The rain fell gently against the tall windows of the old building in Le Marais as I stepped inside Lucien’s apartment. My name is Marcus. I was thirty-two, an American writer who had come to Paris chasing inspiration and escape from a life that had grown dull and predictable. What I found instead was Lucien Moreau.
He was twenty-eight, a professional dancer with the Paris Opera Ballet’s contemporary company. Lucien had the kind of body that years of rigorous training had sculpted into something almost unreal: long, lean muscles, perfect posture, and an extraordinary level of flexibility that would soon become the center of my obsession. His skin was smooth and lightly olive-toned, his dark wavy hair always slightly tousled, and his hazel-green eyes held a constant spark of mischief.
We had met five nights earlier at a quiet wine bar near Place des Vosges. Within hours we were back at his place, fucking with the kind of raw hunger that comes when two people click instantly. Lucien was an exceptional lover—passionate, vocal in that sexy French accent, and completely uninhibited. But nothing prepared me for the night everything shifted.
We had spent the evening drinking a fine Bordeaux and talking about our deepest desires. Naked on his large bed with the city lights casting soft patterns across our bodies, Lucien suddenly pulled his legs up and over his shoulders with effortless grace, folding himself in half. His cock, already half-hard, rested against his toned stomach.
“You look surprised, mon cher,” he said with a low laugh. “Americans always do when they see how far I can bend.”
I couldn’t look away. “How flexible are you really?”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. Without another word, he rolled his hips forward, arched his back, and lowered his head. His full lips parted and he took the swollen head of his own cock into his mouth.
The sight hit me like lightning.
He looked straight at me as his lips slid down his shaft, taking several inches in one smooth motion. The wet, obscene sound of his own mouth sucking his dick filled the room. Lucien moaned softly around his thickness, his eyes fluttering with pleasure as he began to bob his head.
“Fuck, Lucien…” I whispered, my own cock hardening instantly.
He pulled off for a moment, a string of saliva connecting his lower lip to his glistening cockhead. “You like watching me suck myself?” he asked, voice husky.
I nodded, unable to speak.
He smiled that wicked little smile and folded himself tighter. His lips slid back down until nearly his entire length disappeared into his warm mouth. He sucked himself with obvious skill, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, making soft slurping noises as he worked. His hands gripped the back of his thighs, holding the position while his hips rocked gently, fucking his own face.
I stroked myself slowly, completely mesmerized. The contrast between his elegant dancer’s body and the raw, filthy act of autofellatio was overwhelming. After several minutes his breathing grew ragged. His toes curled. With a deep, muffled groan, Lucien came hard, pumping thick ropes of cum straight into his own mouth. He swallowed greedily, though some escaped the corners of his lips and ran down his chin.
When he finally unfolded his body, his lips were red and swollen. He pulled me into a deep, messy kiss, letting me taste his own load on his tongue. I came almost immediately, shooting across his chest.
That night opened the door to something much more intense between us.
Over the following days, our time together revolved more and more around his incredible ability. Lucien explained that he had discovered he could reach his cock when he was nineteen after years of intense dance and stretching routines. He had practiced and trained his body until he could comfortably suck himself for long periods.
One lazy afternoon, he lay on the thick rug in his living room completely naked. I watched as he warmed up with deep yoga stretches before folding himself into position again. This time he took it slower, more sensually. His tongue licked every inch of his shaft before he swallowed himself down. I knelt beside him, running my hands over his folded body, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pleasured himself.
“Feed me your cock too,” he murmured around his own dick.
I straddled his face carefully. My hard cock slid into his mouth right beside his own shaft. The feeling of his warm, wet mouth struggling to take both of us was incredible. Lucien made desperate, muffled sounds of pleasure as saliva ran down his chin. He sucked us together while I gently fucked his mouth. The mirrored wall across the room reflected the obscene scene perfectly.
