My dick throbs, pumping hot and thick deep into his ass.
The party goes on around us.
8 Loads
My brain is always running hot, even when the rest of me is dead on my ass. Even when I’m horizontal on the couch at two in the afternoon listening to the rain, half-asleep, some part of me is still back-processing. Running calculations nobody asked for.
Right now the thing running in it is cock.
And, okay, sure, tucked between those thoughts is a looping playlist ofwhat the fuckandwhat the hellandwhat is actually happening to my life right now?There’s a confusing gray area where I’m trying to figure out if I suddenly like men, or if I’m just completely hooked on the sensation of a throbbing piece of meat stretching my ass.
Hell yeah! A throbbing, hot, hard, juicy meat…
Fuck.
Like I said, right now is cock, sue me. But more specifically, the memory of getting railed by multiple cocks.
Walker’s is thick. Like, stupid thick and covered in thick-ass veins so you feel every single throb scraping your walls when he’s pumping in and out.
Finn’s is the one I know from a specific angle, which is on my knees looking up at it. It’s got a slight curve, and fits down my throat without making me feel on the brink of death.
Miles’ is long. That’s the primary fact of Miles. Long, thin, and curved the other way, which is either pure bliss or total agony when he’s wrecking my guts, depending on how hard he’s hitting it.
Grant’s, which I think about the most, is a fucking baseball bat. I constantly imagine him just grabbing me and ripping my ass open with that fat,deliciousmonster cock.
This is what my brain does now.
And it doesn’t even stop at the bros anymore.
It’s the TA in my dynamics lecture. The tall barista near campus with thebig nose.And then there’s the Johnny Storm incident from two days ago that I’m still not over. Finn threw on Fantastic Four, and I was just eating cereal, and this guy shows up on screen in tight-ass pants that showseverything. My brain just snapped. I spent twenty minutes legitimately wondering if I could take a flaming dick in the ass.
The point is, my brain has been running on dick loop forweeks.The result is me lying on the couch at 2 PM, supposedly napping, nursing a raging hard-on in my sweatpants that I can’t do shit about because the guys are right here.
I still have a shred of dignity.
Barely.
But God, the memory of all of them is—
Okay, I’mnot thinkingabout Walker treating me like a ragdoll in the mornings, just manhandling me into position without saying a word. Or the way Finn face-fucks me like a human fleshlight while gaming. Or Grant in the truck, the way his hands left marks that I could still feel three days later. Definitelynot thinkingabout Miles just last night, so baked he could barely stand, but still grinding deep inside me in that delicious way only he does.
Oh, fuck me. I’m thinking about it.
I’m thinking about it hard.
Another thing that’s hard is my dick, by the way.
This has been the reality for five weeks, two days, and four hours.
Yeah, this is a special kind of torment. Because now I know exactly what I’m missing when nobody’s using me, and my brain will not let me forget it for longer than about forty minutes at a stretch.
The living room is quiet.
Grant’s on the other couch with his phone, reading something, occasionally making a noise like he disagrees with it. Walker’s on the floor running through his physio stretches shirtless, wearing those tiny, slutty-ass gym shorts. Finn is next to me, scrolling through social media with the sound low, occasionally exhaling through his nose at something funny.
I’m staring at the ceiling, actively trying to think about literally anything other than getting my guts rearranged by my bros.
It’s not working.
