Xander Shows Me My Prostate

I can't help myself, I want him to be impressed with me. It's a weird discovery about yourself, honestly, and even weirder when it comes at the point where you have a guy's cock pushed between your lips and the taste of him strong on your tongue. 

One of Xander's hands is back, between my cheeks. Fingers tugging and pumping at my hole, three of them now, a fact that my brain can't quite accept or understand. Every time I try to imagine it, picture what it must look like - his three digits squeezing inside me - my mind sorta slips away from the mental image. 

Not that I dislike it. Especially when Xander brushes his fingertips against that bud of nerve-endings he seems to have an excruciating talent for locating, and my body bucks and twists underneath him at the rush of pleasure. 

His eyes, though, are locked on my face. Either at where my lips are stretched around the thickness of his shaft, where he's easing a half-inch or so in and out of my mouth as I try my best to please him, or meeting my own stare. There's something about being able to see his reaction when I swipe my tongue across his tip, or suck on him particularly fiercely. A perfect feedback loop for overcoming my inexperience.

So I don't resist when he leans down and pushes his fingers through my hair at the back of my head. Not when his other hand is still working my ass; not when the intensity of his gaze has me hooked like a fish on a line. Not, even, when I feel him pulling me up with that gentle but irresistible grip.

"You can take it, buddy, I know you can." Xander's words are as soft as his hold on me, and they leave me with just as little resistance, too. I know what he wants. Hell, I want it too; only fear and uncertainty making me play it safe, not run the risk of embarrassing myself by choking and spluttering on him. 

I can feel the swollen tip of his cock grind against the roof of my mouth, the angles and my tongue both conspiring to ensure maximum friction. My stomach and chest compressing underneath his splayed thighs, as I try my best to lift my hips at one end while he feeds more of his erection into the other. 

I don't know how much of his dick I have left to go, but the fact that he's not already in my throat is the giveaway that the measure is somewhere around plenty. There's a flutter of panic in my chest at the idea of it, not so much the reality that I'm giving a dude a blow job but the practicalities of trying to breathe around him. 

Reaching down, past his legs, I hook my hands behind my knees. Pulling on myself as a sort of distraction, folding myself better, my spine a curve as I make his access to me easier. 

"You're doing so well, Luka," Xander purrs, and I gulp amid the rush of endorphins. Try to remember what his lips, his tongue were doing when he sucked me in the kitchen earlier. Try to replicate that, to return some of the pleasure he so generously introduced me to. 

My body wants it, needs it even, but there are automatic responses to overcome all the same. That moment of instinctive panic when the blunt tip of him brushes at the entrance to my throat. Xander chuckles at the way my eyes suddenly go wide. 

"Just swallow around it, dude. You got this."

It should take more, some adjunct of my brain finds space to think, it should require more than just a handful of words of confidence and praise. And yet, when Xander pushes his hips forward again and I gulp desperately at the pressure, I can somehow feel him sliding into the tight sleeve of my gullet. 

His hiss - of pleasure, of triumph perhaps, I'm too distracted to know - tells me I'm doing it right. He isn't stopping, however; not letting me adjust to the sense of utter fullness that's so weird and unfamiliar. Xander's hand continuing to pull my head up, meeting his own slow and steady thrust, and the rasp as he buries himself in my throat. 

I feel dizzy, and it's not just because the presence of his cock has put my breathing on hold. Something, instead, about the way I feel so full at both ends, Xander's fingers and his dick both occupying and consuming me, somehow. His hand growing rougher now, fingers jabbing into my ass like he's fucking me.

I'm just on the edge of concern, feeling that fizz and sparkle of fear build, when he pulls himself back. Cock sliding across my tongue; pulling all the way out, even. Resting, wet and slimy from my throat, across my face as I gasp and cough. 

By the time I can look up at him again, through watering eyes, he's grinning down at me happily. 

"Fuck, dude, you did it. I'm so fucking proud of you, that was so damn hot."

It feels weird to smile with his dick laying over the expression, but I can't help it. Something about his enthusiasm, the way he does nothing to hide it, makes me feel so good. A heat in the depths of my chest. 

"You want to try again?" 

It's a question, but it's an offer, too. I don't know if I can trust my voice, so I just open my mouth instead. As wide as I can make it, cheeks flushing as I hear his amused chuckle, but then there's nothing else I can focus on but the feeling of his hardness skewering me again. 

I know what to expect this time, or a little more, anyway. My body still has that shudder of intermingled lust and horror at the way he nudges deeper in me, but it's easier to swallow past it. To try to make my throat as welcoming and accommodating to him as possible. 

Xander's leaning into me now, torso tilting forward so that his thrusts are going deeper and more effectively. Less willing to leave me and the grip of his fingers in my hair to guide the process, control the speed. I'm getting to see a little of what it must be like when he fucks Lucy, that look of focused intent on his face - bottom lip caught just so between his teeth - as the muscles in his stomach ripple with each pump of his hips. 

