Within a block, my face isn't so much gooey as just wet. Slick with oozing cum, a sheen of it as liberally applied as sweat.
I'm sweaty too, mind. That's not exactly helping, when it comes to avoiding Brody's cum dripping off my chin and down my chest.
"What?" I snap, after I catch Aidan's sideways glance one too many times.
He snorts. "You look a mess, bro."
I grit my teeth, hoist the crate of beer a little higher, and focus on the sidewalk ahead. "And whose fault is that?"
Aidan chuckles. "I mean, you're the one who sucked that guy's dick."
I could point out that he hadn't exactly been shy, in pushing me forward to help Brody get over his relationship woes. Only I know it'd only encourage him to tease me more.
"Fine. No more dick-sucking," I say.
This time, his side-eye is far more sly.
"Oh please, like you could stick to that."
For a few paces, I'm dumbstruck, and Aidan seems happy to let me simmer in surprised, outraged silence.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" It's not exactly eloquent, but it's all my brain can manage.
He stops, abruptly enough that I've walked on a couple more steps before I realize. Staring at me, as I frown back at him.
"Are you claiming you didn't like it?"
I frown, at the bluntness of his question.
"I mean..."
Aidan waits. Every time I think he's going to complain about us standing here, opposite other in the street as the evening sun beats down on us, he simply stares some more.
That's the thing about him. Always so fucking stubborn.
"I liked it," I admit, grudgingly, even though I know I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know.
"And did you like it when he unloaded all over your face?"
I wince, at the way his bluntness is escalating.
"I... I guess so."
He nods, slowly. "And the thought of someone seeing you now? Seeing you with another guy's cum soaking into your shirt?"
I can't even adjust myself, not with the beer held out in front of me. So there's no way to hide the fact that I'm hard again; that simply the topic of conversation has boned me up, tenting out my shorts obscenely. There's effectively zero chance that Aidan could miss it.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he suggests, "but maybe you should listen to your dick more. It's clearly more honest about what gets you off, compared to your brain."
I open my mouth, to remind him that we've all been full of sexual secrets and surprises this week, only the sound of voices coming down the sidewalk derails my train of thought.
It's tempting to close my eyes, to succumb to that childish fantasy where if you can't see someone, then naturally they can't see you. Only instead of playing hide-and-seek out in the yard as a five-year-old, I'm a grown man in his early twenties, shorts straining with a near-uncontrollable erection, and the remnants of another dude's orgasm all over his face and shirt.
Aidan's nostrils are flaring, when I glance across at him. His gaze intent on me, like he's not sure whether I'm gonna bolt or what.
Two guys, deep in conversation. Probably our age, or thereabouts; the one nearest to me glances up as they get close, automatically doing that little "s'up" chin jerk.
I see the double-take, so cartoon-like it's almost comical. And then the dip of his stare, down to my bulging crotch underneath the crate of beer that's making my biceps swell like fat melons.
I'm not exactly sure what his expression is, when he meets my eyes again. Surprise, and confusion, and amusement, all blended together with something more knowing. That instinctive recognition, maybe, that dudes have about another guy being supremely horny.
It doesn't stop him walking, but I do hear the tone of their discussion change. Feel a ripple of something - a thrill laced with bubbling horror - at the base of my spine, at the knowledge that it's almost certainly me, my condition, that these strangers are now talking about.
Aidan smiles, just slightly. "You look like you're about to cream your pants."
Just him saying that is enough to focus every single braincell on my dick, it feels like. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of the rub of the cotton on my swollen, sensitive tip. The strain of the fabric, pulling on my shaft, and the way that has yanked the shorts tighter around my balls. Squeezing until I can't ignore the fat, tingling heft of them.
I'd told Brody that I probably didn't have another load in me. My body is telling me that was a lie.
"Keep walking," I grunt, through clenched teeth, and inwardly scream at my legs to start moving.
Aidan doesn't protest, or argue, or actually say anything at all. Not that he needs to: I can feel the amusement radiating off him in waves.
It'd be perfect fodder for an argument, but I'm too caught up in the way each step makes the clinging material rasp across my cockhead. We're barely to the end of the block, and I already want to scream from the focused torture.
"You okay, buddy?" Aidan's voice is practiced innocence.
