Chapter 1: Maskurbate: Halecest Edition
Gingerly, Derek held the flimsy, paper mache mask he had been given between his hands. It seemed tiny. Much too small to prevent people from recognizing him. How could a little bit of white and black checkerboard pattern keep someone from knowing his face? And a half mask? Why not a whole one? Cover every inch.
Although, to be fair his back tattoo would probably give him away anyway once he took his shirt off. Derek bit his lip. He should’ve pestered Peter for more details. He should’ve insisted on mask approval. Why had he agreed to do this?
The small filming crew were nearly ready to begin. One of the producers signaled for Derek to get ready. Taking a deep breath, Derek nodded, schooling his face into a stoic, stony expression. He brought the small mask to his face, shivering as the cool material touched his reddened cheeks. His heart jumped against his chest, his balls tingling in anticipation.
This is why he was doing this.
Tying the two strings in a secure double knot, Derek walked in front of the camera and stood in front of the bed that was the majority of the set. Why on earth would someone let people shoot porn in their houses? In their beds? His questions evaporated as his scene partner emerged from the hall to join him.
His mask was a feathered monstrosity. The black, iridescent plumes hid not only the middle of the face, but also reached up towards the sky, obscuring the forehead and hairline. His mask offered much more identity protection, than his own. Plus, it was much flashier, gaudier, made him look like a raven king or something else macabre and ridiculous. Peter was probably terribly pleased with himself.
The shorter man sauntered over to him and winked, the blue eye at once instantly familiar and yet not. Derek felt his cheeks turn pink as the appeal of masks suddenly made much more sense. He was still going to give Peter a piece of his mind when all this was over, but for now Derek relaxed into the moment. His heart was still pounding, but instead of being afraid or nervous he felt excited.
There was no preamble. There never was for this site. They weren’t roleplaying, there was no storyline. This was strictly about giving a good show while wearing a mask. The instant the director called action, Derek’s scene partner was on him, squeezing his right pec through his shirt.
Peter had warned him that his body would be on display, something to be groped and adored. An object of worship and ogling. His uncle had told him to hit the gym as if Derek wasn’t already a noted gymrat. He regularly went to the gym four times a week. He was already in terrific shape. And when Peter remarked on it, Derek had shrugged him off, scoffing. He didn’t regret it, but he appreciated his uncle’s warning.
He’d been given a polo shirt, blue and orange striped. The thing had barely fit over his shoulders and it hugged his chest too tightly for comfort. It didn’t matter though as he wouldn’t be wearing it for long, but the collar chafed his neck a little despite all three buttons being undone. With the tightness and the openness of the collar his chest appeared to be bulging out of his shirt, waiting to spill out into his partner’s groping hands. Which was entirely the point.
He felt like a side of beef.
Derek shifted his weight feeling awkward again. He wasn’t used to being the center of such handsy attention, especially not for a camera. Making love was about reciprocity, the give and take between two people. But this was just sex. Gratification. He didn’t know what to do with his arms if he wasn’t reaching out to help his lover get off.
Today, he was the sole focus.
It felt weird.
Luckily, his scene partner, an old hat in the industry, gave him something to do. He positioned Derek’s left arm up and rubbed the upper portion where the sleeve barely reached his bicep let alone covered it. Derek took the hint and flexed.
He had good biceps. His chest got most of the attention because he worked the hardest on it, but his arms were good too. Well-defined. Not quite at the level of a bodybuilder, but still well above average. And in the tight polo shirt his bicep seemed even more enormous. If he was bigger he could well imagine ripping a shirt as tight as this one just by flexing.
The idea appealed to him.
As it was, his scene partner seemed appreciative. He caressed Derek’s straining bicep, squeezed it to show how hard and resilient it was. Derek relaxed, and his partner continued massaging his arm. His hand trailed across Derek’s chest to his right arm. Again, Derek picked up his cue and flexed for his partner.
This time, his partner jabbed his bicep with his fist. Derek hissed, but held fast. The sting was short lived and ameliorated by his partner once again rubbing his taut muscles. Derek panted, a light sweat building at his temples already. He wasn’t used to this sort of workout.
Taking a momentary break, Derek dropped his arms and then lifted them both, flexing them in unison. His shirt almost felt like it had shrunk, clinging even tighter to him as he posed for the camera. He felt as though anymore movement and he’d Hulk-out of the horrid thing.
He needn’t have worried. A few seconds of holding the pose Derek released and his scene partner moved on. He went back to pawing his chest and teasingly trailing his hands up under Derek’s shirt. The guy palmed his abdomen, rubbed his stomach. Derek squirmed to the side, his abs were ticklish.
His scene partner smiled, knowingly. The bastard! He knew what he was doing to him and kept it up!
Derek flushed, turning bright red from his cheeks down to his neck and chest as the guy continued petting his sensitive midsection. He chubbed up in his super tight jeans. His bulge was no doubt as prominent as his biceps had been. The wardrobe department for this shoot were evil. Well, of course they were, they worked with and for his uncle.
Breathing heavier now, Derek raised his head upwards and closed his eyes, leaning into the man’s touch now instead of trying to inch away. He bit his lip to muffle a moan and blushed anew. He was going to kill Peter for this!
The older man tugged Derek’s shirt part of the way up and Derek groaned already wanting the man’s hands back on his belly. His dark treasure trail contrasted beautifully on camera with his pale skin. His scene partner threaded his fingers through the coarse hairs, heading downwards, and squeezed Derek’s trapped erection.
Ears turning red, Derek gasped, bucking into his partner’s roving hand, which swanned away from his dick as quickly as it had approached. Derek looked down at his bulge. He wasn’t even naked yet and he felt more exposed now than ever before. His scene partner patted his stomach to get his attention. Derek’s eyes snapped up to his and the older man jutted his chin up. Derek licked his lips and raised his arms.
Getting out of the miniscule polo shirt was even more of an ordeal than getting into it. Fortunately, his scene partner did most of the work, helping to ease the material up under his armpits before sliding one arm out and then the next. Then finally, the blue and orange eyesore was only around his neck and then whoosh it was off over his head.
Now he was shirtless.
His nipples hardened into peaks.
Roaming hands touched every bared inch of him.
He was turned around so his back was to camera and the flexing routine began again. This time though as Derek posed his scene partner resumed tracing circles around his midsection with just the tips of his fingers keeping Derek panting and hard. His cock ached he was so hard.
It was a delicious torture.
Derek felt like he was floating.
A puppet on strings moving under a masterful hand.
The moment ended. His scene partner stepped away for a second, his magic fingers disappearing with him, and Derek spun back around to face the camera. He was huffing and puffing, breathless, and they’d only gotten as far as taking his shirt off. He was going to be a wreck by the end of this.
Death was too kind. He was going to have to find a way to get even with his cruel, lascivious uncle! He’d come up with a plan just as soon as the blood resumed flowing to his brain.
With a slightly less than gentle shove, Derek was pushed onto the bed. He sat there, catching his breath as his scene partner knelt beside him and began slowly undoing his boot laces. He watched the older man. Each move meticulous and precise. Each moment a perfect frame. An expert. An artist at work.
Time seemed to slow, yet very quickly Derek was barefoot and bare chested. All that remained…
His scene partner pushed lightly at his shoulder and Derek leaned back, resting on his elbows. Laid out like a feast. The older man skimmed his hands across Derek’s shoulder, down to his chest. He pinched his nipples each in turn. Derek sighed. His nips weren’t as sensitive as his belly button, but it still felt good to have them played with. He arched into the man’s firm grip.
Above him, his scene partner chuckled under his breath. Derek turned beet red. The older man took pity on him and moved on, swiftly gliding down his chest over his abdomen to grope his bulge. Once again, Derek bucked into that rough touch, his chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.
Swiftly, his scene partner undid his belt buckle with a flourish. And as easy as you please, with just a few tugs the belt was pulled from its loops and tossed aside. The buckle clanked on the hardwood floor behind the camera. His scene partner was on the move, skillfully unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans without touching his throbbing erection.
The man was good.
Evil, but good.
It was a small production getting the super tight denim off. His partner jerked at the material while Derek lifted his ass up off the bed as one leg and then the other was freed. Once liberated, his cock tented his black boxer briefs, going nearly vertical. He lists a little to the right. No body is perfect.
His partner squeezed his thighs a little for show, but didn’t dally. He thumped the tip of Derek’s cotton covered cock with his middle finger as if he were testing a melon at the market and Derek yelped flinching inwards for a hot second. His partner, soothingly rubbed his tummy for far too short a moment before once again easing him down onto his elbows.
The underwear was the easiest piece of clothing to lose.
Hard as a rock.
For all the world to see.
In nothing but a mask.
Overcome with shyness, Derek tucked his chin into his shoulder as if that could hide him at all. His scene partner kindly carded his hand through Derek’s hair, scritching his scalp in such a way that Derek shivered from head to toe.
The real fun was about to begin.
Most of what came next was a blur of sensations for him.
Derek made noises he had never made before. Something about being on camera wearing a mask left him feeling liberated. Unrestrained. Like no one was watching, even though a whole room was watching. And soon even more people would be watching. Potentially, thousands.
The older man flicked his nipples. Sucked his cock. Played with his balls. Rubbed his stomach. Stroked his shaft. He even briefly licked Derek’s feet.
The final position had Derek up on his elbows one last time. His scene partner on the opposite side than where he had been for most of the shoot, pumping his cock and biting at his nipples while petting his abdomen on and off.
“Oh, god,” Derek moaned, looking directly into the camera. “I’m going to come.”
And he did. All over his scene partner’s hand. Up onto his heaving chest. And some of course trickled down his shaft onto his balls.
The filming ended pretty rapidly after that. The cameraman got close-ups of Derek’s come and one final master shot of the bed and they called it a wrap.
Peter yanked his feathered mask off in a flash. “I told you, you’d enjoy it.”
Derek panted, too wonderfully worn out to have a witty comeback.
“Should we keep the masks?”
Derek groaned, lying flat on the sweat damp sheets. Peter grinned. “I thought so.”
Chapter 2: The more numerous, the more corrupt
Sam, Dean, and Alastair have kinky sex in an abandoned warehouse.
I originally started this fic back in February of 2018 after seeing some porn on Tumblr. I never managed to finish it until this prompt gave me the perfect excuse.
Title is a reworking of a Tacitus quote.
Abandoned at the edge of town, the warehouse stank faintly of mildew and brackish water. Appropriate, but unpleasant. Sam, dressed in his Thursday suit of grey slacks and jacket with a white undershirt and a blood red tie, made a face but walked in regardless. Almost at once the two men waiting for him each took an arm and lead him further inside.
No one spoke. The only sound was three sets of dress shoes clapping against the concrete and echoing into the vast emptiness. Dean glanced at him, raised an eyebrow to check in. Sam gave him a minute nod. Everything was fine, so far.
The interior of the warehouse was desolate like something out of a post-apocalyptic novel. Scattered about were bits and pieces of old machinery, broken windows, puddles of scum. Disgusting and so untidy.
Luckily, the majority of the room was bathed in shadows. In the entire space there was only one working lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Off to the side exactly where they were taking him. It casts its harsh glow onto a single chair. An old timey office chair: brass studded leather in black on four wood-carved legs.
Out of place in the general defunct misery.
As they neared the staged area, Dean peeled off, veering right. On the fringes of the light tucked ever so slightly into the shadows was a cooler and a small drink cart. Alastair shoved him down into the high backed chair, surprisingly strong given his wiry, leaner frame. Sam huffed in surprise, the chair groaning under his sudden weight.
He glared at the older man, but his annoyance went unnoticed. Alastair was facing away from him striding over towards Dean who held two drinks in his hand at the ready. His brother at least took note and gave Sam an apologetic shrug that in addition to saying sorry also meant suck it up and roll with it .
Biting back his irritation, Sam fidgeted in his appointed seat. The leather crinkled as he moved. Any other time and he would’ve bounced back onto his feet in an instant, maybe gotten into Alastair’s face. But tonight, he didn’t want chains or ropes or duct tape. If he wanted to be free to move, he had to behave.
So, eyes front, Sam stared at nothing while in his periphery Dean and Alastair were drinking. Sam licked his lips, stealing the occasional peek out of the corner of his eye. His bulge, obvious in his tight slacks, rested against his thigh, chubbing a bit in anticipation. Sam planted his feet a little wider.
Aside from the tinkling of ice bumping against glass and the sound of beer being opened there was silence. Sam counted. Dean polished off three beers, in addition to whatever he had drunk before Sam arrived. Alastair finished two whiskies and poured himself a third.
At some unseen signal from Alastair, Dean stepped into the light. He walked over to Sam and rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. We’re starting. Get ready. Sam shuffled his weight a bit, stomach fluttering. Dean squeezed his shoulder soothingly before patting him and disappearing back into the dark.
He must’ve lost the coin toss.
Alastair came forward. Sam stared him in the face. The man was neither handsome nor ugly, neither light nor dark. Merely, hollow. Guarded. Somewhere between an empty shell and an erupting volcano. Sam tracked him as Alastair slowly circled in front of his seat and stopped to his left, leaving Dean on the right with a solid view.
Suddenly, without a word, Alastair raised his hand and pressed his palm into Sam’s forehead. The pressure was mild, but Sam knew better. Alastair pinned Sam to the seatback, face tilted upwards. Sam squirmed, but kept his place. Alastair smiled. The urge to punch that smirk off his face was strong, but Sam held back.
Chugging the rest of his whiskey, Alastair held it in his mouth and didn’t swallow. Instead, he leaned forward, bending down as if to kiss the younger man. Alastair raised his eyes off to the dark, to Dean, and only once he made firm eye contact did he open his mouth.
Chilled whiskey rained down onto Sam’s face.
A preview of things to come.
Sam gasped, his mouth and chin glistening with whiskey and spit. Some of that cold amber dribbled down the length of his bared throat and soaked into his collar. He shivered from the sudden cold, cock twitching in his slacks, now. His fingers tittered on the armrests, but he didn’t move.
Alastair quirked an eyebrow. He straightened, looming over Sam despite the younger man’s bulk. He removed his immaculate hand and Sam remained in position. Alastair smiled again, promptly upending the glass in his hand dumping ice and backwash onto Sam’s lap.
Heart pounding, Sam shuddered, his knuckles white as he clutched the armrests for dear life. Cheeks flushed, his muscles cried out for him to try and dislodge all the cold wetness. Panting, he held his ground, his cock fully, blatantly hard.
“Good boy,” Alastair murmured in his damned soft voice. He tossed his glass over his shoulder and it shattered loudly on the concrete.
From out of nowhere, Dean appeared at his side, his own erection sticking out painfully straight in his slacks. Not so innocently, he reached down and swept the melting ice cubes onto the floor, knocking Sam’s erection around to do it. Sam inhaled through his nose, eyes closed, refusing to break.
“What do we say, Sammy?”
Releasing his held breath, Sam opened his eyes and gazed up at Alastair. “Thank you, sir,” he said, fighting to both keep the words trapped forever in his mouth and getting them out as quickly as possible.
Alastair gave him the slightest nod. Dean beamed at his brother and then at his Master, passing his unfinished beer to Alastair unbidden. The older man jerked his chin in the direction of the drinking cart and Dean slinked back to where he came from, offering Sam a pat on his heaving chest. Go with the flow, Sammy. Let’s keep it going.
With no preamble, no mind games, Alastair swallowed a mouthful of Dean’s beer and poured out the rest onto Sam’s suit. Everything from his collar down to his crotch was now damp and sticky and cold. Sam groans, his nipples aching into peaks beneath his shirt and undershirt. He doesn’t fight what comes next.
Once more leaning down, Alastair didn’t stop midway. Sam, face scrunched in thinly veiled contempt, opened his mouth. Beer spilled down his chin as Alastair’s thin lips met his, the man’s alcohol-coated tongue sweeping into his mouth as if he owned it. For the moment, he did.
His scruff made Sam’s cheeks itch, but he returned the kiss as best he could. Dean moaned from the sidelines. Watching Sam submit to him was getting his rocks off better than any porno he’d ever seen. Dean pawed at his erection unable to grab it properly due to the slacks he couldn’t remove yet.
“Come here, boy,” Alastair quietly commanded. Dean strolled forward, his dick leading the way, obediently. Alastair pointed at Dean’s crotch. “See what you do to him, Samuel? Do you see what you do to your brother?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam replied, breathlessly, staring at Dean rather than the erection throbbing in front of his face. Their eyes met. I love you, Dean.
I love you, Sammy.
Putting his large hand on the small of Dean’s back, Alastair pulled him closer to Sam and said, “Go ahead, Samuel. Give it a kiss.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Sam wrapped his lips around his brother’s covered erection. Dean moaned. “Sammy!”
Sam flicked his tongue around the fat head of his older brother’s cock, tasting nothing but cotton and sweat and musk. Alastair disappeared. All the world came down to was the two of them. Brothers. And now something more.
“Good, Samuel. Very good,” Alastair lauded. He was now behind Sam, behind the chair with a marvelous view of the debauchery on display.
“My boys...” he whispered intently. “You’re both performing excellently.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dean immediately responded, fingers itching to reach out and grab his brother’s long, silky locks.
A beat late, Sam replied the same, “Thank your, sir.”
Alastair hummed in acknowledgment and watched the two brothers. Sam continued suckling at his brother’s clothbound cock as best he could, seemingly intent on finally getting a taste now that he was allowed.
Dean stood at ease. Eyes forward, hands clasped behind his back, cheeks red, chest heaving, his form perfect. Just like Daddy’s good, little soldier was trained to do.
The sound of a zipper being lowered filled their ears. Sam looked up at Dean for confirmation. Dean stayed still. Alastair strolled back into view, his large, flaccid cock and low hanging balls now dangling from his undone zipper. “On your knees, boy.”
In a flash, Dean stepped around his brother and crawled to Alastair, his knees soaking in the small icy puddles at Sam’s feet. He knelt in front of the older man, eyes wide open, waiting for further instruction. Alastair smiled at Dean with a genuine affection, tenderly tracing his hand down Dean’s flawless jawline.
Out of breath and hard as a rock, Sam gawked at the two of them, aroused certainly, but also jealous of their closeness. Him and Dean had been close once, when they were growing up. Not in this way of course, but still, something had always been there. Hidden, tucked away in secret places.
Using one finger, Alastair gradually lifted his length, past Dean’s supple, waiting lips until it was pointed at Sam. This was a silent cue. Dean didn’t need to be told what to do, he leaned forward and simply got to work sucking and licking at Alastair’s wiry-haired testicles. Gingerly, Alastair took his soft cock fully in hand and caught Sam’s eye. He smirked, releasing a hot stream directly onto Sam’s chest.
Sam moaned, arching into the man’s piss, all thoughts of cold and sticky forgotten in the heat of that golden stream. He wriggled in his seat unable to stop moving, but also refusing to step out of line and touch himself though he desperately wanted to more than anything.
Dean groaned, frustrated that he couldn’t turn his head and watch. The smell was already hitting him. That sharp tang overpowered every other stink. Alastair aimed higher and Sam lowered his head, allowing the piss to drench his curls until drops of urine trickled down the ends and slid down his neck.
“Take your cock out, Samuel,” Alastair directed over the sound of his piss splattering all over Sam and the leather chair. “It’s time I marked my property.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam instantly replied, huffing through gritted teeth as his shaky hands tugged at his slippery zipper. His cock was so hard, pulsating in his wet and clinging slacks. He took ahold of it, but pulling it out was going to hurt since he couldn’t remove any clothing without permission.
Growling in exasperation, Sam bit the bullet and yanked his cock out of his trousers, though it made him flinch to do it. Free at last, his cock stood tall and straight as an arrow. Alastair chuckled at his eager display and swiftly lowered his cock to douse Sam’s crotch in piss. His piss. His cock. His Sam. Just as it was with Dean
Just as it should be.
Sam grunted, moaning as he writhed in his increasingly wet seat. Alastair’s piss bathed his crotch, trickling down into his pubes, soaking into his already soiled slacks. He gaped at his throbbing cock, astounded to be so hard with so little stimulation.
Alastair cupped the back of Dean’s head and spun him ‘round to see his brother’s submission in full. “Your cock belongs to me now, Samuel,” the older man reiterated. “Just like your brother, Dean’s.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam sighed, his head drooping against the leathery ear of the chair. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking into Alastair’s seemingly endless stream. He blushed under Dean’s intense gaze. Thank you, Sammy. Thank you.
“My boys,” Alastair crudely cooed, scritching the back of Dean’s head behind his ear. “You may touch my new cock, Samuel. But no coming.”
Before he could even get the words out, Sam’s hand was on his cock. “Thank you, sir.”
Twice Alastair tapped the crown of Dean’s scalp and his beloved favorite rose to his feet and stood beside him. “Do you see, Dean?” He whispered. “What did I tell you? Isn’t your brother the most beautiful piss-slut you’ve ever seen?”
“Yes,” Dean answered with a gulp. His wilted cock now began to chub in his slacks again as he watched his younger brother frantically jerk off. “Yes, sir.”
“I told you you could have him, didn’t I?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Dean said in total relief. Sam’s lidded eyes met his and his brother nodded. This is real. This is happening.
His stream wavered and Alastair shoved his hand roughly down the back of Dean’s slacks. “Did you prep yourself?” He forced two fingers into Dean and they slid in easily.
“Yessir,” Dean hissed, face raised towards heaven.
“Good boy.” Alastair shook off his cock as his stream petered out, wiping his lubed digits on the back of Dean’s suit jacket. “Samuel, take your hands off that cock.”
Huffing through his nose, Sam reluctantly complied. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
Alastair snapped his fingers and pointed between Sam’s spread legs. “Kneel boy.”
Dean sank to his knees again and crawled to his brother taking the ordered position. “Since the two of you have behaved so perfectly for me tonight, I am going to allow you a special treat,” Alastair intoned. “I am going to fix myself two whiskies and while I drink them you Dean may drink your brother’s piss.”
The Winchester brothers groaned in near perfect unison.
“You may begin as soon as Samuel gets that cock soft.” Alastair marched behind the chair, flaccid cock still hanging out of his pants, heading for the drink cart. He did as he promised he would and made two glasses of whiskey. Dean’s eyes flicked between his Master and his brother and his brother’s cock, calculating.
Come on, Sammy! Come on!
I’m trying, Dean! Sam rolled his eyes and stared up at the ceiling beyond the blinding lightbulb. He steadied his breathing, putting thoughts of Dean and his night so far away in the back of his mind. In their place he thought about work emails, financial reports, statistical graphs; productivity studies, manilla folders, the peanuts he had on his flight home this afternoon.
All this to get his brother’s lips around his cock.
Then, he felt them, soft and supple and full and ne nearly died his heart hammered so rapidly in his chest. He strangled a moan and determinedly kept his eyes shut tight. If he looked down, if he saw Dean, he’d get hard again.
Work was no longer cutting it, so Sam turned to even duller topics: in-flight store catalogues, dominoes, Halloween costumes, the girl he met in New York.
Scary, creepy clowns.
The slow drip, drip.
The sink in his apartment that still needed fixing.
