The Night He Stayed Inside
A little over a week later your phone lights up just after 10:30.
Jose yo
Jose you tryna run some Fortnite or you on something else tonight
Jose got a new strain if you wanna come through
You head over. The apartment smells like weed and his cheap body spray. The TV is on the Fortnite menu. Jose is on the couch in a hoodie and shorts, controller in hand. Slim Latino build, dark hair falling past his ears on one side, light mustache and soul patch, medium-olive skin, small dark patch of hair in the center of his chest. He looks up when you walk in.
“Yo.”
You sit down. A few matches go by. The silences between them feel heavier than usual. After the third game he doesn’t re-queue. He leans back, hits the joint, and looks over at you.
“You’ve been quiet tonight. You good?”
Then, more directly:
“You still tripping about that night we had? You’ve been quiet as hell since you got here. Just checking. I’m not trying to make it weird or nothing. I just… sometimes I think about it and then I see you acting normal and I’m like, damn, is it just me over here in my head? You don’t have to get deep about it. I just wanted to know if you’re good… or if you’re still sitting with it like I am.”
You take the joint, hit it, and answer.
“I’m good. Not tripping. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep it surface… or if you felt like getting deep about it again.”
The meaning is clear. You don’t wait long.
You slide off the couch and drop to your knees between his legs. Jose’s eyes track you the whole way down. You pull his shorts and boxers down and free his cock. It’s already half-hard, warm and heavy in your hand. You take him into your mouth, the warm, salty-bitter taste of him spreading across your tongue as he hardens the rest of the way — thick seven inches, foreskin sliding back. You give him several long, wet, deliberate strokes, spit running down the shaft, soft filthy glucks filling the room, then pull off with a wet sound, a thick string of spit connecting your lip to the shiny, leaking head.
You shove your own pants and underwear down, kick them away, and climb into his lap completely bare. His hard cock ends up trapped right between your ass cheeks — hot, thick, already leaking precum, the wet head smearing sticky trails across your skin. Up close the small dark chest patch and light happy trail down his slim stomach are clear.
Jose’s breath catches hard. His eyes drop to where you’re touching, then climb slowly back to your face. Heat and real hesitation mix in his soft features. His brows draw together. His mouth falls open under the mustache and soul patch. A faint flush rises up his neck. His hands settle on your hips on instinct but don’t pull you down.
“We don’t have to if you’re not feeling it,” you say, voice low and even. “I’m good either way.”
He’s quiet for several long seconds. His thumbs brush once over your hips. His cock twitches hard between your cheeks, smearing more precum.
“I’m… curious,” he says, voice rough and honest. “I’ve never done this. Not with a guy. Andrea’s the only person I’ve ever been with like that. I don’t know how I’m gonna feel once it’s actually happening. So if I say stop, we stop. Alright?”
You lock eyes with him and don’t look away. You reach down, gently wrap your hand around his wet, precum-slick cock and bring the leaking head to your clenched hole, just holding it there, hovering. The blunt tip kisses your entrance, pulsing.
Jose freezes. His breathing goes shallow and uneven. His hands tighten on your hips, then deliberately loosen again. Conflict plays slowly across his face. His cock twitches hard in your hand, another slow, heavy pulse of precum smearing against you, but he stays carefully still. Long seconds pass while the wet head of his cock rests right against your hole.
“Wait…” he finally says, voice low and careful. “I want to… I do. But not yet. Just… stay like this for a second. Let me get used to it. Don’t push down yet.”
You wait exactly as he asked. You keep the thick, leaking head pressed against your hole and give him the time. His breathing slowly steadies. His grip on your hips loosens from tense to something closer to steady. He wets his lips, eyes still locked on yours.
“Okay… I’m ready. Just go slow.”
You lock eyes with him one more time and slowly start to lower yourself.
The wet, blunt head presses more firmly against your clenched hole. You bear down just enough and the thick tip begins to sink in. The stretch is immediate and intense — hot, solid, almost too much. You take only the head at first, pausing once it’s fully inside, feeling the tight ring of your body sealed around the swollen crown. Jose’s breath punches out of him in a sharp, shaky sound. His fingers dig into your hips. His slim torso flexes, the small chest patch and light happy trail fully visible.
“Fuuuck…”
You keep going, slow and controlled. Inch by thick inch the heavy shaft sinks deeper. You feel every ridge, every pulse, the way his foreskin is pushed back as you take more of him. The stretch burns in the best way. Halfway down you pause again while soft, broken sounds leave his throat. His dark hair falls a little into his face.