I mentally weigh the pros and cons of throwing the entire crate of beer at him.
"Just. Keep. Walking." The words grind out of me, each one requiring genuine effort.
He nods, with an expression of wide-eyed innocence I'll never be fooled by again, and keeps on walking.
There is, I realize with a sense of helpless horror, a very real chance that I'm gonna cum hands-free in my shorts.
Somehow, the thought of it is even more mortifying than strangers having just seen me glazed with bro-slime. It's the sort of shit that only horny teenagers do. I'm meant to be a grown-ass man.
I grit my teeth, choke back the groan, and focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
The precum - oozing in what must be a steady stream, now - isn't helping. Turning the cotton into a sticky, clinging embrace that seems determined to wrap itself around every flinching inch of my dick. Infuriating when it grips me, and infuriating when it wetly pulls free. The only way to stop it would be to stand still, and even then I'm pretty sure my twitching cock would only torment itself regardless.
"Almost there, dude," Aidan says, with an exaggerated sort of concern in his gone that almost masks the amusement.
"I'm gonna kill you," I suggest, in return.
His laugh makes it clear that my threats aren't exactly landing right now.
All the same, Riley's place is within sight. I'm fighting the urge to speed up, race the final couple hundred feet or so. Sure, I wouldn't have to deal with the sense of exposure, but I'm also one-hundred-percent sure that I'd arrive at the front door with my load dripping down my legs.
My jaw clenched so hard, I can hear it creaking, I trudge down the path.
Aidan pauses, holding the door handle. "It's such a nice day, you sure you don't wanna hang out outside instead?"
There's a lot going on in my head right now, but I still find the mental capacity to enjoy his squeak of surprise as I sandwich him between the door and the sharp edges of the beer crate.
"Open it."
When his lips part, and I see him taking a breath, I just know he's going to make some "the door or the beer?" comment. I lean in, more of my bodyweight against the crate - and thus Aidan's ribs - for punctuation.
"Open. The. Fucking. Door."
The wave of A/C hitting me, as Aidan finally obliges, is enough to make me want to weep with relief. I practically knock him down as I push through, into the hallway.
He's only just swung the door shut, when I shove the crate into his arms. Hardly waiting to make sure he's got a hold on it, I'm in such a hurry to shove my shorts down.
My cockhead is an angry red, my whole dick twitching and bobbing. I'm pretty sure it'd only take one or two strokes and I'd be spraying Riley's floor.
"Bro, you're all boned up."
Aidan's feigned innocence is the last straw. Bending over, I scoop up the sweaty, precum-soaked wad that my clothes have become, weighing them in my fist.
There's something deeply, deeply satisfying about the way his eyes widen as I glare at him.
"Dude, wait..."
It's a repeat of before, Aidan's body squeezed between the front door and the crate, my chest on the other side. Only this time, he's the one holding the beer: no hands free to stop me, then, or hold me off, as I reach across and mash the gooey shorts into his face.
He's squirming, but apparently dropping the beer - onto both of our feet, most likely - doesn't even occur to him. Maybe he's too focused on how his nose and mouth are both smothered, his panting sucking down fresh lungfuls of cockscent and jock pheromones.
I grind the soggy bundle a few more times, grinning at him, and then pull my hand away. For a few seconds - Aidan almost seems dazed, frozen against the door - my shorts stick there, clinging to his face, before they drop down onto the crate.
His cheeks are flushed, skin sticky.
"A-a-asshole!"
There's something kinda cute, about the way his voice cracks, I decide. Almost like we've gone back in time, to that godawful period where all our voices were changing, and calling out a question in class was a recipe for embarrassment.
I step in close again; reach underneath the beer he's still clutching, to palm the front of his shorts.
"Bro," I say, feigning surprise, "you're all boned up."
Aidan suffers my groping for a moment, then shoves me out of the way with the crate.
"Not funny, Lincoln."
I laugh as he stomps angrily down the hallway. Even the back of his neck is bright red.
"Agree to disagree on that, buddy!" I call out.
He turns the corner, to the stairs down to the basement, and that's when I realize he's stormed off with my shorts. Which would be fine, or fine-ish, had I been wearing underwear, but instead just leaves me in a cum-soaked sleeveless t-shirt and sneakers.
I toe those off - Riley has a thing about shoes in the house - and then follow my angry friend.
