My brows lift.“You want to learn?”
He nods slowly.“I want to get good.I’ve never… really done it before.Not like that.”A beat passes.His fingers fidget with the edge of his towel.Then, bold but unsure, he asks, “Could I practice on you?”
His voice wavers, just a little.Not performative.Not some cocky setup.He’s askingfor help.Like he trusts me to be honest and patient.This isn’t about getting off, it’s aboutgetting it right.
I study him.He’s not trembling.He’s not scared.He’swanting.Curious.
And I’m already hard.I glance down the hallway.It’s empty.Booth curtains drawn.Lights low.Then, I look back at him.
“If we do this,” I say, voice even, “you listen to everything I say.You go slow.You stop when I tell you to.Deal?”
He exhales as if he’s been holding that breath all night.“Deal.”He nods again, more sure of himself now.Like asking was the hardest part.
I push off the wall.“Come with me.”
He follows, his footsteps quiet behind mine, towel clutched at his hips.The hallway is dim, with lights buzzing overhead, shadows flickering across tile and skin.I hear him swallow, but I don’t turn around.
Room 4 is open.
I step inside first, flip the lock, and let the door close with a soft click.The air changes, warmer, closer, charged with something thick and electric.
He stands just inside the room, watching me.Waiting.
I let my gaze rake over him.Not teasing or gentle.Justseeing.He’s flushed, his chest rising faster now.The towel slips a little as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.It’s clumsy.Honest.And it makes my cock throb behind my zipper.
“You want to learn?”I ask, voice quiet but clear.
He nods again.
“Then watch me first.”
I sit down on the vinyl bench and spread my knees slightly.My palm glides slowly down the front of my jeans.His eyes track every movement like they’re starving for it.Like this is a language he’s dying to speak fluently.
He licks his lips again, unconscious, automatic.“Come closer.”
The stranger kneels between my legs without hesitation.His fingers tremble just a little as he reaches for my waistband.He waits, eyes flicking to mine, asking without words.
“Yes,” I murmur.“Go ahead.”
He peels down the denim slowly, and when I spring free, his breath catches audibly.He stares, not out of intimidation, but awe.Hunger.
The silence between us crackles.My hand finds his jaw, thumb grazing the corner of his mouth.
“You don’t have to impress me,” I say.“You just have to be present.”
Something about knowing he’ll be bad at it makes it so fucking good.I didn’t realize this would turn me on so much, but here we are.
He nods, lips parting.And then he leans in.
His breath brushes my skin first.Warm, a little uneven.Close enough to make me twitch in his proximity, but not even touching yet.
He studies me as if he’s trying to memorize every detail before he even begins.His eyes flick up, checking for any sign of permission or doubt.
I give neither.Just hold his gaze and nod once.
Then he dips his dark head and lets his lips part around me, tentatively at first.Carefully.He’s not reckless.He’slisteningwith his mouth, watching my face like every shift in my breath is another instruction.
He starts slow.Gentle pressure, wet heat, the faint drag of his tongue as he adjusts to the angle, the taste, the weight of my cock on his tongue.It’s not about perfection; it’s the focus that undoes me.The way he wants this to matter.
