Here is the third part of the story. Also published in whole
on my Substack. (Feel free to subscribe. I publish stuff there first as the reading is easier in that format
I paused, letting the moment stretch.
What are my options? I wondered.
What will happen now? What does he want? What does he want from me?
I’d dreamed of something like this for so long, but never—never in my wildest fantasies—had I imagined it unfolding like this.
But there he was. Touching himself. Exposing himself. For me. Just for me. Because it turned him on. Because it made him hard.
Slowly, I released my grip on the counter and stepped toward him, closing the space between us. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath brushing against my nose. My movements were deliberate as I leaned in, letting the tip of my nose graze his. We’d done this before. A lifetime ago now. An
Eskimo kiss, we’d called it.
His eyes were so close—alive, searching, burning. Eager. Observant. Lusting. The sea mirrored in his irises, turquoise waves swirling against the golden mahogany depths of his gaze.
I circled my nose around his, barely letting us touch, our breaths mingling, our shared warmth radiating between us. Lips—his lips—so close now. So tantalizingly close.
I moved closer, letting my nose brush against his cheek, and oh so lightly, my lips grazed his—slow, deliberate movements, tracing a small, teasing circle. Not resting. Not waiting to be kissed.
Then, softly, my fingertips found his shoulder. Their touch was featherlight and delicate. I felt him shiver under my hand and saw questions flicker in his eyes—questions I wanted him to hold on to just a little longer. My fingers began a slow journey, following the contours of his muscles—first, the sensitive curve of his shoulder, then down the length of his biceps, tracing his chest with a gentle, wandering touch.
I closed my eyes and exhaled, letting my breath meet his, merging into his open mouth as I pressed even closer. Our bodies radiated warmth against one another, a magnetic pull drawing us tighter together.
My fingers found his nipple, and at my touch, it grew firm and vibrant, alive under my hand. Then, almost by chance, the tip of his tongue brushed against mine, lingering there, tasting, for a fleeting moment before retreating.
I felt his erection press against my thigh—firm, throbbing, his blood-filled, rock-hard dick still confined beneath that oh-so-thin layer of yellow polyester.
My hand moved slowly downward, trailing the outlines of his ribs, savoring the rise and fall of his breath. Further still, I explored the softness of his skin, tracing the wave-like contours of his waist, feeling every subtle shift of his muscles beneath my touch.
I leaned closer, my lips seeking the delicate contour of his earlobe, while the smoothness of his not-so-shaven shin brushed against mine. That scent returned—salty seawater, the sweetness of Hawaiian Tropic, and the unmistakable muskiness that was all him.
I let the tip of my tongue play over his earlobe, tasting its cool surface. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, leaning into me as a shiver rippled through his body.
And then, my fingers found his dick.
His body came to a halt. It was like he stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped thinking. All he was capable of was sensing my feather-like touch against the fabric that kept his dick in lock.
My fingers moved further along its ridge, sensing its strength as it pushed even harder to get out. It was a long one. My fingers had to travel far to reach the head, with its sharp contours embedded within the softness of his balls.
I leaned my chin against his. Let my mouth slowly meet his neck. Licked his skin, then let my warm breath swirl over it.
He had let go of his gripping his swim briefs, instead he was leaning slightly backwards against the counter, resting on his hands, like a studio easel, displaying the art of his beautiful body.
I continued stroking the outline of his dick, my lips hovering just above his skin, breathing in his scent and the enclosed energy coursing through his body.
– You like this.
It wasn’t a question.
– Mmm, he answered, his eyes closed, his head tilting slightly as if surrendering to the moment.
– Good. I want you to.
My fingers pressed with a touch more intensity now, a broader grip taking in both his dick and balls. I played with the hair there, my fingers tracing just above the lining of his swim briefs, teasing the edge of what lay beneath.
– You know I’m going to touch your dick, right?
– Uhum, yeah, he breathed, his voice barely audible.
– And you want me to?
– Aaaah, eeeehm… yeah.
– Please be clear.
– Yeah. He took a deep breath and continued: Yes.
– Good.
I stayed silent, letting my fingertips trace the lining of his swim briefs. His trailing hair felt sturdy and a bit rough against them. My fingers wandered close to the edge, almost slipping inside, while my thumb gently stroked the shaft.
– You feel my fingers against your hard cock?
– Uhmmm.
– It’s so very hard. Almost breaking the seams… Is it always this hard?
Eeeh… yeah, sometimes.
– When?…
– It… well… it’s a long time ago now… so… can’t remember. You make it hard.
I moved my hand to the back of his head, softly stroking the short hair on his neck, my touch light and deliberate. I kissed his earlobe.
– You want me to take pictures of you.
– Yeah.
– Why?
– You…
He took a long breath as my fingers slid just inside the fabric. His skin was almost boiling, and I felt the teasing brush of his pubes.
He continued, as if short of breath.
– You take great pics… Of me. I feel like… I look good.
Every word was a breath. I kissed his earlobe again, sensing the goosebumps rising along his neck.
