I put my head back on the cross and breathe. Even the rise and fall of my ribs hurts as everything I am goes into keeping my arms where they are and I have to find words ... my fingers numb against the wood. My hips shift and the cross moves and my cock twitches when I let the pictures fill my mind of all the times I stand alone and what do I do to make myself come when all I have is my own hand
( ... )
...and I am, rock hard and aching and needing him more that I can understand.
Find my legs, somehow, and cross the floor to the communion table. pour sanctified anointing oil in my palm, swallow hard and stop in front of the cross. Wait, with only arm's length between us and look into his eyes.
"I lean back against the wall of my shower or the door of my bedroom or spread my legs in the center of my bed or there, against the Communion table with my eyes on the cross and I wrap my hand around my cock."
Fingers touching me, ghosts and memories and jesus it feels like forever since I've been kissed or stroked or fucked or loved. My hips roll forward with the sensation of a dream. My hands move on the slick wood as if I'm jerking off God.
"I start with slow, deliberate strokes that come up from the root to the head. My thumb rubbing through the slit and down underneath just over that spot that makes us all jump and moan."
I stand in the spot where I know David has stood countless times, days and nights, dreaming of god only knows who, remembering, longing. . .
And I listen, let his voice move my hand where I want his to be, inhale a rush of dry air that closes my throat with particles of sandalwood and polish and dust.
Dry and familiar and I know it now, recognize the memory of mutual attraction cooled to ashes, passion drained of its juice after too many arguments, or not enough.
Joy drained of its light because there's someone else . . .someone newer, different, better . . . some other bright shiny thing or personality or quirk or kink . . .
Memories sear me whirl through me, lifting eddies of rage and hurt and heartbreak on a sudden change of the tide.
I pull hard without waiting for David to speak again, twist and yank and suck in a hard, razor-sharp gasp. . . and hear his voice. Hear the sound of my name and hold my breath.
"Back and forth and back again and then down, between my legs just as my shoulders start to feel that tension. Pull and tug at my balls, tips of my fingers skating behind. Slick with lotion or oil or precome. Gotta spread my legs a bit more. Feel that space between balls and ass. That skin that is so soft and sensitive. Just the length of the first joint of your finger, but when you press up into that hard knot inside ... fireworks, Terrence, fucking fireworks ..."
I lick my lips, my back arching and bowing in rhythm with my voice. Take a ragged breath and feel the pounding of my heart, the ache of my cock.
"And then back up to pull and twist, a little faster this time. Just enough to make myself gasp, maybe groan. Maybe think of the last time someone's knees were between mine. Someone's hands on my shoulders. Someone's tongue in my mouth. Someone telling me with whispers and growls and whines that they need me, that they want me, that they have to have me ..."
My head rolls back and I have to hear him say those words to me. Off the cross, in my arms.
Hear him beg, desperate and ravaged with lust and lost to everything by my touch, my breath, my body, that he wants nothing, no one but me - because it’s me and not a body or a set of skilled fingers or a clever tongue or a pretty boy in a kinky scene.
I need him to want me, know who I am, to seek me like a drowning man seeks the chimes of his death in every breaking wave.
Follow his words with my hands and stroke and pull and feel it. Feel him. Want to feel him, need to touch…need to reach…
The words tumble out of my head and into the space we struggle in, distantly but almost close enough, almost there. . .can’t take my eyes off his face, off his glistening skin and the sweat coursing from his temples.
“I need you. I want to know you, who you were, who you’ll become. Want you. Have to, David. I have to
( ... )
My voice is hoarse now. As if I'd been screaming, as if I've been begging and I know it's the pain and the lust. Building inside me until one or the other is going to make me, break me. So very close
( ... )
As ancient as the first man who discovered his own personal lightning rod of pleasure and pain and passion, and am I following David's lead, or do we all just follow that ancient songline, back to the very first one of us who found himself alone in a cave or in a delta or in the desert, filled with longing?
Filled with hope. Aching with confusion and anticipation and wonder and joy. . .
Aching to be touched. To be caught when we fall.
David's cock strains against the tight circle of beads I've wound around it, dark and swollen and I can almost feel him in my hand, feel the crucifix swaying with every shift of his waist, the slightest bend of his knee.
In front of Me every head must bow, every knee must bend. . .
"Can you feel it though? Tell me that you feel it, Terrence."
I'm all but walking away from the cross. Only my fingers still touching it. Straining toward him like a moth to a flame and watching his hand hold tight on his cock with a greediness I haven't felt in ... forever. Passion coating the air and if there were a way to capture the electricity in this room, we could power a city.
