Date: Sun, 21 Oct 2018 22:33:33 -0700 From: Alinea Pilcrow Subject: Those Words: Longing Category: Gay / Relationships Tags: oral sex, fellatio, age difference, nipple play, fingering, dirty talk, romantic, erotic, first time, virginity, vocal bottom Those Words: Longing Author's Notes: This is a work of erotic fiction featuring graphic descriptions of gay sex acts between consenting adults. If such acts disturb you, or if you are not of legal age to read stories intended for adults only, please stop reading immediately. This work is presented free to you, the reader, at the Nifty Archive. It cannot be distributed, modified, or otherwise used without express written permission of the author. Please consider donating to Nifty.org at http://donate.nifty.org as the site continues provide a safe, free space for creative endeavors for the enjoyment of those who wish to explore their fantasies and enjoy their sexual expression. A version of this story is published on the author's Tumblr: https://pilcrowalinea.tumblr.com Follow me there for short-short fiction, musings, and other items related to gay erotica, fantasies, and sexy bedtime stories. If you enjoy this work, I would love to hear from you. Send me your thoughts, impressions, comments, fantasies, and anything else you'd like to share: pilcrow.alinea@gmail.com Tonight, I find I can say those words; I can give voice to the feelings I have harbored so long. Once nascent, they now feel resolute enough within my chest to spill from these lips, carry my heart to the object of my desire. I know, I know. These sound like bathetic pining, all over-the-top and adolescent. I'm no simpleton; at least, I don't consider myself to be one. In coming here, I had no illusions about what his response to my suddenly exposing all this pent-up fire inside me would be. At least, that's what I tell myself. But, truth is, there is conflict raging within me. I know, on the one hand, that this is no fairytale. No. I see those words fall from my lips and scatter all around our feet like so many stolen pearls spilling from my outstretched hands. They are my meager offering to him. There is no perfect still-frame where all stands still around us for the briefest instant, suspended between this moment and next. No schmaltzy swell of orchestra rises to affirm how I feel. And yet, on the other hand, I cannot help longing for stardust to fall from the sky and come to rest on the windowsill beyond his iron four-poster bed where I see we two moving together in a frantic, furtive way in my mind's eye. I can feel the aching desire for the warm, safe reassurance of hearing the same words uttered back to me. But when I hear my own heartbeat rapping against my ribs, blood rushing in my ears, I know those words to be true. To me. They tumble from my mouth in nothing short of total, beautiful delirium. A frenzied heat courses through my body, and a heady tightness in my chest overflows. These mingle and spill from my lips in stuttered, slurred words before my cheeks go alight with self-consciousness. Even so, I want him to know. Want my words to carry just exactly how I feel to the object of my affection. I cast my eyes downward. Gone is the invulnerability instilled by way of the ruddy liquid courage I downed-on an empty stomach, no less-after being called out by a classmate for an end-of-term toast just thirty short minutes ago. It was just a rushed drink at a little place nearby, but for some reason, it was enough to make this sound like the only course of action. I had pulled the collar of my parka up to my chin and stepped out into the wintery mix with one objective: to throw myself forward into a situation that could only descend into disaster or elevate me to exactly where I wanted to be, if only temporarily. "You know, right?" I lean back against the cold metal of his door, my arms bent at the elbows and searching out the lock. My fingers fumble with it. He never locks the door. Not the deadbolt, at least. But this, I turn, and it seals the deal. There is no turning back now for either of us. I know I'm not supposed to be here, knew it from the first step I took on the way. Now, I bring my gaze up to meet his. I find I cannot hold it and allow my eyes to drink in his form. He's taller than I by several inches, broad-shouldered and solid. And yet, he is sharply angular. My eyes flit from the shoulders I long to lean on and down his white broadcloth shirt--he never wears seasonally appropriate clothing in the winter. Just looking at him makes me shiver. I follow the line of this shirt down to his rather slender waist and to a pair of tight black slacks he's wearing. Bare feet. Did I mention the lack of seasonally appropriate clothing? The tops of his feet show a light covering of dark hair that matches the curly mass of almost black hair that falls in uneven tendrils around his eyebrows. I lick my lips. Boldness is not one of my strong points. But tonight, I steeled myself against the chill of anxiety and the churning in my gut. On borrowed courage from the buzz of red wine, I trudged through the snow and to his door. He let me in but said nothing. He let me speak my piece. I gave in to the tangle of emotions and heat of my desire. I stammered out that I had felt this way a long time, that he had to have noticed I was serious by now, that this wasn't just some sort of silly crush. There was no lecture from him tonight. There was no tired smile with the traces of unhappiness at its edges when he saw me. No friendly pat on the back and wishes for good luck and reminder that I would figure it all out. That things would come into focus. That I would realize it was infatuation. That I wasn't in-. He said nothing when I uttered those words. "Say something, won't you?" I entreat him now. I would almost rather he repeat the admonitions I can very nearly recite. Anything to ascertain that his displeasure at this nocturnal intrusion is not so great as to estrange