It's been four days and I can't shake the memory of Riley's smirk, or Chance's look of horror. The way my best friend stared at me, as though I was something new and shocking, barely any recognition there at all. It's a weird feeling, being simultaneously horny and guilty, but somehow I'm managing it.
Well, horny, and guilty, and kinda pissed but also kinda relieved, too.
I know it was a good orgasm. Fuck it, a great one; even if - by the measure of my half-year of abstinence - I'd probably count grinding myself against a particularly rough tree as a successful hookup. It's just that it also meant we stopped, right after.
Riley had stood, and stretched - careless and casual with it, like my mom's cat - while Harper pulled his clothes back on, and after a minute it dawned on me that we were done, it was cleanup time, game over. Since most of the more obvious fluids that might require cleaning had already disappeared down Harper's throat, that really meant tidying up the fallout with people like Chance and Aidan.
And of course, nobody had actually got fucked.
Not me, and not Riley nor Harper, and hence me being torn between relief and frustration. Feeling like it'd been a reprieve at the eleventh hour, sure, but also that something - some opportunity, some release - had been stolen away from me.
But it wasn't like I could say to either of them, "Hey, can we arrange to do this again sometime? So one of us can actually get boned?"
Chance was gone, by the time I gingerly made it up the basement stairs. Leaving Aidan sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of water in front of him - and an expression that said he'd far prefer it was something stronger - as he fidgeted with his fingers.
He looked up at me, and I braced myself for whatever comments, or questions, or anything else might come out.
"Are you gonna dump her, then?"
I blinked at him, not expecting that. "Uh... it wasn't that sort of..." My voice trailed off, under the intensity of his stare.
"You know what she wants."
Marriage. Stability. Fidelity. I just about managed to chew back my wince.
"This was just... blowing off steam. It doesn't change anything."
Aidan glanced at the doorway, down to the basement. Then back at me, as if that simple look was counter-argument enough.
"What happened to Chance?" I ask, desperate to change the subject. Even if it's to one that's equally fraught.
Aidan made a face, lips pinched. "Stormed off, muttering about 'fucking assholes' and looking furious."
"No assholes were fucked," I pointed out, then regretted the glibness.
Aidan just grinned, though, then slowly shook his head. "You sticking around, now, or headed out?"
My turn to look back, at the basement door. Riley and Harper were still down there, and there was a part of me that wanted to be with them. If only to eavesdrop on whatever post mortem of the evening they were sharing.
I swallowed, then jerked my chin at the hallway instead. "Heading out," I told Aidan.
And now I'm back.
Antsy, on Riley's doorstep, even though that's ridiculous. Not like we don't end up here plenty, after all, taking advantage of his hospitality, and his beer.
Only usually I'm not on my own, as I ring the doorbell. Normally, I'd be laughing with Chance, and Aidan, and Harper, or some combination of the three, because ending up at Riley's is usually a team activity, and almost always with his younger brother there. So, the doorstep is familiar, and the doorbell, and even I look like I always look, I guess. But there's this roiling, churning sense that I'm doing something wrong, or risky even, in the pit of my stomach.
Doesn't stop me from pressing the button, though.
As I wait, I'm getting frustrated. At my nerves, at how ridiculous this is: to blow everything out of proportion, just because of one, silly incident. Mentally kicking myself for taking life too seriously, and from there it's a quick, dumb step to deciding that the best thing I can do is surprise him when he finally answers the door.
I pull off my shirt before I even think to glance around. Riley's front door is actually down the side of his house, though, so I don't think any neighbors will see me. Plus, I mean, it's basically dark out, now.
Sweatpants next, and I stuff them, and the t-shirt, in my bag. Slip that back on, just as I see Riley's silhouette looming through the frosted glass.
I make sure to fix a big, goofy grin on my face, as he opens the door.
Riley blinks, and I bite back the urge to laugh at his clear surprise. He rallies quickly, though: eyes tracking from my bare chest, across the tight white Under Armour compression trunks, and all the way down my legs.