"The surge of blood in your body? The way the air tastes better? The perfect clarity of thought and the singularity of your mind? What would you do to come, TJ? What would you give? When you're truly there, on that very edge ... when you're standing with the gravel falling under your feet and the orgasm is only seconds away but not yet ... what would you promise to be allowed to come? What lie would you tell? Whose heart would you break? Every sense alive and awake and would you beg for it again? Would you whimper and moan and whisper and scream please ... please ... please ...?"
all of it everything every time and it never changes never and his voice sweet jesus that voice
Chapel bells and warning bells and drowning bells and sirens call to me, plead with me to give in, to give up and he urges me there with question after question that I don't have the control or breath or will to answer.
Feel it building, feel the pressure behind my eyes and the wrenching in my gut and will myself to stop. Take my hands away and I hear my own moan in my ears as I try to find some kind of balance, some kind of self-possession.
Reach behind me to the communion table and grip the tabletop, grit my teeth and breathe borrowed air, will myself still.
Balls tight, aching, cock stiff against my belly and slick with baptismal oil and I want him to make me come, just like this.
I step back. Lean into the wood again, rest my head and keep my eyes on TJ. On the flush that has risen from his chest to his neck. The tight clench of his jaw and the perfect curve of his cock as it strains up against the rippled muscles of his abdomen.
"Do you feel it, Terrence? Do you want it?"
My whisper carries in the still air. My voice caressing him as if I were there, beside him. Speaking in his ear, licking at his sweat.
"When I can't stay here any longer, I reach down. Take my cock in my hand, so carefully. So slowly. The wrong touch and I'm gone, but this time is perfect and even though it almost hurts to be here, to exist on this plane for this long ... I still move as if I've got hours to spend."
I remember the feel of him in my bed. The way he smiled in my shower. The seconds/minutes/days that I spent painting his chest and his groin and his legs. Colors washed away and lost forever. Lost to everyone but us.
"One stroke. Two. Three. Five. Ten. Up and down and there, fuck, there it is ... there it is ... I'm coming
( ... )
There will be crescent gouges left in the table from my fingernails.
Push forward and take myself in hand as I take the two or three steps to the cross, stand close enough to touch him, to feel the sweat on our thighs mingle and slip together.
Press close and open my hand to take his cock against mine, feel David shudder and spasm against me, heavy with desire, bright with pain. Reach up with my right hand and cover his fingers on the crossbeam, hold them still.
Let my hips do the work of my left hand now. Reach up and cover his right hand and hold him. Hold him tight and hard so I know he can't let go.
Rock my hips against his, slip my cock against his, lightning bolts of pleasure crashing through me as we rock and shift, muscle to muscle, feel the spiral release spinning me out into the darkness, into freefall.
Taste his hot breath on my mouth as I buck and thrust and rub... dazzling starbursts of pain flash behind my eyes as the bones in our hands press hard and I hold him up, keep him holding on as I fall into the abyss.
I lean down, pull against the clasp and pressure of his hands to reach for his mouth and kiss him as he comes. Fingers digging into the cross, sliding in sweat. I can smell him, hot and spicy and perfect. Salt and come and need all wrapped up in one package with a brilliant mind.
"God, yes, TJ, yes ..."
I whisper into his mouth as he shudders and twists against me. Pushing me back into the wood and holding me up. Desire burning inside of me until there is nothing left but the flame of need. And I have nothing left to lose but him.
"Terrence, let me down. Let me touch you. Let me taste you, let me lay you out on the table and spread your legs and let me inside of you ..."
Reaching, grasping, clenching. . . desperately holding on to a lifeline of wood and flesh and bone and coming, coming, coming in vicious spasms. Climbing forty-story waves of pleasure destined to sweep me away.
climbing falling coming fighting
Fighting to keep from falling backwards, losing my grip, fighting to keep this improbable gift from falling off the cross and out of my life . . .
Always fighting . . .
let me . . . let me . . . let me . . . let me . . . let me . . .What flesh can touch, touches and the sound of his voice and the taste of his tongue and sweat and blood frees me from the current, lifts me back, alive and present and so fucking alive
( ... )
Lightning in my shoulders as TJ pulls my arms and hands away from the cross and then he falls down to the floor and I'm pulled with him. I catch myself on my hands and knees and still feel his hips pressing up into mine.
The floor smells of polish and care and sex and rituals burnt into the wood. My fingers slide under his shoulders and I sink between his spread legs. Press my cock into soft, warm flesh and feel the chain of the rosary beads and the cross follow and torment. Tease and torture me.
And my lips are moving before I can hear my own voice. Sliding down his chest and licking up the sweat and the come and finding his cock. Letting it brush against my cheeks and the stubble on my jaw.
