Bending down, he takes his first taste, filling his mouth with my swollen dick. I can’t tell who groans the loudest as he sucks and swirls his tongue around the tip. Reflexively, I bring a hand to the back of his head and hold him in place. Because I know I can. I know that Benji likes it when I thrust into his face. Benji likes it when I don’t let him up until I come. Benji loves it when I come in his mouth.
His suit must have done something to me, because that’s exactly what happens less than a few minutes after Benji takes me in his mouth. I rut into his beautiful mouth, applying more pressure to the back of his head and I curse my way through a hard and fast orgasm that alters both my breathing and my heart rate.
“Fuuuuuck,” I grunt when the last crash of pleasure has passed.
Finally, I release my hold on Benji’s head.
He comes up for air, a proud smile on his pretty-boy face.
“Your. Trousers. Off. Now,” I order, moving so we can swap positions.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” he scrambles to obey and although I know he’s going as quick as he possibly can, it’s nowhere near quick enough.
But then he’s sitting where I want him. His erection jutting out between us, like a weapon, and there’s a creamy pearl of pre-cum at the tip. I lick it off.
“Oh, shit, oh, shit,” he says desperately, like that single touch of my tongue has brought him close to the edge. Maybe it did. Benji has moments where he can be very trigger happy, another thing I secretly love about my sensitive man.
But I don’t want him to come yet, so I reach for his testicles, which, yes, are tight and round, and I pull on them gently.
“Oh, fuck, Dee,” he says. “Please can I fuck you?”
That was my plan. To mount him and ride him until he’s filling this room of memories with my name — my true name. But that little taste of him has given me a very different appetite. I grab hold of his dick and take another slow lick.
“Merde. Putain de merde,” he curses, and I always know he’s really turned on when he starts mumbling and whimpering in French.
“I’m going to fuck you with my mouth,” I tell him with his dick still in my grip and his red, swollen glans just a teasing inch from my lips. “And I’m going to play with your hole while I do.”
“Putain, fuck, yes,” he mumbles, shoulders slumping with defeat. No, not defeat, surrender.
One other advantage of Benji’s colostomy is that he’s always clean and ready for me, and we take full advantage of that.
With a hand on his hip, I jerk Benji forward so his arse is hanging further off the bench, and I gently probe past his balls, along his perineum and find his tight little hole.
“There you are,” I say as I start to circle it. Benji throws his head back and mumbles incoherent nothings in French and English.
And then I take his cock in my mouth again. Deep but slow, I suck, lick and release. And then repeat. And repeat and repeat until he’s thrusting up into my mouth and swearing every time my mouth leaves his long, hard shaft.
I pull my hand back and spit as much saliva as I can on it. I’m careful to apply it liberally to both my fingers and his hole. And then, with his dick back in my mouth, the head lying heavily on my tongue, I penetrate Benji with one finger.
“Oh, fuck, yes, like that.” He rocks his hips, moving my digit where he wants it.
“Stay still, naughty boy,” I berate him and then immediately go back to bobbing my head up and down his length, this time much quicker.
“Ugh, Dion, fuck,” he mutters. “More, I need more.”
I push another finger in.
“Jesus,putain, merde,yes, like that,” he says when I curl both my fingers upwards, finding his prostate.
I keep his dick as deep in my mouth as I can stand as I stroke him inside and alternate sucking him hard and then releasing to languidly twirl my tongue around him.
“Oh, fuck, I’m close, I’m close, please don’t stop, I’m close,” he rushes out.
I grunt, and it’s the months of shared intimacy thatmeans he can translate what that noise means. It means he can touch me. He can hold me in place and use me for his pleasure.
And he does. Fuck, he does. His fingers spread to grip my head like a basketball and he pumps up into my mouth as I hold my fingers in place, pulsing against that textured spot he loves so much.
When he comes it’s with a cacophony of moans and groans and hisses and sighs, and countless French words I did not learn in school.
