Lance Beaumont shut the bedroom door with his heel and let the duffel slide off his shoulder.
The stupid grin would not leave his handsome face. He could not get over how adorable Carter was.
He’d met Carter Hepburn maybe three times before tonight. Golf, once, when Scott dragged both families onto the same tee box. A Christmas thing two years ago where Carter had been super sweet and polite. Once more last summer by the pool…Carter was shirtless, tossing a football with Brett, black hair wet, green eyes squinting into the sun.
Lance had clocked him as attractive even then. Objectively, almost unfairly. The face, the height, the easy athlete’s body. But Lance simply filed it away into the back of his mind and not really thought about Carter at all.
Tonight had wrecked the filing system.
Carter on the landing. Unbuttoned linen, wearing Daniel’s boxers, hair destroyed, ears pink. That adorable stunned look like he’d been caught stealing something and still couldn’t get his dick to cooperate.
The way he’d tried to lie and immediately folded. The little sound he’d made when Lance had stepped in close and put him against the wall for two seconds—not even a real pin, just enough that Carter had nowhere to put his hands.
He seemed so wholesome. That was the part Lance couldn’t shake. The kid was filthy—had clearly just been on his knees or on his back for Lance’s father—and yet he still looked and talked like someone who said please and thank you to every sir and ma’am he encountered. Embarrassed. Flushed. Trying to be decent about getting caught with his cock hard in another man’s underwear.
Lance pulled his shirt off, and left his jeans on. He sat on the edge of the bed and the grin was still there, private and a little stupid.
Lance had thought Carter was hot before. Now he was stuck on him.
Lance closed his eyes for a minute and imagined what must have gone down between his Carter and his dad, Daniel.
Carter had probably been in this house for hours. Pool, grotto, kitchen…Lance knew the map. He could see it too clearly: Carter’s pretty mouth stretched around his father’s cock. Green eyes watering, trying to take it, making small squealing sounds as he struggled to be a good boy.
Daniel’s hand in the black hair. Carter’s throat working. The wholesome boy next door sucking off the man who’d been playing golf with his dad since Carter was in middle school.
Lance felt his cock harden. He palmed himself once through the fabric of his jeans and exhaled a quiet laugh.
Cute. That was the word that kept landing, and it should have felt wrong with the picture in his head. It didn’t. Carter embarrassed was cuter than Carter confident. Carter caught being naughty was cuter than Carter dominating on a football field. And the fact that the same kid who’d just fled down the stairs looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him had probably spent the last hour with Daniel’s cock in his mouth—
Lance leaned back on his hands, still smiling at the ceiling.
Yeah. He was in trouble.
Lance decided he should take a cold shower. He stood, still half-smiling, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of the jeans. He didn’t take them off yet. He crossed the room toward the en suite, the house quiet around him except for the distant hush of the ocean through the window he’d cracked.
It was a long travel day. Lance sniffed his armpits. He actually didn’t smell too bad, but the deodorant definitely had definitely worn off. He liked the scent of his own musk.
Lance peeled the jeans down as he got to the bathroom, stepped out of them, and left them on the tile. The bathroom lights came up warm. In the mirror he caught checked out his reflection.
Tan skin a little dull with travel. Dark hair flattened on one side, stubble denser than he’d have allowed if he were still working in the office. Broad chest and shoulders. Narrower at the waist. He missed the perfect six-pack he maintained back in his college days, but he still had some nice abdominal definition lingering. He ran a hand over his flat stomach, absently, and reached for the shower handle.
Lances phone buzzed. A Grindr notification.
He’d flipped his location to Hilton Head last week from the city, the way he always did a few days before traveling to a new location. Lance had a very high sex drive. He liked always having two or three guys already warmed up for him before he even unpacked.
Billy.
19 years old. Home for the summer with his parents, lacrosse player, dark hair, brown eyes. He’d been blowing up Lance’s inbox for five days straight.
In fact, he was so eager to get in Lance’s pants that Lance started to find it kind of annoying. But Billy was hot, and Lance knew the eagerness meant Billy would be an easy for booty call for a horny night. Lance like convenience.
Lance opened the chat.
A new album. Six photos, timestamped twelve minutes ago. Billy in a messy bedroom. Shirtless pic first. Then the rest. He was 5'8", compact, some definition in the chest and arms from the sport but nothing carved. Pretty average body for a 19-year-old athlete. A little softness at the midsection, ass that looked plump without looking trained, a 7 inch cock.
The haircut was the thing that caught Lance’s attention. Same short, messy dark hair that Carter had. Same general shape of the face, if you squinted. Plainer, though. Softer jaw. Less angular. The eyes were dark instead of that sharp green, and the body didn’t have Carter’s lean, cut wide-receiver lines. Billy looked like the Walmart version of Carter.
Under the album:
*u still down tonight or r u too tired from the drive?? i can host. parents are out til late. Been thinking about that dick all day lol*
Lance’s mouth twitched.
Billy had been like this all week. Sending Lance messages every couple of hours. Body pics, nudes, messages about how horny he was, how excited he was for Lance to finally get to Hilton Head.
Lance knew he had Billy in the palm of his hand. The horny college boy would drop anything at a moments notice to be Lance’s late night booty call. That actually made him a bit less attractive to Lance. Billy was too easy. No need to chase or woo him.
Earlier in the day, Lance had been noncommittal about whether they could meet up tonight. He wasn’t sure he would have the energy after a long travel day.
But at that moment, Lance had plenty of energy, felt plenty of excitement. Only, the excitement he had was all for Carter Hepburn.
Lance had an idea. He felt like an asshole for doing this, but he was too horny and too weirdly hooked on Carter.
He messaged Billy back, complimenting him on how sexy he looked. Then, Lance lied. Said he had a weird kind. Said that whenever he first meets up with someone new, he gets nervous…gets performance anxiety. And that the only way that’s been successful for managing the anxiety is by using fake names…to make things less personal.
Lance asked if Billy would be okay with calling him Daniel (he didn’t tell him this was his Dad’s name). And if he’d be okay if Lance called him Carter.
Billy thought this was all very strange. But, he was stupid horny. He was a blue-balled 19-year-old college boy who desperately craved Lance’s cock. So he agreed. Lance could call him Carter for that first night.
But. In exchange, Billy had one request. Lance would refrain from showering. Billy had a kink for musk.
Lance invited Billy over. Initially, they had planned on meeting at a hotel. Lance wouldn’t have wanted to take a boy over to his Dad’s house. That would be disrespectful. But after Lance basically caught his Dad fucking around with his 18-year-old neighbor, he knew his Dad had no standing right now to give him shit for inviting Billy over for one night.
Within 15 minutes, Billy was in Lance’s bedroom. Lance was pleased to see that Billy did in fact look like his pictures, which meant he bore an acceptable resemblance to Carter Hepburn. Billy had the same general face as Carter. But a softer jaw, wider nose, less prominent cheek bones. Billy’s lacrosse-player body wasn’t too bad… pretty developed chest and arms, with just a little softness at the midsection, thighs that looked good in shorts without necessarily looking like he trained them.
Lance was now just wearing a wife beater and jeans. A tiny bit of musk had built up from the travel day and there was a hint of a warm, slightly-sharp man-scent poking through is faded deodorant.
They kissed. It was delicate. Almost romantic. Perhaps it would’ve turned into a long, sensual makeout session. But Billy was impatient. He pulled off Lance’s tank top and threw it on the ground. Then, he stood back and admired Lance’s face and body. Lance sat back with his arms casually behind his head, letting the younger man admire him.