us. Still mute, he clears his throat and his left foot inches forward. And then he reaches out for me. When he touches me tonight, for the first time, really, butterfly wings flutter against my hot skin. He grasps my wrist. I feel a warm tingling dance across my skin and straight to my chest and racing heart. There is no way I can deny the heady, molten emotions welling up from my core. He isn't lecturing me now but running his hands through my hair, his fingers tugging at my short locks. He isn't patting me on the back but gripping my ass from behind through the tight material of my ripped jeans. He isn't wishing me luck in figuring my confused emotions out, trying to keep his voice distant but whispering, "Yeah... You're so beautiful..." His mouth goes to my ear. The stubble of his dark beard prickles and I feel my lips curve up into a smile, partly because it tickles. And partly because I can feel myself being inundated with him. I let him pin me against the door now. My arms reach out for him. I run my hands through his wavy black hair, urging him to continue his attentions to my ear. "You know it, right?" I persist. I close my eyes and nod to encourage his ministrations. I want this so badly. Want this from him. Want this with him. But I also want him to bare the same emotions in words. The urgent need to hear them assails me. Perhaps he's right after all. Perhaps it's just infatuation. He brings his tongue to touch the ridge in my ear. I gasp, air escaping at once. I shudder air back into my lungs and whimper when his tongue touches on the crescent, tiny pinpricks of ecstasy dancing there. He pauses and whispers, "I know what?" And then his lips catch my lobe and they're tugging at it. I continue to whimper as he plays with my ear. I bare the need in my voice to him. A tremor tears through my legs now. They tremble beneath me. And then I feel myself collapse, legs dropping to one side. And I am in his arms. He holds me up, his sure, steady arm snaked around my waist. His hand tugs at the sharp protrusion of my hip bone. His desire, just as sure, presses against my abdomen. I moan in spite of myself. I am in the throes of beatific contentment. And my breath, once so calm and gentle, has now been torn ragged by his eager playfulness and the heat of my desire for this man. "Please... At least just let me--let me catch my breath..." I plead. I lift my eyes to stare into the dark pools of his eyes. Unruly dark locks cascade down past thick brows. He lets his breath out slowly, pulls his hair back, and then lets it go again. It licks at his eyelids with uneven tendrils. His eyes arch upward slightly, those little lines forming just at the edges, the way they do when he tries not to smile. But I know where to search out his smile. I know because you know these things when you feel this way about someone. When you want to trace every movement they make with your eyes and carve it all into you to keep, for always. I know to find his smile around the edges of his eyes. My fingertips go to those tiny lines, to find that secret smile. His coffee-brown eyes widen, flitting from my hands to my own eyes and back. "What?" he asks. He brings his hands to cover mine, pressing them into his cheeks. I stroke the corners of his eyes in light circles and nod. "You have a beautiful smile," I conclude. "I'm not." "Not what?" "Smiling," he says. "I know. But I see it anyway. Professor, I-" I begin. He presses his thumb up to my lips, and then pulls at the bottom petal. The cool night air feels sharp and fresh when it hits my teeth. I fall silent and look into his eyes again, waiting. He continues to gaze at me. My fingertips move to his cheekbones and trail down the pleasant bristle of his beard, following the straight edges of his slender cheeks to his angled jaw. I pull at his bottom lip as he has mine. His teeth lunge and catch the tip of my thumb. I pant as his teeth hold my finger while his pink tongue flicks at the tip. The little jolt of electricity flies up my arm and to my chest, all the way to my thudding heart and to the hardened nipples hiding in my knit sweater. I can feel my face tense and a tiny whimper of frustration leaps from my throat. "Please... Kiss me?" He nods, relinquishing my thumb. Turning his head, he raises his chin in the direction of the sofa. There is a book open on the coffee table, a stack of papers, and a fountain pen. Beside these are a glass of wine and an open bottle. I've interrupted marking. It makes sense--this is the end of the term. He doesn't seem terribly distressed, though. Dim yellow light spills from two lamps standing on the wood floor, casting a warm glow on the crème fabric of the sofa. He guides me gently to the couch and then gives me a shove down into the soft cushion. I am almost lying now and staring up at his dark eyes and his tall frame. His waist is just above my eye level. I want so badly to pull his trousers down and take him into my mouth. But patience is a virtue. Yes, good things come to those who wait. I shake off the platitudes that have tumbled into my head. I take in a few deep breaths. My hands go to pull off my heavy boots and then my socks. I line them up next to the chair nearby. I hear him chuckle at this gesture. The conscientiousness is sorely out of place, given the current situation. I look up at him to find his dark eyes harsh and hot with what I can only guess to be desire. He leans down to sit beside me. His hands tug at my parka. It sails through the air to join the fate of the slippers he's kicked aside. