Chapter 2 #8
Walker collapses onto the couch next to us, grinning, pulling a beer from who knows where. “That’s what a real finish looks like, rookie.”
Finn flips him the bird.
Grant gets back to work, hauling me down onto his cock like he never stopped. He picks up the pace, plants his feet, and really fucks into me quick and hard, my body bouncing on his cock with every wet slam.
His forehead drops to my shoulder.
“Gonna fill you up,” he says quietly, just for me. “Gonna pump you full. You want that? My cum in your pussy?”
Sweet Jesus, I’ve never wanted something so bad in my entire life. So much that I almost say it out loud. I almost tell him yes, please, breed my pussy.
Miles exhales smoke through his nose, watching with his dick in hand.
“Someone stroke Kit off,” he says, lazy. “Look at his wood—he’s been rock hard this whole time.”
Miles, man. Miles is a legend. Genuinely the MVP of this house. I gotta remember to be nice to him. Like, make him a cake or something.
Walker sighs. “Fine.”
He leans over, his hand closing roughly around my dick, and starts stroking.
And then I realize it’s Grant’s hand.
Oh, fuck.
Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck—
I held it together through a dry orgasm, four dudes, enough cum to drown in, and approximately one million things happening to me simultaneously.
I stayed a doll.
I just took it.
But then… two hard pumps.
That’s all it takes to break it all.
Two strokes of Grant’s fist while I’m bouncing on his cock, and the orgasm hits me like I’m birthing a new universe to life—and I have the epiphany that that’s how the Big Bang happened. Probably.
I come so hard the world turns to static. I come so hard, I let out a sound that never came out of me before. I come so fucking hard, I try to move, to fight the insane spasms running through every inch of me.
I think I’m crying too.
I think I’m saying a thousand things.
But I’m not sure about shit, just that my cock’s spilling over Grant’s fist in waves, and waves, and more waves. That my hole’s clenching around him rhythmically. And that somewhere in the middle of it all, Grant goes rigid underneath me.
“Fuuuck—” He bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt, and then he’s coming inside me. I’m being flooded, his cock pulsing with hard throbs while I’m still spurting in his fist.
Neither of us stops for a whole eternity. Grant goes back to pumping into my ass in these short grinding thrusts, riding it out. His fist keeps working my cock even though I’m spent and losing my mind from how sensitive I am.
“Dude,” Walker says, watching Grant’s hand on my cock. “Bro. He’s done.”
Grant doesn’t stop.
He keeps milking me, wringing every last twitch out of my oversensitive dick while he empties his balls. I’m leaking onto his fingers, twitching, my body locked up, shaking and about to fucking die.
Finally, when the last pulse fades, his hand stills.
But he’s still holding my cock. He’s still buried in my ass. I can feel things to a degree I was never able to feel before.
The room is dead silent except for Grant breathing hard against my neck and my own jagged gasps.
“Yo, Miles,” he says, after a second. “You close?”
“Very.”
“You wanna—”
“Nah, man, he’s done,” Miles says. “Just lift him up. Let me see his ass. I want to see what we did to it.”
“Dude’s gonna nut looking at a guy’s ass,” Finn says, grinning.
“Hell yeah, I am,” Miles says, completely unbothered, standing up and walking over. “That’s a top-tier fuckhole.”
Grant lifts me off his cock, dragging out the wet slide of his dick pulling through my loose walls. My rim tries to suck him back in, clenches on nothing, and hangs open. He folds me, my spine curving, my back pressed against his abs. My legs are yanked up and my ruined hole is put on display.
I’ve never felt more like a thing. Like a slab of meat on a table. Like something bought and paid for and used up.
Miles’ eyes lock onto the sloppy mess of me. Spread wide. Ruined. A hole that’s been used and used and used until it doesn’t even try to close anymore.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, stroking his cock harder. “Look at that hole. It’s fucking ruined.”
He’s right. I can feel the way my rim is puffy, swollen and loose. The way Grant’s cum is dripping out of me, sliding down my taint and pooling on the floor. The way my hole keeps twitching and fluttering, like it’s still trying to milk a cock that’s already gone.
Walker and Finn crowd in closer.
“Dude. His ass is straight-up broken,” Walker says, sounding way too delighted about it.
Finn whistles low. “Factory defect or performance upgrade?”
“Upgrade,” Grant rumbles, giving my thigh a rough smack. He digs his fingers into the meat of my ass, prying me open even wider. “This is what a perfect fuckhole looks like.”
Miles steps up and presses the wet tip of his cockhead right against my gape, hovering right there on the doorstep without pushing in. Letting me feel the heat of his meat without giving me a single inch of it.
That’s the most degrading fucking thing I’ve ever experienced, because Miles isn’t even bothering to fuck me. He isn’t even treating me like a fleshlight anymore. A fleshlight you fuck. A fleshlight you thrust into. I’m not even worth that.
He’s treating me like a dirty cumrag that doesn’t deserve his cock.
My asshole blinks against the smooth crown of his dick, so hungry for it, clenching on air as it practically begs him to stuff me full.
But he doesn’t.
Miles loses it right there, his hips jerking, his hand jacking off fast. He aims straight into the center of my gape without ever crossing the threshold.
A thick jet of his load shoots cleanly past the rim, filling the cavity of my wide-open hole.
My walls clench hard on nothing but the warm rush of it, desperately trying to pull the fluid deeper into my gut.
It turns out I absolutely love the idea of being bred, of having a dick fill me up completely. But there’s something so much viler, so much hotter about this. Miles isn’t breeding me—breeding means fucking and claiming.
This is just dumping.
I’m a trash can. A cum dumpster. An unworthy, dirty hole. Something to aim at and drain into.
He groans, and his dick gives a few final, weak twitches right against my skin, and then he steps back, panting. I’m left with my ass totally blown open, feeling his warm slime pooling inside my cavity and starting to slow-drip down my cheeks.
“Okay,” Grant holds me there a second longer, then looks at Walker. “Help me lay him down.”
Walker stands, clearing his spot, and the two of them maneuver me onto the cushions. I end up on my back, someone shoving a throw pillow under my head. I don’t know who did that but it was a kind thing to do.
I stare at the ceiling.
Idaho is still there, very faithful.
I should visit Idaho one day.
Silence stretches out.
Finn’s the first to break it, clearing his throat.
“Okay. This is awkward.”
“Kit, bro,” Grant says, a little hesitant, “if you want us to bounce so it’s not awkward, we’re out. Or you can just, like, wake up or whatever. No pressure either way, man.”
The thing is, I can’t move. I genuinely assess the situation and the situation is that my body is completely cooked. My thighs feel like I did leg day and then immediately got hit by a truck. Every nerve I have is fried. Moving feels like a theoretical concept.
But I also, honestly, could go more.
Not right now. Right now I’d probably die. But that part of my brain that’s been an object for the last hour is full and satisfied.
I blink slow, turning my head toward Miles and Finn rolling another joint by the coffee table, and my voice comes out rough as hell:
“Bro. Pass that shit over here.”