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A happy ending, that is also a new beginning

It was 7:30 am on Wednesday morning, my alarm clock very rudely informed me. I was conditioned by years of training to respond to its rudeness by getting up, taking care of my morning ablutions, getting dressed, making myself breakfast, and heading out on my 14-minute walk to school (I decided to actually time it, for once, given that I had done the same for the walks between my apartment and Eric’s house, and between Eric’s house and the high school.)

While walking, it dawned on me that Eric and I had not made specific plans for the day, for after school got out: Unlike Monday and Tuesday, my mother would not be home until at least 6:45 pm—possibly later, if she decided to go to the store (typically, for groceries.) Eric had suggested on Monday that we might switch back to anal sex, once my mother’s “weekend” (Monday..Tuesday) was over, so that we could do that at my apartment, in order to avoid using Eric’s mom’s enema bottle. But we hadn’t actually made explicit plans to do that, for today.

So, should I just head home after school? Or should I go to Eric’s house again?

Long story short, Eric mooted that issue by walking right past me, while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria, and surreptitiously handing me a note, and then walking out of the cafeteria. I didn’t immediately try to read the note, but quickly—and, I hoped, nonchalantly—squirreled it away in the binder I always carried with me at school, that I used to take notes, and keep any documents I needed for my academic life. I just hoped that no one had noticed.

After having left the cafeteria, I went to my next class (Civics, where I would be turning in my mini-essay on “due process.”) I arrived about 10 minutes early, so no other students were there in the classroom yet—presumably, they were still all on break—and only then did I retrieve Eric’s note. In it, he informed me that we should head to my apartment after school. And that was all the note said.

Yes! Hopefully, that meant that we would switch back to anal sex, at least for today.

So, when school got out, I just headed home, as I normally would have done, in those ancient days before I had ever met Eric—just 5 days ago. It really did seem like it had been longer ago than that, but then, it also seemed like it had been only yesterday.

On the walk home, I wondered whether Eric might get lost, since the route to my house from the high school was not the same as the one from his house. I needn’t have worried: He knocked on the door just a few minutes after I had arrived home, myself.

We grinned at each other, and I stepped aside so that he could enter, and then closed the door. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was about a minute shy of 3:30 pm.

“Smart move, with that note,” I said.

“We have to start remembering to make plans for the next day,” he replied. “By the way”, he continued, “I didn’t want to risk getting my parents upset by having you over after school every day. Not sure whether that might be a problem, but better safe than sorry.”

“Wise”, was all I said.

“What about your mother? Will she be bothered if I stay for dinner a few times per week?”, he asked.

“I don’t think so”, I replied. “Especially not if your parents do the same for me, a few times per week, as well.”

“Well, in that case, I guess that means that we both can look forward to a greater variety of cooking styles”, he mused, smiling infectiously.

“Good point. I wouldn’t complain: Your mother’s a very good cook”, I answered.

“Yours is too, if last Saturday is any indication”, he noted. Then he continued, “I also wanted to give your jaw a break, and give you what I know you’ve been wanting since Sunday”, he said with a big grin.

“Awe, shucks. You were thinking of me. That’s so sweet of you”, I replied, matching his grin.

Then he stepped forward, embraced me in a big hug, kissed me, and said, “I can’t wait until we can get our own place, so we can spend the night together.”

Not having thought ahead that far yet, it took me a bit to process that. Having someone “to have and to hold,” and in whose arms I could enjoy feeling wanted, valued, possessed, was just as important to me as sex—at least.

“You really are serious about this relationship, aren’t you?”, I finally responded.

“More than you know”, he replied. I was definitely feeling some kind of way. I hugged him tighter, and took the initiative to get more kissing underway. Was I actually falling in love?

“Let’s get started, Babe”, he said finally, after breaking away from the seemingly never-ending kiss we had been engaged in.

“I second that emotion”, I replied—consciously stealing that line from one of the songs by Smokey Robinson And The Miracles that I had really grooved to, back before I had even started high school. He laughed, and said, “I know that song.”

Taking his hand, I led him to the bathroom, so that we could take care of the hygienic necessities: An enema for me, followed by a shower for the both of us.

After reaching my bedroom—both of us totally nude—he asked, “Are you ready to take this to the next level?”

“Uhmm…what do you mean?”, I asked.

“Well, I COULD fuck you with your back against a wall, holding your legs up, using my dick and pelvis to help support you, so that you won’t fall”, he suggested, shrugging nonchalantly.

That gave me a mental image..one which got me sexually excited, and aroused. Boing!

“That sounds HOT!”, I enthused. “But..can you really do that?”, I inquired.

“I’ve done it before. Many times. It’s my favorite position”, he said, with a mischievous grin. I noticed that he, too, was getting hard.

However, there was still a very serious question that had been left unanswered: What wall would we use? Looking around, I quickly concluded that there really weren’t any walls in my bedroom with a free space that would be large enough. He apparently reached the same conclusion, just after I did, and gave me worried/perplexed look.

“We could use the front door”, I said.

“Huh…We really need to get you your own enema bag, and keep it in my room. There’s plenty of free wall space there”, he said, thoughtfully.

“What do those cost?”, I asked. I had very little money.

“Don’t worry about it. My allowance will cover it, no problem”, he stated. He intuitively understood my funding situation. “But, what if your mother comes home unexpectedly?”, he asked.

“Hmmmm…We’d hear her coming up the stairs. So…we should both put our shirts and undershirts back on. That way, it will take less time to get dressed, if the unexpected happens: We’d have to run into my room, close the door, and get our pants on. She won’t immediately barge in to my room. I don’t think she’s ever done anything like that, before”, I replied.

“OK. You’re the expert”, he smirked.

I gave him a look, for daring to use my own words to him, from a few days ago, against me. But I was actually amused.

“You’re forgetting something”, he said. I was about to ask, “What?” But instead, the answer occurred to me: Lubricant. So instead, I said, “Oh. You need to get me lubed up first”, I stated. You can see how eager I was to get the show on the road.

So then, I went to the kitchen to get my mother’s can of Crisco, came back to the bedroom, and handed the can to him.

“And we also need a towel..for the pre-fuck the warm up”, he added.

So I went to the towel closet in the hallway, got a clean towel, and returned with it, and placed the towel on the bed, so as to protect the bedding from what we were about to do.

“Lie down on your back on the bed”, he instructed. After I had done so, he knelt down on his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed, between my legs, and initiated his standard pre-fuck warm up procedure: First, sucking on my dick, and then tossing my salad [I don’t believe either one of us knew that slang term for eating/sucking ass back then, but I’ll relax my “no anachronisms” policy for this one chapter.] After having done that for a while, he applied some Crisco to his fingers, lubed up my asshole, and began to finger-fuck me. He also begam to suck on my dick at the same time.

Just like he had done last Sunday, he paid attention to my level of sexual excitement, and backed off if he thought that I was getting too close to orgasm. I never had to tell him that I was about to come. Eventually, he was fucking me with all four fingers. A little later, he stopped, and said, “I think you’re ready.”

So he cleaned up his hands using a tissue; we both put our shirts and undershirts back on, exited my bedroom into the hall, and then into the living room. I then walked up to the front door, turned around, and then backed up against the door. I was still too eager to get started.

He walked up to me, carrying the can of Crisco, and started applying it liberally to his dick—which was soon fully hard. Then he said, “OK, now put your arms around my neck, and then sort of jump onto me, wrapping your legs around my body in order to support yourself”, he instructed. I hadn’t done anything like that since I was at least 6 or 7 years old, but I managed to do it—the fact he was relatively strong helped, too. Once I had my legs wrapped around his torso, he put his hands underneath my legs, right below the knees, to provide additional support and positioning control. Then, he maneuvered the head of his dick to my asshole, and began to force it into my poop chute.

It hurt, at first. A lot. But not as much as it had the first time, last Sunday. And, as he entered me ever more deeply, the pain went away more quickly than it had on Sunday. After about 2 to 3 minutes, he was balls deep inside me.

Then, he pushed me back into the door, so that I would be supported between the door and his body, and also by his dick and pelvis, and began to power fuck my ass. He made sure to pound my prostate mercilessly.

Oh. My. God! I almost told him to stop: The experience—both the pleasure and the pain, and especially both together—were just too much, too intense. But instead, I just moaned and groaned, while the pain continued to go find a nice place to hide, and the pleasure continued to come out to play. He just kept power fucking my ass, coming about 5 or 6 times before he was done, as I recall. I came 3 times, I think.

Once it was over, I knew that I would never be the same: From now on, my ass was not ‘my ass,’ it was his pussy.

I checked the time: A few minutes after 6:10 pm. I told him my mother might be home in another 20 to 40 minutes. He nodded in acknowledgement, and we both headed for the bathroom to get cleaned up.

Once we had showered and gotten dressed, I suggested that we go hang out in the rec center, and play some pool while we waited for dinner to be ready. Before leaving the apartment, I wrote a note to my mother, informing her that Eric would be staying for dinner. Writing that note made me realize that we needed to formalize an arrangement with my mother, and with Eric’s parents, regarding our reciprocity plan for feeding dinner to two 18-year old boys. A one-off meal, or occasional ones, for guests was one thing. A habitual arrangement was quite another.

The regulars at the pool table in the rec center were glad to see Eric again: They’d first met him over the previous weekend.

It was irrational, but I felt like everyone could tell what Eric and I had been up to earlier; sort of a guilty conscience effect for having engaged in taboo behavior. Sorry, not sorry, bitches.

We left to go back to my apartment just after 7:30 pm. My mother was glad to see me. But she also teased me about having become a stranger over the past few days. I blushed. On the other hand, she was very welcoming to Eric, and made him feel at home.

I told my mother about Eric’s exercise equipment, that he had gotten for his birthday a few weeks ago. Her first question (to Eric) was, “So how old are you now, honey?” “I’m eighteen”, he replied. But before she could go off an a tangent, I explained to her that Eric had graciously offered to let me use his exercise equipment to improve my physical fitness, and that Eric—and his father, Liam—had agreed to coach me in the furtherance of that goal. Yeah, I now, Liam hadn’t spelled out any such promise, but I felt it was fully implied by what he had said.

My mother gave me a look, and then asked, “So..how often will you be going over to Eric’s to do this?”

“We haven’t planned that far ahead, yet”, I answered. So I turned to Eric, and asks, “What do you think?”

“Every other day, give or take, would a good schedule,” he replied. “But also, John here will be helping me with my homework—which I very, very greatly appreciate; that will require either that he be at my place, or that I be here, several days a week, as well.” You might think that Eric and I had scripted this conversation. But we hadn’t: It was fully extemporaneous.

Rose (my mother) looked at both of us thoughtfully. “I see”, was all she said.

But we had set things up perfectly for the next stage of the negotiation: “It would seem that that means that Eric’s mother will be feeding me dinner a few times per week. As long you do the same for Eric, I think it will all work out,” I told her.

“I think we can work something out”, she said. But I’ll need to talk with Eric’s mother directly about it”, she replied. “What was her name, again? Beth, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s my mom’s name”, replied Eric.

Cool, I thought. Getting my mother’s buy in had been my main concern. Given the academic tutoring I was providing to Eric, I wasn’t too concerned about getting buy in from his parents. Had these events happened 25 or more years later, I might have thought “Mischief managed” to myself.

“Do you need to call your parents, Eric?”, mother asked.

Eric and I both looked at the clock; we saw that it just after 8pm. Eric replied, “Yeah, I probably should.” So my mother pointed out the phone for him, and he called his parents. Of course, I could only hear one side of the conversation, but my heart skipped a beat when I heard Eric ask, “Do you think it would be OK if I stayed here with John overnight?”

After that, he turned to my mother, and said, “My mother wants to talk to you,” and handed her the phone.

Based on what my mother was saying, they first discussed how my mother felt about the idea, but then the topic changed to what the sleeping arrangements would be. My mother had that handled: Eric could sleep on one of the couches in the living room, or could sleep in a sleeping bag in my room—his choice.

And that’s how history was made: The parental units had blessed us with their approval. Eric and I were both smiling hugely. He and I slept in the sleeping bag that night, on the floor in my room, in each others’ arms….with my bedroom door locked. It was purely Platonic. It was!

