Breeding a Bi Muscle Twink at a Party in the Hollywood Hills
I topped a muscly twink at a party in the hills and filled his tight pink hole.
The party was in full swing upstairs, but I couldn’t focus on anything but the twink who had caught my eye the moment he walked in. Blake was impossible to ignore—5’2” with a slender, petite frame, but there was something about the way he moved, the way he smiled, that made him stand out in a crowd. He had this innocent, almost angelic look, with tousled blond hair and bright blue eyes that sparkled with a mix of mischief and sweetness.
I had always been more of a bottom, loving the sensation of being filled and used, but there was something about Blake that made my dominant side surge to the surface. He was dressed in a tight, pale blue shirt that clung to his slender frame, and slim-fit jeans that hugged his ass perfectly. The way his clothes fit him, the way he moved with a grace that was almost ethereal—it was intoxicating.
As the party wore on, I found myself gravitating towards him, unable to keep my eyes off him. He had this way of laughing, high and musical, that made everyone around him smile. But there was something else too—a subtle flirtatiousness, a way he’d glance at me from under his long lashes that made my cock twitch. Every time he looked at me, I felt it—this electric charge, a bolt of need that crawled down my spine and settled low in my gut. Every laugh, every sidelong glance, every time his tongue flicked out to wet those pale pink lips, I felt my self-control eroding. I tried to distract myself with beer pong, or jokes with my teammates, but every time I looked over, he was already looking at me. Not coy. Not shy. Just… interested. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
I started to imagine taking him apart: how easy it would be to pick him up, set him on the kitchen counter, and make him gasp loud enough to drown out the rest of the party. I started picturing him kneeling between my legs, swallowing me greedily, blue eyes wide and unblinking. I wondered if his lips would look even pinker stretched around my cock. I wondered if he tasted as sweet as he looked, or if there was a little bite behind that angelic smile.
By midnight, I was on edge. It was getting hard to hide my own excitement, especially with him making a point of brushing past me in the hallway, pressing those slim hips against mine just long enough for me to imagine it could happen again somewhere more private. When he laughed at one of my jokes—something stupid, something no one else even heard—I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I wanted him. I wanted to own him. And more than that, I wanted him to want it just as much.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I needed to be alone with him, needed to see if the chemistry I felt was real or just a figment of my imagination. I caught him as he was getting another drink from the kitchen, cornering him against the counter.
“You having fun?” I asked, my voice low and steady.
He looked up at me, those bright blue eyes meeting mine, and smiled. “Yeah, it’s a great party. You?”
“It’s better now,” I said, leaning in a little closer. “I’ve been watching you all night.”
He blushed, the pink spreading across his cheeks making him look even more adorable. “Really? I’ve noticed you too.”
“Yeah?” I couldn’t help but grin, feeling a surge of confidence. “Want to get out of here for a bit?”
He glanced around, then nodded. “Sure. Where to?”
I took his hand, leading him down the stairs to the basement. The basement was dimly lit, a large sofa taking up most of the space. It was quiet, secluded, perfect for what I had in mind.
Blake looked around, his eyes wide. “This is… cozy.”
I chuckled, pulling him closer. “It’s private. That’s what matters.”
He looked up at me, his lips parting slightly. “What did you have in mind?”
I close the last few inches between us, letting his breath ghost across my lips before I finally press my mouth to his. He tastes exactly like I imagined—bright and candied from the fruity punch he’s nursed all night, but with an undertone that’s just pure Blake: eager, a little wild, absolutely addictive. Our lips fit together perfectly, his impossibly soft and warm, and for a second I just let myself enjoy that first, long, melting kiss. He hums into my mouth, the vibration sending a jolt through my whole body. I cup the back of his neck, fingers threading through those baby-fine blond curls, pulling him closer, and deepen the kiss, tongue flicking lightly at his lower lip. He opens for me instantly, pliant, so hungry it makes my head spin.
Somewhere in the haze I realize he’s not just letting me kiss him—he’s kissing me back with this desperate, greedy energy, like he’s been waiting all night for this, too. Our bodies slot together, his lean chest pressing up against mine, and I run my hands down his sides, feeling the outline of his ribs through the thin fabric. I can’t help myself—I grab a handful of his tiny waist and pull him flush against me. I feel it then: the thick, insistent bulge in his jeans, hard as hell and pressed up against my own. The contact is electric. I grind into him, letting him know just how much he’s getting to me, and he gasps into my mouth, hips bucking just a little, like he wants to climb inside my skin.