He's building into a rhythm, three or four deep thrusts as far as he can reach into my twitching, clenching throat, and then as many shallower ones too. Letting me catch my breath, my drool and his precum spilling out of the sides of my mouth and down my chin, and though I worry that it's too wet, too sloppy for him, Xander's contented smirk puts my mind at ease. 

His hand is matching the same pattern, slamming deep into my hole as his cock tries its best to reach my stomach, then followed by softer, slyer strokes before the whole thing repeats. Hard to escape the feeling that he's fucking my ass just like he is my throat, and while some part of me feels like I ought to be horrified at the idea, the sensation of being filled at each end is leaving little room for second-guessing. 

And what horror does make it through, well, I tell myself it's just his hand, his fingers. It's not like it's the thick cock that's currently scraping way past my gag reflex, the broad, flared head of that bruising across my prostate instead. 

The way I'm contorted, almost curled around him, my dick is rubbing into Xander's lower back. Nowhere near enough friction to get me off, the softness of his skin made all the more slippery by what feels like gallons of precum that must be dripping down the crack of his ass by now. I want him to jerk me off, to play with my dick and give me another taste of the release he did not that long ago in the kitchen, but at the same time that would require another hand, and I'm not willing to give up the feeling of him wielding my head and pounding my ass. 

I'm so caught up in it, in the moment, in the feelings surging through me, that I haven't even thought beyond each moment as it ticks past. Haven't considered what happens when - inevitability demands - Xander reaches his point of no return. Maybe it's my naivety, or just my eagerness to avoid thinking about difficult questions until it's really too late.

I could push him away, I know that. Make him drag his cock from out of my throat; let go of my legs and shove him off me. Maybe feel him splash against my chest, or fist his dick until he sprays his stomach. 

Because the alternative is letting Xander choose where he busts, and there's every possibility that he'd pick down my throat. Just like he'd swallowed my cum earlier, as I'd tried desperately to stifle the groans of my orgasm in the kitchen. 

The fact that I'm even considering it is shocking, enough to slice through even some of the lust-fueled haze that has propelled me this far already. When I look up at him, past the long expanse of his torso, Xander is already staring down at me fixedly. An expression that says he's already thought about my doubts, my fears, and run those calculations in his head to their inevitable conclusion. 

And in a strange way that makes it easier, because all I need to do - all I can do - is wait for him to tell me how I'm to take his load. 

"I've got a confession, Luka," he says, voice thick and a little hoarse. I mentally readjust my calculation of just how close he is. "Ever since I met you, I've been imagining my cum across your face."

I know he has to feel my groan, vibrating through my chest and up through his body. Even with his dick stopping my throat, my mouth far too occupied to waste on raw noises, I can't stop that long, low, primal sound. 

It's the knowledge that he looked at me, and wanted me. Of being, not hunted, but pursued - even if it was just in Xander's imagination. No way for him to have engendered the clicking puzzle pieces that led to here, not at first anyhow, but somehow planets and fates and outright horniness have all aligned, and so here I am, half-choking on the thick inches he's sinking down my gullet and waiting for him to tell me how this all ends. 

Or, maybe, waiting for my brain to catch up to the fact that it knows, now, how this all ends. 

The jab of his hips is more staccato now, some of the rhythm lost to rising pleasure. His cock swelling inside me, fingers laced through my hair growing tighter in their hold. And in my ass, his fingertips practically milking my prostate until my entire midsection is one trapped howl of excitement and desperate, needy urgency.

"Oh, oh... fuck." 

Not even a shout, or a grunt, or a yell. Xander's voice sounding almost surprised, and then I'm swallowing the urge to cough and splutter as he yanks himself out of my throat. Long, drooping strands of spit and whatever else linking his swollen tip to my lips, and it doesn't even take his hand, requires not even a single stroke before he's erupting over me. 

I've seen him cum, watched his body twist as an orgasm rips through him, but never this close. Never this wild. A front-row seat to the first creamy spurt that arcs and splashes down across my forehead and nose. No time for me to marvel at it, or react in shock, because the second and third are lashing against me, heavy on my cheeks and against my parted lips. 

There's no escaping the taste of him, the smell of it, sticky and cloying and filling my senses. Xander's cock twitching, untouched, as it juts from his groin, and still the thick splashes are landing on my skin like indelible marks. 

My head drops as he pulls his hand away; fist finding his slick length and coaxing out the final droplets that, pushing his dick down, he smears across my lips. Chest heaving as he sucks in breath after breath, sweat glistening on his skin.

He lifts his leg, sliding off me as if dismounting, and then there's the sudden, hollow emptiness as he tugs his fingers from my ass. Grabbing my wrist instead, a look of determination on his face as my hand is pulled down, guided between my own cheeks. Slick fingers squeezing three of my own together and jabbing them against my tired hole, the pressure not stopping until I'm in knuckle-deep in myself and Xander seems convinced I'll continue the work he started. 

