A disclaimer from the author: This story is a work of erotic fiction featuring men having sex with other men. It is intended for a mature audience only. It contains themes that some readers might find uncomfortable to read about, including: intergenerational sex, interracial sex, and themes involving dominance and submission. Please consider your tastes and comfort levels and show discretion before reading or commenting on this work.
Positive and/or constructive comments are always appreciated at: [email protected]
I.
As Roger parked his car and stepped out of the vehicle, jaw still aching from the facefuck less than an hour ago, he wondered once again how and why he let himself get into this mess. Jordan was a handful in his own way, a quiet, stubborn influence, but otherwise manageable. The young man’s approach to sex was so laidback and relaxed that even when Roger was made to do something that should have felt humiliating, he couldn’t help but let himself get dragged along for the ride. As much as Jordan could be a pain, the pleasure he got from bringing him off more than made up for any misgivings he might once have possessed.
But, now there was a second factor, and this one was big, loud, and awfully demanding.
The first time Roger received a text from Beef, he cursed under his breath.
Hey Gramps. What u doing?
Even without the confirmation, Roger knew exactly who he was talking to. No one else, man woman, or child, had the nerve to call him “Gramps”.
Busy, working. What do you want, Beef? He quickly typed back.
He and Jordan were going to have to have a good long conversation about privacy, because he didn’t like the boy passing on his private contact information without his say-so. There was a brief moment of peace before Beef responded back.
I had a shit day. Get over here and take care of my dick.
Roger turned beet red just from the text only. Something about seeing the words bold-faced on the screen made it all seems so slimy in a way it wasn’t when Beef would bark at him in person. Irritated, his thumbs mashed onto the screen keyboard.
Young man, I have a job to do. Right now that doesn’t include entertaining you just because you’re bored.
Satisfied, he slipped the thin phone back into his pocket, feeling a little more of his sense of self-worth come back. He had just sat down to answer his work emails, when the phone buzzed again. Frowning, he retrieved it, already knowing in his mind what to expect.
Wtf Grandpa. Your supposed to take care of us and I need some head NOW!!!
It was the aggravated NOW that did it for Roger. He began to type furiously on his phone, face flushed at the audacity of this child, when he slowed down in his tracks. It wasn’t Beef or his bossy, demanding attitude that made Roger falter. It was the larger underlying implications at play below the surface.
Roger knew that Jordan was the smartest man living in Bennett House by a mile, and yet he had given away Roger’s private contact information to Beef all the same. The young black man would have been well aware of Beef’s moods and how the mass of muscle would inevitably take advantage of the situation. He imagined Jordan now, loose clothes hanging lazily over his thin body, temptation dressed as a bum, as Beef stormed down into the basement, complaining, no, whining, about how Jordan needed to get his “bitch” in check.
The idea alone was stupid and insulting, without even considering that he was a married man, but he thought about Jordan, not saying a word, but frowning almost imperceptibly. The thought of disappointing Jordan, even this way stabbed at him like a dirty needle. Jordan may have dragged Roger into this secret life of sexual deviancy, but he drank from the tainted chalice willingly all the same, and Jordan was at the center of it all.
Shaking his head in frustration, Roger erased the diatribe he had put to text and began again.
Fine. Can you at least control yourself long enough for me to go on my lunch break?
Beef didn’t even bother to say thanks or acknowledge Roger beyond a thumb up emoji. The grandfather rolled his eyes, and got back on his computer, fingers jabbing away at the keyboard as he took his frustrations out on the poor email recipient. It was going to be quite a day.
When he arrived at Bennett House a couple hours later, Roger was grateful to discover that everyone else seemed to have vacated the premises. The less people that saw he and Beef alone together, the better in his book. When he opened the door, he found Beef waiting for him on the couch, several empty beer bottles keeping him company.
“Finally,” the wrestler complained, setting his newest alcoholic beverage aside. “I thought I was going to have to take care of this myself.” He said that like the sheer idea was an abomination to nature and Roger resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Well, I’m here now,” Roger said, keeping most of the irritation out of his voice, subtly eyeballing Beef’s meaty frame. He waited for Beef to rise to his feet and lead him down the hall to his bedroom, a destination he was already dreading the condition of, when the huskular man surprised him by instead whipping his package out, cock and balls, right there on the old couch. Roger gawked.
“Are you insane!?” he hissed, appalled by this public-facing act of self-exposure, and his shock morphed into anger when Beef just laughed at him like his discomfort was the funniest thing in the world. Hands balled into fists, he gave Beef his most disapproving grandfather expression he could manage in this strange situation.
“Put that away, Beef,” finding the name felt odd on his tongue. His voice dropping lower, he added, “I’m not here to put on a show for the neighborhood.” Beef raised an eyebrow at that.
“What’re you talking about, Gramps?” he said, trying not to laugh again. “You’re in Bennett House. There’s no one here but me and you. Besides,” he spread his legs, making an inviting spot for Roger to kneel onto. “The sooner you take care of me, the sooner you get out of here, right?”
Roger’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being manipulated, especially by a dumb jock less than half his age, and even more so when that jock was right. He closed his eyes, sighed inwardly, and gave a silent prayer to whoever might be listening above that no one came home from work or class early.
Settling between Ken’s beefy legs, he slowly lowered himself to his knees, until his shins touched the neglected hardwood floor. He sat there for a moment, staring at Beef’s cock, just taking it all in before he went got down to business. Like the man it belonged to, on a physical level alone, Beef’s cock was a formidable specimen. Big, thick, wrapped in a layer of foreskin, everything about it demanded attention and that wasn’t even considering Beef’s mouth, which ran louder and faster than a runner at a track meet. Roger smirked at the irony of the situation. He’s the one with a big mouth, and yet I’m stuck using mine to please him and not the other way around. He frowned, the thought of Beef bending down to service him making his stomach feel queasy in a way that was not at all pleasant.
Not wanting to analyze the meaning behind his body’s queer reactions, he instead bent forward, taking the spongy head of Beef’s cock into his mouth. Normally he would have been tempted to keep going, to swallow the thick stick inch by salty inch until that bulbous head tickled its way past his throat. He held off on that desire, for the moment, instead setting his mind and tongue on the next best thing, the foreskin. Jordan was by and far Roger’s penile preference, but one area Beef had the upper hand was all of that glorious foreskin. Never in a million years would Roger have thought he would be drawn to such a thing, but it was the one part of Beef he looked forward to the most of all.
