You and Brendon are going to the same college, him for cosmetology, you for massage therapy and you quickly become best friends. You had never dyed your hair before, and loved having your hair done different ways--especially by him--so made an excellent test subject. Not only is he pretty camp, with quite an interest in gay culture, but he’s boyfriends with a boy named Ryan at another college a few hours away, and they take turns visiting the other on weekends. You develop a big crush on him anyway, and resign yourself to having a crush that can go nowhere. Yet you realize that you two are having awkward moments that may be sexual, but don't want to misread it. It comes to a head when he hurts himself playing soccer (the only sport he's good at besides skateboarding), so you offer to give him a massage.
He takes off his shirt, leaving him in shorts and socks, laying down on your bed, and you try to tell yourself this isn't awkward, and you certainly are not turned on by him, the thought of your hands running over his skin. You start on his shoulders, saying it'll help relax him before you need to work on his injured right thigh. He nods, resting his head in his arms, looking up at you with a shy smile, and you fight the urge to kiss those gorgeous plump lips. To get better access, you straddle the back of his knees, gently kneading and stroking at first. His breathing relaxes, and he puts his face in his arms, closing his eyes.
It hits you you're not being as professional as you should, touching him not just to assess potential injury and treat it, but wanting to make him feel good, making you feel guilty, but not enough to stop. Which is why you think you may be imagining things as you notice his breath hitch as you reach the small of his back, figuring he must just be getting more comfortable as you notice his hips shift against the bed. You skip over his butt, but want to run your hands over it--seriously, he's got a juicy booty for a guy, you think, making yourself chuckle--and go to his left thigh briefly before turning to the right, both hands working it. He gasps in pain as you find the injury, and you lighten up, just massaging gently until he relaxes.
"Feels a lot better, but--"
"Y-you can keep going, if you wanted."
You do, briefly going to his calves, then working back up, stroking him mostly now, forgetting to skip over his ass as his breathing gets deep, and a couple moans escape, which ok, is so making that low, thrumming arousal you're trying to keep aside worse.
"I-I--should tell you something," he rushes out. "I should've said before, but didn't want to mess anything up."
Your heart starts going fast, and you let yourself hope, hands finding the small of his back again.
"Jesus, y/n, I--I'm not as gay as everyone thinks I am, you know. And I've spent most of this massage maybe--well not maybe--definitely turned on. I shouldn't have--Sorry, I can go. I know we're friends, I don't want to fuck anything up; I know you were just helping--"
Your hands scramble to keep him in place as he shifts to get up. "Bren, I wasn't just helping. Wanted you to feel good." The words were out before you could stop them, making his eyes widen, and his teeth bite down on his lip. "I was hoping it wasn't obvious; I've had a crush on you for a couple months."
"Really?" he said.
You nod. "I've spent this massage turned on, too." You're unable to look him in the eye as you say it, still feeling guilty.
"C'mere, y/n." You get off his back to lay on your side beside him, and his hand reaches out to stroke your cheek.
"I wanna kiss you, B, so bad."
He grins, shifting onto his side, thumb touching the side of your mouth. "What's stopping you?" And beats you to it.
Oh, god, his mouth, you think, as his full lips meet yours. You've never seen, felt, such luscious lips on a white boy (mostly white, he's almost a quarter Asian; you remember his mom, Grace), and if you're honest, you've had thoughts about them.
A lot of thoughts, even in class and other times you can't act on them, ones that have you clenching your thighs together to put pressure on your vulva, wanting to touch yourself so bad. Ones that do have you touching yourself, figuring out how to make yourself burst again, feeling as if you'd forgotten from when you were in junior high, when the shame stopped you doing it for years. Until less than two months ago, you'd only come since then in dreams, and a few times with a boy, usually during dry humping, if he let you rub on him for long enough and didn't mess with your rhythm too much. One guy did a couple times when he went down on you, but stopped once he got you off, wanting to stick it in, leaving you grateful but disappointed, wanting more of his mouth. Only one other guy has ever put his mouth there, and that guy acted like it was a big chore that you should fall to your knees in gratitude over for the few seconds he did it. Still, it's all your thinking about half the damn time, doing that with Brendon.