He's grinning, too, by the time his stare makes it back to my face.
"Hey dude," I say, innocently. "You up for some company?"
Riley looks at me, for a drawn-out moment, then chuckles. "You'd better come in, then, idiot."
I dump my bag and kick off my shoes, and now I'm down to trunks and white socks. Riley's doing a pretty decent job at pretending this is normal, that it's entirely unsurprising that a nearly-naked guy might be following him down the hallway to his kitchen.
Then again, for all I know, it could be his normal. Not like I know much about his sex life, beyond having found out he's hooked up with Harper before.
"Beer?" The way he's standing at the open refrigerator, hand already inside, suggests I'm a foregone conclusion.
"Sure," I agree, still smiling.
He waits until I'm holding the bottle, before uncapping it for me. I can't help but think that little convenience is mainly because it's an excuse to bring him closer.
"Are you and my brother over your little spat?"
His tone's casual, but I can't imagine he's not curious, really. I shrug. "We haven't talked about it."
It's the truth, despite the skeptical look Riley flashes me. Chance was frosty, when the four of us hung out together two days after things all got weird, but then it was like he decided memory-holing the whole incident was the easiest way to deal with it. I figured going along with that was better than trying to bring up his reaction, though maybe that was just my being cowardly.
"Never doubt my little brother's capacity for self-deception."
I shrug again, as I try to decide if there's a backhanded criticism in there about me, too. Then again, I figure Riley wouldn't beat around the bush if he had something to say like that.
"Have you spoken to him?"
He shoves the refrigerator door closed with his hip, then pops the cap off his own bottle. "Just the usual."
There's not much I can say to that, as I follow him down the basement stairs.
"Were you at the gym, or something?"
Riley's not looking at me, but I can hear the new edge of curiosity in his voice. I glance down, at my trunks, and how well the legs fit around my crotch and my thighs. I'm soft - because, despite what Chance seems to think, I'm not actually a total pervert - but the outline of my junk isn't exactly hidden. Part of me is wondering whether I'll be the first to mention my state of undress, or if Riley will.
Though - as I step into the basement and then stop short, eyes widening at the sight of three other guys already down there - maybe someone else will comment on it before the two of us get a chance.
They look older, more Riley's age than mine, though the way they're sprawling on the old, battered sectional is so much like how me and my buddies spread out, I have to blink to understand it's not my own friends I'm seeing.
My skin prickles from the weight of their curious stares.
"Guys, this is Lincoln." Riley gestures, vaguely, at the room, as he drops down into his usual spot on the couch. "Lincoln, these are the guys."
It's a laughably weak introduction, but I don't have it in me to laugh.
"Uh, hey."
I shoot Riley a pointed look. Had I known he had company, I'd not have strolled down here wearing nothing but my fucking underwear. And, given he could probably guess that'd be the case, the fact that he didn't warn me means he wanted me to be embarrassed like this.
The fucker winks at me, from behind his beer bottle.
"And how do you two know each other?"
I still haven't sat down, yet, even though standing here is awkward. Mainly because I also haven't decided whether I'm going to bolt out of the room, and sitting would add unnecessary delay to that.
The guy who asked is looking at me, though, clearly expecting some sort of an answer.
"Um, I'm best friends with his brother," I explain.
A nod. "Right, right. Chase?"
"Chance," Riley corrects, mildly.
The guy chuckles. "Sorry."
His shrug suggests Riley doesn't give a fuck. "But he's not with you tonight, your best friend," he says to me.
If it was our usual crowd, me and my buddies, I'd say something sarcastic back to him. That seems a weirdly fraught idea, with these three strangers in the room.
"No," I admit, "I came to see you."
Riley raises an eyebrow, still smirking. "Lucky me." He gestures with the bottle. "Aren't you gonna sit, then?"
I grit my teeth, as I sit an arm's length down from him. Mentally kicking myself for what seemed like a funny idea, but which has now turned into something deeply embarrassing.