Aidan's on the couch, glowering with the mouth of an open beer bottle resting against his chin, when I make it down there. Chance glances up from his phone as I pad into the room, then does a double-take.
"Fucking hell, is it literally impossible for you to stay dressed?"
I shrug, grinning at him. Times like this, it's easier just to brazen shit out. Not like an explanation would really redeem me.
"It's hot out," I say, dropping down onto the sofa.
Riley snorts, though he doesn't look away from the TV. I don't know whether to be relieved by that, or offended.
"That's not sweat on his face, though," Aidan announces, still sounding pissy. "The liquor store guy gave him a facial."
Now Riley does look over. I'm pretty sure his expression counts as impressed, though maybe it's just surprised.
"Free beer," I point out.
Chance is gaping at me, and I'm confident that in his case it's disbelief.
"You're a whore, now?"
I roll my eyes. "You're giving me shit for hooking up? You?"
He grunts, looking grumpy at being called out.
"You don't need to drink the beer, if your morals are so mortally offended," I add.
There's a scowl on his face still, but that doesn't stop him reaching for another drink.
"What's the matter, little brother? Feeling jealous?"
Chance flips Riley off, pointedly ignoring his sibling's smirk.
Maybe there's something wrong in my head, that it's kinda hot seeing them bicker - especially when I'm at the center of it - but I can't help but give my dick a few, lazy tugs. I'm halfway to soft, now, but it still feels good.
Catching Harper watching me, I wag my cock side to side. Slapping it against my thighs, as I grin back at him. There's something gratifyingly honest about the way he doesn't blush, or turn away like he's afraid of having been caught staring. Just licks his lips, a motion that tells me it probably wouldn't take much provoking to find myself buried in his throat.
The sound of my stiffening dick changes, as it hits my legs. Less of a slap, more of a thwack. The shaft fatter between my fingers, where I grip myself at the base.
I ease my legs a little wider, giving my balls more room to dangle. Then further still, encouraged by Harper's unfiltered attention. Knowing what he wants to see, what parts of my body he's hoping I expose next.
The urge to finger my hole while my friends watch me is close to overwhelming.
Riley would say I was an attention-whore, at least, if not an actual one. I can't exactly claim I don't enjoy the attention: of being observed, of being found desirable. Even now, with Harper staring, and Aidan still grumpy after what happened upstairs at the front door, and Chance trying to pretend he's not aware of how I'm toying with myself, I can feel the urge to make things escalate simmering at the pit of my stomach. Like throwing down a challenge: inviting them to either resist temptation, or give in and see how they can take things even further.
I'm so lost in those thoughts, and in the sharpness of Harper's gaze, I jerk when Chance pushes his hand under my thigh. Not delicate, or tentative; not waiting for permission. Just his long, thick fingers quickly worming their way between my cheeks, probing for my hole.
"Dude!" It comes out as a squeak.
"Oh, please."
I could protest, of course, only the way I'm already lifting my ass off the couch would undermine my argument.
I'm still hot, and sweaty, and that only seems to magnify the rough friction of Chance's fingertip as he pulls and tugs on my entrance. Alternating between tracing circles around the twitching muscle and pressing at it, like my body is a lock he's trying to pick. Even just that - the sensations he's generating as he stretches and works me - makes me want to grab my dick and jerk off.
I don't, though. Push my cock down, instead, through the spread of my raised legs, savoring the growing sense of tension in my body.
Movement, out of the corner of my eye, has me turning just in time to see Riley whispering in his younger brother's ear. The flush on Chance's cheeks spreading, even as his fingers toy with me more urgently.
When Riley pats Chance's chest, then pulls his hand away, it's to leave a bottle of lube pressed there.
I figure he'll pull his hand free to make use of it, but he doesn't. Upends the bottle over my crotch instead, sending gooey drizzles down my rigid shaft and across my balls. By the time I feel the texture of his fingertips change against my skin, my crotch is as glazed as my face was in the liquor store.
I grunt as the first finger pushes into me. Not slow, not testing; as if Chance has already decided that I'm both ready and willing, a conclusion I can't much argue with. Not without looking like a liar, anyway, given the way my hips are already churning me on his digging hand.
