“I know I fucked up,” Scott uttered the moment his hands clasped around a bottle of cold cider and his butt touched the soft leather armchair. “‘Twas my fault as much as his.”
“What happened?”
Scott sighed. “I played away,” he admitted, and took a big swig of his bottle of alcohol. He looked at me. “Don’t judge me. I’m only 50% gay! I’m 50% straight as well. Iain can’t give me cunt and I love a bit of beaver.” Scott rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance. “You met her anyway. Virginia, from the Christmas Party.”
“She was an … escort!”
“She’s a temp from the office who’s a camgirl to earn a few quid on the side. When her hubby’s away, she does these late-night pay-per-view things. I found out at the works BBQ last year. She got well pissed, blurted out to me she did it, and then we fucked in the workshop. In November, she said she was skint, so I asked her if was up for a bit of whoring. And she was, so I gave her Martin’s number. But she’s married to a lorry driver. I met him at the barbie and he’s just a fat, rude, nasty piece of shit. Absolute thug. She hates him and wants a divorce, but is scared to leave him. He’s a nasty bully.”
“So you took advantage of him not being home to park your HGV in her lorry park?”
Scott nodded and drunk more of his drink. “And it’s been good. Every Sunday and Thursday. Some other days when we can. But yesterday, I went to her house after work and we were at it in her bedroom. Iain’s doing a Friday night shift at his sauna, so he wasn’t expecting me home. We locked the door and I was giving her a good time. Must have caught my phone and butt-dialled him as I got undressed, as Iain heard us fucking.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, when I got home, we had a fight. We ended up in the front garden and our gay-bashing neighbour called the cops. The Fuzz turn up and we both get carted off to the Cop Shop. Friday night and I’m in the fucking slammer.”
“Holy fuck, they arrested you?”
“I wasn’t there for a bloody sight-seeing trip!” Scott snapped and then shrugged. “Yeah, they let us cool down in the cells over night. Interviewed us today and they could have done us both for assault, but we both accepted a caution. Breach of the Peace, or something. So I’ve given Iain a few days’ space. He doesn’t mind me fucking any guy I want, but the moment I touched tits or cunt, he was done with me. He just can’t accept that I need pussy as well. It makes him insecure, and I can’nae handle that. We both said some nasty things, and we just need to go our separate ways. He wants to move near to the city centre, as he hates out here in the countryside. Our twat of a neighbour doesn’t help things. Iain’s got this love affair with Canal Street and I don’t.”
“So …”
“Can ye-ask Martin if I can stay with you for the week. I know he’s in Greece or Italy or Spain or somewhere getting no sex, so his bed is free. And your bit of fluff is away, so you’re on your own and lonely. I just need a few days to sort things out.”
“Sure, with Iain?”
“With Virginia,” he snorted. “Dirty little fucker never kept it in his pants, anyway. We had an open relationship until he freaked out about me getting down with Virginia’s open legs. I need to sort out somewhere to live with her, so can I just stay for a few days?”
I nodded and sent my host a text message, and he replied almost instantly. “Yes. Of course that’s fine. Make him feel at home.”
Scott smiled his phone vibrated, and he glanced at the text message. “There’s space in the right drawer under the bed if you need it to store stuff. The extra condoms and lube are in the bathroom cabinet,” he read with a grin, and slid his phone away. He smirked at me. “He knows you so well!”
“I thought you wanted to sort things with Virginia,” I replied.
“Virginia has no problems with my bisexuality. She’s a camgirl and as long as I am not judgemental about her sex life and her extras, she doesn’t care about mine. She did a lesbian show at Christmas with a girl from Stoke, so she’s not fussed.” His eyes sparkled as he spoke about the delectable minx who had enjoyed the Christmas party. “And I watched her at the Christmas Party. I don’t care what she does with her booty. As long as I get some.”
I stashed Scott’s bike at the back of the Summerhouse and we ordered takeaway pizzas. We ate unhealthy food and drank unhealthy beer in front of the big screen as we chatted and watched the International football match. There was nothing sexual between us, but just a friendship. He needed someone to talk to, and be a stable companion to him.
I was delighted to be that person. I liked Scott and had always been fond of the cheerful, effervescent footballer, with his uncanny knack to make me smile, and his ability to push every one of my sexual buttons. He teased me, played with me, excited me and effortlessly dominated me, but I adored his company and his personality.
We stayed up until the small hours, chatting and gaming. As a result, we both overslept on Sunday and my new sleeping companion awoke me with a fierce slap on my buttcheeks .
“Get up!” Scott demanded. “I need a piss and then breakfast.” I smiled as I watched the naked footballer walk past me and descend the ladder. He flexed his buttocks as he walked, and I gave him a wry smile.
“And a blowjob?” I asked as he slipped from view.
“Of course. You shouldn’t need to ask!” I didn’t, really. My lips closed over the head of his meaty dick and tasted the remnants of his pee. He grunted as I worked his shaft with my hands and jerked his cock until he squealed, held the back of my head and squirted cum across my tongue.
“You’ll be getting a lot more of that,” he promised and threw an orange wrestling leotard at me; Martin had a cupboard of clothing at back of the summerhouse and he had located the Lycra garment from the rail. “Douche yourself too. Stick a butt plug in. After lunch, I have a job for you.”
“What job?”
He licked his lips. “Your sort of job!” I did as I was told and dressed in the bright orange leotard. I had never worn it before, and it clung to my body like a second skin. The tight garment had a flap at the back to allow access to my butt and my mind sizzled as I imagined what Scott had planned.
After we ate lunch, Scott passed me my car keys and gestured towards the vehicle. “My mate is gettin’ divorced,” he said. “He’s having a few guys round to have a few beers, and I said I’d bring some tail.” I smiled at the description. He grabbed a couple of bottles of lubricant and a handful of condoms from Martin’s several stashes around the room. “You don’t mind, d’ya?”
“Nah.” Scott waited until we in the car when he asked again. “I guess you want me to suck a bit of cock and get fucked. Much like being in the summerhouse. I would have had a party yesterday, but that never happened, as you guys didn’t play and Martin wasn’t around. Just a replacement, right?”
“Yeah,” Scott muttered with a grin. “Just a replacement.”
The three bedroom terraced house was in the middle of a council estate in a nearby town. I had to park my car in the shared car park and walk through a narrow alleyway to get to the venue where Scott’s colleague lived. Scott did not know how many men would come to the party, and how many would want to have any sort of fun with me.
A couple of teenagers on bikes laughed as I walked through the estate. Broken glass was on the floor and I could see a Police car parked in a bay opposite. It was not the nicest of locations.
Scott’s friend was a thick-set man in his late twenties. Black T-shirt, black jeans and the biggest belt-buckle I had ever seen, combined with a scowl was not the most welcoming of introductions. “Cal, this is Jon.”
“I thought you said you’d bring some skirt, Scott.”
