22. Oli
Oli
Sugar
J orge’s flat stomach sucks in at my demand, his brown eyes almost black from how blown his pupils are. He’s being entirely compliant, which I love more than I should.
It’s hovering in my thoughts that he’s never done this before, and I’m asking him to be utterly vulnerable with me.
I just need to see everything, and I need his eyes off me for what I want to do.
He doesn’t hesitate and assumes the position, popping his phenomenal ass out on display. I’ve always thought Jorge was beautiful, but completely bare like he is, I can savor him fully.
All that lean muscle, the soft, little pudge of his lower belly, and his slightly smaller-than-average cock. He’s cut and slim, darker than the rest of his skin, with heavy balls and a hairless hole.
I’m enthralled—hypnotized.
He’s everything I imagined he would be and more.
Through his parted legs, I see the weeping tip of his cockhead leaking onto my blanket, marking it. Something primal snaps in my brain as I scoot closer. A choked gasp escapes him, no doubt feeling the mattress dip under my weight as I reposition on my knees.
“Can I touch you?” I whisper because I want to touch him. That wasn’t my initial plan, but things changed.
I trust he’ll be good and do as I say.
“Fuck yes.”
Chuckling, I drag my palms up his thighs, lifting his cheeks slightly. He moans loudly , head dropping between his shoulders. “When was the last time you touched yourself here?” I brush my thumb over his hole, and he squeaks in surprise, then damn near purrs in pleasure.
“Yesterday,” he admits huskily. “I’m such a slut for it now.”
I shake my head, chuckling. “Don’t move.”
Diving for my nightstand, I pull open the drawer where I keep my lube for the rare occasion I need to jack off, and our eyes meet. Jorge licks his full lips, chest heaving, forearms buckling.
“Here,” I offer it to him.
Taking the lube, he quickly coats his palm and sets the bottle by his knee. Almost like an invitation for it to be used. I take up my earlier spot behind him, my stomach fluttering anew, and finally put him out of his misery. “Stroke your cock, kitten.”
He whimpers and slots his fist over it. “Shit. I’m going to come so fast, babe.”
“Then go slow,” I tell him and knead his asscheeks.
God, they’re so round and thick. Juicy and taut. I can’t seem to think about anything else. I’m keenly aware of the slick sound of him working his dick, shuttling his hand over it quickly. He’s not listening to me.
“Slow,” I remind him and spread his cheeks.
“Ungh,” he grunts, easing up. “My nuts hurt.”
“Do you want me to rub them, kitten?”
Another loud whimper escapes him as he nods frantically, bracing his weight on his left forearm and all but shoving his ass in my face. My cock is pressed so tightly against my zipper that I can feel the sealed metal teeth digging into it. Endless sparks explode over my skin, lighting up my nerves and stimulating my primitive brain. I reach between his legs, cup his sac, and gently roll the firm globes within it.
“So full,” I praise, and he moans again, shoving his ass back. Our fingers brush slightly with every downward stroke of his hand. My breath hitches.
“Oh fuck,” he whimpers, furiously stroking his cock now.
Still rolling his balls in my palm, I lean forward and blow over his puckered hole. The noise that bursts from him is guttural, raw. His back bows, and he cries out, coating his hand and my blanket in cum. “ Ohmygod ,” he slurs, trembling and rutting into his hand.
“Don’t stop,” I rasp, releasing his tender balls and grabbing the lube.
He squirms and grunts, smearing his cum all over his softening dick. “What are you going to do?”
I pause; the lid is popped open and angled at my fingers. Shit. I didn’t ask. “I was going to…” My throat closes up.
Twisting his neck so he can look over his shoulder, Jorge peeks at my groin. “You want to fuck?”
“No,” I rush out. “No. I was…I—”
With dark cheeks and spit-soaked lips, like he’s been licking them repeatedly, he nods at the lube. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he pants between words.
My eyes flutter shut, and I take a deep breath. “I want to do this for you,” I whisper and open them again.
“Okay,” he says carefully, grimacing when he releases his cock. “Do you still want me like this?”
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.”
I eye his wobbly arm, the tension in his straining shoulders. He’s uncomfortable but too stubborn to say anything. Sighing, I press on his lower back. “Lay on your stomach.”
He lowers with a plop , making his cheeks jiggle. I stave off a groan. “And you’re sure this isn’t too much?”
