Give him a hand

I’m exhausted. I’m hungover. I’m so detached. Fuck it.

My hand lazily reaches up. Ross mutters, “Hell yeah,” as wrap my fingers around his shaft, and my thumb grips on top of them. My hand slowly strokes its first dick that isn’t mine. My eyes stare at the floor of the shower. My hand strokes by feel: moving up the lathered shaft until it reaches the protruding rim of his cock head, then slides back down the pole to the soft brush of his pubic hair. Despite the bare minimum of effort from my hand, my ears hear the soft moans escaping Ross, while my mind tries to ignore them.

My shoulder burns from reaching up for so long. Whenever my arm falls to my side in exhaustion, Ross turns to face the stream of water. He turns back, his cock rinsed of soap. Looking up, I ask, “Oh are you done?”

Water flows down his toned body. He steps forward, his dangling balls rubbing against my forehead. He says, “I sucked you off earlier. I was hoping you could return the favor.”

I could argue that I didn’t ask him to suck my dick. I was actually manacled, and couldn’t stopping him from sucking my dick. The unclasping of the handcuffs was the favor, not the sucking.

But I don’t have the energy to argue.

I raise from my sitting position until the hard tiles of the shower digs into my knees, and my eyes are level with his belly button.

He grins and tilts his dick down, “Open up.”

My jaw lowers. Ross guides his cock between my open lips. As mouth closes, my mind has to tell my teeth now to bite down. My lips press against the hard flesh of his dick. Despite nothing happening, Ross groans, “Oh fuck that’s so hot.”

I’m thankful. Hopefully the sight of his dick in my mouth is enough for him—a hidden fantasy finally come true. But after his mental snapshots, he urges, “C’mon bro. Suck me like a popsicle. Don’t be afraid to slurp.”

I sucked in, and pulled my mouth back on his cock. The moan that came from Ross did not match the effort I was giving. I moved my mouth back down his cock, and sucked up again. I didn’t grab his cock, just used my mouth, sucking up and down half his cock. I’m so apathetic. It could be anything in my mouth that I’m sucking.

But I’m half asleep, eyes shut, sucking my best friend’s cock.

Ross acts like he’s getting the best blowjob of his life. Arching back into the stream of the shower and moaning. Constantly uttering “oh fuck,” “oh fuck.” His breathing increasing. Building and building with my pathetic attempt at a giving head.

A spurt of pungent liquid into my mouth wakes me up. I try to pull my head back. I don’t want to swallow Ross’s cum.

Hands press against the back of my head, not allowing me to leave. My mouth fills with spurts of his cum. His hand press more firmly, and he thrust his hips, forcing his dick further into my mouth.

His cock slams into the back of my mouth, and I gag, his semen dripping down my throat. I rear back and punch Ross in the thigh as hard as I can. My hand impacts his soft flesh until the knuckles hit bone. He yells, “Fuck!” and finally pulls his cock out of my mouth.

He steps back, and I puke bourbon, bile and semen all over his feet. I heave and heave until my stomach is empty.

Ross steps back, looking over the splatter of vomit in the shower. He realizes what happened, and switches to being my best friend, “Oh shit dude! I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ll get this cleaned up. Don’t worry about it! Let’s get you cleaned up and to bed.”

He picked me up off my knees, his dick still hard. He wiped me down, his hands cleaning my entire body.

I leaned on him. He dried me off, then walked to my room. He laid me in the bed.

The last thing I remember is my wife asking, “What the fuck happened to him?”