Two fingers, and he's scissoring them inside me. Working me open, stretching my fluttering hole as precum drools thickly down my dick.
He's hard, cock straining in his jeans as I reach for him. One-handed, my lube-sheened fingers leaving darker streaks against the pale blue denim while I fumble at his fly. Reveling in how right this feels - how proper it seems, to be doing this with the guy I'm closest to in the world - and yet how illicit it all still is. Shocking, for my oldest, tightest friendship to have evolved in this direction.
I squeeze him, through his underwear. Wanting skin on skin, but frozen momentarily by the eager dig of his third finger inside me. The sensation of fulness that I know will pale in comparison to how Chance's cock will feel.
He chuckles as I yank his erection free, my greased fist stroking him a second later.
I'm so focused on how hard he is - how thick, how perfectly formed - that I don't realize at first how he's pulling me to him. Dragging me, practically, across the couch: one arm around my waist, his other hand still half-buried in my hole.
I let my head drop back, against his shoulder as he lifts me. My legs automatically spreading across his thighs; my hips tilting as he positions me. His chest against my back. Grit my teeth, knowing that any minute now I'll feel the wretched sense of hollowness as his fingers tug free.
I can just about swallow the hiss of displeasure when it happens. Enough so, I have no trouble hearing Chance's murmur - his mouth only inches from my ear - as he guides his fat cockhead to my hole.
"Fucking whore," my best friend mutters, as I sink onto his hardness.
Maybe I should be offended, insulted - a chick would be, I'm sure of it - but something about his words only make me want this more. Stokes the itch inside of me, the need to feel him bruise me open. Chance's hands gripping my waist, unwilling or unable to wait for gravity to do the work for us. Pulling me down into his lap, as I groan and lean back against his muscled chest.
The sense of being exposed, completely and utterly, is incredible.
My legs splayed wide, spread by the meat of his powerful thighs. Nothing to interrupt the view, of his cock stretching my hole. My own dick rigid, balls tight; nobody would believe I wasn't loving this, and frankly the idea of claiming that doesn't even occur to me.
Chance shifts, and I gasp at the way it pulls and teases my insides. Suck down air, only to find my chest fighting to expand against the cinch of his arm slung around me. Something possessive in that, controlling: I'm not sure if he's trying to prevent me from escaping, or to slow me down.
Even just his hips tilting, and I'm seeing stars. Trying and failing to process the way he's moving in me, to map out how his erection reshapes me. I've seen him naked, hard - had him in my fist just now, and my throat not much time before that - but all sense of scale has fled. You could tell me Chance's dick was filling me right up to my scalp, and I'd believe you.
And then suddenly scale is unimportant, because nothing matters any more: nothing beyond the indescribable friction of his cock moving in me. My best friend's body pushing, driving up, and it's enough to drive a needy, breathless whine out from the depths of my lungs.
I hear the others laugh, know it's me - my overwhelmed reaction - that's amusing them, but I can't bring myself to care. Something about Chance's scent, his sweat and musk so familiar, and yet it's impossible to map that primal knowledge - the workings of the deepest, most primitive parts of my brain - with what we're doing now. How he's fucking me, and the wet, slick noises that my ass is making as he pumps me with growing urgency.
Hands guide the shirt off me, not that I can say who does that. Whether it's Aidan, or Harper, or Riley, or maybe even Chance himself; my limbs simply obedient, arms raising as I'm stripped naked.
"Open wide."
Aidan's voice, identification trickling as though through deep water. My jaw dropping on instinct, before my conscious brain can even begin to formulate how that movement might work.
Suddenly I can taste myself, sweat and precum, as he pushes my shorts into my mouth. My own scent filling my nostrils, my body practically vibrating from the overload.
"Fuck, his hole just went crazy," Chance huffs from behind me.
It's an invitation, I realize through my lightheaded daze, or at least that's how Aidan is taking it. Reaching down, underneath me to where my best friend's cock is skewering me so successfully, to run his fingers around my stretched muscle.
"I still think we should've offered that guy your ass," he tells me, smirking knowingly. "We'd never have to pay for beer again."
For a moment my brain spirals out: imagining myself on all-fours behind the counter, Brody kneeling behind me. His hands on my waist, gripping tight as his body slammed into mine.
