Date: Wed, 4 Mar 2020 01:18:01 +0100
From: DG Smith <dg912x@gmx.com>
Subject: Unexpected Seduction - Chapter 4

Unexpected Seduction
Part 4
Dg912x@gmx.com

I woke up in the middle of the night with Matt velcroed against me, his
smooth pecs against my back, his nips hard and scraping my shoulder blades,
his abs against my lower back.  I could barely make out the tanned skin of
his arm draped over my paler one in the darkness.  His warm (and, I had to
admit to myself, stupidly perfect) body felt good to my perennially cold
self.  From his breathing, I could tell he was asleep; from the hard cock
(was it ever not??) slowly grinding against me, I could tell he was having
a good dream, and I wondered which girl from his extensive history he was
dreaming about; from my own cock beginning to rise in kind, I could tell I
was flirting with danger.

Hells' bells, if he woke up with us in this position with this activity,
the best case scenario was that I'd never live it down.  Knowing him, he'd
probably make all sorts of assumptions I'd have to beat out of him... okay,
maybe try to beat out of him given our relative size... if it were even
possible to given some of his recent statements about needy students... and
actions when we showered together.  I wasn't so naive as to fail to
recognize certain possible endpoints to what Matt and I had been doing and,
although my conscious mind would dismiss them, my sexual mind... well... it
had (was?) a mind of its own.  Over the weeks of "helping each other out,"
my own thoughts, in private times, increasingly expanded into new
territory, raising a specter of conflicted excitement that, like in the
shower, I had willed out of my mind only with some difficulty.  As that
inner conflict began what seemed like an nth replay, I made to move, but
Matt possessively tightened his arm around me, cutting off escape.  Hardly
a morning, much less middle-of-the-night, person, I nevertheless knew I'd
have to wake his grumpy ass to extricate myself.  I said his name softly
once and moved my hand to his forearm where, instead of tapping it to wake
him, I found myself letting my hand slide along it.  His arm, like his
body, was warm.  Solid. Comforting.  My fingers lightly caressed the
relaxed muscles before I realized the intimacy of the gesture.  I shook
myself and repeated his name, slightly louder this time, as his hips
continued the slow, insistent rocking.  I pictured what we must look like,
initially half-laughing to myself, but my mind seized on the image, pushing
my cock to full-mast.  Thanks to the night we'd shared a room fucking two
girls, I could map out how Matt would look as his core flexed and relaxed,
the vividness of the mental image forcing me to admit I must have been
paying more attention to him than I'd initiallly admitted to myself.  Too
clearly could I remember the play of muscle under skin as he slowly drew
her in, stoking her desire and pitting it against her inhibition.  Slowly
but surely, buttons and zippers came undone, articles of clothing were
shed, his hands ventured further, sometimes withdrawing upon meeting
resistance, but always returning, testing, teasing, until his body, like a
fine instrument, impaled her and withdrew over and over, her body surging
against his as her gasps and moans betrayed the fruit of giving in to his
seduction.  God, I don't know how many times she came, but he told me later
that she'd tried multiple times to meet up with him, so there was no doubt
that she'd wanted more.

As the pornographic scene flashed through my mind, I fought the urge to
jack myself.  Matt continued his unconscious frottage against my ass as I
continued to envision his conquest that night, taking her to climax over
and over.  I thought about saying his name again, but he shifted behind me,
the movement of his muscled torso translated to my body by our close
contact, and the urge to stroke my cock broke through my resistance,
despite the compromising position.  As my hand slid down to fondle my own
painfully erect cock, it was all I could do not to groan out as I yielded
to my lust, and my mind returned from picturing his fucking of her to
conjuring the image of Matt spooned tightly against me.

A familiar, small note of warning railed against the slippery slope I was
on.  Up til now, I could honestly say that everything that had happened
between Matt and I had been initiated by him.  My own thoughts might have
suggested fantasies and our regular hook-ups might have caused me to
anticipate, want, and even facilitate situations where I knew (or strongly
suspected) my friend would initiate another session of exploring.  But
this... this was just his body, the feel of him, his scent, his presence
triggering me without the excuse of him consciously initiating or
trying. This was me wanting... this... him.  I should move, yet I couldn't
shut down the part of me that wanted him awake, actively buttressed by my
growing need for relief.  Ultimately, I split the baby, remaining still,
other than my hand continuing to work my cock.