“No, I said I’d bring some tail. And I have.”
“I ain’t no fucking homo.” He ran his hands through his spiked hair and his eyes bore into my friend.
“Hey, you liked Iain sucking you off.”
“A blowie is a blowie. You don’t care what’s wrapped around your cock when they can suck that good, d’ya?”
“There ya go. He’s my mate. He’s bi and he has a bird, but he gives blowjobs and gets fucked. He’ll give you a good time, I promise. Stick ‘im in the downstairs bedroom. He’ll get used.”
Cal snorted. “You know too many fairies, Scott. What’s wrong with bringing a slag.”
Scott grunted. “Cause after what’s happened in the last few months, I thought that you’d had enough of loose women.”
Cal’s expression softened, and he opened the door to the lounge. I saw a couple of threadbare sofas and Scott entered. “Get a beer,” Cal told Scott, and he pulled on my arm when I went to follow my friend. “But not you.” He gestured for me to go straight ahead, into the kitchen and then through to a utility room and finally a tiny single bedroom. “This is your room.”
“Right,” I muttered and put my car keys, condoms and lube from my hands on the bedside table. The single bed was pushed against the wall and Cal had decorated the room in bright pink children’s wallpaper. He stared at me for a moment and then unbuttoned his massive belt buckle. “If Scott says you suck cock good, then let’s find out.” He said nothing as he sat on the bed, his knees spread apart to show his small dick perched on his shaven crotch.
Not that I cared; I gleefully wrapped my lips around Robin’s tiny member and enjoyed every moment of bringing Ashfield Rangers’s fourth-choice striker to orgasm. Cal had a meaty pair of balls, loaded with cum, that I was going to enjoy emptying. I ran my hands over his firm chest and he instinctively removed them. “Just suck the cock. Don’t touch me,” he snapped aggressively.
The power in his voice caused my dick to bulge in the tight leotard. The domination of his action as he rejected me was a tonic. My lips curled around his thin, small cock and I buried my nose in his hairless mons, sucking gently as my lips ran up and down his smooth shaft. It hardened under my spell, and he closed his eyes. He grunted as I bobbed on his cock. “Oh yes!” He squealed. “Oh shit! Oh fuck!” He groaned and cried as my lips worked on his dick.
He was a dominant, forceful, aggressive man. Masculinity coursed through his veins, and he needed to feel in control. My fingers touched the insides of his thighs and he jumped in shock.
I sucked the end of his cock and ran my tongue underneath his foreskin. My mouth bounced on his prick and I tasted his pre-cum. The musky, bitter fluid mixed with my saliva on my tastebuds as he squealed and cried louder and louder.
“Fuck yeah, I’m going to come, baby. Oh shit. Oh fuck, Ahh, fuck.” He squealed and swore as his fingers gripped on the back of my head and his hips pistonned into my mouth.
Cal face-fucked me. He impaled his cock into my mouth and jack-hammered his dick into my skull. My cock leaked into my singlet. I couldn’t help myself as drool dripped from my mouth onto the floor.
His cock slid over my tongue and flicked the back of my mouth as he drove his dick into me. Cal grunted, and without warning the first intense taste of his cum landed onto my tongue and against the back of my throat.
Wave after wave of cum from his pulsing cock jettisoned in me as the pugnacious man orgasmed. “You’re some cocksucker,” he grunted. His first compliment that he had made to me and bathed in the glow of his climax for a moment.
Then he pushed me from his cock, pulled up his trousers and left the room. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and sat on the bed, covered in a scarlet pink duvet. A few moments to get my breath and the door to the room opened.
Shaved headed, grey stained sweatpants and a skin-tight dark grey long-sleeved shirt. His brown eyes lit up when he saw me taking deep breaths on the bed. “Cal and his mate said there was blowjobs in this room. I t’ought he was kidding.”
He towered over me, and I reached for the cord on his tracksuit bottoms to free the bulge in his trousers, when he flicked them clear.
“Turn over, I want some tail.”
“Condoms and lube are there,” I said, and gestured towards the bedside table. He said nothing as I reached through the flap and removed the butt-plug from my douched backside, and sighed as I knelt arse-up on the side of the bed. Waiting for him.
He unfurled a condom over his dick and squirted lubricant over his fettered member. I hummed as his firm rod poked my rosebud and he applied gentle pressure.
“You like this?” He asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered. He snorted and rammed his cock a little further into my butt. He gripped the side of my waist for leverage, and then he put his tracksuit covered leg on the bed.
The man pushed his dick deeper and deeper into me, lighting up my horniness. His angle of entry smashed his dick against my prostate, and my submissiveness sparkled as he wantonly fucked me. Pleasure radiated from my groin. Warm, delicious erotic pressure swirled across my body, and tingled every nerve in my flesh.
He forcefully screwed me. His leg muscles thrusted his prick into the depths of my butt and our flesh slapped as he ground his meaty prick into their prey. I panted. Pre-cum dripped from my cock as the unknown man plundered my backside and left me groaning and squealing.
But his commentary was filthy and humiliating. I was “a fucking slut” and a “disgusting homo.” A “cheap faggot,” a “nasty piece of shit” and a “weak sissy cum dump.” Every panted insult was a delightful sizzle on my lust. I loved it and wetness darkened the front of my orange leotard.
He unloaded with a grunt, dumped the condom in a waste paper bin on the side, and left the room wordlessly without acknowledging my presence. I was there to be used, and I had fulfilled my job.
I used some tissue to wipe the excess lubricant from my butt and had sat down on the bed for a few moments when a trendy metropolitan man entered the room; he looked like a student with his youthful look, slight build, quiffed black hair, fitted bright red trousers and fashionable top. His lack of confidence radiated, and his trembling hands closed the door with a slight grimace.
I heard cheering from behind him – perhaps it was related to the football match, or maybe related to their acquaintance stepping into my chamber. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back and froze in the centre of the room.
I reached forward to touch his belt, and he looked away from me, sliding his trousers and underwear to his knees. His dick rose from a forest of hair, and I just gripped the base of his prick to slide his foreskin back. He inhaled sharply as my lips touched his dick.
Sapid, musky, sweaty. And raw. His prick oozed with an aroma of male exertion that I wrapped my tongue around. He gulped as my hand pumped the base of his dick and my mouth worked his sensitive cock head.
His eyes were closed; he refused to watch my passionate oral servitude on his male organ. My left hand slipped underneath his hairy balls and I stroked his perineum.
He squealed as I brought him towards orgasm. Panted, and groaned as his a tingling, explosive climax swept across his body and his cock pulsed to leave a delicious treat on my tongue.
He scrambled to leave the moment he opened his eyes. Muttering a “thanks” as the door closed, the sudden realisation in his post-nut clarity that a guy had blown him had left him with feelings of shame or confusion.
