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“Ready to start in on the painting?” he asked, but instead of answering I pushed him onto the couch.

For once I took his cock by surprise; usually our dates are organized, scheduled and timed so excruciatingly well that he’s hard on cue as he knocks on the door. This time I could take it all in, at least for the thirty seconds before it grew, bumping into the back of my throat as he grabbed the back of my head and pushed me down on it. “What are you doing?” he moaning. “We’re supposed to be working.”

“I’m just showing my appreciation,” I said around a mouthful of slippery-shifting ball. I got no further before he shoved me down again and all I could see was his head back lit by the morning sun and his hand insistently stroking above my lips.

A short half hour later we rested, pants down around our ankles, my cheek to his knee and fingers gently stroking his relaxing cock. “Every morning should start this way,” he sighed.

And then he began painting, and I wished for endless rooms that would bring him back again and again and again.

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This post, Pleasure Before Paint, originally appeared on aag on Friday, March 12, 2010. If you are viewing it anywhere other than in a feed reader or email, it was scraped illegally and without my permission. Please email aagblog at gmail dot com and let me know.
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