Gaped on my Eighteenth Birthday

Taking a break from Luka and Dan to share something pretty darn filthy (and kinda long to read; there's a free ePub/PDF download version on my site) - Hope you like it!

Comments, feedback, and ratings always appreciated. If you're looking for more stories, my site has several, and if twinks getting their asses owned is your thing, "Seven Days to Squirm" will hopefully hit the spot...

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"There's a box for you, it'll be brought up."

Eighteen years old on the dot, and while I didn't mind birthday surprises, this one had been spoiled already. My parents texting me that, while they couldn't be there to celebrate in person, a cake would be their substitute. Frosting to stand in for familial affection. 

Even with their warning, I'd still been surprised when the front desk called up. Enough, anyway, that I hadn't recognized the voice on the phone. 

There were a few doormen who worked in the building, but Emmett was my favorite. Or, maybe more accurately, Emmett was the only one my teenage horniness had fixated on, to the point where I couldn't guarantee just walking through the lobby wouldn't leave me with an erection if he was on duty. 

Not that I figured I could be blamed for that. Whoever had picked the doormen's uniform of khaki cargo shorts and a dark blue polo shirt was far from inspired, but filling it with 6 foot 2 of early-20s college jock was a powerful redeemer. Factor in the short blonde hair, blue eyes, and full lips - not to mention the cheeks that always looked the tiniest bit flushed - and the reason for my lust was obvious. 

He was a nice guy, in that slightly forced, staged way that I knew they'd probably been told was appropriate when speaking to the residents and their guests. Meanwhile, I struggled to muster more than an awkward "hey" or "g'morning" as I walked past his little booth. Simultaneously wanting to linger, to burn his image - those biceps straining against the shirt sleeves, or the full curve of his ass as he bent to pick up some package for my parents - into my brain, and at the same time desperate to escape before saying something embarrassing. 

As I'd jerked off, picturing him grinding against me in nothing but his underwear, I told myself I should just start a conversation. That boldness lasting right up until the point that the cum was cooling on my chest and belly, replaced by the lingering sense that he'd only laugh at me if he knew about my fascination.

The door buzzer dragged me from my slump on the couch, and the barely-distracting screen of my phone. 

That megawatt, pleased-to-help grin. I blinked as he stood in the doorway, neither of us moving for a moment. 

"Uh, I have a... cake," Emmett said, finally. Gesturing with the broad white box he was holding. 

A beat. I forced myself to take a step back, to the side. Relieved he took that as an invitation, because it wasn't like my mouth was ready to formulate anything so useful as instructions quite yet. 

Emmett toed off his sneakers just inside the door - I figured that was another of the building rules - and then walked past me. Glanced over his shoulder. "Where should I put it?"

I jolted, wondering if he'd caught the way I'd just been staring at his ass. The way it filled his shorts so amply, with such beguiling roundness. My fingers were itching to touch it. 

"Um... kitchen," I said, then mentally kicked myself for sounding braindead. 

He just grinned a little wider, and then padded in socked feet down the hallway. 

I watched him set the box down on the counter. 

"Is it..." he prompted.

"My birthday," I explained. It felt ridiculous to mention it, as though I was a little kid still expecting to be the center of attention. Yet at the same time, the fact that it meant I got to keep talking to him couldn't be discounted, either. 

"Happy birthday!" 

If the beaming expression wasn't genuine, then he was a really, really good actor. I decided I preferred believing the former. 

"Thanks," I said, feeling my face blushing a little. "Eighteen."

Emmett winked. "Good age, eighteen."

Something in my stomach twisted. 

"You gonna celebrate?" He nodded at the box. "Beyond the cake, I mean."

"They all went to Europe," I said, aiming for an expression that suggested blithe indifference rather than abandonment issues. 

He gave me another room-illuminating grin. "Place to yourself, then... nice."

It was like there were two conversations going on at once. Two different languages being spoken. What Emmett was saying, the regular words, and then the potential meaning underneath them. A layer I couldn't help but try to decode in my favor. 

"Yeah," I agreed, "could be fun."

I took a step closer to him. Seeing the look of curiosity on his face, an expression that seemed so far away from the outright disgust I feared finding there. One that left me thinking that maybe, if I just took the first step...

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached out and grabbed between his legs. 

For a moment we both stood there. Emmett looked surprised. 

"Could be fun," I repeated, watching his face. 

He didn't step back, didn't slap my hand away. Then again, he wasn't levering his cock into my grip, either, or telling me he'd been hoping I'd make a move. My brain downplaying the latter, even as it tried to memorize the vague heft my fingers were haphazardly wrapped around. 

"Do you grope all of the staff?"

I grinned at him, lopsidedly, resisting the urge to squeeze. "This isn't groping," I countered, "it's a... suggestion."

His eyebrow lifted; Emmett didn't seem convinced. "Okay, so do you 'suggest' with all the staff?"

I sighed. "You're focusing on the wrong thing." Licked my lips, in what I hoped was about as equally-suggestive a way as my hand on his bulge.

"And did it matter whether or not I was into guys?" 

"You had a rainbow pin," I pointed out, a little sullenly. 

The look Emmett gave me was somewhere between amused and withering. "Management gave everyone those, for Pride month. We had pins for Black History month, too, but I guess you didn't notice."

I blinked at him. He was correct, that fact had completely passed me by, but there was no way I was going to admit my ignorance.

"You haven't moved my hand," I said, instead. Hearing the challenge in my tone; remembering, for a split-second, how my parents always maintained that I was incapable of apologizing or accepting I might've been wrong about something. That all I could ever do was double-down, brazen it out.

Count on someone else giving in before I ever had to.

Emmett looked down at where my fingers were still shaped around his crotch. Then back up at me, expression blunt. 

"Maybe I'm just letting you dig yourself into a deeper hole, for when I report you for being a pervert."

I grunted, to hide the shake in my stomach. "You think... you think they'll believe you?"

His eyes narrowed. "Does the entitlement come naturally, or is it something they teach you in that fancy ass school?"

I yanked my hand back, as if I'd been burned. 

"It's not like that. I'm not like that."

He could hear the defensiveness in my voice as well as I could, I knew. 

"No? So I was just supposed to go along with you grabbing at me, uninvited?"

