He placed his free hand on his naval, warm and steady. His strokes were slow, languid, tight. Slowly his fingers traced underneath his shirt, up to his chest. His heartbeat was thumping quickly from the run, and from the anticipation. Desmond pinched a nipple, circling the head of his member with a calloused thumb. Gently, he coaxed back his foreskin, shivering in delight as he slipped his thumb inside and around the fold.
There had been many women and a couple of men, Desmond recalled, flicking through their muddled faces. One in particular had stood out to him -- a lithe, spectacled youth who'd given him a very good hand job in the back alley of this bar he'd worked at in Milan. His fingers had been nimble and rough, like -- ah, yes, like so -- and his kissing was almost overwhelming in its intensity. Desmond sped up, his hips unconsciously jerking forward in excitement. His foreskin had retracted completely now, and his shaft was thick and hard and warm.
His stray hand stopped abusing his nipples and found its way into his mouth. He eagerly licked his fingers and coated them with saliva, before lowering them down, into the back of his pants. With an almost tantalizingly sensual stroke, he circled his opening with all four fingers before slowly inserting his index finger in. A soft exhale escaped his lips as Desmond continued to tug himself with vigor, using his whole hand.
The man with glasses -- he'd remembered the glasses, because he hadn't taken them off the entire time -- had also done this as he'd jerked him off, something which Desmond had discovered he very much enjoyed. He'd never quite enjoyed bottoming until he'd discovered the synergetic effect of beating off and anal penetration, and, since then, he hadn't minded switching around with both women and men. It was almost shameful he hadn't thought of it earlier, really.
Though Desmond was careful with himself, and knew saliva was hardly a substitute for a good water-based lubrication, he liked the rough feel of fingering himself like this. He was stroking himself furiously now, and his hips were thrusting forward with his movements. The air was sinfully chilly against his heated skin, driving him ever closer to the edge.
"Yes," Desmond murmured, his eyes delightfully closed. His legs trembled slightly from holding him up, a light sheen of sweat covering his exposed belly and thighs. To a passerby, he would have painted a supremely enticing and erotic figure, exotic in the darkness.
His prick was swollen a deep red, shining from a mixture of both sweat and precum. Slick hands lost their practiced rhythm, resorting instead to a furious and rough pace. A third finger, a tight, painful burn of pleasure from misuse -- then, like clockwork, the prodding of a spot that caused a spasm of delight to shudder across his body -- he could hardly catch his breath, and he could hardly care if he was making noises anymore, it was close, so close --
Desmond shuddered, jerked, and like the release of a pent-up dam, came.
"Oh," Desmond breathed, his hips still moving forward in smaller and smaller jerks, like an aftershock. From his slowing strokes, he coaxed several more spurts of milky white, until nothing was left. His eyes fluttered, and he barely stopped his feet from giving in and dropping him down bonelessly to the floor. He carefully removed his fingers from inside of himself, squirming between discomfort and dry pleasure as the tightness left. He absentmindedly wiped his semen-coated fingers on his boxer-briefs, making a mental note to clean these before he handed them to Lucy so she and Rebecca could go to town in the morning to do laundry.
He exhaled and managed a relieved smile. The sexual frustration had been building up for days now, and it felt pleasantly exhausting to have finally let some out. Of course, he was hardly satisfied by just jerking off once, but it was a start. He was just about to do up his jeans and head back when he heard the sounds of someone loudly clearing their throat.
"Gah!" Desmond exclaimed, startled pale at the sight of Shaun at the opening of the alley. It was difficult to see in the dim lighting, but Desmond could swear he could see a flush across the man's cheeks, clearly meaning he'd been here for a while. "S-Shaun!"
Privacy, please [3/7]
There had been many women and a couple of men, Desmond recalled, flicking through their muddled faces. One in particular had stood out to him -- a lithe, spectacled youth who'd given him a very good hand job in the back alley of this bar he'd worked at in Milan. His fingers had been nimble and rough, like -- ah, yes, like so -- and his kissing was almost overwhelming in its intensity. Desmond sped up, his hips unconsciously jerking forward in excitement. His foreskin had retracted completely now, and his shaft was thick and hard and warm.
His stray hand stopped abusing his nipples and found its way into his mouth. He eagerly licked his fingers and coated them with saliva, before lowering them down, into the back of his pants. With an almost tantalizingly sensual stroke, he circled his opening with all four fingers before slowly inserting his index finger in. A soft exhale escaped his lips as Desmond continued to tug himself with vigor, using his whole hand.
The man with glasses -- he'd remembered the glasses, because he hadn't taken them off the entire time -- had also done this as he'd jerked him off, something which Desmond had discovered he very much enjoyed. He'd never quite enjoyed bottoming until he'd discovered the synergetic effect of beating off and anal penetration, and, since then, he hadn't minded switching around with both women and men. It was almost shameful he hadn't thought of it earlier, really.
Though Desmond was careful with himself, and knew saliva was hardly a substitute for a good water-based lubrication, he liked the rough feel of fingering himself like this. He was stroking himself furiously now, and his hips were thrusting forward with his movements. The air was sinfully chilly against his heated skin, driving him ever closer to the edge.
"Yes," Desmond murmured, his eyes delightfully closed. His legs trembled slightly from holding him up, a light sheen of sweat covering his exposed belly and thighs. To a passerby, he would have painted a supremely enticing and erotic figure, exotic in the darkness.
His prick was swollen a deep red, shining from a mixture of both sweat and precum. Slick hands lost their practiced rhythm, resorting instead to a furious and rough pace. A third finger, a tight, painful burn of pleasure from misuse -- then, like clockwork, the prodding of a spot that caused a spasm of delight to shudder across his body -- he could hardly catch his breath, and he could hardly care if he was making noises anymore, it was close, so close --
Desmond shuddered, jerked, and like the release of a pent-up dam, came.
"Oh," Desmond breathed, his hips still moving forward in smaller and smaller jerks, like an aftershock. From his slowing strokes, he coaxed several more spurts of milky white, until nothing was left. His eyes fluttered, and he barely stopped his feet from giving in and dropping him down bonelessly to the floor. He carefully removed his fingers from inside of himself, squirming between discomfort and dry pleasure as the tightness left. He absentmindedly wiped his semen-coated fingers on his boxer-briefs, making a mental note to clean these before he handed them to Lucy so she and Rebecca could go to town in the morning to do laundry.
He exhaled and managed a relieved smile. The sexual frustration had been building up for days now, and it felt pleasantly exhausting to have finally let some out. Of course, he was hardly satisfied by just jerking off once, but it was a start. He was just about to do up his jeans and head back when he heard the sounds of someone loudly clearing their throat.
"Gah!" Desmond exclaimed, startled pale at the sight of Shaun at the opening of the alley. It was difficult to see in the dim lighting, but Desmond could swear he could see a flush across the man's cheeks, clearly meaning he'd been here for a while. "S-Shaun!"