Maybe his sleep, and the promise of control that it afforded me, was
comforting, or seductive, or both.  I'm not sure.  But I felt some greater
sense of safety in the situation.  Maybe that's why, as much as I tried to
make it about the feel of driving my cock through my grip, other thoughts
and sensations vied for my attention.  Whether it was the mental image of
us or the remembered sounds of passion resulting from Matt's fucking, there
was another, increasingly familiar urge teasing at my brain.  Maybe that's
the reason why, this time, I cautiously lowered my guard against it... let
it take root, like a whispered voice in my head, not demanding but quietly
arguing that this was a no-risk way to satisfy that increasing curiosity
here and now and promising that, with the curiosity satisfied, I could just
move on from it.  He'd never know, the voice insisted, as I closed my eyes,
and the tantalizing mental image of us sharpened into focus, washing over
me again, whetted by the feel of his body against mine and the continued
stimulation of my hand on my leaking cock, spreading and lubing my shaft as
I stroked, my hips rocking to drive it through my hands before pulling back
to thrust again.  Pavlov would have a lot to say about stimulating
myself... the reward of lighting up the pleasure zones of my brain... while
I felt and imagined Matt's increasingly less dry humping against me, but
those hesitant warnings were rapidly becoming indistinct background noise.
The voice, and hormones, urged me on, and I felt my movements evolving,
gradually synchronizing my body with his, moving in counterpoint, thrusting
as he was withdrawing and then meeting him as he rhythmically surged
against me, feeling his thick cock seeking to burrow into my lower back and
wedging more and more between the globes of my ass, all to the soundtrack
of remembered moans and climaxes.  Each cycle, though meant to satisfy my
curiosity, served as much, or more, to send a jolt through me of heightened
sexual tension.  Each time I felt the reflexive rutting of his fevered
dream, my mind increasingly blurred the mental image of him and I with the
remembered image of him and her, and I realized I wasn't remembering her
moans and whimpers as much as I was giving voice to them myself as I jacked
my own cock, leaking profusely now, although I didn't know whether it was
from the erotic sensations coming from our contact, the taboo nature of the
images flooding my mind, or simply the desperate need to cum.

Too lost in the sensations, I failed to notice Matt stirring... or stirring
differently than he had been.  "Mmm... fuck, Wy... what are you doing?" his
low voice rasped in my ear.  Flustered, I tried to scrabble forward...  to
separate us.  The indictment of our positioning ... my own obviously awake
participation... causing my fair complexion to burn in the dark, but his
arms flexed, consciously this time, the bulge of his biceps around my arms
and his forearms across my pecs, like he wanted me to feel every curve and
sinew of his toned, athletic frame against me, and the combination of my
own cresting hormones and the seduction of feeling him had the intended
effect of holding me in place as his movements became deliberate and more
coordinated, smoothly grinding against me in earnest, the length of his
cock easing even deeper into the crevice of my ass.  "Oh my god," he
moaned, "feels so good." His next words "feels right" sent a chill through
me, although I didn't know whether it was because of what it augured about
his intentions or because, even before he'd woken up, it had felt....

Matt's hand slid down to my cock, moving and replacing mine.  I heard his
small sound of surprise and then: "so much pre, dude... you're so
slick... and wet."  My mind spun into fragments as he smoothly shifted into
seducing me as I'd witnessed him do that night.  His lips nuzzled and
sucked at my neck as he jacked my slippery cock.  It felt good.  So good.
I should put the brakes on this, but it felt just too damn good to stop.
Perhaps it was my lack of resistance, but after a few moments, I felt his
hand slowing, forcing me to go without the stimulation or make it happen
with my own body by renewing the movement in contrast, and yet in harmony,
with his own.  "You're so... your body's.... so hot..." he murmured, as his
hand moved to my hip, pulling, guiding, increasing the friction of our
bodies coming together as my own hand resumed the duty of slowly stroking
myself.  I felt what he'd just felt... my whole shaft was coated with a
heavy flow of precum.  Meanwhile, he followed up his words with action, as
his hand explored my abs, up my flank, cupping a pec, pinching a nipple,
eliciting a moan, as his lips seemingly continued to explore every inch and
nerve in my neck.  I antcipated where his hand and lips would roam next,
moving... hell... twisting to give him better access.  Satisfying the
curiosity had merely stoked the need, and some last small functional part
of my brain thought of all the dead, curious cats in the world.