Sam relaxed, sagging into his squishy seat, as his own stream began flooding his brother’s mouth. Dean moaned around his mouthful and Sam wriggled, trying to keep soft. Dean shot him an apologetic look, but Sam still had his eyes decidedly closed. He suckled Sam gently, gulping down as much piss as he could without spilling.
Thankfully, after a year of being Alastair’s urinal, he was a pro at such things. All too soon, however, he heard the clack of Alastair’s heels on the concrete headed for them. Dean whined, swallowing faster.
True to his word, Alastair returned.
Grabbing Dean by the hair he wrenched him off his brother’s spewing cock. They both whimpered at the loss. Sam’s eyes flew open and he stared at his brother’s face. His lips were wet. He licked them in that sexy way he did as he looked down at his crotch. Sam followed his gaze and realized he was still pissing, drenching his brother’s knees.
“Did you enjoy your treat, boys?”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied sounding bewildered. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam sighed, his stream dwindling to a trickle.
“I’m glad.” Alastair snapped. Dean stood. “It’s your turn, Dean. Take out that cute, little peen.”
Flushing pink, Dean unzipped his slacks and fished out his cock. “Yes, sir.” His wasn’t as large as Alastair’s or Sam’s, but it was hardly small. Seven and a quarter inches is a respectable length for a man not in the porn industry. Better than average.
“Who owns this cock?”
“You do, sir,” Dean replied.
“And who owns that cock?” Alastair asked, pointing to Sam’s thick, soft member.
“You do, sir,” Sam and Dean both said simultaneously.
Alastair took Dean by the chin and turned the younger man to face him. “I own this cock and that one,” he reiterated. “Does that mean you can piss on that one?”
Dean shook his head. “No, sir.”
“That’s right.” Alastair nodded, petting Dean’s cheek like he was a child who had finally gotten an answer correct. “Go stand at your brother’s shoulder.”
As Dean got into position behind Sam, Alastair turned to the wet from head to toe younger sibling. “Now, Samuel, I am going to allow Dean to piss on you,” Alastair explained in a condescending tone. “Because I own that cock now, you will not touch it. You will get hard and stay hard, but you will not touch it again tonight. Am I clear?”
Looking at Dean, Alastair continued, “If your brother can not get and stay hard for the next twenty minutes, he sits out the rest of the night and you won’t get another chance with him until the next time we meet. Understood?”
“I’m keeping time.” Alastair drew a stopwatch from his jacket pocket and gave Dean the go-ahead. The countdown began.
After a few deep breaths, Dean’s stream erupted. Hot piss splashed down the side of Sam’s face, soaking into his golden-stained collar and plastering his jacket and shirts to his skin. His dick twitched. “Dean?”
The two brothers stared at each other. Wrecked and hungry.
Do it for me, Sammy. Come on!
I’m trying! I want to. So bad... And just like that Sam’s cock filled out and hardened, growing firmer the longer the two locked eyes. Alastair grinned savagely at the luststruck boys. It hadn’t been easy, but both had been broken beneath his hand. It was all too perfect. Alastair’s cock twitched and he resumed glancing at the clock.
The acrid smell of piss hung in the air.
Dean’s stream didn’t last five minutes.
The countdown continued.
They didn’t, couldn’t take their eyes off each other.
The countdown wore on.
Sam shivered. The cold night air seeping in now that the warmth was gone.
He held on.
“Time,” Alastair quietly announced.
The brothers breathed in sync.
“Lie flat on the floor, Samuel,” Alastair demanded. “Put that away and take your pussy out, boy.”
Getting to his feet in a hurry, Sam kicked the chair out from under him and dropped onto the hard, slick floor. His clothes made a wet squelch as he settled. His cock pointed towards the night sky.
Meanwhile, Dean hastily undid his belt and then forced his junks back into his pants. Careful not to lt anything out that couldn’t be, Dean pushed his slacks down over the swell of his ass.
Alastair walked around Sam and stood in Dean’s face, eye to eye. “You will sit on that cock, boy,” he instructed. “But you will not touch it with your hands. You will ride your brother, but you will not come. You’ll stop when I say to and not before.”
“Yes, sir.” Dismissed, Dean waddled over to his brother and straddled him, still standing.
“You, Samuel, will not come until I say you may. You will not touch him or that cock.” His voice left no room for disagreement.
Not that Sam would. Rebellion was the last thing on his mind. “Yes, sir.”
Dean popped a squat, eyes on Alastair, hands at his side as he tried to aim his hole properly without help. Sam ogled his brother’s ass, watching every moment, willing him to make it.
Hissing at the sudden stretch, Dean panted waiting for Alastair to signal. He did and Dean took off like he was riding the bucking bronco at his favorite bar. This was better. “Sammy!”
Languidly, Alastair stroked his cock, not intending to get hard quite yet, but relishing the show. His boys were beautiful, made all the prettier by being his. Together. A complete set. John was probably turning in his grave. The thought made Alastair smile even more than the filthy boys fucking in front of him.
Bellowing like a moose out to stud, Sam writhed on the floor, thrusting into Dean as he came down, rocking and rolling his hips as best he could. “Please,” he begged. “Please can we come? Sir?”
“You want to come, Samuel? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Yes, sir! Please?! Please may I come!?”
“Hmm...I don’t know.” Sam groaned, fingers futilely trying to dig into the concrete beneath him. “Dean? Is that what you want? Do you want your brother to come in your pussy?”
“Yes, sir! Yes, sir, PLEASE!”
“Please, what, boy?”
“Please, let him come in my pussy,” Dean urgently pleaded.
Mischief gleamed in Alastair’s eyes. Soon, he’d have this boy locked up in permanent chastity, never to get hard again. Never to come again except when being breached by cock. A year at most. “You may come, Samuel,” he swore, adding this proviso, “As long as that cock remains hard afterwards.”
Sam groaned. “Yes,” he breathlessly agreed. “Yes, sir, I swear!”
“Show me, Samuel,” Alastair coolly directed. Sam’s hands shot out to grab hold of his brother’s hips. He caught himself just in time, clenching his errant hands into fists and smacking them against the floor.
“Look at you two.” Alastair crept forward, standing in front of Dean, swatting the man’s cheek. Dean tried to capture the head of his soft cock, but Alastair denied him for the moment. “Look at you two dirty, disgusting boys. Brothers. Fucking. You filthy perverts! Degenerates! Do you like it, Dean? Do you like having that cock in your pussy?”
“God, YES! Yes, sir!”
“Do you love it more than my cock?”
Dean whimpered, adorably torn. “No...sir,” he finally managed.
Alastair shrugged. You can’t win every battle on the first hill. He laid out his cock on Dean’s upturned face. “I’ll have to punish you for that later.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, resigned to it.
“Open.” Alastair let a second stream wash over Dean’s open mouth in a free arc before inching to the side and allowing Dean to get his lips around the head in full view of his brother.
Sam came, going tense all over and red in the face and he huffed and puffed like a man on the run. Dean moaned appreciatively, around his master’s cock gazing up at Alastair with something like devotion and down at Sam with something like love. Devotion and love. His greatest sins.
When his second wind failed, Alastair shoved his cock down Dean’s throat without warning. Dean gagged, but stayed in place, bouncing on Sam’s oversensitive, slightly flagging erection. Alastair fucked his face for a good few minutes refusing to let up.
“I won’t waste anymore lube tonight on your pussy,” he warned. Dean gargled an affirmative response. Wet and messy was the way to go.
Once Alastair finally got fully hard he let Dean stop riding and he let Sam get soft. He repositioned Dean, allowing him to rest atop his brother, allowing the two to nuzzle and cuddle and kiss as he rammed his cock into Dean’s used hole. Sam was big, but he was bigger. Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head at the burn and stretch of Alastair’s fatter cock.
“SAMMY,” Dean wailed as he came on Alastair’s cock, squirting his load into his slacks without even touching himself while Sam nipped at his neck.
Alastair soon followed, never breaking eye contact with his newest sub. He pulled out before he went soft, wiping his cock clean with a handkerchief he pulled from his breast pocket before redressing. The two brothers, both dripping wet and sticky and smelly, held each other like long lost lovers in a fairy tale.
“Next month, Samuel,” he announced. “We’ll begin training you to take cock like a proper bitch.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said. His eyes though. His eyes were full of that steely defiance that all the Winchester men seemed to share. He’d break him of that, too. Just as he had Dean.
“Until then, boys.” Alastair made his exit, leaving the two of them in the puddles of their own filth and depravity. He had accomplished a lot tonight and the sweetness of victory made the stench barely even noticeable. He wouldn’t have to wait much longer and Wincorp, their ‘family business’, would finally be under his control, no lawyers necessary.
Chapter 3: Don't Drink (And Have Sex With Your Brother)
Sam and Dean hump each other. That is all.
I wrote this in 2018 and shelved it as something I would never post just because it's super short. I hope y'all enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The night they got drunk and humped each other in the dark, ruined his life.
The taste of beer and his little brother.
The feel of Sam’s silky strands between his fingers, long and growing longer.
The hand, giant and newly calloused resting on his hip, sliding back to cup his ass, bringing them closer.
The rocking of the mattress.
The two of them side by side. The way they should be.
The feel of his Sammy rutting against his thigh.
The ache of his own erection, trapped in tight denim, throbbing and sore from friction.
The burning in his puffy lips from five o’clock shadow and nibbling teeth.
The sloppy heat in his gut.
“Sammy,” he moaned, mouth hanging open as lights exploded behind his eyelids, come spurting heavily inside his boxers. Ruined.
“Dean,” Sam slurs huskily, almost immediately following suit.
They stay side by side, face to face, sharing one bed and one breath.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
He fights the urge to hold Sam tight, to cuddle closer.
They don’t kiss again.
Drowsy from drinking and a good finish, his bones weary from the hunt, Dean’s eyes closed for just a moment...and nothing had been the same since.
None of the Day 3 Kinktober prompts really worked for me, so I went with a different day where I had multiple kinks to choose from that I liked. I don't know if y'all needed to know that or care, but I thought I'd let y'all know.
Chapter 4: All we do is argue. That's why I want you.
Jackson and Stiles are having a fight. Scott goes off to watch a movie then comes back to find the two of them screwing around. He joins in.
Jacksciles, or Posh Skittles as I like to think of it, is my OT3. There needs to be more of it.
Title is a David Peace quote.
Dropping onto the couch with a sigh, Scott grabbed the TV remote and pressed play. At times like this he wished that Stiles wasn’t allergic to cats or that Jackson wasn’t so anti-dog. He wanted a pet. Something cute and furry to cuddle with as he watched his movie and waited for the storm to pass. The chocolate lab he worked on last week at his internship would’ve been perfect. Instead, Scott snatches up one of the throw pillows Lydia bought them as a housewarming gift and hugs it to his chest.
Behind him, in their bedroom, the fight raged on.
“I’m not getting rid of them,” Stiles insisted.
“They’re hideous,” Jackson charged back.
“They’re Star Wars!”
Normally, Scott would settle the dispute, that was one of his specialties. As the peacemaker he could get the two stubborn assholes he loved to compromise and chill. But this was no normal disagreement. After three years of being together as a polyamorous triangle, Scott had learned to see the signs. This wasn’t a proper fight. This was provocation.
“They’re classic! I’ve slept on them since I was a kid!”
“Yeah, and it’s time to grow the fuck up,” Jackson asserted.
“You grow up!”
“No, you grow up,” Jackson retorted.
“You both need to grow up,” Scott mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. With these sorts of things, Scott had learned to keep to the sidelines. This sort of playground, I-like-you-but-I-can’t-admit-it-so-I’ll-pull-your-pigtails crap was important to their relationship. He didn’t get it, but Jackson and Stiles needed these sorts of arguments. It balanced them.
“I’m not going to sleep on a bunch of itchy Star Wars sheets like a loser six year old!”
“Who says I’d let you?!”
Scott turned up the volume on his movie. This fight would end in one of two ways. Either Jackson would slink into the living room sulking and defeated pouting like a child, or they’d have sex on the Star Wars sheets. He’d bet his bottom dollar they were going to end up fucking on those fucking Star Wars sheets.
His movie over, Scott pressed the stop button twice and heard the telltale moan of Jackson getting rimmed. Fondly shaking his head, Scott hit the power button, tossed the throw pillow onto the seat next to him, dropped the remote and headed towards their shared bedroom. His boyfriends were ridiculous. Sexy and cool, but totally ridiculous.
He pushed open the door and there they were just as he predicted. Jackson was situated at the foot of the bed, face flushed, ass in the air, hands clenching the sheets he despised, while Stiles was behind him munching away at his asshole as noisily as he did everything else. They were so weird.
“Scott,” Jackson puffed, breathless and overheated.
Stiles popped off Jackson’s backside with a wet sluuurp . “Scotty!” He beamed at his best friend proud as a peacock, shoving two fingers into Jackson’s hole since his tongue was needed elsewhere. Jackson hissed, biting his lip, his hips shamelessly rocking back onto Stiles’ fingers despite the burn. “Hey, dude, wanna join?”
Sometimes they preferred keeping these sorts of let’s-fuck-our-frustrations-out sessions to themselves and sometimes Scott did too. Tonight, though, he was a little annoyed himself. “Jackson? That okay with you?”
“Sure it is,” Stiles answered for him, playfully swatting Jackson’s bubble butt. “Right, skankerella?”
“Stiles...” Scott gave his best friend his patented, behave yourself look.
Unphased, Stiles merely grinned at him as innocent as you please. “What? Two dicks are better than one,” he proclaimed, squirting more lube down the crack of Jackson’s ass.
At that moment, Stiles started roughly driving three of his fingers in and out of Jackson’s hole, crooking them and twisting them to brush against his prostate. “Oh my god,” Jackson wailed. “Yes! Yes !”
“See? Told ya he’d be into it,” Stiles boasted. He gave Jackson’s cheeks a couple more slaps and Jackson groaned, arching his back for more.
Tentatively, Scott pulled his tee shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor. “You sure Jackson? Cause if you want--”
“Just get over here and give me your dick, dick!”
“How rude,” Stiles chided, pinching the reddened cheek beneath his hand. Jackson whimpered, shaking his ass to get away from the pain even as he pushed back on Stiles’ fingers. “You should fuck his face to teach him a lesson.”
Stepping out of his jeans, Scott groped his growing erection through his boxers. “You two are going to drive me crazy.”
“But what a way to go!” Snatching up the lube again, Stiles drizzled some directly onto his dick while he continued fingerbanging their boyfriend.
Scott walked over to their bed, the fitted sheet and top sheet both decorated with Star Wars characters. Yoda and Darth Vader and other ones he couldn’t name stared at him. It was a little freaky. “I would like you to suck me if that’s alright.”
Jackson just growled at him, yanking him closer by the hips, until he could get his lips around his cotton-covered cock. Scott bit his lip, his hand automatically coming to rest on the back of Jackson’s head. He didn’t pressure him in any way, just held him while Jackson sucked loudly at the tip of his dick.
Done smearing lube around his shaft, Stiles smacked his dick against Jackson’s ass cheek. “You ready to feel the power of my Force, bitch?”
“Jesus Christ, just fuck me already,” Jackson barked over his shoulder.
“Ha, ha,” Stiles crowed. “Don’t worry, princess, I’m here to rescue you.”
“Fuck me or die.”
“Guys,” Scott complained. Jackson huffed, tugging the waistband of his boxers down while Stiles slowly pressed the head of his cock inside Jackson’s prepped hole. Jackson sighed and quickly shoved Scott’s unveiled erection into his mouth. Scott shuffled his weight, widening his stance. Stiles rolled his hips, two inches forward, three inches back, teasing their boyfriend mercilessly.
Arching his back, Jackson tried to capture more of Stiles’ thick cock, but Stiles just chuckled and swatted his upturned ass, sticking to his own pace. Panting through his nose, Jackson threw himself down on Scott’s dick taking too much too soon in a vain attempt to get the cock he wanted from somewhere. He gagged. Scott moaned.
“Do you want it rough, Jacks?”
“Yes,” Jackson replied, sniffling a bit as he took Scott’s cock in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder. “I do want it rough.”
“Sounds good to me.” Stiles seized Jackson’s hips and slammed the full length of his cock home. Jackson wailed, hiding his face in the crook of his arm as Stiles began jackrabbiting ruthlessly. Grunting into his elbow Jackson pumped Scott’s cock and tried to stifle the tears and moans that threatened to fall out of him. “That’s right, bitch! We’re keeping the fucking sheets!”
Red faced and growling Jackson raised his head, forcing every word out between each savage thrust. “No--We’re--Not--Dumbass!”
Stiles tightened his grip, his blunt fingers digging into Jackson’s soft skin hard enough to leave bruises. “Jesus, Scotty, will you stuff your cock down his throat already? He’s pissing me off!”
Taking that as his cue, Jackson resumed sucking on Scott’s cock, working the bottom half of his shaft by hand. Scott inched forward, pushing more of his cock between his boyfriend’s supple lips.
Abruptly, Stiles reached around and grabbed Scott by the back of the head, tugging him into a heated kiss. Jackson gagged in surprise, taking Scott nearly to the root thanks to Stiles’ little maneuver. “I fucking love you, dude,” Stiles panted, his nose bumping into Scott’s as they both fucked their boyfriend.
“I love you, too,” Scott replied, beaming brightly. He reached for Stiles’ hip, but couldn’t quite reach, settling for running circles down Stiles’ side. He snuck another kiss. “His mouth...it feels so good.”
“Yeah, it does,” Stiles affirmed, resting his forehead against Scott’s sharing his brother’s breath. “Feels so good, doesn’t it, Scotty?”
“Yeah,” Scott agreed. He rubbed the small of Jackson’s back and leaned forward to get a handful of ass to squeeze too. “Jacks feels amazing.”
“So fucking good.” Stiles groaned, letting go of Scott and sliding his head down his brother’s chest. He flicked his tongue against Scott’s pierced nipple. “So tight. How’s he still so fucking tight?”
“He-he’s Jackson,” Scott supplied once he could form words again. “He’s perfect.”
“So good,” Stiles mindlessly repeated. “His pussy’s so good, dude. You want a go?”
And they switched, and they switched.
Scott came inside Jackson’s hole and spent a good few minutes digging his come out with his tongue.
Stiles came onto Jackson’s blotchy, tear-stained face.
They both worked Jackson over together until he came onto R2D2’s dome.
All three collapsed on top of the ratty, sweat damp sheets cuddled up against each other with Jackson in the middle. “Told ya,” Stiles contended. “Told ya they were good fucking sheets.”
Jackson and Scott both groaned at the tortured double entendre. “Maybe,” Jackson conceded. “But they’re nasty. If we sleep on them we’ll all get rashes.”
“Worth it.” Stiles nuzzled the back of Jackson’s head shuffling closer.
“Don’t start,” Scott interjected. “Not until after we all take a nap.”
“Whatever,” Jackson huffed, hauling Scott closer despite his attitude.
“Fine, Scotty,” Stiles reluctantly seconded. “For you. I love ya, dude.”
“I love you, too, dude,” Scott returned with a big yawn. He booped Jackson’s cheek with his nose. “I love you too, Jacks.”
“Love you too, Scott,” Jackson quietly returned.
“And I love this ass,” Stiles cheered, giving Jackson’s bubble butt a fond squeeze.
His boyfriend’s both rolled his eyes. Jackson batted Stiles’ hand away and grabbed his ass in retaliation pulling him in closer too. “Hate you too...Rebel scum.”
“HA! I knew you were a closet Wars fan!”
“Go to sleep, both of you,” Scott ordered. His command fell on deaf ears. Stiles’ mouth took off like a shot and of course Jackson had to take the bait. Scott rolled onto his other side and prayed for sleep. Or death. Anything to not have to listen to the two of them bicker about those freaking Star Wars movies.
Chapter 5: on a couch in D.C.
Scott and Rafael bond over a shared kink.
Scott flicked his tongue up the bare sole of his biological father’s foot.
The man chuckled, erection hard beneath Scott’s socked feet.
Slowly, Rafael brought on foot to his nose and took a languorous sniff. He rolled his hips, rubbing his own foot around the head of the cock poking out of his son’s running shorts.
“You like that, son?”
Laughing, Scott brought his father’s left foot to his mouth and sucked the big toe like a cock.
“Kinky bastard.” Rafael mirrored him.
“Like father, like son.” Scott winked at his newfound father.
The older man smiled.
Chapter 6: Free Love
Chris was raised in a (cult?) commune. His boundaries are different. His daughter's fiancée is also into men, so why shouldn't he keep it in the family? Better him than some other guy, right?
I wrote the bulk of this in 2017, but dusted it off and did some rewriting and now here it is!
Step by plodding step Scott ambled down the stairs with his morning wood in the way. He kept one hand on the banister and wiped the remaining sleep from his eyes as he went. He tugged at his pajama bottoms, readjusting so his erection could stretch out straight.
On reaching the ground floor Scott paused and stretched his back. The house was largely quiet. The mansion was honestly too big for only three people to live in, but it wasn’t his call. Out of nowhere, from his left, Scott heard the sound of leather crinkling followed by muffled moaning, which could only mean one thing: Mr. Argent was home.
Shuffling into the living room, Scott crossed through with his eyes open only a smidge to avoid the glaring sunlight streaming in through the windows. The moans Scott had heard were gone and he offered his father-in-law a half-assed wave. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“Morning, son,” Chris returned. He hit a button on the remote and right then a telltale groan erupted from the TV interrupting the otherwise peaceful morning stillness. Automatically, Scott’s eyes flicked to the wide screen just in time to see a rock hard cock thrust into a hairless, pink cunt.
Quite suddenly wide awake, Scott whipped his head around and actually looked at his father-in-law. The older man was sitting in his favorite recliner, stone-faced with his robe undone and not a stitch of clothes on underneath. His entire hairy self was on display. In particular his hefty erection. “Why don’t you come over here and give Daddy a kiss?”
Scott fondly shook his head and licked his lips. Chris raised an eyebrow, speculatively, a knowing, mischievous glint hidden in his eyes.
The whole scene was a truly well-planned set up. The cheesy music and moans of the porno setting the mood. His father-in-law sitting just so with his legs splayed for maximum exposure of his low-hanging balls and his mouth-watering cock, which throbbed in his hand. Still stumbling a bit from sleep, Scott marched over to his father-in-law and knelt between his legs.
While muting the TV again, Chris let go of his cock allowing Scott to grab the thick shaft at the base and smack the tip against his cheek, the way his father-in-law liked. The way they both liked. Chris snorted contentedly, settling further into his seat. Scott beamed, grinning from ear to ear. This was a weekend morning done right. Scott placed a couple sloppy, teasing kisses around the head and the fat length of his father-in-law’s cock.
“Now, this is a proper good morning. Isn’t it, son?”
“Yes, Mr. Argent,” Scott agreed, leisurely pumping the shaft his fingers barely could fit around. Playfully, he swirled his tongue along the head and into the slit as he simultaneously scooped his father-in-law’s hairy sack into his free hand. He gently tugged and rolled them in his palm. Mr. Argent’s low-hangers were works of art, heavy and almost symmetrical. They were the source of a lot of good things in his life, including his fiancee.