Why are you looking at me like that?

When we woke up the next morning—thank you, Mr. alarm clock—I knew for an absolute fact that I was in love.

[The story will be continued under a new title: I Submit]

In the gloaming hush of a late autumn evening, where the city’s cacophony dwindled to a murmur, Ric traversed the labyrinthine streets toward his modest abode. At twenty-one, he was a young man ensnared in the tendrils of his own imagination, a captive to the spectral horrors that flickered across his screen in the dead of night. Horror films were his vice, his siren call; they painted the shadows with malevolent intent, transforming innocuous darkness into a canvas of dread. Each creak of a floorboard, each whisper of wind through cracked windows, evoked the phantoms he so voraciously consumed. Tonight, as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised tapestry of indigo and violet, Ric’s pulse quickened with the familiar trepidation. The streetlamps cast elongated shadows that danced like wraiths upon the pavement, their amber glow a feeble bulwark against the encroaching night. Ric clutched his satchel tighter, his footsteps echoing with a rhythmic urgency. He had lingered too long at the university library, poring over texts that blurred the lines between academia and escapism. Now, as he approached the entrance to his apartment building—a venerable edifice of weathered brick and iron-wrought gates—the weight of isolation pressed upon him. The building loomed, its facade etched with the patina of years, and the entrance yawned like a maw into oblivion. Pausing at the threshold, Ric’s breath caught in his throat. There, upon the dimly lit stairs ascending to the upper floors, a peculiar shadow lingered. It was amorphous, elongated, defying the logic of light and form. His mind, primed by countless viewings of spectral apparitions and lurking monstrosities, conjured visions of eldritch beings slithering from the abyss. Was it a trick of the light? A figment born of his overactive psyche? He halted abruptly, his body rigid with indecision. The entrance hall was sparsely illuminated by a single bulb, its filament buzzing faintly like an insect trapped in amber. Ric waited, minutes stretching into an eternity—ten interminable minutes, each second a hammer blow to his resolve. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat echoing the suspenseful scores of the horror films he adored. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill in the air, and he wiped it away with a trembling hand, his eyes never leaving the shadowy figure above. He glanced upward once more, steeling himself against the unknown. As if in response to his silent plea, a shaft of light spilled from an apartment on the second floor, bathing his upturned face in a warm, golden radiance. The illumination pierced the veil of shadow, revealing the truth in stark clarity. It was no apparition, no harbinger of doom, but a familiar figure: Kevin, his literature professor, standing there with an air of quiet contemplation. Relief washed over Ric like a cleansing tide, mingling with a curious undercurrent of intrigue. Kevin, in his mid-thirties, was a man of erudite charm, his lectures a symphony of poetic insight that had captivated Ric from the first syllable. Tall and lean, with sharp features framed by tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes, Kevin exuded an aura of intellectual allure that had often stirred unspoken fantasies in Ric’s mind during late-night study sessions. Emboldened by the dissipation of his fear, Ric ascended the stairs, his footsteps muffled on the worn carpet that lined the steps. The air in the stairwell was thick with the scent of aged wood and faint traces of cooking from nearby apartments, a mundane counterpoint to the electric tension building within him. Kevin turned at the sound of approaching feet, his expression one of mild surprise that softened into recognition. “Ric,” he murmured, his voice a low timbre that resonated in the confined space, sending an unexpected shiver down Ric’s spine. Behind the door adjacent to them, faint sounds emanated—perhaps the rustle of movement, the subdued cadence of conversation. Ric knew, from whispers in academic circles, that Kevin’s girlfriend resided there, a young woman who was the daughter of one of Kevin’s closest colleagues. She was a presence unspoken, a shadow in the periphery of their interaction, adding a layer of forbidden thrill to the moment. They conversed in hushed tones, the words flowing like a clandestine stream. Topics meandered from literary analyses—discussing the gothic elements in Poe’s works that mirrored Ric’s own fears—to personal anecdotes about late-night musings and the solitude of scholarly pursuits. The air grew thick with an unspoken tension, the proximity of their bodies in the narrow stairwell amplifying every glance, every subtle shift. Ric, emboldened by the intimacy of the moment and perhaps by the adrenaline still coursing through his veins from his earlier fright, reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing Kevin’s shoulder. The contact was electric, a spark that ignited something primal within him, far removed from the terrors of his imagination. Kevin’s jacket, a casual leather affair, hung open slightly, and Ric’s hand, driven by an impulsive curiosity he could no longer suppress, tugged at the zipper. It yielded with a soft rasp, revealing the bare expanse of Kevin’s torso beneath—no shirt, just the sculpted contours of muscle and skin, glistening faintly in the dim light with a sheen of perspiration that hinted at some prior exertion. Ric’s heart thundered in his chest, a drumbeat of audacity and fear that drowned out the distant hum of the city outside. His hand ventured lower, slipping into the waistband of Kevin’s pants, fingers questing with a boldness he scarcely recognized in himself. The fabric was warm, taut over Kevin’s form, and Ric’s touch encountered the hardening evidence of arousal. Terror gripped him—the dread that Kevin might retaliate, a fist raised in righteous indignation, or worse, a shout that would summon prying eyes from the apartments around them. Yet, Kevin’s response was measured; he swiftly but gently attempted to extricate Ric’s hand, his eyes wide with a melange of surprise, confusion, and something akin to reluctant intrigue. There was no anger, no violence—only a hesitant push, as if Kevin himself was wrestling with the sudden surge of desire. In that moment of reprieve, Ric realized he was safe, the precipice of rejection not as sheer as he had feared. The stairwell, once a place of shadowy dread, now pulsed with a different kind of energy—raw, sexual, intoxicating. Emboldened further, Ric sank to his knees upon the cool stair, his gaze locked with Kevin’s, eyes pleading and commanding in equal measure. With deliberate slowness, he freed Kevin’s burgeoning arousal from its confines, the thick shaft springing forth, veined and throbbing with need. Ric’s lips parted to envelop it in a warm, insistent embrace, his tongue swirling around the head with tentative exploration that quickly gave way to fervent rhythm. The taste was salty, musky, a heady elixir that banished all remnants of fear from Ric’s mind. Each motion was a testament to his unspoken desires, his head bobbing with increasing confidence, taking Kevin deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. Kevin’s breath hitched, his hands hovering uncertainly before settling lightly on Ric’s shoulders, not pushing away but guiding ever so slightly. His eyes darted repeatedly to the door beside them, where his girlfriend might overhear or intrude at any moment—the faint sounds from within had ceased, but the risk lingered like a charged wire. The door, mercifully, remained closed, sealing their indiscretion in a bubble of secrecy, though Kevin’s glances betrayed his paranoia, his body tense with the dual pull of pleasure and peril. Ric, lost in the act, sucked with abandon, his cheeks hollowing as he worked the length, saliva dripping down his chin in glistening trails. The slurping sounds were muffled but obscene, echoing softly in the stairwell, a filthy symphony that only heightened the arousal. As the intensity mounted, Ric rose, his lips swollen and slick, and he guided Kevin upward to the final flight of stairs, a narrow alcove nestled between two closed apartment doors. The space was intimate, cloaked in deeper shadow, a sanctuary for their burgeoning liaison away from the immediate threat of the girlfriend’s door. They resumed, bodies pressing close, the air charged with the scent of arousal and anticipation—sweat, musk, the faint leather of Kevin’s jacket. Kevin’s hands roamed now, cupping Ric’s face for a brief, bruising kiss before pushing him gently against the wall. Kevin’s voice, husky with desire, broke the silence. “What are you wearing underneath?” he inquired, his hands roaming with exploratory intent over Ric’s clothed form, fingers tracing the outline of his erection through the fabric. Ric, words failing him in the throes of passion, responded only with his eyes—a smoldering gaze that invited further discovery, heavy-lidded and laden with lust. Kevin, interpreting the silent cue, tugged at Ric’s pants, the belt unbuckling with a clink that seemed thunderous in the quiet. The fabric yielded, pooling at Ric’s ankles to reveal nothing but bare skin beneath—no underwear, just the smooth planes of his ass and the rigid curve of his cock, bobbing free in the cool air. With a swift, commanding motion, Kevin rotated Ric’s body, pressing him against the cool wall, the rough texture scraping lightly against Ric’s chest as his hands splayed for support. Kevin descended to his knees, his breath hot against Ric’s exposed flesh. He parted the cheeks with strong hands, exposing the pink, puckered entrance, and without preamble, his tongue darted out, licking hungrily, aggressively at Ric’s asshole. The sensation was electric, a wet, insistent probing that sent jolts of pleasure radiating through Ric’s body. Kevin’s tongue was relentless, circling the rim with broad strokes before delving inside, fucking into the tight heat with voracious hunger. He lapped and sucked, his nose buried in the cleft, inhaling the intimate scent as his hands gripped Ric’s thighs, spreading him wider for deeper access. Ric’s moans were stifled against his arm, his body arching back, pushing into the assault, the pleasure building like a storm. Kevin’s aggression was palpable—his tongue thrust deep, twisting and curling, while one hand reached around to stroke Ric’s leaking cock in time with the licks. Saliva dripped down Ric’s balls, the wet sounds obscene and echoing faintly. Ric’s knees weakened, his fingers clawing at the wall, overwhelmed by the filthy intensity. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word escaping despite his efforts to stay quiet. Kevin hummed in response, the vibration adding another layer of sensation, his free hand slipping a finger alongside his tongue, stretching Ric open, preparing him for more. The alcove became their world, a microcosm of forbidden ecstasy where inhibitions dissolved like mist in the dawn. Kevin’s ministrations continued for what felt like an eternity, his tongue exploring every inch with relentless passion, probing and teasing the sensitive flesh, his fingers now two deep, scissoring and curling to hit that bundle of nerves that made Ric see stars. Ric’s body trembled, his cock throbbing in Kevin’s grip, pre-cum oozing in steady streams. The fear of discovery lent an edge to their tryst, heightening every touch, every moan suppressed to a whisper. Doors could open at any moment, neighbors could emerge, but the risk only fueled their fire. Finally, Kevin stood, his face flushed and slick with saliva, and he pressed his body against Ric’s back, his hard cock nestling in the cleft of Ric’s ass. “You taste like sin,” he growled low in Ric’s ear, nipping at the lobe. Ric turned his head, capturing Kevin’s lips in a messy kiss, tasting himself on the older man’s tongue. Their mouths clashed, hungry and desperate, teeth clacking as hands roamed freely, shedding the remnants of clothing that barred their union. Kevin’s jacket hit the floor, followed by his pants, leaving him gloriously naked in the dim light, his body a canvas of lean muscle and faint scars from a life lived fully. Ric’s mind, once plagued by shadows of horror, now reveled in a different kind of darkness—the intoxicating veil of carnal indulgence. He dropped to his knees once more, taking Kevin deeper than before, his throat accommodating the length with practiced ease, gagging slightly but pushing through, nose buried in the coarse hair at the base. Kevin’s fingers threaded through Ric’s hair, guiding the pace, his hips thrusting gently at first, then with increasing urgency. “That’s it, take it all,” Kevin murmured, his voice strained. The sounds of their liaison—wet, rhythmic suction mingled with stifled groans—echoed softly in the confined space, a filthy underscore to their passion. Not content to remain passive, Kevin pulled Ric upright, his hands exploring the contours of Ric’s chest, pinching nipples to elicit sharp intakes of breath that bordered on whimpers. He spun Ric again, this time aligning their bodies for a more profound connection. Lubricated by saliva and desire, Kevin positioned himself at Ric’s entrance, the head of his cock pressing insistently. He entered with a slow, deliberate thrust that drew a low moan from deep within Ric, the stretch burning deliciously as he was filled inch by inch. The sensation was overwhelming, a fusion of pain and pleasure that blurred into ecstasy. Kevin’s movements were measured at first, each withdrawal and advance building a tapestry of sensation, his hands gripping Ric’s hips hard enough to leave marks. They moved together, bodies synchronized in a primal ballet. Ric pushed back, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, his hands braced against the wall for leverage, nails digging into the paint. Kevin’s breath was hot against his neck, whispers of encouragement and desire peppering the air. “You feel incredible, so tight around me,” Kevin groaned, his pace quickening, hips snapping forward with forceful precision. The slap of skin on skin was rhythmic, punctuated by Ric’s gasps and Kevin’s grunts, the alcove filled with the scent of sex and sweat. Ric’s hand found his own erection, stroking in time with Kevin’s thrusts, the dual stimulation hurtling him toward climax. His balls tightened, pleasure coiling low in his belly. Kevin’s grip tightened on his waist, his own release impending, the tension building like a spring ready to snap. “Come for me,” Kevin commanded, reaching around to bat Ric’s hand away and take over the stroking, his fist tight and fast. In a final, shuddering crescendo, they peaked together, waves of pleasure crashing over them in unison. Ric’s orgasm hit first, his cock pulsing in Kevin’s hand, ropes of cum splattering the wall in hot, sticky bursts. The clench of his ass around Kevin triggered the older man’s release, seed spilling deep within in powerful spurts, warm and claiming. They clung to one another, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in the aftermath, bodies slick and trembling. As they disentangled, clothing hastily readjusted with shaking hands, Kevin’s eyes gleamed with unspoken promises, his fingers brushing Ric’s cheek. “This isn’t over,” he whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips, his voice still rough from exertion. Ric nodded, the fear of darkness supplanted by a new addiction—the thrill of the forbidden. They parted with a final, lingering kiss, Ric descending the stairs on wobbly legs, his body aching in the best way, mind buzzing with the afterglow. The following days blurred into a haze of anticipation and stolen glances. In lectures, Ric found himself distracted, his gaze lingering on Kevin’s form as he paced the front of the room, discussing romanticism and forbidden desires in literature that now felt eerily prophetic. The professor’s voice, rich and commanding, sent shivers down Ric’s spine, recalling the taste and feel of him in that shadowy stairwell. Notes passed surreptitiously under desks, arranging clandestine meetings in the shadows of the building or secluded corners of the campus library stacks. Each encounter escalated, their explorations delving deeper into the realms of sensuality, pushing boundaries with every touch. One such rendezvous occurred in the dim confines of Kevin’s office, after hours when the university slumbered under a blanket of night. Ric arrived under the pretext of discussing a paper on gothic horror, but the door scarcely closed before they were upon each other, the lock clicking like a starting gun. Kevin pinned Ric against the heavy oak desk, papers scattering like autumn leaves in a gale, forgotten in the heat of the moment. He stripped Ric methodically, buttons popping from his shirt in haste, exposing skin inch by inch to the cool air of the room. Kevin’s mouth followed the path of revelation, lips trailing from the column of Ric’s neck, nipping at the pulse point, down to his navel, teasing the sensitive trail of hair that led to Ric’s throbbing need, already hard and leaking. Kevin’s tongue was a maestro, orchestrating pleasure with flicks and swirls around the head of Ric’s cock, lapping at the pre-cum like nectar before taking him deep into the wet heat of his mouth. He bobbed with expert rhythm, cheeks hollowing, one hand fondling Ric’s balls while the other pinned his hip to the desk. Ric’s hands fisted in Kevin’s hair, urging him on, his hips bucking involuntarily against the restraint. “Please,” Ric gasped, the word a plea laced with desperation, his voice echoing slightly in the empty office. Kevin hummed around him, the vibration sending sparks up Ric’s spine, bringing him to the brink before pulling back with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the glistening shaft. With a wicked grin, Kevin flipped Ric onto the desk face-down, the wood cool against his heated skin. Papers crinkled beneath them as Kevin spread Ric’s legs, kneeling to resume his feast. His tongue delved back into Ric’s ass, more insistent now, licking broad stripes from balls to hole before probing deep. Fingers joined, slick with spit, stretching him open, curling to hit that prostate with pinpoint accuracy. Ric moaned into his arm, biting down to muffle the sound, his cock trapped against the desk, rutting helplessly for friction. Satisfied with the preparation, Kevin stood, freeing his own erection and slicking it with a hasty spit. The penetration was swift, Kevin burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion that punched a cry from Ric’s lips. The fullness was exquisite, each thrust hitting that sweet spot within, building a fire that consumed them both. Kevin’s hand clamped over Ric’s mouth to muffle the sounds, his other gripping a hip for leverage, nails digging in. They rutted like animals in heat, the desk creaking under the assault, books tumbling from shelves in the frenzy. Kevin varied his pace—slow, deep rolls of his hips that teased, then pounding thrusts that shook Ric to his core. “You love this, don’t you? Being fucked like a slut in my office,” Kevin growled, his words filthy fuel to the fire. Ric could only nod, tears of pleasure pricking his eyes, his body clenching around the invading cock. Climax claimed them fiercely, Ric spilling onto the desk in hot spurts, Kevin following with a guttural moan, filling him to overflowing. Spent, they collapsed in a tangle of limbs on the floor, laughter bubbling forth in the afterglow as they caught their breath. “You’re insatiable,” Kevin teased, tracing lazy patterns on Ric’s sweat-slicked skin, his fingers dipping into the mess between Ric’s thighs. “And you’re addictive,” Ric retorted, pulling him in for a languid kiss, tasting the remnants of their passion. Their affair blossomed like a dark flower in the night, each meeting a canvas for new depravities, weaving a web of secrecy and lust that bound them tighter. In the stairwell once more, under the cover of twilight, they experimented with restraint. Kevin bound Ric’s wrists with his own belt, the leather biting into skin, heightening the vulnerability as Ric was pressed face-first against the wall. Kevin took him from behind, slow and deep, whispering filthy endearments that made Ric’s cock twitch untouched—”Such a good hole for me, taking it all so eagerly.” The thrusts were punishing, each one driving Ric onto his toes, the belt pulling taut as he strained. Another time, in the privacy of Kevin’s apartment—his girlfriend conveniently away on a trip—they explored with toys pilfered from hidden drawers. The space was luxurious, with soft lighting and a king-sized bed that became their playground. Kevin cuffed Ric to the headboard, spreading his legs wide with a bar, exposing him completely. He wielded a vibrating prostate massager with expert precision, inserting it deep while sucking Ric off, the dual assault of vibration and suction shattering him into orgasmic bliss multiple times, until Ric was a writhing, begging mess, cum streaking his stomach. Yet, Kevin wasn’t done. He removed the toy, replacing it with his cock, fucking Ric through the aftershocks, the overstimulation making every sensation razor-sharp. “Scream for me,” Kevin commanded, and Ric did, his voice hoarse as another climax was wrung from him, Kevin’s release mixing with the mess inside. Beneath the passion lurked the shadow of Ric’s fears. Nights alone, the darkness crept back, horror films his only companion, their plots now intertwined with memories of Kevin’s touch. But thoughts of their encounters banished the specters, replacing dread with desire, the thrill of their secret overpowering any lingering terror. One stormy evening, as thunder rumbled outside, a knock echoed at Ric’s door—Kevin, unannounced, rain-soaked and hungry-eyed. They tumbled into the sheets of Ric’s narrow bed, bodies entwining in a marathon of lust that lasted hours. Kevin rimmed Ric for what felt like an eternity, tongue delving deep into his ass, fingers joining to stretch him wide, eating him out like a starving man at a feast. The storm masked their moans, rain lashing the windows as Kevin’s mouth worked him open, sloppy and thorough. Ric reciprocated, deep-throating Kevin until tears streamed down his face, gagging on the thick length with masochistic glee, swallowing around him to milk every drop of pre-cum. They fucked in every position imaginable—missionary for intimacy, where they could kiss and stare into each other’s eyes; doggy for dominance, Kevin pounding relentlessly while spanking Ric’s ass red; cowboy for control, Ric riding him hard, grinding down to take every inch. Kevin’s stamina was legendary, flipping Ric onto his back to fold him in half, legs over shoulders, drilling deep until soreness mingled with satisfaction. They came again and again, bodies slick with cum and sweat, the room reeking of sex. As dawn broke, filtering gray light through the curtains, they lay sated, Ric’s head on Kevin’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. “What are we?” Ric pondered aloud, tracing circles on Kevin’s skin. Kevin smiled, pulling him closer. “Whatever we want to be—lovers, secrets, everything.” Their story continued, an endless tapestry of passion woven in secrecy, Ric’s fears conquered by the light of their illicit flame, each encounter more intense, more binding than the last. Weeks turned to months, their meetings evolving into something deeper, yet always laced with the raw, filthy edge that had sparked it all. In one memorable escapade, they snuck into the university’s abandoned wing, a place of dust and echoes that fueled Ric’s horror-loving imagination. There, amid cobwebs and forgotten relics, Kevin bent Ric over a creaky table, fucking him raw while Ric clutched the edges, the thrill of potential discovery making his orgasms explosive. Kevin’s hands roamed, pinching and twisting, his cock splitting Ric open with brutal efficiency. Another time, at a secluded park after dark, they risked the open air, Kevin pushing Ric against a tree, lifting one leg to drive in deep, the bark scraping Ric’s back as they moved in frantic rhythm, stifling moans with bites and kisses. Their explorations knew no bounds—roleplay where Kevin played the stern professor disciplining his wayward student with spanks and commands; sessions of edging where Ric was brought to the brink repeatedly, denied until he begged; mutual masturbation in hidden alcoves, watching each other stroke to completion. Through it all, the passion remained filthy and passionate, explicit in every detail—the wet sounds of flesh, the taste of cum, the ache of well-used bodies. Ric’s fear of darkness faded, replaced by an insatiable hunger for Kevin, their bond a defiant flame against the night.

