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.