Matt pulled away, his arm rolling me onto my back, as his body levered up
and over my own.  Braced on his forearms, he looked down between our
bodies.  "So hot," he repeated before he lowered his lips to mine.  Like
the last time, the kiss was electric, somehow both soft and demanding;
unlike the last time, my lips quickly... eagerly... parted, wanting to
taste him, welcoming the feel of his tongue slipping inside to probe,
explore, and seduce.  God, I loved the way he kissed.  The weight of his
body settled onto mine as we made out, my arms sliding under his, my hands
traveling up and down his back, reveling in the small play of muscles as I
pulled him against me, rewarded with the sensation of the full length of
his body reconnecting with and pressing down on my own.  Our legs slid
against each others', randomly at first, the light hairs tickling each
others' skin, as his left leg, then his right moved between mine.  Mere
contact turned into pressure as he tried to spread my legs wider.  Weakly,
my own legs flexed, resisting.  He broke the kiss, looking down at me.  I
half anticipated the predatory look he'd shown on more than one occasion,
but it wasn't there.  There was a raw, intense look, and a note of
confusion, that I suspected was reflected in my own face.

"What are you doing..." he groaned again, and I thought he was repeating
his earlier question before he added after a pause: "...to me?"  He sucked
and nipped at my neck again, and my back arched under him as he traced down
my collar bone before finding my pecs.  He worked languidly, slowly, far
too patiently for how horny I was.  "How could he be this deliberate?" was
the thought I ceased to ponder when he began sucking on my right nipple,
causing it to contract and the nub to harden.  What his hands did to my
nips (not to mention other friends' hands, thanks to his damn
encouragement) on plenty of occasions was nothing compared to his lips.
Sucking on first one, and then the other, sometimes augmenting the play of
his lips, with his teeth grazing against it.  Every change heightened my
pleasure, slowly stoking it to active need.  At some point, my fingers slid
into his hair, desperate for more... silently urging him on as I
surrendered to his ministrations, feeling my legs separate as his body
settled between them.

After a few minutes... or a few hours... time mattered less than the
sensations that I needed to continue to feel... that I needed him to
continue to build.... he slid lower to explore the muscles and creases of
my smooth abs. As he moved past my belly button, I raised my head to look
down in disbelief.  Braced on one elbow, Matt lifted my cock up away from
my torso, staring at it as more precum pulsed out and oozed down the shaft.
Seemingly in wonder, he used his thumb to spread it along the shaft.
Cupping it, I gasped, as much from surprise as from sensation, as he leaned
in, his tongue tentatively slid along my shaft before his lips made
contact, slowly climbing toward the head.  I laid there, frozen, as his
lips engulfed first the head, and over the next couple of minutes, slid
down to engulf a couple of inches.  It was a rudimentary blowjob, at best,
and Matt's inexperience in at least one sexual situation was clear, but
watching him do it was enough to make me feel the approaching edge, and I
moved my hand to the back of his head, into his hair, intending to coax him
on, but, as I tried to pull him further down my cock, his shoulders
stiffened, and he quickly pulled back and off entirely, leaving me just
before the point of no return as he crawled back up, his lips finding mine
again momentarily.

