29. Lance
Lance
I catch a glimpse of the phone on the tripod beside the bed—the little red light blinking steadily, screen showing exactly what it’s capturing.
Me folded in half, legs shoved up toward my chest, George’s thick cock disappearing into my ass with every thrust. The sight of us on hits me like a second cock.
“Oh my god,” I gasp loudly, the words punching out of me with each slam. “That’s so fucking good, George, fuck—we look so filthy on screen.”
George glances over at the screen too and groans, hips snapping hard. “Yeah? Like watching yourself get fucked?”
“More,” I moan, even as my eyes keep flicking back to the live feed. “Yes, so fucking hot.”
George slams back into me so hard the headboard cracks against the wall.
My scrub top is rucked up past my nipples, the thin navy blue fabric bunched under my armpits.
He has one fist tangled in it like a leash while his other hand grips my hip with bruising force.
His thick, relentless cock is buried to the hilt, pounding my prostate on every deep, punishing thrust.
He growls low in his throat, hips snapping forward again, driving with so much force I feel it in my teeth.
“You look so good,” he rasps, voice filthy and face feral.
“Wearing my favorite fucking thing. Those scrubs hug your ass like they’re trying to kill me.
You put them on slow on purpose, didn’t you?
Teasing me while I was still half asleep. ”
I try to laugh but it comes out a broken moan because he chooses that very moment to grind in a slow circle. “You’re the one who woke up hard and decided to rail me before coffee,” I manage. “Just getting dressed for work.”
“Bullshit.” He leans down, chest pressing to my back, mouth hot against my ear. “You bent over to grab your pants and gave me that perfect view of your hole still slick from last night. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d lose my fucking mind seeing you in these scrubs again.”
He punctuates the words with a brutal thrust that makes my eyes roll back. My cock is smearing precum across my stomach every time he bottoms out. George’s free hand roams greedily over my body, his palms dragging across my ribs, thumbs brushing my nipples.
“These nipples,” he mutters, pinching one hard enough to make me yelp.
“Poking through the fabric like they’re begging for my mouth.
And this ass, fuck, the way these pants sit low on your hips when you’re walking around the hospital?
I’ve jerked off thinking about bending you over an empty gurney more times than I can count. ”
“George,” I groan, laughing and pleading. “Don’t…don’t mark up the scrubs. This is my last clean pair.”
He breathes against my neck, teeth grazing the skin there. “I got you a nice red one right here.” He sucks hard just below my collarbone, adding another hickey to the collection he started last night. “I’m gonna cover you in them. Everyone’s gonna know you got fucked stupid before breakfast.”
I tighten around him involuntarily at the thought, and he curses under his breath, rhythm faltering for a second. “Shit, do that again. Squeeze my cock like that.”
He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, setting a punishing pace that has the bedframe creaking dangerously.
My scrub top is soaked with sweat now, clinging to my chest, and George yanks it higher, exposing me completely from the waist up.
His mouth descends immediately, open-mouthed kisses and bites across my pecs, tongue flicking over one nipple while his fingers roll the other.
“George, seriously, my top—”
He growls, frustrated from all my whining, then sits back on his heels without pulling out. In one swift motion, he yanks the scrub top over my head, tossing it toward the foot of the bed. Now I’m completely naked except for the socks, and George’s eyes go dark and feral all over again.
“There,” he says, voice gravel. “Are you fucking happy now?”
He rolls me onto my side facing him, then hooks one of my legs up and over his hip, opening me wide. The new angle lets him sink impossibly deeper. I cry out shameless and loud, nails digging hard into his forearms.
“That’s it,” he praises, hips snapping. “Take my cock, just like that. I’m gonna come all over that pretty face and chest so you have to shower again.”
I moan at the image, body tightening around him, my own orgasm coiling tight in my gut.
His hand wraps around my cock, stroking fast and firm. “Come for me, Lance. Let me feel this tight hole milking me while I wreck you.”
It hits me with my back arching, vision whiting out, shouting his name as I spill over his fist and across my own stomach. George keeps fucking me through it, drawing out every shudder until I’m oversensitive and whimpering.
Then he pulls out, rips the condom off, and strokes himself furiously over me. “Open your mouth,” he orders.