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, demonstrating to me openly now. He holds my ice-cold hand to the warmth of one cheek and then brings to his lips. No one has ever kissed my hand. I feel my cheeks burning and look down at his long fingers entwined in my own. He takes me by the hips and pulls me over him to sit in his lap. I stand on my knees and then lower my hips onto either side of his legs. I am facing him now, sitting back on my haunches, eyes locked firmly on his chest. I try to raise them and find them drawn back down, pulled by some unseen force. I let out a labored breath. I feel so exposed, my ass just inches away from his crotch. He takes my face into his hands, long fingers spread wide to claim my cheeks. He lifts my face so that he can peer into my eyes. They narrow again into a secret smile though no trace plays on his lips. "Kiss me?" I ask again. "Shh... Of course." And now I have ruined the moment. I know this much. But I want to beg him to show me everything. I want to ask him in words to be patient with me. To be sweet to me. I open my mouth to forward my wishes, but before I can, he tilts his own head slightly and pulls me close to him, his lips catching mine. I mash my lips into his, teeth tapping as I move forward a tad too boldly. I feel heat bloom in my mouth and in my loins as his tongue finds its way into my mouth. I don't know what I expected it to feel like, but not quite like this. I groan slightly, my tongue recoiling. But he strokes my short hair with his right hand and catches my ear in the fork between his thumb and forefinger. He is firm, stern in his insistence my mouth give in to his advances. He swirls his tongue against the inside of my cheek to coax my tongue from its hiding place. I whimper. He circles my tongue with his own, warm and wet. And then his arms are locked tightly around me. His hand snakes down to cup my ass. He allows me to tilt forward and helps me to press my member into his firm thighs. I permit my pelvis to inch forward slightly and feel the delicious fiction of his taut legs and of my jeans and of the silky black briefs I have on beneath these. He begins to eat my mouth now, sometimes tugging at my lip with the soft petals of his own, sometimes thrusting his tongue to rake at mine. My lungs start to burn, a reminder I need to breathe. But his hand runs back and forth through my straight, short locks, refusing to let go. He is demonstrating a wild possessiveness I find at once a mite intimidating and completely intoxicating. I pull in air through my nose, my breath coming in ragged. I shudder the air out and open my eyes. The pools of his eyes glimmer at me, pleased with my confusion and my helplessness and my need. My burning desire. And then I find myself grinding my sex against him. The crown of my cock rubs against the band of my shorts, the denim of my tight jeans rubbing pleasantly against the sleek material of his black slacks. He offers his strength to me, shifting our position and easing one thigh between my legs so that I can straddle it. I let myself depend on him to hold me up, leaning my weight against him. I am riding this man's right thigh, my member rock-hard and rubbing obscenely against him. I manage to break the kiss and let a low moan rise from my chest. "Yeah, baby," he whispers into my ear. I throw both my arms around his neck and hug myself to his chest, my head coming to rest on his shoulder. I run my cheek across his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his neck and planting a single kiss on his hot skin. Then, without thinking, I suck in the tan skin here and even feel my teeth nibbling at it. I'm sure it'll leave a mark, but I don't care. I can feel his hair rustling against my ear and then his head nodding up and down. "Just feel it for me. It's okay to feel what you feel. Yeah, just like that. Feel good down there, sweetheart?" I whimper, a strained cry rising. He nods and rocks me back and forth, squeezing me tightly to him with one arm and rubbing my back with the other. The pounding has grown stronger in my chest. I am gasping for air now, body trembling. My chest is full, hot. I am desperate for him. I frame his cheeks with my fingers and bring my lips to his. I let him thrust his tongue into my mouth and I suck at it. I want to devour it. He moans into the kiss and reaches down to slide his hand up beneath my heavy knit sweater. I jerk away from the cold skin of his fingers, but he persists, sliding against my tight, quivering abdomen and climbing to find my thumping chest. He rests his hand there, pressing it to my thudding breast. I pull back to search his eyes, my breath coming shallow and hot. "I can feel your heart beating," he whispers. He smiles up at me. I reach down to cover his hand with mine from above the material of my sweater. And then he kisses me, his fingers suddenly taking my nipple. He rolls it between his fingers, and I feel a jolt of pleasure shoot directly from my chest to the hard member between my legs. My sensitive nipples are a direct line to my straining cock. He begins to brush his thumb back and forth against the hard little pebble of my nipple. His eyes lock onto mine. "Does that feel good, hmm?" "Uh-huh..." I moan, my eyes squeezed shut. I whimper and hiccough, nearly sobbing. My hips begin thrusting into his upper thigh. I buck my hips now, helpless to do anything but bear my aching need and try ineptly to quell this burning desire. And in that instant, his other hand is pulling my sweater above my ears. I am stark naked from the waist up and thrusting my hips into my professor's hard manhood. I am straddling his thigh and rocking myself into his most private place. And he is letting me. And he wants me to feel good. My nipples are hard, angry burgundy smears on my pale skin. He hooks his hands under my arms to steady me and sets his thumbs on either nipple. The warm teasing starts again. He begins to rub in circles using just his thumbs. I clench my eyes shut and moan. I open my mouth and it rises from deep in my belly. I feel something warm and wet flit across my left nipple. Then, there is a pleasant pull at it. I open my eyes to see him leaning forward and suckling at my nipple. I run my hands through his hair and pull at the length of it. I need to show him. Expose myself. Need to communicate this somehow. This feeling. My