I had a break for a few minutes. I could hear cheering and arguing voices from the other side of the house, and I suspected a controversial moment of the football had delayed my next visitor.
Mid thirties, white T-shirt with a punk rock band’s logo on the front and faded, slightly dirty jeans. The rugged man held two bottles of beer and passed me one as he entered and closed the door. “I guessed you’d need some fluids,” he said in a Brummie accent. He kicked off his steel toe-capped leather work boots and pulled his white shirt from his body.
My eyes noticed a tattoo on his left flank and lingered. “It’s a nautical star,” he said and picked up his drink. “But in Pride colours.”
“So you’re …”
“As bent as a nine pound note,” he replied and clinked his drink bottle against me. “Bottoms up!”
“Of course,” I said with a broad smile. “Although you must take your jeans off too.”
He laughed. “You’re eager!” Moments later, he was naked, except for his black socks, and his dick was stiffening in my mouth.
He wanted a fuck. When his prick was hard, he pushed me onto the bed, slipped a condom over his long, thin member and drizzled lube into my hole, that he worked into my rosebud.
And then, as I was panting, he pressed his dick against my opening and applied pressure. I offered no resistance. He pressed down on my hips so I collapsed against the bed, and he followed me, so his entire body was against my back. His weight pressed down on me, his hands gripped my wrists and his ankles held my feet to the thin mattress. And his cock buried in my butt, as he gyrated his hips. It felt glorious; he was in total control.
I felt his warm breath on my neck and his smooth skin against my back. I was helpless as he fucked me. My cock rubbed against the mattress as his dick pounded into my hole and he made me as a grunting, drooling, horny mess.
“You like that, don’t you? Slut!”
“Mmmm,” I squealed, as he rhythmically and sensually screwed by backside. My back arched as much as I could, my flesh tingled and my dick felt ready to burst.
So much friction was against my cock from the erotic screw. He knew exactly how to make me gasp and drip. He knew how to excite me and leave me gasping and groaning.
His hot panting rippled on the back of my neck and his groaning as he plundered my body filled my eardrums. I heard him moan loudly, and his thigh muscles pressed against my buttocks quivered and his cock pulsed.
Then he kissed the back of my neck, gently arousing and softly done. My cock stirred once more, as he rubbed his body slowly over mine and blew gently against my neck. “You’re so sexy!” He whispered, as his cock slipped from my butt.
He dismounted me and sat on the bed, gesturing for me to sit beside him. His arm slipped around my waist and his right hand took my cheek and pressed my face into his.
A kiss.
After everything I was there to do, a soft, sensual embrace was not what I expected. I panicked at first; my heart rate and hands trembled, and then it eased. My cock stiffened once more, as my lips and body became electrified by his dominant embrace.
I felt like a concubine as his tongue massaged mine in our passionate clinch. His body manoeuvred mine into a cuddle, and he groped my buttocks as he pulled me on top of him.
Animalistic and lewd, his hands rubbed my body as his legs wrapped around my body, and his uncontrollable kissing left my body throbbing with expectation. “I’m a bottom too. Take me.”
“I’ve only ever been a top twice before,” I admitted, thinking of Andre and Martin.
He gulped, and I grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from his body. He smiled at me as our cocks rubbed together and I leant across to the bedside table to get a condom.
There was a knock at the door. “C’mon Robbie. How long does it take to fuck a shirt lifter? We all wanna go and you’ve been screwing him for twenty minutes. Get a move on.”
Robbie panted, and fear became etched in his expression. I went to kiss him again, and he moved his face to look directly at the door and acknowledge his mate walking into the room. “Fuck! Hey Andy!”
Andy stood still and stared at his colleague and then me. “We’re you going to let him fuck you? Are you a faggot or something?”
I reached underneath our bodies and positioned his bare cock at my open hole. “No, I’m fucking not, Andy,” he lied and groaned as I slammed my body down on his stiff dick. “Shut the fucking door!”
“And pass me a condom,” I called and was glad I could roll a johnny down an erect cock without looking. Robbie seriously enjoyed the audience as we fucked once more, and I gave his well-endowed colleague a blowjob as the gay switch filled a condom for the second time.
I got spit-roasted by two students, who lived in the adjacent house, and then Cal’s eighteen-year-old cousin left me screaming in delight and pleasure as jackhammered his prick into my backside.
By the time the match had finished, I had satisfied another four men, including a cocky runt with tattoos, a shifty demeanour and one of the largest cocks I had ever seen. He knew how well endowed he was, and there was no way I would be able to deepthroat his epic member.
When he had blown his load down my throat, he told me to return to the lounge where the remaining eleven men, plus Scott, were arguing over the football.
“Ahh, it’s the tail.” He smiled at me with a weird grin and unwrapped a chocolate digestive on a blue paper plate. “We’re going to play Soggy Biscuit,” he added, and tossed Scott a pair of handcuffs. “Wrap them on his wrists.”
The men laughed cruelly, and Robbie placed the plate with the chocolate biscuit in the centre of the room on the smallest coffee table from his pine furniture stack. Scott fastened my hands behind my back and I groaned as he did so.
Man after man painted that biscuit with their cum. Cal was first, leaving a generous translucent splatter that oozed against the biscuit base. Robbie was next. And then it was a free for all.
Scott was the last one to empty his balls on the biscuit, and then he slowly jerked my prick. I made eye contact with Robbie, who smiled at me. My dick felt delightful as Scott pumped my shaft. He chuckled as I groaned, and he released all the horniness and erotic energy that had built up in the past three hours. I reached the point of no return, and it felt wonderful.
Scott removed his hand. He laughed as the sudden realisation of the ruined orgasm hit me and cum dribbled without satisfaction from the end of my cock onto the biscuit.
He waited until it stopped, and then he ran his fingers down the shaft to milk the last of the cum from my prick. Two drops landed on the biscuit iced with cum. The pool of viscous liquid on the top of the chocolate biscuit, the product of fourteen pairs of balls, waited for me.
Scott pressed on my shoulders so I landed on the carpet. I was being filmed by two guys, jeered at by a couple more, as Scott picked the digestive by the edge and brought it towards my mouth. My hands were useless, and Scott was his sadistic worst as he pushed the biscuit into my open mouth.
“Eat It! Eat It! Eat It!” They cheered and taunted. My cheeks burnt with embarrassment, as warm, salty, briny goo slipped over the edge of the biscuit and landed on the back of my throat.
Musky cum filled my mouth as I chewed down on the sodden biscuit to swallow it along with the smorgasbord of semen.
Humiliating. Degrading. And my cock sparked into life. I couldn’t stop it, and the shameless response to the filthy ordeal caused my cheeks to burn more.
And as I swallowed the cum-soaked cookie, Scott poured the cum from the plate over my forehead and hair. Their seed dripped down my face and onto my orange wrestling singlet.