The way he was staring at me was making me furious, as though the whole of my body was simmering, barely contained. Angry at his version of what'd happened, and how I couldn't quite dismiss it. Angry at him, even though I knew, really, that he hadn't misled me. That I'd projected my own lust, and need, and fascination onto some hot, 20-something guy who rationally would probably never spare me a second glance.

Angry at myself, most of all, for knowing all that and yet still hitting on him in such a blunt, ridiculous way.

"I thought you might want it. Me." It was the voice that made my parents roll their eyes; the tone which made teachers at that "fancy ass school" remind me that surliness and obstinance wouldn't be tolerated. 

I watched him, with a confidence I didn't truly feel. 

"You know how you find that out?" Emmett said, staring straight back at me. "You ask."

I scowled, looking away. "As if."

His hand felt huge, gripping my chin and turning my head back to face him. Impossible to resist.

"You ask," Emmett repeated. 

It was clear what he wanted. And, equally, clear what he was setting me up for: the embarrassment of having to put into words my need for him. The shame of hearing him turn me down. Yet, for all it upended my gut to walk straight into that, I couldn't exactly begrudge him the revenge. 

I swallowed, hyper-aware of his fingertips' pressure against my jaw. 

"I think you're hot," I told him. Not even trying to look away, now. Committed, even if it was to my own stupid downfall. "You wanna do something with me?"

Emmett watched me. I waited for the smirk, for the laugh. Wondered whether it'd be a cruel sound, or simply entertained. Just desserts for the stuck-up kid whose parents he had to call "Sir" and "Ma'am"; whose packages he had to bring up; whose dog he was dispatched with, to shit and piss out its territory.

"Like what?" he asked, breaking the silence. "What're you offering?"

I shrugged, words suddenly beyond me. Pinned by his gaze.

"If I want your mouth, or your throat, can I have them?" Still no smile, still no smirk, still no laughter. "What about if I want your ass, is that on offer, too?"

It was hard to swallow, my throat feeling thick. The pressure of Emmett's hand building, pushing my chin up; forcing me to rise onto my toes. 

"Okay." My voice like a croak, a bubble struggling to surface through thick swamp water. 

Emmett looked amused. "Do you even know what you're saying yes to?"

His other hand grabbed my bicep, squeezing almost painfully tight. Just for a moment, before that grip moved down until his fingers were wrapped around my wrist. 

I didn't resist as he pulled my arm forward, pressing my palm against his crotch. 

I'd not been able to feel him before, not really. Just layers of fabric and heat, bunched under my awkwardly-placed hand. Now, though, there was no mistaking the heft of his cock; no way to ignore the thickness of it, the hardness, as I instinctively wrapped my fingers around it. 

"So what's on offer?" Emmett repeated.

No mistaking the challenge in his question, either. 

"Anything," I told him, my lips tingling. 

He released me. 'Take your shirt off."

I blinked at him; at the "hurry up, idiot" look he was giving me. Pulled, with numb fingers, at the hem of my t-shirt. Stripping it off, over my head, and choosing in that moment not to feel cowed, self-conscious. Tried to stand up straight, meet his gaze and puff my chest out, even though I knew I wasn't as wide, as built as him. 

"So fucking cocky," he muttered, almost under his breath. 

I opened my mouth to reply, something smart-ass and mocking, then yelped as he laced his fingers through my hair and clenched his fist. My head yanked back, hands immediately flying to his wrist to try to alleviate the pressure as he tugged me.

I twisted my eyes as far as they'd turn, Emmett still blurry to my side. Just about able to make out the look of exasperation on his face. 

"Which is your room?" 

It was a demand, punctuated with a shake. I hissed at the ripple of pain through my scalp, wanting to pull away from him but knowing it was impossible. 

"Down... down there," I gasped, risking one hand to gesture down the corridor before thinking better of it, trying again to pull on his arm. 

Emmett pushed me forward, as though I was a hunting dog leading the way. I stumbled ahead, socked feet skittering on the marble floor.

"You got lube?" 

I frowned, then hissed again. That alone had been enough to add extra pressure to my sensitive scalp. 

"Just lotion," I admitted. 

A chuckle. "You use that to jack off with?" 

I could feel my face reddening, even as I started to nod. Rethought that gesture; a whispered "Yes" the less-painful response. 

Emmett sighed. "Then let's hope mommy and daddy are better prepared, eh?" 

I flung out an arm, knowing what his next question would be and hoping to preempt whatever punctuation he might give it via my tender scalp. Half leading him, half being dragged to my parents' bedroom, suddenly hoping to god that Emmett would find what he wanted in their nightstand drawers. 

He tossed me down, with a jerk. I rolled as I hit the bed, one hand gingerly probing at the back of my head. 

Laughter, at my glare. 

"Let me guess, nobody treats the little prince roughly?" His voice was mocking. As I watched, his eyes flicked down my body. "Even though you quite clearly like it that way," Emmett added.

I didn't need to look to know what he was referring to: my erection thick and straining against the front of my sweatpants, the dark fabric tented obscenely. Unmistakable evidence that, far from outraged, my body was only getting more excited by his aggression.

He chuckled, yanking open the nightstand drawer closest to him. Hand pushing through whatever was in there, a search left wanting to judge by the dark look he flashed me. 

"Check that one," Emmett ordered, jerking his chin at the table on the opposite side.

Still glaring, I rolled over onto my stomach and stretched across the bed. Had to pull myself closer in order to peer down into the drawer; rewarded for my efforts by a bottle of lube. 

I didn't exactly want to think about my parents having sex, but that didn't mean I wasn't grateful that they were at least appropriately equipped. 

I held the bottle up, over my shoulder, then my face hit the sheets as Emmett grabbed my ankles and yanked me back across to him. Ignoring my muffled shout of surprise, and easily overcoming my attempts to kick his hands away. 

A palm, at the small of my back, pinned me in place as effectively as a granite boulder. I panted through the shock and surprise, then squealed again as Emmett slapped my ass. 

The flinch gave him the opportunity to tug my sweatpants down. Not so much a strip-tease as just a strip: a hand at the waistband, pulling them down my thighs as I wriggled again in protest. Legs feeling cool, suddenly, from the unexpected exposure. 

"I should've figured you'd be a designer undies boy," he teased, apparently entirely unbothered by my attempts to escape him. 