Billy’s jaw dropped. Lance was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.
“Holy shit,” Billy said, quiet, grinning. “You’re—yeah. You’re hotter than the pictures.”
Lance smiled lazily at the compliment. This was probably the hundredth time someone’s told him that. Maybe he just needed to use better pictures on his Grindr profile.
“Clothes off, Carter.”
Billy blinked. Then he laughed, short and disbelieving.
“Okay. Yeah. We’re really doing that.” He glanced up, checking whether Lance was joking. “Uh, yes, sir. Daniel.”
It landed wrong and perfect at the same time. Lance’s cock thickened in his underwear. Daniel. His dad’s name. The name of the man who probably fucked Carter Hepburn silly an hour ago.
Billy pulled the shirt over his head in one eager motion. Decent chest, you could tell that he probably benched at least a couple of times a week. Nicely proportioned arms and a somewhat flat stomach with no visible abs. He shoved the shorts and briefs down together and his average-sized cock sprang up, flushed, a bead already at the slit.
Billy took a step closer. Close enough that Lance could really notice the facial differenes—no brillian green eyes, none of those striking angles trademark on Hepburn men… just a pretty-enough college boy with messy black hair.
Billy’s hands hovered, then settled on Lance’s trim waist, thumbs brushing skin above the jeans. He leaned in and sniffed, unashamed, at Lance’s chest, then higher, toward the pit.
“Fuck,” Billy muttered. “You actually didn’t shower.”
“I did what you asked.”
“I know. I just wasn’t sure if you were seriou—” He breathed in again, slower. “Ugh, dude you smell like a MAN. That’s so hot.”
Lance felt a little bit uncomfortable and wierded out by the way Billy was sniffing him. A bit raunchy for his tastes. So he decided to move things along.
Lance caught the back of Billy’s neck and his chin to tilt his head up. Up close the resemblance thinned out. It was the haircut doing most of the work, and Lance’s brain doing the rest—overlaying Carter’s flushed ears, the wrecked linen, that startled little sound on the landing.
“Say my name.”
Billy’s mouth opened. A beat of embarrassment, then the horniness won.
“Daniel...Daddy”
Lance kissed him. A firm plant of his lips. Billy made a small noise into it and pressed closer, already rolling his hips like a bitch in heat. He was easy. Almost too easy, too ready.
But he was hot enough to keep the fantasy alive. Lance could feel the 7 inches of himself harden through his own underwear.
He walked Billy backward until the bed hit the backs of his knees and kept him there, standing, mouth on his throat.
Lance popped his own button. Dragged the zipper down. Billy’s eyes dropped and stayed there.
“Jesus, Daniel.”
Lance pushed the jeans and briefs just low enough. The head of his 7-inch cock cleared the waistband. Lance’s cock was perfectly proportioned and straight. It wasn’t obscenely long or thick, like some of the other men Billy had played with. But it was unusually symmetrical. And Lance’s pubes were perfectly trimmed short in a very flattering manner. It was once of the most beautiful, aesthetic cocks he’d ever set eyes on.
Billy reached for it like a starving man reaching for the first food he’d seen in days.
Lance caught his wrist.
“On the bed. On your knees.”
Billy went. Fast. Looking up from the mattress with a stupid-horny look on his face, dark bangs falling forward.
“Good boy, Carter,” he said, and watched Billy shiver in anticipation.
Billy leaned in before Lance finished the thought.
He nosed along the trail of dark hair below Lance’s navel first, then lower, breathing like he was inhaling ambrosia. He sniffed the intoxicating, masculine sent of Lance’s junk, worshipping the amazing male specimen standing before him.
The jeans were still shoved halfway down Lance’s thighs. Billy didn’t try to fix that. He just opened his mouth and took the head, wet and immediate, a small sound in his throat when the salty taste hit him.
Lance’s hand tightened in the dark hair.
It was the wrong hair. Finer than Carter’s. Not quite the same wave. Close enough that Lance’s stomach still pulled tight.
“That’s it,” he said. “Easy.”
Billy didn’t do easy. He dropped farther, too fast, and gagged, eyes watering, before finally pulling off with a slick string from his bottom lip to Lance’s cock. He looked up, brown eyes bright, mouth already shiny.
“Sorry. You’re—yeah. Bigger than I thought.”
Lance didn’t answer that. He guided him back on. Slower this time. Billy’s lips stretched. His hands came up to Lance’s hips, then slid around to the small of his back, then higher, greedy for skin. When Lance shifted, Billy followed the smell, turning his face into the crease of hip and thigh, inhaling before he went down again.
“Fuck, you stink so good,” Billy muttered around him, happy about it. “Men who smell like this make me get so fucking nasty. I love it.”
Lance huffed a laugh through his teeth. This kid was raunchy as fuck. Lance wasn’t sure he liked it, but it sure was interesting.
“Use your hand too.”
Billy did. His own erect cock was leaking onto the duvet, untouched, his hips giving little aborted twitches like he wanted to hump the mattress and didn’t know if he was allowed. Average athlete body folded on its knees. That cute face looking up every few seconds for approval.
“Daddy—” Billy pulled off just to say it, voice wrecked already. “Can I—do you want me to go deeper?”
Lance thumbed the spit off Billy’s chin and put it back on his tongue. He was getting aroused by how freaky Billy was. It turned him on so much to pretend that Carter Hepburn, the golden boy of South Carolina football, would ever act like such a submissive slut for another man.
“I want you to shut up and take it, Carter.”
Billy moaned like he’d been paid. He opened again and let Lance feed cock to him, not all the way, just enough that his throat fluttered and his eyes went wet. Lance kept the rhythm steady. T
Billy gagged again and stayed on it, drool running down to Lance’s balls. He pulled off just long enough to bury his face in the unwashed heat at the base, licking, breathing, then sucking one side into his mouth to savor the scent of the days worth of dried ball-sweat.
Lance’s thighs flexed.
“Look at me.”
Billy did. Messy. Shiny mouth. Dark hair stuck to his forehead. For half a second the angle worked—if Lance didn’t look at the eyes, if he didn’t look at the softer jaw, he could easily pretend it was Carter.
“You been thinking about this all week?”
Billy nodded, still on him, the motion sloppy.
“Use your words.”
He popped off, panting. “Yes. Yes, Daddy. All week. I jerked off to you like every night. I wanted you to come over and just—use me. You’re seriously the sexiest man I’ve ever seen on Grindr--”
Lance pushed back into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to hear the rest. He just wanted to hear the pretend-Carter call him *Daddy*.
Lance rolled his hips once, shallow, and Billy took it, hands braced on Lance’s thighs, the swollen dick between his own legs jumping untouched.
“Good,” Lance said, quieter. “Good boy, Carter. Keep it wet.”
Billy didn’t need the instruction.
He sank until his nose was in the unwashed hair at the base and stayed there, throat opening like he’d practiced for this exact cock. No panic. No polite tap-out. Just a wet, ugly swallow around all seven inches and a moan that vibrated straight up Lance’s spine.
Lance’s mouth fell open.
“Jesus—”
Billy pulled back only far enough to breathe through his nose, strings of spit already hanging off his bottom lip, then took it to the root again. His throat bulged. His eyes watered and rolled like he liked that part. When he came up, it was with a filthy gasp and a grin that did not belong on a kid who’d been sending heart-eyed nudes all week.
