Jax raised a hand in what was supposed to be a calming gesture, only to immediately regret it as Monroe flinched and stumbled away from him.
His heart broke at the look on Monroe’s face. Fear. Uncertainty. Things he had seen there before, but never directed at him like that.
He wanted to disappear. To sink into the wall that pressed painfully into his back. Anything to escape that look.
His skin prickled with heat. Monroe could feel it, looking up in alarm, then concern when no shift happened this time. Did it hurt when that happened?
Monroe stumbled forward slightly as Jax lowered his shaking hand and tried to crunch himself uncomfortably into the corner of the room.
"No- I'm okay- It's okay! It was just a surprise." Monroe set his hand on Jax's arm, feeling that heat prickling up through his own skin.
"It's not okay..." Jax said, trying to keep his voice down, but it still seemed to rumble and echo in the small space. "I didn't... I don't want to ever..."
The penny dropped. "... You won't hurt me, Jax." Monroe offered quietly.
"You don't know that-"
"I do, actually."
Jax raised his eyes to him, searching Monroe’s face and finding no doubt or fear there this time.
After a long moment, Jax slumped with a sigh, and that prickling heat faded. Monroe moved closer, slipping his hand into Jax's and quietly marvelling at how carefully the other man's larger fingers held onto him.
Castiel has a new obsession. Ever since that inexplicable accident, ever since that discovery he’d made during his most memorable masturbation marathon, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his mind.
The sight of Dean below him, so small, trapped, squirming in what must have been gallons of his cum – the fact that he must have watched from underneath as Castiel jerked off on him over and over again, every orgasm building and erupting out and coating him until he was swimming in the stuff…
It’s in his mind every time he touches himself afterward. Not that he’s gotten to do it nearly as much as he’d like to – only half a dozen times every night while the boys sleep, or else he gets too loud, too ragged, too messy, he can’t risk them hearing him. They haven’t gone on a hunt for longer than a day in nearly two weeks, and Castiel is coming apart at the seams with pent-up frustration.
Every evening he lies down in his room, he pictures jerking off on Dean again for hours and hours, and he finishes unsatisfied because the memories don’t hold a candle to how it felt actually seeing it. And he knows, with guilt and desperation, that he wants to do it again.
The first opportunity comes a few days later, when Sam decides to go for a weekend hunt with Eileen while Dean stays behind. When Castiel restored his size after the affair, they’d both agreed it was a memory they’d rather Dean not have to live with, and so he’d buried it deep within Dean’s mind, not erased but simply repressed – though passing by the oldest Winchester’s room sometimes, hearing him murmuring at night, Castiel thinks perhaps he still dreams about it.
This repression, he thinks, might be the only reason Dean’s still willing to stay alone in the bunker with him after what happened. Perhaps if he remembered, he’d feel too awkward, or he’d feel resentful, and he’d simply just go on the hunt as a third wheel. And since Castiel has already been given consent to remove the memory of their time together… surely that counts as a kind of blanket consent encompassing the entirety of their time together, namely… future encounters?
Thus, his plan comes together, and less than an hour after Sam leaves with Eileen, Castiel has prepared his space again. The laptop open, a video paused and ready – though he hardly thinks he’ll need it. Lubrication, to ease the first few sessions until he’s slick enough himself. Tissues on the side, in case something spills.
And… of course… the jar. He’s already hard when he wraps his hand around it and goes hunting for the final piece of the set.
Dean’s in hte library study when Castiel emerges from the bunker hallways holding the transparent glass container in his left hand. Broad shoulders are hunched over a tome, and he’s so consumed with reading some lore piece or another, he doesn’t even glance up at first. It’s only when Cas moves closer that the movement in his peripheral vision has him looking up boredly, green eyes flickering over Castiel’s face, down the length of his body, and briefly over the jar itself. Cas feels himself throb in his slacks when they land on it, even though no real recognition passes over Dean’s face – aside from just the faintest hint of a bemusement he doesn’t seem to understand.
“Hey, Cas. What’s up?” And then a nod toward his hand. “Wait, why does that look familiar?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll show you,” is the only warning he gets before Castiel levels his free palm at Dean, and the other man begins to diminish into a pool of clothing. The next thing Dean sees after untangling his tiny naked body from a sea of flannel is Castiel’s enormous face and descending hand reaching for him, seizing him around the middle, and hauling him up – only to drop his inch-tall body directly into the glass.
It’s only now that he’s back within the confines of it that Cas allows the repressed memory to surface, and he thinks he can just barely hear the tink-tink-tink sound of a teeny tiny little fist pounding against the walls of its new temporary living quarters.
Dean’s world rocks left and right with each stride Castiel takes. His little heart hammers away in his chest, awash with adrenaline and swooping dread and disbelief. No, no, no – this was supposed to be just some weird, kinky, fucked-up nightmare that left him waking up both rock-hard and terrified.
It wasn’t supposed to be real, but every single detail of his surroundings are magnified into ultra-high definition, practically oppressive with reality and clarity. He can see every line of Castiel’s fingerprints pressing against his transparent walls. He can see every mile of the man towering over him as his jar is settled on the desk beside his laptop.
And he can see every metal ridge of the zipper directly in front of him as Castiel stands with his crotch just in front of Dean’s jar, titanic hands wrapping around the fly to pop it open, and to slowly drag the zipper of his slacks down. He stares on in awe and horror as Castiel shucks them off along with his underwear, and then his jackets and shirt, and he’s left with a front-row seat to a staggering cock and sagging balls just on the other side of the mason jar logo embossed into the glass.
Every vein, every hair, every wrinkle is magnified and blown up in proportion. Dean knows he’d have a hard time measuring up to even half of one heavy testicle, should he find himself somehow able to escape the jar itself only to wind up in the final boss battle against Castiel’s privates. They would smother him; hell, Cas could peel back his foreskin and completely envelop Dean inside it at this size, and there wouldn’t be a single damn thing he could do about it. The terrible reality is he’s actually safer in the jar – at least for now. At least for the next couple of hours. Who knows when that’s going to change? It all depends on how much, and how fast, and how hard Castiel begins to cum on him.
Like before, Castiel lifts the jar and moves to his desk chair, settling in, and placing the vessel between his pale thighs. His balls press up against the glass directly in front of Dean’s face, and his cock towers above the round opening of the jar. That’s Dean’s view – skin all around, the rim of glass above, a cock in the center, and Castiel’s chest and the bottom of his jaw a mile behind it as the impersonal, distant backdrop.
And he watches from beneath as, just like in his nightmares, Cas wraps a hand around his cock and slowly begins to jack. Except this time, unlike his nightmares, Castiel’s chin eventually tips down, and he stares Dean directly in the eyes as he does so.
“Cas… what are you doing, man? Did you do this on purpose? Did you do this on purpose last time? You can’t- you can’t do this, you can’t keep me in here, you can’t just- you can’t just cum on me, please- Cas, please don’t do this,” he begs, his voice raising with every word, a desperate appeal.
Castiel’s eyes don’t flicker, don’t widen, there is no fleeting hint of recognition on his features, and Dean’s mind goes back to all the desperate yelling he’d done the first time around. Cas hadn’t heard him then – it’s entirely possible he’s simply too small, smaller than he’d been the last time, and down too deep in the jar.
It wasn’t until Cas had come so much he’d risen to the top and nearly overflowed that he’d heard Dean’s words and actually responded to them. But now that he’s smaller, now that this jar is so much larger and Castiel’s cum is so much more comparatively… that’s going to take longer, and it’s going to be so, so much harder not to drown in the constant flood of it this time. It’s fearsome, and at this scale Cas looks absolutely apocalyptic in size.
So why, then, is Dean so hard? Make no mistake about it, he absolutely does not want this, the last way he wants to go out is by drowning in his best friend’s cum like some kind of bug in the wrong place at the wrong time, but watching those enormous knuckles begin to glide up a shaft nearly ten times taller than him has him throbbing too.
Above him, Castiel’s voice begins to rumble – just as ear-splittingly loud as it had been that first day back at the gas station before Cas took his vessel, except it’s deep now, and the words actually sound like words.
“I’M GOING TO- FINISH ON YOU, JUST FOR A FEW HOURS. TWO DAYS AT MOST. I’M SORRY, DEAN, BUT IT FEELS SO MUCH BETTER- IT MAKES ME…” There’s a low, earthquake kind of rumbling groan that resonates from his mouth, his throat, his chest, and Dean stares up as Cas levels a slit wide enough for him to fit inside directly at Dean, inching just a little into the boundaries of the jar. “IT MAKES ME COME SO MUCH HARDER, WHEN IT’S… ON YOU. IT’LL BE ALRIGHT, JUST- TRY NOT TO DROWN IN IT.”
And then Castiel’s ragged breathing, hurricane sounds, all-encompassing, begin to fill the air around him alongside the squelching, filthy sound of skin on skin as he drags his hand over his rigid length.
When he lets loose the first several gallons onto Dean’s little body, absolutely coating him in it, Dean can’t help it – he comes, too.
tags: Minors DNI, NSFW, Dominant River Ward, teasing, moving in together, breaking in the new place, kitchen/shower/stairway/pool table/couch/desk/window/chair sex, multiple orgasms, ruined/forced orgasm, sensitivity, foreplay,spanking, aftercare a little, creampie delivery, wrap it before you tap it psa, oral sex, fingering, is it dry humping if you're wet?, all day/ marathoning
wc: 6.96k
synopsis: You've convinced River to move into the Glen with you.
a/n: actively gnawing, frothing at the mouth, banging against the steel bars of my enclosure thinking of this man, i need a mold of him; also sorry Wade, I think River beats you with the marathon (also also mentioning @originalshaynotfound for this idea, it's fantastic)
The Glen apartment; It took an extra bit of working your ass off, but it was worth it. You now had the two sweetest views in all of Night City.
Obviously, the first was River in your bed. With a short amount of convincing, and a little bit of pouting though, you were on your way to have both at once.
River was a bit hesitant to leave Joss behind, especially after Randy, but she was adamant in pushing her brother out of his comfort.
"You gotta change to grow, Riv. Don't pass up a girl like V for mine and the kids' sake. We'll all be here."
River was moving in and, though you wanted to play it totally chill, you were beyond excited. The two of you, Night City's most dangerous couple. In looks and skills, now living under one roof.
You'd cleared half of your shit to the side already: dresser, bathroom counter, bookshelf, desk. It was time for River to make his mark in the new place.
You barely contained your excitement with helping River pack up his things and load them in his truck.
"One more night here then I'm all yours, babe." River said, puckering his lips for a goodnight kiss.
You lifted on your toes and wrapped your arms around his neck, catching his lips as if you'd missed him for months.
"One more night," you repeated, carelessly drawing your legs up to curl around River's waist.
He chuckled against your lips, caressing your hips with his thumbs while cupping your ass.
"Slow down. Otherwise you won't go home," he teased, kissing you again.
You smiled, tilting your hips in his hold to nudge the front of his pants. Still, you coiled yourself tighter against your boyfriend and he held you closer.
Having your fill, you dropped down to your feet and uncurled your arms, parting from his lips last. River bent, following after your lips before standing upright with a groan.
He leaned against the front of his truck, holding his temple as he folded his other hand to adjust his pants. You bit your bottom lip, stashing your pride in a blushing smirk.
"V," River tried, reached a hand out to caress your jaw.
You backed away an inch. "Uh-uh, Riv. I'll see you tomorrow."
River's nose flared, taking a step towards you.
"You can't just tease me like that." He said with a jesting smirk. "I'll see you first thing in the morning."
Your smile grew. "I look forward to it."
-
You were shocked awake by the whirring noise of the elevator. Bolting upright in bed, you saw the pinkish dust over the horizon of Night City; the sun barely peeking over the lowest buildings of the Metro.
Your heart fluttered, tossing your bedsheet away and scurrying out of bed. You took the steps two at a time, picking up your dirty clothes as you went before dropping them at the foot of the steps.
You went to the kitchen to brew some coffee, grabbed a scoop of food for Nibbles then attempted to perch yourself casually on the counter in wait.
The elevator doors slid open with River carrying two boxes in his arms, a worn-down duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"Honey, I'm home," River called out, his grin slowly falling to awe as he took in his new living situation. "Whoa. Baby, how'd you get this?"
It was a rhetorical question, of course. He set down the boxes next to the couch, slung his bag down next to them. The elevator doors remained open, with his other boxes still stacked inside.
You stretched out your arms as River approached; he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His eyes raked down your body, taking in your choice of pajamas.
"Mmm, Good morning," River soothed, pressing his body to yours before pecking your lips. "You just wake up?"
You blushed, resting your forehead to his. "When I heard the elevator."
River grinned, his hands caressing the curves of your waist. "We can leave unpacking for later. Why not go back to bed?"
You shook your head, caving into his chest and kissing up his neck to. his jaw. "No, I want you all over this place as soon as possible."
