Date: Fri, 6 Jul 2018 02:15:54 +0200
From: DG Smith <dg912x@gmx.com>
Subject: Unexpected Seduction - Chapter 3

Unexpected Seduction
Part 3
Dg912x@gmx.com

That morning, I beat Matt like a rented mule.  That wasn't especially
surprising.  What was surprising was that he opted to run shirtless for the
first time.  Naturally, I gave him shit about it.  I remember seeing a tag
in a shirt one time that said, somewhat self-servingly, something to the
effect of: "It's never too hot to wear a shirt.  Don't be that guy."  For
what it's worth, random shirt-tag wisdom has never been put to such good
use.  Notwithstanding my jokes, over the next few weeks, a shirtless Matt
on our runs was one of several things that became a new normal.  Him
staying and showering afterwards at my place and coming out after the
shower in just shorts... and then in just a towel... and more recently
sometimes in nothing at all was another.  And us inevitably notching
additional repeat performances was a third.

Whether it was that he was running shirtless or that I was beginning to
associate Saturday morning runs with post-run jerk-off sessions, those runs
became an odd paring of masochistically depriving our bodies of oxygen and,
for me, at least, a state of semi-arousal that was more than the usual (and
virtually hair trigger) predilection for my brain turning to thoughts of
sex.  And, despite a weekly determination not to, I was spending more time
looking at Matt an a object of sexual desire, not that I was the only one,
given his continued string of one-night stands.

"You can thank me for improving your race times, you know," he said over
lunch one Saturday following our satisfying other appetites.

"No doubt.  Should I thank you for improving your race times, as well?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I think we can both agree that's been because of my
hard work and dedication."

"No doubt.  Your once-a-week efforts are a real inspiration.  Is that why I
should be thanking you?"

"Jealousy (here, he waved his hand over his face) makes your face ugly,
Wy."

"Guess that's something I'll just have to live with."

"No, you can thank me for improving your race times because my running
shirtless guarantees you stay ahead of me."

"You mean, as opposed to my being faster, having better endurance, and
putting more effort into training?"

"Psh... minor details. I mean that you know if I get ahead of you, all that
blood's going to go to something other than running, and that's assuming
you can even pay attention to anything other than my smoking hot body long
enough not to fall on your ass.  Ergo, you run faster."  He pointed a
french fry at me, "You owe me."

I rolled my eyes.  "Annnnnd... Q.E.D."

"Damn skippy."

Besides the purely sexual aspect of it, our encounters had other, more
subtle effects on our friendship.  The undercurrent of competition that had
always existed gradually mellowed, and our races, games on the court, and
other activities became much more about just hanging out and having fun
rather than keeping score or trying to beat each other.  We gave thought to
what the other wanted to do and figuring out the gameplan became a matter
of what we'd both enjoy most.  Another new normal was that, besides just
sexually, Matt became -much- more touchy-feely.  Given that I am basically
allergic to most casual body contact without an endgame in mind, this was
something that I, at first, tolerated (barely) but gradually got used to
(perforce since it seemed I didn't have a choice).  Which is good, because
it happened. all. the. time.  He'd cast a friendly arm over my shoulder
when we would be walking somewhere, grab me from behind and lift me off the
ground, or or tousle my curls in a good-natured but vain attempt to mess up
my hair when we were joking around; he'd hug me when we got together or
were about to part... and not just that half, bro-style hug, but a bear hug
that pressed his body close against mine as, thanks to my accursed
height-deficiency, I couldn't help but smell his clean scent mixed with
cologne, something increasingly associated in my mind with our more private
activities.  Some things were more overtly designed to elicit a response,
although I never called him on it.  Like when a group of us would squeeze
into a booth at a place to eat, and I'd find myself wedged between the wall
and Matt. Inevitably, I'd feel his leg press and slide alongside mine
slowly and languidly while he acted like nothing was amiss, joking and
moving around with the rest of the guys.  His jokes about my propensity to
often be high-beaming, which he often caused, began to be accompanied by
playful tweaks on my tight nips, first by just him but then also by other
mutual friends as the teasing became a group meme.  So, hopefully, you can
excuse what resulted in my having a seemingly constant semi as a
result... even if my friends couldn't, which they relished with
ever-increasing jokes about me being a certified horn-dog and earning me, I
shit you not, the nickname of "Wood", which was accurate enough, I guess.
I began to exist in an on-going, low-grade sexual haze with too-frequent
stimuli, and my body compensated with... or compounded the problem by... a
lot more jacking off, sure, but also sexualizing everyone around me.  If a
fit couple was walking by, I looked at both, imagined them in bed together,
pictured her firm tits and his tumescent cock.  It was a slippery slope,
but it was either stay at my place all the time and jack continuously or
endure it.

