Jack Abbot and his mouth-watering physique...Dom Gender-Neutral insert 18+
Jack always comes home belated, shoulders sagged and posture carrying a waddle more prominent than it was that morning. You'd like to say he greets you, but the trudged to be near you is all he can manage. He stays just within your peripheral, dropping his backpack of his shoulders then plopping himself right beside you. Rest of the couch be damned.
He huffs on his way down, bouncing as he sprawls out on the back of the couch and sinks into the fresh pillows and you-scented cushions. He takes time to breath, his chest fat with muscle rise and fall, before he bunches over to remove his prosthesis, each buckle undone and each clasp grasped releases the tension on his bones. You eye the taut in his form, the twinge of his biceps, the clench of his abdominal walls, the dry swallow of his throat and the baiting flex of every muscle as he turns from exhausted hero to unintentional strip-tease.
You don't say anything, letting the faded tune of the television announce your diverted attention. His skin was shiny and tinted red, steam wafting up and diffusing in the air, carrying heat right towards you. You sniffle, expecting the enticing smell of freshly baked bread, but you only catch the stick of musk and deodorant. You stretch a arm towards him, sliding your four fingers on his throat and smoothing the restless, stubbed hair on his jaw with your thumb. You tilt your head in thought, but your eye remain fixed on the flutter beneath his skin. "Massage?" You questioned, noteing the way he silently encouraged your touch.
Jack stiffly angles his neck towards you, coaxing your gaze to his face. Eyes drooping and face slack with defenselessness you dream to take advantage of. "Think I'd ever say no?"
You drag him off the couch, settling him on the floor, wedging a pillow under his head and blanket beneath his body. He hums, shoving you away when you try to guide him to lie on his front. He pays no mind to your insistence, and shift back on the pillow until his neck sits just right. He watches as you lather your palms in oil, warming it with friction and body heat, shivering when it mixes with his own. Your hand glides across his stomach, palm pushing in and up his belly, thumb dipping into the central line of his abs and giving extra care to his faded v-line. He follows the movement, sucking in and tensing his muscles to feel you push down harder. His diaphragm spasms when you breach past his ribs, fitting perfectly below his breasts, pushing the fat and letting it spill over the cusp of your claw, taking a selfish squeeze before you quickly, but deeply, slide away.
You have so much surface to venture, taking extra care to visit land marks printed on his skin, freakles that lead you across the plains of this warm body.
Abbott lets himself go, body slack and willing under your guidance, he flys atop the cloud of your nimble hands and burning study. His chest expands in your grip, leading you down a path of least resistance as you hone the muscles of his arms, glossing over the deltoids and top of his chest. His muscles tense under your fondling, you press down on what you imagine is a bundle of responsibility and professionalism, and feel it unravel under the dept of your caress. You haven't even reached his face, yet it slackens, allowing his jaw rest and a moan free without thought. The first verbal synonym of his content.
His triceps twinge under your care, biceps soft and malleable as you work up his forearm, palmaris longus and hand eager to please. You were good, so good, spending enough time online and in your own imagination to conjure exactly what you have to do to make him feel good. It was about time you let the rest of him get a taste.
You trace back down to his abdomen, trailing your fingers throught the faint hairy path, humming when he tenses under the slight pressure just above his bladder. You look up, studying his ruddy face through the cover of your eyelashes. You can see the twitch of his collapsed eyelids as you slide your fingers under his waistband, lingering for only a moment before you remove your hands completely.
Abbot swears under his breath, grunting as you slap at his bare thigh to rid your hands of excess oil, the sound welcomed into your ears but ignored regardless. You dip into a familiar tub, the white cream a stark contrast to your warm skin. You lather it slightly on your palm, lifting your glance to his face again. This time he is visibly focused on your movements, eyes lidded and glossy as you transfer the paste to the stump of his right leg. You plant a kiss on the swaying flesh before gently smearing the cream along the firm edges of his scars and tight scar tissue. You let the moment linger, desire damped by the simple affection you hold dear. He shifts away when you linger too long. His face controts when you dig into the mutilated muscles of his calf.
His leg is lowered carefully and you soot closer to him, spreading as you fit yourself between his thighs and under his calfs. He gets comfortable as you turn to wipe the cream off your palms, quickly swapping it for the oil. So quick you forgot to warm it up. The first touch to the large plot of his inner thigh has him flinching, squeezing your tense waist and jolting you forward. You half-heartedly apologize, shifting back from the heat of his spread thighs, you weren't sure which action caused his lips their pout.
You bring both your hands to his right thigh, hiking it over your shoulder and sparing him the cold sensation on both legs. You dig deep, making craters in his skin as you rub into his epidermis, feeling the layers squish under your touch and fat soften under your palm. Blood rushes to meet you, soon you can't feel anything but the oil's slick properties, the coldness rubbed away between the friction of your flesh. His skin blush under your immissions as you focus on the Rectus femoris alot longer than you should be, sartorius twitch against your finger tips as you drag it towards the conjuction of his tights. You can feel the abductor muscles, you rub it absent of thought and it responds to you in kind.
Your akined to an animal the way your ears twitch at the sound of his groans. You quickly exchange legs, swiping sweat off your forehead with your arm and avoiding Jack's still stare. You repeat your actions, but with a bit more haste. Digging into the arch of his foot, caressing the rough of his calfs and melting away the tension of his thighs. Although, some of the tension only strayed, collecting in the middle of his pelvis. You slide your palm down, lower and lower, till you had no space left. Your thumb dig into the junction, clipping the swell of his cock.
