*All names have been changed to protect the innocent, namely me.
Rock-a-Bye Ch. 3
"What?"
Oh no. Busted.
"Huh?" I cried innocently.
"Well, googly-eyes, you've only been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes."
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
I broke our eye contact. It was too much for me to handle.
"I- I don't know what you're talking about," I denied a bit too defensively, which was pretty lame since I already knew I was blushing profusely from what heat I could feel emanating from my face. God, I was such an awful liar! I hurriedly looked away, feigning a sudden fascination towards the open Maxim magazine on the nearby desk from where I was standing in his enormous room.
"Heh, if you say so," he remarked coolly, though the arrogantly asinine smirk on his smug, criminally-handsome face got significantly broader.
Dammit.
I sighed. What is it with this guy that I just can't stop staring? I think by now it's safe to say that I'm attracted to him. Big time. I mean, it's pretty stupid to keep denying it when it was so painstakingly obvious, even to dense little ol' me. In fact, I think I may have been infatuated with him from when we first met at the beginning of the week. The thing is, and this is where most of my discomfort toward this whole situation lies... he's a frickin' dude! Suffice it to say that this is the first time I've ever been attracted to another dude. And, well, I like to think that it certainly complicates things-- by a whole lot, thank you very much!
"I'm hungry," he said all of a sudden, shaking me out of my reverie. "Wanna go check out the kitchen?"
He never bothered to wait for my response. I could've wanted to stay in the room and finish reading-- alright, looking at the pictures-- of that wonderfully riveting men's magazine and it wouldn't have mattered. He was already steering me by the shoulders down the stairs to the kitchen.
The kitchen was just as huge as the rest of the house. It was also just as beautifully decorated with very expensive furnishings. Their household help bustled about as we entered the kitchen. It was very rare for the actual inhabitants of the house to be seen in there, it seems. The whole scene reminded me a lot about my grandparents' house, actually. My grandmother was always such a bitch to the maids. And I'm guessing with the way everyone seems to be scampering about, someone in their household must be pretty bitchy as well. Yikes.
"You look like the type who loves ice cream," he surmised quizzically. "What flavor do you want?"
"Uh, no thanks," I told him. "I'm not really in an ice cream-eating mood right now."
"Oh come on, live a little!" he cried dramatically, then tossed me a pint. It was very obviously home-made. I wondered where they bought those containers for a split second. "This mint chocolate chip's got your name on it."
I caught it, but just barely. I was never good at playing catch. He extracted a spoon from one of the drawers and handed it to me.
A plump woman in uniform suddenly came in and snatched the pint from my hand.
"No, master Valking Vet Dream!" The woman shrilled in a thick European accent, and did the same to Walking Wet Dream's ice cream. "Dinner vill be served soon, and zis vill spoil your appetite, no? Your mama will, how you say, reprimand me if you don't show up to dinner again!"
Hmm. So his mom's the bitch...
"Chillax, Stout European-ish Maid," Walking Wet Dream fired back, a tinge of annoyance evident in his voice. "It's just a pint. I'll still have room for more after I'm done with it."
"No!" Stout European-ish Maid exclaimed. "Now, is your friend staying for dinner?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Ay! Four people. Four people to serve tonight!" Stout European-ish Maid cried out. "Tonight there is no rest for Stout European-ish Maid!"
"Wait, four?" Walking Wet Dream asked, as Stout European-ish Maid started to head for the pantry in another room. "What do you mean four? Who else is coming?"
She didn't answer him back. She was too busy cursing the gods.
He pushed me against the wall the minute I entered the room. Hard.
"Walking Wet Dream, don't- "
Too late. His lips had already enveloped mine, his tongue forcing its way in. His body pressed mine in an almost suffocating way. He was literally taking my breath away.
"Don't fight it, Poor Little Rich Boy," he said rather huskily, and it just about melted all my walls. "Just let yourself go."
"B-but, this is wrong," I stuttered like a bumbling idiot.
But he wasn't listening at all. He was too busy doing crazy things with his tongue to the back of my right ear, until finally forcing an elicit moan out of me.
"I'm taking that as a yes," he said to me with that evil sneer of his and that evil gleam in his eye.
