Xander Shows Me My Prostate

He knows which my room is, because he's stood in the doorway once before and watched me trying in frustration to ease a lotion-slicked finger into my ass. Had come inside, crouched between my spread thighs, and replaced that finger with his own. Seen, from an angle that left me exposed to him like I'd been to no other since I was a baby, as I writhed at the deftness of his touch.

Even after all that, though, inviting Xander to follow me in - both of us knowing exactly why, too - still left my cheeks burning hot. 

"If you're busy, I mean..." I start, haltingly. Not knowing if I want him to take the out I'm offering, or desperately hoping that he won't. It isn't a case of brain versus body any longer. More like the confusion and uncertainty - along with the hunger for the feelings I felt were somehow locked up beyond my reach inside me - had spread and left me dizzy and urgent.

"Dude, come on," Xander says behind me, and I can hear the grin in his voice. 

I stop, just at the foot of the bed. Body frozen.

"I'm not gonna undress you, buddy," he says, chuckling. I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment. Wanting to tell him that I'd just been taking a moment, hoping the churn in my stomach would settle. Not waiting for him to help me out of my clothes. 

Still facing away from him, still not quite believing I'm doing it, I pull my t-shirt up and over my head. Pull at the fly of my jeans, trying not to let my brain rush into overthinking what's happening right now. Just focussing on shoving the denim down my legs.

"You been working out today?" 

I know he means the compression shorts, the desperate attempt to stop my dick from being a complete giveaway that I was walking around boned up almost permanently. It's been three days, plus a few hours, since I last busted out a load, and it feels like every step I took sent vibrations right up to my crotch. 

I don't answer him, just start to push the shorts down. Having to stretch the fabric forward to pull it past my hardness, the whole front a sticky mess where my cock has drooled like crazy from all the friction. 

Another chuckle from behind me, and then the feeling of Xander's fingers easing in under the waistband. Pulling the clinging elastic down over the curve of my ass, his warning that he wasn't going to undress me apparently forgotten as he helps shove my shorts down my thighs. 

I want to see myself through his eyes, suddenly. To have a third-party perspective of my body; to know whether, when Xander looks at me, he sees some uninteresting eighteen-year-old still trying to grow into his muscles, or something more promising. Not as fit as he is, no, with his defined arms and the abs I know are underneath that ripped sleeveless shirt, but something that - when I catch up to his few years advantage over me - might have the potential to get close to it. 

Could someone like his girlfriend Lucy look at me, one day, and find me attractive? I talk a good game when my best buddy Dan and I are bullshitting about hot girls, about what we'd do with them if they were ever interested in giving us the time of day. But the reality is, the only thing showing any inclination of doing something sexual with me is my own right hand. 

The soft pressure of his hand, meanwhile, in the hollow between my shoulder blades. Breaking through my thoughts; I gasp, just a little, in surprise at the contact.

"Lean forward, dude," Xander murmurs. 

It's easier not look at him, not to have to make eye contact as I do it. Not that I think Xander would be giving me a judgmental look, he seems too cool a guy to be such an asshole unexpectedly that way. Just that, well, if I have to see his face along with hearing the instructions, I know I run the risk of getting overwhelmed and chickening out. 

His fingers still press into my skin as he guides me down. I'm tilting at the waist, so that I fold over the edge of the mattress. 

My cock is sandwiched between my belly and the sheets; I wriggle my hips a little, trying to find a more comfortable position and cut out some of the pressure. Xander chuckles. 

"Lift your hips, bud." 

I raise myself up, on my tiptoes, Then gasp for real as I feel him reach in-between my splayed thighs and - firmly and easily, as though it was the most normal thing in the world - grab my dick and pull it back. My pelvis automatically tilts up as he stretches me, lifting my ass higher, until his other hand presses down on my hip.

I drop back to the mattress, my cock stretching down, now; straining against the edge of the bed, exposed between my legs. Forcing me to keep my butt angled up, just to relieve some of the pressure as I throb against the friction. 

