Date: Mon, 18 Jan 2021 17:26:58 +0000 (UTC)
From: Bus Pender <buspender@aol.com>
Subject: Breaking Ethan 14

Breaking Ethan 14 :
Morning after
by Bus Pender

........

This is a work of gay fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely unintentional.  This text deals with sexual relations between men.
If you find this offensive, if you are underage or if possession of this
text is illegal in your area, please leave now.  This story is not intended
to promote any action on the part of the reader.  It is merely a fantasy
and I hope you appreciate it as such.

Feedback welcome.

The author retains rights and title to this work.  Reproduction of this
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........

I awoke at dawn.  Must have been around five in the morning, some uncertain
light was starting to filter in through the blinds.  I was on my back,
staring up at the ceiling, the comforter tossed aside, the sheet half
covering my naked form.  I was turned slightly to my right, towards the
window, right arm stretched out away from me, lazily contemplating nothing
at all.  My mind was murky and the events of the previous day began to
materialize vaguely.  I sighed softly as the details emerged.  Zach, here
in my apartment, in my bed, spooning.  I groaned inwardly.

We weren't in a spoon now, but I could sense Zach's presence beside me, was
aware of his hand on my left hip.  It felt good, gentle, solid.
Reassuring.  He moved, adjusted his position, came closer.  I could feel
the warm length of his body alongside mine, making little points of
contact.  He inhaled deeply, as though he was trying to take in my scent,
and then sighed.  He planted a soft kiss on the side of my neck.  It felt
like a friendly peck, spoke of connection, companionship.  Like a dad might
kiss his son.

It was followed by another soft kiss, a little further down my neck, and it
felt a bit more familiar than friendship.  Zach slid his hand under the
sheet, traced his fingers up along the side of my body, exploring the
angles, dips and hollows as he went, landing ultimately on my shoulder.
Holding it, kissing it.

I turned to him.

"Zach, what the fuck are you doing?," I asked.

"I'm, um, having my way with you?" he whispered doubtfully.  His voice was
gruff, croaky.  I could feel his stubbled face morph into a slow grin at
the irony of his response.

This was a rare situation for me.  Guys didn't typically seduce me.  I was
the seducer.  I was the predator, claiming what I wanted in whatever way I
wanted.  But here was Zach, clumsily pecking his way across my body, trying
to bring me to some sort of consensus with his latent desire.

He certainly had a captive audience.  Not only was I lying naked beside him
but, as is my habit, I'd woken up with a serious case of morning wood .. my
dick poked skyward beneath the sheet, like a covered statue awaiting its
unveiling.  Evidently I wasn't the only one so afflicted; Zach's bone was
jabbing savagely through his boxers at my upper thigh.

I had told myself that nothing more would happen between Zach and me.  My
antics had already caused enough of a rupture with Ethan and I was
determined not to make the same mistake again.  No matter how tempting the
offer.  Or how readily available.  Just `no'.  Plain and simple.  That's
it, that's all.

But, despite evidence to the contrary, I'm human.  Also young, and male,
and healthy.  And above all, chronically horny.  And Zach was lying beside
me, in a state of arousal and semi-undress.  Down to his skivvies and
socks.  A handsome middle-aged man longing to explore a side of himself he
hadn't even been aware of before yesterday.  His mere presence in my bed
was testament to his yearning.  Who was I to deny him his pleasure?  A
pleasure I'd introduced him to.  I felt a kind of a responsibility for his
situation.

I snapped myself back into reality and reminded myself that there was Ethan
to consider.  My lovely little Ethan.  He was already royally pissed at me
for seducing his dad.  I could only imagine how he'd be when he found out
we'd done it again.  It would be a betrayal, it just wasn't right.  I made
a last ditch plea to Zach for rational thinking.

"Zach, we can't do this, it's not fair to Ethan," I said.  My voice was
cracking, my words came from somewhere in my upper throat.