It was like being flayed, laid almost bare: my white Calvin Klein briefs stretched around the curves of my ass. I felt that whole body shudder, the one that strikes when you know someone is staring at you and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

My lower back gave up its protesting, as his hand lifted from me. Even so, I lay there unmoving: afraid of turning around, of Emmett seeing me so thoroughly aroused as my cock fought against the tight grip of my underwear. 

"When you jerk off, thinking about men using you, are they clothed or naked?" 

The question made me blink in surprise, my brain taking a moment to process his words. I could feel him, waiting for my reply. 

"Uh... naked," I admitted. It was only a split-second later that I realized I'd basically just confirmed I fantasized about being used. 

Emmett didn't comment on that, though. Just walked around the edge of the bed, stepping into my line of sight as he pulled off his polo shirt. Positioning himself perfectly, in fact, for my eyes to latch on as he unfastened the cargo shorts I'd groped him through, shoving them down his legs. 

I glanced up, gaze twitchy, just in time to see him smirk at the way I licked my lips at the sight of his tight Under Armor boxer-briefs. 

Not that I could blame myself for that reaction, with the way they hugged him like a second-skin. Muscled thighs and a narrow waist, each worthy of being stared at, drooled over, but each shelved in my attentions as I focused on the thick ridge of cockmeat fighting against the stretchy fabric. 

"Ask to see it."

It took a moment for his words to filter through, for my brain to decode them. Even for all my mouth was watering, my palms itching to grab at him again, I still looked up at him - his knowing, amused expression - with vitriol. 

"Fuck you."

Only to have my gaze dragged right back down again, lightning fast, at the teasing stroke of his fingers across that swollen bulge. Hearing Emmett's snort of laughter, amused at my obvious reaction, but there was no space in my brain to get annoyed by that. Only to watch, engrossed, at the way he shaped the gray underwear around himself. 

"Show me."

Like it was someone else's voice, not my own. Forgivable, then, because I didn't have to take responsibility for that desperate, needy thread running through the hungry demand. 

He could've made me beg, make me debase myself, but he didn't. Thumbs hooked into the waistband; a shove down, and the soft material was pooled around his feet. 

Emmett stood up, watching me. 

Thick, and long, and lolling out almost horizontally from his groin. More than enough to make my mouth water and my hole twitch; a thrill of anticipation mixed with fear at what I knew he wanted, and what I knew I'd promised him. 

A step forward. Emmett didn't even look cocky any more, but then again he didn't have to. My reaction to his dick was celebration enough.

He knelt on the bed in front of me, thighs spread. The urge to reach out and grab at him was fierce, but I forced myself to wait. Hardly daring to breathe.

His fingers, easing through my unruly hair, almost like petting in comparison to the way he'd dragged me just before. Not that I doubted he'd tighten his grip if he thought I was misbehaving for him. 

"Here's the thing," he said, softly. His cock was wagging, slowly, side to side, in front of my face. Mesmerizing; I realized with a jolt that my jaw was already hanging open. Emmett jerked my head, just slightly, to get my attention. 

"Here's the thing," he repeated, "I know you want to suck it. I know you want to feel it in your throat. But I don't have time for you to slobber around the tip and work up to that, okay?" 

I grimaced, frustrated by his lack of faith. "Come on..."

He tugged my head back, forcing me to make eye contact. "Maybe after I fuck you, I'll let you try your best with it."

I opened my mouth to complain again, only to have the words muffled by the fat head of his cock swiping wetly across my lips. Instinctively I licked them, tasting the sharp sweetness of his precum. 

Emmett laughed, then pushed my face down into the mattress. Walking up over me on his knees, straddling my torso, as I tried, experimentally, to shift beneath him. 

It was like trying to lift an SUV from on top of me.

His arm, scooping under my belly and lifting. Dragging my ass up, my knees automatically bending, hips tilting. Barely any time to realize what was happening before he stripped the briefs down to my thighs.

Thick fingers, strong, dragging in the gulf between my cheeks. The rough pads of his fingertips skating across my hole, making me gasp beneath him. 

"Anyone used this before?" 

The question was so casual, it took me a moment to realize what he was asking. 

A loud slap, his hand across my ass. I jerked and writhed beneath his weight, even though I knew it was pointless. 

"I asked," he said, pointedly, "if anyone..."

"No," I interrupted. The idea of him repeating that question was somehow even more mortifying than answering it.

I heard the pop of the bottle top; felt a sudden coolness spill down my ass. And then that rough circling again, only this time Emmett was pushing with it. Fighting against my hole's tightness with each stroke. 

"You've got toys though, I know you have," he continued, as his hands plied me. 

I shook my head, embarrassed again, even though I knew he couldn't see it. 

Maybe he felt it, that movement. Maybe Emmett just knew I'd deny it. Either way, I heard him laugh. 

"I sign for your mail, remember. Sort your packages. You think I don't Google the companies, especially when they sound so very intentionally innocent?"

I was blushing again, I knew I was. Face furnace red at the idea of him sitting downstairs, in the mailroom off the lobby, and seeing the places I'd secretly gone online shopping. Even if he didn't know what was in each box, it wasn't like it took much guessing. 

"So maybe you're an expert at all this, right?" 

He sounded amused, but I didn't have time to dwell on that. Not when he pushed the first finger into me - a smooth, long, unstinting stroke, until I could feel his knuckle against my skin - and I twisted and bucked again. 

He wasn't rough, so much as focused. Hardly giving me time to get used to that first, thick digit; a dozen or so sawing motions in and out of my slick and twitching hole, before he ground the second in alongside it. All the air hissing out of my lungs as he worked me over. 

I wanted to jerk off, but his legs had my arms trapped. Could only feel the flecks and spatters of precum as it spooled out of my wagging dick, somehow harder than I could ever remember being as Emmett eased a third finger inside me. 

He wrapped his arm around my waist again, and suddenly even that jerking around was impossible. Nothing for me to do but whimper in desperation, as he ruthlessly worked my hole into submission. 

I could feel it happening, even as wound up as I was. Feel the way my muscles loosened; how it was easier for him to bury three, then all four digits to the knuckle inside me. As though my body had surrendered, recognized that it could either fight this battle and inevitably lose it, or try its best to cooperate. 

