Hard For My Boss

And I want him to do everything to me.

When my hands come up to his chest, I’m surprised all over again by how built and muscular he is. He is as firm as brick, and his pecs, round and shapely. I grasp the bottom of his shirt and slip my fingers underneath.

I only get a fingertip or two on his skin before he pulls away, our kiss ended in an instant.

Meeting my eyes, he grabs the bottom of his own shirt and, with his big arms crisscrossed, slowly slides it up over his head. And oh boy, does he take his time. His gorgeous abs are revealed to me all over again, one by one, ever slowly, along with his big, statuesque pecs I just a moment ago had in my palms. His body tapers perfectly from his big broad shoulders to his slender waist. He pitches his shirt aside like it means nothing to him, then fixes his smolder on me, his jaw quirked, its muscles flexed tensely.

He looks dangerous in this moment. Deadly. Dark.

And devastatingly hot.

I crumble before him. I can’t believe this is happening.

In one quick motion, he grips the backs of my legs and hoists me up onto the kitchen bar counter, completely naked except for my socks. I gasp as the cold marble surface bites my cheeks. A tall plastic container falls over and rolls off, plummeting to the tile. A stack of papers on my other side are brushed away, too.

He grips the tops of my thighs with his big, powerful hands, then spreads them apart.

My cock points up at his face, desperate, throbbing, a bead of pre-cum on its firm pink tip.

Ben doesn’t even look up at me. I’m just another juicy helping of high-dollar steak to him, an object for his pleasure, a piece of meat.

Saying that about myself has never felt hotter.

Slowly, he moves his mouth to the base of my cock. I watch, desperate to feel him on me, whether it’s his lips or tongue. I yearn for his touch so badly, I fight my instinct to buck my hips upward and force my hard cock into his mouth. I’ve never wanted something more badly than I do this.

He parts his lips at last, sensually, then lays the flat of his tongue on my cock. Taking his time, cruelly, he runs it up the entire length from base to tip.

I groan, driven crazy by his tongue. I cling to the hard counter as best as I can, legs spread, nipples hard, cool air all over my skin. I’m so overwhelmed with sensations, I feel like I’m falling apart.

When he reaches my cockhead, his tongue disappears, and he perks his lips to kiss it tenderly. His lips work with sweet finesse, the way one kisses his lover during a slow dance, the way one tastes the cool water from a drinking fountain, the way one savors the nippled tip of a perfect swirl of ice cream.

Consider dessert served.

He opens his mouth and lets in my cock, inch by inch. I arch my back, overcome with the warm feel of the inside of his wet mouth and tongue as it slides down my cock, swallowing it whole. His mouth is the only warmth I know.

And then he starts to suck it, the pressure building. He pulls back, then swallows it all over again, inch by inch.

The suction makes me crazy. I watch him, my mouth unable to close, my eyes alight and drunk with ecstasy.

Every experience I’ve had with an ex-boyfriend has just been obliterated. In this instant, I realize I’ve never had a blowjob.

Not a proper one. Not like this.

Each time he pulls up and then slides back down my cock, the suction builds. His warm wet lips and slippery tongue work me to a throbbing, aching, desperate edge of imminent explosion.

Yet he keeps his pace torturously slow, twisting up my cock, then slowly easing down, sucking me like the world’s tastiest lollipop, the flavor of which he wants to enjoy every lick of.

All at my tortured, impatient expense.

I can only wait, tighten every muscle in my body, and suffer the agonizing, throbbing enjoyment of it.

Make an end of it already, I beg him through my clenched teeth, through my jagged gasps, through my clinging hands—which have since taken hold of his firm, muscular shoulders at some point that I don’t remember. Let me come and make an end of it, please, please, Ben, please let me come.

His mouth slides right off my cock and then his hand replaces it, stroking me slowly, slippery, and smooth. He looks up at me with wet, glistening lips, a devious smirk twisting them.

“Goddamn, Ben,” I breathe, quivering. “I gotta come. Please. Fuck. I gotta come.”

He rises up from between my wide-open thighs, his muscular form towering over me even as I’m on the counter. Light spilling in from the dining room catches every ridge of his muscles, giving a glow to his six-pack and the sides of his pecs. His biceps shine spectacularly as they flex with his every slow pump of my dick.