He nuzzled his face into the side of my neck.

"I know, you're absolutely right," he said, his voice muffled.  He
delivered another gentle kiss, but didn't move.  Made no effort to
disengage himself from me, to get up and out of my bed.  He just stayed
there.

"So get up, go back to the couch," I instructed.

"Okay," he said.  But still, he didn't move.  Instead he snuggled a little
closer.

I could imagine how he might have been feeling, the weight of several
losses bearing down on him.  The need for sensual physical contact he'd
deprived himself of for so long.  The tease and allure of forbidden
coupling, with the memory of a recent visceral orgasm still resonating in
his being.  Having this physical connection to another body must have felt
like a buoy that he was clinging onto in a vast sea of nothingness.  In
that moment, it was all he had, all he wanted.  And quite frankly, I'd had
my own profound loss, and in some respects I felt like I was clinging on to
the same buoy.

I sighed.  "Zach, it's not worth it."

He grunted.

Zach didn't try to reason with me, or try to convince.  I believe what he
was feeling was beyond reason or logical argument.  He had a need that
demanded to be fulfilled and, in animal fashion, he began to act on it.
Very slowly, he brought his hand out from the bedding and lowered it onto
my hard dick, still straining beneath the top sheet.  With robotic intent,
his fingertips slid down my shaft, then up, gently tugging the sheet with
them, doing a slow reveal.  He peeled the sheet from my dick, from my naked
form, and let it drop .. it fell in folds by my side.

I could tell he was eyeing my erection.  Sizing me up.  Appraising.  He'd
likely never seen another guy's hard dick before in real life.  He
continued to gaze at it, with fascination, as though he was trying to
comprehend its essence.

He brought his fingers back down to my dick again and, with the back of his
hand, grazed it softly.  My cock responded favourably, tightening and
pushing out, up.  He grinned.  It was an impish grin, a look of being
pleased with himself, of having achieved something he'd gamesomely set out
to do.

He brought a hand to my left nipple, began to caress.  I gave up arguing.
His fingers on my nipple sent a charge straight to my prostate and my dick
strained skyward in response.  Gone were any second guesses, any thoughts
of Ethan; I simply lay back into the bliss and let him explore.

Being with Zach was like no other sexual encounter I'd ever had.  There was
no feverish urgency of youth, no rush to reach endgame.  The tempo was
slow, sensual.  But it was really about his hands.  I'd never been with a
guy who was self-admittedly `good with his hands', and the phrase took on
an entirely new meaning being in bed with him.  Zach used his hands as
though they were his primary way of experiencing the world.  He made a
point of exploring each part of my body in a way that said that he was
gleaning vital information with every pass and caress.  It was as though he
was on a reconnaissance mission, unearthing critical intelligence through
his fingers.

Zach continued to probe like a kid in a land of wonder he'd never dreamed
of before, never knew existed.  In the dim morning light, I could discern
his handsome face, his look of simple curiosity as he fingered my nipple to
hardness.  He leaned in closer, kissed it gingerly, once, twice, before
slipping his lips over it and drawing the nipple delicately into his mouth.
I let out a loud sigh as his left hand found my right nipple and began to
play.

I started writhing under his kiss, his touch.  He looked up and grinned at
the effect his efforts were having on me.  He brought his mouth off my
nipple, replacing it with his right hand which picked up where his mouth
had left off.  He gazed at me intently, watching as he took in the pleasure
his fingers were giving me.

Again he smiled, removed his hands from my nipples and moved in to hug me
closely.  It was a hug of affection.  A hug that said `I feel warm and
comfortable with you'.  His face, jagged with morning whiskers, was lying
against my chest.  I could tell he was listening to my heartbeat, which was
likely quite prominent and accelerated at this point.

