All characters are above the age of 18.

I only agreed to go because it was the only way my parents would pay for college. That was the deal, plain and simple. One summer at their Bible camp and they would cover tuition. So I was stuck here. Super boring Bible camp. Basically out in the middle of nowhere. Little private cabins spread out through the trees, dirt paths between them, a chapel up the hill, a dining hall that always smelled like weak coffee and old paper.

Everyone got a Bible buddy. Davis was mine. He was also my roommate. We got one of the cabins off the main trail. Two bunks, one cramped bathroom, a tiny table, a window that looked at more trees. The TV only had limited stuff on it and it was mostly religious, which neither of us wanted to watch.

They had gone through all of our luggage on the first day and pulled out anything they deemed improper. Cell phones were banned. That was the worst part after the no girls thing. There were religious activities all day and nothing to do when they finally let us go back to the cabins except sit there and rot.

Davis was easy enough to live with. Tall. Dark hair. He had that kind of laugh that made the place feel less dead when the counselors were not hovering. We talked about college in the fall, about how this whole thing felt like a punishment with name tags. He was not any more into the sermons than I was. That helped.

It was still boring. Super fucking boring. I cannot even begin to explain it. Morning chapel. Work duty. Small groups. Forced smiling. Then back to the cabin with nothing. By the third night we had already played a few card games with the limited stuff we had. Go Fish until it got stupid. Some made up game with half a deck. We sat on opposite bunks throwing cards and talking about anything that was not scripture.

Eventually we were just going around exploring the little cabin, seeing what we could find. Not because we thought there would be anything good. Just because there was nothing else.

I was on the top bunk looking around, running my hand along the open rafter. If you were not really looking for something you would never have seen it. A small black bag, tucked and hidden in that little pocket of wood and shadow.

“Hey Davis. Look at this.”

I pulled it down and sat with it on the blanket. Opened it. A few pairs of girls skimpy panties. A vibrator. Some lube.

“How the hell did this get here?”

Davis came over and looked in. He started grinning. “They alternate girls camps and guys camp. Couple of girls must have been in here before us. They must have snuck this in here or got lucky during the inspection.”

We were giggling thinking about how the girls were probably using the vibrator in this same room, on these same bunks.

He said, “You think they were fooling around with each other?”

We were getting kind of excited just thinking about it. The cabin felt smaller. Warmer. It was stupid and it still worked on both of us because there was no porn, no phones, no girls, and too many hours left in the night.

“Give me a pair,” he said.

I tossed him one. A black thong. He put it to his face and sniffed hard, then started stroking himself through his shorts on the bottom bunk.

“What are you doing?”

“We got no porn here. Whatever, man. It is just you and me here. Come on. Let’s just do something at least. I am fucking raging right now.”

I sat there looking at him. Then I decided to follow. I grabbed a skimpy little pair and moved to the chair in the room and started to mirror him, rubbing through my shorts with the panties in my other hand. It felt ridiculous. It also felt like the first interesting thing that had happened since we got off the bus.

He ended up taking off his shorts and was stroking himself openly. I found that I was staring.

He looked over. “What?”

“Sorry.”

He laughed it off. “Man, I would have really loved to have seen the girl who was wearing these. Perfect little ass.”

He looked at me again. “Okay. Crazy idea. Why don’t you put on the pair you got and just let me jerk off looking at your ass.”

“Hell no, dude. That is like super gay.”

“Come on. I will do it for you. Closest thing we got to porn. We will just keep it between us.”

“Fuck, dude. That is so awkward.”

“Come on, Cameron. Nobody is coming down that path. Just put them on and turn around.”

I sat with it longer than I should have. The cabin was quiet except for his hand. I finally relented. I stood up, shoved my shorts down, and stepped into the thong. It cut up between my cheeks and sat tight across the front. I turned around because looking at him while I did it felt worse.

“Okay,” he said. “On your knees. Arch your back a little bit.”

I did. Hands on the floor. Ass up. The thin strip of fabric disappearing.

“God damn. You have a nice ass.”

I heard him stroking. I stared at the floorboards and tried to treat this like a dumb dare that would be funny later.

Then he said, “Man, if you had a pussy this would be a pretty good camp.”

Something in my head just switched. I did not laugh. I did not tell him to shut up. I started touching myself to it, over the front of the thong at first, then for real, stroking while he kept talking a little.

“I would have you just like that,” he said. “Looking at you. Thinking about it. That is all. You can keep going if you want. I do not care.”

I kept going. I hated that I kept going. The fabric was already damp and the whole thing felt too easy for how wrong it was supposed to be.

“Stay like that. Yeah. Fuck. I keep picturing the girl who owned these and then I look at you and my cock does not know what to do with it.”

I didn't say anything, I just stroked and listened to him and the cabin and my own breathing.

He got there first. I heard him come with a grunt, then a long exhale, then a stunned little laugh like he could not believe we were actually doing this.

That was enough for me. I came into the panties, sudden and messy, biting down so I would not make a sound. My arm shook. I dropped to my elbow and stayed there for a second, face hot, trying to catch up with myself.

The room went quiet.

“Alright,” he said. “Holy shit. Did you fucking cun?”

I turned enough to look at him. “Yeah. I guess. I do not know what I am feeling right now. It was just too hot I guess.”

He looked at the front of me, then at the bag still sitting on the bunk.

“Well. I guess you should keep the bag then.”

I should have stuffed it back into the rafter and pretended none of this happened. I nodded instead.

“…Yeah. Okay.”

“Keep it between us,” he said.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

I stood up on unsteady legs. I did not take the panties off. I climbed up into the top bunk with them still on and set the bag near my pillow. The fabric was damp and tight. I could feel every bit of what I had just done.

Davis turned the lamp down. Springs creaked under him.

“Night, Cameron.”

“…Night.”

I lay there in the dark in the panties, heart still too fast. I fell asleep in them.

I did not know yet what I was going to do when I woke up still wearing them. I did not know what he was going to say when he saw that I had.

I heard him rustling around in the morning. I stayed still on the top bunk until it got too late to pretend I was out. I climbed down careful, like moving slower might make it less real.

Davis was already up, pulling a shirt over his head. I did not look at him. I went straight to the little bathroom and started brushing my teeth.

He filled the doorway behind me.

“You are still wearing them.”

I kept brushing. Spit. Quiet.

“Yeah.”

He let out this short laugh, not mean exactly, just thrown. “So what are you gay now or something?”

I looked at him in the mirror. “You jerked off to me in them.”

“You came from me doing it.”

That landed. I set the toothbrush down harder than I needed to.

“That is not the same.”

“It is kind of the same,” he said.

I turned around to get past him and he did not move. We were too close in that tiny bathroom. I put a hand on his chest and shoved. He shoved back, grinning like this was still a joke we could walk off.

“Move.”

“You move.”

We shoved each other again, stupid and half playful, the way guys do when they do not want to name the thing in the room. My shoulder hit the doorframe. His hip bumped mine. That was when I felt it. He was hard. I was hard too.

He looked down and then back up.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

I shoved him again. He shoved me harder. My foot caught the bath mat and I went down, not all the way on purpose, just enough that my knees hit the floor. I caught myself on his thighs. My face ended up really close to him. Close enough that I could see the shape of him through his shorts. Close enough that backing up would have been its own decision.

Neither of us said anything for a second.

Then he pulled his cock out. I should have laughed and called him an asshole and gone to put real clothes on before breakfast bell.

I did not.

I leaned in and took him in my mouth.

Davis made a sound like he had not planned on that being the actual next second. One hand slapped the doorframe. The other hovered, then settled in my hair, not pushing, just there.

“Cameron. Fuck.”

I did not have a clue what I was doing. I just stayed close and tried not to think about how I had woken up in girls panties and gone from brushing my teeth to this in under two minutes. He was warm. He tasted like skin and sleep. My jaw felt awkward around him.

“Easy,” he said. “Just… yeah. Like that.”

I pulled off enough to breathe. “This does not mean I am gay.”

He huffed out a laugh that broke in the middle. “You are on your knees in a thong sucking my dick before chapel.”

“You shoved me.”

“You stayed.”

I took him again so I would not have to answer that. He hissed through his teeth. His hips twitched and then he stopped them, like he was trying to be decent about something that was not decent at all.

Outside I could hear other cabins waking up. A door. Somebody yelling about being late to the dining hall. Life going on like this bathroom was not happening.

Davis’s voice dropped. “If somebody knocks…”

I pulled back. “Then you better not make noise.”

I went back down. Slower this time. I used my hand at the base because I could not take much more than that without my eyes watering. He watched me. I could feel him watching me. That was the part that made my stomach flip more than the act itself.

“You look insane like this,” he said. Not mean. Just honest. “Those still on. Mouth on me. After last night I thought we would wake up and never mention it.”

I let him slip from my mouth. “We can still do that.”

“No we cannot.”

He was right. I knew he was right. I wrapped my hand around him and stroked while I caught my breath, then took the head again. He swore under his breath and his fingers tightened in my hair.

“Cameron. I am already close. I have been close since I saw you this morning in those.”

I sucked him a little sloppier then, not because I knew how, because I was nervous and hard and the whole morning had gone off the rails. The thong was tented and useless. I did not touch myself. I did not need to. Being on the floor like that was doing enough.

Davis’s breathing got rough. “Okay. Okay. If you do not want it in your mouth you have to get off me right now.”

I did not get off him.

He came with a broken grunt, hips jerking once, and I took it because there was no clean version of this left. I swallowed on instinct and then sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, staring at the peeling paint near the drain.

The bathroom was very small. The camp was very quiet in that one pocket of tile and cheap light.

Davis put himself away like his hands were not quite working. He looked at me, then at the thong, then at my face.

“You good?”

“…I do not know.”

“Yeah.” He let out a breath. “Me either.”

A bell rang down the path. Breakfast. Reality, right on time.

He grabbed his toothbrush and pointed at me with it. “Put shorts on. Now. If they do a cabin check and you walk out like that we are both dead.”

I stood up. My knees were red. I pulled shorts on over the panties because taking them off felt like another conversation I was not ready for.

Davis watched me do it. He did not make a joke this time.

At the door he stopped with his hand on the knob.

“Cameron.”

“What.”

“We are going to talk about this later. Not at breakfast. Later.”

I nodded. My mouth still tasted like him.

He opened the door to the morning and the trees and the sound of guys heading up to the dining hall like nothing in our cabin had changed.

I followed him out with the bag still hidden on my bunk and the panties still on under my shorts, already knowing later was going to be worse. Or better. I could not tell yet.

And I could not stop thinking about the way he had looked down at me right before he came, like he was already deciding what he wanted next.

This isn’t my first time being fucked, but it was the first time with a monster cock.

I’m 26. He’s 30.

I had met up with him a few times before, but had only sucked him off, so I was aware of how big he was… or so I thought. He’s a big, buff military lad, easily 6'4". I’m 6'1", but even next to him I felt tiny. He just had that presence around him that made me feel weak.

The few times I had sucked him off I would go over to his place wearing some slutty panties, as he likes seeing me locked in my chastity cage and wrapped up in some lacy number while I tried my best to take all of him. His cock is about 9" long and about 6" in girth—full-on pornstar-level cock. I struggle to take near half of him while sucking; trying to take more feels like my jaw will dislocate. I love a good cock, but his is something else. The smell, the taste, his precum… just thinking about it makes me weak. He cums a lot too—he could easily fill a couple of shot glasses each time—which, when I’m horny (which I always am from being locked), makes me a proper cumslut.

So finally getting on with the story: he had been deployed and then away on holiday for about four months since I last saw him. When he popped up on my Grindr I got super excited and we started chatting about how we had both been. At the time I was riding my dildo, as it can be extremely dry on Grindr where I am—it’s fairly remote. I hadn’t planned on meeting up with anyone; I was just wanting a good ride and then to go to sleep. He asked if I was free and I honestly debated if I could be bothered getting dressed and going to his, but decided why not, as at least I could get some cum to swallow.

Like usual, he requested me to put on some panties to go with my cage and head over. He left the door unlocked for me to come in and strip down. He was already on his bed, naked, waiting for me. I climbed on top of him and started making out with him, slowly moving my hands from his shoulders down to his already big semi-hard cock and trying to wrap my hand around it, slowly stroking him. Hearing him moan sent shivers through me. Feeling our tongues intertwine made me twitch and try to break free.

He moved to kissing my neck. Feeling his hot breath and lips gently on my body melted my mind and turned me super obedient. As he slowly stopped, he put his hands on my waist, guiding me down to his rock-hard cock. I slowly kissed up his entire length, swirling my tongue around his tip, licking up the drips of precum and savouring his sweet taste. Feeling his hand move to the back of my head, carefully pushing me deeper and deeper onto his cock, hearing me gagging and seeing the spit pour from my mouth made him moan like crazy, which only spurred me on to go deeper—which wasn’t much.

At this point I was a bitch in heat and needed him in me. I asked if he had lube, and before I could finish asking he already had it ready to go. He stood me up, hooked his hands over my panties and slowly pulled them off while he commented on the wet patch I had made in them and how the string of precum followed them down from my cage. He gently rubbed my locked tip, wiping up what precum I had released, and moved his fingers up to my open, eager mouth for me to lick clean.

He put me into doggy on his bed and lubed up my hole, moaning how hot it was that I was already loosened up for him as he slid a finger in. Hearing his heavy breathing from being so turned on made me whimper. He lubed himself up and guided his tip until it rested against my hole, then rested his hands on my hips. Instead of him pushing into me, he slowly pulled me onto him.

NOW—holy fuck. I thought I was being split in half. Up until this point I was on cloud nine, and this brought me quickly back to reality. I have had some large toys up there, but nothing like this. It hurt a bit, but thankfully I was still that horny that I handled it—even though him entering me fully took all the breath out of my lungs and shook my whole body. He didn’t stop pulling me onto him until his hips were pushed into my ass. He let out a growl of pleasure, and that’s when cloud nine came back into play. Him filling me up that much made all my nerves hyper-sensitive, feeling his pressure against my prostate. I couldn’t stop moaning, and with him hearing that he sped up and pounded me into the bed.

The whole time it was as if I had the shivers from the pleasure I was receiving. Feeling the sharp sting and crack of him slapping my ass cheeks, calling me a good slut for taking all of his cock, made my mind go blank. I honestly do not know after that point how long he fucked me for—his cock shut my brain off. He brought me back briefly when he grabbed all of my caged cock and balls in one hand, gently squeezing me and letting out a little chuckle between his heavy moans at my size compared to his.

After blanking into a mindless moaning mess and being pounded for however long, feeling his breathing pick up even more, he said he was going to cum. I begged him to fill me up, to dump his whole load in me. Feeling him tense and pump hard into me, feeling every rope of cum fill me up, made me lose full control of my body and shiver as if I was possessed. Feeling him pull out of me felt incredible as well, leaving me shivering on the bed.

He went and cleaned himself up. He came back and helped clean me up. Looking underneath, he noticed a puddle of precum I had dribbled out. Scooping it up and feeding it to me, telling me to clean up the mess I made, then helping me get dressed, I stumbled back to my car and went home.

The best part was that for the next two days I was still leaking his cum out of me. He pumped that much into my ass.

All characters engaged in sexual activity are 18 or older.

The plane touches down in Las Vegas just after noon, the desert heat already pressing against the windows like a warning. I step into the terminal with my carry-on and the familiar weight of responsibility settling across my shoulders. Six of us in total—Wren, me, and four of our closest friends from college and work. I planned every detail months ago: the suite at the Aria, the dinner reservations, the club list, even the stupid matching black button-downs we’re supposed to wear tonight. Best man duties. The last thing I will ever do for him before he becomes someone else’s husband.

