Creamed #6
He felt it before he heard it: a handful of warm, thick pie cream being smeared against his asshole, slathered into the crease of his cheeks with JJ's calloused fingers. The touch was deliberate and unhurried, and the touch of the filling against his overheated skin made him gasp through his teeth.
Then JJ pushed a finger inside him.
Ollie's breath caught.
His asshole broke open around the knuckle with a sharp, burning stretch that radiated deep into his core—a sensation so raw and intimate that it erased any last pretense of this being a game or a joke or something he could walk back from.
He was bent over the serving counter of a cream pie truck with another man's finger in his ass. This was happening and there was no going back.
Outside, the lake shimmered. A bird wheeled across the sky. The world was absurdly, offensively unaware of what was happening inside those four steel walls—that two college boys were about to have sex with another guy for the very first time.
Ollie knew what it meant.
Once JJ's cock was inside him, there was no unknowing it, no un-feeling it, no version of the story he could tell himself later that would make this anything other than exactly what it was. A straight guy choosing this. Wanting this. Begging for it without saying a word.
But he didn’t care about any of that. He wanted it too badly to let it stop him. Even if he refused to admit it to himself, some part of him already knew.
The realization settled over him like a breath he'd been holding for weeks—maybe longer—finally released. Whatever this made him, he wanted it. He wanted it with a certainty that eclipsed every doubt still circling the edges of his mind.
He reached down and wrapped his hand around his own dick, still slick with greasy pie cream, and stroked himself slowly as JJ's finger worked inside him—pushing deeper, twisting, stretching the tight ring of muscle until the burn mellowed into a dull, pulsing ache that Ollie was beginning to crave.
Behind him, he heard JJ scoop another handful of cream from the mess on the floor.
He glanced over his shoulder and watched as JJ slathered the thick white filling over his massive cock, his big fist working the cream up and down the shaft until the whole thing glistened—eight inches of hard, veined muscle coated in sticky vanilla custard.
JJ caught his eye and huffed a nervous laugh. "Here I come, bro."
Ollie turned back to the counter and braced his hands against the steel, waiting to feel it.
And then he felt the big head of JJ's cock press against his asshole—not pushing, not yet, just rubbing. Back and forth over the slick, cream-coated ring of muscle in slow, teasing passes that made Ollie's thighs tremble and his breath come in shallow, shaky pulls.
He could feel the heat of JJ’s shaft, the heavy throb of his pulse, the impossible size of what was about to push inside him—split him open, take its pleasure from him, and change him forever.
He moaned. He couldn't help it. "Do it," he exhaled.
JJ pushed.
The pressure built in a slow, relentless surge—JJ's cockhead pressing harder and harder against the tight resistance of Ollie's asshole, demanding entry with a patience that was more devastating than force.
Ollie felt JJ’s big cock slip off his tight hole a few times. Each time, JJ could bring it back against his asshole and push harder.
Finally, Ollie felt himself stretching, his body fighting the intrusion even as his mind screamed for it, until suddenly, with a sharp, searing pop, the widest part of JJ's cockhead breached his asshole and drove inside.
“Fuck!” Ollie groaned.
He clenched his jaw and let out a long, low growl that came from somewhere primal—somewhere beneath thought, beneath language, beneath every lie he'd told himself about who he was.
“Oh… fuck… bro…” JJ moaned, long and soft, as the snug, silky heat of Ollie’s ass gripped the head of his cock and drew him in.
It hurt. It hurt more than Ollie had expected, a burning, tearing fullness that radiated outward from his center and left his legs shaking and his knuckles white on the counter.
But he didn't tell JJ to stop.
He didn't want to stop—not when JJ's deep, guttural moan poured over his shoulder like something liquid and hot, not when the sound of JJ's voice breaking with pleasure told Ollie that he was the one causing this. That his body was doing this to JJ.
He would endure anything to keep hearing that sound.
"Your ass is so fucking tight," JJ breathed, his hands gripping Ollie's hips. "I don't know how I'm gonna fit inside."
But that didn’t stop JJ from pushing deeper. Slowly—an inch at a time, working his shaft in with short, patient thrusts, each one opening Ollie a little wider, each one sending a fresh pulse of searing heat through his core.
The cream squelched loudly with every short pump of JJ’s cock, slicking the tight friction as he worked in and out of Ollie’s ass. Soon it was oozing from Ollie’s stretched hole in thin white ribbons, dripping down the backs of his thighs.