It feels even more exposed, even more lewd and precarious. Like I'm presenting my ass, somehow, my face bright red as I press it into the bedding. I know that Xander has a perfect view between my cheeks, down across the tightness of my balls, and along my dripping shaft as it twitches desperately.

I try to imagine what Dan would say, if he saw me like this. Hell, what he'd say even if he just knew someone else had this view of me. My asshole best friend would never let me live it down. 

Xander doesn't tease me, though. Doesn't say anything, in fact; only the soft pop of what I figure is the lube bottle opening, and then the gentle sound of him squeezing it. 

"Gonna be a little cold, buddy," he warns me; I tense preemptively, but still jolt when I feel the coolness of his fingers brush down between my cheeks. Wriggling as he grazes across my hole, no hope of trying to play it cool as my body betrays me. 

"When did you last cum?" Xander's tone is casual, blasé even. As though we're just two guys shooting the shit on the couch together, talking about whatever dumb shit comes into our heads. 

It's hard to focus on the question, what with his fingertips sliding against me. No pressure yet, not really, and hardly any friction because of the slippery lube. Just the idea of it, somehow; the featherlight touch a promise of what's going to happen next. 

"Uh, not since... y'know..." My voice doesn't quite sound like my own, some rasping thickness in the depths of my chest affecting it. 

"Damn, dude," Xander says, snorting, "talk about restraint." I flinch as he makes soft, silky circles around my hole. "You been edging?"

That'd been Dan's last obsession, before he was bumping against his prostate twice a day. Trying to coax out bigger and messier orgasms by keeping his body simmering for 24 hours, 48 even. I'd tried it once, but just the thought of putting off cumming left me wanting it even more. 

"Not really," I admit. "Just... waiting."

My dick twitches again at the thought, rubbing against the rough sheet in the process; I jerk back at the sudden flood of sensations, pushing against Xander's fingers. He snorts again. 

"You tryna tell me to hurry up, dude?" 

I squeez my eyes shut, horrified at the idea of it. Of demanding that he start pushing his fingertip inside me, words I could never envisage actually saying to someone real. It's hard enough just hearing them in my own head. 

Not that it seems to put Xander off, nor my silence either. His fingertip pushes against me, as I chew my lip and feel my body resist him. 

"Just let it in, buddy," he murmurs, and it's like the words unlock me somehow. A gasp, barely muffled in the sheets, as what feels like half his finger slides inside. 

It feels smoother with the lube, slicker and easier. No less weird a sensation of fullness than before, but I can feel how rapidly Xander can start stroking me. He's just pulling and pushing his hand, as my body flinches around him from the surprise rather than any discomfort. 

"You ready, dude?" 

I grunt agreement, then gasp again as he brushes across that bundle of nerves inside me. Hips bucking off the bed, then wincing into the sheets as that rasps the swollen head of my cock against the mattress. 

"Fuck, dude, there's like a gallon of pre coming out of you," Xander observes, sounding impressed. "That's so fucking cool."

There's s no point trying to respond, to reply to him, though. Not when he's stroking across my insides and making me shudder with each graze of my prostate. Finger growing more determined, more focused in his attentions, as Xander tests my limits and finds me only more eager. 

"Gonna give you a second, buddy," he warns me, and then a moment later I feel the pressure of his two digits pushing at my entrance. Muscles resist for a moment, pointlessly denying what we both know is inevitable, before he slides them into me. The air rushes out of my lungs as I feel his knuckles press against my ass.

"Fuck, you're doing so good," Xander tells me, and I feel some part of me clench with satisfaction at the praise. Ridiculous as I know it is; as I know this whole situation is, in fact. Hiking my butt up so that some guy can finger-fuck me while I spray precum across my bedroom floor. 

He laughs at my reaction, not unkindly. "Damn, Luka, you have to feel how much better this lube is. Fuck lotion, dude."