He’s panting now, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening. I break the kiss just long enough to look down at him, and he stares back up, eyes blown wide and dark with want. For a second neither of us moves, just breathing each other in, the air heavy with adrenaline and the sharp tang of sweat and cheap cologne. I can feel his pulse fluttering under my palm, frantic, and it matches the racing thump in my own chest. His hands, so small and delicate, find my belt and tug me closer, nails raking along the waistband, and holy shit I want him right here, right now, consequences be damned.
He squirms in my grip, grinding up against me with this helpless, needy urgency that’s nothing like the cool, collected tease he put on upstairs. I wonder how far he’ll let this go. Judging by the way he’s clutching at me, the little whines caught at the back of his throat, I think the answer is all the way.
“You smell amazing,” I murmured against his lips, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and something sweeter, more intoxicating. “And you taste even better.”
He giggled, a sound that was both innocent and incredibly sexy. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
I grinned, my hands roaming over his body, feeling the smooth skin beneath his shirt. He was virtually hairless, his skin soft and flawless. I couldn’t wait to see more of him, to taste more of him.
I pulled back, looking into his eyes. “You ever done this before?”
He shook his head, a slight blush on his cheeks. “Not really. I mean, I’ve fooled around a bit, but…”
“It’s okay,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “We can take it slow.”
He nodded, trusting me completely. It made me want to take care of him, to make this good for him.
I take his hand and he follows, light as a cloud, down the two steps to the sunken den. The old leather sofa groans as I drop onto it, pulling Blake with me. He lands square on my lap, light as a feather but somehow setting my whole body on fire. There is no hesitation in him now; he’s ready to play this out as far as I’ll take it. He grinds down, his ass snug against my cock, and I swear I see stars for a second. It’s obscene, the way he fits there, the way my hands naturally find his hips and pull him in, locking us together. For a split second I worry we’re moving too fast, that I’ll scare him, but the look in his eyes is pure electricity.
He wants it. He wants me to do whatever I want with him.
The first hungry kiss turns into a second, a third, until they’re blurring together, his lips impossibly soft and sweet. His tongue darts out to meet mine, exploring with this eager, hesitant curiosity, and I answer with a deep, possessive growl into his mouth. My fingers roam under his shirt, tracing the subtle lines of his ribs, thumb circling a nipple until it hardens under my touch. He shivers, then giggles when I pinch, but instead of wriggling away, he grinds down harder on my lap, sending a jolt of need straight to my cock.
It’s good. It’s so fucking good.
His tiny hands are everywhere, tugging at the collar of my shirt, raking through my hair, then down along my neck. At one point he bites my lower lip—just a nip, but enough to make me gasp. I bite back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, tasting the faint salt of sweat and the sickly-sweet aftershave he clearly stole from his dad. He laughs when I lick a stripe from his collarbone to his jaw, then moans when I suck right where I know it will leave a mark.
He moves against me with a rhythm that’s all instinct: forward, back, tiny circles, searching for friction. I can feel his cock through his jeans, rigid and straining, and the pressure against my own is almost unbearable. I palm his ass, kneading the perfect, peach-sized globes, then dip my hand lower, letting my fingers ghost along the seam of his pants. He arches into it, shameless, greedy, a tease and a slut at the same time. He’s so responsive, so easy to read, that I want to ruin him on the spot.
“Please,” he whispers against my lips, breathless and glassy-eyed.
“Please what?” I whisper back, loving the way his voice wavers, how much he’s dying to say the words out loud.
“Touch me,” he says, a little whimper at the end. “I want you to.”
My stomach flips. I reach between us, pressing my palm against the bulge in his jeans. He bucks, and when I squeeze, he lets out a choked moan, so loud I’m suddenly grateful for the thick walls and the pounding bass from upstairs. He grinds against my hand, chasing the sensation. It’s cute, how desperate he is, how little he tries to hide it.
I slip my hands under his shirt, yanking it up and over his head in one smooth motion. He’s even more beautiful bare-chested, all creamy skin stretched tight over delicate bones. I run my tongue down his sternum, swirling around his navel, and he shudders, grabbing my hair and holding me there. I bite gently at his hip bone, then move back up, sucking another bruise onto his neck.
