And then his belly pushed out and his sigh of relief was even louder than my own. Our eyes met and both of us smiled. He'd gotten himself under control.
But it was no time to be taking unnecessary chances. I gave his prick a couple of happy strokes, then fed it back into my mouth. When he came, I wanted his jizz to be inside me, where I could feel it, taste it, drink it down like wine.
If anything, his prick seemed to be even bigger the second time I began to deep-throat him. My gullet strained to accept his meat but accept it I did, washing his cock with my drool from base to tip. And my jaws worked like pistons to suck Uncle Roy's tool, pressuring and relaxing, then pressuring again with renewed insistence.
My head began to rise and fall on him, that big pecker of his filling my mouth so wonderfully as I mouth-fucked it ever faster. It had been years since I'd seen Uncle Roy, but I think I'd had a crush on him since I was big enough to walk, and as I ate his peter, it seemed that this was the end to which my life had been designed.
He liked it, too. His fingers dug into my temples and he began to move with me, till, before either of us knew it, the situation had completely reversed. I wasn't sucking Uncle Roy's cock any longer – he was fucking my mouth. My head remained in one place, braced by his big strong hands, and his cock rammed in and out to stuff my throat full. We'd begun with games, moved into seduction, and we'd arrived at good, driving sex, the best I'd yet found in two years of looking.