27. Lance
Lance
I’ve spent way too many nights jerking off to exactly this.
George’s got both hands now braced on the workbench on either side of my hips, caging me in without actually touching.
The heat rolling off him in the dim shop light is enough to make my skin prickle.
The fluorescent strips overhead are mostly off.
Only the underglow from the bay door and a couple of work lamps spill low across the concrete, catching the sharp edge of his jaw and the stretch of his shoulders under the worn flannel.
The way his chest rises steadily while mine is already tripping over itself drives me crazy. I grab his collar and tug him even closer. His growl vibrates against my lips.
His hands are shoving my shirt up and off in one impatient pull.
He steps back half a pace and just watches, eyes dragging over my bare torso and the trail of hair disappearing into my jeans.
His palms land flat on my ribs, thumbs sweeping slow arcs across my pecs until my nipples pebble hard under the callused pads.
“Fuck, you’re built like something I shouldn’t touch,” he says, breaths uneven.
His hands slide up, cup my pecs and squeeze, thumbs rolling my nipples until I hiss and arch.
He leans in and latches onto my collarbone, sucking hard enough to bruise.
His tongue flicks over the spot before he moves to my shoulder with teeth scraping, then down the center of my chest. Open-mouthed kisses turn to bites along my sternum.
He sucks a dark mark right over my heart, then lower, painting hickeys across my stomach, one ridge at a time.
By the time his mouth reaches my hip bones, I’m shaking, my cock throbbing painfully against my zipper. He bites down on the sharp jut of bone, hard enough to make me yelp, then soothes it with slow licks before doing the same on the other side.
“George—”
“Yeah, I know,” he breathes against my skin, voice thick. “You’re leaking for me already.”
He pops the button on my jeans then yanks them down along with my briefs. I kick them off, barefoot on the cold concrete, completely naked, while he’s still dressed from head to toe.
He rests one hand on my inner thigh, thumb circling slow and maddening right where leg meets groin. He just looks long at my hard and dripping cock, then up at my face with this dark, possessive hunger.
“Get on the bench,” he orders.
The main workbench is a tall, long, heavy steel frame, cleared off with rubber mat laid across the top.
I hop up and sit on the edge. George drags his rolling stool over, sits right between my thighs, eye level with my cock.
He pushes my knees wider until I’m splayed open before him like a fucking offering.
“Lie back.”
I do. The mat is cool under my spine. My thighs tremble as he hooks his hands under my knees, lifts and spreads them high, folding me almost in half.
My hole is completely exposed under the low light.
Heat floods my face because he’s just staring, eyes locked on it like it’s the only thing in the world.
“George, what are you doing?” I ask, embarrassed. At the same time, the idea of being manhandled and exposed feels fucking good.
“Shh. I’m looking at your ass.” His voice is reverent. “It’s so fucking pretty, so pink for me.”
He leans in, drags his tongue slow and flat from my balls up the underside of my cock, then circles the head, tasting the precum there.
One hand wraps around the base, stroking firmly while his mouth takes me in deep with slow wet heat.
His throat opens around me until his nose hovers against my skin.
I cry out so loud it bounces off the metal walls, my hands slamming down to grip the bench edges.
“Knowing you’ve put a lot of toys inside this…Can’t fucking wait to put something real in here.”
He works me thoroughly, alternating between long, deep sucks and dragging his tongue down my length. He laps at my balls and sucks one into his mouth. His thumb presses slow firm circles against my hole.
It builds and builds and builds until I can’t take it anymore.
I come hard, back arching off the bench, shouting his name into the empty bay.
He swallows everything without slowing down, working me through it until my thighs stop trembling.
He sits back on his stool after, lips swollen and shining, eyes glinting like he’s very pleased with himself and has every right to be.
“That was embarrassingly fast,” I pant to the rafters.
George drags his thumb across my hip bone, then his palm strokes me up my inner thigh. “You lasted exactly as long as I wanted you to.”
He stands and crosses to the office. A drawer opens and closes. He returns with a condom packet and a lube sachet in one hand. He places them on the mat beside me like he had them planned.
I push up on my elbows. “You keep those here?”
“I keep them everywhere, just in case you’re ready.”
“Ready?”
“Ready to be fucked.”
Oh my fucking god.
He just fixes his focus on me with a zoned-in intensity, like nothing in the world exists outside this bench and whatever he’s planning to do to me on it.
