When I drop him like a sack of meat onto the soft cushions, he stares up at me, open-mouthed. He looks lost, like he just woke up from a trance that our kissing put him in.
He better be ready for another.
Slowly, so he can watch my every move, I unbuckle my belt. Trevor watches unblinkingly with the absolute, unbroken focus of a cat to a laser pointer. The belt clinks as I slip it from my pants. With a smirk, I fold the belt and pull outward fast, giving it a firm pop like a crack of thunder that ripples over the room.
Trevor jumps.
My smirk deepens.
I toss the belt aside and move my fingers to the button of my pants. Trevor stares again. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing as he watches my every move. He almost looks terrified.
Maybe he should be.
“Like what you see?” I ask him.
Trevor looks up at me, then looks back down at my pants, like he can’t process another thought beyond why I’m taking so long to undress and what I’m packing. He doesn’t answer.
The button lets go. I grip the zipper and slowly slide it down, then I let go of my pants, letting them hang half-open for him to admire.
I note with a victorious smirk the yearning in Trevor’s eyes.
Got him.
My pants sag, loosened as they are, revealing the waistband of my tight, baby blue boxer briefs, but my thick thighs keep them from falling. I let the fly of my pants stay wide open, giving him the smallest, cruelest hint of the top of my monster cock bulge.
Yeah, I can be evil. I know how to take my time and build the tension so thick, he’s popping in his pants. I want to drive him so crazy that he’s begging for it.
Trevor’s eyes change. He lifts his chin and brings his gaze up to meet mine.
A stroke of defiance enters his eyes.
I quirk an eyebrow.
He sits up slowly, then brings a hand to his chest. The simple movement seems awkward at first, but when his fingers reach his nipple, he seems to relax. Trevor shuts his eyes and gives himself a gentle pinch. “Mmm,” he moans.
I lick my lips, watching, my cock throbbing its need.
What’s he doing?
He lifts up onto his knees, the white cushions compressing beneath his weight, and he brings his other hand up to his other nipple—because he wouldn’t dare leave it out of the fun.
Now I’m the one in a trance, staring fiercely, breathless.
After massaging his nipples briefly, he slowly draws his hands down his body—slowly, methodically, hungrily—until they arrive at his pants. My eyes track his movements like a hunter.
“L-Like what you see?” he asks, his voice almost timid. “Ben?”
My gaze flicks up to his. The look on his face is a cautious and reluctant one, like he’s waiting for me to growl my approval.
I don’t growl. I just give him one short nod, my eyes hard as diamond, before saying, “Take off your pants.”
He freezes. “Take … off …?”
“Take off your pants.”
All that smoothness he was exhibiting is suddenly gone. He’s a terrified boy all over again. He’s only undone the buttons, but now his hands hover distractedly, unsure what to do. Maybe he’s even forgotten how to take them off. Maybe I should show him.
Slowly, I saunter right up to him until my shadow towers over his frozen face. He doesn’t move a muscle.
“Get up.”
He turns his face toward me, but doesn’t look up, his gaze hovering at my stomach. He licks his lips, then says, “Ben …”
“Trevor.” The way I say his name, I’m mocking him constantly saying mine over and over. “Trevor. Trevor.” I smirk over him, feeling powerful. “Get up. On your feet.”
He finally complies, slipping a leg off the couch and rising. He comes up to my nose, which I oddly haven’t noticed until just now. Even when we were kissing, I leveled my mouth to his and knew nothing else of the world. My whole place could’ve been on fire, and I wouldn’t have known.
He opens his mouth. “I—”
“What is it?” I ask him, interrupting. “You turned on?”
“Y-Yes, but—”
“You hard?”
“As a rock. B-But I—”
“So what is it?” I tilt my head, burning him with my hungry stare. He’s so fucking delicious standing right in front of me, it’s getting more and more impossible to keep my hands off of him by the second. I have to taste him again.
He looks up suddenly. “W-Where’s your dog?”
I blink. Really?
“He’s … uh …” I’m seriously thrown by his random question. He could’ve asked how big my cock is. He could’ve asked to touch me. He could’ve asked to grab hold of my ass he thinks I don’t know he’s been staring at all night.
Instead: dog.
“It’s just that you w-went through all the trouble of warning me about him,” explains Trevor in a rapid firing of nervous words, “a-and he’s … he’s not here.”