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“Fuckin’ hell, Goodwin,” Chad breathes against my face. “I want to do so many things to you.”
I would respond, but his lips arrest me again too soon, and I’m left breathless and squirming against the grapple of his kiss.
His fingers knead my bulge deeply. With every powerful and lustful squeeze of his hand, I groan with mounting frustration.
I have never been more pent up in my life.
I am so desperate for some kind of relief from this aching in my body and my soul, I would do anything Chad asked to get it.
His hand lets go of my bulge and slips down the front of my singlet to grab a handful of the real stuff.
Warm fingers wrap around my swollen, steel-hard cock.
I gasp against his mouth.
“You’re leakin’ so fuckin’ bad,” he breathes.
Then he starts to stroke me.
“Chad, oh my God …”
It’s so slick.
It’s so perfect, the way he strokes me—so effortless and so impeccably paced.
It’s like he’s one with my mind, knowing exactly what I want, knowing exactly the right way to pleasure me.
His lips come to my ear, where he catches the lobe between his wicked teeth before growling, “Your dick is so fuckin’ wet.”
Suddenly, I don’t want him to take his time.
I want it now. “Faster,” I breathe back, desperate.
But he doesn’t obey.
My pleasure and frustration grow with every excruciatingly slow and teasing stroke he gives my dick. I feel like if I don’t get my release soon, my whole body might explode with delirium.
“Touch me,” he groans into my ear.
I wonder why the hell I’m not already.
My hands slap against his meaty body. He’s still in his singlet. I barely noticed. My ravenous fingers cup his shapely pecs, where I immediately find his nipples and give them a light, testing pinch.
Chad responds beautifully, sighing with delight.
The sensitive tip of my dick rubs against the inside of my singlet as he continues to stroke me, bringing me closer and closer to the edge, yet not giving me enough to get me off.
Maybe it’s the frustration of that fact which makes me take a firmer squeeze of his nipples.
Now he moans. “Fuck …”
Even still, his pace doesn’t increase. He keeps jerking me at that same measured, frustrating pace I only a minute ago thought was perfect. Now it’s agonizingly slow and driving me to the point of insanity.
I know he knows what he’s doing.
Even when he taunted me as a teen, or played games with me, or toyed with me in front of his friends, he was aware of every bit of emotion he was eliciting in me. He knew how far he could push my buttons. He knew when to stop, too.
I was his toy back then.
I’m his toy now.
Except this time, I can trust myself to enjoy it without shame.
I let go of his nipples and slide my fingers down the smooth, slippery material of his wrestling singlet, enjoying every bump and ridge of his muscles. It doesn’t matter how much of this man I explore; I just can’t get enough as my fingertips cascade down his slender, tapered hips, then trace around to the back where they find purchase on the muscled shelf of his thick, round wrestler glutes.
I could spend hours with my hands there, exploring his body in a way only my eyes could enjoy before.
His lips press to the soft part of my neck, right behind my ear.
I squirm against him and squeeze his ass hungrily in response, pulling our crotches together.
Even that doesn’t quicken his pace of jerking me.
He puts a kiss there behind my ear, then another, and soon he draws a path of soft wetness down my neck, like some beautiful demon slowly nibbling away at every bit of composure I have.
His hand starts to twist at the end of every stroke of my cock, polishing the swollen, sensitive head each time.
I have never been so close, and yet so far away, from coming.
And sustaining this blissful agony for so long a time.
This is exactly what it was like, to be tormented by Chad; he kept my heart racing every day, wondering what he would do to me next, wondering when I might turn the corner of a hallway and see him, wondering whether I would be ignored in the locker rooms today or wickedly tended to.
Did I actually enjoy what I went through back then?
Did I actually enjoy Chad’s constant, cruel attention?
Am I only now able to admit that to myself because I learned Chad is gay?
What the fuck does that say about me …?
“I could kiss your neck for hours …” he groans.
Then he plants another soft, supple one under my chin.
Another gently on my Adam’s apple.
Another more forceful one at the base of my neck, right above my chest.
“Chad …” I try to say, but I think my lack of breath takes away the word.
