The Muse's Undoing

“Depends on the girl.”

Another stroke elicits a few drops of precum and a soft groan from me. “You keep it so pretty.”

“Thank you,” I say, suddenly feeling shy and younger than I usually do with him.

He continues to jerk me slowly, a pace that makes me squirm.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” I say.

“Because you’re a weirdo. You and your sister. Sheltered. Over-indulged. You don’t get outside enough. You eat a bunch of crap.”

“You aren’t exactly friendly, you know?”

He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop. “Whatever. You don’t need me.”

“I’ve always wanted to be more like you. Be able to check out and not give a shit what people thought of me.”

“You’d be surprised, then…how much of a shit I give.”

He has a grip on my base and is massaging it with pulsing squeezes of his fist.

“God, that feels good…” I whisper.

“You like that?”

“It’s making me so hard.”

“You have a crush on me, don’t you?”

“Maybe…”

“Little perv. What would our parents say?”

“People get crushes on strangers all the time,” I say.

“Did you always know you were queer?” he asks, surprising me.

“Yeah,” I sigh shakily. He’s killing me is what he’s doing.

“How?”

“Because I can’t remember a time I wasn’t obsessed with cock…”

“Mmm…” The sound rumbles through him, and he runs his other hand across my abs.

“I used to spy on you,” I confess. “Did you know that?”

He shakes his head.

“Like if you took us on a hike and went to piss in the woods—I’d try to catch a glimpse.”

“Did you see anything?”

“Once. A little. The angle wasn’t great.”

“That’s very, very naughty.”

“I couldn’t help myself. You always left me wanting more.”