He pulled up again, twisting my lower back painfully. Angling my cheeks up, my legs flailing now, toes trying to catch a grip of the sheets. I heard Emmett spit, the wetness landing on my entrance. Quickly, he pushed his fingers back inside me, wrist turning as I groaned and panted. 

When he dropped me, I fell like a wet noodle. Body limp and uncooperative; even if I'd wanted to claw my way out from under him, no part of me was ready to rise to that challenge. 

Emmett swung his leg up, lifting the pressure from my shoulders. I heard the wet, squelching sound of more lube being squeezed out.

"Ass up," he demanded. 

It was like my knees were jelly, barely able to support me. My cheek still pressed into the bedding, panting at the rush of feelings. 

The wet slap of his cock against my ass reminded me just what I'd invited onto myself. 

I expected a speech, a warning. "This is gonna hurt," maybe, or something more arrogant, more punishing. An assumption upended when he pushed at my hole. 

For a moment it felt like there was no way my body would comply. Even after his fingers; even with his hands pulling my hips back to him. That simple math, or physics, or whatever defined my virgin ass and his ridiculously wide dick would mean it was all impossible. 

And then I squealed into the sheets as the fat tip sunk into me. 

"Oh fuck, that's hot," Emmett said, his voice thick. I felt him shift his weight from one knee to the other, the movement small but still somehow churning my insides. 

A hand, flat, on the small of my back. Pressing down, my hips tilting automatically. Making it easier, I realized, for him to plow me. 

Words unintelligible as he buried further into me, the weight of his body enough to overcome my own, meagre protests that weren't really protests at all. My hands scrabbling at the sheets, thighs spread wide, as Emmett skewered me with what felt like a half mile of dick, and the same again in thickness. 

"This is what you wanted, right?" His voice a taunt, gravel-edged with lust and need. 

Opening my mouth should've been enough to let the words out, but my brain had lost the ability to formulate them. Left only with a groan from deep in my chest.

My eyes rolled back as he pushed further inside me. 

"I asked you a question," he said, mockingly. 

"Please..." I managed. Not even sure, in that moment, what I was asking for.

Emmett chuckled, and then I felt the heat of him against my back as he leaned down on top of me. His body big enough to wrap around mine, lips close behind my ear. His breath against my skin, his sweat slicked against my own. 

"Almost there," he whispered, and I could hear the grin in his voice. 

A sob, almost unrecognizable to my own ears, as he pushed those final few inches into me. My brain trying to connect the erection I'd seen bobbing in front of my face just minutes ago, with what I now knew was buried inside me. 

It felt like my body was suddenly half-cock, a supreme fullness that was indescribable. 

"So fucking tight," Emmett muttered, more to himself than to me. 

All I could do was whimper.

"So because you're the birthday boy," he said, voice soft still, lips brushing the sweat-damp nape of my neck, "I'm gonna take it so slow. Okay?"

The idea that I could begin to respond to that, that I'd even know what the right answer was, almost made me laugh. Instead I simply pushed my face further into the sheets, my cheeks burning.

Emmett apparently didn't need a reply, anyway. His weight still pinning me, his hips lifted; I gasped again at the sensation of being pulled inside-out by his cock as it dragged from my overwhelmed hole. Only a little, before he slowly drove it back into me and I groaned with disbelief. 

His rhythm was teasing, excruciating in its measured pacing. That sensation of being cored through, ebbing as he eased uncountable inches from my tightness, only to grind back in deep and leave me breathless, my vision filled with stars. 

"Such a lucky birthday boy," Emmett murmured close to me, "getting fucked raw on his special day." He grunted, as he again skewered me deep. "That birthday hole's gonna be wide open when I'm through with you, you entitled little slut."

My already-shaking knees spasmed underneath him, brain overloading at his words even as my body was tortured by his fuck. No way to hold myself up, I collapsed onto the sheets, feeling their smoothness against my rigid dick.

No respite from that change of position, though; Emmett following me down, covering me whole now. His arm slipping around my throat, yanking my head back until it was pressed against his. Leverage as he pumped on top of me.

"You like it deep, huh?" 

I swallowed, my throat flexing against the cords of muscles in his forearm. Loving and hating the way my erection throbbed at his taunt, at the way I knew he was getting off as much at possessing me like this, as he was from the friction of my clinging hole.

Maybe he knew I couldn't formulate words right now. Or maybe he guessed I was seething with frustration as much as lust: that for all I wanted this, wanted him, wanted my first time with another man, I also wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of describing my pleasure. That the strokes here were going to be to my overstretched ass, not to his ego. 

A chuckle; his weight shifted, Emmett rearing up on top of me. His legs spreading to either side of my own, hands on my waist keeping me pinned and submissive. And always that sawing of his cock, my hole ablaze with heat and pleasure. 

"Oh yeah, fuck, look at that pretty little ass," he said, louder now, amusement in his tone. "Stretching so wide."

Another shift; the weight on my legs lifting slightly, and then nothing else in the world registered as he pulled out of me - my body feeling hollow, suddenly paper-thin - before, a split-second later, he drove himself back in. 

I yelped into the mattress, jolting underneath him. Flesh feeling like putty, wet clay, no hope at all of my muscles doing anything so organized as protesting his intrusion or even delaying it. Could only lay there, gasping and drooling, as he repeatedly popped open my lube-sloppy hole. 

"Spread your ass, show me." A barked order, hunger in his demand. 

Hating my compliance, I reached back. A hand on each cheek; shaking fingers pulling myself wide for him. Knowing Emmett would be amused, seeing me so obedient, and yet at the same time wishing I could view myself through his eyes. Know myself from such an extremely exposed angle, and see what he'd done to my body.

"Fuck, so needy," he observed. 

I hissed as his fingers worked me. Both hands on me, now; thumbs pushing into my ass and then - my hips twitching and jerking, but pinned tight between his knees - stretching me open. 

The sound of him spitting. I flinched when it landed wetly on me, rough fingertips digging it further inside. 

"Spread, I said," he scolded.

I pulled harder, knuckles white as I clawed at my cheeks. Grunting the first time he slapped his erection against me; Emmett snorting, entertained, at the way I tried to lean back into him. My body instinctively wanting him inside me again, even as my brain feared whether I could handle it.

