Chapter 1: Aftershocks and Second Rounds
The DM sat in my inbox for three hours before I sent it.
Not because I was nervous. Fuck no. I was savoring it. The anticipation. The image of Kyle-sweet, bubbly Kyle from Accounting-kissing his boyfriend Marcus goodbye every morning, coffee in hand, then coming home to scroll through my Instagram and double-tap every single post where my cock was practically punching through my grey sweats.
And there were a lot of those.
I’d been posting more lately. Gym selfies. Shirtless bathroom mirror shots where the steam fogged the lens just enough to make a man squint. Tight joggers that hugged my thighs and left nothing-and I mean nothing-to the imagination about what was hanging down my left leg. Every single one got the same notification: kyle.anderson97 liked your post.
Not one. Not two. Every. Fucking. One.
So I opened the chat. Typed it slow. Let the letters burn into the screen.
Me: You know I can see when you like my posts, right?
The seen popped up almost immediately. Then nothing. For twenty minutes, the little typing bubble didn't appear. I grinned at my phone, lying back on my couch, one arm tucked behind my head. The little fucker was panicking. Good. Let him squirm.
Another fifteen minutes passed before his reply came through.
Kyle: Haha just being friendly! Marcus talks about you at work all the time. Said you're a cool guy.
I snorted. Marcus talked about me, alright. Probably complained that I kept stealing his accounts. We were both senior analysts at Meridian Financial, same title, same pay grade, same clean-cut white-boy look-except where Marcus was soft around the middle and balding at twenty-eight, I was cut. Sculpted. Built like a man who spent two hours a day in the gym and another hour obsessing over macros. Marcus had a boyfriend who looked like he belonged on a Calvin Klein billboard. I had a king-sized bed and a string of hookups that never stuck.
Me: Marcus talks about me? That's cute.
Kyle: He says you're competitive.
Me: He's not wrong.
I let the conversation sit for another few minutes. Watched a YouTube video about deadlift form. Ate a protein bar. The whole time, my cock was half-hard just thinking about it. About the sheer audacity of this little bubble-butt twink pretending he was just being "friendly" while his thumb hovered over my bulge pics every goddamn night.
Me: So you liking that video I posted last Thursday... the one where I'm doing hip thrusts. The one where you can literally see the head of my dick through my shorts. That was just friendly?
Typing. Stopping. Typing again. Stopping.
This went on for almost two minutes.
Kyle: I didn't notice that.
Me: Bullshit.
Kyle: I swear!
Me: You paused on it for six seconds. Instagram tracks that. You watched it three times.
I was lying through my fucking teeth. Instagram doesn't tell you that shit. But Kyle didn't know that. He was an accounting intern at some firm downtown, fresh out of college, all big blue eyes and perky little ass that he showed off in those slim-fit chinos every time I saw him at Marcus's work functions. Twenty-three years old and already settled down with a boring-as-fuck spreadsheet jockey. What a fucking waste.
Kyle: Okay. Fine. I watched it a couple times. Whatever.
Me: A couple?
Kyle: Three. Maybe four.
I shifted on the couch, palming myself through my joggers. My cock was filling out, pressing against the fabric, and I wasn't even trying to hide it. Not that anyone was watching. But the thought of Kyle-that tight little piece of ass-sitting in his apartment somewhere, probably in his underwear, getting flustered over my DMs while his boyfriend was at work...
Me: You want to know what I think?
Kyle: What.
Me: I think Marcus doesn't fuck you right.
Long pause. Long enough that I checked to see if he'd gone offline. He hadn't.
Kyle: That's really inappropriate.
Me: You're still typing though.
Kyle: You're Marcus's coworker. This is weird.
Me: Weird is you stalking my thirst traps. Weird is you watching my dick bounce in slow-mo while your man's at work. What do you think Marcus would say if I showed him your like history?
