Page 11 of Glitter

Chapter 11

So, it turned out that my angel’s place was an adorable little cottage.

It was located behind an exquisitely kept-up, two-story Craftsman-style house and accessible by going down a narrow, winding, brick-paved path that branched off the side of the property’s only driveway. The cottage, while much smaller than the main house, and being only a single-story, had a lot of similar features and the same over-all paint scheme as the larger house it sat in the shadow of.

With his admonishment to not disturb the landlords that lived in the front house still ringing in my ears, I parked my car on the street, closed the door as quietly as I could, and crept-snuck down the driveway and to the path leading to his place.

My sneakers made a whispering whoosh sound against the bricks of the path, which blended into a gentle harmony with the gentle swoosh of the nighttime breeze and the soft, repetitive clicking and whirring of nocturnal insects.

My angel must’ve been watching for me, because I didn’t need to knock when I reached his door. It swung open on quiet hinges and revealed…

Gah . I might’ve swallowed my own tongue.

Backlit by golden lamplight, he was a vision. A seductive, impossible vision.

As promised, my angel had swapped his silver and black club attire for a sheer, black robe that whispered, soft as a cloud, over his slender frame, its hem flirting with somewhere around the middle of his long, toned thighs. The robe was only loosely belted, allowing a generous sliver of his narrow chest to show. And below the floppy loops of the belt’s tied bow… One thigh peeked out from between the two parted halves. A thigh hugged by a lacy band that topped a silky stocking, which was the same sheer black as his diaphanous robe.

And on his feet… My eyes slid down the long, slim line of his pretty legs to see that his narrow, elegant feet were adorned with toeless, backless, low-heeled, feathery slippers. Breaking with the all-black color scheme of the rest of his ensemble, the slippers were a sweet, pretty pink.

“Oh good, you didn’t get lost, boo.”

One part of my brain registered his words, but the rest of it was clamoring with lust, and disbelief, and need, and want, and… “ Grrbllhunhh .” Completely unable to think in actual words, I was pretty happy with myself that I’d managed to make any sort of response, even if it was absolute gibberish.

What sort of lucky sign had I been born under that my angel seemed to be someone who appreciated and enjoyed the gibbering idiot I often morphed into?

A beautiful smile—an actual smile, not a smirk or wry grin or teasing lip curl, but an actual smile—stretched his pretty, glossy, pink lips as he commented, “Thank you, boo. That was exactly the impression I was going for with this outfit.”

One of his hands drifted to rest on the loosely knotted bow at his waist, fingers playing along the satiny ribbon, and my heart sped up thinking my angel was about to slip the ties free, untying the belt that was doing a poor imitation of preserving his modesty.

He didn’t. Not at this moment. But he did ask, “Pretty, right? I did promise I’d put on something pretty for you if you gave me enough of a head start.”

My head nodded jerkily, like a broken bobblehead doll, as a garbled “Y-yes. Pretty. S-so pretty” fell from my lips.

It was the reassurance I thought he’d wanted—frankly saying anything else would’ve been a lie—but my words caused his authentic smile to drift off his face, swiftly replaced by the sassy, half-smile, quirked corner of his mouth that he normally aimed my way.

He didn’t look upset. Far from it, actually—his posture was relaxed and loose, one hip popped coquettishly, casting fuck-me glances at me through flirtatiously batting eyelashes. And his lips were curved in a smile. Not his fault that I suddenly wondered if this smile was only a pretty illusion.

Opening his door wider, my angel invited me to come in, saying, “Well, don’t just stand there on my front step all night, boo. It might be dark out, and while I don’t have a shy bone in my body, I still don’t want to risk the wrath of my landlords and neighbors by blowing you out here. Not when I have a perfectly good couch, bed, shower—basically any surface you can think of—waiting for us, only steps away, on the other side of this door.”

Taking my agreement for the sure thing it was, my angel turned and strutted his way inside his cottage, confidently expecting me to follow.