“Fuck my face,” Billy said, voice already shredded. “Please. Don’t be nice. I can take it.”
Lance stared at him for a second, deliberating how far he should take things. Lance usually preferred gentle, sensual lovemaking…but the horny college boy kneeling before him was so freaky that Lance was up for a change for tonight.
Then Lance grabbed two handfuls of that dark hair and gave it to him.
First he kept Billy on the mattress, kneeling up, and used his mouth like a hole. Short punches at first, just to feel the back of the throat, then longer strokes until Billy’s nose kept flattening against Lance’s stomach.
The dude was an expert deepthroater!
Spit and throat slime leaked out. A sheet of it, down Billy’s chin, off his jaw, onto his chest. Billy’s hands stayed on Lance’s thighs, not pushing, just holding on while he gagged and went red and still tried to stick his tongue out around the shaft on the pullback.
“Holy shit,” Lance muttered. “You’re…fuck… dude you’re actually incredible at this..”
Billy popped off, coughing, a rope of slime swinging from his lip to the head of Lance’s cock.
“Harder, Daniel. I mean it. Ruin my throat.”
Lance hauled him off the bed and brought him to the bathroom floor.
Floor tiles cool under Billy’s knees, Lance standing over him, completely naked now, having stepped out of his jeans. He fed all seven inches down in one shove. Billy’s throat clicked. His hands slapped Lance’s ass and pulled him closer.
Lance planted his feet and fucked his face standing, hips snapping, making obscene wet sounds. Every time Lance bottomed out, Billy made a broken little choke and a lot more spit came with it. It painted his cheeks. It ran into the hollow of his throat. It dripped off his nipples.
Lance pulled out. Billy gasped, mouth hanging, a thick line of throat slime connecting them until it snapped across his cheek.
“On your back. Head off the bed.”
Billy scrambled like he’d been waiting for that one. He dropped onto the duvet, scooted until his head hung off the edge, throat a straight line, brown eyes looking up at Lance upside down. His own cock lay hard on his soft stomach, leaking a clear puddle into his navel, ignored.
Lance stepped over him, aimed, and slid into that open mouth until his balls rested on Billy’s nose.
The angle made Billy’s throat a sleeve. Lance could see it work from above—the stretch, the wet clench, the way Billy’s Adam’s apple jumped every time Lance gave him the last inch. He started rolling his hips, then stopped being careful. He held Billy’s jaw with both hands and used the hanging head, fucking down into it, pulling out in a rush of spit that immediately ran into Billy’s eyes, his hair, his ears. Billy’s legs kicked once and then just spread, like his whole body had decided this was fine.
He gurgled. He took it. He reached up blindly and grabbed Lance’s ass again, yanking him deeper when Lance thought he’d already gone deep enough.
“Fucking freak,” Lance said, almost laughing, almost angry about how good it was. “Look at you.”
He pulled out. Billy coughed a mouthful of slime sideways onto his own forehead. It sheeted down into his hair.
“Don’t stop—” Billy rasped. “Daniel. Please. Use my face.”
Lance dragged him back onto the floor, sat on the edge of the bed, and put Billy between his knees. This one was messier because Billy could use his hands. He jerked the base while his mouth covered the head, sloppy and devoted, worshipping it like the seven inches were a religious object.
He licked the shaft, the head, the wet pubic hair, Lance’s balls, the crease of his thigh, then tried to take it all again, punching the back of his throat to make more of that thick spit.
Next, Lance stood, hauled Billy up, turned him, and bent him over the side of the mattress just to change the angle—Billy’s cheek mashed into the duvet, Lance standing behind his head, feeding the cock down from above.
Billy let out a long, wet retch that produced another rope of slime. Lance held him there and fucked that mouth until Billy’s whole face was glazed: forehead, eyelids, the bridge of his nose, both cheeks, chin shining, hair stuck in spikes.
He pulled out and slapped the wet cock across Billy’s mouth, his cheek, the other cheek, leaving prints. Billy only opened wider.
Last position was the meanest, though it was the simplest. Lance sat back against the headboard, legs spread, and made Billy crawl up between them and hang his head in Lance’s lap, ass in the air. Lance held the back of his skull with one hand and the base of his own cock with the other and face-fucked him from below, punching up into the throat until Billy’s spit ran off his chin and painted his own chest, his stomach, the neglected cock bobbing underneath him.
Every gag added another coat. It collected in the hollow of Billy’s collarbone and slid down between his pecs in a thick, clear-white sheet. It reached his belly.
Billy came off it one time, wrecked, eyes unfocused, and said, hoarse and happy, “I’m your filthy little throat slave, Daddy. Don’t you dare pull out.”
Lance put him back on it.
Lance facefucked until Billy’s face wasn’t a face anymore—just shine. Spit in his lashes. Spit in his hairline. A strand hanging off the tip of his nose. His mouth a sloppy hole that wouldn’t close all the way. Chest glazed. Stomach streaked. The duvet under his knees dark with what had fallen off him.
Lance finally dragged him off by the hair and held him there, panting, looking down at the mess.
Billy’s tongue was still out. A long string connected it to Lance’s cock, trembling.
For a second the overlay worked. With his whole face obscured by a layer of mucus and spit, Lance could easily pretend that was Carter Hepburn’s face under that filth.
Lance even got himself to believe, for a minute, that the real Carter could ever be this filthy.
Billy continued deepthroating the perfect male specimen that was Lance Beaumont.
As Billy sucked, he started gyrating against the mattress. Small and frantic at first, then shameless…hips grinding into pre-cum soaked duvet, his teenage cock dragging through the puddle he’d already left, chasing friction while his throat stayed packed.
The mattress felt so under his dick. Wet skin on wet sheets. He moaned around Lance’s cock like the two things were the same job.
“Mmh—nnh—Daniel—” It came out garbled…barely words. “Fu--——I’m gonna—”
Lance felt the change in him. The way Billy’s throat went sloppy and desperate, the way his hands clung hard against his thights. The college boy was about to cum. Lance didn’t pull him off. Didn’t tell him to wait.
“Do it,” Lance said, voice rough. “Fuck your load the bed. Make a mess, Carter. I don’t care.”
Billy broke.
He slammed his hips down hard, once, twice, and then he was coming with a wrecked, high sound that vibrated around all seven inches of Lance’s cock. He was suctioning too hard and lance had to shove Billy off his cock.
“Oh fuck—oh my god—Lance—no…Daniel I’m cumming…” His cock jerked against the sheets and painted them in thick, uneven ropes. “Nngh—shit—it’s so much—fuck, I’m still—ah—ah—Daniel—”
Then, as his orgasm began to course through him, Billy forced his mouth back onto Lance’s cock, sucking the head desperately.
Billy’s whole body shook. He whimpered through the last spurts, mouth still sealed to Lance, throat swallowing reflexively around the cock that he’d worship for the past 20 minutes.
Seeing how desperate Billy was to get back onto his cock pushed Lance over the edge.
“That’s it…take it—fuck, look at you—” He grabbed Billy’s slime-slick hair with both hands and held him to the root. “Don’t you dare pull off. I want you to drink my jizz. I’m gonna cum soon, Carter—fuck—”
The first pulse punched down Billy’s throat. Lance’s head dropped back, a raw sound tearing out of him.
“Ah—fuck—take it—take all of it—” Another pulse, heavier. “That’s it, that’s it, swallow—good boy—goooood fucking boy—” His hips stuttered, grinding in, balls tight against Billy’s chin. “Christ—your throat—your filthy fucking throat—”
Billy gagged and stayed, swallowing what he could, the rest backing up at the corners of his mouth and running. He moaned through it, wrecked and grateful, a wet “mmh-hmm” .
