12. Salt and Stone #6
Kepler licked a stripe up my crack, hot and slow, letting his beard scratch my skin, making me arch and gasp.
Then his mouth found my hole again, and he devoured me like he needed it to breathe.
His tongue was relentless—circling, teasing, pressing deep, wet and filthy, making obscene noises as he rimmed me.
He sucked and spit, letting his saliva drip down, making me even slicker, even more desperate.
“God, your hole is so fucking sweet,” he groaned, pulling my cheeks apart, exposing me completely.
His words—so rough, so straight, so full of filthy reverence—sent a bolt of lust straight through me. My hips bucked, rubbing my cock against the mattress, needing more.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he praised, thumb pressing against my rim, tongue fucking me open, making me clench and whine. “Open up for me.”
He worked me open, tongue and fingers twisting, stroking, coaxing every last drop of resistance out of me. The room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the sound of my helpless moans, his filthy praise.
Finally, when I was shaking, shivering, dripping with need, I heard him reach over to the nightstand. The drawer slid open, and the unmistakable sound of a bottle cap popping echoed in the room. Lube.
He slicked his fingers, then pressed them inside me, the cool gel making me gasp, but his touch was sure, practiced, full of promise. He stretched me, three fingers now, working in and out, hitting that spot that made me see stars.
“Look at you,” Kepler murmured, leaning down to kiss my shoulder, his cock hot and heavy against my thigh. “All open for your daddy.”
He moaned, his own control slipping, the head of his cock smearing precome against my ass as he rutted against me, not yet pressing in, just letting me feel the thickness, the promise.
“You want it?” he asked, voice wrecked with want. “Want daddy to split you open, make you his?”
“Yes—please, I need it—need you inside me—need to feel you, need you to ruin me?—”
He laughed, dark and pleased, a note of awe in his tone. “So fucking eager. So fucking hungry.”
He kissed the back of my neck, his hands never still, fingers sliding out, leaving me open and wet and desperate. The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, teasing, smearing slick and precome, promising more.
“Feel that?” he said, grinding against me, letting me feel the stretch. “That’s what you’ve been waiting for. That’s what you’re gonna remember every time you think about this night. Every time you jerk off, you’re gonna remember what your daddy did to you.”
I moaned, shaking, bracing myself against the mattress, every muscle tense with anticipation.
He paused, fingers tracing my spine, voice suddenly softer, but still full of need. “You ready for me? Tell me you want it. Tell me you’re ready.”
“I want it,” I begged, voice hoarse with need. “Please, daddy, take me.”
He groaned, lining himself up, hand gripping my hip. “Good boy. I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”
The blunt head of his cock pressed against my hole, slick and hot, promising everything I’d begged for.
Kepler leaned over me, his weight pinning me to the mattress, one big hand sprawled over my lower back, holding me down, owning me.
I gasped as he started to push in—thick, unyielding, so much more than I was ready for, and exactly what I wanted.
“Relax for me,” he growled, voice barely more than a breath at my ear. “Let daddy in. Take it. Take all of me.”
I tried, I really did, forcing myself to breathe, to push back, to open up for him. The stretch burned, and I whimpered, fingers gripping the pillow, legs spread wide as he worked his cock in, inch by impossible inch. He didn’t stop—just kept going, deeper, relentless, his hunger as sharp as mine.
“That’s it,” he crooned, filthy and proud, “Feel how full you are? Feel daddy splitting that sweet hole open? Fuck, you’re so tight. Squeezing me so good.”
He bottomed out, hips flush to my ass, cock buried to the hilt, making me feel ruined and perfect. He held himself there, grinding in small circles, making sure I felt every inch, every throb.
“God, you were made for this,” Kepler moaned, biting my shoulder, leaving his mark.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe—just moaned, back arching, legs trembling as the pain melted into pleasure, as the fullness turned to want. He started to move, pulling out halfway, then slamming back in, setting a hard, relentless rhythm that made the bed shake beneath us.
He fucked me like he owned me—rough, claiming, merciless.
Every thrust sent a shockwave through my body, his cock hitting that spot inside me that made me see stars.
I could feel the drag of his veins, the heat of him, the way his cock stretched me wider than anyone ever had.
His hands roamed over my hips, my waist, gripping, guiding, bruising.
“That’s it—take it.” he growled, voice ragged with want.
