Part 2 – Pipe Dreams
Hey... so it has definitely been a while and I’m sorry about that. After posting I swear I originally intended to write more. Then work got crazy. Then it quieted down and I went, “Oh man what if it’s been too long? Wouldn’t it be weird randomly adding more to this after like three months?” So I had like a quarter of this part done but then I stopped in an awkward, self-conscious spinout.
But then I got put on leave because of, well, you know what’s going on right now. Which... brings us here!
Anyway, I hope at least even just one person enjoys this. I’m actually really nervous about posting this because I think this is where my writing and how I want to write this formally deviates from the typical structure of story here (see warning section below) and I know straight up that it won’t be kosher for a lot of people.
So I’m definitely pre-shook but fuck it. If it sucks and everyone hates it so be it LOL.
Okay—I promise I’m done. Enjoy! Maybe! And thank you to anyone who deigns to leave constructive feedback, thank you!
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Writer’s warning: Feelings. Icky, disgusting feelings. If those are radioactive to you, or you’re just not about them when looking for a porn story, do not advance—there are plenty of great alternatives here that aren’t... this.
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Still caught in the afterglow, breathing hard and heavy, my skin buzzed and tingled as I rested below him. Staring up into his stare, his mouth slightly parted, eyes dark and narrowed, it was hard to tell exactly where his mind was. Electing to take a risk, I leaned up and planted a soft kiss on his fuzzy cheek.
Sinking back into the mattress, I watched for any shifts in his expression. And while most of his expression remained unchanged, his mouth had curved ever so slightly. Lifting one of his big hands to my face, he brought the backside of his ring and middle fingers against my smooth cheek, brushing gently.
“So cute,” he murmured.
Meanwhile, still squeezed inside my hole, his cock had slowly begun to soften. And while still fairly snug, the combined grease of the lube and loads mixed inside me were starting to loosen its fit. And as my walls attempted to squeeze back into place I could feel him sliding out, just a few inches but enough for him to take notice. In response, his hips shifted, pushing his half-hard cock back into my battered prostate. Gasping as he gently churned the mixed loads, my mouth fell open.
“You like?” he teased.
Nodding happily as he continued to grind, I reached down, fiddling with my own cock with one hand as my other reached for my nipples to gently stroke the tips.
“Good,” he growled, grating harder, all but mashing his pubes into my tender ring. “Definitely gonna do that again, but right now I want a puff. Join me?”
Smiling faintly, I nodded again. “I’d like that.”
Giving my ass one last hard slog for good measure, Chris pulled away.
Exiting with an unceremonious ‘plop’, his half-hard cock flopped about, slapping my wet pucker with its heavy head. Wincing at the loss as it hit me, the compulsion to fill that wet, wanting space with something—anything—spread down my spine and settled in my guts as my ring flexed and relaxed, breathing open and shut in protest.
Meanwhile, Chris had sat up, pulling me closer with one arm while his other reached for the pipe at the bedside table. But halfway up his body, head pillowed by his round tummy, my gaze was drawn elsewhere—pulled to his dick, which rested against his leg, where a viscous puddle was beginning to form on his inner thigh. Magnetized, I slid down the mattress.
Face to face with his glossy cock, I licked my lips in anticipation, heart pounding as I scooted closer and inhaled the musky smell of cum, our mixed sweat, the faint smell of my ass, and lube mixing together into a perfect makeshift cologne. Smeared around his head and shaft, the ropes of cum had been squished and spread, coating him in a thick glaze. Needing a taste, I leaned forward as I heard the butane torch click to life, and wrapped my mouth around his head.
While he smoked, I sucked, curling my tongue around every contour as I lapped hungrily at the pungent mix encasing him. Digging into the slit, cleaning away the mess we’d made, I slid down to the base so I could delve into every nook and cranny, feeling him harden as the torch fizzed in the background—
Then I heard another click, followed by a soft thump on the bed. Digging under my armpit, one of his hands yanked me away from my task.
Caught off guard, I sat stunned and mouth half-opened, wondering if I’d done something wrong, but then he crushed his fuzzy face against mine, exhaling a huge mouthful of smoke as he locked our mouths together. Cheeks expanding, I inhaled sharply, held in place by the hand on the back of my head. Shutting my eyes, I held the puff for a few seconds before giving it back to him, which he’d hold before shot-gunning it back to me.
I couldn’t tell you how many times we passed it back and forth. What I do recall is getting dizzy—my head spinning as the tina hit and made my skin crawl. And when he finally pulled away my lungs gasped and coughed, gulping air greedily.
“Good boy,” he murmured, settling in closer, holding the pipe just outside my mouth. “Now your turn,” he instructed. Obediently, I wrapped my lips around the tip as my fingers pinched the shaft. Then the torched clicked. Rolling the bowl slowly, the clouds began to billow, swirling into little wisps as they gathered into thick puffs.
