Deviation Actions
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It was almost scary how enormous his body was. When he folded himself around me, I seemed to disappear inside his immensity. In there I could feel his heartbeat and the tense hunger. His appetite was craving things he’d never been served. A hand made its way down the back of my jeans, in past the underwear to one of my cheeks and I could feel his short nails dig into it. He exhaled in my mouth. It filled me up. I gasped. He liked that. It invited him to unsnap and unzip my pants. His hand found me ready.
“I haven’t done this part either, so you might have to tell me a few things...,” and with that he lowered himself to his knees in front of me. “Just remember, this is just as friends.”
I didn’t protest the stipulation. Right then, I’d put it in writing if he wanted.
Pulling both jeans and underwear down at once, I bounced upward directly in front his face. He stared at my dick a moment, like it had instructions written on it. Then he grasped it, pulled it down to his mouth, parted his lips and took in the first inch of it. He only lightly sucked it, then pulled it back out and looked at it again. On his next attempt, he took it down halfway. He only made a minor choking sound before he recovered by returning to the head and sucking hard on it. His tongue darted in the hole, and then he looked up at me.
“How am I doing?”
I was shaking at this point. And sweating. I felt it roll down the cleavage between my cheeks. “Fine," I said, hearing my voice crack.
This time he took it in slowly like he was concentrating on each centimeter of me, going as far down on me as he could. I was lightheaded as I felt my balls under his thumbs, grazing his hard whiskers. He repeated the deep slow plunge several times. His other hand touched the tremor in my stomach and followed it up to my chest where the thumping originated. It spurred his tempo on me, causing me to bend over him. My fingers blindly found their way into his hair and the hardness of the scalp that was rocking forward and back from me. And then I knew I was there. I blurted it like a quick warning. He pulled me out of his mouth with his hand and kept that hand on me, taking me to the finish until I almost fell over.
When I roused, standing in swaying, insane bliss, I saw that he was on the floor cleaning up my mess with a box of tissues. Clumsily, I bent and pulled up my underwear and pants. I quickly sat on the bed to recover. Once my vision cleared, I realized I was staring at him, listening to the buzzing in my ears as the blood flow returned to my head.
He glanced up at me. “Sorry, I didn’t swallow. I was afraid of...” the sentence suspended itself. We knew the context of it. I’d been there with him...intensely there.
He continued cleaning the floor, but I could see what resembled a smirk on those lips that had just had me inside them. Thinking about this now, beyond the blush of the thrill, I’ve come to believe that this happened, not because he was curious to learn how, but because he wanted to learn how in his mother’s house. In the presence of all of his awards and scrapbook memories kept to preserve their image of the first-rate family. He was committing the proverbial passive-aggressive swipe at a home prison-locked in his mother’s control. Whether she knew it or not, he committed an act—a sin in her eyes—under her roof. Had she known, it would have seared a hole in her soul. That was the source of his pleasure that day, not the sexual release, but the thrill of the illicit act compounded by the forbidden place: his childhood home.
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