His eyes on the prize, Roger’s tongue dipped and dragged along the thick head, teasing the slit and parting the foreskin around it. He hadn’t gotten good enough to use just his mouth to retract the skin, but with the help of his hand, it was a simple enough task, and the smell of Beef assaulted his nostrils making his eyes water in a shameful pleasure only this jerk of a wrestler could instill in him.
“Yeah, that’s right, grandpa,” Beef said, kicking back and enjoying the bj. “Got lots of precum to feed that hungry hole of yours.” Roger frowned at that, giving Beef a Really? look, but was otherwise unbothered. It was true. He did love the taste of precum, even Beef’s.
It wasn’t long before Beef began to shallowly thrust into Roger’s mouth, and with that the real games would begin. As if reading Roger’s mind, one sweaty mitt groped the back of Roger’s head, holding him in place, while Beef’s thrusts began to quicken. As his hips rose off the couch, Beef fell into a habit that always drove Roger bonkers.
“Fuck, Grandpa. I needed this shit,” he hissed. “You wouldn’t believe the crap Coach pulled on me today.” Roger closed his eyes, not wanting to give away his annoyance at another round of Beef’s Grievances. He focused on slackening his jaw, his mustache bristling as it rubbed against Beef’s pubic mound.
“Me and one of the bros,” Beef explained, absentmindedly playing with one of his muscular tits, “We fucking got into it. Almost came to blows over some chick we both want to bang.” At that comment, Roger grunted, eyes glancing upward to give Ken a disbelieving look. If Beef noticed, he didn’t care or comment.
“So, Anderson, that’s Coach’s last name,” Beef added, “He pulls us into his office. Gives us this stupid ass lecture about how we aren’t in High School anymore and to get our acts together or some crap like that.” Beef’s eyes darkened, his grip turning more dominant. “That motherfucker suspended us both.” Roger bunkered down, knowing he was in for it now.
Another hand joined the one on the back of Roger’s head, further cementing Beef’s dominance, and now the wrestler began to face fuck him in earnest, dragging Roger’s head to and fro, as his oversized cock shot in and out of Roger’s gaping mouth. Strenuous tears formed at the corner of Roger’s eyes, wet saliva escaping his jaw and dripping down his chin. He heard Beef growl above him.
“Fuck, I wish I could do this to Coach,” Beef hissed. “Make him my personal cocksucker.” Roger said nothing, too busy relaxing his mouth to even think of complaining. The idea seemed to spur Beef on though, and by the frantic way the athlete was pounding his mouth, Roger figured the end was in sight. When it happened, it was as dramatic as Roger would have expected.
“Take it, you fucking whore!” Beef shouted, his voice filling the room angrily. A harsh flood of salty fluid, the best part of Beef by far, filled Roger’s mouth and he eagerly swallowed, one part feeling joy at the taste of a job well done and another wholly practical side not wanting to spill inconvenient drops on any articles of clothing. He allowed Beef to lazily thrust into his mouth even as that proud tool of his began to soften. When Beef finally pulled out, Roger groaned lowly, glad to have it all done, and more embarrassingly, frustrated at not getting more at the same time. Beef gave him a condescending pat on the cheek.
“Thanks, gramps. You really know how to help a bro out.” This was the Beef version of afterglow.
Roger gingerly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly rose to his feet, head still a little light from the inconsistent flow of oxygen. Task complete, he ignored the wrestler and walked into the kitchen where he hastily washed his hands, having to use dishsoap of all things, before rinsing his mouth out as well as he could in the sink. He would have to stop by a bodega to pick up some mouthwash and maybe a pack of spearmint chewing gum.
When he walked back into the living room, Beef was sitting in the same spot on the couch, spent cock just lying there out in the open. He had turned on the TV and was watching a basketball game with some attention. Now that he had gotten off he was well and truly uninterested in Roger Baxter. The grandfather stood there for a moment, wondering if Beef would say something, and when all he received from the young man was a dismissive nod, Roger huffed, muttered out an “Enjoy the rest of your day,” and then hightailed it out of there.
Thoughts of anger and discontent swam around in his mind. How dare that obnoxious brat treat him that way? He was of a mind to give him and Jordan a piece of his mind, but by the time he arrived back on campus, the majority of his discontent had faded away, and an hour later he was fantasizing about getting back on his knees for that pillar of uncut flesh when he should have been focused on his supervision of the new student worker.
He unconsciously licked his lips as he imagined a bead of juice flowing to the head, and when he felt his phone vibrate, his cock began to harden, like a Pavlovian response. He discreetly checked his phone and smiled slightly.
Hey, Mr. Baxter. Got time to swing by after work today?
Roger licked his lips, a tiny tremor of passion flowing through his system. It looked like it was going to be another long night.
II.
After several months of painstakingly trimming and grooming the poor Bennett House lawn, Roger finally struck upon a more lasting solution. Wildflower lawns had rapidly become a growing fixture within the more liberal and environmentally-minded communities of his small city. A group of students had even brought up the idea of converting most of the campus property, currently carefully manicured slabs of green grass, tastefully designed flower arrangements, and practical bushes. Most of the administration had vehemently opposed the idea, including Roger who was not about to let some half-baked Green Earth ideas hijack his precious lawncare system. But, Bennett House was a different animal. The idea of patches of untamed weeds taking over the property feel much more apropos for the debauched and uncaring nature of the property. Besides, he was getting a little sick of spending his Saturdays covered in sweat and grass stains.
Carefully timing the arduous task when all of the House occupants would be off-site, he tilled the soil, and having already prepared the seed mixture ahead of time, sprinkled seeds behind him as he went. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for finding another solution to the ongoing Bennett House beautification project he had committed himself to. If there was one thing he could count on, it was bottom feeders thriving on the grounds. If he wasn’t around, he was pretty sure mold would be the creature of choice living on the property. He was just wrapping up the project, having patted down the soil and getting a hose ready for watering, when a familiar car pulled into the driveway.
It parked a few meters from where Roger stood, and shielding the light from his eyes with one dirty hand, he could just make out two figures sitting in the front seats. The passenger door opened first and out poked Pete’s head, the brown hair getting shaggy as the cooler fall weather set in. He gave Roger a quizzical look.
“What the heck are you doing, Mr. Baxter?” he asked, leaning on the side of the car. Roger didn’t have time to answer before the driver door swung open and Jordan stepped out, in a greasy looking work uniform and carrying what looked like bags of fast food. He gave Roger a small meaningful smile which brought a faint blush to Roger’s cheeks.
“Come inside and hang with us when you get done, Mr. Baxter,” he said, and began to walk up the steps of the house, not waiting for a reply. Back at the car, Petey noted this exchange with a puzzled expression, but made no comment. He chased after Jordan up the steps, tagging along right behind his roommate. As the door slammed close behind them, Roger leaned against his rake, suddenly feeling far lighter than he had been while he was plugging away at the lawn.
