Early Morning Steve
Steve ended up on my bed at god knows what hour this morning.
"Are you awake? Are you awake?"
He smelt of sweat and cigarettes and alcohol. Oh, the stink of alcohol. The smell of night clubs was all over him, like he'd bought a cloud along with him.
He kissed the side of my face and neck gently; wet, warm lips, warm breath.
He'd been to the clubs. Apparently, some couple got him into the toilets, slid their hands down the back of his pants and took turns fingering his arse. He said he could hardly focus, barely stand. They wanted his arse. The both wanted to fuck him. But, he wouldn't let them. It turned him on, though, made him really horny, but he didn't want it from them there. Call him old fashioned. Even the fact that he had to struggle with them to let him out turned him on.
"As I tried to get the door open and they tried to stop me, it just made me rock hard," he slurred. "The thought of being forced." He laughed. "When all the time I knew I wouldn't be."
He had that cheeky grin on his face, like the proverbial cat, even if his eyes didn't look like they were focusing.
"Look at you," I said. He looked hot. Messed up, sure, but sexy. Shiny, sparkly, against the dark.
He leaned down and kissed me. He's a great kisser, big, soft lips.
"What time is it?" I asked when I noticed it wasn't completely dark outside.
"Late." He shrugged. "Early."
He was shirtless, just black cargo pants.
"Give me your hand."
He slid my hand down the front of his pants. He was hot and sweaty. His cock went hard in my palm, sliding through my grip as it expanded.
"Pull me." He has the most beautiful uncut cock, thick, heavy, big vein underneath. He groaned and kissed me again. "Ahhh, fuck." He dribbles precum like no one I've ever known. "Yeah," he whispered in my ear. "It's all yours, you know."
"Yeah," I said. His balls were in my hand, his cock pushing half way to my elbow, sliding on my skin.
"I'm not giving it to anyone else," he slurred. He pushed down and put his meat in my hand. "Squeeze it." I squeezed my grip around him, solid and thick. He started to gasp for breath. "Ah, ah, ah." He started to shake. "Ohhhhhhhhhh. I love youuuu. Ahhhh." I had his knob in my grip, he spurted into my hand, wet, hot, shaking. Groaning in my ear. He comes like a fire hose, I could feel his cum dripping through my fingers.
He collapsed on my arm and was asleep in minutes, seconds, passed out. A dead weight.
"Stev, Steve?" I said. Nothing.
I pulled my hand out, he'd messed his jocks and his cargo pants. I put my arm around him and smelt his hair.
"Maybe I love you too," I whispered. I lay there and listened to him breath, rhythmically. Slowly, steadily, in, out.
I glanced at the clock, it was 6am. I patted Steve's head and closed my eyes.
"Are you awake? Are you awake?"
He smelt of sweat and cigarettes and alcohol. Oh, the stink of alcohol. The smell of night clubs was all over him, like he'd bought a cloud along with him.
He kissed the side of my face and neck gently; wet, warm lips, warm breath.
He'd been to the clubs. Apparently, some couple got him into the toilets, slid their hands down the back of his pants and took turns fingering his arse. He said he could hardly focus, barely stand. They wanted his arse. The both wanted to fuck him. But, he wouldn't let them. It turned him on, though, made him really horny, but he didn't want it from them there. Call him old fashioned. Even the fact that he had to struggle with them to let him out turned him on.
"As I tried to get the door open and they tried to stop me, it just made me rock hard," he slurred. "The thought of being forced." He laughed. "When all the time I knew I wouldn't be."
He had that cheeky grin on his face, like the proverbial cat, even if his eyes didn't look like they were focusing.
"Look at you," I said. He looked hot. Messed up, sure, but sexy. Shiny, sparkly, against the dark.
He leaned down and kissed me. He's a great kisser, big, soft lips.
"What time is it?" I asked when I noticed it wasn't completely dark outside.
"Late." He shrugged. "Early."
He was shirtless, just black cargo pants.
"Give me your hand."
He slid my hand down the front of his pants. He was hot and sweaty. His cock went hard in my palm, sliding through my grip as it expanded.
"Pull me." He has the most beautiful uncut cock, thick, heavy, big vein underneath. He groaned and kissed me again. "Ahhh, fuck." He dribbles precum like no one I've ever known. "Yeah," he whispered in my ear. "It's all yours, you know."
"Yeah," I said. His balls were in my hand, his cock pushing half way to my elbow, sliding on my skin.
"I'm not giving it to anyone else," he slurred. He pushed down and put his meat in my hand. "Squeeze it." I squeezed my grip around him, solid and thick. He started to gasp for breath. "Ah, ah, ah." He started to shake. "Ohhhhhhhhhh. I love youuuu. Ahhhh." I had his knob in my grip, he spurted into my hand, wet, hot, shaking. Groaning in my ear. He comes like a fire hose, I could feel his cum dripping through my fingers.
He collapsed on my arm and was asleep in minutes, seconds, passed out. A dead weight.
"Stev, Steve?" I said. Nothing.
I pulled my hand out, he'd messed his jocks and his cargo pants. I put my arm around him and smelt his hair.
"Maybe I love you too," I whispered. I lay there and listened to him breath, rhythmically. Slowly, steadily, in, out.
I glanced at the clock, it was 6am. I patted Steve's head and closed my eyes.
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