Page 23 of Confession
He tilts my head down slowly. My eyes travel along his notched abdomen. I already knew that his upper body was stripped of hair, not uncommon in men with tattoos, but he’s bare all the way down. My eyes greedily drink in the sight of his lower abdomen, the muscle angling inward from each hip, arrowing straight to the stiff length of his cock. The shaft is threaded with veins and the tip is flushed an angry red.
My lips part at the sight of it. My mouth waters. His pants are open but too close-fitting to fall, and the waistband of his underwear is tugged below his heavy, swollen balls. Vitali lets me take in the sight for a moment, then he wedges a finger between my teeth and forces my mouth open as he pushes his cock into it.
My eyes roll back in my head at the way he penetrates me and I know instantly that he can give me what I need. A deep terror wakes up in the back of my mind at that thought, but I wall it off and let myself exist in this moment. A moment that I never, ever thought would happen.
His finger leaves my mouth as his hand moves to the back of my head. When his cock hits the back of my throat, he stops. I look up to see his eyes on me. His lips are parted. His eyes are heavy lidded.
He says in a rough voice, “I had no idea this would look so fucking beautiful.”
I moan around his cock, which makes him close his eyes and press harder into me. I open my throat for him. I reach up and grip his swollen balls.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters and thrusts shallowly into my throat. He’s trying to be careful, but I can take him, the real him, so I knead and roll and tug his balls until he starts thrusting deeper.
My eyes are watering. I keep choking, but I don’t care. I slide my free hand up his abdomen, feeling his muscles contract as he fucks my mouth, feeling him breathe. I keep working his balls and the base of his shaft.
He’s big so it’s hard for me to take all of him, but I angle myself and open my throat to let him in. I lose myself in his musky scent, in the rhythm of his thrusting, in the feel of his cock gliding into me.
I’m so hard and aching that I drop my hand from his abs to my dick, pressing against it for relief. I moan around Vitali’s cock.
“Are you gonna come for me?” he rasps. “Choking on my cock?”
I can only moan and shudder and keep working him.
“Look at me,” he orders.
The second I look up and see his face, I come. My cry is strangled by his dick in my throat. As I jerk and seize against him while my dick pumps hot and uncontrolled in my jeans, Vitali buries myself deep and ejaculates so hard that his cock kicks inside my throat, choking and gagging me, disorienting me as I release another hot pulse of cum.
I must black out briefly because the next thing I know I’m falling forward. Vitali half catches me, but I still end up on my face, coughing.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
He has one arm hooked around my ribs, his other hand on my back. As soon as I recover enough, I sit up and push him away. I stagger to my feet and make my way to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.
I turn on the light but don’t look in the mirror. I wash my face then stay leaning over the sink while I try to regulate my breathing. My throat is raw. I can feel where he was. I can taste him.
I close my eyes as the shudders go through me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I’m upset. I 100% wanted that. I still want—
I cut that thought off before it fully forms, but it doesn’t stop the shudders from intensifying.
Just fucking breathe, Jesus Christ, he’s right outside the door.
You’re fine. You’re fucking fine, and you don’t need anything.
I breathe.
I calm down.
I push all my thoughts away.
Straightening, I grab a washcloth and do what I can to clean myself up. I didn’t expect to come from blowing him, but now I have to deal with the consequences.
I know Vitali has spare clothes here, and I know he would lend me some, but that would require more interaction with him than I’m willing to have right now. I’m too raw. He would see too much.
So I toss the washcloth in the basket and wash my hands. Then I look in the mirror.
Jesus Christ. I look drunk. I scrape back my hair with my fingers, though it doesn’t really change it, take a deep breath, and open the door.
“Are you okay?”