“Shit… you’re tight… go slow… fuck…”
You sink the rest of the way until you’re fully seated, every single thick inch of him buried inside you. His cock throbs hard and deep, the base pressed flush against you, the heavy vein pulsing against your walls. Jose’s head tips back for a second, a long, wrecked moan spilling out of him before he forces his eyes back to yours. His slim chest is rising and falling fast.
“I’m all the way in… fuck… go slow, okay? Just… move when you’re ready.”
You stay completely still at first. Fully seated. Every solid inch buried to the hilt. You let him feel the tight heat wrapped around his cock, the slow throb of him inside you. Soft, stunned sounds keep leaving his throat while his cock twitches and pulses. His soft features stay open and dazed.
Then you begin to move — but only barely.
You roll your hips in the smallest, slowest circles, grinding more than riding. The thick length of his cock shifts deep inside you with every tiny movement, the swollen head dragging heavily against your walls, the shaft rubbing in short, intense strokes. You lift up just an inch or two — enough to feel the ridge of his head tug at your rim — then sink back down in one controlled slide until he’s fully sheathed again. Slow. Controlled. Owning every second. The wet sounds are soft and filthy, sticky and intimate.
“Fuuuck… oh my god… you’re so tight… shit… just like that…”
You keep the same tiny, deliberate pace, grinding and barely lifting, clenching around him on purpose, making him feel every thick inch on every short stroke. His hands run up your sides starting just under your arms, sliding down in the same slow, sensual way he’d touch Andrea, completely lost in it, until both palms settle on your ass and squeeze, kneading, pulling you down onto him just a little more with each grind. His slim bare torso flexes under you, the light happy trail and small chest patch fully on display.
“Fuuuck… you feel so good… just like that… keep going… shit…”
You eventually stop moving and leave the rest to him. Jose feels the change immediately. His hands tighten on your ass and he starts to move, taking over at a deep, sensual pace at first — long, smooth upward thrusts that sink every thick inch into you until he’s buried to the hilt, then slow withdrawals that drag the flared head along your walls in a lingering caress. Soft, intimate wet sounds fill the space every time he bottoms out.
“Fuuuck… you feel so good around me… so tight… so warm… taking every inch of me… just like that…”
The pace builds. He starts thrusting harder, deeper, the wet slaps of skin growing louder and sharper. You meet him with force of your own, slamming down onto every upward thrust, clenching hard around the thick shaft, riding him with real aggression. The stretch is intense, almost brutal. His cock pistons in and out of you in fast, vicious strokes, the flared head punching deep, the thick vein rubbing hard along your walls. Sweat gathers on his medium-olive skin. The small dark chest patch is damp. The smell of sex is thick and sharp.
“Fuuuck—yes—take it—you’re so fucking tight—squeezing me—shit—take all of it—it’s yours—it’s all yours—”
You keep the hard, relentless rhythm, slamming down onto him over and over, owning every thick, throbbing inch. His cock swells even harder inside you, pulsing violently, precum pouring out with every deep stroke. Soft, broken curses and desperate moans spill out of him nonstop as you ride this slim, straight Latino boy like he already belongs to you completely. His dark hair sticks a little to his forehead. His mustache and soul patch frame every open, wrecked sound that leaves his mouth.
You keep the vicious pace until your own orgasm hits hands-free. A sharp, unexpected wave rips through you and your whole body locks up. Your ass clenches down hard around his cock in a series of tight, involuntary pulses, milking him in strong, rhythmic squeezes while you shake on top of him.
That sends him over the edge with no chance to stop.
“Fuuuuck—oh my god—I’m cumming—”
His cock erupts deep inside you. The first thick rope blasts out of him with real force, hot and heavy, flooding the deepest part of you. Then another. And another. He cums in long, powerful spurts, hips stuttering up into you as he empties everything in heavy, rhythmic pulses. You feel every single one — the thick throbbing, the heat spreading deep, the way his cock keeps kicking as he pours load after load into you. Cum fills you until it starts to leak out around the base of his shaft and run down onto his balls in thick white trails. He keeps moaning and cursing through it, voice completely wrecked, soft features twisted in raw pleasure, while you stay fully seated and take every drop.
“Fuuuck—shhit—take it—oh my god—”
He stays buried inside you afterward, still hard at first, cock twitching with strong aftershocks, the last weak spurts still pulsing out of him. Minutes pass in quiet while both of you catch your breath. Slowly the thickness fades. You feel him softening inside you by degrees — the firm pressure easing, the heavy stretch becoming less intense, the solid shape of him gradually going pliant. When he’s finally soft enough his cock slips free on its own with a quiet, wet sound as the head pops out of you. The moment it leaves, a warm, thick trickle of his cum follows, running out of you in a slow stream that drips down onto his soft cock and balls and the couch beneath him.
Jose looks down between your bodies, still breathing hard, watching the mess he left behind.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
