Brent stopped by on Wednesday evening on his way out of town to see his parents for Thanksgiving. He wouldn't be back until Sunday so I told him he needed to cum for me before he left so I could do my best to empty his balls for him before the holiday. I gave him the very best that I have: my deepest, most luxurious blowjob, and a good hard fuck just the way he likes it, starting with my legs folded back and then flipping me over to pound me from behind.
While I sucked him he told me he was going to save it all weekend for me. I said, "Why?" and I immediately felt bad about it because I know why. He's spent so long feeling so much shame about his body, about how needing to cum is such a large and constant part of his life, about how messy his orgasms are, about being rejected because of it. Even though I'm trying to help him through some of that as best I can, I knew that he'd rather deal with the discomfort all weekend than deal with his body. As it turned out I didn't even know everything about what that meant.
Maybe he was annoyed by my carelessness or maybe he was just really fucking horny, but when he fucked me from behind he pulled my hair and really pounded me. I love when he gets aggressive like that. He doesn't always so it's really fucking hot to feel that kind of energy from him.
I told him to cum down my throat. When he was ready I got on my knees, swallowed his cock, stuck my tongue out and lapped at his balls, popped my lips off the head of his cock, spit on it, swallowed it again, repeat, repeat, repeat. He kept saying my name in his sexy, deep voice that I swear just goes straight to my clit, telling how fucking hot I am, until he grabbed my hair with both hands, so rough, and shoved his cock down my throat, pulling me against him so his short hair tickled my nose, trying to shove it deeper and deeper into my throat until he let out a deep groan of relief for those heavy balls and he pumped that huge load of cum right into my stomach.
I knew it was only temporary relief but it was the best I could do for him. I didn't know how he was going to last all weekend and he only lasted until he woke up Thursday morning before he was texting me, telling me how badly he wanted me and how much he needed to cum. It was cute hearing how needy he was on Thursday and Friday, but by Saturday it seemed like it was becoming a problem.
The tone of his texts changed, his balls ached, and he was bothered by how he couldn't stop thinking about it. I made sure he wasn't doing it for me. It meant more to me for him to be comfortable and to have a nice weekend than to just impress me with an extra huge orgasm. He said that wasn't it, and I tried but couldn't talk him into finding a way to take care of it.
The shame we feel for our bodies makes me so angry. We all know the myriad of ways it happens, the ways we feel it, the ways it is inflicted on us, the effects it has, but it's all so damn senseless. A man's sore balls are not the worst outcome of body shaming but he shouldn't be going through it. The only answer I have is to be there for the ones we love and to try to build them up in any way we can.
The next time I heard from him was Sunday morning. He hadn't slept well and the ache was really bad but he was upbeat, knowing that relief was headed his way in the afternoon. As the day went on his texts were more urgent, needy, and desperate. When he was getting ready to leave, when he got in the car, I kept hearing how much he needed me, how much cum he was going to give me. When he stopped to get out of the car for a minute he said he had to wait because he was so hard it was about to push through his pants.
He wasn't the only one who was worked up. Four days of a handsome man telling me how much he needed me had my body reacting to every text from him. Hearing how hard he was was too much. I told him how excited I was to see him, how wet I was for him, and before he got back on the road I made him wait so we could text while I came for him. Was it mean to tease him like that? Maybe, but this girl has needs too and he was only a couple hours away. I figured he could manage.
Four days of desire, need, and anticipation, and when he finally got here I was ready to push him against the front door, get on my knees and take that gigantic fucking load all over my body. Instead, before anything else, he asked if we could go into the bedroom. I thought he wanted to fuck, and I was ready, willing, eager.
In the bedroom, we kissed. A kiss like that, so hungry, so fierce, so fucking much, is all I really need. I mean, I say that but after all that build up I needed a lot more than even the very best kiss. I started to unzip his pants and he put his hands on my wrists and said, "Wait. Kylie." I looked at him. He looked worried.
"What is it?"
"I had a lot of precum," he said. I love precum. That's such a huge understatement. If I could live on precum alone I happily would.
"Okay." I started to unzip him again.
"Wait. I mean it. A lot."
I think I might have gasped. The first time he told me that he came a lot I thought I had known what that meant. I did not. Even though I couldn't envision it, this time I knew what he meant: something extraordinary.
"Okay," I said again. "You know how much I love precum. And I love your body." I held his gaze. "Can I look?"