To test, I blew ever so gently, and when the wispy stands rose from the little vent I knew it was time to inhale. Beginning slowly, I could feel my chest rising and keep going. Within a few moments I knew I had already filled my lungs and could feel myself straining to hold in more but Chris kept the lighter burning. Glancing up at him, I began to pull away but he shook his head, his arm keeping me firmly in place. “Keep going,” he urged. “Want my boy spun.”
Not wanting to displease him, I fought and strained, eyes all but rolling back into my head as I held on—
When he finally pulled the pipe away, I sputtered, shrouding us in billowing smoke as he set the pipe aside. Head swimming, I felt dizzy—but good dizzy. Like my mind was floating.
Planting his hand on my shoulder, Chris gave me a curious look. “Everything okay?”
Thoughts were difficult—had to piece them together a bit before I could get the words out. “Yeah. It’s just—it’s just a lot,” I stuttered, smiling at him.
Smiling back, he shook his head slightly, before pulling me back up the bed. “Come here,” he instructed, all but dragging me on top of him. Resting my head on his shoulder, hands on his chest, I began to relax, following the motion of his fingers as they stroked my back.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
Remaining silent, Chris simply planted a kiss on the top of my head, grazing his calloused digits along the soft space of my back as we settled in together.
Descending upon us lightly, silence fell, enveloping us in the lull of the interim. But I was high as a kite—and as the moments passed peacefully, anxiety crept in, urging me to find new, exciting ways to insert my foot into my mouth.
“I’m sorry—” I stammered, lifting my head off his chest, compelled to explain the downtime. “I just don’t normally do this much and I’m really liking this but it’s a lot and—”
Chuckling heartily, he silenced me by pulling my head back down. Taking a moment to nuzzle my damp hair, we simply laid there, and I found myself following the rhythm of his breathing as we settled back in. Then his baritone voice rumbled gently. “I said I wanted you spun. You’re spun. I see no problem here. We’re just taking a short detour.”
And maybe it really was that simple. Fears assuaged, I settled back in, shutting my eyes. “Really?”
“Of course. Hell, if I was up to me you’d be further but that’s clearly not a good idea right now.”
“Oh,” I returned blithely.
Pulling me further up so we were face to face, he fixed his dark blue eyes on my brown ones. Narrowing intensely into a dark stare, he licked his lips. “You know, you said some pretty filthy things back there,” he murmured.
“I suppose I did,” I responded softly.
“Who was that and how do I get him to play?” he probed bemusedly, reaching further as his hand wandered back to the crack of my ass.
My breathing hitched. “You just have to ask.”
“Hmm...” he hummed, tracing the perimeter in little circles. “I’d like that. And aside from getting his little boy-hole plowed, what else does he like getting into?”
“Whatever you like,” I returned obediently, spreading my legs to assist his curious digits. Frowning bemusedly for a moment, Chris leaned forward and bit my ear gently, drawing a yelp.
“That wasn’t the question,” he corrected. “I asked what you like. Not what I like.”
Nodding, I sighed lightly as his mouth pulled away. “I see the distinction.”
Crack!
I winced at the stinging impact as his hand retracted from my ass cheek. “That’s not an answer, Daniel,” he observed, returning to his original route as his paw found my hole once more. Gasping, my hands dug harder into his pectorals, reacting to the two rough fingers sliding up along the tender tissues.
Well, if that wasn’t a callout. And maybe it was the drugs. Or perhaps the digits burrowing into the mixed mess of semen, relieving the emptiness I’d been feeling. Maybe it was simply the fact that I wasn’t used to being asked that and it was new territory for me. “I have trouble trusting people,” I admitted quietly. “I don’t usually get into that.”
“So you let them get into you?” he teased, his expression darkening as he curled his intrusion to briefly brush a nail against my prostate.
Yelping as my body all but jerked, his other arm fastened itself around my back, securing me into place as he settled back into the stretching and scissoring motions.
“I guess...” I explained, struggling with the words as my head juggled the buzz, what his hand was doing, the earthy smell of his breath, and cogent thoughts. “If I just let them do whatever... it’s fine. Makes sure they have a good time. Maybe they even ask me to come back—it’s just easier that way, isn’t it?”
Pausing his ministrations, silence descended once more save for a sharp inhale through his nostrils. I could practically see the gears turning in his brain as the puzzle pieces coalesced. “Is that what happened with—what was name again? From earlier.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, my shoulders began to tense reflexively. “Sam,” I supplied meekly. “His name is Sam.”
“Right, him. Is that what happened.”
Sighing sadly, I didn’t trust my words and nodded.
“I see. And do you actually like that?” he asked, voice low and mild, like his words were wrapped in honey.
