Lip Lickin' Goodness by Criss Moody

I want.

I want him.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Me, innocent little farmboy, wants to take a huge, muscled, dark monster like that, fly into his body with my soul and spirit and cock until there's nothing left but a puddle of blood and semen.

But I still have dreams. I have fantasies. Visions where my large, white hands cup the dark, bruise-colored flesh of his ass, spread it wide, plunge my hot wet tongue up his crack as the big boy squirms and squeals, restrained by painfully restrictive manacles. He's spread-eagled, pulled tightly in four directions, his naked cock held in a cock ring. This isn't supposed to be fun for him, you understand, but to his shame and humiliation, the strong, capable soldier whimpers and cries like a baby, tears run salt tracks down his sculpted face…but he still grunts and rubs his silken, tensile hardness against the rough cotton covers below, eager for any contact at all.

I want to rip into him, feel the blood pulse around my cock, the echoing scream wash through his body as my thick 9 inch cock hammers into the little virgin hole. I know that he's never even played with it; he told me once a girlfriend had tried, but he had said it was "too dirty." I know that I could kill him from blood loss, that I should use lube, maybe just saliva, but that small nasty thrill, the possibility of causing death, just makes me harder, makes me slam my balls up against his sweetly rounded buttocks faster. For a split second, I wish that I had a demon inside of me, so I could literally devour this dark chocolate flesh, blood swirling in my mouth, finer than anything I'd ever tasted before.

The fantasy always ends the same way.

I'm just about to come, sliding into the hot tight hole on blood and precome, viciously twisting his nipples, licking up the beaded sweat on his back, when I hear the first word. You see, I'd never gag him, I like to put my hands in his mouth, use his cheeks to steady myself as I wildly drive myself to mindless, gut-wrenching orgasm.

"Please," he says, "please, let me come, please." He chews intently on my fingers, slurping and sucking on them as if they are however many tiny penises, and his coming depended on their pleasure.

Just before my cock shudders, erupts into a volcano of white streams of semen, I withdraw quickly, and he bites the pillow beneath him to keep from howling. Avariciously, I dive down to his ass, and taste the combination of blood, sweat, a musky, heady smell reminiscent of feces, and intense fear, rolling all of them around on my tongue.

Swiftly, before my fantasy ends and I awake, I unsnap the manacles, flip him over, and ram my cock down his gaping throat before he can protest. One, two, three thrusts and I'm home, jetting silky long streams of come down his gullet, choking him, making his eyes cross and his hands grip my ass tightly in a vain effort to throw me off of him. I lean up against the headboard and enjoy the lingering ebbs of the orgasm, the contractions of his throat around my poor neglected cock. His struggles ease and soon die off as he loses consciousness. I know that if I left my cock there long enough he could die of oxygen deprivation; the air his nostrils could bring in wouldn't be enough. He'd just fade away, maybe wake for a small squirm, a thrust against the punishing manhood down his abused throat, but he'd die all the same.

Instead, I exit his throat, leaving his semen glistening mouth hanging open. His bobbing cock still throbs, held in check by the studded piece of leather strapped tightly around the balls and the monster cock. Now, I know I have a good-sized piece of meat hanging off of me, but my friend here is seriously stud material. He's had girls actually refuse him. In every dream, I consider waiting for him to wake, so he can fuck me, but I always decide that that wouldn't be any fun, and I continue as I do every night.

As by some midnight miracle my flaccid member begins to harden and pulse once more, I undo the cock ring, flip him over again, and re-manacle his right arm and his left leg. It puts him off-balance when he wakes up.

Now comes the really good part.

A handsome tail flogger appears in my hand, and I experimentally snap it against the air, watching the leather tails separate and then fly back together. I stand up and survey my prize. Savagely, I apply the flogger to the beautifully dark skin below me, first one buttock, then the other, then a systematic rain of thudding blows up and down his back. Eventually, his ass begins to rise to meet the thrusts, and on the fall down, his super-sensitive penis grinds against the bed. Soon, always too soon, the long tortured piece of flesh deflates, the come thundering out to flood the area under his body.

Temporarily sated, I leave him there to rot in the stink and the wet as I casually walk into the showers, my hard-on bouncing in front of me. In the shower, I grip my cock tightly, and pull on it, brutal, fast, until I'm coming so hard I see stars and start to slip down to concrete floor…

"Riley? Man, are you still asleep? Haven't you heard about that great newfangled invention called the 'alarm clock?" A cocky, too handsome dark face leers at me. Forrest stands back from my bed and crosses his arms.

"Fuck off Gates, I’m up."

"Oh, I see that you're 'up' alright. Whadja do, get inside that hot little piece you call a girlfriend during dream hours?"

"Yeah, Forrest that was it. Now get the hell out of here and let me be."

"Whatever man, I'll see you in the showers."

As Forrest ambles away, his ass well defined by the white cotton boxers he wears, I angle my gaze at my departing friend's backside, watching the shift of the gluteal muscles.

Licking my lips, I gather my shower stuff and head off to join him in the bathroom.

Sit on my face and tell me that you love me.