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I woke with a jolt, heart hammering, breath strangled in my throat. At first I thought it was the tail-end of some nightmare, the kind that leaves you slick with sweat, pulse galloping. But then I heard it again. The pounding didn’t fade with waking. It echoed, steady, insistent, shaking the thin walls of my apartment.

Someone was at the door.

The room swam around me, shadows and outlines taking shape in the purple wash of dusk filtering through the blinds. The air conditioner ticked faintly, the only other sound besides the thunder in my chest.

Dragging myself out of bed, I stumbled barefoot across the cold linoleum, each step heavy, clumsy. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and the lavender detergent I’d used on the sheets earlier in the week. My hand shook as I slid back the latch and pulled the door open.

The night rushed in. Cool, damp air filled the room, laced with the metallic tang of asphalt still wet from rain. Beyond, the street was hushed, the trees dripping slowly in the dim light. The silence felt unnatural, like the world had gone still, holding its breath.

And there he was.

Shane.

He stood on the stoop, shoulders slumped, head bowed slightly as though the weight of the sky itself pressed down on him. His face looked raw, his eyes swollen, blotched red in the muted light. His clothes clung damply to him, his hair plastered to his forehead in dark, uneven strands.

This couldn’t be real. The dream wasn’t over. Shane wasn’t supposed to be here. My body forgot how to move. I just stared, numb, my thoughts colliding in panic. Why was he crying? Who had died?

My foot snagged the rug as I staggered back, and before I could catch myself, I went down hard onto the floor.

Shane lurched forward, rushing inside. He dropped to his knees beside me. His hands, warm, trembling, closed around mine.
“Are you okay?” His voice was hoarse, frayed, like it had been dragged raw by shouting or weeping.

He was solid. Real. Not a dream.

“I am now.” My hand rose, brushing his damp cheek. The stubble beneath my fingers was coarse, the skin chilled from the cooler air of the recent storm. “You’re really here. Hold me.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes. He let go of my hand, pulling back as if my touch hurt.

“What is it?” My words barely broke the silence.

“I’ve ruined my life. I’ve ruined our lives.” His voice shook as he rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “And I don’t know how it happened. I mean, I know what happened, and I know I did it, but…” His head lifted, and when his eyes finally found mine, their redness looked almost inhuman in the thin, watery light. “I…”

The apartment tilted around me. The pale walls with their faint cracks, the pile of unopened mail on the counter, the chipped coffee mug on the table, all of it warped, like the familiar world was sliding out of place. I steadied my breath.  “Let’s get off the floor,” I said, the words more fragile than I meant them to be.

I pushed the door closed and helped him toward the couch, its cushions sagging in the middle, the old fabric smelling faintly of dust and the fabric softener sheets I tucked beneath them. He moved like a man already broken.