Their humiliation complete when Scott reinserted the butt-plug, and I had to walk through the estate with cum plastered to my face and in my hair. And the moment we got back to the summerhouse, he made me lick his dick until I had a fresh batch of jism in my hair before my shower.
We played on the video games after tea, and Scott overslept the following morning, so he missed out on any shenanigans.
I was glad that he had training after work, as my first meeting of the day was with my boss, and a quality review of the code recently submitted had found serious deficiencies with several submissions.
He had no complaint with my work, but two of my colleagues were hauled over the coals, and the team had two hundred bug reports to close by the end of the week. Scott not returning to the summerhouse until 8:30 was ideal for me, and he understood that I had work to do when he came home. These were not my faults, but I was a senior member of the team and it was incumbent on all of us to fix this and I worked until midnight to close off over a third of the highlighted defects.
I was knackered when I went to bed and woke with a start on Tuesday morning. Scott pulled my covers from my slumbering body. “Gonna have a shower. Do us a coffee and breakfast.”
I groaned, and he slapped my bare ass with a thunderous hit of his right hand. I was being used and dominated, and my cock rose as the sting of his smack radiated across my pasty buttocks.
Scott was naturally dominant. He had the same demeanour as Victoria and my lovely fiancée. He demanded rather than asked, and I did not want to resist. It never entered my thoughts that I could.
The small kitchen in the summerhouse had four electric rings, and an electric oven, and I fried up eight rashers of bacon, as the coffee in the brimming French press smelt delicious.
Scott stood in the kitchenette’s doorway with just a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He said nothing as I passed two rolls and a drink, and he beckoned me into the lounge.
I knew what he wanted.
I had seen that look before.
He never had to say a word as he sat in an armchair and watched as I did my duty. I never tired of wrapping my lips around his long prick and sucking gently on his smooth balls. My tongue glided across his frenulum and wrapped around his long shaft.
I inhaled his clean, fresh scent, and listened to his mewling grunts. His hands ran through my hair and he softly stroked me. Affectionate and warm. A tender touch, as my lips enticed his prick to erection. A sensual caress of me, his bisexual lover, as I lovingly suckled his scintillating cock.
Slow and steady. My hands glided over his firm chest and gently rubbed against his nipples; my gaze drifted across his toned body and stared into his blue eyes. His need, acknowledged. Each lick of his firm dick made as I looked into his desperate expression.
His cock slid against the back of my throat. His body bucking under my touch and his body swimming with lust as my mouth bobbed on his delicious prick. A muskiness. His taste, so familiar, gripped the inside of my mouth as his pre-cum lingered on the palette.
The soft ridges of my mouth glided over his veined, creased dick. Scott’s groans grew louder. His breathing became ragged and disjointed and he gulped, staring at me as his muscles tensed. He was at the point of no return. His hands needlessly held onto the back of my head as his cock pulsed.
Of course I was going to take every drop of his salty, musky seed. He didn’t need to ensure that I wouldn’t; my present and reward for a loving blow-job. I wanted to taste it as much as Scott wanted me to have it.
The first wave bubbled onto my tongue, the next three smashed against the inside of my mouth. Viscous with a pungent, sweet odour that lingered in the mouth and on the nose. A piquant fragrance that was bitter and beautiful, and acrid and alluring.
It was my drug, and I was hooked.
Scott grinned as I licked the remnants of cum from his prick and down on a chair opposite. “God, I love getting blow-jobs in the morning,” he said and picked up his bacon roll.
“And I love giving them.”
“I know. And this week, I will get them every day.” His bewitching and disarming demeanour brought a smile to my face. “And I’ve got training again tonight. So I’ll be home for eight. I want a healthy tea with plenty of protein and then a lubed arsehole to plunder.”
“Ohh, like a pirate.”
“Yeah, if you like,” he replied. “Like a pirate. And I’m after the booty!” He chuckled. “You better not be working tonight!”
Scott left the summerhouse twenty minutes after flooding my mouth with his cum. I had eaten my cold bacon roll and made a fresh pot of coffee after having a shower.
The nippy winger was far more sexually demanding that Martin. At his heart, the multi-millionaire was a submissive character at home; he loved giving rather than receiving, and we had similar sexual desires.
Mutual 69 was common between us, as neither of us were being dominant. I rarely ravaged his body, nor him of me, because our sexualities didn’t want for that. It was rare for me to want to top anyone.
Scott was highly sexed, with specific dominant requirements. He had a willing slut he could use, and his actions showed that he would not decline this open invitation. He craved sexual release two or three times a day. His prick was thirsty for booty and he had every intention to sate his hunger on my body.
I had a productive day at work; I had closed over a hundred of the quality defects my team had produced, and I put on Spotify and just worked from the beginning of the day to the mid-afternoon. My manager called me to thank me; my efforts had not gone unnoticed, and he told me to make sure that I signed off at five. He had made frequent comments that the quality and quantity of my work had dramatically increased since I moved to Martin’s fuck palace, and I realised that I had far fewer distractions.
Martin usually spent most of his day on the phone or on conference calls on-line and then did chores around the house. No-one disturbed me, unlike when I worked in the office. I didn’t have to show Jake the basics of object-orientated coding for the umpteenth time, or feign interest in Rachel’s pregnancy, or listen to Zach recount his latest misogynistic theory about the role of women who would not touch him.
I didn’t have the office politics to tiptoe around. I could just put my headphones on, listen to a smorgasbord of soft-rock and work through my to-do list, which was longer than Kenneth Branagh’s rendition of Hamlet but with a far smaller clothing budget.
After work, I donned some jeans and a T-shirt, and ventured into the supermarket. Wearing fabrics felt weird and uncomfortable, but I bought enough food for the next couple of days, and some artisan cider for Scott. My bank account was as buoyant as it had ever been, and I did not need to care that there was twenty quid of alcohol, most of which I would not drink. Martin had even tried to leave me some money to pay for the food while he was not at home, but I firmly rejected his offer.
I was not a confident chef, but I followed a simple recipe for a balsamic beef salad with beetroot and rocket. It was low calorie, high protein, and the smells coming from the sizzling pan were simply delicious.
Scott returned to the summerhouse, soaking wet; the British weather that had been overcast all day, had unleashed torrential rain on my new housemate as he cycled to the timber den of vice.
I said nothing as he stashed his old, rusting bike at the back of our wooden home. It dripped onto the wooden floor, and the underpowered, feint lights were not sufficient to illuminate him on the night-time country lanes that he rode on.
He grunted as we sat down to eat, and I broached the subject of his unsafe bike. “It’s fine,” he countered with a dismissive wave of his fork. “Grub’s good.” I tried once more, and he shook his head. “I ain’t been knocked off and I’ve been cycling for years. Ain’t ever passed my driving test. No point. I can get everywhere on m’bike. Had decent lights once, and they got nicked. Those wheels are twenty years old and still going fine. A bit of rust never hurt no-one.” His fork scraped along the bottom of his plate. “Oh, and Virginia is coming around on Thursday after work. Cook us a meal, will you?”
