Abandon

[AZRawPig]

On 1/9/2022 at 11:00 AM, Medwaym said:

Hot

Great FUCKN storytime..I want MORE

[mike43]

 Dry hot story very well written 

[fistmebaby]

wow, intense and beutiful!

[atljaded]

Great story!  lcredible writing. Thank you.

[Njn0mc]

Wish i could leave a reaction to the story🤬

 

Very hot story!!

[Guest]

On 1/25/2022 at 5:26 PM, shoreboy said:

2. The Perfect Slave

Jesse’s reading a book on a chaise lounge by the pool, but he keeps losing his place. The shirtless pool man—most definitely a man, not a pool boy—glances his way a couple of times from the far end of the pool. This guy has to be, Jesse thinks, one of the most ruggedly handsome men he’s ever seen, even from this distance. Slim waist, washboard abs, broad shoulders, longish sun-lightened brown hair, scruffy beard with a full mustache and hairy sideburns, and chest hair that aches to have a hand run through it. He’s mister fantasy cowboy in gym short instead of chaps. No, more like one of those perfect guys in magazine ads for expensive watches or name-brand colognes—water beaded on sculpted pecs—pictures he jerked off to back in his Long Island bedroom.

The pool man squats holding his pH testing tubes up to the sun, his lats glisten with sweat, a tuft of black hair under his arm, muscular butt fills out his black gym shorts, thighs taut in a crouch, calves flexed, extra-large bare feet. Satisfied with the pH levels, he dumps the tube's liquid on the deck. He snaps up his kit and returns it to the shed where vacuum hoses, chlorine canisters, and other paraphernalia of his trade are kept.

Jesse shoves his face back in his book searching for where he left off. Absently he runs a hand over his newly-buzzed scalp. 

He’s totally caught off guard when the pool man calls over to him, “Hey, Cue-ball, what’cha readin’?” The pool man closes the shed doors and saunters around the pool in a stride that conveys supreme confidence. An unmistakable oscillation in his gym shorts leaves no question as to why he’s so confident. He sits on the edge of the adjoining chaise across from Jesse, folds his hands in front of him, elbows on knees leaning forward, the bare tip of foreskin peeking out from a leg of his loose silk shorts. “Looks dirty.”

Jesse feels his face flush as he again runs his hand self-consciously over his shaved head (a late night inspiration of Mr. McPherson's, reluctantly agreed to by him before he was allowed to go off to his quarters). In a way the buzz cut gives him a feeling of renewal, but he’s still getting used to it. Jesse flips the book around and inspects the two Tom of Finland men fucking on the cover. Trying to sound casual, he reads aloud the title: "The Perfect Slave."

“’Hah!” croaks the man. “Mac gave you a manual?”

“I dunno. It was in my room," Jesse says, squinting into the sun. "I think it's just a made-up story.” He only now notices some disturbing welts on the man’s wide shoulders he hadn't seen from far away. “All the books in my room are about slaves and masters and junk. Some of them are really nasty, but this one not so much.” Jesse feels the man studying him. His dark olive eyes land on Jesse’s underwear. Shading his brow, curious to get a better look at the man, he sits up on the chaise and asks, “Is 'Mac' Mr. McPherson?”

“Mac is what me and Tommy call him, yeah." He reaches out to shake hands. His big mitt fully engulfs Jesse's small paw. "I'm Eros." His grip is really strong, leaving Jesse’s hand a little sore. “Don’t tell anyone," he whispers conspiratorially, "but my name’s really Eric, but Mac and Dante had other ideas. So Eros it is! Me and Tommy are in the shack down by the walkway.”

“I’m Jesse. But Cue-ball sounds about right,” Jesse says, grinning. “Yeah, I seen the shack. Looks small for two guys.”

“S’okay. Works for me and Mr. T—Tommy. T does the gardening, I do the pool. Sometimes we do Mac and Dante. Sometimes they do us,” Eros explains with a broad smile.
He’s taken aback by something else he didn’t see from far away: Eros has a few missing teeth. He assumes with his flawless frame and face he'd be perfect—Jesse scans his furry six-pack abs, his cut arms and legs, his brown hair he’s putting into a ponytail—but up close he can pick out minor oddities: a bruise under an eye, the nervous clenching and unclenching of his jaw, two grisly scars along his right wrist, more than a few nasty purple bruises inside the crook of his arms and a nasty one on his ankle.

“So what’s Mac’s book teaching you about being a perfect slave?” Eros asks, nodding at the book.

“It's just a dumb story. Um, I haven’t read that much."

"What's it about?" Eros leans back, his black armpit hair sticks out, glistening with sweat from the earlier pool vacuuming. Jesse bets this man doesn’t trim anything.

"So far? I guess it’s about these two guys who meet this older master, and one of them gets scared and runs off. But in a couple of months, because he didn't hear from his friend, the guy who ran off gets worried and goes back to the master’s house and sees the master has trained his friend to be like the perfect slave." Eros looks at him intensely, like no one has ever looked at him before. It makes him nervous and he begins chattering faster. "Like, I don't know, like he didn’t even know his friend anymore. Like his friend was completely buff now, and, like, worked out every minute and had this totally shredded body, but he isn’t all there.” Jesse taps his temple. He sees that Eros is looking up at Mr. McPherson's window. “That’s as far as I....” his voice trails off.

