Vince positioned Matt face-down on the bed, arranged a pillow under his hips, then crawled in between his spread legs.
Vince started with Matt’s taint. Licked it. Nuzzled it. Took long, deep laps of it with his tongue.
Matt squirmed with pleasure. Spread his legs further. Relaxed his glutes as Vince prised them apart and worked his tongue towards the hole.
Matt yearned to play with his cock. Wanted to stroke it while Vince tongued his hole.
He couldn’t reach his cock, though. It was trapped beneath him. And, besides, he needed to save his spunk for Vince’s ass, the whole flip-fuck part where Matt would get to top.
This was a night of many firsts for Matt. First-time being buzzed, which unmoored his inhibitions and set him adrift on a sea of bliss. First-time being rimmed, which probably wouldn’t have happened without the buzz. He would have been too worried about odors or even dingleberries. Would have been twisted up in his own mental baggage about masculinity, worried that he was losing his by being “the girl.”
First-time with a complete stranger. Matt had had sex with five other guys. All of them were his fellow students at MCU, fellow members of the GM. Trusting Vince, whom Matt had only just met, whose last name Matt didn’t even know—trusting this stranger to lick his way inside him, required a new level of courage.
First-time with condoms, which was both scary and exciting. Condoms were the necessary evil that offered a frontline defense against the death sentence that was HIV-AIDS. That was a sobering thought.
Vince used the considerable strength of his arms to spread Matt’s ass cheeks wider. Worked his fingers into the crevasse. Pulled at the edges of the hole. Stretched it. Licked and teased it.
“Let me in,” Vince whispered. “Relax.”
Matt felt a wet, slick thing slither into his sphincter, flick the inner skin.
It was an intensely intimate feeling, this first tongue inside him. Kind of a Neil Armstrong man-on-the-moon moment.
Matt giggled, not certain whether it was because of the whole moon/mooning connection or because Vince’s tongue tickled inside him in a rutty way.
Matt’s head was on the bed, his vision restricted. He sensed Vince’s reaching for something, heard lube being squirted, felt a finger ease inside him. Finger and tongue were both in there now, probing.
Matt moaned.
“Keep your head down. Arch your ass up,” Vince coaxed.
Matt did as instructed, assumed this most-vulnerable of positions: head down, arms stretched to support and balance the head, legs bent and splayed, ass arched upward, inviting penetration. He was trussed for spit roasting. All that was lacking was an applein his mouth.
He tensed, suddenly remembering the only other time he had been in this position. Adrenaline rushed through his veins. His heart pounded.
Vince sensed the change. Removed his finger. Bent down to look into Matt’s eyes.
“Everything okay?” he asked. “We don’t have to do this, you know.”
That was all it took for Matt to put the fear behind him. Vince could be trusted—unlike the youth pastor who had raped him.
Matt smiled woozily. “We’re good. I want you inside me.”
A few minutes later Vince applied the condom to his cock, pressed the tip to Matt’s hole.
Matt had only bottomed one other time—for William, whose cock, like Matt’s, was dwarfed by this Goliath dick, this Paschal candle compared to Matt’s pillar-sized one.
“Take a deep breath,” Vince said. “Now, slowly exhale as I push into you.”
There was some pain. How could there not be? Vince’s cock was an eighteen-wheeler going the wrong way through a single-lane country road. Going the wrong way, reversing course, then ramming forward and denting the guardrails. Backing up. Gunning its engine and spinning its wheels as it fishtailed into another rail.
Matt’s prostate was collateral damage, although it wasn’t complaining. To the contrary, it cheered every fast and furious moment.
Vince hunched over Matt, held his shoulders to minimize the recoil each time his rig bottomed out.
Matt grunted with the force of each thrust. He understood now why William had described Vince as breathtaking. That was certainly one word for it.
Vince talked while fucking, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, his being a performer and all. Still, Matt had not encountered this phenomenon in his five previous hookups and was at first disconcerted by the running commentary on how tight his hole was. How it clamped onto Vince’s cock. Stuff like that.