And… fuuuck . The back of his robe was just as sheer as the front.

A long fall of wispy, gauzy fabric, the dark color obscured the tone of his skin, but that’s all it did. It allowed me to see each elegant line of his body, the sweetly subtle curve of his hips, and the fluid way they all flexed and shifted as he moved.

There was the faintest shadow that hinted he might have underwear on beneath his robe, but that could’ve as easily been a trick of the light. But if he did have anything on under his robe, whatever it was left the firm globes of his ass completely bare.

They were like two perfect celestial orbs screened by a curtain of hazy, midnight clouds.

As we’d both known I would—like there was another choice—I stepped through the doorway my angel had left open for me.

The interior of his cottage was mostly one, large open space. There was a small kitchen area to one side, and by small I meant there was a flat-top, two-burner stove on top of one cabinet, a sink built into the top of a second cabinet, open shelves above both to hold a handful of boxes and cans, and the daintiest—not quite full-size—refrigerator I’ve ever seen in my life next to the cabinet with the sink. That was it. That was the entire kitchen.

Well, I supposed the small table a few feet in front of the cabinetry could’ve been considered part of the kitchen. Except there weren’t any chairs, and the surface of the table was mounded high with magazines, random papers, some half-folded laundry, and other random stuff, including one lone, discarded shoe. So, there was nowhere to sit in his kitchen and no place to eat off of in it either.

The remainder of the main space of the cottage was divided roughly in half—the front part was set up as a cozy, if messy, living room, that held a two-person loveseat, a deep, cushy-looking, club chair and a tv mounted to the wall over a low, two-drawered dresser that was serving as an entertainment console. Almost every surface had some sort of pillow, or throw blanket, or article of clothing, or stuffed animal, or…or…something on it.

Meanwhile, the back portion of the room was devoted to his bedroom. I could see the foot of his bed, buried under a mound of rumpled blankets and more laundry—unfolded, this time—sticking out from behind two, fabric, accordion-style, privacy screens, butted up next to each other, which formed a sort of make-shift wall between his living and sleeping areas.

The far wall of the cottage contained two doors, both open. The one closer to the kitchen side of the house led to a small, fully appointed, and luxuriously decorated bathroom, while the other revealed a narrow closet, overflowing with all sorts of clothing, shoes, scarves, hats, and other pretty baubles and doodads.

All of this clutter and messy chaos had the part of me that enjoyed order and neatness itching to go around picking everything up and putting it all in its proper place.

But the rest of me—which had the clear majority—was screaming Screw the mess , because my angel had draped himself over the loveseat and, sprawled out as he was, delectable body barely concealed by that black robe, he was temptation incarnate.

Automatically closing and locking the door behind me, I slowly approached the gorgeous embodiment of my every fantasy, past, present, and future.

“I’d ask if you were coming, boo,” he purred, “Except that you’d better not be. Not yet. Not until I get the chance to get my mouth on you.” He ran a hand up the length of his thigh, flicking the gauzy, black material covering him aside to show the lacy band topping his stocking. “You wouldn’t deny me that, would you, boo? Getting to slide your thick cock in my mouth so I can taste you. Please say you won’t take that opportunity away from me. Not now. Not when I have you here all to myself, boo.”

I swallowed thickly. Fuck, the words coming out of his mouth, they were almost too good to be real. Hell, he was almost too good to be real.

“What… I mean, uh, where…where do you want me? Here or…” My gaze flicked toward his bed, mostly hidden behind the fabric screens.

“I think here will do for now,” he answered. “Come here, boo. Bring that thick, thick cock of yours closer.”

My dick was achingly hard, already throbbing within the confines of my jeans. And it almost seemed as though it, and not my feet, propelled me over the distance required to reach the couch. The entire short trek over there, and even once I was standing in front of him and his hands were making easy work of the fastenings on my pants, I kept expecting him to change his mind. To take back his offer of a blow job.

