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Making Me
Date: 12/27/2016, Categories: Anal First Time Gay Male, Author: riterman2, Source: xHamster
... can clearly feel my cock bulging and moving inside. How wicked, how wanton, how wonderful! He slides his mouth on and off me, simultaneously laving my length with his tongue. My hands move to embrace his head, fingers entwined in his long hair. I draw him against me. I can feel his nose in my pubic hair, my balls on his chin, I mightily resist the urge to fuck strongly forward. His hands move to caress my butt, fingertips teasing. With one fingertip he twirls and teases at my tight hole, then slips it gently inside. I jerk forward, pushing my cock deeper in his throat. His head moves forward, forcing my hips back, impaling me deeper on his finger. He picks up the pace, alternately taking me deep in his throat and impaling me deeper on his finger. Nerve impulses from all over my body rush to my groin. I feel the pressure building, feel my hot seed rising. His finger leaves me. His mouth leaves me. He rises to his feet. I feel barren, empty, abandoned, lonely, longing. My legs are tight and shaking. He turns around, reaches behind him to grasp my dick, and leads me by it, still dripping, out of the shower and into his bed. I awake as golden fragments of morning sweep slowly across the small bedroom and gently kiss my face. I feel spent, used up. It is the first time I have awaked next to a sl**ping male form since Mike's sl**p-overs in my early teens. Les lies beside me, his spare form sprawled on the bed, arms akimbo and legs spread. His yellow hair is spread beneath his head ...
... like a radiant halo. His dick lies peacefuly along the golden down at his thigh, surrounded by its own halo of nearly transparent golden curls. Even in its flaccid state, it is nearly twice the size of mine when fully erect. Its bare head, the golden curls around its base, his thighs, are lightly coated with the dried traces of left over lust. I lie on my side and gaze at him for a while, reliving the events of the previous night. What is it with me? What am I? Have I no morals, no shame? I search deep within myself. I can discern no trace of the shame, the disgust I believe I should be feeling. Is it love I feel for this "friend", or only lust? He is radiant, gleaming. Gently so as not to wake him I let my hands graze over his taut frame. Cautiously, I heft the length of his sex in my palm, impressed by the solid weight of him. The smell of him, of us, and the remnants of our sex is heavy in the room and heady in my nostrils. The taste of him is a memory on my lips, my tongue. Did I really do all that last night? Take his long heavy thickness deep in my mouth, my throat? It seems impossible, yet already I feel the stirring want of him reawaken somewhere deep in my psyche. Yes, I believe I would do it again. Momentarily I am tempted to lean over his taut, muscular form and take him once again in my lips. "Could I do that? Perform the acts of my recent memory in the cool light of daylight and reason, without the compelling lust of last night?" I suppose the hot ...