© Clare London


The touch of a rough tongue on his neck was surely nothing more than another illusion; he was dreaming.  He rolled on to his back on the mattress, his long naked limbs sliding sinuously on top of the cool cotton sheets.  A smile teased at his lips.  But the tongue moved as he did, trailing damp saliva along his earlobe, flickering in between the earrings.  Hot breath brushed inside his ear; his eyes flickered with pleasure under the closed lids.  He moaned gently.

The dream wasn’t fading.  The tongue was sliding firmly down his neck now, licking into the throat, suckling at the Adam’s apple.  He stretched his head back, instinctively, and felt the wetness tugging at his skin like delicate, greedy fingertips.  His legs opened a little wider, bare skin slippery with the slightest sheen of sweat.  He felt his awakening cock nudging against his thigh.

The tongue was slipping down over his shoulder, down on to his chest, licking at the salty sweat on his warm, sleepy body.  His eyes were still closed, but his mind was waking now.  He lay completely passive, hands gently palming the bedclothes beneath him, as the lips sucked their imprint all the way down his flesh.  The rough edges of the tongue lapped around his nipples, crinkling the skin and flicking at each nub until it swelled almost painfully erect.

He felt his hips bucking without any conscious effort; his cock stirred between his legs and the heat of its growing arousal burned at the nude skin of his groin.  His moan was more of a groan now, the excitement and the frustration rising up in him.  The tongue continued to lick its way down his flesh, dragging slightly over the muscles of his torso.  It lapped hungrily at his navel, rolling its tip into the depression, tickling and licking around the outer ridge of skin.  It sucked its way out and across his body, along the tight skin of his waist.  From the soft, wet sounds he was hearing, he could imagine the trail of silvery saliva hanging across his skin, attached at one end to his body and at the other to the torturing lips.  When a thread dripped on to his belly, he shivered with the shock and delight.  His eyes were tightly closed; he actually thought he might not be able to open them at all – as if he were held in some kind of a sensual spell.

The tongue paused and returned towards the centre of his body, sliding wetly back over the muscles of his lower belly, following the path down to between his thighs.  Unable to resist, he opened his legs even wider, bending his knees slightly and raising them from the bed.  His cock felt heavy and hot and aching, and it bobbed up, straining for a touch.  When the tongue licked suddenly and sweetly at the base of it, he cried aloud, a guttural, hungry sound.

The licking started low and dragged its way up, saliva seeping around the sheath.  He could feel the tensed muscle in the tip of the tongue, the tiny bumps of its edge as it teased in under the skin, licking its way round the crown.  He could feel the sticky bubbles of pre-cum oozing from his slit, and then the tongue was there as well, suckling eagerly at them.  It swept back down, dribbling a mixture of its own juices and his cum around the shaft, spreading slick lubrication around it.  Then up and down again, varying its path each time, moving inexorably around the whole surface, making it slippery with bodily fluids.  Each time, it let the thick, hot flesh linger on the bed of the tongue, caressing its throbbing need, then sliding it cruelly back out in favour of the next greedy lick.

Each time the tongue sucked its way up his cock, he thought he might come.  The excitement coiled in his groin; the flesh quivered along his legs and belly.  He knew if he grabbed out at it, pulling it closer and forcing its touch to be that much fiercer, he’d be able to drag the climax up and out of him.  It bubbled even now, steaming under the surface of his skin, begging for release.  But he didn’t move his hands, except to hold even tighter to the anchor of his bed.  It felt as if something heavy and irresistible held him down across his shoulders, as if he were trapped beneath it all.  It was an unusual feeling for him, to be so vulnerable – but a feeling he was easily surrendering to.  His hips shuddered up with each swipe of the tongue to the head of his cock, and then sank back down as the licking retreated back to the base.  The flesh of his dick strained and complained and sprang angrily out from his pale skin.  He didn’t come, and wasn’t sure he wanted to – not yet.

And at last the tongue nursed the crown of his desperate cock on its wet, warm bed, and the whole mouth surrounded him.  He groaned loudly.  He couldn’t stop his legs tensing, forcing himself up off the bed and plunging himself in deeply between the thick lips, begging for the suction, for the tight, wet warmth of the channel, for the harsh brushing against teeth, for the shocking thrill of fear should they close around him, biting into the over-sensitive, swollen flesh of his shaft.

The lips tightened around him; the tongue inside licked at him, darting around him as he thrust in and out.  He lifted one hand and clamped it around the base of his dick, partly to hold back the rush of climax, partly to add to the sensation.  When the mouth started to slide up and off him he nearly wept, but he kept on pumping himself slowly.  The air of the room was cool on his flesh, his cock burning in his palm, the throb of frustration running through it.

But the lips were moving on his skin again, the hot breath was faster now, sighing under his balls, the tongue and lower lip catching the heavy fall of the sac.  It licked under its thin skin, pushing the balls from one side to the other, bouncing them softly against his thighs and the creased sheets beneath his body.  Then it slid down and under them, the tip of the tongue licking a damp route along the sensitive skin towards his asshole.  His back arched – he lifted his hips up to facilitate it, to allow the torment to reach further back.  His fingers gripped at the bed, the knuckles whitening with tension.  The tongue savoured him, sucking seductively at the nerve endings, until its tip reached the tight pucker of flesh of its goal.

It flickered around, licking and sucking seductively.  He could feel the soft, tickling trail of saliva running down the inside of his thigh; the excess dribble seeping down between his cheeks.  His entrance flexed, he could feel the muscles relaxing, pleading for attention.  The tongue wriggled around the wrinkled flesh, making gentle stabbing movements, teasing its tip against the dark depths of the hole, making the skin shiver in anticipation.

When it plunged itself into him, parting the tight muscle, rolling itself into him as deep as the top digits of a finger – he came then.  He couldn’t hold back.  He cried out some nonsense, full of anguish and pure sexual satisfaction.  The warmth flooded him, the ache thrust up through his engorged cock, and the seed splattered messily and deliriously out of him.  The tongue was trapped suddenly by his instinctive spasms, then it stabbed in and out of him again, tantalising his shuddering nerves.  Again and again his cum exploded from him, several hot spurts following the initial rope of thick white stickiness.  His hips were high in the air and the muscles of his belly were tightly clenched.  He bit through his lower lip with the agonising ecstasy and felt the blood dribbling down his chin.

Then came a lull.  His heartbeat was slowing, his breathing almost regular again.  He thought he might be drifting back into his dream world, now sexually exhausted.  But the thrill still raced in his nerves, and his hunger was only partially sated.  The tongue had withdrawn from him and was licking almost aimlessly now, suckling at the soft flesh of his thighs, moving further away from what had been its prey only minutes ago.  His cock lay on his belly, only half-erect now that it had tasted ecstasy.  But that was still halfway to further arousal.

He waited until the tongue was swiping gently at the very outermost tip of his hip, where the skin was taut and thin and the caress was almost a tickle.  His mattress creaked gently against some kind of movement, as if a body was preparing to lift itself up and away from it.  The licking had covered him and caressed him and then thrust him carelessly off the edge of ecstasy.  He wasn’t sure he was going to let that pass – he wasn’t sure that he was finished with its work just yet.  At the last moment, just as the tongue left his skin, the dampness cooling quickly against his panting flesh, his hand shot out from his side and grasped at whatever it might find.

His strong fingers closed around a slim neck, the pulse beating suddenly too fast, as if the owner was startled at the speed of his reactions.  He rolled over towards his own prey; it was his turn to stalk, now.

He smiled in triumph.