It wasn’t long before he finished the final patches of lawn, and setting the work materials into the trunk of the truck he borrowed from work, he turned his attention back to the house. It was like the building was staring at him, beckoning him inside, and like the fool he was, Roger climbed the steps, feet touching the same spots Jordan’s had only minutes beforehand.
When he reached the door, he paused for only a moment, feeling that old sense of trepidation, his old self trying to reassert control, but as it had been prone to lately, that voice died down fast and smooth, a muffled murder in the dark. Inside, he found the two boys sitting on the couch, an old episode of Scrubs playing on the television while they wolfed down thick hamburgers smothered in cheese, ketchup, and mustard.
At Roger’s appearance, Jordan tossed a wrapped burger across the room to the older man, who caught the bundle one handed, nearly knocking his gardening hat off in the process. Neither boy commented when Roger left the living room and went into the kitchen to fetch a plate to eat off of. Quickly washing his hands off, Roger decided that he might have turned into a sexual degenerate over the last few months, but he wasn’t about to give up eating like a civilized human being. Returning to the living room, he saw that Jordan had scooted over on the faded couch, leaving just enough room for another person to squeeze in next to him.
Keeping his facial expression tactfully neutral, Roger sat his plate down on an end table, being careful not to bump into the tacky lamp as he did so, and with a little effort sat down between Jordan and the end of the couch. As his aching back hit the backcushions of the sofa, Jordan subtly spread his legs, in effect locking Roger in place. Roger breath began to quicken and he hastily tore the cheap wrapping off of the burger and took a bite to occupy himself. Even with the meat beginning to get cold, the food was a welcome respite after a long day of labor.
Pete watched this exchange, not saying a word, but taking in the odd dynamic. When Danny had moved into Bennett House, Pete had expected Roger to show up on occasion. The grandfather was an almost insufferable worrywart, always up in Danny’s business and trying to steer his grandson around like he was some prized, limited edition designer car, only expected to be admired from afar, to look at life, but never truly touch it.
To his secret dismay, Roger had become a regular fixture at Bennett House, enough so that the cash strapped youngest joked that they should be charging him rent. Danny would laugh at his feeble joke, Danny also laughed at his jokes no matter how stupid they were, but Jordan and Beef were unusually nonchalant about the entire situation. Jordan was kind of an odd duck, so his reaction wasn’t too shocking. He was a good bro in a pinch, but he lived life by the beat of drum that only he could hear in his head.
What was more baffling was Beef’s reaction. He was certain that the meathead would have put up a fight and made a ruckus about “Grandpa” crashing the chill vibes, but if anything he seemed just as laid back about Roger Baxter appointment as Bennett House guardian than Jordan was. It was weird, too fucking weird. Something was going on, he was sure of it, and as he watched Roger chew his meal, the older man studiously looking anywhere but at Jordan, the tiniest hints of suspicion began to form in the back of his mind.
Jordan wiped his mouth clean, belched, and then rose to his feet, leaving a notable gap between Roger and Pete on the couch. The two sitting said nothing as Jordan walked out of the room, both looking at the television but not really paying attention to the moving pictures. When Jordan stepped back into the living room, he was carrying two beers, but he didn’t offer any to the seated men. Instead, he gave Pete and Roger a shared look, his gaze lingering on Roger for a moment too long, and then walked to the basement door, the sound of his footsteps descending down the stairs echoing in the claustrophobic room.
“So, uh, Petey...how’s life been treating you?” Pete frowned. When had Roger ever acted so...docile, especially about something as basic as small talk. He nibbled on the end of a fry before responding.
“It’s going...how about yours, Mr. Baxter?” he returned, unsure of what to make of the stilted conversation.
“Just peachy,” Roger replied, a happiness in his voice that felt wholly manufactured, and not with the usual “father knows best” mentality that Pete was used to being subjected to.
“That’s good…” Pete said, trailing off as Roger avoided his gaze. He watched the older man busy himself with a series of small inane tasks, folding up the fast food wrapper into a uselessly neat square, wiping down his clearly spotless shirt, and other such nonsense before he coughed, and shakily rose to his feet.
“Guess I better get going,” he said, the familiar loafers tapping the wood floor. “Let me know if you boys need anything else, alright Petey?” Pete nodded, slow and wary as this weird robot version of Roger Baxter started to walk to the front door, before coming to a sudden halt next to the staircase to the basement. Roger lightly slapped his own leg, acting out the motion of making a sudden realization.
“Oh, that’s right. I have that thing I needed to talk to Jordan about,” he said, cryptically. When he noticed Pete staring at him in confusion, he hastily added, “Uh, it’s about the rent.” He quickly coughed out. “I think you boys are getting shoestringed by this joint.” He said, as if he hadn’t been content paying the same amount for months now.
Roger didn’t wait for a response to his baffling statements. He just marched straight down the stairs, closing the door behind him on the way down. Pete noticed how he carefully lifted the door from the knob as he did so. The Bennett House boys were well aware of the tricky nature of that door, and it seemed Roger had become well acquainted to it as well. His eyes narrowed, suspicion digging deeper in his gut.
Down in the basement, Roger found Jordan waiting for him. The bed had been pulled out, a more common occurrence now with the younger man since the impromptu threesome that had dragged Roger into Beef’s powerful orbit. Jordan was naked already too, brown skin tempting like a bar of chocolate, a detail Roger thought was extremely risky given that Petey was just upstairs.
“We shouldn’t do this while the other boys are in the house,” Roger said, already knowing the words were useless but feeling the age-old urge to express them anyways. Jordan didn’t miss a beat, his smaller hand already stroking his growing length, and Roger couldn’t take his eyes off of it.
“It’s just Pete,” Jordan said. “He’s not a problem.” Roger’s eyes narrowed at that.
“I think you and I have very different opinions on that matter, son,” he managed, and felt a frustrated heat rise within him at the way Jordan just smiled at him patiently.
“What are you afraid will happen, Mr. Baxter?” he asked, genuine curiosity mixed with a hint of challenge in his tone. “Beef found out and everything turned out fine, right?” Now Roger frowned openly.
“I wouldn’t classify being treated like Ken’s private sex toy as fine,” he said, not having the energy to even snap at the younger man. Jordan’s smile widened, as did his legs, welcoming Roger in.
“You like being a sex toy, sir,” he said, watching with amusement as Roger looked at him with anger...and started undressing anyway.