need. This cannot be mere infatuation. "I want you..." I whisper, my eyes falling shut again. I moan as he begins kneading my ass with his left hand, his right arm locked across my back. The strength drains from my back when I feel his teeth come down tenderly on my right nipple. Like a marionette with its strings cut, I crumple and fall backward. He catches me, holds me fast, tightening his loop around my back. I thrust my almost painfully aroused member against his thigh now. I can't seem to get close enough to him. Can't be held tightly enough by his strong arms. I pull his head up and kiss him, now thrusting my tongue into his mouth to assault his. His mouth goes to my neck, and he showers me with wet kisses there. "I want you to... make me your own," I moan. I hold his head to my neck. I want him to mark me there. His mouth locks onto my neck now, and I feel a pleasant pulling against my skin. "Please, Professor. I want you to touch me. Ahh..." My hands are in his hair now, tousling it, tugging at it. "Oh god... Touch me. Oh, touch me and make me feel you... Do whatever you want. Do what you need to feel good. Let it be what I want." And at this, he finally lets himself go, just a little, and moans into my neck. His mouth pulls at my exposed skin, gathering the flesh there, his tongue darting across it. My dick strains against the band of my shorts and rubs against a tiny wet patch that has formed on the cloth. "Are you sure?" he whispers, both his hands going to my ass and kneading the flesh with so much force I can't help but wonder whether he's not bruising me. I reach one of my hands down to find him in his slacks. I squeeze his member through the thin material. He gasps and dives to cover my mouth again. "I want to be with you, too," he says. "But I don't want you to do this if you're not sure." Suddenly, his tone is serious. His hands come up to rest on the small of my back. But I feel his hard cock against my stomach. So, I lace my fingers together, my arms around his shoulders. I gaze down into his eyes. He continues, "We've been through this so many times..." "I know. And that's why I'm sure. I want you to know that. It's not something I'm doing in the heat of the moment." My hand reaches out to rub against his member. "Well," I relent, "maybe in the heat of the moment. But I've wanted this so long..." I lean down to kiss him. And he kisses me back. Again and again. He cups my cheek with one hand and nods, catching my lip in his and sucking on it. "Okay, then. If you're sure..." He looks up into my eyes and all expression falls away from his face. "I would be honored. I want to make you feel so good, baby... Do you know that?" I nod and bring his hand up to my chest. To the tiny burgundy pebble there. To where he made me feel good before. And I press his hand there again. This time he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, inciting a whimper that catches in my throat. This time, he pinches it, crushing it between the pads of his fingers. I plead with him telepathically. Beg him. As though the message has reached him, he gathers me up in his arms and helps me to stand. He spins me around and hugs me tightly from behind. I can feel him thrust gently into my backside with his dick. I nod and hold the arm draped over my chest. We walk through the living room and down the dark hall. My eyes can't quite make out the lines on the photographs that hang there. But I know where we are headed. The room farthest down the hall. The door is closed. He pauses and opens it for me. His room is small but immaculate. There is nothing there but an old dresser and a writing desk, just as old, next to a closet. And beyond these, a big bed with a black iron frame. It's nearly just as I would have imagined it. The white down comforter looks hopelessly high to my eyes. I will have to jump into it. I turn to see him unbuttoning his shirt. I reach out to stop his nimble fingers from pulling at the buttons. "No. Let me. I want to undress you for me." He smiles and then nods. I reach my hand up to stroke his stubble-covered, thin cheek. And then, I press my lips press against his. I kiss him, unbuttoning a few more buttons while our lips slide together. The white shirt slides from his broad shoulders and tumbles to the floor with a scandalous rustle of heavy cloth. His bronze skin is beautiful. I gaze up into his eyes, searching for permission. His eyes crinkle into one of those hidden smiles, this time of consent. And so I let my eyes feast on the man before me. I look down to see his lightly brown nipples. His chest is broad, two mounds of taut muscle, abdomen tight corded muscles beneath golden skin. I can't stop myself from drinking in the sight. My eyes are pulled down further to the trail of hair that leads to his slacks. I slide my fingers across his stomach and dip into his belly button before tracing his nipples. I lean forward to put my lips on his warm skin. I kiss first down his sternum, between his tight pectoral muscles. And then I bring my lips to rest on his left nipple while my fingers play at his right. I look up while I kiss his tiny nipple, my hard tongue flicking at it. "Oh..." he whispers, almost gasping. "Oh yeah..." he nearly hisses. I continue to kiss his nipple and pinch his other. Hard. Far harsher than he treated mine. I am content in trying to make him squirm the way he did me. But somehow, I know it'll take a little more rough attention considering the firm strength of his muscled torso. I bring my thumb and forefinger together and try to flatten the little nub before twisting just slightly. He sucks air in between his teeth. "Yeah, just like that. Make it hurt a little, babe. You like to play a little rough, huh?" I smile around his nipple and continue to suckle before letting my teeth close around it. I nibble at it once, twice, three times. He finally breaks into a moan. Triumph. I pull the skin between my lips, slurping and tonguing