Prepped

After a bit of this, he lifted off my cock but still held it in a fist as he lathered up my inner thighs and began to scrape and tongue again.

Then the razor wasn’t scraping. The finger wasn’t in my hole. I almost lifted up off the table as Gordan thrust his cock inside me, running thickly and deeply at the first thrust, his entry smoothened by the lather he’d shot up into me.

The shave was finished. He was fucking me in deep thrusts, fully aroused by his fetish, ready to finish off the surgical fantasy.

I knew this part. I cried out for him, telling him how good he was and how I wanted it never to stop, and Gordan rode with it. Thrusting and thrusting and thrusting. Making animal noises, while I moaned and groaned and told him he was killing me but not to stop.

He was as good with his cock as he had been with his razor. And I was enjoying this part—but doing all I could to make him enjoy it too. Enjoy it far more than the shaving part and certainly far more than any part he might be planning to proceed to after this. I wanted him to want me to be giving him the best of times and wanting me back some other time. Not carrying on with any possible terminal plans in this session.

With an exclamation, Gordan pulled out of me, jerked off the condom and shot up over my balls onto my now-smooth groin.