No, my mind shouted, but my outside words formed differently. “I—I don’t know,” I began shakily. “Maybe? Sometimes, I guess?” But my head was already off the rails, spinning out as panic jerked awake. Elbowing the other emotions away from the dashboard, he slammed the alarm, screeching his siren as the distress signal blared through my brain. “Forget it,” I backpedaled. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid—I’m stupid—”
“Daniel,” he said softly, silencing me with a squeeze.
“Yes Chris?” I whispered.
“Shut up,” he ordered. “And relax for two seconds.”
Inhaling quickly, I held my breath and complied.
“I’m liking this. And I want you to want to come back,” he intoned sternly. “But I can only do that if you have a good time too. Now tell me: what do you want?”
“I like...” I began slowly, struggling to wrap my head around this, unsure with how to frame the phrasing to make it likable. “I’m sorry—I just need to know. If I say something wrong or that you don’t like—will I get in trouble?”
Chuckling, Chris leaned in and licked my ear. “I don’t know, Daniel,” he murmured slyly. “Doesn’t that depend on what it is?”
“I guess—I guess that’s reasonable,” I stuttered, trailing off as the thoughts dissolved and took the ground with it. Who was I to argue? It was, after all, a very fair position. Squirming reflexively, my back began to rise, only to meet resistance against the much more powerful arm clasping me against his chest.
Sensing my discomfort, Chris held on tighter. “Wait—stop,” he entreated, extracting his fingers from my hole to grip my ass, effectively blocking the only other direction I could have gone. “I was kidding,” he explained, backpedaling as his fingers dug into the soft skin. “I just wanted to—never mind. Please, just relax.”
The ‘please’ did it. That and the realization I had no real way out of this if he didn’t want me to. Shocked back to the now, I bottled the feeling and surrendered to his paws locking me in place. “I won’t get in trouble?” I said quietly and held my breath.
Chris shook his head. “You won’t get in trouble. Promise.”
Exhaling into his chest, I forced out the words. “I want you to own me.”
Groaning, he reached for one of my hands and brought it down to his cock. And with just the back of my hand against it, I could feel it hardening again. “Go on,” he hissed.
“I want... I want you be your boy. Your slut. Whatever you want to call it.”
“Mmmm...” he growled, guiding my fingers so they wrapped around his rising erection. “You really get off on being someone’s bitch, don’t you?”
“I do,” I whispered. “But it’s more than that. I want someone to own me, Chris. So... I’m theirs. Like...” Like they want to have me, my mind supplied, but the words died in my throat. Instead, I murmured, “You know what I mean?”
His cock pulsed. “I think so,” he purred. “And what can I do to excite my little cum bucket? How do I reward him for a job well done?”
There were many answers to this, but I hesitated; my brain had conjured Sam—his face twisted up in rage, shouting because nothing was ever good enough so why even ask—but then the feeling the stroke of his knuckles running down my back and his promise brought me back and when I looked at the pair of big blue eyes I felt my escalating heart-rate ease up. Still... I wasn’t ready to show my whole hand so I volunteered a club. “I... I really like piss,” I admitted. “Drinking it. Or being filled with it. Or even being soaked in it. Just want to serve, really.”
“Mmmm. Sounds like my little slut is a bit of people pleaser. And maybe even a bit of a piglet. That right?”
“Yes,” I breathed.
“Mmmm,” he rumbled, adding the throaty low notes of dominance to the sound. “Does this little piggy want my chem piss?”
“Yes,” I begged.
“I could bring you to work you know. Strip you buck naked and hide you under my desk. Just fuck and feed you throughout the day so I don’t have to walk to the urinals.”
“A Sir shouldn’t have to get up for that,” I agreed demurely, settling back into his shoulder. “Not when he has a boy for that...”
“And what happens if my boy can’t handle it?” he growled. “My piss gets pretty rancid you know—I might even want it to be harsh for you. And when you’re feeling sick because you’ve got a gallon of my piss in your belly and can’t take any more, what happens then? Do I get mad?”
“I’d think so,” I whimpered.
“Mad enough to almost make you keep drinking it anyway, I bet,” he hissed. “Make you gag and choke it down your throat. Maybe even make you hold your ass cheeks apart when we’re home so I can decide how I want to punish your pretty little pink hole—because what boy of mine can’t handle four measly piss loads?”
“Whatever you think I deserve,” I whispered.
“More,” he instructed. “I want more.”
“I... I like being tied up. Blindfolded. Passed around and stretched open. Your arms,” I sputtered, turning my head to the thick layer of hair that ran from the back of his hands up to his powerful biceps. “Your arms are so hot to me. Want them inside me.”
“Mmm... you really like being helpless, don’t you?” he breathed, stroking my spine with the hairy back of one hand, as the other returned to my ass. Sliding past my ring with a shove, three of his fingers dug into the soft tissue. Almost pulling me across his chest as he flexed his strength in demonstration, my cock twitched as my heart skipped. “You’re pretty light you know—could probably lift you on one,” he cooed. “Carry you around like my little skin puppet.”
“Yes,” I mewled.
