r/OriginalGayErotica

[All characters are 18+]

After we finished eating I tried to distract myself by cleaning up as Eric got the Nintendo ready. My mantra was ringing in my head - “Straight, straight, straight” - as I rejoined Eric on the couch.

Eric was sitting beside me when his eyes locked with mine. There was something about the way he was looking at me that I couldn’t quite place. Was it desire? Interest? Or was I just reading too much into it?

That’s when his hand brushed against mine as he passed me the controller, and I knew for sure that it wasn’t just my imagination. I felt a jolt of electricity run through me at his touch, and my mind went blank, that voice in my head was finally silent, and I knew that I had to do something before I chickened out. I let my hand linger where he touched mine, and he didn’t pull away.

He continued to look me in the eyes, and I could feel the desire burning within me. Without another word, I leaned in and kissed him.

He seemed surprised at first, but he quickly responded in kind. The kiss was gentle at first, but it soon became more passionate. I felt his tongue in my mouth, and it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. I knew it was just a kiss, and I’ve kissed girls a million times, but this felt like something altogether new and different. Maybe it was just the tiny bit of stubble under his lower lip, but whatever it was, it sent a ripple through my body that I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager getting lucky for the first time.

After a delightful eternity, he pulled away, and with my heart racing I asked, “Is this okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s okay.” He put his hand on my knee and without breaking eye contact asked, “Are you okay, Adam?”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” I told him. As I confessed that secret I had to look away. Instead of facing him, I picked up the controller and began fidgeting with it.

He lifted my chin and smiled at me, then leaned in to kiss me again. We kissed for what felt like hours, lost in the moment. It was like we were the only two people in the world.

At one point, I felt myself running my hands across his chest, and before I knew it he had his shirt off. I followed his lead and we continued making out until I felt a tugging at my belt.

“Are you ready for this?” Eric asked, looking into my eyes. I could only nod, unable to speak. “Relax,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll take care of you.”

He started to kiss his way down my chest towards my beltline, and all the thoughts left my mind. I wanted this more than anything.

He deftly unbuckled my belt and somehow magically had my pants and shoes off all in a single move. I sat there on the couch in my briefs, hard as a rock and nearly paralyzed with anticipation. He began slowly nuzzling my boner through the fabric, alternately stroking and licking the length of my bound cock. I couldn’t take it anymore and slid the underwear down my legs, finally releasing the beast that was struggling to escape its cage.

Eric immediately and wordlessly devoured the full length of me, something no girl had ever done before. I don’t want to say I’m huge, but no one else I’d been with had so easily swallowed all of me like that.

My hands were in his hair, and I could feel his face buried against my pubes. As he gently glided up my shaft, he never lessened the suction as he went up and down my full length. It was like his mouth and my cock were two puzzle pieces that were meant to fit together.

“You taste amazing,” he said, looking up at me. I blushed and smiled, feeling more confident. His reassurance melted every hint of my reluctance and nerves, and I was able to focus and enjoy the fact that this was finally happening.

I’d thought that the feeling of his wet tongue dancing across the head of my dick was the ultimate sexual experience of my life, but then he started gently squeezing my balls as he sucked and stroked my shaft. The combined sensations were as much as I could take, and I felt my sack tighten in anticipation of release.

I groaned as I muttered, “I’m gonna cum.” I tried to pull out, but Eric’s suction on my dick just seemed to increase. I had accidentally shot my load into the mouth of the first girl that ever blew me, and she was so angry that I never dared to let that happen again. Not that any girl I’d ever dated had begged for me to jizz in her mouth!

Eric went all the way down, burying his nose in my pubes, and moaned an “Mmm-Hmm” sound, and I realized he wasn’t going to pull away when I came.

I tried to warn Eric again, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-,” but it was too late. The pleasure overtook me, and I moaned loudly as I shot my load into his warm mouth. I could feel the contractions of his throat as he swallowed repeatedly, guzzling down every drop as my throbbing cock unloaded into his thirsty mouth.

Normally, I’m one of those guys who loses all interest in sex the moment I cum, but not this time. As Eric looked up at me with a sly grin and wiped a drop of my jizz off his lower lip, I felt overwhelmed by a need to suck his dick. He rose from his knees and sat beside me on the couch, then kissed me deeply. I could only assume that the sweetly salty taste of his mouth was actually my own cum, and I instinctively put my hand on his crotch.