at it even as I bring my hands down to his belt and pull at it. It zips through the air when I yank it through the belt loops. My lips never leave his swollen little nipples. I move from one to the other, kissing and sucking and biting. He runs his hands through my hair and pulls me to his chest. "Yeah, baby... Bite it like that. Oh, oh-not too hard, just..." I suddenly suck as hard as I can on the rosy tip and flick at it with my tongue. He groans, forgetting his command and hissing air out through his teeth. My hands tug his slacks down until they are but a puddle at his feet. I pull away and look up at his eyes. Trying to affect my most innocent countenance, I gaze up at him. "You know, I've never sucked a cock before." The words sound foreign on my lips. My voice is low. I can feel heat spreading through my cheeks. I know from that burning that I must be blushing. Tremors wrack my body. I choose my next words carefully. "I've thought about it, though. Your. Cock. Professor..." His eyes widen. Is he shocked? To hear this from me, he must be at least a little surprised. I can't help but let my lips curl upward. "I wondered what it would be like to take you into my mouth... How shy I would feel to ask you to let me wrap my lips around it. What it would feel like with my lips stretched out around it. How it would feel in my mouth, fighting for its place there. How hopelessly big it would feel pushing into my cheek. How you would be leaking on my tongue. How it would taste, so sweet, all vanilla and cream." "You've thought about it before?" he asks, cupping his own manhood with his hand through the tight cloth of his boxer-briefs and closing his eyes. "You wanted to put this in your mouth?" "Mm-hmm. Have you ever... You knew I wanted you. I came here to tell you that before. And you always sent me on my way. You always turned me down." I look up at him and pause. He stops rubbing himself and opens his eyes, perhaps waiting for me to continue. I do not. I just gaze up from my place on my knees. The wood floor feels cool on my bare skin, my heart racing in my chest. I reach out to those tight gray shorts cut just below his tight ass cheeks and around his muscled thighs. I slip my fingers between his skin and the band and trace around the edge of his waist but do not pull. His taut, warm skin feels incredible against the back of my hand. I reach around to the back and cup his ass. "You always turned me down, but I want to know something about you." It's his turn to shudder when he exhales. I can see the need on his face. His expression is tight with desire and desperate for release. "I want you to tell me. Did you ever think about me after you showed me out?" I reach up and grasp the outline of his cock, straining against the tight gray material. The head of his member just pokes out from the band now. A subtle dark stain has developed in front of his head. The head glistens slightly, a bead of clear liquid just spilling out. A tear streams down from the slit there. He is whimpering now, but quietly. It is almost inaudible. My heart thumps in my chest and echoes in my ears. He is uncut. Like me. And his member is beautiful. Like him. I reach out to rub my thumb against that exposed crown, smearing the drop of essence around the head. He grunts and brings his hands to my head, raking through my hair wildly. But he doesn't pull me to him. He doesn't try to force me into anything. He only holds my shoulders, steadying himself, and moans, his eyes closed. So, I press on. "Did you think about me, professor? Did you squeeze your eyes shut and maybe touch that big, hard cock of yours? Did you imagine that I was trying to go down on you? Did I have trouble managing in your fantasy? Hmm? Was it too big, and was I too eager so I almost choked? Was I fisting it and sucking on the head, trying to make you come? Did you look down into my eyes as I stared intently at your dick and licked at it and whispered to you how much I wanted you to come so that I could have your taste on my tongue?" He nods. He closes his eyes tightly, a labored look on his face. His eyes wrinkle up just a little and he whimpers. Is he embarrassed? I smile. "You thought dirty thoughts and you stroked yourself. Slow. Slowly, so you could imagine doing all kinds of things to me. Was I uncertain in your mind? Did you have to seduce me? Did you have to reassure me it would feel good? Did you have to teach me how to make you blow your load with my mouth? Was I eager to please you? Hmm? Did you lay me down on my back, on that bed right over there, and slide your hot, needy cock into my ass?" His eyes are shut tightly. He nods slowly now and then. I pull down at the waistband and see the object of my desire. His cock curves up toward his belly and stands, hard and proud, curving until it is just below his navel. I reach out and take the warmth in my hand. I have felt my own hundreds of times. But I can't fathom how he can be so hard yet so soft in my hand. It twitches and spasms in my hand. He pants but doesn't open his eyes. "Does that feel good?" I ask. I shimmy forward on my knees and roll the skin back. I put my lips to it, kissing the head. And then, slowly, I let the skin roll into its place again. He moans as the skin inches forward. Another tiny drop of him rolls from the taut slit and I catch it on my tongue. Vanilla. Divinity. I continue my verbal assault, drunk on him. "In your fantasy, did you teach me how to breathe so, so slowly while you eased it up inside me as far as it could go-until you bottomed out in my ass? Did you rock back and forth then? I'll bet you fucked me gently at first. And then you did it long and hard, and I howled and whimpered and cried out until there were tears in my eyes and I was begging you to come in my ass. And I begged you to jerk my cock. I'll bet you imagined me wanting you to tell me that you were my teacher and I was your student and you were teaching me what it is to be a