“You sit.” I fumbled for control, clinging to routine. “I’ll… I’ll make some tea. Or cocoa. Which one?” The last words cracked apart. My throat tightened. He was going to leave me, I knew it. Why couldn’t the floor just swallow me whole?

Shane sank into the couch, his elbows braced on his knees, his gaze locked on the threadbare rug as though it might tell him what to do. “I’m so sorry.”

The silence of the apartment pressed down like a physical thing. The air conditioner ticked, a car passed somewhere far off, tires whispering on damp pavement. My lungs still moved, breath shallow and uneven.

“I don’t want anything to drink,” he muttered, not looking up.

I sat down at the other end of the couch, gripping my knees to still the trembling. I ached to close the space between us, to fold into him, to let him fold into me. But all I could do was manage, “Tell me what happened.” My voice was quiet, steady only because I forced it to be, the way I forced my breathing to be regular.  My brain slipped into analytical mode; my emotions subsided.

Shane shifted on the couch, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands hanging limp. His voice came out low at first, almost too soft to hear.

“It started after one of our practice games,” he said. “We’d won. Just barely, by a run. Tradition is that the losers buy the pizza and drinks, serve it to us in those little aprons like idiots. Nobody took it too seriously. They brought the pizza, three slices each, and this punch that tasted…amazing. Too good. Sweet, fruity, with this burn at the back of my throat that I didn’t understand at the time. Alfred, he’s our catcher, he even went back for more, bragging about it. He got us all a second round.”

He rubbed his palms on his jeans, as if trying to wipe something away. His eyes stayed fixed on the carpet.

“Later, Terry and I went back to our room with what was left of the pizza and full cups of the punch. Alfred and his roommate, Martin, came with us. It was…loud. The kind of loud that doesn’t make sense. Everyone was laughing too much, like everything was funny even when it wasn’t. The air in that room felt thick, heavy with grease from the pizza boxes, sweat from practice, this sour-sweet smell from the drinks. The windows were shut, the air conditioner clicking, and all of it made me lightheaded. My head didn’t feel like mine.”

He paused, fingers trembling, then forced himself on.

“We were sprawled across the bunks, shoes kicked off, half-finished sodas on the desk. Terry leaned over and whispered, like it was some big secret, that he and his girlfriend had finally done it the weekend before. He grinned like he was proud, like he wanted applause. Then he said….” Shane’s voice cracked.  “He said she stuck her finger up his ass, and he liked it. Liked it a whole lot.”

The words seemed to scrape his throat raw. He covered his face for a moment before continuing.

“I laughed. We all laughed. Too hard, too loud. There wasn’t anything funny, not really, but it felt like we couldn’t stop. Terry looked right at me and asked if I’d ever had anything like that, if I’d ever put my dick in someone else’s ass. His voice carried, and Alfred and Martin were snickering, whispering to each other like they were watching a show. My head was spinning. I told him that was personal.  I tried to make it a joke. But the air was hot, and my skin felt like it was buzzing.”

He swallowed hard, hands curling into fists.

“Then Terry asked me if I’d fuck him, just like that, because he wanted to know what it felt like. I told him I couldn’t. That if something like that ever happened, you’d have to know. You’d have to say it was okay. You’d have to be there. I thought that would shut him up.” Shane’s voice shook, faltered. “But instead, he leaned back, grinned, and said, ‘Do you like being watched?’ And then, Taylor, he called over to Alfred and Martin. ‘Watch this.’”

The silence in the apartment thickened. Outside, a single car hissed down the wet street, then nothing.

Shane’s voice broke. “He kissed me. Full on. Mouth open, tongue and everything. I thought he was screwing around, so I laughed and said, ‘Not in front of the children.’ That made them all howl. But then, ” His shoulders caved inward. “Then his hand was in my pants. Grabbing me. And I, ” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I got hard. Right there with them watching. He looked at me, dead in the eye, and I just let him. I let him jerk me off.”

He pressed his fists against his eyes, his whole body trembling. “I came. And then I laughed again. Like it was all just one big joke.”

His voice shrank to a whisper. “I went into the bathroom to clean up. That’s when Coach came in. Someone must’ve told him we’d been drinking, that we were drunk. I wasn’t drunk. I swear I wasn’t. But he didn’t care. We’ve all been suspended. Me, Terry, Alfred, Martin.”

Shane lowered his hands; his eyes were crimson, swollen, rimmed with despair.  He lifted them to mine. “But none of that matters. Not compared to what I did. I betrayed you.”

I drew in a slow breath, steadying myself against the weight of his shame.  His shame was in my favor.  There was no sexual relationship with Terry.  Terry was acting like a fool.  More than likely, he was drunk as well.  “I hardly think a quick handjob while you were out of your mind is betrayal,” I said, my tone firmer now, though my chest ached. “If you weren’t drinking, and you felt off, that sounds less like bad judgment and more like being drugged.”

Disbelief flashed across his features, his mouth trembling. “Taylor?”

My heart screamed to cross the space, to kiss him, hold him, wrap him up, but the mucus glistening on his face made bile rise in my throat. I swallowed hard. “Go wash your face.”

He froze, unmoving.

“Now,” I said, sharper.

Finally, he stood, shoulders heavy, and shuffled toward the bathroom.

I exhaled, pressing my palms into my knees until they ached. The air conditioner ticked again, louder somehow in the silence he left behind. 

“I’ll make us tea,” I said softly, though he couldn’t yet hear me. “Then we’re going to sit together, and I’ll tell you how much I’ve missed you. We’ll talk about how you fix things with the team. And then…” My voice lowered to a promise I meant with every trembling part of me. “…then you’ll make love to me. Because you do love me. I know you do. And if you don’t already know how much I love you…”

The silence swallowed the words, but I left them there, suspended in the stillness. “…I’ll make sure you do before this night is over.”

I awoke the next morning to the soft glow of sunlight, its delicate fingers creeping around the edges of the curtains, spilling a pale, golden warmth across the room. It was early, the world still holding its breath, suspended in that quiet time just before the day fully unfurled itself. The air felt crisp and fresh, like a new beginning, though it still carried the lingering heaviness of the night before.

The kitchen window, still partially open, caught the light just right, casting a kaleidoscope of rainbows across the walls. A prism of colors danced—soft blues, violets, fiery reds—on the beige walls and the hardwood floor. The sight felt like a fragile moment of beauty, too delicate for the tension that simmered in the room.

I turned my head, my eyes drifting toward Shane. He lay next to me, a tangle of disheveled hair and soft breaths, the rise and fall of his chest steady but shallow. The warm, close scent of him clung to the air, and I felt my heart twist at the sight—this was the Shane I knew, the one I had fought so hard for.

But then, I shifted slightly. That was when I felt the unmistakable stickiness against my skin. My buttocks were glued to the bed sheets, the dried remnants of the night’s passion clinging to me. I winced slightly at the sensation, my mind circling back to our vows—the promises we’d made in the heat of our love, that we would stay faithful no matter what tried to tear us apart.

We had sealed that promise physically and emotionally, a union that felt unbreakable. And I had to admit, Shane’s words—his playful “seed of ecstasy” that he’d said with a mischievous grin—had made me roll my eyes. But when he’d promised to call it “baby batter” next time, I’d laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel a warmth flood through me.

I shifted again, trying to free myself from the sticky sheets. As I did, my mind began to drift toward the bathroom, wondering whether I should shower now or wait for Shane so we could share one together. The decision didn’t matter for long, though. Just as I was about to stand, Shane’s phone buzzed, its shrill ring slicing through the stillness of the room.

I froze, eyes darting to the screen. The caller ID read Coach Henderson.

A surge of instinct made me hurry over to the phone, carefully silencing the call before it could reach Shane’s ears. I held the phone up, still muted, and pressed it to my ear.

“Hello. This is Taylor, a friend of Shane’s. He’s still asleep.” My voice was quiet but firm, trying not to disturb the fragile peace of the morning.

The voice on the other end was gruff, gravelly, a tone that spoke of late nights and endless tension.

“This is worth waking him up for,” Coach Henderson’s voice crackled through the speaker.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. But before I could respond, I glanced at Shane, still oblivious to the incoming call. He stirred slightly, a quiet grunt escaping his lips. The tension in my chest tightened.

“Hold on, please,” I said into the phone, then quickly pressed mute.

I reached over to shake Shane gently.

“Shane,” I murmured, my fingers brushing through his tangled hair. “It’s Coach Henderson.”

He groaned, his eyes fluttering open, but not with the sharpness of someone fully awake. His gaze was unfocused, wandering, his eyes crossing slightly as they tried to focus.

I stifled a small laugh. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

He blinked a few times, clearly trying to shake off the fog of sleep. “OK. OK. What is it?” His voice was thick with disorientation.

“Well, Mr. Grump, it’s Coach Henderson. Should I tell him to fuck off?” I teased, my voice playful despite the tension creeping into my thoughts.

Shane’s eyes widened. “Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips.

“It’s muted,” I assured him.

A sly smile tugged at his lips. “Want to listen in?”

I nodded.

He reached up, pressing the unmute button. The phone clicked, and suddenly we could hear faint voices in the background. Rustling papers, a murmur of a meeting or perhaps just the soft shuffle of people moving about. Then, a voice broke through—Henderson’s voice, sharp and no-nonsense.

“Kowalski here, sir,” came the voice.

“OK. I’m going to tell this to you straight,” the coach continued, his tone matter-of-fact, but there was an edge to it now. “Miner confessed to spiking the drinks with some vodka. But because the four of you were acting weirder than that, Detective Ruskin kept his drilling, and it turns out another member on your team drugged the pizza for a guy he claims is named Logan.” There was a brief pause before the coach continued. “I think he’s making it up, though, trying to get you and Medcalf off the team.”

Shane rolled his eyes. The tension in his jaw tightened as the words sank in.

“A guy named Logan, eh?” he said, his voice flat but with a growing note of interest.

I found myself staring at the bed sheets again, my fingers absently tracing the fabric as if I could unravel this knot of confusion.

“Yeah, why? You know someone with that name?” The coach sounded incredulous, his voice dropping in pitch, almost casual.

Shane looked over at me, an eyebrow raised. He gave me a knowing look. My pulse quickened. I nodded.

“I know someone with that name. Logan Snyder.” Shane’s voice dropped, and there was something almost dangerous in his words. “He’s been hitting on my boyfriend.”

The coach’s voice changed, just slightly. There was an almost imperceptible shift in his tone, like he was recalibrating to this new information. “Your boyfriend? You gay, Kowalski?”

“Yes, sir, I am,” Shane replied, his voice calm but with a glint of something I couldn’t quite place. “My boyfriend Taylor answered the phone.” He smiled at me, though it was more of a quiet recognition than any real amusement.

The coach paused, the silence stretching before he spoke again, a rustle of papers in the background. “Well, I need you to be here on campus. Where are you now?”

“I went back home. I’m about four hours away—maybe longer. I need to shower, change clothes, and I haven’t eaten breakfast yet.”

“I’ll set things up for tomorrow, then,” Henderson said, his voice clipping the words. “Take your time, get here safely, but call me the minute you get back to your dorm room.”

“Yes, sir.” Shane’s words were firm, almost mechanical.

The line went silent. We sat there, the phone still in my hand, just staring at each other. The weight of the conversation hung between us like smoke in a room. My mind raced.

Logan Snyder. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle it, but my thoughts turned dark and sharp. I could picture it—Logan tied up, shoved in the back of the truck, his fate sealed. It didn’t matter if he was still breathing by the time he got back to Shane.

The silence felt thick, suffocating, as we exchanged another glance, each of us processing this new piece of the puzzle. Neither of us spoke, but in that moment, everything felt more dangerous than it had the day before.

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The bin store light was already on. The harsh yellow flooding out onto the concrete slab.

The sound of cascading bottles told him it hadn’t just been left that way. Sure enough, once Oliver was inside, he saw him; the downstairs neighbour. 

They spoke now and then, but not often. Had each other’s numbers in the event of emergency, but had never used them. He was shorter than Oliver was, though almost everyone was shorter than Oliver was. His hair was trendy, he had well kept stubble, and his arms spoke of regular trips to the gym. He couldn’t remember his name. 