"Blessed be God. Blessed be His Holy Name. Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man. Blessed be the Name of Jesus. Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart. Blessed be His Most Precious Blood. Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar."Sucking his cock into my mouth. Cleaning him of every trace of his orgasm with my lips and my
( ... )
Devouring me, swallowing me whole. Stripping my flesh with his mouth, greedy and savage and tender at the same time and dear sweet jesus his tongue and his hands and this. . .
worship submission desire possession
Welcome to the precipice.
Our roles are reversed in the space of a heartbeat, in the fury of a fall from grace and I am caught in the rapture. Dig my heels hard into to the floor but can’t keep my thighs from spreading, opening to him as he breathes prayers over my skin, a fallen angel from the heavens, blessing me with the benediction of the divine praises, licking and sucking and biting and making me shudder and writhe and beg. Turning my flesh inside out with every brush of his cheek, every nip, every wet pass of his beautiful tongue. Spreading me. Opening me. Feel his breath and his lips and mouth and dear sweet jesus I need . . .
I want. . .
“Please . . .please. . .fuck me. Fuck me. Need you . . . in me . . . everything. . . just, please. . .David. . .”
Reply
Find my legs, somehow, and cross the floor to the communion table. pour sanctified anointing oil in my palm, swallow hard and stop in front of the cross. Wait, with only arm's length between us and look into his eyes.
Nod my assent.
"Don't stop."
Reply
Fingers touching me, ghosts and memories and jesus it feels like forever since I've been kissed or stroked or fucked or loved. My hips roll forward with the sensation of a dream. My hands move on the slick wood as if I'm jerking off God.
"I start with slow, deliberate strokes that come up from the root to the head. My thumb rubbing through the slit and down underneath just over that spot that makes us all jump and moan."
Reply
I stand in the spot where I know David has stood countless times, days and nights, dreaming of god only knows who, remembering, longing. . .
And I listen, let his voice move my hand where I want his to be, inhale a rush of dry air that closes my throat with particles of sandalwood and polish and dust.
Dry and familiar and I know it now, recognize the memory of mutual attraction cooled to ashes, passion drained of its juice after too many arguments, or not enough.
Joy drained of its light because there's someone else . . .someone newer, different, better . . . some other bright shiny thing or personality or quirk or kink . . .
Memories sear me whirl through me, lifting eddies of rage and hurt and heartbreak on a sudden change of the tide.
I pull hard without waiting for David to speak again, twist and yank and suck in a hard, razor-sharp gasp. . . and hear his voice. Hear the sound of my name and hold my breath.
Reply
I lick my lips, my back arching and bowing in rhythm with my voice. Take a ragged breath and feel the pounding of my heart, the ache of my cock.
"And then back up to pull and twist, a little faster this time. Just enough to make myself gasp, maybe groan. Maybe think of the last time someone's knees were between mine. Someone's hands on my shoulders. Someone's tongue in my mouth. Someone telling me with whispers and growls and whines that they need me, that they want me, that they have to have me ..."
Reply
Hear him beg, desperate and ravaged with lust and lost to everything by my touch, my breath, my body, that he wants nothing, no one but me - because it’s me and not a body or a set of skilled fingers or a clever tongue or a pretty boy in a kinky scene.
I need him to want me, know who I am, to seek me like a drowning man seeks the chimes of his death in every breaking wave.
Follow his words with my hands and stroke and pull and feel it. Feel him. Want to feel him, need to touch…need to reach…
The words tumble out of my head and into the space we struggle in, distantly but almost close enough, almost there. . .can’t take my eyes off his face, off his glistening skin and the sweat coursing from his temples.
“I need you. I want to know you, who you were, who you’ll become. Want you. Have to, David. I have to ( ... )
Reply
Reply
As ancient as the first man who discovered his own personal lightning rod of pleasure and pain and passion, and am I following David's lead, or do we all just follow that ancient songline, back to the very first one of us who found himself alone in a cave or in a delta or in the desert, filled with longing?
Filled with hope. Aching with confusion and anticipation and wonder and joy. . .
Aching to be touched. To be caught when we fall.
David's cock strains against the tight circle of beads I've wound around it, dark and swollen and I can almost feel him in my hand, feel the crucifix swaying with every shift of his waist, the slightest bend of his knee.
In front of Me every head must bow, every knee must bend. . .
"Make me come, David. Please, make me come."
Reply
I'm all but walking away from the cross. Only my fingers still touching it. Straining toward him like a moth to a flame and watching his hand hold tight on his cock with a greediness I haven't felt in ... forever. Passion coating the air and if there were a way to capture the electricity in this room, we could power a city.
"The surge of blood in your body? The way the air tastes better? The perfect clarity of thought and the singularity of your mind? What would you do to come, TJ? What would you give? When you're truly there, on that very edge ... when you're standing with the gravel falling under your feet and the orgasm is only seconds away but not yet ... what would you promise to be allowed to come? What lie would you tell? Whose heart would you break? Every sense alive and awake and would you beg for it again? Would you whimper and moan and whisper and scream please ... please ... please ...?"