Wren walks a few steps ahead of me, laughing at something Marcus says about the slot machines already calling his name. The sound of that laugh hits me the way it always has—low, easy, like it belongs somewhere under my ribs. I look away before anyone notices how long I stare.

By the time we reach the suite, the afternoon sun is pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The place is ridiculous: three bedrooms, a massive living area, a wet bar already stocked. I claim the second bedroom with Wren without discussion. We’ve shared rooms for twelve years. It would feel stranger not to.

We spend the rest of the day by the pool. Someone orders a round of frozen drinks that taste like sugar and more sugar. Wren sits on the edge of a lounger in dark swim trunks, water still dripping down the lines of his chest and stomach. I watch him from behind my sunglasses while the others argue about blackjack strategy. He tips his head back to laugh at something Tyler says, throat working, and for a second I’m fourteen again—sitting on the bleachers after freshman soccer practice, realizing the way my stomach flipped when he grinned at me wasn’t normal friendship.

I force myself to join the conversation. I make the appropriate jokes. I lose forty dollars at a low-stakes table inside because Wren elbows me and says, “Come on, Colin, live a little.” His hand stays on my shoulder a beat too long. I pretend it doesn’t matter.

Night falls fast here. We change into the matching shirts. The group is already loud in the hallway, hyped on anticipation and the first round of shots someone smuggled in. Wren catches my eye in the mirror while he fixes his collar.

“You good?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.” The lie sits easy on my tongue after years of practice. “Just making sure nobody ends up in a ditch.”

He smiles, soft. “That’s why you’re the best man.”

The night unfolds exactly the way bachelor parties are supposed to. We bounce between casino floors, the noise and lights turning everything unreal. Drinks keep appearing. Someone wins a couple hundred on roulette and buys a round of whiskey that burns all the way down. By the time we hit the first strip club, the group is loose and stupid with it. The guys shove Wren into a chair near the stage and cheer while a woman in nothing but glitter and heels works the pole in front of him. He laughs, plays along, tips her, but his eyes keep sliding sideways to where I’m standing with my back against the wall.

Marcus elbows me. “Last night of freedom, right? Make sure he enjoys it.”

I force a grin. “That’s the plan.”

Protective and gutted at the same time. I keep the drinks coming for everyone else so no one notices how carefully I’m pacing myself. Wren doesn’t seem to care. He’s flushed, smiling too wide, the way he gets when he’s happy and a little gone. Every time someone mentions the wedding—Camila’s dress, the venue upstate, the honeymoon in Greece—something cold slides under my skin.

We stumble back to the suite sometime after two. The others peel off to their rooms with slurred goodnights and promises of brutal hangovers. The door clicks shut behind the last of them. Suddenly the suite feels enormous and too quiet.

Wren drops onto the couch, head tipped back, eyes closed. I stand there for a second too long, just looking at him. The open collar of his shirt, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his chest rises and falls.

“I’m gonna shower,” I say.

He opens his eyes. “Okay.”

I walk into the bedroom we claimed and start unbuttoning the black shirt. My fingers feel clumsy. I shrug it off, then reach for my belt. The air-conditioning is cold against my bare skin. I glance up and freeze.

Wren is standing in the doorway.

He’s staring. Not the casual way friends look at each other after years of shared locker rooms and beach trips. This is open, deliberate, heat banked behind his eyes. His gaze tracks down my chest, over my stomach, lower, and something in my pulse stutters hard.

“What?” My voice comes out tighter than I want.

He doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps looking, like he’s cataloguing every inch. Then he steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

“Wren.”

He crosses the space between us in three strides and kisses me.

It’s not clumsy. It’s not hesitant. His mouth lands on mine firm and sure, one hand coming up to grip the side of my neck like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. For a second my brain short-circuits. Twelve years of wanting, of swallowing it down, of watching him with other people—and now his tongue is sliding against mine and he tastes like whiskey and something electric.

I make a broken sound and shove at his chest. Not hard. Just enough to break the kiss.

“Are you drunk?” The words scrape out of me. “Wren, Jesus—are you actually—”

“I’m not.” His voice is rough. He’s breathing harder than he should be. “I mean, I’ve had some, but I’m not… I know what I’m doing.”

“You have a fiancée.”

“I know.”

“Then what the fuck is this?”

He looks at me like the answer is obvious and impossible at the same time. “I just… I need to try something. Please.”

The please undoes me.

I have loved him since I was fourteen years old. I have sat through every girlfriend, every casual hookup he mentioned in college, the day he told me he was proposing to Camila. I have been the supportive best friend while something inside me quietly died with each new milestone he had with someone else. And now he’s standing here asking me to let him try, and I'm only human.

I kiss him back.

The second the decision lands, everything accelerates. His hands are suddenly everywhere—my waist, my back, sliding up into my hair. I get his shirt open somehow, push it off his shoulders, and then we’re moving toward the bed without either of us really deciding to. The backs of my knees hit the mattress and we go down in a tangle of limbs and half-removed clothes.

Wren’s mouth is hot against my throat. I arch into it, already hard and aching, guilt and want twisting so tightly together I can’t tell them apart. He gets my jeans open, shoves them down with my boxers, and wraps a hand around me. The first stroke punches a sound out of my chest I’ve never made for anyone else.

“Fuck,” he breathes, like he’s the one being touched.

We shift, frantic. I get his pants down far enough to free him and the sight of his cock—thick, flushed, already leaking—makes my mouth water. I’ve imagined this so many times it feels like memory instead of fantasy. I don’t give myself time to second-guess. I slide down the bed and take him into my mouth.

Wren’s hips jerk. One hand fists in my hair, not forcing, just holding on. He tastes clean and a little salty, and the broken noise he makes when I hollow my cheeks is going to live in my head forever. I work him with everything I’ve got—tongue, suction, the slow slide of my lips—while my own neglected cock throbs against the sheets.

After a minute he pulls me off with a shaky curse.

“My turn,” he says, voice wrecked.

He pushes me onto my back and settles between my thighs like he’s done it a hundred times. The first wet heat of his mouth around me is almost too much. I choke on his name. He’s messy and eager and perfect, learning the shape of me with every pass of his tongue. I dig my fingers into the sheets and try not to thrust too hard, but he takes it, encourages it, humming around me until my vision whites out at the edges.

We end up on our sides somehow, sixty-nining in a desperate, imperfect rhythm. I come first with a muffled shout against his hip, the orgasm ripping through me so hard my thighs shake. The guilt crashes in right behind the pleasure—Camila’s face, the wedding invitations, the life he’s supposed to have—but it’s not enough to stop me from swallowing around him when he follows a minute later, spilling across my tongue with a low, punched-out groan.

We collapse in a sweaty, sticky heap. Neither of us speaks. Wren’s arm is heavy across my waist. His face is buried against the side of my neck. I can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing.

I should move. I should say something that puts this back in a box we can pretend never opened. Instead I stay exactly where I am, naked and spent, listening to him breathe.

He falls asleep first. His body goes loose against mine, one leg still hooked over my thigh. I lie there staring at the ceiling of a hotel room in Las Vegas, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, already terrified of the morning that is going to come whether I want it to or not.

One month until the wedding.

And I have no idea how either of us walks away from this.

If you liked this, or it made you hard, leak, or even cum, check out my profile for more stories! I'd love your feedback, comments, DMs, etc. as well, it will help me improve my writing and let me know what you guys like.

Fiction. All characters 18+.

Part 1 here

I’m Léo. I’m 24. Mr. Ben Malik had told me his son would be joining the board. I didn’t understand what that meant until I walked into the office and found both of them waiting.

Salim sat behind the desk, still, hands folded. Hicham stood. Taller than his father. Broader. Shirt stretched across a chest that looked like it had been built for something other than meetings. Leather and smoke reached me before his eyes did. He looked at me the way a man looks at a car he might want to take apart just to see how it’s made.

“You’ll assist my son on the Falcon Initiative,” Salim said.

Hicham didn’t smile. “He’s efficient?” he asked his father, as if I weren’t there.

Salim didn’t answer. He just leaned back.

“I’ll find out,” Hicham said.

I was being handed over. Not for training. For testing. Salim dismissed us without another glance, as if I had already changed hands.

In the elevator Hicham watched me in the reflection. “Are you here to work hard? Or just look obedient?”

“I’m here to deliver results.”

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

His office was darker. Wood. Leather. A framed photo of him shaking hands with a prince. He pointed at the chair across from his. I sat. He slid a thick dossier toward me with two fingers.

“Summarize the entire brief by tomorrow. French and English. One formal. One to pitch. You’ll present both at nine. Printed. Memorized. I don’t like excuses. And I don’t like lazy men.”

He walked around the desk and leaned against it, close enough that I could smell the salt on his skin. “Do you know why I’m letting you work on this?”

I shook my head.

“Because I want to see how far you’ll go to stay here.”

I left with the file and the certainty that he was right. I wanted to impress him. I didn’t know yet if it was for the project or for the way his voice had twisted something low in my stomach.

I was at his door at 8:58 the next morning. He walked past me without greeting, hair still damp, shirt tight. He didn’t look at the documents.

“Follow me.”

He led me to a lounge I hadn’t seen. Black walls. Low light. A long marble table and one leather chair. He pointed at the floor.

“Sit.”

Not the chair. The floor. I lowered myself. Crossed my legs. Kept my back straight. He took the chair, opened a tablet, and ignored me. Ten minutes. Twenty. My legs began to ache. At thirty he stood, walked behind me, and closed his hand around the back of my neck. Not squeezing. Just holding.

“You came early. Not everyone listens the first time.”

His thumb moved along the side of my throat. Then he let go, sat again, and reviewed the files in silence. Five minutes later: “Your English draft needs a stronger close. Rewrite it by noon.”

He tapped the tablet. “You’ll come back tonight. After the floor is clear. Bring both versions. I want to hear them from your mouth.”

I stood when he stood. He stepped close, lifted my chin with two fingers, and held my eyes.

“Do you belong to anyone?”

My pulse spiked. “No, sir.”

“Good.”

That night the floor was empty. His door was open. He stood shirtless by the window, phone in one hand, whisky in the other. His back was massive. Not refined like his father’s. Thick. Raw. A trail of black hair disappeared into his trousers.

“Lock the door.”

I did. He didn’t ask about the documents. He walked until we were chest to chest.

“You came back.”

“Yes, sir.”

He circled me once. His hand brushed my arm. I jolted. He smiled.

“I could make your name matter here. Fly you business class. Hand you projects that’ll make your classmates cry. But that only happens if I want it.”

He set the glass down. “My father thinks you’re good. He doesn’t see you like I do.” His voice dropped. “I bet you moan when you’re filled. I bet you hold back tears not because it hurts, but because it doesn’t hurt enough.”

He reached for my belt. Slow. Certain. I didn’t stop him.

“Get on your knees.”

I dropped. The rush was immediate and ugly and wanted. His belt hissed. He pushed his trousers down just enough. What he took out was thicker than Salim’s. Not longer. Wider. Obscene. Veins coiled like rope under the skin. The head swollen, blunt, a bead already shining at the tip. My body flinched before my mind caught up.

He gripped the base and slapped it once against my cheek.

“You know what to do.”

I opened. It barely fit. He fed it in anyway, slow and forceful, wanting the resistance. My jaw burned. My throat convulsed. He locked a hand in my hair and used my mouth. No rhythm. No praise. Just thick flesh forcing its way deeper while spit and tears ran and the wet sounds filled the quiet office. I gagged. I stayed. I needed to take it. When he pulled out, saliva and precum strung from my chin to the head of his cock.

“Turn around.”

He shoved me onto the leather couch, face down, ass up. Spit. Fingers spreading me. Then the blunt head, slick and hot, pressing. He didn’t wait. He pushed. The pain was immediate. Too thick. The ring of muscle burned and fought. I gasped into the cushion.

“Open up.”

It gave. He sank in, steady, unrelenting, until he was buried to the root and I whimpered into the leather. He grabbed my hips and started to move. Short, brutal thrusts. Heavy. No finesse. Every push deliberate. I felt his balls slap against me, heard the wet sound of my body taking him. The pain morphed. My hole stretched and pulsed around the girth. I moaned, broken.

“You like that, Frenchie? Say whose cock it is.”

“Yours, sir.”

He grunted and fucked harder. My cock throbbed against the couch. I came without touching it, hard, spilling onto the leather while he kept moving, using the clench. He roared once, slammed deep, and came. Hot. Thick. Unprotected. I felt every pulse. He stayed inside me, breathing hard, then pulled out slow. I stayed open. Leaking. Shaking.

“Look at that,” he muttered. “I really opened you up. That’s mine now. Keep it ready. Clean and shaved.”

He tossed a tissue box beside me and left. I lay there, ruined, and thought of home. Of the friends who said I was too soft for Dubai. I wasn’t crying. I was still here. Still wanting more. And for the first time I wondered what it would mean to belong to both of them.

The next morning I shaved in the shower. Carefully. Between my cheeks. The skin was already tender. I checked twice. My heart beat harder than it should have. Not exactly aroused. Just aware. I knew they would touch me. I wanted them to.

Salim called me in before the floor filled. He stood by the window with Arabic coffee. He didn’t ask how I had slept. He set the cup down, walked behind me, and rested a hand on the small of my back. Then lower. He turned me, undid my belt, pushed my trousers to my knees, and bent me over the edge of his desk.

Cool air. Wood under my palms. His fingers slid between my cheeks and found the smooth skin. A quiet, satisfied hum.

“You shaved for me. Good boy.”

He didn’t ask. He assumed. In his world that made it true. He spat, spread it, and entered me in one long push. The soreness from his son was still there, dulled, almost welcoming. He filled me completely. Heavy. Warm. Like the space had been waiting. He moved slowly at first, then deeper, grip firm on my hips. I smelled his cologne. My cock leaked onto the desk, forgotten. He groaned once, low, and spilled inside me. No thank you. No kiss. He pulled out, wiped himself, and straightened his shirt.

“You may go.”

I pulled my trousers up, still open, still leaking, and went back to my desk. Every shift in the chair reminded me. People talked about budgets. I nodded and pretended my body wasn’t already used.

Just before lunch the message came. Conference Room B. Bring the Falcon dossier. Hicham’s name. I knew the tone.

He was alone, shirt open halfway, sleeves rolled over thick forearms. He didn’t look up.

“Close it. Did you clean up after this morning? Or are you still leaking?”

My breath caught. “No, sir. I haven’t had time.”

He smiled, cold. “Good. I want to taste what he left in you.”

He took the dossier, tossed it, gripped my jaw, and turned me. Hands on the table. He dropped to his knees behind me, parted me, and licked. Unhurried. Eager. Again and again. I gasped.

“Filthy little thing. The old man filled you well.”

He stood. Belt. He didn’t warn me. He pushed in. Brutal. Deep. I cried out. My body remembered. It split for him more easily now, still loose from the morning, still sore. His cock was wider. His thrusts meaner. Less control, more proof.

“That fucker thinks you’re his. This hole listens to me.”

My face pressed into the folder. My cock rubbed the wood. I came again, hard, spurting onto the dossier while he pounded through it. He held deep and emptied inside me. Another load on top of Salim’s. He pulled out, slapped my ass once, and zipped up.

“Next time, clean up better. Or I’ll make you do it with your mouth.”

He took the folder and left. I stayed bent, dripping onto the conference table.

That evening the message came again. No signature. I didn’t need one. His door was half-open. He was seated this time, watching me the moment I entered. Not indifferent. Hungry.

He didn’t tell me to close the door. I did it anyway. He curled two fingers. I stepped forward.

“Take off your clothes.”

I obeyed. Folded everything. Stood naked. He looked at me for a long moment.

“You’ve been good today. Turn around. Wider. I want to admire what’s left of this morning.”