I didn't actually give a shit about Marcus knowing. If anything, the thought of him finding out made my cock twitch harder. Let him know his pretty little boyfriend had been eye-fucking me for weeks. Let him know I was about to give Kyle something he'd never forget.
Kyle: Please don't.
Me: Then stop pretending you're just being friendly. You know exactly what you were doing.
Kyle: What do you want from me?
There it was. The capitulation. The little crack in his good-boy facade that told me everything I needed to know. I didn't reply right away. Let him stew in it. I got up, walked to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water. Drank it slow. My reflection in the window showed a man who knew exactly what he was doing-sharp jaw, dark hair cropped close on the sides, a smirk that had gotten me into more than a few pairs of pants.
Me: You.
Kyle: What?
Me: I want you. Bent over. In my bedroom. Taking every inch of what you've been staring at for the last three weeks.
Kyle: I have a boyfriend.
Me: I know. And I don't give a fuck. Neither do you, apparently.
Kyle: I'm not a cheater.
Me: You're still here.
That sentence hung between us like smoke. I set the glass down and watched the screen. One minute. Two. Five. Then:
Kyle: I've never done anything like this before.
My cock surged. Full-on throbbing now, a thick column of meat pressing against my waistband. I freed it with one hand, let it slap against my stomach, and didn't even bother stroking yet. Just let the weight of it sit there while I typed with my other thumb.
Me: Send me your address. I'm off today. Marcus works till six.
Kyle: I can't. Not here. Marcus could come home early.
Me: Smart boy. Thinking ahead. Give me your address anyway. I want to know where you live. Then you're going to drive to my place. I'll send you the location.
I fired off my address-apartment 4B, the one with the doorman who didn't ask questions and the bedroom that faced the alley so you could scream as loud as you wanted-and waited.
Kyle: I shouldn't.
Me: I know.
Kyle: This is insane.
Me: I know.
Kyle: I'm leaving now.
---
Twenty-four minutes later, the buzzer rang.
I checked the security camera feed on my phone. There he was. Standing in the lobby in a fitted white t-shirt and those goddamn chinos, hugging every curve of his ass like they'd been painted on. His blond hair was tousled, like he'd been running his hands through it the whole drive over. His cheeks were flushed. Even through the grainy camera, I could see the hesitation in his posture-shoulders tight, weight shifting from foot to foot.
I buzzed him up.
The thirty seconds it took him to ride the elevator to the fourth floor were the longest of my life. I stood in the open doorway, leaning against the frame with my arms crossed, wearing nothing but a pair of black joggers slung low on my hips. No shirt. No shame. The hallway lights caught the definition in my abs, the thick veins running down my forearms, the V-line that disappeared beneath my waistband like an arrow pointing straight to the main event.
Kyle rounded the corner and stopped dead.
His eyes went wide. Fucking enormous, those baby blues, and they tracked down my body like he was cataloging every inch for later. His lips parted. I watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
"Close your mouth," I said. "You'll catch flies."
His jaw snapped shut. A flush crept up his neck, staining his cheeks pink. "This is a mistake."
"Probably." I stepped aside and gestured into the apartment. "You can still leave."
He didn't leave.
He walked past me into my apartment, and his shoulder brushed my chest, and I caught the scent of something clean and vaguely floral-laundry detergent, maybe, or whatever shampoo Marcus bought in bulk from Costco. The door clicked shut behind us.
Kyle stood in the middle of my living room, arms wrapped around himself like he was cold. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting stripes across the hardwood floor. My apartment was sparse-leather couch, flat-screen, a weight bench in the corner that I hadn't bothered to hide. The bedroom door was open. He could see the edge of my bed from where he stood.
"I don't know why I'm here," he said, but his voice cracked on the last word.
I circled him. Slow. Deliberate. Letting my footsteps fall heavy on the floor so he could track my movement without turning his head. "Yes you do."
"This is going to sound stupid, but I love Marcus."
"Okay."
"I do. We've been together since sophomore year of college. He's-he's a good guy. He treats me right."
