Simon And Sir
(for story list and FAQ, go to maineboyxy.freewebsitehosting.com)
I remember, at some point, being led, almost carried, to bed. I remember curling on my left side into a loose fetal position, as I normally did to sleep, and as I had done, my head in his lap, on the couch. I remember the warmth of his body as he curled against me, behind me, folding himself into the curves of my back. I remember feeling his breath on my neck, his face gently nuzzling, one of his arms draped over my side, the hand resting on my chest. I remember these and I know they were not dreamt. Nevertheless, as consciousness washed over me, and when my eyelids slowly opened in the daybreak softly filtered by the curtains, I was lying on my right side. He lay on his back and I was curled against him, my head on his chest, my hand on his waist. He slept soundlessly but his chest rose under me and I could feel his heartbeat in my ear.
I stroked that patch of skin between his navel and the tapered shore of his trimmed pubes. He didn't stir and I turned my face, my nose against his skin, relishing the scent of him. I found myself kissing him softly, and then my lips opened, my tongue barely emerging from my mouth, as I tasted him. My eyes closed as I felt the shiver run down my spine. We'd slept together. I was only half-awake as I perfected this realization, and I allowed myself to be persuaded to attribute some significance to the fact. I had not been left on the couch, even under the guise of leaving me to sleep undisturbed. He had brought me here.
The blanket crossed his chest just below the rise of his pecs. I carefully raised myself onto my elbow, propping my head up in my palm. His face was expressionless, jaw relaxed, lids folded over his eyes. There was only a hint of stubble in his beard, the first I'd ever seen on him, and I dared to slip my hand out from under the blanket and trace my fingertip over his cheek. It had no effect on him. I dared still further, brushing a stray lock of his bangs back into place on his forehead.
I looked at him and I felt my dick begin to swell into the side of his thigh. This man had tied me to a bed and tortured me. He'd inflicted pain on me and used me for his sexual pleasure, and I had wanted it. He had dared me to disobey him, to cum without his permission. He had challenged me to suffer his abuse, both of us knowing that at any time I could have stopped him, gotten up, walked away. And I hadn't. I had remained with him, remaining his tool, his toy. I flexed the ring of my ass, remembering how he had fucked me the night before, how he had fucked me in my dorm, how he had fucked me in the gray room in his apartment. It made me want him. I remembered how I'd sucked him, the taste of his cock, the taste of his cum, the feeling of his cock in my mouth, its heat and texture, the smell of his crotch as my face pressed into his skin. I licked my lips and looked down at the blanket, down to the mound where I knew his naked groin was covered.
I was indecisive for a moment, but the lust quickly won out. I watched his face as I lifted back the blanket, peeling it down his abs, over his waist, over the top of his thighs. There was no sign of wakefulness. I took a deep breath and sighed, then slowly maneuvered my body around, bringing my face to his package. I brushed my open lips over his loose sack, breathing him in, and then stuck out my tongue and licked it. There was a hint of the soap we'd used in the shower the night before, there was a slight saltiness, but the rest was purely him. I closed my eyes and enveloped one of his balls with my mouth. I sucked on it softly, and froze as I heard him sigh. Seconds ticked by before I continued caressing him with my tongue, weighing the firm orb in my mouth.
His cock began to move beside my cheek, the blood beginning to fill it. The temptation forced me to abandon symmetry, and I left his sack to take his cock head into my mouth. At first, I didn't suck or lick it, just holding it in the warm wetness of my mouth. I tilted my neck and face as the blood continued to pump into the shaft, keeping the head in my mouth without interfering with its upward motion. I began to lick first, gently, the broad surface of my tongue massaging the underside of his glans. When he was fully erect, I tightened the seal of my lips and began to suck, slowly, almost imperceptibly, eliminating the air between my cheeks until they hollowed. I suckled, my jaw rocking.
He sighed again, his head moving on the pillow, his legs flexing. His hips rose a bit and then settled back down into the mattress. I wondered what he was dreaming of. I opened my mouth and relaxed my throat, and then rolled forward into him, impaling my face on his erection. He moaned aloud as the head slipped through the narrow entrance into my throat and I stopped and drew back. I sat up and watched his face. There was no tell-tale quiver of the eyelids. There was no artificial slackening of the features. He still slept, but barely. I looked back at his cock, now glistening with my saliva, pointing up towards his stomach.
