It was getting late. Harry and John had been drinking and talking – putting the world to rights – and were now both sitting on one of the sofas in John's sitting room – the easier to pass the dope pipe between them. A silence falls – not a difficult one – they are never stuck for words these two. Pleasantly pissed and mildly stoned. Harry leans back into the corner of the sofa with his hands behind his head, sliding his bum forward and his legs further apart.
"Feels nice," he says, slightly moving his knees in and out. John isn't quite sure as to what he's talking about exactly, but he recognises the movement. It comes at that point of stoned relaxation when the dope has arrived somewhere in the area of the groin and you become aware of your cock for the first time in a little while and the thought makes the cost begin to fill – not quite to the point of getting a hard-on – but enough to make you feel that one isn't very far away and that it wouldn't take much...
John says "So, have you given any more thoughts as to whether we should make your fantasy a one last time reality or leave it as a fantasy – for all time?"
"And which fantasy might that be?," says Harry grinning.
"The one," says John, "where Harry gets a lesson in how to suck cock and wanks John off before John brings the attention of his mouth and fingers to Harry's cock and then wanks him to an earth-shattering climax."
"Steady," say Harry, but too late, for his cock has heard and he can feel it growing inexorably to a serious hard-on. He twitches his knees in and out.
"Dunno," he says as John's hand arrives on the inside of his thigh, "there are one or two things I might have problems with, but," he adds, as John's hand moves up and down the inside of his thigh, "if you keep on doing what your doing, then we might," he continues as John's hand arrives at the top of his thigh, "have no choice in the matter."
"Shame," says John dropping to his knees on the floor between Harry's legs, "but I guess we could just take it a step at a time and see," he goes on, slowly unbuckling Harry's belt, "what happens. You don't have to be perfect."
Harry's breath quickens as John unbuttons his jeans and slowly slides the zip down. He lifts his hips slightly as John pulls off the jeans to reveal Harry's hard, elegant, long cock straining at the white cotton of his Y-fronts. With fingertips and back of forefingers, John brushes his way up Harry's thighs to eventually hook his fingers inside the briefs and gently stroke Harry's balls. He pulls at the briefs, easing them down slightly so that the balls drop out either side. He repeats the course taken by his fingers with his mouth – dry kissing his way from knee to groin – and repeat the action with his tongue-tip and then the flat of his tongue, wet with saliva; digging the tongue deep into the corners of Harry's groin, licking his balls, catching them gently between his lips, massaging them with his tongue-tip until they take on a wet slippery life of their own. Sliding his fingers and then his hands into Harry's briefs at the top of his thighs, he gently strokes Harry's cock, pulling the briefs down an inch further, allowing his cock to stretch skywards inside the briefs, but refusing to release it, wanking it gently inside the tent of white cotton. Retreating the way he has come, John stops and looks at the expression of pleasure on Harry's face.
Harry opens his eyes and say "Don't stop."
John grins and says "Sorry, that was just a taster. You've got work to do before you get any more of that."
Rising to his feet, he crosses the room and returns with a bottle of poppers. He unscrews the top, releasing the sweet, sickly smell, and puts the bottle to one side. With a grin, he slowly unbuttons his jeans, dropping them to the floor, Harry watching from under his eyelashes. John's cock makes a hard outline in his briefs; a glimpse of the swollen head trying to escape from the leg of the Y-fronts. John eases the cotton back over the head of his cock; slides back the foreskin and, wetting his fingers, slips them gently over the hard velvet head. Eyes half-closed he gives a little moan, then eases his aching cock back into his briefs. He arranges himself and Harry on the sofa, their backs against either end, each with one leg up against the back of the sofa – the other foot on the floor, legs spread wide, groin touching groin.
"Now," says John, "fingers only at first and do your worst."
John shuts his eyes with pleasure as Harry's long fingers stroke their way up the inside of his thighs and caress and squeeze the hardness of his cock through the cotton, fingers stealing their way inside his briefs; teasing, touching, stroking it to a glorious aching rod of iron. John returns the favour, then, reaching inside the Y-fronts, eases Harry's cock out of the leg of the briefs to expose the whole of its elegant length. Harry moans as John wets his fingers and slides them smoothly over the purple, slippery head, easing the foreskin back all the way; wet finger-tips teasing the ridge of the cock; wet forefingers gliding down the long hard shaft; making a wet fist of his hand, gently wanking Harry's cock to a gloriously aching hard-on.