“Wait here,” he instructed. “Do not run away.”
Rising from the bed, Chris shuffled over to the closet. Pulling it open, he sifted through its contents for a few moments, rising to his toes as he reached for the top shelf, involuntarily granting a very nice view of his rather round ass together as he gathered a rather large cardboard box that likely no longer held the vegetables its exterior suggested. I licked my lips. Then he turned, flaunting his cock at full mast as he returned to the bed.
Settling back next to me, one of his hands settled on the flaps concealing its contents. Drumming his fingers gently, he paused for a moment, eyes downcast. To my surprise, he paused—he always seemed to know what to say.
Settling in patiently, I waited.
When he spoke, he spoke quietly. “Everything we’ve talked about—I’m game for. It’s just...” he explained, then trailed off at the end, taking another moment. Unsure whether I was supposed to wait or not, I elected for the comfort of still silence.
After a moment, he continued. “I don’t know if I can be as rough or mean as you want me to be.”
Eyeing his resting hand, and then his averted posture, I scooted closer. Overlapping his chunky paw with my spindly ones, I leaned over the box so our arms touched and rested my head on his shoulder. “What do you mean?” I asked softly.
“Don’t get me wrong—I like to control,” he clarified. “And I’d like to share and stretch your tight little boy-hole until it’s a gaping cunt. And I really want to get my arm so far into your guts that I can parade you around like my favourite sleeve.”
This was pushing all my buttons; it was taking a lot of restraint to not just hurl myself onto him. But his tone of concern gave me pause. Setting my pounding chest aside, I removed my head, craning below his I could look up at his surprisingly sober expression. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the worry then?” I asked delicately.
“I like to go slow,” he explained, gesturing to the wall with his free hand as if that somehow made it make more sense. “Work up to things. We’ll need a safe word and I’ll want to cuddle. And I don’t know how that fits into,” he motioned loosely to the space between us, “This.”
Smiling wanly, my body leaned in, and I rested my head atop his shoulder. His resting hand was still a lot bigger than mine so it was kind of hard to get my grip around it properly but I managed as best I could and squeezed a bit tighter. “Chris?” I asked quietly, demurely.
“Yes?”
“I said I want you to own me,” I explained, tone soft and soothing. “That means you have a lot of say in this.”
Pausing for a moment, Chris held his breath. Below, I could feel his free arm repositioning, sliding over the two clasping his so we made a little hand sandwich. Holding my little paws in his heavy ones, his mouth turned back to my ear.
“My slut,” he said quietly.
Sighing contentedly, I nodded slowly, deliberately. “Yes, Chris,” I agreed. “Your slut.”
Satisfied with my answer, we remained still for a moment, taking the opportunity to bask in the verbal contract. Then, glancing downwards, my eyes wandered to the cardboard flaps. “So...” I began timidly, wondering if I was inadvertently invoking Pandora with this train of thought: “What’s in the box?”
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Clothes. It had been clothes.
More specifically, clothes he’d wanted me to wear. Along with a few accessories for himself.
Testing the off-white jockstrap he’d supplied, I poked the little pouch concealing my cock and balls. The actual strap sat snug around my waist, but with my tina-dick only standing at quarter-mast the pouch itself was fairly loose. Still, probably better too big than too small. At the base, I could already see a damp spot beginning to emerge where I was leaking. And while I still had the full use of my hands I reached lower, sliding my index finger underneath the foreskin, coating the finger generously before bringing it to my mouth to taste the faintly salty-sweet ooze.
Meanwhile, Chris was setting down a cooler he’d retrieved from the kitchen. Clad in just his old army tags and a battered camouflage cap, he glanced around the room, likely trying to judge whether he’d picked the best location for his refreshments. Once satisfied with his choice, he cracked open a cold one. Fixing me with a wry grin, he chugged the lager under a minute, holding eye contact the full time, and then tossed the empty bottle into the trash. “You’ll get yours later,” he explained, winking as he gave his belly a hearty pat.
Cheeks flushed, I was unsure how to react—and elected for gratitude. “Thanks,” I said meekly.
Practically beaming, he glanced back towards the bucket of beers. “Although, if you’re good, I could probably be persuaded.” He then tipped of his head towards the now-opened vegetable bin. “Have you picked one you like?”
I had. Licking my lips, I lifted the bandana from the box delicately. Plain black, save for a thin, fiery-white pattern about a half-inch from the perimeter, I presented him the square sheet. “This one.”
Satisfied with my choice, he accepted my offering, folding it by its corners once, then pinching a few inches down the converging slopes to form the edge of the band. With a few quick loops, the makeshift blindfold was formed and pressed against my face, making the world vanish as he tied the ends together behind my skull.
With my vision gone, the other senses quickly stepped up to fill the void. Somehow the musky, sweaty, smoky scent that I was quickly beginning to associate with him was stronger and all but suffocated my nose in its aroma. Tentatively, my hand reached up to touch the cloth, feeling the rough cotton between the soft pads of my thumb and forefinger, and gave it a little tug to adjust it.