A thought occurred to me and I considered its practicality. Could I? How far could I get before I woke him? I stuck my forefinger into my mouth and wet it before prodding my still sore hole. There was still some moisture there, some of his cum that had oozed out while I had slept but hadn't wholly dried. I pulled my hand back and drooled on the tips of my fingers, then transferred the spit between my cheeks. Could I take him with so little lube as that? I slobbered my fingers again, then slipped one of them inside me. The lust, which had been deliberative and cautious before, began to wax into something more than mischief. It grew into need as my another finger slid into my ass. I needed him inside me. I needed to make him feel my ass, to milk him, to ride him until he climaxed inside me. I needed to feel the fullness of his dick inside me, to feel the jolting of my prostate, but more than my own pleasure, I craved his.
I carefully rose to my knees and straddled him. Supporting myself with one hand beside his hip on the mattress, I lined up his cock to my hole with the other. I gritted my teeth and held my breath, then dropped my ass an inch or two, forcing him to penetrate my sphincter. His eyes fluttered open in surprise. I saw disorientation in them as he looked up at my contorted face, then down to his crotch, seeing his shaft as it rose from between his hips to disappear into my hole. His expression was one of confusion, bewilderment, his mind still in the no man's land between consciousness and unconsciousness. I resumed my descent, emitting a lustful groan as he slipped further into me. As he felt my guts part around him, the hot, velvet lining of my cunt massaging his head and shaft as it buried inside me, his expression dissolved into one of pleasure. His mouth opened, brow furrowed, his eyes moving between mine and the ever-diminishing exposed portion of his rod.
In a moment or two, I had planted myself firmly on his crotch, his pubes prickly on my smooth scrotum where my balls rested on him. My own oozing dick jutted out in front of me. I reveled in the sensation of him inside me, and I rocked slightly forward and back over him. His hands went to my hips. I saw his lips move to form a word, and I bounced up an inch and allowed myself to fall back down. A grunt escaped his throat, his word lost. I repeated the motion, and his eyes closed. Again. His head raised a bit from the pillow and fell back. I developed a rhythm, rising, falling, no more than an inch or two, enough to force the sensitive head to pull back and plow forward into me.
He lay there motionless, breathing deeply, relishing the feeling, concentrating with his eyes closed. After several minutes, he began to rock his hips up and down to match my bouncing. After several more minutes, I knew that the last vestiges of sleep had left him. His eyes opened. They were tinged with lust, but now they were aware, bright, conscious, calculating. He watched my face as it no doubt reflected my own pleasure. I saw the transformation through my own half-lidded eyes as his features tightened slightly. His hands left my hips and slid down over my crotch. He ignored my throbbing, waving cock and took a ball between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. He held them firmly as I moved up and down on his rod, pulling them down into my sack as I rose up.
"Nipples," he said. He spoke softly but there was an audible edge. He had retaken control, first of himself, and now of me. He stopped thrusting with his hips, leaving me to do the work alone.
"Yes sir," I nodded. We stared at each other's eyes as my hands went to my chest and I obeyed. I needed the pain, and I closed my eyes and moaned as my own fingers tweaked the still sore buds at his command.
"Harder, Simon," he said. "Pull them out and twist them." I moaned again and obeyed. He could read my face, which did nothing to hide my lust. The pain, rather than detracting, only compounded it. I began to rock up and down harder, faster, rising up higher to allow more of his shaft to slip out of my hole before I sank quickly back down, my cunt swallowing it to the root. I could feel a tug in my balls now as he held them and I rose up and away from his hands. I opened my eyes to see his still open, still on my face, as I fucked myself on him.
The pressure was noticeable but not unpleasant when he began to apply it, squeezing my nuts between his thumbs and forefingers. I closed my eyes as I felt it build. He continued adding more, bit by bit, until I whimpered. There was a ball of heat in my gut now, the ache from my balls, as I continued, more desperately, more needfully, to piston up and down. I still tugged and turned my nipples. He held the pressure constant on my nuts and watched, watched as I absorbed both pain and pleasure, blending the two into one. I was dripping precum all over his lower abdomen as I moved up and down, my dick throbbing and pulsing.
"May you cum?" he asked after countless minutes.
"No sir," I whined.
"Would you like to?"
"Yes, please!" I pleaded.
He smirked. I rode harder. I could feel my orgasm building. Up. Down. Up. Down. Like a perverted pendulum on a perverted clock, my ass rose and fell with each second. My cock flopped with the regularity of a metronome. Time passed and as it did, my own need, my own lust, grew.
"Please?" I opened my eyes. I was on the edge. I needed permission to cum.
"Please! Please, I'm going to cum, please?!" I begged desperately.
