Getting Into His Pants

I move my hands to his upper legs. I run my palms up and down the hairy skin of his thighs and calves as I suckle on him. I can feel his bony kneecaps as my hands pass over them, feel the goosebumps rising on his flesh as my hands roam over his body. I work on his shaft with just my mouth now, no assistance from my hands. My head keeps rising and falling, my throat able to take him deeper and deeper as the minutes pass. We become a fully-operational sex machine, a passed-out man and his cocksucker, a crotch and its saddle. His body starts to work with me more and more. His hips are lifting and dropping, fucking my mouth. I can only imagine the dream he's having. Too bad he won't remember it when he wakes up...

We are locked together in this shimmering wonderland of sex for at least half an hour. Every time he seems to be getting close to cumming, I ease off just enough. Every time I take a break of more than a few seconds, his hips begin to pump harder. Together, consciously or unconsciously, we continue to edge him. The big fella has swollen to his full glory. He is fatter and longer than any cock I have ever touched, any cock I have ever served. He is reaming my throat out, making it so raw that I doubt I'll be able to speak without croaking for days. My body is running with sweat and my mind is numb. It is all worth it. It is all exactly what I want. It is Stew's cock. The monolith, the ultimate stone pillar of cock. The big fella.

I shift my body enough to push my own prick up against Stew's lower leg. Like a dog, I start to hump him. His lower leg pounds against me as I smack my groin against him, with the same rhythm and at the same rate that his cock pounds down my neck. I am on the edge.

The big fella is too.

Just as the load in his balls starts to rise, I feel something unexpected. His hand is on my head. He is pulling me tight against him, and I joyously cooperate. I jam my head down, take more of his cock into my throat than I ever imagined I could, and hear him groan.

The first shot is big. The second and third are massive, and the fourth the largest of all. His cum jets straight into my stomach and I can feel the thick heat of it pouring down my neck. He relaxes his hand, and I pull back so that the rest of his load shoots into my mouth. Three more shots of manseed -- and these I can taste. Salty and slightly acidic, heavy with babies and delicious to the last drop.

His hand has fallen back to his side, and I continue to crouch at his feet. I carefully and lovingly wash his dick, cleaning it of every bit of his splooge. As the big fella slowly deflates, the cum continues to drip from the center of his knob, and I dig the tip of my tongue into it as I suck up every bit of juice. I let his cock soften slowly as it lays between my lips and across my tongue. I can feel the head slowly retreating into the cowl of skin which surrounds it. And as it starts to fall from between my lips, I cradle it in my hand and gently kiss it -- on the head, up and down the shaft, and the base against the balls. It has been the perfect suck. He has the perfect dick.

When I know there is no more to come, I tug his track pants back up his legs as far as I can and wedge them under his ass. For one last minute I stare at him, memorizing every detail of his crotch and balls and cock that I have touched and loved. Finally, I stand up and look down at him. His body is lolling sideways, and he is snoring gently. I walk around the room, pick up my own clothes, and get dressed. Then I go into the bedroom and fold back the sheets. My buddy is going to need a place to sleep tonight. No way he's gonna be able to make his way home at this point.

I gently shake his shoulder, and when he doesn't react I shake harder. Finally, I lean down and speak into his ear: "Stew. Hey, Stew. Wake up."

His head rolls, and his eyes slit open. "Wha? Whadda ya want?"

"Gotta get up, bud. It's late. Time to go to bed."

He tries to stand, and as he does I yank up the back of his pants. He's not really dressed, but he's not naked either. He knows something is wrong, but he doesn't know what. He looks confused. I love it.

"Huh? Wha's goin' on? I gotta... what?"

"Go to bed. You gotta go to bed."

He slumps against me, and finally says, "Uh... I dunno know what to do. I guess I had a lot to drink. Whadda I gotta do again?"

And I say, "you gotta come to bed. Come on. You're right, you had a lot to drink and you can't get home like this. You're staying here tonight. Come up. The bed's all ready. You'll be asleep again in just a minute and it'll all be good in the morning."

"Go where? Bed? What bed?"

"My bed, Stew-man. Don't worry. It's all gonna be fine. It's all gonna be just fine."