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Besides, I’m not sure I want to say or do anything that might stop the work he’s making of my body right now.
“Squeeze it …” he tells me.
I squeeze his ass cheeks once more, grinding our hot, swollen, spandex crotches against each other again.
This ass that fills my greedy fingers is an ass I have longingly gazed at from only a distance, an ass that has gotten bigger and more muscled with his ten long years of hard, backbreaking work on his father’s ranch. I never imagined I would one day hold it, and Chad would be telling me to touch it, and to squeeze it …
Did I have dreams about his ass back then?
And were they nice dreams, or bully dreams?
And would I even be able to tell the difference now?
With his every stroke of my dick, it starts to flex and throb in response. My fingers, as if reacting to the way he tortures my dick with his twisting, calculated, even-paced jerking, start to claw at the material wrapping his ass like a birthday present. I dig into the meat of his cheeks, suppressing a groan that gives away every ounce of my mounting frustration.
If I don’t come soon, I am going to start crying out.
“Feel me …” he begs.
Is he begging?
Is that what I hear in his dominant voice?—an order that can just as well be a whimper of desperation?
I don’t need him to clarify. One of my hands releases its claim on his ass and slides between our sweaty bodies, where I grab a big and hearty handful of Chad.
Wow.
He’s far bigger than I originally estimated.
“Through the singlet …?” I breathe. “Do you want to pull it down like mine so I can—?”
“Through the singlet. Just grab it, Lance, grab it.”
The spandex fights me as I wrap my fingers around his meat as best as I can. My eyes see stars of shock as I process how much of my palm his dick fills.
All of it, basically.
And then some.
“Fuck, Lance, yeah … squeeze it, squeeze it …”
The feeling is breathtaking as I stroke his cock slowly through the smooth material, massaging every inch of his length—and oh, how so many inches there are of it.
There is so much distance to stroke my hand up and down.
There is so much Chad to stroke my hand up and down.
And with every slow jerk, Chad moans against my chest where his lips hover. “Yes …” he grunts. “Yes, yes, fuck yes …”
I squeeze his dick firmly as I stroke him.
His slippery strokes of my cock start to pick up pace at long last, but only slightly.
Then he takes one of my exposed nipples between his teeth.
“Mmph, so unfair …” I moan.
He pays my complaint no mind as his tongue comes out to lap across the nipple he just gently bit, sending a whole new flood of giddy sensations cascading down my body.
He’s still clad in his singlet, so all of my grappling with his ass and his dick are through the material—while he’s got my bare, wet cock in his hand and my exposed chest and nipples out on display for him to torment.
His tongue dances around my nipple once, twice, three times before he pulls away and, with drunken eyes, says, “I’ve wanted this for so fuckin’ long …”
“Yeah?” I moan back.
“Oh, yeah.” His other hand comes up my side where his thumb, big and smooth, starts to toy with my sensitive nipple, dragging back and forth across it. It’s pebbling. “I’ve wanted you.”
“Is that why you couldn’t keep away from me?” I’d never in a non-horny state of mind ask him these things, or speak so flippantly about that period of my life, or make light of his tormenting me. “Is that why you were so obsessed with me back in high school? Buzzing around me like some love-bug bee? Poking and prodding and teasing?”
His lips are on my ear again. He catches my lobe once more between his teeth—this time a lot harder, like a retaliation—and then he says, “What the fuck is a love-bug bee?”
I speed up, stroking his huge dick faster. He is leaking inside his too-tight singlet so much, it’s getting slippery in there.
He’s working mine, too, his hand twisting so firmly every time he reaches the end of my cock that I feel a near-sickening wave of muscle-clenching euphoria with every single stroke.
It’s taking everything in me to hold back.
“I want to come,” I whimper.
“Me, too,” he breaths at my ear. “Let’s do it together.”
“Together.”
“I’m so fuckin’ glad we’re doin’ this.”
“Me, too.”
“You make me feel so fuckin’ good, Lance.”
“You’re cussing a lot.”
“I’m so fuckin’ horny I could die.”
“Please don’t.”
Each of our exchanges is barely a breath. Our mutual jerking of each other’s slippery dicks is so smooth and firm and even, I don’t think either of us realize or appreciate how perfectly in-sync we are. With every second that passes, and every breath drawn ravenously into our lungs, and every cling of my fingers into the one ass cheek of his I still own, Chad and I become one.
