I do, taking him deeper this time, trying to relax my throat. The feel of his hard cock filling my mouth is a complete sensory overload: the musky scent of him, the weight of him on my tongue, the power in the muscles of his thighs as they tense under my hands.
This isn’t something I ever imagined doing, but here, now, in this tent with the snowstorm raging outside, I can’t imagine doing anything else. Why would I? This is better than discovering those footprints.
Ace lets me have my way for a good while, letting me explore that rigid pole of flesh, learning its shape, its texture, its taste. He seems to enjoy watching me learn, enjoy the way my eyes widen when I take him a little too deep and have to pull back, gagging. He enjoys my inexperience. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me, half-lidded, a smirk playing on his lips.
But then he takes control. His hands tighten in my hair, and he starts to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, hitting the back of my throat. My eyes water, and I force myself to breathe through my nose as he sets a punishing rhythm.
“How’s that feel?” he asks. “Too much?”
I shake my head as best I can with his cock in my mouth. It’s almost too much, but not quite. I like it. I like the ache in my jaw, the way I’m completely at his mercy.
“Good.” He pushes deeper, and I feel my throat open for him. I take more of him than I thought possible, my nose pressing into the wiry hair at his base. “That’s it. Take it all. Such a good boy.”
The praise makes me work harder, hollowing my cheeks, sucking with all my might. I want to be good for him. I want him to feel as good as he made me feel with his hands, his body. My own cock is leaking onto the sleeping bag, a hot, wet mess I’m currently ignoring.
After a few more deep thrusts, he pulls out, breathing hard. His cock is slick with my spit, glistening in the firelight. It looks even more intimidating now, the veins standing out in sharp relief, the head dark and swollen. A long, clear string of precum drips from the tip and lands on my thigh.
“You’re good at that,” he says, pushing me back down onto the sleeping bag. “Too fucking good.”
He kisses me again, a deep, possessive kiss. His hand slides between us, wrapping around my aching cock.
“Oh god,” I gasp into his mouth. His grip is firm, and he starts to stroke me, a slow, torturous twist of his wrist that has me arching off the sleeping bag.
“You’re so hard,” he murmurs against my lips. “You were so desperate for it, weren’t you? Walking around with this hard-on for days. Thinking you were being so subtle.”
I can’t deny it. He’s been driving me crazy. I’ve been a mess of hormones and confusion, and it all comes pouring out now in a series of choked moans and helpless thrusts into his fist.
“I want to fuck you,” he says outright. His thumb smears the precum leaking from my slit, circling the sensitive head. “I want to be inside you, Simon.”
His hips press forward, and the hard, hot length of him slides between my ass cheeks, nudging at my hole. There’s no fabric between us now, just skin on skin, and the feel of him there, so close, makes my entire body clench with anticipation.
“Yes,” I gasp. “Fuck me, Ace.”
8
I’ve spent my entire life preparing for the unknown. Researching expeditions that failed, learning from other people’s mistakes, planning for every possible scenario in the wilderness. Temperature drops, equipment failure, altitude sickness, wildlife encounters.
But nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for this.
For lying naked in a tent in the Himalayas while Ace, a guy I met a few days ago, rummages through his pack for the small bottle of lube he apparently carries everywhere.
Outside, the storm rages. But in here, in this tiny space that smells of woodsmoke and sweat and sex, the only storm is the one building inside me. A blizzard of desperate, aching need.
“Found it,” he says, holding up a small bottle of clear liquid. He settles between my legs, nudging them apart with his knees. I let them fall open, exposing myself to him in a way that would have been unthinkable yesterday.
He drizzles the cold, slick liquid over my hole, and I jump.
“Cold,” I squeak.
“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry. “I’ll warm it up.”
He rubs it in with a thick finger, circling the tight ring of muscle, and I have to force myself to relax. It’s a strange sensation, the gentle pressure, the slow glide, and my body isn’t sure what to make of it. Especially when he starts to push, when that finger breaches me, sinking into my body up to the first knuckle.
I gasp, my hands fisting in the sleeping bag. It’s not pain, not really. It’s foreign. A deep, strange pressure, an intrusion my body instinctively tries to fight.
“Breathe,” Ace says. “Just breathe.”
I do. I take a deep breath and feel my muscles loosen. He pushes in deeper, his finger fully inside me now, and starts to move it, a slow, gentle exploration that has me squirming.