man. And in your mind, I wanted you to make me come so hard and so good. And you helped me come. But it wasn't over. You kept thrusting up my tight ass until you couldn't hold back. And your seed finally, finally erupted, spilling out into me." My hand is jerking his hard cock now, slowly, steadily, back and forth. I pull it forward from his body and then back to touch his hard stomach. I pull at the skin and roll it back. Without warning, he grunts and holds my shoulders; his feet are not so steady any longer. His eyes clench and he bites down on his lip. I put my lips over the top of his head and suck. "Oh my god. Oh god..." he manages to moan. I can feel it coming close. And so I hold his member in my hand, feeling it pulse. I rise and kiss him. His kisses are almost savage now. His eyes are full of emotion. I kiss him back, smiling. And then I throw my arms around his neck. He lunges at my mouth, and then his tongue is all over mine. He suckles at my tongue, and I know that he is tasting tinges of his own essence from my mouth. He continues to kiss me and pushes me over to the bed. I know I will not be able to fall back comfortably on it; it is too high. But then I suddenly feel him tug at my hips and launch me into the soft fluff. He climbs up over my body, frantic to cover me with his warm form. He gazes down into my eyes. "I want you so badly," he confesses. "I've never... No one's ever done that to me before." I smile up at him. I comb his hair with my fingers. "I've never said some of those words out loud before. I don't know what you imagined... That's what I fantasized you would do to me. But it was so hot to see you nod when I asked if you touched yourself and thought about me..." I can't keep his gaze. I look away while I whisper out my confession. "I've never let myself say that before. To anyone. It was a secret." "Yeah?" "...Yeah. I-I touched myself after I left your place. Every time after I left your place. I would get so frustrated, I would take myself in my hands. It was so lonely after I left you-every time after I left you. I wanted to be with you..." I look down at my own hard prick. I want so badly to touch it. For him to touch it. He is staring down at it between us. His hand darts out to cover me there. No pressure in his grip. He just takes it lightly in his hand and cradles it. I continue to speak. "I would just hold it and move my hips. I thought about you kissing me. About you whispering in my ear and touching me where no one's ever touched me..." "You thought about us together, then... You thought about being here in my bed." I nod. "And I hoped, you know, that you were touching yourself. And thinking about me. About us being intimate like this." He beams down at me, his white teeth exposed. My heart rings high, for he isn't one to smile. He kisses me and then whispers into my ear, "You were right, though. You were so right. I did fantasize about being with you. About you asking me to help you feel good. About you asking me to teach you what I like. It wasn't anything as elaborate as what you just described. But I did. I touched myself when I thought about how it would feel to touch you. To kiss you. To go down on you. To have you go down on me. To be inside of you. I imagined it all and stroked myself. But I wasn't sure what to think about myself for having those thoughts. You were my student..." "It's been a long time since those days when I sat in the front row, Professor. You don't have to worry about it." "But you're still a student..." he whispers. His gaze clouds. He looks down and his hand falls away from my groin. I am losing him. "This is... You know." "What two adults want. That's what this is, isn't it? I just jerked you off. You almost came-in my mouth. No sense getting self-conscious now, right?" I smile and wrap my hand around his rock-hard member. "Now, no more thinking about any of that. Just feeling what there is to feel. You've got me hot and right where you want me. So, the question is: What are you gonna do, hmm?" I reach up to rub and cup his hard ass. Two of my fingers find the tight bud between his taut cheeks and trace it. At the same time, I pull him down until his arms give and his body falls atop me. There is a pleasant weight. My groin is mashed up against his. I begin to thrust my hips upward. I want to be one with him. I need release so badly. I need him to see me cum. To see me at my most vulnerable. I rub my sex against his. "Professor?" He nods, and his hands go to my chest. He kneads the muscles there. They are sore, suddenly. I bring my hands to rest atop his. They continue to move. "Tell me what you wanna do with me, Professor. Tell me how you feel about me." I whimper when his fingers twist my sore nipples. He kisses one of them and continues to flick at them with his fingers and tongue. And then his hand is rubbing my belly. He rubs down the ridges on my stomach. They are softer than his but I can still feel his fingertips against my abs. He rubs my belly, and I sigh and close my eyes. "What do I wanna do to you? Oh, I don't know... I think I wanna look at you. I wanna see you so frustrated and needy." His hand find the straining form of my cock and he wraps his hand around it anew. His grip is tight now and he slowly pulls the foreskin back. I can feel it getting wet. Not sloppy, but hot and moist. I look down to see him staring at it. He appears enthralled with what his is doing. "I want to hear you beg me to make you feel it. I want you to tell me what you like. What feels good. Why you want it to be me making you feel that way..." I arch my back. His head darts down to my groin and then I feel the warm wetness of his mouth. I close my eyes. The tight warmth is marked with the sound of slurping and the feeling of his tongue rolling around my slit. And then he is flicking over it. And I can feel myself leaking and his greedy tongue wiping it away. "Yes," I whimper. "Like that. Oh, just like that. Right