Scott flushed pink, quickly burying his face between Chris’ thighs. “Oh...that’s it, son,” the older man murmured. “Get them nice and wet.”
Chris reached down, combing his fingers through Scott’s mussed bedhead. Scott moaned, shivering as his father-in-law’s blunt nails scratched his scalp, and he lapped even more fervently at Chris’ scrotum. “You got a haircut.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Argent,” Scott mumbled against his father-in-law’s balls, not taking his lips from them for a moment. He ran his tongue along the seam.
“I like it,” Chris stated.
“Thank you, sir,” Scott replied, turning his head so he could look Chris in the eye as he sucked one testicle into his mouth. His father-in-law smiled at him with his soft, unguarded, early-morning smile. Scott smiled back, lips spreading thin around the hairy nut while he stroked Chris’ cock at a brisk pace.
He lavished both balls with his full attention until they were both damp with spit, the taste of Chris’ musk gone. Scott paused to remove a stray pube from his mouth and then moved on to the main event. He brought the tip of his father-in-law’s hard-on to his mouth and suckled the thick, uncut head. He was rewarded with a taste of Chris’ thin, watery pre-come. His stomach gurgled.
A salty, bitter treat before a sweet, sugary breakfast sounded amazing.
Scott moaned around the cock in his mouth and began bobbing his head. He took more and more of Chris’ cock, his lips spread thin and his jaw stretched obscenely to get the girthy length in his mouth. He bobbed his head, carefully taking half the older man’s dick while he pumped the base and fondled his balls.
A stair creaked.
Instantly, Scott popped of his father-in-law’s cock with a wet slurp and scurried into the kitchen. Heart beating a mile a minute, face red hot, erection tenting his sleep pants, Scott speed-walked to the other side of the kitchen island to keep his bottom half safe from view. His hands were shaking.
Turning around, Scott grabbed a bowl out of the nearby cabinet and took a few steadying breaths. He kept an ear out while trying to will his erection away.
The sounds of the porno clicked on again, then a moment later abruptly shut off. “Morning, Alli.”
“Mor--Dad! We talked about this,” Allison whined.
“About what?” Mr. Argent didn’t play dumb very well.
“Your whole, ya know, nudity thing,” Allison explained, embarrassment and frustration clear in her voice. “And the porn. It's not really appropriate with Scott and me living here now.”
“It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” Chris assured her dismissively.
“Exactly,” she pressed. “Me and my husband-to-be have seen enough of your...cash and prizes. Go put some clothes on.”
“I’m wearing a robe.”
“Hardly,” she countered.
Silence followed. Erection wilting, Scott nabbed a box of cereal from the counter. Even over the noise of the bag crinkling and the chocolate puffs tumbling into his bowl he could hear Chris heave a mighty, put-upon sigh through his nose. Placing the box back down, Scott spun on his heels and saw his father-in-law pointedly tying his robe shut.
“Thanks, Dad.” The relief was plain on her face, along with her exasperation.
Off the hook, Scott turned back around to grab the milk out of the refrigerator. As he poured some out a cold hand was pressed to the small of his back. He stiffened, jumping slightly.
“Oh, sorry,” Allison whispered in his ear. She kissed his neck and rubbed her chilled hands together to warm them before returning her hand to his back. “And sorry about my dad. He forgets that everyone wasn’t raised in a hippie, nudist commune.”
“It’s fine.” Scott shrugged, unable to bring himself to look her in the eyes.
“I could talk to him again if--”
“No,” He hastily reassured her. “No, it’s fine. Really. I’m getting used to it.”
“Okay.” Allison gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Sure,” Scott replied. An unpleasant weight settled in his stomach.
Allison went straight to the coffeemaker and the pot of coffee already made and still warm. She snagged a mug and poured herself a cup, taking a quick sip before adding her usual dollop of cream. “I gotta go,” she announced. “I’m supposed to meet Lydia at some boutique in Barton Falls in an hour.”
“Have fun,” Chris sarcastically offered as he waltzed into the kitchen.
Scott stared into his Coco Puffs.
“Thanks, I will,” she told him full of attitude. She put her drink down, took Scott’s face between her hands and planted a kiss on his lips. Scott froze like a deer in headlights. Would she be able to taste her father on his tongue? Would she know?
His dick twitched in his pajamas.
She pulled away and snatched up her cup of coffee. “I’ll be gone all day if Lyds has here way. But I’ll try to make it back home for dinner. Will you two promise to try and get along while I’m out?”
Dumbstruck, Scott simply nodded.
“Oh, we will, Alli,” Chris swore staring Scott dead in the eyes. “We will.”
“Thanks, guys,” she said, already hoofing it out of the kitchen. “See you later!”
“Uh, yeah, bye,” Scott called a beat late, his voice breaking a little.
The door leading to the garage slammed shut.
Chris stared at him.
The garage door itself clanked loud enough to be heard inside as it opened.
A couple minutes later, an engine started.
Still he stared. Scott stared back.
The garage door rattled closed.
With a farewell honk, Allison was gone.
The moment dragged.
Without breaking eye contact, Chris stood up from this seat in the breakfast nook and untied his robe. Yanking it off his shoulders, he tossed it onto the floor and smacked his second erection, or perhaps the same one from before, against the table as if he himself were in a porno. “Come and get it, son.”
Scott glanced between his father-in-law’s meaty cock and his bowl of cereal.
His Coco Puffs were already soggy. Mushy.
They could wait.
Self-assured, Chris put his hands on his hips, cocky as you please and quirked an eyebrow in Scott’s direction. Swallowing the lump that had been in his throat since Allison marched down the stairs, Scott ditched his breakfast and walked over to his father-in-law.
Extending his hand out, Scott grasped Chris’ erection and milked the shaft. His father-in-law pushed out his hips with every twist and tug. They held each other’s gaze. “You like my big cock, don’t you, punk?”
“Yes, sir.” Scott ducked his head, remembering the first time his father-in-law had said that exact phrase to him. The disgust and resentment that had colored his tone then was replaced now with arousal. This was a familiar dance. All the same, Scott blushed, accelerating his rhythm.
“You know what to do, cocksucker.”
“Yes, sir,” Scott groaned, his cock swelling in his pajama pants. Once again he went to his knees in front of his father-in-law. Scott sucked at the root of the cock where the shaft met the balls and then trailed his bottom lip along the underside to the top. He swatted his upturned face with the thick glans, meeting Chris’ eyes as he smacked his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his lips splattering pre-come onto his skin.
“I knew you were a faggot the moment I met you,” Chris asserted. Scott whimpered, his hand sneaking below the waistband of his pajamas as he sucked the leaking tip of his father-in-law’s cock. “You were a smartmouthed punk back then. You’re a dirty cocksucker now. Definitely an improvement.”
“Thank you, sir.” Spitting onto the throbbing cock in his hand, Scott smeared his saliva down the shaft and swallowed half in one gulp. The stretch of his jaw burned, but Scott pressed forward, taking another inch or two before pulling off and adding more spit to the base.
Chris swayed his hips from side to side softly knocking his cock against Scott’s face as the younger man hungrily kissed and licked his shaft. “You love my cock, don’t you, son?”
Scott hummed in agreement.
“You’re gonna love it even more once I start shoving it up your ass,” Chris promised.
A dark stain slowly soaked into the crotch of Scott’s sleep pants as he tensed, erupting into his pajamas. He slammed himself down onto Chris’ cock to stifle his moans. Chris shook his head and smirked.
“A faggot,” he muttered. “Just like I thought.”
Bringing his come-coated hand out of his pajamas, Scott covered his father-in-law’s cock with his jizz and started deepthroating. He descended further than he had before, the taste of them mixing on his tongue. He twisted his head one way and the other until his nose was firmly buried in his father-in-law’s salt-and-pepper pubes.
“That’s it, son,” Chris moaned, his fingers curling in his son-in-law’s soft, black curls. “That’s it. Make Daddy come. That’s my boy.”
Sliding up Chris’ cock, Scott panted, sniffled, and met his gaze. Chris nodded and Scott smiled, diving back down to take his father-in-law’s weighty erection to the root.
Chris fucked his throat and Scott lost track of all time. Trapped in a haze of breathlessness and lust and his tired, overworked jaw. When his father-in-law yanked him off his cock by the hair, Scott knew he was close. He took Chris’ fat dick in both hands and pumped him swiftly. “Come in my mouth, Daddy, please,” Scott hoarsely begged, sticking his tongue out.
One low, long grunt and Mr. Argent shot his load onto Scott’s tongue, his lips, and the bridge of his nose. Scott swallowed the rest directly, drinking his father-in-law’s load until Chris finally stopped coming.
Using Chris’ cock like a brush, Scott spooned the come off his lips and into his mouth, smearing the spit-slick tip on his cheeks one more time as he softened. Scott looked up at his father-in-law, come trickling down his nose and smiled. “Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, punk,” Chris recited. He used two fingers to scoop the glob of come off Scott’s nose and held them low so the younger man could suck them into his mouth. Which he did eagerly. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?”
“Yessir,” Scott replied, his words slurred around Chris’ fingers. He winked and Chris snorted.
“See you for lunch, son.” Chris kissed the top of his forehead and jerked his fingers away wiping them on his hairy stomach before strolling out of the kitchen. Naked as a jaybird.
Today was going to be a good day!
Chapter 7: the seeding moon
Derek and Peter fall sway to the fertility moon of werewolf lore. Kinkiness ensues, obviously.
I initially wrote this WAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY back in 2015 as part of a longer Halecest fic. This was the only piece I liked/thought was worthy of posting. So I did some editing and here y'all go...Enjoy!
The Seeding Moon sits overhead, singing in their blood.
Vigorously, Peter presses his nose to his nephew’s crotch delighted by the broken keen that tumbles from his mouth. Derek’s cock is a hard, throbbing line along his thigh, trapped in his jeans and Peter latches onto the unmistakable tip, sucking his nephew off through the rough denim. Derek mewls bucking against his uncle’s face seeking out more friction, but Peter braces him against the wall using his hands to pin Derek’s abdomen to the brick wall behind him.
Peter is relentless. His mouth never dislodges as he nips, licks, and sucks on his nephew’s weeping dick. Derek’s breathing turns ragged in a hurry, the pull of the moon already fraying his control. He whines with choked, little cries unable to stop himself, giving himself over to his uncle’s ministrations. His noises shift lower into his chest as his orgasm nears, becoming fuller, more urgent until the moment arrives and he spews come fitfully in his jeans. Peter groans, smelling his nephew’s release through the denim, hungry for a taste.
Reluctantly, Peter detaches and rises to his feet. He bites Derek’s pectoral, distracting his nephew with pain as he pops off the button on his nephew’s jeans with his claw and shoves his hand inside below the waistband. His fingers collide with the shaft seeking the sensitive head, the source of the come he craves. Derek sobs from overstimulation as his uncle’s fingers skim his length until they find their treasure and tease more from his spasming slit.
Peter retracts his hand, sticky with Derek’s release and eats the thick, salty fluid off his fingers. Derek moans at the sight. Peter smears the remainder of come on his fingers on his nephew’s lips before surging forward and claiming those lips with his own.
Their kiss is brutal. Full of fangs and fury. Teeth clashing and biting.
The moon sings in their blood, calling them together. The long night awaits.
Chapter 8: A.O.B.
While Loki is a.o.b. (away on business), he decides to send his brother a naughty surprise.
The idea for this ficlet came from pre-purge Tumblr. I saw a self-made video of a guy in a suit jerking off in a bathroom stall. This is the result...Enjoy!
Fielding glares from the few remaining worker bees on the recently ‘restructured’ seventeenth floor, Loki strolled down the aisles of empty cubicles with an easy grin that flickered from sincere to insincere with almost every step. Having walked the gauntlet, flown the flag of upper management as it were, he ducked into the seventeenth floor’s now woefully underused men’s room. The fluorescent lights kicked on, set to a dimmer level since they wouldn’t be needed as much, casting a dingy, low rent tone to the whole space. Loki smirked.
The seedy atmosphere seemed most appropriate.
All four stalls stood open as empty now as they were when maintenance left them last night. Any of them would suit his needs, but Loki chose the first. Statistically, they were often the cleanest. Locking himself inside, he lowered the upright toilet seat with the toe of his eight hundred dollar, Dolce and Gabbana black leather shoe. The toilet looked clean, but Loki didn’t plan on accidentally ruining his favorite suit by being sloppy.
Plucking a cover from the handy receptacle, he unfolded the thin paper and carefully placed it onto the seat. Automatically, he undid his jacket button, but then thought better of it, unzipping his designer slacks instead. With hardly any help, his thick cock slipped free of his tight pants, no constraining underwear to get in the way, and dug his phone out of his breast pocket.
He fiddled for a moment, opening the camera app, setting it on record, and switching to the front-facing camera. Then, he placed his phone gently on the floor standing upright and hidden in the corner made by the legs of the stall dividers. Finally, he sat on the toilet and scooted forward until his face disappeared from view. Lightly, stroking his dick, he fidgeted to find the best angles and then leaned down and pressed record.
The video began.
The pale skin of his hands and his cock stood out brilliantly against the deep, immaculate blackness of his suit even in the dim lighting. He stroked his erection with both hands, smacking the shaft against his palm. The sound echoed, bouncing around the tiles and porcelain, seemingly growing louder as his cock hardened.
“For you, brother,” he whispered, holding his hardon away from his body so the full, impressive length could be seen. He slid his one, long finger slowly down the shaft, teasing himself, his dick throbbing from that paltry stimulation alone. After nearly two and a half weeks on this trip, away from home and his brother, he needed a release.
His finger dipped into his slacks where his hairless balls still remained trapped and tickled his sac. His slacks were so tight he could see them pull up, bulging against his seam on the screen of his phone. A little tease for his brother. Thor loved nothing more than worshipping his balls. “All for you.”
Quick and quiet, Loki took his cock in both hands and brought himself to the brink and then hastily retreated. He let go of his erection, let it bob in the air, pulsating with the sudden denial. Then, he did it again.
Then, he switched hands, twisting the tip with his left while stroking the base with his right. “Can’t wait to get at your tits again, brother. Pluck and twist them while you suck on my balls.”
The bathroom door burst open.
The man, whoever he was, used the sinks, swearing quietly under his breath. The sound of rushing water appeared and disappeared, then returned again. Loki smirked. While he listened to the man wash his hands, he doublefisted his shaft. The water shut off one final time.
Paper towels were ripped from the dispenser. Three in all, the glutton. The man walked out and the door closed with a soft whoosh behind him.
Heart still hammering, Loki huffed a laugh, his hands moving faster now. “Are you ready, brother?”
Holding the base of his cock in his fist, he hurriedly stripped the remainder with his other hand. “Oh, the things I do for you,” he snarked, tucking his feet up by the sides of the toilet bowl. He pumped his shaft harder, until his toes curled in his leather dress shoes.
Wrenching his hand away, Loki gasped as the first globs of come erupted from his slit and splattered onto the floor, mere centimeters away from dousing his new phone. Loki smiled as he pointed his cock downwards, milking his shaft for every drop.
Errant come streamed down between his fingers, ending up on the back of his other hand which he diligently kept away from his suit. No stains allowed. He carefully shook the last few drops from his cock and sighed, sagging in relief a little as he held his sticky hands up so the camera could catch them glistening with his seed.
“If you were here, I’d make you clean up the mess,” he promised. “Make you lick my come off the floor, off my hand. Like the dirty slut you are.”
As he was alone, though, Loki had to take care of them mess himself. He sucked the come off his fingers mostly to tease his brother and then used toilet paper to get the rest off his hands.
He stood, avoiding the puddles of come on the floor, making a show of drying his dick, rolling up the shaft to get any remaining come and then tossed the soiled paper into the toilet. He flushed using the seat cover as a glove before dropping that in as well, tucking himself back into his cramped slacks as the toilet swished clean.
Picking up his phone, he tapped the recorder off and took a prompt photo of the come-stained floor. He sent the video and the photo to his brother with the caption: Wish it was inside you.
See you soon, Brother.
Smiling devil emoji, smiling devil emoji, smiling devil emoji.
Finished, Loki put his phone back in his breast pocket and unlocked his stall. He grinned at his reflection while he washed his hands already anticipating Thor’s sure-to-be-marvelous response. He dried his hands, with only two paper towels as was appropriate, and heard his phone whoosh to signal delivery.
Smug and sated and ten minutes late, Loki left the restroom and headed back up to the twenty-first floor for yet another board meeting. Tedious, but oh how Thor was going to celebrate his return. Just imagining the depravities ahead got him through the rest of his mind numbing day. That, and his brother’s reply...
Chapter 9: Fireside Oaths
Post-Ragnorak (ignoring the rest) Loki and Thor bond [sexually of course] while newly arrived on Earth.
Laid out on a makeshift bed of pillows and furs, Loki hummed in the back of his throat watching the light of the flames in the fireplace beside them dance and flicker on his brother’s smooth, bare skin. Luminous. Half in shadow, half in light. He pulled at the chain that tied his wrists together but as it rested under Mjolnir’s bulk it would not budge, let alone break.
He squirmed. Pinned to the cozy, little pallet Thor had devised for them. Trapped in place and despite all his recent good deeds... He smiled, watching his untrusting brother pull his undershirt off over his head and toss it away to join the rest of his clothes in a pile on the floor.
All that golden skin. Loki’s fingers itched to be free as Thor straddled his hips. The broad expanse of his brother’s back loomed above him. Thor reached behind him and grabbed Loki’s erection. His hand was large and warm, wet with Midgardian lubricant. He twisted and tugged at his brother’s manhood, craning his neck to see his brother’s face over his shoulder.
Loki grinned like the devil. “If I had known this was to be my reward, I would have turned to heroics long ago,” he wryly mused.
Thor shook his head. “Good deeds are their own reward,” he insisted, smacking his brother’s thick cock against his own ass cheek. “This is merely--”
“Bribery?” Loki gasped.
“Incentive,” Thor corrected, prodigiously smearing the synthetic slick over Loki’s shaft. “For continued worthy behavior.”
Pumping his hips into his brother’s grip, Loki jerked the chain taut. The links clanked against one another and against his brother’s obnoxious hammer. “And these?” He smiled slyly. “What worthy deed earned me these chains?”
“You are a trickster,” Thor asserted. “These chains will keep you where I desire you.”
With an expertly arched, highly suggestive eyebrow, Loki asked, “And where is it you desire me, my King?”
“Here,” Thor replied. Slowly, he brought the tip of Loki’s cock to his wettened hole and sank down onto his knees. Loki inhaled again, his head tipping back as his hips writhed, thwarted in their desperate attempt to thrust upwards as his brother’s weight settled on top of him.
“Brother,” Thor hissed, his head rolled back towards the heavens. He squirmed adjusting to the unfamiliar burn and stretch. Loki growled. His hands surged forward uselessly, desperate to grab those hips, bruise them with his grip. He longed to hold his brother down and sodomize him properly. And roughly.
He stared as those supple cheeks parted around him, engulfing him, framed perfectly by the ingenious Midgardian contraption Thor wore called a jock’s strap. A worthwhile human invention at last! Loki gulped. He might learn to enjoy Midgard after all.
“Is my King satisfied?”
“Yes,” Thor huffed, pulling at his own half-softened erection.
“Pleased with my position?”
Thor chuckled. “Yes.” He winked at Loki over his shoulder. “For now.”
“Am I to assume a number of positions, my King?”
“We shall see,” Thor teased. He rolled his hips, squeezing his brother’s cock. Loki’s eyes fluttered closed as his mouth gaped open, the words he was about to speak swallowed down in an instant. Thor was tight around him. Untouched in just about the only way Thor could be called ‘untouched’. Until now.
Huffing through his nose, Loki chuckled. “Oh, what a brave new world you have brought us to, my king,” he facetiously plauded. “That contains such perverse pleasures within it.”
“Depravity is your domain,” Thor rejoined.
“Not tonight, it seems,” Loki answered.
“Brother...” Thor blushed, lifting himself up Thor breathed through his nose as he began riding his brother more intently. Loki groaned, rendered momentarily speechless. Thor half laughed, half moaned, stroking his manhood in time to his swaying and bouncing.
Tonight, he would not be denied.
Nor would Loki.
He met his brother’s ass with small thrusts of his own, hungry for better leverage and constantly inconvenienced by his brother’s hammer. “Oh, dear Brother,” he sighed, panting. “Must I be bound and chained?”
“Bound and chained,” Thor puffed, lightly sweating from his exertions. “You shall remain. Until I am satisfied.”
“Harsh terms,” Loki quipped. “Satisfy Thor the Insatiable?”
Thor laughed. “Are you worthy of the challenge?”
“Not bound and chained as I am,” Loki asserted, assuming a meek and submissive tone.
“You shall not take me for a fool this night, Brother.” He warned Loki, “No deceptions. No lies. No tricks.”
“Tricks? Deceptions?” Loki echoed, full of mock-outrage. “Is this what you think of me, Brother?”
Thor scoffed, but Loki continued. “Why, I live to serve you, my brother, my King. I swear to be faithful and true to you always.”
“Faithful, my arse.”
“Faithful to your arse, my King,” Loki joked.
“Indeed,” Thor murmured doubtfully. He ground his ass harder into Loki’s sharp hips. “Do you swear loyalty?”
“Only to your arse,” Loki promised. His eyes rolled back in his head as Thor bounced roughly on top of him. He was a giant oaf, but he had good rhythm. “Your golden, godly arse.”
“Swear by my hammer,” Thor demanded.
“Never,” Loki assured him.
“Swear by my hammer,” Thor insisted. “Or my arse will depart.”
Twining his fingers along the leatherbound grip, Loki recited, “By Thor’s hammer, I swear fealty and devotion to my king--”
“Yes,” Thor happily sighed.
“For as long as his arse stays tight,” Loki finished.
Leaning down, his hands heavy on Loki’s legs, Thor teased the tip of his brother’s cock with short, uneven strokes before pulling off entirely.
“Brother,” Loki cried out.
Unsteadily, Thor got to his feet. He shook out his quivering thighs and changed his direction. Now, he faced his brother head on, his own thick cock poking out the side of his borrowed jockstrap. He crouched over his wriggling brother and grabbed his throbbing shaft. “If that is the condition of your loyalty.” Thor smirked, fervently pumping Loki’s slick member. “Then perhaps this would be safest.”
“ Brother, ” Loki growled.
“No tricks,” Thor reiterated.
“Fine,” Loki bit. He again seized Mjolnir’s grip. “By the Hammer of Thor, I swear fealty to my brother and King. To serve faithfully by his side while in his bed forevermore.”
“Forevermore,” Thor softly echoed, questioningly. His hand going still.
“For as long as he will have me,” Loki swore.
Thor grinned, beaming from ear to ear. Swinging his leg back over his brother’s hips, he brushed their two cocks together, holding them in one hand. “Brother...”
“Once more yet never again,” Loki proclaimed.
“United,” Thor described. “That is all that matters. We are united once again.”
“As one,” Loki asked suggestively.