“Too tight?” Chris asked in concern as he circled me, making my skin buzz as he eyed his handiwork.
Shaking my head, I settled back into the bed, following his voice and footsteps as I raised my hands in front of my chest in offering. “No, not at all,” I stammered, shivering as he pressed his fuzzy chest to my back. Next to me, the jingle of metal on metal chimed, the leather brushing my arm as he lifted the harness out of the box.
“Good. Arms up,” he instructed.
Complying, the leather slipped over my head and down my torso. He’d clearly done this before—within moments the diagonal cross-straps were snug across my shoulders, meeting with a cold metal ring in the center of my chest. Meanwhile, behind me, I could feel him fiddling with the tightness, securing the horizontal strap between my belly button and ribcage.
“How’s that?” he cooed.
Rolling my shoulders to test the tightness, I turned towards his voice. “It’s actually perfect,” I admitted.
“Good. Hands.” Obediently, I bent my arms and raised my hands together in offering. Wrapping his arms around my torso, he set to work, collecting my hands in his, fitting the pair leather handcuffs around them as he tightened them around my slender wrists.
Breathing heavily into my ear, he gave the tip of my ear a test nibble and shook my arms, making the metal rings of the cuffs jingle against one another. “Too snug?”
Tentatively, I slipped my ring finger underneath one of the bands. It fit, albeit with some effort. “Not at all,” I supplied.
“Perfect.”
“I just didn’t think you were serious,” I confessed.
“Why would I not be serious?” he asked gently, snapping the metal bands together with a loud clack. “I asked what you wanted; you said you wanted to be tied up and used like my human cum-rag. That sounds fun to me—doesn’t it sound fun to you?”
“Well, yes, but...”
“So if I like it,” he interrupted, “And you like it, don’t you agree it would be silly if I wasn’t ready to follow through?”
I was cornered. And not just because I was tied up on the bed. “I see your point,” I conceded.
“Besides...” he murmured, bumping the top of my head with the brim of his cap as he settled in next to my ear. Then his hands were on me—starting from the bottom of my waist where the band of the jock began, he tugged the strap back to give a little snap, before continuing his calloused fingertips’ journey upwards. Leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake, they brushed from my sides to underarms, eventually settling on the base of my shoulders. “Do you have any idea how good you look to me right now?” he purred.
Shaking my head, I was upfront about it. “No,” I responded bluntly.
The tip of his large, flat tongue flicked top of my ear. “You look gorgeous,” he breathed.
Laughing softly, deflection kicked in, reducing the compliment to a glancing blow. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” I replied nonchalantly, tilting my head to grant better access to the slope of my neck.
Accepting the invitation, Chris bit down, forming a seal with his lips as he sunk his teeth into the soft skin. Sucking hard, he drew a gasp as my spine arched—sharp pain jolting outwards from where the pressure was most intense. Whimpering as he increased his pull, his heavy arms squeezed me tight against his torso, crushing my wrists into the cold metal ring as he drew the blood to the surface. Once satisfied with his handiwork he pulled away with a pop, blowing gently on the bruising skin, sending shivers down my back. Flicking the patch with the tip of his tongue, he moved back to my ear. “I really don’t,” he growled.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I whispered.
Then the pipe was back in my mouth and I heard the click of the torch. “Three big hits, boy,” he instructed. “And pick a safe word.”
Surrendering to the waft of the clouds, I huffed and I puffed until my chest was full and by the time I had blown in I could feel the little piggy waking up. My head was spinning again—a spiralling mess of sensations crawling along my skin as even the faintest breeze of his breath set me off. Thoughts were difficult, so I deferred to the first word that came to mind. “Zebra,” I supplied.
“Zebra it is,” he growled. And then the box flew off the bed and his hands were on my chest, all but shoving onto my back. Letting out a surprised yelp as I hit the mattress, he climbed on top, straddling my chest. Flopping against my mouth, his hard cock was slippery with pre-cum. “You want my cock, don’t you?”
My chest fluttered. “Yes,” I whispered.
Gripping his shaft in his hand, he pushed the head closer, spreading the pre-cum around my lips. “I bet you do,” he growled. “You love it. In your mouth, in your hole. Bet you can’t wait until that beer finishes its trip and it’s time to feed you.”
Straining against the heavy, hairy thighs crushing my arms into my chest, I nodded. Fighting the temptation to reach out with my tongue and steal a little taste of the pungent, sweaty head as it traced its little circles, I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. Pounding inside my ribcage, my heart practically leapt against its confines, the perspiration on his legs mixing with the fresh sweat forming on my chest. “Yes, Sir,” I breathed.
The use of the title evidently struck a chord—groaning atop me, Chris leaned forwards. “Fuck. Open,” he ordered.
