The Muse's Undoing

It’s easy to question myself in a moment like this. As in—what the hell is wrong with me, and why the fuck do I get dangerously hard at the idea of fucking a sleeping man? It’s not like he’ll stay asleep. It’s not like having my cock in his ass won’t startle the fuck out of him. It’s not like he’ll remain warm and inviting, passive and inanimate. He’ll wake up and start clenching, and then it’ll be just regular fucking.

So, I guess…what I’m wondering is, how asleep is he, and how could I keep him that way as long as possible? Because what if I went really, really slow…

Before I try anything, I roll a condom on my rigid erection and make sure it’s adequately lubed. I keep the lube nearby as I get onto the bed as lightly as possible, moving to kneel at his side.

With my dry hand, I do the most innocuous thing I can think of. The most soothing thing. I rub his back. If he’s in a light sleep, he’ll reach for me. He might even say something like closer in that imperious, sleepy way he has when he’s dissatisfied with my proximity.

As I stroke his spine in firmer and firmer passes, he remains completely still, not even his rate of breathing changes. So I go further.

Warming more lube in my hands, I slide my fingers through his crack and stroke the length of it, from his taint to his tailbone, paying no attention to his hole…yet. When he still shows no signs of waking, I narrow my span, moving two fingers back and forth over his pleated opening until I’m ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn’t notice a finger sliding inside.

I won’t know until I try. With more lube and a more focused radius, I slide in and stop, holding my breath. He bears down slightly, but other than that, nothing. When he bears down again, I slide in the next finger and hear a huff of air come from his mouth. I look up, but still…no hint that he’s waking up. Just a natural bodily reaction to having something in his ass.

Way slower than I want to, I fuck my fingers in and out of him. He remains docile and still, loose and open, and totally lacking resistance. He even stops bearing down, like his body is so exhausted, it’s lost all sense of self-preservation.

With as well as he’s taking two fingers, I add a third, still going slow and keeping my rhythm predictable and steady.

When, after several minutes, literally nothing happens, I’m so ready to come just from the sheer illicitness of this that I almost take off my condom and start jerking off.

But I don’t.

He’d be disappointed. I’m sure of it.

However, I need to get him into a better position.

His right knee has a pillow under it, and I figure if I wedge it just right, he’ll be tipped toward me, and I can slide right in without having to climb on top of him. Continuing to work my fingers into his slick, hot channel, I reach across him and fold the pillow in half, effortlessly tilting him toward his side while keeping his legs open.

My own breath comes quicker, my dick twitching with growing need. I’m dying to be inside him. Fuck him deep and worship him.

But my cock is not my fingers. Resting my hand lightly on his hip to keep him in place, I go for it. He bears down hard at the intrusion, his body trying to force me out, but when it comes to this, his body’s natural reflex only clears the path. A soft, low moan comes out of him as I fill him with my full length. I come to a stop, even though it’s physically painful. I feel like a thief, freezing on a squeaky step, waiting for the disruption to stop echoing through the air.

He shifts slightly, sincerely testing my patience, like he’s trying to get comfortable again, but once again, his body gives up the fight too easily. Every time I’ve been inside him has been hotter than the time before, but this feels like one of those once in a lifetime things—like seeing the aurora borealis or a total eclipse. Moving only my hips, I withdraw to my crown and stroke slowly back inside him, carefully building up to the same steady pace I used with my fingers. I get a better grip on his hip and indulge myself in a faster pace.

Another groan from him puts a clench in my groin. “Still sleeping, princess?” I whisper.

Nothing.

Fuuuccckkk… My dick is in heaven, and my mind is so deep in the fucking sewers that I’m rushing to a climax without rushing at all. Part of me wants him awake when I come. I want him to know how much he turns me on—how I can’t stay away from him, how he doesn’t need to lift a finger to get me off—but something darker in me wants to keep this all to myself and let him find out later when he’s feeling used and leaking lube.

Ultimately, none of this matters at all, because he squirms and groans once again. He feels so fucking good on my cock, my hips stutter as my orgasm catches me like a punch to the stomach. I try to keep myself from digging my nails in, try to keep silent as I contort my body to maintain just those two points of contact while my dick unloads an indecent amount of cum. Oh my God… I’m going straight to hell.

It keeps coming out of me…an endless stream. Throwing my head back, I feel for a moment like I might be dying. Like this dirty deed may be the last thing I ever do. It feels like my entire soul is escaping through my dick. God, oh god, oh god, I’m burning alive.

I put my arms around him, leaving my spent cock buried in his ass. I kiss his neck, murmuring his name and rutting my hips, riding out every aftershock that feels like glitter on sunbeams. So extra.

“What, baby?” I hear him murmur… “You okay?”

Baby?

Baby?

Fuck, I need to fuck him again. Start all over. Shit. He’s gonna melt my goddamned brain.

“Wake up,” I say. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m awake, I’m—” He jolts, ass clenching and drawing a surprised, high pitched sound from me.

“Fuck, how’d you get there?” he asks. “I thought I left you in the kitchen.”