"And what did you want, with me?"
He knows, the bastard, he knows full well. Or, at least, he can guess. Four days ago he had his tongue in my ass, and me begging to cum; the damp patch my drooling cock left on this very sofa has probably only just dried.
"Just... stuff." The words grate out of me.
Riley casts his eye down my nearly-naked body. For all I'm pissed at him right now, and frustrated at the situation, there's still part of me that wants to know whether he likes what he sees.
Then again, it's not like he's the only one in the room looking. I guess I can't really begrudge them the curiosity, but none of Riley's friends are really disguising their examination.
My skin prickles, at the sense of being so intently watched.
"Lincoln's girlfriend is a bit of a killjoy," Riley explains, as if I'd blamed Haley for forcing my presence here. Well, maybe in a roundabout way she did, though it still feels disloyal to not protest at Riley's assessment. "She's waiting for a proposal," he adds.
"And you're not interested." It's a statement, not a question, from the guy across from me.
I shrug. "I'm twenty-two. It feels too early to settle down."
He nods, and I'm suddenly very aware that, the way I'm sitting, he has a pretty much perfect view up between my splayed thighs. Right to the heft of my cock, tightly outlined in the clinging Under Armour trunks.
"Yeah, twenty-two... your priorities are different," he agrees.
There's something about the way he stresses "priorities" that makes me wonder if his attentive stare isn't just because of curiosity as to my clothes choice tonight.
"Colby and Theo are married," Riley supplies. Judging by the nod from the man across from me, and the tall, latin-looking dude next to him, that's Colby and Theo.
"But your wives don't have a problem with you hanging out with the guys," I say, already thinking about the sort of complaints Haley has when I say I'm doing something with Chance, Aidan, and Harper, instead of her.
Riley snorts. "No, I mean, they're married, Lincoln."
I blink, as my stupid mistake dawns. "Oh..."
Suddenly, the interest they're showing me seems more... loaded.
"So, is this your usual outfit for visiting?"
I don't know if it's Colby or Theo asking, but that doesn't matter to my cheeks which are happy to instantly blush.
Riley leans over, and I flinch as he presses his cold beer bottle against my face.
"Lincoln got his ass eaten for the first time, the other night," he says, casually. As blithe as if he was reporting the previous day's football score.
"Dude!" It comes out as a hiss.
Riley seems happy to ignore my ire. "Sorry, was that meant to be a secret?"
"That talented tongue," the guy across from me says, grinning at Riley.
I look between them. "Did you two date, or something?"
A chuckle. "Nothing so organized."
His husband nudges him in the arm. "Colby, stop teasing the kid."
Part of me bristles at the description.
"Oh, I don't think he minds a little teasing," Colby says, grinning at me still. "And he's certainly not a kid. Or are you trying to tell me you didn't notice?"
"I figured one person drooling would be enough," Theo says, dryly, though he doesn't sound mad.
If I wasn't already practically naked, Colby's sweeping gaze would probably be enough to scour the clothes from me.
"Forgive me for having a type." He licks his lips.
I glance at Riley, to find he's already watching me with amusement.
"You can't tell me you're not enjoying the attention," he teases. "It certainly didn't seem to bother you the other night."
That already feels like some sort of dream, a runaway fantasy my sex-starved brain created. How else to explain getting my dick out in front of my friends; to explain how jacking off had led to hooking up with Riley and Harper?
"It's not..." I start, but the rest doesn't want to come out.
"Like that?" Riley supplies, still grinning. "Really what you want? What you're into? Why you're sat on the couch, dressed like that?" He shakes his head, tipping his head back to drain the last of the bottle. "So go put your clothes on, then. Nobody's stopping you."
It's not fair to be mad at him, rationally I know that. I mean, he's a dick for spilling that stuff about me getting my ass eaten in front of his friends, but honestly that's just the sort of shitty, teasing thing that his brother and I would do to Harper, or Aidan. And we both know I'd be lying, if I insisted I hadn't enjoyed it.