The other guy, finished emptying out the plastic bin he was carrying, finally clocked him.

“Oh, hey,” he said, somewhat subdued.

“Hey bro,” Oliver replied, sorting out his own rubbish.

But the guy didn’t leave as expected. When he turned he saw that he was starring at him. Actually, not at him exactly so much as taking him in, scanning him.

He seemed a little anxious.

“You good?” 

It was less a question more a probe. 

“Yeah man, sorry, just remembered something.”

Dropping cardboard into the bin, he cocked an eyebrow at him.

“And what’s that?”

The man flushed, his body language becoming awkward.

“It’s nothing,” but he didn’t leave.

“Nah, come on, bro. You got a problem? Did I park in your spot or something?”

The man smiled, lightly, like he was in on some joke.

“Erm, no.”

Done with his chore, Oliver put the bin down and folded his arms.

“Come on, spit it out.”

He thought his tone was friendly but his words had an edge to them.

The guy began to fidget, like he was deciding what to do, and then forced himself to look Oliver in the eye.

“You keep your window open.”

He paused.

“And?”

“And…you keep your window open. When your girlfriend comes over.”

The man was bright red now, twisting the skin on his forearm back and forth, 

He wasn’t following until the man raised his eyebrows.

“Oh,” he said, and felt a slight heat in his cheeks.

“You heard?”

The man nodded.

“Sorry man! I’ll, err, make sure to keep it closed from now on.”

The man stepped forward, arm half raised before he caught it.

“No, you don’t need to do that. I just thought you should know.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t mind,” the man said, smiling.

A prickle of understanding began along his spine, working its way up and over his head, and then down to his crotch.

He’d been a beast that night, his six fit four frame absolutely smashing her pussy. He’d impressed himself, honestly. He’d bragged about it with the lads the next day. And this guy had been a sort of unknown witness, heard him fuck Elouise.

Had he enjoyed it? Did he like hearing her moans? But then, she didn’t really moan that much. If anything he was always being told he was too noisy.

And then it clicked. 

Ah, he thought.

He was getting off on him. It made sense now. The hair, the muscles, the smell of expensive aftershave. 

He should probably close the window from now on, stop this guy from perving. But, honestly, he realised he didn’t mind either. Besides, his room got hot when he fucked. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I just thought you might want a heads up.”

“Okay,” he said, “Well I guess if you don’t mind, I’ll keep it open, then – when its hot, that is.”

He left the bin store, leaving the man behind. His cock, a little fluffed in his pants from the memory of that night, was taking up part of his brain now, pushing the rational one aside.

This dude was totalling pounding his meat listening to him fuck. He should care, right? 

Eloise was fucking milking his cock tonight. Her cunt clenching and releasing him in rhythm with his fucking. Her feet were pushed against his pecs, folding as he pushed down into her. She was encouraging him on, her voice low. He was answering his voice loud. 

“You like that?” he kept asking, eyes widening in challenge, “You like this big fucking cock?”

“So big, baby!” she answered.

He grabbed her ankle in a vice grip in the cruck of his arm, let his legs slide wider, her hole widening with the last few centimetres of his schlong to enter. She gasped, and he was mewling. 

Diving in again and again, he felt his balls begin their tell tale rise. A rise he’d been familiar with since he first learned to jerk off at 12. He was gonna blow.

His nut was as big as his roar was loud. He dumped his load deep all the way inside her, emptying himself into her womb, his body strained and fixed as his throat echoed and his manhood twitched.

Then, he heard it. A noise separated by masonry and distance. It came through the sash window. Low, and animalistic. Elouise, still in the throws of her own orgasm, didn’t hear it. But he did.

The man downstairs, he was cumming. Cumming listening to them. He knew it. His dick suddenly arced and an unexpected, final volley filled her past the brim, and he felt his load trickle down his rapidly descending balls.

The pattern continued for the next fortnight. Whenever he had Elouise over, or a one night stand he made sure she would never learn about, he would listen for the man. And every time, the man would answer with the telltale groans of cum being emptied out.

It made him grin. 

They’d passed on the stairs only once since their unspoken routine had commenced. Oliver had starred, cockily as the man predictably, shrank, eyes downcast. 

But Oliver didn’t close the window, and then man didn’t stop his guttural climaxes.

Then, one night, their paths crossed in the bin store. Oliver had finally had to accept that it was time to empty the bathroom pedal bin. There were only so many times he could crush everything down before physics intervened. But once again, the man was there emptying his bottles. Wine bottles, mostly.

The man hadn’t seen him yet. Oliver felt a swell of power, and adjusted his stance accordingly. Purposefully.

“How’s things?” he asked, startling the man.

“Oh, hi,” he said, that familiar flush returning.

“How you been? Good?”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, shyly, moving for the exit.

But Oliver lent against the doorframe, the bin dangling by his side.

“Had any fun lately?” he asked, smirking.

The man’s eyes flicked up, and slowly a tenuous smile stretched across his face, his cheek now crimson with guilt.

“A little.”

“Good bro, everyone should let off some steam now and then.”

“Like you?” the man ventured, a daring glint in his eye.

Oliver answered by inflating his frame, becoming bigger.

“Oh yeah man, absolutely. We’ve all got needs, right?” 

Then, he opened the pedal bin, and started to empty it by hand. A deodorant can, a shower bottle, and then, a rubber full of cum, tied off at the end. He made a show of it, letting the man see. His eyes went wide. It was an impressive load. He’d been drunk when he’d filled it up, cumming inside it so he didn’t get that random knocked up.

“Errr…” the guy said, eyes fixated. 

Oliver draped it on the edge of the industrial bin, and then emptied the rest of the contents in one dump.

“Anyway, gotta go. See you round.”

He left the man behind. As he rounded the stairs, he peaked back. The man was holding the condom up, marvelling at the teet filled with his silvery cream.

His cock expanded down his trouser leg.

Their little rituals continued, and grew. The windows remained firmly open, even as the weather turned. Sometimes he’d be jerking off, and lubing his cock, and think about the man. He’d rock his bed back and forth, pant a little louder, and wait. The man always answered with his own noises.

He began wearing condoms with Elouise, saying it was so he could last longer. She embraced it. Sometimes he would leave them on the man’s back door, draped over the door knob. But then he got more daring. Sneaking downstairs in his boxers, slotting the condom through the letter box.

Then the man would return them. Always empty. It made him hard. He wasn’t sure why. He tried watching gay porn, but it did nothing for him, and blew his load watching MMF porn. 

He wondered what he did with the cum. Swallow it, he guessed, But maybe not? Maybe he used it as lube? Or poured it into some container in his fridge. He liked to think the last one wasn’t true.

One day they ran into each other in the reception.

“Hey,” the man said, unexpectedly. Still shy but a little more sure of himself.

“Hey.”

His eyes drifted to Oliver’s crotch, currently framed in grey joggers. He knew he was sporting a decent VPL, which is why he owned them. Why he wore them.

“Erm, I got a parcel with your name on it.”

That was odd. He hadn’t ordered anything. The man told him to wait, and after a moment in his flat, returned with an elongated cardboard box.

It had a weight to it, but not even.

“Thanks,” he said. The man nodded, and with a brief smile, went back to his apartment.

One upstairs he took a knife and started to cut into the parcel tape. 

It was a fleshlight. A transparent, full fleshlight with pussy lips and clit. 

His cock throbbed as he poked at the silicone with his finger.

That fucker. He’d bought this! 

His cock had snaked down his leg, and precum was already staining the cotton. 

Not caring, he yanked them below the cheeks of his ass, and took the free sachet of lube, slathered it across his curved shaft, massaging it under his foreskin and over his head, and sank into it there and then in the kitchen.

It felt amazing, hugging him. He held it down with both hands, trapped by the counter top. He fucked into it, rocking back and forth on his toes. He watched the reddish-pink of his cock slide back and forth through the plastic and silicone sleeve, his head flaring as it left and returned to his foreskin. He was actually watching himself fuck. The whole situation was too spontaneous, too much. He saw his nut. His cock expanded, pushed the silicone sleeve outward, and then the spew of white, hot liquid.

Spent, he withdrew, breathing heavily. He picked up the toy and looked at it. It was expensive and so horny. He tilted it, watching his spunk, his sperm, flow back and forth. He almost washed it, but thought better. This wasn’t some idle gift, it was an escalation. The man wanted something, and watching his load cling to the tunnel walls, he knew what.

He went downstairs, careful to keep the toy level, and knocked on the door. A moment later the man appeared. Before he could say anything, he handed him the still warm toy, and without saying a word went back upstairs.

They swapped back and forth for weeks. Sometimes handing it over, sometimes just leaving it by the others back door. They never spoke about it.

The first time Oliver got it back he was surprised to find it was still full of cum. At first he thought he’d misunderstood, until he realised that there was more than he’d dumped earlier that day.

When he finally realized that the other man had added his own load, he wasn’t sure what to do. First he laughed, then he felt a bit revolted. Why hadn’t he just emptied it? Did he not want to taste it? Isn’t that what he did?

Then, a few hours later, he realised what the man had done. It was a message. You made me cum. This is how I use your cum.

It was lube.

They were sharing a pussy now. Not a real one, obviously. The guy was clearly gay. But somehow the dude was, kind of, what? Trying to bond with him? Or was he just a fetish? For the first time he wondered who was using who.

He wasn’t ready to use it the same way, and so dumped the sticky contents down the sink, washing it clean with his fingers. 

But as time went on he thought about it less and less as the new routine became comfortable. He’d even had Elouise use it on him, sneaking downstairs to hand it to the man. They had both been in boxers, both sporting wood. 

As always, no words were spoken. But Oliver was back to his cocky self, whilst the guy stared at his long cock, sheathed in cotton.

He never fucked the fleshlight with the mans load in it. It felt kind of…odd. Instead, he did something much more fucked up.

One night, when he had a random under him, cunt lips grasping at his tool, and filming it on snapchat for his mates to compliment him on tomorrow, he had an idea. He told the woman he’d be back in a moment.

He went into the bathroom, and took the fleshlight out. It was full of their dual load. He’d meant to wash it earlier but he’d been in a rush to head out. Now, it was perfect. He turned his phone video on, and flexed his body in the mirror, turning full circle so his back muscles, glutes, and thighs got their fair share of the spotlight. His cock, big and arcing upwards, was undoubtedly what the guy really cared about. He took the fleshlight, turned up upside down, and let their loads drip on to his boner. He rubbed it in, making sure his smirk was in shot, then, camera still in hand, returned to his one night stand, and plunged his fat pole all the way. Their mixed cum, gay and straight, made him glide in, and in no time he was filling her cunt with a fresh batch.

As usual, he posted the story on his alternate snapchat, the one he and his mates used to update each other on their pussy pounding antics. 

The next day, the man downstairs found the fleshlight by the backdoor, a piece of paper with a username stuck to the surface.

Oliver waited, until later, an add request popped up. The man watched his story. 

Then, the man posted. Posing naked in the mirror, hand holding his cock, moving in a circle. He was built, much more than he was. He admired him, but he wasn’t turned on.

Then, one night, he was at home, reading a magazine on his iPad, when he heard something.

Rhythmic slamming. He smiled. His neighbour was getting some. It wa the first time he was aware of.

Later, as he went to bed, he found the man had sent him a video.

Another man, tall, dark hair, was totally naked and on his knees between the thickly muscles thighs of another. The man smiled awkwardly, hesitant, but the instructions from the voice wear clear.

“It’ll be so fucking hot, dude. I came in it earlier, just pour it out. Fuck me with my own cum.”

“You’re so fucked up,” the man said, then did as he was told, smearing the contents of the toy all over his cock. 

“Ready?” the man asked, stroking his considerable weapon.

He watched, his own cock expanding, as the man filmed himself entering the bottoms smooth hole, the pearlescent white streaked across his firm shaft as he worked it inside.

He didn’t need to ask. He knew it was his load.

Poetic, vengeful fucker, he thought.

After that they would swap videos of their conquests, but over time, they fell out of their carefully learned rituals. The windows closed during winter rain and weren’t reopened. The fleshlight was swapped less and less. The videos continued but they lost their visceral throb. Their provocation.