there... Fuck-right there. You know where to do me just right." My hands are all over in his hair. I have to resist the urge to thrust and push his head down. I restrain myself, but my hips are twisting slightly, left and right. "Professor... I want... Mmm... I want you to lick me under the slit. It feels good for me there." And his tongue is already there, dancing over that little v-shaped crevice where the taut skin from my foreskin gathers. He pulls the skin back with his hand and his tongue rolls around and around that sweet spot. I cry out; I really cry out. A litany of Oh fucks graces my lips. I cannot take it much longer. I feel warm tightness gathering in my balls. His other hand goes there, and then he is cupping them in his hand. I can feel his mouth surround one of them. He sucks on it. I cry in frustration and in need and pull at my own hair. "Don't tease me... Please. Make me come." I gasp and pant. "Taste me. Please, just taste me." His tongue is back to my slit. He rakes it over the head. I look to see him between my legs, his head bobbing up and down frantically. Up and down, back and forth. His tongue rolls round the head. And then he sucks at my crown, and a moist, warm finger snakes its way between my legs. It roots its way up my cheeks. "What-ahh!" I feel his finger circling my most sensitive spot. Unable to hold back, I thrust my hips upward and he takes me to the hilt. He doesn't stop pressing the pad of his finger to my little butthole but redoubles his efforts in tickling the underside of my member with his tongue. I feel another finger tracing a circle around it in tandem with the first. And, at once, his tongue descends on it. "N-no. Why are you doing that?" I gasp, knowing full well even as the words escape my lips. "I haven't even showered-oh, fuck..." It is almost obscene the way that my ass stretches just enough to allow him to slide his wet tongue in and out. His mouth has fallen away from my member, but his fingers continue to stroke the underside. I can feel myself leaking. I am crying out for him to fuck me. Please, just please to fuck me. He tells me that he will but doesn't make a move. I try to push his hand up and down my straining penis again, but he refuses, staring up at me. "Don't be mean to me, Professor..." I plead. He pauses, the assault to my ass coming to an abrupt stand-still. "What's wrong?" "You're so beautiful," he says as though he's just remembered something. "I want you inside of me." I rock my hips back and forth, feeling the exquisite pressure of his fingers against my cock again. He reaches over and pulls open a drawer. It must be "the drawer" that all men have in their apartments. Or so I must assume. I close my eyes, content to allow him to prepare. His fingers have fallen away from me, but my member still feels swollen and hot. I feel his warm lips crushed against mine and open my eyes to see his eyes staring back at me. I feel his cock rubbing at my opening. He pulls away, breaking our kiss. "Are you ready?" he asks. And it is the invitation to something beautiful. It is the invitation that I crave more than anything. "You know I am," I whisper. There is a sharp, cold sensation on my ass. I cry out and realize that a slippery wetness has coated me. He traces my asshole again, and this time, he permits his slender index finger to graze the surface before sliding the tip inside of me. This enters with little ado. He slides it in and out, moving from different angles. Just the very tip, almost not enough to be perceptible. I feel it dip beneath the tight outer ring and then flit back out almost as quickly. This, even as his tongue is assaulting the inside of my mouth. I pull at his lips and lick at them. He pulls away a moment and pours a generous amount of lubricant on his fingers. This time, his oral ministrations are relentless even as I feel the length of his index finger slide against the tightness of my inner self. I groan into our kiss. A cry escapes my lips. I buck my hips upward into his abdomen. His finger follows where I rise and begins to curl, beckoning me. I feel it land somewhere new. It brushes against a firmness within me. I bite down on his lower lip and nod, whimpering and stroking the back of his head. "I'm--I'm sorry," I whisper. My tongue flits out to touch the lip I've abused. "Shh... It's okay." "Oh god... What are you doing to me?" I know the answer to this, too, though. I clench my eyes shut and turn away from him. Another moan escapes my lips. A whimper tumbles from them now. Each time the tip of his finger grazes the firm button within me, a different sound slips out. He reaches his other hand to bring my chin back to his own. "Open your eyes..." he coos. I hesitate. "I said: open your eyes." His voice is lower, stern now. I ease my eyes open to see him gazing at me. His eyes are filled at once with a warmth I perceive as tenderness and a heat that I know can only be one thing. "It's okay," he reassures me. And it's all the encouragement I need to begin pushing back against his finger. "Another..." I whisper. "Please, another." His eyes curve upward at my pleas. It is painstaking. First, I feel his digit retract and the emptiness, the cold of where it once was. And then there is more wetness at my opening and a pressure that I cannot decide whether I like. There is a heat there that was not there before, a stretching. My eyes widen. This, he sees, and his mouth is once again upon mine. He rakes his tongue over mine. He laps at my palate. I throw my arms around his neck and instinct takes over. I lean backward into his fingers and they hit home. "Oh, fuck..." I whimper. My head bobs up and down. I'm begging with every fiber of my being. My hips bump against the curve of his fingers. I can feel my cheeks burning. He can see what I want. My desire for pleasure and for him is in full view. I bite the corner of my lip at this realization. "It's okay..." he repeats. I look into his eyes as he