“OK. What do you want?”
Scott shrugged and smirked. “Surprise me. I want her to meet you again.”
“Why?”
“’Cause she’s gonna leave her fella, and I’d like her to meet ya. So she knows the other person I bang every week.” His eyebrows flickered into a cheesy expression and he tapped his plate with his finger. “I cleared it with Martin. He said something about strapons, but I don’t think she goes in for that sort of thing. She’s not that dominant with men. She’s a bit of a slut, though. So you two have plenty in common.”
“Right.”
“Only she doesn’t really like it up the poopchute. Unlike you. And she isn’t fond on giving blowjobs, whereas you will stick your lips around anything. You’re a whore for anyone with a dick, an ass, a pussy or a strapon.”
“I am not a whore,” I replied, with a hurt tone to my voice. “I’ve told you before!”
“I know,” he laughed. You don’t charge. But ya could do. Your lips are the bomb! So are Martin’s. I think gay guys…” He stopped and looked at me. “And bisexual guys, give the best head. There isn’t a thing as a shonky bee-jay, but to be a top piece of head-to-head action, to be a world champion contender, it has to be a bit of a batty boy.”
“Does that mean you give good head too?” I asked, and Scott’s lips curled into a grin.
“I hate giving head. I do not know what you faggots love about wrapping your lips around a man’s meat stick. Cunt is a wonderful taste, but sausage. I mean, why?”
“Each to their own,” I muttered. “And I like licking cunt too!” I looked at Scott, sat in just his underwear with his discarded sodden clothes on the floor. His tight boxers did little to hide the semi-erect dick in his shorts. “Even better when the cunts are full of cum! Oh, is this chatter about blowjobs because you want one?”
He laughed. “I always want one. But I fancy being a bit of a Jack Sparrow tonight. You prepared yourself?”
“Of course! I douched when I returned from the supermarket and have ample lube.” His expression flickered. “Because you said you wanted to … enjoy the booty.”
“Yes, I do!” Scott called, and just looked at the leather sofa. We both knew what to do, and I knelt on the floor, and put my chest on the cool, black seat.
It seemed like an eternity for Scott to kneel behind me, nudging my legs a little further apart. He dropped a little squirt of lubricant onto my crack and used his fingers to massage it into the hole.
I groaned. I always did when Scott expertly touched me. My cock hardened as he worked his finger into the first and second knuckle.
His hand slapped my buttcheek; hard enough to make me squeal but not anywhere near powerful enough to hurt. It was the footballer asserting his dominance.
It felt amazing. One-on-one with Scott was incredible. He worked his finger up and down my arsehole, and drove the lubricant across my prepared hole.
One finger became two; I squirmed in desperation as he caressed my opening. He stretched my hole to prepare for his cock, rotating his fingers as they slid in and out of my greased arse.
Then nothing. The rip of the condom packet and the unmistakable smell of spermicide-tipped Latex screamed what he was doing. He was ready, just like me.
The blunt head of his cock pressed against me and slipped in easily. The intense feeling of fullness and pressure from within my sanctuary.
Soft groans, as I adjusted to his prick sliding into me. He gripped my waist to get leverage for his cock. To enter me completely, which he had done so often.
I wanted him all; I wanted him to stuff me and pound me. I closed my eyes, savouring every inch that his cock pressed into me. To accommodate him.
And then he rocked, grinding his dick into me. His hand slipped around my waist and grabbed my erect dick, but I stopped him.
He had never wanked my prick while screwing me before, and I knew that a few strokes would be all it took for me to come. I didn’t want to focus on anything other than his stout dick sliding into my hole, sliding against my prostate and filling my arse.
Scott understood.
He began to piston his dick into me with unrelenting, impassioned fucking. Every thrust slapped his crotch against my buttchecks and his balls bounced against mine. His fingers dug into my waist.
It was too delicious, too erotic, too fantastic. I knew I was grunting like a squealing pig, and Scott jerked his cock deep into me and held his spasming dick inside me. I felt his cock jerking and thought about the cum collecting in the teat of his condom.
He sat back on his haunches, panting and sighed. “Turn around,” he said, and he picked up the lubricant. He just smiled as he squirted gripped my right wrist, turned it and poured a fifty-pence piece sized amount of liquid into my hand. “Now jerk off for me.”
He stared as my fingers ran across my erect cock. My arse longed for more intrusion, but my body sizzled from my hand and my fingers. It was Scott imposing control and power once more. It was him jerking my chain, and within a few strokes, I had covered my hands in cum.
He grunted and pulled my hand up to my lips. I had tasted my cum many times but the humiliation of doing it in front of him was delicious.
We both had showers, and I cleaned up. Scott and I settled onto the couch, and stayed awake until one in the morning playing FIFA and drinking cider. It was a relationship that I did not have with Martin, who eschewed the games console most of the time. I always felt awkward spending hours playing alone while he read his book in the corner of the room. I only ever played on the games machine when he served his wife and Clare was otherwise occupied.
Scott, however, was more of a gaming fan than a book aficionado. We connected as buddies and teamed up to play on-line games together. It was obvious that he played the game relentlessly, and as a pair we were unbeaten in our dozen games. “That’s just like me,” he boasted as he controlled Lionel Messi, and danced through the pathetic tackles of the opposition before coolly slotting home from a tight angle. “I can do that on the pitch too!”
“Yeah?”
Scott glared at me. “Why do you think you have to down so much of my amber nectar? I have a right foot that can open up any defence. I’m a wizard with my right.”
“And your left?”
“We don’t talk about it!”
Scott fondled my buttocks as I climbed the ladder to bed. “So fuckable.”
“You surely can’t want another fuck?” I asked, and he hummed.
“Tomorrow,” he mused, and settled into Martin’s bed. “Y’know,” he muttered. “I think I prefer fucking your arse to Iain’s. It’s a better quality of hole.” He laughed in the darkness and sighed.
Once more, I was awoken by Scott’s alarm clock and then by the dominant lodger pulling my duvet from my slumbering body. “I want a bowl of cereal. Muesli or porridge. A coffee, black, no sugar. And a quick blowjob. I was almost late yesterday.”
His firm hand left a redness on my bare buttocks and I grumbled as I followed him down the ladder to the large open playspace, containing the dozen chairs, sofas, puffies as well as pots of lubricant, condoms and a huge projector screen.
I made enough porridge for four people. In my half-awake state, I poured the oats into a large saucepan and added over a pint of milk that bubbled nicely on the stove. He came up behind me as I poured the coffee from the cafetiere and wrapped his hands around my waist.
I felt his breath on the nape of my neck and his warm body press against mine. He was naked, still damp from his shower. “Smells nice,” he whispered in my ear and reached to turn down the heat from the saucepan that contained bubbling porridge. “Now, about that other thing.”
