Thirty Ben #3
“Yeah,” Ben sighed as Arya started full strokes, twisting at the head, twisting the other way at the base, sometimes dragging his foreskin along, sometimes leaving the head sheathed, sometimes unsheathed, letting Ben savor all the different sensations it could bring.
With his other hand, Arya cradled Ben’s balls.
He tugged them away from Ben’s core, gently, gently, and then shifted forward.
Ben thought Arya was going to start blowing him again, but he didn’t.
Instead he released Ben’s balls and pushed his tank top up, exposing his lower stomach.
Arya planted his mouth on Ben’s belly button, teasing all around it with his tongue.
Ben jolted (it turned out he was a little ticklish around his navel) but he relaxed as Arya kissed all around his lower abdomen.
All the while, the stroker kept up its steady rhythm.
Stroke, twist, twist, stroke, twist, twist.
The pleasure was mounting again. Arya’s hand left his stomach and reached for his balls once more, but this time his fingers crept past them to press hard on Ben’s taint, right next to the massager’s little arm.
“Hnnng!” he groaned as his ass clamped down hard. The toy went so deep he worried it might get lodged there. Pleasure radiated deep within him and he throbbed in Arya’s hands. This was it, this was—
Arya let go of him again and sat back on his heels. No mouth, no stroker, no hands except one last tug of his balls away from his body. Ben breathed hard, his pelvic floor hammering out a syncopated beat as his body tried to come, tried not to come, tried… he wasn’t even sure.
“Not yet,” Arya whispered.
“You’re killing me.”
Arya grinned. He ran the stroker up Ben’s cock once, pulling it all the way off, and Ben’s back arched. He breathed hard. And just when he thought Arya was going to let him cool off, Arya popped the stroker right back on him, and he had another wave of contractions. But he didn’t come.
“Fuck, you’re good at this.”
Arya’s eyebrows waggled. “I should be.”
Ben lost track of how many times Arya did that.
Let him cool off, just to apply a single point of pleasure—a stroke, a lick, a suck, a pinch—that had Ben about to come.
His dick was so hard it felt like it might rip in two.
His pubes were a mess of sweat and spit and lube and precum.
His ass was starting to burn. It wasn’t used to this kind of intrusion.
“Please let me come,” Ben whined after Arya used one finger to drag Ben’s cock down and let it spring back to slap his sloppy abdomen.
“Okay,” Arya said.
Ben waited for whatever Arya was going to do next. But Arya just sat there. And then slowly, slowly, he angled up for a kiss.
Arya’s tongue was demanding, forcing its way past Ben’s lips, and Ben could tell this was it, this was the moment, this was—
Arya broke the kiss, leaving Ben gasping, his core contracting in waves, but still, he didn’t come.
“Arya,” he whined.
Arya grinned at him, dropped one last smooch on the tip of his nose, and sat back. He held Ben’s eyes as he uncapped the lube, squeezed a narrow swirl of it out over the stroker. Waggled his eyebrows.
And then he slid the stroker back over Ben’s cock. His mouth followed.
Arya began a steady build, stroking him, sucking him, twisting the toy one way and his head the other. Ben’s cock strained so hard he thought his frenulum might snap. Arya released him just long enough to gasp out “Do your nipples.”
Ben obeyed. Arya’s free hand came up to his balls again, drumming lightly against them as he sucked so hard Ben saw stars.
Pressure built as he flexed his pelvic floor over and over again, mashing the prostate massager against his inner walls, the crescendo building and building until it crashed over him like a roll of thunder.
He shot into Arya’s mouth, hard, hard enough Arya let out a little cough, but then he popped off and kept stroking him, aiming his cock straight upward to watch the jets.
Ben wasn’t in his twenties anymore, and he’d never been the kind of guy who could, like, shoot himself in the face, or over his shoulder, but still, he popped his eyes open to watch the fireworks, because it was intense, his orgasm spurting into the air before arcing back down to land on his messy pubes, on Arya’s hand, on the stroker.
Ben’s core contracted again, so hard he had to curl in on himself from the pleasure.
The massager kept battering his prostate, wringing him out until he collapsed onto the couch, boneless and warm.
Ben lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, as Arya rested a hand on his messy stomach, felt the expansion and contraction of his diaphragm, dragged his fingers through Ben’s cum.
Ben laughed. “Wow.”
Arya chuckled. “How was that?”
“That was…” Ben sighed. “That was intense.”
“Good intense or bad intense?”
Ben’s ass was tender, his prostate sore, the skin around his hole a little chapped. It would be a while before he did this again. But he might want to… sometime. Maybe.
Still… holy fuck, that had been the best orgasm of his life.
“It was amazing,” Ben finally said.
Arya smirked. “Good. I haven’t spent the last twenty years being a slut to deliver anything less.”
“It paid off,” Ben said. “Now get up here so I can make out with you.”
Arya didn’t need telling twice.