“As one,” Thor repeated, jovially. Inching forward, Thor brought his brother’s cock back to his overstretched hole. At a gradual, measured pace he lowered himself onto his brother’s manhood until he was fully seated in Loki’s lap again.
“These chains, brother,” Loki reminded his glowing King.
“They stay,” Thor cheerfully declared. Loki glowered for half a minute but then sighed as Thor began to ride him passionately. “This...This is how I want you...”
“Whatever you say... brother .”
Being trapped in chains had never felt so pleasant.
Submitting to Thor's will had never felt so worthwhile.
Midgard might be his most favorite place in the galaxy!
Chapter 10: "Let me shipwreck in your thighs."
Scott and Stiles are in bed and Stiles wants some sexy times. Scott makes him work for it.
Title is a Dylan Thomas quote.
“Dude, come on,” Stiles sleepily grumbled. “I’m trying to sleep over here.”
Scott snorted. “No, you’re not.” He lowered his phone and said over his shoulder, “You’ve been slow-humping my butt for like twenty minutes.”
“It’s a great butt.” Stiles wriggled his hand under Scott so he could wrap his arms around his best friend’s bare middle and bring them closer. He gave Scott’s neck a quick little peck then buried his nose in Scott’s mess of curls, his erection barely contained in his sleep pants, gently bumped up against Scott’s pajama-covered cheeks. “I like your butt.”
“Either help me or roll over and take care of that, yourself.”
Stiles growled. He shook his head no and dug his nose into the crook of Scott’s shoulder, mumbling, “It’s your fault I’m still up and hard as a rock.”
“Is not.” Scott resumed his patient scrolling.
“Is too,” Stiles childishly insisted. He nibbled lightly on Scott’s neck, but Scott shrugged knocking his shoulder bone against Stiles’ chin. “Ow!”
“Either help or go to sleep,” Scott reasserted.
Groaning like Scott was the biggest frustration in his life, Stiles made grabby hands for the phone, snatching it away from his best friend. He squinted against the brightness of Scott’s screen and studied the guy’s Words with Friends app through one half-opened eye.
“I need a word,” Scott explained. He turned his head and gave Stiles a peck on the forehead as a reward for finally lending a hand. Stiles snorted. “Allison’s got 40 points on me.”
“Scotty, Scotty, Scotty, Scott-Scott,” Stiles rambled, shaking his head. “You’re totally screwed.”
“Dude,” Scott whined.
“Alright, alright,” Stiles huffed. He chewed on his lower lip mashing the screen as he strung Scott’s shitty letters together into countless variations.
“You’re welcome,” Stiles snarked, hitting send. He passed the phone back to his bedmate who stared at the screen in consternation like an angry puppy. Scott settled on his side again and Stiles plastered himself to his back. His slightly wilted erection still poking his bestie intrusively. “So can I get a blowjob?”
“Not for 18 points,” Scott groused.
“Oh come on,” Stiles petulantly whined. “I helped!”
“Not really. Go to sleep, dude.”
“But what about my--” Stiles sputtered.
“Not tonight,” Scott teased, hiding his grin as best he could.
“Dude,” Stiles insisted. “You can’t leave me hangin’ like this, old buddy, old pal.”
Scott chuckled. Stiles smacked his arm fondly. “I love it when you get all sassy with me.”
“I know you do,” Scott affirmed. “But no ass and no mouth.”
“Thighs it is,” Stiles decided, already yanking Scott’s pajama bottoms down. He spat onto his hand and pulled his dick out of his shorts, tugging on his rapidly hardening cock.
“As long as you clean me up after,” Scott stipulated, reaching over to their bedside table for the bottle of lube they keep on hand. He held the sticky tube over his shoulder and Stiles nabbed it quick.
“Always, dude.” Stiles popped the lid open and squirted some of the cool slick directly onto his dick like he was pouring ketchup on a hot dog weiner. “You know I never waste jizz. Lift up a bit?”
As requested, Scott lifted his hips off the bed for a moment allowing Stiles to pull his pajama bottoms down to his knees, solidly out of the way. Stiles smeared the excess lube on his fingers all over Scott’s thighs, back to front, making sure he covered a good wide area. Scott moaned softly, locking his phone and dropping it onto the bedside table leaving them in the dark.
“Oh, now you get off the phone,” Stiles quipped. He slid as close to Scott as he could get, his dick gliding smoothly between Scott’s hairy legs. “Knew you were wanting some,” Stiles swore. “I could smell it.”
“Did not.” Scott reached behind him and took a handful of Stiles’ hair in his fist tugging him down until smiling lips met his neck. “You’re such a freak,” he teased, lovingly.
“Yeah,” Stiles blithely agreed, flicking his tongue playfully along the length of Scott’s neck. “And you love it.”
Scott shivered as Stiles began biting down on his throat, sucking lovebites where he was most sensitive. “Jerk me off?”
“Gladly.” Stiles reached down under the sheets, blindly searching until he came across Scott’s erection, already hard and waiting for him. He snapped his hips, taking Scott’s shaft firmly in hand. “I love you so freaking much, dude,” he swore.
“Love you too, bro,” Scott whispered back breathlessly. “Love you, too.”
Chapter 11: Hard work gives time to smile at ease.
Alan does paperwork on Friday night. This particular Friday he is not alone.
I initially wrote this in 2017 as part of a longer fic that I never finished. So here ya go, I hope you enjoy!
Title is a paraphrase of an Anthony Liccione quote.
Closing the last file of the day, Alan rubbed his word-wearied eyes and leaned back in his office chair. He sighed quietly. Paperwork. Ubiquitous, yet necessary, and so terribly tedious to complete.
Tonight, he had a wonderful, though also somewhat distracting, reward waiting for him. Alan gazed down at his lap to found the light from his desk lamp glinting faintly in the dark, luxuriant hair of his favorite former employee. He couldn’t help but smile a little.
After a long hour and a half hunched over his desk diligently trying to fill out the final forms for the week, he allowed himself a moment to relax and simply be. He released the tension in his shoulders, then sat up to grab his cell phone. He shut off the timer he had set for them. With the proper incentive sitting quietly beneath his desk, he had managed to finish ahead of his self-imposed deadline.
Now, he could look forward to a night of stress-free, workfree peace. Perhaps he could even manage an entire weekend away. The change of pace couldn’t be more welcomed.
As lightly as possible, Alan traced his fingertip repeatedly in the middle of Scott’s forehead until the younger man took notice and raised his head, blinking dreamily up at him. He looked gorgeous: his face half shadowed, his drowsy eyes only half open yet full of warm regard, his lips still wrapped around Alan’s thick, dark cock.
A sight to behold, indeed.
“I’m done, sweetheart,” Alan softly whispered. “With time to spare thanks to your help. Are you ready to go, dear one?”
Slightly, shaking his head no, Scott didn’t let a single centimeter of cock out of his mouth. “Do you want to continue warming my cock, sweetheart?”
“Very good, dear one,” Alan quietly assented. Carding his hands through Scott’s beautiful head of hair, Alan gently positioned the younger man so that his head could rest against his thigh.
“Thirty more minutes, sweetheart,” He said, reaching again for his phone. He unlocked it and resumed the countdown. That done, he leaned back once more, running his fingers along Scott’s scalp affectionately.
Thirty more minutes of paradise. Alan breathed deeply and closed his eyes. Thirty more wonderful minutes enveloped in Scott’s warm, suckling mouth.
Chapter 12: Alpha of Alphas
Deucalion knots his puppy's mouth.
I wrote this in 2015 and it was a MESS! Ya girl has certainly gotten better at writing in those four years since, let me tell ya. I did my best to salvage the goods.
“Does my sweet puppy miss my cock,” Deucalion asked, forcefully yanking the large steel ring connected to the front of his pup’s collar. He stood over the younger man, cock standing erect from the zipper of his slacks and tugged on his collar to make Scott crawl closer.
“Woof, woof.” Scott’s warm breath tickled the underside of his Alpha’s shaft as he barked. Deucalion traced the line of Scott’s throat, skimming past his jaw, across his shifted face, and into the sweaty mess of Scott’s unruly curls. He carded his fingers through Scott’s hair, guiding him to his cock.
Mewling softly, Scott brushed his nose against the cock in front of him, stealing little licks of Deucalion’s leaking slit. Deucalion smiled and pressed him on. Scott nosed his Alpha’s cock, sniffing loudly down the shaft to the base where he rested his face in Deucalion’s immaculately trimmed pubes. Moaning at his scent, and with his Alpha’s cock propped against his face, Scott began flicking his tongue around the man’s sensitive knot.
“Greedy, little slut-puppy,” Deucalion tutted, nevertheless petting his pup’s head affectionately. Scott groaned, quickening his pace. “Maybe I should make you wait. Perhaps I won’t knot your needy doggie-cunt until next month.”
Deucalion relented. “I suppose, since you have been such a good puppy for me this weekend, you do deserve a treat, pet.”
Abruptly, Deucalion jerked Scott back by the hair and shoved his cock directly into his pup’s mouth. Scott made a startled noise as the side of his Alpha’s cock brushed between his fangs. He retracted them instinctively and opened his throat to admit the head of his Alpha’s prodding cock.
“Good girl.” Deucalion widened his stance to give himself better stability as he immediately began to pummel his dick into Scott’s warm mouth. “Open your eyes, pup. I like seeing you cry around a mouthful of my cock.”
Through bleary, reddened eyes Scott complied gazing hazily up at his Alpha. He gagged over and over as Deucalion forced his cock into his throat mercilessly. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and wetted his lashes before finally falling down his cheeks while Deucalion maintained his rough, intrusive pace. The older man smiled down at him and Scott gargled a moan.
Face wet with tears and drool, Scott stole a breath whenever he could as he felt his Alpha’s knot continually bump against and then pass between his lips until it grew too large to be removed. Deucalion knotted his mouth, erupting in heavy streams despite their rambunctious weekend of sex. Scott gagged, gulping down a seemingly never-ending flood.
Lightheaded from not being able to take a full breath, Scott floated while his throat worked overtime to keep up with the flow. He couldn’t contain it all of course. Some come did inevitably seep from the corners of his stretched lips, but he did his best to swallow as much of his Alpha’s seed as possible. To the point that he was eventually hit with that familiar, bloated feeling and sagged in relief.
Soon after, Deucalion’s knot shrunk and the older man tugged his softened cock away from his pup. Suddenly empty, Scott stretched his overworked jaw, his mouth feeling oddly misaligned and gaping. His collar was unclasped and removed.
Playtime was over.
Deucalion helped him to his feet since he wobbly from spending so long on his hands and knees. Come leaked down his thighs from his knot-busted hole, but Deucalion hastily remedied that by wedging a thick plug inside him. Deucalion held him in his warm embrace, walking them over to his living room couch to catch their breaths and relax. He offered a bottle of water to his sub and Scott drank it gladly.
“You were marvelous, love,” Deucalion murmured. “I couldn’t be more pleased.”
“Thank you, Alpha,” Scott sleepily replied, laying his head on the older man’s shoulder.
Chapter 13: Deanna gets her way
Sam and Deanna have sex after Sam gets home from working at the health club.
The moment Sam came home, she pounced, shoving his back against the door he’d only just closed. He made a soft sound of surprise and Deanna pressed her front into his. “Hiya, Sammy,” she murmured, batting her eyelashes at her brother. “Great class, today, Teach. Or should I call you Coach? Or maybe Yogi?”
“You could’ve gotten me fired, De,” Sam groused, his large hands nevertheless drifting down to his sister’s hips holding her close.
“For what?” Deanna smirked.
“Your--” Sam’s mind stuttered as his sister groped his bulge through his yoga pants. “ This stuff. Your antics in class.”
“What antics, Sammy?” Deanna skimmed the backs of her fingers up Sam’s torso, then slipped them underneath the hem of his workout shirt. She smiled watching her brother lick his lips and shiver as she lightly traced her nails up and down his chest. Sam squeezed her ass in return, before dipping his hand down further to pet at her through the frilly panties she wore.
Deanna bit her bottom lip to stifle a moan and Sam chose that moment to cup her neck in his giant palm and kiss the corner of her mouth. He kissed his way up to her ear. “Messing up the ragdoll pose,” he reminded her. “Pressing against me when I corrected your stance. Wriggling .”
Now, it was Deanna’s turn to shiver. “Couldn’t help it,” she said. She brought both of her hands to her brother’s bulge and began tugging on his hardening cock. Sam exhaled noisily, dragging his nose along his sister’s temple, burying it in her silky hair. “My yoga instructor’s freakin’ hot as hell.”
“De,” Sam whined, cheeks blushing.
“You gotta admit, Sammy, it totally would’ve been worth it.” Sam huffed, chuckling indignantly. Deanna turned her head and caught his lips. She swept her tongue along his just to feel him shudder. He tried to bring his arms around her, but Deanna shoved her hand into his chest and pinned him to the door. She arched her eyebrow. “Easy there, tiger.”
Sam gave her an adorably sweet, lost puppy dog look and Deanna grinned from ear to ear right back. Giving Sam’s growing erection another good squeeze, she dropped to her knees on the ratty carpet. Reaching a hand up into her brother’s shorts, she took ahold of Sam’s cock and pulled it out through the leg. “Knew you’d have a big dick, Teach,” she boasted.
Throwing Sam a wink, Deanna gently suckled the tip of his cock. Sam plunked the back of his head into the door as his dick hardened in his sister’s mouth. She stroked his shaft but kept her mouth attached only to the head. Once she got him fully hard, she pulled off. “This was all I could think about today, Teach. Gettin’ in your tight yoga pants.”
“De-Deanna,” Sam mumbled. He cupped the back of his sister’s head and guided her mouth back onto his dick. She sucked him eagerly. He gulped. “I could see how wet you were. In class. Your little booty shorts were so tight I could see your pussy.”
Deanna groaned, reaching between her legs to rub at her crotch.
“Congrats, Miss Winchester,” Sam said, finally going along with his sister’s little scheme. “You were the sluttiest girl in class today.”
“Proud to be,” she quipped, her hand snaking under her lace panties. She took him back into her mouth and Sam pushed his hips forward. She gagged. But she kept going, getting him nice and wet. She spat on his cock, smearing her spit down his shaft to all the length she couldn’t get in her mouth yet even after all these years of practice, and rubbed tight circles around her clit.
Tonight, she wanted him bare and she didn’t want to waste any lube.
Nothing but Sammy in all his glory.
Tugging at the waistband of Sam’s yoga shorts and boxer briefs, Deanna yanked them down until they pooled around his feet. While Sam stepped out of them, she flicked her tongue around the head of his cock and rolled his balls in the palm of her hand. She watched him shrug off his own shirt, cheeks red, pupils dilated and dug her nails down his abdomen.
Her Sammy was beautiful all over. Lean and strong. “Want your big cock, Teach,” she declared. “Want you to fuck my needy pussy.”
Sam didn’t need to be told twice.
He grabbed his sister by the hair and hauled her to her feet. He spun her around and jerked her against him. He groped her wet pussy through her panties and nipped at her ear. Deanna mewled, rolling her hips into his broad, calloused hand while he used his other one to pinch hand squeeze her tits.
“Dirty slut,” he rumbled, swatting at her lace-covered cunt. Deanna gasped, thighs quaking as her knees turned inwards. She crashed her lips to his, demanding more. Sam gave her pussy a few more slaps and then to her surprise he ripped her panties off her body.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, her cheeks turning redder by the second. Sam tossed away the ruined pair of panties and shoved two fingers into his sister. Deanna groaned, squirming in her brother’s arms. He nibbled her neck and Deanna came quickly around his fingers. “ Sammy ...”
Sam started walking them over to their motel bed without taking his hands off of her growling wordlessly in her ear. Deanna shook her head. “Not yet, Sammy,” she panted. “Wanna try somethin’ first.”
Twirling around on the balls of her feet, Deanna explained what she had in mind. Before Sam could respond, she began climbing her brother like a tree with her legs around his hips and he hands clinging to his broad shoulders. Sam huffed catching his sister while she grinned at him like a lunatic. “Jesus, De...”
“Want your big cock, Teach,” Deanna groaned, humping her brother’s erection as best she could. “Want it so bad.”
“Slut,” Sam coughed. The two of them smiled at each other like a couple of idiots. Then Sam grabbed one of her legs. He raised it up onto his shoulder and then did the same with the other while holding his sister one-handed. Deanna bit her lip twining her hands around Sam’s neck. Her pussy sat just on the tip of his dick. Sam met her gaze, quirking an eyebrow. Deanna nodded.
Just like that Sam cupped her waist and shoved her down as he raised his hips, impaling his sister on his cock. Deanna wailed, “Sammy!”
He set a brutal pace, slamming his cock into his sister’s pussy with all the force he could muster. She squirmed in his arms. Her hands slipped and she dug her nails into his taut biceps. “Oh. My. God,” she panted between each sharp thrust. She was folded around him like a living fleshlight, something for him to get off into. She blushed bright red, moaning as her brother gave her what she wanted. “Yes, yes!”
“De,” Sam huffed, chest heaving and muscle tight. Deanna pitched herself forward and wrapped her arms around his neck again.
His nose brushed against her mouth, but then Deanna got at the right angle and kissed her brother fiercely. “Sammy,” she whispered like a mantra over and over. Sam kept them steady, turning red in the face from the exertion.
Running a hand through his luscious hair, Deanna dropped one hand to her crotch and started furiously rubbing her clit, keeping up a steady stream of filth as she did so. With Sam’s perfect aim inside her, in no time at all, she felt that telltale quiver, the building heat. She screamed his name as she came while still in midair being bounced on his cock. “Sammy!”
Goal achieved, Sam resumed walking them over to their bed. He laid his sister down on the foot of the bed and folded her legs down so her knees were by her ears. He went to town on her, then. With all his bellowing and grunting and her shrieks and moans they were going to get noise complaints, but getting kicked out of their shitty motel would totally be worth it.
Chapter 14: Be not professional in what you do...
Deanna gets fucked by her most demanding professor.
Title is the beginning of a Abhijit Naskar quote.
I wrote this little ficlet so long ago (at least five or six years) I had a different computer then.
Her professor’s beard tickled, soft yet itchy against her skin. Over and over he was consistently rubbing his face into her while eating her out like a starving man. Soon her thighs would be the same sore, irritated red that her bared breasts were already.
Deanna’s fingers twitched, longing to grip Alastair by the hair and direct his long, precise tongue exactly where she wanted it, but they were held in place underneath her professor’s surprisingly strong hands. All she could do was press her crotch forward as her legs dangled uselessly over the man’s broad shoulders while he teased her to the brink of another orgasm; sucking at her clit while roughly shoving three of his fingers inside her.
She quivered, flushing with heat from head to toe. She bit her lip, head lolling side to side, moaning wild and unruly like she was nothing more than an animal. Her boyfriend had certainly never gotten her this aroused, this wet, this lost in sensation.
Her thighs trembled as her body rocked convulsively beyond her control. She almost felt like she was drowning: she couldn’t catch her breath, her blood was frantically pounding in her ears, and her soft murmurs of pleasure from earlier had devolved into strained moans and unladylike bellows.
“Professor! I—I’m! AHH !” Deanna snapped her head back as she came hard. Harder than she knew she could. Lights danced behind her tightly shut eyelids. Her orgasmic noises turned nearly to screams as her lover nipped his teeth at her clit. She whined, in sensitivity.
Her boyfriend was such a novice compared to Professor Heyerdahl, her boyfriend was only a clumsy, innocent kid compared to the man that had just literally shattered her world.
All her life Deanna had always been a good girl, a daddy’s girl. Following his rules, the strictures of their church, not to mention the crap society as a whole placed on her. She did well in school. She never did drugs or drank alcohol. She dressed innocuously and never swore. She didn’t start dating until she was sixteen and she didn’t have sex until she had moved out of her father’s house to come to college.
She had never truly lived, embodied and full of vitality.
It was a refreshing change.
Dazed and tingling, Deanna watched through half-lidded eyes as Professor Heyerdahl rose to his feet and guided the fat tip of his cock towards her puffy cunt. “C—condom?”
“I don’t waste condoms on sluts like you.” The man bitingly asserted as he shoved his large, uncovered cock into her spasming pussy. Deanna whimpered into her shoulder at the sizable intrusion, but she didn’t press the issue. She’d take anything he could dish out simply to repay the two mind-blowing orgasms he’d already given her.
She was sopping wet for him, groaning like a whore at his casual dismissal. She spread her legs wider allowing him, wanting him to fill her up. She had never seen such a large cock in her life let alone had one inside her. Deanna moaned, biting her kiss-swollen, beard-burned lips to stifle her indelicate noises as he pressed forward unwaveringly.
Once he bottomed out, Professor Heyerdahl stood still giving his wrecked student a chance to adjust. He gazed at her coolly, hiding his keen interest in her behind years of stoicism. Every inch of her was either pink or red because of him. There were unshed tears in the corners of her eyes and her lips were sinfully chapped from his aggressive kissing. “You will never look more beautiful than you do right now with my cock in your slutty cunt.”
Deanna whined, blushing bright red. Instinctively, she grabbed for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and ducking her head into the crook of her professor’s neck. Alastair smirked. She was his favorite student.
Chapter 15: Look, Dee, no hands!
Dean watches as Sam jerks off hands-free.
I wrote this back in 2016 and rediscovered it three days ago. I did some editing and BAM! POSTED
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Dean had seen the videos online, watched some even with passing interest.
He had never tried to do it himself. Never had the need. Or the desire.
Stimulation was part of the fun. All of the fun. Why would anyone go without that?
Now, though, he sits transfixed at the sight of his brother in front of him on the foot of his motel bed, sweaty with effort. His giant cock bobs in the cool, sticky air of a summer night in Georgia, standing out from the zipper of his jeans. With his shirt rucked up under his armpits, he plays with his brownish-pink nipples, peaked and puffy from the chill and Sam’s constant pinching. His cheeks are flushed, eyes hazy and half-lidded. His muscles tense and relax as he pushes and prods himself towards coming.
It’s sweltering to watch. Dean is rock hard.
“Do it, Sammy,” Dean whispers, clearing his throat and licking his bottom lip. He adjusts the hard-on in his jeans.
He shouldn’t be into this. Into Sam. Into seeing Sam like this. For half a second at most he manages to tear his eyes away before they zero in on his little brother’s cock again. He can't help himself.
He blushes bright red. “I--I wanna see it. Please.”
Sam squeezes his eyes shut. His head lolls back. He pants, his chest heaves, his fingers tirelessly working at his nipples.
Suddenly, with a harsh sigh, come dribbles out of his slit. Slow at first and then in long, heavy streams that erupt from him like a geyser. Sam’s entire body shudders as come pours down his untouched shaft.
Mesmerized and overheated, Dean pants along with his winded brother. He has never seen something so erotic.
His mouth waters. His hand goes to the bulge in his jeans. A couple squeezes and he shoots into his boxers like he’s a teenager again. “ Sammy ...”
So here we are at the halfway point. Thank you to everyone who's been reading my kink ficlets! I hope you've been enjoying the ride. I know I have and I'm crossing my fingers it stays that way. The second part of Kinktober here we come!