I do, dazed and pliant. He comes with a guttural groan while hot, thick ropes land across my lips, cheeks, and neck, then drips down to my chest. Some hit my tongue and I swallow reflexively, licking the drip off my lips and chin.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both spent. George flops beside me, chest heaving, looking far too pleased with himself.
I glance at the phone, the red light still blinking.
“We should watch it,” I purr. “Tonight, when I get home.”
George’s eyes burn like he’s considering going for round two. I must get out of this bed before that happens or I’ll definitely be late for work.
He gets up, puts the phone down carefully. It’s still recording for a few extra seconds before he stops it. His voice drops lower. “And I demand every filthy video you’ve got saved on that laptop. All of them.”
I let out a weak, embarrassed laugh. “You’re not getting all of them.”
“I am,” he says, leaning down to kiss me slow and deep, tasting like both of us. “Every single one, Lance. I want to see exactly how you’ve been playing with yourself while thinking about me.”
I groan, mortified but stupidly turned on again already.
“Fine, but only because you asked so nicely,” I mutter against his mouth. “I’m going to be late. Morning shift starts in thirty-five minutes and I smell like you and sex.”
“My favorite smell on you.”
I shove him off, laughing, and try to roll out of bed. My legs immediately protest. My ass feels like it went three rounds with a wrecking ball, and I can’t stop the wince as I stand.
The first step is…delicate. I end up limping like I just got bucked off a mechanical bull that didn’t want to let go.
Behind me, George lets out a low, delighted whistle.
“Why are you walking like that, Lance? Something huge hit you?”
I freeze mid-limp and shoot him a glare over my shoulder. “Yeah. Just some obnoxious, hung bastard happened. Ring any bell?”
George grins, sprawling back against the pillows with his arms behind his head. “Must’ve been one hell of a hit.”
I hobble another step and immediately regret it. “I’m gonna need a goddamn wheelchair for rounds if you keep this up.”
He laughs, deep and warm. “You kept pushing that perfect ass back on me. Don’t act like you didn’t love every inch.”
I flip him off over my shoulder without turning around, still doing my best impression of a penguin with a bad hip. “Keep talking and the only thing getting broken next time is your nose when I sit on your face.”
“Promise?” he calls after me, voice dripping with filthy hope.
I pause at the bathroom door, legs still shaky, and look back at him. He’s watching me with that stupid, fond, horny look that makes my chest do ridiculous things.
“Promise.”
I finally disappear into the bathroom, his laughter following.
The laptop on the coffee table is playing. We’re seated on George’s couch, watching my private videos like they’re our own personal dirty movie night.
We start with my solo video—me on my bedroom floor, riding the black and green alien dildo. The thickest part forcing me open, the hooked base locking it deep. The close-up shots catch every bounce, the slick shine, my desperate moans filling the room as I chase my own pleasure.
George has one arm wrapped around my waist, the other lazily stroking my cock while we watch. I’m already half-hard just from hearing myself.
“Shit. Your ass is divine,” he murmurs against my neck. “Taking that thing so deep. You were really working for it.”
I shiver, hips twitching in his lap. The video next plays the one we made last night.
Now we’re watching me on my hands and knees, face down, ass up.
The camera catches every expression on my face as George rails me from behind—my mouth open, eyes rolling back, moaning like I’m losing my mind with every deep thrust. George is grunting in the background, hips snapping forward hard, burying himself to the hilt over and over.
Then the angle changes. George pulls out in the video, grabs the camera, and moves it closer so the frame is filled with nothing but my ass. On screen, his voice turns dark with focus. “Show me. Spread it open for me.”
I watch myself obey, pushing back and making my hole wink open, soft and needy. George sets the tripod down and uses two thick index fingers to spread me wide, holding my hole open in a perfect, obscene gape while I whimper on the recording.
Watching myself get fucked is like ten times the intensity of riding a toy. Both have their own filthy appeal. But seeing someone else wreck me like this, seeing my own hole stretched and used and claimed on camera… it hits somewhere deep, almost spiritual.
That sounds too dramatic, but fuck, isn’t this my new favorite pastime now, second to the real thing? I’m one good dicking away from writing scripture about my prostate.
