Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
***AUTHORS NOTE*** my stories contain more realistic scenarios and character development and much like you, it builds to its happy ending. Let me know what you think in the comments. My characters are over 21 years of age.
Like a helpless gazelle, he is pinned against me, the mighty lion; the king. His heart is thundering in his chest, I can feel the pounding of it as my hand slides gracefully up his shirt and between his nipples. With a shuddering breath his eyes close as he gives himself over to me. Goosebumps form over his silky smooth skin.
My erection throbs from within my jeans, fueled by the very thought that he is mine, so fully, so completely. As my hand reaches his neck, my fingers curl around the breadth of it, feeling the artery surge blood into his skull. His hard nipple grazes the soft flesh of my forearm. I can at this moment, hold him down harder; I can squeeze his neck…but I won’t. Never. It isn’t about hurting him, it isn’t even about the thought of hurting him. It is about control, and how utterly powerful I am at this moment. My cock throbs again. I catch the scent of shampoo in his hair, a masculine scent, alluring. Thoughts rush through my head, I know we’re about to do something I never thought I’d ever try.
His left hand opened and a chocolate candy rolled out from it onto the carpet.
* * *
I am David. Evan is my friend, my closest and most trusted confidant. We met several years earlier, working for the same restaurant, he was a server and I was a busboy. We have similar interests and we both can talk for hours on end. After work we would sometimes walk over to the bar a few doors down, it was a nice little place, very modern, and we’d have a drink together. He ordered a Negroni, and I ordered a whiskey sour. What made me uncomfortable was that he always offered to pay, maybe my beat-up car was a dead giveaway of my financial situation.
Our friends often laughed at how mismatched our personalities are, Evan is slightly shorter, and more petite in build, yet drives a nice car, and has a type of confidence and charisma I could only dream of having. I, on the other hand, am tall, have a slightly athletic build, and have masculine features, but I’m quiet, shy, and modest.
Eventually, he asked if I had a girlfriend, but I didn’t, past relationships were quite rocky for me. The girls I got involved with were strong and independent; ultimately, I found myself being the hitchhiker along for a very short ride. When I tried to explain how it made me feel, they would either laugh or roll their eyes and then they’d find someone else, another guy who looked like me. Other guys said, “David, you gotta be tougher than that.” But it hurt. Evan never trivialized my emotions, he’d sit there and listen to everything I had to say, offer tidbits of advice and wisdom, and then convince me about the important part I always played in my relationships.
Evan is gay, very smart, and insightful about companionship. At the time I met him, he was with a guy. A rather handsome guy, who was too distracted by other men, shooting a playful glance. The boyfriend eventually left him for another man. There I was, dropping by Evan’s house to return a laptop I borrowed, and noticed he was in tears. I took him out for a burger and fries, and back to his place to hang out, so he didn’t have to be alone for the night.
In the coming years, I would attend a local community college and he would attend the nearby University. After a long day, he would come over to play games and I’d fix us a few drinks. We’d watch movies and talk late into the night. It was like that for a few years. Other guys thought it was suspicious that I spent so much time with him, thinking I might be gay too; Evan is just better company than they are! No expressed emotion is too uncomfortable or taboo for him, it’s really liberating.
After yet another failed relationship with a girl who barely acknowledged me, I was happy to find out that Evan had better luck than me. He met a guy, but over time I started to think something was wrong. Once again, it seemed all they had in common was sex. The guy left him, quickly and unrepentantly. Evan was shattered.
Two men from opposite sides of the sexual spectrum, him feeling unwanted, and I, feeling unneeded. The sad truth of being a man in modern society, one where you can select your next date with a swipe on your phone, and drop them like a used condom in the waste bin. So then, what does it mean to be a man, if your girl doesn’t need you, and your boy doesn’t want you?
Today is Valentines Day, I knew we would both be at home, watching TV and feeling like losers. It seems that being single had a much stronger impact on him than it did on me. He often became teary-eyed, and his expression would fade into a gray melancholy that conveyed a profound sense of despair. Today would be unbearable for him. I invited him to come over in the evening, an invitation he didn’t expect, nor I for extending it. While I went out to run errands, I picked out a small Balıkesir Escort box of chocolates for him, I thought it might make him feel better to know that someone cares. And it would make me feel good to do something nice for him. He and I don’t have any semblance of romantic feelings for each other, but I am very close to him now and I know it would really bring a smile to his face to spend his night with a guy that looks out for him. His smile radiates warmth.
