I drew the head in and out of my mouth, pausing to rub the head against the flat of my tongue, and looked up to catch his eye, asking without asking to be allowed to suck his cock. He removed his hand from my chin, inviting me to take over. I took his dick in my hand, firmly stroking the length of it, to get a feel of him, cupping my hand around his balls and pressing into his body, stroking up the bottom of his balls, and rubbing against his real dick underneath, to get him even more worked up and hard.
I folded my fingers into the edge of his front pocket for better balance and I began to work him. I licked all around the head of his dick, taking my time, pressing my tongue against the piss slit, sucking just the head into my mouth and running my tongue around the ridge, looking up at him. He grunted quietly and I could feel his body move slightly toward me.
He was the quietest top I’ve ever sucked off, I thought.
His hand was on the back of my head holding me still as he pushed his cock further and further into my mouth. I held tight to the base of his dick with my hand and sucked slowly as I was drawn along the length, taking air in the pause, and then was forced to take his cock back into my mouth almost to the base and slowly pulled down the length, a little faster this time.
His hand on my head prevented me from sucking him as aggressively as I wanted to, reminding me that I wasn’t sucking just any cock, but sucking his cock. Long, deep-paced strokes, and I could feel his body give toward me, his hands on either side of my head pulling me forward, encouraging me to take as much of his dick in my mouth as I could, and then making me pull back slow. It was cocksucking in slow motion, and we were locked into it.
I could feel my body sway with his strokes, could feel his knees bend slightly as he pulled my head to him, bringing the base of his cock to my lips and pressing my face up against him. I was concentrating on the fact that he was using me to make him come, concentrating on his hard dick in my mouth, his closed eyes and quick breathing. I knew he was feeling how it would be to have me sucking the come out of his balls, as my face pushed the base of the cyberskin dick into his real dick.
His thumbs started to stroke slow circles into my cheeks, and his eyes seemed to close even tighter. I knew he could see my mouth on his cock even with his eyes closed, as he crawled down into that cyberskin dick, making it his own.
I felt like I was going to fall apart with every stroke. Nothing about me was mine anymore. My dick pressing against my jeans, the feel of his cock sliding into and out of my mouth were the only things I was sure of. It wasn’t dildosuck-ing for power, gender-fucking for the crowd, a second-best approximation. This was cocksucking.
His voice was very quiet.
“I want to come with your mouth wrapped around my dick. I want to come in your mouth.”
Shakily I nodded, his cock still in my mouth.
His thumbs slid over my eyelids and pressed gently, instructing me to close my eyes, and I did.
He pulled his dick out of my mouth, grabbed me by both arms, and dragged me across the room still on my knees. I was breathless, frozen in place. Small sounds of clothes moving, weight shifting. I didn’t dare open my eyes or move, bad boys get nothing, and I am not a bad boy when it comes to this.
When he reached for me again, it was rough. He yanked my face into his crotch, tilting my chin and face up at a severe angle, and pressing my mouth against his real dick.
He bent over me, his chin resting on the top of my head.
“Are you ready to take my come, boy?”
I could feel his words from the rumble of his voice in his belly, I was so close to him. The energy was electric, my mouth felt like it was on fire, he was the only thing holding me up, and I was so hungry to continue sucking his cock that I would have gladly begged.
I tongued the head of his dick slowly like he taught me, took his dick into my mouth, and sucked it out from his body. Licking the underside with the flat of my tongue in long, slow, even strokes, I could feel the blood filling the head of his cock, the skin stretching and straining, growing harder with every stroke, getting bigger and more erect as I sucked him off.
His breathing got deeper and my heart pounded in my ears.
“Slow, so I can feel it…. Slow is what drags the come up out of my balls.… Come on, boy, do it like I like it.”
He was holding my head in a vise grip, rubbing his cock against my tongue. I was being face fucked. Breathing ceased to be important. Sweat ran down my chest. I felt shaky and desperate.
“I know you’re going to make me come and shoot all down your throat. You’re going to make me come. You’re going to make me come.”