I turned to face him. Our face were inches from each other, and his expression full of cheekiness. He just smiled as my legs buckled and my knees hit the floor of the small kitchen.
I stared, transfixed, at the purple head of his freshly washed prick. My mouth salivated at the prospect. My lips parted and my tongue swirled across the stiff, erect cock that called to me.
It was natural. It had become an instinctive reaction when I saw any prick, but Scott’s dick had become even more so. I loved the soft, velvety texture of his shaft and the strong, veiny ridges that criss-crossed his cock. My nose smashed against the smattering of pubic fuzz as my mouth took every inch of his long tool.
“Quickly, boy!”
My tongue worked his frenulum. While sucking on the head of his prick, my tongue poked his sensitive underside that caused him to pant and groan. He ran his hands through my hair.
“Just your mouth, boy!” He barked to admonish me when my fingers gripped the base of his dick. It was uncomfortable on the cold floor; my knees were on a ridge in the tiles that dug uncomfortably, but I would have stayed in that position for hours to service Scott’s manhood.
My hands instead closed around the top of his thighs and I used his body to leverage my mouth against his dick. I gagged as he smashed his prick against the back of my throat.
The sound of his personal cocksucker gasping as I fellated him was a tonic for both of us. I knew my place, and I looked up at him with watery eyes. He grunted and pulled on my head once more to push his dick as far as it would go in my throat.
My eyes streamed. Saliva dripped from my lips, and my hands shook as he hammered his dick into my gasping mouth. I felt used, and he continued to ram his manhood against the back of my throat.
I had never felt so weak and powerless. I had never felt so horny. My cock leaked as he face-fucked my mouth. I groaned into his invading dick, vibrating the prick thrusting across my tongue. I was his rag-doll and my throat was his Fleshlight. His firm grip on the back of my head kept my head in place as his hips bucked furiously.
His cock twitched, his hands pressed against my crown harder, and then the first wave of his cum hit the back of my throat.
I gagged once more. I should have expected it, but he had aggressively fucked my mouth in a way that few had ever done. I was used to giving fellatio, not have my face used as an object that alpha men can violently fuck.
It was a different kind of blowjob. It was a different type of submission. Scott woke me from my trance by sliding his dick from my mouth and wiping his cum across my cheek and hair. “Right little slut, you are,” he muttered as I panted. My mouth and throat were sore and my mind swam with contrasting emotions.
It was not the sort of oral I liked to give. It was a nasty objectification of me, but that alone made it dirtier, nastier, and I was hornier as a result. The fact that I coughed and spluttered as Scott picked up his coffee and dished up a large helping of porridge, as I sat on the floor panting, was an utter degradation.
Discarded after his orgasm. I was no longer required.
I hauled myself to my feet and wiped the cum from my face in the bathroom. I returned to the kitchen as Scott climbed the ladder to get dressed for work. “Hey, you OK?” He asked when he returned fully dressed. “You spluttered a bit.”
I nodded. “I’m fine. Just … um … a bit unexpected.”
“Yeah …” Scott blushed. “I was in a damn nasty mood today. Sorry if I was a bit rough.” He picked up his bag as I slurped my coffee.
“It’s still pretty dark out. Do you want me to drop you off in the car and pick you up?” I suggested, and he smacked my bare arse, causing me to spill lukewarm Java down the front of my chest.
“It’ll be fine. I ain’t ever had an accident. Y’know, Martin kept on at me too ‘bout m’lights and m’bike. If I get killed, there’s still plenty of dick left at the club for you two fags!” He chuckled and wheeled his bike into the British drizzle.
I texted Martin about my concerns, and he replied almost immediately to “leave it with him.” An hour later, I received an e-mail containing a receipt from a local bike shop, and a collection time in the middle of Friday afternoon. He told me to pass the gift onto the footballer when I received it.
Martin was incorrigible; I only suggested upgraded lights and a reflective cycling jacket.
Scott returned after training, and sauntered into the summerhouse, dripping with mud. “I got splashed by a fucking lorry,” he moaned and dropped his clothes on the wooden floor.
I scooped them into the washing machine while he had a warm shower and provided a chicken-burger with roasted carrot chips that he adored. “I thought Iain was a decent cook, but this is top notch,” he replied, speaking with his mouth full. Once again, after dinner, we played games on the giant television in the Summerhouse, and chatted until the small hours. The connection between us had certainly strengthened since he arrived, and I idly stroked his thighs as we waited for the game to load.
We drank cider, we scored goals and killed zombies. “What do you remember about Virginia?” He asked.
“Not a lot. She got fucked a bit. But then I did too. She was a good laugh. You liked ploughing her, but we know why!”
He hummed and drank the last of his beer. “If I end up in a relationship with her, d’ya think it’s a bit soon after Iain?”
“Well, I …”
“And d’ya reckon she’ll still let me dip my wick elsewhere?”
“Well, I …”
“And why am I getting nervous about her?” His controller landed on the chair with a thud, and he took a deep breath. I looked startled at him, and his hands shook. “I’ve known her for two years. We flirt every day. I miss her when she isn’t in the office, and she texts me every single day. I know she is going to leave her bloke soon, and she’ will only split with him because of me.”
“And you don’t want that?”
“Of course, I want that. I really want that. She gives me butterflies and fulfils every need I have. Except one.”
“She as a mouth and an ass too.”
“It’s not the same,” Scott muttered. “And I never felt like this with Iain. Or Sandy. Or Dana or anyone else. Or Stevie. And I’m excited but scared.”
“Why?”
“What if, I’m not the person she expects? It’ll destroy me.”
I shrugged at his fear, candidly expressed. “You can’t stop yourself from being hurt, Scott. The relationships we have are high risk. But also high-reward. Clare loves me and I love Clare. We communicate, and talk, and iron out our creases. It’s hard work.”
“You two are just … natural.”
“No. The couple nights, the constant dialogue, the communication and the love makes it work. She knows I adore seeing her getting fucked, and she loves to be fucked. I love cock and cunt, and she’s delighted about that. We don’t put a ceiling on our sex life, but just have an understanding and a promise to be honest. She knows you are bisexual, of course.”
Scott sighed. “Yeah, she does. And she said she’s nervous too. She thought I was gay until I started screwing her in my lunch break.” I laughed at him. “My old landlord is happy for me and Virginia to take over the lease from Iain and me until it expires in September. So she’ll move in next week. But I am still scared and worried. And I don’t know how to break that.”
“You must be scared,” I told him with a smirk. “You have been home for five hours and haven’t tapped me up for sex once. By now, I’d expect you to be needing to get off.”
He laughed. “I had a late lunch. A very late lunch and pumped her full of cock before I left. And we nipped in afer work. I got stamina, but three times a day is enough for me, normally.” He gave me a wink, looked at his watch, and then at me. “I gotta get to bed, if I wanna be in work tomorrow.”