The one thing that did not become a new normal was us talking about what
was happening between us, and that was fine with me.  I might have reached
the point that I accepted that we were just helping each other out and
could even laugh at some jokes loaded with innuendo, but thinking too much
about it, and definitely talking about it directly, were things that I'd
decided were best left for never.  So, you can imagine my surprise when he
brought it up after many weeks of radio silence on the topic.

It'd been a long Saturday. Matt was moving, and, for one reason or another,
his friends were conveniently committed to other things. After an all-day
move by just us two (with him getting ragged mercilessly for only having 1
friend to help) on a ridiculously hot day, we found ourselves that night
free for a run, deferred though it was. Almost like a rite, though, despite
the lateness and the fatigue, our ritual had certain elements, starting
with a run, so there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that it was going
to happen, even if starting from his new place meant we were making up the
route on the fly.  This wasn't really a problem, although we hit way more
hills than we were used to. Post-run, I'd gone into his spare room,
stripped off my sweaty clothes, and jumped in the shower.  I'd be lying if
I said I was taking my time and enjoying the water cooling my hot skin.
More accurately, I was on a mission to get clean and get the done asap with
the shower.  We were already hours overdue on something I refused to
consider a hook-up, no matter how much it quacked like one.  As I was
rinsing the shampoo from my hair, I heard the shower curtain moving a
moment before I felt Matt's right arm come across my chest with his right
hand cupping my left pec and his index finger and thumb with practiced
expertise finding and lightly pulling my nip.  I'd like to say my reaction
was smooth and controlled, but, in reality, he'd surprised the hell out of
me, and my yelped expletive would be cited by him for the near future as
proof of his "mad stealth skillz."

"Two words: Nin. Ja."  I could virtually hear the grin of satisfaction, and
my eyes rolled, although part of that was due to what his fingers were
doing to my body.  "It's just inefficient to waste water, which I now have
to pay for, and you know how I'm all eco-friendly."

"Must be why you drive that Land Cruiser, Captain Planet," I managed to say
in a semi-normal voice as his hand continued its now-familiar exploration,
alternating between completing the transition of my nips to hard nubs and
sliding down and tracing my abs.

He chuckled, his arm tightening around me and his free hand finding my hip,
both pulling me back against his torso, so that I felt as much as heard his
laugh.  His chest was broad, warm, and solid against my back, his body
beginning to lean into mine.  "By your powers combined?  Nah, I drive that
Land Cruiser because I need something big"... he emphasized the word as his
body tightly spooned mine... I felt his thick cock, already hard, against
my lower spine settling between my glutes as he finished his thought, "to
drive all you poor, car-deprived students around." The hug from behind was
not unusual but the lack of clothes definitely was and made the positioning
of our bodies unusually intimate.  "All you
poor... toned... horny... deprived... jock students... needing me to give
you a ride," he added in a voice thickening with lust, each word emphasized
by a subtle pulse of his hips forward, causing his shaft to align deeper in
the cleft of my muscular ass, the flared head dragging alongside my
backbone.  His innuendo and these new sensations simultaneously set off
alarms in my mind and caused an erotic surge in my body on top of spending
the whole day in an increasingly horned state, especially during the run,
when I seriously began considering the possibility of needing a jock strap.
My mind's concerns were offset by too-long-delayed gratification, the image
of what we must look like at that moment lingering in my brain, feeding my
hunger while another part of my brain tried to process the implications and
shut down the train of thought.  Matt's hand left my hip, fingers trailing
down the deep v-shaped indention pointing to the base of my cock and then
curling on my leaking shaft, freezing me in place as thoughts warred in my
head.

The last couple of weeks, I had largely jacked the both of us as Matt's
hands had been free to roam my body, seeking out spots that even I didn't
know turned me on.  My attention had slowly continued decoupling from
controlling my pacing and stamina to increasingly being fixed on reading
Matt's reactions and suggestions to give him as much pleasure as he was
drawing out of me.  His skill had not suffered for lack of practice.  His
pace and grip on my shaft, the thumb stimulating the head of my cock,
immediately reminded me of how well Matt intuited what I wanted... what
spiked my desire to almost mindless hedonism.  As the water pelted down our
bodies, Matt played my body like he was a damn virtuoso, I went from being
concerned about getting out of the suggestive position in which he'd
maneuvered me to being almost oblivious to it... hard and gasping, my body
squirming from his ministrations, awed at the intensity and rapidity of my
reaction, as he used his natural talents to pit mind against
body. Suddenly, control and the ability to hold out were irrelevant; the
only thing that mattered was to cum with a desperation that I'd never felt
and didn't understand.