Just like we both know that I don't really want to put my clothes on. Not yet, anyway.
Riley gives me a look that says I'm so fucking predictable.
"You nail Harper yet?" He sounds so damn casual, like he's asking if I've seen the latest superhero movie or something.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Another of my brother's friends," Riley explains, blithely, to his buddies. He digs into the cooler, pulling out a fresh beer and popping the top.
"How many of them are you sleeping with?" Theo asks it like he thinks the whole situation is hilarious.
Riley laughs. "Considering my brother only has, what, three friends?" He waits for me to nod, grudgingly, feeling disloyal even though it's the truth. "One. Lincoln and I haven't made love, yet."
The other guys crack up laughing, and Riley's grinning behind the mouth of his bottle, and I can't help it, I smirk a little, too. "Making love" sounds like how Haley would describe it, and maybe it's wrong of me to make fun of her, like it was with Chance, but it's not like either of them are here to have a problem with it.
Is it still bad to make a joke at someone's expense, if they're never going to find out about it? I guess it's the same kinda question as whether it's wrong to do sex stuff with your best friend's gay older brother, as long as nobody finds out about that, either.
Riley's staring at me, that calculating look on his face.
"What?"
It's a lopsided shrug. "I think my friends want to see you jack off."
I blink at him, thinking I've misheard. Or, not that, just misunderstood the words; juggled them into a different order, one that matches up with the shit that was just running through my brain.
"What?" I ask a second time.
He gestures, with his chin, at the three men watching us. "Jerk off. I know you like an audience."
I try to look up, to meet their eyes in turn; to see whether I can tell from their faces if Riley is joking or not. Not wanting to say something which shows I'm taking it all seriously, not if he's gonna turn around and laugh at me for being so gullible a minute later.
They're just staring, though.
"I don't..." I start.
"Your clothes are upstairs, Lincoln," Riley interrupts. "Or you can stroke your dick. Which I'm pretty sure is why you turned up here, on your own, tonight. No?"
"I just wanted to see you," I say, and I know it sounds sullen.
The look Riley gives me is flaying. Even so, his tone is still laid back. "You're so full of bullshit."
I can't really argue with that, and we both know it.
"You want me to eat your ass again, is that it?"
I cast a hurried glance around the room again. Conspicuously absent from that was any sort of "let's go to my bedroom" element.
Leaving would be the sensible thing to do, the reasonable one. Problem is, I'm already hard.
Riley leans over, holding out the beer bottle by its neck. Slowly drags the cold glass along the outline of my cock, as I fight the urge to shiver.
I spread my legs a little wider, partly to avoid that chill, partly because I know it'll make for a better view.
Riley holds the beer alongside my dick. "Thick boy," he says, approvingly.
It's ridiculous, being so susceptible to praise like this. But it's not like Haley ever wants to admire me, or pay compliments to my junk.
"Touch it," Riley suggests.
"The beer bottle?" I flash him a smirk, to show him I'm only joking.
He shakes his head, slowly, like I'm so damn cheesy, but he's still smiling.
And so I run my fingers down my shaft, just the lightest of grazes, because I want to see that smile spread some more.
Riley lifts the bottle to my lips, and I gently lean back so that he can pour beer into my mouth. Wondering if he's gonna stop, or keep going until it's drooling, cold and frothy, down my chin.
He doesn't though. Pulls it away, so he can sip from it himself. There's something intimate in that, maybe because I know that my friends would make a face; complain about sharing spit and it being gross.
Well, maybe not Harper. Not given what I know about him now. But the other two, I know they would.
The condensation from the bottle has left damp patches on my shorts, turning the white translucent. The stretchy fabric feeling different, clinging more, somehow, as I drag my fingertips across it. Honestly, it's kinda wild how clearly my erection is outlined: like every vein and ridge is on display.
The growing wet patch at my tip, though, that's not from the beer. That's all me.