“Jesus,” I breathe, stroking him slowly through his pants while my head rests on his bare chest. “We look so fucking hot on camera. Can’t believe you made me gape like that.”
George rumbles, dropping his lips against my hair. “You look perfect. Gonna watch it alone when I miss it.”
I catch another glimpse of the screen—my face contorted in pleasure while George pounds into me.
That’s all it takes.
I lift up, push my pants down, position myself properly, and sink down onto his cock with a breathless sigh.
A few orgasms later, we’ve somehow made it from the couch to the bed. I’m still seated on him, his cock buried deep in me, when the aftershocks fade enough for me to move again.
George is breathing hard under me, his chest slick with sweat and arms loose around my waist like he’s trying to decide whether to hold me still or just let me have my way. His dick twitches inside me, still thick and hard enough to keep stretching me open even after coming a few minutes ago.
I roll my hips once, slow and testing. He groans low, fingers flexing on my ass.
“Jesus, Lance. Give a man a second to breathe.”
I grin wickedly and lift up until only the head is inside, then drop back down hard. The wet sound is so hot, my unfiltered moan follows right after, echoing off the bedroom walls.
He curses, hips jerking up on instinct even though his eyes are squeezed shut like he’s in pain and bliss at the same time. “You’re killing me, actually killing me.”
I don’t answer with words. I just start riding again, faster this time. My thighs burning and ass slapping against his pelvis every time I bottom out. I’m too far gone to form sentences.
George’s hands slide to my hips, not guiding, just holding on like he’s afraid I’ll fly off if he lets go.
His cock throbs inside me, rock-hard despite the two loads he’s already given me.
Sweat dripping down his temples, abs clenching every time I grind down, he still meets every downward stroke with a forceful thrust, giving me exactly what I’m chasing.
He tries to complain again, voice hoarse. “Shit, my dick’s gonna fall off. How many times have you come already? Three? We’ve been going since I don’t even know the fuck when.”
My ass grips around him hard and slow, and his whole body jerks like I just shocked him.
“Four soon,” I manage between moans, my voice cracking. “And you’re still so fucking hard for me, Big Guy.”
He lets out a rough, breathless laugh, almost delirious. “Trying to be a gentleman and pass out, but you’re bouncing on my cock like it’s cardio day.”
I lean forward and brace my hands on his shoulders. George groans and shifts higher against the headboard, pillows shoved behind his back so he’s half-reclined. The new angle tilts his cock upward and slams straight into my prostate.
A raw, keening cry tears out of me. I plant my knees wider, grip his shoulders harder, and start rocking.
George’s hands clamp down on my hips like he’s trying to anchor himself to the mattress. He’s not fighting for control anymore. He’s just holding on, hips jerking up in short, helpless bursts to chase the pace I’m forcing on him.
He finally cracks.
“Fuck this,” he growls, voice raw. “I’m coming again. Can’t fucking hold it when you’re screaming like that.”
“Do it, G. Want to feel it.”
His rhythm breaks and he comes with a broken shout, pulsing deep inside the condom while his whole body shakes under me.
The feeling of him throbbing shoves me over the edge one more time.
His palm wraps around my shaft, still slick from earlier, giving me a few firm and fast strokes.
That’s all it takes. Three rough pulls, thumb dragging over the head on the upstroke, and I shatter.
I come with a cracked, hoarse cry, spilling cum all over. My voice gives out halfway through his name, turning into a whimper.
We stay in place like that for a long beat, with me slumped forward and forehead pressed to his shoulder, both of us gasping like we’ve been underwater too long.
“You fucking menace,” he mutters after a minute, voice rough and warm at the same time. “Didn’t even give me a second to breathe before you wrung another load out of me.”
I let out a weak laugh against his neck, too spent to move. “You’re welcome.”
He snorts, fingers tracing slow lines up my spine. “Next time you want to go like this, you’re carrying me to the shower. My legs are done.”
“Deal,” I mumble, already drifting. “But only if you keep whining the whole way. It’s cute.”
He pinches my ass lightly and playfully, and I gasp, which makes him chuckle low in his chest.
Insatiable menace meets exhausted but satisfied bastard.
We’re both completely ruined, and neither of us would change a thing.