He was hard as a rock, and even through his jeans I could tell that he was bigger than me. I dropped to my knees and got between his legs, fumbling with the button on his pants. He kicked off his sneakers as I finally managed to pull down his jeans and underpants all at once. His boner sprung free, and I was captivated by the sight of it.

The only hard cock I had ever seen in real life was my own, and I was shocked at how different his seemed from mine. It was almost like a separate entity from Eric, himself, and all I could do was wrap my hand around the base of the shaft and wrap my lips around the bulbous head.

Somehow it tasted different than I had imagined it would. I had never even considered that it might have a taste, but it did, and I was immediately obsessed. Not even thinking about my actions, I began sucking and licking the head of his stiff cock, and as the first drops of pre-cum began to ooze from his slit, I instinctively started to swallow and move further down toward his pubes.

When I felt his hands in my hair and heard him moaning softly, I was reminded that there was a person attached to this magnificent, throbbing mass of flesh. I glanced up at him and we locked eyes.

“Take it easy and enjoy yourself,” Eric said softly. “You’re doing great.”

I smiled around the meat in my mouth and began to lick the half of his dick that was between my lips. I moved further down the shaft, unsure how much of it would fit before I gagged. I quickly reached that limit and did indeed gag a little. Eric used his hands to pull my head back up and said, “Slow down, man. You don’t have to take all of it your first time.”

---

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The final whistle had barely faded when the changing room began to empty. Boots scraped, kit bags zipped, laughter and curses drifted toward the car park. Within ten minutes only two men remained.

Tom Harrington, the team’s star lock forward, sat on the long wooden bench still half in his kit. Six-foot-four of solid muscle, dark hair damp against his forehead, he peeled off his muddy socks with slow, unhurried movements.

His thick cock rested heavily against one thigh, soft yet substantial, the long silky foreskin hanging well past the blunt head in a wrinkled, pale sleeve. Even half-hard - as it often was after a match - the hood never fully retreated; it simply stretched and clung, a permanent soft curtain.

Rhys, the wiry scrum-half, had watched that cock for three seasons. In the communal showers he had stolen glances at the way the foreskin slid and gathered, at the glossy hint of glans that sometimes winked into view when Tom soaped himself.

Tonight the rest of the squad were already gone. The fluorescent lights hummed. The air still smelled of Deep Heat, sweat and wet grass.

Rhys locked the outer door with a quiet click.

Tom looked up, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing as Rhys crossed the tiled floor and dropped to his knees between the bigger man’s spread thighs. He did not ask permission. He simply reached out with both hands and took the soft, heavy cock as though it belonged to him.

The foreskin was warmer than he expected, silky and slightly damp. Rhys rolled it back with deliberate care, exposing the dark, glossy head. A thin smear of smegma clung to the rim where the skin had rested all afternoon. He leaned in and licked it away in one slow, thorough stroke, tongue flat and greedy. Tom’s breath caught.
“Christ, Rhys…”

Rhys did not answer. He rolled the foreskin forward again until the head disappeared completely, then drew it back once more, watching the way the inner skin clung and then peeled free. He repeated the motion - forward, back, forward, back - setting a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Each time the glans emerged it was wetter, shinier.

He licked the underside of the head, then the slit, then sealed his lips around the entire crown and sucked while he kept the foreskin stretched tight behind it like a natural cock-ring.

Tom’s hands settled on Rhys’s head, not pushing, just resting. His cock thickened steadily inside the scrum-half’s mouth, but the foreskin still hung long enough that Rhys could pull it forward over the now-swollen head and form a tight, wet tunnel.

He fucked that tunnel with his tongue - shallow, filthy thrusts that made soft wet sounds in the empty changing room. He stretched the skin further, widening the opening, and pushed his tongue deeper until he was licking the sensitive inner fold where foreskin met shaft.

Twenty minutes passed like that. Rhys lost himself in the taste, the smell, the texture. He collected every drop of pre-cum that leaked from the slit and smeared it around the rim so the foreskin slid with perfect slickness. He bit gently at the loose skin, stretched it until it was thin and almost translucent, then released it to snap softly back into place.

Tom was fully hard now, the thick veins standing out along the shaft, yet the hood still covered more than half the head whenever Rhys allowed it.

Finally Tom growled, low and rough. He stood, hauling Rhys up with him, and spun the smaller man around so his chest pressed against the cool metal lockers. Tom’s cock, still mostly sheathed in its own skin, nudged between Rhys’s cheeks.