Lance’s orgasm kept going.
“Carter—fuck—Carter—” It ripped out of him before he could stop it, low and ugly and honest. “Take Daddy’s load—take it—every drop—ah—god—don’t waste it—” His cock kicked again, deep, and he held Billy there through it, shaking, teeth bared. “That’s yours. That’s all yours. Swallow. Swallow. Good—fuck—good—”
Billy did. Noisy. Messy. A little spilled anyway, white at the edge of his glazed mouth, sliding down to join the rest of the shine on his chest. He kept his lips wrapped around the head even after the last pulse, sucking weakly, milking it, humming like he didn’t want the night to notice it was over.
Lance’s grip finally loosened.
He stayed in Billy’s mouth another few seconds, breathing hard, staring at the dark hair and the ruined face. The house was quiet except for both of them trying to get air.
Billy pulled off slowly. A last string of spit and cum connected his bottom lip to Lance’s cock, then broke across his already-coated chin.
“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, hoarse, smiling through it. “Lance. That was…damn. That was insane. Amazing.”
Lance agreed. It was the best blowjob he’d ever gotten in his life. Only thing that couldn’ve made it better was if it was actualy Carter Hepburn down there swallowing and worshipping his cock.
One hour ago…
Carter Hepburn didn’t look back at the until he was already on the grass of his own lawn. He left the Beaumont home as quick as he could in the darkness of the night.
His heart was still doing that stupid, guilty hammer against his ribs. Not from the sex. From the stairs. From Lance’s slow torturing, from the knowing, teasing smile on his beautiful lips.
From that slow look down his body, the one that had gone straight to the tent in Daniel’s boxers and stayed there. Carter so embarrassed to be caught by his hook-up’s son. By Lance Beaumont of all people.
The walk between the properties was maybe three minutes if you cut across the lawn. It felt longer with a hard-on that would not go down.
He was still wearing Daniel’s underwear. Daniel’s linen shirt was half-buttoned and stuck to his sweaty back. His mouth felt used. His ass was slightly sore in that deep, specific way that made every step a reminder of the passionate fuckign he’d endured.
None of that was the problem. The problem was that Carter hadn’t come. Daniel had. Carter had been right there, open, begging for it…he was sooo close. And then stupid headlights came, then stupid Lance Beaumont… and now he was crossing his own driveway at eleven at night with his cock still painfully hard, wet at the tip, rubbing the inside of somebody else’s boxers.
Blue-balled didn’t cover it. Carter was painfully, torturously horny.
He realized hadn’t told his dad, Scott, he was coming home early.
The thought hit him at the side door. No text. No call. As far as his dad knew, Carter was still in Ibiza with Brett. The house was dark on the first floor except for the low glow under the kitchen cabinets. Quiet. Scott usually went to bed early when he didn’t have someone over. He’s probably asleep already, Carter told himself.
Carter stopped for a quick drink of water in the kitchen. He leaned his forehead against a cabinet for a second, breathing through his teeth.
He got caught. By Daniel’s son. The stupidly handsome finance bro with the stupid beautiful dark eyes and the annoyingly perfect five-o’clock shadow… Okay, upstairs. Get to the room quick, so I can jack off and then sleep this whole thing off, Carter thought to himself.
Carter left the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time, sockless on the runner, one hand hovering near the front of Daniel’s boxers squeezing his throbbing erection. Every step made his cock rub. He was still leaking precum. Images of Lance’s handsome face kept flashing back…those perfect dark eyes, the faint-smile, the perfect symmetry.
Carter shoved those thougths away and kept climbing. He told himself he hated Lance. He was annoying and insufferable. Why couldn’t that handsome douchebag just pretended he didn’t notice anything and let Carter leave in peace.
The second floor was dark. Scott’s door at the far end of the hall looked shut. No strip of light. Good. Asleep. Carter turned toward his own room and that was when he heard it.
A voice.
Low. Male. Coming from behind his door.
He stopped in his tracks.
It was muffled at first. Just the shape of words, the cadence of someone talking to an empty room—or to someone Carter couldn’t see. The voice was kind of sexy. That was the unhelpful first thought. Warm. A little wrecked.
Not Scott. Not Brett. Someone else was in his bedroom at eleven at night, and Carter was standing in the hall in another man’s underwear with a hard-on that would not go down.
Carter stepped closer. The voice resolved as he reached the last few feet, close enough that he could see his own door was closed wasn’t even fully latched.
“Please… come in, Mr. Hepburn.”
Carter’s stomach dropped.
“I need you so bad. I need your fucking cock inside me. I need you to fuck me. Please… please, Mr. Hepburn…. I’ll do anything for your cock.”
What the fuck!? Mr. Hepburn….that’s…that’s me, Carter thought (too shocked in the moment to realize that Scott was also Mr. Hepburn). Someone wants me to fuck them?!
What the heck was going on!? Was this some surprise that Daniel has set up for him.
“Please use me…I’m so horny I can barely think straight. I need a real man to fuck me till I cum…”
Carter opened the door. The lights in his room were already on. There was a man on his bed. On all fours like a doggy, there was an athletic, blindfolded blonde man, apparently begging for Carter’s cock!
Carter wiped his eyes. The blindfolded man on his bed had a great body. Not too bulky like a bodybuilder, but perfectly chisled and muscular like a decathlete or an olympic swimmer. Much of his face was obscured by the blindfold, but Carter noticed, handsome, masculine Nordic features. The face looked familiar…
Earlier that day…
As he left the pharmacy and got in the passenger seat of his boss’s car, Logan McMillan could scarcely believe he had lost his anal virginity earlier that day. Nothing felt real. If you’d asked him three weeks ago whether he’d ever let another man fuck him, the answer would have been an emphatic no. He had always identified as a straight jock. After all, he had snagged the most gorgeous girl at his high school and been with her for the past decade. Now Logan was sitting in the car of a man who just fucked him silly and made him beg for more…while his cum was probably still leaking out of Logan’s deflowered hole.
Logan drove them back to the estate, then had Maximo give Logan a ride home. When Logan got home, he was thankful that Kevin Crowe (the football coach who’d been staying at his place the past couple days and fucking his wife silly) wasn’t there. He was alone with Adrianna as he gave her the Plan B and told her she needed to take it. She agreed.
There was a bit of awkwardness as Logan and Adrianna spent time together alone for the first time since the crazy events that unfolded over the past week. They had a good chat, and Adrianna reassured Logan (hopefully truthfully) that she still loved him, and that she accepted his need to be cucked. She took it a step futher and even acted like she was letting other men fuck her as a favor for Logan to get him off. Logan’s mind was too tired to argue with her, so he just brushed that off and moved on.
There were many questions that Logan wanted to ask that he lacked the courage to. Who’s cock did she prefer between Scott, Kevin and Miguel (Logan knew his own cock was already out of the question)? How many guys groped her at the party? When getting railed by other men, does she fantasize about Logan? How many times has Kevin railed her over the past few days? And what about Miguel? Did he come back for seconds?
Logan kept all those questions bottled up, but even thinking about them he gave himself an erection. He pivoted the conversation to other matters. His raise…Adrianna’s new job..the new condo…how they were gonna decorate it. Logan’s mood imporved as he was reminded of his upgraded financial situation. He and Adrianna were both very happy. It felt good to enjoy this moment with his wife. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. Logan felt loved and appreciated.