Scott woke early the following morning and his alarm clock woke me too. He was preoccupied as he failed to pull the duvet cover from me, smack my arse or deliver a breakfast order before he stepped into the shower.
I made coffee and porridge once more, and he thanked me as he ate in silence. “You OK to do us a meal at six?” He asked, and I nodded. “Something nice. A bit of class would be great. What’s classy?”
“I’ll sort something,” I promised. “Candles too?”
“Yeah, scented candles.”
He looked anxious, and I cocked my head at him. “Do you need me to do … something … to calm you down?” He shook his head and rubbed his face in thought.
“I’m going to take some smart clothes to work in a bag as Virginia is bringing me here and I’ll leave my bike at the back of the warehouse. So I need deodorant too. And mouthwash.”
I said nothing as he got ready and wished him luck. He was nervous, although I didn’t know why. I visited the supermarket at lunchtime to buy supplies for a three-course meal; as the kitchenette was not large, I opted for a simple soup to start, followed by venison and the trimmings, and finished with a luxurious raspberry and white chocolate cheesecake.
Scott had joked that he needed a waiter service for his romantic meal for two, and so I dived into the box of dressing-up clothes which were left over from our Saturday afternoon parties; the sexy tuxedo outfit of a collar, cuffs and abbreviated black shorts with a bowtie on the front was cheeky and playful.
Scott was late and overexcited. He blathered as he bound into the summerhouse and took the coat from the slightly bemused Virginia. She giggled when she saw me, and the table which I had set up.
Scented candles, soft romantic music and a bottle of chilled white wine, awaited them. Scott rubbed his chin, and I took the coats from him. “Let’s get started,” he roared, and glanced at my bare arse as I hung their jackets up.
Virginia was exactly as I remembered her from the Christmas Party. She oozed excitable playfulness and smiled at everything. Her blonde pigtails framed a joyful grin and deep brown eyes that sparkled with a lust of life.
“I didn’t realise that it would be this sort of evening?” She spoke in a London accent and giggled as she took in my ridiculous outfit. “I feel overdressed now!”
“If Madam wishes to disrobe, that is her prerogative!” She adjusted her Hello Kitty top and then looked at Scott.
“Maybe later. Although I do like your garb.” She sat down and watched as Scott fumbled his chair. “If you were wearing it, it would a bigger bulge, wouldn’t it?” Scott and I both blushed.
I stayed out of their way. I served the courses, and left a little bell on the table so I could be summoned from the kitchen where I ate a pizza, and played on my phone. I knew how special this meal was for my friend and gave them the space they needed to discuss their new living arrangements.
Virginia teased me; her fingers rolled over my exposed flesh when I served them, and she gleefully watched Scott’s reaction as she toyed with me. If it was a test to see if my friend would mind that she openly flirted with other people, then it was one that he reciprocated with. He openly tickled the front of my bulge when I had two empty plates in my hand and laughed as I squirmed.
They laughed, and they talked openly. Virginia needed to leave her partner, and Scott needed someone to share the rent on his property. Just as friends, they made perfect sense.
But they both wanted more than that, and the tentative discussions about relationships and boundaries showed this. Scott promised that he could not object to her “camwhoring” while together, if she allowed him to continue to play football, attend the summerhouse parties and engage in his bisexuality. It was an easy agreement; neither of them wanted monogamy or exclusivity.
The scented candles were atmospheric. I cleared the plates from the dessert and they took their glasses of wine to sit on the largest couch.
A cuddle quickly became a passionate embrace. Their lips locked and Scott their tongues massaged each other, as their bodies entwined on the sofa.
Their clothing was hurriedly discarded. I had seen Virginia naked previously at the Christmas party and was treated to the sight of her bare slit and luscious breasts once more.
Scott sat in his tight boxer shorts and she giggled as her hands tugged at the waistband. He raised his body weight and his erect cock sprang from the cotton underwear as she lowered it to his knees and he kicked them across the room.
Their embrace continued. It was a romantic, sensual act that I witnessed through the doorway of the kitchen. I had been messaging Clare, and she asked me who Scott’s girl was. She must have watched on the CCTV which had been installed in the summerhouse for the dominant ladies of the house to monitor the cuckolds.
But Virginia had stolen Scott’s heart. The blonde minx ran her hands across his back as the two lovers kissed fervently. Their bodies writhed on the sofa with unrelenting ardour.
Scott grabbed his new partner’s right thigh and raised it. She groaned as he skated his cock along her damp slit and parted her legs to give him better access by pushing her hips into the soft cushion of the leather couch.
His right leg implanted firmly on the ground, Scott gently worked his prick against her cunt. She squealed as his dick slipped inside her sopping pussy, slowly gyrating his hips to draw groans and squeals from his new girlfriend.
His hips bucked and rotated, his thumb pushed against her clit and his dick was clearly hitting her G-Spot, as the young woman panted and cried with every thrust into her maidenhood.
“Oh, Scott!”
“Yeah?” He cried. “Faster?”
“Yeah!”
Scott smashed his dick with wanton abandon into his new lover, who cawed in lustful delight. She screeched with every deep exhalation, enjoying the ferocity of Scott’s powerful strokes.
Virginia shrieked, crying out loudly as an orgasm swept across her body and left her body tingling and shaking. She screamed to Scott not to stop, and my friend jackhammered his dick into her as she howled in desperate pleasure.
It was like watching Clare; Scott was pleasuring Virginia and showering her in lustful pleasure. I had been relegated to spectator and witness as my friend pumped his cum into her cunt with a battery of profanity.
Virginia smiled at him. They kissed as the fruits of their fucking leaked onto the leather sofa.
“I can get Jon to clean you up,” he said. “He always loves cleaning up a creampie.”
“I want you to do it,” Virginia replied with a wicked grin and Scott’s face wavered. “My boyfriend should always enjoy eating me out.” Scott gulped. He did not give blowjobs, Scott did not eat cum. He admitted he hadn’t done so for years as he hated the taste, and I sniggered as I watched him tentatively slide down her body and push his face into her crotch.
She gave a vocal exhalation as his tongue glided over her cunt. I knew he tasted his own emission as I could see Virginia smile. She must have felt the smooth, soft suction of his lips against her cunt and the slippery goo slide to his waiting mouth.
It was the sort of debauchery that I adored. It was the sort of filthy act that I fantasised about and would do on a daily basis. Clare didn’t screw bareback very often, but when she did, the act of sucking the bull’s cum from my fiancée’s cunt was a glorious, wonderful treat.
Scott was in his own personal hell. He was being tortured by the woman he adored and had fallen for. Her writhing, groaning and verbal encouragement should have been a tonic to his senses, and a wonderful boost to his arousal.
