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Pushing one knee so he’s spread a little farther apart, I press my finger against him gently, teasing it around the rim but not penetrating. I linger, eyes skating over his body and cataloguing every reaction; I want to know all his tells—all the nonverbal cues about what feels good and what doesn’t. I don’t bother reminding him to relax again, because it’s clear he is. His breathing has calmed during our brief chat, and his skin has lost its warm flush.
When I slip a finger inside, there is virtually no resistance. I make it well past the second knuckle before he clenches around me, briefly. He’s barely reacted, no change in breathing and no flinching, so it was probably involuntary. Smiling and watching his face carefully, I seat my finger fully and turn my hand, using my fingertip to search for his prostate.There’s the reaction, I think when he gasps out a surprised “oh!”. I wasn’t certain until now, but I had a strong feeling Corwin had never tried this on himself before.
I massage my finger over that soft spot inside him, enjoying the catch in his breathing every time I make another pass. The flush has returned to his face, staining the tops of his cheeks rose. His eyes are closed, lashes fluttering, and he’s breathing so intentionally I wonder if he’s utilizing yoga techniques to stay relaxed and pliant.
I could probably add a second finger as things are right now, but I’m going to err very far onto the side of caution with him. I slowly pull my hand back, douse a second finger in lube, and press back against him. I can tell the added stretch bothers him this time, so I stop moving to let him adjust. He notices my stillness, lifting his head off the pillow to get a better look at me.
“Okay?” I ask him, remaining motionless.
“Just pressure, it’s okay.” His voice is thready, the desire burning bright in his eyes making them appear feverish. Maintaining eye contact, I slide forward and connect with his prostate. He drops his head back to the pillow and groans. When I press harder against it, fingers moving back and forth, his toes curl into the bedspread and his neck arches.
I prefer vocal lovers, and had wondered if Corwin would be more of the silent variety. It’s nice to be proved wrong; with every pass over his prostate, I adjust the pressure, eliciting low groans from him that make my dick twitch in response. I can’t wait for the moment when I can position myself within reach of his mouth, wanting to swallow down each noise he makes.
“My feet—” Corwin mumbles, before cutting off with a throaty gasp when I trace a small circle over his prostate with a fingertip. I slow down, switching to a languorous slide of my fingers in and out of him, feeling him stretch around me.
“Numb?” I ask.
“Yeah…like a buzzing feeling.”
“That’s normal, but I can stop if you—”
“No, please, don’t stop. Shit.” He sounds wrecked already. I don’t fight the grin the spreads across my face. I hadn’t let myself get too far into imagining what sex with Corwin might be like, but if I had there is no way the fantasy would have been as good as this. I continue fucking him with my hand, tortuously slow.
“I’m going to add a third finger, okay? Just to be sure I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Sure, yeah. Good idea. You have a huge dick, so…”
I let out a peal of laughter, pressing my face into his knee. Thirty-four years old and I’ve never gotten this much enjoyment out of foreplay. Pulling my fingers out again, I make a quick detour up to his face. Cupping my clean hand over his ear I lean down and kiss him, languid and deep. When I lean back, he looks pleased.
Kneeling back between his legs, I reapply the lube. At this rate, I’ll probably go through the entire bottle. This time, when I breach him, there is definite resistance and I can feel him clench around me. I don’t need to press too far into him, only enough to get him used to the stretch of an additional finger, so I remain still. He’s yoga breathing again.
Running my free hand down his thigh, I massage soothing circles into the crease of his leg, fingers brushing his balls. I feel him relax back into the mattress, so I advance my hand slowly. When I can’t go any further, I pause, allowing his body more time to adjust. At this point, I’m only holding off to give myself time. He’s prepped, and clearly amenable.
Reaching again for the lube, I remove my hand from him fully and coat my shaft with copious amounts of lube. Tossing the bottle to the side, it slides off the bed and hits the floor with a thunk. I widen my stance, spreading my knees further apart so his legs are stretched wide around my hips. He offers no resistance, watching patiently as I position us. When I shuffle forward on the bed, he lifts his feet without prompting, cradling me between his thighs as I crawl up his body.
When my face is above his he smiles. “Hi.” He says.
“Hello, mon amour.” He doesn’t need help translating that, judging by the tender way he looks at me. I have to look away from his face when I reach down between us, lining myself up to his entrance and pressing forward just enough that my head breaches him.
Slow, slow, slow,I chant to myself. I no longer need to use my hand to position myself, so I place my elbow back on the bed beside his shoulder and look at him. He’s still watching me, perfectly confident that I won’t hurt him. Turning my forearm, I tuck one hand under his head and lift. Leaning down to meet him halfway, I kiss him as I carefully nudge my hips forward.
He’s got one hand high on my waist, and it’s this that I use as a guide. When I inch deeper, his hand tightens, though he gives no other outward appearance of discomfort. I alternate between a careful slide forward, and a pause where I distract him with kissing. His lips are swollen when I pull back a final time and seat myself fully inside him, pelvis flush with his. I drop my forehead down to his and close my eyes, needing a moment; I want to move so badly, it’s taking everything in me to remain stationary.
He’s breathing unsteadily, breath tickling my face. I want to ask him if he’s okay—obtain verbal confirmation—but the words elude me. Corwin strokes his hand from my hip up to my ribs; I open my eyes and lift my head enough to see his face.
“See? Huge.” He says, breathily.
I laugh, helplessly. “Can I move? Are you okay?”
“Carry on.” He instructs, and I fuse my mouth to his, laughter rumbling in my chest.
Tentatively, I give an experimental roll of my hips, pulling out and giving a slow thrust back in. Our mouths pressed together, his groan has nowhere to go and I swear I can feel it in my teeth. I keep my movements shallow for now, knowing exactly how overwhelming the pressure can be. Corwin breaks our kiss, gulping deep breaths of air that expand his chest up to brush mine. Using the hand still splayed across my ribcage, he pulls me down, closing the last bit of space between us. Now, with every movement of my body, my stomach brushes over his dick where it lays heavy and leaking on his abdomen. His free hand comes up to thread into the hair at the back of my head again, and he moans directly into my ear.
“Jesus Christ.” I groan, and pull out nearly all the way before rocking forward and fitting myself back inside.
I settle into a rhythm, unhurried and gentle. Corwin tugs my hair until I bring my lips back to his, and we kiss until it becomes hard to breathe, separating only far enough to pant into each other’s mouths. He tries to say something, but the words are garbled. Both his hands have tightened, fingers gripping hard.
“Fuck.” He gasps, seconds before he shoots long strands of cum across his abdomen, back arching in a way that allows me to thrust deeper inside him.
