Worshiping Part 4
I remember, vividly, the feel of a black shirt under my hands. I remember how the material felt as I slid my palms across it, across his chest. Reverently, my fingers sought the buttons. Nervous, I fumbled. He was patient.
Starting at his chest, at my hands, my peripheral vision could just make out the gentle smile on his face. A curl of lip, more pronounced for the dark swath of goatee. He didn’t help me. This was my task. This was my honor.
One by one, I undid the buttons constraining his chest. Bit by bit, the cloth receded and I could see the skin of him, dusted with hair. Once I’d unbuttoned all, I stood there – unsure if I should reach for his pants, unsure if I should take it upon myself.
Again, he read my thoughts, “Go ahead, finish with the shirt.”
I reached, hands slightly trembling, to free the shirt tails from his pants. To do so, I reached around him. I drew so close to his chest that I could feel the heat of his skin, smell his scent, feel the hair against my lips. But I held back. Freed of the confines of his jeans, the shirt open, I reached up to undrape it from his shoulders.
He stood before me, shirtless and bare. I let my gaze take him in. Skin, smooth and tanned. Chest hair, dark and soft. His right nipple pierced. Stomach flat, with a treasure trail disappearing into the folds of his waistband.
Again, I risked looking up, into his face.
“Do you like what you see, boy?”
“yes… yes Sir.” My lips were dry.
There was heat in his eyes. I’ve read that type of description for years, but never—never truly—understood what that meant. Until now. I hadn't realized I could feel any more naked than I already was.
“Shall I take off your pants Sir?”
Before I could move, he wound his hand in the chain lead attached to my collar and he pulled me to him, roughly. Grinding his lips against mine, tongue invading my mouth roughly. I felt invaded, but incredibly turned on.
He pulled away from me just as suddenly. “No more talking from you, boy. Now, get on your knees.”
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