His phone rang. It was Scott. Scott wanted Logan to come back to the Hepburn estate at 9pm. He would be staying the night. Before even waiting to hear Logan’s response, Scott said see you soon, and hung up.
Now that his head was cleared, Logan debated texting Scott back and telling him he wasn’t feeling well and needed to stay home. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie. Logan was exhausted and confused after getting brutally fucked in the ass, after getting humiliated and dehumanized by his boss, and after experiencing the best orgasm while getting degraded and abused. He needed some time at home to process his emotions.
But Adrianna was firm. Scott had literally just made their dreams come true…changed both their lives for the better. Now was not the time to indulge in self-care. Scott needed to prove his devotion. TO show he was worthy of Scott’s gifts. To express his gratitude.
Logan knew she was right. He thought about his sick father. Thought about the smile that would spread Jackson’s face when he finds out he was selected for the Hepburn scholarship. Thought about how happy he and Adrianna would be spending weekdays at a luxury condo in Hilton Head and working in the same place.
So Logan decided he would take an afternoon nap and drive back to Scott’s place after dinner. He and Adrianna snuggled up in bed. Logan was shirtless. She wrapped her limbs around his muscled torso, kissed his cheek and rested her head on his bare chest. It felt so nice to be embraced and loved by his wife again. Ever since his mom passed and his dad got sick, Logan had subconsciously been deeply craving warm affection like this. Adrianna commented on how smooth his chest felt and said she liked it. She called him beautiful. A lazy smile over came Logan as he drifted off to sleep. He felt so content…so wanted…peaceful. And in his mind, it was all thanks to Scott Hepburn.
10 minutes before 9:00, Logan was back at the Hepburn estate. He followed the instructions that Scott left him. He entered the main home, which was empty, and climbed the stairs and walked into the room at the end of the hall. Scott didn’t tell him this was his son, Carter’s room.
Scott was feeling adventurous while both his sons were in Ibiza, and he decided to explore something very taboo. He wanted to fuck Logan McMillan silly in his son’s bedroom. Logan of course, had no idea, and just assumed it was Scott’s side room. He figured maybe rich people liked to have too bedrooms, sleeping in whichever one they fancied on a particular night.
Logan stipped down. As he was butt naked, he took a second to caress his smooth body. It felt nice, how easily his fingers ran through the beautiful curves of his musculature. Logan followed the next instruction on his phone. He found the cocktail sitting on the nightstand and drank it down in three gulps. It tasted expensive, but Logan knew from experience now, that it was probably laced. In fact, Scott mixed in Viagra plus the same mind-bending cocktail he fed Logan on the night that he and Kevin Crowe cucked Logan in the man cave.
Next, Logan put on a dogtag that read, “Bitch Boy”. He then put small, wireless earbud into his ears. They were noise cancelling and played a nice, relaxing droning noise.
Finally, he pulled a blindfold over his eyes and laid on the bed. Little did lOgan know, he would lay there for the next two hours.
As soon as he was blindfolded and laid down, an audio started playing. It was an audio recorded by a professional hypnotist. IT was a man’s voice. Calm and even.
*You’re already comfortable. You’re already safe. You already drank what you were given. Your body knows what to do. All you have to do is listen.*
Logan felt immediately relaxed. He felt his eyelids get heavy even though he had already taken a nap earlier.
*Breathe in. Hold. Out. Again. Every breath takes you down. You don’t have to try. Trying is for men who still think they’re in charge. You’re not in charge tonight.*
Twenty minutes in, the voice had him counting.
*Ten. Sinking. Nine. Heavier. Eight. Your thoughts are getting thin. Seven. You don’t need them. Six. Your hole remembers this afternoon. Five. It wants again. Four. You crave cock. Three. You’re a mouth and a hole and a cock that doesn’t get to decide. Two. Deeper. One. You’re a good boy a good little cock addict.*
Logan melted into the meditation. He relaxed his body entirely and let the voice influence him.
*You used to think you were a straight jock. That story you’ve been telling yourself is getting loose. You can feel it peeling. The decade you spent pretending you were always the man in the room. Now what are you? Shaved. Tagged. Blind. Erect. You came on another man’s cock this afternoon and you begged for it. That wasn’t an accident. That was the truth getting out.*
An hour in, Logan wasn’t tracking time. The extended release drugs were making his thoughts blurry. Every time the voice said *deeper*, his hips rolled. Every time it said *cock*, his mouth opened.
*Say it in your head. You’re a cock-craving faggot. You don’t have to like the word. Your dick likes the word. Feel it jump. That’s honesty. You’re not a husband tonight. You’re not a security officer. You’re not even a man. You are a bitch boy in a real man’s house, waiting to get used.*
The audio looped the labels until they stuck.
*Slut. Hole. Fag. Good boy. Mr. Hepburn’s toy.*
*When Mr. Hepburn walks into the room. You will not ask questions. You will not take the blindfold off. You will present. You will beg. You will use your words. You need his cock inside you. You need a real man to fuck you until you come. You will say please and thank you. You will say you’ll do anything. Because you will.*
Logan’s thighs fell open. It was almost like he couldn’t control his own body anymore.
*On all fours when you hear the door. Ass up. Chest down. Mouth available. You have been empty for two hours. That emptiness is the point. It hurts in the good way now. Your hole is hungry. Your head is quiet. The only thought left is cock.*
By the last stretch the voice had gone softer, almost kind, which was worse.
*You’re doing so well. Two hours of being good. Two hours of letting the old story fall off you. When he comes in, you don’t have to be brave. You can let yourself be horny. You just have to tell the truth out loud. Say what you are.*
Logan spoke. “Cock whore…I’m a stupid boy whore who needs a man’s dick. I need Mr. Hepburn inside me again. I need him to fuck me. Hurt me.”
*Again.*
Logan repeated it.
His own voice surprised him. It felt like he had no control of what was coming out of his mouth. But it felt…right.
He said it again. Then again, because the audio wanted it in his mouth until it was the only sentence he had.
Then, the audio died. The noise cancellation turned off and turned into transparency mode. Logan lay there in silence for the next 10 minutes, while his cock throbbed and his hole ached to be filled.
Then, the sound of footsteps in the distance. Logan got excited. His 4.5 inch cock started twitching uncontrollably. Mr. Hepburn was coming. Logan began pleading.
*Please use me. I’m so horny I can barely think straight. I need a real man to fuck me till I cum.*
The dogtag shifted on his chest when he rolled. He got his knees under him. Athletic back in a long line. Blindfold tight. Ass up.
The door opened.
Light against the blindfold. A floorboard. Somebody breathing in the threshold like they’d just been punched.
Logan didn’t take the blindfold off. The audio had been very clear about that.
He only lifted his head a little, Nordic face half-hidden, mouth already open, and begged for cock one more time because his own little dicklet was dripping onto Carter Hepburn’s sheets and there was nothing else left in his head to say.
Logan was so excited. He thought Scott Hepburn was going to come in in to use him again. And Scott was planning on doing that. Only he’d taken too long. Only he didn’t realize that Carter would be returning from Ibiza early.
Now, Carter stood in his own bedroom with his jaw dropping in shock.
The man on his bed did not move except to present…ass up, on all fours, blindfold tight, a cheap metal tag hanging off a shaved chest. Athletic. Amazing, toned body. Blond hair messy.
Carter knew that body.