He didn't wait for my reply. He just dove back in my neck like a famished madman, and proceeded to suck the life out of me. I knew it would leave me with a hickey later on, but it just felt too good to stop.
"We need to get out of these clothes," he cried desperately. "God, why do we have too much stuff on!?"
I laughed despite myself. We both only had t-shirts and shorts on.
In a flurry of hands and hurried movement, we soon had our clothes off and he was now pulling me to the bed.
He kissed me like there was no tomorrow. His tongue fought with mine for dominance. His strong, powerful hands cradled my jaw as we chewed each other's mouths. He pushed me onto the bed, and immediately followed suit. His mouth once again found mine, his beautiful body pinning me down, crushing my body with his weight. And the battle between our tongues commenced. Our lips both felt raw already, and I was sure his five o'clock shadow would give me razor burns afterwards, but nothing seemed to matter somehow.
He started kissing his way down my body, his tongue sensuously tracing every contour of muscle and skin. Eventually he found a nipple, and I couldn't help but cry out in pleasure. His hand somehow found my throbbing erection, and he gave it a hard squeeze.
I gasped in pleasure.
His mouth found my other nipple, and he decided it needed the same treatment as the other one. He was running his hand up and down my cock and balls, while the other one found its way to my butt.
He started running his tongue down my abs. The bastard was tracing every defined muscle contour there, and it was making me squirm. I was crying in pleasure, and I can feel his sneer on my skin as he French-kissed my belly button. The son-of-a-bitch was enjoying this.
I tried to grab my dick, I had to stroke myself, but his hand would just push mine away. The anticipation was killing me, and I groaned my discomfort.
All of a sudden my dick was engulfed in warm, velvety softness. I cried out. It felt so good! No one's deep-throated me before, especially not in one gulp. And apparently he had a very talented tongue. How the fuck was he doing that with his tongue? It felt like he was trying to swallow me, or something. At the same time, he was lapping up the underside of my dick, slobbering this way and that. He was groaning in pleasure, and the vibrations on my dick were pure heaven.
Then with his lips, he squeezed his way up to the head. His tongue flicked my piss slit, and my pre-cum just flowed out. He was going up and down on the underside of my head, and I was always really sensitive there. Shit, if he keeps this up I'm gonna blow, and I tell him so.
I think that may have been his intentions because his only response was to speed up. I was pulling on his hair as his head bobbed up and down in a hurried frenzy. His finger had made its way into my virgin asshole, and he was teasing the puckered opening, in time with the movement of his mouth on my cock.
"I'm getting close!" I warn him, so that he could back down and jerk me off to climax.
Instead he swallows my dick whole, and his finger plunges deep within my bum. Somehow it found my prostate, and the intense feelings sent shivers down my spine.
I can feel the cum boiling in my balls. It was too much. The feelings were just too intense. I'm gonna shoot! I'm gonna come! Oh God, I'm gonna shoot down his throat! It's coming! I'm gonna...
Cold water droplets hit my warm skin, and I felt an involuntary shiver run through me.
And I woke up. I had apparently fallen asleep.
"Wha- ?" I mumbled groggily, still slightly disoriented, not to mention recovering, from my dream. I immediately thought it had started to rain or something, and propped myself up on my elbows. It wasn't rain after all.
"Morning, sleepyhead!"
It was him. The undeniably gorgeous Walking Wet Dream. The bastard was wet all over from swimming in the pool, and was shaking the water off, like a goddamn dog, on top of me. On freakin' purpose! And the jerk had the audacity to smile that wicked smile of his with his two, not one, TWO adorable dimples like it was funny.
Instead of becoming slightly annoyed like I'd usually be, I surprised myself with the realization that I couldn't help but notice his perfect smile and perfect dimples and perfectly white teeth. Or how perfectly wet he was. Or that he was only clad in these really snug pair of what he jokingly referred to as a "dirty banana hammock", which showed off his perfect physique. And by physique I mean his body, but I also mean his, you know, because the wetness made the fabric of the Speedo... "cling" and, well, you know. His wet swim trunks showed off his very prominent set of family jewels, and I couldn't make myself look away. How sick am I? Good thing I was wearing sunglasses, otherwise that would've been embarrassing. But seriously, it was almost as if those "things" were hypnotizing me somehow. Yep, it's definitely a good thing, wearing those sunglasses. Have I already mentioned he had a perfect body? With perfect muscles in all the right sexy places? And they fucking glistened! Yes you heard me, they fucking glistened, PERFECTLY, under the sun. I swear to God that guy must have been a Greek god in a past life or something. No one is that perfect!