And then, like it's yanked back with some huge elastic band, my attention dives back between my cheeks, where Aidan is squeezing his fingers into my hole even as Chance keeps pounding.
"W-wait..." My voice comes out as a squeak, muffled by the wadded cotton.
"Gotta make the most of this," Aidan teases, "before you're all stretched-out, dude."
They're not words I'm making, wouldn't be even if my mouth wasn't stuffed full. Just a whine of disbelief.
He laughs again, as my head falls back - my eyes wide, breaths coming in short, sharp pants - and I squirm on Chance's cock and Aidan's fingers. The stretch of it like nothing I've ever felt before, my brain reduced to the most primitive of thoughts alone as I grunt and sweat.
"Holy shit, he's so hard," Aidan says, sounding entertained. Still tugging on my hole as his other hand carelessly jerks my rigid dick.
It's almost embarrassing, how swollen and sensitive I am right now. Some part of my brain still protesting; still insisting that I should tell him to get his fingers out of my ass. That while sex may be one thing, mauling me like I'm so much dumb meat is quite another. A step too far.
My erection, twitching and spewing precum in Aidan's grip, would make a lie of such arguments. Even after everything I've done today, already I feel like just a slight tightening of his fist would be enough to have me spewing another load.
I kinda get the feeling that Aidan knows that, too.
It's difficult, to lift my head again and meet his gaze, when he taps my cheek to get my attention. Takes me a couple of attempts, blinking as the sweat trickles down my forehead.
"That's two fingers, and Chance's fucking horse-cock," he explains. As casually as if he's reciting a pizza order. "Think you can handle a third?"
I squeal into the makeshift gag as - not bothering to wait for a response - he starts to work another digit into me.
My eyes roll back in my skull, senses momentarily overwhelmed. Somehow the absence of pain makes it all the more unbelievable: it's more like a deep, infernal itch has been awakened, and it's gradually dawning on me that this is it, I'm screwed, there's no going back. No way to forget how it feels when men grab at me; no way to ignore how flaunting my body unlocks this ripe, incredible seam of pleasure. My nakedness taken as the invitation I now know, deep down, that it is.
Letting my head rock to the side, my neck muscles weak, I realize Riley's watching me. Smiling with it; a knowing, amused sort of expression. Satisfied, almost, at how things have escalated. Like he knew all along what sort of slut I'd turn into, given the opportunity.
Something about that - at the concept of being seen so nakedly - makes my whole body shudder.
"Fuck!" Chance spits the curse, breath hot on my ear. "You fucking..."
I don't get to hear the rest, what he's branded me. Words lost to his growl, a rumbling that ripples through my back and sets my insides churning all over again.
I'm not sure it'll ever be normal, feeling my best friend cream my hole.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He leans down, mouth clamping to my bare shoulder. Teeth digging into my flesh, like he's some vampire from a shitty horror movie. The pain of it a distant thrum, two-dimensional against the shifting texture of my ass as Chance's load leaves me slicker, wetter.
He yanks his dick free, with a twist of his hips. Panting now, his hold on me looser though still keeping me upright.
Aidan holds his hand up, fingers glistening.
"Dude, I've got your cum all over me."
Chance laughs, the sound thick in his throat.
My mouth feels dry, desiccated, when Aidan tugs my shorts free. Only for a moment, though: the second or two it takes for him to push his goo-smeared digits between my lips.
It's wrong, I know it is: to be suckling on my friend's fingers, to be coaxing the cum pulled out of my ass from between them. Only "wrong" doesn't feel like such a deal-breaker, now, not when I see Aidan tugging down his pants with his free hand.
He's hard - there's a part of me that preens, knowing it's because of me - and it doesn't take much to pull me over to him. The both of us straddling Chance's legs, now; Aidan tilting my hips so that my sloppy, well-lubed hole is kissing his fat cockhead.
I gurgle around his fingers, as he sinks into me.
It's hot, and sweaty, being sandwiched between them. Chance's muscled chest against my back, Aidan's pressing into me from the other side. Their clothes only making my own nudity more obvious, my exposure more blatant. My exhibitionism taken to its unexpected conclusion, as I rock myself on Aidan's inches and wonder - terrified and hungry in near-equal measure - whether my body could handle it if Chance decided to push back inside me, too. Both of their cocks gaping me wide.