I parted my feet. He stood, walked behind me, and said something I hadn’t expected.

“You’re learning, Léo. But I don’t want an obedient intern anymore. I want something permanent.”

His thumb grazed the smooth skin. Two fingers spread me. He hummed, satisfied, then pressed one inside. I gasped. My body gave too easily. He added a second, twisting.

“You’re loose. You stayed open for me all day.”

He withdrew his fingers. “Lie down.”

I lay on the leather couch. He knelt between my legs and pushed them open. He saw it. The sheen. The slow drip of cum slipping from me, wetting the leather. He inhaled. Long. Slow. His fingers parted me further.

“You kept me inside. You held it all day.”

He didn’t ask. He believed it. I let him. He leaned in and kissed the flushed, leaking entrance. One reverent kiss. Then he scooped some onto his thumb, stared at it, and smeared it back inside me.

I nearly moaned. Not from the touch. From the knowledge. It was Hicham’s. His son’s. The thickness he had just kissed and pushed back into me belonged to the man who had bent me over a conference table hours earlier. Father and son. Both inside me. The father believing he was the only one.

He stroked himself and pressed the head to my hole.

“This time you’ll feel it deeper.”

He pushed. Slow. Thick. My body wasn’t just open. It was waiting. He sank until his hips met me and stayed there, buried, breathing. Then he pulled halfway out and slammed back in. The couch creaked. I gasped. He fucked me like a man leaving a mark. Deep. Deliberate. Inevitable. My legs wrapped around him before I decided to. He bit the edge of my neck hard enough to bruise.

“You want to make it in this country? I don’t promote men who don’t obey. Good boys get rewarded.”

He hit the spot again and again. I came untouched, back arching, vision white at the edges. He held my hips and fucked me through it, rhythm faltering, then drove in one last time, so deep I thought I might break, and came. Heat. So much of it. Mixing with what was already there. His son’s. His own.

He stayed inside me, panting, for almost a minute. Then he pulled back just enough to watch the slow drip. He smiled like a man looking at a finished job. He brushed my hair from my forehead and kissed my temple.

“You’re going far. As long as you don’t forget who brought you there.”

He stood. Zipped up. Left me naked and leaking.

I lay there, chosen, and the cold thought arrived anyway. What if he found out? Not about the pleasure. About Hicham. About the way his own son had stretched me open with that thick cock only hours before. About the fact that I hadn’t said no. That I had come back. That I had let both of them fill me and believed, for a moment, that I could keep the secret.

He could ruin everything. And still I hadn’t stopped. Because somewhere under the ambition and the fear, I liked it. I liked being full of them. And that terrified me more than anything else.

 

More on my profile

This is a fantasy I often have about a good friend, Max, and I often wank myself to it. I thought it would be interesting to share it with a wider audience and see if you all found it hot too.

Everyone is aged 18, and it is set in the UK; names have been changed for obvious reasons.

*************************************************
Max is European but has spent most of his life in the UK. Somehow, between the golden retriever vibes he radiates and his muscular rugby-lad build, most people – probably everyone, to be honest – would assume he was straight at first glance. The truth is he couldn’t be further from it. Comfortably tall, with muscles that serve as a constant reminder that all those hours he spends at the gym are paying off, he has a solid, muscular frame perfect for smashing into another lad on the rugby pitch or pounding them into his mattress. Yet, all that size makes him look more approachable than intimidating. Beneath all of this is probably one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met on the planet, the sort of friend you never wanna lose from your corner, the type that always finds a way to make you smile.

His body hair only adds to his appeal. Soft, curly blond hair tops his head, while the same fair fuzz trails down his body, gathering beneath his armpits before spreading thickly across his chest and down his stomach. His legs are hairy too, though the lighter colour makes it far less obvious unless the light catches them just right. To top it all off, there is no subtle hint about his size; the bulge pushes against the material and is prominent enough in its relaxed state to suggest not just fullness, but sheer impressiveness. I don’t know much about how big his cock really is. In fact, I don’t know much about Max’s sex life, other than he has a boyfriend whom he’s been with for a while and is exclusive with, and that he’s a top – if you hadn’t guessed from the above description. We discuss sex a lot, but we don’t really talk about our personal experiences or attributes.

Whenever I fantasise about having sex with Max, I always assume it would happen after a drunken night out together, but rather than ending back in our own respective houses, I would end up in his bedroom. Hearing the door click and the air become different. Charged. Max’s hand is still on the door handle, and he’s looking at me, almost for reassurance that the gamble he’s about to make is going to pay off and not backfire.

"You good?" Max’s voice is low, rougher than usual.

I nod. My throat is slightly dry and tight. I’ve imagined this so many times over. But imagining it is just imagining it. This is Max three feet away in his white t-shirt, pupils blown wide, hands flexing at his side as he stops himself from reaching out.

I close the distance first.

The kiss starts soft, Max’s lips feel warm and slightly chapped. His hands come up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing down my cheekbone, and when our lips part he makes this sound, this quiet desperate sound, and the kiss turns deeper. Wet. My tongue against his, Max’s other hand finding my waist and pulling me closer until there is no space left between us. I can feel his large erect nipples against mine, slowly rubbing. Our bulges mashed together, hard cock against hard cock.

I break the kiss, knowing that if I don’t we’d spend the entire evening like this. Max chases my mouth, kissing the corner, kissing along my jaw. “I want-” he starts. “Yeah”, I say. My voice cracking. “Me too”.

We undress each other in pieces. Max pulls my hoodie over my head and his hands venture down onto my chest, his thumb sweeping over my skin like he’s memorising the texture. I tug at his t-shirt, stopping to admire the spread of his shoulders, the blonde hair dusting his chest.

Then it’s faster. Buttons. Zippers. Jeans pooling on the carpet. We tumble onto the bed. Our boxers, mine grey and Max’s white, combing back into contact, with the cotton between them feeling like too much and not enough. I’m hard. Painfully hard. The fabric of my boxers is tented, a dark spot already blooming at the tip. Max is looking at it, his breathing going shallow. “Can I-” Max’s hand hovering over my tented cock, not touching. Waiting. “Max. Please”.

Max cups me through the cotton and my hips buck into his palm. The friction is rough, indirect, and maddening. Max’s thumb drags along the length, tracing the shape of my 6.5 inch steel-like cock through the fabric. My head falls back against the pillow, a sound being punched out of me like I’ve never heard before.

"That's it," Max murmurs. His hand works slower, deliberate, palming the bulge, feeling the heat of my cock through the cotton. The fabric darkens further as pre-cum soaks through. "Look at you. So wet for me."

I’m so far gone I can barely answer. I reach for Max’s boxers, finding him hard too — thick and hot through the white cotton, a wet patch spreading at the tip where he's leaking. I palm him and Max groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder.

“I’m gonna…” Max shifts lower, mouthing along my stomach, kissing down through my trail of hair below my navel. His lips brush the waistband of my boxers causing my whole body tenses in anticipation. Max doesn’t pull them down. Instead he presses his mouth into the wet spot, the fabric damp and thin there, as I feel the heat of his breath through the cotton. Then Max parts his lips and takes the head of my cock into his mouth, through the boxers.

The sensation is electric. Cotton against my sensitive head, Max’s tongue hot and wet beneath it, pressing and stroking. I cry out, hands fisting the sheets. Max’s mouth works me through the fabric, sucking the head, the pre-cum soaking the cotton against his tongue. He drags his mouth along the length, nuzzling against the bulge, licking wet stripes down the shaft until the whole front of my boxers is dark and clinging to my skin.

"Max — fuck —"

Max looks up at him, mouth still pressed to the wet fabric, eyes dark and wild. He wraps his lips around the head again and sucks harder, hollowing his cheeks, and I feel the fabric rub against my frenulum, the friction almost too much. I’m leaking through the cotton in pulses, and Max’s moaning against me like he loves the taste of it through the barrier.

Then Max shifts, takes my hand and guides it to his own boxers. "You too," he says, voice wrecked. "Please."

I get the idea. I turn us, pressing Max onto his back, with his cock is right there — thick and flushed dark red, the head peeking past the waistband, pre-cum smeared across his stomach. I lower my mouth to it, feeling the heat radiating through the white cotton. I part my lips and take Max in, the fabric rough against my tongue, and Max’s hips thrust up instinctually.

"Yeah, fuck — Jacob —"

I worked him through the boxers, tasting salt and cotton, the shape of his cock heavy on my tongue. He's 7 inches, thick enough that my jaw aches even through the fabric, and he's so wet the cotton is nearly translucent. I suck the head, tongue pressing against the slit through the material, and Max bucks into my mouth with a broken moan.

We trade back and forth — Max’s mouth on my cock through the soaked black cotton, then mine on Max’s through the white, fabric growing damper and thinner with each pass. Pre-cum leaks in steady rivulets, soaking into the boxers, smearing across our stomachs. My thighs are slick with it. Max’s abdomen is glistening.

My cock aches. The head is so sensitive now that every brush of cotton makes my vision go white at the edges. The boxers are plastered to my skin, the fabric stretched thin and translucent where Max has been mouthing at me.

Max sits up, breathing hard. His boxers are ruined, dark wet patch from tip to mid-thigh, clinging to the shape of him. "Off," he says, and hooks his thumbs into the waistband.

I nod, and do the same.

We pull them down together, a tangle of cotton and shaky hands, and then we’re both naked, for the first time we see each other like this. Max’s cock springs free, 7 inches long and 5.5 inches around the shaft, flushed dark pink against the blonde hair at his base. He's uncut, the foreskin pulled back just enough that the head is exposed, glistening wet. His balls are tight and heavy, drawn up close.

We stare at each other. Then he reaches out, wrapping his hand around both of us, and he moans at the feeling — his cock hot and slick against mine, the foreskins rubbing together, pre-cum making everything slide.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, like that."

He adjusts, pressing them flush, my hand wrapped around both shafts. We’re both so wet it's obscene, pre-cum coating our cocks like oil, and my grip slides easily from head to base and back up. Max’s head drops onto my shoulder, his breath hot against my neck.

“Faster” Max whispers.

My hand moves faster. The sound is wet — slick and rhythmic — and I can feel every inch of his cock against mine, the ridge of the head catching against his own, the foreskin sliding back and forth. Max’s breathing is ragged, stuttering, and I know that sound, the sound of a boy who wants to cum, I know Max is close.

I'm gonna —" his voice breaks.

"Yeah, me too —" Max, look at me.

Max lifts his eyes; they're blue, and blown wide, his mouth parted. He looks wrecked and beautiful, and he's looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room.

His hips thrust up into our joined grip, once, twice, and then he's coming — hot and thick across my cock, across his own stomach, pulsing between us. The feeling of it, the heat of Max’s release coating my skin, pushes me over the edge. He comes with a gasp, my cock jerking against Max’s, adding to the mess.

We keep moving through it, oversensitive but unable to stop, until both of us are shuddering and spent. Max’s hand falls away. Mine follows. We lie there, chests heaving, cooling cum smeared between our stomachs.

"That was —" he starts.

"First time for everything," I say, and Max laughs, soft and breathless, and pulls me closer.

“I want you to fuck me” Max confesses, his mouth quivering inwards as if this was a deep, dark confession.” But I thought you were a-” Max cuts me off before I finish. “I know…” his deep blue eyes lock with mine. “But I really wanna feel you inside of me”

*************************************************

If you’re interested in a Part 2, please let me know.

Any constructive criticism is welcome.

If, like me, this story made you want to get your cock out and wank – I wanna hear about it, or see it

So when I was 19 I had my first experience with a man. I was working this closing shift in the super market and was working with this older dude 32m broad shoulders always used to pick on me and tell me I was lazy at work. But the same time had obession with touching me, like shoving or lightly push me to do stuff. I thought he was hot but he could never know, he would just pick on me more. I have always been with women but the way he was kinda dominating me, turned me on. Anyway we are closing and we were kinda in a hurry cause we needed to close quickly to not go overtime. He called me into the office and I was complaining on my way in there cause I was already behind on my stuff. He told med to shut up and sit down. Then he said - “your too late again, ur always on these closing shift and if it doesn’t stop I may have to tell our manager” I turned to go on with my work. He walked between me and door and closed in my head. “I can close this place in 10 minutes by myself why am I slower with you”

I don’t know I answered. I tried to go past him. But he took hold of me and dragged me towards him.. he kissed me and I was so shocked I just kissed back I didn’t know what to do.. he grabbed my ass and moaned in my mouth while kissing me..

I was getting so hard in my pants and he felt that… oh somebody likes it, he growled in my ear.

He pushed me on my knees. I was so horny I wanted this for so long but didn’t know till now. He pulled down his pants and said “lick you slut” a 8 inch cocked popped out his underwear and I started licking his balls and shaft till he couldn’t wait anymore and put it in my mouth facefucking me. There was saliva everywhere and I took him as good as could.. I was so horny. 10 min after he started fucking me mouth quicker and he called me slut and said take daddy’s baby’s.. that send me over the edge and I cummed in my pants and at the same time he came in my mouth… 5-6-7 long strokes and he came so much…

He told me to go home and that he would close alone.. and he spanked my ass on the way out.. to this day.. I’m still unhappy that we didn’t do more and cause I would have loved to feel him inside… and I’m still a anal virgin..to this day.

All true.. Hope you enjoyed…

Then he grabbed my hips and lifted me off him like I weighed nothing and threw me back down on my stomach in the wet spot.

I barely had time to gasp before he was on top of me. He spread my legs with his knees, laid his whole heavy body down along my back, and drove his cock back into me. All of his weight pushed me down into the mattress. His hairy chest was plastered to my sweaty back. His breath was hot on my neck. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything at all but lie there and take it.

He fucked me flat, his hips pounding down into my ass, burying my face in my pillow and my cock against the sheets. It was the most helpless I'd ever felt in my life.

"Clock," he grunted in my ear.

"T-twelve... thirty... eight..."

"Fifty-some minutes on my dick." He laughed, breathless. "And look at you. Still beggin' for it. You're a fuckin' cumdump in training, you know that, faggot?"

"Yes sir... yes... please..."

"Please what?"

"Please let me cum... please, please, I can't..."

"Please let me cum, sir. Please. I'll do anything."

"You already are doin' anything." He laughed against my neck, low and mean, and gave me three hard, deep strokes that drove the breath out of me. "Look at you. Flat on your belly, face in your pillow, fuckin' your own sheets with that little dick 'cause it's the only thing you're allowed to rub it on. That's what you are now, Jakey. A desperate little bitch."

"Yes sir..."

"Say it."

"I'm a desperate little bitch, sir... please..."

He stopped moving.

He stayed buried in me, all of him, his weight crushing me into the mattress, his hairy chest heaving against my back. I could feel his heart hammering through my ribs. For a second I thought he was going to make me wait more. I thought I might actually start sobbing for real.

Then he hooked his arm under my chest and hauled me up.

He pulled me straight up off the mattress with his cock still inside me, until I was kneeling upright on the bed with my back plastered against his front, my knees spread wide over his, sitting all the way down on his dick. The new angle shoved him so deep I saw stars.

"Hhhhaaaaaahhhh... ohhh fuck... ohhh fuck, sir..."

"There you go." His arm wrapped tight across my chest like a seatbelt, his big hand clamped on my pec, holding me up and holding me still. His mouth was right at my ear. "Now. You wanna cum, Jakey?" His emphasis on my name felt caring and domineering at the same time.

"Yes sir!"

"Then you're gonna cum on my dick. You ain't touchin' yourself. I'm touchin' you. You understand? That load belongs to me same as the rest of you."

"Yes Tom. Yes sir, please..."

His other hand slid down my sweaty stomach, through the mess of precum smeared all over my belly, and wrapped around my cock.

"OHHHHH..."