He shuddered and backed against the wall, legs braced and tight, his whole body stiffening up, locked and rigid. He barely made a noise, just whispered over and over….“Coming…
“Coming…
“Coming…
“Coming…”
And he let go, warm piss filling my mouth, overflowing my lips and running down my chin. I felt like I was going to break in that moment, I knew it.
The heat was shocking, piss and come from his dick running down my throat, me swallowing just to be able to breathe. I knew I wouldn’t be able to take it all as I heard it splash on the tile floor, but I did my best, sucking and drinking and swallowing as much of his stuff as I could. Trying to be his good cocksucking, piss-drinking boy, trying to fight back tears. This is my place, this is where I belong, I am Daddy’s fag boy. I am.
When he finally let me go, he slid down the wall to the floor in front of me. I was shaking and spent, my ears humming. Our eyes met, and he pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms all the way around me, and kissed me on the head. We sat for a long time in the corner of the shower room, forehead to forehead, just feeling it.
When we finally got up, he pulled himself together, zipped up his pants, and we turned to walk out, his cyberskin dick shoved into his back pocket. I could only smile. This is our life.
Lessons
S. Bear Bergman
She slid her cock out of me slowly, so slowly, then pumped it back in once, hard, to watch me gasp and laugh and grab for it; she knows I can’t take that after I’ve just come but she likes to do it anyhow. It’s how she tests to make sure I’m really, thoroughly fucked out, I think. I reached back, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her up and onto my back like so many covers, like I do, snuggling down under her warmth, the weight of her keeping me safe and grounded. She murmured fond and ridiculous things in my ear, calling me sweet and delicious, handsome, and beautiful, licking away the sweat on my neck and sliding a hand under my sweaty chest to hug me a bit. We snuggled and rolled with the afterglow, being silly. I sucked gently on the tips of her fingers, lazing along by my cheeks, kissed the palm of her hand, nuzzled and burrowed into it, lapping like a pup. She giggled. I made a noise, a warm one, low in my throat, something between a growl and a groan, and curled myself against her.
Every time we do this, I like it a little better, and I liked it a whole fuck of a lot to begin with. We don’t get a lot of chances, living so far apart and not being Rockefellers, either one of us, but between conferences, relatives, and the occasional frequent flyer ticket, we get just enough to never feel too horribly deprived. Still—this particular meeting had been after an especially long hiatus, and I was glad for the three days, glad for the king-sized bed in the anonymous hotel room on the eighth floor, glad for the weight of her on my back and the way that it never seemed like it had been months since we’d seen each other, even though we don’t really talk on the phone much.
We email, though. It’s the best part about messing around with writers. The email is so, so good.
Recovering slowly, I disengaged myself long enough to dislodge the head of her dick from a tender spot just above my knee, and tugged on it, experimentally, looking to see if she were ready to take it off, to let me touch her, but also ready to let my touch modulate into a jack-off motion at any minute if she wasn’t. She has a harder time with it than I do; I was bro
ught up as a butch by sex–positive, radical perverts who thought that any bullshit about butches not liking to get fucked was so much retrograde nonsense, but she grew up someplace outside of Philly and ten years earlier, where the local lesbo culture was strictly a butch top/femme bottom arrangement, where all the butches were presumed stone until proven guilty, and butch-on-butch pairings were as taboo a thing as could be imagined. Good thing that times change.
I cruised her hard when we first met a couple of years ago at a writers’ conference: She made several very smart comments during a panel we were on together, and she had a steel-gray brush cut. Sold. I invited her to have dinner with my friends and me, my dear friends who set me up with ample conversational opportunity to both mention my wife at home and discuss being poly, so this hot thing would know the score. That, plus my outrageous flirting, did the trick, and after dessert I was in her room on my knees, being called a delicious assortment of very dirty things while I struggled to get her but-tonfly jeans off and a condom on using only my mouth.
I love writers’ conferences.