"I think I've been doing this wrong," he said, as his continued grinding,
in turn, was forcing my manhood through his grip. I was in no shape to say
anything in response, but if there was one thing my body was telling me at
that particular moment, it was that Matt wasn't doing.... this... wrong.
He spoke again, his statements coming in bursts, punctuated by sounds of
pleasure that caused goose-bumps over my body. "I like getting off
quickly... and repeatedly... but you like to make it last... to hold out as
long as possible.  Hell... you shoot... like no one I've ever seen....  We
should both get what we want... Just cause I'm already ready to get
off... doesn't mean it's what you want.  It should be... right ... for you,
too."  I wanted to tell him how badly I needed to cum, but he continued
before I could interrupt him, "fuck, Wy, I'm so close... help me out."  He
traded his hand on my cock for taking and guiding my hand behind me,
between our bodies, transferring it to the thick meat his hips were still
rhythmically thrusting against my back and ass.  My moment of indecision
evaporated as I heard his voice near my ear saying "please, bro," and,
despite the awkward angle, I began working him.

"Yeah, Wy....  I love how you... ungh... work my cock," he said, as my grip
and his grind became more concerted.  Matt's arms closed around my torso,
the muscles flexing, once again tightly pulling my body to his so that it
almost made my arm uncomfortable, but I was too far gone to remember the
uncertainty from before or to care.  In seconds, I heard his breath catch,
and he coated my back with his seed.  I felt the tension drain from him,
and his arms relaxed, dropping to my hips, turning me to face him.  Despite
just getting his nut, I glanced down to see that he was still as hard as I
was, a fact that was, given my state of arousal, nothing short of
extraordinary.

He grinned down at me.  "I can't believe how fast I get off with you... I
wish you got as uncontrollably turned on as I do...."  I felt a flush of
pride at his words, even if our encounters left me oddly off-balance and
feeling anything but control. In fact, at that moment, I was almost
trembling with the need to get off.  I only hoped I'd be able to last long
enough to get him off a second time.  I moved to take our cocks to jack us
together, but Matt was quicker: his hand pushing mine to the side.  "No
way, little man... after that, it's my turn," he said, as he began
alternating between jacking himself and jacking me.  I groaned as I
realized that, unlike before, his intention was to continue to build me
towards one, mind-bending climax rather than quickly try to peak my sexual
need.  I'd already been so close, but over the next 5... 10... 15 minutes,
he explored the musculature of my torso, arms, and ass with one hand while
the other alternated between jacking either himself or me, always gauging
my reactions and bringing me, over and over again, to the brink while
expertly denying it.  My need became tinged with desperation and then
became drenched in it.  Each cycle, I thought Matt would let me cum only to
feel him backing off right before the point of no return.

As his hand came off my leaking cock yet again to return to his own, I
groaned in frustration, and I again thought about how badly I wanted to
cum.  I'd lost track of time.  We'd been in the shower so long, Matt had
adjusted the water temperature up and so much more time had passed, it'd
become lukewarm again.  I had to jack myself off... it would take only
seconds....  I had refrained so far given what Matt had said, but I could
only take so much and... oh fuck, I needed to cum... I moved to take my
cock again, but, again, Matt's hands intercepted mine, guiding one to his
cock and the other to his abs and then up to his pec.  My eyes opened in
surprise, watching my pale skin against his dark, perfectly sculpted body
as he prompted me on.  A tremor, either of lust or deferred need, shook me
as my fingers wrapped around his length and my other hand began
feeling... worshipping... his body with the sense of touch, exploring the
hard planes of muscle, the ridges and rises, his pecs and nips, which
caused my own cock to throb and burp another dollop of precum.

After a few moments, Matt buried his face in my neck, leaning into me, and
I changed tactics.  My hand, currently exploring his defined biceps and
triceps, slipped up and around his shoulder, pulling him toward me,
eliciting a groan of desire from him, which, in turn, further stoked my
need.  If I couldn't jack myself, and he wouldn't jack me, I could pull him
against me.  The feel of his body pinning mine against the cool tile of the
shower as his hips ground into me, frotting our cocks together would
finally send me over.  But when my back hit the wall, he didn't let me pull
him in tight enough to grind against me, instead leaving room for me to
continue jacking him.  "Oh my god, yes... right there," he murmured, as he
braced one hand against the wall near my head and the other slid up into my
hair, fisting in it, turning my head, exposing my neck more to where his
face was buried.

