The Jock Next Door #6
I bit the pillow. Hard. Because Trey's finger was curling inside me, pressing against something that sent sparks showering through my hips and thighs, and I was suddenly fighting for my life not to cum right there.
My untouched dick pulsed between my legs, drooling pre-cum onto the sheets, and I clenched every muscle I had to keep the orgasm from detonating.
How did he know all the right spots?
Trey pulled out just in time—as if he'd felt me teetering and decided to be merciful.
"I don't know how I'm gonna fit in here, bro," he said, and I could hear the genuine amazement in his voice beneath the cockiness. "This is the tightest hole I've ever felt."
I loved hearing it. Even as my stomach dropped at the implication of what that same tightness was about to endure.
Then I felt it. The broad, blunt, unmistakable head of Trey's cock pressing against my asshole.
Not his finger. Not his tongue. His cock.
I could feel the contour of it—the wide flare of the head, the smooth ridge, the cleft on the underside gliding against my slicked hole as he rubbed himself back and forth across the entrance and along my crack.
The sensation pulled a moan out of me that I couldn't have silenced with a pillow, a hand, or a gag.
Trey moaned too—deep, rumbling, the sound of a man savoring the moment before the plunge.
"Here I come, bro. Ready?" he asked.
"Yeah," I groaned. It came out broken and desperate and nothing like the confident, sultry version of myself I'd written in my comics. But it was honest.
He pushed.
The pressure was immediate and enormous—his cockhead bearing down against my tight ring with a slow, unrelenting force that my body resisted on pure instinct. Discomfort bloomed first, a sharp, stretching ache that radiated outward from my center.
And then the pain hit.
It was searing. Breathtaking. A white-hot tearing fullness that ripped a strangled cry from my throat and arched my spine so hard my shoulder blades nearly touched. My eyes welted with tears. My jaw clenched until my molars ached.
My face flushed red and I could feel every inch of Trey's massive head forcing my virgin hole to stretch wider than it had ever been asked to stretch—wider than I thought it could.
But I didn't tell him to stop.
I refused, because I wanted this. I needed this. The pain was part of it—the sacrifice, the surrender, the proof that I was giving myself to Trey and his beautiful, terrifying cock to bring the fantasy from my notebook pages to life.
This was real. This was flesh splitting open for flesh, and it was mine.
And then I heard him moan.
“Oh… fuck…”
Low and guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in his massive chest—the sound of Trey feeling my body wrapped around the head of his cock for the first time.
That moan erased every ounce of pain. Or rather, it made the pain worth enduring, because I was the one causing that sound. My body was doing that to him.
"Your tight ass is choking my dick, bro," Trey groaned, his voice thick and wrecked. "Fuck… you feel amazing."
Still, only the head of his cock was inside. I could feel the ridge of it lodged just past my entrance, my hole clenched around the neck of his shaft like a vice.
But Trey didn't ram forward. He didn't force it.
He pumped in shallow, patient thrusts—back and forth, barely an inch at a time—working himself deeper with a care and restraint that told me he'd done this before. Many times. He knew how to open a tight hole without destroying it, and I was quietly, desperately grateful.
Each shallow thrust fed me another few centimeters of his shaft. Each one stretched the burn a little wider, pushed the fullness a little deeper, until the pain began to melt at its edges into something warmer, something my body was starting to recognize not as damage but as need.
Then something inside me gave way.
A deep, internal resistance released all at once—like a lock turning, like a fist unclenching—and Trey's cock sank into me in one smooth, swift, breathtaking slide.
All eight inches. Tip to base. His heavy balls pressed flush against mine, and I felt the full, staggering weight of him buried inside my quivering body.
My toes curled. A groan tore from my throat that didn't sound like me—that sounded like someone being remade from the inside out. And in a way, I was.
Then, I felt his heartbeat.
Deep inside me, pulsing through the thick shaft, throbbing against my inner walls in a steady, heavy rhythm that synced with my own racing pulse.
I was connected to Trey Van der Meer in the most intimate, most forbidden, most perfect way I had ever imagined.
My dick, which had gone soft from the pain, began to stiffen again—slowly, without being touched, filling with blood and rising between my legs as my body realized that what was happening inside it wasn't agony anymore. It was bliss.
Trey pulled back. Pushed in. Slow and deep, his shaft gliding in my walls like I was made for him.