Since then, she’s let me talk her out of her boxer briefs and into all kinds of hot and nasty fun, and has even developed quite a liking for getting fucked with my biggest dick, one that makes her crack jokes about getting to be a size queen in her old age. But I always have to wait until she’s fucked me at least once, first, like she needs to reground herself in the idea whenever we meet again, as if her gentleman butch sense of the rightness and order of the world can’t allow her to experience her own desire until everyone else has been squared away first. Not to suggest that fucking me isn’t one of her desires. It seems clear to me at this stage that it is. But.… You know what I mean.
I slide my body up until my mouth is right against her ear. I say, “Oh. Oh, you fucking hot thing, so good to me, I want to make you feel so good, man, I want to do you so right….” I brush my lips against her ear, buck my crotch against her hip, start to move next to her. My hands find her nipples and start to rub, gently, just how she likes. She groans, quietly. I go on: “Mmmm. AJ, I want something. I want something from you, so bad.”
She picks her head up and looks at me. She loves when I say what I want, she likes it that I trust her, and that I’m so hot for her. She says low, into my ear, “What’s that, hm? Tell me. Tell me what you want, greedy.”
Pressing myself against her, selling it with my entire body, lacing my fingers through her hair, I let a rush of hot breath out across her ear, and say, “Please. Please, teach me how to make you come.”
She draws back, shocked, looks at my face. She travels with a Magic Wand and uses it, buzzing herself off while I fuck her and having noisy good times about it. But I have a secret hunch about her. I think maybe she’s like me, that there’s some other, nonelectric way to get the job done, something that requires the exact right touch and a lot of work, something she never confesses because she doesn’t want to be that much work, or be that exposed, or make someone else work that hard on her behalf, but which is incredibly satisfying in a totally different way. I’ve seen the signs. I want to know what it is. I want to do her like that, want to make her come for me without her having to do anything at all. I want her to trust me like that.
I slide closer, out of her gaze, heart pounding, positioning my lips next to her ear again. “Please, AJ. Tell me what to do. I promise I’ll do a good job for you. I swear I will. Use me to get yourself off. You deserve it, god, you deserve it.”
Her big hands close around two fistfuls of hair, and she drags my head away from hers so she can see my face, mouth slack from panting to catch my breath. I hold her gaze and try to make my eyes communicate exactly what I’m thinking, what she wants to see: Yes, I mean it. Yes, I want this.
She drags my head back, my ear against her mouth, and crushes me tight against her in a hug. I wonder whether she’s crying. I didn’t mean to make her cry, I wanted to make her come, which is wetness at a totally different end, and I’m just about to start apologizing all over myself when she says, “You won’t want to do it.”
The hell I won’t. I’d walk barefoot across a mile of burning sand to watch this butch dry dishes on videotape. “Trust me, I will,” I say.
After a long, long pause, during which I have the good sense to keep quiet, she says in my ear, so quietly I can barely hear her: “Lick my asshole.”
I’m elated. I groan, “Oh, holy shit, yeah,” into her ear, start fumbling the harness off, looking for the plastic wrap, so excited I can’t remember not to do five things at once. I knock over the lube, right it, find the plastic, get her out of the harness and flat on her back on the bed with a pillow under her hips before she can start waffling or change her mind. I tear off a piece of wrap, put it aside, and start kissing her, laying my body back along the warm, furry, delicious length of hers, kissing her soft and slow with little nips of my teeth, running my hands down the sides of her body, stroking her strong arms and her wide hips, working my way down her body, so slowly, rolling her nipples between my lips for a long time, sucking them so, so gently and making her push her cunt up to me, licking at her tattoos. I keep my knees between her legs so she can’t grind. I want her to be hungry when I finally touch her, want her to want it so much. I want this to last. I want to show her what she’s worth—all my attention, all my desire.
Finally, I bend my head and start nuzzling against the crack of her ass, kissing and nipping at her asscheeks, reaching surreptitiously for the Saran Wrap while I squeeze her ass between my hands, pulling her cheeks apart, smoothing the plastic into place, and sliding nose first between her cheeks. Her legs are bent at the knee. I can’t believe she’s so open to me but I am not complaining. I dig in.