I greet him with the chocolates, and a timid “Happy Valentines Day, Evan.”
His face became red and he smiled, “Oh…” Evan tried to suppress the tears that welled in his eyes. Almost awkwardly he choked out, “That’s really nice, thank you! I love chocolate. And Happy Valentines Day to you too.” Physically, he remained reserved, probably to spare me from feeling too awkward; we are just friends. As he went into the living room to remove his jacket he turned and warned jokingly, “This better not be a prank box or I’m going to be very mad.”
“I swear it’s real chocolate,” I grinned. “It would be really messed up for me to do that on Valentine’s Day, but come Christmas, anything goes!”
As the evening wore on, it was like the best of times. I knew Evan can’t even boil water, so I planned ahead and decided to whip up some homemade Cajun-style mac and cheese for us. And we watched a comedy as we sat on the couch drinking the Negronis that I had mixed together. We drank slowly, savoring the flavor, but it also helped to loosen us up. We were on our usual rant about people and relationships and life.
Every time it was my turn to speak he took the opportunity to pop a chocolate into his mouth, listening to me make my points, and agreeing with my disagreeable stance on things, just to be empathetic. We both had different viewpoints on relationships.
Then came the moment that changed everything between us.
“Well, I still think that what people need is their forever partner. You can only go through life for so long before you realize something is missing,” he said emphatically. “Want to try a chocolate?”
“Sure,” I replied, watching him rummage through the empty wrappings to find me a piece. “I think you’re wrong about relationships, you don’t need a life partner. Not if you find someone who can fulfill all your needs anyway. Who says that person has to be romantically involved to give you the intimacy you want?”
He pulled out a chocolate, holding it in his hand, “What do you mean?”
“I…I don’t know,” I admitted with a look of defeat.
“I don’t just desire intimacy,” he looked away at the thought. “I want the whole boyfriend experience, including the emotional closeness…but just without the pain of a breakup.”
“Maybe something new has to be created. Something that defies the definition of a romantic relationship but is just as intimate and trusting. I think after what I’ve been through, and what you’ve been through, it’s unrealistic to expect romance to last.” As I reached for the chocolate he pulled it away playfully.
“Oh yeah, I’m unrealistic?” He smirked, “Just for that, you don’t get a chocolate.”
He grinned, “Well you’re unrealistic for expecting that kind of commitment from me!”
I chuckled, “Give it. You offered, now you owe me a chocolate.”
“Nah, I don’t think I want to anymore,” he teased. “If you want it, you’ll have to earn it back.”
“Give me the chocolate or you’ll regret it.”
He tried to put it in his mouth but I took him by the wrist; he turned away attempting to wrench his hand free.
With my free hand, I started to tickle him under the arm and he began writhing, descending into giggles and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter at the sound. I was trying everything I could to take back the candy. He was good at keeping it from me.
Through the roar of his laughter, he called out “David!”
“All you have to do is give me the chocolate!”
He tried pushing my arms away; I kept tickling him all over, the stomach, the neck, the arms. He twisted in every direction, eventually trying to stand and tear himself free.
I caught him with both arms wrapping around his chest. We were almost in tears from the hilarity. Losing his balance, we started to fall; I turned us so that I landed first, fully aware that I was heavier than he was and didn’t want to land on top of him. He tried to crawl away, but I held him with his back against my stomach, my arms around his, and my legs twisting around his. I rolled over so that I was now lying on top of him, holding him still.
We stayed like that, catching our breaths, his muscles relaxed and so mine did as well. His chest heaved as he sucked in air, recovering from the giggling. Our smiles slowly melted away. I had won, I was too strong and heavy, and he was too weak and helpless to squirm free. I loved it. I was too much for him to handle, and in a battle of strength and might, I came out the winner…the dominant male.
As we lay there, a Balıkesir Escort Bayan little dizzy and tired, my senses came back to me, I realized that I was still pinning him, and it had been, perhaps, too long. When I’m competitive there is this aggression I have, however, this was a little different. Something deep inside was governing me, something primal, I felt my dick stiffen and push against his backside.