“Sounds oddly familiar,” Eros says, distracted.

Jesse looks up and sees Mr. McPherson opening the balcony door—naked, per usual, he’s come to realize. “Jesse," he calls down. "You ought to put on a cap. There should be several in your closet. And Eros, tell Tommy there’s a shipment of plants I want him to pick up at the dock.”

“Aye-aye, Cap'n,” Eros calls back up to him. “I’ll let him know.” Mr. McPherson thanks him, gives him a mock salute, and goes back inside. Eros looks sideways at Jesse, and flashes a provocative wink. “Your shoulders are getting a little red, my man. I have sunscreen in my shack. Come over and I’ll do your shoulders. You're back could probably use some too.”

Jesse grins, replies, “Aye-aye, Eros.” He likes that Eros doesn’t even ask if he wants him to put sunscreen on him, just assumes he would. He guessed right.

Eros leaves by the side gate and Jesse goes in his studio to look for a hat. He opens his closet and, sure enough, several caps line the top shelf. He picks up a black leather one, tries it on and, in the full length mirror on the back of the door, likes what he see: a guy he imagines looks a little tough, with kind of a butch air that Eros might like. It’s certainly better than his stupid lightbulb head. Satisfied, he comes back outside into the bright sunlight, exits through the same gate Eros used, and bounds down the shady walkway. 

It’s cool under the canopy of trees. Waves brake softly on the other side of the dunes. A chorus of chickadees and wrens peep and chirp from the branches above him. He passes a trickling fountain set in the middle of a koi pond on his right, close to the house. In the dark water fat speckled gold and ruby red carp swim, burbling up their large mouths to the surface before plunging down into the green mossy depths. Following the walkway downhill, a faded pink shack lies on his left before the walkway veers off to the boat dock. 
In front of the house, Eros chats with a slim blond guy. This presumably is Tommy. Smaller than Eros but definitely defined, the guy has a scraggly beard and is clipping low branches off a large oak as they talk. He’s in ripped denim cutoffs, work boots, no shirt, and is covered in tattoos from ankles to neck. He stops mid-snip when he sees Jesse. 

“Cue-ball,” Eros hollers at him. “Come meet T.” 

Jesse approaches tentatively. There’s something sketchy in the way T’s eyeing him. He’s staring at Jesse’s underwear for starters and that makes him suddenly self-conscious. The guy’s blond hair is stringy, long and unkempt like he never met a comb. There doesn’t look like there’s an inch of skin not covered on his chest and arms. As he approaches he notices not even a single finger is without some kind of mark or symbol on it. Across his chest and arms, skulls, top-hatted skeletons, names and words, and a lot of angry animals vie for room on his torso: a roaring lion, a panthers with bloody claws that cling to his ribs, a growling wolf, a snapping shark, a gnarly octopus reaches his tentacles into his cutoffs. Some are poorly drawn, kind of amateurish, some unfinished, like an eight ball on his neck seems to have been abandoned half-way through. One tattoo, however, has Jesse mesmerized: a realistically drawn twelve-inch wooden ruler, one exactly like he'd had in St. Teresa’s Catholic school, one he’d gotten his knuckles rapped more than once for talking back to Sister Helena. It’s accurate right down to the yellow-brown wood grain, with numbered markings down the side notched by eighths of an inch. It travels from the T’s wrist to the crook of his arm.

“Like what you see, friend?” Tommy asks, sneering at Jesse whose mouth gapes like one of the carp in the pond. The guy pulls out a pack of Marlboros and lights up. “He sure is a biddy one, in’t he?” he remarks to Eros. “He Mac’s new chew toy?” He blows out the match and flicked it toward Jesse. "You the new chew toy, boy?"

“Suppose he is. But he looks right size to me. A pretty pup—” Eros plucks the smoke from Tommy’s mouth, takes a drag and returns it, playfully cuffing Tommy’s chin. “And that’s a fact. Don’t mind him, Cue-ball. He was raised by a pack of wolves so don’t know no better. Takes him a while to warm up, but he eventually does. You just have to scratch his belly.” Eros overpowers T, surprising him, wrapping his arm around his waist and tickles his ribs.

Tommy’s doesn’t seem like someone prone laughter and hates it when Eros does this. He tries to feign anger but enjoys Eros' riling nonetheless, shouting, "The fuck off me, motherfucker," pushing Eros away forcefully enough to send the big guy to his butt into the ground ivy. "Asshole," he says, trying to regain his composure while suppressing a smirk. He pushes back his hair and manages to regain his initial scowl, which appears to be his go-to expression. Jesse notices, though, against this tough guy shell, his alert blue eyes, wide smile forced out by Eros, his button nose and apple cheeks, his features fight the supposed gruff guy exterior. Without the tats, scowl and maybe a haircut, he could be the boy next door, the one that dated your sister but snuck into your room late at night and fucked you silly. Where’d that idea come from, Jesse wonders? It’s from the book, it dawns on him, the character that ran away. Weird. Still, it doesn’t make him like Tommy any better. He’s nobody’s chew toy.