Not that I had a say in it either way. Could only wait until the fat, flared head of Emmett's cock ground back in, and if I thought I'd been stretched before, by his fingers and my own assistance, all that suddenly felt like nothing in comparison. Emmett sinking only deep enough for my abused muscle to clamp down around his shaft, a relief like mercy after the swollen ridge of his tip, before he yanked himself loose again and I half-howled, half-sobbed at the sensations.

I was gibbering now, wordless madness spilling into the bedding as he plied me. Popping open my hole over and over, working it until my ass felt as jellied as my legs. His sweat landing on my back, his fingers still tugging at me even as his dick fought down any last hope of my body's resistance. By the time he sunk deep into me again, cock sheathing itself in my hole with the gurgling squelch of lube and precum, it almost counted as a relief. 

Almost. And yet not quite: not when he wasted no time in slamming his hips down into me. The promise of slowness forgotten, and now the birthday boy's hole was finding out what happened when a man chose to use it. All sense of time gone, and just the slap, slap, slap of his body hitting mine. 

"You still with me, little prince?" 

My head pulled back, his fist in my hair. I tried my best to look at him, eyes swiveling like unbalanced marbles, not sure if my blurred vision was the angle or just because everything in me had shifted out of focus from his endless pounding. 

"Not so tight, any more," Emmett taunted. 

The groan of dismay did little more than rumble in my chest. 

Another two, three pumps of his hips, my back arched as he manhandled me, and then he dropped me to slump, unceremoniously on the mattress. Clambering off me as casually as dismounting a bike; even without his weight pinning me down, I couldn't muster the energy to move under my own power. 

Strong hands, flipping me. A moment of embarrassment, outsized despite everything, at him seeing me naked and hard. My dick apparently the only part of me which could focus, my crotch a mess of smeared precum where I'd soaked myself. 

Emmett reached down, his fist closing around me. Only a few rough strokes and I was flailing, the same rough rasp of his fingertips that had overwhelmed my hole now applied liberally to the plump tip of my cock. 

I batted at him with ungainly hands, hearing him laugh again. I should've known things would only get worse for me if he relented. 

Gripping my legs, he pushed them back, practically folding me in half. One of Emmett's big hands more than capable of holding me by my crossed ankles, as I glared at him from between my thighs. His amused expression suggested I was about as intimidating as I felt.

"What's the matter, birthday boy?" He grinned at me, knowingly. "I thought you said I could take anything you had to offer?"

Two fingers, running down across the clench of my balls, between my cheeks. I gasped as he pushed them into me, my tender insides twitching as he worked me roughly. 

He shuffled closer on his knees, pushing my legs back and tilting my ass up. The slick rub of his cock brushing against me. 

"You want it?"

That was the worst part: I couldn't claim I didn't. Couldn't tell him to fuck off, that I wasn't fantasizing already about how he felt buried inside me. Couldn't deny that I'd been aching for him to stick me again, ever since he left me feeling empty.

"Does it matter?" I spat, finally managing to piece together words. 

Emmett raised an eyebrow. "Of course. I only fuck the willing." He tilted his hips; it sent the fat head of his prick sliding across my hole. "It's called consent, I dunno if you've heard of it."

I turned away, furious at him and at his reminder of how I'd touched him. Furious, too, that he couldn't be goaded into nailing me; that if I wanted it, I'd have to ask for it. 

"Fuck me, then," I muttered, angrily. 

His grip on my ankles tightened as he leaned into me. Folding me until the sticky tip of my dick was leaving glistening trails across my stomach. 

"Louder, birthday boy."

It was like a drug, some part of my brain decided. Instantly addictive. And nothing - not my fingers, not the toys it still killed me that he knew I'd ordered - could match it. 

"Fuck. Me." I ground out, staring at him through the cage of my legs. 

He smirked as he sunk balls-deep into me. 

No yelp, no scream. Barely even a gasp: just a sharp intake of breath at what felt like my whole body being run-through, my vision tunneling as I pressed my head back into the mattress. And no time to process, to think about the incredible sensations of stretching, because Emmett was already pulling back. Dragging that long, thick shaft from out of me, before he plowed back in.

It was hard, and fast, and punishing. Fucking me like he was angry at me, like he had something to prove. As though I was little more than a hole for him to take his urges out on, even as I stared up at him - open mouthed and already drooling again - and watched him watch me be overwhelmed. 

Emmett leaned into me, my legs against his chest. Crumpling me underneath him, his hands free to grip my skull as he pounded me relentlessly. 

I held his wrists, body contorted, trying desperately to breathe. His sweat dripping on me, hot on my face. As though he was marking me.

He grinned, and I wondered for a moment what it would be like to kiss him. If he'd do it like he fucked: angry and intense, as though everything was an opportunity for possession. 

"Spread yourself for me, then," he ordered, sending my fantasies skittering. 

I reached down with shaky arms, fingers closing round my cheeks and pulling. Unsure whether I was really doing anything, not to open myself any further to his long, deep strokes anyway. Knowing that maybe all it was good for was demonstrating my obedience to him, and understanding that could in itself be enough. 

Emmett pushed himself up, hips still thrusting. Looking down at where we were joined, and chuckling dirtily. 

"I wish you could see how good you look, spread around my dick."

I whined as he pulled out of me, suddenly. Staring down, still fascinated.

"Fuck, you're wide open. Feel how gaped your hole is right now."

A little noise, something like a spark of panic from the back of my throat, at the idea of it. Not that it stopped my fingers from inching tentatively forward across my cheeks.

"Oh shit," I whimpered, as my fingertips slipped inside myself. Nothing to stop them, no protesting muscles, just my ass left wide open by how he'd fucked me relentlessly. Almost not daring to touch myself, as frightened as I was turned on by the otherworldly feeling of being spread so lewdly.

He spat again, and I found myself rubbing it into my already well-lubed entrance. Like dipping my fingers into warm, soft pudding. 

"Damn, that's so fucking sexy," Emmett grunted, pushing his hips forward again. 

The wet slide of his dick brushed my knuckles, as it centered in on my abused hole. Hard and thick against my own pliancy; before I knew it, Emmett was easing himself in alongside my own fingers, as I gurgled in shock at the extra stretching. 

"Oh hell yeah, now you're tighter," he taunted, building up his pace again. 