All too quickly, however, he continued moving his body up my own, until I
was exploring his jawline and neck, the stubble prickly against my lips.
Rough.  Masculine.  I sucked and tasted his skin as he levered himself
further, lapping at his pecs, hungrily working his hard nips as he had
mine, urged on by both his sounds of pleasure and by his instructions as he
became more horned and verbal.  The thin sheen of sweat gave away his
excitement and the more I tasted it, the more intoxicated I got on it,
wanting more, tongue and lips ranging further along the ribbed expanse of
his abs.  I looked up as he repositioned himself, straddling my chest.  His
eyes met mine as he guided his leaking cock to my lips.  Desire and
indecision warred within me; seeing it, he pulled back slightly,
substituting his thumb, letting the precum slicked skin glide over my lips,
gently pressing, coaxing.  Matt's clean, masculine musk was laced with the
more chemical, but still distinct personal scent, of his precum.  A random
thought, about how 80% of what we think we taste is actually smell, flitted
through my mind.  Guess that meant that, here, in the humid air, heavy with
the smell of him, I was practically tasting his essence already, I thought,
which caused my cock to flex and levitate off my body before settling back
with a wet thump. Maybe that thought was why it was so easy... why I was so
quick, to part my lips and let his thumb enter my mouth.  The precum
transferred from his cock as he'd held it exploded on my tongue, but not
because of the taste, which was surprisingly indistinct.  It was more
texture than taste, but it was him... his seed, the product of his
sexuality.  As the experience of that thought, texture, flavor, scent
combined with the sight of his body towering over me, the slick feel of his
lubed skin, and the image of my lips wrapped... and sucking... all I
remember was, in that moment, I was overthrown.  I didn't care if it was
taboo... or, more accurately, I yielded to wanting it more because it was.

Fuck, I needed this.  How did I not know it before?  My lips sealed around
his digit as my tongue slid alongside it, caressing it.  The knowing look
in his eyes further extinguished the dying vestiges of indecision, and he
sealed his triumph by slowly thrusting and withdrawing his finger,
intentionally fucking my mouth with it briefly before sliding it free, the
release of the vacuum from my sucking causing a loud pop in the silence
otherwise only broken by the sound of our breathing.  When he again rested
the head of his cock on my lower lip, I knew I was going to suck him, even
before I heard him tell me I was going to.  My tongue lathed over the head
briefly before I craned my neck up to suck the head into my mouth, swirling
it with my tongue, now eager to tap the source directly.  Matt's cock
loomed huge in my vision as he pushed upwards and forward, sinking a couple
more inches through my lips and forcing my head back onto the pillow.  I
could feel his eyes looking down at me as he begain driving his cock
through my lips before withdrawing, each cycle sending the leaking head of
his cock further along my tongue.  He moaned as I sucked harder as he
pulled back, cautioned me against my teeth scraping against the skin,
praised me as a natural as I used my tongue on the sensitive spot he loved
to have stimulated, slid the fingers of one hand through my hair to cup my
head so as to better control the angle and depth of his penetration, and
otherwise directed me as he increasingly took charge of fucking my mouth,
his free arm flexing as he used it to better brace and leverage himself
against the headboard.

As I said before, I have a history of wanting to please girls I had been
with.  With Matt, there had always been a hesitance to embracing that side
of me, although I'd felt the pull of it during each of our trysts.  More,
it had grown as the friendly but very real competition we'd always
exhibited waned.  That hesitance was shattered against a desire would not
be denied. I felt myself responding to it, saw Matt recognizing it as he
increasingly used it to his advantage.  My own continually leaking, albeit
untouched, cock gave proof to a fact I couldn't deny: Matt's aggression and
need dovetailed with my own instincts like a well-executed mortis and
tennon joint.  Only the signs of his impending climax divided my attention
from the continued assult of Matt's cock on my mouth, as he gradually slid
deeper both physically and mentally.  Unable to speak while my tongue
massaged his impaling cock, my hand slid to his calf, echoing what I'd
earlier done to his forearm... massaging, kneading, and satisfing the
desire to feel the pronounced musculature.  Before I could do more, he
reached backwards, his hand finding my own cock, causing my hips to buck
upwards at the contact.  He grunted, and I felt his cock pulse once and
then again and then a third time, even stronger, as the first blast of cum
began filling my mouth.  Over and over, his cock spasmed, flooding my
senses with the concentrated, sharper taste and smell of his thick cum as
it rapidly filled my mouth.  Surprised, I instinctively pulled back but
there was nowhere to go and, more, his hand fisted in my hair, preventing
any escape before I heard his low growl of "swallow it".