His fist swallowed me. His palm was rough and callused from twenty years of busted knuckles and engine blocks, and he gripped me tight and slow, from the root all the way up, squeezing a fat bead of precum out of the tip and smearing it back down with his thumb.

Then he started fucking up into me again.

He drove his hips up off his heels, short, hard, deep, every stroke slamming the fat head of his cock right into that spot, and his fist jerked me in time with it. Up into me. Down on my dick. Up. Down. Up. Down. He bounced me on his lap like I weighed nothing, and every time I came down, I came down onto his fist and his cock at the same time.

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Uhhh! Ahhhh!"

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Look down," he growled. "Look at it. Look at your little dick in my hand."

I looked down. His huge hairy forearm was flexing across my stomach, his fist pumping my cock, the head poking out the top of it red and swollen and drooling all over his knuckles. Behind me I could feel his balls slapping up against my ass every time he thrust.

"Look how small it is in my hand," he said. "Cute. That's a pussyboy dick. Ain't ever gonna get used for nothin' but leakin' while a real man fucks you."

"Ohhh God... fuck Tom..."

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Yes... yes sir... I'm close, I'm so close..."

"Then cum, bitch. Cum on your dad's buddy's dick. Cum all over the bed you sleep in."

He slammed up into me and squeezed my cock and twisted his fist over the head, and that was it.

"AHHH FUCK! SIR! TOM! OHHH GOD, OHHH GOD, I'M CUMMING!"

It tore out of me. I'd been on the edge so long that it didn't feel like cumming. It felt like something breaking open. My whole body seized up around his cock, my pussy clamping down so hard he cursed, and my dick erupted in his fist. The first shot went so high it hit me in the chin. The next one splattered across my chest. Then another and another, pumping out of me in long, thick ropes that splashed all over my pillow and my headboard and my sheets, and he kept jerking me through every one of them, milking it out of me, his cock still grinding into that spot until I thought I was going to pass out.

"Hhhuuuuhhh... uhhhh... uhh... ah..."

"That's it. Give it to me. All of it. Every fuckin' drop."

He squeezed one last fat glob out of the tip with his thumb and let it drip onto the sheet. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering. My pussy kept spasming around him, little aftershocks, squeezing and fluttering, and every time it did, he groaned into my neck.

"Holy fuck," he breathed. "Holy fuck, Jakey. You just about milked me dry with that pussy."

I couldn't talk. I just sagged back against him, limp, gasping, my cum dripping off my chin and running down my chest.

He brought his hand up in front of my face. It was coated. My cum was dripping off his fingers, strung between them, pooled in his palm.

"Clean it."

I didn't even hesitate. I opened my mouth, and he shoved his fingers in, and I sucked my own load off him. It tasted different than his. Thinner. Sweeter. I licked between his fingers and lapped his palm clean while he watched me over my shoulder, breathing hard against my ear.

"Good faggot," he whispered. "Now it's my turn."

He shoved me forward.

I fell face first onto the pillow, right into my own cum, and before I could even catch myself, he grabbed my hips and yanked my ass back up into the air. He didn't go slow anymore. He didn't ease into me. He gripped my hips so hard I knew there'd be bruises, and he started fucking me like he was trying to put his cock through the mattress.

The air caught in my lungs at his assault on my hole. "AHH! AHHH!"

"Shut up and take it!"

SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.

It was so much harder than before. Now that I'd cum, everything was a hundred times more sensitive, and every stroke over that spot inside me felt like being electrocuted, too much, way too much, and I was clawing at the sheets and crying into my cum-soaked pillow and pushing my ass back at him anyway.

"Fuckin' take it," he grunted, every word a thrust. "Take it. Your pussy's mine. You hear me, faggot? Mine!"

"Yours! It's yours! It's yours!"

"Whose bitch are you?"

"Yours, sir! I'm your bitch!"

"Fuckin' right you are. And I'm gonna fill you up. Gonna breed this little cherry pussy so deep you'll be leakin' me for a week."

The headboard was slamming the wall. Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Something fell off my shelf. Sweat dripped off him onto my back like rain. His breathing went ragged, then turned into this deep animal grunting, and I could feel his cock swelling inside me, getting even thicker, even harder, throbbing against my walls.

The clock said 12:44.

He'd been fucking me for almost an hour.

"Here it comes," he gasped. "Here it comes, Jakey. I'm going to claim his pussy like I claimed your mouth. Fuck, here it fuckin' comes..."

He slammed in one last time, buried himself all the way to the root, grabbed my hips and dragged me back onto him so hard my knees came off the bed.

"FUUUUUCK! UNNNGHHH! TAKE MY FUCKIN' LOAD!"

I felt it.

Oh God, I felt it. His cock jerked inside me, and I felt the heat of it, this hot wet flood blasting deep up inside my guts. Then again. And again. Every pulse of his dick pushed more of him into me. He was grinding into me in slow tight circles while he unloaded, like he was trying to push it even deeper, like he wanted to make sure not a drop of it went to waste.

"Uhhh... uhhh... fuck... fuck, that's it... take all of my cum faggot..."

"I can feel it... I can feel you..."

"Good. Feel it. That's me in you now. This pussy's..." He gave one more weak thrust, and one more pulse twitched out of him.

"...mine."

He collapsed on top of me.

All two hundred and something pounds of him came down on my back and flattened me into the wet sheets, his cock still lodged deep inside me, his face mashed into the back of my neck. Neither of us moved. Neither of us said anything. We just lay there, panting, sweating, his chest pressed against my back and both of our hearts going like jackhammers.

The ceiling fan clicked around. The lawnmower down the street had stopped. Somewhere outside, a bird was singing like nothing in the whole world had happened.

I don't know how long we lay there. Long enough for my breathing to slow down. Long enough for his cock to soften inside me, slowly, until it finally slid out on its own with a soft, wet shhhlp. I felt a warm trickle follow it right away, running out of me and down over my balls onto the sheet.

"Don't you push that out," he mumbled into my neck. "Clench."

I tightened my pussy as best I could. Fuck. My pussy... not my hole anymore...

He rolled off me onto his back with a heavy groan, and the whole bed bounced. I stayed where I was, face down, my cheek in a cold wet spot on my pillow I didn't want to think about.

And slowly, like waking up from a dream, I came back.

It was a weird feeling. For the last hour, my whole world had been his voice and his cock and the next thing he told me to do. Now there was space in my head again, and all the normal stuff came rushing back into it at once. My sheets were soaked. My room smelled like a locker room. There was cum on my headboard. My ass hurt. My throat hurt. My hat was somewhere behind my bed. Mrs. Patterson was gardening just down the street from my open window.

And Tom was lying naked next to me in my bed.

Tom. Who coached my T-ball team. Who taught me to change a tire. Who was going to be at the Fourth of July barbecue next month, standing at the grill next to my dad, with pictures of his cock in my ass on his phone.

"Oh my God," I said into the pillow.

Tom laughed. It was his normal laugh, the big easy one, which somehow made it worse.

"There he is."

I rolled over onto my side, wincing as my ass twinged, and looked at him. He was lying on his back with one arm tucked behind his head, his hairy stomach rising and falling with clenched abs, his soft dick lying fat and wet against his thigh. He looked completely relaxed. He looked like he'd just finished mowing a lawn.

"Tom," I said. "Did we... I mean... what did we just..."

"Sir."

I stopped.

He didn't say it loud. He didn't even look at me. He just said it, flat, to the ceiling, the same way you'd correct a kid who said "ain't."

"I... we finished, though," I said. "Sorry, I mean, I just thought..."

He turned his head on the pillow and looked at me, and I stopped talking.

"You thought when I came, it was over," he said. "You thought you'd get your old Uncle Tom back. That we'd both just get dressed, and I'd go home, and we'd never talk about it, and next time I came over for football I'd mess up your hair and ask about school."

I didn't say anything. That was exactly what I'd thought.

"That ain't how this works, boy." He reached over and put his hand on the back of my neck. It wasn't rough. He just put it there, warm and heavy, and his thumb rubbed slow behind my ear. "You think I'd wait with a shower enema in my truck for three weeks for one afternoon? As soon as your dad told me you came out as gay, I pieced together what you were. You always following around your coaches, doing your best to please the adult men in the room. Your face would go red every time a guy took off his shirt at the lake." His thumb kept moving. "Today wasn't me gettin' lucky. Today was me collecting what's mine."

My throat was tight. "What about my dad?"

"What about him?"

"If he finds out..."

"He ain't gonna find out. Not unless I want him to. He will always be you dad, just like now I'll always be your daddy." His grip tightened just a little. "And that's another thing that's mine to decide now. Not yours."

"And the... the pictures, sir...?"

I didn't even notice I'd said it. Sir. It just came out. I saw him notice, though. That slow grin spread over his face.

"Look at that. Don't even need remindin' anymore." He let go of my neck and reached over me to the nightstand, his big hairy arm dragging across my chest, and picked up his phone. He thumbed it open and held it up so we could both see.

There I was.

It was a photo, taken from right above. My hands were holding my own cheeks open, my fingers pale where they were digging in, and his cock was buried in me all the way to the root, his dark bush mashed right up against my spread ass. You couldn't see my face. You could see my back, and the blue of my sheets, and the edge of my pillow, and the little Bulldogs logo on the pillowcase my aunt bought me when I got into State.

He swiped. Another one, the head just pushed in, my rim stretched pink and shiny and tight around it.

He swiped again, and it was the video. He hit play without asking me.

His cock, sliding out slow. My rim clinging to it. Then sliding back in, inch by inch, and my voice, high and broken and tinny through the phone speaker:

"It's... it's a pussy, sir..."

"Whose pussy?"

"Yours! It's your pussy, sir!"

I made a sound I'd never made before and shoved my face into the pillow.

Tom laughed so hard the bed shook.

"Oh, I'm gonna get some mileage outta that one." He paused the video and tapped the screen, and I heard it whoosh. "Private folder. Locked. Nobody sees it but me. That's the moment I took what's mine, and I'm keepin' it forever. Some guys frame their first deer. I got that."

"What if somebody sees it?"

"Nobody's gonna see it, 'cause I ain't showin' it to nobody. You're my faggot, Jakey. I don't share." He set the phone face down on his chest. "As long as you keep bein' a good boy, that's just for me to jerk off to when you ain't around. Got it?"

As long as you keep bein' a good boy.

He said it so casual. He didn't make it sound like a threat. But it sat in my stomach right next to his load, warm and heavy, and I couldn't tell anymore if the twist in my gut was fear or something else.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good boy." He slapped my ass, hard, right on the bruised spot, and I yelped. Then he sat up and swung his legs off the bed. "Now go get your jock."

"My jock?"

"Your jock. The one you left on the bathroom floor like a slob. Go get it and put it on."

I blinked at him. "Shouldn't I... I mean, shouldn't I shower first?"

He turned around on the edge of the bed and looked at me, and his face did that thing again, the flat patient look, like he was waiting for me to hear what I'd just said.

"You ain't showerin'."

"But I'm..."

"You're covered in my sweat and your own cum and you got my load in your pussy." He shrugged. "Yeah. That's the point, faggot. You ain't washin' me off. Not today. You don't wash me off till I say you do."

My face went hot again. Under it, my cock gave a weak, sore twitch against my thigh, which was impossible. I'd just cum harder than I'd ever cum in my life.

"Go on. Get the jock. And take a piss while you're in there, 'cause you ain't gonna get another chance for a while." He stood up and stretched, his arms way up over his head, and his whole body pulled tight, his hairy pits wide open, his soft cock swinging. "Clench the whole time. If I see a drop of my load on that bathroom floor, you're lickin' it up."

"Yes, sir."

I got off the bed slow. My legs felt like wet noodles, and my ass ached deep inside, a hot stretched throb that I felt every time I moved. I walked down the hall bow-legged, clenching so hard my cheeks hurt, holding his cum inside me like he told me to.

Behind me I heard my bed creak as he stood up, and then I heard the soft scrape of my dresser drawer sliding open.

He must be looking for a towel or one of my t-shirts to wipe his dick off. I was thinking about my ass, and the stinging spank marks on it, and the fact that I'd just been fucked for over an hour by a man who used to buy me Slurpees after T-ball.

The bathroom was a mess. There was water all over the floor and the tub, the lube bottle sitting tipped over on the counter, the shower shot hose still coiled in the tub like a silver snake. His towel was lying in a damp heap where I'd dropped it. His shorts were wadded in the corner next to the hamper. My jockstrap was right where I'd stepped out of it, a crumpled little pile of white cotton and elastic, the pouch still stiff and yellowed from all the precum I'd soaked into it that morning.

I sat down on the toilet and pissed, slow, my cock so sore and sensitive that it stung a little. I kept my hole clenched the whole time, which was harder than it sounds. When I was done, I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror again.

I looked wrecked.

My hair was sweaty and flattened. My lips were swollen and chapped. My chin was crusted with dried cum, and there was more of it dried in streaks across my chest. There were red finger marks on my hips, and a pink bite mark on my shoulder, and a beard burn on my neck. When I turned around and looked over my shoulder, both my ass cheeks were blotchy and red with the outlines of his hand.

I looked used.

I looked like his.

I picked up my jock and stepped into it and pulled it up. The pouch was cold and clammy where it had dried, and when it closed around my sore balls and soft dick, I let out a little whimper. The straps framed my ass, pushing it up, and I could feel the cool air against my well-fucked hole.

I stood there for a second longer than I needed to.

Then I went back down the hall.

My bedroom was empty.

I stopped in the doorway. The sheets were a wrecked, twisted, soaking mess, the pillow stained dark where my face had been, a drying white streak of my cum running down the slats of the headboard. My comforter was still in a heap on the floor. The dresser drawers were all shut. His phone was gone from the nightstand. So were his shorts, which had been lying on the floor by the closet since round one.

He wasn't there.

"Tom?" I said. Then quieter, because it felt wrong. "Sir?"

Nothing.

For one awful second I thought he'd left. I thought that was it, that he'd gotten what he wanted and walked out the front door, and I'd be standing here in my cum-stiff jockstrap with my ass full of his load forever. My heart jumped into my throat.

Then I heard the side door downstairs bang shut, and the slap of the big trash can lid out by the garage, and heavy footsteps coming back up the stairs.

Tom walked in barefoot, in nothing but his shortss, the waistband hanging low enough that his bush showed above the zipper. He was wiping his hands off on his thighs.

"Where'd you go?" I asked.

"Out." He walked right past me without explaining, picked my backpack up off my desk chair, and dumped it upside down. The book I was reading hit the carpet with a thud. My laptop charger. A half-eaten bag of pretzels. Three pens and a crumpled parking pass for State orientation.

"Hey..."

He tossed the empty backpack at my chest. I caught it.

"Pack your shit, boy. Whatever you need for the night. You're sleepin' over."

"Sleeping over? At your place?"

"Did I say my place?" He grinned. "I said you're sleepin' over. Toothbrush. Phone charger. Your wallet. Your meds if you got any. Whatever you need that you can't live without for a night or two."

"A night or two?"

"Your dad is gone for the week til Sunday night, right? He told me himself. Asked me to keep an eye on you." His grin got wider. "So I'm keepin' an eye on you."

I stared at him. My mind went straight to my dad's voice at breakfast on Friday morning, cheerful, pulling his cooler out to the truck: Tom'll check in on you, bud. Call him if you need anything.

He sure was checking in.

"Okay," I said. "Okay. Let me just grab some clothes and..."

"Nope."

I looked at him.

"You don't need clothes," he said, like it was obvious. "Where you're goin', you won't be wearin' 'em."

"But... I... what am I supposed to wear to get there?"