He’s panting, his whole body vibrating in my arms.
“You’re so fucking hot,” I murmur, and he just nods, too gone to say anything.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope no one comes looking for us. But honestly, the risk only makes it better.
I reach for his belt, fingers nimble despite my own trembling hands. I undo it slowly, making him wait, making him feel every second of it. His breath hitches with every movement, and by the time I get to the button and zipper, he’s biting his knuckles to keep from moaning again.
I slip my hand under the waistband, feeling the heat of him, and cup him through the thin cotton of his boxers. He’s huge for his size, thick and hard and leaking already. I pull him out, the tip glistening with precum, and run my thumb along the slit. He gasps, then thrusts into my hand, desperate.
His hands tangled in my hair, his hips grinding against mine. I could feel his cock, hard and pressing against my stomach. I reached down, unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and already leaking precum. I wrapped my hand around it, stroking him slowly, feeling the smooth skin.
“Fuck, you’re big,” I murmured, impressed. “And so fucking hard.”
He moaned, his head falling back as I stroked him faster. “You make me this way,” he breathed.
I grinned, feeling a surge of pride and desire. “I want to taste you,” I said, my voice rough with need.
He nodded, his eyes glazed with lust. “Okay.”
I pushed him gently onto his back, kneeling between his legs. He’s laid out like an offering, jeans and boxers tangled around his knees, shirt rucked up to his armpits, the lean, hairless expanse of his stomach rising and falling with every breath. I pause for a second, just to look. His cock is beautiful—no other word for it. Thick and flushed a furious pink, every vein and curve perfectly proportioned, the head already slick and shiny with precum. It twitches against his abs, leaving a glistening smear across that perfect skin. He’s not just hard; he’s trembling, every muscle tight with anticipation and the kind of fear you only feel when you’re about to get exactly what you want.
I wrap my hand around the base and marvel at how heavy and hot he is in my palm. His whole body jolts when I squeeze, his abs flexing so hard I can see the outline of his ribs. I thumb the head, gathering the slick there, and he makes this guttural little sound that goes straight to my own cock. I can’t help but lean in and lick a stripe up the shaft, tasting salt and something bright and sweet, almost like the blue punch he was drinking. His hips buck and he whimpers, high and helpless and totally unlike how he sounded upstairs. The transformation is incredible. I want to see how far I can take it.
I lick around the head, slow at first, teasing him, then flatten my tongue and take him all the way to the back of my throat, letting the tip nudge the soft palate. He moans—a long, broken sound that’s half shock, half gratitude. I hollow my cheeks and suck, and he arches off the sofa, hands flying up to grip my hair like he needs something to anchor him to earth. He’s so sensitive, every touch magnified, like he’s never had anyone go down on him before, or at least never like this.
I start to bob my head, building a slow rhythm, and every time I swallow around him he gasps, toes curling against the leather cushions. He’s leaking like crazy, and I savor it, the slippery sweetness and the way it coats my tongue. I use one hand to stro
ke the base, twisting just how I know feels best, and the other to cup his balls, rolling them gently, making him shudder. I want him to remember this—to think about it the next time he’s alone, jerking off in his bed, and compare every blowjob after to the one I’m giving him right now.
I glance up from under my lashes and catch his face: head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted and shining with spit. His cheeks are flushed, and sweat beads at his hairline. He’s never looked more beautiful to me. If I wasn’t so focused on blowing his mind, I’d probably start jerking myself off right here, but this is about him. About breaking him open and putting him back together in my hands.
He gasped, his hips lifting off the sofa, his hands gripping my hair. “Oh god, Caleb…”
I sink down over him, letting his cock fill my mouth, the head pushing past my tongue and bumping up against the back of my throat. He tastes clean and sharp, like sweat and soap and teenage anxiety. With every inch I take, the thick vein running along the underside thumps against my tongue like a pulse, and it drives me wild. I want to swallow him whole, to see if I can make him lose every ounce of control, and judging by the way he’s moaning, I’m doing a pretty good job.
He bucks his hips up, totally unschooled, just a kid desperate to get as deep down my throat as I’ll let him. I hold him in place with one hand splayed across his pelvis, thumb tracing little circles where the soft skin meets wiry, barely-there pubes. The other hand fists the base of his cock, steadying him as I bob my head, working up a slick rhythm. He’s leaking precum like crazy, and I lap it up, savoring the salty-sweetness, the way it coats my lips and dribbles down my chin. I want to be messy with it, to mark him and let him see exactly what he’s doing to me.
