Just In Time

He hit me as I was finishing up work with a text:  U still around?  I certainly was, and I hungry.  Hungry for his cock, which I remembered well from the last times I'd seen him.   A solid seven and a half and cut, with a tasty mushroom head. 

An hour later I was home and settled when he arrived freshly showered, with a new, shorter haircut and a deep tan.  Two months in Central America he said.   I didn't ask what kind of sex he'd found down there, but I wondered.  I told him my sex life had nearly dried up in San Francisco, that Craigslist was dead and I hadn't found where everyone had gone.  We chatted and shared beers:  his new business, his time in Guatemala, his hopes for a new design/work space in the East Bay.  My recent (disastrous) trip to Europe, the progress of my book project, a little of my current family issues.  All the while I tried not to lunge at the cock I knew was there beneath the buttons, squirming in my chair, working the seam in my jeans with every shift in the seat.

I could wait no longer.  It has been nearly a month since I've had any sex at all, save one quick blowjob for an old fuck buddy.  "Come have a seat on my couch?" I asked. 

"Sounds right."

"Let me play a bit," I requested.  He agreed.  Nuzzling the thick denim, I took in his clean scent, felt the hardness there beneath the fabric.  Running my face over and around him, I blew hard through the layers, adding to the heat there, the soft lunges of his cock. 

With his help, I opened the Levi's, leaving his boxers barely covering my prize below.  His fingers found my nipples, pinching and shaking them as my tounge found his head through the boxers.  I didn't last long before removing his shorts and beginning my feast.  My tongue circled his tip, my saliva flowing freely, beginning to wet him.  I slapped his cock against my lips, relishing the slippery splashes, until his hands found the back of my head, pushing my face suddenly and deliciously against his belly, his cock buried in my throat, my tongue out, nothing stopping him from reaching all the way in.  He pushed my head rhythmically against him, each push a little deeper than the one before.  I pulled back and gasped, long strings of spit stretching from my face to his cock, until he forced my head down again, deeper still.  "Oh, yeah…"  I could hear him from far away, through my own hum of pleasure. 

My fingers found his balls, compact and tight as I am accustomed to on fine young men like this one.  I rolled them in my palm, then tasted them, licked them slick and took them into my mouth, first one, then the other, then both, my cheeks stretched full.  Steadily stroking above my face with one hand, he grabbed my hair from behind and pulled me back up.  "Taste this pre-cum," he instructed.  "Suck that cock." 

I could feel my own tears as I started to come, my hips thrusting against his knee with each wave.  The wetness spread through my jeans as I rode him, this, us, this near stranger who had pleasure today.  "You want this come on your face, don't you?  Don't you?"  He held me hard by my hair, denying me what I wanted:  to feel the pulsing of his cock as he came in my mouth.  Please.  Please.  I don't know how many delicious seconds passed until he spurted on my lips, my chin, my cheeks.  I found him with my mouth one last time, drinking in the last of him. 

Tasty.  Just in time.

Republished with permission from Liz Doherty. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo via Club Heather Summers.