Every night I could, I fantasized alone in my room thinking about it. Of his hands rubbing my skin, of his wet lips wetting every part of my body, of his cock entering my tight, slippery ass. My skin crawled just by itself to remember it, to remember the times that I had stained the sheets between moans, (...)alone in that room. Because I loved it, I loved to think that there with me, my moans of pain every time he put it in with force and those of pleasure when he took it out and pushed it again, that man got harder listening to me, causing him to want to thrust harder and harder. He just threw, in the central space, everything that could stick into my back and took off those tight pants that had begun to constrict my evident erection. He touched it gently, on purpose, to show palpating with his index finger how I had wet the white boxers with my pre-cum, and then ran his tongue through the fabric. I let out a sigh of pleasure. Hearing this, he also took off my underwear and put my penis in his mouth. " Ah!" I moaned when I felt his wet mouth on my skin. I had asked him moments before that he not come too quickly, and I almost did just by putting it in his mouth.