I stopped behind him. Close enough that my chest was inches from his back. Close enough that my breath stirred the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. "Then why are you here?"
A shudder ran through him. I watched it travel down his spine, watched his shoulders hitch. "Because he doesn't..." He trailed off.
"Doesn't what?"
"Doesn't look at me the way you do."
I leaned in, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. "And what way is that?"
"Like you want to destroy me."
I laughed. A low, dark sound that made him jolt. "I don't want to destroy you, Kyle. I want to fuck you so hard you forget your own name. There's a difference."
He turned then. Pivoted on his heel so we were chest to chest, or chest to chin, really-he was a good four inches shorter than me, a compact little thing with a swimmer's build and an ass that belonged in a museum. His eyes were wet. Not crying, not really, but glistening with something that looked a lot like fear and felt a lot like arousal.
"I've never been with anyone but Marcus."
"I figured."
"So I don't-I mean, I've never-"
"Been fucked by a real cock?"
His blush deepened. Christ, it was almost too easy. "That's not-Marcus has a perfectly fine-"
"Shhh." I pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't defend him. You're here now. That says everything it needs to say."
Kyle's eyes fluttered shut. His breath came in short, sharp bursts through his nose, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. He was hard. I could see it in the way his chinos tented, the fabric straining against a modest but eager erection. My cock throbbed in sympathy, still hanging free beneath my joggers, and I watched his gaze drop to it.
"Oh my God," he whispered.
"Take it out."
"What?"
"Take. It. Out." I stepped back, giving him room. "You've been staring at it through a screen for weeks. You think I didn't notice? You think I didn't see you liking every post where I was showing off? You wanted this, Kyle. So take it out."
His hands were shaking. Fucking shaking as he reached out and hooked his fingers into my waistband. The fabric stretched, caught on the head of my cock, and then-
Then it sprang free.
My cock swung up and slapped against my stomach with an audible thwack. Eight inches of thick, veined meat, uncut, the head already slick with pre-cum that glistened in the afternoon light. My balls hung heavy beneath, shaved smooth, tight against my body from the anticipation. I watched Kyle's face as he took it in.
His mouth dropped open. Actually, literally dropped open. Like a cartoon character seeing a ghost.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
"You like that? That's what you've been stroking yourself to. That's what you've been imagining inside you while Marcus fumbles around on top of you with his five-inch dick." I fisted my cock, gave it a slow stroke from base to tip, and a bead of pre-cum leaked out to pool in the divot of my slit. "This is what a real man's cock looks like."
"It's huge."
"I know."
"I can't-I mean, that's never going to-there's no way-"
I grabbed him by the back of the neck. Not rough, but firm. Possessive. "You're going to take every inch. And you're going to fucking love it."
Then I kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't sweet. I devoured his mouth like I was starving, tongue shoving past his lips, teeth clashing against teeth. He tasted like spearmint gum and coffee and something underneath that was just him-young and nervous and so fucking eager it made my head spin. He whimpered into my mouth, hands flying up to grip my shoulders, and his hips bucked forward involuntarily.
I broke the kiss. "Bedroom. Now."
He went.
I watched him walk, watched that perfect little ass sway with every step. In the bedroom, the blinds were already drawn. The sheets were dark gray, still rumpled from the night before. A bottle of lube sat on the nightstand. I'd put it there this morning, just in case.
"Strip," I said.
Kyle hesitated for maybe half a second. Then his t-shirt came off, revealing a smooth chest, pale and toned with just a dusting of blond hair between his pecs. His nipples were pink and already pebbled. The chinos went next, sliding down over his thighs and pooling at his ankles. He stepped out of them, kicked off his shoes, and stood before me in nothing but a pair of navy boxer briefs that did absolutely nothing to hide his erection.
"Those too."
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down. His cock bobbed free-smaller than mine, obviously, but pretty. Cut. Flushed pink at the tip. Curving upward toward his belly button. His balls were tight, drawn up close to his body, and his thighs were smooth except for a light dusting of hair.