He'd probably be crazy good at it with a mouth like that. You had to admit you were jealous of Ryan, getting that wonderful boy and his amazing mouth. Brendon had told you they did that to each other, a lot, and used hands, and rubbed on each other, after you asked him one night what it is that guys did anyway, alcohol loosening both your tongues. He didn't think fucking was just sticking it in, but mostly the other stuff you could do, whether it was two guys, two girls, or a guy and a girl. Besides, he said, Ryan was too big for him, so they only did it the other way around, and only a few times. You flushed more, too embarrassed to admit you'd thought all gay guys did it, and did it all the time, that it was the...only real thing. And that you thought it was mostly the other way around. Neither were, well, manly, but Brendon was so campy and needy, like his heart was in Ryan and everyone else's hands. Plus he had such an applebottom for a rather small boy. And...he was shorter than him. You felt kind of stupid, but glad to know, as he told you it took a lot of prep, and you had to be really careful, so they didn't usually bother, getting lost in the lubed, condom-covered fingers up the ass and the sucking and so on. You hoped you didn't come off creepy with how much you wanted to hear him talking about it, but he really seemed happy to tell you, letting it slip that oral, giving and receiving, was often his favorite, and that rubbing off on each other was "so fucking underrated, y/n...like...holy fuck." Giggling when a burp slipped out.
It was the first time you'd come across that, a guy thinking everything was sex, was fucking. And him telling you about him and Ryan turned you on. Like a lot, even through your mutual burps and giggle fits. And the also mutual belly rubs and tickles and tentative wrestling turned you on even more, excitement and pleasure thrumming through you alongside nervousness and pointless wishing, leaving you wet and aching. It was strange how much you liked him describing it for you, even thinking about them together then and later. Which only made you fantasize and dream about him more, wishing he would make an exception in his sexual orientation for you.
You realize you've pressed yourself against him shamelessly, crotch to crotch and you can feel him hard against you--oh god, he's liking this, he really is, the thought just turning you on even more. You've kept on kissing, his hands now running down your back to your ass, pulling you to him more. "God, y/n, do you even know?" He kisses down your neck. "You're so sexy. Wanna make you feel good." He's rolling over, bringing you with him so you're straddling him.
You're not used to going this fast, but boy, do you like it, and you grind down on him, feeling yourself getting wet, and swollen. "Wanna make you feel good, too, Brendon." Feeling him grab your hips, pressing you down on him, letting go to rub them gently, and you're moaning into each others mouths, breathing heavy. If anything, he's louder than you. Guys are usually quiet, you thought.
"C-can you, you know... like this?" he says, getting shy.
Him being so sweet about it helps you get over your own apprehension. "Can I come like this? Yeah. When I'm on top, it's a good bet." You can feel his dick jerk, through your layers, at your words, and you grin. You switch between back and forth and circular motions. "Wanna see me come like this, Bren? Wanna see you come, too." The words are out before you can stop them, shocking you. You've only talked dirty like this in your thoughts and dreams, not in real life, especially not the first time you're fucking around with someone. Sometimes you think it, but can't bring yourself to say it, worried guys would think you're a slut, which would be bad--it was a careful tightrope to walk between prude and slut, and falling on either side had repercussions, especially from boys.
Brendon is still grinning up at you, though, biting his lip, seeming even more turned on, running his hand between your clothed breasts down your stomach as his eyes followed, briefly touching your mound, eyes flicking back up to gaze up at you. He manages to look both horny and adoring, especially his eyes, and you knew he wasn't judging you, sending more arousal through you.
You lean over, kissing him again, feeling close in more than one way--just a bit longer. You swivel more, getting more pressure on the top, your clit, breathing and gasping now against his mouth between kisses, his hands rubbing over your thighs, his breath heavy like yours, moaning your name.
"Y/n, I'm so close, should I try not to?"
Guys usually didn't ask--just did it as they pleased, and usually conked out after, if not actually getting sleepy, just losing interest, and being, well, done while you wanted a few orgasms like you used to have when you masturbated, or had in your dreams. You slow. "Can you stay with me, Bren? Like if you did, would you still still wanna help me?"
He nods fervently. "Yeah. You feel--either you gotta stop or I'm gonna..." You purposely don't, and he seizes up, moaning and gasping and swearing as he thrust up desperately a couple times, then a few slower ones, reveling in the pleasure, turning you on even more.
"God, Bren, yeah, can I still, just seconds..." He nods, and you go fast, rocking on him, aware of the wetness in his shorts, kind of wanting to touch it, thinking crazily of removing the layers between you and rubbing yourself on him, feeling each other's, and you're coming. You stiffen as you press down him in rather hard thrusts, your core heating up until it bursts, throbbing through you, feeling contractions even in your uterus; you can feel the strong ones there too.
