Page 8 of Choosing Hope

“Trust me. I’m going to blow your mind.”

The growl of his deep voice made my chest tighten.

“Imagine you’re with Chess. She’s hovering over you, her tits bare.”

I relaxed my head back, sinking into the soft pillow and closed my eyes again, trying to capture the vision he described.

His palm cupped my balls, while his strong fingers circled the base of my dick. Pointing the crown to the ceiling.

“Her pussy is dripping wet. She swipes her slit over the tip of your cock.”

As his warm, dulcet tones finished his sentence, a wet sensation trailed across my tip and made me jump.

I opened my eyes and glanced down to see him retracting his tongue with a hum.

“She slides down your length.”

As he said that, his eyes locked on mine, and he slid his mouth over me. Immersing me in the heat; the moisture. I moaned loudly, throwing my head back.

Seeing him filling his mouth with my dick was life changing. I couldn’t stop my body’s natural reaction to revel in the sensations he was creating.

Then as he withdrew, he sucked me. Soft at first, just a mild pulling sensation.

“Fuck, Carlo.”

I could feel the pleasure of this moment pouring into every crevice of my soul as I lay back, allowing him to find his own rhythm.

As my dick inched ever closer to the back of his throat, I was aware I couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’m going to cum,” I warned, expecting him to move or toss me off over my abs, as normal.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sped up his momentum, as if he were in the final sprint of a race.

My climax exploded out of me, right down his throat.

That night, despite the heat, Carlo held me close—just as he always did. Knowing that without him, I’d slip back into the familiar darkness of my shame.

The day after, I was timid regarding seeing Chess.

It seemed strange, therefore, that she chose that day to describe the event in her life that led to her meeting Alonso.

We’d never asked her for the details. Before Alonso left, he instructed us to be compassionate toward her. He reiterated what a troubled life she’d endured, without ever alluding to any of the details.

That evening as we were relaxing by the pool after our swim. I was lying on the sun-lounger beside Carlo, and Chess was on his opposite side.

“Why haven’t you asked me the reasons why I live with your parents?” she asked my friend.

His gaze flitted to me before responding with a shrug.

“I figured you’d tell us if you wanted us to know.”

She bobbed her head, sucking her teeth slightly. I’d seen her do that before; it was a habit she adopted when she was thinking hard.

“Why don’t you live with them?” she asked, cutting straight through any of the usual social graces.

Carlo tipped one shoulder up toward his ear dismissively.