He felt it too and his breathing hastened again.
This is wrong, I thought. I need to let him go. I rolled us so that we were both lying on our left side, my arms still around his. I asked, “Do you want me to let you go?”
For a moment he only breathes, not pushing away or trying to move. He just lies there limp, and then he exhaled the words, “Don’t stop.”
Like a helpless gazelle, he is pinned against me, the mighty lion, the king. His heart is thundering in his chest, I can feel the pounding of it as my left hand slides gracefully up his shirt and between his nipples. With a shuddering breath his eyes close as he gives himself over to me. Goosebumps form over his silky smooth skin. I can feel it as his hard nipple grazes the soft flesh of my forearm. I can hold him down harder; I can squeeze his neck…but I won’t. Never. It isn’t about hurting him, it isn’t even about the thought of hurting him. It is about control, and how utterly powerful I am at this moment. My cock throbs within my jeans. I catch the scent of shampoo in his hair, a masculine scent, alluring.
His left hand opens and the chocolate candy rolls out from it onto the carpet, it is partially melted and his palm and fingers have streaks of dark chocolate on it.
Taking his hand in mine, I bring it up to his mouth, I watch as he licks and sucks some of the chocolate off.
His hand is a man’s tool for defending himself. With a fist he could land blows on me, with the powerful grip of his fingers, he could choke me. If he desired, he could fight me, try to hurt me. Although, the limp hand I hold now, is mine. He has given it to me…because I am his alpha.
My heart is pounding like a great drum, and I might be shaking a little. My left arm is still supporting his weight and my hand is still on his neck. With my right hand, I release his and slide it down his belly.
His head went limp against my shoulder.
My left hand pinches his right nipple, still bumpy with a rubbery stiffness, yet soft like satin. My right hand continues under his belt and the waistband of his pants. The stiff bristles of his pubic hair are between my fingers.
I feel my cock throb again, I am hornier than I’ve ever been, but I’m also trying to make sense of it. I’m not physically attracted to him. I want to see his cock; to feel it in my hand, but not for the same reasons he would feel about my own.
With my right hand, I start to undo his belt and unzip his pants, forcing them down his thighs and exposing his genitals.
He is breathing harder; his heart was hammering in his chest.
The sight of his cock does nothing for me. But with genuine curiosity, I take a moment to look at it. He is uncut, the skin on his dick is slightly darker than the rest of him, and his bulbous scrotum is even darker than that. Tufts of pubic hair surround his groin. His dick is semi-hard, slightly bending with gravity, and the smooth head is partially covered in his foreskin.
I’ve never seen another man’s genitalia so close to me before, within reach. I want to touch it, but only because I’m curious about it…how it feels, how it moves when I push it. I only have experience with my own. And the man who lies limp in my arms has given up to me, surrendered himself to me. Even if he wanted to get away, he is not strong enough, and it makes me feel so powerful just knowing that I am in command of him now.
My fingers curl around his balls, I can feel them shift, gliding to a slightly different position.
Evan’s whole body shivers with pleasure and he lets out a pitiful moan.
With my fingertips I take easy hold of the mass of his foreskin, sliding it around between my thumb and index finger. I admired its organic pliability, its warmth, and the wrinkly folds. Placing my fingers on his shaft, I carefully pull the skin back to reveal the head of his dick. I had an almost academic curiosity about his hairy sex. I’d never been granted access like this in my life and there was something fascinating about handling someone else’s penis. Though I’m not physically attracted to him, I enjoy the free reign he is giving me over his body…his submission to me. That servile nature of his is something I never received before and it drove me wild.
He reaches behind, laying his hand over my crotch.
I quickly grab his wrist, quite firmly, and lay his arm back over his stomach. I growl through my teeth, “You touch me when I say you get to touch me, get it?” Being rough with him made me horny.
He nods silently.
For a moment my senses come to me, and I have to check on him, “Are you okay?”
“Do Escort Balıkesir you want me to stop?”
With another shudder, he says, “Don’t stop.”
He kisses my left cheek, but I put an end to it, holding his jaw gently with my left hand.