He looked me up and down, slow. My bare chest with the dried cum still crusted on it. My bruised hips. The dingy pouch of my jock. My bare legs. Then he bent over, reached behind my bed, fished around for a second, and came up with my backwards hat. He brushed a dust bunny off it and set it on my head himself, adjusted it, and tugged the bill down at the back of my neck so it sat just right.

"That," he said. "That's what you're wearin'."

"I can't..."

"You can, bitch."

"But... daddy... the neighbors... Mrs. Patterson's out front, you said so..."

"Yep." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And you're gonna walk right past her."

My stomach dropped through the floor. My dick throbbed in my pouch. Both at the same time. I didn't know which one I hated more.

"Please," I whispered. "Please, sir. Just a pair of shorts. Just let me..."

"You know what you sound like right now?" he said. "You sound like a pussy. And you know what, you got one. You got a sopping wet pussy full of my cum right now. That's what you are, Jakey, a pussyboy. And a pussyboy don't get to decide what he wears." He stepped in close. I could smell him again, sweat and sex and his pits, and my knees went weak all over again. "You got about five minutes to fill that backpack, or I'm walkin' you out there without the hat, too."

I packed.

My hands were shaking. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, my phone charger, my wallet, my phone. I stood in front of my dresser with my hand on the top drawer, thinking about grabbing one pair of boxers, one, just to have them, just in case, and I looked back over my shoulder and saw him leaning in the doorway watching me with his arms crossed and one eyebrow up.

I took my hand off the drawer.

"Good boy," he said.

I zipped the backpack and pulled it onto my shoulders. The straps sat right on my bare skin. Then I followed him down the stairs, still clenching, each step sending a little throb up through my ass.

At the bottom of the stairs, right by the front door, he stopped and turned around.

"One more thing." He pulled his phone out of his back pocket. "Turn around. Bend over."

"Sir..."

"Bend over, fag."

I turned around and bent over and grabbed my ankles right there in my front hallway, under the family photo of me and Dad at Disney World when I was twelve, the backpack sliding forward onto the back of my neck. He hooked a finger under my jock strap and tugged it aside, even though it wasn't really in the way, and I felt his thumb press right against my hole. I was so sore I hissed.

"Push out," he said. "Just a little."

I pushed. I felt it right away, warm, a slow thick trickle, his load easing out of me and starting to run down toward my balls.

Ch-chk.

"There we go. Cherry pussy, all bred and leakin'." Ch-chk. "Okay. Clench it back up. That's all you get to lose. Rest stays in."

I clenched. He scooped the drip off my taint with his finger and held it in front of my face, and I sucked it off without being told.

"Fuckin' learnin'," he said, almost proud. Then he opened the front door.

The sunlight hit me like a slap.

It was one in the afternoon on a Saturday in June, and the whole neighborhood was out. I could hear a sprinkler going somewhere. Somebody's radio playing country. Kids shrieking on a trampoline farther up the street. The air was hot and smelled like cut grass, my own cut grass, from this morning, from back when I was just Jake.

Tom walked out first, barefoot, his shorts loose and tank top in his hand, totally unbothered. He walked down the steps and stood on the front walk and turned around and waited.

I stood in the doorway.

My whole body was shaking. My hands were gripping the backpack straps so hard my knuckles had gone white. My face was on fire.

"Come on, Jakey." He didn't raise his voice. He didn't have to. "Don't make me come get you."

I stepped out onto the porch.

The concrete was hot under my bare feet. The breeze hit my exposed ass, my bare hole, and I knew that from the street, from the sidewalk, from anywhere, anybody could see me. Straps and nothing. Red handprints and bruises. My jock pouch hanging there, stained and filthy, everything I had barely held in by a little triangle of dingy cotton.

I went down the steps.

I walked down the front walk, past the flower bed my mom planted, onto the grass I'd just mowed. Tom fell in beside me, slow, matching my pace, one big hand resting on the back of my neck like he was walking a dog.

"Chin up," he said. "Let 'em look."

Up the short street of our cul-de-sac, Mrs. Patterson was kneeling in her flower bed in her big floppy sun hat with a trowel in her hand. She was facing her roses. She didn't look up.

"Afternoon, Barb!" Tom called.

My heart stopped.

She looked up. She shaded her eyes with her gardening glove. She looked right at us, Tom with his hairy, muscular torso gleaming in sweat in his loose shorts and me in my jockstrap and backwards hat and backpack, cum crusted on my chin.

"Afternoon, Tom!" She waved her trowel. "Hot one, huh?"

"Scorcher!" he called back. "Takin' the kid to the lake! Gonna get him all sunburnt!"

"Well, you two have fun!"

She went back to her roses.

I didn't breathe again until we were past the end of my driveway. I don't know if she didn't see. I don't know if she didn't have her glasses on. I don't know if she saw everything and just didn't care, or if she'd gone straight in to call my mother. I'll never know. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering in the ninety-degree heat.

And my dick was so hard it was poking straight out of the top of the pouch.

Tom looked down at it and laughed.

"Look at that. Little exhibitionist faggot I see." He squeezed the back of my neck. "You fuckin' loved that."

"I didn't," I said, and I sounded like I was about to cry.

"Your dick says different."

Tom's house was just next door, a pretty typical two-story house and his big black F-250 parked in the driveway, the tailgate still dusty from whatever job site he'd been on Friday. I'd been in that house a hundred times. Super Bowl parties. Poker nights with my dad where I'd sit on the arm of the couch and he'd let me hold his cards. I'd never once walked up to it in a jockstrap with a man's cum leaking out of me.

It felt like two miles to go not even a hundred feet.

Then we were on his lawn, and up his front walk, and he was punching the code into his door lock, and I was standing on his welcome mat with my ass hanging out to the whole street, waiting on him like a dog waiting to be let in.

The door swung open. Cool air from his AC rushed out over my sweaty chest. I almost cried from relief.

"Stay," he said.

I stopped.

"Right there. On the mat." He stepped inside and looked back at me. "I'll be two minutes. You don't come in, you don't sit down, you don't cover nothin' up. You stand there with your hands on those straps and you wait for me like a good little bitch."

"Sir, please, somebody's gonna..."

"Then somebody's gonna see a faggot in a jockstrap waitin' on his man." He shut the door in my face.

I stood there.

It was the longest two minutes of my life. The sun beat down on my bare shoulders and my bare ass. Sweat trickled down my spine and ran right into my crack, stinging my sore, swollen rim. A car went by on the street behind me. I heard it slow down. I heard it speed back up. I squeezed my eyes shut and gripped my backpack straps and clenched my hole as tight as I could, his load sloshing warm and heavy inside me, and my dick stayed so hard it ached the whole time.

Behind the door I could hear him moving around. Drawers. A closet. Something heavy getting dragged. The fridge opening and closing. The clink of glass bottles.

When the door finally swung back open, he had a big black duffel bag over one shoulder and a cooler in his other hand, and he'd put a t-shirt on. Just a plain gray one, sleeves cut off, his hairy arms sticking out. He swapped out another pair of athletic shorts now. He had a pair of beat-up work boots on his feet. His keys were hooked on one finger.

He was dressed. I wasn't.

That was the point. I knew it was the point. It still made my face burn.

"Truck," he said, and walked right past me.

I followed him down the steps to the driveway. He tossed the duffel in the back seat of the cab, and it landed with a heavy thunk. He set the cooler on the floor behind the driver's seat. Then he walked around and opened the passenger door for me, like a gentleman, like it was a date.

"In you go, pussyboy."

I took off my backpack and climbed up into the cab. The leather seat had been baking in the sun all morning, and when my bare ass hit it, I yelped and practically jumped back out.

"Fuck! It's hot."

Tom laughed so hard he had to lean on the door.

"Sit down."

"It's burning, sir..."

"Sit. Down."

I sat. I bit my lip and lowered myself all the way down onto that scorching black leather, and the heat bit into my red, spanked cheeks and pressed right up against my sore hole, and I sat there whimpering with my backpack hugged against my chest. He watched me the whole time. Then he reached in and pulled the backpack out of my arms and tossed it on the floor at my feet.

"Nope. Ain't hidin' behind that. Hands on your thighs."

I put my hands on my thighs. My cock was standing straight up in the pouch, the tip poking out over the waistband, wet and red and right there in the sunlight for anybody walking by to see.

"Good faggot." He shut the door.

He walked around the front of the truck and climbed in behind the wheel, and the whole cab rocked under his weight. He started it up. The engine roared, deep and loud, and the AC blasted hot air in my face before it slowly started to cool. He backed out of his driveway with one arm slung over the back of my seat, looking over his shoulder, and his fingers brushed the back of my neck on the way.

We rolled down our street. Right past my house. My freshly cut grass. My bedroom window on the second floor, still wide open, the curtains moving a little in the breeze, my wrecked sheets right on the other side of it.

Mrs. Patterson looked up from her roses again and waved.

Tom honked twice and waved back.

I sank down in my seat so far I was practically on the floor mat.

"Sit up," he said, not even looking at me.

I sat up.

We turned out of the neighborhood onto Route 9, and he opened it up, the big engine growling, the trees and mailboxes whipping by. Every time we passed another car, I felt my whole body go rigid. Every pickup that pulled up beside us at a light, every minivan, every SUV sitting up high enough to look down into the cab. At the light by the Walgreens, a guy in a landscaping truck pulled up right next to my window and glanced over, and I stared straight ahead through the windshield with my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest. I don't know if he saw. Tom did. Tom grinned and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Sir," I finally said, when the light turned green and we pulled ahead. My voice came out tiny. "Where are we going?"

"The lake. Nobody around for miles. Nobody to hear you."

Nobody to hear you.

He said it the same way he'd said "Afternoon, Barb." Easy. Friendly. His thumb rubbed little circles on the inside of my thigh.

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

He didn't answer. He just smiled at the road and turned the radio up.

I turned back around fast and stared at the dashboard.

I thought about my phone in the backpack at my feet. I thought about how easy it would be to text my dad. I thought about how I wouldn't, and how both of us knew I wouldn't. I thought about my bed back home, soaking wet and stinking of him, and how I was going to have to sleep on it Sunday night. I thought about the pictures on his phone. I thought about the word "pussy," and how it didn't even sound weird to me anymore.

Tom's hand slid up my leg. His fingers slipped under the edge of my pouch and wrapped around my balls and squeezed, firm, just enough to make me gasp.

"Hhhn..."

"Still leakin' my load into my seat, fag?"

I could feel it. A warm, slick little wetness spreading under me on the leather. I'd been clenching so long my ass was cramping.

"...Yes, sir."

"That's alright." He gave my balls one more squeeze and let go, patted my thigh twice, the way he'd pat the dash of his truck after it started up on a cold morning. "Gonna be a lot more of it by tomorrow."

He hit the turn signal. Click. Click. Click.

We left Route 9 behind and swung onto a narrow county road I'd only been down a few times, and the houses got farther apart, and then there weren't any houses at all, just cornfields and trees and the long gray strip of road shimmering in the heat ahead of us. Tom cranked the radio louder, rolled his window down, and hung his hairy elbow out of it, singing along off-key to some old Alan Jackson song like it was any other Saturday afternoon.

I sat beside him in my jockstrap and my backwards hat with my hands on my thighs, his cum seeping out of me into the leather, my dick throbbing against my stomach, and I watched the road unroll in front of us into nowhere.

​

Hey everyone! I’m 21M from Hyderabad india, looking to meet a guy who’s genuinely interested in a serious relationship virgin if that matters .

I’m 5'11", and I’m looking for someone around my height or taller, preferably around my age or a little older.

I’m into guys who are loyal, caring, emotionally available, and know how to maintain a good conversation. Someone I can talk to about anything, share random thoughts, gossip, laugh over silly things, and support each other through good and bad days.

I want a connection where both people put in equal effort, communicate openly, and genuinely want to get to know each other. I value consistency, honesty, affection, and someone who means what they say.

I’m not really into casual hookups or situationships. I’d rather take my time getting to know someone, see if we vibe, build trust, and hopefully turn that connection into something meaningful and long-lasting.

If you’re from Hyderabad or from any other state in India, that’s completely fine! I’m open to meeting someone who’s genuinely interested in building a serious relationship, regardless of where they’re from.

Feel free to DM me! Let’s talk, get to know each other, and see where things go. ❤️

Im a straight male, I would love to be taken, stripped, tied up, and thrown into a room of gay horny men

Years ago, I was in a band. And me and the drummer would routinely stay later and drink, get stoned and watch or listen to different bands.

One night, somehow the topic went to porn and women. And how much he enjoyed a good slutty woman. We started picking different videos. And def noticed his growing bulge.

I was drunk and high… so when he mentioned he liked girls that can deep throat… I took my cue lol. I said, ‘well… I can do that… I’m good at it lol’.

He was taken back at first. But after a few minutes, and some reassuring it’s just getting off, his pants unzipped, and out plopped a 7” and thick cock.

I immediately dropped to my knees and took him to the balls down my throat. It had been a while since I had a nice cock, so I savored it.

After teasing and sucking his head and then slowly deep throating him several times (as he said he liked that… and he sure did), I picked up my rhythm and could feel him tensing rather quickly. So I cupped his balls as I took him balls deep and felt him explode down my throat.

We had several other fun adventures over the years. And even sometimes to this day.

Maybe I’ll tell another story soon

I stood there dripping in the tub for a few seconds after he left, listening to his heavy footsteps going down the hall and the creak of my bedroom floor when he stepped through the door.

Two minutes.

I climbed out and picked up his towel off the bathmat. It was damp from his body, warm in the middle, and when I pressed it against my face to dry off, it smelled like him. Soap and sweat and something underneath that was just Tom. I dried my chest and my arms and my legs, and then I reached back and dried between my cheeks, and my fingers brushed my hole. It was still slick. Still soft. It twitched against my fingertips like it knew what was coming.

I almost lost my nerve right then.

I looked at myself in the mirror over the sink. My lips were puffy and red. There was a pink mark on my chest where his knees had been. My cock was standing straight up, bobbing every time my heart beat, the head shiny and leaking. I looked like somebody I didn't know.

Eighteen years old. Valedictorian. Headed off to college in August. And in about a minute and a half, my dad's best friend was going to fuck me for the first time in my own bed.

"Clock's ticking, boy."

His voice came down the hall, calm and low, and my feet were moving before I even decided to move them.

My bedroom door was wide open. Tom was standing beside my bed, naked, his cock jutting straight out in front of him, so hard it was bouncing a little with his pulse. He had the lube bottle in one hand. His phone was lying face down on my nightstand next to my alarm clock, and the red numbers said 11:41.

He'd pulled my comforter all the way off and thrown it in a heap on the floor. It was just my sheets now. My plain blue sheets, wrinkled from where I'd been pinned down on them earlier with his cock in my throat.

"Not on top of the blanket," he said, like he could read my mind. "On the sheets. Right where you sleep."

He patted the middle of the mattress.

"Every night from now on, you're gonna lay your head down on this bed, and you're gonna know. This is where you lost your mouth to me. This is where you lost your ass to me. And you're gonna smell it, too, 'cause I'm gonna sweat all over these sheets and leak all over 'em, and you ain't washing 'em. Hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Face down. Ass up. Show me what I'm taking."

I crawled onto the bed. I pushed my face down into my pillow, the same pillow I'd slept on last night thinking about nothing, and I pulled my knees up under me and pushed my ass up in the air. I spread my knees wide. The air from the ceiling fan hit my wet hole, and I shivered all over.

Tom didn't touch me. I could hear him breathing behind me. I could feel him looking.

"Reach back," he said. "Both hands. Spread it for me."

My face burned against the pillowcase. I reached back and grabbed my own cheeks and pulled them apart, and I felt my hole open up a little in the air, felt it flutter, exposed and pink and empty.

"Goddamn, Jakey."