River's grin tweaked suggestively, his brow curling just the same. "You do? All over the place?"
You felt his wave of thought deep in your chest, your hands curling at the nape of his neck.
"Alllll over. As soon as possible." You drew out, and River seemed to catch your drift.
His hold tightened on you, opening your legs to feel the growing hardness in his pants. "I missed you all night, couldn't stay asleep."
You rolled your hips forward, grinding against the seam of River's pants. "Me either. I wish you just came home last night."
River grinned, his hand kneading at your thighs. "Or you could've stayed one more night with me at Joss's."
Leaning in, you nipped at his ear, "But here we can be as loud as we want, baby."
Saying that, you took the straps of your tank and shrugged them off of your shoulders, revealing your breasts. River gulped, looking down at your skin.
He hummed, dragging a hand up your side before taking a handful of your breast. River met your gaze, leaning in to bite a kiss at you. His cybernetic hand dipped between your hips, casually petting at your pussy over your panties.
River's thumb rolled at your nipple, making you lift your hips and arch further into him. He smirked against your lips, releasing a shameless moan from deep in his throat.
You mewled in response, bending further into his whim; River carefully braced the counter with the heel of his metal palm, climbing onto the counter and flattening you against it.
With an expert finger, he hooked into the seat of your panties and tore them down to your knees, actively groaning at your wet pussy.
Your hands at River's neck went for the back of his shirt, actively attempting to tear it over his head. River caught on, grabbing mindlessly at the back of his shirt and ripping it over his head before dropping it to the kitchen floor.
You licked your lips, raising up on your elbows as River fumbled with his belt buckle next. He bent, at the same time, to kiss between your breasts and down to your navel. Hips raising, you moaned at the warm stamps of his lips to your skin.
River nosed at your tank-turned-belt and slid further down to kiss your pussy, but you raised a knee in frustration. He met your gaze, brows quirked in question.
"I need your cock, now," you urged, reaching for the back of River's neck for a starved kiss. So urgent, your tongue darted into his mouth while your legs couldn't help but plant themselves on his waist; your ankles crossed at the small of his back, rolling against him.
River managed to push his pants down, worming his hands between your thighs to grab them. His cock sprang free against your pussy, making you emote into his mouth.
He was captivated by your kiss, pausing in his movements by the way your tongue massaged against his. River angled his tip against your pussy, readying himself to thrust but you took over. Engulfing his length into your pussy, you parted from his kiss with a loud moan, your toes instantly curling.
River followed suit, knowing himself to be utterly whipped by your pussy. He dropped his forehead to your chin, relishing in your throbbing, almost-feverish walls.
He returned to your lips, hands reaching to tangle into your hair. River thrust further into you, making your eyes roll as your lips slipped away from his lock.
He didn't stop, licking at your neck before suckling at your skin. Your hands clutched hard at the back of his neck and shoulders, wanting River to melt over you like butter.
Pulling out an inch, River thrust shortly into you, barely jostling you but causing the friction you craved. You didn't hold back in your appreciation of River giving what you wanted.
"River, River," you moaned in succession, praising him.
You begged for his kiss again by nudging his nose, your face scrunching in ecstasy. River panted against your lips, growling into your kiss and easing back his hips.
Stroking into you again, you broke; breaking away from his kiss as your hips raised in begging want. River's hands gripped at your hips, squeezing at your thighs as he angled himself further into you.
The noises that escaped from you rattled between you two; your hands mindlessly clutched at River's chest, admiring his smattering of chest hair.
That was until River's cock rang that sweet spot within you. You whined, your ankles tightening and cumming through River's thrusts.
River's hips stuttered, slowing to stop himself from cumming. Your walls massaged at his length, practically begging for him to explode inside. A sweat broke out across his shoulders, planting a hand beside your head while he pursed soft breaths before gripping his base and pulling out.
You whimpered, your knees drawing up River's sides as his hot skin dragged out of you. Rolling onto your side, you caught yourself and reveled in the ecstatic wake left behind from your orgasm.
River managed to get off the counter, stepping out of his boots and pants before curling his arm around your waist. "One place down, everywhere else to go, baby."
He held onto you, moving you from the kitchen counter to the pool table. When he set you down, you bent your chest down, presenting while batting away the pool balls into the pockets.
River took that moment to peel your tank top over your ass and legs before discarding it behind him. He smacked at the apple of your ass, letting it reverb through your body before nosing at your pussy.
He stuck his tongue into you, earning a silent moan from you. Your hand mindlessly went for the top of his head, wanting to push his lavish, warm wet tongue further into you. You could feel yourself ready to explode because of it.
Your eyes lolled, River lapping into you with his nose tickling at your ass. You panted, rolling your hips back against his mouth. Your nipples perked against the green felt of the table, wiggling into River to chase after the feeling he'd just given you.
"Fuck me, please, fuck," you begged, dropping your hand from his head and opening your knees.
River chuckled, smacking away from your wet pussy; your juices decorated down his chin as he circled his hands around your hips and pulled you to the edge of the table. You braced the edge, bent directly over it and gasping as River pushed into you again.
Your eyes rolled, the wake from which he'd made you cum reinvigorating. His cock paved into you again, ringing the same places that'd made you cum the first time. Your noises came out pitchy, whining and jostling by his thrusts.
Your hand went out to brace his waist but River took grip of your wrist and held it to your side. He was slow, metering out his strokes to not cum so quickly inside you.
Mewling, you held your face to the table breathing out of your mouth with each pump. "Fuck, Riv."
River growled, circling his hand around your waist to strum at your clit. You squeaked, attempting to squirm away from the extra sensitivity before your boyfriend bent to nip at the skin of your shoulder.
"Come on, Val. Cum on my cock again," he grunted, backing your ass further into his waist.
Your back arched, unable to fight off the increased level of stimulation. Free hand reaching for his waist, you ground into River's cock and found yourself cumming again.
This time, your wet dribbled down your ass and between your thighs, gasping and chest sobbing from overstimulation. River thrusted deep into you, finding the right spot to cum.
He held your hips tight against him, not leaving a single wall inside you unclaimed. River's eyes rolled, heaving to the high ceiling, while savoring your pulsating cunt.
You recovered, slack-jawed, feeling River's cum pool into you. Eyes fluttering at the heat, you imagined him just knocking you up then and there.
"That's two," River whispered, kissing up your back. You grinned back at him, meeting his lips at your shoulder and rolling your hips into him again.
"D-do we take a break?" you asked softly, feeling the need to cool down.
River grinned against your shoulder, shaking his head softly. You gulped, brows raised in question. He slowly pulled out of you, watching with fascination as your pussy produced a trail of his cum.
He licked his lips at the sight, gathering his cum on his middle finger and swirling it between your pussy lips. Your toes curled, the act starting a full body shiver.
When he was done, River raised you over his shoulder and carried you to his next location: your workdesk, which with some modifying, would soon become River's.
He sat you on the edge of the desk, sitting before you in the chair. Leaning back, River took grip of his cock already hardening again.
"Open your legs," he ordered, eyes leveling with yours.
You did as you were told, holding your legs open on the desk and glancing down to see his cum oozing out of you. His warmth puddled around your ass, leaving you decorated and gulping.
"Spread it for me, V." His words pierced through you, catching your heart on your ribs.
Your pussy clenched in response, still following his orders by opening your lips. River's grin was sinful, parting his eyes from yours to envelop the sight of your spent cunt.
He wheeled himself closer, kissing at your clit and earning your twitching knees almost clamped around his head. River lapped down your pussy, gathering his cum to loll on his tongue before spitting back into you.
You gasped, staring down at River sink his cyber middle and ring finger into your pussy while flicking his tongue at your clit. At the same time, he slowly stroked his cock in his other hand.
Your bare chest rose and fell unevenly, fighting the urge to close your knees. River stared up at you from the helm of your pussy, watching your face contort in pleasure.
Brows furrowed, bottom lip quivering as you wiggled in and away from River's mouth and fingers. Your free hand cradled at the base of River's neck, imagining kissing him back just as sloppy as he was eating you.
River seethed into your clit, stroking slower as he got painfully hard. You threw your head back in a spew of moans, no longer able to keep his glare.
Pulling back, River folded his thumb to your clit and growled at you. "Eyes on me, baby. I want to see you cum."
You crooned, leaking more onto the desk as you straightened your head to hold his gaze. Doing so, your toes instantly curled and with River clamping onto your clit again, you came with a new ferocity.
Your pussy clenched with a newer sensation, splashing River's chin with your juices. Petting at the back of his shaved head, you rode against his nose and fingers until his eyes fluttered in response and came in his hand.
"Oh, holy fuck," you gasped, exasperated, dropping your legs off the edge of the desk. "River, goddamn."
River hunched his shoulders forward, catching his breath again and staring up at you from under his brow. "Was that good?"
He stood up slowly, looming over you with a light glean of sweat on his chest.
"Better than," you huffed, grabbing his hips and guiding his still-hard cock into you. You cried into his chest, leaning back to pull him into you.
River's hands cradled your face, watching your face scrunch on a whole new level of pleased. His hips rolled into you, mapping every minute reaction on your face.
Goosebumps grew on your body with River planting himself deep into you again. A new film of sweat decorated your forehead, your hair fully sweated through.
"Can you cum again for me?" River asked against your lips.
Your lips parted to breathe his air, your hands holding his waist and following his languid thrusts. Every movement had your body reacting with new vulnerability.
You pulled River impossibly close, begging silently for his kiss. "I-I don't know if I-I can," you simpered, following River's slow thrusts.
River nudged your nose on both sides, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. "Be my good girl, cum again."
Your knees caught onto River's hips, your hands circling to knead his ass. "S-stay just like that."
He seethed, kissing your cupid's bow then bottom lip individually before catching your mouth. River picked up his thrusts, pistoning his hips seamlessly and making you break into a whimper.
You leaned against River's chest, ready to batter him off of you but finding your edge quickly, cumming a fourth time on your boyfriend's wonder cock.
Your pussy throbbed uncontrollably, leaking more onto River's waist and the floor.
"My very, very good girl," River praised, pulling from your kiss and shutting his eyes to relish in your extra-wet cunt.
He hummed at you, nosing your cheeks, hairline and kissing softly at your forehead. River dropped his hands and curled them around your waist, keeping himself balls-deep inside of you.
You sniveled against his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside of your pussy. "Call me that again."
River smirked at you, moving around to sit on the couch, you in his lap. "My very, very good girl." He rolled your hips on his cock, making you croon.
"I love that look on your face, V, when my cock hits deep," River confided, kneading at your thighs.
Your hands braced River's thick shoulders, then hugged him close while crying against his mouth.
"It's so good, Riv. Oh god, oh fuck," you simpered, your spent cunt gripping tighter at River's cock.
It almost felt like another orgasm growing, your knees gelatinous and unable to stabilize yourself.
River's hands skirted up your body before finally holding your face again. "Maybe you need a break."
Your eyes fluttered, moaning into his mouth but nodding. River pulled you off of his cock then threw you over his shoulder to carry upstairs.
Your knees clenched together, the jostling making your pussy react. River playfully spanked your ass, rounding the stairs to the landing then further to the bedroom.
He tossed you onto the bed, watching your body bounce. Your legs splaying open, breasts jiggling, River grunted affirmatively and climbed onto the bed after you.
"I can barely keep my hands off you, V," River muttered, grabbing you and curling you into him.
He cuddled you close, working his shoulders into the mattress to get comfortable. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, your body weighing down from ecstasy.
River brushed your sweaty hair away from your forehead, bending to peck your hairline. "We'll pick up when you have the energy."
You hummed in agreement, curling your leg around his waist. River ran his hand down your back, holding your ass closer to him.
-
You woke up, barely half an hour later, nuzzling your face against River. Your arms draped around him, you raised your chin to look down at him. He grinned, tilting his head up.
His hands cupped at your ass, your legs straddled over his waist. "Even in your sleep, you can't keep your hands off of me."
You flopped your forehead against his chest. "Shut up."
River squeezed at your body appreciatively, laughing with you. "It's cute, at least I know you like me."
"More than that," you responded, raising up to peck his skin.
River hummed, bending his neck to sniff the top of your head. He kissed there, shifting you to acknowledge his stiffened cock rested just beneath your waist. "How 'bout round two?"
You crooned, sitting up on River's chest, unable to hide your deviant grin. "Let's break it all in."
River's brows leveled, his eyes lighting with something salacious. You lifted your knee, grabbing his throbbing length and angling it up to your pussy.
Upon grazing his tip against you, your nipples perked and a new shudder went through your body. Your pussy reacted with a flutter, holding your lips open to sink down on him.
An errant cry escaped you with taking in River's full length. His hands ghosted down your hips, cradling your thighs before slipping to the backs of your knees.
He garnered the look on your face, the minute pleasure that wracked through your body upon insertion. He licked at his top lip then folded his bottom lip between his teeth.
