Ed: I wasn't sure if his masks had dropped completely or I was getting better at looking past them. What I saw now was the flame of pure, undisguised desire. If I were looking at any other person, it would have made me nervous. Instead, my own desire danced through me like eager lightening. We'd not allowed the distance between us to grow much, so pulling his lips back down to mine was a simple matter of lacing my fingers into the silk of his hair. With my other hand, I carefully unbuttoned his shirt by feel. The depth of his hunger would have been scary to me, but mine was just as deep and I was just as hungry for him. Instead, I found our matching hungers thrilling and freeing. I couldn't help but smile against his lips as his hands skimmed down my torso to undo my leather pants. Inadvertently, his hand brushed against my cock, making me moan into his hungry mouth and force his dress shirt down his arms. Our kisses resumed where they ended and he finished removing his shirt. I found his kiss much like a drug, narcotic and addictive. With the precise thrust of his tongue, he drew mine into the dance of give and take that was as old as time. It was surprisingly easy for me, since it was familiar and yet not. I remembered how incredibly empty I used to feel as this dance led further and further into the all-consuming furnace of lust and want. Yet now, I felt the flames scorching at my own skins, blazing in my veins, eating away my sanity. The difference was that this act wasn't an empty joining of bodies anymore: it was about mutual want and mutual need, and the difference was glorious. Slowly, I unbuttoned and unzipped his dress slacks, sliding my hand into them and under his boxers to stroke his length, skin on skin. He gasped, startled a bit perhaps by my forwardness, and I had to smile when that gasp became a pleasured rumble in his throat. His pleasure became my own pleasure, because it wasn't just about one of us. I brought my lips to the moon-pale skin I'd fantasized about marking. Nuzzling his neck, I drew in the scent of his skin as my hand slid over his length. I sucked on the skin at his pulse-point and felt the vibrations from his roar through my lips, loving the way it made them tingle. "Ed," he murmured, "let me." He chose his words carefully, but I wasn't quite sure what he meant. Frequently, I had been purchased and used for other people's pleasures. I had been trained to be an expert at giving pleasure, cultivating it into an all-consuming fire, yet I wasn't quite sure of what he meant. Nevertheless, I trusted him. I'd trusted him with my past, then with my feelings. The least I could do was trust him with my body. So without a word, I released him and withdrew my hand. He asked for the board, so let him move the first piece. His hands went to rest upon my waist. Slowly, he worked the tight leather down my thighs, his fingertips dragging across my skin and conjuring a shiver. As soon as he had worked my pants low enough to free my cock, it jutted to attention. His smile was amused, tender, and seductive, all rolled into one gorgeous twist of his lips. When he blew air at the tip of my cock, I shivered again. "How long has it been since someone worried about your pleasure?" His voice had that low, sexy timber to it. It was seductive, mystical, powerful. I actually had to think about it. In the past, it had been more about other people's pleasure, and that usually meant that no one worried about mine. I had the occasional client that had needed a simple training-ground for sex, but again, that wasn't about my pleasure. As for my as-of-today ex-boyfriend Russell, well, his favorite thing had been to watch me take my pleasure into my own hands. Now, I understood the seductive power of watching someone find pleasure their own way, but I was honestly in a better relationship with my hand than I had been with my boyfriend. "Would you like that figure in months or years?" I asked, trying to make a joke of it. "Then I think it's high time that someone did," he told me, his voice hypnotic as he lifted me by my hips and placed my bare butt upon his recently cleared desk. Then he knelt before me, the elevation of his desk making him about mouth-level with my erection. Obsidian eyes twinkled at me for a moment, teasing me with my own over-active imagination as my mind fluttered through all of the possibilities, all the things he might do, and the anticipation. Then he moved forward, drawing my cock into his mouth. My head lolled back as a sound of pleasure ripped out of the back of my throat. His arms slid around to the base of my spine, where my braid dangled. His hand fumbled for a moment, then pulled the hair-tie out of my hair. My thick braid, once free, came unbraided easily and fell loosely down my back. His fingers laced into it gently, briefly, as though savoring the texture of my hair. His attention returned to the matter at hand –or, more accurately, the one in his mouth. His tongue swirled around the tip of my cock, though his hands hand already moved onto other tasks –like first removing my boots, then the leather pants he had already eased clear down to my ankles. When my state of undress satisfied him, I received the entirety of his undivided attention. His hands prowled up the inside of my thighs, parting them just a bit further before he took more of me into his mouth. His clever, clever hands discovered more of my skin, lingering on the more sensitive territories, while he drove me out of my mind with his mouth. The fingers of my left hand laced into his silken hair and I held on for dear life –or sanity, or something else that I couldn't quite name. Somehow, he seemed to know exactly what I liked, what my body needed, what I needed. Soon, all I could do was writhe against him as sound after sound tore out of my mouth like they had been torn out of my soul. Had it been so long since I'd really experienced my own pleasures that I was reduced to this state? He made some sort of sound as he looked up at me from his current position. It might have been a chuckle, but it was kind of hard to tell when his mouth was full. Honestly, I couldn't convince myself to care just what the noise was when the vibrations moved from his mouth to my over-sensitive body. Something that no one ever tells you about sex is that it's not about dignity. It's not pretty, it's not clean, and it is the farthest thing I can think of from dignified. It can be amazingly pleasurable for an instant but you might just regret it for the rest of your life. I knew a great deal about sex, mostly from personal experience, and I could tell you that this was nothing like sex to me. Sex was dirty, undignified, and physically satisfying. What he was doing to me… Well, yeah, it might not have been particularly pretty or clean or seemly, but it wasn't just physically satisfying. The way my heart throbbed in my chest had less to do with exertion or pleasure and more to do with the man who was driving me out of my ever-loving mind. What separates sex from love is the emotions: that feeling that you just might die if they ever stopped, the absolute euphoria of knowing that your feelings aren't just one-sided, the way that your own desire is answered and doubled by theirs. I wasn't an expert on love, but even I could tell that this was what they wrote songs and poems and romance novels about. And I was absolutely lost in it, in this moment, and I was pretty sure I would never be able to regret these moments together, even if I lived a thousand years. When he sent me hurtling over the edge of pleasure, it was all I could to keep myself from screaming 'I love you' like some lovesick fool. Then again, I was some lovesick fool, so perhaps my restraint was a little more about preserving what little was left of my dignity.
Roy: The path that ramped him up to his orgasm came to a sudden end. Though his orgasm was a bit unexpected, I did my best to swallow each drop of his essence –mostly because I could, but also because it was efficient clean-up. I drew back, watching him bask in the afterglow. I wasn't sure if it was wanting him to have that moment of bliss or wanting to watch him have that moment of bliss. I'll call back with the correct answer later, thanks. To think that he had gone so long since he's actually had someone else look to his pleasure was a transgression I was having a hard time getting over. He was absolutely gorgeous on his own, but watching him fall into ecstasy was all together more beautiful than anything I had seen before in my life. Knowing that I had been the one to push him there bathed me in pride and satisfaction. I rose from my knees, silently cursing the slight creak of pain that made me feel incredibly old. Of course, as soon as I glimpsed him from this angle once more, all I wanted to go was touch him again. Thusly, I leaned into him and nuzzled his neck, breathing his scent deep into my lungs before I pressed a tender kiss to the skin on the side of his neck. He allowed his head to loll to the side, as though to give me better access. I'm sure I chuckled before taking advantage of the opportunity he gave me. Opening my mouth, I nipped at the tender of his neck. After applying a bit of suction –just enough to titillate, not enough to leave a hicky– I nipped him once more and was rewarded for all of my efforts with his low, sensuous moan. The satisfaction I felt only grew. I adored that I had brought him to the brink of pleasure and pushed him past it. I treasured each and every moan more than any amount of precious jewels on the planet. And I cherished each and every stunning expression of adulated pleasure that crossed his face. I wanted to do these things to him over and over again, until he forgot how to do anything but simply receive the pleasure and adoration that was due him.