You'd been half-hard the entire drive home, shifting in your seat, adjusting yourself at every red light. By the time you pushed through the front door of the frat house, your cock was straining against your jeans and you knew exactly where you were going. Down the hallway, past the messy kitchen, straight to Tyler's room.
The door was cracked open. He was sprawled across his bed, shirtless, phone propped against his chest. The guy spent half his life in that bed—gaming, scrolling, whatever. His chest was smooth, defined in that lazy way of his, and when you stepped inside, he glanced up from his screen.
Something shifted in his expression. His eyes dropped to the obvious tent in your pants, then back up to your face. That hungry look flickered behind his irises before he could mask it.
You didn't say a word. Just kicked the door shut behind you and started stripping. Shirt over your head, jeans down, boxers following. Your dick sprang free, already leaking at the tip, and Tyler's gaze locked onto it like a man spotting water in the desert.
He moved before you could even ask. Scrambled to the edge of the mattress, laying flat to position his face level with your crotch. His breath was warm against your shaft, and then his mouth opened and he swallowed you whole.
No teasing. No tentative licks. Just wet heat engulfing your cock, his lips sealing tight around the base as his throat constricted around your head. You groaned, fingers twitching at your sides. This was different from the other times.
It had been a joke at first. Just two bros hanging out in this same room, tossing back beers, talking shit about girls you knew. You'd been half-hard, adjusting yourself through your shorts, and Tyler had said something like "Dude, just ask Jose to suck you off." You'd laughed, flipped him off.
“Bro, you’ve seen how that guy eats a hot dog. The man’s a psychopath for that, I ain't trusting him anywhere near my dick!” You deflected. In reality, since Jose had pledged last year and come out to the brothers, you had thought about asking him once or twice.
You’d both cracked up at that and he’d finally reached over and whacked your thickening junk and said, “I think he has a boyfriend now anyway. You’ll have to find someone else then.” But then his eyes had lingered on your bulge a beat too long, and the air between you shifted.
"Fine," you'd said, still half-laughing, pulling your dick out. "You suck it then."
You’d thought he’d flinch at the sight of your hard dick and you’d both laugh it off. Instead he stopped laughing and leaned over into your lap.
That first time was clumsy. Tyler's mouth had wrapped around your cockhead with this tentative pressure, like he was testing how you tasted. His jaw worked awkwardly, teeth scraping once before he found a rhythm. You'd leaned back on your elbows, staring at the ceiling, telling yourself it was just a blowjob—a mouth was a mouth. But the wet heat of him, the way his tongue swirled experimentally around your shaft, had your hips jerking up before you could stop them.
After that, it happened a few more times. At first, things were a little awkward when you’d hang out until one of you made the move, but then it became more natural. You'd show up, he'd drop to his knees. But he was always careful. Exploring. His fingers would roll your balls in their sac, tugging gently while his lips slid up and down your length. He'd grip your thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscle, holding you open like he wanted better access. And when your breathing went ragged and your cock started throbbing against his tongue, he'd pull off and finish you with his fist instead.
You'd figured it out pretty quick. Tyler didn't want your load in his mouth. That was the line. Catching another dude's come on your tongue crossed from "helping a bro out" into something else entirely. Something neither of you were ready to name.
So he'd jerk you off, your slick coating his fingers, your grunts filling the room while he watched your face with this intense focus. And you'd come across your own stomach, hips bucking into his fist, and he'd grab you a towel like nothing happened.
But tonight his tongue was working overtime, sliding along the underside like he couldn't get enough.
"Fuck, dude—" Your voice came out rougher than intended. Your hips jerked forward on instinct, driving deeper into his mouth. He didn't pull back. If anything, he leaned in, nose pressing against your pubes, throat opening wider.
Pressure built at the base of your spine. Too fast. Too intense.
"Yo, get off—I'm gonna—" You tried to step back, but his hands clamped onto your thighs, fingernails digging crescents into your skin. He ignored you completely, sucking harder, cheeks hollowing, that hungry sound vibrating through your dick.
Fine. You’d tried to be a gentleman and fucking warn him. You grabbed the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, and took over. Your hips snapped forward, fucking his face with deep, ruthless thrusts. Wet, obscene sounds filled the room—gagging, slurping, the slap of your balls against his chin. His eyes watered, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn't fight it. He took every inch like he was starving for it.
Your orgasm built quickly until you were at your breaking point. You held his head down, buried to the hilt, and unloaded down his throat. Pulse after pulse, your seed flooding into him while his throat worked around your shaft, swallowing every drop.
When you finally released him, he pulled back gasping, lips swollen and glistening. Tears streaked his face, but behind them—contentment. Pure fucking satisfaction.
If he swallowed your load once, then he could do it again.
You stared down at him, your softening cock still inches from his mouth.
Yeah. He could do it every day from now on.
titsay
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izzy806
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