"Turn around."
He turned.
And there it was. The reason I'd spent three weeks obsessing over this kid's Instagram. His ass was a masterpiece. Two perfect globes of muscle and softness, round and lifted and begging to be spread. The cheeks had just enough bounce to make a man want to bite them. The cleft was deep and shadowed. I stepped closer, dropped to my knees behind him, and grabbed both cheeks in my hands.
Kyle gasped.
"Fuck," I muttered, kneading the flesh, watching it yield under my fingers. "Do you even understand what you've been doing to me? Every time I saw you at a work thing, wearing those tight pants, bending over to pick up a napkin like you didn't know exactly what you were doing-"
"I didn't-"
"Bullshit." I spread his cheeks and stared at his hole. Pink. Tight. Winking at me like it was saying hello. "You knew. You've been teasing me for months. And now you're going to pay for it."
I leaned forward and licked him.
Not a delicate little kitten lick. A full, wet stripe from his taint to his tailbone, my tongue flattening against his hole, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint chemical tang of body wash. Kyle yelped and tried to jerk away, but I held him in place, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise.
"What-oh my God-what are you doing-"
"Eating your ass," I said, my voice muffled against his skin. "What does it fucking look like?"
"Marcus never-I mean, we've never-"
"Marcus is a fucking pussy."
I dove back in. My tongue circled his rim, tracing the tight ring of muscle before stabbing forward, pushing inside. Kyle made a sound that was halfway between a moan and a sob. His knees buckled. I had to press him forward until his hands hit the edge of my bed, and then he was bent over, ass in the air, face buried in my sheets.
I ate his hole like it was my last meal. Licking, sucking, spearing my tongue as deep as it would go. His moans grew louder, less restrained, muffled by the mattress but still audible. His hips rocked back against my face, and I reached between his legs to grip his cock-rock hard now, leaking steadily onto my floor.
"You're fucking soaked," I growled, pulling back to admire my work. His hole was glistening with spit, slightly looser than before, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. "You like that, don't you? You like getting your ass eaten by a man who actually knows what he's doing?"
"Yes," Kyle gasped. "Yes, fuck, I-yes."
"Good boy. Now get on the bed. On your back. I want to watch your face when I stretch you open."
He scrambled onto the bed like his life depended on it. Rolled onto his back and drew his knees up, exposing himself completely. His cock lay flat against his stomach, smearing pre-cum across his abs. His hole was visible between his spread cheeks, still wet from my mouth, and his chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and climbed onto the bed between his legs. Poured a generous amount onto my fingers and rubbed them together to warm it up.
"Last chance," I said. "You want me to stop, say the word. I won't be mad. I'll send you home to Marcus and we'll pretend this never happened."
Kyle's eyes met mine. Blue. Wet. Desperate.
"Don't stop," he said. "Please. I need-I need you to fuck me. I've been thinking about it for weeks. I can't stop thinking about it. I tried to be good, I tried to be loyal, but every time I close my eyes I see you and your fucking body and your giant cock and I just-"
I pushed one finger inside him.
His words dissolved into a choked moan. His back arched off the bed. I watched his hole stretch around my knuckle, watched his rim blush pink and then white with the strain. He was tighter than I expected-truly tight, not just nervous-virgin tight, but genuinely unused to being penetrated.
"When's the last time Marcus fucked you?"
"A month-maybe more-he's been-busy with work-oh God-"
I slid my finger out and pushed back in with two.
Kyle screamed.
Not a pained scream. A throaty, guttural sound that came from somewhere deep in his chest, his head thrown back, his hands fisting the sheets so hard his knuckles went white. I crooked my fingers up and found his prostate almost immediately-a spongy little nub that made his entire body convulse when I pressed against it.
"There it is."
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck-"
"You like that? You like getting fingered by your boyfriend's coworker? You like being stretched open by a man who's going to split you in half?"