River couldn't help his own reaction, a groan escaping from behind his lips. Your hands braced his stomach, admiring the divots of his muscle before readying your knees.
You raised up, the slow drag of River leaving you making you gasp in awe. When you reached the tip, you reversed back down to him, driving both of you to whine.
Bracing your knees, you picked up your pace a bit, riding your boyfriend into the mattress. River's cyber hand offered a spank to the fleshiest part of your ass, growling intently at the jiggle that followed.
He thought of devouring you again, mouth readily watering to sink his nose in your pussy again. Lifting his hips, he met your meter and fucked you harder.
Your hand at his stomach went up to his chest, your face scrunched. It was way too soon, but the warmth grew from your pussy and up your back before blooming through your stomach. Folding against River, you moaned and mewed against his skin as you came.
Your hand reached back to keep River's cock angled into you, pumping through your orgasm. Your pussy pulsed around his hot cock, wiggling and groaning in its euphoric wake.
"Keep going," you grizzled against River's chest, trying to pull yourself upright again.
River fought through the heated core of your pussy, now a whole new level of inviting. He ran his hand up your side, catching your wrist at his chest and kissing the meat of your palm.
Still he fucked into you, already a broken mess, and stuttered his hips to cum. He stilled, holding his hips into you and emptying his balls into your begging cunt.
You gasped at the sensation, the heated gush into you making you break into a sweat. Chin rested in the middle of River's ribs, you met his gaze and flashed a lazy smile.
He narrowed his eye at you, sitting up and cradling you against him. River barely basked in the warm afterglow, only carried you to the bathroom.
Your arms curled around his neck, you writhed on his still-hard cock and readily waited for the next destination. River stepped into the golden shower stall, carefully letting you off of him.
His cum leaked from your pussy, slathering down your ass and between your thighs as he slammed the shower button with his cyber hand.
River held onto his cock at the base, leaning back into the spray to wet his head and shoulders. You stood by, the off-spray hitting you while you watched, mesmerized, the rivulets that trailed down your boyfriend's sculpted body.
Leaning in, you raised up and slurped some of the water from River's clavicle while your hands roamed around his slickened body. River looked down at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze before kissing him.
Parting from him, you mapped soft kisses down his neck and chest then further to his stomach and waist before kneeling before his cock.
With his hand grasped at his base, you kissed his tip. River stared down at you, reacting with heavy exhale. Staring up at him, you opened your mouth to take him in.
Your tongue rolled out of your mouth, you edged River's twitching cock in and his tip rang at the back of your throat. Taking a moment to adjust, you readily exhaled through your nose.
At the same time, your free hand roamed down to your pussy and sank two fingers in. River watched you take him in, fingering yourself, his chest puffing.
You moaned against his cock, the vibrations making him groan. The two at the same time, you felt your pussy aching for River again.
River snarled, already sensitive from cumming once. He measured his breathing, trying to not explode in your mouth no matter how hard you tried.
You worked on his cock, bobbing in and pulling off of him to swirl your tongue around his tip; Pulling a whine from River's throat, you felt yourself get wetter from the sound as you pumped your fingers.
River's shoulders shuddered, finally giving in to your efforts and cumming deep in your throat. He groaned, his noises echoing against the gold stall of the shower.
Your nipples hardened at the sound that escaped your boyfriend, driving you to want to mount him again. His cum shot in the back of your throat, hot and gooey, the faint salt of him making you thirsty.
You gulped at the tip of his cock, milking the last of his essence dry before River scoffed in disbelief and playfully pushed you off of him.
You giggled against his palm, leaning back to grin at him with your mouth still full of cum. River looked down at you, ready to pounce, but helped you back to your feet and ran his thumb over your mouth to clean his cum off of you.
"You are so fucking sexy," River praised, his thumb dragging your bottom lip down as you swallowed his essence.
You hummed, leaning into his slick body as he spun you two around. The two of you shared the spray of the water while River caught your lips in a deep kiss; he reached for your thigh, pulling your knee up to brace his waist.
He pushed into you, pressing your back to the cool slate of the shower. You sighed into his mouth, the tang of your essence still on his taste. Biting away in slight disgust of yourself, River made up for your distance ready to scour your dirty mouth with his tongue.
His hand traced up and down your thigh, silently appreciating the sculpt of your body, how you fit into his hands. His cyber hand clasped your jaw, captivating as much of you in his hold at once.
"I love you, baby," River parted from your mouth to catch his breath.
He stood in the spray, letting his bottom lip catch the water as it traveled down his face. There was never going to be a moment you'd tire of looking at him.
You circled your arms around his neck and jumped onto his waist, crossing your legs around him. "I love you more. Missed you still."
River blushed at you, unable to help the healthy grin he offered. "Not anymore, I'm right here with you."
His arms braced your thighs, easily holding you up. Your hands smushed at his cheeks, pecking his pouty lips before begging his kiss again.
He obliged you, carrying you out of the shower and to the bathroom counter. You sat your ass on the counter, sliding back down to your feet; River took that moment to spin you by your waist and bend you over the sink.
You giggled amorously, feeling his shaft stiffen between your thighs. "Don't want to miss a spot, huh?"
River heartily laughed, bending to pepper your back with kisses. He licked the drops of water from your skin before nudging your ear with his nose. "You know me, V. I'm thorough."
That made your pussy tense again, eyes rolling at the thought of being used again. River spared no time working your wetness with his middle and ring finger before parting your lips and sinking into you.
You moaned against the clouded glass of the mirror, the condensation building with the steam of your shower. River braced his cyber hand on your waist, backing you rhythmically into him; while his other hand reached out and touched the mirror glass, revealing the sight of him stood aggressively behind you.
Your eyes caught onto his reflection, staring at his focus on your ass; the water on his skin dewing with his building sweat. You pulled your bottom lip in and shivered at the sound fucking he was giving.
River's eyes glanced up from under his brow, catching your eyes on him. He thrusted a bit harder into you, earning your knees buckling, then winked and continued.
You bowed your head down, already close again but River's hand smacked your ass; his fingers found their way into your hair, combing up from the nape before tugging gently and making you whimper in delight.
"Eyes on me, baby," River ordered, his voice a sultry rasp.
You did as you were told, licking your lips and meeting his eyes in the mirror. His feather necklace decorated just along his clavicle swiveled with his thrusts, swinging in the area of his gorgeous chest hair.
Your lovestruck eyes met with River's, your body melting at his piercing gaze. You forced your knees together, a hand going out to brace his waist for pause as you came undone again.
His cock felt thicker with pulsing around it, your pussy dribbling onto his waist and between your thighs. You kept your eyes on him, mouth agape as you moaned incoherent praise for his undoing.
River's hand in your hair tightened a tad, slowing his pace to not overdo himself. He seethed between his teeth, admiring the muscled throb of your pussy on his length. If it were up to him, he'd make your pussy his new home.
He practically was.
-
After shutting off the shower, River carried you out of the bathroom and downstairs. Thankfully, he understood that your legs would be useless for a bit.
Your knees were magnetized together, riding out the last of your orgasm with your still-spasming pussy. Hands bracing his bare back, you teasingly spanked him just as he had to you.
He laughed, looking over his shoulder in the direction of you before jostling you on his shoulder.
"That's cute, V," he said, rounding the landing and walking down to the first floor.
You beamed cheekily, offering a pinch to his tanned ass cheek as he surveyed the apartment. Crossing the living room, he set you on your feet before the window by the extra large television.
"Hands on the glass," he said, bending over you to force your hands to the glass. River pressed into you in a way that pressed your breasts to the tepid glass, your pert nipples greeted with a chill. "Don't look down."
He tenderly bit your earlobe then disappeared behind you. You half-expected his cock to pave into you again, the throb of your pussy almost second nature at this point with him.
But it was his tongue that lined down your lips, curling to tickle your clit.
"Ohh." You pressed your forehead to the glass, shutting your eyes from staring out at the mid-morning skyline of Night City.
You weren't going to look down, not that you had a thing for heights, but just as River told you not to. His nose swiped between your lips, earning your foot raising. It almost tickled, but way deep in your core.
His tongue backtracked, lining up to your entrance before sinking in. River's lips moved in effort with his tongue, having you squirming against his muscle embedded deep in you.
"Fuckfuckfuckfuck," you muttered against the glass, tilting your hips out to earn more of the heavy, hot, warm, wet feeling of your boyfriend's mouth.
At the same time, River's cyber hand pressed to your clit with his middle finger tapping at such a speed to meet his tongue lapping your walls.
You decided to ready yourself with God, if he was there, because you were about to see a whole new light. River's cock took you there every time, but his mouth almost kept you there.
You broke into a pant against the glass, nipples almost hard enough to cut through the glass of your bird's eye apartment. Trying to last just for the sensation almost wasn't worth the euphoria that would tear through you.
Your hands stood on your fingertips, wanting to pull away to shove River's poor face further into your ass so you could have more of his fucking tongue.
River noised while clamped to your pussy and involuntarily earned your orgasm. Your knees forced together, moaning against the glass and close to crumbling though River held you up.
He felt your cunt gush into his mouth, a new wave of wetness to paint his chin with your juices. River could barely contain his smile, slowly pulling his tongue back and earning more of your whimpers from doing so.
You slid down the window glass, your knees finally bracing the floor as you hid your face in your forearm to catch yourself. It was still too good, wracking with the last remnants of your other orgasm and actively making your brain melt.
Why no sex all time? If sex this good, why work? If River cock make see stars, why leave bed?
You were trying to regain some sense of sanity. This was just breaking it in together. There would be so many more instances like this. Your excited, yet utterly spent, pussy was fluttering with excitement.
River would be here everyday, and God knows you two never tired of each other.
River sat back on his knees, watching you writhe and shiver from this one; he grabbed your ankle and pulled you across the floor to him.
"V, you okay?"
Rolling onto your back, you stared at the ceiling; taking in the fresh air, you grinned lazily and nodded. "Better than. Fucking hell, that's so not fair."
River smirked, pulling your legs to drape over his lap; he ignored his cock already raising again from your beautiful noises, only ran his hands up and down your thighs comfortingly. "What's not?"
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your face. Your chest held a butterfly-light flutter, as if now ready for the next orgasm you'd rip through.
You thought about how many times you'd come in the last two hours. Seven times. The thought alone made you start spinning.
Thinking about how many times River came in that same span made your stomach feel oily inside. Even with a quick recovery, you were slacking on making him cum so hard he saw stars.
River waited for your answer, bending over you to peel your arms away from your face. He hovered just above you, an absolute angel and delight. "What's not, babe?"
Your brows furrowed, wanting to be upset but only appreciating his beautiful voice, how soft he could be. "I want to make you cum again."
River showed his teeth, laughing down at you. "I'm good, you're already right on track."
You shook your head, determined; pulling him a little closer to you, you narrowed your eyes. "No, I will make you cum again."
"I bet on it," River offered in response, still not gleaning your idea of fair share. "You're doing great so far."
You tittered, caressing his face while your other hand reached down for his cock. "I can make it better."
Your grip caused River to jolt above you, his eye widening. Before he could say anything, you started stroking his twitching length.
He huffed against your lips, keeping your gaze while you worked your hand in steady, long stroked around his cock. You felt yourself getting worked up again at the thought, but bit it back.
This was River appreciation right now. You parted your lips to match his, offering your mouth for his kiss if he wanted. Your hand was a mediocre impasse, seeing as your pussy was mere inches away weeping to be used again.
But this was just to focus on him. You wanted his pleasure, you wanted to see it wash over his handsome face and for you to bask in it.
And you kinda wanted his cum to splatter on your pussy, effectively claiming it as his even though it wasn't necessary.
River bowed into you, his stomach bracing yours as his forearms planted on either side of your face. "V."
"I know, baby. I want you to cum on me," you pleaded, puffing your chest to press your breasts against him. "I want you to sign your name in it. Make me all yours, Riv."
River's puffed air from his open mouth onto yours. He bit back a snarl, crashing into your lips and moaning into you. Your fingers played at his hot tip then worked back down, feeling the veins in his cock roll and tense until he finally came.
He exploded against your clit, your wrist, and into your navel. His body shivered in pleasure, his noises traveling down your throat and making your chest feel even lighter.
It felt good, bringing him to ecstasy. No, it felt euphoric itself; you could've cum from experiencing it.
He bit at your bottom lip while pulling away, gathering his cum from your stomach and clit then fingering it back into you. "Only you make me do that. It's always gonna be you. I'm all yours."
You playfully chomped your teeth in the direction of his nose. You thought of having this man for every meal, especially dessert. You'd have a slice of him with coffee for breakfast, twice in bed before you'd go to sleep.
The possibilities were endless. You acknowleged him by bringing him in and shoving your tongue in his mouth, rolling on top of him on the white fur rug of the living room.
Now you were realizing what was missing from this apartment. A fireplace.
