I spent the next days feeling elated. The shocked look on Neel's face as I came over him was etched onto my mind. The power I felt over him as he lay there, seemingly helpless, a slave to my touch.
I somehow convinced myself that I was wielding all the power. I felt as though I could make him do anything to have his cock sucked again.
The obviously submissive act of sucking another man's cock seemed not to factor in my thinking. I was feeling powerful.
We had both been starved of contact for so long, that it was like a dam wall breaking. Horny doesn't quite convey the depth of focus I had on sexual gratification over those coming days, and Neel appeared to be much the same.
I thought of sex constantly. Every moment, I was either focused on remembering the feeling of the velvet-smooth head of his cock in my mouth, or wondering how I could get another chance to taste his delicious pre-cum.
We never mentioned what had happened. It was an unspoken memory between us. Neither of us wanted to be the first to bring it up in case it admitted something that we weren't ready to acknowledge.
Neel seemed to be watching me constantly, and I was always aware of his gaze. His desire was clear, and I wielded it like a weapon.
As Neel stood at the bench one evening, preparing food for dinner, I sat at the table, facing towards him. The magazine in front of me lay open, a mere cover story for my presence in the room.
I watched him intently as he chopped the vegies, glancing up at me from time to time. Each glance was met with a sultry gaze, my tongue occasionally sneaking out over my slightly parted lips, moistening their soft surface.
Each time, he would blush furiously and look back at his work, chopping with renewed vigour. I could see him pressing his pelvis against the bench, trying to will away the erection that was developing.
Seeing my opportunity, I decided it had to be now. I walked over slowly, coming up behind him as he chopped furiously, doing his best to ignore me.
He stopped as I put my hands on his hips, gripping his waist band and slowly slipping his shorts down to his thighs, exposing his bare arse and freeing his swelling cock.
He turned to me, trying to pull back a little from the close proximity of my body against his, but trapped against the bench he had nowhere to go. I smiled and lowered myself down onto my knees, burying my face in his crotch and breathing deeply on his masculine scent.
I felt Neel's hand on the back of my head, pushing me forward against his junk. His balls squashed against my chin. He ground his pelvis against my face, rubbing his hard cock against me. I moaned, encouraging him.
My tongue ventured from my mouth, lapping against his warm sack in broad, slow strokes. With one hand, I reached up and gripped his cock, just holding it without stroking as I toyed with his balls.
He pushed into my grip, trying to fuck my hand, seeking the pleasure that he knew I could give him. His hands gripped the bench, holding him up.
My mouth continued to work his balls, stroking the soft yet rough skin of his scrotum with my raspy tongue. I worked saliva from my mouth, lubricating my tongue as I lapped at his sensitive package.
Slowly, I started to stroke him, my hand rewarded with a quick glob of lubricating pre cum on the first stroke. He had been building this for a while.
He moaned as I spread the glorious fluid over his smooth head, the skin sliding silkily across his sensitive glans.
Angling my jaw, I delved deeper, forcing his legs apart as his shorts dropped to the floor. With each lick, I ventured deeper into the cleft between his legs, constantly seeking for another taste of his sweaty musk.
I stroked the wiry hair of his perineum with my broad tongue, savouring the unfamiliar masculinity of this hidden zone. He moaned his appreciation as I stroked him.
My own neglected cock throbbed in my pants, forgotten as I found a new focus. Neel's pleasure fed me. I feasted on him and wanted more.
I worked in long, languorous strokes, from the darkness behind his package, up and over his sack. My hand stroked him faster as his moans grew more insistent. I could tell he was close.
Like a man dying of thirst, I looked up at him as I stroked. My mouth was open, waiting for my precious reward.
He leaned back against the bench, tweaking his nipples under his singlet with both hands. His breath came in fast panting gasps, every fevered exhalation a moan.
His ejaculation seemed to come up from his toes, as a muscular wave rippled up through his whole body. He convulsed violently, the jerking movement almost knocking him off balance. His cock gave an almighty throb, and his balls contracted, launching a huge stream of cum up into the air.
It splashed down across my face, filling my mouth and dripping from my chin. I lapped at it furiously with my tongue, trying to catch what I could. Again and again, he erupted, a fountain of cum like I'd never seen.
With my spare hand I cupped his balls, tickling the skin behind them as he came for what seemed like an age.
His muscular spasms finally slowed, and I sat back on my haunches before him. Cum coated my face and shirt and ran down my hand to my wrist. I stood up slowly in front of him as he caught his breath, slumped against the kitchen bench.
With direct eye contact I licked his cum from my hand, before wiping my face with a tea towel.
Feigning a level of nonchalance that I certainly didn't feel, I wandered back to the table and my magazine. The smell of the cum soaking into my T shirt filled my nostrils as I casually flicked a page.
"Is dinner far off?" I asked as he stared at me incredulously. "I'm starving."
The following days unfolded in much the same way. We both distracted ourselves with work through the day before the evening forced us back together again. I would spend my time trying to attract his attention, and then ignoring his attention, before jumping on him when he had his guard down.
I began to try to surprise him with blow jobs, approaching him while he was distracted with something else. He never knocked it back, in fact he looked to be sporting a half hard-on most of the day now. Rarely did I find him wearing underwear.
Over a few days, I managed to suck him off in most rooms of the house, and even once leaning against the veranda pole at sunset, where I'd first seen him jerk off into the dust.
Sometimes I jerked off as I blew him, inevitably shooting my load as he came into my mouth. Sometimes, though, I didn't bother. I would get hard, but my obsession seemed to be developing around getting him off.
The taste of his cum seemed to be in my mouth all the time. I longed for it. I yearned for the look of absolute pleasure on his face as he erupted.
It became increasingly obvious as the days continued that he was not offering to reciprocate. I never asked for it, and had not expected it, but the seed of frustration was noticeable in the pit of my stomach now. I wondered how long it would go before he would even offer me a hand job.
Still, despite all of this, our continued 'extra-curricular activities' remained unspoken. He would pull up his shorts, I would wipe my chin, and we'd continue about the day as if nothing had happened.
The only noticeable difference was a slight but noticeable change in physical distance. I would notice a hand resting on my lower back as he stood beside me to see what I was making for dinner. A pat on the shoulder would accompany his farewell as he left for the morning while I still sat finishing my breakfast.
