Caving

"Would you tell me what you were thinking about?" he asked. There was a curious evenness to his tone of voice all of a sudden that stopped me in my tracks.

When I didn't react -- too stunned -- he added a small "please?", obviously not really used to the word.

"Are you... really just asking me what I'm masturbating to?" I clarified, suddenly feeling defensive. And overheated, but mostly defensive. The idea that he was recording this conversation on his phone crossed my mind.

"Yes." He gave a sigh and I had the strong suspicion that that was the sound he made when he finally wrapped his hand around his cock. "Yes, I am."

The most intelligent reply that came to me that instance was "Why?"

"Are you kidding me?" Logan asked, deadpan. "It's fucking hot. Knowing what gets a girl wet? Hearing her say it? Fuck. Miles better than porn."

"Really." I was doubtful. And suddenly intensely dry-mouthed, too. And I was still leaving. I was. Good as gone.

"Really really," he assured me.

Silence.

"So?" he prompted.

"I-" My voice dried up and I cleared my throat, embarrassed about the situation for no good reason. After all, we were both adults (one more so than the other), we'd never cross paths again after tonight (if I had any say in it) and nothing at all had happened yet.

I mean, nothing had happened, scratch the 'yet'. Nothing would happen, at all, ever. I'd sooner change my legal name from Piper to Peepee than tell him about my caveman fantasy, that much was clear.

"I'll just leave you to it, I think," I mumbled and swung my legs out of the bunk.

"Mine's massages," he all but blurted, stopping me in my tracks yet again.

Okay, not what I had expected. He sounded sincere enough, too. And desperate.

"Sensual massages and such, with oil and lotion and shit." He coughed, clearly a little embarrassed, and hurried to explain himself. "Like, I know most people think that's girly. Even pornhub thinks that that's for women. I... I just think it's hot."

"Sensual massages," I repeated and nodded to myself. "I mean, yeah. That's..." Definitely not a turn-off. "Yeah." I had nothing.

"I don't even care who's massaging who and who's getting massaged," he went on. "Guy stroking girl. Girl stroking guy. Girl stroking girl... Guy stroking guy... Doesn't matter, so long as there's hands and skin and plenty of oil and lube."

"Okay," was all I could come up with. I was suddenly very certain that Logan was really quite drunk, and that I was taking advantage of him just by letting him talk. So I spoke up - "Logan, uh, you shouldn't-," but he didn't hear me or ignored me.

"Best to start with the upper body..."

I couldn't help but imagine his hands roaming up to his own wide -- naked -- chest and rubbing it. Suddenly, the party noises were quite annoying indeed. If it were quieter, maybe I could hear that whisper of skin against skin...

"Nice long strokes down the pecs and belly, and up to the shoulders and down the sides..." He trailed off and made a low humming noise, a luxurious sound that made me bite my lip because it tickled at my neck.

"Maybe give the nipples some attention..."

Oh, he was definitely touching himself. Pinching his own nipples right now.

Faintly, I wondered whether men liked their nipples pinched as hard as women did.

Or as I did, in any case.

I shook my head, trying to shake the inappropriate nonsense loose. "Logan-" I said, but my voice came out somewhat hoarse.

"Yes," he said, but I couldn't tell if he was responding to his own name, or just encouraging himself -- or the fantasy person that was currently giving him a massage, whoever they were.

"You're drunk and I should-" I started, but he interrupted me again.

"Hottest thing ever would be to get a massage from three people at once," he said, his words more quiet and more agitated now. "Two to hold down my arms and legs and one to touch... hah..."

A whispered "fuck" slipped from my lips. This was surreal. Parts of me tingled in time with the creak of his bunk, no doubt caused by the pumping of his hips into his fist, and heat suffused my chest and cheeks as thoughts rose, unbidden and wild, featuring a very naked, very helpless Logan, skin glistening and twitching as he strained against the ministrations of three pairs of hands.

Three people, huh? All women? Men? Alien monsters that are bigger and stronger than him?

Does he get off on the same general idea as me with my caveman gangbang?

Does the idea of being smaller and at someone's mercy get him off, too?

Logan groaned low as, apparently, another thought occurred to him and he blurted his words again. "Oh God, please... please, may I cum?"

"Not yet," I heard myself say before I could think about it. I sank against the cave wall, suddenly feeling exhausted and woozy. My head was spinning. My back felt hot and sweaty against the cool stone. "Not yet, Logan."

He exhaled shakily and the creaking of his cot quieted momentarily. He had stopped.

He had stopped jerking off because I said so.

Holy shit. Heat rolled through me in a wave at that realization.

I licked my lips and dug my fingers into my blankets as a drop of liquid spilled into my panties, a leftover from my caveman session earlier, surely. The feeling made me shiver all over.

"They..." I cleared my throat which felt strangled tight with tension. "They're just teasing you, Logan. Barely touching you."

There was a muffled moan. Maybe he was biting his fist. "Where?" he asked, then hurried to repeat, "Where?" as if he were afraid that I had gone away or wouldn't answer him.