My own cock aches, straining so hard against my jeans that it’s almost painful, but I don’t touch myself. Not yet. This is about him, about how good I can make him feel, about the look on his face when he realizes just how much power he has over me in this moment. The sounds he makes are unreal—soft, breathy whimpers punctuated by sudden, helpless groans, the kind of noises you can’t fake if you tried. His hands grip my hair with this frantic need, tugging me closer, like he’s afraid I’ll stop if he lets go.
I hollow my cheeks and suck, swirling my tongue around the head, teasing the frenulum just under the tip. He loses it, gasping my name, his thighs trembling on either side of my face. I can feel every twitch and pulse, every shiver of sensation as he gets closer. I slow down, pulling off with a wet pop, then dive back in, bobbing my head faster, wanting to push him right up to the edge. He cries out, the sound echoing off the walls, the party upstairs completely forgotten.
Just when I think he’s about to go over, I pull back, letting his cock rest heavy and quivering on my tongue. I look up at him, meeting his blown-out, glassy blue eyes. He’s watching me with this mixture of awe and disbelief, like he can’t believe this is actually happening to him.
I pulled off, looking up at him. “You taste so fucking good, Blake.”
He smiled down at me, his cheeks flushed. “You’re amazing at that.”
His words crash into me like a wave—no hesitation, no uncertainty, just raw, unfiltered want. I grin, feeling that reckless surge build inside my chest and radiate down, tightening everything below my waist. “I want to fuck you, Blake,” I say, and the words are almost a growl, barely contained. I want to feel you open for me. I want to turn you inside out. I want to ruin you for anyone else.
He bites his lip, the barest quiver in his jaw. His voice is a trembling confession: “I want that too.” The way he says it, so breathy and honest, makes me want to pin him down, to see just how desperate he’ll get.
I let the moment hang for a beat, savoring the electricity between us. His eyes flick down, lingering on the bulge in my jeans—still trapped, still throbbing, insistent. He’s dying to see it, to feel it. I lean in close, kissing along his jaw. The taste of his skin, sweet and salty and alive, drives me nuts. I murmur soft into his ear, “You sure?” but I already know the answer. He nods, twisting his hands in the cushions, arching toward me.
I want to take my time with him, make him feel every second. I drag my hand down his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs, the shallow rise and fall of his breath. His pulse hammers under my fingertips. I pop open the button on his jeans, slow and deliberate, then slide the zipper down, exposing more and more of him. He shivers, hips jerking up, desperate for contact.
“God, you’re impatient,” I tease, palming the warmth of his cock through the thin cotton. It’s so hard it’s almost angry, leaking slick that soaks the fabric, a dark wet patch spreading across the front. I stroke him through it, just to watch him writhe. He groans, the sound raw and shameless. I duck down and mouth at the outline, breathing him in, feeling his whole body tremble. He’s shaking, on the verge of losing it, and I haven’t even really touched him yet.
I yank his jeans and boxers down in one motion, exposing everything. His cock bounces free, thick and flushed, veins standing out in sharp relief. It’s easily as big as mine, maybe more, and I’d be intimidated if I wasn’t so fucking turned on. I wrap my hand around it, stroking slow, twisting my wrist just how I know he likes. More slick beads at the tip, and I lean in to lap it up, tongue swirling over the head. He gasps, almost sobbing, his hands scrambling for something to hold. He settles on my shoulders, clutching hard enough to leave marks.
I pull off, grinning at the desperate look on his face. “You taste fucking amazing,” I say, and his whole body blushes, all the way down to his chest. He’s so easy to ruin.
He tries to catch his breath, but I’m not letting him. I kiss him again, deep and filthy, sharing the taste of his own precum. He moans into my mouth, hips grinding up. “Please, Caleb,” he begs, and it’s not even a word anymore, just a sound.
I move my hands lower, tracing the sharp cut of his hips, palming his ass, spreading him open. He’s tight, pink, and perfect. I want to bury myself in him, to feel him squeeze around me. I tease him, running a finger along his hole, just barely pressing. He whimpers, pushing back, hungry for it. I spit into my hand and rub it over him, working him open with slow, careful circles.
He watches me, eyes wide and pleading. “I want you,” he whispers, and it sends a jolt through me, like a live wire straight from his mouth to my cock.