But he didn’t. In what seemed like no time at all, he had my pants open and pulled down far enough that he could see, not only the rigid outline of my erection, but the dark wet spot my precum had made on my green briefs. Then, before my mind was able to latch on to the excitement that this was actually happening, he dipped a hand inside my underwear, pulled my cock free from its fabric confinement, and enveloped the head of my dick with his silky, hot, wet mouth.

Oh, fuck. It felt so good. So…so…perfect.

I don’t know if it was because sitting on the loveseat put him at just the right height to get the best angle, if it was a byproduct of me not having had a blowjob in a while, the particular technique this pretty, stunning angel was using, or if it was just…him. Maybe everything we did to, and with each other, felt so good, and so right, because…it was him.

His lips stretched wide around me, slowly sliding down my shaft. His tongue… Ungh , his tongue, rubbing and caressing the underside of my cock, getting it all wet.

Having his mouth around my cock made me feel all dizzy. Dizzy and lightheaded and…short of breath. Which…

Fuck. I wasn’t breathing.

For some reason, once my angel put my dick in his mouth, my lungs decided it would be a good idea to stop working. Well, that was dumb. If I missed a single second of this glorious experience because of passing out from a lack of oxygen, I’d be incredibly pissed at myself.

Hoping to prevent that possibility, I drew in a huge chest full of air; the gasping sound I made was incredibly, and embarrassingly, loud.

Then he pulled off my cock and spit on it…and I nearly stopped breathing again.

Holy fuck that was filthy. In the hottest, bestest way ever.

His hand had been fisted loosely around the base of my cock, but now he slowly slid it up and down my shaft, slicking me up with the excess addition of saliva.

And speaking of things that were filthy… The way he ran his tongue along his lips, as though he was searching out every bit of my flavor that had transferred onto them, was almost pornographically obscene.

Again, I meant that in the hottest, bestest way. Ever.

“You taste so good, boo,” he said, “Just like I knew you would.”

Looking up at me from his position, seated on the small sofa, his eyes glowed like icy blue fire as he told me, “You might want to hold onto something, boo. Because I’m about to swallow you down whole. All the way down. All the way, until I have a throat full of cock.”

Without conscious thought, my hands immediately rose so that I could spear my fingers into the pink, tousled curls of his hair.

“Is that… Is this okay?” I asked, making sure that he didn’t mind me having my hands on him this way.

In all of our sexual encounters—all of our interactions, really—he’d been the one in charge, which seemed to suit both of us. But by venturing into the territory where I could wrest some of that control away from him if I wanted to by being able to direct the movement of his head… I wanted to double check that he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable or vulnerable.

“Oh, that’s perfect, boo,” he stated, sounding completely unconcerned. Actually, he sounded excited. And like he fully expected to still be the one calling the shots, even as I tightened my grip in his hair, bossily handing out commands. “Use my mouth,” he ordered. “Fuck my face and make me choke on your fat dick.”

Precum dribbled out of my slit. How could it not?

He leaned forward and licked it up, humming happily as though it was the tastiest thing he’d ever lapped up with his tongue.

“Come on,” he said. “Do it. Shove your cock in my mouth. Stuff it in there. I want you to fuck my mouth and get yourself off. Fill me up. Fill my throat. Until you’re spilling your cum down my thmmpf —”

I cut off his barrage of commands—his last word coming out as a muffled grunt—by doing as he’d ordered. Plunging my dick back into his open and waiting mouth.

He eagerly sucked me in, taking my dick all the way to the back of the mouth, the way he’d said he would, until my cockhead was nudging the back of his throat. Curse words spilled from my mouth; he felt so fucking good, hot and wet and snug around my dick.

I held myself there, my cock buried as far as it would go in his mouth, for just a brief moment, before pulling back and letting him catch his breath.

Not that he apparently wanted to be able to breathe, if the grumpy sounding grumbling noise he made was any indication. Both of his hands landed on my ass and he used them to insistently nudge me forward, until my cock was once again passing the entrance to his throat.