“You want this?” Tom’s voice was dark with lust. “You want the head?”

Rhys nodded frantically, already shoving his own shorts down. “Please…want to feel it bare. Want that wet head against me.”

Tom did not give it to him yet. Instead he took his own foreskin between thumb and forefinger and used it exactly as Rhys had done: as a soft, living sleeve. He rubbed the gathered hood up and down the cleft of Rhys’s arse, dragging the silky skin over the tight hole, painting it with pre-cum.

Every few strokes he rolled the foreskin back just enough for the hot, slick glans to kiss the rim - once, twice - before covering it again. Rhys moaned and pushed back, begging without words.

Only when the scrum-half was trembling did Tom finally peel the foreskin all the way back and hold it. The uncovered head was dark, shiny, almost dripping. He notched it against Rhys’s hole and pushed.

The first breach was slow and exquisite. Rhys felt the distinct heat of the bare glans, the sudden change from soft skin to smooth, wet hardness as the head popped inside. Tom kept feeding himself deeper, the foreskin still bunched behind the crown, until he was buried to the root.

Then he began to thrust - long, powerful strokes that made the lockers rattle. Every time he withdrew, the foreskin tried to roll forward again; every time he drove back in it was forced open, the inner skin dragging against Rhys’s rim in a way that made both men groan.
Rhys reached back blindly, found the place where Tom’s cock met his body, and felt the stretched foreskin with his fingertips. “Fuck…leave it back. Want to feel the head every time.”

Tom obliged, pinching the skin firmly behind the glans so it stayed retracted. The difference was immediate: pure, slick heat, the flared ridge of the head catching on every stroke. He fucked harder, one big hand gripping Rhys’s hip, the other braced on the locker above the scrum-half’s head. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the room, undercut by Rhys’s broken pleas and Tom’s low, continuous growl.

When Tom came it was with a deep, shuddering thrust that pinned Rhys flat against the metal. Thick pulses flooded him; Rhys could feel the cock throb and the foreskin, still held back, flutter slightly with each spurt. The sensation pushed Rhys over as well - he came untouched against the locker door, striping the blue paint in messy white lines.

They stayed locked together for long seconds, breathing hard. Eventually Tom eased out. The foreskin rolled forward at once, covering the sensitive head again, now shiny with come and Rhys’s own wetness. Rhys turned, dropped back to his knees, and gently cleaned it with his tongue - soft, grateful licks that coaxed the last drops from the slit and settled the hood back into its usual long, silky drape.

Tom looked down at him, eyes dark, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his mouth.

“Same time next week, then?”

Rhys kissed the tip of the still-covered cock and nodded.

Outside, the car park was empty. Inside, the fluorescent lights kept humming over two men who finally understood exactly what the other had been watching all those seasons.

This is the start of an occasional series that’ll look at foreskins and their admirers…

TheLazyPornographer for more cock and sweaty fucks:
TheLazyPornographer @ Substack

TheLazyCoach for all things advice - from coming out to sticking things up your arse:
The Lazy Coach @ Substack

It's Saturday morning, and I'm stumbling back in from a run, lungs burning and skin slick with sweat. Jake's already in the kitchen, haunting the place like he always does.

"Hey, dude," I grunt, trying to catch my breath.

He's just standing there at the counter, wearing nothing but those grey sweatpants that always hang way too low on his hips. He's pouring orange juice with his dead-eyed morning concentration, like his brain is still trying to boot up. His hair is a total disaster, damp from a shower and sticking up in every direction. A towel is just draped uselessly around his neck.

"Oh, hey Leo. Good run?" he asks, flashing that big, goofy grin. "You look trashed, bro!" It's that goofy puppy dog look he gets, totally harmless but somehow intense. He watches me walk over for a second too long before his eyes snap back down to his juice glass, like he’d just realized he was staring. "How many miles was that?" he asked.

He takes a massive gulp of the juice, his throat working hard, then wipes his mouth with his hand. Those sweatpants aren't doing any favors for his modesty. The fabric is thin enough to show the heavy, thick outline of what's hanging between his legs. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit.

"Want some? We've got like three cartons in the fridge!"

The apartment is tiny, one of those cramped two-bedrooms where the kitchen and living room are basically one room, and the hallway is a joke - two people can barely pass without touching. The morning sun is coming through the blinds in sharp, dusty slats across the linoleum.