Tommy feels Jesse staring at him, probably judging him. He spits out, “So Mac fuck you like you never been fucked before, am I right?” Somehow, even after wrestling with Eros, he manages to keep his cigarette parked in the side of his mouth. He coolly takes a draw and calmly exhales with popping smoke rings. Jesse stiffens his lower lip not wanting to respond. Tommy leans his clippers against the tree, saying, “That’s what I thought. Your bow legs give you away.” He turns to Eros who glares at him from the ground. “Tell Mac I’ll bring the plants back in the golf cart." 

“Sure thing, Oscar,” Eros says, getting up and brushing dirt off his butt.

“What you say to me?” Tommy snarls at Eros.

Eros rises to his full height, towering over Tommy. “I said, sure thing…Oscar.” The two stare each other down, frozen like statues.

Finally, Tommy flicks his cigarette into Eros’ chest and then leaps onto the walkway. As he disappears behind an overgrown thicket of blackberries, he yells back to Jesse, "Awesome cap."

Eros brushed off the remaining dirt. “Well, that's T to a T."

“Why’d he get so pissed when you called him Oscar?”

"Oscar who lived in a garbage can? Well, when I first met T he was living out of a dumpster. Well, he didn't actually live in the dumpster, exactly.” Eros thinks about it for a second. “But pretty much. He don’t like being reminded of those days." Eros looks off in the direction of the dock. "Believe me, he's not always a dick, even if he seems like one.” He hops up on the walkway pulling Jesse up after him.

“If you say so.” They follow an offshoot from the main walkway to the shack.

“No, really. He’s a good guy. We've been together a long time,” Eros says, searching his pockets and pulling out a key. 

“How long?”

“Dunno. Long time.” Eros seems cagey about the subject. “See, I want to be a tattoo artist. Not much use for a pool guy in winter, right? And I don't wanna be stuck here forever. T's been letting me practice on him. Gives me an idea and I go on Mac's computer and find a stencil." He unlocks the door and stops in the doorway. "Maybe you let me practice on you sometime.”

“Maybe,” Jesse returns, noncommittally.

Eros motions for Jesse to come in. “Lasciate ogne speranza!” he melodramatically recites.

To Jesse’s ear it’s such incredibly bad Italian he barks out a laugh, but quickly returns in equally feigned seriousness, “Voi ch’intrate,” as he goes through the door.

“Say what?” Eros snorts, confused but somewhat miffed at Jesse's suspected snub in what sounded like pretty authentic Italian. He doesn’t like not having the upper hand.

“It’s the rest of the line from The Inferno, ‘Abandon all hope…ye who enter here’,” Jesse explains. “The nuns loved to scare us with all that nine circles of hell crap. And my grandpa…when I was little, he lived with us—never spoke one word of English—it was one of the only books he brought over with him. He use to read it to me. I remember crying one time cause he got so carried away with the devil part. He distracted me by having us watch some wrestling match. Became our Friday ritual." Jesse glances at Eros. “Bruno Sammartino, God he loved him. You look like him a little. If you had a bigger nose.” He’s rambling because, whether he knows it or not, he’s so goddamn envious of what he see looking around the shack. "It’s not exactly what I expected hell to look like,” he says, trying to make a joke of it.

The shack’s small, but a perfect breeze flows through the many windows. The forest might as well be part of the room. Dappled light plays across the lacquered floorboards. A worn wooden counter runs along one wall, next to a sink with a little round mirror hanging on a string, a mini-fridge and a hot plate. Across from the counter a gray futon lies on the floor, a beat-up dresser next to it. “Funny. Hmm. I still haven’t met him yet. Dante,” Jesse remarks, absorbing the life he feels in here.

“Didn’t know there was a second line.” Eros’ face has clouded over, like a rainstorm approaching. “That’s all Dante said when he showed me the place the first time. Lasciate ogne speranza.”

Paraphernalia’s strewn on the dresser includes a packet of cigarettes, a glass pipe in a ceramic ashtray, lighter, several cellophane baggies of white powder, and a dozen or so orange capped syringes.

Eros notes Jesse freeze when he sees the needles. "Thought T had cleaned up," he says.

Jesse feels the weight of Eros staring at him again. A tense silence shrouds the room since he’d spied the syringes. Jesse instinctively goes to the opposite corner of the room to examine some pornographic stencils thumbtacked to the closet door.

“Yeah, maybe you could do that—give me a tattoo. Like, two stars maybe, here and here," he says, pointing to his hip bones. "I always seen that on porn guys—not that I think I’m a porn guy.” Studiously he examines a stencil of a very phallic looking snake. “Not really me. Awhile back I got a fish tattooed on my ankle. Cause I’m Pisces.” He angles his foot to show Eros, who’s cooling looking at him. Jesse points to the scorpion tattoo on the back of Eros’ hand. “You’re Scorpio, right? I bet that hurt, tattoo on bones and all.” Eros keeps quietly staring at him. "Pisces and Scorpies get along real good," he babbles, suddenly hearing what an idiot he sounds like. He becomes quiet waiting for Eros to say something.

One of the bamboo blinds catches a breeze, and unrolls with a snap against the windowsill. Jesse winces.

Eros goes over and ties back up the blind. “The scorpion means something else.” Eros seems about to add more, but changes his mind. 

The earlier mood has been deflating by the second since they entered. Jesse's shoulders begin to sag. Eros tells him, “Sit or lay down and I’ll do your shoulders, so you can get back to your slave book.” 