He’d seen it in the estate gym for three years. Bench. Squat. He remembered the easy grin when Logan spotted Carter on a last set and told him to stop cheating the range of motion.
Logan was always self-assured and personable. The kind of guy who bantered with Scott like a regular colleague and spoke to Carter like a brother he actually liked. Brett liked him too and thought Logan was a “man’s man”.
Everybody liked Logan McMillan. He had confidence and charisma in spades. He always had a positive disposition and whet out of his way to make friendly chatter with the Hepburn boys. And within the past couple of years, Carter even started lifting weights with Logan from time to day.
Carter had actually developed a bit of a crush on Logan, but believed nothing would ever come of it, understanding that Logan was a straight, married man. Which, now, apparently was not the case.
“Hoooolly shitttt. L-L-Logan???”
On the bed, Logan went still.
Carter’s brain did the stupid version of the math.
Logan McMillan was in his room. Naked. Blindfolded. On all fours. Begging for “Mr. Hepburn’s” cock. Carter *was* a Mr. Hepburn. Logan had to know whose room this was…right?
Which meant Logan had come here on purpose.
To seduce *him*.
The thought was so insane Carter almost laughed. Logan. Straight, alpha male Logan McMillan. The guy Carter had jerked off thinking about numerous times over the year.
Now that same man was dripping onto Carter’s sheets, wearing a tag that said *Bitch Boy*, begging to get fucked.
Carter’s cock kicked in wildly under the strained boxers.
“What the fuck,” Carter whispered. “Logan. What—what are you doing? Is this—are you serious right now?”
Logan’s whole body flushed.
He knew that voice. It wans’t Scott. Not the deep, amused, terrifying voice that had been in his head all afternoon. This was younger. A teenager in shock. Unmistakable. It was Carter. Scott’s 18-year-old son.
Logan’s first thought, stupid and immediate and shaped by two hours of audio plus whatever Scott had put in the drink, was: *Oh my god--he sent his own son to fuck me.*
What a depraved motherfucker, Logan though. Scott had planned this, Logan mistakenly though. Make the straight security guy wait two hours in the Carter’s bed and then send the your own son in to fuck him..to humiliate him even futher. Logan’s stomach dropped and his cock jumped at the same time.
He did not take the blindfold off. The voice had been very clear. Mr. Hepburn walks in. You present. You beg. You don’t ask questions.
Mr. Hepburn was now in the room.
“Mr. Hepburn,” Logan heard himself say, and hated how wrecked it still sounded. “You can—you can use me. I’ll be good. I—I need your cock inside me”
Carter stared, slack jawed. “Logan. Dude. I’m—I’m Carter. You’re in *my* room. I just got home. I thought you were—” He cut himself off. The crush sat in his throat like a stone. “I thought you were straight. I thought we were—”
“I am,” Logan said, too fast, which would have been funnier if he weren’t naked and hard and dripping on a teenager’s bedspread. “But I need cock…I need it so back..please…please Mr. Heburn…my body belongs to you…please take it..fucking take me.”
Carter’s ears went hot. He was so horny…so blueballed after being interrupted during his night of lovemaking with Daniel. And now…a dude he’d had a small crush on was literally naked on his bed begging for his cock.
Carter should have said no. Should have pulled the blindfold off Logan and told him to get the fuck out. Should have gone and found his dad.
He shut the door instead.
The lock clicked. Logan shivered at the sound.
Carter removed Daniel’s linen shirt. It hit the floor. Then the boxers—soaked in front with precum—and his cock sprang up against his stomach, 6.5 inches, shiny at the head from the entire walk home.
The 6’0 football jock stood up straight. Black hair still messy from the night of rough sex with Daniel, green eyes sparkling with lust. His nipples were erect on his smooth chest. Carter ran his hand against his cut abs, and then groped his own round ass that still ached from Daniel.
Logan couldn’t see any of it. He could only hear clothes drop. Only smell him when Carter got close….sweat, sex, horny teenage phermones.
“Okay,” Carter said, and his voice cracked on it. “Okay. Yeah. I—if you want this. I want this.”
He climbed onto the bed.
Logan’s breath hitched. The blindfold stayed on. He stayed on his hands and knees until Carter’s palm touched the small of his back.
Carter leaned down and kissed him.
It was clumsy at first. Logan’s mouth was already open, and Carter had to find the angle around the blindfold. Then Logan kissed back with the energy of a bitch in heat, hungry and messy. He released a low moan into Carter’s mouth when Carter’s tongue slid against his.
Carter’s black hair fell forward. His green eyes were half-lidded.
Carter pulled back just enough to look at Logan. The strong Nordic jaw. The perfect body that Carter frequently stole furtive glances at in the gym mirrors and pretended he wasn’t staring. Logan’s body looked even better now that he was shaved smooth.
“I’ve thought about you,” Carter admitted, quiet, like Logan being blind made it safer. “For a while. I—I’ve always had a thing for you. I didn’t think you’d ever—”
“Please,” Logan interrupted. “Please, Mr. Hepburn. You can do whatever you want. I want you so bad—I’ll be good. I’ll take it. Just—touch me. Please touch me.”
Logan’s begging turned Carter on. He felt so wanted. Carter’s cock jumped against Logan’s hip.
His hands mapped the perfect body before him. Shaved chest, and armpits. The tight waist. The swell of muscle in Logan’s shoulders and arms when he held himself up. Carter kissed his throat, his collarbone… then lower, mouth on a nipple until Logan’s back arched and that 4.5 inches twitched against the duvet, leaking a thin string onto Carter’s sheets.
“Fuck,” Carter muttered. “You’re—you’re so hot. I can’t believe this is actually happening. Dude, this is like one of my wildest fantasies”
Carter pushed Logan onto his back and then climbed on top of him. Logan’s thighs falling open on command, Carter slotting between them, letting their body heat combine. Skin on skin. Carter’s golden, lean torso against Logan’s thicker, shaved chest. Carter’s cock sliding along Logan’s stomach, along that smaller hard-on, a slick drag that made both of them gasp.
Carter was surprised how small Logan’s cock was. Given how masculine and confdient Logan was, Carter subconsciously always assumed Logan had a big dick. In his fantasies it was always 9 or 10 inches. A monster. But the little dicklet underneath him now was cute. Carter kind of liked it.
Carter kissed him again, deeper this time, one hand in blond hair, the other wrapping around both of them as much as he could. Logan moaned into it like he’d been emptied out and refilled with this one need. His hips pushed up. His hole, used that afternoon and left hungry for two hours, clenched on nothing.
“Mr. Hepburn—” Logan’s voice broke. “Your cock. I can feel it. It’s—please put it on me. Put it anywhere. I’ll suck it. I’ll ride it. I’ll do whatever he told you to make me do.”
Carter shuddered. He still beleived Logan had come here for him. And Logan still beleived Scott had sent his son on purpose. It was a mutual misunderstanding.
Carter just kissed down Logan’s chest again, then back up to his mouth, grinding slow and filthy between those open thighs.
“I’m gonna take care of you,” Carter whispered against his mouth, and it came out sounding like a promise and a surrender at the same time. “Just—keep saying that. Keep telling me how much you want me. I was already losing my mind before I opened the door.”
Carter’s fingers found the edge of the blindfold. Then he pulled it off.
Logan blinked hard against the bedroom light. Hazel eyes, wet at the corners, taking a second to focus.