"Nah, I'm gonna make a smoothie," I say, kicking off my shoes. I peel off my sweaty tank top, let it hit the floor, and pad into the kitchen to start hunting for ingredients. "We got any strawberries left?"

I can feel his eyes on me. He's watching the shirt come off, his gaze tracing the sweat-damp skin of my chest and stomach. He looks away quickly when I turn around, setting his glass down on the counter with a soft clatter.

"Uh, yeah. In the back of the freezer, I think."

He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest. It's a bad move because now we're both standing there shirtless in this tiny kitchen, and the air suddenly feels hotter. I catch him looking south, checking out the way my running shorts are sitting low on my hips.

"You're all flushed, man. Must have been a hell of a run," he comments. He rubs the back of his neck, and I can see the muscles in his arms flex. The tension is palpable.

The fridge is humming its usual annoying death rattle. I find the strawberries next to some protein ice cream Jake had bought and promptly forgotten about.

He shifts his weight, and those sweatpants slip just a little further down.

"So, what's the move for today? You got any plans or what?"

"Nope. Just a lazy Saturday for me," I tell him. I grab the berries and some milk and start loading up the blender.

"You ever hear back from that girl you were talking to?" I ask, trying to keep it casual. "The redhead?"

Jake's face falls a bit. He scratches his jaw and lets out a dry laugh.

"Nah, she ghosted me. Left me hanging since Thursday. Typical." He shakes his head like it's no big deal, but I can tell he's annoyed. His eyes wander back to my hands as I'm loading the blender with fruit. "Whatever, she was kinda boring anyway. All she talked about was TikTok and her nails."

He pushes off the counter to grab that protein ice cream, which means reaching right past me. His bare chest is inches from my back, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. He stays there a second longer than necessary before pulling back.

"You want a scoop of this in there? It's chocolate fudge!" The proximity is electric and there's a weird, restless energy about him, like a dog that needs to go for a run but doesn't know why. "Lazy Saturday sounds perfect. We should just veg out, watch a movie or something."

"I don't know how you deal with girls, man," I say half-joking, holding out the pitcher from the blender. He digs into the tub with a spoon, dropping a messy heap into the blender. He's clumsy, dripping ice cream onto the counter and just ignoring it. "They seem like way too much work!"

"I don't know… Maybe I just like the attention, you know? It feels good when someone's into you." He pauses, the spoon still in the tub, and looks at me with those earnest blue eyes. He looks way too good for a guy who's acting this confused. "But yeah, it's exhausting. All the drama and the hidden meanings and trying to figure out what they actually want."

He laughs and dumps the rest of the ice cream in, then wipes his chocolate-smeared hand right on his sweatpants. He doesn't even care.

The blender is the only thing between us now. We're both shirtless, both sweating, and the morning sun is hitting Jake's abs in a way that's definitely not helping the situation.

"Maybe I should just give up on girls entirely," he says. He says it like he's kidding, but his eyes stay on mine for a beat too long to be just kidding. Then he punches my shoulder lightly, trying to reset the vibe. "So what about you? You're not seeing anyone. How do you deal with... you know, the horny stuff?"

"Boys!" I say with a grin. I hit the blender button and let it screech for a few seconds to let that sink in. "I gave up on girls in high school. Life got a lot easier after that." I take a huge swig right out of the blender pitcher.

Jake's eyebrows shoot up, and he lets out a loud, shocked laugh. "Damn, okay! Just gonna drop it like that?"

He watches a drop of the smoothie escape the corner of my mouth and trail down my chin. He's staring at it like he's mesmerized.

"I mean, I've thought about it." He swallows hard. "Messing around with a guy, I mean. Just normal curiosity, you know? Not like, gay-gay, but... you know." He says it fast, like he's purging a secret. His face goes bright red, and he starts looking out the window, avoiding my eyes, and adds too rapidly, "Not that I'm saying I want to do anything with you. That'd be weird. We're roommates..."

The kitchen is dead silent except for the fridge. Jake's sweatpants have slipped even lower, and there's no missing the massive, hard outline pressing against the gray fabric.

"Just forget I said that. Total brain fart." He was still looking at the window, jaw tight, a flush creeping down his neck.

"Dude, it's fine," I tell him with a grin. "Don't sweat it. You want some of this?" I pour him a glass and then take another pull from the pitcher. "So what do you actually think about? Like, what would you even want to try? Hand stuff? Mouth stuff?"