– I want you to show me everything.
– I will.
– Show me how you tease yourself.
– Aaah… yeah. OK.
– How you jerk off.
– Mhumm…
– Your rock-hard cock… how you play with your chest… your nipples… how your hand explores your thighs… how they trace the inside of your legs… under your balls…
I felt him nod, his breath shallow, his body responding to my every word.
– Legs wide apart, your dick like a lantern—strong, tall… you’re holding it in a firm grip… while your other hand finds its way down… in between your legs, playing… finding your crack… your hole…
I kissed his neck, and his hand began to search along my waist, gripping the edge of my swim briefs. He tugged the fabric down over my ass.
– Then you’ll turn to show me your back… your strong, hard back… all those muscles… your broad shoulders… your ass. You want me to see your ass.
– Yeah, he said, his voice heavy.
His hand drew me closer, pulling my briefs further down. Now it was my cock resting firmly against his thigh.
I leaned my face into his neck, grabbing his hair as I held him close. He tilted his head against mine, his breaths deep and uneven, almost unable to speak. His hand wandered over my ass, searching for something to hold on to.
– Pull your briefs down, I told him. Over your ass.
I felt him shift, lifting his hips slightly off the counter so the fabric could slide past.
– Good, I said. Nice… Now it’s time for a little adventure.
My lips moved down to his chest. One hand still stroking his cock through the fabric, I let my tongue circle his nipple, kissing it softly. Tasting it. I’d started to enjoy the mix of sea salt and sun lotion on his skin.
I made my way down, feeling his hand release its grip as it followed my movements. My nose brushed along the trail of hair on his stomach, my tongue playing with the sensitive skin around his navel. One hand stroked his thigh, up and down, the fine hair trembling under my touch. The scent of his musk deepened. His hand rested on my neck—a firm hold, not to guide me but to bring us closer, grounding us in the moment.
I sank to my knees before him, now face-to-face with his groin. My hands rested on his thighs, feeling their warmth and strength. With every breath I exhaled, its heat spread across his groin, and his dick pressed harder against the fabric as if yearning for release.
His briefs were pulled down over his ass, leaving his dick to stand tall, like the center pole holding the circus tent upright. I leaned in, my tongue tracing the outline of his dick through the fabric. Slowly, deliberately, I licked along its length, leaving a trail of saliva across the swollen head. My hands roamed his thighs, feeling the shivers that coursed through him, each one like a jolt of electricity connecting us, running through my body as well.
Without a word, my hands gripped the sides of his briefs and began pulling them down. I leaned in, resting my face in the space between his dick and his thigh, letting that musky, heady scent envelop me.
As the fabric slid lower, I felt his pubes brushing against my chin, the dry warmth of his cock’s skin, and the full, shaved length of it growing next to my face.
I let my tongue flick lightly over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as I pushed the briefs down to his knees. His dick rose like a pillar, its stubborn stiffness pressing against my ear as I lingered close.
I kept softly kissing and licking, my left hand traveling upwards, tracing the line of his Rectus femoris, feeling the taut muscle beneath the skin. My fingers wandered further, finally finding his balls—their playful weight and smooth, freshly shaved surface.
And then, there it was. That erect pillar, standing tall from a groomed bed of perfumed pubes. Like a sacred Egyptian obelisk of pleasure, waiting to be explored.
I continued kissing the base of his shaft and the groomed pubes, my hand gripping his cock as I began to stroke it. I hadn’t seen it fully yet, but I could feel how I was drawn to it as if it had its own gravity.
It was long and athletic—just like its owner. My lips trailed up the shaft, inch by inch until I reached its middle. Then I paused, pulling my head back to take it all in.
The sight was overwhelming—intense and surreal. There he stood, naked before me like a statue of Anubis. Every muscle on his body, hard and defined, seemed to pulse with life, matching the heat of his cock. His thick thighs framed it perfectly, that cock that had been confined far too long. But not anymore.
I held it like a spear, firm and ready, feeling its weight and warmth in my hand. The head, which I’d only glimpsed through the fabric until now, was just inches from me—brimmed with heat, excitement, and anticipation. It was there to be touched, to be played with, to be devoured.
And there it was: the hole. The one I’d fantasized about so many times. In my mind, vivid images flickered—how it would shoot thick, white streams of sperm over Mats’ stomach, his chest, his nipples, his face. How some of it might even land on his lips, slip inside his mouth as he gasped for air through his orgasm.
I examined it thoroughly—the way the veins shaped its outline, the gentle movement of the foreskin as I stroked it, the strength and firmness of its erection, and how good it felt to jerk it in my hand.
Mats’ eyes followed my every move, a mix of excitement and caution glimmering in his gaze. His briefs had slipped to the floor, and as he shifted to step out of them, I kept his dick in a firm grip, feeling the heat and weight of it.
I leaned closer, teasing it with my breath, my tongue hovering just millimeters away, close enough for him to feel the warmth.
Then I looked him in the eyes and said:
– I want to eat your ass on the sofa.
To be continued…