Obediently, my lips parted, and his cock slid past my open mouth. Even now I could still faintly test the acrid tang that was unmistakeably Sam, mixing with the delicate sweet and faintly sour that I understood to be myself. But overwhelming both of them was a salty, heady musk—blanketing the residual flavours, Chris’s taste quashed both and I strained my neck, struggling to get him further inside, needing more of it.
Above, Chris cooperated with the inefficient angle by taking some pressure off my chest. Balancing more on his shins he rose a bit, shifting his hips as we adjusted our alignment.
Satisfied with this new position, Chris paused, just holding the position. Below, I continued to swirl my tongue around his head and shaft, breathing through my nose. Then I felt him move—his pelvis pressing forward in a very slow, continuous thrust that brought his cock further. Panicking, I nearly choked as half a cock quickly became three quarters. Bumping the entrance to my throat, he ground his cock there, groaning as I gurgled and choked.
“Fuck, Daniel,” he groaned, grinding harder. “Fuck—more.”
Dizzy and flushed, my body jerked as I tried to cough and sputter around the rather sizeable gag I’d been presented with. I knew I had to keep breathing through my nose—but the unsuccessful gagging and coughing had already flooded my sinuses with relocated spit and mucus. Running down my nose, cheeks, mouth, it had even had begun to seep into the pubes pressing into my face.
Below, my cock began to harden.
“We’re going to have to train you to do this better,” he chuckled, giving a little push with his hips, eliciting a gag. “Although, honestly... I kind of like watching you choke.”
Below, my cock twitched.
Time passed. I was certain I was going to pass out—behind the blindfold, little stars were beginning to form. But then he pulled back, his rock-hard cock slimy and wet as I lurched forwards, wheezing in laboured pants.
Generously, he gave me a moment. Settling down next to me, one arm slipped underneath my back, pulling me close. Meanwhile, the other ran his index and middle fingers through the mixed splatter of saliva, snot, and pre-cum that had formed around the lower half of my face. Brushing it and gathering a nice little coating around the exploratory digits, he pushed them into my mouth. I could practically hear the grin in his voice. “What a mess you’ve made,” he observed as I suckled away.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I croaked around the intrusion.
Chuckling, Chris removed his fingers and shifted his weight so that he could overlook me. For a moment, I wondered if I was in trouble. But then, to my surprise, I felt his large flat tongue lap my cheek. Leaving a trail of his hot saliva in its path, it moved across my mouth, the little bridge underneath my nose, and then my chin before pulling away. Above I could hear him make squishing noises with one of his cheeks and then his tongue was back, cleaning up the other side of my face as it swept away the last of it the snot, pre-cum, and spit. Then his finger tapped my lips.
Open, it said, and my mouth parted.
Leaning in, Chris spat out the mix before pressing in with a crushing kiss, mashing his beard into my face as his thick tongue spread the viscous blend to every corner. All but wrapping my tongue in it as he swirled his around mine, his hand stroked the side of my arm gently, and I could feel the tension melting away leaving nothing but the humming need that buzzed through my bloodstream.
It also occurred to me that I was now hard.
Swallowing his gift dutifully, I could feel his mouth curl into a smile as our blended fluids traveled past my gullet. Stroking my side gently, he pulled away. Through our heavy pants and a grin that I could hear, he leaned in close. “It’s okay baby,” he whispered. “Just means I’ll have to keep fucking your face until you get the hang of me.” And for a moment we just paused there—taking a moment to recover as he considered what he wanted next. He arrived at his choice quickly. “Know what I haven’t had in a while?” he asked.
“No Sir,” I answered softly.
“A good rimming. But I bet you’d like to give me that though, wouldn’t you?” he growled. “Lord knows you want to stick every other part of my body into your mouth. What do you think boy? Think you can clean me up? And really get that tongue of yours up my ass?”
My breathing hitched. Schooling my features into a poker face, I wet my lips. “I think if that’s what you want, Sir,” I murmured, “What kind of boy would I be if I didn’t?”
“I haven’t cleaned up like you,” he warned, voice low as if threatening me with it. “It’ll be sweaty. Maybe even ripe. Sometimes that scares little boys away. Think that’s going to be a problem?”
“Not at all,” I whispered. “Whatever Sir wants.”
“Good answer.”
Then he was sitting up and I heard the crisp fizz of a cap between twisted off a bottle. Displacing the bed as his knees surrounded my face, balancing his weight on his shins, he took a long swig of the lager and then began to descend.
Nutty, earthy, salty, musky; bombarding my nose as the hairy crack of his ass lowered itself onto my face I leaned up, straining my neck as I buried myself in his wiry fur. Inhaling deeply, I shivered, captivated by the sheer potency of his odour and opened my mouth. Beginning by suckling at the interior of one of his cheeks, my tongue reached and delved into the layer of sweat that had begun to form. Responding with a rumbling groan, Sir took another swig, then pushed back, scratching my face lightly as he ground into it hard.
