Page 102 of Twisted Needs

“Gooooodddd…that’s real good, baby.” I purr. I let go of his head and let him do his own thing.

His tiny mouth makes my eleven inches look more like fifty, and for a second I do feel bad for him. But then his tongue swipes along the ridge of a bulging vein and all that guilt fizzles into pleasure. I can’t tell which turns me on more—the fact that I have half my cock down the throat of a beautiful young boy, or the fact that Anders is on his knees before me making an absolute mess of himself as he pleasures the hell out of me.

All I know is…God. I need to taste that ass as soon as possible. Boy do I have plans for it…

When he finds a steady rhythm, my shoulders loosen, like I’m giving in without thinking about it. Each tiny feeling of his throat contracting around me, and the sound of him deeply moaning sends spikes of delight pulsing through my entire body. My fingers loosen their grip on the comforter, and I lean back against my elbows to hold myself up.

Those fucking puckering noises are the only thing I can truly focus on. Not because the sound digs its claws into me, but because the wave of pleasure that follows hits me so hard that everything else fades for a long second. I cling onto the tiny sound like it’s my lifeline, only mustering enough strength to mutter a quick “I’m coming,” to warn Anders before I spurt directly into the back of his throat a few seconds later.

“Fuckkkk…swallow that cum, angel.” I groan shakily, like the release catches me off guard. I hold Anders’ head in place again until I’ve let it all out. After a few twitches of my legs, I release my hold on him. Anders coughs me out, collapsing against the bed beside me and burying his head into the bunched up comforter.

I fall back completely against the bed. Anders still bows his head over the edge like he’s saying his nightly prayers. Finally, after I take hold of my breath, I push myself back up. The room spins for a second, making my ears ring. But the only thing my eyes land on is him.

I thread my fingers through the messy strands of his soft, sandy curls—slicked with sweat like he’s just finished a marathon.

“Look up at me,” I murmur deeply, guiding his head up.

His eyes are bloodshot. His cheeks are stained with tears. There’s a cloudy mixture of cum and sweat and saliva running down his chin. And he’s never looked more perfect than he does at this very moment. Because he looks like he’s mine.

“Come here.”

Slowly, he rises to his feet. I hook my arm around his naked waist and brush his hair out of his eyes. And then I kiss him gently. As slow as I would if we had all the time in the world.

My tongue explores the inside of his mouth, some of my cum still resting on the top of his tongue. I run my fingers down his chin, spreading the wetness down his chest until my fingers trail right on top of the waistband of his sleep shorts.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” I whisper against his lips. “It’s your turn.”

“Wait—” Anders pulls back a little and flickers his eyes down. He tugs the front of his shorts down, revealing the moisture that glistens in the soft, warm light.

“You came in your shorts?”

He nods. “I didn’t know if you’d—” His cheeks flush with embarrassment.

I quickly shake my head, holding him firmly by the jaw. I swipe my thumb along his chin before brushing it right along his bottom lip.

“Don’t do that again,” I whisper. “I want you to enjoy it, too.”

“I did,” he argues gently.

I kiss him chastely. “Don’t do that again,” I say again. “That’s my job.”

I swipe the warm, wet cloth against his skin, cleaning off any traces of his creamy arousal.

We exist in a comfortable stretch of silence as we brush our teeth together. Anders brought his toothbrush into my bathroom because he refused to let me put him down until we crossed the threshold into my bedroom.

He leans down and spits after I do, some of the toothpaste gathering in the corner of his mouth. I watch it happen like it’s in slow motion. He swipes his thumb over his mouth to gather the toothpaste before holding it under the running sink water to rinse it away.

Anders rubs some water over his face, washing away the thin sheen of sweat still lingering on his skin. I follow suit, still watching in amusement as he follows some sort of routine that exists entirely in the back of his mind.

It’s ridiculous how much I enjoy watching him do absolutely nothing. For years, I convinced myself I wasn’t paying attention. That I wasn’t memorizing these little habits…turns out I was paying attention to all of it.

My heart stutters a little when he finally stands up straight and looks up at me with a soft, tender look in his doe eyes. “I’m gonna go back to my bathroom and get a quick shower,” he tells me. “I can’t sleep with all this gross sweat all over me.”

“Can you just shower in here?” I ask a little hopefully. “We can take turns,” I quickly add. “I’ll wait in my room.”

“I can’t use your shampoo,” he tells me like even the thought of it sends him into dire straits. And it’s the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever heard because it’s such an Anders thing to say.

“Okay,” I sigh dramatically. “If you hate me…”