He takes a long sip of the smoothie, trying to get his face back to a normal color. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms tight like he's trying to hold himself together.

"I don't know, man. All of it, I guess?" He lets out a shaky laugh and runs his hand through his hair, making the mess even worse. "Like, the idea of sucking a dick is kind of wild, but I've definitely thought about it. And getting sucked off by a guy seems like it'd be way better than anything any girl's done for me, honestly."

He's just rambling now, the dam finally breaking. "And like, I've never had anyone mess with my ass, but I keep thinking about it. Is that weird?"

He finally looks at me, and there's something totally vulnerable in his eyes. He's breathing fast, his chest is heaving. Those sweatpants are working overtime now, the fabric is stretched so tight across his erection that it looks painful.

He bites his lower lip. "What about you? What do you like doing with guys?" His voice drops to a much quieter register.

"All of it!” I answer quickly. “But I really love sucking cock. It's like a total power trip, having that much control over another guy..." I take another chug, keeping my eyes locked on his. "And ass stuff is amazing, but it takes work. It's not like... you know, ready-to-go like a girl."

He chokes on his smoothie, coughing and laughing at the same time. "Bro, not while I'm mid-sip!" But he's grinning now, that cocker spaniel energy back in full force. His eyes keep dropping to my mouth, then snapping back up like he's trying to be polite. "A power trip. Huh…"

He shifts again, and those pants slip another millimeter. He doesn't fix them. He does casually reach down to adjust his hard-on through the fabric, thinking he's being subtle. The air in the kitchen is thick with all the stuff we aren't saying. The smell of Jake's body wash and my own post-run sweat are mixing into a heavy, primal smell.

"And the ass stuff, it really feels that good? Like, for real?" He takes another sip of smoothie, licking a drop off of his lip. "Cause I saw this video where the guy was just... losing his mind! I thought it was fake, but you're saying it's legit?" His voice was a low, conspiratorial whisper.

"Here's a fun secret straight guys don't know," I tell him, matching his vocal tone. "Almost every guy I've been with came the first time they got fucked. Sometimes just from fingers, without even touching their cock..."

Jake goes dead still. His mouth hangs open slightly, drink forgotten. He's looking at me with this intense, almost reverent focus. "No fucking way," he breathes. He swallows nothing and looks like he's just seen a ghost. "You're telling me a guy can just... cum from that? Hands-free?"

A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. Those sweatpants are hanging by a thread now, showing the deep V of his abs. His cock is visibly thickening, pressing hard against the fabric.

He leans forward, closing the space until the pitcher in my hand is the only thing between our bare chests. His voice is rough.

"So, you've done that? You've made guys cum just by messing with them back there?" His eyes are wide, his face raw and hungry. "What's it like? When you're doing that to someone?"

"It's the best! Watching a big, strong dude just melt because of my fingers? It's hot as hell." I tip the pitcher back and finish the last of the smoothie, slow and deliberate.

He's hypnotized, watching the thick liquid slide slowly into my mouth before I swallow. He's breathing through his nose, shallow and fast. A visible shudder runs through his shoulders.

"That's... fuck, man." He exhales and presses his palm flat against his stomach, right above the waistband, like he's trying to keep himself from exploding. His abs ripple under his hand.

The apartment is cemetery-quiet. Even the fridge stopped humming. Jake's cock is fully hard now, creating a massive tent in those gray sweatpants. He's not even trying to hide it anymore.

He bites his lip hard, staring at my throat. "So, you're like... really good at it? You've had a lot of practice?" His voice is at that basement register, the one he never uses around other people. "Because that video... the guy was just begging for it. And I kept thinking… I kept thinking I wanted to be that guy." He trails off, his eyes darting between my eyes and my mouth.

"We can make that happen, if you want.” I start rinsing out the pitcher in the sink, keeping my back to him for a second. “I'm definitely good at it. And that's maybe best part about guys. You just say what you want, and we do it. No games, no build up. Fuck, you don't even have to buy me a drink!"

He tenses up as he’s watching my back, watching the muscles move as I scrub the blender.

"Wait... You mean like, right now? We could do that today? You're serious?" He laughs, but it sounds breathless and panicky. His hand is on his bare stomach, fingers twitching. He can probably feel his pulse in his dick right now.

