Page 32

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Jeremiah Blake

A pulsing vein meanders down Ben’s arm, down the back of his hand, all the way to his pointer finger. It’s prominent, blue-green, cloaked in a sumptuous layer of skin. He picks at his top button. Carefully. Delicately at first, and when that doesn’t have the desired effect, his jaw tenses and he uses both hands to rip his fly open. A string of buttons come loose and part to expose a hefty bulge.

A dream bulge.

It occurs to me dimly that this particular bulge might be the reason I was put on Earth.

If I could move, I’d reach up and help him. I’d drag his pants and underwear down all the way to his ankles so I could see as much of him as possible. I’ve done it before, helped men out of their pants. I’ve done it lots of times, and I’d do it again, except nothing about this time is like any of the other times.

I can’t move, for one thing. Ben hasn’t told me to. I haven’t tried, but I don’t need to. I know I can’t. I know it’s impossible. I’m paralyzed, and I’m not at all upset about it.

There’s been a shift in me. An exchange. A give and take that happened on the back of a nod and a single word. Yes. Things that were mine, things that have always been mine, things like power, will, and control, are his now.

I know it, and he knows it.

My mouth is ajar, jaw wide open because he told me to do it. I haven’t swallowed in ages. I haven’t looked away or blinked either.

Ben’s hands move to his sides and he digs his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and underwear. His forearms flex as he pushes them down.

A thick white band of elastic is pulled away from his body, just a little, just enough to allow it to be dragged downward in gradual increments that might as well be hours. His cock is revealed so slowly it breaks time. Time cracks down the middle and splits into two. There are only two realities now, a before and a now. Right now, the present. This minute. This second.

I make an awful, abhorrent sound. It comes from so low down it gets twisted in my gut on the way out and turns whiny by the time it leaves me. It’s terrible. I’d hate it if Ben told me to hate it. I’d stop making it, too, if he told me to be quiet. He doesn’t though. He smiles at the sound, sweetly, as though he likes it.

His dick is big and beautiful. Of course it’s big. And of course it’s beautiful. It belongs to Ben, and God only knows, he’s the biggest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It juts up toward his navel. A thick, sinewy rod that curves up and bobs as he pushes his pants down farther.

My eyes begin to water from how long it’s been since they’ve been closed. That, and from the strain of trying to look at his dick and face at the same time.

He runs a finger along my jaw, from my ear to just under my chin, and lifts. I look into his eyes. They’re soft and kind, like always. Blue like the moon and twice as beautiful. His hands are on me. Both of them. Thick fingers dance over my cheeks, leaving warm tracks in their wake. He removes my cap and drops it to the floor without looking where it lands. His hands are in my hair. Two hands and ten fingers. He works his way over my scalp and cradles my skull as if it’s fragile. As though it matters. As though it’s precious to him.

My head lolls back from the absolute certainty that he can handle the weight. The weight of me. My gaze travels up Ben’s body from the motion of my head falling back.

Our eyes meet, and he says, “Blink, baby.”

So I do. I blink several times in an attempt to clear my vision and wake myself if this is a dream.

A big, masculine hand wraps around the base of a big, beautiful cock and wrestles it toward my mouth. A glistening pearl appears at the tip and spills down toward me.

Saliva pools under my tongue.

My heart slams in my chest.

I’m hornier than I’ve ever been. There’s a blistering heat under my skin. Everywhere. My hands are hot. So is my face. My dick is so hard it hurts.

“I’m going to put this in your mouth,” says Ben. His voice is different. It’s husky. Something in his larynx vibrates slower than it usually does, making him hoarse. I groan my assent and nod so hard my vision goes blurry again. “All of it. I’m going give you all of it, and I’m going to do it harder than I usually do because you’ve made me harder than I usually get. Harder than I’ve been in a long, long time.”

I shiver from the force of my arousal. Not a little. A lot. A huge, uncontrollable tremor takes me by both shoulders and shakes me from side to side. I don’t try to stop it.

“Give me your hand, Jelly,” he says, catching it when it swims toward him and placing it firmly on a thick naked thigh. Coarse, dark hair scours my palm. My soul begins to detach from my body. “You’re going to tap me if it’s too much. You’re going to tap if you want me to slow down, pull out, or stop. Do you understand?” I nod frantically and say something that means yes in a primitive language no longer spoken by humans. “Lick your lips when you’re ready.”

His voice is gentle and soft, so soothing I want to rub myself all over it. I want to lick it. Consume it. Take it inside me and never let go of it.

Wait. No.