I want to make this good for him. I want him to remember it every time he jerks off, every time he tries to fuck someone else, every time he thinks about me. I want him to crave it.
I stand up, stripping off my clothes so fast I almost trip over myself. My cock slaps up against my stomach, hard and leaking, so full it hurts. I grab the bottle of lube from my bag and squeeze a generous glob onto my fingers. He’s watching every movement, pupils blown wide, jaw slack. I kneel back between his legs, spreading them open, and rest my hands on his thighs—one last check, one last “are you sure?” He nods, biting his lower lip so hard I’m afraid it’ll bleed.
I slick up my fingers, warm them against his skin, and start to work him open, slow and gentle at first. The lube is cold, but my touch isn’t, and he relaxes into it, moaning, hips rolling up in little involuntary circles. I add a finger, stretching him, twisting just a bit, watching his face for any sign of pain. There’s only pleasure—pure, blinding pleasure. He’s so responsive, so hungry for it, that I almost lose control.
When I slide a third finger in, he arches off the sofa, letting out a broken cry. It’s too much and not enough. I curl my fingers, searching, and when I hit the spot, he clamps down around me, the muscles in his thighs quivering. “Oh my god,” he gasps, and I grin, loving how easy he is to read.
I pull my fingers out, spreading the lube over my cock, and line myself up. He looks up at me, eyes glassy and wet, and whispers, “Do it, Caleb. Please.”
I hold out as long as I can, but I’m shaking with need. I lean over him, bracing myself with one hand, and press the tip of my cock against his opening. I push forward, just enough to stretch him, then pause, letting him get used to it. He groans, the sound so needy it makes my head spin.
I want to be careful, to make it good, but I want to bury myself inside him so badly I can barely breathe. I grip his hips, steadying him, and start to slide in, inch by inch. He clamps down on me, tight and perfect and almost too much. I watch his face, searching for pain, but all I see is want.
I stood up, stripping off my clothes quickly, my cock hard and aching. I grabbed a small bottle of lube from my pocket, coating my fingers with it. I knelt back down between his legs, spreading them wide. His hole was pink, tight, and virtually hairless. I couldn’t wait to feel it around my cock.
I drizzle a slick line of lube across my fingers, working it between them until the heat of my skin takes the chill off. Then I press the tips against his hole, watching his whole body clench in anticipation. He’s trying so hard to be brave, but I see the flicker of nerves in his eyes, the slight tremor in his thighs as he braces himself for something new. I slow down, circling the tight pucker with feather-light touches, just enough to make him squirm. He inhales sharply, his hands gripping the couch cushions, knuckles whitening. I ease a finger inside, feeling him shudder and clench around me, the ring of muscle resisting and yielding in the same breath.
His body is so responsive, so raw and honest. Every twitch, every exhale, every little gasp gives him away. I can tell he’s never done this before, at least not like this, and the trust he’s giving me sparks something fierce and protective inside my chest. I go slow, working in more lube, coaxing him open with gentle, determined pressure. He’s tense, but underneath it he’s vibrating with want, every little moan turning high and desperate as I keep working him, soft and relentless.
I look up, catching his gaze, and see it: the hunger, the fear, the hope that I’ll take care of him, show him how good it can be. Blake’s lips part, like he’s about to say something, but all that comes out is a shaky breath. I smile, wanting to calm him, to let him know he can trust me to take it slow, to make it perfect. I lean down and kiss his thigh, just above the trembling muscle, letting my lips linger before I murmur, “Relax, baby. I’ll make it good for you.”
He nodded, taking a deep breath. I slipped a finger inside him, feeling the tight, wet, warmth of his hole. He moaned, his body relaxing as I worked my finger in and out, adding a second, then a third.
“You’re so tight, Blake,” I murmured, my cock throbbing with need. “I can’t wait to feel you around me.”
He moaned, his hips lifting to meet my fingers. “Please, Caleb. I want you inside me.”
I steady myself over him, bracing my arms on either side and just watching him for a second—his chest rising and falling, his lips parted, eyes fixed on me with so much reckless trust it almost undoes me. The weight of what’s about to happen presses in: how I could hurt him if I’m not careful, how much he wants it anyway, how every part of me aches to give him exactly what he needs. I know this isn’t his first time, but it’s his first time like this, and I want to make it unforgettable. I want him to crave it every time he closes his eyes.
