Page 61 of Missiletoe
Then my dick was in his mouth, then my fucking balls were too, and I was shooting like a roman candle. I didn’t even make it to ten seconds.
I told you I like having a tiny dick. It definitely has its perks.
Paris swallowed around me as I came, and Jesus if he hadn’t been right about being an active gay man.
Those skills don’t grow on trees, you know.
He milked every last drop out of me, keeping eye contact the whole time. It was like he wanted everything he could get out of the experience. Like he couldn’t bear to miss a moment of how I felt about what he was doing to me.
I plumped up again immediately, still in his mouth, and Paris grinned around my dick. He pulled off long enough to say, “Such a good bunny,” before gifting me once again with his fallen-angel dick-sucking skills.
This time I was slightly more coherent, so I could appreciate every bronze inch of his body. The swells of his biceps and shoulder muscles as he held himself up made my mouth water. I wanted Paris in my mouth too. Like, every inch of him.
I’d have to feast on him slowly because there was a lot of him. I would start with his dick as soon as he let me at it.
I was fully prepared to suck his soul right out of his dick. If Paris had something, I wanted it. That included his soul.
Oops. My evil is showing again, isn’t it?
I lasted longer the second time, but mostly because Paris had decided to torture me. He started giving my dick long, slow licks up one side and down the other. It wasn’t something I’d be able to get off to, but goddammit, it felt amazing. Every time I thought about the fact that it was Paris doing it, I nearly lost my mind.
Each time he had mercy on me and put me into his mouth fully, he’d pop off just as things started heading toward the land of fireworks and messy sheets, then he’d kiss the head of my dick and tell it how cute it was.
And then he’d fucking start all over again.
When he finally made me come, it was to him sucking me and finally, finally putting one of his huge-ass fingers inside me. I thought I saw God.
He gave me about ten minutes of recovery time and some water before he got down to working me open, nice and slow. First with his fingers, then with his mouth.
Paris’s mouth, folks. I’m considering using my laser to write a poem about it on the moon.
I lost track of how many times Paris made me come. I was caught in a cycle of mind-blowing orgasms and soothing moments of praise where Paris kissed my tears away and told me how good I was. Sometimes I was his bunny, sometimes I was his boy, and sometimes I was his Vix.
In case you’re wondering? Yes. You better fucking believe I called him Daddy.
Paris was doing his level best to make sure I knew down to my toes that, whatever I was, I was his. And I’d never be allowed to forget it.
I was on my third bottle of water and at least my fourthgood boywhen Paris started slicking himself up with the lube I’d tried to grab earlier in order to get myself ready for him.
That Vix was gone. The sweet, naive little guy who thought he was going to prep himself, climb on his man, get down and dirty with him, and then they’d be done? Silly boy. Paris made him into someone who finally knew how to dream big.
That was over an hour ago. Current me had a very close relationship with Paris’s tongue. I don’t think there was a part of my body that hadn’t gotten attention from it at some point. There were certain moments where I thought Paris was going to swallow me whole.
Heh. I suppose he did, but you know I didn’t mind atall.
Paris did this thing where he seemed to get jealous of his own mouth and switched to opening me up with his fingers. But then he’d realize there were parts of me that were getting neglected, and then I’d get his mouth and his hands, and I think maybe his soul as well.
That was right before I got my fourthgood boy.
Once Paris was finally ready to dick me down, I had the best prepped hole in town, and we were down to half of a sixteen ounce bottle of strawberry lube.
“I didn’t need that much prep,” I said weakly. I was long past legless and was moving on to a sort of sexual Nirvana. Once Paris stuck that monster of his inside me, I was pretty sure I was going to ascend.
“You’ve already told me that, bunny,” Paris said as he lined himself up with my overly eager hole. “But I did need it. And I don’t think that was a complaint, was it?”
Paris teased me with the tip of his cock, easing it in and out, just a little. I whined and begged, but that only seemed to egg him on. Whenever I got too loud, he paused and gave me tender, drawn-out kisses. Never in my life had I been that well taken care of. Gareth was huge and skilled, but with Paris I was getting fucked with love. I was being cherished.
Now that I knew what that looked like, I was going to be ruined for anything else.