It was a choked sort of sob, overload at the feelings radiating out from between my cheeks, and the heft of his erection rearranging my insides, and the knowledge that I was playing an integral part of all that, now. Not just some limp, fuckable toy in the shape of a guy laying on the bed, allowing himself to get plowed by a porn-worthy dick. Instead my fingers were dug inside my over-spread hole just like that dick: working myself open even further, changing the feelings of friction for Emmett as he smirked at my astonished, almost horrified expression.

"Maybe you should've bought the bigger dildo," he teased, bottoming out in me. Grinding his crotch against my knuckles, forcing my fingers further into my ass.

I gave him what I hoped was an unimpressed look. "I can... take it..." 

Emmett pushed his face closer, between my legs. Until the tip of his nose was only inches from mine; close enough the swollen black of his pupils and the flush of red across his cheekbones was obvious. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed, voice softer. The twist of his grin wolfish as his hips tilted, the groan propelled out of me by the thick head of his cock grinding against some new, sensitive part of my insides. "Question is," he continued, "will your hole ever close up again afterwards?"

And then I couldn't glare at him at all, as he pressed his forehead against mine and began rabbit fucking me. Hard, fast, deep strokes; only time on each to yank half his dick out of me, but that was still enough. More than sufficient to turn my brain to jelly and blast me back into a drooling, slack-jawed mess beneath him.

"Hold on tight, birthday boy."

Limp noodle arms again, trying desperately to wrap around his shoulders. Screwed into shaky obedience, Emmett's words seeping into some primitive part of my lizard brain where all I could do was chase pleasure and follow instructions. It took several attempts to lace my fingers together behind his neck.

When he sat up, he took me with him. My legs unfolding around his waist; Emmett's strong arms a bear hug for my chest as he fucked me on him. 

I'd thought I'd felt everything, every stretch and press, every scrap of torturous friction. Hadn't counted on a shift in angle, or how my body and his could still find ways to surprise me. As though I was sat on a chair leg, or a traffic cone: my eyes rolling back as he unlocked new ways to overload my senses. 

His fingers in my hair, tugging my head back painfully. Emmett pushing his face against the long, curved stretch of my neck as he rutted underneath me. I should be protesting, I knew, complaining about the ache and the wrench and the rough treatment. At how he contorted me so readily, so easily: taking liberties with my body, all of it shocking, no matter how much grace I'd granted him to use me as he saw fit. 

That assumed I had breath spare in my lungs to complain with. That I could do anything, in fact, beyond focus on the tormenting churn of his cock in me, and the way he seemed intent on ruining my eighteen year old hole. 

It shouldn't have been a surprise that he could lift me. My legs notched on his hips, Emmett's hands under my cheeks as he spun me to the wall and slammed my back against it. My grunt at the sharp, brief stab of pain quickly degenerating into gasps, as he surged up on his toes to drive into me. Gravity conspiring against me, my sweat-slicked shoulders slipping down the wall and dropping me on his relentless inches, while his fingers dug slyly in around his shaft to hold me further open. 

"Please..." I managed, trying not to focus on the way my cock rasped against his abs. The friction of it dizzying, and yet nowhere near enough. 

"Please... what?" Emmett demanded.

I didn't even know, not really. Unsure if I was asking him to take pity on me or to keep going; torn between wanting him with a desperate, burning intensity, and fear of what he was doing to my inexperienced body and what more I'd let him do. 

"You want me to cum in you, is that it?" 

A whimper; the horror of recognizing yourself so clearly in something. 

Still pumping, he let my body ease down the wall. Until he was kneeling, a sharp tug on my hips yanking me more horizontal, even as it left my neck twisted up against the skirting. Staring down my sweaty, precum-smeared torso at where Emmett reared up between my flopping thighs, his hands behind my knees as he positioned me for his pleasure. 

"I think I'm gonna cum in you like this," he growled out, that infuriating smirk still enraging me as much as it made my erection bob and twitch, untouched. "It's not like my load would stay in you, if you're standing up."

Maybe he could see the sudden, fleeting blush of fury in my expression. Maybe just the idea of further debasing me helped bring on his orgasm. Either way, when I opened my mouth to snipe back at him, Emmett reached forward and pushed his fingers between my lips. Three of them, thick against my tongue, my jaw in his grip as the same digits which had been tugging my ass open now gagged me as he prepared to breed me. 

"Isn't that better?" Emmett said, looking amused at my silent glare. His body slapping against mine, the sound of lube and my sloppy hole squelching loudly. "You did say your mouth was mine, too, right?"

I wanted to be angry, to be livid at how he was treating me. Plotting revenge even as he plowed me, all the ways I'd puncture his cockiness. Only it was tough to think that way, with my eyes glued to how his body moved as he nailed me. Muscles rippling; thighs straining with each lunge. I could want to be mad, could even start to muster those emotions, but the lust I felt for him always overwhelmed them. 

"You want my load, birthday boy?" 

Arrogant, cocky fucking bastard. I briefly considered biting down on his fingers, only my jaw was already slack from his extended reaming. 

"I asked you a question," he said, sounding sterner. Matching my glare, punctuating his words with sharper stabs of his hips that left me squirming and trying to gasp around his hand. 

I nodded, as best I could given my neck's contortions. 

Emmett smirked. "You want me to cum in you?"

Another glare, even as I nodded again. 

He laughed, and I could swear the sloppy, gooey sounds of his pumping got louder. "Well good, that makes two of us," he teased. "Now be a good little prince and at least try to make yourself tight for me. Your ass is a fucking mess, dude."

Mortification and fear flushed through me, even as I tried to clench down on him. Overworked muscles that'd been pounded into quivering submission attempting and failing to squeeze again. I wasn't sure whether it was doing anything to his cock, but it was clear from Emmett's amused expression that the sight of me trying was entertaining anyway. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up," he grunted. Strokes getting more haphazard now, the flail of his hips less controlled. Leaving me gasping and hissing around his fingers, simultaneously loving his roughness and overwhelmed by it. 

A last, sharp push. As though Emmett was doing his best to squeeze his whole body inside me, chasing that final fraction of an inch of extra depth as he unloaded. The knowledge that his cum was flooding my battered insides leaving me lightheaded, even as the sounds from my mistreated ass gained a new, creamy, squishy layer. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." 

His chant, matching the one in my own head. The pain of his hand clenching around my jaw, his hips making staccato jolts as the pleasure surged through him. 

And then, just as shocking somehow, the feeling of him pulling back and leaving me empty.