“I’m not even going to entertain that outrageous remark with a response,” Roger said, unintentionally doing so in the process. His Saturday working outfit came off easy enough. A smart polo, a now sweaty white undershirt, and a pair of crisp blue jeans took their place on the armchair that had become the go-to clothing rack over the last few months. With his shoes and socks safely tucked away, Roger rose to his full height, already aroused with a bead forming at the head of his dick.
Jordan beckoned near with a finger, and Roger slid between the youth’s legs with a practiced ease. That glorious appendage was less than a foot from his face, but he ignored it for the moment, deciding instead to duck his face below Jordan’s balls and inhale deeply.
Immediately, Roger’s olfactory glands took in a complex aroma. One part male musk, another damp sweat, and the smell of cheap fried food, and finally something else that was undefinable to his mind. It was a cologne uniquely Jordan and set his blood on fire. His mouth now filled with saliva, Roger wasted no more time, taking one ball into his mouth and rolling it leisurely around his cavity.
As he did so, his mind, weak from lust, drifted back to some of their earlier encounters...
Roger Baxter had not taken to ball play as readily as he had a firm dick in his mouth, but in the last month or so, he had developed quite an appetite for the sack. He wouldn’t admit this to Jordan, but the young black man had the raunchier Beef to thank for the rapid development of Roger’s oral appetite. Beef, always looking to push a boundary and assert his dominance at the same time, enjoyed teabagging the grandfather, ordering him to get his sack nice and wet the way a “good slut should”.
Roger wouldn’t say that he was a fan of the demeaning language, Jordan quiet, yet firm confidence was more his style, but he couldn’t deny the results. It had gotten bad enough that watching his Mary dip her Chamomile in and out of her teacup now sent a humiliating spark of arousal straight to his netheregion.
Jordan may not have commented on the change in Roger, but he certainly enjoyed the fruits of the labor. Rimming, once an unthinkable act, now became a regular part of their sexual repertoire. That had brought its own complications though, because with every flick of Jordan’s tongue and every drop of saliva that soaked Roger’s hole, the older man felt himself become more and more greedy for the anal attentions the younger man was eager to heap upon him.
What made it worse, or better depending on your perspective, was the way Jordan had become so territorial about Roger’s ass in the process.
Jordan and Beef were both dominant men, but dominant in ways that were nearly opposite to one another. Watching them interact was a lesson in masculine performance and subtle displays of power. Ever since Jordan had opened the door to Beef, providing Roger as a sexual outlet for the horny athlete, the grandfather had wondered if one day the pair would come in conflict over Roger’s time and attention.
Being that the three men worked and lived very different lives, the trio had only managed to come together for another threesome a handful of times. The second time had been similar to the first, with Roger’s moral fortitude completely failing him. He had ended up trying, and mostly failing, to suck off both boys at the same time, his mouth made to gape and stretch in ways that were humiliating to think about and served only to further inflame his passions. For his efforts, he had earned himself a load in the mouth and one on the face, marking him inside and out.
The third time was when the problems arose. Jordan, busy lapping at Roger’s eager hole, had failed to notice the look of envy that crossing over Beef’s eyes. Up to this point, Beef had only had the privilege of oral ministrations from Roger, and the grandfather had taken to worshiping his cock and balls in the way that only a parched man long starved for water suddenly awakening in an oasis knew how to do. Roger’s blowjobs were good, more than good, actually. Roger had given him some of the best damn head he had ever had in his young life. But, like his namesake, Beef’s appetites were as wide as his body, and he didn’t like knowing Roger had access to another hole that was out of bounds for everyone else.
He could have been more like Jordan, eager to sample Roger’s hole with his tongue and fingers, but Beef was wired different than the quieter basement dweller. Where Jordan sat comfortable in his desires, deviant or not, Beef had a particular apprehension to being the one providing the oral contact. It was, simply put, too gay, and made him think far too clearly about the broader implications of his sexual relationship with Roger Baxter.
He would watch Jordan, free of such concerns, taking his pleasure however it came to mind and seeing Roger react so sweetly, moaning in a way he never did for Beef. The jealousy, the desire to claim and take, rose little by little until it finally reached a breaking point. Pulling his cock from Roger’s lips, he stepped aside the kneeling man, and tried to nudge Jordan out of the way, all the while stroking his cock in a very obvious kind of way.
He didn’t ask. He was a man, men didn’t ask, they took and dealt with the consequences later. He had built himself into a muscle machine, able to subdue any opponent foolhardy enough to try and cross him. So, he was more than a little shocked when Jordan pushed back.
“No,” Jordan said, one word, no further explanation needed. His thin black hand was grasping onto Roger’s pale buttocks, a twisted combination of protective and possessive. Beef glared at the shorter man, never expecting to be denied. He had always thought of Jordan as a bro, supplying Beef and the other tenants whatever they needed, be it a buzz, a beer, or a tight butt. He stared down Jordan, eyes challenging his housemate, and felt his spine prickle as Jordan calmly returned his gaze, showing no hesitation whatsoever.
Confused now, Beef took a step back, his cock having deflated in the standoff. He tried to shrug nonchalantly.
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he mumbled, grabbing his shorts and pulling them on as he climbed the stairs. Roger, never moving from his prone position, felt a shiver of pleasure run up his spine. His hole, tight at the tension that had floated in the air, opened up of its own volition, the invitation clear. He managed a look under his armpit, his eyes questioning, almost imploring. Are you going to take me now?
When Jordan responded to his gaze with a small smile and a gentle shake of his head, Roger wanted to curse under his breath. One part was angry that he wasn’t getting that thick slab of meat inside him and another part was appalled that he wanted it in the first place. Those thoughts quickly and easily flew out the window when Jordan’s agile tongue reconnected with his needy hole. Roger pushed his face back into the couch cushion, his teeth biting onto cheap fabric that lacked the taste he was truly craving.
He tried to hold in the moans, but his body betrayed him once again, and soon he was hard and leaking as much as he ever had with a woman, thin strands of clear seminal fluid soaking into the sofa and staining it with his arousal. It was so good, almost perfect, but he needed more, a further touch, something to push him over the edge. He was certain Jordan knew it too, damn him, but the young man loved to play with his aged body, to push him to the brink of insanity and leave him coming back for more.
When Jordan mounted him, rubbing himself on Roger’s eager hole, it was almost a relief. Just that little hint of the real thing was enough to send Roger soaring, ready to crash on the other side of this new and unhealthy sexual pleasure. He could feel his hole, slick with saliva and its natural juices, opening as if begging Jordan to enter. His mind was reeling, but his body as always was one step ahead.