I want to do that to his dick.

I run my tongue along my top lip and then the bottom. I do it quickly, eagerly, hardly able to wait to taste him. Hardly able to believe any of this is happening.

“Do the bottom one again,” he murmurs. “Do it slowly. Do it the way you do when you’re embarrassed because you’ve said something you shouldn’t have.” Ordinarily, I’d laugh at that. Or I’d smile, at least. Now, I simply scrape my teeth over my bottom lip and suck it into my mouth, wetting it as much as I can before releasing it slickly. Ben’s eyes heat and he smiles. A soft, tolerant smile that makes his eyelids drop half-mast. “Good boy,” he says quietly.

The words slice through me and a new type of arousal is born. It’s better and worse than anything I’ve felt before. Stronger and harder. Scarier. Sweeter too.

Ben steps forward and uses his fist to angle his beautiful cock so it rests on my tongue. I moan on contact. Loudly. Lasciviously. Ben sweeps his cockhead from side to side, outlining the curve of my top lip before tapping his swollen tip firmly against the center of my bottom lip.

A rough, animalistic growl shakes the whole room.

It isn’t mine.

I moan again, quivering and desperate, as he slots himself into my mouth. I more than moan. I purge myself of every thought I’ve ever had of another man. It’s a long, eager sound that warbles around his crown and mixes with a salty burst of Ben. His blunt head pushes in, pinning my tongue down, pausing to give me a moment to acclimatize myself to the thickness of him. I need it. My mouth is full, my jaw open wide to accommodate him.

And all he’s given me so far is the head.

He rocks his hips, hand still strangling the base of his cock as he dips it into my mouth and pulls it out until my lips prickle and my mind screams with need. I suck greedily, slurping at him, licking every drop of precum I can get my tongue on.

“Slowly,” he warns. “A mouth this pretty? I’m not going to last.”

But he does, and despite what he said, he’s gentle with me. He fucks my mouth first, filling it and finding his way around it with such care and restraint that my eyes water with longing. His hands are in my hair, holding me steady and stopping me from taking him deeper than he wants me to.

I garble nonsensically around his cock, tongue fluttering wildly against him as I beg.

More.

Harder.

Deeper.

Please.

I’m unraveling. My balls are pulled tight and the tip of my dick is digging into the zipper of my jeans. It’s too much sensation, too little, not the sensation I want. Not the sensation I need.

Ben takes pity on me, stroking a heavy hand through my hair and down the side of my face as his other hand winds around the back of my head and holds me securely in place.

Every part of me not already molten with lust goes runny as he starts fucking my throat gently. Carefully. Tenderly. Angling himself so each thrust is a tiny bit deeper. He doesn’t break eye contact once. Not once. He watches me the entire time, checking on me to ensure I’m okay.

I don’t gag at all.

All I do is let him.

I’m in heaven. I love giving head. I always have. I love men and dicks, and I love having a dick in my mouth. I love giving someone else pleasure. I’ve always loved it. I love the idea of head, and I love the reality of it. It’s a huge mental turn-on for me.

This is different. It’s not just mental. It’s physical too. My mouth is alive with pleasure, lips hot and tingling, tongue straining, cheeks hollowed to eke out every possible hint of sensation. My throat is relaxed, open and willing, omitting soft, helpless sounds as Ben fucks it.

That’s what it feels like. Being fucked. Being fucked gently by someone who really, really knows what they’re doing.

My eyes are streaming with longing. And gratification. My dick hurts, and every time Ben’s dick slides past my soft palate, it hurts more. My other hand has found its way to his thigh as well. Both hands are curled into tight muscles. I feel his tension as if it were my own. Maybe it is. He’s close, I can tell. I am too. His head is arched back, his stance widened. His eyes are closed now. Mouth open. He still has a hand on the back of my head, and he’s not just rocking his hips now. He’s using his grip on me to make sure I meet each of his thrusts and take it a little deeper than the last one.

“Such a pretty mouth.” He groans as though he’s talking to himself. “Such a sweet boy. Such a pretty boy, with such a sweet mouth.”

I come without meaning to. Without even knowing I can come like this. From this. Excruciating pleasure hits like the crack of a whip and drowns everything out. It rips through me. Out of me. Hot waves rise and spill over, flooding my senses and leaving me so brainless I hardly notice when Ben begins spurting down my throat.

I swallow without conscious thought. As though I’ve been lost in a desert for years. For a lifetime that’s left me ragged and broken. Thirsty and yearning.

I swallow as though my life depends on it.