

“Thank you,” he gasps, falling onto his elbows.

I cup his balls in my long fingers. He doesn’t shave them, but he’s fair-haired and smooth enough that they seem almost hairless. At my touch, the boy’s thick stub of a cock, rock hard, jolts into the air then flops back down to rap my knuckles. My nose nuzzles between his cheeks. Deeply I inhale, relishing the scent of the soap he’s used not too long ago. His thighs tremble as I pull apart those thick handfuls. Once his ass is open and the hole exposed, I lap out with my tongue, teasing the tip against the wrinkled pinch of flesh that aches for attention.

It’s not long before he’s prone on the strange mattress, ass high in the air, legs spread wide. His hands clench the hotel pillows and pummel them into submission; he bites hard into their foam depths to silence his roar. I know it must feel good, this first-ever phenomenon of mouth against hole. Never will he forget the sensations of wet tongue, of soft lips and the curious incursion of my fingertips, nor the abrasion of my beard against his butt, the scrape it between his thighs, as I lick and kiss and chew on his sweet pussy lips. I grind against the bed’s corner, uncomfortable in my jeans. I like this contrast, though, of his nakedness and of me in full attire—if anything might reinforce his vulnerability, it’s the fact that I could rise and walk out of this hotel room right now, and abandon him in this state of confusion and sheer need.

I have no intention of going, though. I stand and remove my socks. Undo my belt. Unzip slowly, letting the sound fill the room. Let my pants drop to the floor. I’m wearing a short-sleeved camp shirt that I unbutton slowly. He’s not watching, but he can hear the sounds as I disrobe. It excites me, knowing he’s picturing the scene in his mind and anticipating what’s to follow.

By the time I wrench down my trunks, I’m already hard and wet around the tip. My knees separate his thighs as I crawl up on the bed. The big head of my cock is already oozing precum when nudges his cheeks. “Oh fuck,” he says aloud, in a shocked voice. Clearly, the reality of the situation is dawning upon him. It’s one thing to dream about a big dick snaking open your tight hole. Being poised moments away from it actually happening is something else entirely.

“You understand,” I say, perched above him, “what I’m going to do to you.”

I’ve got my serious face on. My eyebrows stay in a raised position as he pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at me over his shoulder. The kid is damned fine. Those slightly pouty lips, that pert nose, those liquid brown eyes framed by the longest lashes I’ve seen on a boy in some time—he’s a Renaissance sculpture come to life. “I’m worried it’s going to hurt,” he says in a soft voice.

I nod. It may. “This is what you wanted, though,” I remind him. “You still want it. Don’t you.”

It’s less question than confirmation. He nods. Eyes locked with his, I stick my thumb between my lips. Swirl it around. Get it good and wet. Pull it back out again, glistening, and apply it to his ass. The hole parts to accommodate it as he lets out a little gasp. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

I continue staring. Rotating my wrist, so that the top half of my thumb palpitates his hole. I allow myself to crack a smile. “You really need it, huh?”

He grins, then exhales a column of air when I push in a little deeper. “Yes sir. I really do.” I nod, still staring into those eyes. “So, are you going to fuck me now?”

“You will know when I’m about to fuck you.”

Because now is not the time. My plan is this: to draw out the build-up to the deed as long as possible, before consummating the act. That part will come. Oh yes. But this is what he’ll remember for the rest of his life: being told to strip, to show off his beautiful body. Being touched. Licked. Admired. Savored and appreciated. When in the future he masturbates, thinking of his first time, he’ll remember how deliberately paced was my deflowering. In another forty years, when he’s my age, maybe he’ll be thinking about the man who made it good for him, that first time.

That’s what he deserves, this trembling boy, whose hips gyrate with need, whose dry lips try to work out words as he experiences all these new sensations for the first time. A good memory. A good story to tell, even if he’s only repeating it to himself for years to come. He could’ve chosen some big-dicked asshole to pop that cherry, someone to spit and shove and stumble out into the night ten minutes later. He’s chosen me, though. To reward him for his exceptional taste, I’ll treat him right.

Which means that soon he’s ass-high again, with my mouth gnawing at his pucker. I stroke his boy dick, slick with what leaks from its tip, while he thrashes and bucks on my face. I seize his balls and tug to make him gasp; I spank his butt, just to see the reddening print of my hand across its white expanse. When he’s beyond words and the only sounds erupting from his chest are instinctive groans, I flip him over, hang his head from the bedside, and slide my monster into his mouth. He might have sucked two dicks before mine, but clearly no one’s taught him how to do it correctly. A little coaching, though, and I’ve got his lips wrapped around his teeth, his hands on my ass, and his throat opening to take me.

