Another Moment

My cock, hard. Not like a diamond, but hard like a car tyre – solid, unyielding, but slightly pliable. Not erect, but laying against my thigh. I feel it strain against the strong harsh denim of my jeans. It wants to stand proud, be touched, caressed, stroked, kissed and maybe sucked.

I will wank later, vigorous arm movements and, if I can hold myself for long enough, that long pause before my thick come streams away from me and drops across my hand like a party-popper, my breath held, unable to move as I imagine your touch.

But for now, I just stop, and think of the smooth soft strip of hair between your legs, and everything it leads to, and just enjoy my thoughts, the feeling of my own thickness, firmness against my leg, restrained and covered.

Cap’n, she’s gonna blow!

Today has been unbearable. After spending most of the last 7 days talking to somebody absolutely gorgeous, fit and horny as hell, I’ve spent today with cleavages under my nose the whole time. This morning, I was working with a couple of sensationally pretty young new starts, and spent most of the conversations I had with them (me standing and looking at their screens, them sitting next to me) trying desperately not to stare constantly at their firm, soft pretty little tits. Without much success.

I got back to my desk and got chatting over IM to my 21-y-o intern about underwear, and spent most of the afternoon trying to conceal a massive hard-on under my desk.

And on my commute home, I’m faced with several low-cut summer dresses, small, soft, plump and pert cleavage just begging me to dive right in. I feel like I’m fit to burst right now.

This can’t last. Somebody (you know who you are) has to save me from a serious case of bursting balls. I need nipples between my lips, ASAP.

Help me!

HNT #8

Half Naked Thighs

I Want #18

I want to you wank me. Kneel before me, take my cock in your hand, and stroke my length, rolling my foreskin back and forth, over my glans. Close all your fingers around my shaft, and hold me tight as you slide my length through your fingers.

Spit on me, until my skin slips across your closed palm, fucking your hand. Don’t touch me with your mouth.

Caress my sack, feeling the silky smooth skin and the soft hair against your fingertips. Then make a ring around the base of my cock and hold me tight while your other hand frigs me faster and faster, changing angle from back and forth to up and down, almost flat against my stomach.

Work me harder and harder, squeezing my balls gently, easing me until you feel my muscles begin to twitch and shiver. And then let bring me off, stroking gently as my knees waver and my hot come streams over your face, shoulders and your tits.

Now, take me in your mouth. Lick and suck me, tracing the contours of my stiff cock, swallowing down the drops and blobs of my white seed, while my come drips and runs down your breast, over your stomach, gathering in lines all tracing towards the soft dark hair of your pussy.

When you have finished, I want to lick you clean, and then push your legs apart and fuck you.

Burning

My hands are on you, feeling their way over your cotton top, pushing and roaming, hunting for bare skin. My lips are close to yours, hot breath on your face, the sticky grimy air of the city giving us both a sheen in the heat of the afternoon sun.

Barely a few yards away, people rush past, anonymous shuffling figures heading for their train, their pub, or maybe their own liaison. My hands are on your hips, lifting the cotton of your little shirt, pushing it up and revealing your ribs to my exploring hands. I’m kissing you, my hot lips pressing against your mouth and my stubble grazing your tender skin. You throw your head back, and the hard hot concrete sears your shoulders as you spread your arms, offering yourself to me, inviting me to take you.

The hard dusty building seems to throb with heat against your palms as the sun beats down on your face, but it feels distant as you sense the last of your buttons fall apart. Your braless chest lifts to the breeze, even though the air is hot and dry, and my finger traces a line down from your throat to the waistband of your summer skirt, leaving a trail in the glaze between the swells of your chest and a line across your stomach. The beads of sweat soon return as my hand pushes back up, brushing your ribcage and then smothering your breasts, nipples pinched between my knuckles and squeezing. I thrust myself against you, pushing my tongue harder into your mouth, filling you with my salty sweaty flavour and pressing you back against the burning wall.

Your eyes roll as I slide my hands over your glistening tits, squeezing and pushing them as your tongue eagerly explores my mouth. I catch it between my teeth, closing tighter and tighter as my knee presses between your legs, sharp pressure on your tender muscle, firm pressure on your soft mound. Your skirt rises up on my knee, and the air on your thighs cools and tickles your sex, naked just as I instructed.