Carter was right there. 18-year-old stud. Black hair tousled and sweaty. Those sharp green Hepburn eyes were beautiful. Lean, tanned, naked, cock flushed and leaking against Logan’s stomach.
Logan’s throat worked. “Mr. Hepburn,” he said, like the name still didn’t fit the situation. Then, because the audio and the drink and the two hours wouldn’t let him do anything else: “I need you. Just—please. Fuck me. I need it.”
Carter’s ears went red. He realized something.
“I’ve uh…so I’ve actually never—” He swallowed. He was still holding the blindfold like he didn’t know where to put it. “I’ve never topped a guy. I’ve never—put it in. Like that. I don’t know if I’m gonna be good at this.”
“Don’t fucking care,” Logan said again, fast, almost angry with how much he meant it. His legs were already open. His 4.5 inches lay hard and leaking on his shaved stomach, useless. “Need you inside me. Mr. Hepburn. Please. You don’t have to be good. You just have to do it.”
Carter nodded once, jerky.
There was lube bottle on the nightstand. His hands were shaking when he popped the cap. He slicked himself in short, nervous strokes, biting his lip, hips twitching into his own fist. Soon, the entire 6.5 inches was shining.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he muttered.
He got between Logan’s thighs. Missionary. Logan’s calves hooked over his hips on instinct, pulling him in before Carter was ready. Carter braced a hand on the bed, the other wrapping around himself, and tried to line up.
He missed.
The head slid under, then off to the side, then smeared lube up Logan’s taint. Carter was embarrassed.
“Sorry. Sorry, I can’t—hold on.”
He looked down, actually looking, cheeks burning, and used his fingers to find Logan’s hole. It was slick from the afternoon, a little puffy, twitching when he touched it. Carter exhaled.
“Okay. Okay I got it.”
He pressed.
Nothing happened. He pressed again, polite, cautious. The head nestled against Logan’s rosebud and stayed there. Logan’s brow furrowed. Carter’s arms were trembling.
“It’s not—I think I need you to relax or something,” Carter said, which would have been funny if he weren’t himself panting. “I’m pushing.”
“Harder,” Logan managed. “You have to—actually push. It’s not gonna just—”
Carter shoved.
The sphincter gave all at once. The head popped in and Logan’s whole body seized, a raw, punched-out moan tearing out of him, pain first, bright and immediate. His hands fisted in Carter’s sheets.
“Ah…FUCKKKK!”
Carter froze so hard he almost pulled out.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—are you okay? Logan. Hey. I can stop. I can stop right now.”
He was shaking. Sweat at his hairline. Green eyes wide and guilty, black hair stuck to his forehead. His cock was only in to the head and it already felt tighter than he’d been ready for, heat clamped around him, and he was so horny it made him dizzy, and he still didn’t move.
Logan breathed through it. In. Out. The burn sat there, familiar now from that afternoon. And his time it wasn’t nearly as bad as when Scott first deflowered him. In fact, this gentle burn was almost pleasurable.
“Don’t pull out,” Logan said, voice wrecked. “Just—stay. Give me a second. You’re fine. You’re—nngh—you’re fine. Keep it there.”
Carter nodded, miserable and hard and trying not to roll his hips. He dropped his forehead to Logan’s, close enough that Logan could see every flicker of nerves in those green eyes.
“I’ve literally dreamed of this,” Carter whispered, like a confession he couldn’t hold. “I want you so bad, Logan…I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then stay,” Logan said. “And push it in. Please. I need the rest of you. Ugh…I NEED cock…”
Carter kissed logan’s cheek first. Then his lips. Soft. Almost shy. Then he pushed.
Logan’s mouth fell open against his. The slide was tight and hot and uneven. Carter’s inexperience and lack of confidence showed in every stutter of his hips, every time he stopped because Logan’s breath caught.
He sank in an inch, then another, thighs shaking. When the teenage jock finally bottomed out, his hips flush to Logan’s ass, he made a small punched sound like he’d been the one opened.
“Oh my god,” Carter whispered. “Logan. You feel—you feel incredible.”
Logan’s eyes were glassy. The drugs and hypnosis sat behind them.. Coherence came and went like a radio station.
“Cock,” he managed. “Your cock. Mr. Hepburn. It’s in me. Don’t take it out. Please don’t take it out.”
Carter stayed buried and kissed the corner of Logan’s mouth, his cheek, the damp blond hair at his temple. He didn’t thrust yet. He just held there, letting Logan’s body clutch around 6.5 inches, one hand stroking Logan’s side like he was something breakable.
“You’re so sexy,” Carter said, with full sincerity. “You’ve been giving me hard-ons when we worked out in gym for like a year. Your arms. Your face. The way you look when you’re concentrating. I can’t believe I finally get to fuck you.”
Logan whimpered. His little cock twitched between them, leaking onto his own stomach.
“Use me,” he slurred. “Use your hole. I’m—I’m a hole. I’m your hole. Fuck the slut, Mr. Hepburn. Please. Need cock so bad I can’t—can’t think—”
Carter rolled his hips once. Gentle. A slow grind more than a thrust. Logan’s head tipped back, a broken moan spilling out of him, half pain, half relief.
“That’s it,” Carter murmured. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
He found a rhythm eventually. In. Out. Barely. Carter’s sweaty chest brushing Logan’s shaved one, Carter’s green eyes never leaving Logan’s face, watching every flicker so he could ease off if it went wrong.
Sweat gathered in the groove of Carter’s spine. His mouth kept moving, soft filthy praise.
“You’re beautiful. You’re taking me so well. Your body’s perfect. I always thought you were the hottest security guy in this house.”
“More,” Logan gasped. “Harder—Please. Please fuck your faggot. Fill your bitch. I waited. I waited two hours. Empty. So empty. Your cock is—nngh—so good, Carter, Mr. Hepburn, Daddy, I don’t—just FUCK ME.”
Carter kissed him to catch the rest of it. Logan kissed back sloppy and desperate, not always on the mouth, like he was trying to eat the affection and the cock at the same time. Carter’s hand wrapped around Logan’s 4.5 inches and stroked him in time with those careful thrusts, thumb smearing precum over the head.
Logan cried out.
“Thank you—thank you, thank you, oh my god you touched it—please don’t stop touching it—I’ll be good—I’ll be so good—just keep fucking me like you like me—”
“I do,” Carter said, too honest, and shaking and buried to the hilt in the man he’d had a crush on since two years ago. “I like you so much. I never dreamed you’d ever like me back.”
He fucked him deeper then, still not rough, just fuller, longer strokes that dragged over the place that made Logan’s voice go high and stupid. The bed whispered under them. Carter’s bubble ass flexed with every push. His face was open, concentrated, sweet even when his mouth fell open on a moan.
Carter gathered him closer, chest to chest, and fucked him like that, small rolling thrusts, mouth on Logan’s throat. Kissing. Licking.
“You’re doing so good,” he whispered. “You’re so tight. You’re so hot. I can’t believe this is my first time. I can’t believe it’s you.”
Logan’s arms came up around him, clumsy, clinging, and he moaned into Carter’s neck like the kid on top of him was the only solid thing left in the room. Carter stayed inside him and kept it slow.
Carter moved in those small, rolling thrusts, hips working in a careful circle.
“Cock. In me. Don’t stop. Mr. Hepburn. Please. Use the hole. Use your faggot. I need—I need—”
“I’ve got you,” Carter said. “I’ve got you. You feel so good. You look so good like this.”