Chapter 16: how to f*ck your pie and eat it too
Dean bakes a blueberry pie and then fucks it. That's it. That's the whole thing.
This fic was inspired by a porno I found on PornHub. I searched for food play, specifically to find something for this prompt, and found a video of a guy fucking a pie on a kitchen table. The video went in a different direction than this, ultimately involving other foods and another guy, but the pie bit seemed applicable to our favorite pie connoisseur-slash-hunter.
Dean took the pies out of the oven and set them on the bunker’s kitchen table to cool. He took a whiff and sighed contentedly. Blueberries and sugar and dough. Grinning like a little kid, he took off his oven mitts and set about putting everything away before Señor Poopy Pants could come home from his run and start bitching about the mess. Once everything was straightened up, Dean went back to his room and changed out of his robe with his second mug of coffee in hand.
Dressed and ready to start his day, Dean wandered back to the kitchen to check on his pies. They had settled perfectly. Digging his fingers between the strips of crust Dean plucked out a bite of filling and popped it in his mouth. He groaned as the sugary deliciousness hit his tongue. He oomphed with pride at his creation jerking his head to the side to look smugly at someone, but no one was around.
He checked his watch. Cas was AWOL. Sam was probably still bopping around like a rabbit on a sidewalk somewhere. He had the whole place to himself. Time to rub one out!
Licking his sticky fingers clean, Dean looked down at his slightly less than whole pie and his dick, with a mind of its own as always, twitched in his jeans. He couldn’t! Could he? He had always wanted to try it...Number 3 on his bucket list.
Dean licked his lips and glanced around the kitchen just verifying for his own peace of mind that no one was really around, that no one was lurking behind him as people often loved to do. Dean cleared his throat and sidled up to the kitchen table. Raising an eyebrow, he gingerly dipped his fingers into one of his pies while keeping an eye out on the room. If anyone was going to barge in on him it would be right now: just in time to ruin his fun.
Not a sound.
The filling was still warm and squishy. Dean flushed, his dick throbbing to life. He scooped up some of the blueberries into his hand and sucked them off his fingers while quickly undoing his belt single-handed and dropping trou. He pushed his boxer briefs down just enough to get his dick free and stroked his shaft to full hardness. This was so naughty! He hadn’t messed around with food since that time in Omaha with that chick. And that was back when Sammy was still in college. And that time hadn’t included pie.
Sweet, delicious, and oh so fuckable blueberry pie!
Dean chuckled at himself and scanned the room again as he diddled himself. Perfect Opportunity to Interrupt #2 passed by without incident, so he stared down at his mussed pie and took a second to think.
If he held the pie in his hand, it wouldn’t feel very deep. Plus it would absolutely spill and make a mess and Herr Commandant would throw a bitch fit about keeping the bunker clean, and shared spaces, and basic courtesy Dean, blah, blah blah...
But as far as he could see, his only other option was to try and lie on top of his pie and fuck down into it which would leave him terribly exposed. Dean bit his lip. He could scratch #3 off his list right now. Dean tapped his cock on the crusted edge of the pie as he decided.
He was alone. How often did that happen? He had found the time to bake pies. How often did that happen? He was here and no one else was besides his pies. How often would that happen? What was the probability this chance would come again?
Scooching the pie over, more towards the corner, Dean pushed just the tip of his dick into the dent he had made in the filling. He raised up on his tip toes and pressed in. His dick throbbed hard as a rock. He groaned.
Yep, this was happening.
And it was happening right now!
Dean hunched forward and grabbed the other side of the table for leverage. He raised his left leg onto the table as best he could with his jeans around his ankles and gave a few experimental thrusts. He moaned.
This was going to be hot!
If he could get into the right position.
Hurriedly, Dean stood up and yanked his jeans off over his boots. “Jesus,” he muttered staring down at his blue stained dick. He stroked his shaft, smearing the stickiness around and brought his fingers to his lips. He panted. “I’m a freakin’ genius.”
Pushing his boxer briefs down to his ankles, Dean once again leaned over his pie. This time though he lurched forward and settled his weight of his hands with his legs in the air as his dick slipped once more into the warm, gooey filling of his blueberry pie.
He didn’t have long.
Sam would be home soon.
Dean blushed from his cheeks down to his chest. What if Sam walked in right now? What if after he finished Sam ate a piece of this pie? What if…
Shaking his head, Dean quickly rolled his hips and started truly fucking his pie. For one, Lance Armstrong always showers immediately after his morning run. For two, Mr. Rabbit Food Health Nut would never eat something so glorious as pie. For three, there won’t even be a pie to eat because this one was all his .
God, he was so dirty!
Dean grunted, biting his lip to keep his noises down. Just in case. It felt nothing like being inside a woman, but it still felt amazing. He gripped the edges of the table tightly and picked up the pace. Feet bobbing in the air. Ass jiggling with every thrust. Dean moaned and blushed. He probably looked like a pervert. Desecrating a pie like this. But goddamn it if it didn’t feel good.
And sound good too.
So loud in the quiet bunker.
Dean smashed his hips into the pie. Not caring that the crust was breaking off onto the table, flaking off into his pubes. Not caring that his skin down there was getting bluer and bluer the longer he fucked his pie.
Right now, if he’d had a girlfriend. This would be cheating.
He ran a hand through his hair and down his face. No one should love pie this much. He brought his chest down to the flat surface of the table, hearing it groan under his weight and creak with every thrust.
“Just a little bit longer,” he mumbled to the room. He closed his eyes and rested his flaming cheek on the cool surface of the table. “Just a little bit longer, baby girl.”
The pie had nothing to say.
One of his angled thrusts made the pie move a bit under him, spinning a little so that his dick surged into a slightly different area of filling. “Oh my god,” he whined. It was like his pie wanted to get fucked. “Almost there, baby girl, almost there...”
His legs were getting tired.
The table was hard and unforgiving.
Could you get bruises from banging against an aluminum pie tin?
Dean shuddered, erupting into his pie, his toes curling in his boots.
He pounded his hips down a couple more times as he came, and then stilled.
Catching his breath, Dean dropped his feet to the floor and gradually stood up. He gazed down at his blueberry stained crotch. He looked like he’d just fucked Smurfette. Dean shrugged. She was his fifth favorite cartoon girl. He dubbed this a win.
His pie was wrecked. Splattered and crumbled. He’d have to shower. Scrub with a scrubber to get all the gunk off his junk. The hem of his shirt was a mess. And he’d probably never be able to look at a blueberry pie the same way again, but all things considered?
Snatching up his jeans, Dean gave his wilting cock a pump, knocking the bigger chunks of filling and crust onto his palm. He snacked on it as he made his way back to his room for another shower and another change of outfit.
Twenty minutes later, clean as a whistle, Dean sauntered back into the kitchen and froze. “Dude, what happened to your pie?”
“Uh,” Dean ducked his head and blushed seven different shades of red. “Used too much baking powder. Kinda poofed in the oven.”
Sam sighed and served him epic bitch face. “Please, tell me you cleaned the oven.”
Eyebrows shooting upwards, Dean rolled with the lie. “Of course, I did,” he snickered as if known for his cleanliness. “Jesus, Sammy, you’re mighty bitchy for a guy that just ran a million miles.”
“Run home, Forrest!” Dean interjected.
Sam rolled his eyes and stomped past his brother. “I’m taking a shower,” he announced over his brother’s bit.
“Run, Forrest, run!”
The moment Sam was gone, Dean sagged in relief. As he glanced at the destruction him and his dick had wreaked, he snorted. “Baking powder,” he muttered, shaking his head. Sam was such a rube.
Grabbing a fork, Dean plopped onto one of the stools around the table and digged into his nasty dessert. He groaned. “We taste good together, baby girl,” he whispered with his mouth full of filling and his cooled jizz. He’d said the same thing to Jenny Ingleblotter back in 11th grade when he ate her out after finishing inside her. His first time ever going in raw.
He chuckled at the memory and continued stuffing his face with Blueberry Pie ala Dean. The bitter and the sweet complimented each other. “I’m a freakin’ genius,” he crowed.
He polished off that soiled pie by the time Sam came strolling back into the kitchen looking for a snack. His brother gave him a look of exasperation. “Really, Dean? A whole pie? That’s a bit much even for you.”
Dean burped and pushed the empty pie tin aside. Nothing left but some bits of crust and smudges of blueberry. He rubbed his full belly. “What can I say Sammy? Sometimes I amaze even myself.”
Sam shook his head, grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of celery sticks and carrots and left mumbling about his ridiculous brother. Dean grinned and got to his feet. He groaned as his stomach gurgled. He ate too much. “Worth it,” he mumbled, shuffling off to his room for a nap. “Totally worth it.”
Chapter 17: Ignoble deeds and hot baths are the best cures for nerves.
Set in S5E9, Ramsay takes a bath before heading out to sabotage Stannis. He tortures Reek a little and spends some intimate time with his current favorite, Violet.
Last week I had a dream about Ramsay and the witches from AHS. When I woke up, this scene came to me, so I guess Ramsay decided he wanted in on the Kinktober fun too.
Title is a reworking of a Dodie Smith quote.
Tugging her dress off her shoulders, Violet let it and her underthings fall to the floor at her feet. Slightly turned to his side, Ramsay deliberately paid her no mind, continuing to pick from his plate of bread and cheese and drinking his wine. Reek, standing opposite her on the other side of the tub holding the flagon of wine, saw her though. He glanced quickly away, but she noticed his eyes, the slight flush to his cheeks.
Violet stepped out of her clothes and walked down to the foot of the tub where Ramsay’s legs didn’t quite reach. She placed one foot in the water. Still warm. Clutching the washrag in her hands she brought her other foot into the tub and stood there waiting for him. He spied her through the corner of his eye and didn’t keep her standing above him long.
In a flash, Ramsay surged upwards grabbing her by the middle and pulled her down on top of him. Water sloshed the sides of the tub, splattered onto the floor. Violet shrieked playfully and went easily. Ramsay clutched her throat, smiling as he felt her heartbeat thundering under his fingers and settled her partly in his lap and on his side, leaving him free to eat and drink.
“Good girl,” he murmured. He kissed her smiling lips and she returned his kisses with her own before he sat back against the tub and plucked his mug of wine off the serving table.
“Thank you, my Lord.” Violet dipped the washrag in the water and then resumed her task where she had left off: bathing Ramsay’s left arm, the one he was using to eat. Behind her smile, she worried for him and his impending mission. Infiltrating the enemy camp at night in winter. Dangerous.
Worry was dangerous too. A foolish sentiment. And one he would not appreciate, so Violet brushed the rag down his arm slowly once and then again. He held such strength in his arms. She washed his chest again simply because she desired to, allowing her hands to trace the curves of his muscles. He smirked at her lascivious expression, wrapping his other arm around her waist as he held his mug up for more wine.
“Look at these tits, Reek,” he cheerfully demanded. Violet watched as Reek moved forward to serve their master. “Have you ever seen a better pair on a woman?”
“No, my Lord,” Reek quickly assured him while pouring him another glass.
“He didn’t even glance at them,” Violet accused. She turned her face and pouted. “Not like he did before.”
Ramsay grinned, cruel as ice. “Reek,” he questioned, slowing facing his broken servant. “Have you been stealing glances?”
Reek clutched the jug of wine as if it might offer some protection and lowered his eyes to the floor. “I-I’m sorry, my Lord,” he sputtered. “I-I-I didn’t mean to.”
“Do you like her tits, Reek?” Ramsay put his mug to his smirking lips and drank while keeping his eye on his scared pet.
“I-I’m sorry, my Lord.” Reek gulped.
“You didn’t answer my question, Reek,” Ramsay said ominously, placing his mug on the serving table next to his plate of forgotten food. “Do you like her tits?”
Wishing he could lie, Reek ducked his head and nodded. “Yes, my Lord,” he confessed with a stifled sob. He would be punished. All three of them knew that.
Violet smiled at him while in her chest she felt an odd thrill of sympathy for the weak creature. She quickly smothered that impulse.
Without a word, Ramsay shoved her front to the other side of the tub, so that her tits sat atop and hung over the rim. “Go ahead, Reek: touch them,” Ramsay said off-hand, playing at being a considerate master. “Squeeze her tits. Fuck your cock between them. See how good they feel.”
Playing her part in this sick charade, Violet groped her own tits, pushing them together and holding them up as an offering.
Reek’s face contorted into one of anguish and misery. “I--I can’t, my Lord.”
“Oh, that’s right, you’re not a man anymore are you, Reek?”
“No, my Lord,” Reek hastily agreed.
“What are you Reek?”
“I’m a worm, my Lord,” he recited. “A dirty, stinking worm.”
“That’s right, Reek. And do worms stare at women’s tits?”
Resigned to his suffering, Reek sniffed through his nose. “No, my Lord.”
“Go,” Ramsay commanded. He dismissed his favorite pet with a wave of his hand. “When I return from Stannis’ camp, I’ll give you another lesson in etiquette.”
Reek shuddered in fearful anticipation. “Yes, my Lord,” he whimpered, placing the flagon of wine on the serving table. He gave his master a small bow. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Of course, Reek,” Ramsay demurred, grabbing a handful of tit for Reek’s benefit. Violet moaned softly as Ramsay pinched her sensitive nub. “You know I only do this for your improvement.”
Nodding his head, Reek blinked so he wouldn’t transgress again and then righted himself. Ramsay pointedly looked away, so Reek slinked to the door and left.
As soon as the door closed, Ramsay jerked Violet back to his lap by the hair and clutched her throat rougher than before. He nosed the side of her face and whispered in her ear, “Have you been showing Reek a good time, slut?”
“No, my Lord, I swear!”
“How often do you flash your tits at him in a day like a common whore?”
“Never, I swear.”
Ramsay let go of her throat, but still held her fast by her hair. “These belong to me,” he hissed, swatting at her tits. Violet gasped, her knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the tub.
“ This belongs to me,” With these words, Ramsay roughly forced two of his fingers into her cunt. The water had turned cold.
“Yes, my Lord,” Violet mewled, squirming in Ramsay’s grasp. She bit her lip, rolling her hips onto Ramsay’s fingers as she should. He smirked against her cheek, thrusting his fingers into her repeatedly as the water rocked side to side with their movements.
“If any man looks at your tits again,” Ramsay warned, his breath warm against her face. “I’ll rip out his eyes and feed him to my dogs. But that’ll be nothing compared to what I do to you.”
“Ramsay...” She shivered. Ramsay smirked against her skin latching his teeth onto the spot where her jaw joined her neck. She groaned as he lathed his mark onto her. She grabbed at his chest and then dipped her hand under the water to pull at his cock.
He chuckled. Clenching his fingers in her hair, Ramsay turned her head and bit at her lips. “Ramsay,” she cried before moaning as Ramsay claimed her mouth, whipping his tongue and nipping at her lips. He hardened in her hand.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door. “The man are gathered, my Lord,” a soldier announced through the wood. Not brave enough to actually enter.
Ramsay sighed. “Have them outfitted with oil and strikers,” he ordered. “And then meet me at the gates!”
“Yes, my Lord!”
Knocking Violet back out of his way, Ramsay stood, his partly hardened cock looming over her. She raised her eyes to his and waited for his next command. He said nothing and then released his acrid stream.
Violet opened her mouth in surprise and tasted his piss accidentally as his warm flow streamed down her chin and onto her chest. Holding his gaze, Violet rubbed his urine into her skin, acknowledging and cementing his ownership. He snorted. “I’ll finish with you, when I return.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she replied suggestively.
Once his stream passed, Ramsay stepped out of the tub directly onto her pile of clothes. He dried himself with her dress and then dropped it partially into the tub. “Clean up this mess.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Violet’s eyes flicked between her sopping dress and her master’s face. Getting to her feet, she stood in the pissy, lukewarm water and let him have his fill gazing at her body. She grabbed her tits and pressed them together for him before lifting her foot to step out of the tub.
As her feet touched the cold ground, she shivered.
Abruptly, Ramsay slapped her hard on the cheek before cupping her face. “Remember your place, pet,” he murmured. Violet nodded. “Remember who owns you.”
“I belong to you, Ramsay,” Violet replied.
He smiled at her and patted her on the cheek. He groped her breast one last time, tweaking her tit and swatting the sting away before going to dress. “Be in my chambers when I return.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she panted.
While he dressed, Violet put on her own clothes, soiled though they were, and began mopping up the puddles of water around the tub with the towel Ramsay hadn’t used. He left without another word to her and she went about her duties.
Emptying the tub, returning the food and wine to the kitchens to be dealt with, ordering some men to haul the tub away so she could dry the stones properly. All while dripping wet and smelling of his piss. With the bloom of a bruise on her cheek.
Chapter 18: Temerarious
Chris slams Scott into a wall and things go kinkily from there.
I wrote this in first person back in the day, so I had to rewrite it. Made a few edits, made it a little less angsty, and here you go!
This is set sometime in canon after Victoria and Allison have died, hence it being originally more angsty.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
They stare at one another. Their eyes clash. Blue and red. Natural and supernatural. Scott’s eyes momentarily burn brighter as Chris’ hands settle around his throat. Scott grips the older man’s wrists loosely, claws still retracted, unwilling to break Chris’ hold though he undoubtedly could.
He wasn’t going to fight him. Wasn’t going to try and muscle out of his grip. Clearly, didn’t want to. Something hot and burning churns in Chris’ gut. Like anger, but better. Finally. Something stronger than the anger. He doesn’t release him. Chris holds Scott, back flat against the wall. Chris snorts. Just like old times.
Yet completely different.
Standing this close to the Scott, Chris can see his nostrils subtly flare, scenting the air and the man who held him fast. He makes a choice. Chris can read it in his face. Scott blinks. The vibrant red drains away to natural, human brown. His hands, still clawless, gradually drop to his sides.
This isn’t surrender.
Scott opens his mouth to speak and Chris tightened his grip before the younger man can finish saying his name. Scott grabs him by the lapels of his leather jacket, but doesn’t make any other move against him. Chris shakes his head, the meaning clear: ‘No talking.’
A silent moment passes.
He understands. He can’t nod, but his face softens and his hold on Chris’ lapels slips. His hands slide down to the older man’s hips. Chris can feel the Alpha’s heartbeat thrumming under his hands. Fast and getting faster. He doesn’t struggle.
Slowly, Chris eases his grip, just enough to let the red-faced werewolf breathe. Scott’s supple lips part as he takes a ragged breath. Chris surges forward, claiming those lips, that single breath as his own. Scott lets him. He tries to angle his head, but Chris keeps him in place. Scott whines, needy like a pup. Chris tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth and then dives back in for more.
They taste each other. Similar, but different. Exotic, but safe.
Chris doesn’t let up. He lathes and sucks and chews on Scott’s lips until they are raw and red from beard burn and they are both panting wordlessly. When Chris pulls away, Scott tries to follow, to get his lips again, but Chris won’t let him.
Hungry. Desperate. Chris smirks.
Ten little pinpricks suddenly pierce through the denim of Chris’ skintight jeans as Scott’s hands cup the hunter’s ass. He tries to reel Chris in, but the older man stands firm. Scott rolls his hips into the limited space between them, seeking stimulation for his trapped erection. Chris denies him despite his own hard-on aching in his jeans.
Heart pounding in his chest, Chris simply stares as the raw redness on Scott’s chin disappears. As the swelling of his lips lessens. With a growl worthy of any animal Chris roughly closes the gap, squeezing Scott’s throat as lips and bulges and square hips meet.
It hurts in the best way.
Gasping for air, Scott writhes against Chris, his erection digging into the older man’s hip. Chris allows it, pressing his own erection forward and then back. Closer, then further. Scott’s claws sink deeper, lightly scratching at his skin as Scott tugs at him. More and more and more…
Sweat beads at Chris’ temples. The cold night air around them turns muggy. Overheated. Their jeans are too constricting, they both groan in pain, but they don’t stop. There just isn’t enough.
Scott is noisy, even with hands wrapped around his throat. Gasping and whimpering and half-bitten moans. So loud. How did he never hear--Anger and lust shoot through Chris like adrenalin. He thrusts harder, sharp as a knife. His hands tighten like a vice and Scott only seems to get louder, whining so prettily.
Chris doesn’t stop. His lips ache, chafed. He rests his sweat-slick forehead on Scott’s and shares what little air there still is with him. Back and forth. Dizzy with not enough.
“I--” Chris chokes Scott’s words away, with a scowl. He never listens. This gorgeous, gorgeous young man, suffocating under the streetlight. Chris gives his lips a break, slightly pulling back, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. Doesn’t stop grinding against Scott like a dog in rut.
The werewolf’s mouth hangs open, his face red and turning redder. His eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a strangled shout. He’s coming! Hard and beautiful, clutching Chris’ ass for dear life. So hard it hurts.
“Fuck,” Chris mutters. He holds a few seconds more: one mississippi, two mississippi, three...His grip relaxes and Scott sputters, wheezing, eyes watering and mouth still inflamed. He squirms against the wall, a spot on his jeans soaking wet.
Unrelenting, Chris aims for that spot. Again and again. Scott whimpers overstimulated and weak. Chris kisses him, softly this time. He’s so pliant. Just taking. Taking. Taking.
With a grunt, Chris comes. His hips stutter as he erupts in his jeans too. Thick globs of jizz coat his thigh and drips down his leg in long streams. It’s been so long.
The pinpricks are gone. Chris catches his breath and with one reluctant, farewell squeeze Scott lets his hands fall to his side again. Chris gives him one last kiss. Scott returns it with one of his own.
Sticky and gross and sweaty they stay there against the wall.
The moment passes. The heat dissipates. Heartbeats return to normal.
Chris lets go.
Scott slumps against the wall. He has questions. So does Chris.
Yet nothing is said.
Which ship name do you use for this pairing: Schris? Scargent? McArgent?
Chapter 19: A Perpendicular Expression Of A Horinzontal Desire
Jon and Tormund are out dancing at a club. Tormund gets randy and kinkiness ensues.
Title is a George Bernard Shaw quote.
The club was packed. Hot and muggy from all the bodies stuffed onto the dance floor. Tormund was at his back, sweat pouring off of him, his large hands sticking to Jon’s tight leather shorts at the hips. Jon wiped the sweat off his forehead up into his hair, the curls already damp and falling into his face as the moose gave out, grateful for the mesh shirt he was wearing as a counterbalance to his less than breathable booty shorts.
He swayed his hips, side to side in sync with his boyfriend and the bass-thumping EDM. It had been forever since they’d gone out dancing and even longer since they’d been to a gay club. Jon pressed his ass back, grinding against his boyfriend with a smile on his face. Free.
With a rough jerk, Tormund plastered himself to his boyfriend, back to chest with absolutely no space between them anymore. Jon shivered as Tormund’s beard tickled the side of his face and he felt something poke him in the back. “I want you. Now.”
Jon blushed, his head falling back onto Tormund’s shoulder. He brought his hand up to his boyfriend’s sweaty mess of ginger hair and tugged him down closer. Tormund smiled into the crook of Jon’s soft neck, licking the sweat off his skin, while his hand drifted lower and cupped Jon’s crotch.