Reply
Chapel bells and warning bells and drowning bells and sirens call to me, plead with me to give in, to give up and he urges me there with question after question that I don't have the control or breath or will to answer.
Feel it building, feel the pressure behind my eyes and the wrenching in my gut and will myself to stop. Take my hands away and I hear my own moan in my ears as I try to find some kind of balance, some kind of self-possession.
Reach behind me to the communion table and grip the tabletop, grit my teeth and breathe borrowed air, will myself still.
Balls tight, aching, cock stiff against my belly and slick with baptismal oil and I want him to make me come, just like this.
He's holding on.
Now it's my turn.
Reply
"Do you feel it, Terrence? Do you want it?"
My whisper carries in the still air. My voice caressing him as if I were there, beside him. Speaking in his ear, licking at his sweat.
"When I can't stay here any longer, I reach down. Take my cock in my hand, so carefully. So slowly. The wrong touch and I'm gone, but this time is perfect and even though it almost hurts to be here, to exist on this plane for this long ... I still move as if I've got hours to spend."
I remember the feel of him in my bed. The way he smiled in my shower. The seconds/minutes/days that I spent painting his chest and his groin and his legs. Colors washed away and lost forever. Lost to everyone but us.
"One stroke. Two. Three. Five. Ten. Up and down and there, fuck, there it is ... there it is ... I'm coming ( ... )
Reply
Push forward and take myself in hand as I take the two or three steps to the cross, stand close enough to touch him, to feel the sweat on our thighs mingle and slip together.
Press close and open my hand to take his cock against mine, feel David shudder and spasm against me, heavy with desire, bright with pain. Reach up with my right hand and cover his fingers on the crossbeam, hold them still.
Let my hips do the work of my left hand now. Reach up and cover his right hand and hold him. Hold him tight and hard so I know he can't let go.
Rock my hips against his, slip my cock against his, lightning bolts of pleasure crashing through me as we rock and shift, muscle to muscle, feel the spiral release spinning me out into the darkness, into freefall.
Taste his hot breath on my mouth as I buck and thrust and rub... dazzling starbursts of pain flash behind my eyes as the bones in our hands press hard and I hold him up, keep him holding on as I fall into the abyss.
Reply
"God, yes, TJ, yes ..."
I whisper into his mouth as he shudders and twists against me. Pushing me back into the wood and holding me up. Desire burning inside of me until there is nothing left but the flame of need. And I have nothing left to lose but him.
"Terrence, let me down. Let me touch you. Let me taste you, let me lay you out on the table and spread your legs and let me inside of you ..."
Reply
climbing falling coming fighting
Fighting to keep from falling backwards, losing my grip, fighting to keep this improbable gift from falling off the cross and out of my life . . .
Always fighting . . .
let me . . . let me . . . let me . . . let me . . . let me . . .What flesh can touch, touches and the sound of his voice and the taste of his tongue and sweat and blood frees me from the current, lifts me back, alive and present and so fucking alive ( ... )
Reply
The floor smells of polish and care and sex and rituals burnt into the wood. My fingers slide under his shoulders and I sink between his spread legs. Press my cock into soft, warm flesh and feel the chain of the rosary beads and the cross follow and torment. Tease and torture me.
And my lips are moving before I can hear my own voice. Sliding down his chest and licking up the sweat and the come and finding his cock. Letting it brush against my cheeks and the stubble on my jaw.
"Blessed be God. Blessed be His Holy Name. Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man. Blessed be the Name of Jesus. Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart. Blessed be His Most Precious Blood. Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar."Sucking his cock into my mouth. Cleaning him of every trace of his orgasm with my lips and my ( ... )
Reply
Devouring me, swallowing me whole. Stripping my flesh with his mouth, greedy and savage and tender at the same time and dear sweet jesus his tongue and his hands and this. . .
worship
submission
desire
possession
Welcome to the precipice.
Our roles are reversed in the space of a heartbeat, in the fury of a fall from grace and I am caught in the rapture. Dig my heels hard into to the floor but can’t keep my thighs from spreading, opening to him as he breathes prayers over my skin, a fallen angel from the heavens, blessing me with the benediction of the divine praises, licking and sucking and biting and making me shudder and writhe and beg.
Turning my flesh inside out with every brush of his cheek, every nip, every wet pass of his beautiful tongue. Spreading me. Opening me. Feel his breath and his lips and mouth and dear sweet jesus I need . . .
I want. . .
“Please . . .please. . .fuck me. Fuck me. Need you . . . in me . . . everything. . . just, please. . .David. . .”
Reply
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