The TV screen is bright enough with the red undertones to see me wrap my fingers around my stiff cock. I squeeze at the base and begin to stroke it slowly, and to give him a little more encouragement, I moan, “Mmmmm, fuck.”
I tip my head back, sneaking a side-eye view through the hole again, seeing his shadow appear in front of it.
Internally, I high five myself, but keep stroking my cock in the same painfully, pleasurable rhythm so I don’t do anything that might make him change his mind.
“Fuck, this feels good,” I say, loud enough that I know he can hear.
His body shifts, shining more light into my side and I fear that he’s stepping away. A moment later I hear the dragging of the chair legs against the ground as his body blocks the excess light and I know he’s back watching me again, giving me the adrenaline boost I love from this.
I smile at the thought because I haven’t felt this excited in a long time.
I’m jealous of the high he must be riding. Battling the arousal and anticipation, the anxiety and excitement.
I tug a little harder, fisting the tip of my cock that glistens with pre-cum and use it to coat my shaft, moaning even more.
Closing my eyes and continuing my pace, I imagine all the things he’s probably dreaming of doing to me. Everything that he’s held himself back from and the internal battle of finally letting go.
“Umpf, fuck,” an unintelligible grunt falls from my lips as my eyes burst open to see his hand gripping the base of my cock. His arm is pushed all the way through my side and his fingers are curling into my bare skin, holding me, frozen in place.
My hands still as my mouth falls open and I steady my breath.
Letting go of my cock, it falls forward, and the pre-cum laced tip bounces against my abs throbbing with its own powerful pulse.
His hand is tight and tense at the base. A deep scar in the shape of a checkmark crosses over the top of it. It starts from the base of his thumb, to the corner of his wrist, then drags all the way up to the middle of his pinky.
The olive tone of his skin contrasts harshly against the alabaster scarring. Scars like that have a story. I want to reach out and touch it, trace it with my fingers but my body is stalled, still shocked that he’s touching me.
Instead I inspect the scar and stare at his hand, it’s trembling but firm. The anxiety of his internal battle is palpable before he finally gives in, wrapping his thick figures around the shaft and tugs upward.
“Oh, fuuccck,” I hiss through my teeth.
My hands fly to the sides of the chair as I grip on for dear life.
Jesus Christ, the man’s got a kung fu grasp on my cock. I’m unsure if that’s how he likes it or if his nerves are really taking over.
I’m all for getting roughed up a bit. I tend to be a switch with both males and females, taking control when I need it and giving it up when I want, but the way he’s treating my cock is coming from a place of anger, like he’s hating himself for wanting it.
Clenching my teeth as I suck in some much needed air, I shift my hips and place my hand on his forearm. He stiffens instantly and attempts to pull back but I wrap my fingers around his wrist, gently holding him in place and use my other hand to reach forward and grab the bottle of lube from the shelving next to the TV.
Flipping it open, I drip the cool liquid over my cock before pulling his wrist closer to me. There’s a brief pause in his shaky hand before his fingers wrap back around my slick shaft and I guide his wrist up and down at a medium pace. He’s a quick study and easily takes that in, so when I let go he’s moving at the pace of perfection with a flawless grip on my cock.
“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” my voice echoes between us. My body pushes forward with his jerking and it’s been too long, because I’m already too close, but I don’t want him to stop.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I think of being chased by hundreds of emperor penguins, my fifth grade science teacher Mrs. Dankworth, who always had something stuck in her teeth with breath that smelled like dead rats and hair that looked like a two-hundred-year-old bird's nest.
Even with those frightening thoughts, I’m ripped away and thrown back into this moment as his palm circles around the tip, rotating over the thinned crown of my achingly hard cock, then back down the length. Pressing his palm at the base, hisfingers wrap around my balls, giving them a gentle nudge. They begin to tighten at the attention and tingles build at the base of my spine.
“Oh, Fuck,” I spit out with worry laced in my tone. “That’s gonna make me come,” I confess. I attempt to sit up and change my position to take back some power, but his hand flies to my chest, pushing me back further so I’m leaning in the chair, then his exquisite, scarred hand returns to my cock giving it the exact attention it needs.
His fingers squeeze hard at the base, stroking up, circling over the tip then back down as his fingers wrap around my tight sack. He repeats that motion, over and over and over. My leg trembles as I try to hold back. My eyes bounce from his hand to the wall, wishing for a glance of the man who’s making my entire body ride a high like I’ve never felt from just a fucking handjob.
I move my hand, wanting to place it over his so I can fall over the edge with some control but hold back and dig my fingers into the flesh of my thighs, gritting my teeth together to hold back my unruly groans.
But it’s fucking useless.
“Let go if you don’t want me to come all over your hand,” I manage to spit out, impressed with my level of consideration in giving him a warning.
A very clear, deep moan is heard from his side of the wall before he lets out a drawn out, measured breath. Unexpectedly, he keeps pumping that perfect goddamn hand over my rock hard cock and I lose all control.