Jesse think for a second about just leaving—about crying, actually—but instead kneels onto the futon and then lays down.

Eros pauses, then asks, "You want skivvies on or off?”

Without a second’s thought, Jesse pulls off his underwear.

He hears Eros above him hold his breath before suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter. “Fuckin’ A, boy! That is the whitest ass I’ve ever seen!” Eros can’t help himself now. He’s escalated to braying! “C’mon, you’re blinding me, kid! Where’s my fuckin’ sunglasses?” 

Fucking donkey, Jesse thinks, but keeps it to himself.

Eros remains genuinely committed to ridicule. The longer it goes on the more Jesse can’t help but start to break down his defensiveness. It's probably more relief than belief that his white ass is as hysterical as Eros’ guffaws make it out. But still it makes him titter at Eros under his armpit. In return the pool man he'd met back on the chaise returns an expansive, tooth-gapped grin. It’s funny and stupid and meaningless all at the same time.

Eros plops on the futon to his left and draws an ‘S’ with the suntan lotion down his back all the way to his tailbone. Eros gives out a few last blurts, but he’s getting into his task. The boy’s smooth back and bubble butt, white as it is, also helps.

A little cold dribble trails from Jesse’s coccyx into his crack. Eros massages the lotion over Jesse's back, kneading his shoulder with a firm grip. Jesse melts into the futon. The strong musk of two men wafts up from the pillow. He tries to ignore it as best he can lest he spring an immediate boner. Eros forcefully applies pressure over his back and slides greasy hands along the sides of his ribcage.

“Fuck, Eros, you’re great at this,” he says. He’s beginning to feel like putty in the rugged man’s hands—which kind of is the plan of him coming to the shack, well, before he’d encountered Tommy.

“Folks say I’m the best." Eros grazes his hairy chest over Jesse’s back with the excuse of rubbing lotion on Jesse’s extended right arm. "And not just putting on sunscreen,” he brags shamelessly. He glides slippery lotion around each of Jesse’s butt cheeks, then draws a line down each of his legs, rubbing it in and around the sides of his thighs. “Your legs are so smooth. Mac shave you last night?” he asks softly, massaging his left calve, then running his palm inside his thigh stopping as he brushes Jesse’s taint.

Between the smell of Eros and Tommy buried in the pillow and Eros’ increasing erotic touch, Jesse feels an inevitable erection coming on. He shifts his hips for a second to free his hardening dick, but the move coincides with Eros’ gliding his fingers close enough to Jesse’s crack that it causes a slight detour. Eros’ pinky and ring fingers slip easily inside Jesse’s sloppy butthole. The boy can’t help but yelp in instant surprise overlapping with pleasure.

Eros smiles to himself and keeps massaging, as if spreading lotion always involved sticking fingers up someone’s ass. “You’re lucky,” Eros says, not losing a beat. He puts his full weight into Jesse's thighs, wrapping his hand under to massage the top side of his leg along with the back. Jesse’s smooth balls get their share of Eros’ furry fingers grazing his testicles. “Hair’s always getting caught up wherever, when I’m getting greased." His hands slip under both sides of Jesse's pelvis. Then, in an opposite motion, Eros presses down with the heels of his hands pulling Jesse’s ass cheeks apart. "Your hole is smooth, too, I bet,” Eros says, examining his sphincter. A dollop of spit drools onto the hole and then a finger follows up. “Yep. You’ll never need to shave that pretty bung hole. That's an A-1 puckerer if even I saw one. And that’s no lie.”

Jesse doesn’t know how to respond, but knows he doesn’t want Eros to stop. “Thank you?” Jesse weakly proposes in his state of arousal. Eros released another string of spit collecting in the crevice. “Mmm,” Jesse murmurs. Giving into desire, he pushes out his ring so it opens slightly.

Eros uses his finger to swirl his saliva around the small opening. Like an undulating worm, his index finger crawls inside the entrance, eliciting a deep moan from Jesse. Eros licks his other fingers, and slides his full palm inside. Once he feels Jesse accepts his hand, he rocks in and out. “You like that, baby?” Jesse groans a deep, gratifying affirmative. With Jesse’s hole submitting, Eros tries a couple of fingers from his other hand. Now six fingers occupy Jesse’s hole. Jesse can’t help but grunt as Eros pulls open his ring from side to side, massaging both inside and outside the hole. Eros lets drop another large dollop of spit that seeps down into the gaped opening. Jesse whimpers as Eros has three fingers from each hand now pulling his sphincter apart. Eros rocks his fingers in and out, pulling the interior walls in opposite directions. He lowers himself just above the boy’s ear, “How’s that for you? You want me to keep going?”

“Yesssss,” Jesse wheezes, pressing his ass up into Eros’ expert hands. “Fuck, Eros, Mr. McPherson gave you the right name.”

Eros withdraws one hand and with his other adds his pinky finger into Jesse's open butt, immediately following up with the whole palm of his other hand. “Two hands, eight fingers, kiddo. Mac really opened you up nicely. Your hole is really hungry, isn’t it, baby?” Jesse affirms, mm-hm. “Did he fist you?”

“No. But I've always fantasized about it.” The shack is quiet for some time as Eros feels inside Jesse's body, pulling his ass apart, spying deep into his colon. With his face smooshed into the bed, Jesse confesses, "I seen a lot of fisting on the internet and I always wanted to be a guy that rides a fist." 

