Chapter 11 #2
I can’t think anymore. Can barely breathe.
All I can do is feel. Sam’s wild, desperate energy.
The sting from Malik’s handprints and the dull ache from Wade’s.
My cock, trapped and hard and leaking all over the inside of the apron.
The heat of five men watching my stretched-out hole.
This is what I craved. To be the center of it.
Yeah, it’s a little more than I bargained for.
But fuck, it’s everything I ever dreamed of and then some.
Sam makes these high-pitched sounds, almost like he’s about to cry, and it takes me a second to realize there’s warmth spreading inside me. Ropes of it. He’s filling me with cum.
I look over my shoulder. “Are you?—?”
“Sorry,” Sam whimpers, face flushed. “Sorry. Can’t hold it.”
“Don’t tell me you’re coming,” Flynn says, grinning. “You just got started. That’s the second time, man.”
“Shut up,” Sam mutters, but he’s too blissed out to sell it. He keeps pumping, pushing all that cum deeper inside me. Warm and slick and so, so good.
“Don’t you dare pull out,” Wade barks. “A real man finishes what he started. Keep fuckin’ him. Make it messy.”
Sam does as he’s told, and it sounds obscene. Wet, squelching thrusts, cum leaking out around his cock with every stroke, getting pushed right back in. When he’s finally gone soft, he pulls out with a wet pop.
The others stare. My hole is dripping with Sam’s load, a creamy white slick running down the inside of my thigh. My rim must be all pink, swollen, and puffy.
Low curses and grunts from the circle. “Fuck.” “Look at that.” “He’s dripping.”
Then Rex steps forward. Silent as always. He grips my hips and pushes inside, using the mess as lube. I gasp, the sudden stretch after Sam catching me off guard. He goes all the way to the base, and I feel the coarse hair of his crotch press against my ass.
He goes still. Giving me a second to adjust. I appreciate it, but I’m past the point of needing it. He can do whatever he wants to me, and I’ll take it.
Then he starts. Military precision. Long, hard, punishing strokes that knock the air out of me.
There’s nothing playful about Rex. He’s a machine, every muscle in that body working in terrifying sync to wreck me.
A straight guy who’s been pent up way too long, and right now I’m just a hole for him to use.
And I’m more than okay with that. I want to be his hole.
I’m a whimpering, twitching mess, hands slipping in sweat on the table.
The apron strings have loosened, the fabric flapping against my back with each thrust. My cock slaps against my belly, begging for a hand, furiously ignored.
I lose track of everything. The only thing that exists is Rex’s thick cock and the steady, brutal pounding of it. He fucks like he could go for hours.
Wade gives an approving growl. “That’s how it’s done, Rex. Discipline.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rex grunts out between thrusts. The first words he’s said in a while.
“Now that’s what I like to see,” Wade says. “My crew, pulling together. Taking care of each other. Are they takin’ good care of you, Justin?”
“Yes, sir,” I sob into the wood grain.
“Good. Because we’re not done yet.”
The next few minutes are a blur of skin and sweat and heavy breathing. The guys take turns, one after another. Flynn, Malik, Rex, even Sam comes back for a second round.
In between, Wade directs.
“Flynn. Spread him open. I wanna see what y’all been doin’ to him.”
“Malik, get a better angle. Deeper.”
“Rex. Keep that pace. Don’t let up.”
“Switch out. Flynn, get back in there.”
And they do. Eagerly. They pass me around like a cheap bottle of whiskey, each one taking a long pull before handing it to the next. My ass is filled, emptied, and filled again. Sometimes I don’t even realize who’s inside me until I hear Wade’s deep voice calling the next name.
And fuck, it’s everything. Being used. Being at their mercy. Being the thing that holds them all together. Nothing has ever made me feel like this.
Then, right when Flynn is mid-thrust, Wade’s voice cuts through the moans.
“Alright. That’s enough. Step back.”
Everything stops. Hands lift off me. Flynn slides out. The kitchen goes quiet except for the sound of all of us panting. I’m left bent over the table, quivering, ass in the air, dripping with all of them. Empty and aching.
Wade steps forward and unties the apron strings, letting the soiled canvas drop to the floor. “Take that ridiculous thing off.” His hands grip my hips, pulling me upright, turning me around. “And look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”
My legs are shaking so bad I can barely stand.
I force my eyes up to meet his, feeling small and naked under that gaze.
He’s still dressed from the waist up, flannel hanging open across his broad chest, but his jeans are undone and his cock is standing out, thick and hard and angry-looking.
The most imposing thing I have ever seen.
“Look at the state of you,” he says, one calloused thumb swiping across my swollen bottom lip. “Sweaty. Messy. Covered in my men.” He hooks a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. “Is this what you wanted, Justin?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, throat raw.
“And you still want more, don’t you?”
“Please, sir.” I need it more than I need air.
“Alright then.” He lets go of my chin. “Get on your back.”
The table is slick with sweat and lube and God knows what else, but I don’t care. Let it be filthy. I scramble onto it, lying back on my elbows, legs spread, my hard cock flat against my stomach.
“Like this, sir?” My voice is trembling.
Wade steps between my legs, slow, and hooks my knees over his forearms. He folds me in half, pushing my thighs toward my chest, opening me up. My feet dangle in the air, my body bent like a pretzel. Totally exposed.
“Just like that, boy.”