I keened, desperate, rocking back to meet every thrust, the obscene slap of skin on skin filling the room. The bedframe groaned, the mattress creaked, but Kepler didn’t slow, didn’t let up—he just fucked me harder, chasing his own pleasure, dragging me right along with him.
He leaned in, breath hot at my ear. “You want it harder, don’t you? Want daddy to break you in?”
“Yes—please, more, fuck me, daddy—need it, need you?—”
He slammed in, balls slapping my ass, his hand reaching around to grip my cock, jerking me in time with his thrusts. The pressure was unbearable, too much, not enough—I was lost to it, my mind wiped clean by pleasure, by the relentless drive of his hips, by the filth pouring out of his mouth.
He kept going, not giving me a second to recover.
The rhythm of his fucking grew even rougher, harder, like he wanted to make sure I’d never forget the shape of him inside me.
Each thrust sent sparks up my spine, the obscene slide of his cock in my hole, the thick slap of his hips, the wet heat between us.
Kepler’s hand never let up on my cock, stroking me rough, squeezing, using me like I was his favorite toy.
His other hand dug into my hip, holding me right where he wanted, his grip branding me, promising I was his.
He leaned over, breath hot in my ear, voice all thunder and filth.
“That’s it. Take it. Take all of daddy’s cock.
You’re never gonna be the same after this. ”
My answer was a desperate, strangled moan.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg—my throat was raw from the way I’d been screaming for him, but he didn’t need words.
He could feel it in the way I clenched around him, in the way I pushed back for every brutal thrust, my body giving up everything, no resistance left.
“You’re so fucking good,” Kepler groaned, his rhythm getting erratic, desperate, “Your ass is perfect. Tight, greedy, dripping for me. You want my cum, don’t you? You want daddy to fill you up?”
I nodded, face buried in the pillow, drooling, sweat cooling on my back, every inch of me begging for it. “Yes, please, need it—need you to fill me, make me yours. Please, daddy, fuck?—”
That did it. His hips slammed forward, deeper than ever, grinding his cock against my sweet spot. He cursed, loud and raw, his whole body tensing above me as he came, cock jerking, hot spurts of cum spilling deep inside, so much I could feel it leaking out around his cock, dripping down my thighs.
He didn’t pull out, not even when the last pulse faded. He just stayed buried, panting, sweat dripping onto my back, hands clutching my waist like he’d never let go.
I felt the heat shift—his cock still swelling inside me, and then the unmistakable wet flood of piss. He let it go, hot and shocking, filling me up, letting it run out around his cock, all over my thighs, onto the bed.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Kepler growled, voice gone hoarse and wild, “Take it. Take all of me.”
He finally pulled out, slow and deliberate, letting every drop of cum and piss leak from my ruined hole, trailing down my thighs and over the sheets. I was shaking, gasping, totally used, totally claimed.
Kepler wasn’t finished. He spun me over, eyes blazing, sweat and stubble rough on his jaw, cock still leaking as it bobbed heavy between his legs.
“Let me see you,” he commanded, spreading my thighs, taking in the mess he’d made of me—my wrecked hole, dripping, the red marks of his hands, the sweat and spit and everything.
“Gonna clean you up,” he promised, voice rough, “Then I’m gonna taste you—wanna see you cum for me.”
He ducked down between my legs, licking up his own mess, sucking my hole, tongue hot and relentless, fucking me with his mouth, eating up his own cum and piss, licking me clean like I was the only meal he’d ever want.
His tongue was filthy, possessive, worshipful, making me sob, my cock so hard it hurt.
He pulled off, wiping his mouth, then crawled up my body, mouth crashing onto mine, kissing me deep, sharing the taste of what he’d just claimed. I kissed back, tongue desperate, letting him devour me, every inch of me his.
Then he moved down, settling between my thighs, hands pushing my legs up, mouth hovering over my cock. He looked up, voice low, “Stroke yourself for me. Show me how much you want it.”
I obeyed, hand shaky as I gripped my cock, stroking slow at first, then faster, every nerve raw.
Kepler watched hungrily, then leaned in, his mouth hot over the head, tongue lapping up my precome, sucking me in.
He went slow at first, then deeper, throat working, taking every inch, letting me fuck up into his mouth.