"Fuck, Bren, yeah. Yeah." You kiss along his face and neck, gathering him in your arms, as your hands circles on his back gently, pelvis still moving subtly on his.
You move to get off him, but he grabs your hand. "You can keep going, if you want."
"I'm not hurting you?" He shakes his head, stroking his other hand lazily over your back to your ass, eyes heavy but the way he's looking at you... wanting, so you move on him again, more carefully, weight more on his pubic bone than his dick and balls. This next one should be quicker and easier, so you go for it, both of you smiling wide at each other. You hold yourself up a bit with your arms, running your hand through his hair, gently scratching his scalp, and he gasps into your mouth at that, so you keep it up, getting wetter again as the arousal builds. You don't want to jinx anything, so you don't play around, working at coming again, burying your face in his neck, kissing his collarbone, nipping lightly at him, and his breath is getting heavy again, mouth letting out little moans, which you find yourself following. You kiss that delicious mouth of his just as you feel it swelling over you, face going back into his neck, smelling him, gasping and "oh god"ing as you explode again, semi-aware your vagina is contracting as your vulva swells a bit more before melting against him, trying to catch your breath.
"I want to--can I?" he gasps, sliding his hand up your thigh, just until it's under your shorts, after your breathing calms. His fingertips just brush the hem of your panties. "Wanna touch you, so bad."
You kiss him, moaning against his mouth as you nod. "Yeah, been wanting you to." You jump up, feet on either side of him, but only to take your shorts off, getting shy about the underwear. His hands trail up your legs as far as they can reach, and you fold back down, kneeling, letting his hands run up to the hemline, breath catching in your throat, feeling desperate already again. You wonder if he can see how wet you are through the thin cotton; it feels like you've soaked through them. His right hand finally runs over your clothed mound, going down the lips, and his heavy breathing breaks into a moan.
"I-is all this from just now? From us, me?" You nod shyly, instinctively thrusting yourself a bit against his hand. "Right through, y/n, right through, fuck..." His hand quickly cups you, pressing his whole hand against you, rubbing, feeling how wet you are for him. And thanks to him.
You keep moving against him, sliding down closer, thighs touching his hips. "You're good at this, Bren." You lean down to kiss him, still giving him room to move his hand on you.
He's blushing when you pull back to look at that gorgeous face of his. "Thanks." He moans after you can't stop a couple of your own because you're so damned turned on, and you realize he's a noisy, moany boy--god, that's hot; even when he's not getting attention like earlier, he's turned on enough to be making those sexy noises just from having his hand on your panties, working on getting you off.
"Christ, that's hot. Those noises. You're hot, Brendon. Wish we did this sooner," you murmur as you kiss over his face, neck. He only blushes harder, moves his hand faster. You're close, not sure if you can get off again like this because you're starting to feel irritated from the cotton, so to hurry it along you grind down harder on his hand, start moving in circles against him. "Oh, god, oh fuck." You're almost... "J-just shift your hand a bit to press harder on my clit, yyyeah, that's it, ok, ok, mmm." You break down into pants and moans as you feel yourself tense up, legs shaking, that hot heavy feeling exploding-melting-throbbing through you again, especially your sex.
"Fuck, y/n," he breathes, rubbing you through it. "You're hotter. Damn, you're so--I've missed this."
You're confused; how could he have missed this, if he's--oh. "You've done this before? Like, with a girl?"
"Well, with girls, yeah. Three of them, over the years."
"Thirteen--" you go wide-eyed at this--"and sixteen, seventeen. I've actually done it a bunch of times." You figure you'd be jealous, and kind of pissed that he didn't damn well tell you earlier, but you're too busy feeling turned on again. This boy shouldn't only be playing for one team. Team Ladies should get him too, you think, making yourself laugh.
"It's silly, but I thought it's good you can play for Team Ladies too."
That makes him giggle, moving from stroking your thighs back to your panties, fingers gently running over them, almost tickling you.
"One girl couldn't, you know, get off through underwear..." he explains, fingers sliding under the trim, pushing them aside to brush his fingertips over your outer lip. "Yeah?" he asked.
"Yeah," you answer, and his fingers delve into your core, stroking your lips from the bottom up to circle around your clit, sliding back down to slide his middle finger barely inside your opening, circling slowly, other fingers spreading and stroking your labia, watching your face as he pulls your panties aside more with his other hand.
