"I've got a... thing. Another appointment. I forgot my doctor wasn't able to make it a later time. Sorry."
It was the lamest excuse I'd ever made. I had to force myself to even look at him as I said it. But Brendan seemed just as eager to leave as I was to get him gone.
"Yeah, of course. That's fine, we were almost done. Worst case, we can spend a little more time on Thursday, but you're progressing nicely."
I wanted to make some sharp, semi-flirtatious quip in response, but I managed to stop myself. That was the last thing I needed. Instead, I answered Brendan's attempts at small talk as he got his things together, then escorted him to the door with the help of my crutches. Once he was on the other side of it, I listened for his footsteps to retreat, hearing them get softer and softer as he made his way to the parking lot.
I let out a giant huff of frustration and glared down at my traitorous dick, knowing I'd have to take care of this the old-fashioned way. I told myself it was a punishment, just a chore to take care of a pesky problem. In reality, my heart raced, heat surging through my body as the anticipation of fantasy wound its way into every inch of my flesh.
Grabbing lotion and tissues from the bathroom, I propped myself on the couch and tugged down my shorts and underwear. My cock sprang free, smacking lightly against my stomach. Way too fucking hard for what'd just been a standard physical therapy session. That was the downside of having an active imagination.
On the plus side, it gave me plenty to work with as I squirted lotion into the palm of my hand, warming it up before I reached for my dick. That single touch sent a jolt of pleasure through me, which told me it'd been way too long since I'd gotten laid.
I pushed all of those thoughts aside and closed my eyes, leaning back to get comfortable on the couch. My strokes started slow, tugging upward from the base, letting up on the pressure once I reached the head. I used the full force of my palm and fingers, my motions becoming a little faster as I kept going, fingers curling more tightly around the shaft.
Through it all, I thought of Brendan. Here, where it was safe to do so -- even if it still wasn't ideal -- I thought of what might have been. It was so easy to imagine him holding my leg up to his chest to stretch it, then shifting so his hips were flush with my ass, his cock straining against me. In my fantasy, I stared at him wide-eyed, then with a sharp look of lust that demanded he continue. He started to grind against me, but I wanted more. Skipping the lead-up, I fast-forwarded my personal porn right to the best part. He was bare from the waist down, his thick cock rigid and dripping with precum. He'd stripped me, too, and my ass was positioned, my own fingers holding open my pretty pink hole for him to see.
A growl rumbled deep in his chest and he rubbed the fat head of his cock over my crack, a mix of lube and precum making it glide over my hole. I whimpered, shimmying my hips, trying to get him inside. He held out for several moments more and I squeezed the base of my cock, wanting my own fantasy to last.
Drawing in a deep breath, I imagined Brendan finally pushing into me. Sinking the first two inches of his cock into my tight hole, ensuring I was gripping him fully before he drove into me the rest of the way, my leg hiked up over his shoulder so he could get as deep as possible.
My body rocked with the force of his thrust and I cried out, wishing I'd brought a toy to play with. Desperate to feel something inside of me, I clumsily hobbled my way to the bedroom, tearing through boxes to grab actual lube and the long, thick dildo I kept beneath my bed. I lay back, imagining Brendan carrying me to my bedroom and throwing me down on the bed. Slathering the toy with lube, I pressed the head against my hole, slowly working it inside.
I was tighter than I remembered, probably because I was out of practice. Slowly, I pushed the toy in, inch by inch, until the base was flush with my ass. I moaned loudly, some crazy part of me hoping Brendan was still out in the hall and close enough to hear it.
I imagined him coming back into my apartment and one fantasy bled into the next as he yanked me to the edge of the bed, hiked up my legs, and buried his cock deep inside of me. He was ruthless, trusting that I could take every inch of him as he pounded me into the mattress. While I dreamed of his flesh-and-blood cock thrusting in and out of me, I worked the dildo in my hole, contorting so I could get a decent enough grip on it.