As he began to shoot rope after rope of cum on my abs, I felt his teeth
graze the smooth, sensitive skin on my neck, sending a spasm through me.
As he continued to cum, his lips joined in, kissing and sucking at my neck,
softly at first, but then with more vigor, as he realized by my reactions
that this was another intensely erogenous zone of mine, making me idly
wonder if my whole body was a single, sexual g-spot.  His mouth began
roaming as I, momentarily, forgot my cock in the sensation of blood being
drawn to my skin's surface.  He explored hungrily, his lips at the base of
my neck where it met my shoulder and then along to my adam's apple and up
along under my jaw, traveling to my ear before working back down and over
to the other side.  I moved the hand not wanking him from his back up into
his hair, intending to pull him off before he marked my fair complexion
with hickies, but, as his lips and teeth attacked my neck with greater and
greater passion, I found myself just trying to hold out considering how
good it felt, but slowly losing... yielding, writhing and wanting to feel
where his lips and teeth would next dance along my heated skin.  Sensing
the change, Matt aggressively attacked my neck, splintering my resistance
until I found myself urging him on, irrespective of the marks he was
making, and he responded by progressively exploring further and further
with each sweep... one trip moving up along my jaw, the next sucking on my
earlobe, and then, again, up my chin to tease the corner of my mouth,
before I managed to turn my head slightly, as a whimper escaped me,
although I couldn't tell if it was a sound of protest of what almost
happened or what didn't happen.

He leaned back slightly, and when I noticed his mouth was no longer on me,
my eyes met his, the deep green almost iridescent with raw desire that I
knew was mirrored in my own.  He dropped his hand, and dragged one finger
along my leaking cock, and the need to cum, from which I'd been distracted
and yet which had only continued to be fed, almost made my legs buckle.
"You have no idea how hot you look, Wy... so horned... so strung out with
need... so desperate to cum." His finger slid along my shaft a second time,
paralyzing me.

"Matt... I need...."

His eyes took on that predatory look I'd seen a couple of times, but I
didn't care if I was friend or prey... his hunger at this point only fed my
own... the more he wanted me, the more he wanted from me, the more I wanted
him to want me.

"Yeah, Wy, what do you need?"

As I stared into his eyes, the answers that came to my sex-drenched brain
sent a tremor through me; I couldn't answer him or didn't know how, and, as
my silence hung in the air, his finger feathered my cock a third time.  My
thoughts spun away as my eyes rolled back.  The sound that escaped me was
one of lust and need, one who has been denied too long, where everything
becomes subservient to one, overarching need... like a man dying of thirst
in the desert who has just spotted an oasis.  Matt's lips crashed against
mine, his tongue tentatively dipping through my parted lips before more
brazenly plunging between them.  The hand still in my hair moved to cup the
back of my neck, not only countering my instinctive retreat but, more,
pulling me into the kiss.  Whether it was because I'd been pushed too far
to be able to care about anything other than what my body wanted and needed
or whether it was because I'd always enjoyed making out or whether it was
just an echo of my curiosity of the last time about Matt's taste, I kissed
him back, ardently, needfully.  Even if I had wanted to resist, it wouldn't
have mattered.  Matt's tongue danced, seduced, and claimed.  We all have
our own style of making out, but I'd always been used to girls, who are
kissed instead of who kiss you, if you know what I mean, so my tongue
automatically dueled with his, but as the kiss deepened, Matt's tongue
explored deeper and longer, and mine yielded more and more, until I found
myself tentatively sucking on his tongue as it penetrated in and out of my
lips.

I was a good kisser, but, the longer we made out, and the more freely Matt
indulged, the clearer it became his style was winning me over.  Matt's
body, his looks, and, now, his oral skills shook me to the core, as I
realized I had no idea what the limits of his seduction were.  Perhaps
things would have ultimately been different if that thought had been given
the chance to take hold, but, as it first occurred to me, Matt finally, at
long last, pressed the length of his body into mine, and I eagerly surged
against him. My mind and body wanted and needed this, and I gave myself
over to it, letting Matt's lips and tongue govern my own.  Moments later, I
began cumming intensely, my body seemingly consuming itself, exhausting
itself, with impossibly forceful explosions of cum rocketing from my cock,
coating me, shooting up against my chest, chin, on my face and into my
hair.  Matt, too, began nutting a third time. At some point as we shot over
and over again, the kiss broke, and our bodies shuddered and ground to a
halt, my knees almost buckling from the experience.  The exertions of the
day and the extended strain and release of our encounter left my mind dazed
and lethargic, my movements sluggish.  We didn't talk; eventually, Matt
pushed me back under the cool water.  His hands roamed freely over my body,
through my hair, gently cleaning our cum from my body.  Turning off the
water, he toweled us off.  My mind was numb, as he guided me, naked, to his
bedroom, laid me down in his bed and climbed in. "Sleep," he said, and
blackness overtook me.

----

Author's note: First, my apologies for how long this installment took.  I'd
actually finished a 3rd chapter and was editing it when my email account
apparently disappeared from the face of the earth (hence the new email
account instead).  So, yeah, a bit of work down the drain.  The re-write
wound up taking a bit of a different course than the previous iteration,
although I retained some of the same elements that I remembered.  Let me
know what y'all think or if you think we need another direction.