That would've been the next place you'd have had River fuck you. Maybe turning on a video of a fireplace would suffice, but maybe later. You needed him again, even though he was right under you, caressing and squeezing your body as if you'd evaporate into thin air.
"Fuck me in the library," you breathed out, parting from his delectable lips.
River nodded, as if receiving work orders, then sprung into action to carry you there.
-
The very last place to christen, River sat in the book nook chair and pulled you into his lap. "Let me try something with you."
You followed his silent lead, bringing your knees up to brace the chair as River lined you up to sit on his cock; one of his hands crossed to your breast, already playing with your nipple as his cyber hand went to hold your pussy open.
He curled your arm around the back of his neck to suction his mouth to your nipple at the same time you sank onto his cock.
A new whimper escaped you, leaning into River to moan at the ceiling. All of it at once felt too overstimulating, you were sure you were going to explode upon insertion.
You were a withering mess on River's lap, rolling your hips as his fingers rubbed in soft circles. His tongue softly rounded your nipple, pinching your other between his fingers.
"River," you curled your hand to brace his temple, staring at him suckling your breast into his mouth.
His length twitched inside of you, meeting with your throbbing walls and earning a few moans between the two of you. Your eyes shut, attempting to breathe easily though your body was gaining in heat.
River's body under you, his warmth bringing a new film of sweat. It was almost instantaneous, unfair, cumming on his cock and writhing over him.
His fingers pinched a bit harder at your pert nipple, his teeth lining around your other. Scrubbing your clit, River kept going as it cut through your orgasm. It was short-lived, bringing on a new wake of heat and making you writhe further.
Your body broke into goosebumps, toes curling as a whole new sensation rushed through you on the back end of your orgasm. Your pussy clenched harder around River's cock, finding it throb outward as you wet your boyfriend's lap and the insides of your thighs.
You collapsed against River, the new rush drawing more energy from you. Chest light and full of flutter, you begged River to let you go at least.
RIver obliged with your nipple, leaving a few soft teeth indents on your breast before finally stilling his cock inside of you just enjoying the massage of your pussy.
He ducked his face behind your shoulder, pulling you further into his hold to ease you from the heightened sensitivity. "Anywhere else, baby?"
You laughed dryly, turning on his shoulder to kiss his cheek. "I'm sure we'll find a new place soon enough."
River grinned against your skin, opting to check the time from the clock on the book shelf. "Wanna get some lunch?"
"Order in? I don't think I'll be walking for a minute," you winced, feeling your knees reduced to gelatin.
"Sounds great to me, I want you glued to my side in that bed. It's calling my name." River nudged your nose then pecked your lips.
"Good, because that's all I was thinking about. Carry me?"
River shifted in his seat, pulling you off of him then shifting you over his shoulder. "Already there."
Dehumanization of Bucky Barnes - alternate ending version, interlude.
A small snippet of one of the many things Bucky endured while Steve owned and used him, in an alternate version where he doesn’t get to go back to normal.
Steve buys Bucky a doll house with a removable roof so he can pull it off and fill up Bucky’s entire house when he wants to finish.
COMMISSION TYPE: Full Page + Add-On x2
PRICE: $30 + $20x2
FANDOM: Stranger Things
CHARACTERS: Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Steve Harrington
REQUESTED SUMMARY: ”Giant Eddie as the lead singer/guitarist of Corroded Coffin, and Steve sneaks into his dressing room just as he’s coming in, and climbs on his couch to really see him. Eddie strips down because he’s really sweaty after the show (he plans on taking a quick shower before their interview to be respectful to the tinies interviewing him but he gets distracted) and sits on the couch, his sweat adhering Steve to the side of his balls, and then he’s half tangled by pubes. Chrissy, his manager, comes in and tells him to get dressed for the interview so he groans and pulls on his leather pants before scooping up his itty bitty BFF, meanwhile Steve is trying to decide if he’s horny or terrified. After the interview, Chrissy hears hoarse screaming coming from his pants and goes in after him with a walkie and a flashlight (Eddie is clumsy at the best of times, and he might actually kill the poor guy given how insensitive his fingers are from the callouses, especially when tinies are, on average, the size of the first segment of his index finger). When he’s rescued (Chrissy had to untangle him and tell him to stop struggling because he was turning Eddie on, and they both stood on a tattoo he has on his upper thigh while Chrissy tells him where they are so he can safely grab them), Eddie is about ready to chew out his little fan for doing something so dumb when oh no he’s cute so they start dating.”
WARNINGS: Unaware, Smothering, Fearplay
So, here’s the thing: Steve Harrington doesn’t actually like metal music all that much. Some of it is okay, but a lot of it is just loud incomprehensible screaming. He’s perfectly happy listening to Pat Benetar or Elton John, they’re way more his speed, but there’s something about the lead singer and guitarist of Corroded Coffin… Jesus, he just can’t get enough. Maybe it’s his hair, maybe it’s his voice or the way he shreds on his guitar so passionately.
Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s the size of a god damn skyscraper. He watches the music videos where Eddie stands there on that custom-build stage towering over a crowd he could easily stamp out with those insane combat boots, and Steve nearly creams his fucking jeans every twenty minutes over it. When he hears Corroded Coffin’s going to be playing at a festival upstate, Steve drives two entire hours straight just to go see him. It’s everything he’d thought it would be, but it’s still not enough. He wants to get a sneak peak up close and personal, and if his time with the resident Hawkins misfits have taught him anything, it’s that breaking and entering is always a good idea.
While the crowd’s fawning over the finale of the show and Eddie hammers out his last epic solo of the night, Steve slinks around through security toward the largest dressing room door he’s ever seen in his entire fucking life — so big, he can actually army-crawl underneath the gap at the bottom. The whole place is outfitted with ladders and stairs discreetly built into the furniture to make it easy for Eddie’s staff to move around the place, but Steve has no idea there’s actually protocol built in to make sure Eddie knows where the crew and the stage hands are at all times, for safety reasons. He doesn’t know about the rule to steer clear of the couch and the bathroom area for at least two hours after a show, he doesn’t know how they nearly lost half a dozen paparazzi who tried to sneak in to take photographs only to wind up inside a boot or stuffed in between massive couch cushions. If he did, maybe he’d have been more careful.
But he doesn’t know about any of that, and so he begins the long, arduous ascent up the stairwell built into the side of Eddie’s couch. It takes way, way longer than he anticipated, and by the time he reaches the cushion area he’s absolutely winded.
He’s in great shape, but holy shit is it a climb to make it even that far. The ultimate goal is to make it up to the top of the couch’s back, where he figures he’ll have the best view, but he’s apparently been skimping on the cardio lately and finds himself flopping down onto his back on the cushion just to take a ten minute rest before finishing the climb.
He never gets the chance. Not but a minute after he settles, chest heaving, a near-deafening groan fills the air around him. It’s the massive door swinging open, creaking hinges probably inaudible to Eddie and the rest of the giant band, but to Steve they’re louder than freaking whale song. Right after comes a far more ominous set of sounds.
THUD
THUD
THUD
WHOOSH
A hundred yards away, he watches a cloud of black descend beyond him, and it takes him a minute to realize it’s the fabric of a massive shirt being thrown from behind the couch — he cranes his neck as far back as it can go on the cushion until he’s staring practically straight up at the ceiling, and then pieces the puzzle together. It was a shirt. The source? A now-shirtless Eddie Munson, titanic in size, stripping off his sweaty clothes as he rounds the couch.
“Holy crap…” He says, not even thinking to keep his voice down to not get caught — not that it matters. Eddie can’t hear him anyway, not at his size, not while Steve is so far down beneath him. Steve’s mind goes absolutely blank. It’s a mix of a few things: seeing his celebrity crush for real, in person, this close is part of it. More than that, seeing him stripping. More even than that, though, is just seeing something so awe-inspiringly fucking massive moving so gracefully, so much mass moving through space at a scale Steve can barely comprehend. He’s never seen a giant in person before, not outside of the carefully cultivated and designated spaces set up for tinies around them, and it’s totally short-circuiting his brain.
Which is kind of the worst thing to happen right now, considering his precarious position. He watches an absolute wall of flesh the size of a mountain reveal itself before him, edging closer and closer, the rumble of a zipper, the pounding of footsteps, the encroaching- oh, oh wait, oh shit, that’s his ass barreling toward Steve at terminal fucking velocity like the literal moon crashing toward earth!
Steve snaps out of his stupor and begins to scramble, searching for purchase with his palms, trying to push himself upright, but it’s too late. The backs of Eddie’s massive thighs are already pressing down on the cushion, turning it from a flat surface into a plummeting downward slope. Gravity drags his tiny body down and forward, the cushion fabric too smooth and purchase-less for him to catch himself. All he can hope is that he descends quickly enough that he can make it out between the gap of those thighs-
Almost-
Darkness descends. Heat envelops him. The smell of salt and sweat and must becomes so thick it’s practically tangible. Eddie settles fully onto the couch, completely unaware of the fact that his balls have landed directly on top of a fan maybe half an inch tall at scale compared to them.
In a way, Eddie’s balls kind of save Steve’s life. His glutes and thighs are far too firm, but the sagging, heavy flesh that lands atop him is so soft and malleable, it conforms around him like squishy memory foam rather than crushing him entirely. The skin is practically form-fitting, swallowing up his limbs and his head, cushioning him and nearly absorbing him into Eddie’s sack. He could have been smushed. Instead, he’s just gently smothered. Steve takes a moment to wrap his head around his surroundings. Rather, to accept the fact that his surroundings are wrapped around him. He can barely breathe, skin keeps pressing into his mouth, salty sweat into his eyes, and his flailing little limbs keep trying to push it away from his face with all the futility of being buried under dough or sand a hundred times larger than him. It accomplishes nothing, save for hairs as strong as cables to wrap themselves around his wrists and ankles, all but tying him into place until he can barely fight it at all. He is well and truly trapped, bound by sweat and pubic hair to the inner side of Eddie Munson’s left nut.
Idly, the back of his mind cringes with the embarrassed realization of not only where he is, but the fact that he’s so tiny and insignificant by comparison, his favorite singer doesn’t even realize it. The longer seconds tick on, the clearer it is that Eddie hasn’t even noticed his existence down there under his balls. He can barely breathe, he’s struggling with every bit of energy he’s got, yelling at the top of his lungs only to have the sound entirely swallowed by Eddie’s privates, slowly suffocating, and it’s like it doesn’t even matter.
He can’t decide whether he’s turned on or absolutely terrified. Maybe kind of a little bit of both. Steven can’t hear it from his position — he can’t hear anything over Eddie’s body, his heartbeat, the sound of churning sperm on the other side of his flesh wall, his breathing — but outside of Eddie’s crotch, out in the real world in the room beyond, a voice comes over the speakers built into the walls.
“Eddie, MTV’s got an interview scheduled with you now. It’ll only take five minutes, but you’re gonna have to put your pants on,” Chrissy’s voice comes through sweetly and apologetically, too soft and kind for Eddie to argue. All he can do is groan lazily, reclining deeper into the couch for a moment out of rebellious protest. “I know, I know, I’m sorry, but they said it’ll be really quick.”
“Okay, okay, since you asked so nicely, Task Mistress.” He gives his package a playful jostle like a silent apology to the start of the gentle erection that had been taking root, then peels himself up off of the couch.
Suddenly, Steve can breathe again - which is about the nicest possible thing that can be said about an otherwise awful state of affairs. The ground drops out from beneath him, and suddenly he’s soaring. Sweat plasters his entire front to the skin above him, hair locks him in place, but as Eddie stands, thousands of feet of empty space replace the couch and Steve finds himself ironically clinging to the very things he’d been trying to squirm out of not but a second before.
It doesn’t last long. Eddie pulls his leather pants slowly up his legs again, and Steve finds himself once again locked in place against flesh -— but with far less stability. They bounce, roll, jiggle, and smother him from different angles every step Eddie takes. Another lifesaver: the fact that Eddie performs this interview standing up. It means he isn’t smothered again beneath them, and it means he’s just low enough for someone on the waist-height staff platforms to hear the tired, raspy yells coming from somewhere deep beyond the leather. That someone, of course, is Eddie’s gorgeous manager, always within reach of Eddie. Chrissy’s eyes go wide when she realizes what she’s hearing, and it takes an act of cool coordination to discreetly signal to Eddie without actually disrupting the interview.
“Code Six,” she whispers harshly into her walkie talkie, which feeds into Eddie’s earpiece and promptly sends him into a wide-eyed coughing fit. He shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, speeding through the questions while only half paying attention to them. Wraps it up as gracefully as he can, and then immediately awkwardly walks with his legs parted a little to widely back to his dressing room.
“No fucking way, are you fucking kidding me? Code six, as in, like, code six? For real?” He asks once the two of them are back in his dressing room, bending gently at the waist to lower his face down to where he sets Chrissy down on the back of the couch.