Her body became consumed by lust. Her hips bucked and rocked and her body sizzled under Scott’s cunnilingus. Her breathing became ragged and her cheeks flushed as my friend brought her to another orgasm that caused the young woman to holler loudly.
Scott wiped his face of their cum and sat back on the sofa, smiling at his date. “That was great. We must do that every time,” she giggled. “I think it’s good that you can swallow cum even though you are the dominant. You make the mess, you should clean it up.”
“I’m not …”
“Gay?” Virginia replied. “Of course not, you’re bisexual. Isn’t that what bi-guys do as well?” She giggled and took another slug of wine from her glass.
“Not usually,” Scott muttered tersely. “I’m the top.”
Virginia snorted. “Show me!”
He hummed and looked directly at me. “You would have liked to have done that, wouldn’t you?”
I scrambled to my feet and put my phone on the kitchen worktop. “Yes.”
“Come here,” he demanded and glared at me. “Go in there, and I want you to douche your backside and apply plenty of lubricant.” I nodded at him, and he pointed towards the bathroom. “I will show you what I normally do with men and it isn’t swallow their fucking spunk.”
I heard giggling from the other room, and Virginia come to another screaming orgasm as I flooded my butt with warm water. The first time I did this, I was nervous and unsure, but I had been using the enema bulb three or four times a week for months, and I knew exactly what was coming.
Virginia came loudly. I had not met another woman who screamed in ecstasy as much as she did when they reached their climax; I guessed this was part of her camgirl act where the watching punters would expect, and almost demand, a wild, thrashing, vocal peak.
I liberally greased my butt and took deep breaths as I relaxed my arse and slid a medium-sized butt-plug past my sphincter. I appreciated and enjoyed the fullness and pressure from the sex toy and re-entered the room as Scott finished Virginia again with his fingers pressed against her clit.
“Come here,” Scott demanded, and as I approached him, pushed me to my knees in front of his new partner. My face was thrust into her sodden cunt, and I, instinctively, wrapped my tongue against her clit. She groaned. “Oh yeah, that’s good.”
I had plenty of practice giving head. Clare always loved to have me go down on her, and I adored every part of the submissive act. I flicked on Virginia’s bean as the blonde Londoner ran her hands over my shoulders and through my hair.
Scott had retrieved a condom from the side of the room and had sheathed his dick. Lubricant was drizzled over his tool and I felt the pressure on the butt-plug. The wide flare of the bulbous plug resisted, but I relaxed my ring and he slowly slid the sex toy from my opening.
I felt empty, but I was getting something far better. The blunt head of Scott’s erect cock pushed against my resistance and the footballer eased his dick into my lubricated hole. Inch-by-inch, slowly and firmly, I was filled by my friend.
I was stuffed by the lover of the girl I was eating out. Scott must have made eye contact with her, because she giggled between her grunts. Gradually, he increased his pace. His hands on my waist as he pivoted inside of me with a regular, smooth rhythm.
But it felt wonderful. His prick slid over my prostate as my tongue danced across an aroused, dripping cunt. I was in my heaven, and Scott knew it. My cock tingled. His powerful thrusts slapped against my flesh and our balls collided.
And Virginia could see everything. She witnessed her new boyfriend seizing control and controlling another man all evening. She watched her love plunder the hole of another and then order him to provide cunnilingus to her. She saw the confident, dominant, powerful man in Scott.
Her cunt leaked more and more. Her body shook with every suck on her clit and every lick of her slit. She groaned, panted, squirmed and writhed, but enjoyed every moment of the debauchery.
Scott jackhammered into my butt. He was desperate for a release, powering his dick into me with wanton, rampant abandon. I felt his cock pulse, and the man groaned loudly and then his condom tip filled inside of me.
I never eased from Virginia. My lips massaged her wetness and my finger pressed between the leather cushion and my chin to slide into her hole. She groaned as I slipped into her, and her palms ran through my hair.
It was too much for her, and she squealed, bucked her hips and yelled in profanity as her orgasm tore through her body in several waves. Cascading through her. Touching every pore of her flesh and leaving her legs thrashing wildly and her breathing ragged.
We all took a few moments, and Scott broke the silence. “See, that’s what this bi-guy does.”
Virginia giggled, and I nodded. “Yeah, he does.” Scott gave me a subtle tap of the shoulder and I knew what he wanted. “I’m going to have a quick shower,” I said to give them some time alone.
The warm water felt wonderful on my used body. I washed the pre-cum that Scott had caused to leak from my cock and removed Virginia’s juices from my face.
I returned to the main room of the summerhouse to see Virginia dressed once more. She smiled at me. “Does Scott always pound you like that?” I nodded, knowing that my cheeks blushed. “He does it to me too. It’s a nice feeling isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, and she wrapped her arms around her partner.
“I gotta go now. Derek will be back at eleven and I don’t want to have to lie about where I have been. It’ll just cause another row.”
“You could stay the night,” Scott suggested, more out of hope than expectation. “You could cuddle up to me and … y’know.”
The blonde woman smiled at him. “Next week, we’ll be together,” she promised. “We can do that every night you aren’t away at this place. Or at the football club. On Monday he is off to Berlin with his truck, and I’m going to move out then. No arguments, no fights, no rows. He already suspects that I’m screwing someone else as he has been suspicious for months. We’ve waited so long to be together, Scott, so another few days is nothing.”
Scott walked with his new beau to the back of the summerhouse to the small track and lay-by where she had parked her car and he watched the red lights streak into the night. The naked man sighed, and took a cider from me, wordlessly. “I want her so bad, man. I want her so much.”
“Did you ever feel like that with Iain?” I asked.
He snorted and threw me games controller. “Don’t ask me those sorts of questions!” He looked away from me at the large screen, and I think he was glad of the distraction from his emotions. It was difficult to dwell on the tumultuous love-life when his focus was on the crazed zombies holding loaded weapons.
The following morning, I prepared breakfast while Scott was in the shower. The smooth body of the football star glistened alluringly under the light and he smiled at the ogling of his naked body. “You’ll get your fill of dick this morning,” he promised as he ate the porridge and then dressed in his work clothes.
“Where’s your bike?” I asked, thinking back to the previous night.
“At work. We came in Virginia’s car, remember?” He held my car keys in his hand and shook them gently from side-to-side so they clanked. “And I can’t drive.”
“Oh, do you need a lift?”
“Yeah! ‘Cause I ain’t flying there?” He joked and then grabbed my shoulder as I walked towards the bedroom ladder to get dressed. “You can take me. Naked.”
“But …” I protested.
Scott’s hand landed on my bare buttocks. “Naked. I have a bet to win with Virginia.”
“What bet?”
“We set it up on the drive over last night.” His eyes glistened as I was only allowed my shoes when I told him I could not drive barefoot. “It was an idea I had a few days ago, and we agreed to do it. It’s your thing. It’s nasty.”
I didn’t expect anything else.