"O.K.," he says, "your turn with the wet fingers." – and Harry takes up the challenge, easing John's cock out of the leg of his briefs, wanking it slowly, and then, slipping wet fingertips over the swollen purple cock-head; tentatively at first, but with growing assurance as he watches the helplessly ecstatic pleasure on John's face that his long, wet, sensitive fingers bring.
"Well done," says John opening his eyes, and, by way of thanks, hands the bottle of poppers to Harry who inhales deeply feeling the rush of pure sensation, the increase of heart rate, the blood speeding round his body to his groin, pumping his already swollen cock to the very essence of hardness. John takes both cocks in one hand, wanking them together ever so gently, rubbing his wet thumb and forefinger over and under and between the swollen heads.
"Nice," says Harry.
"Yup," says John, "but there's a lesson to be learned." And taking Harry's hand he starts to nuzzle his little finger with his lips. "So," he says, "let's say that this is a clit belonging to the woman you desire most. The trick is to keep your teeth out of the way and your mouth wet. Not," he adds, "that I know much about clits, but I do know cocks and, in this instance, I think that size is probably the only difference."
Gently, slowly, and with the slightest of suction, he pulls at Harry's finger-end with his mouth, flickering the tip of his tongue across the end, eventually drawing the whole finger into his mouth, massaging it with the warm, wet flat of his tongue, slowly raising the level of suction and pumping his mouth up and down the length of the finger.
"Now," he say, "you do the same thing – on your own finger – reproduce the sensation that I've just given you. A small tip," he adds, "is to imagine that you're an old man without his false teeth – gross I know, but give it just a touch of that – don't go overboard with the idea, otherwise you'll lose the sensitivity of your lips." And Harry does so while by way of encouragement, John gently, slightly pulls and strokes Harry's cock.
"O.K.," he says, "let's see how you're doing. Try my finger." So Harry does and is, as John knew he would be, a natural, but he makes Harry repeat the process with a forefinger and then with two fingers together until John is satisfied that he's learned that part of the lesson.
"Next stage," he says. Picking up the bottle of poppers, he stands up and crosses the room, his rampant cock leading the way, and fetches the long mirror from the hallway,
"O.K., we're over here now."
Harry, his cock reaching skywards, goes to join him. John positions him with his back against one of the pillars of the room divider and adjusts the mirror so that Harry can see his cock reflected in it.
"Pay attention," he says, kneeling down at the altar of Harry's long cock, "keep your eyes open, and watch what I'm doing. But, before I do anything, I'm going to put this on; we don't want you coming too soon." He slides Harry's briefs off, allowing his balls to fall free, straps a leather cock-strap around Harry's cock and balls, increasing, if such a thing were possible, its long lean hardness, and hands him the bottle of poppers.
Harry watches in the mirror as John extends the tip of his tongue to the head of Harry's pulsing cock to taste the warm saltiness of the pre-cum. Harry's cock twitches in response, and John withdraws his tongue, and then extends it again, flicking with wetness the twitching head, teasing it to reach heavenward, and then suddenly slides the wet O of his lips over the head to meet the edge of the straining foreskin, skimming the point of his tongue around and along the ridge at the back of the cockhead, within the warm cave of his mouth. With one hand he gently pulls down on Harry's cock, letting the tip of his fingers rest and move slightly, glancingly through the pubic hair and with the other he cups and cradles the heavy handing balls, sliding his fingertips into the very crease of the groin, then behind the balls, along the ridge towards the crack of Harry's arse.
"Move your legs apart a little more, and bend your knees a little."
Harry does so, feels his balls swinging free, his cock develop a life almost of its own, a proudness, well beyond the reach of any moral human qualms, an animality.
He inhales deeply on the poppers as he watches and feels John's mouth inch down the length of his cock, his heart rate increasing, all the sensation in his body rushing to his groin, an awareness of the velvet of his cockhead against the warm wet firmness of the roof of the mouth, the pull of the slight suction drawing his cock towards the back of the throat. Half-moan, half-gasp – animal noise – as the lips reach his pubic bone; feels the whole length of his hard cock enclosed in a warm et tunnel.
John pulls his mouth all the way back up the cock to the head; teases the head with his tongue, then slides his mouth back down and up again, pumping the harness; wanking it with his mouth. He lets the cock ride free from his mouth, traces with wet fingers the path just taken by his mouth, following his fingers with his tongue; alternating the tip and the flat of his tongue; slipping his tongue over and around the hanging balls – reaching with warm wetness up behind the balls, digging the tip of his tongue up into the crack of Harry's arse. He wanks the cock with a wet fist easing off the pressure gradually; subsiding.