Tentatively, almost gingerly, I reach back. Not quite knowing what I'm doing, but simply responding to his instructions as best I can. Fingertips easing around the curve of my cheek, my skin feeling more slippery as I brush through the lube he drizzled down me. Finally bumping up against where Xander's fingers are pushed halfway into my hole. 

Without warning, he pulls them both out completely. I chew down on my grunt of displeasure. 

"Come on, feel it dude," he insists. Stretching back as far as I can, I push my fingertip where his has just been; feel the softness of my ass, barely resisting now as I slip the digit inside. 

"Oh shit," I grunt. My brain is filling with flashbacks to how he'd found me that first time, to what he'd seen as Xander stood in the doorway to my bedroom. Watching me toying with myself as I jerked off. I'd thought I had the house to myself, was completely alone, and so could only gape at him with horrified surprise as he stared at me contorted on the floor. 

Now, I can't see his face, but I can imagine the intensity of that stare again. 

Pressure, suddenly, alongside my digging finger. I gasp as Xander pushes his in alongside my own, my body allowing him to grind into my tightness. 

It's different to when it was his two fingers, less predictable. His had moved in tandem, thicker but clearly a pair. With no way to synchronize what we were doing now, though, I can feel myself getting tugged and stretched like I hadn't before. 

"If I touch your dick, buddy, are you gonna cum?"

I can't read disgust into his tone, only caution. As though Xander's concerned that even the slightest friction on my neglected, desperate cock would be sufficient to drive me over the edge and have me spurting down the side of my bed. 

It isn't, I think to myself, an unfair concern. Just like I wouldn't have ever thought that I'd be trying to find the words to encourage another guy to jerk me off. 

"I can hold it," I tell him. Volume low, embarrassment clear, but the need equally potent. Xander chuckles.

"Yeah, I bet you can, dude. Fuck, you've got a pretty dick, y'know that buddy?"

I shouldn't be able to blush any more, any hotter, and yet somehow my body manages it. A tiny part of my brain is hunting through Xander's words for teasing, for any sign I may be the butt of some big joke right now, while the rest squirms with something I can only think of as surprised delight at what he's saying. 

"Come on, dude," I tell him, skeptical, even as we kept pulling on my hole and my hips twitch and buck. Xander snorts. 

"You kidding me? Fuck, dude, you're a stud. Got this perfect, pretty dick just ready to go apeshit on some lucky hole." 

I grunt through clenched teeth as he runs a finger down the underside of my shaft. Hardly touching it, and yet it's enough to leave me whimpering. Desperate for what I can barely dare hope will come next. 

His fingertip eases around the head of my cock, slipping smoothly through the sheen of precum. Makes tiny circles there, matched by the slow churning of his finger pressed deep in my hole. My own alongside it is almost an afterthought, as he reachs for my prostate. 

It's like my ass is trying to cut my finger off, the grip is so tight when he nudges me and strokes me in time. My mouth clamps down on the meat of my wrist, hopefully stifling what I fear would be close to a squeal as the rush of sensations blaze through me. 

He isn't jerking me off, not like I'd do it. Not like I'd seen him do it to himself, too, Xander's fist stroking his thick inches as he'd punched the fingers of his other hand into my butt. This was more like a slow, teasing slide, from where my balls are doing their fucking best to drag themselves into my body, they're so damn tight, all the way down to where I know the head of my cock is already an angry, swollen red. 

My thighs spasm when he brushes his palm across my tip, one foot lifting off the ground as my body shudders. 

"Come on..." I plead, desperation shaking me. I don't care if it's weird to be begging, or if what I want him to do to me is kinda gay - even by the standards of what was already happening - or, indeed, if his girlfriend or my best friend or any other fucking person would think I was a sick, kinky pervert for needing it so badly. I just want Xander to fucking milk my dick while I push that super-sensitive spot in my ass against his fingers until I blast all over my bedroom rug.

I get the handjob, and a lesson. 