Tormund gave his boyfriend a squeeze and Jon shook under him. He smiled into his boyfriend’s skin as Jon’s cock hardened in his leather shorts, pressing into the seam. Tormund’s cock, already freed from his trousers, slid under the swell of his ass to peek between Jon’s soft, sweat-slick thighs.
“Oh my gods,” Jon muttered, eyes fluttering shut.
His boyfriend had his dick out at the club.
With everyone around them.
As it was a gay club, the appearance of cocks wasn’t that unusual, but Jon, his stomach full of butterflies, shuddered and squeezed his thighs together around Tormund’s erection. He felt rather than heard his boyfriend’s appreciative growl.
Swinging his arm back Jon anchored himself holding Tormund’s full head of wild hair and bent his knees. Tipping back on his toes, in this position, he could more easily stroke his boyfriend’s cock between his thighs and hopefully maintain the pretense of dancing. Tormund nipped at his throat, supporting the bulk of his boyfriend’s weight as he rolled his hips and fucked his smooth thigh.
Jon did his best to keep his eyes open, to keep watch on the people around them to make sure no one caught on to what they were actually doing, but it was a hopeless mission. Tormund’s thick shaft brushed against his skin and left him shuddering with goosebumps. Tormund’s mouth laved love bites all along his throat, tickling him with his bushy beard making him shiver. Tormund’s hand squeezed his bulge leaving him breathless and then he gasped as Tormund began pinching and twisting at the tip of his leaking cock.
He turned his head and caught Tormund’s lips with his, eyes falling shut in surrender. His cheeks burned. Someone was watching them, had to be. The thought made his cock throb painfully against the seam of his tight shorts. Resting his forehead on Tormund’s chin so he could catch his breath, Jon threw caution to the wind and reached down between his thighs. He tapped his fingers against the fat head, tracing them around Tormund’s slit driving the man wild.
They fucked each other’s hands on the dance floor.
Tormund came first, erupting onto the already sticky laminate flooring and his boyfriend’s hand. Jon came soon after, come-covered hand down his pants, thoroughly ruining his leather booty shorts.
They swayed to the music together as they basked in the afterglow.
Jon fed their come to his boyfriend and sucked his fingers clean. Tormund put his cock away. Jon grabbed him by the belt buckle and dragged him out of the club with none the wiser. The moment they walked out into the cold, Jon whirled around and kissed his boyfriend, shoving the taller man up into the wall.
“We are never doing that again,” Jon halfheartedly insisted between kisses.
Tormund took his hand in his and smirked, raising his eyebrow suggestively. Jon groaned and smacked the taller man in the chest. “Take me home,” he demanded, grinning despite himself.
Chapter 20: Just Call Me Angel
Dean strikes out at a bar and goes home with a guy to make some cash.
I wrote this so long ago I can't even tell you exactly when. It was part of a longer series of fics involving prostitute!Dean, but this is the part worth salvaging.
I know nothing about sex work, so don't expect this to be realistic.
The bar’s beaten-up door opened.
Already on his second drink after striking out, Dean spared a passing glance for the person who entered. And then lingered. Older, probably in his forties. Tall like but Sam, but thin. Wiry. Dressed plainly in a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Neatly trimmed facial hair on a long face. Ordinary looking, unassuming. But something inscrutable behind his eyes.
Out of nowhere, Dean’s heart skipped a beat.
A spark of heat surged up from his groin to his face turning his cheeks pink.
Yanking his gaze away from the guy before he could get caught staring, Dean turned back to the bar and downed his beer confused. Nothing special to look at. Certainly not hot in any traditional sense. He quickly tamped down whatever nonsense had suddenly gripped him.
The guy bellied up to the bar, claiming a stool three or four down from where Dean sat. “Your usual,” the bartender asked, clearly on familiar terms. The man didn’t respond with words. He simply nodded his head and the bartender set about making the unordered drink.
Dean kept eyeing the guy from out of his periphery. Couldn’t help himself. As generic as the man appeared there was something in the way he held himself. A cool detachment, a confidence. Something tried and true. Most of the confidence in any bar in the world was alcohol-infused bravado and empty pride. This guy’s insides were steel.
From somewhere in the dark recesses of his brain a realization dawned bright and unwelcome: he was attracted to the older guy. Sexually attracted. Dean gripped the bar as his stomach flopped so hard he almost threw up. He felt faint and flush and shaky like a newborn foal. He never thought he’d feel this way.
After years in the biz, he thought he’d be immune to things like this. Part of the gig was taking whatever, or more aptly whoever came your way whether you were into them or not. He’d never been into a guy before. Except…
Raising a faintly trembling hand, Dean ordered another beer. It was brought to him lickety split and he took a swig. He licked his lips and got to his feet a mite unsteady. He was freaking weak in the knees! Over a guy who hadn’t even looked at him. Anger flooded his body, but that itch under his skin flared up too. His insides felt hot and squishy. Sex was the only cure. And he was just tipsy enough to try.
He shuffled over towards the newcomer. In a dive like this he could get a beat down for flirting with another dude or worse banned. The man was drinking a whiskey sour. “Anybody sitting here?”
“Just you, I suspect, sweetheart,” the man said condescendingly. His voice was nasal and rough from disuse with a lisp. Dean smiled even as his body shivered underneath his leather jacket. He plopped down and cleared his throat.
“Come here often?”
“Enough to know you’re new,” the man replied sounding dismissive. His eyes told a different story though. Dean fidgeted under the man’s hard gaze. Despite what he said, he was interested. “How old are you, sweetheart?”
“Twenty-three,” Dean said, bristling slightly from the question. Too many memories attached to lying about his age. He had started young. Too young. He shook his head to clear away the unwelcome reminder. “Why do you ask?”
“I always ask whore for their age before I use them,” the guy answered, casually as if he had merely been talking about the weather. Dean gulped and blushed, his beer bottle clanking against the wood of the bar. The man looked him square in the face. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
This was his chance to walk away. Cry foul and head out pretending he didn’t have sex for money. The thought of walking out made his gut clench uncomfortably. Dean grinned, trying to salvage some charm and maybe some of his dignity. “Everyone calls me Angel.”
“I’m sure they do,” the man snorted. He put his large hand on Dean’s thigh. Dean stifled a squeak and peeked around them, but nobody here was looking at them. Dean licked his lips, mouth dry as a bone. “But, I won’t. Tell me your real name.”
“Dean,” he whispered. He hadn’t been this nervous around a client since he started turning tricks in high school, so Sammy could get cleats for soccer. Softly clearing his throat, he tried again in a deeper less quivery voice, “My name’s Dean.”
The guy nodded and patted Dean’s thigh. He polished off his drink and then quietly asked, “How about you and I go someplace more comfortable, Dean?”
“Um, okay,” Dean replied without even thinking. “But uh, what’s--”
“Alastair,” the man supplied, offering his hand to shake. Dean took it. “But you will call me, sir.”
Turning beet red, Dean coughed, choking a little on his own spit, before nodding his head. His blood was pounding in his ears, his dick a hard line along his thigh. He was in too deep. Way too deep, too soon. But he left with Alastair anyway.
“Do you want me to stop, sweetheart?” Alastair ran his calloused hands over the sweaty expanse of Dean’s back in soothing circles. Dean grunted, which was supposed to mean keeping going, but his client paused all the same.
Dean popped his head up from the crook of his elbow. “No,” he gasped, reaching behind him to grab at Alastair’s bare hip. The older man nabbed his wrist and waited. “No, sir, don’t stop. I--”
I want it . Dean bit his lip, saying instead, “I can take it, sir. Don’t stop.”
Alastair arched an eyebrow. “I’m only part of the way in,” he explained. A hint of amusement colored his tone.
“This is what you paid for,” Dean declared. In all his years he had never left a client unsatisfied. No matter how gross the gig. He had his pride. “Just shove it in. I don’t care. Sir.”
Slowly, Alastair resumed pushing his thick length past Dean’s trembling hole. He leaned over to whisper in Dean’s ear. “Next time,” he promised. “Next time, I’ll make you beg properly for my cock. Make you beg for me to stuff you full.”
Shuddering, Dean panted as Alastair penetrated him further and further. His dick twitched in the chilly, spartan bedroom. He moaned, handing tugging futilely at his flaccid dick. He bit his lip to keep from making anymore damning noises.
An eternity passed.
Eventually, Alastair was flush against his backside, pubes tickling his ass, buried balls deep.
Yet, somehow, it also felt amazing to be so full.
Tears pricked behind his eyes. His heart pounded. Dean allowed himself a few moans, but held himself together as best he could. This guy’s monster cock wasn’t going to beat him. Alastair’s dick was the biggest he’d ever taken professionally; not that that was such a huge accomplishment given he’d only fucked three guys for cash in his whole career. He stuck to women. Had a gift with them. Men were too much effort.
Case in point.
“You’re full of me, sweetheart,” Alastair cooed. “I’m all in. There’s nowhere for you to go, Dean.”
A mangled whine escaped Dean’s lips as a surprisingly gentle hand rubbed the bulge Alastair’s dick made in Dean’s abdomen. Dean shivered head to toe, his skin pebbling with goosebumps. He wanted so badly. “Sir...”
Dean woke up the next morning sore and achy. Alone. A thousand bucks in hundreds on the bedside table next to him. He reached behind and softly fingered his overstretched hole, still wet with Alastair’s last load. Dean had never felt so empty.
Chapter 21: Til his tongue has curled the last holy drop
Sam and Dean indulge in their lactation/breastfeeding kink.
Title is an altered line of a Harold Monro poem.
Wearing nothing but the fluffy miniskirt from her French maid’s outfit, Sam plucked the TV remote from her brother’s hand and slipped onto his lap. Dean simply stared at her, open mouthed. Wasn’t often that Sam would just walk around with her tits out. He couldn’t quite take his eyes off of them; they’d gotten larger, fuller lately. He licked his lips. The TV shut off and he didn’t even notice.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean mumbled, running his hands up his sister’s smooth, bare thighs as she settled on top of him. His dick twitched in his jeans. He grinned at her. “What’s up?”
“It’s time,” Sam declared. She raised an eyebrow. “Are you ready for this?”
“You’ve got no idea, Sammy,” Dean gushed. Sam rolled her hips and Dean sighed, feeling his dick harden from that alone. They hadn’t fooled around in a long time.
“Just be gentle,” Sam softly requested, guiding her brother’s large, calloused hand to her left breast. Dean nodded, staring intently as he lightly cupped her swollen breast. He squeezed. Sam whimpered, “Oh my God.”
“Jesus, Sammy.” Sam opened her eyes in time to see her brother bring his hand up to his face. A rivulet of milk had pooled in his palm. Tentatively, Dean sucked up his sister’s breast milk for his first taste. He moaned, his dick throbbing against the rough denim.
Sam smiled, running her hands through Dean’s short hair. He met her gaze and grinned like a little kid, flushed and excited for a treat. “Take as much as you want, Dean,” she said quietly. “Its all for you, baby.”
Dean groaned, squirming under his sister. He slowly lowered his head and wrapped his plush lips around her thickened nipple. Sam startled, gasping. A sharp line of sensitivity sparked through her while her brother gently suckled.
She looked down at him and carded her fingers through his hair, holding him close. He was angelic: eyes happily closed, face softened, turned up like a saint in a painting. She melted into him, absentmindedly grinding against his bulge. “That;s it, baby,” she sighed. “Such a good boy for me, Dean.”
Mewling around his sister’s tit, Dean sucked harder, bucking upwards into her. He wrapped his arms around her back, refusing to let her move away from his relentless lips.
Tears welled up in her eyes, Sam bit her lip to keep from crying. Her entire body tingled. An ache shot from her sensitive breasts down to her groin and she could feel her wetness spreading out onto her thighs.
It didn’t take long.
Popping off his sister’s tit, Dean grunted as he erupted in his jeans. Milk slick lips parted and faintly glistening. Sam reached down and furiously rubbed at her clit while rocking on her brother’s pulsating length. Dean groaned, but grabbed her hips and held her down more firmly on top of him. He brought her heaving chest back to his mouth and nipped lightly on her tit.
Sam cried. Her thighs quaked her come soaked the crotch of her brother’s jeans. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Dean kissed her breasts apologetically. She held him to her chest, burying her brother’s face between them. Sam rested her chin on top of his head, catching her breath. “So good,” she gasped. “Felt so good, baby.”
“Sammy,” Dean muttered into his sister’s soft skin as he rubbed his nose into her. They stayed like that for awhile until Dean recovered enough to carry his worn out sister to bed. They both slept soundly that night, after another round of feeding.
Chapter 22: [Insert witty threesome quote here]
Stiles walks in on her boyfriend having sex with his uncle. Obviously she joins in.
I started this fic a thousand years ago back when Steterek was a favorite ship of mine. I don't much go for it now, but I needed something for this prompt, so I gave this a polish. I'm not exactly satisfied with it, but I hope someone out here enjoys it anyway.
Real life moaning, not canned or digital moans were ringing down the hall from her boyfriend’s bedroom. Stiles froze picking up on the unmistakable sounds of sex. As quietly as possible Stiles slipped off her shoes and padded her way towards the noisy sex.
The bedroom door stood slightly ajar. At times like this she really envied the enhanced hearing that comes with being a werewolf. But even to her ‘dull’ human ears she could discern Derek’s sex noises...and the voice of another man.
A very familiar voice. She shook her head, doubting the sneaking suspicion that crawled up from her gut, but at the same time knowing she wasn’t wrong. She reached the end of the hall and pushed open the door.
At the foot of Derek’s bed was her boyfriend and his uncle. Naked. Sweaty. Lying out along the width of the bed, almost perfectly framed in the doorway. Stiles stared, open mouthed, stunned. Derek’s uncle Peter was sitting back on his hands, one foot flat on the mattress, his other knee digging into the leather bedroom bench right up against the bed, his dick fully sheathed his nephew.
“Oh, dear,” Peter dryly intoned, smirking at Stiles without an ounce of shame. “Don’t look now, Derek, but I do believe we’ve been caught red handed.”
Derek’s face snapped up from the bedding, red and glistening with sweat. He gulped, freezing like a deer in headlights. Stiles stood in the door, silent as the grave, scrutinizing them in all their muscled, glorious nudity. Derek buried his face in the crook of his elbow and futilely attempted to move away from his uncle. Peter’s knot was fully engorged. They weren’t going anywhere.
Recovering her senses, Stiles turned around and closed the door. “How long has this been going on?”
“Long before you,” Peter smugly replied.
“Peter,” Derek wailed, wide-eyed. Peter rubbed his back and gently shushed his nephew. Derek whimpered. Peter traced his fingertips along Derek’s trembling sides. Derek shook a little and sagged the sudden tension in his body dissipating.
“I thought werewolves didn’t have knots,” Stiles said in an accusing tone. Derek squirmed, ducking his head to hide from his girlfriend’s eyes.
“Betas can’t,” Peter supplied. Proud as a peacock. His eyes flashed red for a moment as if to prove his status.
Stiles crossed her arms and snorted. “Derek was right: you are an asshole.”
Peter arched an eyebrow expertly in that Hale-speak way. As if to say imperiously, ‘So?’ He slid his hands down his toned chest as if slicking away all the sex sweat. The move drew her eye exactly as he had planned. He grinned at her. “Like what you see?”
“You’re a creep,” Stiles affirmed.
“And you’re interested,” Peter countered. He sniffed the air. Derek made a questioning sound and raised his head following his uncle’s example and sniffing the humid air.
Sex. Arousal. Shame. Desire.
And at least some of it emanating from Stiles. “Stiles?”
Striding across the room to stand by her boyfriend, Stiles scritched behind his ears. “I should be pissed, but I’m actually kinda relieved.”
Both the Hale men served her curious looks.
Stiles shrugged. “I knew something was off between you two. You aren’t exactly subtle. I’m just glad its not about drugs or murder or something.”
“Care to join?”
“ Peter ,” Derek hissed. He wasn’t one to press his luck.
“Hush, pup,” Peter tutted. “The adults are speaking.”
Fixing the older man with a hard stare, Stiles asked Peter the obvious question, “How long have you been trying to get caught?”
“Since Derek first introduced us,” the Alpha said blithely.
Craning his neck to gape, Derek scowled at his uncle. Peter shrugged. Stiles shook her head and rolled her eyes. “You’re the absolute worst,” she muttered. Peter smiled, readjusting so he could sit on his ass, pulling Derek by the hips back with him. Derek moaned and bit his lip, his face turning bright red.
“Relax, pup,” Stiles interjected. She tilted his chin up and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not mad. But I do have one more question.”
Derek fixed her with such a hopeful, relieved expression Stiles almost awww-ed. “How many times can Gramps back there pop his knot,” She asked in a stage whisper. “Is it a one time a day kind of deal or can he get it up more than that?”
Peter growled petulantly. Stiles smirked at him. Derek huffed a laugh and grabbed his far-too understanding girlfriend by the hips and reeled her in. He nuzzled her crotch taking deep whiffs of her arousal. She was already wet. He could tell even through the denim.
“Guess I’ll call in sick,” Stiles chuckled, unbuttoning her top.
“Joining in on an incestuous tryst is rather depraved,” Peter pointed out. Stiles snorted and unhooked her bra. Off it all went. Eventually she managed to shimmy out of her jeans despite her nosy boyfriend. The moment her jeans pooled around her feet Derek was licking at her cunt through her panties.
“Jesus,” Stiles sighed. She pushed his head away so she could step out of her jeans without kneeing him in the face and then her overeager boyfriend oh so helpfully ripped her panties off with his claws. She snatched the tatters back and smacked his hand. “You and me are sooo going to have a talk later.”
Kissing the soft skin of her thigh, Derek hummed his assent before returning to eating her out properly. Stiles shivered, flushing pink from head to toe. “You are magnificent,” Peter whispered.
“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles confirmed. She tossed her ruined panties at Peter’s head. He caught them midair easily, but brought them to his face nonetheless. He pressed the damp fabric to his nose and groaned. His half lidded eyes shone red, his mouth watered, his fangs itched to extend. She had so much potential.
Yes, so much potential.
Chapter 23: the spring break sex act
Ennis goes for a run. He runs into a twink and BAM sex.
The basic set-up for this ficlet came from a porno I saw on Tumblr once, back before The Purge.
His spaghetti-strapped muscle tee did nothing to protect his skin from the morning chill. Spring had sprung, but the days still started in that grey space between cold enough to need a shirt, but warm enough not to need sleeves. Either way the Sun would soo burn through the morning crispness.
A breeze swept through the trail. Ennis shivered, his arms breaking out in goosebumps while his nipples hardened into peaks. He didn’t mind. In fact, he smiled, invigorated. What better way to start his lazy day of cardio in the Great Outdoors? Besides, once he got his blood pumping he wouldn’t even feel it.
Double knotting his tennis shoes, Ennis went through a series of warm-ups: stretches and knees-up and jumping jacks and the like. Then, he headed out onto the trail. He started slow, jogging along the unpaved path that wound across a body of water that bordered on being either a pond or a lake depending on who you asked.
The Lakeside Trail as it was dubbed by the city, had some inclines and declines, but nothing too strenuous or steep. Usually, this made it the go-to spot for civvies to do their once-a-week walk arounds that passed for their exercise, so Ennis avoided the place most of the time. Instead, he often opted for the hardier trails, the ones that cut deeper through the Preserve. But since it was spring break, the town, and thus this trail, was largely dead. Plus, since he was stuck picking up shifts at the hospital to make ends meet while the majority of his clients were out-of-town, he figured he deserved an easy day.
His first lap was mellow, then he gradually sped up.
At the start of his fifth go-around, Ennis noticed a figure in a red hoodie sitting on a rock not too far from the entrance. The guy had on sweatpants and flip flops, so clearly not a runner. Ennis slowed down just a bit, his Spidey-sense tingling. Drug dealer? Pervert? Naturalist? As he passed Ennis offered him the standard, chin-up head nod.
The guy was a kid, pale and lean with just enough muscle not to be scrawny. A high school senior at least or maybe a college kid returned home for spring break. But why on Earth would anyone want to come here when they could be somewhere hopping?
Whoever he was, he hastily tucked his phone away in the pocket of his hoodie and smiled as Ennis went passed, cheeks pink. Ennis grinned and continued on his way. He’d bet money the guy had been touching himself or had been about to. Probably had been choosing some porn on his phone. He couldn’t blame the kid. What guy hadn’t rubbed one out in the Great Outdoors?
On the last bend of his last lap, he could see the kid ahead of him still in the same spot. Ennis slowed, slacking off into a trot. Just enough to give his pecs some bounce.
This time, there was no doubt. Ennis could see the back and forth of the kid’s hand under his sweats. He heard Ennis coming, looked to see who it was and didn’t bother trying to play it cool. His hand stayed tucked into the waistband of his sweats.
The best kind of dude.
To top it off the kid’s big, brown eyes were glued to his heaving chest.
Ennis stopped nearby. “Morning,” he greeted with a charming smile. The kid was cute in that naughty, Helix Studio twink sort of way.
Now that he was up-close he could see the print of the kid’s shaft along his thigh. Damn, the kid was packing! “I was hoping you’d stop by,” the kid replied with a wry smile, not taking his hand off his bulge.
Message received. Loud and clear. Ennis chuckled. The kid was ballsy, he’d give him that. He put his hands on his hips. “How old are you, kid?”
“So that means, what, you’re actually seventeen,” Ennis concluded. He moonlighted as a bouncer off-and-on for years. Kids that young, especially guys, lie about their ages all the time. This kid was jailbait for sure.
“No, Officer ,” the kid snarked, whipping his hand out of his pants. He gracelessly got to his feet seeming to nearly trip over nothing as he marched over to him. “I got my ID right here.”
From out of his hoodie pocket, the kid produced a wallet and from this wallet he removed a card which he handed over to Ennis. Mieczsylaw Stilinski, an odd name; pretty ethnic. The surname sounded vaguely familiar, but Ennis quickly moved on to other more important details.
He read the birthdate and did the math. It checked out. He compared the photo to the guy in front of him and it was certainly a match. The ID had all the marks of an authentic California state ID, including the state bear cut out, so unless this kid was a master forger, everything was legit.
“Satisfied, Officer ?”
“We’ll see.” Ennis smiled and handed the card back to the kid. Is there any cardio in the world better than sex? As a professional, he could answer that in a single word: no. “You go to school?”
The kid nodded and snatched his card back before squirreling it and the wallet back into his pocket. “College. In Virginia,” he replied. “I’m home for spring break.”
“Sounds fun,” Ennis quipped.
“Could be,” the kid retorted, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ennis laughed, good-naturedly as the kid gave him a long, thirsty once-over. Ennis made a point of puffing out his chest and rolling his shoulders to give the kid something to really look at, while he glanced around the trail.
Besides him and this oh-so-cocky twink, nobody was around.
They locked eyes. The kid broke out into a giant, I’m-about-to-get-laid grin. “What should I call you, kid?”
“Everybody calls me Stiles.”
“I’m Ennis.” He offered his hand and the kid, Stiles, shook it eagerly.
