Page 42 of Stroke Rate

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm playing with," he said, his hand closing around River's denim-covered cock with a firm, knowing grip. River moaned so loud he threw a hand over his own mouth to muffle the sound, making Chris laugh. “Don’t hold back,” Chris urged, his hand continuing to work River over his pants. He paused, his lips brushing River's in a chaste kiss, then whispered, "Come on," with a nod of his head. He intertwined his fingers with River's as he led him deeper into the corridor.

The rhythmic thud of Chris’ heartbeat echoed in his dick as he led River further into the depths of the club. A thick, honey-like sensation spread through the rest of his body; a slow, viscous flow of lust consumed him. Moving into a shadowy alcove, the dim light was just sufficient enough for them to glimpse one another. A languid, assessing look from River traveled from Chris’ head to his feet; a lazy grin unfurled as his hand shot out, clamping around Chris’ throat, pressing him against the textured fabric of the wall. River’s other hand snaked under Chris’ shirt, roaming up and down his rib cage, owning Chris with every sensual touch. With a predatory gaze, River applied more pressure to Chris’ throat, his fingers forming a constricting circle, as he forced Chris’ chin upwards.

“This okay?”

“Yes,” Chris hissed as he thrust his hips forward. “More,” he begged, making slow rolls of his hips, his rock-hard dick rubbing against River’s equally hard length. River’s breaths were mere whispers, eyes heavy-lidded, and a soft pretty pink bloomed over his cheeks. Chris wanted them naked, in a bed; he wanted to worship and lick every single part of River’s body. Instead, they were dry–humping in a club hallway. River dipped his head, placed a long wet lick across the seam of Chris’ mouth, then let go, taking a giant step back. Chris stood panting, his eyes struggling to track River’s every move.

River’s smile was feline; he looked so pleased with himself. “Stay. Keep your back against the wall. You have been a tease all month. Those tiny swimsuits and no underwear under your gym shorts. You played your game, and now I get to play mine,” he said, chuckling as Chris gaped at him.

“Fuck Riv, I'm so hard. It hurts,” he said, rubbing himself to get some relief.

River tutted as he backed against the opposing wall, never breaking eye contact as he echoed Chris’ movements. “Stay, be a good boy. Back against the wall, you don’t get to touch me, only watch.”

“Fuck,” Chris whined as he watched River pop his button.

“Not fun being teased, is it?”

Seeing River smile, Chris felt an almost animalistic urge to be on his knees, to submit, and lavish River with pleasure.

He wanted to have River’s thick cock lodged so far down his throat that he was breathless and buoyant.

Chris wanted to be nothing. A void for River to fill and the singular, most crucial element in River’s life.

“Can I, can I touch myself?” Chris whimpered as he ran a finger under the waistband of his pants.

“Yes, baby, you can touch yourself.”

Chris pushed his hand down the front of his pants, hissing as he took his rock-hard length in his hand, stroking from root to tip.

“Fuucckk, Riv. I want to see. Please.”

They had their hands down their pants like teenagers, and a lusty feedback loop ran between them—one of panting breaths and sultry looks, of whines and whimpers and a soft, “please, please, please,” that Chris couldn't stop chanting. River slowly eased down the tab of his zipper; the sharp sound of the snick cut through the quiet air between them. Lowering his pants and briefs just enough, he exposed his huge cock with a steady trickle of precum dripping from the tip. Taking his tight balls in a firm grip, his muscles tensed and his face contorted as ‌if he was fighting off his release.

“Jesus fuck. Look what you do to me, Chris. Look how hard I am for you. All month, all fucking month, I imagined you on your knees for me, as I came in the shower. All fucking month I woke up just like this: hard, leaking and wanting. Fuck,” he panted as he ran his thumb around the tip, pressing into his slit.

A soft mewl left Chris as he watched the precum drip to the floor, wanting the taste of River on his tongue. He gripped the root of his shaft to stave off the tingling he felt in his groin, scared he would come too fast if he didn't manage to calm himself down. His eyes flicked from River’s eyes to his mouth, to his cock, and then back up. Over and over, hypnotized by the glint in River’s eyes, the smirk on his face, and the speed at which his hand was pumping his dick.

“Take your cock out, you dirty little boy. Show me how hard watching me makes you. Because this.” River gave himself a hard stroke, all the way down then up–before making small circles right over his frenulum with his thumb. “This is how hard you make me,” he stated, grunting as he quickened his stroke. “Have you felt the same way?”

Chris dropped his pants so fast they were around his knees before River even blinked, pulling his shirt up with his teeth. His abs flexed as he ran his hand down every rigid bump. And although Chris was being tortured at the moment, he loved getting to watch River pleasure himself. He loved feeling the phantom touch on his own dick. It was one of his favorite parts of being with a man. The fact that he knew exactly how they felt, knew what it felt like to snake a hand down his body and grab his shaft. Knew what it felt like when River ran his thumb over the oozing precum at his tip. Knew what it felt like to slowly glide the cylinder of his fist up and down his cock. He knew it so well that as he watched River touch himself, he swore he could feel it on his own cock. That feedback loop of pleasure between them ensured they kept their eyes locked on each other.

“Yes,” Chris moaned.

River panted. “What?”

“It's only you. I thought about only you.” Groaning as cum spilled over his knuckles, dripping onto the floor, as he continued fucking into his fist, milking every drop from himself. Chris lifted heavy eyelids and smiled as River awkwardly waddled over to him, pants around his ankles, his cock bobbing.

“Don’t trip,” Chris smarted.

River stopped before Chris as he continued to stroke himself, the motions growing more desperate, more urgent.

“Kiss me, touch me, please,” River panted.

Chris didn't hesitate and wrapped his clean hand around the back of River’s neck, crashing their mouths together. The feeling of River’s plump lips on his own, their tongues tangling, and his cum-filled fist wrapping around River’s length had his soft cock twitching back to life. River moaned as Chris gave him one more firm pump, twisting his fist over his wet crown, and River came. Whimpering his orgasm into Chris' mouth, shooting his release all over Chris’ stomach. Chris grabbed River’s chin and ate at his mouth like his moans were his last meal. River’s hips continued to jerk as his climax slowly ebbed. They stayed like that, kissing, pressed together, cum slippery between them, until it felt a little gross. River pulled back, taking his shirt off to wipe them down, but before he could, Chris raised his hand to his mouth and licked between the webbing of his fingers, sucking them clean.

River groaned, “Jesus Christ, you're such a dirty boy.” Then, before sucking his own cum from Chris’ tongue, he caressed the piercings on Chris’ soft cock, the light, feather-like sensation causing him to shiver.

“Fuck, so sensitive, mmmmm, oh fuck, I’m going to die,” Chris whimpered.