Shaking his head, he rests his cheek on his forearms. “No, Oli. Nothing with you is ever too much. Touch me, babe. Whatever you want.”
Toying with the dark hair on his calves, I say, “I want to make you feel good. Like you've done for me.”
“Awh, babe. Fuck, don't make me cry right now.”
Judging by his loud sniffle and gentle rut against the blanket, I’d say he might anyway. Deciding to distract him, I bend at the waist and gently kiss his cheek. He gasps, then moans and ruts more. “Bring your knee up,” I instruct with a soft push on the joint.
He hikes his left leg up, giving me a perfect view of his sack and pinned cock. I flick the tip of it, and his whole body shakes. “I knew you were a kinky fucker.”
Chuckling, I lube up my index and middle finger before lifting one of his cheeks with my other hand. The dark, puckered muscle quivers as I do. “Bear down for me,” I rasp.
I press my index finger to his hole, feeling it give under the pressure, and sink it in. He moans and clenches around the digit. A drop of precum leaks from his slit. While I gently finger him, I squeeze his cheek firmly and coax more moans from his lips. It only takes a handful of seconds before he’s grinding his ass against my knuckles, chanting.
“Feels so good, Beautiful. Fuck. Fuck me. ”
“My needy kitten,” I praise him, and he cries out.
“How many is that? I feel so full,” he whines, wiggling his hips.
“Just the one.”
His head pops up, and he glances back at me. “ One ?”
“Mhm. You’re so tight. I don’t know that you could take another.”
His eyes roll in their sockets. “That’s so hot.”
I bite my lip, hiding the smirk forming, and twist my finger to press on his prostate. “Such a tiny little hole.”
“ Shit ,” he croaks, drops his head. “You have a dirty mouth.”
I let the smirk free, feeling more confident than I have in a long time. He’s loving what I’m doing, what I’m saying. And the best part? He hasn’t asked for more. He is happy to be submissive and take what I willingly give. It’s addicting. I gently push in a second finger to reward him, and he screams. It’s a guttural shout of pleasure that echoes off the walls and spooks my rats. Stuffing his fist in his mouth, his curls a wild mess around his face, he bucks back onto my hand.
The tip of his cock is leaking copiously, a large puddle of precum forming between his legs. “I think this is all you can take, kitten. It’s just too tight.”
“ Ohmygod. ”
“Do you like being tight for me?”
“Yes,” he whines.
“Too tight for cock?”
“YES!”
He locks up, moaning and writhing as he comes from just my fingers. White ropes coat his balls, landing on my knuckles while I milk his prostate. A string of curses leaves his lips, aftershocks racking his body. When his orgasm finally subsides, he sags into the bed, breathing hard and looking wrecked. It’s beautiful and makes my chest swell with pride. I’m uncomfortably hard, but I ignore my needs. Slowly easing my fingers out of him, I check his hole. It’s swollen and a little red, but there’s no damage.
I sigh in relief. I fingered him pretty hard towards the end. “Does it hurt, baby?” I whisper, still examining.
He chokes. “Baby?”
Blushing, I ignore it. “Does it hurt, Jorge?”
Pushing up on his elbow, he twists, giving me a profile shot of his soft cock and lean torso. “No.” He clenches his ass, then grimaces. “Okay, a little sore. But nothing bad.”
With my clean hand, I rub his leg, humming. “I got a little…carried away,” I admit.
“With my asshole or calling me baby? Be real specific here because my heart feels like it’s going to grow ten sizes, beautiful.”
I meet his eyes. They’re soft, open, and vulnerable. Like he’s been waiting for me to fully acknowledge something. “I’ve never done this before. This intimacy. The pet names. But because it’s you, I feel safe to do it—to want it. And I want this with you. I…want you to be my baby and my kitten. I want you , Jorge. If you’ll have me.”
Tears well in his eyes as his lips part. “You just gave me the best orgasms of my life, and now this? How did I get so lucky?” he whimpers, pushing onto his knees and giving me a hesitant look.
“Come here,” I whisper, and he throws himself at me.
Cradling my head and holding me close, Jorge sniffles loudly in my ear. “I want you too, Oli.”
I band my arms around his naked torso and tremble.
H e hugged me for a long time before I gently eased him off my body so I could get a warm rag to clean him with. I took my time, making sure to wash all the lube from his hole and the dried cum off his cock and balls. He kept his hands to himself the entire time, content to watch me. Afterward, I stripped the bed. I don’t have a washer or dryer in my studio, but I bought an extra set of bedding at Walmart a while ago.