"Your thighs," I told him. "The insides of your thighs."

He warbled a moan.

"The crease of your hips."

"Ah, fuck," he hushed out and I heard the rustle of the blanket and sheets as his deliciously ticklish body jerked.

"The... the base of your cock."

"Not the tip," he almost whined, and I had to bite back a wicked smile. Fuck, this was so wrong.

"No, not the tip," I confirmed. "Not yet. They're only touching you so gently."

"Please." He sounded heartbroken in the way only a desperate drunk man could.

"No." I had never heard my voice sound like that. It was almost scary. "And slower."

He panted through his nose like he was in pain and squirmed on his cot but I had no doubt that he was following my order no matter how much he had to fight himself to do it. Such a good boy.

"You said you could hold out for a long time, Logan," I reminded him, feeling just a little bit evil.

"Fuck, please," he repeated again, sounding very sorry indeed that he had been so cocky before.

"They want to see how long you can hold out," I told him. "And how hard you can cum at the end of it."

He moaned something about the ceiling from between clenched teeth, and after that, all he did was mewl curses and gibberish for quite some time. I kept reminding him where his imaginary masseurs were putting -- and not putting -- their hands, and how excruciatingly slow and gentle those hands were.

Stroking. Petting. Tapping. Barely grazing. I marveled at how each of these had its own soundtrack, how Logan's moans and gasps and sighs changed depending on where I ordered his fingers to wander.

"How are you feeling, Logan?" I asked him after maybe ten, fifteen minutes. I was certain it felt a lot longer for him.

He choked out a miserable sort of laugh. "Please, may I cum?" he begged. "God, my balls are killing me, please...!"

I bit my tongue to keep myself from caving in all too quickly, and from breaking into hysterical, megalomaniacal giggles.

To be fair, he begged so sweetly, it sent more heat to my core and my nipples, and he had been such a good boy. He deserved leniency.

However, the hours before that, he had been such a douchebag. And he had interrupted me. It was only fair to make him wait just a bit longer.

"You may not," I said, and he groaned in displeasure. "But don't you worry. They will take good care of your sore balls."

He shuddered and moaned an "oh fuck" once he understood just what I wanted from him.

"They'll massage them, nice and hard..."

"Please," he gasped, and then his voice slipped into almost hilarious soprano. "Please?"

"Are you grabbing your balls right now?" I asked him, turning my face up as if I had X-ray vision to see through the bunk.

"Hah. Ahh!" He was panting.

"Logan," I used my most threatening tone.

He whimpered in response. It made me bite my lip.

"Just a bit harder than that."

"No, please-"

"And they'll take care of your prostate, too. They'll massage that spot for you."

"Ahh-oh, G—od!" He was really fighting now and it was the hottest goddamned thing I had ever heard.

"Are you going to cum, Logan?" I challenged. "Are you going to cum from stroking your balls?"

"Please!" he almost shouted and for a second I feared the others might hear him -- and then I almost found myself hoping they would. They would think that I -- boring "mature" wet blanket Piper -- was showing this boy the time of his life behind the drawn curtain.

"Say it," I demanded.

"I wanna cum from stroking my balls, please," he pleaded. The visual of him on his bunk, bare from neck to knees, both hands clutched to his sac while his thick cock was lying neglected, fat and red and twitching, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach, was enough for another drop of juice into my panties. I knew I would only need to dip one finger between my legs to go over right along with him.

But not here. This was not about me. And I enjoyed the swollen, pulsing heat at my middle and how my heart raced and all my thoughts were light and fast. It was a rush. I didn't want it to end, not for me, not yet.

"Do it," I said, and listened with my eyes closed.

There was a heartbeat of silence, an inhalation of breath, and then Logan groaned and grunted like his orgasm was sending him momentarily back through evolution, turning him back into something that was more animal than human, wild and raw and purely a slave to its bodily functions. It was glorious.

Even after his moaning had stopped, he kept twitching and breathing audibly for quite some time. Occasionally, he would sniffle like he'd been crying, like he had spilled some tears in his ecstasy and was wiping them away. I couldn't help the self-satisfied smile and the deep, warm glow of satisfaction that overtook my body when I heard him mumble 'Jesus, fuck' with a sort of unbelieving awe, followed by a deep, content sort of snore.

Apparently, I had worn the kid out, without laying a finger on him. I chuckled to myself.

Eventually, I got up and finally went to the bathroom as I had planned earlier. A bright-eyed Piper was staring back at me in the mirror. Her face was flushed and her hair was disheveled.

She looked like someone who'd had a good time with a caveman or two. I smirked at my reflection. As it turned out, caving was fun after all.

FIN

Hello!

I'm currently spending a lot of time in the lower bunk of a bunk bed in a room that has distinctly cave-like characteristics (think cold and drafty with bathroom acoustics), reading an unhealthy amount of alpha male romance novels (because a girl needs to get warm somehow) -- et viola! Inspiration! Hope you liked it, even though it was a bit cheesy and despite my veering off from the obvious alpha male trope...

Leave a comment to make my cave feel a little warmer still :P

xo cydia