“This is not a drill,” Chrissy confirms seriously, clicking on a flashlight for emphasis. What follows is an extraction they’ve only ever practiced in theory: Eddie unzipping his pants and stepping up to the back of the couch, opening up his crotch like the mouth of a cave for his brave manager to slowly, carefully venture into. She descends the leather into sweat-sticky skin, traversing his half-hard cock, then climbing down the wrinkles of his balls one hand-hold at a time. Expertly navigating his privates, wriggling between clothing and folds of skin toward the source of the voice until she finds the poor guy where he’s trapped.
With his face as pressed against things as it is, of course he can’t see it: the way every yank of an arm or a leg stimulates Eddie’s balls discreetly, the way a gentle surge of blood heads toward the cock looming overhead. Chrissy’s not even entirely sure Eddie realizes it, if the effect isn’t just so subtle that it’s subconscious, but she’s got to shout, “Stop moving, random creeper guy, you’re turning him on and it’s making this like ten times harder! ...No pun intended. Or… pun slightly intended. Whatever, just- sit still until I can untangle you, okay?”
Twenty more precarious minutes pass, with Chrissy diligently wrangling stray hairs, loosening Steve’s binds one after another, then yanking him by the fabric of his shirt to peel him off of Eddie’s balls. Eventually, exhausted, the duo make their way to Extraction Site: Guns & Roses tattoo on Eddie’s hip.
Needless to say, two minutes after he finally gets to look at the guy face-to-face, Eddie decides he will not be telling this meet-cute story to his future Harrington inlaws.
New Witcher AU where Witchers are Giants and hella badass and more reclusive than usual so not everyone knows they even exist.
Summary: Jaskier, new out of bard college and without a muse, goes wandering the continent and hears tale of Giant monster slayers. He doesn't believe it, until one night when he's nearly killed by one himself.
AO3 Link here
It all started when Jaskier was down on his luck in a charming backwater town called Posada. The lovely people of this tavern didn’t seem to appreciate Jaskier’s wonderful lyrics about abortions. Arguably, the words themselves were clever enough, but the content was admittedly dry. It wasn’t the bard’s fault- while studying at Oxenfurt, Jaskier learned how to play just about every instrument in existence with a focus on the lute, and also could identify any musical note with his pitch perfect hearing. But figuring out what to write about in his songs? Well, that’s the very reason why the academy sent bards off to discover their muse, and so far all Jaskier had discovered were muddy roads and piss poor ale. Hardly masterpiece quality.
But as Jaskier was shoveling bread into his trousers (a bribe from angry patrons who threw it at the stage in hopes of shutting him up), Jaskier’s perfect ears happened to overhear a conversation of note happening at the bar.
“A giant, you say?” Jaskier butted into the conversation, ignoring the irritated glares both parties sent in his direction. “He sounds quite intriguing.”
“Leave the fantasies in stories, bard.” The man who was sitting there and started the tale spat. “This giant is no man. It’s a beast, over a 100 storeys tall, destroying everything in its path-”
“Goodness, 100 storeys? Really?” Jaskier had already whipped out his songbook and was jotting this down. “Did you measure it yourself, then? Or am I not the only one guilty of a bit of exaggeration around here?”
“Why’s it matter how tall the thing is?” The barkeep scrubbed angrily at a sticky spot on his wooden shelf. “A giant’s a giant.”
“Yes, well, I’ve considered many a bed partner a giant of a man, but it seems you’re dealing with another realm entirely.” Jaskier rested the quill against his mouth. “I just want to make this clear when I write the tale. Is the fellow the sort where I’d feel like a child standing up to his hip, or the more fabled kind where I’m lucky to be spotted next to his boot? I say, does he wear clothes at all? Or is there a giant nudist in our midst terrorizing wives and children-”
The patron, clearly having had enough of Jaskier’s ramblings, slammed his beer down on the table. “This isn’t a joke!” The man yelled, silencing the bard and half the guests with his outburst.
“Oi.” The barkeep paused his work, giving the patron a glare. “Take it outside if you’re gonna get rough.”
The patron grumbled, but sat back in his seat, this time addressing Jaskier with a normal gruff tone. “This thing could level a village without even realizing it. All of Wakefield had to evacuate a fortnight ago when we saw the beast on our borders, half the fields trampled and our livestock so spooked they'd stopped producing.
“A monster had been picking off our hunters one by one, the men who came back swore they saw a tree come to life, some sort of forest spirit pissed off we were in its lands, they said. It commanded the birds and the wolves, sent brave men cowering back with tails ‘tween their legs, it did. There were some who wanted to leave then, but those were our homes, we weren’t about to leave because of some ol’ spirit.
“And then, one day, things took a turn fer’ the worse. The giant showed up, got into a fist fight with the spirit. It tore that monster limb from limb it did, leaving parts of it scattered at the town edge. The hunting parties that had been out in the woods that day never returned, torn or trampled just like that spirit.”
The man’s eyes had sunken, looking like a soldier who had returned from war when none of his comrades had. “By then, with the previous torment of the spirit, we were picked clean.” He murmured. “The few of us left figured it was safer to leave with our lives than piss off a creature so mighty the ground shook as it walked. I stared in the face of death that day, and could feel those soulless yellow eyes peering into ‘me soul all the way to Posada.”
The man shook his head, slowly but surely nursing his drink. His tale was done, and he wasn’t eager to tell it again.
Jaskier, unfortunately, had never been sensitive nor subtle. “...but it killed the spirit, right?” Already he could feel the inspiration brimming under the surface, a tale of a tragic guardian angel gone wrong.
“And our men.” He said through gritted teeth. “Or did their lives mean so little you’ve forgotten them already?”
“Well, to be fair, I didn’t know them personally- Woah!” Jaskier hastily took a step back as the man got to his feet, shoving the chair back and advancing steadily on Jaskier. “I- that is to say, I’m sorry for your loss? Look, all I was saying is that if there was no witnesses, it’s still entirely possible that nasty spirit did them off, which suffice to say would make you at least a little grateful to the-”
This is as much as Jaskier got before the man had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up to meet his snarling expression.
“Oi! Outside!” The barkeep ordered, shuffling them both out the door. The man refused to release Jaskier on the way out, causing the bard to stumble along until they reached fresh air. Jaskier had only a moment to appreciate the sunlight before a fist was painfully colliding with his face.
“Okay, ow.” Jaskier grimaced, blinking back spots as he was shoved to the ground. He rubbed at his jaw, looking up at his tormentor. “Some parties would argue that was a bit harsh.”
Jaskier was never known for keeping his tongue, and here it once again proved to bite him in the ass as the man reared back and kicked him in the gut. Jaskier doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach to cradle the sensitive organs for a few minutes before the throbbing subsided. When finally Jaskier dared to uncurl, the man had disappeared, likely inside for another drink.
“I think that went rather well.” Jaskier breathed, voice still a bit wheezy from the light beating. The bard stood up slowly, dusting himself off to maintain his beautiful silken trousers, even if the blue color had already faded from weeks of travel.
“Well, where to next?” Jaskier thought to himself, adjusting his lute on his back. “Can’t go back in there, oh no, I doubt they’d want to be graced with my presence anymore anyways.” Jaskier sighed, turning instead to the road out of town and already longing for a comfortable bed. “Hmm, let’s see, shall we venture North this time around? I hear Lyria is lovely this time of year.”
When one only needs to convince themselves, the choice of destination can be an easy one. Jaskier set off with all his worldly travel possessions, the coin pouch still dangerously low. If Jaskier had any survivalist skills, perhaps he could save a bit of coin catching a rabbit here and there for a meal instead of spending a hefty sum on rations when the market allowed. Instead, Jaskier had to contend himself with a few handfuls of mostly innocent berries and occasionally going hungry when left to his own devices.
“Oh, what shall we do with the drunken sailor~” Jaskier traveled with a tune this fine afternoon, amusing himself with a few vocal warm ups. What town was north, anyhow? Jaskier rarely bothered with maps, choosing instead to trust where the road took him. It only grew uncomfortable when towns were several days' travel apart, as Jaskier was not fond of sleeping out in the wilderness. The unfortunate night when a squirrel had crawled inside his bedroll with him was enough of a fright for the novelty of sleeping under the stars to wear off.
As the sun drew lower in the sky, it seemed tonight would be one of those unfortunate nights. Jaskier sighed, resigning himself to set up camp. Jaskier decided against a campfire, deeming it too much effort on a night when the air was already warm enough. Instead Jaskier just scoped out a spot by a tree still within sight of the road, hoping the well trodden path would ward off natural predators but the tree cover would provide assistance against becoming a target for highway robbers in the dead of night. Not that Jaskier had much of value on his person but he imagined it wouldn’t be pleasant to wake up to being frisked with a knife to his throat.
When a suitable spot had been found (or a spot as good as he would get before he lost all daylight), Jaskier laid out his bedroll. He oiled the strings of his lute, making sure the instrument was well cared for after a day of heavy use in the tavern. When his most precious possession was set aside for the night Jaskier finally tucked in, ready for a well-earned rest.
Thump.
Jaskier paused, for a moment certain he was imagining the faint tremor he felt through the forest floor. Just as Jaskier wrote it off as a figment of his active imagination, it happened again. And again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Jaskier sat up, clutching the fabric of his bedroll to his chest as the thumping only seemed to increase in intensity, now joined in tandem with the sound of shaking branches and creaking tree trunks as if the forest were being forced apart by something absolutely massive.
Quickly but quietly Jaskier exited his bedroll, heart pounding in his chest as he clutched his lute. What the devil could that be? Was it coming this way? Jaskier debated the sanity of taking a moment to pack up his bedroll, for it had cost a good handful of coin. Would it be better to try and hide, or run like a hellhound was at his heels? Before Jaskier could make up his mind, a massive form suddenly came crashing through the branches from above, falling quickly towards where Jaskier’s bedroll still lay. On instinct the bard let out a distinctly unmanly scream, scrambling further towards the tree trunk he was hunkered against to avoid being crushed.
At the sound of Jaskier’s scream- his very loud scream, curse his amazing lungs for always drawing attention to himself- the form in the sky stumbled, snapping more tree limbs like twigs as it finished crashing into the earth not even a full body length in front of Jaskier. The break in the forest canopy allowed a little moonlight to shine through, and Jaskier began to make out the shape of the intruding object which connected up to something far, far above him that couldn’t be spotted.
A boot. Jaskier had nearly been crushed by a gigantic boot, and it was only then that Jaskier remembered Wakefield was the closest form of civilization close to Posada. This was the giant that may or may not have torn greater men limb from limb, definitely tore a gigantic tree entity limb from limb, and terrorized a surviving population into leaving the only home they had ever known.
“...Fuck.”
Jaskier flinched, startled as a deep voice came rumbling down from above. Though it was all encompassing in its intensity, Jaskier got the distinct feeling that it was meant as no more than a murmur. The bard’s breath hitched in his surprise.
“You can talk?!” Jaskier’s head whipped up to try and face the intruder, scrambling to his feet to get a better view without his trusty tree blocking out the light. In the night sky, the giant was little more than a terrifying, looming shadow blocking out the stars. Far above, a pair of yellow, glowing eyes focused directly on Jaskier, pinning the bard with their gaze and leaving the human feeling even smaller than usual.
“I- sorry.” Jaskier continued, realizing that with a wince what he had exclaimed was quite rude, and offending a giant would not bode well. “It’s just that- well I’ve never met one of your kind before.” Jaskier raised his voice while continuing to ramble, watching as the giant began to lean closer. Not exactly ideal but maybe the giant was simply hard of hearing? Jaskier tried to stay in a positive line of thinking and less on the line of him being torn apart as soon as giant fangs got within bard-biting distance. If it- he- really did have fangs at all.
To be at the foot of such a massive individual reminded Jaskier of what it must feel like to humble oneself before the goddess of Death, pathetically lacking in your final moments as you were judged by an almighty being greater than yourself. To put it lightly, the sight was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying, especially when Jaskier realized he had been frighteningly close to meeting Death tonight himself. This giant was like a living mountain, experiencing a world far larger than Jaskier’s own and one in which Jaskier’s continued existence was inconsequential.
“-rumored to have a bit of fae blood on my mother’s side myself.” Jaskier found he had continued to ramble without any awareness of what he was saying. “What was I talking about? Oh yes, I’m not racist- woah!” Unprepared for the giant’s shifting, Jaskier was startled by the sudden quaking of the earth and promptly stumbled onto his ass. What had been nothing but an adjustment of the giant’s footing had thrown Jaskier’s balance off completely.
“Sorry.” The giant apologized, saying his second word of the night. While the giant ominous stranger chose his words wisely, Jaskier had already spewed several thousand. Not too out of proportion for most conversations Jaskier held, actually. His previous roommates claimed Jaskier was just a fan of his own voice, and well this was not entirely the cause of Jaskier’s never ending dialogue he didn’t deny the melodious quality of his own vocal cords.