"YES-"
I worked a third finger in. His hole resisted for a moment, then yielded with a wet pop. Kyle was babbling now, words spilling out in an incoherent stream-swears and pleas and my name, over and over, my name like a prayer. I scissored my fingers, stretching him wider, and his cock leaked a steady stream of pre-cum onto his belly.
"Look at you," I said, fucking him slowly with three fingers. "Look at this greedy little hole. You were made for this, weren't you? Made to take cock. Made to get fucked."
"Yes, yes, yes-"
"Say it. Say you were made to take my cock."
"I was made-I was made to take your cock-"
"Say you're a little cockslut who's been gagging for it since the first time you saw my Instagram."
Kyle whimpered. His cheeks were flaming red, his eyes screwed shut. "I'm a little cockslut. I'm a fucking cockslut and I've been gagging for your cock since-since the first time-"
I pulled my fingers out. He cried out at the emptiness, his hole gaping, clenching around nothing. I grabbed his hips and flipped him onto his stomach, then hauled his ass into the air. He went willingly, bonelessly, his face pressed into the mattress and his back arched like a cat in heat.
"I'm going to fuck you now," I said, slicking my cock with lube. Stroking it slow. Letting him hear the wet, obscene sound of my hand moving over my shaft. "I'm going to push this fat cock into your tight little asshole and I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk. Until you can't think. Until the only word left in your vocabulary is my name. Do you understand?"
"Yes," Kyle sobbed. "Yes. Please. Please fuck me. I need it. I need your cock. I've been such a bad boyfriend, I've been so fucking bad, I deserve this, I deserve to get fucked like a whore-"
I pressed the head of my cock against his hole.
The first push was everything.
His rim stretched. Resisted. I bore down, steady pressure, watching the thick crown of my dick disappear into his body inch by excruciating inch. Kyle's scream was muffled by the mattress. His hands clawed at the sheets. His hole fluttered around me, spasming, trying to accommodate the invasion.
"That's it," I grunted, sinking deeper. "Take it. Take my fucking cock. You wanted this. You wanted every inch. Now you're going to fucking choke on it."
"Too big-it's too big-"
"You can take it. Relax your hole. Let me in."
I pushed harder. The resistance gave way, and suddenly I was sliding into wet, tight heat-his body opening up around me, sucking me in, gripping me like a fist. I bottomed out with a groan, my balls pressed flush against his taint, my cock buried to the hilt in his guts.
Kyle made a sound I'd never heard another human being make. A broken, desperate keen that vibrated through his whole body. I held still, letting him adjust, feeling his insides pulse around me.
"Fuuuuuck," he breathed. "You're in my stomach. I can feel you in my fucking stomach."
"Yeah?" I rolled my hips, just a little, and he whimpered. "You feel that? That's my cock rearranging your insides. That's what a real dick feels like."
"Move. Please. I need you to move."
I pulled out slow. Watched his hole cling to me, trying to keep me inside. Then I slammed back in.
The sound he made was unholy.
I fucked into him with long, brutal strokes, my hips slapping against his ass with every thrust. The room filled with the wet schlick of lube and the rhythmic thud of flesh on flesh. Kyle's moans grew louder, less inhibited, until he was practically screaming into my mattress-broken syllables and half-formed words that might have been my name or might have been a prayer.
"You like this cock? You like getting fucked by a real man?"
"YES-"
"Better than Marcus? Better than your boring fucking boyfriend who can't even be bothered to rim your pretty little hole?"
"SO MUCH BETTER-"
"Say it. Say my cock is better than his."
"Your cock is-fuck-your cock is so much better than his-it's so big-it's splitting me open-I can't-I can't think-"
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back, arching his spine, changing the angle. The new position drove my cock even deeper, and Kyle's eyes rolled back in his head. A thin strand of drool leaked from the corner of his mouth.