Then one day, the man moved out. Boxes filled the downstairs hallway, a van took them away. Oliver shrugged. It had been a fun, bizarre experience, but over now.

Then, a week later, he received a parcel.

Inside it, carefully wrapped, was the fleshlight. And next to it, tied up, was a condom with the biggest load he had ever seen, and a card with a return address. 

He shook his head, but didn’t throw either away.

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

It was too hot to sleep. London got like this in summer. 

The walls of the terrace house had baked in the sun all day and now were releasing that heat into the house. The old sash windows were open, but the net curtain sat perfectly still. The fans plugged into every room just cycled the heat around. And the lads? The lads were spread out in their respective bedrooms, doors open wide—three tired, naked bodies overheating in the thick soup, and residual lager.

Their rooms faced each other. If Liam and Ant sat up they could see each other spread out, bollocks resting low between their thighs. Liam shared with Gav, two singles against opposing walls, Liam’s facing the door. Only Ant had the privilege of a double. 

Ant broke the silence first.

“Oi,” he called out, voice hoarse from Stella and vape hits, “You two still alive or have you both drowned in your own bollock sweat?”

Gav answered with a belch that echoed like it came from his spine.

Liam gave a breath of a laugh but said nothing. Just lay on his back, legs damp, fan doing fuck-all beside the bed. 

Then: slap slap slap. 

“Liam raised his head slightly, looking down his body and beyond. Ant’s hand was gliding up his thickening shaft. 

“Is he doing what I think he’s doing?” Gav asked from the neighbouring bed, propping himself up on his arm.

“Can’t sleep, might as well bash one out!” Ant shouted across the hall.

Gav smirked, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Ant fired back without missing a stroke. “Take’s one to know one, mate. I’ve seen that crusty sock under your bed.”

Liam shifted slightly, still quiet, his cock already beginning to stir from the stupid talk and the rhythmic, sticky slap from across the hall. 

“Mate, you too?” Gav said, eyeing his expanding manhood.

Liam just raised his eyebrows in answer, and let his hand grasp the familiar feel of his dick.

“He beatin’ it too?” Ant shouted from across the hall.

“Must ‘ave turned him on, mate!”

Liam, who was now at his full 6.5 inches, watched his foreskin slide back.

“If you can’t beat ‘em!” he shot back.

Ant laughed and kept going. 

Gav, whose own pole was now stretched out, laid back and wrapped his fist around it.

“Fine,” he muttered, as he went to town.

For a minute the only sound was slick foreskin rolling back and forth. Gav laid back with his arm behind his head, a thick matt of sweaty black hair poking up from his pit, eyes closed as he enjoyed the fresh sensation. 

Liam glanced over at his mate, watching the flat of his stomach tense and untense with every stroke, and the thick, untrimmed mass of black pubes that curled out and up to his belly button.

“Hey, Liam? You can see us both, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s packing the most?”

Liam laughed, as Gav opened his eyes, and thwacked his meat in his palm in emphasis. Sitting up, he caught sight of Ant’s dong. All three were uncut, all three sporting good size. 

“You,” Liam shouted at Ant, who sat up and fist pumped the air. 

“Fuck yeah!” he shouted.

“But I’m thickest,” Liam said, waving his own shaved manhood.

“Sucks to be you, Gav!”

“Fuck you both. I cum like a mother fucker!”

“What’s the use in that!?” Ant chuckled, now back to jerking his cock, his heavy balls bouncing as he worked it.

“Ask your mum!” Gav shouted, his thick head glistening in the street light filtering in through the window.

That broke them. Laughter, full-bodied and stupid. Three sweaty blokes half-pissed, bare-arsed in their own beds, shouting bollocks across the hallway.

“Ohhh,” Liam laughed, “lad’s got balls!”

Liam watched the action and picked up his rhythm, matching the slap of Ant’s hand, then speeding it up. He stared right into Ant’s room now, who stared straight back in the gloom, both of them with cocky grins and no shame, cocks twitching in his grip.

Ant gwinked,“Fuckin’ race ya.”

Liam sped up, “Not with that pretty little moan you just made.”

Gav barked from his bed. “Girls like guys who can last, you dumb fucks.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” Ant challenged.

Liam turned to see Gav sit up and face him, legs swing over the bed.

“I think he’s threatening me!” he joked, and felt his balls begin to pull in close.

All three of them where bucking into their fists now, showing off, cocks straining, solid, abs tensing, foreheads beaded with sweat, grins cocky as fuck, and the smell of precum and body odour filling their noses.

Liam felt close. Too close. His hips started twitching, his ass grinding in the mattress. His abs clenched. He squeezed hard and grunted—low, filthy, raw—and sprayed all over his own stomach, groaning through gritted teeth.

Ant kept going, watching Liam ride it out, hypnotised watching his mate spew his load.

“Fuuuck,” he let out, both impressed, and as an announcement. 

He arched, his body rising off the bed, gasped, and fired into the air. Arcs of cum caught the light as they flew into the air, and landed in all over his torso.

Gav, who had clearly lost, suddenly stood, bent backwards, and then, face scrunched up, thrust his hips forward and aimed his cock right at Liam. 

“Fucking take it!” he shouted, as his glands flared and his spunk shot in ropes, each one covering the distance between their beds, as hard wetness slapped against Liam’s torso, ricocheting into his face.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell!” he shouted, jumping back as Gav’s cum dripped down him body to join his own.

Ant was roaring with laughter, as Liam jumped off the bed, and stood, drenched in both means loads.

“What the hell?!”

But Ant was laughing hard, and Gav, who was still pumping out cum, just smiled.

“I fuckin’ told ya.”

Liam, whose own orgasm was finally fading, just shook his head and tried to suppress a smile.

“Wanker. Go get me a towel.”

Ant appeared at the door, one already in hand, whistled at the streaks of cum still working their way down Liam’s tattooed body. “Lad didn’t lie, did he?”

“So its settled, Ant’s biggest, Liam’s fattest, and I’m a fucking machine,” Gav said, and waved his cock so that left over spunk flung across the room.

Liam grabbed the towel, his cock still hard despite the truly epic load he’d shot, and surveyed the three of them. Gav, still solid, cum hanging from his head, his stubbled face flush with still reeling hormones. Ant, his married dong, hefty and curving downwards, shining in the half light, his carefully clipped beard wet with sweat. 

They were fucking debauched, like students on a school trip experimenting in the dark, not grown men sharing a work digs.

With a smirk of his own, he began to wipe the thick semen from his hairless chest, “I hereby declare 32b Bank Place, the Wank Palace.”

---

To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

---

Mike did not speak. He simply lay beside Harry, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, each breath a quiet offering to the silence that now enveloped them. The room held the scent of socks, sweat, and something older than either of them could name. It was the fragrance of surrender, of shared presence, of bodies that had become altars.

Harry shifted slightly, his thigh brushing Mike’s. The contact was gentle, unhurried, like the stroke of a tuning fork across skin. Mike’s hand found Harry’s calf, fingers tracing the outline of muscle and memory. He paused at the ankle, then lowered his head once more. His lips pressed to the place where the sock had clung, and he inhaled deeply, drawing in the essence of Harry’s walk, his weight, his day. It was not lust. It was liturgy.

Harry watched him, eyes soft, body open. He did not guide. He did not perform. He simply received. Mike’s devotion was fluent in silence. He kissed the arch of Harry’s foot, then the heel, then the tender hollow behind the ankle. Each gesture was a hymn. Each breath, a benediction.

The boots rested nearby, tongues slack, soles still warm. Mike reached for one, cradling it like a vessel. He brought it to his face, inhaling with reverence. The scent was earthy, raw, alive with memory. It spoke of movement, of labour, of longing. He kissed it once, then set it down gently, as one might return a chalice to the altar.

Harry’s hand found Mike’s jaw, thumb brushing the stubble there. He pulled him close until their foreheads met, breath mingling, eyes closed. No words passed between them. They had already spoken in scent and skin.

Outside, the world moved on. A breeze stirred the curtains. A car passed in the distance. But inside, time folded. They were no longer two men. They were a single flame, flickering in the sanctuary of breath and silence.

And in that stillness, Harry felt it. The sacredness of being received, not for performance, not for perfection, but for presence. Mike had not claimed him. He had honoured him. And Harry, in turn, had offered the truth of his body, unguarded and whole.The room was quiet, steeped in the scent of leather and cotton. The boots had walked far that day. The socks, damp and fragrant, held the story of each step. Mike sat upon the edge of the bed, legs parted, breath steady. Harry knelt before him, not with haste, but with intention.

He placed his hands upon the boots, fingers tracing the creases, the softened leather, the worn laces. He did not rush. He honoured. One lace was loosened, then the other. The tongue was drawn back slowly, revealing the sock beneath. Grey, damp, shaped by Mike’s foot. Harry peeled the boot away, then cradled it for a moment before setting it aside. The second followed, just as reverently.

Then came the socks.

Harry touched them first, palms resting upon the fabric, feeling the warmth, the weight, the scent. He slid them down slowly, exposing the arch, the heel, the toes. The skin was flushed, creased, alive. Harry kissed the sole, then the ball, then the space between each toe. Not with hunger. With worship.

Mike watched, eyes soft, chest rising with quiet awe.

When the ritual was complete, Harry sat back, hands resting upon his thighs. Mike rose, then knelt before him. The rhythm shifted. The mirror turned.

Mike placed his hands upon Harry’s boots, fingers moving with the same reverence. He loosened the laces, one by one, then drew the leather back. The socks beneath were darker, thicker, soaked with the scent of Harry’s walk. Mike inhaled deeply, letting the musk settle into his lungs. He removed the boots slowly, then folded them beside his own.

The socks clung to Harry’s feet, damp and fragrant. Mike touched them gently, then peeled them away, revealing the skin beneath. He kissed the arch, the heel, the toes. His breath was warm. His touch, devotional. Harry closed his eyes, letting the worship settle into his bones.

They did not speak.

They did not need to.

The ritual had spoken.

Two pairs of boots. Two pairs of socks. Two sets of feet, tended and kissed, honoured and held. The scent lingered in the air, earthy and sacred. The socks were folded and placed upon the altar. The boots remained nearby, open and spent.

And in that symmetry. In the turn-taking. In the scent and the silence. They found something older than romance. Something deeper than desire.

They found presence.

They found love.

End of part 3

Jaxon’s face-hole meets it  first man-pole.

I get a few hours rest. As I’m drinking my coffee, I look at the camera keeping an eye on the new piece of meat downstairs. Seems he fell into a restless sleep. Probably having some nightmares. Like I care if he’s feeling tormented, he’ll understand soon enough that everything I’m doing is for his own good. A faggot needs a strong man in its life, or it’ll make foolish mistakes, say, like, staring a man down at a bar as if he’s eye candy, all while his girlfriend is there, flirting with your bud. That can certainly change the course of your life. If Jaxon wasn’t meant for this very life altering event to happen in his life, then, one, he wouldn’t have given me a second glance instead of staring at me like a little kid staring through the window of a candy store. 

Jaxon definitely had a hungry look in his eyes that night. He also had it at the store, and at the cheap pizza place with warm beer. As for reason number 2, a man wouldn’t tolerate his girlfriend flirting with a bud. A real man would have put her in her place, or called her a slut and kicked her to the curb. A pathetic faggot trying to live a lie, well, he’d have no idea how a man would react because he’s as far from being a man as a puppy. Hell. His girlfriend had bigger balls hahaha.  

And speaking of balls, mine are feeling heavy. Beating the boy’s ass and reducing him to a whimpering submissive bitch that ate his dinner off the floor, has made me horny as hell. My eleven inches of superior southern manhood needed some attention. No time like the presence to start the fag’s education in proper fellatio. Of course, by proper, I mean getting nailed in the throat without mercy. Fags particularly love getting face fucked, so will Jaxon. He just needs to have his inner cock slut awakened. I love awakening fags.

Just wearing a robe, and armed with a fresh cup of coffee, and a fun tool for waking up sleeping beauties like Jaxon, I head down to the basement. I’m already starting to sport a semi, I’m looking forward to this. I particularly like taking a boy from virgin to slut, i really love it when the boy’s been running from his true self and trying to be something it’s not. A faggot hiding from his purpose is the most pathetic creature in existence. And it’s my job to show the faggot the error of his ways.