“It’s quite alright!” Jaskier hurried to assure him, standing up and once again patting at his clothes to dust them off, more out of habit than necessity. “Not my first tumble, no harm done to the bard, not tonight, no sir.” Jaskier’s tumble had also been caused by his own shaky legs, still quivering a bit as Jaskier forced himself to remain standing.
The giant hmm’d, those golden eyes tracking Jaskier intently. The bard got the distinct impression that the giant could see the bard a lot more clearly than Jaskier could see him in the low night light, like a predator stalking its prey. “You’re not hurt?”
Jaskier shook his head in confirmation. “Nope, fit as a fiddle. A lute, if one were to be more accurate, though it doesn’t roll quite off the tongue, does it? Bit of a nasty fright you gave me there in the beginning, quite a first impression.” Jaskier gave an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head. “And here I was, poking fun at a man in the tavern a way’s back for telling tall tales! Really tall tales, mind you. Are you really 100 storeys tall? Sorry, that’s probably rude. I’ll go first, I’m 6 foot, though my lithe figure makes it hard for others to tell. I doubt you have the same struggles, oh mighty mountain man.”
“Hmm.” The giant ignored Jaskier’s question, if there even was one in that linguistic mess. (Jaskier himself wasn’t sure; in desperate times, the bard’s tongue tripped over itself.) “Stay near the road. Light a fire next time.”
“I- yes, that is- sound advice, right there.” Jaskier saluted, in no position to disagree with anything the giant told him to do. With a nod in his direction, the giant began to move. The shadowy figure blocked out the stars once more, causing Jaskier to flinch as he was briefly cast in darkness as the giant picked up a leg to set it down, what, miles from here? Jaskier quickly crouched down, avoiding the boot in front of him as it lifted as well. The boot’s journey up was slow and meticulous, as if the giant were being extraordinarily careful as he lifted his foot from the grove, but Jaskier put his arms up to protect his neck regardless as stray twigs were inevitably tumbling down where the giant’s foot dislodged them from the canopy.
A few moments later, Jaskier’s racing heart began to calm, no longer feeling as though he was immediately going to get squashed into a bardly pulp. Jaskier could scarcely feel the rumblings in the distance, the only evidence left of the giant’s intrusion was a wider hole in the tree branches and the scuffed up large patch of dirt left behind by the boot print. Jaskier panted, pressing his hand to his chest as he fought to process all that had happened in the last, most exciting minute of his short life. “What the fuck just happened?”
Potential Prompt: Tiny!Jon Snow gets cock vored, unaware, by Robb Stark or Theon Greyjoy.
— YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME (I WON’T LET YOU)
Summary: Jon has decided to leave to join the Night's Watch. He thought everyone had accepted that, but, the night before he and Lord Stark depart, his half-brother Robb proves him wrong.
Content: Cock Vore, Drugging, Unwilling Tiny, Malicious Giant, A lot of set-up oops
A/N: I went with Robb because I can't stand Theon, and I thought it would be too easy. The motivation for Robb was a lot more fun too imo. Also, took the "unaware" part to mean Jon is unaware of what's happening to him, rather than the giant. (link to AO3 version)
* * * * * * * * * *
Jon is putting away the last of his things when Robb comes in, carrying a bottle of mead, two goblets, and a diminished disposition. Sighing, Jon puts down a shirt and turns to face the man properly.
‘Is that for me? I don’t think they’ll allow me to bring mead to Castle Black.’
Robb shakes his head. ‘No, idiot. It’s for us to share. Seeing as tonight will be our last night together in a long time.’
Jon crosses his arms self-consciously.
‘Don’t say it like that, Robb.’
‘Well, how else am I supposed to say it?’ He demands, coming to stand in front of Jon. His eyes are dark with emotion. Sadness, perhaps, or anger. ‘You’re leaving me alone here, to deal with Mother and Bran and Father’s responsibilities.’
‘They are your responsibilities now, Robb. You should be proud.’
He should, truly. Jon has never allowed himself to dream of such an honour, for it would be impossible. And unfair to his half-siblings. That is why he will not stay in WInterfell, staining the name of Stark, and why he will find his own honour. When he tells Robb as much, he only gets a glare in response.
‘I am, brother. But I thought when I finally earnt that right, you would be here, at my side, not freezing your pale arse on top of The Wall on some stupid quest to find your honour.’
Jon holds back what he wants to say—you wouldn’t understand, you are Eddard Stark’s trueborn son, you do not see how your mother looks at me—and says what he must: ‘... I cannot stay.’
Robb’s face twists with something, ducking his head for a moment before Jon can make it out. When he resurfaces, his face is blank apart from half-hearted joviality. He gestures to the mead. ‘Shall we, one last time?’
An air of foreboding fills the room, making Jon shiver despite the roaring fireplace, but he shakes it off. Best not let himself ruin this moment—Gods know when he’ll next get the chance.
‘I would want nothing more.’
Nodding, Robb goes to pour from the two goblets he places on the small table by the. Jon sits in one chair, and Robb the other. He takes this cup in hand, admiring the amber colour for a moment, before bringing the liquid to his mouth and swallowing. There’s a pull at his navel. When he sets his cup down on the table, he sees that Robb has not drunk from his own yet. He instead sits there, with a peculiar gleam in his eye.
‘Is something the matter? Is the mead not up to his Lord Stark’s standards?’ Jon teases, laughing lightly and smiling because this is the last time he will be allowed to do this with someone he loves.
‘No, it's not that … I’m just waiting for something.’
The pull intensifies.
‘What could you be–’
Jon does not get the chance to finish what he was going to say. One moment the world is as it should be, and the next, he is growing rapidly closer to the table, his clothes folding around him. His eyes close at the pull becoming harder to ignore, and the disorienting picture, but when he opens them again, his world is black. There’s cloth covering his eyes, surrounding his body.
Before he can try to make sense of what has happened, a large hand is pulling him out from the recess of clothing. The first thing he sees upon escaping it is Robb’s giant face. The planes of his face are like mountains. Seeing so much so close, he cannot help but notice the lack of concern, nor confusion, he expected. Instead, the man’s eyes sparkle dangerously and his grin stretches ear-to-ear.
‘Robb? Robb what–what happened?’ He’s held between two of Robb’s fingers, the hard, calloused flesh trapping his body. Like this, he is possibly only a centimetre in height. Perhaps even less. The realisation shocks him into silence.
‘Don’t worry, Jon.’ Robb’s voice booms like thunder. ‘I’m only fixing a problem.’
His giant half-brother rises then, the air whooshing around them. Jon is thousands of metres in the air. One drop and he would be dead. Robb’s hand flexes as he thinks it, as if he heard as well.
‘Robb, what have you done? Robb, tell me!’ Jon shouts, wanting to be heard.
‘This is for the best, you know. I couldn’t have you leave me when I needed you most. But like this, you won’t ever need to. I can take care of you, Jon, and when you understand how much you are needed here, in Winterfell, I will let you out.’
‘Let me out—? Robb, what are you talking about? Please just let me go, we can talk about this.’
‘There’ll be no more talking. It’s clear you won’t see reason.’
Robb does as he says, refusing to respond to Jon’s shouts. He brings his hand, and Jon, away from his face, lowering them past his throat, and his chest, and his stomach, until they stop in front of his exposed crotch. Jon hadn’t noticed Robb pulling down his breeches, too preoccupied with his own confusion. This does nothing to cure it.
‘Robb, what is this?’
The giant carries on as if he cannot hear him. Perhaps, at this size, he cannot. Instead, he brings Jon closer to the flaccid cock. It hangs menacingly atop a hill of wiry, red hair, until Robb plucks Jon from his palm and holds him aloft. The other hand goes to the cock and brings it to face Jon, pulling back the skin until the head appears.
Jon is now only a few feet away from it, and the piss slit gapes open. Surely—surely Robb does not mean to—?
But he does. Because Jon is being brought closer to the cock every second, slowly, as if Robb wants to savour this moment. He squirms, trying to free himself, because death would be preferable to this. It is for nought, however–he comes into contact with the hole. Robb’s fingers push him forward, his body slowly being engulfed by a hot, wet heat. He squirms even harder, panic rising. It does nothing but stimulate the cock, and by the time half of Jon’s body is inside, the hole has begun contracting tightly around his hand and torso.
Jon begins to slip in farther without Robb’s aid, the darkness swallowing him whole. He descends and descends and descends, until all he is surrounded by is the inside of Robb’s cock. He thinks the giant is wanking his hard cock to aid the process, because he can feel the walls pulsing and undulating around him.
He stays sliding through the hole until he reaches another, this one leading into a large chamber filled with what must be churning come. Jon’s eyes widen when he realises. Robb’s put Jon inside his balls.
And he doesn’t come out for very, very a long time.
Summary: ‘Theon has grown sick and tired of Snow tailing after Robb like a lost wolf cub, and decides to get rid of the bastard for the young Lord Stark’s ease of comfort. (And because he’s jealous.)’
A/N: Ashamed to say the title is from bastardised Shakespeare. Specifically, “there’s magic in thy majesty”, from his play, ‘Winter’s Tale, Act 5, Scene 3’. Though if I’m being honest, old Willie would have loved to know his work is being used as a title for a microphilia smut fic. Mans basically wrote a lot of flowery dick jokes.
This is based on Anon’s prompt: “Tiny!Jon Snow gets cock vored, unaware, by Robb Stark or Theon Greyjoy”. I’m basically doing this over, because I stuffed up their prompt *twice* already. I got the cock vore part down, but managed to flub up the “unaware” bit? Twice? In the same day? Anyway, this is me making it up to them lmao
Also, in regards to my hiatus–I wouldn’t say it’s over, necessarily, but I was hit with a bout of motivation after having written another smut fic (not macrophilia, sorry to say) and wanted to write more. If this trend continues, I’ll accept it with grace, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. Regardless, please accept this humble offering!! (link to AO3 version)
Dean wakes up in the wrong place during Castiel's marathon masturbation session. Castiel only realizes it toward the end.
It shouldn’t be possible for the cock above his head to be that hard, that fast. It’s been less than ten minutes, but Dean can already see it pulsing in the giant’s hand. His rhythm is quick but steady, a persistent jacking that Dean finds disconcerting -- he can’t tell how close the guy is now. His hand’s been flying up and down for the last five minutes, the slit staring him in the face has been steadily drooling and dripping into the shin-high puddle below, and overhead are ragged gusts of heavy breathing in time with the twitches and jerks Dean sees underneath the giant’s fingers.
Without warning, the room lurches again. A panicked backward glance shows fingerprints smashing down around the walls, and then the floor begins to tilt again. Dean stumbles forward, then loses his footing as his feet slide out from underneath him thanks to the slickness of semen coating the bottom of the glass jar.
He’s slid unstoppably back down again, semen pooling around his knees, and the slit of that enormous cock once again pointed almost directly at Dean’s tiny body.
“Don’t, man, please don’t--” he pleads hoarsely, throat too raw to keep shouting. As if to spite him, the hand pumps faster and harder. There’s a rumble like thunder that reverberates out of the chest overhead, a woosh of breath, and then the giant’s rhythm falters a second before--
He didn’t have enough warning to brace himself this time. The giant comes on him abruptly, shooting a hard, hot spurt directly at his face. He flinches back, bringing an arm up to try and block out the next shot. It’s ineffectual; come just flows over his arm and down his face anyway. Over his front. Coating his absolutely everything thickly.
When the giant’s pumping finally slows and his cock softens a little, the come level has doubled. With the jar tilted, it now comes up to his thighs. He knows, at least, to stagger along with the shifting of the jar so that he’s standing when it flattens rather than washed over with come.
The giant’s hand releases his cock once more, and it hangs down into the jar deceptively still and unassuming. He can see around it and above it mostly; it’s backdropped by the giant’s steeply heaving chest, and the underside of that chin still.
The forearms stretch overhead. Dean hears another heavy round of clacking on the keyboard. Minutes pass, tense and stressful, and all Dean can do is stare up out of this jar at the dick, chest, and chin of the being hoarding the sky above him. Waiting to see what happens next.
There’s another click.
New groaning floats down from the laptop speakers, and Dean backs up against the glass with a newfound despair. “No, no, no, no, come ON man, how many times -- you gotta be kidding me--”
The giant’s left hand absently repositions the jar back an inch or two, and for the first time the giant glances down for a fleeting moment to clock its proximity to his dick. Dean gets a two-second opportunity to recognize that enormous face a mile up, and he’s momentarily stunned into silence.
“Cas?”
Cas, it seems did not seem to notice Dean in the slightest. Odds are from this angle he only saw his own dick, the rim of the jar, and streaks of his own come staining the glass in places. Dean must have been completely obstructed from view, and he’s furious he missed his opportunity.
All the same, there’s a renewed hope in him now that he knows who’s jacking off onto him. He sloshes through knee-high semen toward the wall and starts slapping his hand against it furiously.
“CAS! CAS, DOWN HERE! HEY! CASTIEL! CAS, LOOK DOWN- CAS, I’M IN HERE.”
