The Contract

Chapter 4

Aaron had left my room immediately after that without saying another word, leaving me alone with my own mind, which was now buzzing erratically.

I'd never felt more confused.

Every single time I'd watched a girl do that, it just turned me off. But watching Aaron? It did things to me that I couldn't even put into words.

Evidently, that was how it was supposed to feel. It had felt like my entire body was enraptured by his touch, like every nerve in my body was responding to the pleasure he gave me. And just watching him do it had me in a trance, I physically couldn't have taken my eyes off him, and I didn't want to either.

I wanted to watch him, to see the way he pleasured me, to see if he was enjoying pleasuring me, to see if he was watching me too.

The whole scene just replayed in my mind over and over, which was incredibly irritating when I had just gotten rid of one hard on. I didn't need another. And yet my cock was straining uncomfortably against my jeans, begging for attention.

I decided to take a shower and sort out my mind and my newly acquired problem.

As the hot water cascaded down my body, my hand wandered down to my cock, stroking slowly. I sighed out in relief, resting my head against the tiles behind me.

Thoughts of Aaron bombarded my mind, but I didn't banish them away. This was forcing me to learn a lot about myself, which was not a bad thing.

I thought of how his beautifully dark eyes looked up at me when he had knelt before me, clouded with lust, groaning quietly at the image.

Then I thought of how soft his brown hair had felt when it was tangled between my fingers as I guided his wet and hot mouth across my length.

I remembered the feeling of his tongue on my cock while I was thrusting into his mouth, this image was much more effective, making me pulse against my fist which was gripping tighter now.

I stroked slowly but tightly, fantasising about the orgasm I'd had just hours earlier, now gently thrusting into my hand in time with the movements of my wrist.

The mental image that had the greatest effect on me, though, was entirely fictional. It was one that, at first, I'd felt ashamed of, but the shame didn't change how hard it made me, so I tried to lose myself in my mind once more.

I pictured the way Aaron would look above me, his knees planted in the mattress on either side of my body as his eyes met mine, his weight pinning me down, his cock deep inside me.

I could see it so clearly that I could almost feel it, his hands grabbing my wrists and holding them above my head, his tongue on my neck.

I thought of him moaning deeply into my ear as he fucked me, telling me how good I felt, how tight I was, how he'd smirk and thrust harder when I begged for me, saying that he was getting close while he desperately sped up, resting his forehead against mine and staring intensely into my eyes as he said those words. "I'm coming-"

I gasped out in pleasure, biting my left forearm to muffle my moans as I came, thrusting erratically into my hand.

I couldn't really deny any more that I wasn't straight.