With my eyes closed, I was experiencing his torso with my mouth, fingers and nose. I wanted so much to enjoy this but even more, I hoped he would find it truly pleasurable, too. The nagging torment that he would awaken thunderstruck was still nagging at me. He could possibly be repulsed by me and easily decide to never want to see me again. If I were thinking straight, (or at all,) I would have run from the room; content with my little victory and secure that my taboo secret would forever be hidden. I could keep this memory within me and only use it in the privacy of my room. He is so exciting: his body, firm and smoldering below the surface, yet smooth and supple as I play along it’s length.
I leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses along his upper torso and sweaty, moist dew where I sit on him. My hand explores his chiseled face starting at his temple and then through his jawline and dimpled chin, then dances down the deltoids and biceps of his strong arms. I’m awash in this sensation of a powerful beast, lingering at the edge of restfulness and stretching his tendons to arise and capture his prey.
I sense suddenly that his long tool has flexed to life under my ministrations, and my hand now strains to contain it. Light droplets of cum form at the tip and serve to smooth my stroke as I let it slide up and down my sweaty palm. The purplish head surprises me. It is not a bulbous, mushroom shape like some I’ve seen. It’s more tapered and rounded like the crown of a bowling pin, though impossibly thick. My fingers barely touch and the shaft must be ten inches to it’s shaven base. His balls have now filled out. They perch like plums, full and plump, my fingertips tease them as my hand continues it’s pistoning motion, bringing this enormous cock to it’s gigantic dimensions.
I hear him murmur and groan under his breath as I check to see that he is still asleep. His exhalations are coming quicker and deeper and his body squirms and writhes on the bed. I only wish I knew what he was dreaming about.
I’ve fully freed his cock from the confining leg of his shorts and my head rests delicately on his abdomen. His mammoth tool is fully erect at this time and pointing skyward. My hand slides repeatedly up it’s length, pausing at the tip to thumb a few precious drops from the opening, and watch the oily film seeping down the rigid column. I am utterly mesmerized by it’s shiny smoothness and firmness.
I hear a small gasp escape his lips when I close my fingers more firmly around him. I discern the heat from his body, smell the musky scent and listen to the rapid, husky breathing. I inch closer, my lips open hungrily. That veiny pole, a sharp purplish red, was beckoning me to it.
I kissed it once or twice at the base, my fingers sliding free to allow my tongue to lick a slow, sloppy path up to the top. I pause to lick around the ridge of the cap and swirl my snaky tongue over the head so I can savor the salty discharge.
I felt the warm softness of the helmet and I curiously draw in a taste of his nectar. I suck in a little harder and feel the big tool slide in, it’s flavor coating my tongue. Another low moan from his lips spurred me on. I could taste his sweetness and feel it swelling in my mouth. I knew it was wrong, but from this point there would be no stopping.