When Jordan spilled himself all over his aching hole, it felt molten on the sensitive flesh. He lay there, propped up like the easy and willing target he now was, as Jordan painted his pucker with his potent seed. He didn’t move when he heard Jordan’s breath even out. He knew the boy well enough to know that the games weren’t over yet, not by a long shot. He was rewarded for his patience with a thin, bony finger piercing his hole, pushing the creamy fluid inside.
Roger gasped, eyes opening wide now, realizing what Jordan was doing. He might not have been fucked, not yet anyways, but Jordan was marking his territory just as well, and Roger’s body ached for it, welcoming the attention wholeheartedly. The slide of the fingers should have hurt, should have burned as they dragged a trail through his virgin passage, but the need and the fluids proved to be a potent combination and his hole opened easily to the stimulation. With each thrust in, Jordan, well acquainted with Roger’s inner anatomy would poke and prod at Roger’s inflamed prostate, as if marking the nub with his seed. Each press was like a tiny nudge, pushing him closer and closer to the precipice, until finally he could hold it in no longer and his own come, a thin, constant dribble, slipped from his cock onto the cushion below.
It was not the explosive orgasms he would sometimes have, but rather a slow, drawn-out process that left him exhausted afterwards, like a piercing of a vein and the spilling of his humors. He moaned, quietly and softly throughout the entire process, until finished he collapsed bonelessly onto the couch, not caring that he was laying on the evidence of his own fall. Behind him, Jordan stroked himself, having already gotten hard again in the process. He brought his mouth back to Roger’s ass, now flavored with his spunk and Roger found his voice all over again.
III.
This process of being manhandled between two boys of opposing styles went on for months, and might have gone on longer too if they hadn’t been exposed.
There was a strange energy in the house that night. Roger had received texts from not one, but both of the boys, at different times of the day telling him to come to Bennett House. Roger rolled his eyes, but the twitch of his cock and the puckering of his hole betrayed how he truly felt. On the drive over it began to rain. Just small drops at first, but by the time he parked in front of the house, it was a full blown downpour, and even rushing to the front door, bounding up the steps, he still got soaked.
Dripping like a wet dog, he turned the key on the lock, and stepped off the landing. He tried wiping his feet on the door mat, but it was an old, threadbare excuse of fabric that did little but to stop the spread of watery muck across the flooring. Sighing in annoyance, Roger fell back to his instincts, shuffling out of his loafers, which he shook once and dutifully set next to the front door, and realizing he would have to walk to a bathroom, or worse, just to find a towel, he began to strip out of his outerwear, until he was dressed in nothing but his undershirt and tighty-whiteys. Standing half-naked in the entryway, he should have felt ridiculous. A part of him did feel ridiculous, but a stronger part, the one that had been fed and nurtured on the strange fruit grown at Bennett House felt fine about it. Being naked was even starting to feel good.
Ignoring that, Roger carried the bundle of wet clothes with him and began to walk toward the basement, where the old, rusting dryer was kept. Once he was safely on the stairs landing, he began to walk down the steps, the old, wood feeling odd beneath his socked feet. He had wondered how he was to juggle both boys on such short notice, but reaching his destination, he realized they had already decided that for him. They were both waiting, in varying states of arousal and undress, twin sirens of masculine desire. Both boys smiled at him, Jordan’s small, enigmatic and Beef’s broad and toothy.
“Mr. Baxter,” Jordan murmured respectfully, and his words were followed by the louder guffaw of Beef.
“Hell yeah, let’s get this party started, Gramps!”
Roger gave Jordan a look of minor concern, but getting no meaningful response back, he began to disrobe the rest of the way.
“Can I at least throw these in the dryer?” he asked, sounding only slightly annoyed. Jordan gave him a nod and Roger walked across the room, damp feet sticking to the cool floor, ignoring Beef’s comments. After tossing the wet articles in, he found both boys staring at him with hungry looks mirrored on each other’s faces.
“Not going to lie, man,” Beef said to Jordan, stroking himself. “It’s kind of hot watching Grandpa be all domestic.” Roger watched Jordan give Beef a nod of agreement drawing a concerned frown from the older man. The last thing he needed was those two in cahoots. Naked now, Roger stood tall, dick already half hard at whatever sexual games awaited him.
“So…” Roger began, looking at the odd pair. “What are you two planning on putting me through tonight?” he said, a peculiar mixture of wariness and excitement in his voice. Beef licked his chops, like a cartoon wolf about to feast on dinner, while Jordan continued to smile, giving nothing away as usual. He patted on the sofa beneath his bottom.
“Help me pull out the bed, Mr. Baxter,” he said. “We’re going to need the space.”
With only a little bit of finagling, the trio, mostly Jordan and Roger, pulled the uncooperative piece of furniture open, the old metal groaning in protest, until with a last shove, the cheap, thinning mattress plopped down on the frame with a metallic clang. Not missing a beat, Beef jumped onto the bed, wincing in pain as the bed roared in disapproval at the rough treatment.
“Damn, didn’t think that would hurt so much,” he whined, rubbing his now aching back, while Jordan and Roger shared a conspiratorial smile. The thin, young man leaned forward, whispering into the grandfather’s ear,
“Get on the bed with him, sir.” Roger moved on automatic, climbing more carefully onto the bed and positioning himself next to the bulkier form of Beef, who gleefully eyed him up the entire time.
“Been a while since you and I were down here together,” Beef said, replaying their first encounter together in his mind. Roger scoffed, but turned away all the same as he was secretly doing the same thing. He brought a hand out to stroke and knead over the sore muscle of Beef’s shoulder, liking the push and pull of the supple flesh under his fingers.
“Hope you’re up for taking care of us both right tonight, Grandpa,” Beef hissed, the touch feeling good and stinging a bit too. “That bitch I’ve been trying to fuck has left me hanging with blue balls for days now.”
When you say such nice things like that about her, how could she possibly resist you? Roger thought, basking in a tinge of superiority. Then it occurred to him that Beef’s feelings about him must not be much better, and the pedestal started to tip.
The pillar stabilized when he heard, then felt, the lither form of Jordan saddle up next to him, the younger man’s stiff erection already poking him in the lower back. Jordan began to kiss along his neck, big openmouthed, wet kisses that left marks of saliva along his throat. When Jordan pulled his head down, he easily allowed himself to be guided into a long, passionate kiss, melting into the embrace of the man who had so skillfully pulled him into his orbit. Beside them, Beef was unusually docile.