Logan’s 4.5 inches leaked steadily between their stomachs, twitching every time Carter bottomed out. His eyes wouldn’t stay focused.
“Thank you for fucking me. Thank you. I’m a good boy. I’m a hole. I’m—nngh—your toy. Breed the sl—stay. Stay inside. Love your cock. Love it. Love—”
Carter’s throat worked. He stroked Logan’s side, his chest, the dogtag, then wrapped a slick hand around that smaller cock and jerked him in the same unhurried rhythm as his hips. Generous. Concentrated. A little clumsy on the stroke because he was trying to do too many kind things at once.
“Yeah,” Carter murmured. “Just like that. You’re doing so good for me.”
Logan’s head tipped back. A wrecked, high sound left him.
“Harder—don’t deserve nice. Please fuck me like you like me. Please, Mr. Hepburn. Just don’t take it out. I’ll do anything. I’ll suck it after. I’ll say thank you. I’ll—”
The rest dissolved into moaning. Pathetic, open-mouthed, cock-hungry sounds that didn’t match the slow roll of Carter’s body at all. Carter kept kissing him through it.
Carter was a bit taken aback by how slutty and desperate logan was acting. Completely different thant he alpha male he knew. But it turned him on anyway. Made him feel so wanted.
Logan clung to him and begged like a slut who’d forgotten every other word except *please* and *cock* and *don’t stop*.
Eventually, Carter found the spot by accident.
He was just rocking into Logan the way that felt least likely to hurt him, deep and slow, and on one long grind Logan’s whole body seized like a current had gone through it.
“There—” Logan choked. “There. There. Again…oh fucking A….hell YEAH. Don’t—oh my god don’t you dare take it out—”
Carter froze with his cock pressed right there, buried to the hilt, and Logan came apart. This was the start of an intense anal orgasm that would last 3 whole mintues.
It didn’t start in his dick. His 4.5 inches stayed untouched between their stomachs, hard and leaking and ignored. It started behind it, deep, a thick pulse that made his hole flutter around Carter in a way that dragged a startled sound out of both of them. Logan’s back arched off the bed. His mouth opened on a silent cry, then a wrecked one.
“I’m—I’m coming. I’m COMING. I’m FUCKING coming on your cock. nngh—OHHHHHH….AHHHH… Carter—”
Logan shook and convulsed. Logan’s thighs clamped around Carter’s hips and wouldn’t let go. His hands scrabbled at Carter’s back, then the sheets, then even pulled on Carter’s hair. Sweat glistened on his shaved chest. The dog tag jumped with every tremor. He kept trying to talk and only got pieces.
“MHHH…cumming…still cumming…. Thank you. It’s—fuck—it’s in my whole body. Don’t stop fucking. Please. Please. I love your cock…UGHHH….mhhhh…fuck FUCK FUCK!!!”
Carter held him and stared, green eyes wide, eighteen and stunned.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “Logan. Look at you. You’re—you’re coming just from me being inside you. You’re so sexy. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Logan’s orgasm only got more intense.
The pulses stacked. Logan’s hole kept grabbing, releasing, grabbing again, a wet rhythmic clutch around Carter’s 6.5 inches that made Carter’s arms shake with the effort of staying still. Logan’s eyes rolled. A thin sound leaked out of him on every breath. His untouched cock jerked shot thick wads of cum all over Logan’s face. Logan literally sobbed from the otherworldly pleasure.
“Pathetic,” he slurred, smiling and wrecked. “Mhhhh, I’m a cockhungry slut. Coming on a teenager’s cock. Scott’s son….I’ll be good… Use me. Use me. Use—”
His whole body locked. Toes. Abs. The line of his throat. Carter kissed his open mouth, and Logan just moaned into it.
The last thirty seconds finished them both.
Logan’s orgasm stopped being waves and became one long, ugly, beautiful seize. He cried out, high and broken, and his hole clamped down so tight Carter lost control.
“Logan—wait—that’s—that’s too—”
It didn’t matter. Logan’s body milked him in hard, helpless spasms, over and over, a vise around the base, around the head, dragging Carter’s first time topping straight over the edge. Carter’s hips jerked once, instinct, and he came with a stunned moan against Logan’s mouth.
“Fuck—Logan—I’m—I’m coming. I’m coming inside you. I can’t—you’re so tight—you’re so—UGHHHHHHH—SHITTTT…. AHHH HOLY SHITTT”
He spilled deep, pulse after pulse, muscled body shaking, , filling the man he’d had a crush on while Logan was still going, still twitching.
Carter collapsed onto him, still buried, panting.
Logan’s untouched cock gave one last weak twitch and then just sat there, wet and ignored, while his hole kept fluttering around the cock that had just come in him. Logan’s entire chest and face was covered in his own cum, and now, it smeared onto Carter’s sexy face and torso too.
“Thank you,” Logan mumbled. “Thank you, Mr. Hepburn.”
Carter kissed his temple, dazed and gentle and still inside him.
“You’re amazing,” he said, voice gone soft. “You’re so sexy. I can’t believe that was real.”
…
Scott Hepburn watched the screen slack jawed. He had set up cameras all up in Carter’s room, where he planned to fuck Logan McMillan. It was a weird kink of his to have sex in his son’s room. He though Carter was supposed to be in Ibiza for another couple of days. Why the FUCK was Carter now back in his room right before Scott was going to walk over.
Scott had been monitoring Logan through the hidden cameras periodically for the past two hours, waiting for the extended release drugs to take full effect and the hypnosis to set in. Logan was just about ready and Scott was about to head over to enjoy a night of rough, degrading butt fucking of his latest conquest.
But, to his complete surprise, his son Carter had just stumbled in. Scott began to panic…what was going to happen. Scott had set up a recording device as well. He turned the audio up.
He watched Carter freeze for a what felt like a lifetime…Carter and Logan were talking…Logan wasn’t mentioning anything about this being Scott’s idea…good.
Then Carter walked up to Logan..and kissed him.
Oh god, was Carter seriously going to fuck Logan McMillan?
Scott couldn’t bring himself to walk away…his eyes were glued to the screen. He couldn’t help it…couldn’t resist his urge…he was going to watch his son have sex on camera.
…30 minutes later, Scott sat back on his chair watching Logan shoot cum all over his own face and watched Carter convulse violently, as though cumming in Logan’s ass. A puddle of cum sat by Scott’s own feet..from his own orgasm mere minutes ago. Scott moved his mouse and clicked the pause button. Then the save button.
Then, he walked out of his room and down the hall. He didn’t want Logan and Carter to have a chance to speak. Couldn’t risk Carter finding out about what Scott was doing with Logan.
Scott Hepburn walked to the nearest fire alarm, grasped the handle, and yanked down hard.
Hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter. I published chapters 10 and 11 earlier this week, in case anyone missed them. Thank you all for your feedback and comments over the past couple of chapters. They mean alot to me and keep me motivated to continue writing. You all are the best.
I want to bring Brett back into the fold soon. I've been going back and forth on whether I want to have a scene with Brett and one of his college buddies in Ibiza (an incredibly hot idea that Ry suggested), or whether I want to hold off on that for now and have Brett explore his sexuality more slowly. I'm leaning towards the latter, since things have already escalated pretty quickly for both Logan and Carter.
I've been fantasizing about Scott X Carter and/or Scott X Brett, but this will not happen until later in the story, if ever. If it does happen, which son would you prefer for Scott? Carter or Brett?
Also, Ry, thank you for sending that amazing pic of Alexander Ludwig. So sexy.