It’s kind of lame, but Jorge doesn’t seem to mind.
We’re lying in my bed, playing with each others’ fingers. I let him borrow a pair of my sweats since his briefs were sticky and wet. There’s no doubt a mess in my own, but I haven’t bothered to change. For the first time, I don’t feel dirty. It didn’t matter who I was with; anything sexual always resulted in my skin crawling and nausea churning in my belly. Nothing ever felt right or good, even if I was able to orgasm.
Jorge makes me feel…clean. Brand spankin’ new. Like I don’t carry years of emotional scars. I know they are there. I can feel them. And somewhere inside, I know that those scars will hurt later. That doesn’t take away from this moment, though. It’s special. And I’m proud of the progress I’m making. I think Dr. Langley would be, too. I’ll have to tell him during our next session. Obviously, negating the details.
“What are you thinking about?” Jorge asks softly.
“You,” I admit. “This.”
“Are you alright? How are you feeling?”
I nod, tucking my arm under my head and sliding my hand over his cheek. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.”
His eyes search mine. “No regrets, then?”
“Only that I’m not braver.”
“Fuck that,” he growls. “You are so brave, Oli. The bravest. Not everyone could’ve done what you did after what you’ve been through.”
I drop my hand from his face, balling it into a fist between us. If I were truly brave, I would’ve done more. I’d have kissed him. Let him face me. I would tell him the truth if I was as brave as he claims. He’s assuming things, connecting invisible dots, and making deductions based on observation, not fact. The truth might make it worse—it might destroy everything.
Jorge scooches closer to me, picking up my hand and settling it on his hip. “You do not have to climb mountains just to conquer your fear of heights.”
Frowning, I open my mouth to ask what the hell that means, but he elaborates. “My abuela used to say that,” he whispers. “In Spanish.” Cupping his hands under his cheek, he sighs. “It means that our accomplishments aren’t always measured in grand feats. It’s measured in the steps we take every day—the ones that keep us going. It’s only when we stop moving that the fear wins.”
Chewing his lip, he closes his eyes and breathes out the next sentence. “When I was five, I drowned in my Uncle Miguel’s pool.”
“Actually drowned?” I gasp, squeezing him.
“Yeah. My dad knows CPR, so they got me breathing again in under a minute. My mom saw me fall in.”
How did I not know this? Jorge’s parents’ house has a pool in the backyard. He and Phoenix lived in that thing during high school.
“I was afraid of water for a long time. Too afraid to learn how to swim. My dad forced me to take lessons even if I cried. Said that I was just a Pendejo for falling in. That I could still swim if I tried.”
I don’t like that.
Not that I know him well, but the little I did see of Jorge’s dad at parties seems on par with what he’s saying. A little too tough, and Jorge was always a little too sensitive.
Gently stroking his bare hip, I wait for him to continue. He swallows, shrugs a little, and nibbles his lip.
“Eventually, I learned how to swim. I got over my fear of the pool, but bigger bodies of water would freak me out, especially when Dad made us go fishing ‘n shit. And my abuela would tell me that. It made me feel good. She always made me feel good,” he croaks out the last sentence, eyes wet.
“I’m surprised I didn’t know. Phoenix couldn’t shut up about you when we were kids. Told me everything.”
“I’ve never told Phoenix,” he says softly. “It was embarrassing to me. I’d have nightmares about drowning in that pool with black blobs that turn into killer whales. And in every one, they’d get me. I’d wake up right as the whale’s teeth chomped down.”
I tug him to me, sealing our fronts together, and he sighs into my chest. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s a genuine fear,” I tell him.
“I know. And just like you, I was ashamed of it. Didn’t want anyone to know that I even had it.”
“Are you still afraid?” I whisper, stroking his back.
It’s probably terrible of me to think, but I hope he is. If he’s still afraid, then I won’t feel as pathetic. If Jorge, this unstoppable force of love and compassion, harbors a fear he hasn’t uttered to anyone other than me, maybe I could do the same. Maybe I could finally let it out.
“That’s why I go to the ocean,” he rasps, one of his hands sliding out from his face to fist in my shirt. “To remind myself that as terrifying as it is out there, I still know how to swim.”
My eyes flutter shut, resonating with his words. “I’m still learning.”