"Press your finger down," he instructs, curling his forefinger inside me. I try to focus as his fist closes around my shaft; try to copy the movement as my finger squirms against his in my hole. Reaching for the shortcut to maximum pleasure I know is in there. Gasping, the sound almost a choke, as we both brush across it at the same time. 

I'm humping the edge of the bed, now. Pushing against our hands where they're tightly squeezed together with one stroke; plunging my cock into his fist with the opposite. Convinced each is the very best my body could feel, right up until the point where I switch direction and then am entirely certain that no, it must be the other. 

"Damn, dude, this pretty dick just got even fatter," Xander tells me, laughing. Even a grunt in response seems too much for me, though; every neuron in my brain focused on maintaining the rhythm and maximizing the incredible friction. The culmination of both so close, I'm aching with the anticipation. 

Xander's hand suddenly tugs mine free. I whimper, every nerve in my body feeling like it's protesting at the emptiness in my ass, even as I feel him pulling on my slick fingers. He squeezes two of them together then, gripping my palm, shoves them roughly back into my hole. 

"That's it, find the spot," he tells me, and I hook my digits down, instinctive demanding that I find that perfect spot to jab against. I know that Xander is watching me to make sure I do it right, even as I can feel his hand - freed, now, from having to piston into me - twisting around the tip of my cock. 

It's too much, he's too much. The way he just made me toy with myself; the way he's milking me with long, urgent strokes with one hand, while the other is squeezing the hyper-sensitive, super-swollen fat head of my dick. 

"Fuck," I gasp, and the word is closer to a grunt, something unintelligible, as the climax rushes through me. 

It's like my body is being crushed from a thousand different directions. Or pulled apart, like one of those kids' toys where all the limbs are strung with elastic, and you can stretch them out wildly before they snap back into place. Somehow I'm feeling both things at the same time, as my cock is erupting into Xander's palm and he's smearing that fresh slickness around my tip.

The sensations are too much, too overwhelming. Something I simultaneously want to go on feeling forever, but at the same time I need them to stop, need him to stop. Remember, after what seems like forever, that I'm the one finger-fucking myself now; I pull my hand free, arm feeling like a limp noodle as I slump down onto the mattress. 

"Please," I beg him, and hear Xander laugh behind me. Another twist around my shaft, and then he releases me. 

I want to just lie there, feeling the way my muscles are all softening into Jell-O. But at the same time, I need to see Xander's face. To know, with the fog of horniness now finally lifted from my eyes, if he's staring at me with disgust or something adjacent to that. 

Carefully, I roll over, so that I can push myself up on my elbows.

Xander isn't glaring, and he doesn't look disgusted. Entertained, maybe. Mixed with something else I don't think I have the vocabulary to describe yet. 

He holds up his hands, glistening and wet. Like he's presenting them to me. "Epic load, dude," he says, with a grin.

I can't tell you why I do it, but my eyes are automatically tracking down to his crotch. Maybe because I remember how he jerked himself the other day; maybe just because some part of my brain wants to know if he got caught up in everything that just happened, too. 

There's a thick ridge pushing against his sweat shorts. Xander looks down to where I'm now staring, then I hear him chuckle. 

"Guess there's that tension again," he jokes. I nod at him, mute. He looks at the mess across his fingers; eyebrow lifts. 

"I don't wanna get my shorts all fucked up, dude. You mind..."

I understand what he's asking, even as part of my brain is spinning in confusion. Slipping down off the edge of the mattress already, and Xander is spreading his arms either side of me, his palms upturned to keep from dripping. An invitation and a request. I reach for his waistband, having to ease my fingers under the hem of his shirt first, so I can get to the elastic.

He sits up a little, lifting from his crouch so that I can tug the shorts down to his thighs. When I glance up, he's staring back at me, rather than watching what I'm doing. 

I know what comes next.

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This is the second part of an ongoing story, and you can find more of my writing at www.alexpendragon.com - thanks for reading!