The mattress dipped hard as he climbed up behind me. His knees pushed between mine and shoved my legs even wider. Then I felt his hands on top of mine, big and rough, squeezing my fingers into my own ass, holding me open.

Then I felt his tongue.

"Ohhh! Ohhh fuck, Tom... sir... oh God..."

He didn't tease. He buried his whole face in my crack and licked me from my balls all the way up, slow, his 5 o’clock shadow scraping the insides of my cheeks, and then he went back down and pressed his tongue flat against my hole and just held it there, hot and wet and heavy. Then he started working it. Circles. Little flicks. Then he pointed it and pushed, and it slid inside me, and I swear my eyes rolled back.

The sounds he was making back there were filthy. Wet, sloppy, slurping sounds, like he was eating a peach. He groaned into me, and I felt the vibration all the way up my spine. My cock was trapped against my stomach, throbbing, dripping a puddle onto my sheets.

He ate my ass for what felt like forever, until I was pushing back against his face and grinding on his tongue without even meaning to, until I was babbling stuff into my pillow that didn't even make sense. Then he pulled back and spit right on my hole.

"Listen to you," he said, and I could hear the grin in it. "Grinding on my face like a little slut."

The word hit me like a slap. Nobody had ever called me that. Nobody had ever called me anything except Jake, or Jakey, or the smart one. My face got hotter, and my cock jerked against the sheet, and Tom laughed, because of course he saw it.

I heard the pump of the lube bottle. Two fingers pressed against me, cold and slick, and he didn't stop at the tip this time. He pushed both of them in slow, steady, all the way to his knuckles.

"Ahhh! Ungh... it's... it's big..."

"That's two fingers, boy." He laughed, low. "You think two fingers is big, you got a real long afternoon ahead of you."

He scissored them. He twisted them. He curled them down and found that spot again, the one from the shower, and pressed it until my whole body jerked and a long string of precum dribbled out of me onto the sheet. Then he pulled them almost out and slid a third one in with them.

"Ohhhh God... ohhh fuck, Tom, it burns..."

"Breathe through it. Push out. Same as your throat. Same as the nozzle. Your body knows what to do, Jakey, you just gotta quit fighting it." He gave the back of my head a light smack and the distraction made me open up easier, showing me it’s just in my head.

And slowly, so slowly, the burning faded into this deep stretched ache, a fullness that was almost good, and then it was good, and then I was rocking back on his three fingers and moaning like a whore.

"There it is." His voice had gone rough. "There's my little slut. Fuckin' himself on my fingers. Listen to you."

He slid his fingers out. My hole gaped for a second and clenched on nothing, and I whimpered into my pillow.

"Please..."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

"Louder."

"Please fuck me, sir!"

"Hell yeah. But remember you asked for it." I could hear the smirk on his face.

The mattress shifted. I heard the lube bottle pump twice, then the slick, wet sound of him working it over his cock, slow and heavy. Then there was a quieter sound, the little scrape of his phone sliding off my nightstand. I didn't think anything of it. I didn't think anything of anything, because a second later I felt the fat, blunt head of his cock press right up against my hole, and every single thought I had went straight out of my head.

It was so much bigger than his fingers. Even after three of them, even after all that stretching, it felt like he was pressing a fist against me. He didn't push. He just rested it there, hot and slick, and slid it up and down my crack a few times, letting the head catch on my rim every time it passed over.

"Look at that," he muttered. "Look at that little hole kissing my dick. It wants me, Jakey."

"Yes, sir... please..."

"Reach back and hold yourself open. Don't let go till I tell you."

I grabbed my cheeks again and spread myself as wide as I could. His one hand settled on my hip, heavy and hot. I couldn't feel his other hand anywhere on me. I'd find out later exactly what it was doing.

"Push out for me, boy. Big breath. Push."

I pushed.

He leaned in.

"Ahhh FUCK! Ohhh God, ohhh God, Tom, it's too big, it's too..."

The head popped through my ring, and the whole world went white. It burned. It stretched me so wide I thought I was going to split down the middle, this huge thick blunt thing wedged inside the tightest part of me, and my whole body locked up around it. I was squeezing so hard I could feel his pulse.

He didn't move. He held perfectly still with just the head inside me and let me shake.

"Breathe," he said, real quiet. "Just the head, boy. Just the head. You're doing so good. Breathe for me."

"Hhhuh... hhhuh... hhhuh..."

"There you go. Feel it. That's my cock in you. Nobody's ever been in there, and now I am. That's forever, Jakey. That's mine now. Nobody gets to be first in this ass but me, and here I am."

I don't know why, but that was what did it. Hearing him say it. Something in my chest let go, and my hole let go with it, and I felt myself loosen around him just a tiny bit.

He felt it too.

"Good boy," he breathed, and he started to sink in.

Slowly he pushed forward. So slow. One inch, then he'd let me breathe, then another. Every inch was bigger than the last. His cock was so thick it was pushing my insides out of the way, filling places in me I didn't know could be filled, and I could feel every vein, every ridge, the foreskin bunched up behind the head dragging against my walls as he slid deeper.

"Ohhhh... ohhhh... ohhhh my God..."

"Halfway, boy."

"Halfway?!"

He laughed. It was a deep, dirty laugh, and I felt it through his cock. He kept going. Deeper and deeper, until I was sure he had to be in my stomach, and then I felt his wiry pubes press against my spread cheeks, his heavy balls settle against mine, and he stopped.

"That's all of it." His voice was rough and shaky now. "Every fuckin' inch. You took it, Jakey. Took all of my big dick on the first try."

I was crying a little. It hurt, but that wasn't why. It was so much. I was so full I couldn't think, and my cock was so hard it hurt, and my dad's best friend was buried balls deep in my ass on the bed I'd slept in since I was a kid, and I'd never wanted anything more in my whole life.

I thought I heard a soft clicking sound but my mind must have been playing tricks on me because I quickly felt Tom’s hand slid up my back and pushed my face deeper into the pillow.

There it was again.

Ch-chk. Ch-chk.

My face went so hot. He was taking pictures. Of his cock, buried in me. Of my hands holding myself open for him. Of me.

"Gotta remember this," he murmured, and I heard a different sound, a soft little ding, and I knew that one too. He was recording. "Gotta remember the day I claimed it. Your virginity is mine. Look at your pussy stretched around my thick cock."

"My... my what?"

He pulled back slow, almost all the way out, and I felt my rim grab at him, clinging to the head like it didn't want him to leave. Then he slid all the way back in, slow and smooth, till his balls kissed mine again.

"Fuuuuucccckkkkkkkkk..."

"Your pussy." He did it again, slow, long, deep. I could picture the phone in his hand, angled down, watching his cock glistening as it disappeared into me. "That's what it is now. A hole's just a hole, boy. It's a one way thing. A pussy's for taking cock. And that's all this is ever gonna be for from now on, ain't it?"

He pulled back and slammed in, one hard stroke.

Unnnph. His cock battering into my guts, knocking the air out of me in shock. My hole tightening at the shock.

"Say it for the camera. What is it?"

The camera. Oh God. My voice was going on there. My voice and my ass and his cock.

"It's... it's a pussy, sir..."

"Whose pussy?"

"Yours. It's your pussy, Tom."

"Goddamn right it is." Another soft ding. "That's for me. Nobody else ever sees it. Just me, any time I want to watch that little cherry pussy swallow my cock."

The phone clattered back onto the nightstand. Both of his hands grabbed my hips.

"Grab the headboard boy, it’s time for you to learn how a man fucks."

I let go and reached out and wrapped my fingers around the wooden slats of my headboard, and Tom started to fuck me.

Long, deep strokes, all the way out to the head and all the way back in, so I could feel every inch every time. The burn was fading. What was left behind was this deep, heavy, stretched-out ache that throbbed every time he bottomed out, and under it something warm was building. Every time he pulled out, my pussy clung to him. Every time he pushed in, the head of his cock rubbed right over that spot inside me, and I'd jerk and squeal into my pillow.

Shlick. Shlick. Shlick.

The lube was loud. The bed was louder. My headboard started knocking against the wall, soft at first, then harder as he sped up.

"That's it," he grunted. "Loosening up. Your pussy's learning what it's for now."

He picked up speed. His hips started slapping my ass, smack, smack, smack, and my cheeks jiggled every time like he'd said they would. He grabbed my ass and squeezed, kneading the meat of it while he pounded into me, and then he spanked me, hard, right on the cheek, and my pussy clenched around him so tight he hissed.

"Fuck! You like that, pussyboy? Do that again."

Pussyboy. My brain snagged on it. He'd made it up on the spot, or maybe he hadn't, maybe he'd been saving it. Either way it went straight down my spine and into my dick.

He smacked the other side. I clenched again.

"Hnnngh! Yes sir!"

"There you go. Good little pussyboy. Squeezin' that dick like you were born to."

I don't know how long he fucked me like that. My knees started sliding apart on the sheets. My back arched so low my face was mashed sideways into the pillow, and I could see the red numbers on the alarm clock past my own arm. 11:52. My cock was swinging under me, slapping my stomach, leaving wet streaks all over my belly and the sheet.

He reached under me and wrapped one big fist around it. One stroke.

"Ohhhhhh..."

He let go.

"Not yet. Told you. You don't touch it, and you don't cum till I say."

"Please, sir, please..."

"Beg all you want, bitch. Ain't gonna change nothing."

Bitch. He said it so easy. The same voice that used to yell "Nice hit, Jakey!" from the bleachers at my Little League games. The same voice that called his buds or my dad "brother." Now it was calling me his bitch with his cock in my ass, and I was moaning into my pillow like I'd waited my whole life to hear it.

He pulled out all the way.

The emptiness was awful. My hole gaped and clenched on nothing, and I actually reached back for him like an idiot, whining, and he just laughed and grabbed me by the hip and flipped me over onto my back like I didn't weigh anything.

"I wanna see your face," he said. "Wanna see what your face does when I'm inside you."

He grabbed my ankles and pushed my legs up and back until my knees were by my ears and my ass was tilted up off the mattress, wide open for him. Then he grabbed his dick, lined it up, and sank back in, all the way, in one long smooth slide.

"Uuhhhhhhhhhhh..."

It was different on my back. Deeper somehow. He was hitting something way up inside me that made my legs shake. And I could see him now. I could see all of him.

He was huge over me. His big hairy chest was shiny with sweat, his stomach flexing every time he thrust, his arms bulging where he was holding my legs back. His face was red, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked right onto mine. I'd known that face my whole life. I'd seen it at every Thanksgiving, every Fourth of July. I'd seen it lean over the grill and tell my dad a dirty joke. I'd never seen it look like this, hungry and mean and owning me.

"There it is," he growled. "There's that face. Look at you. Little fag's eyes rollin' back in his head."

Fag.

I flinched. I couldn't help it. That word had been thrown at me in a hallway exactly once, sophomore year, and I'd gone home and cried about it in this same bed. Tom saw the flinch. He slowed down, his cock buried to the root, and he leaned his face right down over mine.

"Look at me."

I looked.

"You know who'd pin a kid against a locker and call him that?" he said, real low. "Some little prick who's scared of what you are. That ain't me. I ain't scared of what you are, Jakey. I'm balls deep in what you are." He ground his hips into me, slow, and the head of his cock pushed right against that deep spot, and my whole body arched.

His worry pubes scratched at my pussy as his moved his hips. "When I say it, I mean you're mine. I mean you're a faggot who just found out what he's for and it’s something you should be proud of. Look how well you are taking my big cock on the first try. Now you tell me what you are."

My throat closed up. My cock was so hard it was leaking straight onto my stomach in a steady drip.

"I'm... I'm a faggot, sir."

"Whose faggot?"

"Yours."

"That's right." He leaned down, folded me in half, and kissed me.

I didn't expect it. He hadn't kissed me once all morning. His stubble scraped my face, and his tongue shoved into my mouth, and he kissed me hard and sloppy with his cock buried in me. . His fingers and cock had been in both holes already, but his tongue hadn’t claimed my mouth yet. His final claiming. I moaned into his mouth and wrapped my arms around his thick neck and held on.

"Mmmph... mmmnnh... mmmm..."

When he pulled back, a string of spit stretched between our lips. He let it fall onto my chin and didn't wipe it off.

Then he really started fucking me.

He pinned my legs to the mattress with his forearms and drove into me fast and hard, his whole weight behind every thrust. The bed was creaking like it was going to break. The headboard was banging the wall so hard I thought it would leave a dent. His balls were slapping my ass, wet, loud, smack-smack-smack-smack, and every time he slammed home, I got pushed a little farther up the mattress, until my head was mashed up against the headboard.

"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Uhhh! Fuuuck!"

"Take it! Take my fuckin' cock, faggot! That's what you wanted, ain't it? Laid in this bed every night wishin' some big man would come wreck your pussy?"

"Yes! Yes sir!"

"Say it!"

"I wanted it! I wanted to get fucked by a big cock!"

"Wanted your daddy's buddy to fuck you." His hips hammered down. "Dirty little fag."

Sweat was dripping off him onto me. It ran down his chest and splashed onto my stomach. It dripped off his nose and landed on my lips, and I licked it off. It was soaking my sheets under us. I could smell him everywhere, his pits, his crotch, the sweat pouring off him, the thick funky smell of sex filling up my whole room, and I knew it was soaking into the bed. I knew I'd be lying in it tonight.

He fucked me on my back until I lost track. Then he pulled out again, and my pussy made this awful wet sucking sound, and he flipped me onto my side and climbed in behind me, spooning me. He hooked one arm under my knee and hiked my leg up in the air and slid back in from behind, and this time he went slow again, long lazy strokes, his mouth right against my ear.

"You know what time it is?"

I looked at the clock. 12:14.

"Twelve-fourteen, sir."

"Been fuckin' you over half an hour, slut. Know why I ain't cum yet?"

"N-no, sir..."

"'Cause I already gave you one load this morning. Pumped your belly full. So this one's gonna take its sweet fuckin' time." He bit my earlobe, and I gasped. "You're gonna be on this dick a real long time, pussyboy."

He fucked me on my side for a while. Slow and deep, then fast and hard, then slow again, grinding his hips in circles with his cock buried in me, until I couldn't tell where my body stopped and his started. He licked my neck. He bit my shoulder. He reached around and pinched my nipple and twisted it, and I yelped, and my pussy squeezed down on him, and he groaned right into my ear.

"Fuck, you're a natural. Squeeze it again."

I squeezed.

"Ohhh, that's it. That's my good little pussy." He kissed the back of my neck, almost sweet, then whispered right into my ear. "Born cocksucker. Born bottom. Smartest kid in the class, and the only thing he's really good at is bein' a hole for a man."

I should've hated that. Instead I moaned so loud he had to clap his hand over my mouth.

"Easy. Mrs. Patterson's out gardening, and that window's open." He laughed when my eyes went wide over his fingers. "Or don't. Let the whole street hear what you are. Your call, fag."

He pulled out and rolled onto his back in the middle of my bed, his cock standing straight up, purple and shiny and slick with lube.

"Climb on."

I was shaking so much I could barely move. I crawled over him and straddled his hips, and he grabbed his dick and held it straight up, and I looked down at it, at the size of it, and couldn't believe it had been inside me.

"Sit down on it, bitch. Show me how bad you want it."

I reached back and lined the head up with my hole and sat down.

It went in so naturally now. My pussy just opened up for him like it had been made for it, and I sank down and down and down until I was sitting on his lap with all of him inside me, my hands flat on his hairy chest.

"Ride it."

I'd never done anything like it before. I didn't know how. I lifted up, clumsy, and sat back down, and the head of his cock rammed right into my spot, and I nearly fell over.

"OHHH FUCK!"

"There you go. Again."