Taking the lead, Ennis jerked his head to the side and slowly sauntered down the trail. He headed towards a bit of open ground close to the beaten path, but slightly hidden by a curve. Over there they’d be reasonably out of sight if anybody else showed up. Ennis doubted it, but better safe than sorry. An ounce of discretion is better than a pound of jail time.
The kid lingered behind him, having the same train of thought. No need to be obvious. He was probably also celebrating his amazing luck and ogling Ennis’ perfect ass as he walked away. Ennis smirked, tugging down the straps of his muscle tee as he went. The thin material pooled around his waist and Ennis spun around on his heels, still walking backwards, and flexed his biceps.
Stiles licked his lips and nearly tripped over his own feet hurrying to catch up, his erection blatantly tenting his sweatpants to an impressive degree. When it came to women, Ennis’ taste was as varied as could be: tall or short, fat or thin, curvy or flat, white or black, femme or sporty; it made no difference to him. But with men, he had a very specific type: hung. And this kid definitely checked that box.
“So, what do you do?” Ennis quirked an eyebrow.
Usually, he didn’t make small talk with a hook-up, but the kid was probably nervous. Ennis could understand that. He had once been the young guy newly cruising the scene before. “Personal trainer,” he said. “I moonlight as an orderly or a bouncer to make some extra cash. And I’m just now getting into bodybuilding.”
“ Just ,” Stiles echoed in disbelief.
Ennis laughed. “So, you’re into muscle dudes.”
“Duh.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Why else would I be following you into the woods at the ass-crack of dawn?”
Ten o’clock? Hardly near dawn. Ennis chuckled and shook his head. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re kinda a brat?”
“Every damn day,” Stiles proudly declared.
Peeling off into the clearing, Ennis turned around and grabbed a handful of hoodie, yanking Stiles over to him. “Whoa,” the kid sputtered, cheeks turning pink as Ennis brought them almost nose-to-nose. With his other hand Ennis groped the kid’s sizable bulge through the cotton sweats. Stiles adorably bit his lip to stifle a moan as Ennis tugged on his hard-as-a-rock erection.
“So, kid,” Ennis whispered in a husky voice. “What do you want to do?”
“I want your ass,” Stiles blurted. Red splotches darkened his cheeks.
Mouth suddenly dry, Stiles licked his lips, and sputtered,“W-wanna feel you up.”
“So why don’t you?”
Stiles groaned, his hands automatically surging up to grope Ennis’ bare chest. Ennis smirked, they always go for the chest first. Everybody loves some firm, meaty pecs. Stiles traced his fingers along the curve of his muscles and then grabbed the two pecs in his hands, squeezing them like a toy. “ Fuuuuck ...”
Ennis started flexing his chest turning his pecs into hard mountains of muscle under Stiles’ palms. “Like that, kid,” Ennis huffed in a gruff voice careful to keep his muscles taut.
“Hell, yeah, dude!” Stiles got a few more futile squeezes in before Ennis relaxed then he started plucking at Ennis’ peaked nipples. Ennis shivered and chuckled, letting go of Stiles’ dick. The kid whined adorably, his fingers dragging down Ennis’ abdomen. “You’re freaking stacked , dude.”
“I know.” Ennis brushed Stiles hands away for a moment so he could grab the hem of his shirt and yanked it off over his head. He tossed it on a nearby bush. Stiles watched with one hand down his pants and the other touching every inch of Ennis from his pecs down to his abs. “You got a condom, kid?”
Staring dumbly at Ennis, it took a second for Stiles’ brain to register the question. His eyes brightened as he whipped his hand out of his pants and into his pockets. From one he withdrew an XL Trojan condom and from the other a packet of lube. He grinned, holding the two up like they were prizes he had won; like some nerdy, triumphant gladiator.
“Do you carry condoms with you everywhere you go?”
“Always be prepared,” Stiles chirped. “That’s my motto.”
“You are one grade A perv, kid,” Ennis teased, fondly shaking his head.
“You’re not so bad yourself, muscle boy,” Stiles retorted. Ennis raised an eyebrow at the kid’s gloating smirk and snatched the condom packet out of his hand.
“Gimme that,” he growled, sinking to his knees. Stiles snorted and stared hungrily as Ennis settled on the ground in front of him. He leaned his hips forward practically poking the older man in the face with his erection. Ennis grabbed Stiles’ cock in both his hands giving the shaft a good pump. Stiles nearly threw his back out arching into his grip. His swearing scared the birds. “You’re lucky I like big dicks, kids.”
“You’re lucky I like big muscle bottoms,” Stiles rejoined.
“Smartass.” The kid winked at him proud as a peacock. Ennis jerked down Stiles’ waistband, his dick trapped for a hot minute and then springing free hard as ever. Stiles sharply inhaled. Ennis grinned, using his two hands to stroke the length. “Jesus Christ, you’re big.”
“Think you can handle it?”
“Watch me,” Ennis boasted, smacking the kid’s dick against his cheeks.
On his hands and knees with his shorts down around his ankles, Ennis swore as the twink slammed his cock home in one go. “Fuck,” he bellowed. He bit his lip and caught his breath as the kid set a brisk pace.
“You like that, big guy?” Stiles ran one hand up Ennis’ arched back while the other gripped his hip firmly. “Like my big cock in your tight, little muscle cunt?”
Ennis rumbled his assent, reaching behind him to grab Stiles’ cute butt and haul him in closer. “Gimme that big cock, kid!”
Still dressed, Stiles shifted forward draping himself over Ennis’ back, grasping him by the shoulders so he could get the right leverage. Ennis groaned. “Yeah, you like that? Like being my little muscle bitch.”
“Jesus, kid,” Ennis moaned. “Gotta mouth on you.”
“Nah, keep it up,” Ennis panted.
“Knew you were a cockhungry muscle bitch the moment I saw you,” Stiles hissed. “Your jock pussy’s so tight, dude! Made for taking dick.”
“Slap my ass,” Ennis directed.
Rearing up, Stiles did. “Ow, fuck,” he groused. “Your ass is hard as a freaking rock, dude. Jesus. Warn a guy.”
Ennis snorted. “Fuck me, kid,” he said over his shoulder. “Just fuck my pussy good.”
Stiles moaned nearly crashing on top of Ennis as he brought his arms down and grabbed two handfuls of bouncing pec again. “God you’re so freaking hot, dude! Pussy’s so tight, ya, bottom bitch.”
“Jesus, kid!” Ennis moaned, his eyes rolling back even as he chuckled at Stiles’ over the top dirty talk. “Where’d you learn that stuff?”
“Porn. Where else?” Stiles leaned down, suddenly concerned. “Should I stop?”
“No, kid.” Ennis shook his head. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Catching his breath, Stiles watched as Ennis jerked off, tweaking his nipples and smearing globs of Stiles’ come into his skin. In no time, he erupted, shooting his jizz into the grass and dirt. Stiles’ wilted dick twitched, but he quickly stuffed it back in his sweatpants wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie and waited for Ennis to come down as the Sun burned away all the coolness.
“Whoo,” Ennis huffed. He shook the last drops of come from his dick and then rose out of his crouch, pulling his shorts up as he got to his feet. “Thanks, kid. That was hot.”
Stiles beamed. “Any chance I could get at that muscle pussy again?”
Ennis laughed. Oh, to be young. “How long you in town for, kid?”
“The rest of spring break,” Stiles said automatically. He quickly added, “About a week.”
Reaching into the right hand pocket of his shorts, Ennis pulled out a business card and held it out for Stiles to take. “My number’s on here. Call me. I’m free most mornings.”
As quick as lightning Stiles swiped that card and tucked it into his hoodie. “Awesome.” He gave Ennis a two finger salute. “See you later, muscle bitch.”
“See you later, monster cock,” Ennis returned.
Stiles promptly left, getting into his jeep.
Energized from the pounding he just took, Ennis nabbed his abandoned muscle tee from the bush and went for one last jogging lap around the trail with a giant smile on his face.
Sore ass and all.
Chapter 24: some new shit
Ennis and Derek play around with shit. Literally.
I never thought I'd post a fic involving scat. *shakes head* Blame the Kinktober gods and leave me out of it!
Ennis sighed holding the empty beer mug under his flaccid dick and as Derek stared transfixed the Alpha released his bladder. The golden liquid quickly filled the mug ad the scent hit Derek like a ton of bricks. His heart pounded in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears. Ennis tapped the tip of his cock against the rim twice to shake off any last drops and then held the glass up to Derek. “Take a swig of this, baby boy.”
Derek took the glass. The mug was warm in his hands. He hefted the mug to his lips and opened wide. One gulp. Two. Three...Derek moaned, the bitter taste better than he had imagined.
“Go on, baby boy: down it,” Ennis encouraged. The older man pushed at the bottom of the mug, tipping it until the contents spilled out. Piss poured over Derek’s mouth into his beard, down his chin, soaking into his shirt. The acrid smell was overwhelming, easily dwarfing every other scent in the room. Derek’s cock hardened in his tight jeans. “Good to the last drop, huh?”
Blushing red, Derek nodded, his nostrils flaring. He could see the Alpha’s cock hardening right out in the open, could smell their arousal under the piss stink, mingling. That made him blush even harder.
Abruptly, Ennis reached out and groped at Derek’s chest under his soiled, clingy shirt. “Gotta nice rack there, baby,” Ennis murmured. “You should show it off.”
He ripped the shirt off with his claws, easily.
Derek shivered, the cold air of the apartment making his nipples harden into peaks. Ennis smirked. Tossing the tattered shirt away, he pinched Derek’s nips, twisting and tweaking them. Derek mewled, squirming in his seat. “You think you’re ready for the main event, baby?”
Not trusting his voice, Derek nodded. Ennis shook his head. “Gotta say the words, pup,” he insisted, letting go of Derek’s nips temporarily. “Gotta know you want it.”
“I want it,” Derek hurriedly assured him. “I want to. Please .”
Ennis beamed at him and sprang up from his seat. “I got everything all set up in my playroom.”
He offered Derek his hand. Derek took it and rose up on shaky legs, his heart going a million miles a second in excitement. This was really happening.
The playroom was a converted bathroom. The tiles, the mirrors, the lighting, the shower area, the toilet seat. Everything normal except the toilet wasn’t connected to anything plumbing-wise and there were a couple drains in the floor itself. Ennis had him strip and then pulled him further into the room by his erection. “You ever eat your own shit, baby boy?”
“Y-yes,” Derek admitted, once again turning bright red. He had never admitted that to anyone.
“You ever eat someone else’s?”
“No.” Ennis brought them straight to the toilet seat that lacked a bowl. Derek’s face burned as he realized his mouth would be the bowl. His body. He was going to be this guy’s toilet. His cock throbbed in Ennis’ large hand.
“This is your first time, so a word of advice: don’t try to catch everything in your mouth,” he said casually. “Just eat what you can and enjoy it.”
Derek gulped. “Okay.”
“Lay down,” Ennis suggested. Derek nodded and got onto his knees. Lying on his side, he scooted until his head was under the seat and then settled onto his back. His pulse was going wild.
Ennis took off his clothes. “Relax, kid,” Ennis murmured. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop, remember?”
“Yeah,” Derek sighed, taking a few deep breaths.
“What’s your safe word?”
Sitting down on the toilet seat, Ennis said, “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
A few, quiet moments passed.
“Okay,” Derek muttered. “I’m ready.”
He stared at the slightly hairy pucker above him. He bit his lip. A wet whoosh erupted from Ennis’ hole and Derek coughed, caught off guard by the flatulence. Ennis let another rip and bore down.
Derek watched mesmerized as the brown tip of a turd peeked out of the Alpha’s sphincter. His cock throbbed back to full hardness. Derek wrapped his hands around the shaft and gave a few loose tugs. He opened his mouth wide.
The log of shit Ennis was evacuating split and the larger piece fell into Derek’s waiting mouth. The nasty flavor hit his tongue and Derek groaned, his head falling back as he chewed. His hand was a blur on his cock.
The second half of the log landed on his chin and Derek instinctively scooped it up to his mouth with his hand. He chewed the whole thing, mashing the soft shit between his teeth, turning it into a mushy goop. He looked at his shit covered hand as if he had never seen the appendage before and just like that he came.
Tensing hard, Derek shot his load into the air where it landed on the floor with a splat, and onto his abdomen. “Jesus, baby boy,” Ennis mumbled in the space between his legs. “You really are a shit puppy, aren’t you?”
Derek swallowed, the disgusting flavor coating his throat as it went down. “Yes,” he panted, going slack. “I--I am...”
“Welcome to the club, pup.” Ennis got to his feet and gazed down happily at his new scene partner. “My own little, shit puppy. You’re a fucking dream come true, kid.”
Derek flushed, registering only right then that he was licking his shit-stained hand clean. “Want some more, baby,” Ennis asked, chuckling. “I got plenty.”
“Yes, please,” Derek whispered.
Ennis beamed. “Mind if this one goes on your chest?”
“Okay.” Derek shimmied out from under the toilet seat and Ennis straddled his chest. As Ennis pushed out one long log, Derek’s cock hardened again. The smelly turd plopped onto his chest followed closely by a second smaller one. Derek groaned as the stink filled the room.
Lifting a leg up, Ennis went over to Derek’s side and started rubbing his shit into Derek’s pecs with one hand while he jerked off with the other. “You look so fucking good wearing my shit, baby,” he hissed. Derek whined, hand going to his dick as he dipped his fingers in the shit on his chest and sneaked some tastes. “Meant for it.”
In a flash, Ennis stood up and knocked the toilet seat out of his way. It crashed with a crack into the shower stall. “Clean my hole, shit puppy,” he demanded, sitting himself on Derek’s face.
Buried between those chiseled cheeks, Derek moaned, his whole world dwindled to nothing but brown. All he could smell was shit, the rank scent permanently seared into his brain. He flicked his tongue along Ennis’ crack and dug the tip past the rim chasing the disgusting flavor. He couldn’t get enough.
Batting Derek’s hand away from his erection, Ennis took ahold of both their cocks. “Love Betas like you,” Ennis grunted. “So fucking desperate.”
Derek whined into his hole and Ennis shuddered. Letting go of his own dick, he took a handful of shit from Derek’s chest and smeared it onto the Beta’s leaking slit. Derek keened, bucking into the squishy mess. Ennis laughed and beared down, releasing one last tiny piece of shit. Derek came as he chewed. Ennis pumped his dick until Derek wriggled, boneless and sensitive.
Only then, did Ennis let him go and stand up. He smirked. The beautiful face of his partner was now painted with splatters of shit. He looked filthy. Used. “You’re mine now, shit puppy,” he growled, roughly stroking his cock. “Covered in my stink. I fucking own you. My nasty little shit puppy.”
With these words, Ennis spewed his load onto the tired Beta’s shit-stained chest. Derek weakly hummed, idly mixing the Alpha’s hot come into his skin alongside the shit.
“Jesus,” Ennis rumbled, his eyes flaring red. Derek sat up and sucked the thick head of Ennis’ dick into his mouth, leaving a smear of shit behind on the Alpha’s pink cock. Ennis chuckled and smacked his cock against the cracking shit on Derek’s face playfully trying to scoop the flakes into the Beta’s willing mouth.
They both got in the shower and jerked each other off one last time before getting completely clean and redressed. As they sat, cuddling on Ennis’ couch, the Alpha mentioned, “Call me anytime and I’ll dump a hot load of shit on you whenever you want, shit puppy.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Derek replied with a small, eager smile.
Chapter 25: rugged groupism (OR what happens when a new guy joins the Hunter's Club)
Jack is in the middle of a group of men with their cocks out getting rained on by hot, sticky globs of human come. This is kinky CRACK.
I don't know where this came from. I don't particularly ship Jack, but I do/did enjoy his character. I was simply scanning the Kinktober prompts looking for something to inspire me and this happened. I hope you enjoy!
'Rugged groupism' is a phrase from a Tara Lemmey quote.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
On the cold tile floor of the Bunker Jack knelt in the middle of the circle of hunters. Naked and soft. He turned his head this way and that as the hunters in turns erupted onto his body, shooting warm jizz all over his bare skin. Some of the men he knew, but most of them were strangers. Sam and Dean were there too, cocks hard and sticking out of the flies of their jeans the same as everyone else. Just bigger.
No one spoke.
One or two of the guys mumbled filthy stuff under their breath while they furiously stroked their dicks. Jack heard it all, but most of what they said went over his head. One at a time, they would turn his face towards them and groan and add another layer of sticky ejaculate.
Jack tasted that first load, tentatively sneaking his come-covered fingers into his mouth. Not as tasty as nougat, but nowhere near as bad as blood. Thick and slightly bitter. Not a favorite treat.
After that first load, he kept his fingers out of his mouth and just sat there letting the men unload onto him. Some of the guys wiped their cocks against his face, smearing their semen. Others didn’t even look at him as they orgasmed, grunting with their eyes closed, merely expecting him to be there in place. Which of course he was. Dean had made it very clear that this was his job for tonight.
Each guy. Each load, no matter how many.
Hunters come a lot.
“Backed up,” was one guy’s explanation. Jack just shrugged and moved on to the next throbbing dick.
By the time most of the guys had gone at least once already, come was dripping down Jack’s chin, splattering onto his chest, drying in itchy flakes in the oddest places. He turned towards his dads who had yet to come. Men panted all around him, some flaccid, some twitching, some slowly hardening again.
Looking at his come-covered body, Jack took stock. A question percolated in the back of his brain. He scrunched up his eyebrows and raised his jizz slick face to his fathers. “Does this make me gay?”
“Jesus,” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes. “Can it, kid.”
He stepped forward, the other men stepping aside to make enough room as he stroked his cock faster. “Open up,” Dean demanded. Jack opened his eyes wide as well as his mouth, sticking his thick tongue out. Dean shook his head and gripped his cock with both hands, tensing as he shot his load. Bullseye.
Fat globs of come hit Jack between the eyes, the bridge of his nose, the tip of his tongue. He swallowed. It surprised him how much Dean tasted just like all the other guys, besides the obvious undercurrent of Deanness. “Welcome to the club, kid,” Dean muttered, raggedly.
Sam stepped up right beside him, not an inch of space separating them, looking strangely apologetic or unsure. Jack gave him a bright smile. That seemed to be the correct response. “Yes, welcome,” Sam seconded. A moment later his load erupted, blasting onto Jack’s chest with heavy splats.
“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean murmured, softly.
The brothers gazed at one another.
Being this close to them, Jack could see Sam’s hand moving to Dean’s back. And then lower. Jack grinned. He loved when his dads were affectionate with each other, so much more than when they argued. He saw Dean’s slowly softening cock pulse back to hardness.
Dean stifled a gasp, glancing around them in almost a panic. “Not in front of the guys, Sammy,” he whispered.
No one was supposed to know about them.
That was Rule #1 of being a Winchester.
People could think whatever they wanted, but there was supposed to be no proof that Sam and Dean were actually…together.
Thinking quickly on his feet, Jack leaned forward and suckled the tip of Dean’s dick. His dad shivered. Sam pulled his hand away, subtly sniffing his fingers as if he had to scratch an itch on his nose. Dean blushed, nodding once.
Sam returned the nod and knocked his fat cock against his brother’s shaft.
Most of the guys had the decency to turn away, pretend they didn’t see.
Jack stretched his mouth as widely as he could and just managed to capture both of his fathers’ cocks between his lips. He couldn’t take in more than the tips and he couldn’t suck them much, but he bobbed his head a bit to make it feel like he was giving head. Dean had always told him he was a natural.
The brothers moaned.
“Thanks for coming guys,” Dean hastily said, gesturing everyone to leave. Half the guys were already almost out the door. The other half tucked their junk away and gave the Winchesters a gruff nod as they passed by on their way out.
Sam pulled out and awkwardly waved to the guys’ backs. “Yeah, thanks,” he echoed.
Dean stepped back, making sure Jack knew to stay put. “Uh, we’re really tired, kid, so why don’t you go wash up while me and Sam go hit the hay.”
Shrugging, Jack got to his feet. “Okay.”
His dad pretended to yawn and nudged Sam to do the same, which of course he did a beat late. Jack beamed at his crazy dads and then crossed to the hall, heading for the showers.
Behind him, he heard one of the bedroom doors open and then close. He took a quick shower, wiping the come off his skin in a hurry, and then crept to the occupied bedroom still naked.
Thanks to his angelic senses, he could hear his dads ‘napping’. Very vocally. His penis grew stiff listening to them call each other’s names in that special tone that they only used when they were alone.
Mimicking the guys he’d knelt under all afternoon, Jack took his slim cock in hand, and pumped the shaft. It felt good in a way. He could see why the men all seemed to like to touch themselves down there.
He didn’t last long, coming against the doorframe in strong bursts.
This was amazing!
No wonder the guys had been so willing.
Tugging ejaculate from the urethra was very pleasurable.
Jack snapped back to his own bedroom and started experimenting with his newest toy.
He could still hear Sam and Dean from here. “I love my family,” he said to no one in particular as he diddled himself. “Love, love.”
And thus it was.
Y'all know I had to slip in some Wincest. I mean HELLO! I am me.
Chapter 26: Topped by a Rose
Margery finally gets her husband to try getting pegged.
I love Robb, but I don't ship him with anybody, let alone with Margery. But this is the idea that came to me and these two were the characters involved so that's why we're here.
“I don’t know about this,” Robb said, sounding adorably unsure as he pulled down his gym shorts and stepped out of them. He tossed the sweat damp fabric into the appropriate hamper and stood in front of their bed naked as the day he was born.
Margery swanned into the doorway of their en suite and looked her husband over hungrily. Popping the cap off of the lube, she smeared some onto the silicon cock standing firm between her legs. “Dearest, you promised we’d try,” she gently reminded him. “Besides you love it when I use my fingers.”
“That’s different,” Robb assured her, turning to face his wife as she came closer to him. He grabbed the black silicon cock strapped to her waist and twisted his fingers around the girth. “This is much bigger than your fingers.”
“We’ll take it slow,” Margery promised, leaning on her toes as if to plant a kiss on her husband’s cheek. Robb smiled fondly, lowering his head a smidge to make it easier to kiss. Margery hummed happily and rocked back on her feet at the last second, denying him a kiss. She gripped his wrist, tugging and pushing him into turning around.
“You’re mean,” he chided, halfheartedly. Robb grunted at being rebuffed, but went where his wife directed him, eventually kneeling on their bed with his ass to her.
“You love it,” she replied quick as a whip. She smirked, adding more lube to her hand. She smeared her fake dick and then traced her husband’s hole lightly with her fingers. Robb tensed, hissing at the slight chilliness in such a sensitive spot. “Pussy.”
Indignant, Robb squawked, shaking his head even as he settled on his hands and knees. She slipped one finger inside. He breathed. “Like I said: mean.”
Margery simply smiled as she slowly fingered her husband open adding more lube and more fingers. “You’ll love it, baby, I promise,” she assured him. He harrumphed, but didn’t fight her while she carefully stretched his hole.
