Page 14 of Kiss-Fist
It hasn’t helped that I had to masturbate before driving here. It was a desperate, ugly jack-off session in the men’s toilets before I left. I’ve never felt dirtier in my entire life, but my self-preservation depended on it. My ego and pride as well.
I refused to pop another boner in the gym with that hearing man.
Thom.
A silly name for a silly man with silly muscles and a silly crotch.
Yes. I shall think of him no longer.
He probably isn’t even here. I bet he has a life outside of this. I bet he’s not even into men and is straight as an arrow. I bet he hasn’t even thought of me at all.
Just as that thought crosses my mind, Thom rounds a corner, wearing the same damn thing he was yesterday. Backward cap, thin nipple-showing shirt, and shorts that aredry today but far too tight. His ass looks like a literal peach, which is completely unfair.
I swallow as his eyes slam into mine, a grin forming on his face, those dimples popping out. His hand flicks up, and he waves, moving toward me hurriedly.
I stumble back, already feeling the twitch between my legs.
Mayday! Abort!
Oh my god, he’s so close. I can see those dark lashes up close. I can smell the soap from his shower lingering on his skin. His hand is touching me, sliding down my hip, making my dick leak.
I can’t breathe. I can’t fuckingbreathe.
But before I can pass out from it all, he grabs my phone, holds it up to my face to unlock it, and then gets to typing. It’s a major invasion of privacy, and I’m so taken aback by it I just stand there and let it happen. It has nothing to do with his nipples or the fact that I am watching them get hard as he stands in front of me.
Thom: ur bk
He holds it up to my face so I can read it, and fuck, I’m glad it’s a short note because my brain isn’t functioning right now. All blood flow has traveled down to my penis.
Thom: why u her? wrkot agan?
He holds it up for me to read, and I manage a small nodbefore pulling the phone away and typing that I’m sore and looking for a recovery.
Thom seems to know exactly what I mean and grabs onto my wrist, pulling me forward. I nearly drop my phone as he hauls me over to a place in the gym where they have mats on the floor and foam rollers.
He points to a mat, and I stare at it before getting the hint.
Right, he wants me to sit down.
He shakes his head and then fingerspellslay.
Oh god, no. I shouldn’t do it, and yet I am.
And he’s falling to his knees, right between my spread legs.
He can for sure see my dick imprint. At least today I wore a jockstrap to keep my unruly dick in line. Thank fuck for that. He grabs my phone again, and his thick fingers type something out.
Thom: Wht hrts?
I don’t even bother writing. Just point to my shoulders, my arms, and my legs.
I almost point to my crotch but refrain.
Thom’s eyes sparkle as he watches me. Damn him. But he’s not making fun of me at all, just nods and grabs two rollers and holds them up, putting them together and then pushing me onto my back once more. The roller ends up near my shoulders, and he knee walks up between my legs, and grabs onto my hips.
Oh, this is terrible. Rhett knew what would happen when he suggested this, and yet he did it anyway.
I’m going to murder him. Literally. I can train a new interpreter to be as good as him. Who needs that buttface!