"Like fucking silk, bro," he moaned, long and low. "Holy shit, you feel so good."
Then he began to move with purpose, with deep, building strokes that lengthened and quickened, his hips finding a rhythm, his big hands gripping my waist as he drove into me with a steadiness that bordered on worship.
Each thrust sent a shockwave through my body—a full-body pulse of pressure and pleasure that radiated from my core to my fingertips.
And then his cock found the spot.
I didn’t know what it was—I'd never heard of it, never read about it, had no framework for the sensation that suddenly unraveled inside me.
But on one deep, angled thrust, the flared head of Trey's cock pressed against something deep inside me that turned my vision white and made my mouth fall open in a silent scream.
"Fuck," I gasped. Then louder. "Fuck!"
It happened again on the next thrust. And the next.
Every time Trey plunged inside me, that massive cockhead glided against the same unbearable spot, and each pass milked a surge of pleasure so intense it made my untouched dick throb and leak a steady stream of pre-cum onto the sheets beneath me.
I was nearly drooling; my mouth open and slack, my brain emptied of everything except the feeling of Trey's cock pummeling that place inside me over and over.
And then, as if he knew how amazing I felt, he started pounding me. Hard. Deep.
The bed frame knocked against the wall with every thrust—the same wall I'd pressed my ear against all those nights, listening to his muffled moans and imagining exactly this.
The smell of musk and sweat and lube filled the room, thick and carnal, and I could feel the weight of his huge, hairy body pinning me to the mattress, his chest slick against my back, his breath ragged and hot against my ear.
Everything I'd drawn was coming true; every panel, every scene, every filthy fantasy I'd inked into my spiral notebooks—I was living it.
Pinned under this massive, sweating jock, his fat cock buried in my guts, his moans pouring over me like something liquid, my asshole stretched wide and full and owned.
"More," I begged. I barely recognized my own voice. "Please…h—harder… more…"
“Ugh, yeah…” Trey groaned, long and ragged, his hips snapping faster, driving into me with a ferocity that rattled the desk lamp and sent one of my pencils rolling off the edge and clattering to the floor.
"Your tight little ass is gonna make me bust so hard, bro," Trey growled into my ear.
The words hit me like a bolt of lightining.
When he cums, I thought, my brain seizing on the idea with a sudden, desperate clarity.
He's going to cum inside me. He's not wearing a condom.
There's nothing between his cock and my insides, and when he finishes, he's going to fill me up—pump his hot load deep into my ass—and I'm going to feel every drop of it.
That was all it took to send me over the edge.
A moment later, I came. I didn't decide to. I didn't touch myself.
The orgasm simply detonated—ripped loose from that impossible spot deep inside me that Trey's cock had been battering, and tore through my entire body in a convulsion so violent that I screamed into the pillow.
“FUCK!” I cried into the stuffy cotton.
My asshole clamped down around Trey's shaft in rhythmic, involuntary spasms. My abs locked. My back bowed. My untouched dick erupted beneath me, firing thick ropes of cum onto the sheets in hard, full-body pulses that I felt from my scalp to my curling toes.
I'd never cum like this. I didn't know it was possible to cum like this—from the inside, from a place I didn't know existed, with a violence and a depth that made every orgasm I'd ever had with my own hand feel like a whisper compared to a thunderclap.
Trey felt it. All of it; my hole convulsing around his cock, my body shaking beneath him, the desperate, wrecked sounds pouring out of me.
"Bro… fuck… I'm gonna cum," Trey gasped, his rhythm faltering, his thrusts turning frantic and uneven. "You're so tight… you're gonna make me bust…"
"Don't pull out," I moaned, my voice cracking, my orgasm still rolling through me in diminishing waves. "Don't stop!"
Trey slammed into me one final time—buried to the hilt, his balls pressed tight against mine, his massive body going rigid against my back—and it happened.
The first shot hit deep inside me like a pulse of liquid heat, and I gasped at the sensation; the sudden, spreading warmth flooding my insides, filling me in this forbidden, private and vulnerable place I'd never been filled.
Then another. And another. I could feel each contraction of Trey's cock, each thick surge of cum pumping into my gut in heavy, rhythmic bursts; his shaft swelling and throbbing against my clenching walls as he emptied himself inside my body.
"Fuck," Trey roared into the back of my neck, his voice raw, his arms locked around my waist. “Fuck!”
My toes curled so hard they cramped.