“Fuck…” His voice comes out strained. “Don’t know.”
“You absolutely can.” I lean forward, keeping my eyes on his face. “I think you can be very, very quiet.” I drag my tongue up the underside of his cock, base to tip.
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and a whimper, quickly muffled as he bites down on his fist. His other hand tightens in my hair almost painfully, and I take that as enthusiastic encouragement.
I’ve never done this before in my life, and I have no idea if I’m doing it right. All I have to go on is what feels good on my own body, which may or may not translate to actually being good at sucking dick. Science is shaky on this one.
I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and suck gently, experimentally. George’s hips jerk hard and his fingers flex in my hair. Okay. Positive feedback. Noted.
I take him deeper, trying to relax my jaw and breathe through my nose the way I’ve always heard you’re supposed to, and it’s messier than I expected. Way wetter. My technique is probably terrible, but George doesn’t seem to mind, judging by the way he’s trembling and actively trying not to moan loud enough to scandalize the rest of the party outside.
I swipe my thumb over the head, spreading the precum leaking there, then take him back in with a little more confidence. When the thick shaft slides past the back of my tongue and fills my throat,there’s almost no resistance. I can hold him there, breathing carefully on the upstrokes.
A random memory surfaces from years ago. Some stupid party game with a banana where I stuck it down my throat farther than anyone else without gagging, and everyone lost their minds about it like I’d performed a miracle.
Turns out it wasn’t a party trick. It was a fucking preview.
Years later, on my knees with my best friend’s cock buried down that same throat, I finally understand what that talent was saving itself for. Life’s got a sick sense of humor like that.
This—this is what I’m always meant to do.
He lets out a low, rough groan that goes straight to my own dick.
“Holy fuck, you’re taking every fucking inch.” His voice is gravelly, strained. “Fuck, that feels good.”
His praise hits hard and makes me want to show off even more. While I keep working him with my mouth and throat, my free hand fumbles my own zipper open and pulls my aching cock out. I start stroking myself in time with the way I’m sucking him, turning me on more. George looks down and watches, his breath catching. “Yeah, just like that…shit, look at you.”
It’s sloppy and enthusiastic, and it probably looks nothing like the polished performances in porn, but George is making these small aborted sounds that he keeps cutting off by biting his fist, and his thighs are trembling on either side of me. I’m getting impossibly harder just from watching him lose it and from the feel of my own hand flying over my cock.
I wasn’t prepared for this to be intimate, this act of taking him into my mouth and learning what he tastes like, remembering his responses and adjusting my technique on the fly like I’m trying to crack some secret code written on his dick.
My jaw is starting to ache but I don’t care. I’m completely focused on this, and on the way his cock feels heavy on my tongue.I can feel his hand guiding my head with gentle pressure. He’s not forcing anything, just resting his hand in my hair like he needs the contact, to touch me while I’m doing this to him.
“Lance.” My name comes out rough, almost a growl. “I’m close. You should pull off if you don’t want to swallow.”
I don’t move. I double down instead, sucking harder and taking him as far as I can deep down my throat while my hand keeps pumping my own cock faster. George’s hips snap forward one last time, his hand tightening hard in my hair before he chokes back a groan that still slips through. The taste floods my mouth, bitter, warm and overwhelming, and I swallow on instinct.
The second I swallow the last of him, the edge hits me too. I pull off, lean back on my heels, and give him the full show. My hand flies over my cock as I stroke myself through it, eyes never leaving his face. I come hard, spilling over my fist and onto the bathroom floor with a choked groan.
I stay there for a moment, catching my breath, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The taste of him lingers warm and still a bit foreign in my throat. I tuck myself away and grab a few sheets of toilet paper to quickly clean up the mess on the floor. George looks completely undone, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His face is flushed, with eyes half-closed. He looks absolutely hot and gorgeous like this, satisfied and mine.
“Holy shit,” George mutters after a moment, eyes still dark and heavy-lidded as he looks down at me. “How the hell did you take all of me like that on the first try?”
I grin up at him, stupidly pleased with myself at the raw shock on his face. “Guess my throat’s just built for it.”
I stand and help him pull his briefs and jeans back up, careful not to put pressure on his thigh. My hands are steady now as I tuck him in and fasten his belt. Once he’s dressed, I straighten up and run a hand through my hair, trying to look like we didn’t just blow each other’s minds in here.
“We should get back out there,” he says, but neither of us moves right away.
“Probably,” I answer, my voice still rough from what we just did.
George finally pushes to his feet, legs still shaky. He opens the door and slips out first. I hear him say something to Trevor about the wound being fine, just needed a thorough check, and then his footsteps head back toward the living room.
I take one last look in the mirror, wipe a stray bit of spit from my chin, wash up and follow a few minutes later.
I head back to the living room and drop onto the couch like nothing happened.
Trevor looks up, extremely grateful. “Thanks for checking on him, mate. I feel like shit for knocking into him like that.”