I walk downstairs, and flip on the light. I can hear the boy whimper. He’s aware of my presence, but trying to pretend he’s sleeping, maybe hoping I’ll be nice and let him be. That’s a cruel move, actually. Giving the boy any kind of hope at this point would only reinforce his delusions that I’m gonna let him go, or at least, take pity. I am taking pity on the boy, though, it’s a pity he thinks he’s anything remotely like a man. So I intend to take on that pitiful belief and remove it. I hit the button on an air horn can. Man those are loud in an unfinished basement. It blasted out its ionic, ear ringing, amplified noise and the boy jumps, and screams, and looks right at me. He instantly senses something. Maybe it’s the evident woodie starting to show, I don’t know. I just love his reaction.

“Nooo…god, please nooo more…” he cries, trembling.

“No what, faggot?” I ask nonchalantly. 

“Please let me go. Please. I won’t tell any one…i…i…I promise I won’t talk…” he cries out pleadingly. I can’t resist myself. I need to have some fun with the boy.

“Of course you won’t talk, especially after I cut out your tongue, faggot,” I say dead pan. His eyes go wide, and he’s about to go insane with his pleading. His pathetically weak, inept attempts at trying to regain control of his life. He’s just unable to deal with being confronted with his new awareness of his position in life and how to stop me. He’s unable to make any kind of offense that will save him. His only moves are defensive, and they’re all based upon how quickly he’ll let go and just submit. Time to find out.

I walk up to him, staring down at him, I take a few sips of my coffee. He smells it. He wants some. Like my mother used to say, want with one hand, shit on the other, and tell me which one filled up first. Life is shitty sometimes, haha. 

“On your knees now, boy!” I say flatly with venom in my voice, as I grab him by his hair and lift him up. He yelps, struggling against my will forcing the pace of his movements. He’s not being given any leeway. He’s going to do exactly as I say, or he’ll add to his suffering through this important step in his life. He’s gets on his knees, but he’s slouching, looking slovenly. My fags need to look proper, and hold proper positions. 

“Spread those thighs wider, faggot,” I command as I kick at his knees with my foot, coercing his knees to spread wider apart. Then grab the chain attached to his collar, and pull up on it, choking him some.

“Back straight Jaxon, no slouching you worthless slut.” I say, tugging harder on the chain. He straightens his back, his knees slide closer in the process. Perfect window, dumbshit, I think to myself. Then swiftly kick his knees again, harder, saying, “Spread those knees you stupid whore.”

He yelps. And says weakly, “You don’t have to be an assho…” 

I cut him off before he completed his statement, and say, “Ass…hole. You calling me an asshole, faggot,” and slap his right facial cheek aggressively. 

“You? A pathetic slave, calling me, his Master, an asshole?” And slap him again.

He mutters, “I’m not your slave…”

“Yes. You are Jaxon,” I reply, and pull out my cock. And let a stream of piss start spraying on him. He starts stuttering and sputtering as my golden, morning piss sprays him and even goes into mouth. He starts trying to get away. I pull harder on the chain, choking off his breath, and more importantly, choking off his struggle some. Then, as I keep my strain hitting his face, I slide my foot back and slam into his balls, and he gasps loudly and I aim directly into his mouth.

“You are a slave, Jaxon. You were born for this!” I say bluntly as my piss is finished, letting the last couple spurts land on his chin. 

“You have no choice in this, slave boy. I’m too much of a man for you to resist. You are mine to do with as I please, faggot,” I say as matter of factly as I can while grabbing his nose and pinching it tightly.

As he opens his mouth, trying to breath, and say something stupid again, I laugh at him as I shove my hardening cock into his mouth, hitting his throat, and repeat that movement, while saying, “Shut the fuck up, slave boy, and let’s focus on your training, cock slut.”

Using both hands, I grab the bitch by his hair and start face fucking the boy. It doesn’t take long before throat slime starts spilling from his mouth as I keep hitting the back of his throat. Bam. Bam. Bam. And as each “bam” happens, I say, “Slave boy!” Over and over. 

As I’m kindly fucking the boy in his mouth, and showing him how much I care for him by teaching him to let go of his ignorant notions of being a free man and embrace his purpose in life, I keep up the barrage of words that make him feel good.

“You’re a submissive cock slut, boy. You wanted me the first night you saw me. And you want me now. You need this, faggot. You need me to break you and enslave you, fuck boy.”

I pull my cock out and slap his face with it, roughly. He is coughing, sputtering, trying to out-think me, but I’m not giving him any opportunities to regain his composure. Whack! Whack! My shaft slams across his face. Then I force my way back into his mouth, shoving my cock down and hitting his throat again, and start using his mouth like it is intended to be used. 

“That’s it faggot, take my cock, slave boy. You know you’ve wanted this for a long time. But you’ve been scared of losing things.”

He’s gagging and trying to use his hands to push me away. But he’s too weak to get any kind of control or power in this. It’s his nature. Yea, he’s fighting against me, however his efforts are half ass at best. He’s not physically weak at all. He probably could at least get some good punches in. I haven’t restrained his hands, just his feet. If the boy was half the man he’s been pretending to be, he’d be swinging on me. He hasn’t. Like I said, right place, right time. This is it for him. Ok. Actually it was that night in the bar. He was mine the minute his faggot brain decided it should be mine. I just have to make him understand what happened that night.

“Scared you’d lose friends, respect, and all that crap if you had embraced your desires. Stupid slave! You were going to lose them anyways..its your nature to lose at everything, except your insatiable lust for alpha men and their cocks. That’s all you’re meant for, faggot!” I say like I’m soothing a child. During this, I’ve kept up a steady pace of punneling the boy’s mouth, and my cock head slipped deeper down. Fuck it feels good, stretching his virgin throat.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, he’s gagging on my cock, however I’m seeing acceptance in his eyes. They’re lighting up with stars. And that detached look a faggot gets when it’s slipped into it’s subspace. Jaxon is discovering his. He’s instinctively opening his throat now. Fags have natural instincts that most gay boys don’t have. A vanilla bottom has to be taught how to suck cock. A fag? It instinctively knows what to do, like putting a mother’s breast in front of a baby. It latches on, and a faggot? It takes to the cock, even if its subconsciously following its instincts, its a matter of self preservation for a faggot slave boy. It needs to please, and Jaxon is letting me use him. Again, if he didn’t want this, he would put up a real fight. 

I pull out, slip a couple fingers into his mouth, and his instincts kick in, his tongue slides over them, as I say, “Look up at me, Jaxon. Eyes on mine.”  

He looks up, his doe-like eyes remind me of a deer in the headlights of a car. Full of fear and indecision, with a touch of pleading for…more. Yes, I see it. That hunger, it’s there. I gently wipe away some tears, and say..

“You’re a pretty faggot, Jaxon,” he blushes some, “You have such potential, such a great opportunity in front of you. A life of leisure, really.”

Ok, not exactly leisurely, but for a faggot its heaven. I’ve never had a boy run away, not yet at least haha. He’s now greedily sucking on my fingers, and I can feel his mouth and tongue dancing across my fingers, beckoning to my cock. Fuck, this boy is a natural indeed. Pulling my fingers out. I say, “Open your mouth boy, tongue out!” He does as told as his body trembles, slowly opening his mouth, his tongue sliding out. I hold my cock up. 

“Take it in your hands, boy, and lick it.”

He stares at it, trembling. Unable to move, he’s the frozen deer again, until..

“NOW!” I bark. It startles him into action, and the bitch quickly grabs my shaft and licks. 

“That’s a good boy,” I say, gently taking his head in my hand, “Go on you pretty little faggot, keep going. You know what to do, Jaxon. You’ve always known.”

He looks up at me, his hand trembling, he licks it again, then again. I moan softly, to encourage him, and he feels empowered.

“So much better when I’m not being cruel, isn’t it boy? So much better when you give in to your dark desires, huh boy?” I ask, softly petting him on his head. He visibly relaxes, as I continue, “Go on boy, suck my dick. You’ve been wanting it for days now, go on, make me happy, slave boy. And I’ll make you happy. “

Ok. Another white lie. I don’t know if he’s ready for the next part or not, but, guess what? I am! So I gently pull his mouth closer to my shaft, “Suck my dick, puppy, and prove to me you’re worthy of freedom.” 

That last part, a spark of hope, to crush soon, and further taking the down the rabbit hole. Unaware that I’m enlisting him to help force his enslavement. And he does not let me down. He opens his mouth and impales himself on my shaft, trying to deep throat. I let him do his faggot magic, as he start giving his first blow job. His first of many. I softly guide the boy, and moan softly. I mutter words like yes, and good boy. He’s starting to get into it, and let’s me start thrusting again, and pushing down as I hit his throat. Fuck this faggot wants this. I groan as I say, “Yea, that’s it boy. Suck thar dick like a champ. You’re making me feel good, puppy”

I feel myself sliding into his throat. That fresh, tight tube stretching, and letting my superior cock invade it. He moans, and then purs a little. Yes, this boy is a natural cock slut. He was born for being penetrated in every way possible. And I’ll allow just about anything if it makes me money.

He’s working his mouth like a whore should. He’s also getting me close. A fresh faggot always makes me extremely horny, and I wanna nut in this bitch’s mouth. Really bad, at that, but first, he needs to experience things my way. So…

 

I start thrusting harder, and he pushes back. Yea, saying freedom made him surrender his throat. Good. I grab his head and shove another 3 inches down into his esophagus, and say, “That’s it faggot, take it!” Then, I really pound him in the mouth, in and out, over and over. My cock slides in hard, I pull it out, then bam!, straight back in. 

“You’re a slave Jaxon!” I say as I slap his face with my cock impaling his throat, “You’re a pathetic faggot that never had a choice in his life, and you never will, slave!” I say that as I go a little rougher with the face fuck. I feel my balls tightening up. I feel that load I desperately need to release boiling in my loins. Looking down at the bitch, I see his eyes have rolled back into his head, his arms hanging at his sides, and he’s taking my cock without any resistance. 

I even rub my foot on his crotch, and he’s ready to bust, I can tell. Fucking little slut for sure.

I nail his throat, feeling my shaft swell, he feels it as he gags more, choking on it. I slap his face again, then one more time. He whimpers, then purs again, and I lose it. I start shooting. Damn it feels good feeding this faggot. And just because I wanna reward him with the humiliation he needs, I pull from his mouth and cum all over his face, some even gets into his eyes hehe. I shake all over, it feels so good.

I look down at him, and he’s blushing, embarrassed about this. Then I realize what really has him embarrassed. He cumed in his pants. The faggot creamed his jeans hahaha. Perfect. Now, for the icing on.the cake.

“You slut! Did I give you permission to cum faggot? Stupid whore!”

And for the second time of his life, twice in the same morning, I piss on my new faggot slave. I unload my bladder all over the ungrateful shit.

“And to think, I was almost convinced that you earned some freedom, stupid of me, huh? You pathetic bitch.” I then turn, and go back up stairs, smiling and whistling as he starts begging and crying again, covered in my piss and cum, the taste of both fresh in his mouth. Balls drained, check. Faggot covered with my superior loads, check. Hope given at the right moment, then crushed under my foot, check!

Thus, that was Jaxon’s first 12 hours as my slave. All in all, a nice 12 hours for us both. I mean, I know I enjoyed it. As for Jaxon, I can care less. He’s a slave.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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I now accepted that I was gay whether I liked it or not, and that I was obsessed with cum, in me or over me. 

A few days later, I had a text from Teddy. He suggested we meet for a beer and get to know each other better. I readily agreed, knowing I would get my belly or ass filled, maybe both. I told him I’d come straight from work Friday.