I slide down, lining myself up between his legs, the head of my cock dragging slick along his hole. I hold there, letting the heat and pressure build, giving him a chance to brace himself. I look up again, silently asking, and he nods, biting his lip, his cheeks flushed deep and wild. I push forward, just a little, enough for the tip to stretch him, and he gasps—a high, sharp sound that echoes in the small room. I pause, holding absolutely still, waiting for him to get used to it. His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white, but he manages a shaky exhale, some of the tension melting from his shoulders.
The sensation nearly knocks the breath out of me: tight, wet, impossibly hot, squeezing in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat. My cock jumps, fighting not to give in all at once. I slide in another fraction, moving slow, watching his face for every micro-expression. He doesn’t look away, even when his eyes water up with the intensity of it. I can tell it’s a lot—maybe too much—but he bears down and grinds his hips up, hungry for more.
I lean in, kissing his knee, his hip, anything I can reach. “You’re doing so good,” I murmur, voice low and shaking. I rub slow circles on his thigh, trying to ground him. He nods, but his whole body trembles, strung tight like a live wire. I want to take all the edge out of it, to make him feel cherished and fucked at the same time.
I hold there, not moving, letting him breathe. After another moment, I roll my hips just a little, easing deeper. This time, he groans and clings to me, nails digging into my forearms, but there’s no panic—just raw, naked hunger. I smile, pride and lust tangling in my chest; he wants this so bad he’ll take anything I give him.
I brush some sweat-soaked hair out of his face and kiss his temple, then whisper for only him to hear, “Tell me if you need me to stop. I mean it.” He nods again, more certain now, limbs wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer, wanting the full weight of me on him.
The slick sound, the heat, the desperate way he grips my hips—I’m so hard I can barely keep it together. I want to slam in, rut until we both see stars, but I force myself to go slow, to let him feel every inch as it slides in. I bottom out, hips flush to his ass, and he shudders, teeth clacking from the aftershock. I exhale hard, stars dancing at the edge of my vision.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice rough with need.
He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps. “Yeah, just… give me a second.”
I waited, feeling his body relax around me. Then I pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until I was fully sheathed inside him. The feeling was incredible, his tight twink hole gripping my cock perfectly.
I began to move, slow at first, then faster, feeling his body respond to mine. He moaned, his hips lifting to meet my thrusts, his cock leaking precum onto his stomach. I reached down, wrapping my hand around his cock, stroking him in time with my thrusts.
“Fuck, Caleb,” he gasped, his body trembling beneath me. “You feel so good.”
I grinned, feeling a surge of dominance and pleasure. “You feel fucking amazing, Blake. So tight, so perfect.”
I can feel the orgasm clawing its way up my spine, raw and immediate, like it’s made of lightning and broken glass. There’s no resisting it—his body is too tight, too hot, and the way he wraps around my cock is almost supernatural. Every time I thrust, Blake meets me halfway, his whole body arching off the sofa like a live wire. His moans are getting louder, less like words and more like something ripped out of him. I can hear myself grunting, desperate, every cell in my body tuned to the next thrust, the next second of friction, of pressure, of heat.
I bury myself deeper, grinding my hips so every inch of me is inside him, my abs flush against his ass, and he lets out this strangled, hungry sound that tells me he wants it—wants all of me, wants to be wrecked by it. The head of my cock is so sensitive that every clench and flex of his body makes my vision white out at the edges. He’s leaking precum all over his stomach, a messy, beautiful sight, his cock bouncing against his abs with every stroke. I keep one hand on his hip to anchor him, the other reaching down to jerk him off in time with my movements, our hands and bodies slick with lube and sweat.
He’s babbling now, a string of “oh fuck, oh god, please, please, please,” and every plea makes my cock throb harder, makes me want to give him everything at once. I lean in, chest sliding against his, and bite his shoulder—not hard, just enough to mark him, to make it real, to make it ours. I want him to remember this every time he sits down for a week.
The rhythm gets frantic, hips slamming together over and over, the room echoing with the wet slap of skin on skin. My balls draw tight, the base of my cock burning with the promise of release. Blake’s body is shaking, sweat pooling at the small of his back, his legs locked around my waist as if he’s afraid I’ll pull out and leave him empty. He looks up at me, hair plastered to his forehead, lips swollen and red, and for a second our eyes meet and it hits me how much trust he’s given me. I want to reward it, to fuck him so hard and good he never forgets my name.
