"Full. Strange. But not bad. Just... different."
"Good. I'm going to move now. Tell me if it's too much."
I start a slow rhythm, pulling out and pushing back in, just shallow movements at first. His breathing changes, becoming deeper, and I watch his face for any sign of discomfort. But there's nothing but curiosity and growing pleasure. His eyes are closed now, his lips parted, small sounds escaping with every slow stroke.
I add more lube, making sure everything stays slick and easy, and then I crook my finger slightly, searching. And searching. And searching. And then—
"Fuck!" His back arches clean off the bed, his whole body going rigid for a second.
I grin. "Found it."
"What—what was—" He can't seem to finish the sentence.
"Feels good, right?"
"Feels—oh God—" I stroke over it again and he makes this choked sound, "—mmmmm."
I work him slowly, carefully, making sure to brush against that spot with every stroke. His cock is leaking, creating a smallpuddle on his stomach. Every time I press against his prostate, his dick jerks, another drop of precum forming at the slit.
"Devon, I—" He breaks off into a moan when I press more firmly.
"Yeah? You what?"
"I don't know. Just—fuck—don't stop."
I have no intention of stopping. He takes it so well, his body opening for me, accepting the intrusion. The slide is smooth and wet, and I'm completely mesmerized by the sight of my finger disappearing inside him.
I set up a rhythm, fucking him slowly with my finger. His cock is twitching now, jumping against his stomach, and he's making these continuous sounds that are the hottest thing I've ever heard.
"You're so gorgeous like this," I tell him, and I mean every fucking word. "Taking it so well. Being so brave."
"Not brave," he gasps out between breaths. "Just really want this."
"Yeah? You like being fingered? Like having something inside you?"
"Jesus, Devon." He breathes. And then, "Yes."
I speed up slightly, my finger pumping faster, and his hips start moving on their own, fucking back against my hand, chasing the sensation. He's completely lost in it now, whatever inhibitions he had earlier completely gone. His hands are fisted in the sheets, and his whole body is trembling.
I watch him, completely mesmerized. This powerful man, this athlete who can check people into boards and skate circlesaround opponents, reduced to a shaking, desperate mess by my finger inside him.
"I'm close. I'm so fucking close."
"Not yet." I ease off, lightening my touch, and he whines.
"Devon, please. I need—"
"Patience," I say, even though my own cock is throbbing now.
I keep him right there on that edge, working my finger inside him in a slow, steady rhythm that's just enough to keep him desperate but not enough to push him over. Every time I feel him getting close, I back off, changing the angle or the pressure, keeping him suspended in that perfect space between pleasure and release.
"Please," he begs, and the word comes out broken. "Devon, please—"
His whole body is trembling now, a fine sheen of sweat covering his skin. His cock is so hard it looks painful, flushed almost purple, and it's twitching with every press of my finger.
I shift my body weight to one knee, then the other, just enough to slide my boxers off with one hand. Then, I lean forward, shifting so that my hips are aligned with his, my free hand wrapping around both our cocks, pressing them together. The contact makes us both groan—him from the sudden pressure, me from finally getting some relief. I stroke us together, my hand sliding easily with all the precum we've both leaked, while my other hand keeps working inside him, fingers curving to hit his prostate with every thrust.
"Oh fuck," he gasps. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—"