“Fuck—you’re eager aren’t you?”
I was. In the same way that Chris evidently didn’t find many boys down to eat him, my predilection to go with the flow meant I didn’t typically voice my appreciation for this part of the oral realm. But it was something of a guilty pleasure. And the way his crack bore down on me, my lips would press the little pinched muscles forming his pucker out of the way and let my tongue really dig into each nook to uncover the pinches of nutty, manly earthiness—my own little heaven. Taking my time, I teased deliberately, ensuring that no skin was left unturned as I cleaned every square millimeter around his hole.
“God damn...” he growled, reaching down to spread a cheek, granting better access to his hole. Accepting the invitation, my tongue pushed against his tight entrance. Overwhelmed by the salty strength of the flavour I had to catch myself—forcing myself to focus on the task at hand as the tip of my muscle teased and tested, looking for an angle where it could form the wedge I needed here.
He was definitely enjoying himself—letting out all manner of grunts and throaty rumbling noises between swigs of his refreshment. But I wasn’t going to be happy with ‘enjoying’—I wanted him to unravel and I was getting nowhere fast with my current methods.
Evidently, Chris hadn’t been kidding about not doing this often.
Then an idea occurred; my hands reached up. And despite being clasped together I managed to get them in a position where there was some leverage to pull in opposite direction. Digging into the corners of his cheeks, just below my chin, my fingers tugged while my tongue searched.
Bingo.
Had my mouth not been preoccupied, I might have smiled. But there were other priorities right now. Worming in closer, I worked the little sliver I’d formed, pleased as a bit more of my tongue managed to squeeze into his tight asshole.
“Jesus,” he gasped, his legs shaking for just a moment as he leaned over to drop the bottle into the trash. While it clattered noisily against its brother, Chris was already rebalancing, breathing hard, and using both of his hands to now spread his cheeks to give me the access I had really been looking for. “Why the fuck didn’t we start with this?” he wondered aloud.
Grinning, I shoved my tongue inside further.
“Jesus,” he groaned, louder this time.
Not bad, I considered, but maybe we can do better. Slowly, deliberately, I withdrew my tongue, slurping up the earthy flavour as I went. And once retracted about halfway, I paused—just enough to let him consider the next move—and then pushed back in as hard as I could.
“Jesus!” he roared. Finally satisfied, I repeated the motion, drinking his salty musk with each successive thrust. Building speed gradually, I was pleased when he began to push back harder, forcing my tongue past the sphincter to delve into the nutty, funky, headiness beyond.
And just as the flavour was becoming fainter, he pulled off my face, tearing off the blindfold off my eyes as he left. Staring down at me, his face was red and sweaty, his cock nearly purple as if it was ready to burst. Rising and falling in time with his heavy panting, his chest was shiny with sweat, giving the soaked fur the look of copper wire in the lamplight. Meanwhile, his mouth opened and shut, bobbing like a fish as he failed to come up with the words.
Smiling up at him innocently, I held my tongue, arms trembling with suppressed laughter.
“Well,” he finally started, then paused, pondering his next words for a moment. Then his hands were on mine, touching the leather straps briefly before settling on the clasp holding them together. With a click, the metal ring released, and he pulled my hands apart. “I think you’ve earned these.”
I couldn’t resist. “Thank you, Sir,” I chimed.
Narrowing his eyes, he gave me what might have been a glare, but then dissolved the leery stare with a snort. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he growled. “Hands and knees. Now.”
While I scrambled into position, he was already moving behind me. “You’re going to want to take some,” he warned as the poppers landed in front my face. And while I twisted the cap off, I heard the pop of the lube bottle opening, followed by the slicking sound of his hand on his cock. Hurriedly, I inhaled deeply in each nostril, feeling my ass muscles relax with each breath as the flush spread throughout my body.
Where earlier had been gentle and he’d eased himself into me gradually, this time was different. Three of the fingers he’d slicked his cock with went in, shoving in roughly, with little regard for the delicate tissues. And after just one twist to spread the lube about they were gone, replaced with the tip of his dick as he nudged my entrance.
Gripping my hips hard, he let out a low rumble, and pushed hard. Yelping as my muscles tensed involuntarily in spite of the poppers, he slid in fast, jostling on in with one long hard stroke. Then, while still holding one side of my waist, his other hand reached forward and pushed the top of my back, indicating he wanted me lower. Complying, I folded onto my forearms, being sure to keep the bottle nearby just in case.
Stretching my walls with his pulsing erection, my ass gripped him hard, almost dragging with him slightly despite the lubrication as he reared back, sliding out oh so slowly.
“You teased me earlier,” he observed.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I whimpered, straining over my shoulder so I could see the dark expression tinting his features.
“Didn’t seem sorry when you were being a smart ass earlier,” he replied dismissively, lifting his arm. Turning away, I shut my eyes.