I slam in once, twice, three times, and he shudders, his whole body locking up around me. I barely have time to brace for what’s coming before he cries out, voice breaking.
“Cum for me, baby,” I growled, my voice rough with need.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy so desperate to be wrecked. “I want to feel you cum in me. Fill me up.” His voice is almost a sob, wrecked and raw, trembling with need. His whole body bows off the couch, his legs locked around my waist, and he throws his head back so hard I think he might snap in half. Every muscle in his body tenses, then suddenly he’s cumming, a thick white arc splattering his ribs, then his abs, then pooling in a wild mess on his stomach. He moans my name, or maybe just a noise shaped like it, hands clawing at my back, nails scoring my skin. The sight of him losing it—of his cock twitching helplessly, of his hole squeezing tight around me, milking me for everything I’m worth—hits me harder than anything ever has.
It rips the orgasm out of me. That’s the only way I can describe it. Like I’m not even in control, like my whole body has been holding its breath for this moment and just lets go all at once. I see white, the edges of my vision flickering, and I hear my own voice break on a low, guttural groan. “Can I cum in you?” I manage, but it’s too late—my cock is already spasming, pumping wave after wave of cum deep inside him. I slam in, hips flush, and just grind there, locked up and shuddering as I spill inside him, filling him until I feel it start to leak out around my cock, slick and warm.
But I don’t stop. That’s the part I never expected: how hungry I am for him, how I want to keep fucking him until I’ve wrung out every last drop, until I’ve carved my name into the inside of his body. I keep thrusting, hard and relentless, working my cum into him, feeling it start to froth and drip down his crack. Blake’s still cumming, still milking me, his face gone slack and blissed out, eyes rolling back as he surrenders completely. He’s a mess—cum streaked up his chest, sweat shining on his skin, lips red and bitten. I want to devour him. I want to ruin him for anyone else.
I collapse on top of him, our bodies slick with sweat and cum, my cock still buried inside as I pant and gasp for air. Blake holds me tight, arms wound around my shoulders, like he’s afraid I might disappear. Our chests heave together, sweat and spit and tears mingling between us. There’s no space, no distance—just the throb of our hearts, the aftershocks rolling through both of us in waves.
I feel the cum seeping out, hot and sticky, dripping onto the ruined couch cushions, and the mess just makes it hotter. I never realized how much I’d like the feeling of breeding a guy, of literally filling him up. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it, or if every time will feel this urgent, this raw.
We lie there a long time, tangled and breathless, too stunned to say anything. I hear the clock ticking, the distant hum of the fridge, my own pulse still thundering in my ears. I’m vaguely aware that I’m crushing him, but Blake doesn’t seem to mind. His hands run up and down my back, slow and lazy, like he’s petting a wild animal that finally wore itself out. I nuzzle into his neck, not sure if I want to laugh or cry or just never move again.
Eventually, I lift my head, and our eyes meet. His are glassy, pupils blown wide, hair an absolute disaster. He grins, a weird, crooked thing, and I realize I’m grinning too.
“Fuck, Blake,” I breathed, my body shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm. “That was… incredible.”
He laughed softly, his body trembling beneath mine. “You were amazing, Caleb. I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
I grinned, feeling a rush of pride and satisfaction. I pulled out slowly, feeling my cum leak out of his hole. I reached down, scooping it up with my fingers, pushing it back inside him. He moaned, his body trembling.
“You like that, baby?” I murmured, my voice soft.
He nodded, his eyes glazed with lust. “Yeah, it feels so good.”
I kissed him gently, feeling a surge of tenderness and desire. “You’re fucking perfect.”
He smiled up at me, his eyes shining. “You too, Caleb. That was… everything.”
We lay there for a moment, our bodies pressed together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps. Then I pulled back, helping him clean up with tissues. We dressed quickly, the sound of the party still going strong upstairs.
As we made our way back upstairs, Blake turned to me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So, wanna do this again sometime?”
I grinned, feeling a rush of excitement and anticipation. “Definitely.”
He winked at me, a promise of more adventures to come. “See you around, Caleb.”
I watched him walk away, my mind already racing with possibilities. I couldn’t wait to see what the future held for us, what new experiences and discoveries lay ahead.
But I knew one thing for sure; I couldn’t wait to breed him again.