“Man, I don’t get how you two are always so...gay for each other,” Beef says, with a small hint of wonder in his voice. Roger had a snappy comeback about how getting blown by another man seemed pretty gay to him, but Jordan beat him to the punch and uped the ante at the same time.
“You should try it,” Jordan said, like he was talking about a new flavor of soda. “You might like it.” Beef gave him a disbelieving look, like his roommate must be joking, but then with a shake of his head surprised them all.
“Ya know what? Fuck it,” Beef said, and pulled Roger into a crushing kissing. Shocked at first by this unexpected move, Roger didn’t react properly, his mouth staying closed and connecting with a mouth full of teeth. Then instinct kicked back in, and he parted his lips, squirming as Beef’s tongue shot inside his mouth like an alien invader. Beef lacked the natural talent Jordan had. His kissing technique was much like the man: broad, loud, and messy. It felt less like being kissed by a lover and more like being devoured by a hungry animal that didn’t know how to chew its food properly.
When Beef pulled away, he seemed less than impressed, which Roger could only echo in thoughts. Dissatisfied by the performance, Jordan leaned forward to say to Roger.
“Show him how its done, Mr. Baxter.”
Galvanized by the words, Roger pulled himself from Jordan’s embrace and climbed on top of the surprised looking Beef. He leaned forward, his lips connecting with Beef’s thin lines of red, which stayed stubbornly closed, until tentatively the lips parted and Roger’s tongue slipped inside. With Roger now steering the ship, the kiss was completely different. Beef was initially all stiff muscle, uncomfortable with this new expression of masculine sensuality, before some combination of heat, saliva, and sweat caused the wrestler to let down his guard and his tongue began to tentatively dance with Roger’s inside their docked mouths.
This was more like it. Not the jolting, slobbering mess from before. This was a real kiss. A man’s kiss. When Roger pulled away, lips wet and swollen, mustache damp and prickly, he could tell that Beef had felt it too, the difference. Beef looked momentarily caught off guard, enough so that Roger could almost fool himself into thinking he had wrestled some control over this situation. That didn’t last long though.
When Jordan’s hands returned to his buttocks, they were stronger now, firm and demanding. Roger feeling himself begin to melt instantly, wanted to arch into the touch, as if a switch had been flipped from deep inside.
“Roll on your back, Roger,” he heard Jordan say behind him, and the older man shivered at the rare usage of his first name. For one brief moment, the old, judgmental part of him reared its ugly head, but it barely made a whimper before Roger found himself doing exactly what he had been commanded. As he rested on the mattress next to Beef, his back protesting the lack of cushion beneath, he parted his legs just enough to make space for what was to come.
When he looked up at Jordan, the man who had started everything and dragged him kicking and screaming down a path he couldn’t turn away from, he saw that Jordan was holding a small tube in his hand. With one slender, brown hand, Jordan popped the lid and squirted a small amount of sticky fluid onto his palm. Ah, personal lubrication. So the time had come at last.
Jordan’s fingers, wet with slick, angled between his legs. One finger, pointed in position and intention breached Roger’s hole with an ease that would have mortified the older man if it hadn’t felt so good. Jordan had fingered him before, of course, but never like this. It was always a part of a larger game of sex with the younger man. This felt different. Intentional and purposeful in a way the previous kind hadn’t. He wasn’t just being fingered, he was being prepared.
Beside them, Beef was not silent. He grunted in a kind of masculine amusement, his uncut inches twitching as he watched Roger take one, and then two of Jordan’s fingers. Finally, he got bored of just watching, and his hand joined the party, cupping one of Roger’s breasts while he stroked himself.
“Feels good, Grandpa?” he asked, already knowing the question. Roger nodded, eyes lidded, not tearing his gaze away from Jordan’s face. Beef chuckled, low and rambling.
“I bet you’ll like the real thing even better,” he said, hotly.
When Jordan’s fingers left his rectum, there was a yawning ache in their place, hollow in a way Roger had never anticipated. He watched Jordan dab more of that lubrication onto his palm, much more this time, before tossing the bottle aside, and stroking his own length, which soon glistened with moisture.
“Hold his legs open,” Jordan said, and at first Roger was confused, until he realized that the command had been given to the mass of muscle laying next to him. He expected Beef to balk, certain the wrestler would rankle at being ordered around. Instead, Beef jumped into action like a well-trained puppy, two stocky fists grabbing Roger’s legs and lifting. The angle was strange and the bed, not made for such defilement creaked angrily at the movements, but after a little maneuvering, Roger’s legs were opened plenty wide for Jordan to do his dirty work.
The young man, brown skin practically glowing in the dingy, basement light, took a moment to admire the view. It wasn’t often you got to see an upstanding member of the community like Roger Baxter spreading his legs for a fuck. And not just any fuck. A deflowering. A bonafide cherry popping. All at the ripe age of 61.
The prodding of Jordan’s cockhead at his backdoor momentarily pulled Roger from the fantasy, and his hole tightened up reflexively, but then he looked at Jordan, saw the expectant look in his eyes, and as if on an unspoken command, he began to relax and with it so did his hole. This time when Jordan pushed, the head went inside easily, and Roger gasped, more from the shock of the sensation and the nature of what was happening than from any real pain.
Jordan waited a few moments, whether to give Roger time to acclimate or for his own pleasure, who could say, and when he began to push forward again, more inches slid inside until Roger felt the head of Jordan’s cock prodding at some tighter formation within his passage. For a moment, his hole refused to cooperate, and he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in Jordan’s eyes. A feeling of shame poured over Roger in an instant. I’m letting him down. No, I can’t let him down! His body, getting the message loud and clear, began to yield, and Roger yelped as the curved head pushed past his second hole, tearing through that last barrier.
When Jordan finally sank every last inch inside, Roger trembled in a mixture of pride and overwhelmed sensation. He had done it, he had taken that big cock up his virgin ass. Well, formerly virgin now, he thought, and his hole twitched at the perverseness of it all. When Jordan began to pull out, he flinched and his eyes widened, a small part of him worrying he had done something wrong and was being denied his just reward. Those doubts were quickly silenced when Jordan plunged back inside, knocking the air out of Roger’s lungs and an equally undignified yelp at the same time.
“Fuck yeah. Nail Grandpa, Jord!” Beef cried out, his hands tightening around Roger’s ankles. He wanted to bite back at the stupid mound of muscle, but all that came out was a shameful moan as Jordan’s cock dragged across his prostate gland sending sparks of uncontrollable pleasure up his spine. He could hear loud cries, shameful cries that sounded shrill and high pierced. It took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that the cries were coming from him.