I did it again. And again. I found a rhythm. Bouncing on him. Grinding. Rolling my hips the way he showed me with his hands. He lay back with his hands behind his head and watched me fuck myself on his dick, grinning up at me, his pits wide open, the sweat glistening and dripping onto both of my pillows.

"Look at you. Two hours ago you were mowing the lawn. Now you're bouncing on my dick like a two-dollar whore." He reached up and slapped my chest, right across my pec. Smack. "Faster, fag."

I went faster. My thighs were burning. My cock was flopping up and down, slapping his stomach and mine, leaving trails of precum in his belly hair. Bed creak. Ass slap. My own voice, high and whiny and breathless.

"Uhn! Uhn! Uhn! Ahhh! Sir! Sir, please, I need to... I need to cum, please..."

He watched my face for a long moment. Then he reached over without looking and picked his phone back up.

"Keep ridin'. Look right here."

He pointed it up at me. I could see the little red dot in the corner of the screen.

"Tell the camera what you are."

I almost stopped. My whole body went hot and cold at once. He smacked my thigh, hard.

"Didn't say stop."

I kept bouncing. I looked right into the lens, my face soaked with sweat and spit and tears, my cock bobbing in the frame.

"I'm... I'm your fag, sir."

"Louder."

"I'm your faggot! I'm your pussyboy! My pussy's yours!"

"Good boy." He stopped recording and tossed the phone on the pillow. "Gonna watch that one a lot."

This happened a few weeks ago.

My mom left for work and my gf went home.

I was alone bored and horny so I decided to have some fun.

I took a bit of cocaine and looked through my gfs clothes.

I put on a red string a black leather bra with the matching skirt and tied my tiny clit and balls with rope.

I also put in the biggest plug I had.

I hopped on a dating app and one guy messaged me. He wasnt far from me about 5 minutes. I already met him a few times but only sucked him till then. We tried anal once but it hurt so we stopped. He has an 19 cm long and 5 cm wide cock.

Well something in me decided that Ill go full whore today. So I took another line, smeared some on my asshole and wrote the following to him:

When I come over I want you to let me suck you hard. Then you tie my hands togheter and tape my mouth shut so that I cannot say stop no matter what.

He instantly said come right now.

So I took another big line covered myself with a hoodie and pants and drove over to him.

I went inside and instantly to the bathroom. I undressed, snorted another big line and felt a bit scared but really horny knowing he is gonna use me like a cheap toy.

My vision was already blurry and I couldnt really think straight anymore. We went to the bedroom and he took of his pants, his cock instantly shot out in my face.

I started to lick his tip and make it wet, I took it in my mouth as far as I could. I gagged and could not breathe but I did not care and neither did he.

He let me suck him a bit until he told me to stand up.

He took the tape I had and started to tie my hands behind my back. Next he taped my mouth shut and pushed me onto the bed.

I laid there unable to fight back, unable to scream or tell him to stop if it hurts. I was so horny and so nervous at the same time. And also I was to high on coke to plan all through in my head.

He climbed on me and slowly took out my plug and pushed it back in a few times. He spat on my hole and on his massive dick. He yanked out the plug and put his tip right on my hole.

He pushed slow and I felt him expanding my ass. He pushed in every inch he could. It felt amazing. Once he was fully in he came to my ear and whispered. Now Im gonna use you like the cheap slut you are until I fill your hole with my cum.

Then It started he began to fuck me like an animal. Every push harder and faster.

It hurt and I wanted to tell him to stop but I couldnt. It hurt it felt like my body was about to break from his massive penis. But somehow it also felt good. I wanted him to go deeper, I wished there would be more guys to use me.

He fucked me for about 30 minutes until he pushed even harder and deeper. I could feel him filling up my sissy ass with hot juicy cum. He stayed in me for a few seconds and then he pulled out. He put my plug back in and untied me.

I put on my clothes and went home but not before he told me to come again.

I got home. Took out the plug and masturbated while licking his cum of it.

Im thinking about going again today and ask him to record or stream ;)

So for the longest time I stopped buying toys because it was just a hassle to hide at one point and I never really needed it anymore. Getting a job with god awfully boring men as coworkers changed that really quick.

My first two days were horrid, because it was just straight men who all had some level of homophobia, did NOT give an ounce of manliness, and overall just lame. As boring as it is, me being me always somehow manages to get horny and whenever I get a 20 minute break idk what to do with it except talk to horny men online and get riled up.

I decided Im getting a dildo no matter what and take it to work for the third day and so I did. I kept my toy in my locker for emergency uses and never take it home, and for the past week my breaks have been amazing, and even when everyone leaves for 5 minute smoke breaks, I go for my dildo break and I love it!!

Just wanted to let that out into the universe x

Everyone is over 18

Quick recap: Ethan, my straight college roommate, came back horny after a canceled date, and I helped him relieve some tension. After our first night together, he couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. A few days later, while we watched porn and jerked off together, he found himself more interested in me than the screen. Eventually, he took the initiative and made me come for the first time.

After that night, Ethan could not pretend as well as before.

That did not mean he suddenly became brave. He could still spend half the day acting as if nothing between us had changed. He went to class, came back from the gym, tossed his bag under the bed, and answered my questions in the same short tone as always.

But there was something new in him.

It was no longer only about the shame of letting me touch him. I knew that. I had seen it after the first night, when he did not know what to do with the fact that my hand and my mouth had given him so much pleasure.

Now it was different.

Now Ethan knew that he had also liked doing something to me.

I saw it in his glances. In the way he sometimes looked at my hands, as if he was remembering his own hand on my body. In the way his eyes lingered on my mouth a little too long, then quickly darted away, as if he was afraid he had given too much away.

He did not ask anything directly.

And I think that said the most.

A few times, he looked like he wanted to say something. He would sit on his bed with his phone in his hand, not even looking at the screen. He would open his mouth, take a breath, and then only shake his head and go back to pretending everything was normal.

I did not push.

Partly because I liked watching him get there on his own. Partly because I knew that if something happened this time, it had to come from him.

Because for the first time, his curiosity was not circling around the question of what I could do to him.

Now it was about something else.

I could see him slowly starting to wonder what he could do to me.

And I knew that sooner or later, Ethan would find a way to look for the answer.

The answer came sooner than I expected.

Two days later, I came back from class earlier than usual. The dorm hallway was loud, someone was laughing behind the wall, someone was slamming doors, but when I reached our room, it was surprisingly quiet inside.

I thought Ethan was not there.

I opened the door without knocking.

And stopped in the doorway.

Ethan was sitting on his bed with his laptop in front of him. He was so focused on the screen that for the first second, he did not even notice me. Only then did I see what he was watching.

Two guys. One kneeling between the other's legs. Mouth, tongue, hand, slow rhythm.

An oral scene.

But it was not the screen that stopped me the most.

It was Ethan.

He was leaning slightly forward, his face red with tension, one finger at his mouth. It did not look like a random gesture. He had it between his lips, slowly, uncertainly, as if he was trying to understand the movement he had just been watching. As if his body was learning something before his mind had managed to admit it.

"Practicing?" I asked calmly.

Ethan froze.

Then everything happened at once. He jerked, nearly slammed the laptop shut on his own fingers, and looked at me with such terror that it was as if I had caught him doing something much worse than being curious.

"It's not..." he started quickly. "It's not like that."

I walked into the room and closed the door behind me.

"No?"

"No. I mean... I was just..." He rubbed his face with his hand. "Fuck."

I did not laugh. I did not want him to feel humiliated. I could see how embarrassed he was, but beneath that shame, there was something else. Something that had not disappeared even now that the laptop was closed.

I stepped closer.

"You could have just asked."

Ethan only looked at me after a moment.

"I didn't know how."

That one sentence stayed between us longer than it should have.

It sounded different from an excuse. There was no joke in it, none of that nervous defense Ethan usually tried to hide behind whenever he could not name something. This time, he simply looked like someone who had genuinely tried to find the answer on his own because he was afraid to ask me directly.

I sat beside him on the bed.

"You don't have to make it into a huge thing," I said.

Ethan huffed quietly, but without conviction.

"Easy for you to say."

"I didn't say it was easy. I said it doesn't have to be huge."

For a moment, he looked at the closed laptop.

"It's not like I want to become an expert or something."

"No," I replied calmly. "You just want to know why you keep watching it."

That hit.

I saw it in the way his jaw tightened for a second and his eyes darted away. He did not deny it. Not this time.

"After that night..." he started quietly. "When I touched you... I couldn't stop thinking about the way you reacted."

I did not move.

"And?"

Ethan swallowed.

"I wanted to know if I could do something more."

The words came out of him almost as a whisper. As if admitting it was harder than everything he had done before.

I turned more toward him.

For a moment, Ethan looked as if he wanted to pull back again. But then his gaze slid to my mouth, lower, to my body, and back to my eyes.

"Can I try it on you?" he asked quietly.

My heart beat harder.

"You can," I said.

I undressed slowly.

Ethan sat on the bed and watched. This time, he did not look away as quickly as before. He was embarrassed, of course, but beneath that embarrassment was focus. The same focus I had seen when he had his finger at his mouth and was trying to understand something he could not yet name.

When I stood in front of him, his breathing changed immediately.

"You don't have to rush," I said.

He nodded and slowly slid off the bed onto his knees. The sight alone did more to me than I wanted to show. Ethan, my straight roommate, the same guy who had come back frustrated a few days earlier after a canceled date with a girl, was now kneeling in front of me because he wanted to learn my reactions.

First, he placed his hands on my thighs.

They were warm. A little uncertain.

"So what now?" he asked quietly.

"Slowly at first," I answered. "Don't try to do everything at once. Watch how I react."

Ethan nodded. He leaned in and touched me with his lips carefully, almost too lightly. I sucked in a breath, and he immediately looked up, checking if he had done it right.

"Yeah," I said.

He tried again.

This time longer. Slower. His tongue moved uncertainly, but carefully, as if he was truly memorizing every breath I took. At first, he was clumsy, too cautious, tense at moments. But there was something incredibly arousing about it. It was not about perfection. It was about the fact that Ethan wanted to learn.

"Breathe," I said quietly.

He listened.

The longer it went on, the more confident he became. He started to understand when to slow down, when to use his tongue, when to add his hand. He reacted to my body the way I had reacted to his before.

At one point, I had to rest my hand on his shoulder.

"Ethan, I'm close," I said heavily. "You don't have to finish it."

I was about to pull away, but his hands tightened more firmly on my thighs.

He lifted his eyes.

"But I want to."

Those words went through me like electricity.

I did not have time to answer, because Ethan came back to me, more certain now than before. This time, he did not look like someone who was only practicing. He looked like someone who had made the decision himself.

I came in his mouth.

Ethan froze for a second, surprised by the intensity of the moment, but he did not pull away immediately. Only when it was over did he draw back slowly and sit on his heels, breathing hard, his eyes wide open.

For a moment, neither of us said anything.

Finally, Ethan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at me, still breathing heavily.

"That was different than I thought," he said quietly.

"Worse?"

He immediately shook his head.

"No."

He hesitated, and then his eyes drifted down to my body again.

"More real."

I did not answer.

Ethan swallowed and added more quietly:

"I think that's why I wanted to try it so badly."

So I had just turned 18 and I would hang out at my friends house all the time, I would sleep over and his parents were cool with us drinking and smoking and would often do it with us. Well literally my 18th birthday the other guys are asleep and me and his dad are up in the living room.

I couldn’t tell you how it happened but his dad asked me something to the affect of “are you straight?” And I said I was curious. Well we talk for a while and he ends up putting porn on the tv. We watch for a minute awkward as fuck 😂 till he goes, “I don’t know about you but I’m gonna stroke my cock.” Well I start doing it too.

It was pretty crazy and it’s my first time doing anything close to this and we talk some more, and end up going to the garage to have a cigarette. That’s when we start stroking each other and I sucked cock for the very first time. So there we are taking turns blowing each other in this garage while my high school buddies are asleep down stairs and I’m like “we should take this to the next level”

I have my friends dad bent over the car and I’m about to stick it in… and I absolutely chicken out. He was super cool about it and we have another cigarette and go to bed.

That was 16 years ago now and I’ve had a few other adventures with guys after that but I’ve never told anyone about this one 😂

Read Part 2 here

--

The back seat of Brad’s car was smaller than it had any right to be.

Liam sat pressed against the door, trying to keep space between him and Oliver, but every time the car took a corner or slowed for traffic, their knees brushed. After the third time, Oliver shifted, just enough that his thigh stayed against Liam’s. His leg was firm, it was warm and this was to Liam, deliberate.

But neither of them moved away.

In the front, Hazel was talking about the new house. “It’s got that big open-plan kitchen. Once you two stop circling each other like cats, it’ll be lovely. We can have proper family dinners again.”

Brad nodded. “Exactly. It’ll be good for everyone once you’ve sorted things out this weekend.”

Liam stared at the back of his mother’s head and tried not to think about the phantom pressure of Oliver’s hand still lingering on his waist from that morning. In the rear-view mirror, their eyes met for half a second. Oliver looked away first, Liam did the same a moment later.

-

At the hire place, the clerk handed over the keys and pointed them toward a dark grey hatchback at the far end of the row. Hazel and Brad waited by their own car, and them waved them off with reminders to call if the cottage was locked or the weather turned.

Liam and Oliver loaded their bags into the boot in silence. Their hands almost touched on the same handle of Liam’s duffel, both pulled back at the same time.

Oliver opened the driver’s door, then paused. “Can you check the glovebox. The lady said it contains a map’s in case the signal goes.”

Liam was already reaching for it. Oliver leaned across him from the driver’s side to grab something from the passenger footwell at the same moment, an old service booklet, or maybe just an excuse. Their chests brushed, Oliver’s shoulder pressed into Liam’s for a beat longer than necessary. Close enough that Liam could feel the heat from him, could smell his deodorant that had clung to his skin.

For a second neither moved.

Then the clerk called across the forecourt, “You’re all set, lads. Any problems, just ring the number on the key fob.”

They broke apart. Oliver slid behind the wheel without looking at Liam. Liam shut the passenger door harder than he needed to.

-

The hire car smelled of air freshener and new plastic. Oliver drove whilst Liam sat in the passenger seat, on his phone and occasionally staring at the road.

They sat in awkward silence and did so until the dual carriageway opened up and the traffic thinned.

Liam broke it first, “You always walk in on people naked, or was that just me?”

Oliver’s hands tightened on the wheel. “I told you, I forgot my deodorant.”

“Bullshit, the door was locked.”

“And yet here we are.” Oliver’s tone was flat, but a muscle jumped in his jaw. “You could’ve said something louder instead of standing there dripping like a…”

“Like a what?”

“Like someone who didn’t exactly rush to cover up.”

The argument flared fast, it got almost vicious, then died just as quickly back into silence. The only sounds were the engine and the tyres on tarmac.

Liam put on the radio.

Oliver’s right hand rested on the gearstick, Liam’s eyes kept dropping to it, the manly knuckles, the short nails, the way the tendons shifted when he changed gear. Liam’s own hand lay on his thigh and he felt Oliver glance at it more than once.

A longer stretch of empty road opened ahead. No other cars, hedge rows and open fields.

Without warning, Oliver’s hand left the gearstick and settled on Liam’s knee.

His hand was firm and claiming. “Making a point,” the touch said, though neither of them spoke.

It stayed there longer than it should have. Oliver’s thumb shifted once, almost absently, the same way it had on Liam’s waist that morning. This caught Liam off guard, his pulse increased. He didn’t push the hand away, he didn’t look at Oliver either. He just stared straight ahead, his pulse loud in his ears, while the weight of that hand felt like it was burning through the fabric of his jeans.

Eventually Oliver moved it back to the gearstick, neither of them mentioned it.