"From my experience, it's mostly a psychological barrier." Eros’ palms turn one way then the other, causing all kinds of grunts to erupt out of Jesse. “Got my scorpie stinger fully inside you, buddy, but I don’t know if you’re ready to take a fist as big as mine. I got extremely big paws and they don’t collapse. Mac and Dante can take 'em but more than likely a first timer’s a no-go."

"No. Keep going, Eros," Jesse urges, face muffled in the pillow, fully enraptured by Eros’ and Tommy’s scent, loving the sensation of this hot man inside his rectum.

"Okay, I’ll go slow and you tell me if it starts to hurt.” He pulls his hand out, opening the bottom dresser drawer and gets out a can of grease. He applies a heaping amount over his hand and pushes some inside Jesse's hole. He slips two fingers back in and, with the pads of his fingers, coats the walls as far into the kid’s rectum as he’s able. He slides four fingers in fairly easily, but at the web between his finger and thumb the boy flinches. He tries again, slower this time, but Jesse recoils with a cry in the futon. "Baby, you're probably sore from last night. You might need a break."

Jesse turns on his side not ashamed to show Eros' how his hand has turned him on. His rigid cock points straight up, his newly upgraded 6 gauge P.A. falls heavily to the side.

“Look at you with your hard on and P.A.,” Eros chuckles, giving the ring a tug.

"Maybe you can use just your dick then," Jesse suggests, helpfully. He’s never wanted a man inside him like this before. Mr. McPherson definitely opened his floodgates. 

The door swings open and Tommy returns home. Jesse quickly turns onto the futon burying his hard-on together with his not-well-thought-out plan. 

Tommy absorbs the scene, and begins washing dirt off his hands. “Hey, don’t let me stop you." He turns off the water and picks up a towel. "Awesome P.A., chew toy,” he teases, playfully smirking.  

Eros’ cock is tenting his shorts. He says to Tommy, “What do you think, T? My man, here, wants to take his first fist and we all know my big mitt is to too much for a newbie."
“Eros!” Jesse quickly interjects, “I thought it was just you and me."

"I’m hurt, kid," Tommy says, disingenuously, finishing drying his hands. “You cut me deep. Maybe all I wanna do is watch Eros rip apart a punk's fuckhole.”

Jesse has his face buried in the futon. Eros sticks two fingers into Jesse butt. Jesse grabs his hand and yanks it out. This makes Eros growl and slap his ass, hard. Jesse yelps and sits against the wall, his hard-on still completely rigid. Jesse pouts, his arms wrapped around his knees, his balls hiding his butthole.

“I think,” says Eros slowly to Tommy, “my man came here to get his first fist, and Mr. T, with his human-size mitts, is the perfect one for cherry popping.”

Jesse bites his lower lip, considers his options, seeing Tommy eyeing him, waiting to see what he has to say. “Maybe he don’t wanna fist me,” he says. “He don’t even like me.”

Tommy studies Jesse, takes in Eros' bulging shorts, and sniggers, “I like you okay, but I'm more interesting in fisting you.” He jumps down next to Jesse and plays with his P.A. Seeing the boy sitting there compromised, maybe a bit humiliated, but at the same time defiant, brings out some empathy for the punk. “Sorry ‘bout earlier,” T says, still toying with his P.A. “Sometimes I'm an asshole—sometimes a dick. You caught me being both." He takes a bead of pre-cum off Jesse's ring and licks it. "How’s ‘bout me and Eros get naked with you, smoke a peace pipe, and see where that goes,” Tommy says, the forest light catching his blue eyes, teeth shining beneath sandy blond whiskers. He unbuttons his cutoffs, and slips them over his work boots, revealing a growing hard-on beneath a shaved but colorful crotch. Where the pubes would be, the smooth area is dominated by a red and black demon tattoo whose mouth ends with Tommy's dick sprouting out like a big pink tongue. “How’s that sound, Chewbacca?"

The proposition persuades; the demon dick seals the deal. Jesse nods his head excitedly. 

Eros brings over a full bowl and lighter. They sit cross-legged in a circle passing around the glass pipe. Tommy shows Jesse how to shotgun, and once he gets the hang of it, he shotguns Eros and Eros shotguns Tommy. After the pipe makes a few rounds, Eros strips off his shorts springing to life his dark, fat uncut cock, its pink head poking through monumental foreskin. He lays Jesse on the mattress and dry humped his hairy torso against Jesse smooth body. Tommy tilts the pair to their sides and takes up frotting Jesse from the back. Sandwiched Jesse writhes in heaven.

Eros goes down on Jesse, and Jesse almost loses his mind. The rough beard and mustache tortures his skin. He twists his head around and sticks his mouth on Tommy, then urges Tommy to get higher up the bed so he can suck his demon dick. Close up, he sees the pantheon of small experimental tattoos Eros has created. All are filthy and beautiful. Hairy gorilla-men with huge cocks and giant nipples, fucking, sucking, eating ass, bald demons fist-fucking startled, orgasming boys, phallic aliens spurting fountains of cum, men transforming into wolves, bears into men, men into beasts. Tommy’s pelvis is a temple of perversion. Jesse ogles them all, touching each degenerate image. He sees bravery in Tommy putting his imagination and desires on permanent display, how much he doesn’t give a shit what the world thinks of him or his desires. He wants to be like him, wants Eros to carve images like those into him, too. He sucks on the demon tongue, getting Tommy fully aroused, showing him he can swallow his demon to its root. And Tommy’s fine with that, pressing the kid’s head against his pubic bone, skullfucking him hard.