"Look at you," I growled, fucking him harder, faster. "Look at this perfect little slut, bent over my bed, taking my cock like he was born for it. Marcus is probably at his desk right now, crunching numbers, thinking about what to get you for dinner. And you're here, getting your ass destroyed by his coworker. His rival. The guy he complains about every single day."
"I'm sorry-I'm so sorry-I'm a terrible person-"
"You're a fucking whore. But you're my whore now. And you're going to cum on my cock."
I reached around and fisted his dick. It was smaller than mine but it was hard as steel, slick with so much pre-cum that my hand slid over it easily. Kyle bucked into my grip, caught between my hand and my cock, his whole body trembling on the edge of orgasm.
"Not yet," I said, slowing my strokes. "You don't get to cum until I say so."
"Please-I'm so close-I need-"
"I don't give a fuck what you need. You'll cum when I let you. And right now, I'm not done with you."
I pulled out. Flipped him onto his back. Hooked his legs over my shoulders and drove back in before he could even catch his breath. This position was intimate-missionary, face-to-face, his ankles by my ears and his ass tilted up to meet every thrust. I watched his face as I fucked him, watched his expressions cycle through pleasure and pain and something that looked almost like worship.
"Eyes on me," I commanded. "I want you to look at me while I fill you up. I want you to remember exactly who's rearranging your guts."
Kyle's eyes met mine. They were glassy, unfocused, brimming with tears that hadn't quite fallen. His lips were swollen from kissing, his cheeks blotchy with flush, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He looked absolutely wrecked. Destroyed. Ruined for anyone else.
"You're beautiful," I said, and meant it.
"Fuck me," he begged. "Fuck me harder. Make me forget my name. Make me forget everything."
I obliged.
The bed frame slammed against the wall with every thrust. The headboard left dents in the drywall. I pounded into him with everything I had, my cock driving into his prostate on every stroke, my balls drawing up tight as my own orgasm started to build. Kyle was crying now-actual tears streaming down his cheeks-but his cock was still rock hard, still leaking, still begging for release.
"I'm going to cum," I growled. "I'm going to flood your hole with my load. I'm going to fill you up until it's dripping down your thighs. And you're going to take it like a good little slut."
"Yes-yes-please-cum inside me-I want your cum-I need your cum-"
"Touch yourself. Now."
Kyle grabbed his cock and stroked furiously, matching my rhythm. His hole tightened around me, spasming, and I knew he was close. I drove into him one last time, buried myself as deep as I could go, and let go.
The orgasm ripped through me like a freight train. My cock pulsed, jetting thick ropes of cum into his ass, painting his insides white. I groaned long and low, grinding my hips against his ass, milking every last drop into his body.
And Kyle-Kyle came with a scream. His cock erupted, shooting thick white stripes across his chest, his neck, his chin. His hole clamped down on me so tight I couldn't move, milking my cock through the aftershocks, pulling every drop of cum out of my balls.
I collapsed on top of him, still buried inside, my forehead pressed to his. We lay there panting, sweaty, tangled together. His cum was smeared between our chests. My cum was leaking out of his hole and puddling on the sheets.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then Kyle whispered, "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."
I kissed his forehead. "Good boy."
We stayed like that until my cock softened and slipped out of him, followed by a gush of cum that soaked the sheets beneath us. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, my chest still heaving, my body humming with satisfaction.
Kyle didn't move. He just lay there, staring at nothing, his hole gaping and leaking, his body marked with his own release.
"Marcus is going to be home in an hour," he said.
I turned my head to look at him. "I know."
"He's going to want to know where I've been."
"Tell him you went to the gym."
Kyle laughed, a little hysterically. "The gym."
"Yeah. Tell him you got a really good workout."
He turned his head to look at me. His eyes were still wet, but something had shifted in his expression. Something hungry. Something that hadn't been there before.
"When can I see you again?"
I grinned.
"Give me five minutes to recharge. Then we're going again. Marcus can wait."
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