As my fingers work around your back, pushing across your skin and twisting your knotted muscles, your hands drop my waist. Your fingers push and wriggle between our hips until they brush the tip of my hard shaft of flesh; I shudder, desperate for the touch, wanting to feel your moist palm on my skin. You’re riding my thigh now, up on tip-toes as I ram myself harder between your legs.

Your fingers fiddle and then draw my zip down, freeing my raging cock to your grip when you stroke it, easing back my skin, rolling it over my thick shiny head and then trailing your fingertips across it until my legs almost give way. Your legs are wrapped around me now, gripping my waist tightly, arm around my neck and my hand grasping a firm palmful of your luscious arse. I turn slightly, and you’re poised above me, my cockhead between your thighs, just brushing the soft coolness of your moist hair.

And then you’re reaching down, fingers around the base of my shaft, guiding me between your swollen lips and into the cool dark softness of your cunt. As my head pushes between your flesh, your eys close and your face relaxes, like you’ve just taken a hit of class-A drugs. You ease yourself down onto me, loosening your arm around my neck as I push up into your depths. The heat radiates through your clothes, into the skin of your back as I begin to stroke in and out of your, faster and faster, pounding you against the wall as the sun burns down on your upturned face.

We’re kissing again, and as my solid cock slides in and out of you, driving you against the building, my mouth does the same, mouth-fucking you. Your breasts chafe against my dress shirt, heightening the sensation, turning you on even more. The sweat and our juices mix, trailing down my cock and collecting on the hair on my balls, which you can feel swinging up and slapping you as I fuck you harder and harder.

And then, with the sound of wailing sirens flying past just a short distance away, you start to shudder and writhe, twisting and sliding in my grip, hips pressing down and muscles clenching around my swollen cock. Your nails dig into my neck, and you crush your chest to mine, moaning through gritted teeth, and as your your cunt spasms around my shaft I explode into you, hot thick come filling you in spurt after spurt, bringing my heat into your core.

When I’m drained, I slump, barely able to stand, letting you down to the floor gently, feeling the remnants of my sticky mess ooze out of you as my still-firm cock slides from within you. You straighten up, and adjust your skirt, and I hand you a tissue so you can mop me up from your thighs. I button up your top, stopping way too low but enjoying the view of your sweat-covered cleavage. You slip my cock back into my trousers, fingertips lingering on the slick skin, making me tremble, before you draw the zip up with a trailing finger long the length of my underside.

And then we kiss, and walk back out onto the main street, into the throng, holding hands and smiling to each other, before parting and heading off into the crowd.

HNT #7

Hairy Naked Tuesday.

Hot

It’s hot in London today.

Close. Humid. Sticky.

That painful heat that you can feel on your face, and which radiates from the concrete. The kind of hot that builds up inside you, makes your cock hard, your balls loose as they try to get rid of the excess heat, rolling inside their skin, and with a drop or two of perspiration running off them, aching like they’ve just been freshly milked.

Girls are wearing almost nothing, or as close as they can get to it. Damp hairs glued to neck napes, the jacket they thought would preserve their modesty when dressing this morning, now cast off to show more straps, skin and curves than they intended. Shirts unbuttoned further than usual, revealing frills and pale soft skin. The heat makes them sweat, and their nipples gasp for air beneath tight elastic tops.

Lips licked to stay moist, want to be kissed. Flicked hair longs to be swept back from hot faces. Unfeasibly short skirts barely cover their modesty. My erection rages at this feast of femininity, all of it so close, inches away as we stand in the oppressive heat of the tube, so near but so far.

To reach out and touch would result in loud protests, looks of horror (…and jail?). But perhaps the heat is arousing them in the same way, maybe a light brush with a finger might precipitate nothing but silence and closer proximity. It’s just possible that from the corner of their eye, they see the bulge in the front of my trousers, and it’s that which makes their nipples hard, and not the sudden coolness as we step into the air-conditioned bliss of the train.

On days like these, I realise that the animal is only just below the surface, and the depths aren’t that deep or murky. If I’m truthful to myself, the line between watching passively and reaching out and taking what I want is paper-thin, and too close for comfort.