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I’m barely seated before one hand snakes inside my sweats while the other shoves the waistband below my rigid length, freeing it from one restraint only to be caught up in another. And by another, I don’t just mean a closed fist, I mean the kind of iron grip you’d use to lift a barbell. No cautious exploration, no hesitation, a ‘lets see which is stronger, your cock or my hand’ kind of standoff that’s so tight it borders on obscene.
A groan that’s part excited, part relieved echoes throughout the room as his touch distracts me from the rabbit-hole of self-pity I was falling down. I have a fleeting moment to feel ashamed about resorting to hand jobs from my roommate to feel like I’m not alone before the pressure of his fingers on my shaft becomes my singular focus.
And then he starts to pump.
Long, frenzied strokes that have my hips lifting off his lap, less an effort to chase his hand and more because he’s working me so hard he’s damn near lifting me off him by my dick. It’s like going from zero to light speed in a matter of seconds, and any lingering shame I might’ve felt over being such a slut for Cruz’s hand, evaporates as I marvel at how fast he’s moving, and how beautifully filthy it is to watch.
“Holy fuck,” I gasp, grappling for the armrests to steady myself. “You going for a speed record or something?”
“Or something.” His fist travels the entirety of my length, but it’s the little swipe of his thumb over my slit with each pass that has my toes curling in the shoes I never got around to taking off. I’m leaking like a sieve, and he’s spreading it everywhere, which only enhances the friction that engulfs me, root to tip.
Though Cruz’s movements are aggressive, they aren’t unpleasant. Sort of angry, like my mood, and I really get into it, wrapping a hand around his neck for leverage and bracing my feet on the floor so I can really grind into his fist.
Jesus that’s intense.
“Damn, you’re an eager little thing when your dick’s out.” Cruz half-laughs, half-grunts.
“I’m not little.”
“I wasn’t talking about your dick.”
“Neither was I.” I pant, bucking up into him as hard as I can despite being sandwiched between his lap and his hand.
“Fine, you’re little compared to me.”
“Mmm,” I grunt, too lost to my baser urges to continue this conversation.
I’ve fucked hard and fast before, but from a sense of urgency, not as an outlet for my emotions. While I’m not sure there’s a significant difference, I definitely prefer this version, where my body acts on animal instinct versus fear of getting caught. Somehow that makes the sound of Cruz’s fist smacking against my pelvis—and the desperate bordering on unhinged moans coming from my throat—seem carnal instead of merely aroused.
I’m definitely a fan.
“Is this the way you jerk yourself?” I tighten my grip on Cruz’s neck as I strain to hump even faster into his hand.
“Too much?”
“Fuck no. Is this how you do it?”
“Sometimes.” He presses his lips together, either in concentration or because that’s all he’s willing to share.
Fair enough.
Cruz’s forearm ripples from the effort of working my shaft, but if he’s tired, he doesn’t let on, pumping relentlessly as I writhe on top of him. My own body is starting to feel the strain, chest heaving so much it almost blocks the view of my swollen purple tip poking rhythmically out from the end of his fist. A quick glance at Cruz’s face tells me he’s taking in the same view, and while I can’t tell if he enjoys it, the fact that he’s looking has the tingle of impending release building deep inside my groin.
My head falls to Cruz’s shoulder as I moan, “Oh god, I’m close.”
No sooner do those words leave my mouth, a warm palm engulfs my nuts and starts massaging them. It's mostly a gentle touch interspersed with a random, firm tug that draws my orgasm closer and closer to the surface. And I chase it, thrusting my hips like I could somehow shove my cock even deeper into the hand holding it.
My fingers contract behind Cruz’s neck as my head rolls back and forth on his shoulder, almost like the energy from my impending release is so big it’s invading my limbs, making them spasm and shake like a pressure cooker, getting ready to blow. And then there’s a sudden, sharp zing deep in the base of my cock…and I detonate.
The hand that was on my balls clamps down on my mouth in a futile attempt to contain the cry of relief that bursts from my throat. But that’s not enough to hold back the pent-up emotions he released with that orgasm, and I moan loudly into his palm as I hump through the aftershocks, unable to quiet myself when my body is unraveling so completely.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Despite breathing heavily, my eyelids droop as the adrenaline starts to dissipate, muscles going as limp as if I’ve just run a marathon. I’ve got just enough awareness to realize I’m dangerously close to falling asleep on Cruz’s lap, and I make a well-intentioned, yet pathetic attempt to get off him.
I barely manage to sit myself upright when my whole body seizes up, and I snap to attention like I’ve been given a shot of caffeine.
Slowly, to give him plenty of time to think about his response, I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Are you…hard?”
