In Five Words or Less

“Five words or less.” Steely-soft are his words. Twilight shrouds us. In the shadows he stands. I shift to one side.”Tell me. Five words or less. Why you want my ass.”

I say nothing. No need. Cocky bastard. Smells good, though. Like vanilla, and citrus. Soap, and a good scrub. My head tilts. My mouth meets his neck. Stubble rakes his skin. He gasps, resistance breaking.

I liked his face. Online, he’d seemed fresh. Unbroken. Maybe even naive. Corruptible, a little. Broad shoulders, muscular chest. Blond—the natural kind. Smooth and shaven. Tall. Lean. Blue-eyed. Definitely young. A surfer boy. A suburban skater rat, maybe. In person, he was nervous. Trembling, a little. Determined not to show it. I tell by his eyes. How wide they were. His lips, tight, part again. “So tell me. In five words or less.”

So cute. He thinks he’s in control.

I’m way ahead of him. My fingers nip his buttons. They part, then give way. His shirt escapes his shoulders. It brushes the floor. Fingers on skin, stroking, slowly. His back. His neck. His sensitive sides. Gooseflesh bursts beneath them. Like flowers, those bumps swell. They bloom in long trails. My fingertips travel further. Pause. His pants, unbuttoned, fall. He’s helpless to protest.

Right hand cups his ass. I pull him forward. He wants this. Needs to be commanded. Left hand pulls his head. Our lips meet. We kiss. Slowly. His lips are full. Wet. They taste sweet, like candy. Perhaps mints in the car. The flavor lingers between us. He’s hungry. He wants more. I can tell. My tongue enters him. His muscles relax. Slowly. Bit by bit. He gives in. Takes what he wants.

I tweak his nipples. He gasps. He’s not used to that. Once again I twist them. Firm, but not vicious. He keeps kissing me. Whimpers, a little. Like a puppy.

Hell, he is a puppy.

I still haven’t spoken. He hasn’t asked more. Over the bed he goes. On his knees. Butt up. It’s a beauty. Astonishing, even. An exercise in perfect geometry. “Oh god,” he whispers. Is it prayer? Or a more earthly plea? Or is it my mouth? It still laps away. Long, languorous licks. My tongue teases him. Relaxes him. Opens him. He still smells fresh. Still soapy. Still corruptible.

I take my time. There’s no rush. No place to go. No where to be. Only here, and now. Licking at him, cheeks parted. Those smooth, round globes. All mine. I know it now. I think he does, too. I could plunder him. Or keep it sweet. My choice.

I choose plunder. I slap his ass, hard. The sound slices the night.

His back arches. His handsome head flies back. That pretty mouth gapes. It’s involuntary now. He’s all reaction. Reduced to instinct, and heat. Nothing else is left. Not for him, anyway. He shudders. I’ve bitten his cheeks. Over and over I nibble. I might leave marks. He won’t see them. It doesn’t matter, anyway. He wants it. He wants more, too. That’s what his breathing means. It’s shallow, and quick. The pants of an animal.

My dick is hard. Cement solid. No give to it. A steel rod, for fucking. I spit. Wrap my palm and stroke. Now it’s wet. And ready—so ready.

I give him his words. Five of them. No more, no less. Right into his ear, whispered. “Because you want it, fucker.”

His head drops. Hangs low. That’s what he gets. Cocky bastard.

And then I enter.