"D'you like that?" he asks gently, unsure, and you know he really wants to know.
"S-sometimes, if the guys not too rough," you say, blushing. You really didn't think he would be, though. He's been so careful with you.
He frowns, looking at you so...softly. "Oh, babe," he whispers, sliding back up to your clit, getting it even wetter, then pressing his thumb to the side of it, finger sliding between your lips before stopping at your opening, just rubbing around it. You shift to get more, both inside and more on your clit as his fingertip slides in circling, and his thumb does the same over your clit. Dear god, he's good at this. Really soft, almost too soft, probably because of what you said, but it's so nice, and you tilt into it, rocking subtly. He must've done it a lot like he said, and asked them too. You wonder if he was this careful from the first time, how quickly he learned, how easily he did it right for them, and you are both glad for those girls and wish you knew him then too.
He's being such a tease though; you find yourself trying to squeeze down, mostly on nothing, getting, well, hungrier for it. You usually don't feel like this: during masturbation, you focus on your clit and lips, and with guys, they typically go inside, even with fingers, too fast, or too hard. You usually prefer to feel that sharp ache building in your vagina until you come a few times, finding it disappointing when it's quelled before it becomes too much to stand by something inside, fingers, dick, or otherwise.
"What do you want me to do, y/n? How do you like it?" The questions muddy your thoughts, leaving only wanting to come, to contract around his finger as his thumb circles faster around you clear in your head.
"Faster, with your thumb, Bren." He does, going just a bit too hard until you tilt yourself back a bit and he gentles, same speed, lighter pressure. You're not sure if it'd end up feeling better to delay his finger in you until after you come again, or if you should soothe it now, so you decide to wait it out more, letting him keep making those slower circles around the rim of your opening. This is really fun, sexy, and almost frustrating at the same time--but the frustration is coming more from having the choice than from the teasing. You're not used to it, but glad to have it.
Your back bows as you tense up, grabbing his hand for a few seconds to guide him in bringing you over the edge. Something else that usually doesn't happen: a guy not only asking, but letting you guide his hand.
The sharpness almost hurts, so you slide his finger inside until it touches your cervix, rocking his palm against you, holding him there as you squeeze around him, both from the contractions and you purposely clamping down on him. You move his finger back to the mouth of your vagina after the contractions and sharpness fades, and he's keeps palming your clit and circling with his fingertip, slow and soft.
You grin, catching sight of how damn hot he looks; he's touching you, but he's flushed, breath coming fast, and he'd been talking to you, excited and nervous and sexy, through bringing you off: you were so hot, felt so hot, and wet, it was so sexy that you knew what you wanted, thank you for showing him how, he really wanted to make you feel good, to see you come again, did you know how great you were--all this crazy talk that just got you hotter.
You want to come again, but want to see him do it again, too. He's been driving you insane. You roll off him as you strip your underwear off, then straddle him again. You tell him to gradually go faster and faster on you, build up to the pace you both had going before, and quickly reach over fumbling with his shorts. He catches on rapidly, lifting his hips, as one of your hands pulls the cotton down as the other rubs him through his briefs. You pull those down too, and he stops rubbing you to help you get him naked underneath you.
One hand quickly strokes over himself, like he couldn't help it, as his other finds it's way back between your legs, palming over you, getting your wetness all over his hand, then using that to slide over himself. Dear fucking god, you're looking down at his hand, stroking himself between you, and he's making these obscene noises, making you unsure whether you want to touch yourself or him more. You run your hand over his balls, and he whimpers, jerking into both of your touches. You move yourself back, so you can stroke over his thighs, running back up to his balls.
"Please, please, squeeze them," he moans, so you do, squeeze and roll them in your hand. "You--you can go harder," he shyly says, eyes heavy, chest heaving and you do. You trace a saliva slicked fingertip on your free hand over his dick, making him shudder, suck in his bottom lip, rocking and jacking. You stroke circles over the tip of his dick, peeping out his hand on the down stroke, two fingertips now, wet with his precum, and he tenses up, moaning so much and loud you're worried about the dorm neighbors hearing that filthy, sinful mouth of his, his jizz spurting over his own belly and hand and yours as you both work him through it. You briefly rub some of his jizz over the tip, feeling naughty, wanting to taste it. You slide your hand down him as he softens, his own hand splaying across his curls, struck by how lovely he feels semi-hard. Wet, silky, warm, yielding...