I didn't last long. Between the fantasy and the pressure against my prostate, all it took was a few minutes of fucking and I shot hard, bright white stars bursting behind my eyelids.
I lay there afterward, a sweaty, panting mess, my own cum splattered on my stomach, and a fake dick in my ass that I desperately wanted to be Brendan's.
I knew even then that he wasn't "off limits." He wasn't out of my system. If anything, I wanted him even more, and now I was convinced I could have him.
9
Brendan
It was some kind of miracle that I made it home.
Honestly, it was a miracle that I even made it out to my truck. As soon as the door closed, I wanted to turn back around and beg him to let me in. As soon as he opened it, I wanted to grab him by the collar of his shirt, slam him back against the wall, and kiss him senseless.
He'd always been magnetic to me. When we were younger, it manifested in me wanting to be everywhere he was; wanting to do everything he was doing. As those feelings grew beyond friendly admiration, I found myself constantly wanting to drink in his presence. Every time we were close, I ached to touch him, and just the familiar scent of his body was enough to make me half hard.
I'd had an excuse then. I'd been a horny teenager who was feeling all of those things for the first time and had no idea what to do with them. I couldn't fall back on that logic now. I should know better. I should be mature enough to be able to keep myself in check, especially when I knew there was still beef between us.
It was impossible to deny Keith felt some kind of attraction to me, though. His body definitely responded to mine. I'd seen that firsthand, and I'd wanted to feel it, too. To massage up his thigh and toward his groin, wrapping my fingers around the rigid line of his cock.
Thoughts like those were what made it almost impossible for me to drive. I blasted the AC and the radio, hoping to drown all of it out. It worked to a point. I was able to get home, but the second I was inside, I had no defense. And no reason to fight myself any longer.
Tossing my keys on the counter, I started stripping off clothes on my way to the bedroom. I needed to head back to the college to finish some paperwork but, if I didn't do something about this now, I was never going to be productive.
Grabbing the lube, some clean cloths, and my laptop, I set everything up on the bedside table and shucked off my shoes, then my slacks. I kept my boxer-briefs on out of habit, but my dick was already straining against the opening, soft cotton forming around a hard line.
Climbing onto the bed, I pulled the laptop to me and brought up a go-to video that always got me there quick. I now realized just why that was: The bottom looked a lot like Keith. Same hair color, same build, same cocksure little smirk. By the time it flashed past all the warnings and legal nonsense, I was already breathing heavily, my hand on my dick, rubbing through the fabric.
I set the laptop back on the bedside table and watched as the models kissed. It was like a battle between them, the passion raw and electric. Bodies were tugged this way and that, brought together and maneuvered where the other wanted them. I pulled my dick out and squirted lube into my palm, letting the warmth of my skin activate it.
The video I had pulled up was truncated from a full porno. As such, it skipped right to the good parts. There was a sudden fade cut and the bottom was laying on the bed on his back, head positioned off the side of it while the top fed him his cock. I stroked my own, watching the model's bulge in his lover's throat. He took it like a champ, relaxing until the man's heavy balls rested against his face. I groaned, slowly tugging at my own cock, imagining it was the practiced lips of someone else.
No, not someone else. Keith.
; That thought brought everything into focus. I'd turned on the porn hoping it would give me something else to jack it to, but my mind used it as a backdrop to fantasize about the situation I'd just left. We'd been in so many positions I would've never considered erotic before, but with the tension bristling between us, it was hard not to think about alternate scenarios.
I imagined myself down on the ground, crouched low to massage his leg. He was standing with his back to me, palms bracing himself against a wall while I helped him stretch and eased his muscles into cooperating. It wasn't so different from a position we'd actually taken but, in my fantasy, I didn't keep my straying thoughts to myself.
I reached up, pulling his shorts down over the curve of his pert, round ass, his underwear coming with them. I pulled his cheeks apart, my fingers splayed over his flesh, and admired his pink, puckered hole.