Emmett sat on his heels, face flushed. Fat cock still hanging, three-quarters hard and glistening with lube, and spit, and cum, between his beefy thighs. Panting deeply as he stared down at me with a wicked grin. 

"Holy crap, that hit the spot."

I wanted to sit up, to feel a little less like some discarded fuck toy he'd just gone done creaming, only none of my muscles were cooperating. 

Emmett looked down at the splay of my legs. Chuckled, sounding a little in awe.

"Fuck, dude, I can see right inside you."

I looked away from him, embarrassed and anxious. "Shut up."

He chuckled. "No, seriously. You're gaped the fuck open, it's amazing."

Part of me wanted to reach down, to feel what he'd done to me. I told myself the only reason I didn't was because my body still felt boneless, not out of fear of what I might find. If I thought about it too much, about how I could feel his load dribbling slowly between my cheeks, the kernel of panic in my chest only got bigger. 

When I glanced back, it was to find Emmett looking at me knowingly. As though he'd read my mind, and knew exactly what I was terrified to discover. 

"Come on, birthday boy... gotta make the most of your special gift."

I yelped as he stood, grabbing my ankle as he went. No way to stop him from hoisting me half off the ground, my other leg flailing, arms scrabbling vainly for purchase as he dragged me over to the floor to ceiling mirrors. Ignoring, or simply not caring about, my squeals of protest; I had about as much hope of twisting free of Emmett's hand as I did pushing his weight off me when he was fucking me. 

He manhandled me onto my back, sitting behind me so that I was wedged in-between his thighs. The heat of him fierce, as he yanked my legs apart. 

I turned my head, my head brushing against his stomach, desperate not to see my reflection. 

"Look at yourself."

It was an order, a command. The tone of someone who expected to be obeyed; I felt the flinch as my body began to react on instinct, obedient and cowed. Forced myself to close my eyes, instead. 

"If you don't look, I'm going to go find those toys you thought were secret, and put two of them up you at once."

There was, some part of my brain whispered ominously, every possibility that he'd follow through on that threat. 

I opened my eyes, grudgingly. Looked up at his smug, knowing expression. Wondering if he could see my fear as clearly as I could see how amused he was. 

"Or, I could make it more fun for you..." 

The heft of his cock was pressed into the space between my shoulder blades. I was hyper-aware, suddenly, of my own hardness: still rigid despite everything. Or, maybe, because of it. 

He pulled, pointedly, on my ankles. 

Slowly, I turned to look at the mirror. Startled at first by my own face: hair sweat-tangled, cheeks flushed and lips bright red as though I'd been biting them. For a moment I struggled to recognize myself. 

And then groaned, in some sort of sick, aroused dismay, at my gaping hole.

I'd looked at myself from this angle before, of course. Thrown my legs back in front of the mirror, as I worked my ass with one of the dildos I'd ordered. Watched as my fingers slipped inside myself, feeling the tight clench of my body as I stroked and reached for my prostate.

There was no tight clench any more.

Just a wide, open circle, the perfect hole for the jigsaw piece that was Emmett's cock. My skin glistening with sweat and lube; even as I watched, in fascinated horror, a thick trickle of bright white cum oozed out of me. 

"That's so fucking hot."

Emmett's voice, breaking me out of my wide-eyed reverie. I craned my head back, pressing it into his belly so that I could stare up at his grin. Wishing, too, in that moment, that I wasn't so stiff myself: that it wasn't so utterly obvious that I was still the most turned on I'd ever felt. 

"Touch yourself," he murmured. Voice lower now, as though we were sharing some wicked secret: a conspiracy between the two of us, not him coaxing me into toying with the destroyed mess his horse cock had left between my cheeks. 

I gave him a pleading look, even as his hand took my wrist. Didn't bother resisting as he guided my fingers down.

We both watched, through the splay of my legs as my reflection slipped two, three fingers inside himself. My breathing shallow, sharp pants I could only partly blame on the way he'd contorted me and the pressure on my chest. Feeling that gooey, soft, pliant tunnel while Emmett's erection strained against my spine. 

"Fuck, that's it." His voice thick with lust; eyes never leaving where my fingers were digging inside myself, twisting where his cum lubed me and left my knuckles shimmering in the bedroom light. 

I felt him move behind me, but now I couldn't look away. Too caught up in the otherworldliness of my body in this state; almost mewling with frustration when he pushed my head down to straddle me. My nose pressed into the heat and musk of his groin, senses dizzying with the intensity of it, even as he tilted his hips and pushed the still-swollen head of his dick into my mouth. 

It was wrong, felt dirty and obscene, but I couldn't stop myself from sucking and lapping at him. Tilting my head back further, making it easier for Emmett to ease his shaft across my tongue, my jaw painfully wide. Knowing, too, that if he decided to test me - if he dropped down onto me, gave in to what I knew his body must be desperate for - he'd choke me on his cock. That there was no way my naive throat could accommodate his size.

Maybe Emmett figured that too; maybe what I was doing with my tongue was enough, swirling around his impossible inches. Or, I realized as his fingers brushed against mine, perhaps he was just distracted. The fascination with my wide-open hole dragging every scrap of his attention, as he sandwiched my body to the floor with his weight and played with my gape.

I yelped, around his dick, at the roughness of his tongue across the tip of my cock. Swiping at the precum there, lapping it away with long, dizzying strokes. 

"Shit, you're so hard." Amusement, clear enough in his tone for me to hear despite his legs squeezing against my ears. 

I wriggled again, as his lips closed around me. Just the straining head clasped between them, and yet that was still somehow too much, overwhelming me. My brain filled to the brim and beyond that, with his cock filling my mouth, his fingers pumping at my abused hole, and the steady, teasing rasp of his tongue. 

I didn't know if he was gay, or bi, or just blew and fucked guys because he liked the sensations, or even just because he got off on seeing me lose control. Couldn't ask him, either, only suck and toy with myself and ride that roller-coaster rush of pleasure as he pushed more of me between his lips. Wishing I could prolong it, delay it; pull myself from his stroking, sucking, probing, and dash across the room on shaky, new foal legs. 

No hope of that, though, and I could only figure that Emmett knew it. That even this pleasure he was bestowing on me was a lesson, too; a reminder that he held the key to when, and how I'd cum, and it was down to him - and his tongue, and his fingers, and the heft of his cock nudging at the entrance to my throat - to decide when to grant such satisfaction.