His hands found my hips, holding me steady, encouraging, letting me thrust. I grabbed his hair, needing the anchor, needing to use him, to let him have all of me. “Fuck, daddy, you look so good with my cock in your mouth—want you to swallow it, want you to take it all.”
He moaned around me, the vibration making my toes curl, and he bobbed his head faster, sucking hard, tongue swirling, hand pumping the base as he worked me to the edge.
I was close, so close, the world narrowing to the heat of his mouth, the sight of him worshipping me, the taste, the sound, the way he never stopped.
“Gonna cum,” I choked, voice hoarse, “Gonna cum for you, daddy?—”
He sucked harder, taking me deep, throat closing around me, and I broke, cumming hard down his throat, filling his mouth with everything I had left. He swallowed, greedy, not letting a drop spill, holding me until I was empty, wrung out, nothing left but shivers.
Kepler finally pulled off, licking his lips, eyes dark and shining with pride and hunger. He crawled up, kissed me again, slow and filthy, sharing the taste of me, letting me know I was his.
“Good man,” he whispered, gathering me into his arms, holding me close, bodies tangled, sweat and mess cooling on our skin.
Eventually, the sweat cooled and the mess between us turned sticky, reality clawing its way back into the little cottage. I sat up, hair wild, skin flushed, and looked around for my jeans. Kepler watched me with a crooked smile, chest still heaving, silver hair standing up in sweaty tufts.
“Gonna run out on me already?” he teased, reaching for his own clothes. There was a rawness to his smile—a vulnerability that made him look years younger.
“Not running,” I said, forcing myself to grin as I found my jeans and shimmied into them, going commando, still feeling the burn between my thighs. “Just… figuring out how to walk again.”
He chuckled, tugging his boxers and jeans back up over powerful legs, not bothering with his shirt.
For a moment, the sight of his bare chest—marked with the evidence of my mouth—almost made me want to drag him back down onto the couch.
But I needed air. Needed time to process the reality of what we’d just done.
I pulled my shirt over my head, hands shaking a little. The silence stretched out, awkward for the first time since I’d walked in. Kepler moved around the kitchen, rinsing mugs, setting things right, pretending not to notice the way my gaze flicked everywhere but him.
Finally, he broke the quiet. “You alright, Rowan?”
“Yeah,” I said, too fast, too sharp. “Yeah. I just…” I trailed off, searching for the right words—something that wouldn’t sound like regret but couldn’t quite be relief either. “Kepler, this?—”
He waited, gaze steady, no judgment, just patience.
I swallowed, running a hand through my hair. “Elias can’t know about this.”
The words landed like a stone between us. Kepler’s face tightened, the easy humor bleeding out, replaced by something harder to read—regret, maybe, or just the slow understanding of all the lines we’d just crossed.
He nodded, jaw tight. “I know.”
“I mean it,” I pressed, my voice low, desperate, almost pleading. “Whatever this was—whatever just happened—he can’t find out. I don’t even know what to call it, but if he—” I broke off, the thought too big, too dangerous.
Kepler’s hand found my wrist, firm and sure, grounding me. “Rowan. You don’t have to explain. I get it. I do.”
His touch was gentle, his voice steady, but I could hear something cracking under the surface—a longing, a hunger for something more, or maybe just for what couldn’t be.
I squeezed his hand, grateful for his steadiness. “I’m not sorry,” I whispered, meeting his eyes. “But I can’t—I just can’t?—”
He nodded, squeezing back, then let go. “It’s alright. No one ever has to know. You got my word.”
For a moment, it felt like something might break—me, him, the fragile sense of safety that had wrapped around us in the haze of pleasure. I finished dressing, fingers clumsy, and tried to gather whatever dignity I had left.
Kepler leaned back against the counter, watching me, his face softening a little. “Take care of yourself, Rowan.”
I managed a weak smile, shouldered my bag, and headed for the door. At the threshold, I paused, looking back at him, burned into memory—barefoot, shirtless, eyes full of secrets.
“Thank you,” I said, voice barely a whisper. “For… everything.”
He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something like hope passing over his face. “Anytime.”
I stepped out into the sun, the town quiet, my body humming with the memory of him, my heart heavy with everything I could never say. As the door shut behind me, I felt the weight of it all—the guilt, the want, the fear, and the certainty that nothing would ever be quite the same again.