Or high.
He fondles the length of my cock. Strokes it gently, and then takes every inch into his desperate mouth. I grip the iron bars tight enough to make my knuckles turn white. His mouth is warm as ever, but not as wet. I blame that on the parched state we’ve found ourselves in. Rory isn’t dropping off enough water to keep us hydrated and Seven wouldn’t drink it, regardless.
But he sucks my cock like he always does, with an incurable hunger. One hand twists at the base as he swallows me whole from the head until his lips graze his fingers.
Yeah, it’s definitely a new fucking high.
My slacks fall down the remainder of my legs, landing with a clank of the metal buckle against the stone floor.
Seven pulls away as he continues to stroke.
I’m near the point of no return, can feel my balls pulling taut and a rush of semen being loaded into the chamber. Pre-ejaculate leaks from the tip of my cock, dripping like thick rain onto the stone floor.
Every time he reaches the base of mycock, the friction of his grip pulling at the skin, I shudder. He continues to stroke me as he stands. Waits for me to meet his gaze. Waits for me to watch him push his pants to his knees, his hard cock swinging forward.
I pump forward, longing for his touch. Thrust through the space between the bars. Craving, needing his touch. So fucking close. There’s no doubt in my mind these last three days of celibacy are the longest I’ve gone without coming since the first time I dry-humped the body pillow on my bed when I was a teenager.
“I want you to whisper it in my ear, what you said earlier.” He pulls his feet to his waist and tears off the pants. Turns in a circle and cocks his head over his shoulder as he backs his naked ass against the bars. “Want you to whisper when you’re inside of me.”
I reach through the bars and caress his bare ass. “There’s no lube.”
“Spit will do just fine.”
“I haven’t exactly been drinking enough water to produce enough spit.”
He bucks his ass backward, grinding over the length of my throbbing cock. Impatient. Desperate. Insatiable.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I pant, even as I thrust against his flesh.
“Babe, there’s a good chance we’re going to die. What do you think will hurt more? Your dry dick orthe pain of going to the grave knowing my sorry ass didn’t get dick on his last day alive?”
Still feels weird when he calls me babe. Doesn’t sound wrong, just weird. It’s a four-letter word in my mind.
I conjure up what little spit I can produce and slick the head of my cock. Hold a hand firm at the base as he arches back. He sways back and forth, gritting his teeth as he tries to accept the pain of his hole stretching around me. He’ll back that ass up until he meets me where I stand. Back it up all the way, even if it tears a literal hole inside of him.
I break away from him and turn in a quick circle, my hard cock smacking the iron bars. I grit my teeth and check for damage, but the entire fucking organ is swollen and purple, anyway. I look around the room for something slippery to use. Gravy. Biscuits. Butter.
That’ll do. I grab the stick of butter. It creams around my fingers as I slather it over the length of my cock. Messy. Greasy. Softens enough to form a cream, but there are still tiny chunks.
“Do you think that’s safe?” he asks as I approach.
“Tell you what, if we survive this, I’ll take you to get checked to make sure a cow isn’t growing inside you or something.”
He exhales sharply as I smother the remaining butter over his hot hole. It melts on contact. I tap my finger over his entrance and then slip a finger inside. He shifts his bodybackward to take the entire length of my greasy finger. I keep it there, moving in slow circles as he adjusts.
He reaches backward and grips my cock. Lifts it upward. He wants so much more than my finger, and I’m happy to oblige.
I watch the show as my thick cock disappears into his body, pushing curds of butter up against his entrance. When I begin to thrust in measured strokes, I take notice of the way my precum combines with the butter, creating a foamy yellow glaze. I reach forward through the bars, grab him by the chest, and pull him all the way back as I slam inside. Move my hips in circles and feel every thump of his heart underneath my touch. Feel the way he loses his breath every time I punch against his prostate.
I reach through a gap and grab him by the cock. The skin of his hardness is silky smooth. I palm over his head, collecting a pool of precum and slather it over him in slow strokes.
The cold bars do a number on my pelvic bone, but when I’m this feral, I don’t really mind. The pain aids the pleasure, heightens the intensity, and all I can think about is giving myself to him completely.
“Shit. Shit.” His hole tightens as he shoots his load onto the stone floor. Continues to break as I stroke him from base to tip, over and over again. “Fuck!”
My grip on his chest tightens as I find myself nearing release. I huff through grittedteeth with every thrust. Hard. Fast. To the hilt. Each pump is another load of sweet release, filling up the deepest parts of him. Taking him. Marking him.
I whisper into his ear, “I love you, Punk.”