After getting four of her lithe fingers into him, Margery stood behind her husband and drizzled her cock with one last coat of lube before tossing the bottle onto the bed. Satisfied he was wet enough and prepped enough, she stepped forward and reached under her husband to get as his semi-erect cock. “Ready?” she asked, teasing his shaft between her lubricated fingers.
Robb groaned, rolling his hips into her slick grip. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m going to make you feel so good, baby,” she promised, letting the tip of her silicon cock rub up against her husband’s taint. “You know I’ll make it good for you.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He shivered a little at the touch of her stiff cock on his skin. His own cock hardened to full mast. He nodded his head. “Let’s do it.”
“Yes, sir,” she joked, letting her husband’s beautiful cock slip from her fingers. She slid her small hands over his square hips and ever so slowly eased the tip of her cock inside him for the first time.
They both sighed. Robb clenched his fingers digging them into their bedspread, instinctively tensing at the intrusion. He steadied his breathing, relaxed his hole as he had learned to do on her fingers and let the feeling of fullness wash over him. He broke out in goosebumps. His erection wilted, but he didn’t much mind.
As promised, Margery took her time guiding more and more of her cock into him gradually, a little at a time. She brushed against his prostate and Robb sharply inhaled in surprise. “Feel good, baby?”
“Gods, yes,” Rob muttered.
Soon she was buried inside him balls deep, as it were. She kissed his sweat-slick shoulder running her hands up his sides and around to his heaving chest. She gripped his pecs and pulled him upright. She whispered into the crook of his neck, “I’m going to fuck you so good, baby.”
Robb moaned. He licked his lips. “Do it,” he quietly begged.
Margery rocked her hips. Her first thrust. Robb twined his finger with hers over his heart and leaned forward a bit in order to arch his back. Margery grinned from ear to ear. “Just as I said,” she remarked. “You love it.”
Blushing, Robb hung his head and chuckled at his pride and lack of vision.
“Touch yourself, baby,” Margery requested. “Want you to come on my big cock.”
“Gods alive, woman.”
Obediently, Robb released her hand and gripped his half-hard cock giving it a few delicate tugs. Margery pushed him down by the shoulder until his cheek was flat against the mattress and his ass up in the air.
Once again, she kept her word. Giving him a right proper fuck.
And it did feel good.
And he did come on her cock.
He never doubted her again.
Chapter 27: Love fights with a fist. Get it?
After some convincing, John agrees to try something out with Sam.
This is set in the same universe as my fic titled, "A boy does not ache for his father's masculinity." You don't have to read that to enjoy this snippet.
Title is a rearranged Matshona Dhliwayo quote.
Four fingers in, his legs were getting tired.
Biting back a groan, John squirmed a bit on the couch, his legs dangling in the air as his son removed his fingers. John exhaled through his nose. With Sam wearing a glove and putting fingers up his ass it was giving the elder Winchester flashbacks to his regular doctor check-ups. Though, he would freely admit having his son’s fingers in him was turning out to be a much more thrilling experience than his doctor. His dick had gone from hard to soft and back again half a dozen times so far.
Sam smeared more lube onto his gloved hand and then painted his father’s exposed hole with the excess. John had never felt so wet. “You ready, Pops?”
“Just do it,” John groused. Sam smirked at his feisty tone, digging two fingers into his father easily. He quickly followed up with a third. John gritted his teeth as the fourth was added. You’d think taking his boy’s enormous cock would’ve prepared him for this better, but Sam’s fingers were a different animal altogether.
He tensed, feeling Sam’s thumb press against his rim. “Relax, Pops,” Sam helpfully suggested. John grunted in disdain and steadied his breathing. He closed his eyes and willed his hole to relax, so in some ways perhaps it wasn’t too different from taking dick.
John shivered from head to toe as his son’s entire fist breached him for the first time. He groaned. Sam sighed cheerfully. John panted as his son slowly twisted his hand this way and that way, brushing his knuckles against his prostate. His dick twitched, but couldn’t quite harden.
“Jesus, Dad,” Sam moaned. “Your pussy’s still so tight.”
Cheeks pink, John brought his hands up to his calves to bolster his quaking legs. He had never felt so open. So loose. Through half lidded eyes he gazed at his awestruck son. All of Sam’s focus was on where his hand disappeared inside his father, but he was hard as a rock. John relaxed. He was making his boy happy, which was the whole point of agreeing to this kinky thing. And he smiled, flushed with success.
“Told you, you’d like it,” Sam boasted, easing his hand out. John huffed, feeling suddenly very empty. And wide open. His hands slid downwards, his fingers tentatively spreading his cheeks almost as if he needed the reference because his ass didn’t feel like his ass anymore. “That’s it, Pops. Show me your pussy.”
“Jesus, Sammy,” John whined, blushing all the way down to his chest. “Certainly gotta mouth on you.”
Sam snorted, drizzling his gloved hand with lube. He smirked like a Cheshire cat. His father didn’t even argue anymore when he called his hole a pussy. Definite progress.
“You like it,” he remarked. He shoved three fingers inside his father and they slipped in quick. Followed closely by the fourth. And then the fifth.
Panting, John squeezed his eyes shut and let his body sag against the couch. The rush of endorphins hitting his system was making everything a little too much. His world dwindled to his hole and his devious son’s hand. That wouldn’t stay still. John moaned. He grabbed his flaccid dick and stroked his cock simply to distract himself from the overwhelming feeling of fullness in his ass. “Sammy!”
“That’s right, bitch, say my name,” Sam rumbled.
“Oh my God! Sam,” John keened, toes curling in his boots as his son pushed his fist deeper into him.
His son looked him dead in the eye. “By the time I’m through with you, your pussy will never be tight again.”
John whined, his hole clenching around his son’s thick wrist. Pre-come leaked from his slit as Sam slowly began piston into him. Deep, shallow, deep, shallow. Twist, twist.
“Sam,” John muttered over and over like a prayer. “Sammy...”
His pussy had never felt so good.
Chapter 28: Pokephilia
Stiles has sex with a Pokémon. Is anybody surprised?
I'm not the biggest Pokémon fan, so I'm not sure where this came from, but I wrote it yesterday and it was better than the other bits and pieces I had tried to write for this prompt. So enjoy!
Stiles drooled, cheeks flushed, gasping for breath in the already thin atmosphere of the mountainside. The large hands around his throat didn’t help matters, but he was so hard and leaking so much pre-come he didn’t care. He closed his eyes and grabbed his dangling dick as the ‘mon behind him kept thrusting, his aim perfect.
The flared, tapered head and ribbed shaft brushed and scraped against his prostate relentlessly. “Fuck,” Stiles sputtered. He felt like a ragdoll. A sex toy since the mon in question, held him in the air exactly where he wanted him with his four massive arms: two at his hips, two around his throat. Keeping him in perfect place to take Machamp’s engorged cock.
“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles groaned, barely able to get enough air, but certainly able to jerk off. “Keep it up. So close. So fucking close.”
“Machamp, Machamp,” The mon panted, his hands tightening as he too neared his own orgasm.
Choking on his own spit, Stiles moaned and stroked his cock faster, frantic. His eyes rolled back in his head, stars dancing behind his eyelids as he came, wetting the rocky ground under him. His hole tightened and Machamp reached his end, gushing cool jizz in Stiles’ overheated body.
He shivered as Machamp filled him up with his reptilian release. “Oh. My. God,” he stuttered, dizzy and red faced.
Why had he waited so long to evolve his Machoke?
His Machamp gently lowered him to the ground, careful to keep him upright and yet still firmly placed on his cock. Stiles sharply inhaled as his Machamp petted his sweaty head and heaving chest like he was a well behaved pet. His dick twitched even as it wilted.
In time, Machamp’s cock also softened and gradually returned to his sheath. He had the decency to do up Stiles’ pants for him. “Machamp?”
“Yeah, big guy.” Stiles sniffled and wiped his runny nose with the sleeve of his red hoodie. Turning around, he patted Machamp on the chest and smiled big. “That was amazing.”
Machamp grinned back and happily chirped his name. Stiles shifted, pulling his jeans out of the sticky crack of his ass. Pointless really since Machamp’s thin come was already leaking out of his used hole in a heavy stream. “Next time though,” he mentioned. “We should wait ‘til I can get naked.”
“Champ,” his mon replied, with an agreeing nod.
“You’re the best,” Stiles remarked, sending his new favorite back into his pokeball. “The fucking best.”
Chapter 29: real glory is found on your knees
Sam visits a porn shop for the first time and sees something interesting in the wall: a gloryhole. Little does he know that his father also happens to be very well acquainted with this particular hole.
Title based on a Vince Lombardi quote.
SPOILER ALERT: Sam and John never realize they're having sex with each other, so no incest drama here. Just smut, as per usual.
Brady knew a place. Had been trying to get Sam down here for years, but Sam had always refused. He had no need for the place. He had a girlfriend. He had a life. He had everything he wanted.
That was then, this is now. Jess was gone. School was out for the summer. Brady was off galavanting somewhere getting high and Sam was sitting in a cramped stall in the back of a porn shop on the outskirts of town feeling like an idiot. An awkward, naive idiot. He just couldn’t help staring at the hole in the wall in front of him rather than the generic video he was supposed to be ‘previewing’.
In all the years he’d spent on the road and all the shitty places his father had dragged him and Dean, oddly enough he had never actually seen a gloryhole before. Maybe he had when he’d been too young and innocent to understand what it was and what it meant, but he had no distinct memory of ever seeing one in real life.
The edges were smooth, as far as he could tell, and the hole was well-placed given the average height of men, so it clearly wasn’t haphazard or accidental. The owner himself probably drilled it in or knew the guy who had. Sam bit his lip.
Sex was supposed to be an intimate act. He had never understood how Dean and guys like him could just do it with anybody that crossed their path. Casual, anonymous sex had never been his bag. Random hook-ups not his thing. Watching porn on the daily, not his style. And doing it in public? Sounded like a recipe for disaster.
He double-checked the lock on the door, again, his hands getting sweaty in the poorly ventilated stall. No one could just waltz in on him, but knowing that someone could potentially see and/or hear or even maybe participate in what was meant to go on in here left him feeling exposed. Someone could be in the stall next to his right now peeping through the hole watching him fidget in this tiny closet. Waiting to jump in. Ready to lend a hand, so to speak, during his ‘alone time’.
Heat rose to his cheeks and settled in his gut. He found it all strangely titillating like walking a tightrope. He came here for new experiences, right? Why else would he bother shopping at a porn store when there was endless free porn to find online?
“It’ll change your life,” Brady repeatedly told him. “Trust me.”
Slowly, Sam eased his zipper down. He couldn’t even be sure someone was in the next stall, let alone that they’d be interested in ‘helping’. What if it was an undercover cop? He could get arrested! Sam licked his lips and reached into his pants.
He had always wondered if that reckless Winchester stuff his father and brother were so fond of ran in his blood too. He took his semi-erect dick out of his pants slowly, all the while eyeing that hole in the wall. Could he be reckless too? Guess he had his answer.
Sam got to his feet. His shoulders were a bit broad for the width of the room, but given his greater height he was surprised at how well the room fit around his impending action. Someone had really taken their time designing this place for men to have sex with other men in public. He let out a small snort and shook his head. The things people do...
John settled back onto his haunches, licking the corner of his mouth before wiping his chin dry with the back of his hand. Poor guy came pretty fast. He at least blew a thick load though. Probably had just turned eighteen and had been eager for some fun.
Well, he was happy to have obliged. His first time involving a man had been a blowjob from a scrawny, Southern guy at boot camp. Paying it forward seemed the right thing to do. Even if his knees didn’t appreciate the sentiment.
Carefully getting up on his feet, John shook out his legs and stretched his back, thankful that his stall, the center stall, his favorite, was a bit spacier than the two beside it. Wider to accommodate the kneeling and the servicing. His seating was set against the back wall facing the door, his screen for porn sat up in the corner behind the door. The rest of the floor space was empty no excess furniture to get in the way and there never had been.
He’d been coming to this dump for ages. Met the owner, Mr. O’Connor, over a decade ago and had been routinely popping in to his stall whenever he was in the area. John sat on his bench and absently stroked his semi-hard cock. Despite the years, he’d never really gotten over the sense of camaraderie and men-being-men-alone-together feel of his time in the service. Somehow this place, and the others like it around the country that he routinely kept tabs on, brought a piece of that old spirit back.
Good times they were. And still more to be had.
A cock emerged from the hole on his left from the opposite stall. John stared, rubbing his own dick more intentionally as he took notes on the newcomer. Thick. At least eight inches long, probably a little over. A big, beautiful cock. The likes of which he hadn’t seen since his days in uniform and good, ol’ Lt. Aguilar.
This was the best kind of dick to find in this sort of place. An absolute gift. Not to be wasted.
The guy on the other end bounced his cock up and down impatiently or perhaps enticingly. John smiled as he slid back onto his knees in one smooth glide. Gently, he kissed the tip of that throbbing dick to let the guy know someone was there.
He heard a soft startled noise from the other side and then more dick was fed in through the hole. John nodded. He loved being right. This one was eager, too. Probably already pressed flat against the wall in anticipation. Another kid. Though judging from his size probably older. Early twenties, maybe? Hardly mattered. Mr. O’ Connor was a whiz with weeding out the underaged boys and fake ids.
John skimmed his lips down the shaft, letting his facial hair tickle the underside. Guys tended to like that. Judging from the gasp he received this guy did too. John gave the other side the same treatment taking a good whiff of this kid’s pubes. Musky but clean. Well-groomed yet grown out. Either his girl likes a little hair or this guy was recently single. He didn’t care either way.
You never look a gift horsecock in the mouth.
Grinning internally like a kid at Christmas, John licked the root of the cock all the way up to the tip. This guy was already spewing pre-come like a geyser. Most likely hard up, blue balled, backed up from a break-up.
Too bad. But he’d soon fix that.
John grabbed the base of the shaft and smacked the stranger’s dick against his face, chuckling at the strangled groan that emerged from the other stall. He took his time flicking his tongue into the leaking slit and around the head before taking the tip in his mouth and suckling it like a tit.
This boy tasted good.
He wanted this one to last.
Sam panted into the wall, his breath hot against his face. His hands scrambled for something to grab: a handhold, an edge, a head, anything. Nothing meet his fingers but smooth plaster. He sighed, pressing his hips flatter into the wall.
This guy was good.
He’d gotten blowjobs before, of course. Not a lot, but some. They tended to be brief. Jaws always got tired before he even got going, usually. Even the few times he’d fooled around with Brady, head had been quickly moved past in favor of handjobs or frotting or feet or whatever else, anything else. He was just too big.
Apparently not for this guy, though.
His heart pounded in his ears as the bearded guy took him deeper and deeper. “Oh Jesus,” Sam moaned, eyelids fluttering shut as the guy took him to the root, working his tongue on the underside while he sucked. He guessed the rumors were true: gay guys are just better at it.
That’s assuming this guy even identified as gay. He could be anyone, anyone at all. But it felt so good in his hot mouth and that tight throat, Sam couldn’t be bothered to care. He rolled his hips, grinding into the wall, fucking that bearded face as best he could, his fingers digging into the plaster.
Happy to be drawing more and more noises from his new friend, John worked his throat, humming around the kid’s cock with relish. Sucking dick was a skill he’d been working on for over half his life, one he was proud of and liked to share. You never knew when expertly sucking the right dick might get you out of a speeding ticket or into a mark’s good graces. The way to a man’s compliance was often through his dick. A trick he’d learned a long time ago.
The Marines really had prepared him for life in so many ways.
Sam’s knees shook.
The position was new to him and he was embarrassingly close.
He huffed and puffed like a runner in a marathon. But he didn’t mind. He was getting the best blowjob of his entire life from a total stranger, a man he had never met and would never meet.
Suddenly, he could understand why Brady loved coming here.
John slapped this kid’s cock all around his face, giving his throat a short break. Already this one had lasted longer than the first. A gift indeed John sniffed, wiping his nose off with his sleeve. Pre-come was dripping all over his beard. The kid had to be close.
“More,” the guy from the other side demanded, adding, “Please,” as an afterthought.
This kid had some serious balls on him. John couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, son,” he hoarsely replied, paying his own erection some much-needed attention. “You got it.”
The guy took him back in his mouth.
Sam moaned, feeling almost lightheaded. His dick bounced, pulsing with arousal. He needed to come so badly. He thought his chest might explode if he didn’t.
God! He wanted to fuck this guy’s face! Just hold him down and pound away. Use his mouth like his own personal fleshlight and ride him to high heaven! Sam growled, thrusting as hard as he could.
The wall between them shook. John felt every vibration. This kid was a menace. He could hear every sharp inhalation, every masculine grunt. This kid sounded like a real beast. Aggressive. Reminded him of Private Johnson.
Stars over his head, his ass on fire. Cherry popped. The first time he ever took dick up the ass. All rough and tumble. No lube but sweat and spit.
No doubt this kid would be just like that. Oh, he’d love to take this kid home and really go to town. With nothing between them, not even rubbers. Just messy, nasty sex. A sore ass would be worth it if this kid was anything like he seemed.
“Close,” the guy breathlessly warned him. “So close.”
‘Good. Because the wall isn’t going to last much longer,’ he wanted to say, but John choked himself on the kid’s cock instead. He lightly stroked his own throbbing erection. The way this kid was making him gag, it wouldn’t take much to tip him over the edge.
The kid growled and then went still on the other side of the wall.
He worked him through it, sucking the head relentlessly until he tasted his reward. Hot, thick loads of come coated the back of his throat and John pulled back to let the rest spurt along his tongue. This kid was delicious.
John shuddered, shooting his own load onto the dirty floor. But he practically ignored his own orgasm to keep up a good suction on the kid’s pulsating cock head. Poor boy was seriously backed-up. But damn did he get his fill!
A great last load to end the evening on.
All too soon the kid pulled away, taking his precious dick out of the hole probably in a hurry to escape. John heard the stall door slam shut and smirked. Oh, the embarrassments of youth. He understood though.
Taking his time he got to his feet and then promptly sat on the bench for a rest. He rubbed his sore knees and wiped the tears from his face letting his cock slowly soften as he savored the kid’s come.
He shook his head. What a shame he would never know the kid’s name.
What a shame indeed.
Chapter 30: Handsy
Thor is tied up. Some of Loki's friends take advantage. Thor couldn't be happier.
Kneeling on his cushioned pedestal, Thor squirmed against the ropes, but with his arms tied to the ceiling above his head and his ankles bound to his thighs as well as to the floor, all in intricate knots, he couldn’t move much. Loki had made sure of that. Thor groaned as a flurry of random hands caressed his exposed chest and the crisscrossing ropes that accentuated his well-defined muscles. Then they took turns.
Not-His-Brother traced his fingertip along his sole. Thor shuddered.
Maybe-Not-His-Brother tugged on his foreskin and pinched his cock head like a taffy-puller.
Definitely-Not-His-Brother licked his pits.
And so many others. Thor couldn’t even hazard a guess at the number of men gazing at him, touching him. His cheeks burned, but feeling their eyes on him and their anonymous hands made his dick pulse.
His brother’s guests made rude remarks, but all Thor could hear was his own pre-recorded moans playing in his ears. No doubt he might could recognize some of them, but he was blindfolded. Naked and on display for Loki’s lascivious friends.
Some more adventurous men slapped his throbbing cock just to make him whine, which he did from behind his gagged mouth. A mean man pinched his nipple heartlessly and Thor wailed, cheeks burning red at the rough treatment. His cock leaked pre-come mightily as the man continued his abuse of Thor’s nipples and the vibrator in his ass relentlessly teased his prostate.
But he was not allowed to come.
Thor struggled and groaned throughout the night, alternately sighing and sobbing as his body was touched and whipped and spanked and tweaked and groped and slapped.
His nipples were clamped and a man pulled at them mercilessly. Thor gave a muffled shout, nearly coming. He panted and clenched, desperate to hold back. He was not allowed to come for anyone except his brother. Otherwise he would be punished.
“What a slut,” his brother’s recorded voice whispered. Thor shivered at his brother’s caustic, yet admiring tone. He rested his head as best he could against his quivering bicep.
More pain and more pleasure came his way over the course of the entire evening. Time lost all meaning as Thor rode out the flows and ebbs of his delightful torture. His brother was so good to him.
The canned moans of him and Loki stopped abruptly and the gag was removed from his mouth. “Brother,” he mumbled.
A familiar hand with long, thin fingers suddenly clenched around his throat. “Come for me, slut,” Loki demanded in real time. With a choked wail, Thor obeyed, his body convulsing as his cock erupted without being touched.
Loki smirked, watching his brother’s come spew out onto the floor in front of him. “Oh what a messy slut you are, Thor,” he cheerfully tutted. “All over our freshly-cleaned marble floors.”
He released his brother’s straining throat and stepped aside, pressing a button to turn off the vibrator. Thor groaned, sagging in relief as his cock twitched and his breath came in sputtered gasps. His arms were lowered and he nearly slumped over, but Loki caught him and presented a straw to his lips.
Red-faced, Thor took deep, thirsty sips.
“Good slut,” Loki cooed, petting the side of his brother’s face, carding his fingers through Thor’s long, sweat-drenched locks. “So good for me, brother.”
“You were a hit,” his brother informed him. Thor blushed. “An absolute hit. There was talk of taking you out to the club for the entire membership to see. And use.”
Thor groaned wearily, digging his face into the crook of his brother’s neck. “They loved the idea of pornography,” Loki continued. “Can you imagine, brother? Beloved sports star turned gay porn slut. News at eleven.”
Shivering, Thor whimpered at his brother’s words. He could see the headlines; the shock, the outrage. He shifted uncomfortably as heat settled in his gut just imagining the eyes of the world on him like that. When he was like this .
Loki shushed him and helped him finish his bottle of water before slowly undoing the ropes and removing all their toys. The blindfold, however, remained in place. Thor wore the thing while Loki guided him to bed and thereafter as he napped.
“Remember, brother,” Loki whispered as he tucked him in. “Round two starts when you wake.”
“Yes, brother,” Thor quietly replied. His smiled smoothed out as he rapidly fell asleep.
Chapter 31: No fic. Just a thank you from the author.
A little thank you note from the author.
Hey-ho, good people, I just wanted to say thanks to all y'all readers for making this Kinktober so successful. I've never done Kinktober or any sort of prompt-filling exercises before let alone posting something once a day for an entire month, so I am incredibly thankful for all the views and kudos and comments! :):):):):)
I only discovered Kinktober a few days before it started and just jumped on in to see if I could do it. I'm not a big schedule-follower, so forcing myself to find something or write something completely new to fill a prompt was such a fulfilling creative exercise. There were a couple times I worried I wouldn't manage to post, but I DID IT! A full month of kinky ficlets! [Minus one day because I think I've earned a break and honestly it's Halloween which is a Queer High Holy Day, so no work is going to be done by me.]
All things considered, I'd call this experiment a success. Not only did Kinktober do wonders for my WIPs, but it was so much fun. I can't wait to do it again next year!
Thanks again for being an awesome audience!
Stay kinky. Stay safe. Stay fannish.
*Kiss, kiss, and a wave goodbye*