The water is splashing in the sink, such a normal sound for such a weird moment. Jake's reflection in the microwave is like a man standing on the edge of a cliff, trying to decide if he should jump. He takes a step toward me. Then another. The sweatpants make a soft swishing sound against his thighs.

"I mean, I'm not saying no. I just... I've never done anything like that before. With another dude." He's right behind me now, his chest heat radiating against my back. I can smell him, and it's making my head swim. "What do I even do? Like, where do I... where do you..."

His voice cracks. His hands are hanging at his sides, fingers curling. He's practically vibrating. "Just tell me what to do. I'll do whatever you want."

"Really?!?" I turn around and face him, grinning wide. "You really want to try this? Cause I need to shower first because I'm all gross from the run. But after that? Yeah. Fuck yeah!"

I put my hands on his upper arms and give him a little shake, feeling how solid he is. He doesn’t pull away or back down, so I decide to just get right to it. "Wanna kiss me first? Then I'll hit the shower."

His brain just seems to stop and his eyes get wide. My hands on his arms are sending shocks through him, and his cock twitches visibly against his pants.

"Kiss?" He says it like he's never heard the word before. He's breathing through his mouth, shallow and fast. He looks at my hands on his arms, then up at my face. "Like... on the mouth? For real?"

This guy has kissed tons of girls, but he's acting like this is brand new territory. His skin is burning hot under my palms, every muscle in his arms rigid. His chest is moving in quick bursts. A bead of sweat traces a path down his exposed sternum. He swallows so hard I can hear it.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Let's do it."

His hands come up slow, hovering at my waist. Then he just goes for it, grabbing my hips and pulling me in with this reckless, athletic confidence. His mouth crashes into mine, clumsy and desperate. He's kissing me like he's trying to win a game, all enthusiasm and zero technique.

He pulls back after a second, panting. "Was that... was that okay?"

"Bro, chill out..." I lick my lips and look him in the eyes. "I know you gotta be a better kisser than that!" I chuckle and squeeze his arms reassuringly. "It's just like with a girl, but with a little more stubble on the lip! Relax. You know how to do this."

He lets out a shaky laugh, his grip on my hips softening. His thumbs start rubbing little circles against my skin without him even realizing it.

"Okay. Okay, I got this. I'm good at this."

He exhales, psyching himself up. His eyes drop to my mouth, watching me wet my lips, and his jaw clenches. His hands are warm and massive on my hips, his fingers pressing into the muscle with a grip that says he's ready, even if his brain is still catching up.

He leans in slower this time. His eyes stay open until the last second, and when our lips meet, it's softer. Still a little messy, but there's a natural instinct kicking in. His mouth moves gently against mine, his bottom lip dragging slowly across my top one. His fingers tighten on my hips, pulling me closer until our stomachs touch. A low, grumbling sound starts in his chest.

He pulls back just far enough to breathe, our foreheads almost touching. "Better?" he whispers. His voice is sharp and his hard-on is pressing so hard against my hip there's no way it’s accidental.

"Way better,” I tell him. “Use some tongue this time? Then I really need to wash off this stank!"

A cocky, boyish grin splits his face. "Tongue. Yeah. I can do tongue." He dives back in with more confidence, his mouth opening against mine. His tongue slides forward, tentative at first, then hungrier. He tastes like chocolate and orange juice, and his tongue finds mine with a groan that vibrates through both of us.

His hands slide around to the small of my back, pulling our bodies flush. The sensation of his hard cock pressing against my bare stomach through those thin sweatpants is unmistakable. He's running on pure animal instinct now.

He kisses me deeper, sloppy and open-mouthed, his tongue pushing past my lips with a wet sound. He moans into my mouth, his hips pressing forward involuntarily, grinding his hard-on against my abs.

Then he breaks away, breathing hard. His eyes are glazed, like he's drunk on the moment.

"Fuck, okay. That was... yeah, that was something else." He wipes his mouth with his hand, his chest heaving. "Go shower then. I'll be here. Obviously." He laughs, but his voice is shaking.

"Why don't you wait in my room?” I suggest in a fully seductive tone. “It's cleaner than yours, and I just changed the sheets." I move away, sliding my hand down his arm as I pass, then grabbing his hand and leading him toward my room. "Just give me a few minutes..."

He follows me like a dog on a leash, his legs not quite cooperating. His cock bobs with every step, painfully obvious, and his free hand keeps drifting down to adjust himself.

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