The Muse's Undoing

I’ve had to mentally disassociate with my cock for the time being. It’s possible I’ll come while I’m rimming him, the mattress now giving me something to thrust against, but I hope I don’t. There’s some twisted part of me that wants to show off for him—show him all the things I’ve learned while he was alone in war zones married to a woman.

Call me sick, but I get off on the perverted, taboo element of this moment and the last ones we shared. If he were a stranger in a bar, I’d have wanted him, too, but the fact that’s he’s all but forbidden is even better, satisfying me on a deep, deep level.

I trace Fischer’s virgin rim with the tip of my tongue and lap at his center until he blows out a harsh breath and opens up, granting me entrance.

“Oh, Jesus…oh my God…” he breathes as the tip of my tongue slips inside.

I circle the tense ring. My cock is screaming, and I roll my hips against the mattress, humping into it to take the edge off. The movement plunges my tongue deeper inside him.

He arches back to meet my face, smothering me with his ample ass, which makes me lose my mind. I attack his pretty pucker with deep kisses and hungry growls.

“Fuck, that’s good, Matthew. Your mouth.” His hand catches his thigh, pulling it nearly to his chest, spreading himself open like the needy bottom I knew he was. It takes one to know one.

It’s a wet, suffocating mess what I’m doing to him and honestly to myself. Precum is pouring from my cock like a red flag warning that I’m dangerously close. But I can’t stop. Every taste, every clench of him around my tongue is supplying my demand and ratcheting it higher.

I slip my hand underneath him again, taking his cock in my hand and making a fist for him to fuck. When I glance up, he’s got an arch in his back that the public would be shocked to see—this tough war correspondent with his ass presented so damn pretty for me—a horny doorman who knows a thing or two about etching glass.

I gorge myself on his hole as the rate of his breath picks up, and those whines I could jerk off to issue from his tortured lips.

I pick up a rhythm, and he joins me in it, our bodies working in perfect tandem—his dick in my fist, my thick, wet tongue in and out of his clenching hole, my cock driving into the bed.

When the warm gush of his cum drips over my knuckles, and his shaft slicks through my grip, I lose all composure and bury my face between his cheeks while my body shudders with the worst, most painful orgasm I’ve ever experienced, and then it explodes into something I can only compare with how I think people want the rapture to be.

I come up for air and curse his hole for being the best thing that’s ever happened to my mouth. “Goddamn,” I groan, kissing it again. “Fuck—oh, shit…” Cum squirts from me in violent spurts, my abs contacting with each convulsive shock.

He collapses flat, panting heavily into the pillow, twitching with aftershocks. Soft whimpers and a wheeze accompany his exhalations.

I rally, hauling myself to my knees, giving my cock a glance to make sure it’s still on straight before grabbing for the lube.

“No…no, Matthew… please…” He might be sobbing, it’s hard to tell.

“No meaning no?”

“No… fuck…yes…please…” And then he definitely sobs and wraps both his arms tensely around the pillow, putting that hot little arch into his lower back and all but begging for it. I don’t waste time—or my lingering erection.

I roll on a condom and drizzle the lube on his hole before roughly shoving two fingers in, filling him as he takes my aggressive move with a grunt. He got an excellent rimming—I’m not going easy on him anymore. “You good?” I check in.

“Yes…Yes..” His face is pink with the exertion of taking me, but I don’t think he’s hurting. My fingers aren’t that thick.

With my other hand on his waist, I kneel between his open legs and consider the angle. “Put your weight on your good knee.”

He does, his body moving into a sort of lunge. I put my left knee outside his left outer thigh as I move my fingers in and out of him, curling them and massaging him until he’s panting. “You’re so fucking soft,” I say.

“Matthew, please…”

“Please what?”

“Please, please put your cock in me. I’m ready.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, ruthlessly fingering him.

He sobs again. “I’m ready. Fffuuucckkk…I’m ready.”

“You like how it feels to be filled?”

“Yes,” he gasps.

“Because you’re so fucking tight, princess. I’ll barely be able to move.”