He tilted his hips, driving the broad head a fraction deeper in me, and dug in his fingers, and that toppled me over the edge. 

Like I was being turned inside out; like my whole body was one, long ripple of convulsions. Emmett covering my mouth, my nose, his cock filling my throat, all stopping me from breathing, but it didn't matter. Not when my lungs had already seized, my back arched as I pumped my load into his sucking mouth. 

It was too much, a switch flipped and suddenly I couldn't handle it. One last flush of energy coursing through my muscles, bucking and twisting underneath him as he sat up and back. His dick sliding, heavy and greased with throat slime, across my face, as my lungs sucked down air with almost painful desperation. 

As my chest heaved, he leaned forward and let my cum slide out, across his lips and down in long, glistening strands, straight into my open mouth. Smirking as he did it, as I coughed and choked on my own load, and tried to twist my head from the grip of his thighs. 

Finally, he sat back. Legs spread either side of my shoulders, leaving me a heap of exhausted muscles. Body sweaty and spit-slicked, the fierceness of his musk still strong in my nose. 

I realized, after a moment and with my ears ringing, that he was laughing. 

"Well fuck, birthday boy, you taste pretty good." He wiped an arm across his grin. 

"Fuck you," I managed, but there was no real heat in it. I had no fight left in me. 

Emmett snorted. "Actually..." He reached down, between my legs, and grabbed my still-hard prick. Shook it a few times in his fist. "I bet this wouldn't feel bad," he observed, still sounding amused. 

I squirmed out of his grip; pushed myself to my knees, on barely complying limbs, facing him. 

"Is that meant to be a compliment?" I spat.

His expression was knowing. "What's the point in plying you with compliments if I already got laid?" 

Grimacing, I looked away. Suddenly embarrassed at how he stared at me; at the knowledge of my body he now possessed, intimacies nobody else shared. 

"You took advantage," I accused him, my voice lower now. More subdued. 

Emmett's laugh had no mirth to it. "Took advantage? The way I remember it, you propositioned me first." 

He sat back, arms flung out behind him, and I wondered if I'd ever feel that same degree of self-confidence, of assuredness about my body. 

"Actually," Emmett continued, "propositioned is the wrong word. Considering you groped me, and all."

I glared at him, glowering from under my frown. "I think you got your own back for that."

His eyebrow arched. "Yeah, and I think you got what you wanted, too. Even if you didn't know exactly what it was that you wanted in the first place. So don't give me that 'he took my innocence' bullshit, when we know you were never that naive."

"Easy for you to say, when you haven't got an ass like a subway tunnel," I said, scowling still. 

Emmett chuckled. "It'll tighten up again, stop being a baby."

I pushed myself to my feet, trying not to show just how difficult that proved to be. "Huh, I didn't know you needed to be an MD to work as a fucking busboy," I sneered, as I walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen. 

I heard his steps behind me a moment before he shoved me. Sprawling forward onto the sofa, arms pinwheeling. 

"This was really dumb, you know that, right?" 

I made to sit up, already glaring at him, but found myself pushed easily back into the couch cushions. One of Emmett's hands flat between my shoulders; apparently barely even straining to pin me in place. I squirmed against the pressure, but it was like I'd been staked down.

"Let me up," I told him, angrily.

Emmett ignored me. "What's to stop me from clearing the place out, eh? How do you think your parents would feel, getting back from their vacation and finding all their beautiful shit has disappeared?" He chuckled, then pressed on me a little harder, as though for emphasis. "Or maybe I call up some of my boys, invite them over to take turns on you, instead?"

His fingers hooked inside me, rough against the softness of my open hole, tugging my hips up even as he held me on the couch. I couldn't stop my yelp from escaping, arching my back to try to escape some of the sudden stretching. 

A second or two more of that, then he released me. Punctuated his point with a slap across my ass, that had me glaring over my shoulder at him in fury. 

"You wouldn't," I spat. 

A raised eyebrow; a challenge, of sorts.

"You have that many gay friends?" 

Emmett laughed. "Don't underestimate horny guys told they don't have to hold back," he said, voice low.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling a little less certain of myself. I'd wanted this, wanted him - had wanted him for so fucking long, as I'd apparently made mortifyingly clear - but while the idea of being passed around a group of men was a turn-on in a fantasy way, the thought of it happening for real was another matter. 

"You wouldn't," I said again, but this time I could hear the doubt and uncertainty in my voice. 

Emmett narrowed his eyes at me, amused. "You think your ass is ruined now, how'd you think it would be after five or six dudes get through with it?"

He reached down, grabbed my wrist and dragged my arm back. Pushing my fingers into the slick gap between my spread cheeks, forcing me to feel where he'd left me gaping. 

My groan was a mixture of horror and arousal. 

"You got lucky," Emmett said, voice as cold as his words. "You got lucky that I like fucking guys, and you got lucky that I didn't take advantage of you being a dumb piece of shit who can't think beyond his own sense of entitlement."

"Fuck you," I yelled at him, then yelped as he pumped my wrist and forced my fingers deeper into my hole.

"What are you?" he demanded. 

"Let me go!" 

Halfway to a shout, halfway to a sob. The flood of sensations far, far too much for me to handle as he slammed my hand in deep again. The sound of my own body lewd, a reminder of how he'd bred me so copiously.

"Say it."

I grit my teeth, chewing back tears. "I'm a... I'm a dumb piece of shit," I repeated.

"And?"

I closed my eyes, willing him to release me. Knowing, even as I wished for it, that there was only one way to secure any sort of freedom. 

"And... I don't think beyond my entitlement," I conceded.

The sudden absence of pressure, of his hand between my shoulders, of his hold on my wrist. I twisted on the couch so I could stare daggers at him, momentarily lost for words.

Emmett looked down, pointedly, then back at my face. "You might want to talk to your therapist about how that got you rock hard again."

"Blow me."

Another laugh. "I already did that, remember? Second round will have to wait for next time."

I watched him pick up my discarded shirt and use it to wipe cum and lube from himself, my sluggish brain trying to process. 

He shook his head, amused at catching me looking. "What?"

"There's going to be a next time?" 

That smirk again. One I knew was going to be my downfall. 

"Next time you're gonna squeal so fucking loud."