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moans, going lax, eyes staying shut, throwing an arm over them. You think he's down for the count, moving your hand away reluctantly, and you still would like one or two more, but it was still really good; the best time you've had with someone, so it's enough. But he's saying, still trying to catch his breath, "Shit, y/n, forgot about you. You still want to, don't you?", looking at you through hooded eyes. "I want you too."
You lay on top of him, pressing your wet bellies together. "It's ok, it's been really good. I don't need to." You tell him between kisses, wiping your hand on the sheets, trying not to press your mound against him, trying to slow your breathing, calm the fuck down.
"But you want to?" he asks, the hand that had been gripping the sheet sliding up your outer thigh, to your hip, the other hand that's between you running over your belly, resting against your curls. "I want you to. Want to see you." You're moving yourself against him for sure now, lips open against his mostly soft length.
There's no use denying it. "Yeah, Bren." You shove down your embarrassment, letting your thoughts come out. "Still so turned on. You're so good, it's crazy."
He does a hammy eyebrow wiggle at that, then goes for the kleenex beside the bed, moving his wet hand from you to wipe it off. "Course I am," he winks, making you laugh as he slides another tissue between you, haphazardly wiping your bellies. You move up and take it, doing it more thoroughly than he can manage before tossing it, thinking it reaches the garbage but not really caring at the moment.
"You're hotter, though." He grabs your ass, pressing you down on him. "I won't be much use for a few minutes--" as if on que, he yawns--"but you should still get off. you can use my thigh--or if you want, it'd be so hot to watch you touch yourself. Do you--" he moves the hand that's still between you so a finger can lazily stroke over the top of your clit, combining into a holy fuck--"masturbate? Hope you do, y/n, hope you can make yourself feel so good, whenever you want. Make yourself come as much as you want." You move on him more, so wet you easily slide along him, feeling and seeing him shiver. His breath catches, and he whimpers.
You briefly debate it, still feeling really shy about opening yourself before him, and using your hand on yourself. You've never done that in front of anyone--but he makes you feel so sexy, and he's your best friend--but it seems...wrong, even though he just jerked off in front of you. Guys are supposed to jack off, not girls, and the only women who seemed to were a lot of the girls in the small amount of porn you'd seen, who were usually viewed with a mixture of lust and contempt by the guys who made it and the guys who jacked off to it.
"Fuck, your pussy, it's so...fuck."
Your thoughts get jolted by that word--it had always sounded like a terrible word when other guys said it, like some bad, cruel joke, or like something they owned, existing for them, yet still less ugly than most other words for what's between your legs. Brendon said it so differently, like it meant gorgeoussexytouchablekissable..., with that softness, awe, in his voice mixed with want and need.
It was weird to think of a dick as cute, yet that's how you'd describe his. You liked how it felt against you soft, but realized that might be too much for him. You'd never rubbed yourself on a guy's thigh before, didn't know you could, but it makes sense: if you can rub on a boy's dick and pelvis, why not his thigh?
"I-I do--well, I stopped in junior high, after doing it for years. I didn't start again till, well..." You don't know if you can say it; even after what you've done with him so far, saying this is making you blush.
"Till when?" he murmured.
You take a deep breath, kiss and nose his neck so you aren't looking at each other. "Till you."
"Fuck me, y/n. Goddamn." He pauses. "Wanna sit on my face?" He tenses a bit as the words rush out. "Oh god, I mean, if you'd want to, if you'd--I didn't mean to be that--" he waves his hand--"blunt."
Now he's the embarrassed one, and when you look, laughing, his other hand is covering his eyes. "Hey, Casanova," you giggle, and he peeks through his fingers, so you shimmy your shoulders. "You're a giant goober." You kiss him, then shift over to his thigh. "Lucky for you, you're a cute goober."
"Thank fuck for that," he chuckles.
"Besides, takes one to know one," you say, as you work up the nerve to press on his thigh, closing your eyes. "I...haven't done this before, but it's probably not that different from dry humping right?"
He pets over your back, drawing his other hand away from his face. "Just move how you want, do what feels good," he whispers, as he runs that hand through your hair.
You moan contentedly. "You're so good, B. Ryan's such a lucky boy." Your eyes snap open: Ryan. You had forgotten about him. Well, honestly, not forgotten; managed to push him aside. Was-was Brendon cheating on him? They seemed exclusive, jokes aside. You had met Ryan a few times, and they looked at each other like the other hung the fucking moon. You didn't want to be partly at fault for messing with that.