You're lost in your own selfish desires, working your fingers in the parts of his thighs. You jolt back when his muscles tense hard with protest as he moves. You snap to attention, looking up and expecting to see a pained expression or one of refusal. An apology already stirs your stomach, but before you can see anything, you feel the hard outline of his cock thrusted into the flat cup of your hand, twitching when you grab it on instinct.
Abbot's eyes flutter, begging to close. "If you're going to offer to be my masseuse," He wisps, reaching down to push your hand atop the hot structure of his cock, pressing down hard and dragging it like an amateur. "least you can do is massage every part of me."
You squeeze the buldge in your hand, feeling the warmth in your palm as he throws his head back in the pillows, adam's apple bobbing deep in his throat, but you do no more.
"Please?" He hesitates, voice husky and cracking with need when he feels your grip losen. You almost feel bad at the way his entire head drops when you guide his hand away.
"In a minute." You sooth, using his out stretched hand as a level to pull him up.
You're stalling. You should know that by now. The massage wasn't only to cater to his needs, but also a vessel to pour yourself inside him, grabbing onto his heart and making him reliant on the beat at which you squeeze. You liked being able to get so close, you liked being able to touch and see every part of him, to feel things and keep him caged in your heart. The thought of being less than a nessecity was a imagery too heavy to bare.
You sit across from eachother, his back planted against the couch as you cage him in. He drifts, eyes blinked close as your hands caress his cheeks, needing the dough of his face and smoothing away the spotty wrinkles of his forehead. You follow the contour of his nose, tugging his ears, dusting over his jaw and tending to his neck with as little pressure as your eager hands can muster. You have to watch what you're doing, God forbid you poke his eyes out or accidentally let your fingers stray, smearing his lips a coaxing shine and parting them on your own terms. You study the shape, feeling the crook of his teeth that caused it. It's almost a pout, and you lean in to try and kiss it away.
You smile against his mouth as his tongue licks for permission, you can feel his desperation through the mash of your lips. You thought he was asleep, blizzfully unaware of your intentions and needing a few moments to catch up. The way he had immediately reciprocated your affection, you realized it was you who lost against your own reasoning.
You let him get his fill, titling your head slightly to catch the taste of the virgin coconut oil that staines his entire body. Then you decisively pull away, the wet unlocking of your lips has your heart tearing up with regret.
"Turn around." You whisper, dodging the next charge. You could see the defiance slowly form on his face, eyes glossy and searching before he drops his head in defeat, a sigh fanning your collar bone.
How many times are you going to do this, You both think, but only one of you feels giddy at the thought. It's not a punishment, not really, despite what he might think. It's only a light tug on the chains. If he was going to be so vulnerable, then you'd let him; Everyone needs a hobby, this just happened to be one of yours.
Brown freckles and red tinted skin paint down the broad of his back, you could stare at it all your life and still be happy when you discover the same new dots. You don't warm up the oil this time, wanting to be aware the exact moment it fully absorbs the heat from his skin. He flinches all the same when you press your hands to his lower back, posture taking on it's familiar strictness. He lets the pressure in your hands guide him slightly forward, so relaxed any release had him leaning right back into your arms.
Jack arches when you sculpt the line of his spine, pushing whines from the bottom of his lungs. You go until the blood meet back with your hands, but barely make it to his shoulders before you have to drop your hands to his sides. You squeeze the rolls of his stomach until he shudders away, his curls feather your neck as he leans back onto your shoulder, breath kissing your neck "Now?" He pleads, voice high and crackled.
From this position you can't look into his eyes, but you try regardless, imagining the ditzy, yearning look. You leave him in silence, dropping your head down to kiss his freakled shoulder. He didn't have to work too hard, your hand already sliding down the pudge of his belly to breach the waistband of his boxers.
"Couldn't let me finish?" You wonder, tinted with indifference, but you were already reaching over, stopping any rebuttal he planned to make.
You pour a gluttonious amount of oil directly on the tip of his cock, having to hold his legs open with yours as he recoils. The hiss through his teeth is contaminated with a whine, breathy and reoccurring as you slide the cold oil over the full length of his cock. It drips down his balls and slick the crease of his thighs. He shivers in your arms and twiches in your grip. You eye the glistening mess of his dick, a pretty pink tip peeking it's head through the enclosure of your fingers. Every jerk had his thighs tensing, all your hard work down the drain, the verbal assault on your ears taken with reverend.
Squelch...Squelch...Squelch...
Soon he goes slient amist the consumption of his own pleasure. No sound, no movement, you couldn't even turn to see his face. You try to ignore it, the occasional throb in your hand enough to satisfy you, unfortunately you were an incredibly greedy individual.
You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, anything to get him going again, biting, instead of the soft incentive of a kiss. That's when you feel it, a constant thump against your lips, resonating from deep within his throat. So faint you almost missed it.
You lean back as you grip Jack's jaw, moving just enough to get a glimpse at his face. In your excitement your fist clenches hard, squeezing him from head to half away to his root, your thumb capped right on his tip. You don't register it, only the loud moan that vibrates your ears. Your name, warped with agony.
His hand shoots towards his cock, prying your thumb off, but the rest of you stay and you can practically feel his orgasm rush to his tip, pulsating as he cums all over himself.
It's on his spasming stomach, swollen chest and shiny red face, so explosive only a little make it on your hand, mixing with the oil to form a swirly elixir; tasting it would surely be just as magical.
You almost want to laugh at him. "Sorry." You say, biting a smile and wiping the sweat atop his flushed cheeks as he trys to regain a control on his breathing. The thought of him lasting longer gravely overestimated on your part, but having him cum so uncontrollably in your grip had you wondering how long you would last.
I was going to cut this down drastically because I thought it gave purple prose, but then I remembered I don't give a fuck.
The purple theme speaks for itself. Watch out.
