Mr. Carrington

It's family movie night. Just me and my parents. We used to do this every Thursday but now that I'm in college we keep it going when we can. My phone buzzes. I check the text and it's just two words "come over". I reply that I'm busy. A minute passes and my phone buzzes again. This time it's a picture, a rigid cock sticking out of an open fly. A flood of adrenaline and I can hear my drumming pulse so clearly that I'm afraid everyone else in the room will too. I quickly turn my phone face down so no one else sees.

I shouldn't do this, but I don't think I can stop myself.

"I think I'm going to go for a run."

My mother looks disappointed. "Now?"

"I'm just feeling restless. I need to move."

She sighs "We'll finish the movie later."

"Don't stop it on my account," I say, getting up from the couch. I ignore her kicked puppy look and head upstairs to put on shorts and a tank top. My phone buzzes again. Two more words "I'm waiting". My mouth is dry and I hurry out the front door.

I start to jog but I'm only going three houses down. I see Mr. Carrington has the garage open and the white light spilling out onto his driveway is a beacon. When I reach the door he shoots me a smile and waves me inside. He's wearing a white tank and dark jeans, and I can see the straining bulge in the front already, confirming the picture he sent me is from just moments ago.

"Look at you, running over here like an eager little rabbit," he says with a wicked smile. He closes the garage door when I step through.

I'm having a hard time catching my breath but it's not from exertion. When the door closes he steps up to me. He brushes the back of his hands against the front of my shorts, feeling my barely contained erection and sending a little shock of contact through me. I fumble a little at the snap of his jeans and tug the zipper down, putting a hand on the bulging fabric of his briefs.

"Yeah, see. You weren't too busy at all," he growls. He pulls away and sheds his clothes, nodding at me to follow suit. When we're both naked he comes close again, pushing me back against his car and onto the hood so he can thrust his hardness against mine. I lean back on the hood and he wraps his hand around our cocks, stroking both together for a slow, indulgent moment. I squirm gently on the hood of his car as the pleasure builds and for a moment I close my eyes and wonder if this is how he wants it, our joint orgasm spilling mixed seed over my body. He has other plans though, and pulls me up off the car.

"Suck my dick," he commands, and I obey. I drop to my knees and pull him into me, my lips gliding easily over the smooth and rigid length of his penis. Despite my many attempts I've never taken him fully, but that doesn't stop me from making the eager effort. I push forward until I'm choking and hold him there, growing red faced and straining until I can't handle it anymore and I'm forced to retreat. He pulls out of me and slaps his erection against my cheek a few times before plunging it down my throat again. I relax and let him fuck me, grateful and eager for the privilege of pleasuring this beautiful, throbbing cock. He's gentle and slow until, suddenly, he grabs my head and thrusts with abandon, groaning and telling me what a good boy I am. I can tell he's struggling to hold back so he doesn't hurt me, his lust like a barely caged beast. I briefly wonder why he's so worked up but that thought dissolves when Mr. Carrington lets out an inhuman cry and floods my mouth with the bitter spend of his lust. I wasn't ready for it and most of it pours down my chin and onto my chest as he pulls out of me in a sudden rush of post orgasm sensitivity.

"God damn," he says, breathing heavy and looking up at the ceiling. "Fuck, I needed that."

"I could tell," I say, catching my own breath and wiping his semen from my face. Mr. Carrington comes back to himself and grabs a rag off a nearby table for me to wipe down. He helps me to my feet and I'm starting to think maybe this little encounter is over before he gently turns me around and presses in behind me. Even post orgasm he's just a little hard and the feeling against my crack is wonderful. He buries his face in the hollow of my neck and slides his hands around my hips until he's got my raging erection in his gentle but firm grip and begins to stroke me.

"You're such a good cocksucker, aren't you," he whispers. His mouth so close to my neck that I can feel the scratch of his stubble and hot breath of each word.

"Yes," I groan.

"Yes, what," he demands.

"Yes, sir. I am a good..." my breath caches as he cups my scrotum with his free hand. "Cocksucker. I'm a good cocksucker."

He thrusts himself against my backside and I can feel the tension building to its breaking point, irresistible as the tide. He nips at my earlobe, stroking faster as I moan. I tell him I'm gonna cum.

He stops all at once, pulling away from me. I feel the instant, yawning absence of the mounting wave of pleasure that was just moments ago about to crush me into glorious oblivion. I turn around, confused and slightly annoyed to see he's bent over and grabbing his pants off the concrete floor.

"Really?" I say, trying not to let too much frustration show and failing miserably. He just grins at me and winks.

"Next time I tell you to come over, I don't want to hear any shit about how you're too busy, yeah?"

So this is what it is. A punishment for defiance. My erection deflates slightly but not entirely, as if hoping vaguely that the moment is salvageable.

"Don't be sad," he says, stepping to me once more and giving my balls a gentle, delightful squeeze. "You'll get another chance tomorrow. I'm having a friend over for lunch, and you're going to be there, too, helping us catch up."

My mind reels "What?" I know what he's suggesting but a part of me refuses to fully accept it.

"You'll like him. Just remember what you told me a minute ago," he says with a smile. He's still stroking my balls gently as he talks. "That you're a good little cocksucker, right?"

I'm hard as a rock again, aching for release, giddy and nervous and horny all at once. "Okay," is all I manage to say. Mr. Carrington winks at me and pulls away once again, gathering up the rest of his clothes and dressing as I process. With nothing else to do, I dress too.

Mr. Carrington hits the button for the garage door and I move to leave. I'll be back at lunch tomorrow, and I won't make him, or his friend, wait.