He released his embrace and began to kiss my chest, fingering the ripples
of my ribs as he did.  He took his time tracing the delicate undulations,
almost as though he was counting my ribs, making sure they were all there.
Eventually he moved on, and down.  His left index finger slid to my navel
and plugged it gently.  I giggled as he repeatedly applied modest pressure
and then released, it really tickled.  He looked up at me and grinned once
again.  His finger played around my belly button, finally releasing and
drawing widening circles around it.  He leaned in and poked his tongue
directly into my navel.  The combined effect of his face bristles scraping
my nether regions and his tongue, firm and intent, prodding my umbilical
scar, was too much for me.  I screamed out and tried to pull away from his
lingual incursion.  He didn't stop.  Rather, he held me down and
intensified his assault until I was left panting and giggling, squirming
beneath his weight.

Again I was reminded that this type of sexual interaction was so foreign to
me.  I never let my guard down, I was always vigilant, protected, in
control.  But here I was, giddy and loose.  And allowing someone else to
dictate how things unfolded.  What the fuck was going on?

When I'd settled down, he brought his hands to my hips, his thumbs pressing
into the grooves.  He traced the swells, the valleys, gently sliding inward
and around, now placing his entire palms over them and soothing, smoothing.

With his hands on my hips, his face was about level with my dick.  I looked
down and noticed he was eyeing it uncertainly.  His face was just inches
from it and I could tell this was territory that was none too comfortable
for him.  He continued to gaze at my dick, engorged and pulsing, waiting
for SOMETHING to happen.  He brought his left hand down, cupped my nuts,
weighing them, manipulating them like they were a pair of Baoding balls.
His fingers released slowly, and like feathers they grazed my dick.  Up the
underside of the shaft, back down again.  Several times, until finally he
plucked tenderly at my dickhead, allowing his fingers to trace the shape of
the plummy tip, exploring the slope of the ridge, sliding along and
spreading the pre-cum that was by this time streaming out of my cock slit.

"Jesus Zach, you're driving me fuckin' nuts," I panted.

"Good," he said coolly, smirking.

He continued to play with the tip of my cock, and I could tell he was
contemplating his next move.  I decided to help him resolve his dilemma.

"Why don't you kiss it, Zach.  You know, just a little peck," I whispered.
"On my pecker," I quipped.

"Um, I'm .. I'm not sure that I can do that," he stammered.

"It's okay, take your time.  I know you want to, I think you'd really enjoy
it."

He looked up at me doubtfully, then back down at my dick.  He had a timid
look on his face.  Unsure.  Not comfortable.  But he seemed to be driven by
a desire and a curiosity stronger than his will.

"You know, Zach, you've come this far, you may as well just go for it.
Trust me, you'll really like it," I said.  I brought my right hand to the
back of his head and tousled his hair affectionately.  I took my dick in my
other hand and waved it encouragingly at him.

He hesitated again for a few seconds and gulped.  He leaned down and gave
my dick a gentle kiss.  On the tip.  A string of pre-cum stuck to his lips
as he pulled back up.  A lustrous filament stretching, thinning, ultimately
snapping.  He licked his lips, thought for a moment and went back down for
seconds.  Another kiss, this one a bit more substantive.  Lips more full
on.  Allowing just the tip access to his inquisitive portal.  I groaned
softly.

"I like how you taste," he said matter-of-factly.  It sounded like he was
in a bit of a trance.

"Do tell," I said.

Another lick of his lips, another foray down, this time confidently and
fully taking in my dickhead.  I jumped.

"Fuck Zach, your teeth, be careful," I snapped.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly.

He pulled off and his lips began to worship my taut shaft.  The sides, the
underside, all angles, ending up at my balls.  Any hesitancy or discomfort
was now gone.  He was lost in hormonal reverie.

I've always been fascinated at how quickly a guy can become a cocksucker.
He can demonstrate the strongest resistance, absolute refusal, to put his
mouth anywhere near a dick.  But once his defenses are down and he succumbs
to underlying desires, gets that cock in his mouth, it's unbelievable how
he's transformed forever into someone who loves, craves, needs dick.  It's
that simple, one taste and a guy gets hooked.  Don't get me started on when
a guy tastes cum for the first time.

