Page 32 of Poetry On Ice
“Jacking off,” I reply, taking care to keep my tone breezy. I let out a sorry little sigh as I start stroking. “Ihave to. I’m so hard and horny, and I can’t fall asleep with my dick like this.”
Decker’s Adam’s apple travels up his throat and hovers. When he swallows, he does it so hard I hear an audible gulp. I like knowing I’m affecting him. It gives me a dizzying surge of power that goes straight to my head. At the same time, I know I’m crossing a bunch of lines here, and even though I’m enjoying myself more than I have all week, a really dumb part of me wants his permission to do this.
“D’you want me to go to the bathroom?”
“Uh, erm, nah. I mean, no. It’s fine…I’mfine.”
Relief washes over me. My limbs go lax at the sound of his voice. He’s okay with me being here. Doing this.
I’m lying on my back, with my head on the pillow, face turned toward him. I keep my eyes on him as I start to stroke and feel the first warm breath of good things flowing through me as my hand travels up my shaft. I bring it down slowly. Firmly but not too firmly. I want to make it last. I want to make myself feel good, and ideally, I want to drive Decker completely crazy as I do it.
There’s a gentle flutter. A light prickle. Papery wings on my skin. It strengthens and morphs as I touch myself. At first, the sounds I make are for him, exaggerated andchosen for his benefit. Meant to agitate him. To disturb and excite him.
And then they’re not. They change. They’re for me now.
They’re because I’m here, half-naked with my cock in my hand, and Ant Decker is here too. He’s close. He’s on his bed, arms ramrod-straight at his sides, clutching at the bedcovers. I see it. Big hands on soft linen, balling it up, squeezing it rhythmically. Crushing it, tugging at it because he can’t help himself.
He can deny it all he wants, but he wants me as much as I want him.
I know it.
“Decker,” it’s an offer, an olive branch, “d’you want to watch? It’s okay if you do.” His head lolls to the side as though he means to shake it, but once it’s turned in my direction, he forgets to move it back the other way. “I want you to.”
He reaches up, defeated, and pushes his eye mask up. His hair is disheveled, and he blinks hard, like someone or something emerging from a long hibernation. He watches me like that for what feels like forever but is probably only a few seconds and slinks off his bed. His feet are on the carpeted floor between our beds for two beats, and then the mattress dips and he’s on my bed.On me. Straddling my thighs, holding me down with his body, watching intently as I jerk myself off.
Butterfly wings and light flutters quickly turn to tingles. My limbs lock, toes tensing as my hips thrust to get closer to him.
Aside from the weight of him on my legs, he doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t need to. I feel his gaze harder than I’ve ever felt anyone’s touch. It’s heavy and thick. Hot like honey that’s been in the sun. It runs up my thighs and down my chest, meeting in the middle and doubling in intensity.
He’s looking down at me, tracking my hand as it slides up and down my length. His lips are ajar. A soft hint of pink in a forest of dark hair. From where I lie, his eyes almost look closed. Shadows are splayed out on his cheeks. Dark lashes and messy hair. Nerdy pajamas and rough, rasping breaths.
It’s too much. Too hot. Too close and not nearly enough.
“Please,” I whimper. “Decker,please.”
My orgasm is close, circling me. Strangling me. An unstoppable force swelling inside me. A force that needs to let loose.
I buck beneath him, frantic, feral because he’s here, in my grasp, but he’s not touching me. “Please,” Isay again, this time through clenched teeth with my neck and chest arching off the mattress.
My eyes are open and wild, stinging because of how much they need to clamp shut to stem my impending release. Decker’s head drops forward, still not touching me but almost close enough to kiss me, and his next breath is punctured by a soft groan. I feel that groan under my sternum. I feel it at the base of my skull. I fuck into my hand once, twice more, and then drag my hand off my cock even though I know damn well that if Decker hesitates, if he takes so much as two seconds to react instead of one, I’ll have ruined my own orgasm.
He doesn’t.
Say what you will about the man, but his reflexes are fire. He circles my throbbing cock without hesitation, holding it tightly, pumping it hard, and catapulting me into another dimension.
I come so hard it’s almost painful. Almost violent. I’m still in the throes of it when Decker’s weight shifts. He moves over me, hands and knees on either side of me as I thrash under him, and straddles my chest. I arch beneath him, straining for more contact. He pushes his pants down, and as he does, I raise both hands above my head and cross them at the wrists. He takes it for what it is: an act of surrender. He leans over me, taking both of mywrists in one hand, and starts stroking himself with the other.
I struggle like crazy. At first, I do it purely to improve my view of his cock with so much of his fucking pajama top blocking my view, then I do it to test his strength. It’s impressive. A dead weight, a solid slab of ice holding me down. It’s more though. It’s not just confinement, not just restraint. My body fights, thrashing and writhing as hard as I can. Each time I do it, I’m met by an unyielding wall of resistance that makes me let go of something. Something small, something big. Something I didn’t realize I was holding on to at all.
I don’t blink the entire time. His cock is aimed straight at my face, head dark red and leaking profusely. Pulsing in his fist as he manhandles it. I still as his strokes quicken, and when I do, I become aware of a soft chorus of begging and pleas.
They’re coming from me.
I know what’s about to happen. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out, but still, I want to make it clear that I understand my position. I know Decker is about to choke the life out of his cock and blow his load all over my face. I know it. It’s humiliating as fuck, but there’s nothing I can do about it. He’s holding me down. I’m helpless.
What’s of interest to me, even now, even in this animal state, is that I’m not sure how much I mind. I’m not sure I mind at all. In fact, there’s a chance I’m not begging him not to do it.
There’s a good chance I’m asking for it.