Sweet Jesus, Roger thought in the few spare moments when rational thought was still a viable process. I sound like a slut from one of Jordan’s movies. He saw the image in his mind, an obscene femme version of himself mugging for the camera and a twisted combination of shame and lust rushed to his core. He wasn’t that, wouldn’t allow himself to become it, even if that was what Jordan wanted, but… he might be something similar. Something close enough to be sold in the same grungy bin.
His thoughts were cut off mercifully by the sinful drag of Jordan’s inches across his prostate. That was better. No thinking, just feeling. When Beef’s grip on his ankles began to loosen, the sweaty grip feeling cool on his skin, Roger barely noticed. His legs stayed up and wide, as if he spread himself open for a man every day of the week. At one particular thrust, his ass spasmed uncontrollably, his entire body shaking from the force of sensations coursing through him. He cried out, a shrill squeal that was fit to crack glass. He had just had his first anal orgasm, but certainly not his last, and as he floated back down to Earth, shaky breaths filling his lungs, any thoughts of stopping disappeared completely.
He felt Beef shifting next to him, and glanced over from the corner of his teary eye, licking his dry lips, wondering if Beef was going to feed him that fat sausage of his again. Lust turned into confusion when Beef rose to his feet and shifted his body so his groin was angled directly over Roger’s mouth.
Roger opened his mouth wide, drool escaping the spread lips as he gave a willing target for what he assumed were going to be a hefty set of balls. Beef’s gazed down at him between his lowhangers, a strange, almost feverish look in his eyes.
“Hope you’re ready for this, man.” He hissed, his voice sounding unusually flighty with a buzzy excitement Roger didn’t recognize. “I need my ass ate bad.” Disbelieving, Roger could only watch in numb, aroused horror as Beef’s ample rear end began to slowly descend like a doomsday asteroid about to crash to Earth. His eyes met Jordan’s, the look frantic, but all he saw was a brief grin before the bulk of Beef’s torso blocked his view completely.
Roger had never imagined rimming anyone, man or woman, even after being put to sexual use by Jordan. It was a sexual act that seemed unfathomable, dirty in deed and mind. Now here he was, his face about to be smothered by one of the biggest asses he had ever encountered in his life.
There was nowhere to run, and even tilting his head, he succeeded only in creating a different target for Beef’s musty hole. He whimpered as the muscular athlete rubbed himself along Roger’s cheeks and nose, his trench searching out Roger’s thick tongue. Roger had thought to spare himself the indignity of eating ass, particularly Beef’s ass, but had succeeded only in having his face marked by it instead. He tilted his head, mouth open to shout a complaint, when his outstretched tongue connected with Beef’s hole.
The taste assaulted Roger immediately, a strong, musky flavor, like the sweat of Beef’s balls but more gamey, like having a ripe jockstrap gagging his mouth. The flavor made his eyes water and his cock twitch. He could have kept going, content enough to get through the act and be done with it, until he heard Beef’s reaction. A low, groan rumbled from the wrestler’s mouth and vibrated all the way down to Beef’s loosening hole, which puckered around the tip of Roger’s pink tongue.
“Oh, fuck yes,” Beef sighed, a low masculine grumble that sounded positively sinful when mixed with the wet slapping noises of Roger’s own ass being filled. The combination did something to the older man, flipped another hidden switch of sexual deviancy he hadn’t known was buried within, and Roger’s participation in the rimjob shifted from reluctant to enthusiastic in a heartbeat.
The trio continued this way for a while, a well-oiled engine using Roger Baxter’s body for their youthful pleasures. At some point Jordan came inside Roger, the young man’s telltale grunt being the only sign. His pace slowed, moving from strong and steady, to a more leisurely drag and pull, but he never softened. Above them them both, Beef ground himself on Roger’s face, a look of minor ecstasy on his sweating, scrunched up face. His thick cock, untouched and dripping, slapped and spread his juices across Roger’s lightly furred chest. None of them were in any hurry, and they might have continued on like this, perhaps the entire night, if they hadn’t been caught in the act.
“What the fuck!?” Roger Baxter recognized the voice immediately.
The exclamation was like a gunshot in the room, and everyone froze in place, even Jordan, who was half-sheathed in Roger’s tight hole. Beef scrambled off of Roger’s face, toppling over like a giant monster from a B movie, a rambling series of excuses flowing from his panicked lips. Face free of ass, Roger finally got a look at the man who had exclaimed so dramatically, and it was just as he had feared.
Petey was looking at the bed, but especially at Roger with a look of profound disbelief.
“Are you fucking kidding me!?” he exclaimed, voice only rising as he took a step closer. “This is what’s been happening down here all this time!?” Roger was speechless. It was bad enough to get caught by his grandson’s best friend in the world, but to know that Petey had caught the scent of Rogers extracurricular activities only made it worse. He lowered his legs, or at least tried to, but Jordan wasn’t making it easy.
“Petey, I can explain-” he started, but was cut off before he could finish his thought.
“Fuck, Mr. B., what’s there to explain!? You’ve been putting out for my roommates!!” He said, and then dropped an anvil on Roger’s head. “You know what really pisses me off? I could have been getting easy ass this whole time, and you’ve been holding out on me.” Roger stared at Petey in disbelief. No, he can’t mean...Not him too…
His question was answered when Pete strode across the room, unbuttoning his trousers as he went. Roger watched with apt, fascinated horror as those same pants dropped to the floor and his grandson’s best friend stepped out them, cock already hard and ready for business. Petey, gripping a decent-sized hole splitter with one hand, didn’t bother to undress any further. He nudged Jordan aside, watching in fascination as Jordan’s long inches slid out of Roger’s body, until the head popped out, a small trickle of seed following in its wake.
“Fuck, you’re wet as hell down there, Mr. B.,” Pete said, a new kind of lusty awe in his words. He gave Jordan another nudge, almost a shove. He was going to get what was his after all of these months of being excluded. Roger looked over at Jordan, a plaintive look on his face, but quickly realized that the dark-skinned man wasn’t going to stop Pete. Jordan wore a pensive expression on his face, as if a new variable had been added to the operation and he was trying to round out the equation. When Pete’s cock poked at his hole, still wet from earlier, but tightened up due to his newfound fear, he tried to reason with the young man.
“Petey, please, wait-Ahhhh!!!” he shouted as Pete punched into his guts. It stung enough to make Roger’s teeth clench, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Peter was looking down at him, chestnut hair framing a face full of disdain.
“Don’t ever call me Petey again,” he ordered, pushing another few inches deeper. “I’m not a fucking kid and you sure as hell aren’t my dad.” When Pete hit rock bottom, he sighed, a bit of the tension seeping from his body. Then, placing Roger’s shaking ankles on his shoulders, he situated himself closer to Roger and began to fuck the older man until he was nearly bent in half.