I trace my tongue up and down her crack, so gently, full of hot breath. I want her to feel the heat even through the barrier, want her to be able to imagine it isn’t there. I start to work my tongue in a little deeper, wriggling it against the sensitive spots, taking long, long licks from just below the opening of her cunt over and past her asshole, licking a fraction harder with each swipe of my tongue. She sighs, shifts her hips, presses against me. Encouraged, I keep on, starting to vary the pressure and depth of each lick, sometimes using the broad flat of my tongue and sometimes just the very tip, as hard as I can make it; I trace around the opening of her asshole, crinkled tightly shut, tracing my tongue along each of the tiny sunburst furrows of skin that radiate out from it, trying to get it to trust me. On one of the licks, I miscalculate and start pressing just a bit too soon, pushing the tip of my tongue right against the hole.
She moans. My cunt starts to do a slow boil, and I redouble my efforts. I kiss, lick, and nuzzle against her asshole, pushing my nose against it playfully, working against it with my tongue, feeling it start to open, starting to smell how much she likes it—when I pick up my head to say this to her, I see the small, slow stream of milky come easing its way out of her cunt and down the crack of her ass. Holy Christ. I put my head back down, and get back to work.
How do I describe this? It becomes the Zen of asslick-ing, the whole world gets reduced to about three inches of warm, wet flesh and every sound she makes. Her hand comes down and locks itself in my hair, she pulls me closer into her asscrack, tongue first, finally opening up enough for me to insinuate it into her hole and wriggle, just a tiny bit, but it makes her make a noise I’d never heard before, and I suddenly don’t care how much my neck hurts or how hard it is to get my tongue into her, I just want her to make that noise again. I start fucking her hole with my tongue, slow and steady, the plastic wrap a mess around my face, and she starts grinding back against me, so hard it hurts my nose, but I am on a mission, now.
Suddenly she lets loose my hair, and I’m not sure what she wants, I start to pick my head up but she growls, “Don’t stop, oh, please, don’t, please don’t stop,” and grabs my hand instead, dragging it up and pulling it hard against her clit, which is harder than I have ever felt it, literally standing straight out of the hoo
d like a tiny cock. I work it differently than I normally would, in a two-fingered jack-off motion I learned for transmen with testosterone-enhanced parts, up and down the sides with occasional swipes across the head, and she loves it, starts panting and gasping while I fuck my face further into her now-open, gripping asshole and work her clit at the same time. I can tell she’s going to come, soon. I don’t change a thing, I keep doing exactly what I’m doing, same speed, same pace, if I’m doing it right I want to keep doing it right, I want to do it right for her, want to make her feel as good as she makes me feel, so I keep my hand steady and blink the sweat out of my eyes and take a deep breath for one more long sally, plunging my tongue back into her ass on the downstroke and pulling it out on the up, letting her buck between the two pleasures, until she yells, “Oh, holy motherfucking god!” and comes with a bellow that even the moderately soundproofed hotel room probably doesn’t contain, nearly breaking my neck as she whips her legs together around my face and squeezes them hard, hand clamping down over my hands, writhing on the bed in pleasure and riding what I hope like hell are several strong aftershocks, each one announced with a guttural cry.
Soon, she’s still. I tap her on the thigh to remind her that my head is still between her legs and when she opens them, I scramble up, hurrying to cover her naked skin with mine, wrapping her up against me, holding her and whispering, “Thank you. Oh, thank you,” into her ear like a mantra, over and over. She looks at me.
“That was…oh. Wow. Em, that was….” She trails off, nuzzles further into the crook of my neck, rubbing her sweaty skin against mine. We breathe together for a minute. I drag the ugly bedspread over us to keep us warm, being careful to hold her tight the whole time, not wanting to break this moment. I can’t even believe she trusted me with that. It makes me feel something I can’t explain, and while I’m searching for the words, so I can tell her, she picks her head back up, and whispers, so quietly for such a big, confident butch, so shyly, “Did you like it?”
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