He sits back down on the stool between my legs, then he starts with his mouth.
He leans in and drags his tongue slow and flat over my hole, licking me open with long strokes. I jerk at the wet heat of it.
“George—” My voice cracks.
He does it again, firmer this time, circling my rim before pressing the flat of his tongue against me. The sensation is overwhelming. He keeps licking me slowly, thoroughly, until I’m pushing back against his face, chasing more.
Only then does he pull back slightly and slide one slick finger inside me. He works it in deep, curling gently, while his tongue returns to my rim, licking around his finger as he opens me up.
“You’re so tight,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna open you up nice and slow. That’s it, Lance, relax for me.”
Relax? In this intense pleasure? Might as well ask a man on fire to sit in a lotus position, look zen and all that shit. I’m shaking, feral moaning sounds bouncing off the metal walls of the shop. He adds a second finger, scissoring them while his tongue continues its leisurely, dirty work.
“Been fantasizing about this hole for a long time, you have no idea,” he sighs against my skin, voice low and rough. “So fucking pretty.”
He keeps going like that for a while—fingers stretching me, tongue licking and teasing—until I’m loose, wet, and desperate, hips rolling shamelessly against his mouth and hand.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are shiny and swollen.
“How big is your biggest dildo compared to me?” he asks, heat heavy in his words.
“A bit smaller,” I blurt, breathless. “Shorter by an inch, I think? The alien dildo that I haven’t used yet might be closer, not that I’m saying you’ve got an alien dick, but I can’t fucking know for sure because I haven’t tried both yet—”
“We’re gonna take care of that right now. That means this pretty hole’s gonna feel every thick inch of my cock stretching it wide.”
He stands, rolls a condom on, and slicks himself generously. He then lines up the fat, blunt head of his cock against my entrance.
“Ready?”
I nod frantically, gripping the bench. Ready? For what, exactly? Getting split in half by my best friend’s monster dick? Sure. Why the fuck not.
He pushes in slow.
Holy fucking shit.
The stretch burns, his cock massive—thicker than any toy I’ve ever taken. My eyes fly wide open.
“G—fuck, hold up,” I hiss, wincing as my body locks up. “That’s a bit too much, that’s a lot too much, Jesus Christ on a bicycle—”
He freezes instantly, hands gentle on my thighs.
“Okay. Breathe, baby.” He pulls out completely, rubbing the thick head against my hole in slow, teasing circles. “We’ll go slower. Relax those muscles for me. That’s my good boy.”
I let out a broken laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “I’m trying, but my ass didn’t know we’re upgrading from silicone to industrial-grade cock tonight—”
George’s low chuckle vibrates against me. “You’re doing so good already.”
I groan, embarrassed but ridiculously turned on. Of course, he’s sweet while trying to rearrange my organs.
He coats his fingers again and works two back inside me, spreading them until the resistance softens. He takes his sweet fucking time, watching with complete focus while I stare at the ceiling trying to remember how breathing works.
When he finally pulls out and lines up his cock again, the fat head pops past my rim and I cry out. Pain and pleasure slam into me at the same time, white-hot and overwhelming. My brain does a hard reboot.
“Easy,” he soothes, stilling his hips. “It’s just the tip.”
Fuck me. “Buddy, that feels like you’re trying to park a fucking truck.”
Inch by inch he sinks deeper, pausing every time I tense, murmuring praise against my skin. “Look how you’re opening up. You’re taking it so well.”
I breathe out when the pressure finally levels off. “I’m good. That’s all of it.”
George looks down at me, dark eyes soft with humor. “Lance,” he says, patient as hell. “That’s only half of it.”
I blink. Once. Twice.
“I’m sorry, that’s what now?”
George’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Baby,” he says, running his warm palm up my stomach. “You’ve been practicing, remember? You can take it all. And you’re going to love it.”
Baby? I’m either going to come so hard I see God or die trying. Possibly both.
I groan, partly in protest and mostly not, as he presses further.
My whole body bends to it, stretching farther than I thought possible.
He keeps pushing until his hips are flush against me, bottoming out completely, every thick inch buried deep inside.
A sound escapes me that’s completely different from anything I’ve made before tonight.
“There it is,” he says, deep and satisfied. He leans down without pulling out and gets his mouth on my throat and chest, sucking fresh marks across my pecs while I adjust. I lie there in his auto shop feeling completely and utterly owned.
“Okay now?”