For several minutes there were no words, just the sounds of rutting flesh, breathy moans, and squeaking springs. Petey, no Peter’s face was less than a foot from Roger’s own, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, close enough to kiss. Roger’s tongue instinctively came out, seeking the contact, and Roger jerked back startled when Peter spat into his open mouth. He was so stunned, he didn’t bother to close his mouth, laying there as Pete did it again, then one more time for good measure, tiny bits of spittle landing on his well-groomed mustache. Peter groaned, almost like an animal, large hips rotating in a circular pattern as he ground away at Roger’s insides.
“Bet you didn’t know I was bi, did you, Mr. B.?” Pete said, and after realizing it was a question expecting a response, Roger slowly shook his head. Pete grinned, like his usual boyish grin, but wolfish in a way he had never seen on the young man’s face before.
“Yeah, I like a tight boypussy as much as the real thing, maybe more,” he groaned on a particularly good thrust, as if proving his point. “Wish I’d known you liked taking it like a bitch. I could have been dicking you down for years…” The idea was so crude, so obscene, that Roger could only moan, and that combined with Peter’s angling work gave him another anal orgasm. As he shook and cried around Pete’s length, the younger man just laughed.
“Holy shit! Did you just have a bitch orgasm?” he said, voice mocking. “Fuck yeah, let’s do this!” His thrusts got faster, more aggressive, almost mean. He wore an expression on his face that was primal, like nature had reclaimed the young man and torn away all the facets of civilization from his very being. He was here to fuck, to breed, and Roger was there to take it all, however Peter planned on giving it to him.
With that sort of abuse, neither man was going to last long, and to Roger’s pride and horror, Pete came first. It wasn’t a quiet orgasm either.
“OH FUCK!!!” Peter screamed, and Roger could only pray Danny wasn’t home, otherwise there would be no one left to hide his shame from. But the fear was worth it when the torrents of heavy seed flowed from Pete’s cock directly into Roger’s open hole. It was so good, that Roger almost spilled himself, and if he hadn’t been pinned down, he likely would have stroked himself across the finish line. Instead, he could only lay there, dangling off the cliff’s edge, as Peter poured out a deluge of white in his grasping passage. Pete wiped his brow with the back of his hand, as if he had just finished a particularly strenuous housechore. “Fucking hell…”
Roger’s legs, aching by this point, collapsed onto the mattress. His ass was beginning to hurt and so was his head. He looked around the room, at the 3 boys who had all had a piece of him by this point. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to ask for it, but he needed more. He needed to cum, but it had to be with at least one of them, and then, his mind darkening, he imagined it with all three.
Jordan seemed to have sensed the gist of Roger’s feelings, his smaller hand coming onto Roger’s more callused hand. That hand squeezed, testing the grip of Roger’s resolve, and finding the answer he was looking for, Jordan said to him, loud enough for all in the room to hear.
“Beef needs you, sir. Why don’t you go over and ride his cock for a while,” he said, low and seductive, the message a stark contrast to his demeanor mere weeks ago. Roger pulled his face off the mattress, feeling dizzy as he slowly rose on shaky feet. He noticed Beef watching from across the room. The muscular wrestler was sitting on the chair, the same one where he had carefully set aside his undergarments for safekeeping. Now they were crumbled beneath the sweaty mass of Beef’s ample buttocks. He ignored the sting of chagrin in his chest, focusing his attention on the hollowness coming from his rectum.
Walking across the room, shuffling really, he finally reaches the chair, and was at once appalled and grateful when Beef pulled him onto his lap. The athlete was all grin.
“Hey, Grandpa. Ready for round 2?” It’s wasn’t a question, so much as an enticement. It worked too, because Roger found himself hooking his legs over the arms of the chair, and now facing Beef head on, he aligned the rounded bulb of Beef’s uncut cock to his loosened hole. As he descended, he shut his eyes tight, blocking out all but the exquisite sting of anal penetration he was learning to embrace. It was only second before he was fully seated on Beef’s ample length and the iron grip on his hips told him all he needed to know.
The rest of the night was a hedonistic blur, filled less with the comfort of sound, concrete memories and instead exhausting visions of slapping skin, musky body fluids, and masculine grunts. Somewhere, deep in the well of his psyche, he could hear an old, authoritarian voice screaming at him to stop. To look at what he was doing and what he had become. The voice called him names, denigrated him worse than any of the boys in Bennett House ever had, but the more he basked in their pleasure the dimmer the screams become, until they were little more than an annoying, mousy squeak.
When Beef spilled inside him, there was no shame, only a feeling of profound satisfaction that was reinforced by the rumbling laughter coming from Beef’s chest as he collapsed on top of him. He wasn’t shocked to feel another pair of hands grip him, lifting his hips, perfecting the entrypoint for another landing. When he felt the stretch and the grip on his hips tighten, he knew immediately it was Jordan, and a shot of pure adrenaline coursed through his veins. He couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, instead finding himself drowning in a sea of sweaty limbs, aching holes, and bulging muscles.
When the chair began to break under the pressure, they still didn’t stop. They simply moved onto the floor, rutting into Roger’s body like a pack of animals. He lost track of who did what to him, where and how. They were all the same. Bennett Boys. If there was one thing a Bennett Boy liked, it was getting off.
When the last man pulled out of him with a satisfied grunt, it was all Roger could do to stay stable on his hands and knees. He was a wreck of a human being, soaked in all manner of unspeakable fluids, yet still craving more even after the debauchery he had been subjected to. When Jordan pulled out the camera, telling the other two to position Roger just so, the grandfather didn’t protest. He knows the score and his place.
Beneath the lethargy of heavy usage, he just managed to pry apart his reddened asscheeks, drawing a sharp gasp and a lusty whistle from across the room. He can feel the steady trickle of semen dripping from his battered hole, past his taint and balls and wonders how many loads he has inside himself right now. The room grew quiet except for Roger’s labored breathing and the lightning quick SNAP SNAP SNAP of the camera, capturing his debasement for permanent posterity.
Not that long ago Roger would have balked, perhaps even fought back at the treatment. He had been many men and played many roles in his storied life: dutiful son, devoted husband, doting grandfather. Now, a new one had grown inside him, festering like the weeds that were impossible to kill in the lawn. Respectable Roger Baxter, pillar of the community was a thing of the past. He was Roger Baxter, Bennett House Fucktoy. And god help him, he didn’t ever want to go back.
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