Chapter 4 #2
“We have no clothes, no car, and we can’t leave the house like this.
Which means there’s nothing to do but fuck your needy little hole again and again,” he says, like it’s already decided.
His other hand slides down, cupping my ass, fingers digging into the muscle.
“I can feel how bad you want it. Your hole is still loose from last night. But we need lube.”
“I’ll get the lube!” Nick shouts, and he’s gone, thundering up the stairs, his bare feet slapping against the wooden steps.
Kieran’s fingers explore my hole. My ass is sore but hungry, the muscles clenching empty around nothing, and the memory of being full of Kieran’s pierced cock, of Nick’s thick length, makes my cock ache against the counter’s edge.
“Yes, please,” I whisper into the marble, arching my back. “Fuck me.”
Kieran’s mouth finds the side of my neck, teeth scraping the skin, and his hand moves between my legs, gripping my cock. I’m already hard, leaking against his palm, and he strokes me once, slow, his thumb brushing over the head.
“Look at you,” he murmurs against my ear. “Twelve hours ago you thought you were straight. Now you’re learning who you really are. A desperate slut, through and through.”
“Shut up,” I say, but I’m pushing back against him, my ass grinding against his dick, and he laughs, the sound of it vibrating through his chest and into mine.
Nick returns at a sprint, the bottle of lube clutched in his fist. “She left it,” he says, breathless. “She must not have seen it when she robbed us. It was still lying on the bed with us when we fell asleep.”
“Thank goodness for small favors,” Kieran murmurs.
The cap snaps open. Cold, slick fingers circle my hole, and I gasp into the marble. Kieran’s finger pushes in, and the stretch is immediate. My body is loose from last night but still tender, and the burn edges into pleasure fast. His finger crooks, finding that spot, and my hips jerk.
“Fuck. Right there, please—”
A second finger joins the first, scissoring, working me open, and Kieran’s mouth is on my neck, biting, sucking marks into my skin that I’ll have to explain to someone someday. His free hand strokes my cock in rhythm with his fingers, and I’m babbling, begging, my words dissolving into moans.
“Ready?” Kieran asks, his voice rough.
“Yes. Why the fuck are you taking so long to get inside me?”
His fingers pull out, and the loss of them is worse than the stretch. I’m open, wet, desperate, and then the head of his cock presses against my hole, slick with lube, and he pushes in.
The stretch is brutal. Kieran is thick, his cock spreading me wide, and the metal of his piercing drags against my rim as he works himself past it. I cry out, my fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth counter, and Kieran’s hand grips my hip hard.
“Take it,” he says. “You can take it. You took both of us last night.”
He bottoms out, his hips pressed against my ass, and the fullness is so complete it steals my breath.
His cock is huge inside me, pulsing, and for a moment neither of us moves.
Then he pulls back and thrusts in again, harder, and the counter shakes with the force of it.
I glance to the side and catch my reflection in the glass of the cabinet doors, my desperate needy body bent flat over the marble.
“Fuck. Your cock.”
Kieran sets a pace that drives the sense from my head.
His cock pistons into my ass, each thrust bottoming out with a wet slap of skin on skin, and the metal of his piercing drags against that spot inside me with every stroke.
His hand is tight on my hip, holding me in place, and his other arm braces against the counter beside my head, his chest pressed to my back.
“You love this,” he says against my ear. “You love being used. Look at you, taking my cock like you were made for it.”
“I was,” I say. “I was made for it, I was made for cock, please don’t stop, please—”
Nick is behind us, one hand wrapped around his own dick, stroking himself as he watches. His cock is thick and hard, the head slick, and his eyes are dark, fixed on where Kieran disappears into me.
“God, look at him,” Nick says. “Taking that dick like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I whimper. “It’s perfect.”
Kieran’s hips slow, his cock still buried deep, and he turns his head toward Nick. “Your turn,” he says, like he’s offering someone the last slice of pizza.
“No,” I say. The word leaves my mouth before I’ve thought it through, and it comes out broken. “No, wait, you haven’t—you didn’t—”
Kieran pulls out.
The emptiness is instant. His cock slides free in one long, wet drag, the piercing catching on my rim, and the lube and the slick heat of him coat my thighs.
My hole clenches around nothing, desperate and open, and the sound I make is a high, keening whine that I would be mortified by if I had any dignity left.