And so it seemed with Zach.  He'd gone ahead and tasted me, and now he
seemed unable to stop.  His hands continued to explore my body.  Open palms
sliding down my legs, squeezing and releasing.  Fingers outlining shapes,
revelling in textures.  Using my sweat, my pre-cum to anoint his tactile
journey across my body.  But from the time he'd first put my dick in his
mouth, he didn't stray far from it, always returning to handle it or
consume it again.

Zach assumed an air of solemnity as he reapproached my cock in earnest.  It
was as though he were considering something of great import, deliberating
and finally coming to a weighty decision.  He brought my hard cock back
into his mouth and he took it with intent.  Sucking, pulling, swallowing,
taking me in fully.  Instinct must have kicked in and he began to slobber
over my tool, getting it good and wet, and keeping it that way.  As any
competent cocksucker knows, this is hugely important in a good blowjob and
somehow Zach had figured it out himself.  The guy who'd never had a blowjob
before yesterday.  The guy who'd just tasted his first dick.  As it had
been with Ethan, some ingrained sense had taken hold and was guiding Zach
on how to suck a cock properly.

I allowed myself to zone out, to revel in Zach's ministrations.  My mind
just kind of slipped away and I felt like I was floating in a sea of
rapture.  It was absolutely lovely.  The only thing I was aware of was
pleasure.  Pure undiluted pleasure.  Undulating, mounting, surging.

My orgasm seemed to come out of nowhere.  The buildup was sudden and the
release, just as quick.  One second I was luxuriating in Zach's attention,
the next I was spilling into his mouth.  My hand gripped the back of his
head to hold it in place.  But I didn't need to.  He wasn't putting up any
struggle.  It was as though he wanted to take my discharge, like it was
something that he needed, had to have.

I unloaded into Zach's mouth, and he swallowed several times as I did.  I
think he didn't want to wait to swallow, didn't want to run the risk of
chickening out.  It seemed that he'd decided it was something he needed to
do and he did what was necessary to ensure that it happened.  For my part,
I remained passive, a first for me.  I simply allowed him to have his way,
to take my emission, to swallow, to empty me.

The orgasm seemed to go on endlessly, wave after wave of joyful release.
The flood of endorphins.  The release of dopamine.  The influx of oxytocin,
prolactin.  I immersed myself in the myriad of hormones and feel-good
chemicals that were flowing freely though my body.  When the orgasm finally
subsided, it didn't really end.  It merely morphed into a delicious sense
of well-being.  My body began to soften, even as I became aware of Zach's
continued state of hardness, his dick poking out of his boxers, warm and
stiff against my left calf.

Zach kept my softening dick in his mouth, continued to tug on it gently.
Licking and sucking, taking everything I had to give, and then some.  Quite
likely he didn't want the moment to end, to abandon the sensual connection
we'd formed.  It was as though my dick was the thread that was tying us to
the moment, and releasing it would sever that bond.  Eventually, though, he
did disengage, but kept his head by my cock, eyeballing it, seemingly
mesmerized by the transformation that was taking place before his eyes.
Finally, he looked up at me.

"Wow," he said, with an air of wonder.

"Wow," I said, echoing his sentiment.

I was panting, breathing hard.  He smiled at me for several moments, then
lay his head down on my stomach, continuing to peer at my shrinking cock.
He started to play with it with his left hand.  I squirmed, it was so
sensitive, but he kept on, tickling and stroking it tenderly.

Together, we became a motionless heap, like the sheets, the comforter.  Our
breathing was soft, rhythmic, seemingly in unison.  I felt good.  At peace.
No sense of regret for what had happened.  How can you have regret when
something feels so good.  And besides, there would be plenty of time for
regret once the realization of what we'd done started to settle in.  But in
the meantime, we lay together and simply were.