He met me at the station, wearing a tight Adidas T and jogging shorts, obviously commando as they were already tenting. He had a devilish look on his face, as if he was planning some mischief. Sitting in the beer garden of a nearby pub, he pulled his semi out to whet my appetite. With no one else around, he gave it gave it a few tugs and it quickly rose to full erection. I could have taken it there and then, if I’d been brave enough. Instead, we drank up, and walked to his flat. He casually mentioned that he shared it with hid brother, Alex, who wasn’t gay, but, “Wouldn’t mind getting his balls drained”. The flat was in a right mess, rubbish on the floor and dirty plates on the table, but I wasn’t there for an inspection. Alex was a couple of years older, with the same tousled hair and impish grin. I guessed they had it all planned. Teddy began kissing me and running his hand inside my underwear, while Alex dropped his jeans. My T-shirt came off, and my shorts and boxers dropped to my ankles. Teddy pushed on my shoulders, easing me to my knees. The two brothers stood side by side as I took turns to wank and suck them. Then Teddy moved around the back of me, knelt and removed my trainers and shorts. I knew what was coming and put my bum in the air. I concentrated on the dick in my mouth. Strong hands gripped my waist and his cock pushed through my ring forcing more cock down my throat. I leaked steadily onto the threadbare carpet. They were in no hurry, almost teasing me. Teddy kept taking it out, playing with it on my hole, and ramming it back in. His brother slapped me on the cheek with his dick. Then they swapped places (his not gay brother obviously didn’t care). They used me like a doll for half an hour before filling me in both ends. I was finally allowed to toss myself.

Dressed again, and chugging on a beer, watched TV and ate pizza. Teddy asked if I had anything to do tomorrow. I said other than a bit of shopping, I was free. “Ok, stay the night, and come to watch me at cricket practice in the morning.” It sounded boring, but if it meant having his dick again, it would be worth it. We had a couple more beers, and I noticed he was doing a lot of texting. 

We slept together. In the morning, he gave me a towel and toothbrush, and told me not to be too long, showing off his morning wood. Back in bed, we had a leisurely fuck. I didn’t know whether I was falling in lust or love, but the shags were becoming more love-making. I smelt coffee, Alex was already sorting breakfast in the nude. I helped myself to cornflakes, after which I had to pay for them by giving Alex a BJ. 9. 30, and I’d had cum in both ends. At 10.00, a horn sounded and we went down to an old Citroen, being driven by a thick-set guy with a ‘tash. Another guy was already in the passenger seat. The ground was on the outskirts of a pretty village. There were several cars already there and guys chucking cricket balls to each other. More cars arrived until there were about 20 players. I sat on an old bench watching proceedings. An older guy, presumably the manager barked orders. Bored, I checked my phone. I had replies from men wanting to make use of me. I replied to them all, asking for dick pics. Practice over, the team bundled into the old wooden clubhouse. Teddy beckoned me to join them. Inside, there was a scattering of dining chairs and a table. Off to one side were the toilets and showers, with a phyisio table. Some guys went to the shower while others started to get out of their cricket gear, until I was surrounded by naked and near-naked men. Teddy grabbed my hand, and led me to the table. With the help of a couple of his chums, I was laid on the table and stripped. Pretty soon, I had a dick in each hand and another in my mouth. Gay or straight, it seemed they were intent on getting their rocks off. My legs were parted, and Teddy was the first to fuck me. Not the love-making sex we’d had earlier, but hard fucking. The penis in my mouth shot its load and Teddy emptied his balls for the second time that day, only to be replaced by another, and another. More cocks splattered on my face. It felt like I was wearing a mask of cum. Spunk ran out of me as the fourth, then fifth guy added their semen to an already filled hole. It took best part of an hour for them to satisfy themselves, with some of them cumming twice. The last man to fuck me was the manager, with a cock like a baby’s arm, it was just as well my ass was already swimming in spunk. I hadn’t even had chance to relieve myself. Eventually, we all dressed and we returned to the flat. A steady flow of semen soaked my boxers as I headed to the toilet and shower. I had no others to put on, so Teddy leant me a pair. Literally shagged out, I headed to the station, and home to bed. The guys on my phone would have to wait for another day. I lay there thinking of the cricket team, and blew a massive load.       

It wasn’t long before parker was a mess, he was constantly on edge with the vibrators but never enough to cum.

The room was pitch black and he had no idea how long he had been there. It was torture not knowing how long he had been there or when Wyatt was going to let him go. His girlfriend was out of town this weekend so it was just Wyatt home meaning he could be forced to stay all night. He knew he looked pathetic the star jock of his high school tied up with a cage on his cock and getting teased by vibrators and all he could think about was someone seeing him like this and his secret being revealed

30 minutes later Wyatt finally comes back. He walked over to parker and started rubbing his hands all over the perfect tied up body. Wyatt was loving this ever since parker and his sister started to date he wanted him and now he owned the most prized possession. Wyatt said “so this is how it will go. Tonight you are staying here and I will do whatever I want to you unless you try to leave and I’ll post these photos of you laying down here with a caged cock on the schools website. Next your cock will stay locked this entire school year and I will decide when you get to cum. We are going to order you some jock straps to wear for soccer since I am going to start controlling what you wear. And finally you are going to find a way to break up with my sister.”

Parker tries to yell but is blocked by the gag in his mouth. There is no way he can break up with her and he can’t have his cock locked the whole school year it was only August.

Wyatt then took the gag out of parker’s mouth and said you can scream but no one else is home so it doesn’t matter. Wyatt then starts to strip down slowly revealing his six pack and 7 inch cock. Wyatt shoved it directly into parker’s mouth and forced his head on it making him choke and gag. Wyatt went back and forth making parker take it in his mouth.

Wyatt then pulled out and said “come on you can suck me better than that” and shoved his cock right back in

Parker chocked and mumbled out fuck it’s too big

Wyatt said that’s why you’re wearing the cage and I’m throatfucking you.” “ fuck I’m getting close parker you better swallow all of it or you will be punished.”

And finally Wyatt’s cock erupts with cum and parker’s mouth fills up with it and as Wyatt’s cock is leaving his mouth a small drop of cum dropped on parker’s face

Wyatt sees this and is pissed because there was one rule so he leaves the room and comes back with a small crop  and tells parker to count every hit

Wyatt starts and parker screams but then says 1 and Wyatt hits harder and says “restart you need to thank me after each one”

Again parker says 1 thank you and then 2 thank you

Wyatt hits him 20 times for that one drop of cum and says “that was an easy punishment so don’t let anything else happen”

Parker is crying and his body is trembling from being hit so many times but he is still leaking from his cock

Wyatt began to untie parker and said to not try to run. Once he was untied Wyatt made him put in a small butt plug and said to prepare himself for later he had to wear this and to keep it in he threw parker a tight pair of black Nike boxer briefs. Parker did have to admit the cage made it look like he had a pretty impressive bulge because normally his cock didn’t show much being a grower and still only 4.5 inches hard. It never really satisfied Emma (girlfriend) the way she needed so he always finished and then had to do oral on her

Parker and Wyatt both went downstairs and made dinner but parker was forced to eat just grilled chicken so his stomach would have a bland meal.

Wyatt told parker to go take a shower and get ready for the rest of the night

The next week, everything felt… different.

Even just hanging out with Jake, scrolling through my phone, or lying in the hammock in the backyard—it all seemed like background noise compared to the one thing echoing in my head: the memory of Mark’s body pressed against mine.

I couldn’t focus on anything. I’d grab a notebook to doodle, but instead of writing, I found myself sketching broad shoulders, strong arms, even the faint outline of a bulge under sweatpants.

Every time Jake said something casual like, “Dad’s grilling tonight, wanna come by?” my heart skipped in a way it never had before.

It was dangerous. And addictive.

Friday rolled around. Another sleepover.
I told myself it was the same as always, just beers, games, and late-night laughs.

But deep down, I knew I wasn’t going for Jake this time.

That night, the three of us had dinner together. Mark grilled steaks out on the deck, the smell of seared meat drifting through the summer air. He looked casual in a white T-shirt, his arms flexing as he handled the tongs.

I caught myself staring too long. He noticed. His eyes flicked to mine for just a second—nothing more. But it was enough. A silent promise.

Jake wolfed down his food, then yawned exaggeratedly.
“Man, I’m dead tired. Tyler, you staying over?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. Don’t keep drinking without me, old man,” Jake muttered, laughing as he headed upstairs.

And just like that, it was the same situation as last time.

Me. Mark. And the silence of the kitchen.

I tried to act normal, rinsing my plate in the sink, but Mark came up behind me. His presence filled the space, his body heat brushing against my back.

“You came back,” he murmured.

My hands froze under the running water.
“…Yeah.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?”

I turned slowly, my chest almost touching his. His eyes were steady, calm—but burning with something I couldn’t deny.

“…No. I couldn’t.”

Mark smiled faintly, then leaned in close enough that his breath tickled my ear.
“Then show me again how badly you want this.”

My whole body shivered.

This time, it wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t just curiosity.
It was hunger.

I kissed him first.

Mark’s lips crushed against mine. His kiss was deep, confident, tasting of beer and smoke from the grill. His hand slid under my shirt, rough fingertips stroking my stomach until I shivered.

“God, Tyler…” he murmured, pressing me back against the counter. “You feel so good.”

I clung to him, lost in the heat of his body. His hardness pressed against me, urgent, undeniable.

And then—
A faint creak.

The sound of wood shifting.
The stairs.

My heart jumped, but Mark didn’t notice. His mouth was on my neck, teeth grazing my skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it.

A shadow, just beyond the kitchen doorway.

Jake.

He was standing halfway down the stairs, one hand gripping the banister, his face pale in the dim light. His eyes wide, fixed on us.

I froze, panic exploding inside me.
But Jake… didn’t move.

Instead, his other hand slowly, shakily, lowered toward his crotch.

My breath caught in my throat.

He wasn’t running.
He wasn’t yelling.
He was watching.

And he was hard.

Mark’s hand slid lower, palming me through my jeans. “You’re shaking,” he whispered against my ear, mistaking the reason. “Relax. Just let me take care of you.”

I wanted to push him away, to warn him—but my body betrayed me. My knees weakened, a moan escaped my lips, and Jake’s eyes seemed to darken.

The faintest sound came from him—a muffled gasp, like he was trying not to breathe too loud.

Mark kissed me harder, oblivious.
Jake’s knuckles whitened on the railing as his hips shifted almost imperceptibly.

I was caught between two burning gazes.
Mark’s lips, commanding and sure.
Jake’s eyes, wide with something between horror and desire.

And I… couldn’t stop.

Mark’s arms pulled me tightly against his chest.
The gentleness from before had vanished, replaced by the raw, feverish hunger of a man consumed by desire.

“Tyler… I can’t hold back anymore.”

His whisper brushed my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine.
My hips, pressed against the counter, were driven forward even harder.

“Ah—nngh…!”
A cry escaped me before I could stop it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could still see Jake’s trembling shoulders in the shadows of the staircase.
That forbidden presence sparked not only fear but an unbearable surge of arousal.

Mark’s hands clamped firmly around my ass, shoving me mercilessly deeper.
“Ugh—ahh… so deep—!”
Each thrust into the pit of my stomach wrenched voiceless sounds from my throat.

“So tight… damn it, you’re incredible, Tyler…!”
Mark’s guttural growl spilled hot against my back.
His ragged breaths, the sound of sweat dripping—it drowned me completely.
I couldn’t hold back my own voice any longer.

“More…! Please, give me more…!”
The words tumbled from my lips, so shamelessly honest I could hardly believe they were mine.

Behind me, Mark let out a short laugh and slammed his hips even harder into me.
My fingers clutched the counter so tight my knuckles turned white.
With every ruthless thrust, my vision blurred into dazzling white.

In the corner of my sight, Jake reached his breaking point, stifling his moans as he spilled himself in silence.
The sight drenched me in guilt—and yet only fueled the overwhelming ecstasy.

Mark’s pace grew wilder, the sound of flesh against flesh echoing through the kitchen.
“Tyler… I’m close…!”
“Me too… together—!”

In that instant, the heat burst deep inside me.
“Ugh—Tyler…!”
“Ahhh—!”

My own release streaked hot across my stomach, even as Mark’s thick warmth flooded into me.
Our voices tangled, half-choked, as we melted into one in the middle of the kitchen.

—But I knew.
In the shadows of the stairs, Jake had witnessed everything.

That truth gnawed at my chest, even as the aftershocks still shook my body.