Ret-Con, Interlude 1
Jun. 6th, 2008 12:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wellownedbkupDisclaimer: I can't be held accountable for how lame my porn-fu is. Seriously. I'm out of practice with dirty talk, explicit acts, etc. That being said... from herein on out, Interludes for Ret-Con? All porn, all the time. *nods*
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF MAJORITY IN WHEREVER YOU LIVE, DO NOT CLICK THE CUT. Seriously. I'm not to be held accountable.
Interlude 1:
He goes from zero to hard in less than a second, horny and aching with it. He wonders for only a moment if this is what a normal male’s puberty is like: all impossibly desperate and embarrassing. He’d blush, he’s sure, if only all his blood hadn’t relocated and set up shop in his nether regions.
He slips off his tee shirt, the material suddenly too distracting against his skin. He’s no stranger to wanking. He flashes on memories of satin slick skin, of touching until spasms take her limbs. He trembles at the thought, and wonders if this body can accomplish the same thing. His shivers intensify as his dry palm rasps over the pale skin of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly over flat nipples. He gasps, the ache and heat familiar, though the sharp shock it sends to his cock has him stopping to breathe deep.
His bed looks more and more tempting, as anything adventurous when it comes to playing with himself would be better to wait until after he knows he has steady footing. Half formed, the image of his hand on his dick, pops into his head, the most narcissistic of wank fantasies. He shakes his head, laying down on the bed, getting as comfortable as possible.
There’s nothing stopping him from just getting right to the main attraction but his unfamiliarity with this body. He decides to take the circuitous route, to learn his responses to somewhat familiar motions. He traces his fingers back over his chest, giving himself a moment to linger at his nipples, choking slightly when he pinches them. With a half a smile, he makes a mental note about how sensitive they are before moving on. His muscles are twitching with each pass of his hand over torso, bare skin against bare skin and ticklish for the first time in ages. He huffs out a laugh at the realization.
He takes his time, but inevitably, he’s back at his waistband, teasing the fine, crinkly hairs that disappear beneath it. He feels hot, a little desperate. He traces his hand lightly over the bulge of his manhood (ha, his manhood, and doesn’t that take the edge off) and he feels precisely how close he really is. He presses a little harder, cupping the damp heat of his hand against the damp heat of his groin. He shifts restlessly on the bed, unconsciously seeking out friction.
It’s with shaky hands of anticipation and trepidation that he’s pushing his pants down his legs and off the bed. He cocks a skinny leg up closer, spreading his legs and shifting again at the sight of his new equipment. His cock is curved up, mushroom head like an arrow pointing up to him. Each touch feels like heaven, like he's been waiting forever to feel the slick glans, the velvet soft scrotum, the rigid hardness of an erection.
It's over almost before it's begun, his body stuttering in an arc of completion. He barely has the presence of mind or the energy to swipe half-heartedly at the shiny mess he's made on his stomach.
IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF MAJORITY IN WHEREVER YOU LIVE, DO NOT CLICK THE CUT. Seriously. I'm not to be held accountable.
Interlude 1:
He goes from zero to hard in less than a second, horny and aching with it. He wonders for only a moment if this is what a normal male’s puberty is like: all impossibly desperate and embarrassing. He’d blush, he’s sure, if only all his blood hadn’t relocated and set up shop in his nether regions.
He slips off his tee shirt, the material suddenly too distracting against his skin. He’s no stranger to wanking. He flashes on memories of satin slick skin, of touching until spasms take her limbs. He trembles at the thought, and wonders if this body can accomplish the same thing. His shivers intensify as his dry palm rasps over the pale skin of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly over flat nipples. He gasps, the ache and heat familiar, though the sharp shock it sends to his cock has him stopping to breathe deep.
His bed looks more and more tempting, as anything adventurous when it comes to playing with himself would be better to wait until after he knows he has steady footing. Half formed, the image of his hand on his dick, pops into his head, the most narcissistic of wank fantasies. He shakes his head, laying down on the bed, getting as comfortable as possible.
There’s nothing stopping him from just getting right to the main attraction but his unfamiliarity with this body. He decides to take the circuitous route, to learn his responses to somewhat familiar motions. He traces his fingers back over his chest, giving himself a moment to linger at his nipples, choking slightly when he pinches them. With a half a smile, he makes a mental note about how sensitive they are before moving on. His muscles are twitching with each pass of his hand over torso, bare skin against bare skin and ticklish for the first time in ages. He huffs out a laugh at the realization.
He takes his time, but inevitably, he’s back at his waistband, teasing the fine, crinkly hairs that disappear beneath it. He feels hot, a little desperate. He traces his hand lightly over the bulge of his manhood (ha, his manhood, and doesn’t that take the edge off) and he feels precisely how close he really is. He presses a little harder, cupping the damp heat of his hand against the damp heat of his groin. He shifts restlessly on the bed, unconsciously seeking out friction.
It’s with shaky hands of anticipation and trepidation that he’s pushing his pants down his legs and off the bed. He cocks a skinny leg up closer, spreading his legs and shifting again at the sight of his new equipment. His cock is curved up, mushroom head like an arrow pointing up to him. Each touch feels like heaven, like he's been waiting forever to feel the slick glans, the velvet soft scrotum, the rigid hardness of an erection.
It's over almost before it's begun, his body stuttering in an arc of completion. He barely has the presence of mind or the energy to swipe half-heartedly at the shiny mess he's made on his stomach.
