I look at it for a second. Look at the TV. Then back at the foot.
I press it against my cock through my shorts, and—yeah, okay. That works. That works incredibly well, actually. I shift it so the arch sits right against my shaft, and roll my hips forward. The pressure is good. It’sreally good.
I feel great about this.
My dick slips out through the leg of my shorts after a minute, the tip already slick. I press the sole of Kit’s bare foot directly against my cock and put it to work. He’s not doing anything, so I do the work for him. I drag his foot up and down my shaft, watching the skin turn shiny as it spreads my fuckjuice.
I turn it into a little game. Make sure every inch is coated. Ball of the foot, arch, heel, the spaces between his toes. The UFC guysare trading knees in the clinch, and I’m watching it happen while I edge myself on my bro’s foot, coating it in my thick pre-cum.
Kit doesn’t move.
His foot is dead weight in my hands, completely limp, going wherever I force it. I could be edging myself with a fuck sleeve for all the reaction I’m getting. He’s acting exactly like one of those silicone headless torsos, but better—because this is warm meat equipped with a real tight hole waiting to be wrecked.
My dick throbs, getting thicker when I think about exactly what he is right now.
An object to goon over.
An object to dump my load inside.
Fuck!So much for respecting the bro.
I use his toes to stroke my cock, pulling them up and down the shaft, feeling the bones digging into the sides while I watch the fight. I let myself hit the edge, then back off. I do it three times. The fourth time, I have to think about my grandmother’s house just to keep from blowing my load all over his foot.
Then I look at Kit.
Then I look at his ass.
I chug the rest of my beer, drop the can, and take a real second to think.
If Kit was actually out, he would’ve woken up the second my hand went up his boxers. He hasn’t moved an inch, which means he’s fully aware of what’s happening, and he’s letting it happen.
I sound like an asshole for that, I know.
I position his hips up, knee-walk up behind him, and press my dick right against his crack. I roll my hips forward.
A low, involuntary groan escapes me.
God damn.
I shove both hands into his boxers through the leg holes, grabbing his cheeks and yanking the fabric up until it’s buried in his crack. The fabric split his ass, making it look like the world’s best thong. I grind on him, hands locked on his cheeks, staring at the back of his head.
His breathing is completely level. He’s putting on an acting clinic.
“Yeah. You’re not asleep.”
I yank his boxers down.
And I just stare at his hole.
Small, pink and perfectly tight, acting like nothing ever happened to it. Acting like four dudes didn’t just take turns destroying it three weeks ago. I thought that hole was permanently wrecked, but look at it, all pretty and fresh.
Chloe won’t let me near hers. I’ve been curious about it for years, and then that night happened and I found out, and now I’ve spent three weeks thinking about finding out again.
Yeah, I’m gonna open it up one more time.
I spit on two fingers and press them against his hole, not pushing in yet, just feeling the give of it. I rub my thumb in a slow circle around it, and that tight ring of muscle twitches. Just once. A little reflex he can’t control.
“Fuck yeah. Okay. Okay.”