He set his jaw and said nothing. I felt my nuts pulse in his grasp and my eyes widened. I clenched every muscle in my body to hold back the tide. I no longer rose or fell, frozen, half-kneeling, his shaft halfway in and halfway out of my hole. His eyes dared me. My eyelids fell, my jaw dropped, and I lowered my chin to my chest as the spasm washed over me. My entire body was rigid, and my cock shuddered. I felt every nerve in my own cock head, each one an individual filament of sensation. Seconds passed, and then my muscles gave way. I sucked in breath. I'd never been so close to the edge before. A single motion would have made my sperm shoot from my cock, but I'd held it back. I panted as he watched, a dry smile on his face.
Suddenly, as the lust seemed inexplicably to flow out of me into the ether, I felt exhausted. I gently lowered myself back down to sit over his lap. He released my balls and pulled my hands from my nipples. He wrapped his fingers over my shoulders and pulled me down to his chest. He wrapped his arms around my back, his cock still embedded in me. My hands curled around his shoulders. He kissed my hair and said nothing.
"Why did you stop?" he asked after a long silence.
"Because I didn't have permission to cum."
"Why did you care?"
"Because it's not allowed. Because it would be disobedient. Because it would disappoint you."
"Were you afraid of the punishment?"
The realization was like a bolt of lightening. I hadn't even thought of the punishment, the consequences of cumming without permission. He had said that doing so would mean he would take pictures of me, covered in my own forbidden spunk, in whatever condition had made me climax, and that he would do whatever he liked with the pictures: post them on a web site, send them to people at my university. That was the punishment he'd designed specifically for me. And it hadn't occurred to me while he had withheld that permission this morning.
"No," I said slowly. "I forgot about it." He said nothing, and held me, his cock hard in my hole. I rested on him, still needing to satisfy him. I began to rock my hips, rolling my ass on his rod. "Please cum," I murmured.
"I will," he replied. I propped myself up on my elbows, his hands still caressing my back and sides. I watched his face as he absorbed the sweet sensation of my tight ass. I leaned forward, stretching to kiss him. My lips met his; he waited, denying me, for cruel seconds before opening his mouth and slipping his tongue inside mine. My cock slid wetly between our bodies in a pool of precum. I rose to a kneeling position again, primarily to escape the stimulus of the friction as I rocked. He lay back, limp and relaxed beneath me, watching with lidded eyes as his cock sank into me, then retracted, then sank in again. I placed my hands on his hips to aid my balance, then rose up to a squatting position, my weight transferred to my feet. This new position gave me better leverage, and I rode him more quickly. He responded with a low groan, eyes closing again.
Eventually, as my thighs tightened from the calisthenic repetition, perspiration on my brow and chest, he began to thrust his hips again. Not with practiced or conscious rhythm, but with the primitive, instinctual determination of a man nearing orgasm. He began to pant. His hands went to my hips, gripping tightly, and I felt his fingers bruising my flesh as they dug in. I clamped my hole shut around him as I rode still faster, committed to forcing him over the edge. He cried out and grimaced, only increasing my determination.
"Please cum," I begged again. I needed to know that he enjoyed my body. I could see and feel the pleasure I gave him, but I needed to know that, again, I had milked the cum from his balls. He grunted each time I forced myself down, slapping my own ass on his thighs, my full balls smacking against his pubes. My own cock had not stopped throbbing, but I refused to consider my own pleasure. I tried to tune out the feeling of his head pounding my prostate as it passed, the delicious friction of his shaft in my chute. I had nearly cum once, and I couldn't afford to come so close to the edge again. I needed his climax more than mine. "Please," I pleaded.
His features twisted and I saw his pecs, abs, and arms clench, and then it happened. With an explosive exhalation, he let loose, giving in to my ministrations. I felt him throb inside me, pumping his spunk, but I did not decelerate the speed with which I impaled myself on his spasming cock. The sensitive head continued to rub against my guts, denying him escape from the sensation, my hole still cinched tightly around his shaft as I rode him.
I could see it overwhelm him. "Stop," he hissed. His chest convulsed. I slowed. "Stop!" he exclaimed, grimacing again. I buried his spurting head inside me and desisted, my buttocks pressed tightly to him. He groaned again, still out of breath, as his muscles relaxed. I relaxed my sphincter only to quickly squeeze down around him again. A shudder passed over him. Gently, I slid off my feet onto my shins and leaned back over him on my elbows. I licked at the thin sheen of sweat that shone on his sternum.
"Thank you," I mumbled. He wrapped his arms around me again and pulled me tight against him. I rested my head on his shoulder while he caught his breath. My cock throbbed between us. It was early, and I had woken him. We were both spent. Consciousness ebbed and we dozed.