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.