“You didn’t cum in me yet,” I hear myself say, and my face burns so hot I can feel it in my ears. My forehead is pressed against the cold marble and my voice is wrecked and small. “Kieran, please, you didn’t finish, I need—I need you to—”
I’m not making sense. I’m babbling, begging, my hips pushing back against empty air because my body doesn’t understand why he’s gone.
My cock is leaking a steady stream onto the cabinet, untouched and aching.
My ass is wet and empty and clenching around nothing because he was supposed to fill me and he didn’t.
Kieran’s hand settles on my lower back, warm and steady. “Nick has been waiting,” he says, and his voice is rough but controlled. “I’m giving him a turn. You can take me again after.”
“After,” I repeat, and it comes out wet. My eyes are stinging. I’m not crying. I’m not. But my throat is closing and my eyes are hot. “But you were so close, I could feel it, you were right there and I wanted—I wanted you to—”
“Hey.” His hand moves to my hair, gripping, pulling my head up so I’m looking at the glass again. My face is flushed red, my eyes glassy, my mouth open and wet. I look ruined. “Look at yourself. Look how desperate you are for my cum.”
My cock throbs so hard it hurts, because he’s right.
“You’ll get it,” he says, and his thumb traces the shell of my ear. “But right now you’re going to take your best friend’s cock, and you’re going to take it well, and then I’m going to fuck you full of cum until you can’t walk. Understood?”
“Understood,” I whisper.
Nick steps up behind me, and his hands are huge on my hips, his body radiating heat. His cock nudges against my hole, and even slicked with lube and Kieran’s mess, the size of him makes me whimper.
“Easy,” Nick says. “Just like last night. Breathe for me.”
I breathe. His cock pushes in, slow, relentless, splitting me open wider than Kieran did because Kieran already opened me and Nick is bigger, so much bigger, and the stretch is sharp and deep and everywhere.
My fingers scrabble against the marble. Nick’s hands lock on my hips, holding me still, and he keeps pushing, keeps filling me, until his hips press flush against my ass and he’s everywhere, in my chest, in my throat, in the backs of my eyes.
“Oh fuck,” Nick says. “Oh fuck, Chase, you’re so tight, how are you still this tight—”
He pulls back and drives in again, and the pace he sets isn’t careful or gentle.
It’s hard. His hips snap forward with the same force he uses on the field, driving through a tackle, and the counter shakes with every thrust. My cheek is pressed flat against the marble, my mouth open, drool pooling under my lips because I can’t close it, can’t do anything except take what he’s giving me.
“Nick.”
His name is the only word I have left. His cock fills me so completely that every thought gets pushed out, replaced by the wet slap of his hips against my ass, the heat of his body against my back, the grip of his hands bruising my skin.
He fucks me like he’s been waiting his whole life for permission, and maybe he has, and the thought that Nick wanted this, that Nick has wanted me, sends a bolt of heat through my gut that has nothing to do with his cock and everything to do with something I’m not ready to name.
“You feel so good,” Nick says, and his voice cracks on it. “Fuck, you feel so good, your ass is—fuck, Chase, your ass is insane.”
His pace gets rougher. He pins me harder against the counter, one hand sliding up my spine to grip the back of my neck, pressing my face into the marble.
The angle changes, his cock driving deeper, hitting that spot with every thrust, and I’m sobbing, actually sobbing, tears mixing with the drool on the counter because it’s too much and not enough.
“Cum in me,” I beg. The words come out wrecked, barely intelligible. “Please, Nick, please cum in me, I need it, I need you to fill me up, please, I’ve been so good, I’ve been taking it so good, please—”
“Fuck,” Nick groans. His hips stutter and his grip on my neck tightens. I can feel him swelling, feel the pulse of him getting close, and I clench around him, milking him, begging with my body because my voice is failing.
“Please, Nick, please, I need your cum, I need it so bad, please don’t pull out, please fill me up, I’ll be so good, I’ll be your good boy, just cum in me, please—”
Nick pulls out.
The emptiness is so sudden, so complete, that my knees buckle. I catch myself on the counter, my arms shaking, and the sound that comes out of me is a wail, raw and desperate and louder than anything I’ve ever let out of my body.
He didn’t cum. I felt him right there, felt the swell of him, felt the pulse of it building. Then he pulled out and stepped back, and his cock is still hard and wet and dripping, and he didn’t finish inside me.
“Nick.” My voice cracks. “Nick, why did you—”
“I know.” His chest is heaving. He’s gripping his own cock, stroking himself slow, his eyes locked on my hole where it’s clenching around nothing. “I know, I just—fuck." He glances toward Kieran who is stepping close again. "Kieran's in charge."