The only reason I went was because Maya begged me.
“It’s a masked party, Leo. No one will even know it’s you. Just put something on and come. The whole football team’s going to be there.”
I shouldn’t have listened.
I spent two hours in my room putting on a costume I’d ordered months ago and never had the guts to wear. Full black latex. Corset cinched so tight my waist looked stolen. Skirt so short it barely cleared the tops of my thighs. Gloves past the elbows. Thigh-high boots with a heel that made me walk like I was asking for it. Half-mask. Dark lipstick. A thin black collar with a silver ring that sat on my throat like a dare. In the mirror I didn’t look like Leo from lecture hall. I looked like something you weren’t supposed to take home. A latex slutty boy.
Maya and her roommate screamed when they saw me.
“Holy shit,” Maya said, circling. “You look dangerous. I should’ve dressed like that for Heitor.”
I laughed it off. Heitor. Her boyfriend. Captain. Six-four. Mixed. Green eyes. The kind of body that made campus go quiet when he walked through it. I had come in my hand thinking about him more times than I would ever admit to her. Straight. Taken. Untouchable.
The house was already a problem when we got there. Bass in the walls. Red and purple light. Masks. Sweat. Red cups everywhere. I drank whatever got put in my hand and stayed on the edge until somebody pulled me onto the floor.
I danced with Maya first. Then with whoever put hands on the latex. The outfit did something clothes never did. It made me bold in a cheap, specific way. A guy got behind me and ground against the skirt and I rolled back into it and felt him get hard and I let it happen because the mask said I could.
Then I turned around.
Captain America.
Even with the half-mask I knew those eyes.
Heitor.
For a second neither of us moved. His gaze went down the corset, the bare thighs, the boots, the collar, then back to my mouth. I watched recognition hit. Then I watched the other thing hit right behind it.
“Leo?” Low. Almost lost under the music.
“Hey, it’s me.”
He stared another second, jaw tight, then muttered something I didn’t catch and cut through the crowd like the floor had burned him.
Maya found me later, already leaving.
“Ladies’ night at the club. Just girls. You good?”
I told her I was fine. Uber. She kissed my cheek through the mask and left. I finished the drink. The house thinned. I stepped onto the porch for air.
Heitor was already there, saying goodbye to two teammates. He saw me. Hesitated. Walked over anyway.
“You need a ride?”
I should have said no.
I nodded.
The car was quiet. Streetlights slid over the dash. He drove with both hands on the wheel like the wheel might get away from him. The skirt stuck to the back of my thighs. I could still feel stranger-hands on my waist.
“So,” he said after a few blocks. Careful. “That outfit.”
“Halloween.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You looked different.”
“Different good or different bad?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, quieter: “Good.”
We stopped in front of my building. I reached for the door.
“Leo.”
His hands were tight on the wheel. His throat moved.
“Can I come up?”
I should have said no. Maya’s boyfriend. Straight. Off-limits.
“Yeah.”
The apartment was dark. I hit one lamp by the couch. Yellow light caught the latex and made it look wet. I turned to say something stupid and stopped.
Heitor was staring at me like the costume had taken a problem he’d been managing and put it in the room with a collar on.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“I know…”
He took a step. Then another. He towered over me even in the heels. Cologne. Party sweat. Heat.
“That guy on the floor,” he said. “The one grinding on you after I walked off. I wanted to break his fucking hands.”
He traced one finger along the edge of the corset. Latex squeaked. His hand dropped to the skirt, then to my ass, and he pressed, slow, deliberate, like he was checking whether the body under the shine was real.
“Fuck.”
“Heitor—”
“One time,” he said, talking to himself as much as to me. “Just tonight. No one finds out. You say stop, I stop. You understand?”
“I understand.”
“Say you want it.”
“I want it.”
That was the door.
He grabbed my waist and walked me backward until my legs hit the couch. He pushed me down and dropped to his knees between my thighs like the captain thing had a different use. The skirt rode up. He shoved it higher, saw the black thong, and made a sound in his throat that did not belong to a man who had a girlfriend waiting at ladies’ night.
He hooked the thong aside.
“Look at that.” His thumbs spread me. Warm breath on my hole. “You’ve been walking around a house full of my team dressed like this. You know what that does to a guy?”
He dragged his tongue over me in one long, wet stripe. I jerked so hard the couch complained. He did it again, slower, and then he stopped being polite about it. He licked me open like he’d decided the night was already a crime and he might as well commit it right. Tongue flat. Then pointed. Then pushing in. The latex squeaked every time my hips tried to get away and he pulled me back by the thighs and held me there.
“Stay,” he muttered against me. “Don’t you go shy now. You put this shit on. You wore it
in front of me. You take what it bought.”