Crack!
Sucking in a gasp at the impact, the sharp red pain spread outwards from from the cheek and up my spine, linking up with the pleasure senses mucking about in my head as they rolled into one sensation. Meanwhile, Chris’s hands were back on my hips, digging in hard as he thrust back in hard.
In this position, more depth was possible and I found my mouth just hanging open, clutching the bottle and sheets as he pounded into me. Like a piston he set a brutal pace, stroking across my prostate and dislodging more pre-cum into the substantial stain that was forming in the pouch.
“Chris—” I moaned, but either he didn’t hear me or didn’t care. Grunting and snarling as he fucked me hard, he pressed onwards with fervor. Within moments I had been reduced to a mewling mess and reached back for my own hard cock. Moving the pouch aside, I wrapped my fingers around it, stroking it as best I could in rhythm with his thrusts.
I could feel it coming close—between the battering inside me, the slick friction, and the lack of orgasm earlier I desperately wanted to cum. But then he stopped, breathing hard, leaving me whining at the loss of motion as he simply held position—cock half-inserted so there was deliberately no pressure against my prostate. Eyeing my adjusted posture suspiciously, he licked his lips. “And what do we have here?” he murmured, leaning in closer as he reached down, enveloping my grip in his. “Someone is hard.”
Whimpering, I nodded.
Gingerly, he extricated my hand as his began its own assessment. Starting with my foreskin, his rough fingers pinched the folds, grinding them together as he started to push his cock back in to the root. Once slipped under my foreskin, his hand continued onto my sensitive cock-head, brushing their calloused pads and the tips of the fingernails over the glans. Spreading the little slit between two of the nails, he pressed in, making me whine as he rubbed the opening of my urethra painfully. Satisfied, he gathered my pre-cum in his slick hand, and lowered his grip to my shaft.
“You’re very lucky you’re cute,” he growled, and resumed thrusting.
I had already been close. But between his coarse, slippery palms stroking me so they just brushing the top of my head, and the slower, more deliberate thrusts that all but dug into my swollen nub before sliding all the way in—I wasn’t going to last. Digging my nails into the sheets, I pleaded incoherently, moving my hips in time with his thrusts.
“Chris,” I gasped. “It’s—I can’t—please—”
“Do it,” he breathed.
Clamping down on his cock, my muscles stiffened as I spurt into his hand, making him groan and lean back as he shut his eyes. Stilling himself momentarily, he let out a slow exhalation through his nose—adjusting to the vice-like grip of the velvety tissue.
Holding his position, he pulled his cum-coated hand away from my softening sock. Smearing my load around his fingers as he moved it towards my hole, he pushed against his wiry pubes, prodding the edge of my tightened pucker with the tip of his nail. Sensing what was coming next, I uncapped the bottle and sniffed hard, sucking in the nitrites as he pressed harder, breaching the already-snug fit as it slid alongside his throbbing member, scraping the nerves as he buried himself to the knuckle.
Whimpering at the intrusion, I re-capped the bottle and arched my back, struggling to feel more. “Oh god,” I whispered.
“Tonight,” he breathed, grinding his hips forward into my beaten hole as he spoke. “I’m gonna get someone else in there with me. And really rip this hole open.”
“You really think we’ll be able to do that?” I gasped, shutting my eyes as I just focused on the throbbing, burning, tingling spreading through the nerves.
“Absolutely,” he grunted, twisting the digit, making sure I felt the burn. “And if you can’t, we’ll make you. Hell, I even know who I’m calling,” he continued, rubbing a second finger against my entrance. Forcing it in alongside its brother, he glanced down, eyeing his handiwork with a hungry look, letting out a groan of satisfaction. “Christ, Daniel...”
Mewling into the sheets, I bit my lip. “Promises, promises,” I chimed, earning a snicker.
“That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day,” he growled. And then the fingers were gone, leaving my ass alone with cock. And if the earlier pace had felt rough, I didn’t even have a word for this. Slamming in and out, he battered my spent hole, ripping yelps from my throat on the rougher strokes and I had no doubts that I would be tender and sore when this was over. Slapping his balls hard with each thrust, yanking my walls with each shove, he attacked my hole in a frenzy. Even if I’d screamed Zebra I doubted it would have reached him. So instead I held on—leaning into the fever pitch, knowing that between the tightness, roughness, and pace it was clear he wanted to finish too.
It didn’t take long. Another minute, maybe two? And I could feel his cock throbbing—stiffening up and expanding in preparation to mark me once more. His fingers dug in harder, and then came the roar.
“FUCK DANIEL!” he bellowed, drowning out my moan, his balls swaying as his body stilled. And deep inside me his pulsating member jerked, reacting to the shudder running through his body as it drove in to the root and unloaded in five thick pumps—his second gooey load meeting and merging with the remnants of its brother as the wetness spread through my guts.
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