Birthday Sex

It's one of our traditions. Each time one of us has a birthday, the dude and I take a day devoted to giving it to each other just how we like it.

On the way home from his birthday dinner, I started massaging his dick through his shorts. On the interstate, I unfastened my seat belt and took him into my mouth. He was harder than I'd ever felt him.

Giving him that illicit, illegal pleasure was my own ecstasy as well. It was so hot to hear him moan and breathe above me, to feel him pushing in and out of my mouth as he drove. It was so erotic not to know. Not to know if we were about to crash or be caught. I was an instrument for his pleasure, and it's all I lived for.

We went for a swim to temporarily cool things off, but that didn't work so well. We ended up leaving the pool and fucking in his gym's shower. It was porn-star hot: After he fucked my face, he pressed me against the cold wall and opened me with his fingers. Using only his spit and my own precum for lube, he began to fuck me. I grabbed the shower rod and held on, biting my forearm for silence. As he moved in me red hot pain became white hot passion.

Soon I was spilling my seed in searing shots all across my thighs and calves as he emptied inside of me. The world narrowed to the sacred tawdriness of our sex: the smell of cum and sweat, the industrial soap. The sounds of people exercising in the rooms adjacent to our shower.

He came again in my mouth, later that night, as I played his prostate like a favorite song on an instrument I've held my whole life long. I ate his seed and his screams, and wished him a very happy birthday.