And, just like that, I was.  Reflexively swallowing as much of each pulse
as I could until they slowed, leaving me to nurse his shaft as it slowly
oozed out (in?) the last bit of his cum.  Between the taste of his cum and
the movement of his hand, I went rigid, feeling my own cock exploding as if
from my very core, its load flying upwards before raining down with a
splatter all over my hips and abs.  Despite my best, albeit reactive,
efforts, some of Matt's copious load had leaked from the corners of my
mouth, streaking my cheeks in rivulets down into my hair and onto the
pillow.  Dazed from both the expected and unexpected turn of events, I lay
there, staring up at his chiseled body as he finished, slowly relaxing and
coming down from his orgasm.  He rolled off of me, looking down as he did
so, faintly surprised, and it occurred to me what I must look like with my
hair mussed by his fist in it, with remnants of his seed, and my cheeks wet
from the torrent of cum that had escaped.  I blushed as I remembered him
demand, and then watch me, swallow as much of his cum as I'd been able,
shooting all over myself as I did.

Matt looked away, and then shifted away, from me.  As an indistinct silence
settled, I realized I hadn't said a single word from the time he'd woken
up, and I searched for some explanation of everything I'd just felt, some
way to let Matt know how intense what we'd just done had been... or, hell,
at least some quip, something, anything, to say to break the growing wall
of quiet.  "Matt," I started, with no real idea of what brilliant follow-up
I was going to add, but I didn't get a chance.

"Get out," he said.  I sat there, disbelieving what I'd heard until, a
moment later, he repeated it.  "I said get out."  Too stunned to process
that on top of everything else that had just happened, I grabbed my clothes
and bolted from the bedroom, my whole body, it seemed, scarlet with shame,
pausing in his living room just long enough to get my shorts and shoes on.
I quickly used my shirt to wipe the remains of Matt's climax from my face
and as much of my own from my torso as I could see and shot out the front
door into the hallway, unexpectedly running into a guy passing by.

"Shit, sorry," I said, taking a step back.  "No worries, neigh.... you're
not the guy who moved in," the guy, a tall, and leanly muscled, Asian,
probably in his late 20's responded with an easy smile that turned slightly
inquisitive as his eyes took in my bare torso and the cum-soiled shirt in
my hand.  "No."  I said and then repeated, "No, I'm not."  Over the past
few weeks, more and more I'd given into the urge to discreetly check out
every fit guy I passed while walking around campus, and like a reflex
taking over, my eyes began the familiar appraisal down from his face to his
tight-fitting shirt, soccer shorts, and defined legs.  As I glanced back up
to meet his gaze, my fading blush washed over me again as I noticed a
single dark spot on his shirt and realized it was likely a spot I'd missed
on my abs in wiping myself down.  As the scent of sex emanating from me
concentrated in and permeated the still air, his nostrils flared, and I
could see it on his face as he worked through various explanations.  He
seemed like he was about to say something more, but I was around him and
getting the hell out of there before he got the chance.

-------

Author's Note: So, this chapter took (way) longer, and has much less
dialogue in it, than before.  Also, future installments are likely to
remain somewhat erratic (and, likely, less frequently than may be wanted by
fans of the story... but, hey, maybe, too frequently by people who dislike
it but feel compelled to read, instead of ignore, it... so, balance FTW).
For that, I apologize in advance.  So far, with some liberties taken
regarding advancing the timeline, this has had fairly significant tie-ins
to my own experience in college (with, of course, some artistic liberties).
The last paragraph is an exception that I'm toying with playing around
with/adding to the narrative, but not really tied to it if the general
consensus prefers that I stay on track (provided enough people let me know
a preference by which a general consensus might be determined, that is).
Oh, and, if you enjoy the stories, remember to donate.