I grabbed the cushion. My cock was trapped in the corset, leaking, ignored by him on purpose. He ate me until I was wet and shaking and making noises I would have been ashamed of in fluorescent light. When he finally pulled back his mouth was shiny and his green eyes were almost black.
He stood and stripped the costume off like it had offended him. Body underneath: brown, built, football-thick through the chest and thighs, a trail of hair down his stomach. His cock came out heavy and already hard — long, thick, the kind of thing that made my stomach drop. Nine inches easy. Maybe more. Veins. Weight. The head already wet.
He stroked himself once, looking down at me on the couch in full latex, mask on, lips parted, hole shining from his mouth.
“Last chance.”
“Fuck me.” I begged.
He spat in his palm, smeared it over himself, and lined up.
The first push burned. Thick enough that my body tried to shut. He didn’t shove all at once. He put steady pressure on it until the head popped in and I cried out and his hands locked on my latex thighs hard enough to leave prints under the shine.
“Jesus— tight. Tight as hell. No pussy feels like this, man. I swear.”
He fed me another inch. Then another. Short, controlled thrusts that still felt like getting opened with something that didn’t care about my plans. When his hips finally met my ass I was full in a way that made my mouth hang open. Skirt flipped up. Boots on. Mask on. Collar sitting on my throat like it had been waiting for this exact picture.
He started moving.
Deep. Heavy. Hard. The wet sound of it filled the apartment. Every stroke dragged all of him out and punched him back in. I moaned high and broken and he liked that, I felt him like that, his rhythm getting meaner, more possessive, the muscles in his arms standing out as he fucked me into the couch.
“Look at you,” he muttered. “Maya’s little faggot friend dressed like a whore. Taking captain cock in the ass like you were built for it. You been thinking about this? Don’t lie. I saw your face on that floor.”
“Yes— fuck— yes—”
“Say it.”
“I’ve thought about you. I’ve come thinking about you. Please fuck me hard!”
Something in him snapped.
He grabbed the back of my knees and folded me and drove in short and brutal. Skin on latex. Slap. Sweat on his chest. Green eyes locked on my mouth under the mask. My own cock leaked inside the corset every time he bottomed out against that spot that made my vision go white.
“Harder,” I heard myself say. “Use me. Make me come just from getting fucked.”
“Greedy little slut.” He laughed once, wrecked, and gave it to me harder. “That’s what the collar’s for. That’s what the skirt’s for. You came to my party dressed like an invitation and now you’re getting what you asked for. Slut!”
He spit on my hole around his cock and kept going, sloppy, deep, the kind of fucking that made the couch walk an inch across the floor. I came first — shaking, clenching, a mess inside the corset — and he didn’t stop. He fucked me through it while I tried to twist away and he held me and said, “Take it. You asked. You take it.”
His rhythm broke.
“Gonna fill this hole. Gonna pump you so full you’ll feel me in class tomorrow. Maya’s gonna kiss you on the cheek and you’re gonna still have my load in you. You understand?”
“Yes— Heitor— please—”
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, punched sound, hips grinding, pulsing hot and thick inside me, thrust after thrust forcing it deeper. I felt every pulse. I felt myself clench around it. I felt the exact moment there was too much and it started trying to get out around him.
He stayed locked there, breathing hard, cock still twitching.
Then he pulled out slow.
Cum followed — thick, white, leaking out of me onto the cushion in a wet line that made him stare like he’d done something he couldn’t put back in the truck.
“…Shit,” he said quietly. “Maya can’t find out.”
I laughed, breathless, wrecked, still open.
“Yeah.”
He dragged a hand down his face. Looked at me again. Latex. Mask crooked. Thighs shaking. His load sliding down toward the couch. Something complicated moved behind those green eyes.
He reached out and pushed two fingers back into me, lazy, possessive, scooping what was leaking and pushing it back in.
“Don’t waste it.”
I jerked. He watched my face while he did it.
“One time,” he said, like a man nailing a sign to a door.
I nodded.
“One time.”
He pulled his fingers out, wiped them on the inside of my thigh, and sat back on his heels. He didn’t look like a man who was done looking. He looked like a man already lying to himself about the next time.
“Uber’s a bad idea in that, I did my job. I protected my girlfriend’s gay friend.” he said. “I’ll go. You lock the door. You wash that couch before she ever sits on it.”
“Okay.”
He stood. Got dressed like the costume could put the night back in a box. At the door he stopped, didn’t turn around.
“If you wear that again,” he said, “you don’t wear it where my boys can see you. That’s mine now. I don’t care if that’s fair.”
Then he left.
I stayed on the couch in the yellow lamp light with his cum leaking out of me and the collar still on and the mask still on and the word one time sitting in the room like a joke neither of us was going to keep.
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