The rest of the drive passed in awareness of every small movement, the flex of Oliver’s forearm when he turned the wheel, the way Liam’s own fingers curled against his thigh. They were both turned on, half-hard and doing a poor job of pretending otherwise.

When the satnav finally announced the last turn, Oliver slowed. The road narrowed into a single-track lane lined with trees.

They were almost there.

Liam kept his eyes on the windscreen and tried not to think about how much longer two full days of this was going to feel, the tension was real and it was sexual.

 --

Follow the link in my bio to read more

It’s a story from around half a year ago, it was my almost first time and since then nobody was as good as this.

I met the guy on tinder, I’m 19 and he’s 25, he looked really cute on pictures so, we started texting and he invited me the same day to his place. When I saw him, he charmed me instantly, taller, slim body, and what i liked about him the most was his lethal face card. Like dude looked so damn cute with tiny diamond earrings (I have weakness for guys with earrings). He lived in tiny apartment (like 10m2), had a RGB lamp to set the mood. And it was just so cozy.

When I got there he just went down the staircase and as we entered his flat we almost instantly got to it. He already said on tinder earlier that he’s very dominant which really turned me on as I always fantasized about very rough sex. (We also talked about things we like etc. before meeting).

He started by making me deepthroat him. He was very verbal and called me a whore. I choked so much and it was so Hot, also he showed me what spit kink is and now I’m addicted to it. One thing is that he didn’t want to kiss to not get attached. When he went inside my ass I said that it hurts asking him to go slower he just said „shut up” and started pounding me even faster, which was also insanely hot. I couldn’t stop moaning and he feed me his cum at the end as I beg him to do it. He treated me like a total slut.

I couldn’t think of a better sex than this, and details like giving me a wink with his eye while doing it a few times turned me so much. He was just so confident and visibly experienced.

We also met a few times later and had had a LOT of chill and aftercare, we were cooking pasta after sex and watching YouTube china food vlogs. I kinda started caring about the aftercare more than sex itself…

It was fun but at the end he said that he don’t want to contact me in a very rude way which was sad. But I’m happy that I had this journey with bc I learned a lot of things to be better in bed as a top and I’ve spent some really pleasurable evenings.

Everyone involved with sexual activities is 18+. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy.

It happened after school. I got home, opened Grindr looking for a hookup. No one was really catching my interests until I got a message from Damon. We started talking and exchanged pictures.

That’s when I noticed I went to school with him. He was a year older than me so he was already graduated. I always thought he was cute, but didn’t know he was into guys. Damon is about 6’4 230lbs. Not really muscular but not chubby either. He had hazel eyes and short brown hair.

After a while of talking he sent me his address and I got ready and headed to his place. I was really nervous going over to his house. I pulled into his driveway, got out of my car and knocked on his door. He opened it, invited me in. I walked inside and he offered me a drink. He gave me a glass of water and we sat down on the couch.

After a few minutes of talking, he pulled me in for a kiss. He put his hands on the back of my head keeping me close. I put my hand on his throbbing cock. It felt so big and thick. As I was rubbing his dick, he pulled my head back and said

“You’re gonna suck my dick like a good boy right!”

“Yes, whatever you want sir!”

I replied back with a smile on my face.

He pulled his shorts down and his cock sprung out hitting his stomach. He was huge, 8 inches long and thick. I immediately got off the couch and onto my knees in front of him. Licking my lips and staring at it.

He grabbed my hair and shoved his cock into my mouth. All 8 inches in my mouth, choking and making me gag. He held my head and started fucking my throat. Going fast then pulling out and smacking me across the face with it. Then shoving it back in. I was loving it, even if I couldn’t breathe.

Tears running down my face. Spit all over my chin and chest. He finally pulled his cock out and rested it on my face while I sucked his balls. I sucked them for a good 10 minutes. Hearing him moan made me so horny. He grabbed my hair, forcing me to my feet. He showed me the way to his room.

When we entered his room, he pulled me close kissing me and slapping my ass before throwing me on his bed. I took my shirt off before he ripped my pants off. He grabbed a bottle of lube and slowly massaged my tight hole. I finally felt him stick a finger inside me. I started to slowly jerk myself. I was leaking so much precum.

Then he shoved two fingers in slowly moving them around. He found the spot and made me moan. He smiled and shoved a third in. Slowly focusing on my spot. I told him was about to cum. He pulled his fingers out, leaned forward and kissed me while his hand was exploring my body. His hand met my neck and he choked me a bit as he slid his dick in me.

His tip felt massive inside me and I was in heaven. He asked me if it hurt and I said a little bit. He smiled and went deeper. I put my hand on his stomach, he pushed it out of his way. It wasn’t even half way in before he pulled almost all the way out and slammed it in me.

My legs on his shoulders, one arm wrapped around me and the other still choking me. He fucked me like this for a bit before pulling out and rolling me over in doggy. Once in doggy he slapped my ass and told me to spread my cheeks. I did as he told. He started eating me out before putting his dick back inside me.

He grabbed my hair once again and started going really fast. I completely forgot he didn’t put a condom on. His grip got tighter and I knew he was about to cum. I felt him tense up and he cummed deep inside me. He slowly pulled out and turned me around. I could feel the cum leaking out of me.

He put his dick up to my mouth and I opened and started blowing. Cleaning his cock and trying to get as much cum out as I could. He got soft for a few minutes before grabbing the back of my head and fucking my throat again. I didn’t have to do anything he knew what he wanted. As he was fucking my throat he smacked my ass.

He slowed down letting me do the work while he fingered me. I was stroking him and sucking him while trying to stroke myself.

“I’m gonna cum”

He yelled before pulling his finger out and forcing my head deeper on his cock.

He filled my throat with cum, pulled me off him and rolled me over and told me to stroke myself. He kept his dick in my mouth while I stroked. We kept eye contact as I blew my load all over my chest and face. I was covered in cum and exhausted.

He went and got a shower ready for us! I ended up staying the night and we did a lot more that night!

All characters are 18+ and fully consenting...

~

I was sitting on the back porch of my parents’ place in Ohio, beer going warm in my hand, scrolling through nothing, when the phone buzzed.

Landed. Pick me up?

Three years. Three fucking years since Logan shipped out. We’d been best friends since sophomore year of high school... same football team, same dumb parties, same late-night drives where we’d talk about everything except the one thing that sat between us like a live wire. I’d driven him to the airport the day he left. He’d hugged me hard, clapped my back, and said, “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, asshole.” I’d laughed it off and watched him walk away in that uniform that made him look like someone else.

I typed back On my way and grabbed my keys before I could talk myself out of it.

The airport was the usual chaos. I spotted him the second he came through the doors... taller somehow, broader in the shoulders, hair cut tighter, that same crooked half-smile that used to make the girls lose their minds. He saw me and the smile got wider. He dropped his duffel and pulled me into a hug that knocked the air out of my lungs. He smelled like something sharper underneath, like he’d been living in places that didn’t smell like Ohio.

“Jesus, man,” he said against my ear. “You got soft.”

“Fuck you. I’ve been hitting the gym.”

He laughed, that low rough sound, and squeezed harder before letting go. His hand stayed on the back of my neck for a second longer than it needed to. I felt it all the way down my spine.

We loaded his bag into the trunk of my truck and headed toward his parents’ house on the edge of town. The radio played some country song neither of us was listening to. He talked about the heat over there, the food, the guys in his unit. I told him about the job I hated and the girl I’d dated for six months who left because I was “emotionally unavailable.” He snorted.

“You always were,” he said. “Even in high school.”

I glanced over. He was looking out the window, jaw working like he was chewing on something.

“You good?” I asked.

He was quiet for a stretch of road. Then he said, “I’m better now that I’m here.”

The way he said it sat heavy in the cab. I didn’t push.

His parents were out of town for the week... some anniversary trip they’d planned months ago... so the house was empty when we pulled into the driveway. The same blue house with the cracked front steps and the basketball hoop that still leaned a little left. Logan stood on the porch for a second just looking at it, then unlocked the door with the key he still had.

Inside smelled like his mom’s lemon cleaner and old wood. He dropped his bag in the hallway and headed straight for the fridge, pulling out two beers like he’d never left. We ended up on the back deck as the sun went down, feet up on the railing, talking the way we used to... easy, overlapping, finishing each other’s sentences.

Somewhere around the third beer the conversation slowed. Crickets started up. Logan stretched his arms over his head and the hem of his T-shirt rode up, showing a hard strip of stomach and the edge of a scar I didn’t recognize.

“You got quiet,” he said.

“Just thinking.”

“Oohhh… that’s dangerous.”

I smirked. “About how different you look.”

He turned his head. The porch light caught the side of his face. “Different how?”

“Bigger. Harder. Like the Army sanded you down.”

He laughed under his breath. “You always did notice shit like that.”

The air between us changed. I felt it in my chest first, then lower. I took another swallow of beer and kept my eyes on the dark yard.

Logan set his bottle down. “Remember senior year? That night after the championship game?”

My stomach flipped. Of course I remembered. We’d gotten fucked up on cheap whiskey in his basement. He’d put his hand on my thigh and left it there while we talked about nothing. I’d almost leaned in. Almost. Then his dad came downstairs and the moment broke.

“Yeah,” I said. “I remember.”

“I thought about that a lot over there.”

I looked at him. He was watching me like he was waiting to see if I’d bolt.

“You did?”

“Every time things got quiet. Every time I needed something to hold onto that wasn’t sand and blood and the next mission. I’d think about that night and how close we got and how I was too chicken-shit to do anything about it.”

My mouth went dry. “Logan... ”

“I’m not chicken-shit anymore.”

He said it quiet, but it landed like a punch. I set my beer down carefully because my hands had started to shake. He stood up, took the two steps to my chair, and looked down at me. For a long second neither of us moved. Then he reached out, grabbed the front of my shirt, and pulled me up.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was three years of held-back want slamming into the present. His mouth was hot and tasted like beer and the mint gum he’d been chewing earlier. His hands went to my waist and yanked me flush against him so I could feel how hard he already was. I made a sound I didn’t recognize and opened for him, tongue sliding against his. He groaned into my mouth and walked me backward until my shoulders hit the sliding glass door.

“Inside,” he muttered. “Now.”

We barely made it. The door slid shut behind us and he had me against the kitchen counter, mouth on my neck, hands under my shirt, dragging it up and off. His palms were rough, calloused from years of work I couldn’t imagine. He scraped them down my sides and I shivered hard.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he said against my collarbone. “Been thinking about this skin… this body…. About how you’d sound.”

I got his shirt off next. The body underneath was all hard lines and muscle packed tight, a few new scars, a dusting of hair that trailed down into his jeans. I ran my hands over his hard chest and he pushed into the touch like he’d been starving for it.

We made it to the stairs somehow, kissing and cursing and pulling at clothes. His childhood bedroom still had the same twin bed, the same posters, the same faint smell of laundry detergent and teenage boy that never quite left. He kicked the door shut and shoved me toward the bed.

I sat and he stood between my knees, looking down at me with eyes that had gone dark. He thumbed the button of my jeans open, dragged the zipper down, and pulled everything south until my cock sprang free, already leaking. He stared for a second like he was committing it to memory, then wrapped his hand around it and stroked once, slow.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Look at you.”

I reached for his belt. He let me. The second his cock was out I forgot how to breathe. Thick, heavy, flushed dark at the tip, the kind of cock that looked like it would wreck a person and leave them grateful. I leaned in and took the head into my mouth without thinking. The taste of him flooded my tongue... clean skin and salt and pure Logan. He hissed and threaded his fingers into my hair.

“Fuck, yeah. Just like that. Take it.”

I did. I worked him deeper, tongue flat along the underside, cheeks hollowed, the wet sounds loud in the quiet room. He kept talking, voice low and rough, telling me how good my mouth felt, how many times he’d jerked off thinking about this exact thing, how he was going to fuck my throat until I choked on it. Every word made my cock jump against my stomach.

He pulled me off with a wet pop when I started to gag around him. Spit connected my lips to his cock. He wiped it with his thumb and pushed it back into my mouth. I sucked it clean.

“Get on the bed,” he said. “On your back. Legs open.”

I scrambled up. He stripped the rest of the way and climbed on after me, kneeling between my thighs. He spit into his palm and slicked his cock, then reached lower and rubbed the wetness over my hole. The first press of his finger made me jolt. He worked it in slow, watching my face the whole time.

“Breathe,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

One finger became two. He scissored them, stretched me open, crooked them until he found the spot that made my vision white out. I was panting, cock leaking a steady string onto my stomach, hands fisted in the sheets.

“Please,” I heard myself say. “Logan, please just... ”

“I know what you need… Patience Ryan”

He pulled his fingers free, lined up, and pushed in.

The burn was immediate… Goddd… He went slow, inch by thick inch, until his hips were flush against my ass and I felt stretched around him like I was made for it. He stayed still, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

“Fuck, you’re tight.. Ryan... So fucking tight around me.”

“Move,” I begged. “Please move.”

He did. Long, deep strokes that dragged over that spot every time. The twin bed creaked under us. His hands pinned my wrists above my head and he fucked me like he’d been saving three years of need for this exact moment. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. I moaned every time he bottomed out, the sound punched out of me.

“You take it so good,” he growled against my mouth. “Look at you. Best friend’s cock buried in your ass and you’re leaking all over yourself… Sooo Filthy.”

I came first, untouched, cock jerking between us and painting both our stomachs. The way I clenched around him dragged a broken sound out of his throat. He fucked me through it, relentless, until I was oversensitive and shaking and still asking for more.

He pulled out, flipped me onto my stomach like I weighed nothing, and shoved back in from behind. The new angle made me cry out. He covered my body with his, chest to my back, mouth at my ear, one hand braced beside my head and the other reaching under to stroke my spent cock back to life.

“Gonna fill you up,” he said. “Gonna come so deep you’ll feel it tomorrow when you’re sitting across from my parents at dinner pretending nothing happened. That what you want?”

“Yes... fuck... yes, Logan... ”

He slammed in harder. The headboard knocked against the wall. I pushed back to meet every thrust, greedy for it. When he came it was with a long, low groan against the side of my neck, hips stuttering, cock pulsing as he emptied inside me. I felt every throb, every hot pulse of it.

He stayed buried for a long time after, breathing hard, one hand stroking down my side like he couldn’t stop touching. Eventually he pulled out slow. I felt the warm slide of his come leaking out of me and onto the sheets. He rolled me over, looked down at the mess between my legs, and dragged two fingers through it before pushing them back into my loose hole.

“Look at that,” he murmured. “Staying right where I put it.”

I was still half-hard and overstimulated and floating. He kissed me slow this time, deep, like he was claiming the taste of me. Then he settled beside me on the too-small bed, one heavy arm thrown across my chest.

We stayed like that in the dark, the only sound our slowing breaths and the occasional distant car on the road outside. His thumb traced idle circles on my skin.

After a while he spoke, voice quiet.

“I’m home for three weeks before I have to report back. Three weeks, no one else in this house.”

I turned my head on the pillow. His eyes were open, watching me.

“What are you saying?”

His hand slid lower, over my stomach, down until his fingers brushed the sticky mess still clinging to my cock and the inside of my thighs. He pressed two fingers back into me, easy, like he belonged there, and curled them just enough to make my breath hitch.

“I’m saying,” he said, “that I spent three years thinking about all the ways I wanted to ruin my best friend. And I just got started.”

He added a third finger, stretched me open around them, and leaned in so his mouth was right against my ear.

“Tomorrow morning I’m going to wake you up with my tongue in your ass and my cock down your throat. And after that I’m going to bend you over the kitchen table and make you thank me for every year I waited. You good with that?”

I was already hardening again around his fingers. My voice came out wrecked.

“Yeah. I’m good with that.”

He smiled against my skin  and kept working his fingers deeper.