The kid loves it, too. Soon he’s deep-throating me like a pro, not even choking much. Feral snarls punctuate his efforts. Already he wants it harder. Deeper. More. I let him worship my dick. He holds it between prayerful hands, pulling me into him whenever I tease at depriving his young mouth.

But eventually, once I’m assured he’s worked himself into a cock-hungry frenzy, I step back. Tug him up onto the bed. Rest his head on the pillows. Once more I position myself between his legs and bring my face close to his own. The boy’s eyes are watery from the prolonged deep-throating. There’s slobber all over his face and chin. Hell, there’s probably liquid snot from his nose there, too. His bee-stung lips quiver, wanting to be put to use. “I am going to get your hole all slick with lube,” I tell him, low and slow. “We are going to make sure you are so, so wet and ready. Once you are, I’m going to take this big cock. I’m going to rub lube all over it until it’s pretty and shiny. Then I’m going to slide it deep into your boy hole. Understand?”

The kid takes a giant sniff and tries to collect himself. “Yes sir,” he says. There’s love in those eyes. This is the moment he’s wanted for—well, who knows how long.

I don’t often use the colorful plastic lube injectors I keep in my collection, but they’re handy for cases like this. They’re shaped like syringes, but with a nozzle at the tip where a needle might go. While he watches, I pull out the plunger to fill the pink tube with goo from a bottle by the bed, then use my thumb to prepare his hole for the invasion. He must have been telling the truth about using a dildo on himself, because he takes the few inches of narrow plastic into his hole without so much as a complaint. The lube is cool from sitting out on the bedside table, though, so he hisses when I inject it deep inside his guts.

“Hey.” I’ve positioned myself atop him. The snout of my dick knocks against his ass, requesting entry. The kid has his face buried in the pillow. He’s even pulled the sides up around his ears. It won’t do. He’s not going to get knocked up while blind and deaf. “Hey,” I repeat. “Look at me.” His jaws is slack and his eyes mere slits when he obeys. “It’s time, son.”

Now, I kiss him.

It’s the first time our lips meet. Not once had he expressed an interest in making out with me, but once our mouths connect, he turns over and wraps his arms around my neck as if he intends never to let go. Hungrily he opens for me. I expand my embouchure until my mouth surrounds his entirely. My tongue probes, unlocking flesh with flesh, inserting itself deep.

As above, so below. He doesn’t even realize my cock’s inside him until the halfway point, when suddenly he clamps down with a cry.

“Sssshhh,” I tell him, kissing his sweet face. “You’re doing great.”

“You’re inside me.” It’s equal parts terror and boast. “Oh my god,” he whispers, relaxing slightly. “You’re inside me.”

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. I laugh a little. “I’m inside you.”

“Oh, fuck! You’re inside me.” Just when I think that maybe, maybe, we’ve established that I’m inside him, his head lolls back. “Fuck me,” he whispers. I can feel from the way I’m already sliding deeper that he’s loosening up once more. “Sir, fuck me.”

We’ve somehow gotten ourselves into an awkward position, during our tussle; he’s got one leg pinned to my chest and the other against the mattress, halfway between lying sideways and on his back. Without pulling out, I maneuver us until we’re both spooned and on our left sides. I’m all the way in, now. When I make an experimental gyration, then a slight thrust, he responds with a soft, happy murmur.

This is how his first fuck goes, then, with my arms around him and my chin nestled on his shoulder, peppering his neck with kisses. “Does it feel good?” I whisper in his ear, from time to time.

Always, his answer is, “It feels amazing.”

“Do you love it?” I ask.

“I love it, sir,” he’ll respond each time, shivering as my hands slide softly up and town his torso, across his tender nipples, down his hips.

Most important, when finally I ask, “Are you happy?” his response is a purr of contentment. He reaches behind, over his head, to pull me in for another kiss.

I take my time in my hole. When he’s ready, I make my strokes longer, so that he might relish the sensations. At several points, I take his smaller hand in my big one, to draw it back so can feel how hard he’s made me. His fingers dance along the length of my shaft and even probe the point of connection at which it plunges into his own hole. “It’s so big,” he marvels, more than once.

There’s a dreamlike quality to the entire encounter. It transcends the squalid setting of the hotel and the steady drone of traffic on the highway just beyond. We are both in this humid room yet also nowhere on earth, so completely wrapped up in each other are we. There’s no world beyond the horizons of our merged flesh, no sensations not aroused by our hands, mouth, and my relentless dick. He dances to the rhythm of my thrusting, hips moving with mine; I set my pace to the small, animal noises emanating from his parted lips.

“You’re not a virgin any more,” I tell him as I come closer to my climax. His response is a loud groan as statement’s truth hits home. “And you know what?” To a response that’s one elongated vowel, I whisper in his ear, “I’m going to reward you by shooting my load deep into that tight little hole.”

The hole in question tightens for a second, but I’ve anticipated his response and driven in deep. “Pwee,” he blurts.