nods. "That's right. I know. I know what you want..." He pulls me into his arms as if gathering me. He is lying to my side, his torso draped over my own. But he does not feel heavy over me. I feel his fingers slip from me again. It is effortless now to let them fall away. "Make love to me..." I whisper. I watch as he slicks up the hard cock between his legs. His fingers disappear from sight, slathering me again. I continue. "Please... Give yourself to me..." He allows the smile that has been playing on the corners of his eyes to break across his mouth just for a moment. Can it be that it pleases him to hear me beg? I feel the pressure and the slipperiness of his thick member at my puckered hole. I squeeze him tight. His arms encircle me, pulling me in for a kiss. His tongue rolls over mine and our lips mash together. I can't get enough of him. His lips. Our kiss. My heart is racing in my ears and thudding in my chest. He lets out a low moan as his cock eases its way into my opening. I gasp, my breathing quickening. "Shh... It's okay... Just breathe," he whispers into my ear. "Just relax, baby. I'm almost there..." And he is. I feel him bottom out in my ass. The hot, stretching sensation. The fullness. The exquisite fullness of his cock buried deep within my taut muscles is almost too much for me. I can feel a sob rising in my chest. There is little pain; only discomfort, an unaccustomed fullness. The slipperiness of his preparation and the headiness of our messy kissing sheltered me from much of it. He is inside of me. The man I love is inside of me. My legs are bent almost fully at the knees and splayed obscenely to either side of him. I am so exposed to him, accommodating his presence in my opening. He moves ever so slightly, breaking his stony resolve to glide against my inner self for the first time. I throw my arms around his neck and pull him close, my mouth at his ear. "Oh god... Oh fuck... You're so big in me," I manage to pant out. He shushes me again, but I am certain he wants to hear this from me. I can feel the hint of his smile even as he tries to soothe me. I almost beg him to make love to me again, but it isn't what I want. Not really. No, what I want is... "Fuck me?" I beg. And then he is moving within me. His long cock is pulling down at the sides of my virgin muscles. The speed is incredible now. He moves back and forth, his member thrusting up and down, back and forth. He groans and pants, his mouth claiming mine in harsh kisses. He bruises my lips. I pull at his hair with one hand and lock one arm around his neck. I melt into him, my body locked to his. And he is fucking me. He is rocking against my inner tightness with his cock. "I love you," I whimper. He kisses me, but I can feel him shaking his head from side to side in tiny pulses. And so I push back against his cock as it thrusts upward into me this time. I buckle down against his upward thrust. I know it is not a lie. He groans at the harsh pressure of my declaration against his member. Each time he thrusts upward, I meet him with a downward push. His head stops moving now. "Oh, god... What's gotten into you?" he whimpers. "I love you." I am sobbing now, though no tears fall from my eyes. It's too much. The exquisite ecstasy of his cock thrusting upward into me and my own member thrusting up and down his hard stomach. I feel the foreskin rolling back and forth, my sensitive head getting wetter and wetter. I'm not going to last very much longer. He is bucking against my hips now. He drives his cock up only to pull it out and thrust it in at a different angle. And his cock hits home, slamming into my prostate. The world falls out from underneath me. I feel the tightness inside my stomach snap, and now I am unloading all over his abdomen. I cry out. Really shout. I howl and my legs begin to thrash, but he holds my hips still with his big hands and continues to thrust. I can feel the pressure as my ass clenches around his greedy cock. Again. Again. The room is spinning. Tears spill from my eyes. My coming is less frantic now, but the tremors of the aftershock wrack my abdomen. My muscles are still clenching. He thrusts upward one last time and it sets him off. "Oh god!" he cries out. "Oh my god..." And he is spasming. He continues to vocalize his pleasure and his cock continues to let go into the condom. I hold onto him for dear life, trying to contain his passion. The litany of cursing is falling from his lips now and I am whispering in his ear as he has mine so often tonight. That I love him. That I am his. That he is mine. That we are loving one another right now in his bed. It is too sweet to be real. Later, and after he has taken a wash cloth to wipe off his stomach and mine, I sigh, content. He returns from the bathroom, dropping the light switch and casting darkness over the room. I hear the sheets and the down comforter rustle as he climbs into bed. I plan to sleep until noon, curled up in his arms. He sighs as he lays himself down next to me. I do not go at once to him. I feel a silent distance here suddenly. And I can't seem to pull myself closer to him without asking. "Will you hold me?" I manage finally. He pulls himself up to cradle me in his arms. His fingers stroke my cheek and I find a home in the warmth near his neck. I kiss his warm skin and whisper to him. "I love you..." He says nothing in return, only holds me even tighter to him if such a thing be possible. His hand drops to my back and rubs me there in slow circles. His member lies limp against me but I can still feel the warmth within me from where it made its home. His strong arms shelter me from the exhaustion beginning to set in from our love making. I look up at him looking down at me. And I kiss him, my mouth opening to him. I press our lips together. I cannot get enough of him. And I want to show him that I appreciate what he has done in accepting so much of me. "I do, too," he whispers. And he is holding me and rocking.