The air inside the truck was thick with the smell of sugar and sweat and the raw, musky scent of two college boys doing something neither of them had ever done before.
Then something shifted.
On one deep, steady push, Ollie felt the resistance inside him give way—felt his body yield all at once, opening like a fist unclenching—and JJ’s cock sank into him in one smooth, breathtaking slide, burying almost its full length inside the swimmer’s tight ass.
They both cried out for different reasons. JJ from intense pleasure. Ollie from searing pain of giving himself to the hockey player’s big cock.
"Oh, fuck—" Ollie's voice cracked. His vision went white at the edges. The fullness was staggering—a deep, consuming pressure that radiated from his core into every nerve ending in his body. He didn’t hate in. In fact, he was quickly growing to need it.
JJ groaned into the back of Ollie's neck, his forehead pressed against Ollie's shoulder, his chest heaving against Ollie's back. "You're gonna make me cum so fucking hard. This ass is amazing."
JJ then began to move.
The first real thrust drew a sound from Ollie that he didn't recognize—a low, shuddering moan that vibrated through his chest as JJ's cock glided against something deep inside him that sent an electric current arcing up his spine.
The swimmer didn't know what it was—had never heard of a prostate, had no framework for the sensation—but the pleasure was immediate, devastating, and entirely unlike anything he had ever felt. Because it wasn't centered in his dick.
It was deeper, wider, radiating outward from the place where JJ's shaft was pressing against some hidden switch inside him, turning his legs to jelly and raising goosebumps beneath the sheen of sweat on his skin.
JJ meanwhile found a rhythm.
Slow at first—long, deep strokes that let Ollie feel every inch sliding out and then driving back in, the sticky cream gliding between them and dripping to the floor with each thrust. Then faster.
Harder. JJ's hips snapping forward with a wet, percussive slap against Ollie's ass that echoed off the steel walls of the truck.
Each time JJ sank all the way in, Ollie felt the heavy swing of his sticky, slick balls pressing up against his own—the warm, full weight of them mashing against Ollie’s tighter sack in a sensation so intimate, so undeniably masculine, it obliterated whatever question remained about what this was.
This was two guys fucking. Two straight college boys using each other’s bodies in the most forbidden, filthy way imaginable.
And Ollie loved it.
He loved the fullness.
He loved the weight of JJ's body against his back, the scratch of JJ's beard against his neck, the sound of JJ's ragged breathing in his ear.
He reached back and grabbed the back of JJ's neck, pulling him closer, and JJ responded by pressing his lips against the curve of Ollie's neck—then his ear, then the hinge of his jaw—kissing him with a tenderness that was completely at odds with the force of his hips and somehow made everything more intense.
Ollie's dick bounced between his stomach and the edge of the counter with every thrust, rock-hard and untouched, drooling a steady stream of pre-cum that mixed with the pie cream still smeared across his abs.
"You feel so amazing," JJ groaned, his voice thick and wrecked. He slammed in and out of him, driving home to the hilt every time, pulling back only far enough to thrust deep again.
Each time he did, Ollie shuddered with want, as if JJ had found some hidden place inside him and knew exactly how to claim it.
"So do you," Ollie managed, his own voice a ragged whisper. "I didn't know—I didn't know dick could feel so fucking good."
JJ's thrusts grew faster, deeper, more urgent—his hands gripping Ollie's hips with a bruising intensity as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the truck in a relentless, accelerating rhythm.
"It feels so good," Ollie gasped. "I've never—I've never felt anything like?—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
It hit him without warning—a white-hot detonation that started deep inside his core and blew outward through his entire body in a single, convulsing wave.
His asshole clenched hard around JJ's shaft, his abs locked, his back arched, and his untouched dick flexed violently, erupting—shooting long, thick ropes of cum against the steel front of the counter and onto the cream-slicked floor beneath him.
"Oh, fuck!" Ollie cried out, his voice breaking. "I'm cumming—I'm fucking cumming?—"
He hadn't touched his dick. He hadn't needed to.
JJ's cock had done it alone—pounding against that secret place inside him until his body couldn't hold it anymore and erupted from the inside out.
The sound of Ollie's orgasm—the crack in his voice, the involuntary clench of his ass around JJ's shaft—sent JJ hurtling toward the edge.
"You ready for a big, hot cream pie?" JJ growled, his pace turning frantic, his thrusts slamming into Ollie with an urgency that rattled the counter.