Oscar - 6. Part 6

It hadn’t been my intention to stay, even when I’d knocked on Adam’s door to find him standing like my dreams wrapped in muscle.

Sleepovers weren’t my style. Leaving cut out the bullshit that came after whoever I was with was done. The fake affection. The forced interest. The meaningless questions.

They didn’t care. They didn’t really give a toss about my life. I was a distraction to them. A plaything out of who knows how many other toys they could have picked from a digital shelf. That’s what they were to me so what’s the point?

With Adam, however, there was a point. A big one.

Not because, somewhere over the course of our thoroughly enjoyable evening, I’d had a change of heart. It took finding myself stranded on the other side of the planet to have that, many years later. No, curling up beside him that Saturday night was tactical, pure and simple.

Yes, I was high. Yes, I’ll admit, it was nice lying in his arms and feeling his powerful chest rise and fall behind me. To say it wasn’t soothing would be a lie.

But I’d had no idea about Pricey. Mr. Tim Price sexiest man alive. None. And when Adam had told me his story, in all its cock-hardening glory, an idea had sprung to life between my attentive ears.

I’d stayed the night because I needed to make him trust me. And I’d known, when morning would come, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He would have gone from wanting me, to needing me.

I wasn’t wrong.

‘You awake?’ he whispered in my ear.

My eyes were closed but I could feel his elbow sinking the mattress and propping up his head behind me. His body was close but not touching. I could feel his heat.

Laying still I kept my breath slow and controlled, adding a subtle snore here and there for good measure.

He has to try harder than that.

Slowly lowering himself he changed tactics.

His cock came first. Hard and thick he pushed himself into me. His shaft between my arse cheeks and the head against the small of my back.

His pecs came next. Large and firm they pressed into my shoulder blades before his fatless abdomen followed. Under the covers a hand found my waist and gently took hold. His forehead nestled into my hair. His breath heated my neck.

That’s better.

Letting out a yawn I stretched against him. Then, arching my back, I pushed my arse until I could feel the blood pumping through his cock against my hole. His grip on my waist tightened and I opened my eyes.

Looking at me through pale morning light was myself. My head on a plush white pillow I didn’t recognise. A tuft of my short brown hair jutting out of place. The shape of a huge body I barely knew, but would recognise anywhere, behind me.

A devious smile crept over my face. The body began to grind.

Slowly at first. Then harder when I reached my hands behind my head and around his neck. My biceps bulging back at me in the mirror as I linked my fingers together.

Gliding a hand over my abs he pulled me into him as close as possible. Effortlessly. I was taller than most lads in my year and built from years of swimming, but I was as light as a feather in his arms.

Letting go of his neck I twisted my upper body and found his lips. Fast and hungry we tasted each other; neither of us bothered about the taste and smell of stale beer and tobacco on our breath.

For minutes we got lost in the gentle jostling of our tongues as birds tweeted somewhere outside. My fingers pinching his nipples and digging into his muscles. His holding me tight and pulling my arse against him over and over.

Then he moved his face away, stuck two fingers in his mouth, sucked them, pulled them out and reached down.

‘Whoa,’ I said, pulling my arse away from his oncoming reach. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘What?’ he said, a look of genuine confusion plastered across his handsome face. ‘Don’t you want to?’

‘Don’t ask dumb questions,’ I said, a cheeky smile spreading across mine.

‘Then what?’

I nodded my head at the mirror. Said, ‘Where’s the rush?’

Looking up he caught his own reflection. Smiled.

‘No rush,’ he said.

‘Good.’

‘Where shall we start?’

Throwing off the sheet I laid on my stomach. Raising my arse into the air I turned my head ninety degrees and looked back at the mirror.

I could see us both. My naked profile from head to toes. Him kneeling next to me. Staring. His cock jutting out from his body like a spear.

‘Hungry?’ I said.

Smirking he raised his hand slowly and placed it on the back of my thigh. He clasped tight. Squeezed my muscle. Then he let go and slid his grip up and over my arse cheeks.

Slap.

He spanked me hard. Pain, quickly followed by pleasure, burned over my skin as air hissed through my teeth and into my lungs.

‘You like that?’ he said.

Slap. Again, before I could answer.

‘You know I do,’ I said, now relishing the hot prickle of his hand across my reddening left cheek; my eyes fixed on the polished glass.

‘Good,’ he said, swinging a knee over me.

Squeezing his legs, he pushed mine together until they touched. Then, pulling my cheeks apart with both bands, he held me open and took in the view. I didn’t need the mirror to know my arse still looked great. Pert, tight, smooth, hairless.

Nothing’s changed since last night.

He licked his lips. Satisfied, his back curved upwards and his mouth lowered onto me.

All around him the strengthening sunlight poured into the room, reflecting against lint and dust in the air. Rays of white shone around his body as his mouth unhurriedly ate. He knew what he was doing this time.

Heaven.

Seconds morphed into minutes. My breath growing heavier and his tongue pushing deeper. Blood rushed to my face and tiny salty droplets formed on my forehead. My cock aching beneath me, stuck between my surging body and the mattress.

