Malcolm was sleeping, flat on his back on the bed, head turned to the right side on the pillow, sheet drawn up to his chin. My balls stirred with desire, the dark, handsome guy looking so peaceful and innocent, fucking hot.
Malcolm and I had been going together for only a couple of months. But he’d already given me his key. And I’d used it, to let myself in early that morning. To observe the luscious liquorice man sleeping. It’s a fetish I have, watching men sleep, kissing them, licking them, fondling them, fucking them while they sleep. A man’s never so beautiful than when he’s at peace with the world, nestled in the warm, comforting arms of slumber.
I hadn’t mentioned my mancolepsy to Malcolm. This was my first chance to give him a try.
I slipped off my T-shirt and kicked off my shoes, unbuckled my jeans and pushed them down and off. I stepped out into the warm yellow early-morning glow of Malcolm’s bedroom completely naked, my cock stretched rock-hard in front of me, gleaming dark and smooth and long as my boyfriend’s body stretched undercover out on the bed.
I gripped shaft and buckled at the knees, suppressing a moan, my meat throbbing wildly in my palm. I stroked, caressing snake, watching the perfect rising and falling of Malcolm’s chest, the twin points of his nipples indenting the thin cotton sheet, the rigid outline of his form.
Savouring the exquisite moment, I jacked slow and sure and strong, slipped a hand up onto my chest, clasped fingers around a stiffened nipple and rolled. I had to swallow another groan of pleasure, pulling on my cock, pulling on my nipple. I plucked at the other nipple, got that black bud up and brimming, then slid my free hand down my body and around my erection and on to my balls.
I cupped and squeezed and twisted my shaven sac, tugging on my smooth-skinned dong. I bent almost double under the illicit sexual pressure, working the nuts, the pole. And then I advanced, cock leading the way.
The shag hid my footsteps. I stood right next to the bed, cock jutting out in the warm, breathless air, straining to overshadow Malcolm’s calm, chiselled face. I reached out and gripped the top of the sheet, drew it slowly down.
More and more of the lean, muscled man appeared, the white curtain lowering on his ebony body, sliding down his chest, popping over his nipples. I stared at those blue-black buds and licked my lips, almost tasting their thick, rubbery firmness.
Malcolm’s arms were down by his sides, and as I pulled the sheet lower, over his flat, hard, undulating stomach, he clenched at the edges, grabbing onto the reinforced cotton. ‘Damn,’ I breathed, stopped just above his bellybutton.
I knew the guy slept in the buff, but the way his hips were turned slightly, his cock wasn’t even a bulge in the sheet. I had to do something about that. If I couldn’t see it, I could feel it.
I climbed onto the bed, slowly, carefully, stealthily, a spring-whisperer extraordinaire. There was hardly any sound at all. Just the smooth, uninterrupted breathing of my man, the pounding of my heart in my chest and the beating of the blood in my cock.