It’s close enough a sound to please that I assume he’s asking for it. “Is that what you want? My cum in your guts?” He attempts to nod. “Dad’s load, knocking you up? That’s what you want?”

“Oh please.” I’d been correct. His eyes gloss over as he gazes into mine. He manages to moisten his lips. Sighs. “Make my hole yours.”

“This is what you wanted,” I say, shifting him so I can drive home with more vigor. “You wrote me the sweetest letter, asking for it.” I’m excited now. My cock is a poker left too long in the fire, and I can scarcely tolerate how it burns. “I don’t like disappointing a pretty boy like you.”

“No,” he says, seeming to agree. He can’t summon a coherent thought to save his life.

“You want it,” I remind him.

“…want…”

“You want it bad.”

“…bad…” he echoes.

Once again I kiss the back of his neck. “Here it comes, son.”

I don’t so much pound his butt as lunge into it. Great long thrusts, punctuated with strains and pauses, until at last the pressure builds beyond bearing. I flood him with my load, searing his insides with what feels like lava. I hear him call out, am aware of his hands pulling me deeper into him, holding me there. Together we buck, and thrash, and cry. I hold onto him for dear life, and find myself squeezing him hard when the sensations recede. For a long time we lie there, until the ringing in our ears dims, and the sounds of the highway and footsteps in the hallways outside ebb back into consciousness. His hands still clutch at mine, where I hold him around the ribs.

And then he bursts into tears.

I’m horrified. In my post-ejaculatory low, I run through all the terrible things I might have done. I’ve hurt him. I’ve made him bleed. I ignored cues, pushed forward when he wanted me to wait. Maybe he’d wanted a six-packed muscle porn star for his first time, but he’d had to make do with my sorry dad bod, and only now is the gravity of that poor choice sinking in. I hadn’t expected tears. I don’t like hearing them.

But I don’t leap from the bed in horror. I don’t shove him away. He’s still holding my hands, after all. I hug him close, and kiss his shoulders. “Hey,” I say, in the consoling voice of a puzzled father. “Hey, now.”

A sob catches in his throat. He sounds inconsolable. Though I worry, I hang on through the storm.

My forearm is soaked when at last he subsides a little. Then, he hiccups. It’s a comic enough conclusion to the episode that I chuckle a little and try again. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“NOTHING!” The word erupts from deep in his chest, so loud that it makes my ears ring.

“Okay?” I don’t understand.

“It was AMAZING!” On a dime he’s turned, from sorrow to—I’m not sure what this emotion could be. Relief? Astonishment? He sniffs deeply to clear his nose, then frees himself to wipe the tears from his face. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Talk to me,” I urge.

My cock is slopping out of his hole with a wet squelch. He waits until it hits the sheets with a thud before flopping onto his back. “I thought it was going to hurt bad,” he says in his everyday voice. “I thought I’d have to beg you to take it easy. I was gonna buy this stuff that numbs your hole, but then I thought that if it numbs my hole it’d probably numb your dick too, and I didn’t want that, so I was just going to put up with the hurt, but—fuck!” He’s all adolescent energy, now, ready to bound to his feet or bounce on the bed or run in wild circles to work off his excess energy. “It’s like I didn’t even feel it.”

“Sooooo, you’re saying I've got a tiny, toy-sized cock,” I drawl, with good humor. “Well, I’m sorry I don’t have a baseball bat-sized dong for a bottomless hole like yours, now that you’re a seasoned pro and everything…”

He gives me a light punch to the chest, then snuggles into my embrace. “No, seriously. You just made it feel…”

“Good,” I supply. He nods. “Well, I’m glad of that.”

He’s managed to defuse my worst apprehensions. I smile, happy at his mood. I can once again relax with the boy in my arms. “But why,” he asks, sniffing as he snuggles close. I shake my head, not understanding the question. “Why’d you make it so good?”

What's he betraying, with that question? That for years he'd anticipated nothing but the worst from his first fuck? That interactions with other men had left him expecting no more than the bare minimum—and maybe not even that? The answer is simple, though. “Because you deserve it.” My eyes close as I speak in a low voice. I hope he understands I'm being honest. “First time or not—you deserve it.”

Let him take that away, as the lesson.

“Thank you,” he says in a very small voice.

“Besides,” I say with wry candor. “That letter you wrote was fucking charming. That’s why.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle. Then I recite, in tones that are only slightly mocking, “Dear Sir. I, the undersigned…”

He interrupts my teasing by digging his fingers into my rib cage, forcing me to break out into defensive laughter. “It worked, though,” he grouses, before slinking down between the sheets to encircle my cock once again with his mouth.

“Oh, it truly did,” I sigh, as my cock stiffens once again.

Soon, neither of us are thinking about that letter at all.