I’m gonna have a heart attack here. I’ve never felt this way before, in any situation. I’ve been fucked before, and I’ve been the fucker, but nothing’s ever compared to Wesley’s tight British ass. I used to tease him about being such a tight-ass. I never meant it literally. I might have to start.
It’s like a scorching vise, burning me from the outside in, and I can’t catch my breath. But I’m not gonna come yet. Not until I have him whimpering and screaming at the same time. Not until he’s limp with pleasure and whispering my name as I pound into his ass the last few times. Not until he figures it out.
Because I know that even though he sounds like he can’t string a coherent thought together, let alone a sentence, he’s thinking. Wes is always thinking. That’s what happens when you’re smart like him. Always thinking. Right now, he’s thinking about what I’m doing to him, and why.
He can’t figure out that the reason I’m pulling my cock almost all the way out and then slamming it back in, against his prostate, all the way until my balls slap against the skin of his pale ass with a fleshy smack, that I’m running my dark hands all over his pale, almost hairless flesh in a gesture of reverence, that I’m licking my wet tongue along his spine, picking up the dollops and droplets of sweat running down to pool in the small of his back, is that I’m in love with him.
I thought Wes was more perceptive than that, really. I mean, he’s figured out everything else, why can’t he figure out that I love him? It’s obvious he wants me, though. He watches me, I can tell. And when I smile at him, his voice gets a little bit hoarse, and he blinks and gives me that school-boy-in-puppy-love half-grin, and then he adjusts the front of his pants, as though I won’t notice. All that from a smile. How could I not love him?
He’s mewling now, getting closer to the edge, and I take pity on him, thrusting a little harder, and reaching my hand around his shuddering hip to run my hand along his straining cock. It’s not as thick or as long as mine, but I’m a well-hung black man. Heh. He’s still big enough to make my heart speed up, though. When I first saw him standing in front of me, naked as a jaybird, I thought my heart was gonna burst out of my chest. It was gonna be graphic. An when he saw the lusty look in my eyes…he did that half-grin, the one that he tries to hide by looking down, the one that makes me melt completely, and then I was on him, my tongue in his mouth, and pushing him back onto the bed while he whimpered into my mouth.
He thinks this isn’t about me. Well, it’s not completely about me, but it’s not like I’m martyring myself out here. I mean, really, I WANTED to fuck this man. But Wes has that inferiority complex that makes him think he doesn’t deserve anything good. We’ve managed to bring him out of it a little, but it still lingers there. A lack of hope for happiness. And I’m gonna fuck the man’s ass until he figures it out, and then when he does figure it out, that I love him, that he’s the one and only person I love in the whole fucking vampire-ridden world, I’m gonna let him fuck me. And then I’m gonna fuck him again, because I’ve never felt anything this good.
And I’m gonna take all I can get.