His hand on my dick makes my back arch off the bed, I'm so sensitive. It's like when he poured lube across me, only this is all my own precum; my body's reaction to him reaming my throat so thoroughly. The wet, squelching sound of his jerking almost obscene, loud even over the rasp of our breathing. 

Xander squints down at me, eyes roaming across what I can only assume is the utter mess he's made of my face. I don't know if it looks like he apparently imagined it might; can't even fashion the words to ask when he slides his fingers back into my hair and tugs my head back. His grip is borderline painful, my throat stretched back, but more importantly there's nowhere for me to go as he leans down and runs his tongue up and across my cheek. 

There's a noise in my chest, somewhere. A confused, shocked, utterly aroused noise, something between a groan and a gasp all colored with need. Unlocked by Xander's determined lapping across my face, seemingly unconcerned whether he's licking my chin, my nose, or even across my lips. Simply working his way through the load of cum he just sprayed me with.

I can't handle it any more, there's just no way. My hand a pumping blur between my legs, fingers pushing desperately at my prostate while my other hand squeezes his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises. And then, his fist tight around my length, the almighty twist of my own orgasm, and if I can't feel quite where it all lands then that's only because every nerve ending in me is already fizzing fit to burst. 

A beat. My eyes open, staring into Xander's - little more than swollen pupil there, eclipsing all color - as he licks slowly across my mouth. Not a kiss, then, but something maybe even more intimate, I don't have the mental wherewithal to decide. 

And then our fingers are easing; his on my cock and in my hair, mine on his shoulder and slipping, the sensation still foreign, from my ass. A feeling as though every muscle in my body had been wound up, tensed between the unstinting curves of two huge drums, and now released to slump in exhaustion. 

Xander collapses onto the bed, next to me. 

I swear, I don't realize that I'm the one laughing at first. My brain so detached from my body, swimming through what feels like a pool of confused thoughts, it's only when my throat catches and I start coughing that I realize it was me. Xander turns his head to look at me, as I subside into wheezes.

"You okay, dude?" 

That makes me laugh again, because frankly the idea that I might have any idea whatsoever what "okay" is any more is absolutely hilarious. After a minute, still giving me a somewhat skeptical look, Xander starts laughing too. 

"Fuck, you really did a number on my throat," I tell him, eventually. Then freeze as he wraps his fingers around my neck, squeezing gently around my Adam's apple. 

"Too rough for you?" I can hear the teasing edge to his voice; know that he'll be able to feel when I swallow.

"Just... not what I was expecting," I admit. Xander's fingers flex around me, before he trails them up and over my chin. Fingertips dragging lightly across my lips. Suddenly I'm thinking again about how he licked me. The long, heavy drag of his tongue, and how if I'd just opened my mouth a little more, leaned into it as best I could with his tight grip in my hair, that could so easily have become a kiss.

I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or disappointed that I didn't think about that at the time. 

"You know if you're not into it, all you need to do is tell me to stop," he points out. I nod. "But you seemed into it," Xander adds. 

I start to nod again, but stop myself. Because something like that, it deserves proper consideration, I think. Rather than an answer given on autopilot; the answer you give because it seems polite. 

If I'm going to tell him that I enjoyed that, that I wanted it, then I need that to be true. 

And so that's how I know that, when I turn and look at him - his fingers slipping, in the process, until his hand is cradling my cheek as I stare at the edges of his half-smile - the next words out of my mouth are the ones I absolutely intend them to be.

"So was I any good?"

Xander blinks at me, for a moment, and then cracks up laughing. "Fishing for compliments, much?" he accuses me. I shrug, or at least as best I can while laying down.

"Just trying to get valuable feedback," I counter, grinning. "Otherwise how will I ever improve?" 

He shakes his head, clearly still amused. "Sorry, I hadn't quite decided yet what I'll tell Lucy."

Something in me lurches, at the thought of him describing what we'd done - what he'd done to me - to his girlfriend. The idea of her listening, picturing it. The way they'd fuck afterwards, or maybe even before he's finished telling her. Was hearing about my first time going to help them both get off?

"Are you freaking out yet?" Xander asks me, the question breaking into my thoughts. When I turn, he's already looking at me. I shake my head. 

"I feel like I should be," I admit. That's the very weird thing about all of this, after all. "But right now I just feel..." I search for the right word, but give up. "Sticky."

Xander chuckles again. "Sticky and delicious," he corrects, then licks his lips, pointedly. I roll my eyes at him.

"I think that was mainly yourself you were tasting."

Another laugh. "Maybe. But we can correct that."

I can't help but squirm and laugh as his lips tickle down my chest to my glistening stomach.

---

This is the ninth part of an ongoing story - thanks for all the great feedback so far! You can find more of my writing at www.alexpendragon.com - appreciate you reading!