directly
over the left one, down to his stomach, up again.
I heard him groan in his sleep.
And then I understood the
heat on my skin. It wasn't radiation from his skin, not entirely. It was my own
heat...
One night. Just one night. That's why I'd
come over hadn't it been? And here I was, acting, acting like a
little frickin girl, being all woe-is-me and shit...
Two consenting adults. He knew that, and I
knew it.
Fuck it. I'd waited long enough...
I eased my palm over his buckle, down his
crotch. I was surprised at its hardness. Wasn't he asleep?
What I remember of Dorian the most are his
eyes, and his size, down there. He really was big.
I pressed against his jeans and rubbed him
up and down. I could do this. He was a good guy. He'd been kind to
me, hadn't pushed anything with me.
My palm got warmer from the friction. He
groaned some more and I saw his eyes flutter. My own chest was
fluttering as well and a sheen of sweat broke out under my cotton
shirt.
I rubbed him, slowly, hard, pressing. I felt
strong doing it. This big man, this strong, able, burly
longshoreman, was under my hand — all of him. And the moans and
groans and little movements he was making as I touched him, were
all being caused by me. Little ol' me.
I wondered — just briefly — if Conall had
sought that thrill with me as well. That sense of control... Roles
reversed.
The next groan from Dorian was louder, more
throaty. It was time to go deeper. I sat up. He was still partly
asleep. My hair covered my eyes and I pushed it behind my ears. I
undid his buckle, then went for the button of his jeans. It
wouldn't open so I fought with it.
Dorian made a sound that made it seem like
he was waking. I knew he would wake eventually, I wanted him to,
but not just yet.
The button snapped open, hurting the tips of
my fingers. I licked one of them, saw the red mark on it from
pressed skin against metal. I lifted the band of his jeans and
unzipped his pants. He had boxers on. My mouth watered briefly as I
saw his size underneath them. The boxers had two buttons down the
center. I undid them.
As I got the slit of the boxers open I saw
his skin, and a vein, throbbing and large. I looked up at him, bit
my bottom lip, tried to ease my breathing (how had Conall remained
so calm when I'd been on that Marriott table the first time with
him?) and pushed my hand into his boxers, through the slit, into
his warmness.
My palm felt suddenly very cold as I felt my
way in and wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing, lifting. I
pulled it out, then squeezed up, down, slowly. A sheen of
pre-coital goo escaped him. I touched it with my index finger,
rubbed it around the tip of his head, then covered my palm with it.
It moistened his shaft so that my hand, as it moved up and down,
slid in some sections of it. I did it slowly, I wanted it to last.
I wanted him to wake up and see me holding him, rubbing him. Dorian
hadn't expected anything from me. Hadn't pushed me. And he'd
treated me like an adult. I could respect that. And that's what we
were now. Two adults, in a room.
The next throaty, guttural groan from him
ended with him opening his eyes, then his mouth in momentary shock
as he watched my hand caress him. My eyes burned heat into him and
swallowed up his manliness into me.
He fired his head back onto the pillow, and
intoned, "Oh, baby, you are too fucking good at this..."
I smiled. It felt good to
be "good at this." Not a little girl
anymore, am I, Mr. Other Guy...?
I started to lie down next to him, my right
hand still holding him, still pleasuring him. He fired his hand
behind my neck and pulled me into him. His teeth pushed against
mine and it almost cut my lip. He didn't notice, and I didn't care.
But that's not what I wanted.
I squeezed him, hard , and told him, "No,
lie back." It's amazing how much you control a man when you have
his cock in your hand (or between your teeth for that matter). I
imagined that many wars and battles had been decided in
over the left one, down to his stomach, up again.
I heard him groan in his sleep.
And then I understood the
heat on my skin. It wasn't radiation from his skin, not entirely. It was my own
heat...
One night. Just one night. That's why I'd
come over hadn't it been? And here I was, acting, acting like a
little frickin girl, being all woe-is-me and shit...
Two consenting adults. He knew that, and I
knew it.
Fuck it. I'd waited long enough...
I eased my palm over his buckle, down his
crotch. I was surprised at its hardness. Wasn't he asleep?
What I remember of Dorian the most are his
eyes, and his size, down there. He really was big.
I pressed against his jeans and rubbed him
up and down. I could do this. He was a good guy. He'd been kind to
me, hadn't pushed anything with me.
My palm got warmer from the friction. He
groaned some more and I saw his eyes flutter. My own chest was
fluttering as well and a sheen of sweat broke out under my cotton
shirt.
I rubbed him, slowly, hard, pressing. I felt
strong doing it. This big man, this strong, able, burly
longshoreman, was under my hand — all of him. And the moans and
groans and little movements he was making as I touched him, were
all being caused by me. Little ol' me.
I wondered — just briefly — if Conall had
sought that thrill with me as well. That sense of control... Roles
reversed.
The next groan from Dorian was louder, more
throaty. It was time to go deeper. I sat up. He was still partly
asleep. My hair covered my eyes and I pushed it behind my ears. I
undid his buckle, then went for the button of his jeans. It
wouldn't open so I fought with it.
Dorian made a sound that made it seem like
he was waking. I knew he would wake eventually, I wanted him to,
but not just yet.
The button snapped open, hurting the tips of
my fingers. I licked one of them, saw the red mark on it from
pressed skin against metal. I lifted the band of his jeans and
unzipped his pants. He had boxers on. My mouth watered briefly as I
saw his size underneath them. The boxers had two buttons down the
center. I undid them.
As I got the slit of the boxers open I saw
his skin, and a vein, throbbing and large. I looked up at him, bit
my bottom lip, tried to ease my breathing (how had Conall remained
so calm when I'd been on that Marriott table the first time with
him?) and pushed my hand into his boxers, through the slit, into
his warmness.
My palm felt suddenly very cold as I felt my
way in and wrapped it around his shaft, squeezing, lifting. I
pulled it out, then squeezed up, down, slowly. A sheen of
pre-coital goo escaped him. I touched it with my index finger,
rubbed it around the tip of his head, then covered my palm with it.
It moistened his shaft so that my hand, as it moved up and down,
slid in some sections of it. I did it slowly, I wanted it to last.
I wanted him to wake up and see me holding him, rubbing him. Dorian
hadn't expected anything from me. Hadn't pushed me. And he'd
treated me like an adult. I could respect that. And that's what we
were now. Two adults, in a room.
The next throaty, guttural groan from him
ended with him opening his eyes, then his mouth in momentary shock
as he watched my hand caress him. My eyes burned heat into him and
swallowed up his manliness into me.
He fired his head back onto the pillow, and
intoned, "Oh, baby, you are too fucking good at this..."
I smiled. It felt good to
be "good at this." Not a little girl
anymore, am I, Mr. Other Guy...?
I started to lie down next to him, my right
hand still holding him, still pleasuring him. He fired his hand
behind my neck and pulled me into him. His teeth pushed against
mine and it almost cut my lip. He didn't notice, and I didn't care.
But that's not what I wanted.
I squeezed him, hard , and told him, "No,
lie back." It's amazing how much you control a man when you have
his cock in your hand (or between your teeth for that matter). I
imagined that many wars and battles had been decided in
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