Cas wraps his hand around his dick, and once again begins to jerk off. He’s completely deaf to Dean’s cries, it seems, because once again he groans and jacks off and comes all over his friend, adding another foot and a half to the waterline.
Third time’s the charm?
Castiel’s half-flaccid cock hangs over into the jar with him for longer this time, the clicking around is quieter, and it seems like Cas spends fifteen minutes just screwing around on the internet with a jar full of his own come between his legs.
Once again, Dean stupidly hopes it’s a precursor to being let out. Once again, he’s met with crushing disappointment as that hand drops down to start playing with his dick again -- this time sans porn, apparently. It’s slower, more idle, lazier, and Dean has to spend longer staring up watching his friend idly toy with his own cock as it gets harder and harder. As his rhythm gets faster.
As he tips the jar again to accommodate his dick, and this time Dean’s sloshed forward into a pool of semen that reaches his sternum.
Cas strokes out another heavy load on top of it, adding more and more to the quickly accumulating quantity. By the time his friend stops coming that fourth time, it’s up to his neck when the jar is tipped. When it sloshes flat again it’s back to his sternum, but Dean feels a creeping sense of urgency start to set in.
“CAS! Cas, man, you gotta stop jacking off…” he laments miserably, his palm squeaking against the glass that’s almost too slippery to support his weight. He can’t sit down anymore, the water line would surely be over his head.
Please let him be done.
Please let him be done.
How many more times could he possibly do this?
Dean watches in horror as Cas glances down at his cock and wraps his hand around it again.
“Cas, please, man… don’t. Cas, you gotta stop. I’m runnin’ out of room here…” he begs the back of Castiel’s knuckles, which are as unsympathetic as ever. It seems like his friend starts to jack more quickly just to spite him. The jar tips again, Dean’s swept down with the wave, and he’s clinging to the bottom of the jar like some people cling to the wall of a pool.
“CAS, STOP- PLEASE-, PLEASE DON’T COME-”
Cas groans, Cas jacks, his cock throbs in pleasure, and he once again explodes out gallons of thick semen on Dean’s head. He’s covered, coated, it’s completely surrounding him and it’s almost too thick to swim in. He flounders under the surface for several seconds as Cas finishes leisurely coaxing the last of his come into the jar, and then he’s carried to the opposite side with the wave that comes when Cas settles it flat again.
His head bursts out from underneath the surface, sucking down air now that the water line’s only to his throat again.
“CAS!” He screams hoarsely, throat salty, but his voice sounds even more muffled now that the jar is over half way full. Gravity shifts, the weight of gallons and gallons of semen swaying him left and then right with the tide as that massive left hand reels the jar up from between Castiel’s thighs. It’s like being on the world’s grossest elevator; he ascends up past the lip of the desk, past Castiel’s navel, and sloshes around in a circle as the angel casually settles the jar on the table in front of the still-moaning laptop.
He lurches his way toward the glass nearest Cas, arms waving, palms slapping, but outside Castiel doesn’t hear even the slightest sound. He’s not glancing at the jar as his titanic body stands, and Dean has to watch thousands of tons of flesh move around and away from him as Cas abandons the jar to walk across the room.
A mile away, he slings on a bathrobe and walks out the bedroom door, leaving Dean trapped up to his neck in semen with no way to escape. He tries, with tiny palms squeaking across the glass. Trying to kick up as high as he can -- the rim’s a joke, too far away, never gonna happen. He even tries ramming his shoulder against the far wall hoping to knock the jar off the desk, but all he manages to do is slip under Castiel’s come again.
There’s nothing for it. He’s just left there on a desk in front of a giant laptop playing porn, the bedroom a landscape, throat deep in his best friend’s semen.
A few minutes later, sort of like that scene in Jurassic park, the liquid in the jar starts gently shaking. Castiel’s door swings wide open again, and he watches the angel shed his bathrobe as he chugs down a bottle of water. Thud, thud, thud, come reverberating footsteps, a chest the size of a mountain clearing far more distance than Dean feels comfortable with in a short time.
Cas slows to a standing stop with his crotch level with the jar, towering high, high, high above Dean and still not glancing at him. Somewhat distorted and magnified by the glass, Dean can still make out his cock -- still somehow unbelievably hard, twitching, and he watches enormous fingers glide through space toward it to absently tug at himself in front of Dean’s eyes.
“Cas!” He yells, slapping his hand on the glass. The sharp cut of that jaw dips in his direction, and Dean wades backwards in order to be able to see Cas’s face through the circular rim.
It seems, for a breathtaking second, like Cas is looking at him. Blue eyes are pointed exactly in his direction, but his expression remains completely passive and bears not even a scrap of recognition. Dean still holds out hope as he sees Castiel’s hand stretch forward his direction, looming in and down toward the jar.
He braces his fingertips all around the rim, and Dean feels gravity shift again as his hand lifts the jar from the desk. Things are chaos as the contents swish around, and by the time the jar is at Castiel’s sternum Dean’s been dunked under twice and burst up again, coated in white. Head, shoulders, face, all dripping with come -- so that Castiel’s absent downward glass into the contents of the jar spot nothing. He’s camouflaged, he doesn’t stand out enough without a longer look, and Dean’s disappointment is crushing as he watches Castiel’s dispassionate face get farther and farther away as his best friend lowers him back down between his thighs to resume masturbating on him.
He thuds down, shakes the semen from his eyes, and groans miserably as he sees that now-familiar cock being hoisted up above him.
“Cas…” he pleads, watching the backs of Castiel’s knuckles leisurely glide up and down his dick. “Please…”
The moaning from the laptop has gone quiet, but Castiel doesn’t seem to care. His ragged, rhythmic breathing is still hitching and picking up, his hand is still speeding up, he still jacks off enthusiastically over Dean’s head, and he still shifts his hips back to point his dick at the jar once he gets close. The only difference now is that he tilts the jar markedly less, probably concerned about spilling the contents now that it’s getting so full. It’s a fleeting concern in the back of his mind, but his eyes crack open all the same and he glances down at the jar just to be safe.
Half of Dean’s vision is cock and hand, pointed at him, jerking roughly and intensely. The other half is chest and, farther up, Castiel’s face finally lowered in his direction. He watches lips part desperately, he watches eyelashes flutter open, he watches blue eyes stare down from miles above him, and he begs one last time, “Don’t come on me….”
Crackling through the atmosphere like thunder, Castiel’s voice fills the jar with a confused, breathless, “Dean?”
Before Dean can answer, he sees Castiel’s eyes go wide and dark, he can see that cock pulse, and his world is disrupted as Castiel’s left hand urgently tilts the jar a little more as his right hand wildly picks up speed.
“CAS, DON’T--”
Cas jerks hard and fast as his orgasm strikes like lightning, and groans deeply as he comes the hardest yet, shooting thick and heavy over his friend’s tiny form. Dean is plunged under the liquid, floundering through the third and fourth shot that drive him back down again as soon as he bobs up. Several chaotic seconds go by before things still enough for him to breach the surface, legs kicking, treading water as he desperately stares up out of the opening of the jar.
Cas is staring at him alright, a knit in his brow and confusion in his expression.
But his cock is still pointed at Dean, and despite that intense orgasm he’s still stroking it frantically.
“What-- Dean, why are you in my jar?”
Another thick pearl of precum beads and drops off the tip of Castiel’s dick, landing just a foot away from him in the lake of come he’s struggling to stay above.
“I don’t know- I don’t know, but man you gotta- you gotta get me outta here,” he yells as loud as his tired lungs can manage.
Castiel, for as concerned as he looks a mile above his cock, is still jerking said cock. Dean can hear his breath still hitching, fast and needy.
“I will,” he promises, but contrary to that Dean feels the jar tipping once again. He goes bobbing under the surface for a second and bursts back up again as quick as he can, hoping to see Castiel’s fingers dipping in to fish him out. Instead, he’s just face to face again with the tip of Castiel’s dick. “I will. I think I just-- I just need two more and then it’ll be done.”
He says breathlessly, his hand speeding up ominously.
“Cas- no, Cas you gotta stop jacking off on me--”
Castiel’s answer is a low groan, and if Dean thought that cock was aiming for him before, he knows better now. He knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Cas focused his aim, deliberately pointing it at Dean’s body the second before orgasm hit him again.
Dean is submerged, and he loses direction for a minute. Can’t remember which way is up, the semen weighs a ton, it’s so thick it’s hard to navigate, and just before he thinks he might lose it he manages to reemerge.
To the sight of the jar still tilted, and Cas’s hand still working just as fast and as hard. It’s just that Castiel is staring directly at him now, watching him flounder and flail in his jar.
“Cas, you’re gonna drown me in your goddamn come!” His answer is a low groan and a pointed increase in speed, like the words spiked heat in him. “You gotta stop, Cas, please. You’re gonna drown me in it!”
“I know, Dean, I’m sorry. I just… one more time. This is the last one. I just need to come… one more time, and then it’ll be done.”
It hits Dean once more, how absolutely insane this visual is. Around him, splashing and shaking thick, warm semen that keeps threatening to drag him down. Around it, mostly-transparent glass encasing him. He can just make out his own reflection over top of the world outside -- hundreds of feet of flesh-tone making a staggeringly enormous chest and, much more closely, a set of thick and heavy balls right on the other side of the glass. Distant, blurry color that’s too big and too far away for Dean’s eyes to see crisply, but that he knows must be furniture. Above his head, the only place he find himself able to look, the perfectly round ring of a ceiling. Through it, Castiel’s parted lips and blown pupils, a little sweat in his hair, makes a distant backdrop to the much closer view of the underside of a cock taking up a third of the space. Through the ridges where a jar would screw on, he can see the shape of Castiel’s fist pushing back and forth along the length.
Cas is looking straight down at him, and any apology or sympathy that might be there is washed over with clear arousal. Keen interest, and not a scrap of concern. It’s like he just doesn’t… get the severity of the situation, how terrifying it is for Dean, how tired his limbs are, how big everything is.
He tries again, desperate and pleading, “Cas… please. I don’t wanna drown in your come. There’s too much. It’s too big. Please, man, stop coming on me.”
“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he breathes, his voice a rumbling oppressive volume that fills the jar. “But I’m very close. I’m almost done. Just… one more time, Dean. I’m just going to do it one- tsss…”
There’s a hitch in that massive breath. Castiel’s eyes widen, and his dick looms in further urgently. The jar tips a little more so that it’s the closest it’s been to Dean yet -- not but two feet away from his face, slit gaping wide and leaking wet, enormous hand squeezing and working desperately.
Cas groans loud enough to hurt Dean’s ears. Dean watches his cock throb and flex, watches the slit close, and then watches slow-motion as it opens again.
His best friend shoots his load so hard Dean’s driven under the surface again. Cas comes so hard, so long, he loses track of time. Seconds upon seconds upon seconds of his balls pumping, heat running through him, orgasm peaking like waves that slowly, slowly taper off.
He breathes out a sigh of relief, and then remembers Dean. He rights the jar quickly and ducks down, enormous blue eyes trying to peer through the opaque liquid inside the jar.
“Dean?” he asks, the first bit of audible concern in his voice.
A few tense seconds pass, and then Dean bursts from the water in a tiny little spray of semen, gasping for breath, pressing his tiny palms against the glass.
Castiel lets out another relieved sigh, and stands up straight.
“Good. You’re okay.” He leans over to pluck up a tissue, and makes about methodically cleaning off his dick. “That was… the best one yet. I can’t believe how good that felt. I wonder if--”
He casts a sideways look at Dean from the ceiling hole.
“How about we make things interesting?” John suggested, his chapped lips pressed into a devious sneer. “I’ll give you once last chance. I’ll let you raise me to all in.” His deep voice commanded the room, drawing all eyes to him. He was a real man’s man, pushing 50 with crisp blue eyes, a thick head of gray hair, and a gut stretching the middle of his polo shirt.
I narrowed my eyes and pointed out, “But I don’t have anything else to bet.” Every dollar my wife had let me bring was already in the pot. But he had my attention, even Hank and Greg sidled back up the table to see if I could pull out the win and take home the cash John had already won off them.
John leaned back in his chair, savoring my poorly-concealed desperation, and finally said, “You know, you’ve always had a big mouth. Gossip like a girl and talk a bigger game than you ever bring.” The guys leaned in interestedly, but I was wary. He went on, “So put that mouth in the pot and we’ll settle this.”
“My mouth?” I repeated, baffled.
“If I win, I get to put your big mouth to work on my big dick,” he declared, raising his voice over Hank and Greg’s uproarious laughter.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Don’t be an asshole. It’s seriously not funny.”
“Yeah. I’m not kidding,” John smugly declared. “Are you in or not?” The whole room went quiet until I could hear my heart pounding. I anxiously inspected my hand, a Jack high straight, and thought of the nearly $2,000 at stake. He was just fucking with me, I thought. He just wanted to rattle me and I wasn’t about to flinch first.