"Brendon?" You lick your lips nervously. You managed to still, but remain pressed on his thigh, feeling guilty at the arousal still coursing through you.
"Mmm?" He strokes his hand down your back, then up, then makes circles all over as you struggle with the words.
"Did--Is--Are you and Ryan supposed to be exclusive?" You may as well come straight out with it.
He shakes his head. "Not really." You look at him. "Not the best explanation. We're not supposed to go behind each other's backs with anything but tell each other first--and well, I told him about liking you last month."
You grin at that, let yourself move on him again. "Really?" Your is heart going fast out of happiness now.
"Yeah, there's another girl he likes too, Jac--he's been talking online with her, and he's met her in person a couple times--and he used to see Spence, too, before we left for college."
Oh wow, oh wow. You so wish you had talked about all this sooner. "So, you'll be telling him about this?" you ask, your breath catching as you found a nice rhythm. Oh, yes, this was a good one, arousal pooling in your lower belly and crotch again.
"Y-yeah, but not, like, the details..." he trails off, looking at you, and swallows, nervous. "Unless... you want me too?"
You moan against his neck. "May-maybe. If he wants to hear them." You can feel yourself blushing, hard. Unbidden, a vision of them in bed, naked, Brendon telling Ryan about you, about you coming on his hand, as he jerks Ryan off, fills your mind. "Fuck, Brendon, fuck." You're moving faster against him now, grinding down on him, wanting to come, needing to. "Can you imagine?" you ask him rhetorically, between kissing along his neck and collarbone. He chuckles at that, hand finding your ass, pushing you down on him more, then letting go to rest in the small of your back.
His other hand finds it's way into your hair, then jaw, lifting your head to kiss you, sliding back into your hair, and you wrap an arm around him, tilting him closer to you as you start humping in a back and forth motion over him. You get so damn close, but can't come, so you switch to a firm circular one, pressing down, tilting your hips to press your clit more against his thigh, and keep on, and on, going even harder, until you feel it snap in you, climaxing. "Fuck, Brendon, fuck..." you gasp, moaning against his mouth, and he rolls you over on your back, gazing hazily down at you.
"Fuck, y/n, do you even know how crazy you get me? You're so damn. Hot." He punctuates his words with his hand, running over your pubic hair, then into your folds, stroking over your inner lips, making you want to come even more.
"It is crazy, B. Shit..." you respond, moving against him. He removes his hand. "No, don't stop."
He grins. "What if I do this instead?" And he's slotting his thigh against you again, resting his weight partially on you, partially on one arm, and you're moving on him again before you can even think about it. He pulls away from kissing you more to slide his fingers into his mouth, slowly sucking your slick off them, looking at you, and holy fuck. You're picturing those full lips sliding down Ryan's dick, making you more desperate. You lick your own lips, moaning, thighs grasping onto his, and the image switches to Brendon's head between your legs, lips and tongue sliding all over your core, tongue pressing into you, repeatedly, then sliding up to suckle your clit, and dear fucking god, you need to come. Damn, Brendon's offhanded face-sitting comment, then him sucking his fingers plus these thoughts you've already been having about him for the last couple months really combined to do your fucking head in, in a fantastic way. You grab his ass, pushing his thigh down on you more, tilting your hips again, down this time, so it's on the top more, pushing against him harder, those thoughts still dancing in your mind, and it hits again, making your head fly back, hitting the pillow pretty hard, legs shaking as your pelvis spasms against him.
You realize through your moans that's he's been getting noisy again, not just breathing heavy, but moaning, and that gets to you even more, but shit, you don't know if you can... You're getting exhausted. Jeez, humping his thigh, particularly on your back, is probably the most work, because he isn't really doing anything, and it's not as if your hand is also working, and you're not used, at least not yet, to the build up, getting it to come fast. You've also come...five times? Six? And it's different, more full bodied, and even more throughout your sex than when you're moving on a guy's crotch. "Getting sore, Bren. Like exhausted sore, not pain sore," you say, feeling it even in your thighs, hips and ass.
"Darlin'," he says concerned, thigh shifting away as you let your thighs go lax, opening more as he just lays on you between your legs, half-hard, as you lightly wiggle around, trying to catch your breath. His lips find yours and you can taste yourself on him, even before your tongue delves in to run over his. You wrap your arms around him and think: home.