I had a moment of panic, worrying that my butt was too big, too squishy, too hairy, too…whatever. But it passed quickly, because—

“Shit, shit, shit. Oh, angel,” I said, my brain going completely haywire because his mouth was just that perfect, accidentally allowing the overly saccharine endearment I’d been mentally calling him—since I still didn’t know his actual name—to pass my lips for the first time in front of him. “So good. It’s so good. Oh, shit. You’re…you’re so good. At this. Oh, fuck.”

He didn’t seem to notice the nickname slippage. Thank goodness. Or at least if he had, it didn’t seem to bother him.

Nope, he just kept right on bobbing up and down my cock at the pace he wanted. Pulling me forward, taking me back deep, almost as soon as I managed to drag my dick to the front of his mouth.

It was too much—the slippery softness of his curls twined in my clenching fingers, the hot, devouring suction of his mouth, and the view… Fuck, the view I had of him.

My angel was so pretty. Wrecked, but such a pretty wreckage. His hair was mangled and disarrayed from my hands. His robe had slipped to bare one gleaming pale, satiny shoulder. Wrapped around my plunging dick, his lips were puffy and deeply pink. And a steady overflow of saliva glazed his chin, leaving it a shiny mess.

And the look in his translucent blue eyes… They glowed with lust and want and pleasure. As if he was somehow enjoying this as much as I was. More even.

It was all too much. I wanted this moment, the feel of him sucking me down, to last forever. Forever and ever. Certainly, for much longer than it was going to, because there was no way in hell I was going to last much longer.

Which I reluctantly warned him about. “I’m close. F-fuck, I’m… So…so close.”

I could feel it, my orgasm, building and building. Heavy fullness tightening my balls. Lurking, lurking, just there…waiting on the precipice. Almost… Almost…

Then he did a something with his tongue, a something my brain only registered as oh shit and fuck yes , and I was flying. Flying and tumbling and reeling. And my cock was pulsing, pulsing and throbbing, within the tight clasp of his mouth, made suddenly extra slippery and wet and… ungh …as my cum filled his mouth.

I shuddered at the deliciously filthy feel of his lips and tongue working my dick, the tickling vibration of the satisfied hum my angel moaned as he swallowed my release only seeming to draw my orgasm out. On and on, burst after burst of cum spurting into his mouth.

Finally, when my poor, relieved, aching balls had completely and gratefully emptied themselves, he released me, letting my replete dick fall from his mouth. Then, relaxing back against the cushions on the sofa, his entire self a casually sprawled, disheveled picture of satisfaction, he gazed up at me and—

The depiction of cats enthusiastically consuming bowls of milk was largely a misconception, I knew that; most adult felines are actually lactose intolerant. But fuck if my angel didn’t resemble a cat hungrily lapping away at some cream as he swiped his tongue along both his top and bottom lip, licking up each stray droplet and smear of my cum. Around and around and around, until not a single bit of sticky, white fluid was left behind.

If my brain had been capable of coherent thought at that moment—which it wasn’t—I suppose I would’ve expected any words coming from my angel’s mouth to be some sort of commentary on what we just did. An analysis of my performance, or of his, perhaps. A remark on the quantity or quality of my release—he’d already stated he liked the taste of my pre-cum, how did the actual thing compare?

Or perhaps he’d command me to see to his pleasure, now that he’d taken care of mine.

I would happily do so. Eagerly, enthusiastically, devotedly even. I would love to take care of his erection, which even now was a hard, slender column tenting the front of his diaphanous robe.

I would be grateful as I tenderly parted that article of clothing to explore exactly what it was that he had on beneath it. As I freed his pretty cock from whatever confined it. I would gladly feast my eyes on his cock, before worshipping him with my hands or devouring him with my mouth.

What I did not expect… What I didn’t think anybody in my position, having just come my brains, heart, and soul out, would’ve expected, was for him to casually ask me, “So…how fast do you think it’ll take for you to get hard again, boo?”