StoriesByMatt
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My Straight Friend Became My Dessert | E1
🕑 Added 2026-01-31 15:30:02 +0000 UTCAll characters in this story are over 18 years of age.
There was nothing unusual about Jax dropping by in the evening. He had been doing it for years. Always with the same half-smile, tight T-shirt, and bag slung over his shoulder. But today something was different. He entered quietly, as if overwhelmed. Tired or just worn out.
"Everything okay?" I asked, closing the door behind him.
He sat down heavily on the couch, threw his bag at his feet, and rested his elbows on his knees. He was silent for a moment, staring at the floor.
"She left yesterday. For a week." "A break. It's only a week, but... I don't know. Somehow, everything fell apart for me."
I looked at him closely. I still didn't know what was going on. Finally, he looked at me and said:
"It sounds funny, but... every day after dinner, we had our little ritual. Dessert. Only it wasn't just any dessert. I was the dessert.
I raise an eyebrow. I think I'm right.
"She... decorated me. With whipped cream, chocolate, strawberry sauce. All that sweet shit. And then... she licked it. All of it." His voice caught. "I liked it. Fuck, I loved it. How she took care of me. How she treated me like something to be tasted, admired... like something you want to have on your tongue."
I felt my throat go dry. He said it like a confession. Like something too intimate to say out loud, and yet he did. For me.
"That sounds... intense," I said, sitting down next to him. Up close, I could see how tense his shoulders were, how he was clenching his fists.
"It calmed me down. It quieted me. I felt... needed. And sexy. And desired. Like my whole body mattered."
He fixed his gaze somewhere on my chest. He looked away quickly, but I already knew. This topic affected him. Despite everything he said, he was sitting here with me, not with someone random. With me. And he was telling all this to me.
And even though he didn't say it outright... it wasn't just about venting.
We sat next to each other in a silence that was no longer neutral. I felt it on my skin like the warmth of the sun, uncomfortably intense, but pleasant at the same time. Jax didn't move. He was breathing slower than before, deeper. His knee was lightly touching my thigh. Accidentally. Or maybe not.
I looked at him. At his jawline, the tension in his neck, his slightly furrowed eyebrows. I knew him by heart, and yet now he looked different.
"I miss it," he said suddenly, more quietly. "Not the action itself. That... feeling. That I can give myself over. That someone is leading.
Those words weighed heavily on me. Lead. Give myself over. Jax. Straight. My Jax. I swallowed. For a split second, I considered all the "I shouldn't"s, all the years of suppressed desire. And then I felt something else, calmness. A strange certainty.
I turned toward him. Our eyes met. He didn't look away.
"If you want..." I began calmly, almost softly, "I can replace her. Just for this week."
I said it without pressure. Without a smile. Like a proposal that could be accepted or rejected without consequences. But his body reacted faster than he did. His shoulders slumped. His breath caught, and then he exhaled slowly, as if he had just lifted a weight off himself.
"Really?" he asked. "You... would do that?"
I nodded. Unequivocally. I felt that if I backed down now, something would break. Maybe inside me.
"I can see how much you need this," I added more quietly.
He looked at me for a long moment. There was something soft in his eyes, almost grateful. And something else, a spark.
"When?" he asked, as if afraid that if he waited, he would lose his courage.
I didn't have time to answer.
"Now. If you can."
He stood up, reached into his bag, and pulled out a can of whipped cream. The metal glinted in the lamplight. He looked at me questioningly, with a slight, uncertain smile.
Our eyes lingered on each other for a second too long.
I didn't say anything. I didn't have to.
Jax stood in front of me in the dim light of the living room. He was still holding the can of whipped cream, but his gaze was fixed on me. His lips were slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something and then decided against it. Instead of words, he reached for the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head in one motion.
I knew his body. I had seen it a million times, on the beach, after training, in the locker room. But now... it wasn't neutral. Now it was devoted to me.
His chest was tense, his muscles rising slightly with each breath. His stomach was perfect. His skin was slightly damp, as if he were heated from within. When he unzipped his pants and slid them down along with his boxers, I couldn't take my eyes off him. His cock... heavy, loose, dangled between his thighs. It was long, beautiful, seemingly unaware that it had just become the center of my world.