He came first, swallowing most of his load while I continued thrusting between his lips. I pulled out at the last moment and painted his face with my cum. Lucien licked his lips clean, looking completely satisfied.
As the weeks passed, our sessions grew longer and filthier. Lucien loved performing for me. He would put on slow, sensual music and strip while stretching, his cock growing harder with every piece of clothing he removed. Once naked, he would settle into position on the bed and begin sucking himself while I watched from a chair, stroking my own cock.
I started edging him during these performances. I would bring him right to the edge of orgasm, then make him stop, forcing him to hold the difficult folded position with his throbbing cock trapped between his lips, leaking precum onto his tongue. He would tremble with need until I finally allowed him to finish, flooding his mouth with his own cum.
Some nights I would fuck him while he sucked himself. The position required perfect alignment, but when it worked it was mind-blowing. I would slide my cock deep into his tight ass while his lips stayed wrapped around his own dick. Feeling him moan and clench around me while he sucked himself was pure ecstasy.
We took a long weekend trip to a private stone cottage in Provence. Surrounded by lavender fields and olive trees with no neighbors for miles, we spent nearly the entire time naked. Lucien’s flexibility allowed him to stay in autofellatio positions for over an hour when properly warmed up.
I would sit beside him on the terrace as he sucked himself slowly in the golden sunlight, running my fingers through his hair and whispering filthy praise.
“You look so fucking beautiful sucking your own cock for me, Lucien. My perfect, flexible French boy.”
He would moan loudly around his shaft, clearly aroused by the words. Sometimes I would join him, sliding my cock into his mouth alongside his own, using his throat while he continued pleasuring himself. When he came, I would add my load to his mouth and watch him swallow everything.
One particularly memorable evening, Lucien rode a thick dildo while simultaneously sucking his own cock. The dual stimulation made him shake and whimper with pleasure. He came so intensely that his legs trembled for minutes afterward.
Our connection grew deeper as the physical exploration intensified. Lucien told me that before me, he had rarely shared his autofellatio talent with other lovers. Many found it too strange or intimidating. With me, he felt completely safe and desired.
I admitted how obsessed I had become. There was something powerfully erotic about watching this graceful, talented dancer reduce himself to pure animalistic pleasure, sucking his own dick with such hunger and skill.
We explored many variations. Some nights he would suck himself to multiple orgasms, swallowing load after load while I watched and encouraged him. We played with ice cubes, running them along his shaft before he took the cold flesh back into his warm mouth. We tried tying his arms so he had to rely purely on his core strength and flexibility to reach his cock.
The most intense nights were when he would stay folded for nearly an hour, sucking himself slowly and lovingly while I used his mouth at the same time. Feeling his throat work around both our cocks as he chased his own pleasure was something I never tired of.
On our final night before I had to return briefly to New York, Lucien prepared something special. He spent nearly two hours stretching and warming up his body. When he called me into the bedroom, the lighting was soft and mirrors had been positioned around the bed.
He was already deeply folded, his cock buried between his lips. He had been edging himself for a long time—his shaft was swollen and dark, his balls tight. For the next forty minutes I watched him worship himself with slow, devoted strokes of his mouth. His tongue swirled perfectly. Soft humming vibrations traveled through his shaft.
I finally straddled him and pushed my cock into his overstuffed mouth. We came together, both of us pumping heavy loads between his eager lips. Cum overflowed, running down his chin and neck as he swallowed what he could.
Afterward, we lay together in a sweaty, satisfied tangle. Lucien kissed me softly and whispered, “I will be here waiting for you, ready to suck myself whenever you want.”
When I returned to Paris a month later, he met me at the apartment wearing only a long coat. The moment the door closed he dropped to the floor, folded his flexible body, and welcomed me back by taking his own cock into his mouth while I used his throat.
Our nights continued like this—intense, loving, and deliciously depraved. Lucien’s extraordinary talent for autofellatio became the centerpiece of our passion, and I never stopped craving the sight of my beautiful French lover pleasuring himself so completely.
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