Leaning in, I used my thumb to rub at his entrance, then plied him with the edge of my tongue, coaxing him open. I had no idea what Keith's hole looked like, so I imagined him soft and hairless and just begging for my attention.
The porn I'd left on was progressing to a similar point. The top had his bottom's ass up in the air and he was spitting down onto his hole, then licking with enthusiasm, his tongue spreading the saliva around to help lube him up.
I imagined working Keith open with my tongue until he was moaning and whimpering -- begging for my cock. Standing behind him, I unzipped and pulled it out, sliding the head over the cleft of his ass. I teased him with it, rubbing against his entrance, waiting until he was literally begging before I gave him what he wanted.
My hand fisted more tightly over my cock and I pumped hard, the slick sound echoing through my bedroom, joining the moans of the two models. I glanced to the laptop to see the scene was shifting again. The top's bare dick was in position, pushing into his lover's hole. My eyes squeezed shut and I imagined myself sliding into Keith as he taunted me with that smart mouth of his. Urging me on. Telling me to go faster. To fuck him harder.
I was all too happy to oblige. In a fantasy, there was no need for build-up. I could drive into him from the start, my fingers curling tighter around my dick to simulate the walls of his ass clenching around me. I thrust off the bed, imagining myself pounding into Keith from behind, slamming his body against the wall, the thumping sound making a loud racket in his apartment.
My arm braced around his neck, holding him to me. The other gripped his hip, using it for leverage as I fucked him like he wanted.
I could hear the slapping of flesh, the keening moans of the models in the porn, but my eyes were still closed as I imagined it was Keith and I. He'd feel so good around me, I just knew it. Needy and responsive and always demanding more from me. I'd give him every inch, slamming into him again and again, going balls deep each time.
My hand blazed over my cock and I knew I wasn't going to last long. There was no finesse to it. It was a good, old-fashioned jerk, meant to meet a sudden, undeniable need for a man I could only have in fantasy. I made the most of it, imagining myself hitting just right inside of him so that he cried out, coming hard from our fucking alone.
As I felt myself growing close, I lifted off the bed, thrusting into my hand as I tugged upward one last time, my hand glistened with lube and precum. With my eyes closed tight, I imagined burying myself inside Keith and coming just as hard, a partial reality as I shot my load, my own moan drowning out the models'.
I lay there for several long moments after, listening to the continued slapping of flesh, panted breaths, and needy moans as the porn drew to its conclusion. My own breathing finally slowed, my heart returning to a normal speed, my mind fog starting to clear as the models cried out.
This wasn't going to work.
There was no way I could serve Keith in a professional manner now because that desperate move hadn't alleviated my desire for him. It'd just given me a temporary outlet with a fantasy I was going to remember as soon as I set foot in his apartment.
Something had to give. I had to make a real effort next time to conduct myself like a functioning adult, or else I had to tell Keith I couldn't be his therapist any longer. There was no viable alternative, no matter what my body -- or my heart -- might have wanted.
10
Brendan
The next time I saw Keith, I was determined to keep things professional. It didn't matter how good he looked or how good he smelled. It didn't matter if he was eye-fucking me from his spot on the couch. It didn't matter if I could still remember how hard I'd come while thinking about him. I was the professional here. I had to start acting like it.
At first, I did.
"Noticed any changes since the last time I was here? Any decrease or increase in pain, mobility?" I asked, my tablet in hand.
"I've noticed my boredom is about to eat me alive but, other than that, no changes," he said, looking at me from over his phone.
I gave him a good-natured smile, making the mistake of holding his gaze for a moment. There was something molten in his eyes that sent a searing heat through me. I doused it quickly, pulling my attention away and focusing on the information I'd collected about him.
"If there hasn't been an increase in pain or stiffness, I want to try some more advanced stretches and exercises," I said, setting the tablet down on his coffee table. "You cool with that?"
"Yeah, sure. Move me wherever you want me."
There was something in the way he said it that-- No. I wasn't going to think about it. It was nothing. Just a product of my overactive libido.