"Sticky," Riley says, watching me pinch my swollen cockhead between my fingers. The white getting glossier and slicker, soaked through with bro-slime. At some point, I figure, I'm gonna be able to smell myself, the musk rising from between my legs. Whether I'll be still wearing the trunks at that point, I don't know.
I lift my hand, echoing his gesture of before. Presenting my fingers to his lips, each digit glistening with a sheen of my precum.
He leans forward, just enough to slip my fingertips into his mouth. Tongue easing around them, but not hurriedly. Casual, and methodical, like Riley knows I'll wait patiently until he decides he's done.
Well, most of me is patient. My dick is twitching, eager for more.
When he settles back, I start to pull my hand away. Stopped, by his fingers around my wrist. Holding both my arm up and, for a moment, my gaze, before he brushes his cheek, his lips down my forearm, and then my bicep, until his face is buried into my armpit. The heat of Riley's breath against my skin, and there's no stopping the gasp which twists in my chest.
"You smell good." It's basically a grunt, and I'm having to tense my stomach to stay upright, he's pressing into me so firmly. His tongue lapping across me leaving me wriggling, as I reach up to push my fingers through his messy hair.
Riley's eyes are glazed, when he sits up again. Cheeks flushed. "Get your dick out."
It's not easy, to lift my hips and shove the compression shorts down. Not with him half-resting against me, Riley's warmth clear even through his t-shirt. I keep expecting him to look down, to watch me do it, only his gaze stays latched to mine.
No mistaking how he holds out his hand, though, when I slide the shorts off my feet.
I hand them over, and a moment later they're pressed to his face. Nose and mouth buried in them, muffling the sound of him sucking down great lungfuls of my scent.
When he leans forward, pressing the mass of sweaty, precum-slicked fabric to my lips, I can feel him on the other side of that still-warm tangle. Like Riley's kissing me, through the musky white spandex.
My fingers find my dick by instinct. Not so much stroking, as pushing my erection away, feeling the strain as I stretch the skin. I can picture it, too; the way the fat head will be swollen and taut, practically purpling around the wide flare. Drooling down my fingers, sticky and slimy.
"Spread your legs."
Riley's voice is smothered, but I can still understand the order. My thighs gaping, hips tilting up, and it's a reminder that we're being watched. That his friends are here, in the basement, and even if Riley isn't looking at my dick right now, I bet they sure as fuck are.
He doesn't take his eyes off mine, even as he reaches down. Fingertips swirling in the mass of goo building at my sensitive tip, making me grunt into our bisected kiss, before he pushes further. Reaching between my legs, hand digging underneath me, until I feel his fingers stroking at my hole.
I shouldn't want it so fucking much.
"Don't close your eyes," Riley tells me, and so I don't.
Hold his gaze, instead, as I huff on my own ball sweat and dick-goo, my brain feeling like it's spinning in my skull in lazy, off-kilter circles, while he grinds his forefinger into my ass. Not fast but not slow, either, just this steady pressure that tells me Riley isn't planning on stopping until his knuckles are jammed against my skin.
I groan, when I feel it.
"I said, spread your legs," he repeats.
I could protest, tell him that I already did, but that would be a waste of time, I know it would. Gape my thighs wider instead; lifting my left leg up, heel on the couch cushions. Aware of how exposed that leaves me, how lewd I must look - cock hard, Riley's finger already pumping into me - but I can't quite convince my flinching brain that that's a bad thing.
When he sits up, my trunks stay behind. Molded across the lower half of my face, draped across my nose and mouth, until he pushes them between my lips. Gagging me with my own underwear, and just in time to soak up my moan as he muscles a second finger into me.
An arm, looped under my right knee, pulls that leg up too. Splaying me further, my cheeks spreading. A near-perfect view for the three men watching me with fascinated eyes, as the sloppy sound of my pounded hole competes with my muzzled panting.