Looking back at his softening little dick, I’m reminded of what it represents. I imagine for him, the sight of a man’s dick and balls sparks a feeling of exhilarating excitement and sensuality. But when I look at male genitalia, I see my rival, my competitor of masculinity. For millions of years, the human race has been in the business of reproducing our species. Men used to fight each other so that the strongest one, the rightful one, can use this powerful, natural tool to reproduce.
I take Evan’s genitals carefully in my hand, cautious not to create discomfort.
With his eyes still shut, he nuzzles his cheek against my bicep. His breath tickles the hair on my arm.
A man’s dick is a social symbol of his power and dominance. Yet here it is, in my grasp. This is his most vulnerable appendage, I could cripple him easily with one tight squeeze of my fist. But I have no aim to hurt him, it would not make me happy to do so. Evan is not competing with me for reproduction. He is not using his manhood to symbolize his superiority over me. He is willingly giving me control of his power, handing over any claim to dominance, by offering his cock to me. Like a canine showing his belly to the alpha. Handling this man’s genitals is the ultimate symbol of his submission to me, and because of that, I will show him mercy. I will show him how gentle I can be with him.
I stroke the length of the underside of his cock, watching it bounce with the surge of the blood being pumped into it. It readies itself for pleasure. Clear, slimy fluid dribbles out from his foreskin. I pinch a pearl of his pre-cum from the tip and bring it to his lips. An act of symbolic humiliation, but he accepts it into his mouth willingly, his soft, plump lips gliding on and then off my index finger. The warmth and wetness of his mouth felt so inviting on my skin. My finger parts his lips again, desiring that squishy feeling.
“Good boy,” I hiss at him. “Now, on your feet.”
I release my arms and legs from him, and as I stand I help him to his feet, steadying him by the shoulders. Now he’s in front of me looking directly into my eyes, then he reaches for my shirt. I take his hands, stopping him. “You do what I say, not the other way around.”
“Take off your clothes.” My tone was more serious.
He makes eye contact again.
“Don’t fuckin’ look at me! Take off your clothes,” I spat.
Like an obedient submissive, he pulls off his shirt and pushes his pants off his legs. Now he stands completely naked and shivering, without any dignity.
I slowly pace around him, looking him up and down. His shoulders are tense, and his skin broke out in goosebumps again. As I walk behind, I can see the plump little butt that I’d never before noticed. And when I return to face his front, his dick softens and shrinks.
“It’s a pathetic little dick.” I snapped sharply at him, getting into his face to intimidate him. “What are you looking at?” I placed my hand under his chin, firmly grasping his jaw with my long fingers.
He flinched and then closed his eyes.
I let go immediately, taking a step back. I have the overpowering urge to continue my little fantasy, I gritted my teeth, “Fucking pathetic.” I felt aggression coursing through my body, my excitement…the erotic moment, had brought out this rough side of me.
He bows his head, and his hands cover his crotch. He is humiliated, and it made my cock grow.
Once more I hold his jaw in my hand like a vice, turning his head to inspect his face like a show dog. I wanted him to feel objectified.
A tear streams down his cheek.
It occurs to me that all this might have been too much, too fast. My scowl softens, as I realize he’s never seen me behave like this before. He’s probably never been treated like this before. I think it scared him. I loosen my grip and then coo softly, “Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.” I gulp, “You don’t have to stay. You are free to go anytime. There’s the door, I won’t stop you,” I point to the front door behind him, and then I take a few steps back, a little ashamed of the controlling and intimidating behavior I’ve been acting out. It was never about damaging him mentally or physically, I just want to feel superior…in control. Maybe true control is also having a firm grasp on my demeanor and actions, and not letting them frighten my little submissive friend. I have to change how I’m doing this; to make him comfortable.
He turns to look at the door.
I stand away with my hands behind my back. Did I go too far with all of this?
Then to my surprise, he took a few steps toward me, peering up at me with his tearful eyes. Their glassy surface reflects the fear and humiliation he felt. And now I know I have to be more mindful.
I bite my lip while I consider my next move, then I conclude my thoughts with the decision to embrace him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “I didn’t mean to do that. To scare you,” I said, drawing in a deep breath. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, I promise.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32