Flavor

Hector has a secret hiding behind his straight white teeth. His guy friends see glances of it when he laughs and they inadvertently chub up in their jeans. They don't mention to their girlfriends, or to each other for that matter, that they often visit Hector's place in the dead of night on moonless evenings with their faces disappearing into the shadow of hoods. They climb his fire escape like brigands and enter the dim light of his apartment without so much as a word.

They move down the narrow hallway and find their way, as though compelled by siren song, to Hector's bedroom. They trade the merest of pleasantries before ending up with their faces in the pillows, asses in their air, and Hector's magic tongue lapping gently—oh so gently—at their puckered holes. He's gentle with them because even though they're drawn to him, they're practically deer: skittish and easily spooked. So Hector gives them just a taste of the electric pleasure that will run through their groins, up into the meat of their thighs, around to base of their spines, up then up into their arched backs and shaking shoulders. Their mouths will mouth incredulous sounds: "How could this feel so good? How could anything feel this good?"

With their faces in Hector's sheets they spiral, they often question their sexuality while writhing and hyperventilating, but ultimately, inevitability, they relax. At some point there's a break in the mire of complex thoughts and they realize that pleasure for the sake of pleasure isn't an inherent vice. There are no police coming to batter down the doors because a friend has a few inches of his tongue slipping in and out of their tight—straight?—holes. Once they let their guards down, Hector moves to the second phase; he does this with the same slowness, the same careful deliberation.

Hector knows that if he were to unleash the full expanse of his skills at once the twitching lump of man in his bed would short circuit. He's had the messy evidence soaking into his sheets often enough to know that they can't handle it. Instead, he ratchets up the intensity by degrees: a little more vigorous licking, a little more intense pressure with his mouth against their vulnerable rears. Sometimes even that's too much and whoever has placed themselves at the mercy of his capable mouth will convulse, scream obscenities, and ruin his sheets.

He remembers some of their cries more clearly than others:

"Yoooo, what are you even doing back there, my guy?" said Omar in a quavering voice attempting at masculine bravado.

Omar had an exterior like a diamond: argumentative, intractable, a man who thrived on conflict and always seem to find his way to the heart of it. To Hector, it seemed like all his vulnerabilities had been wadded up and stashed deep within his tight, but twitching hole. It was Hector's job—or at least the job of his hungry, eager tongue—to breach that inviolable sanctum and find the soft places.

Contrary to his rough-edged words, Omar shifted, sank his upper-half into the bed so that his spine softened, his chest and stomach sank, and his ass rose until he was completely exposed. "Careful back there," Omar warned, but the threat was empty.

Hector eased his tongue deeper into Omar's unguarded hole and enjoyed his friend's shudders and the increasingly soft noises floating unbidden from his mouth. Not unlike a snake charmer, Hector's movements were exact, measured, but also featured a preternaturally swaggering carelessness that put Omar at ease and allowed him to tumble deeper into his own pleasure as though each stroke of Hector's tongue whispered: "No need to tense up, this is play; you're safe. You and I are just playing a game."

But some games have teeth, which Omar learned as his face pressed deeper into the sheets and Hector used both hands to ease him more open, as the wet noises doubled, as Omar's cock twitched between his legs too hard and unstable to even touch for fear of an unplanned arrival at the inevitable destination of a leg-shaking orgasm. "Damn, bro. Damn," Omar uttered, writhing and writhing.

When Omar came it felt as though his whole body was quaking apart atom-by-atom. His toes clenched, his hole seized, and his mouth formed a litany of filthy words so loud and sudden that even Hector—buried as he was in his buddy's bubble butt—was taken aback. Omar's dick went perfectly rigid and the pulses of thick cream remained steady for stretched out seconds as Hector's magic tongue squeezed into (and was squeeze in turn by) Omar's rapidly fluttering hole. 

"Damn," said Omar at the end. "Damn."

Then there was Malik, twitchy and sensitive who led with: "Don't go any deeper. I'm not…this isn't that kind of thing."

Hector didn't ask what "kind of thing" that Malik thought "this" was. Malik had been making sly comments for weeks, talking endlessly about "finally linking up" and "getting some time to really chill." But once he'd made his way into Hector's bed, his hole was less forthcoming, as if suddenly the man it belonged to had second thoughts.

"Should I stop?" Hector asked.

"No! Just…slow…" Malik replied. His boxer briefs were discarded somewhere on the other side of the room and his cock was buried in the bed beneath him.

Hector didn't know how much slower he could go, but he tried to oblige. He lapped gently between Malik's tight, chiseled cheeks and swirled only gently over the sensitive, winking orifice as Malik uttered "Fuck" on a rapid-fire loop.

Malik was a goofball, a loudmouth who was comfortable mugging for giggles and throwing himself into any group's spotlight, but now that attention-seeking grew hesitant as the personalized anal attention locked his hole and his cock in a circuit of pleasure that he was desperately fighting. Even before the rimming a long string of precum had dribbled down from his enormous, swinging dick as he stepped out of his pants. His breath had been uneven and shallow since his arrival. Hector knew his friend wouldn't last long, but did they ever?

"Yo, fuck, how you eat like that?" Malik asked rhetorically, moved a little on the bed. His cock must have shifted against the mattress and sent a hot flare of sensation up into his crotch, because Malik seemed to regret the motion. His ass flexed hard and the muscles in his back lit up as he held tension in his core. "Fuck, bro. Quit for a minute. Hold on."

Hector leaned away and broke the string of spit connecting his mouth to Malik's delicious hole.

"Cool, now just stay there until…wait, oh fuck. I'm gonna cum!" Malik shouted. He'd overestimated his capacity and began spewing a lake's worth of jizz on Hector's blanket. His ass continued to flex and bounce as he came. Hector watched him squirm through the powerful orgasm and stroked his own cock slowly and steadily.

There are others, of course, variations on this theme: a lot of swear words spilled in a handful of languages right before the money shot. As a result of his skills Hector does a lot of laundry, but he doesn't mind. His friends are generous with their time and are willing to dig their knees into his bed and give up their tender holes for him to sample. There's nothing he's rather do with his nights or his mouth.

BENJI BRIGHT © 2020-2022.

If you like this story and want to read more of my work, you can check out my patreon (patreon.com/benjibright) which boasts over 150 longer stories starting at $3 a month, or you can buy some of my zines on Gumroad (gumroad.com/benjibright)