I'd tried to tell myself I wasn't picturing him, fantasizing about him. Self-deception fleeing, as Riley yanks off his shirt one-handed. Tugging his fingers out of me for just long enough to undress, and then making me yelp - my eyes wide in surprise - when he jabs them back inside. Manhandling me, now, like he's suddenly confident that I'm not delicate, not likely to protest or complain at such rough treatment, and while maybe that should scare me, the thrill in my belly is even more intense.
I don't want to let go of my dick, even if I'm not actually stroking it, and so I grab at his jeans one-handed. Riley laughing as he adds his own fingers to the process, the two of us fumbling and dragging, and there's something hilarious, and hot, and desperate about it that makes me want to kiss him properly. Even though he's a guy, and I'm straight, and I'm not supposed to have feelings, thoughts, like that.
It's clumsy and ridiculous, but eventually we get his jeans down, and his underwear too. It's kinda dawning on me that I'm naked on Riley's couch, and he's naked too, and sure there's no Harper, but that doesn't mean the potential isn't here for someone to get fucked.
My brain spirals, though, when that thought pops into it all bright and sparkly, though Riley's fingers slamming against that button of super-pleasure in my ass probably has something to do with it, too. My underwear falling out of my mouth, as my jaw drops and I pant from the rush of feelings.
"What d'ya think?"
He's not asking me, I know that. More interested in his friends' opinion.
"I think he can take a third."
I don't even know whose voice it is, too busy watching Riley's face - caught on the sharp edges of his grin - as he reaches down, between my legs. Practically draped across me, his skin hot against my own, and then the sudden, impossible sensation of another finger worming its way in alongside the first two.
I bite down, jaw clenched, because I know the only noise that could come out, the only noise my body is capable of making right now, is a squeak. Embarrassing and ridiculous, though I can't believe they'd begrudge me it; not when my tender, inexperienced ass is currently getting stretched open as my hips shudder and my cock belches long, thick, syrupy lines of precum across my sweaty skin.
Honestly, I don't know why I grab Riley and drag him further onto me. What makes me take hold of his leg, as he reaches down between my spread thighs, and yank it across my chest. So that he's straddling me, but reversed - his head down by my dick - and suddenly I have a view of my best friend's brother I never expected to see.
Hard cock dangling, balls tight. Cheeks spread. I'd be embarrassed to be seen that way, that's my first thought, and then I realize how fucking dumb that is. Because that's pretty much exactly the perspective Riley and his buddies have of me.
There's no way I can think about that, not without blushing so hard, so hotly, that my face burns up and probably the rest of me, too. But there's only one way I can really see right now to distract myself.
Riley's hips tilt, ass hiked up, as I reach between his legs and pull his dick back. His erection straining against my fingers, hard and throbbing, but he doesn't try to stop me. Doesn't protest at all, as I manhandle him to the point where his fat, leaky tip is resting against my lips.
I could still change my mind, I know I could. I just don't think I want to, that's the properly crazy part.
He grunts, as I open my mouth and the first few inches of him sink into me, and then shoves his fingers deeper into my hole, and that only makes me gasp and take more of his cock. I can feel how Riley's trembling, the vibrations running all the way down to my tongue, and for a minute I can feel the panic building in me exponentially. Not because I'm sucking dick, because frankly I've done that already, but because I can feel his hips pushing and I have the sudden, strong suspicion that what Riley really wants to do is bury himself in my throat.
Even if my brain's ready for that shit, my body fucking isn't. And I really don't wanna puke all over him, and me, and the couch.
I grab his waist, try to lift him off me. Hold him up, as best I can, so that while most of Riley's shaft is in my mouth, there's still some room before he hits my gag reflex and I end up looking like a fucking amateur.
Even though I'm pretty sure all these guys have realized I'm an amateur.
He's squirming on top of me, and for a moment I think it's because he wants to try anyway. Wants to test my limits: to feel my gullet fluttering around him. And I can't exactly blame him, because I can remember what it was like to pin Harper's head between my legs and feel that incredible grip, the slick tightness of his throat.
I only realize I've misinterpreted things when I feel him slurp my cockhead into his mouth.