He doesn't, though; I can feel his half-hardness pressing into the small of my back as I ride Aidan. Chance's fingers gripping me under my arms, digging into the flesh there. Hefting me as I pant and groan, reveling in this newfound sense of liberty: needs expressed unashamedly.
The sound of a cellphone ringing is distant, better ignored. I'm too busy thinking about Aidan's intent expression, the way his bottom lip is caught between his teeth as he watches pleasure ripple across my face. Harper's mumbling on the call barely even a distraction, until he's holding the phone out to me.
"It's your girlfriend." His grin is wicked.
I blink at him, my eyes struggling to focus.
"I... dude... n-no..."
He shakes the phone slightly, pointedly. Then chuckles, kneeling down on the edge of the couch - one hand on my bare shoulder to steady himself - as he presses the phone to my face.
"Lincoln?"
Hayley's voice; that burr of annoyance that I know so well, now. The one which says "why haven't you called me?" without needing to put that into actual words I could complain about.
"H-hey babe." It doesn't sound like me: as though someone else is piloting my mouth, my throat, just like Aidan and Chance are moving me.
"I thought we were having dinner together."
I don't know if it's a question or a statement. Whether she's upset, or scolding me, or some combination of everything. More expectations, layered one on top of the other. A guy could go mad, trying to dig through them to figure out the truth.
"I... I got caught up in some stuff, w-with the guys," I stammer out.
There's a chuckle, I don't know from who. I fight the urge to hiss at them, demand they be quiet.
It'd only encourage them.
"We were gonna watch a movie," Hayley reminds me.
I'd forgotten it, just like I can't remember the name of whatever romcom she'd picked out. Not that it's important, just like the name of the actors doesn't matter, or the plot. Not when you're sitting there, holding hands and trying to ignore the erection in your pants that you know won't get touched until you're home alone again.
"Some... some other time," I suggest.
I can't see her, but I know what her face looks like. Just from the noise she makes, even squashed down the phone line. It's the noise that comes just before "sometimes, I wonder if you really want to be in this relationship, Lincoln."
I open my mouth, to preemptively reassure her, then have to close it again - teeth catching my own tongue - as Harper shoves his hand between Aidan's body and my own. His fingers squirming around my hyper-sensitive tip, thumbnail scratching across its broad, precum-glossed flare. A torment that has me writhing on the cock driving into me.
"What's that noise?" Hayley demands.
I try to bat Harper's groping hands away, but Chance catches my wrists. He pulls my arms back, molding me to his chest as Aidan ruts.
"Just... j-just the game," I insist.
My girlfriend sighs, annoyed. "Sometimes, I think you're closer to those guys than you ever want to be with me."
Harper's hand is fully closed around my cockhead, now, twisting it like he's polishing a pool ball. It's as though every nerve-ending in my body is howling, and taking every bit of willpower in me not to wail at the rush of sensations.
"I-I-I'll call you... later..."
She makes a dismissive noise. "Whatever, Lincoln. Maybe you just shouldn't bother, y'know?"
I open my mouth - or, at least, try to control my already dropped jaw - to reply, when I realize the phone is dead. Blink at Harper, wanting to cuss him out for being a fucking asshole, and yet simultaneously terrified that he'll only retaliate by doing even worse things to my throbbing erection.
He pulls the phone away, tossing it down onto the couch behind him. Pats my cheek gently, where the glass screen was just pressed.
"Pussy problems, dude?"
Any possibility of that seeming sympathetic is lost, by the amused glint in his eye.
"Lincoln doesn't get any pussy," Chance points out, from behind me. He laughs, as I squirm angrily in his grip. "Fuck, Lincoln is the fuckin' pussy now, right bro?"
I'd protest, if I wasn't too busy having my hole stretched out by Aidan's thick shaft. He's nailing me like he's angry at me, like he's got something to prove. The sound of my pounded ass is loud, even over the football and my grunts. Wet and gooey, as his strokes churn my best friend's cum in my well-reamed insides.
From the look on his face, it's only a matter of seconds until he'll be dumping a load of his own.
Thank you for reading, and for your comments and ratings! Someone asked me this week if I had any jock/geek stories: if you love that pairing as much as I do, I think you'll like "A Guy To Order" and the kinky videos Garret and Brady get paid to make together...
