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He landed on the rooftop of one of the larger houses, and just as he was about to leap to a different home, he heard his favorite sound. He could distinctly hear the fapping sound of a boy masturbating with his keen and inhuman hearing, and a grin began to spread upon his face. He moved down, towards the noise, and settled outside of a second-story window that peered into the bedroom it came from. Inside, he could see a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, lying on his bed face-up, with his thick cock in his left hand. He had his eyes closed tight as his fist pumped away on his dick, continually pulling and tugging up towards the head and releasing and moving down towards the base. His breath was uneven, anticipating climax. He had a head of thick blonde locks that stretched around his face, framing it beautifully. His face was clean-cut and shaven. Perhaps he had not begun to grow facial hair. The boys body was perfect: a peach colored ivory that gleamed with healthiness. His. That was Sierra’s last coherent thought before her baser instincts took over. Locking her hands behind Garret’s head, she leaned back, pulling him on top of her on the old sofa. With ease, they shifted until they were lying face to face on the couch, hands roaming all over one another, remembering, reliving, reviving memories. Unlike their first time together, this moment held no hesitation. They both knew the pleasure the other could bring and were intent on reaching it. This time there was no sadness or desperation, only an unerring desire to be one with the person lying so close to them. Their lips never left the other’s body, wandering everywhere. Light kisses on eyelids, nipping at lips, gently sucking on earlobes, dragging teeth across collar bones and returning for a mind blowing dance of tongues, setting the rhythm for what was still yet to come. Within moments, the confines of the tiny couch and their clothes were too much for either of them to take. Never taking his eyes.
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