“You’ve got a deal,” I replied. “All-in it is.”
My eyes went wide as he pushed every dollar he’d won into the pot and said, “Let’s see ‘em then.”
I trembled as I lay my cards on the table. I tried to be confident, but my words came out in a whisper, “Jack high straight.” I almost jumped for joy when John frowned, but when our eyes met, the corners of his mouth rose into a grin as he lay down a Queen high straight.
Nobody said a word as John and I stared at each other. He drank in the sight of my crestfallen face and dominated my gaze until I lowered my eyes to the table. John broke out into a gleeful smile and said, “Looks like all’s left is for me to claim my winnings. You guys want to watch?”
Hank and Greg just looked over at me and slowly, horrifyingly smirked. I stood up on shaky legs and stammered, “Well, I should get going. Good game, guys. I had—”
Greg raised a silencing hand. He was the host, a king in his own castle, and he said, “A bet’s a bet, man. You’ve gotta settle up.”
John pushed his chair back and spread his legs, fondling the sizable bulge in his jeans. He suggested, “Why don’t you get the three of us another round of beers before you start, cocksucker?”
Hank nodded in agreement and said, “I’ll actually have a bourbon on the rocks.”
The three men stared at me expectantly until, in a daze, I glided to the bar. They grinned at each other as I poured and returned with a round of drinks. John shook his head when I raised my beer to my lips, and he said, “Now, now, you’ve got work to do so I’ll have that.” The man held out his hand until I reluctantly pressed my glass into it and was rewarded by his deep voice rumbling, “Good boy.”
“Fuck you guys,” I sighed as I sank to my knees at my best friends’ feet as they shuffled their chairs close around me. I scooted forward between John’s widespread legs and reached out toward his belt, but he grabbed my wrist in his powerful hand.
They all chuckled as he said, “Well, aren’t you eager. But I need a little more romancing than that. Why don’t you strip for us, slut?”
“Oh come on,” I protested, but quickly succumbed. I unbuttoned my shirt, slowly revealing a chest still smooth and slender as it was when I was in my twenties. Greg whistled appreciatively and rubbed his hand over his own crotch. I blushed and sighed, but discarded the shirt and went to work on my jeans. It would only get worse when they saw my briefs.
Hank snorted into his bourbon when he caught glimpse of my tight-fitting, bright red briefs, and he taunted, “Damn, I wish my wife wore panties half that nice.” The others murmured in agreement but I just kept my eyes down as I peeled off my jeans.
Stripped down to my briefs, I looked up at John’s mocking face as he slowly shook his head and commanded, “Lose the panties.” I wanted to run, to storm out, but the sternness of the man’s voice as he stared down at me broke my resistance. I pulled my briefs down my legs and threw them aside, finally kneeling naked between my three best friends with my diminutive manhood on display. John smiled with a strange sort of warmth and said, “Perfect.”
It wasn’t the first time any of us had seen each other naked, but it was far different. I was reduced. The three men seemed to swell and tower over me as I became less than. I should have felt humiliated, but mostly I just felt eager. When John nodded his approval and allowed me to unbuckle his belt, I felt a shameful flood of excitement.
His body was warm beneath my fingertips as I struggle to unbutton his jeans and unzip his fly. He lifted himself to let me slide them down around his ankles and reveal a pair of flannel boxers bulging with the John’s still soft and much renowned cock. The wives remarked about it on occasion, in their sideways fashion. We’d all seen it, but only soft. Even so it hung about half a foot down his thigh and I found myself wondering just how much the thing could grow.
I fished him through the fly of his boxers as he gulped down the last drops of my beer and grinned at our buddies. I could feel their hot breath on my shoulders as they leaned in to watch. John’s cock gushed the sweaty, pheromone-rich smell of a long day into my nostrils. I winced at the stench, but my mouth watered nonetheless. His icy eyes met mine as he grabbed his big floppy dick in one hand and the back of my head in the other.
The meaty mushroom at the tip of his shaft squished against my closed lips, smearing them with a sheen of the man’s precum. “Open up, princess,” John demanded.
“Fuck—” I started to say, but he shoved himself inside me and let me feel the immense heft of his manhood depressing my tongue. He pulled me close, burying my nose in his pungent boxers and letting his still-soft cock tickle my throat.
John let out a moan and he grunted, “Damn, his mouth was made for this.”
“It feels good?” Greg asked in a strained, eager voice.
“Like a pussy on his face,” John chuckled. “Those big, full lips are squeezing me and damn… that tongue.” I hadn’t realized what I was doing, but he was right. My lips were massaging the base of his shaft as my tongue teased along its massive underbelly, and with every moment I felt his flesh stiffen and swell. His floppy cock reached down into my throat just before it began to firm up. As he thickened, he stretched me open around him and held my head in his lap. “Fuck. I’m going to bust the biggest nut down his throat.”
“Fuck yeah,” Hank muttered close to my ear, “is it weird that I’m getting hard just watching this?”
“You’re not the only one,” Greg admitted with a laugh. “He looks like a little bitch on his knees like that, doesn’t he?” He put a hand on my back and pushed me harder into John’s crotch as I gagged, sputtering up spit that just lubed his cock. John started fucking my face, holding my head in both hands and using me like a fleshlight.
“He’s actually got a nice ass too,” Hank whispered, grabbing a fistful of my cheek and rubbing a thick finger against my virgin hole. “You ever fuck a girl in the ass?”
John let out a pleasurable sigh before he said, “Jess let me one time, but she barely lasted five minutes before she made me stop.”
Greg laughed and said, “Well, yeah, you’re hung like a fucking moose. I actually spent my whole freshman year fucking my roommate since it beat jerking off when I got horny.”
“Damn,” Hank exclaimed, “that’s a good point. I’ve always wondered what it felt like, but Beth would never go for it.”
John ruffled my hair and said, “I bet this bitch wouldn’t mind having her pussy popped open. What do you think, slut?”
For the first time in almost five minutes, he let me pull my lips up off his cock. Looking down, the enormity of the man finally sunk in as I watched almost nine inches of flesh slide out of me like a perverted magic trick, leaving my throat with a foreign feeling of longing emptiness. I sputtered and protested, “Guys, I’ve never done anything like that. I don’t know about—”
Hank had pulled over an ottoman and Greg grabbed me by the hips and lifted me up off the ground, burying my face against John’s thigh. Hank slid the ottoman under my chest so I was bent over it with my knees hanging just off the ground. He hurriedly came behind me, kicking my feet to the side as he kneeled and hugged his body over mine. He ran his fingers over my ass as he whispered, “Come on, baby. We all see the way you’re slobbering on John. We always wondered about you, and now the secret’s out. It’s gonna feel good. I promise.”
I let out a little moan when Hank rubbed his bulging jeans against my bare ass, and the guys all grinned. John declared, “Sounds like someone’s horny for more cock, Hank. Why don’t you indulge him?” John grabbed me and shoved his dripping wet manhood back down my throat, and I heard the telltale sound of unzipping jeans just before Hank rubbed his slick, hard cock against my clenched hole.
“It helps if you eat him out, especially if he’s a virgin,” Greg offered.
Hank scoffed, “Man, isn’t that a little gross?”
“Naw, man. It’s fucking fun. Here, let me get him ready for you,” Greg said as he pushed him out of the way and knelt behind me. His thick scruff scraped against my smooth cheeks just before he ran his tongue over my hole. Despite myself, I moaned around John’s cock and it just egged the men on. I clenched my fingers into John’s thighs as Greg bashed his tongue against me, battering at the door eager to slide into me. “His pussy tastes fucking great,” he mumbled into me.
In the same moment, John pushed back down my throat and Greg’s tongue breached my unyielding ass. I trembled with the flood of sensation as my friend stretched me open.
“Oh fuck,” John growled through clenched teeth, “he’s milking the shit out of me. I’m gonna cum.” His words didn’t fill me with anger, disgust, or even relief. Instead, my skin tingled with anticipation as I felt his shaft pulse against my lips. A rush of cum flooded into my throat, and when his hand went limp, I pulled back, not out of a desire to escape but an urge to soak my tongue and coat my mouth with the man’s hot, thick seed.
He fed me mouthfuls of the ropy white goop, leaning back in his chair with occasional spasms of pleasure as his potent cock pumped out a fresh burst. All three of the men bellowed taunts and jeers, but I was deaf to everything but the flood filling my stomach. I didn’t even notice when it ended, when I was uselessly suckling at a dry shaft, until John ran his fingers through my hair and pulled my lips close until they were tight around the base of his softening member.
“Is his ass ready?” Hank’s eager voice broke my trance. I suddenly noticed the fullness of Greg’s tongue inside me when he pulled it out and made way. Hank grabbed my hips and used that leverage to power a merciless thrust that sent his cock blowing past my loosened hole into the depths of my virgin tunnel.
I howled around John’s flesh, squirming against the men until Greg mounted me, sitting astride my back to pin me to the ground. My hands scrambled until John grabbed me by the wrists and pressed them to his thighs. I was utterly helpless to Hank’s primal rutting inside me.
“Definitely a virgin,” Greg chuckled as he lay his rigid cock across my back. Hank bottomed out inside me and bucked up against the heavy man atop me, but Greg just let his weight sink down as he smacked his manhood against my soft skin. He snorted, “He’s a good ride though. Nice and spirited.”
John laughed, “He’ll be broken by the time the night’s over.”
“I’ve never fucked a hole like this,” Hank said. “His ass keeps trying to push me out, but it just feels like fucking heaven on my dick.”
“Damn,” John muttered, “I’ll have to try that next time.”
“Right?” Greg agreed. “He’s definitely gonna be our poker pussyboy from now on. Aren’t you, girl?” He patted me on the head. “Kneeling under the table while the men play.”
“Oh man, that’s weirdly hot,” Hank rasped. “I think I’m gonna cum.” His heavy hips slammed into my butt hard enough to leave a bruise, never resting for long.
Greg whipped his cock against my back between strokes and his voice was strained when he said, “I’ll try to finish at the same time.” Hank’s guttural groan came quickly, and Greg echoed it a few seconds later. John humped his soft cock back into my throat and the constant smell of his crotch was blocked from my nose. Hank’s nuts slapped against my ass one last time before his manhood started filling my virgin hole with his breeding juice. A long rope of cum burst from Greg, trailing from the back of my head halfway down my back, and it was followed by many more until warm goo coated my shoulders and neck.
All the while, I could do nothing but wiggle underneath the three men as my rigid little dick spilled its bounty on the ottoman. I wanted to rage, to fight back, but the notion felt so far away at that point. A quiet, but growing, part of me wanted more. It liked this feeling, this humiliation and disempowerment. There’s a peace of mind in submission, and it was proving intoxicating.
It was many minutes before my best friends untangled from my cum-filled and drenched body, standing with flaccid cocks hanging out of their jeans and going on as if nothing just happened. When I slowly rose, Greg’s load traveled down my back in thick rivulets. Hank’s dripped from my stretched hole. John’s settled in my stomach and what was left outside me already dried on my face.
The three regarded me with lascivious grins, no longer seeing me as the fourth amigo, but instead as a dominated bitch to be used. It was a strange feeling, to be finally seen for the person I’ve always known myself to be.
John grunted, “You look like you could use that drink.”
“Yeah,” I said in a small voice with an exhausted smile. “That was pretty intense.”
“Sure thing. I’m just about done with it,” he boomed and lowered his bottle mouth to the tip of his cock. I watched, transfixed, as his stream began to flow, rapidly recycling the beer back into its bottle. Hank and Greg grabbed empties and began brewing their own drinks for me. John just grinned at my forlorn expression until his piss overflowed from the bottle and puddled on the floor in front of him.
John offered the bottle to me but I just shook my head. He laughed and said, “Your choice, but I sure got plenty of pictures of you with my big dick down your throat. Wouldn’t it be a shame if those got around?” I stared down at the offered bottle and hesitantly accepted it. John insisted, “Now let’s see you gulp this one down. We were nice enough to brew you up something and now we want to see you enjoy it.”
I pressed the bottle to my lips, tasting the man’s potent piss on the rim. I paused, and John pressed his fingertips to the bottle and slowly tipped it toward my mouth. The flavor filled my mouth, making me cough and sputter as I struggled to shotgun the warm, bitter drink. They all grinned and laugh, savoring the sight of my ultimate emasculation. I choked on the last gulp.
“Nice job, pussyboy,” Greg praised, patting me on the shoulder as he pressed his bottle into my other hand. “Now drink up. And don’t forget to lick up everything John spilled. Only polite to leave my house clean as you found it.”
Warm bottle against my palm. Perverse grins on my friends’ faces. Seed swishing around my insides. It was all so wrong, but it felt so right, and the only protest I managed to muster was a meekly whispered, “Yes, sir.”
I’d lost the bet, but in truth, I hadn’t put up anything I wasn’t willing to lose.