"As always, let me know if it's too much."
No quip followed that, thankfully, and I started in on Keith's exercises. I instructed him to move his leg in different ways and helped him hold it in place. Even if he couldn't tell, it was obvious to me he was getting some strength back in the muscles.
I was mindful of my positioning the whole time, bending in awkward ways to avoid making things even more awkward. All I could think about was how we'd been positioned last time, and how easy it would have been to--
Dammit. I needed to get a grip. Keith hated me. He was only tolerating my presence because I held the ticket to his recovery. He didn't want to fuck me.
Unless...
Again my libido ran away from me, painting pictures of an amazing hate fuck. Keith riding me so hard he left bruises on my thighs from slamming down on me. My dick bottoming out inside of him again and again. His nails raking down my chest, his teeth sinking into my skin.
Fuck.
"You okay there, Brendan?" Keith asked, a knowing smirk on his lips.
As reality seeped back into my consciousness, I realized my fantasizing had actually made it to my dick. I wasn't fully hard yet, but enough to make an obvious bulge in my pants.
"I'm fine. Why don't we see how well you can do lunges on your own," I told him, my voice strained. "Don't extend too far, I just want to see if you're able to put enough weight on it."
I stood back to give him room, but there was a glint of mischief in Keith's eyes that I recognized from when we were kids. It was the same look he'd had before he chucked cherry bombs into the school pool for absolutely no reason other than the fact that he could. And to see what volatile reaction would occur.
Of course, I hadn't stopped him then, and I didn't stop him now. At least at first, which was mostly because I couldn't fathom what he was doing. He stood close to but in front of me, somehow managing to stick his ass out before he went for the lunge. Round, firm muscle rubbed against my cock and I bit back a groan. It had to just be a weird coincidence. There was no way he'd just done something that obvious.
"Want me to give toe-touches a try, too?"
He had, and I was suddenly faced with the reality of what happened when you underestimated Keith Howard. He backed up so his ass was already against me, then started to bend over. It was only a small relief that he couldn't bend very far.
On reflex, my hands went to his hips. A bad idea. A very, very bad idea, because now we were standin
g there, my dick hard against the cleft of his ass, my hands gripping his hips. Keith only made it worse, his own hands moving back to grab my thighs.
"We can't do this," I managed. "You're my patient, Keith. It isn't right."
He ground his ass against me and a moan escaped my lips before I could stop it.
"Then consider yourself fired." He turned, eyes boring into me, providing some relief on one hand as the pressure let up against my cock. But his hands went to my chest, and he was soon pressing his front to mine, the line of his own hard cock so easy to feel against mine. "I know you want me. You can't touch me without getting hard."
"It doesn't matter what I want," I murmured, already aware I was losing this battle. My hands were still on his hips.
"What about what I want?" he asked in a husky voice, his breath playing over my lips. "Because right now, I want you to fucking rail me on this couch."
His hands moved down, coming around to grip my ass. He pulled me against him and I groaned as our dicks rubbed against one another through our clothing. I could feel myself leaking, so insanely turned on by something I knew I shouldn't be doing.
"That's really what you want?" I asked, a growl to my voice. "You want me to pound you until you come all over yourself?"
I was surprised by my own words, but not enough to feel even a hint of shame. Dirty talk had never been my thing. Keith was making it all too easy.
"Yes," he breathed, a plea in his voice.
It was one I couldn't resist. My mouth crashed to his, a moan echoing between us as that tension finally found an outlet. I kissed him hard, my tongue thrusting into his mouth, demanding he give himself over to me. Keith wasn't passive, though. He gripped me tighter, pulled me closer against him, and kissed back with just as much force.
My hips rolled, guided by his hands on my ass. Our clothes just added even more friction as our dicks rubbed against each other. It'd been years since I'd dry humped another person, but there was something undeniably erotic about doing it with Keith.
Time Out (Dear Lonely Guy Book 2) Page 6