Images come alive to Jesse as he accepts Tommy’s cock down his throat. He gags only a few times, and each time it makes Tommy more excited. Jesse’s mind wanders as he’s sucking cock. The illustrated performance of degenerate acts becomes a roadmap of where he wants to travel and how to get there. He grabs Tommy’s hand—the one with the wooden ruler—and puts it between his legs, shoving it into his crack and grinds on it.

Jesse releases Tommy’s rod and relaxes against Eros’ chest. Tommy lifts a leg, Eros lifts his other and inches them back against the wall. Both legs in the air, Jesse’s puckering hole now fully exposed, Tommy touches it was a dollop of grease.

"Give him some amyl," Tommy suggests, holding one of Jesse legs while Eros fumbles with the dresser drawer and takes out a wooden box. He opens it and brings out a capsule.
Jesse looks up to Eros curiously. "It’s like poppers only stronger,” Eros assures him. “Don’t worry. I got ya." Eros breaks a capsule under Jesse nose and tells him to breathe deep. 
Jesse obeys and feels his morality shed like snake skin. "Oh, fuck, yeah," he breathes, as Tommy pushes in a ball of grease. It feels incredibly slimy and he feels incredibly sleazy—loving this new state of mind. "Aw, shit, man. Yeah! Stick that shit up my ass," he bellows.

"Hey Tommy, I think he likes it," Eros gloats, pulling Jesse’s legs farther apart.

Tommy knits his brow and pushes in more grease, making sure it fully coats Jesse rectum. Four fingers easily slide in, as Jesse’s anal nerve endings catch fire. He melts back into Eros' pelt, and runs his peach fuzz cheek against his fur, running his fingers up to the man’s powerful shoulders, then down through Eros' armpits. He slathers the wetness he finds there across his palm, holds the man’s scent to his nose, then sticks his fingers in his mouth. He savors the acrid taste, at the same time giving Tommy more access to his guts. He feels his ass being probed and stretched by a knowing hand. The amyl seduces his mind, surrendering to these two experts, craving their control and wanting them to mold him in the fashion they were molded. The more perverse the better.

"Up to the fleshy part of my thumb,” reports Tommy. His other hand slowly strokes his hard-on.

"Three big hits,” Eros says. “Ready?" He breaks a second capsule and holds Jesse tightly, holding the chemical under his nose, getting a heady waft of it himself. Jesse feels lightheaded, swoons after the third huff, tries to avoid any more by tilting his head away, but Eros hold his head fast, not allowing him to move. He orders Jesse to keep inhaling and to hold it until he, Eros, permits him to release.

Jesse holds it in. Obeying Eros is instinctual. His mind reels with obscene thoughts of what he wants Eros and T to do to him. Most of all he wants Tommy’s hand to impale his hole. Eros tells him can exhale. Jesse is wild as he draws breath. "Yeah, fist my hole open, T. Wreck it, wreck my hole!" Tommy's hand slides in as Jesse yowls, his sphincter squeezing the fleshy part of Tommy’s hand, which of course pushes Tommy’s hand in deeper, quickly slurping up to the wrist inside the burning virgin cavern.

"That's it, good job," Eros murmured in his ear, holding his legs with his forearms, lightly playing with his nipples.

But a sudden panic flares up inside Jesse’s bowels. His body sets off alarm bells with the realization of a large foreign object now resides inside his body. "Take it out. Get it out," he wails, clamping his asshole.

"Dude, I can't. Relax. You're squeezing too hard. Give him another cap, Eros."

Eros scoops up another amyl, breaks it and holds Jesse's head firmly until he feels the boy surrender in his arms. "Enjoy it, baby,” he growls seductively. “Feel T's hand inside you. It's a man's hand that has you. Feel how he controls you with the slightest movement of his fingers." Tommy enacts exactly what Eros is saying as he says it. “Feel how T’s touching the most intimate parts of your body. It’s your virginity being deflowered.” On cue, Tommy twists his hand feeling the vast internal wall of the boy’s rectum, feeling the heat and wetness of this enraptured creature under his control. “Feel,” Eros whispers, “how he can twirl a finger and tease parts of you open that have never been touched. You can’t stop him even if you wanted. I’m holding you open and T is probing you. And, besides, you don’t want it to stop.”

“I don’t,” Jesse gasps in complete agreement.

“The fucker’s really opening,” Tommy says, feeling a new depth he can get to. Feeling his hand reach the proper depth, he starts curling his fingers toward his palm.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. T, what are you doing?" Jess asks incredulously, not being able to see anymore, only feeling the strangest sensation of Tommy doing something inside him, a feeling he never in a millions years could imagine. "What is that?"

"I'm rolling my hand into a ball.” He pauses: mission accomplished. “You've got your first fist in you, dude. You’ve taken my fist. How's that feel, motherfucker?" Tommy watches any strain melt from Jesse face, as he slowly rotates his fist inside the kid's body. "You like being my hand puppet, Chewbacca? Huh?" He pulses it only slightly to let the kid know he’s got total control of his bowels.