Jax noticed my gaze and smiled. A defiant, slightly provocative smile. He sat down on the couch, spreading his thighs wide, as if he wanted to put himself on display.
"Go ahead and decorate me." His voice was lower than usual. "Show me how good you are at it."
I felt something shift inside me. I took the can from his hand. It was still warm from his skin. I knelt between his thighs. I was close, so close that I could smell his body: a mixture of soap, sweat, and something else that had been affecting me too strongly for years.
I sprayed the cream on his chest. Light, fluffy foam spread between his muscles, emphasizing their shape. Then his stomach, I did it slowly, carefully. His thighs, the inside, I could see his body reacting. A slight tension, a muscle spasm.
He put his fingers to my face.
"Here too," he muttered, without a trace of shyness.
I gently sprinkled cream on his fingers, then moved higher, his biceps, shoulders, chin. I treated him like a sculpture. Like something that should be decorated with reverence.
The cream began to melt under his warmth. It ran down his chest in thin strands. I paused for a moment, watching. He was my dessert. And he knew it.
I approached him without a word. My lips were right next to his chest, not touching yet, just feeling the warmth of his skin and the smell of cream, which was now mingling with his body. I liked that he didn't say anything. He didn't rush me, he didn't comment. He waited, as if he himself was curious to see what I would do first.
I stuck out my tongue and ran it across his chest, from his left breast to the middle, stopping at his nipple. I licked it gently, then harder, in a circular motion. I could feel it trembling under my tongue. How his muscle contracted. How Jax suddenly held his breath.
I moved down, along the trail of cream, leaving traces of moisture behind me. On his stomach, the foam was already slightly melted, warm, sticky, sweet. Licking him, I felt like I was eating something forbidden, something I shouldn't even touch. But I couldn't stop.
When I got lower, I stopped just above his pubic mound. I didn't cross that line. Not yet.
I pulled away for a moment and looked into his eyes. Jax was breathing faster. His hands were resting on his thighs, as if he was trying not to move.
But his cock started to rise. Clearly. And we both noticed it.
He didn't comment. He didn't cover himself. He just looked at me as if to say, "Keep going. Please."
I moved my tongue up his stomach and headed for the side of his neck. I licked him there for a long time, leaving wet marks, returning to the same spot over and over again until he moaned softly. The sound was short, muffled, but real. It penetrated me to the core.
I slid lower. To his thighs. I spread them even wider and buried my face between them, licking their inner sides. His skin was taut, trembling. The taste of his flesh mingled with sweetness. I moved my tongue wide, deep, unhurried, but with great desire.
Jax was breathing heavily. I could feel his cock was completely hard. I could feel his body wanting more. How he was giving himself over to it completely, without any barriers.
Licking became a ritual. Tongue, breath, taste, tension. I was focused only on him.
I was already completely slick. From the cream, from his body, from my own arousal. I could feel the precum soaking through my boxers, each touch of my tongue making me even more excited. Jax was sitting back, his head slightly tilted back, his breathing broken and heavy, and the muscles of his thighs trembled every few seconds.
At one point, he raised his hand. He extended it in front of him, slowly, as if offering me more than just a gesture. His fingers were still covered in cream. One, then the other. Stretched out towards me. I looked at them, then at him.
"Do you want it?" he asked in a whisper, almost silently.
I didn't answer with words. I rested my hands on his thighs and leaned in. I took his first finger into my mouth. Sucking on it, I closed my eyes. The cream was warm, sweet, but it wasn't about the taste. It was his finger. His skin. His breath, which hung in the air at that moment.
I ran my tongue along it to the base, then sucked it deeper, feeling an excitement that was no longer mine alone. I heard Jax sigh softly. Deep, from the back of his throat. As if it were more than a reaction. As if something was breaking free from him, and he didn't know what it was yet.
I moved on to the second finger. The same ritual. This time he moaned softly. He was no longer controlling his breath. He gave it all to me and knew I was taking it. That I had no intention of stopping.
My lips worked passionately. Sucking, licking, quiet smacking, everything happened in silence, which, instead of breaking it, deepened it. When I finished, I left his hand wet. It just fell onto his stomach. He was still looking at me. And I was looking at him.
But no one said anything.
We didn't have to.
We were already far beyond words.
And we both knew it well.