Burying my face in the pillow my mind raced. Images of him flashed across the darkness like a movie as my hole got hotter and wetter. Every fibre of my body wanted to feel how rough this rugby captain could play. How powerful he could be. I wanted him to unleash everything he had.

Destroy me.

Turning back to the reflection I reached behind and pulled his head away from my hole by his hair. Hot turned to cold as his lips smacked away from their feast.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Finger me.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

Without hesitating he drove two thick fingers inside me to the knuckle. Index and middle.

A wave of intensity rolled up my spine, through my gut and stomach and into my throat. There it became a moan of pleasure unapologetically resounding through the morning stillness like a call to prayer. Pushing my upper body off the bed and locking my arms, I let gravity pull me down even deeper. Then, pushing my arse against his grinding hand, I lifted myself by my knees and assumed the position.

Woof.

Back and forth I rocked myself, harder and deeper. Turning and twisting his hand in time, his fingers curled and wound inside me. His muscles bugling beautifully as his huge arm pistoned like a well-oiled machine.

But the view. It’s not good enough.

‘Turn me,’ I said.

‘What?’

He didn’t like being interrupted.

‘Turn me so I can see.’

Luckily he was easily persuaded.

Pulling out and grabbing my hips with both hands, he yanked me. My hole gaped open for a split-second before the fabric below blurred and I flew down the bed, weightless and submissive.

Hopping off the bed he stood and turned my body so I was diagonal. I could see it all. My slim, tensed back, my arse, my cheeks, my pink hole in the air. Him.

Everything is perfect. Nothing can go wrong.

‘I’m ready,’ I said.

‘Me too.’

‘Go get the condoms.’

He froze. Momentarily, but it was certainly a latex spanner in his works. The look on his face when I’d mentioned protection the night before had told me everything I’d needed to know.

Why use a rubber when they’re on the pill, right?

‘Come on,’ he said, stroking my arse.

‘Sorry mate.’

Three.

‘Why not?’

‘‘Cos I said so.’

Two.

‘I’ll pull out.’

‘Nope.’

One.

‘Please?’

Direct hit.

There, in his parents’ bedroom, Adam Stanmore, school hero, Mr. Number One, begging me, the social nobody, the gay boy, the faggot.

For three whole seconds I was silent, basking in the triumph sweeping over me. I wanted to shout and yell and laugh hysterically.

I won.

Then all I had to do was grab my stuff, get changed and leave. Leave him hanging. Leave him wanting more. He’d be the Puppet King but I’d be the hand pulling the strings.

But I couldn’t. He spat in his hand and began to rub his cock. Slowly. Seductively. Each stroke leaving a layer of lubrication glistening in the sunlight.

My poker face was flawless but he knew I was suddenly sucking down saliva faster. He knew I wanted it. And I did.

Bad.

Jumping my knees forward I turned and kneeled on the bed, facing him. Taking hold of his cock, I leant forward and ran my tongue from base to tip. Kissed up his pre-cum.

‘I suppose I have already swallowed your load,’ I said.

He grinned.

‘And I suppose you’ve never taken one in your arse, right?’

‘A load?’

I nodded.

‘Nope. Never.’

‘Ever been tested?’ I said.

‘Yup. All clear. You?’

‘Same.’

And I wasn’t lying.

‘Ok,’ I said, resuming my position.

He grinned. Like an ape.

‘Where should I cum?’ he said.

Looking over my shoulder, I stared into his eyes. He was waiting. Waiting for me.

‘Wherever you want,’ I said.

As I’d come to expect, he started slow. Careful and courteous.

A long, thick strand of foamy white fell from his mouth. I watched it drop and heard its tiny clap against his cock. He shifted his weight and the bed compressed. Then a strong hand on the base of my back pushed down, lifting my arse up higher.

I watched the head of his cock rest between my cheeks and felt it gooey against my hole, every detail gleaming back at us from the polished glass of his parents’ mirror. I saw his arse tense and knew that was my cue to relax my own as best I could.

Millimetre by millimetre he stretched me open further than I’d ever been opened before. One inch, two inches, three inches, four. Reaching behind I put my hand on the base of his abs.

‘Easy does it,’ I said.

Taking a deep lungful, I tried to focus on my breath. Then, moving my hand away slowly, he continued. Five inches, six inches, seven. He hit my prostate and froze.

‘What’s that?’ he said, panic in his voice.

I tried to answer but I was too busy trying to breathe.

‘Is that?’ he said, eyes wide.

I composed myself.

‘No. It’s my prostate. Girls don’t have them.’

‘Oh,’ he said, relief flooding his face as he pushed himself against it again. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Fuck no,’ I moaned. ‘It’s amazing.’

‘Awesome,’ he said, sliding in his final three inches.

My hole clamped around him as my brain, unable to stop my neck and head from whipping back, flooded my body with dopamine. He groaned, highest volume, holding his position. His deep voice reverberating through his body and into mine. My cock on the verge of exploding.

‘Wow,’ he said, sliding out to the tip, pushing all the way in again and pulling back out completely. ‘Nobody’s ever been able to take it all.’

Pushing myself off the mattress I arched my back to vertical and held onto his neck. Twisting my chest, I pulled his head down and bit his lip.

Stupid boy.