"Yeah. I wanna be your meat puppet, T," Jesse confesses, opening his eyes, taking Tommy in for first time since taking his hand. He looks up into Eros' face. "I've got T's fist in me, Eros. Fuck, it’s so fuckin’ good," he rasps, as Tommy twists it back and forth. He feels Tommy starting to pull out. He pleads, emphatically, "No, no, no. Leave it in."

Tommy releases it back in. Jesse runs a finger down Tommy's forearm tracing the inches of the ruler to see how far in he is. Tommy sees what he was after. "I'm in two inches, fucker," he says, stroking his cock.

"Fuck," is all Jesse can say in amazement. 

Eros exchanges a look with Tommy. Tommy nods. Eros lays Jesse back on the mattress and breaks another amyl under the boy’s nose. Jesse put up no resistance. His arms fall open like he’s on a crucifix. He relishes how far away he is, how good he feels, breathes in the amyl over and over, getting completely lost in the gauze of his mind. He’s the Good Thief on the cross. He’s a Roman soldier. He’s the spear that’s piercing him. He’s entered the first circle of Hell and loving it.

Tommy opens his hand, pulls it out slightly, then slides it back in. Jesse grabs his knees and mutters fuck me over and over. Tommy and Eros give each other knowing smile. Tommy slowly works up to piston-fisting without ever coming out of the boy’s chute. He notes how much of the broadest part of his hand can stretch apart the boy’s hole. He coolly observes how much Jesse is getting off on being stretched. Feeling his power and control over the kid, Tommy rock hard cock leaks pre-cum. 

Eros approvingly watches T getting ready to use Jesse’s hole. He sees him bend over the kid and helps him to lube up his rigid pole. 

Tommy pumps his hand to the fleshiest part of his palm, where he expands Jesse’s hole to its maximum stretch. Jesse relishes the stretch now, grimacing at first, but slowly coming round to desiring this sensation. Once Tommy knows Jesse is able to take the full stretch, he inserts his hand deep, opens his palm inside the hole, leaving his thinner wrist at the entrance. Slowly he eases in his erection next to his wrist and the stretched hole begins to accept the added flesh. 

Eros break yet another cap under Jesse’s nostrils then shares it with Tommy. He savors Jesse's expression of submission to his man: the boy’s eyes staring into the distance, mouth agape, as Tommy presses his hand and cock deep inside the boy’s hole. Eros strokes himself, too, as witness to the lust of these two beasts heaving in exaltation. 

Tommy feels his cock inching toward the palm of his hand, feels it slide into his grip, then starts rocking his cock back and forth in his palm. As he masturbated inside the boy, his cockhead expands even larger, his cockhead engorged by his tight grip. His cockhead flattens until he feels it pop through his thumb and finger, into the viscous, fleshy canal beyond, with Jesse blasting out a rapturous cry.

Jesse’s overwhelmed by new sensations: first, the additional stretch being asked of sphincter, enjoying that Tommy, a man he hardly knows, is pulling him apart—this hot, tattooed dirt bag douchebag is fisting the shit out of him; and second, the size of the fist had increased, not painfully but noticeably. But he was also aware of a new rhythmic throbbing of an internal piston, something familiar yet combined with stimuli he can’t grasp. Opening his eyes, sees Tommy above his body humping him. He puts it together, first in a burst of panic, but then aware his body has already accepted and, more, is enjoying the fuck out of it. He speaks directly to Tommy above him, "Yeah, jerk off in me, T. Fuck my guts. Shoot your cum and breed me, sir." 

Hearing sir triggers something in Tommy and he explodes, quaking his body into his hand and inside Jesse’s hole, flooding this scumbag motherfucking chew toy with copious amounts of his tainted seed. He pinches his cockhead buried inside the fucker, squeezing out his swimmers, causing him pleasure and increasing shudders of post-climactic distress that he doesn’t want to end. Eros plants his mouth on Tommy and they make out over the writhing boy beneath.

As Tommy empties the last of his load, he looks down, saying, “Open.” Jesse opens his mouth and Tommy hocks a wad of spit into his mouth.

Tommy dislodges his cock and is slowly extracting his hand when Eros grabs him by the wrist. "No way, dude," he snarls. Tommy kneels to the side, hand still firmly lodged inside Jesse's cum-covered guts. Eros rubs the foreskin of his large emerging cockhead against Tommy lubed wrist. The foreskin slowly slides its way alongside Tommy’s wrist. Tommy watches Eros' body dominate the kid’s small frame, feels the pressure build at the boy’s resisting hole as even further girth is demanded to stretch open his sphincter. 

Eros' stone-hard cock is no match for Jesse. He breaks the entrance with Jesse giving a sharp gasp. The girth of Eros combined with the volume of the hand is too much for Jesse. He tosses his head in rejection and pushes at Eros’ chest. Eros holds the boy’s head in his hands, his eyes boring into Jesse’s, wresting control of his will. Jesse realizes he can’t resist Eros, nor—in his heart—does he want to, and accepts his manhood, with Tommy's hand stroking the tip back and forth inside him. Eros waits for an outward sign of the boy’s surrender. Jesse’s mouth opens, and Eros spits in it. Eros slides more of his shaft deeper into Tommy's waiting hand making Jesse inhale in distress. "So fucking hot, boy, getting jacked inside you with my man’s hand." His deep voice seduces him, overrunning his resistance, overturning every red flag his body throws out. Jesse cringes, takes a breath, then parts his leg wider so Eros can dive all the way to his thick black bush. He feels Eros’ wiry hairs scratching his hairless balls. Tommy forces back Eros’ foreskin, and Jesse feels this enormous cockhead infiltrating his intestine, the girth like nothing he's ever felt. 

