You sat back and did as instructed. Blindfolded with your mouth wide open… I liked this vision of you very much. I gripped my cock at the base and slowly fed it to you, mindful of your teeth. When your lips shuttered around my sensitive glans, my whole body trembled.
You drew me inside your silken mouth, my fingers twisting in your hair as I thrust deeper. Surges of pleasure emanated from my core as a soothing warmth spread through my loins, that unique suspension between contentment and anticipation.
“Yes, Vincent. Relax your jaw and open your throat.” Your trust in me was absolute, so much so that a surge of love and devotion welled up inside of me, that I could have this—you—as my own. I felt a burn on the underside of my phallus and yanked your hair reflexively.
Your grin was wicked. “Sorry about that. Too eager. Let me clean you up.” You licked the underside of my shaft, base to tip, swirling your tongue around my cockhead, then dipping back under. Your hands, which had been resting on the tops of my legs, came forward to fist my shaft. With the foreskin pulled back, the texture of your rough tongue was almost too much.
“More sucking. Less teasing.”
“Yes, sir,” you said, then took me down again. Your damp locks slipped through my fingers as you tended to me with utter devotion. Your grunts and groans were guided by my rhythm as my hips raised, dipping into that deep well of pleasure. Your saliva mingled with my blood and dripped obscenely from the corners of your mouth. Was the blindfold moist from your tears? Your throat squeezed my sensitive glans, and I was dangerously close to climax.
“That’s enough.” I peeled you off by your hair because you wouldn’t release me otherwise. “On the bed now, Vincent. All fours.”
You wiped the drool from your mouth and scrambled onto the mattress. With your cheek pressed against the bedding, your ass presented like a table’s centerpiece, begging to be taken. I tossed a jar of lubricant onto the bed, thicker than most and odorless because I wanted the pleasure of tasting you.
“Are you going to fuck me?” You arched your back as if I needed further encouragement.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been a while, and you have a big day tomorrow.”
“I’ll be fine. Come on, Henri. It’s been so long.”
It was tempting, staring at that pretty violet pucker, tight as a bud and so wonderfully stubborn. Our intimacy in that deplorable mine was the only bright spot from that doomed mission.
“Another time,” I said and gripped your glutes in both my hands. Your back rippled in anticipation, wonderfully receptive to my touch. I dragged my nose along your cleft, inhaling the soap from our bath, a light dusting of sweat, and your sharp musk, better than the first waft of an aged wine. My saliva glazed your dusky furrow as I licked from the base of your tight balls to the top of your crevice. Your hole flushed with arousal and I savored the unique interaction between skin and blood, a vibrant hue that to me meant heat, life, and pleasure.
“Yes, Henri. More of that.”
My probing tongue caused your muscles to tense up and then, by degrees, relax. Your ring softened and pulsed as I lovingly caressed it. You gasped and twitched and uttered my name in a lovely cadence ranging from soft pleas to snarling growls.
“Come on, Henri,” you whined, rutting on my tongue like an animal. “Please fuck me. I can take it. You know you want to.”
My impatient youngblood, so eager to peak. I would teach you the art of delayed satisfaction. “Maybe I like to punish you more.”
“You’re only punishing yourself.”
I chuckled at your taunting. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
I sat back and slicked one finger, then tested your resistance with tight, circular strokes. You didn’t bother to hide your frustration. My finger breached your entrance, and you sucked me inside. The compression sent a sharp pang of desire through me, chased by a full, uncomfortable feeling in my genitals. My cock strained like a spear toward you, and I had to squeeze it a few times to relieve the sting. Your testicles were drawn up tight as twin plums, and the blood gathering in your erogenous zones called to me.
“Feels so good,” you moaned. “Please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”
My tongue and finger worked in tandem to pleasure you while you tugged at your hair, your cries only a little muffled by the bedding. I added another finger, then dragged you back so that your round ass rested on my quads. I reached around your front and forked my fingers inside you.
“Would you like to come, Vincent?” I gripped the base of your shaft with my slickened hand and squeezed so that you wouldn’t fire off right then.
“Yes, Henri. Make me come. Do it now.”
“Soon,” I promised, delighting in the rash of blood that darkened your neck and your utter loss of inhibitions. Your hips jumped as you bounced on my spread thighs, impaling yourself on my fingers. Every time my fingertips brushed against your bundle of nerves, you cried out in a mixture of agony and delight. I sunk in deeper, and you met my fist with enough force to bruise yourself against my knuckles. Only when your body was trembling like a plucked string, and you seemed on the verge of a meltdown, did I move my hand along your cock, matching the rhythm of your hips so that you were trapped between my hands.
“Fuck, yes,” you growled with renewed vigor. With your hands anchored to the base of my skull, your back flexed and quivered as your ground out your pleasure. I wanted inside you so badly, but I was nothing if not patient. After a few more jerks of your cock, you emitted a noise that started in a low growl and rose in octave. Your body clenched around my fingers as you ejaculated across the mattress like a fountain. I wondered if a sculptor could capture this precise moment, the arch of your spine, the fluidity of your muscles, and the expression on your face as you lost control.
“Turn around,” I said. You pivoted smoothly, leaned forward to rest your weight on your hands, breathless and flushed with your cock still seeping the last vestiges of your seed. “Open your mouth.”
Without a word, your jaw dropped, and your tongue emerged like a spoon. With only a few twists and strokes, an upswell of pleasure overcame me, and I was painting your mouth, chin, and cheeks in an erotic portrait. You tongued the milk from your lips and swallowed. I removed the blindfold to witness the adoration in your eyes. Knowing I was sensitive, you licked tenderly, patting more so than swiping.
