I was working out on the carpet, my shirt long since discarded in the corner. Sweat was pouring down my neck, across my tense stomach, and onto my sweatpants. I was concentrating on my breathing, but I could feel his gaze. It had been there for several minutes. Jake was sitting there with his phone, but he wasn't scrolling. He was just staring.
At my ass when I was doing squats. At my tense arms when I was doing push-ups. At everything.
I stopped. I sat down on my heels. I looked at him.
“You're staring,” I said quietly but firmly.
He pretended to be surprised.
“What?”
“For five minutes. At me. At my dick. At the sweat. Don't pretend. You want to feel it in your mouth? Then get on your knees.”
He froze. His face twitched slightly, but he didn't deny it. He just looked down.
I pulled the drawstring out of my sweatpants, pulling them down from the top. My thick, semi-hard cock was already sticking out of my boxers.
“Come on. Just you and me. And your hunger.”
Jake swallowed. He stared as if hypnotized. I was silent. I waited.
Until finally...
He put down his phone. He got up from the bed. He took one step. Then another. And he knelt in front of me. His face was right in front of my crotch.
He didn't touch me. Not yet.
But he was breathing fast. He looked up as if waiting for permission.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Now show me you can open your mouth.”
Jake stared at my cock with such intensity, as if it were a test he had to pass. His lips slightly parted, his eyes burning with tension. But he didn't move.
So I grabbed his chin.
“Open up. Wider.” His lips trembled, but he did as I said.
I slid in slowly. I felt the warmth of his mouth, his tongue tentatively moving over the tip of my cock.
“Yes. That's it.” I put my hand on his head. I didn't push. Not yet.
Jake took me into his mouth, slowly, as if testing the limits. But those limits belonged to me now.
“Don't stop.” I moaned as he sucked lightly on the tip. “Unless you want me to grab your hair.”
He didn't answer. He just started moving his head. The movements weren't perfect, but they were real. Wet, warm, devoted. Each stroke made me harder. His saliva mixed with the sweat on my stomach. He smacked his lips quietly.
“Look at me, Jake. I want to see your eyes as you take me deeper.”
He did. And in that look was everything: tension, shame, hunger.
“See? You wanted this. Even if you didn't say it.”
I slid deeper until he moaned. I held his head, guiding his movements. He was soft as clay. Submissive. He wanted more, even if his brain was screaming, “What are you doing?”
“Good boy,” I whispered. “Now swallow it. Or I'll show you how it's really done.”
His mouth was full of me. And I was full of his submission.
I held his head tightly. Not hard, but enough for him to feel that I was in control.
“Don't pull back,” I whispered. “One more inch. You can do it.”
And he did. A muffled moan escaped his throat, as if something inside him had broken.
I looked down at him. At the straight guy who, just a week ago, had said, “Gay stuff doesn't turn me on.”
And now he was kneeling. Sucking my cock. Saliva dripping down his chin.
“You're not even pretending you don't want this anymore,” I growled. “So show me how much you want it.”
He started moving his head on his own. Harder. Faster.
It sounds stupid, but I was proud. Every time he swallowed more, his fingers tightened around my thighs as if he was holding on to me so he wouldn't drift away.
“Look how pretty you are when you suck.” I stroked his neck, his hair, then grabbed his hair again.
“Just a moment. A little more.”
He didn't say a word.
He didn't have to.
His whole body spoke for him: do whatever you want with me.
I slid out of his mouth with a smack and looked into his eyes. They were on fire.
I pulled him up slightly by his chin.
“Ready for more?”
He didn't answer. He just nodded. Slowly.
Like someone who had just broken his own rules. And didn't even want to fix them.
I grabbed his hair. Deep. So he couldn't pull away.
I slid back into his mouth, hard, throbbing, ready.
“Don't blink,” I growled. “Look me in the eyes.”
Jake looked. And froze. With his mouth open, my cock between his lips, his eyes begging for more.
I pushed him slowly. Deep. Saliva mixed with breath. With sighs. With sin.
“Can you hear me?” I whispered. “Your tongue is begging me.”
He started to move. On his own.
The sucking was wet. Loud. Dirty.
Sometimes a gagging reflex, sometimes a moan, sometimes a spit. And me, holding his head, guiding him.
Pushing in, faster and faster with every moment.
His eyes were clouded over. His mouth took me all in.
And then... I shot.
I grabbed him by the neck. I froze inside his mouth.
Wave after wave. Spilling over his tongue, his throat, everything he was.
“Fuck...” I hissed, feeling my breath catch. “Swallow.”
I didn't have to say it twice.
He swallowed. All of it. With a moan.
I watched him swallow. And then he pulled away, wet with saliva, his face flushed.
His breathing was uneven. My fingers were still wrapped around his neck.
“Now tell me...” I whispered, leaning down to his ear. “Are you still straight?”
Jake didn't answer.
Because the answer was everywhere, on his tongue. In his throat. In his eyes.
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