A Sort Of Cure For Jet Lag

While it functions as a stand-alone story, this script is a continuation of an idea that started with A Risky Lei about a meeting between on-line lovers at a hotel in Hawaii. This story imagines the jet lag, the late nights and the resulting exhaustion that end in a sleepless morning, and how a caring partner might solve a problem like that.

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The steady rhythm. The rise and fall of the white hotel sheets, begins to put me into a trance. I've been watching you, from the corner of my eye, as you sleep. I've pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat reading, my feet just touching yours through the sheet. The time difference has meant I'm up early, wanted or not. But it's given me time to read. Time to think. Time to admire.

And you are admirable. I enjoy the shape of you and how you distort the thin sheet, creating mountains and valleys around your breasts, your hips, your knees.

But with a dizzy sense of unreality - the stirrings of the beginning of the faintest possibility of getting back to sleep - I put my book down on the floor next to the chair and slide under the sheet, spooning up next to your warm, firm bottom. An arm resting over your shoulder.

A bit of texture on your breast catches my attention. Some drops of cum that must have dried on last night. My busy mind won't let it be and I brush at it softly.

The sensation causes you to stir a bit and you reach up and grab my arm, pulling me tighter, wiggling your ass back against me.

The smell of you - sea air and vanilla. The warmth of you. Your glorious ass pushing against my cock. All of it means the idea of sleep is quickly swept away, in just the same way the romance and adventure of this time together has swept me up and deposited me on unknown shores.

The hand that had worried at your breast now cups and cradles, and you sigh contentedly.

Your eyes are still closed, but you reach a hand back behind you and find the full cock that was beginning to push and prod between your thighs.

You trace your fingers along it, feeling the length and width and I moan for you. As softly as I can manage, with my lips at your ear. And I see a sleepy smile play along your mouth.

I'm momentarily disappointed as your hand leaves my cock, but you raise it to your mouth and lick your fingers. Returning to trace wet circles at that one little spot, where you've demanded I tease myself, so many times, on the phone.

Now I moan in earnest. My head flopping back against the pillows, my back arched, my groin pushing out.

Now your faint smile becomes a hungry grin and you finally open your eyes.

"What's the matter baby, couldn't sleep?"

But I can't answer. Not with your one little finger making me pant and jerk and moan and sigh.

"Aww, baby. Don't feel like talking?" you tease.

I manage a half-swallowed "please," but I don't even know what I'm asking for.

You turn now and push me fully on my back with a firm hand.

"Be a good boy for me now," you say. I know it's a game. We've played before, thousands of kilometers apart. But here, in this room, in your presence. I am ready to be the best fucking boy there is.

"Yes Miss," I manage. "What do you want?"

"We both know what I want. What I always want. And we both know you'll give it to me. The only question is how much you'll beg. How pretty your moans will be. How long I'll make you wait. Everything else is a foregone conclusion," you laugh softly at me.

You dip your head then, licking the length of my shaft and finding that one little spot with your tongue now.

The wet warmth of that tongue. Your breath on my cock. Your finger lightly pushing at my balls. It's ten times more intense than your finger.

And I lose it.

You make me a mess. An embarrassing collection of needy boy sounds and desperate pleas. Of begging. Of whining. Of promises. Most of which I'll keep.

But you know, either by paying attention on our phone calls or just an innate sense, that if you keep it light, and keep it slow, I won't cum. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

And that's what you do. You leave me. Hanging there. On the edge. In desperation. Dying to cum. But unable to reach it.

What do you want? Just to exact some richly deserved revenge for the times I've made you wait, made you beg? To see how long it will take me to snap and force your mouth onto my cock? Just to enjoy playing with your new toy?

But I've said I'll be good. And I will. My cock is yours to play with, to do whatever you'll do. I will not snap. Not now. In time, maybe, you'll see what it takes. But not today. Not this trip. And so I let you continue to tease, to play. to deny. My head thrown back, my chest heaving, my hips jerking.

After a while - can it be twenty minutes? - you laugh and say with admiration, "Weill, I wasn't sure you could be a good boy for me, you're usually so dommy. But look at you baby. I'm proud of you. My beautiful baby boy."

And now you take what you want, what you really wanted this whole time. You spread my legs and kneel between them. You crouch over me letting your breasts brush my cock and run your hands up and down my chest. You sit back and bring your hands back down my body and take up my cock, squeezing the base firmly. And now you begin to suck in earnest. You go down as far as you can and then right up to the very tip, ending with a kiss at the top. Up and down you bob, squeezing my cock below your mouth as you travel. Your other hand caresses and fondles my balls. Instructing them to give up their cum.

It doesn't take much longer. You've had me at the edge so long. You take your mouth off my cock long enough to say, "remember, the cum is mine. All mine. In my mouth, please."

I hear you but am in the throes of an experience so intense, so painful and pleasurable, there are no words left I can form.

But I hear you. And soon I am cumming. So hard. So much. More than I can believe is possible after the last two days with you. It fills your mouth and runs back down the outside of my cock. And you continue to bob and suck as you swallow, getting it all.

Yours.

Your cum.

All for you.

"Aww, baby," you say when it is done. "Are you... are you crying?"

And I am, but how to explain it? It's not sorrow. It's not joy either, though I'm the happiest I can remember when I'm with you. It's just raw, intense, emotion. A feeling of living in a space I had imagined but didn't really believe existed.

And it's exhaustion. The time change, the late nights, the lack of sleep. I'm just overwhelmed.

You say, "It's ok baby. I've got you. You did good. I just need one more little thing and then we can sleep." And now you are the big spoon and I am the little. You stroke my chest and whisper in my ear. "One more thing baby. Be good for me now."

And as my eyes start to close and my breath evens out. I remember.

"Thank you, baby. Thank you for making me cum."