"Try to push us out," Eros instructs Jesse as he impales him.

It’s a futile order, but one he knows not to disobey. Furiously he clamps down with all his might. After only a few seconds of pounding, he’s not able to keep up the strain of clamping down, and surrenders. Tommy's hand slides in deeper. Where once Tommy had grasped Eros at the base of his cock, he now is further up Jesse’s colon pulling on Eros’ foreskin driving him and Jesse into a frenzy, both bucking wildly, Jesse in distress, Eros in ecstasy. 

"Get me off, T,” says Eros. “Get me to knock up this hole," he pants, his forearm coiling like a boa constrictor around Jesse’s head, his black armpit hair drenching the boy's lips.
In an abandonment he submits to, Jesse licks the dripping sweat from the man’s pits, feeling Tommy pistoning his guts, Eros’ cockhead ravishing his entrails in the deepest part of his body. Jesse reaches down and feels how hard his own cock is. He clutches and releases his helpless hole, allowing both men to use his intestine with violent recklessness, until his hole orgasms in tectonic quakes, stronger even than his cock had ever erupted. His body shakes repeatedly as Eros explodes, Tommy squeezing his manhood mercilessly because he knows Eros wants it no other way. Eros spasms along with Jesse, roaring with the timbering of a heavy body from the sky, raining down on Jesse, crushing him, a torrent of cum spewing in his guts, heavy breath, sweat, stench, then secondary tremors, first in Eros, then in Jesse, then back again to Eros.

Jesse’s body vibrates like a plucked bass string, trembling in shocked overload. Unable to process all that’s been done to him, all of which was willingly and unwillingly accepted. His mind is untethered—free floating. The powerful wrestler Bruno Sammartino lies on top of him. He glides his palms over the wrestler’s enormous shoulders, along the powerful chest. The wrestler kisses him and he kisses him back, deeply. Then the nasty boy next door in all his tattoos bends over and kisses him, too.

A warm breeze passes through the shack. The bamboo blinds catch the ocean air, and fall to the window sill. No one moves. Jesse feels a little more sperm leak in his hole. Tommy and Eros’ sperm will be with him for a long time.

Eros extracts himself from Tommy's hand. Out of T’s grip and Jesse’s wrecked mess of a hole, Eros falls on his back. Slowly his breathing calms as he stares at the ceiling. He listens to the sea on the far side of the dunes, and feels the waft of the ocean cool his dripping body.

With much more care, Tommy slides his hand almost out of Jesse ass. At the beginning of withdrawal, Jesse moans. He anticipated the disconnectedness the boy would soon feel, the confusion of regret and still simmering desire. He knows because once, long ago, amid the back alley trashcans, anything-for-a-fix days he’s fought to suppress, he’s knows this feeling. Much to Jesse's satisfaction he returns his hand inside.

Jesse isn’t yet ready to give up T’s offering, but his mind is beyond spent. Raw, inflamed, yes. Jesse runs a finger over Tommy's forearm, and Tommy understands.

"Six inches," Tommy says to the silent query. "Good start, Chewbacca. Now push out your pussy and give me back my fuckin’ hand.”

Jesse complies and grunts with an epic shudder as Tommy’s hand dislodges. 

“Show us your wrecked cunt,” says T. Eros rolls over to watch Jesse stretch his cheeks apart and push out a small, cum-filled rosebud. A tiny creature slithers out like some shy, exotic sea anemone then returns inside his rectum. Eros taps two fingers against his hole ordering him to push again. Jesse pushes harder this time. As his guts pushed out, Eros pulls the lips apart and Tommy traced a finger around the sphincter. Eros bends in and laps some cum out of the boy’s feathery pedals, depositing spent seed back into Jesse waiting mouth. Tommy puts pressure around the boy’s delicate tendrils. Eros and Tommy admire the gaping protrusion, each taking a turn to lick it.

Tommy lobs a comment to Eros, "Looks like we'll pull a prolapse out of Chewy yet." 

Eros grins, and brushes his shadowy beard against Jesse's sensitive bloom, causing Jesse to flinch, and yet he responds by exposing even more of his rose to Eros’ sandpaper chin. He knows that that’s a sensation he wants much, much more of.
 

Totally fucking hot story. I could picture me being with T and Eros. But they would have slammed me while T was deep in my AssPussy.  Then I'd have taken both their cocks in my hole.

[bottomboyam]

Amazing story. 

[spundog]

This, on top of Last Known Address (I read the uncut version on GayDemon), puts you in the top rank of gay erotica authors, and I've read hundreds. Thank you so much for sharing your talent with us. 

If you've published anything commercially, I'd love to know where I can find it.

[bottomboyam]

Hot as hell story. 

[bottomboyam]

Also @spundog what is the story’s title on Gay Demon. I just tried to find it and could not.