((Sigh)) I also couldn't help but notice that I was rambling about his "perfection", which could only mean that I do have a huge man-crush on him. My very first one. I'm still trying to process this whole thing desperately, but at this point, there's no use undermining my infatuation with him. I was that smitten.
"Looks like somebody had a good dream," he teased, glancing at my crotch.
I was hard and tenting. It couldn't be helped. I had on his board shorts. They're at least a size bigger. `Nuff said.
"Oh, shit!" I exclaimed, bolting upright to cover the obvious cause of my sudden mortification with my hands. Not that it mattered anymore since he's already seen it, and he laughed hysterically.
"Must've been some dream eh, Poor Little Rich Boy?" He said, wiggling his perfectly arched eyebrows at me.
I blushed crimson as I was reminded of my dream. My very erotic sex dream. Of him. The bastard with the perfect physique, and perfect everything else.
"Oh, shut up!"
He just laughed at me some more.
"Come on, we better get back inside and shower. I bet dinner is just about set, and mom will freak if I'm late again."
I groggily nodded my head in agreement, even when in reality, all I actually heard was "shower". Get a fucking grip, I thought to myself. You're not showering together, dumbass.
After showering, Walking Wet Dream lent me his old dress shirt and sweater, and a pair of very nice slacks. I wasn't swimming in them, thank God, but I liked my clothes more fit to my body. But regardless, I was glad. For a while there I worried I wouldn't have anything decent to wear; because if this house had any resemblance to my grandmother's, these people took their dinners very seriously.
"Well, well, well. Who do we have here?"
I looked up from my empty plate to see a young, slightly disheveled man with murderous good looks.
He was looking right at me.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Walking Wet Dream cried. I saw his face fill with rage as he looked at the intruder.
"What? Can't a guy visit his own family, little brother?" Fucking Sex on a Stick fired back, as he took a seat opposite Walking Wet Dream on the table. He was still looking at me, only now, he had a playful twinkle in his eye and his mouth curled up in a seductive lopsided grin. "Who's the pretty boy?"
"I thought you left for good?" Walking Wet Dream questioned him suspiciously, demandingly. Yeah, he really didn't wanna be called that. "Lemme guess. You've ran out of money? Or should I say, your fair share of the inheritance, the way you so eloquently like to put it?"
Oh, snap! This time, Fucking Sex on a Stick looked back at him. Seems to me, this family has a bit of a classic Prodigal Son story going on.
"You got me, little brother," Fucking Sex on a Stick said cheekily. The way he said it, it was as if he was unfazed by Walking Wet Dream's accusations. And that snide sneer of his, it suggests something more behind his sudden return home.
A disembodied voice suddenly wafted into the dining room.
"So I told her, `Oh for heaven's sake, just fire the guy already!' Can you imagine the incompetence of that woman?" Mrs. Bitch Mom prattled on the phone, laughing over what seems to be some guy's misfortune. She entered the dining room and sat at the head of the table. With a quick nod to Stout European-ish Maid, she and the others hurriedly went into the kitchen to get the first course, which turned out to be a sort of consommé. "Good evening boys."
"Hello, mother dearest," Fucking Sex on a Stick said in greeting, the slightest hint of sarcasm present in his voice.
"Fucking Sex on a Stick, you may have emancipated yourself from this family, but I expect you to keep your proper upbringing intact. Couldn't you have at least worn something more... appropriate for dinner?" Mrs. Bitch Mom scrutinized, wrinkling her nose at her son's choice in attire. But then her eyes ever so coolly glanced my way. "Especially in the presence of... company?"
"Good evening, ma'am," I said politely with a contrived smile, taking that as my cue to introduce myself. She returned it with a tight-lipped one of her own. "I'm-- "
"Uh, mother I'd like you to meet Poor Little Rich Boy," Walking Wet Dream interjected. "My, um, boyfriend."
...What the!?
Oh, boy. Everything's gonna be alright. Right? Right??