All those movements, just to work his lips to my dick, and while there's part of me that's relieved, there's also part which wants to laugh at how ridiculous this is. That I'm doing my first 69 with another dude, while his fingers are steadily overwhelming what weak resistance my ass muscles can present, and rather than freaking out I'm wondering just how much of my insides that Colby, Theo, and the others guy can see. Quite how wide open Riley has managed to stretch me, using my own sweat and precum as lube.
The thing about pleasure, I'm steadily realizing, though, is that it can squeeze out pretty much everything else in your brain. No space left for me to even start panicking, or asking myself what the hell I'm dong.
I guess that single-mindedness is kinda addictive, and I let him drop down onto me too much, because suddenly I'm coughing and choking and there's drool and thick, greasy throat slime running down my face. Riley's dick pressed against my cheek, as I gasp for breath and blink my watery eyes.
Riley sits up, leaving my ass feeling suddenly empty and my dick neglected, and looks back over his shoulder at me. Smirking, like it's all hilarious, and I guess maybe it is given I must look like a fucking mess.
"Harper's gonna be so pissed at me," Riley says, grinning like he's won something, and before I can ask what he means, he's shuffling down my body on his knees. Holding up my erection - which is soaked with spit and precum, and basically glistening in his fist - as he positions himself on top of it.
And I'm a fucking idiot, I'm so fucking naive, I don't even realize what the hell is happening until he drops down and suddenly I can feel the heat of his ass against my tip.
Poised there, for just a moment, his cheeks looking muscular and firm and nothing like what I know Haley's butt looks like from when I've seen her in her swimsuit. She's all softness and curves, all teasing, whereas Riley's body is like the guy himself: purposeful and blunt, and strong somehow, a thing to be wielded just like my cock is apparently a thing to be manhandled and used, as the pressure of our skin kissing increases.
It goes from "this won't work" to "oh my fucking god he's tight" in the space of an eye-blink.
He doesn't stop, though, and I can't understand that. Can't believe Riley isn't as equally overwhelmed, isn't reeling like I am. Isn't clenching his jaw, with what feels like every muscle in his body rictus-tight, just trying to avoid crying out at sensations that are flirting with full-on overload.
I could grab his waist, stop him from sinking down into my lap - stop his ass from gripping, squeezing, practically massaging my inches - only I'm frozen. Arms limp, fingers twitching; a puppet with strings all but cut, and nothing to do but watch as he settles onto my lap with a grunt of satisfaction.
He's hot, and there's a weight to him, a solidity that I can't put words to. I've fucked chicks like this, had them ride me, and it's always felt powerful: laying back and allowing them to give me pleasure, to work themselves on my dick and drag the orgasm out of me.
When Riley looks back, over his shoulder, the smirk on his face feels like a warning that I shouldn't assume I'm in charge. That, just because I'm inside him, any sort of conclusion that suggests he's here to pleasure me would be a breathtakingly naive one.
"You ever done anal, lil buddy?"
He hasn't called me that in fucking years, not since Chance and I were little kids. And never with that smug, knowing, self-satisfied look: one which says he's entirely aware of how much self-control it's taking me, to avoid crying out from the sensations of his hole fluttering and clenching around me.
"N-no." It comes out strangled, like his dick is still blocking my throat.
No girl's gonna let you fuck her in the ass, not here. Even Kathy wouldn't, and she'd spread her legs more easily than most chicks. Honestly, I don't think I'd even be able to ask her: not for something which feels so illicit and forbidden.
"How does he feel?" Theo's voice, thick with curiosity.
It's a relief, that Riley turns his grin away from me to answer, because then he doesn't see the twist of emotions that pass across my face as he tilts his hips from side to side. A tiny movement, really, but the way it churns my cock in him is borderline-monstrous.
"Thick," he announces, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
Theo laughs. "Good thing you're not a virgin, then."
"Tighter than you," Riley fires back.
There's something otherworldly, unbelievable about it. That they can joke about this shit, tease each other, while their buddy's having sex right in front of them. Like, Chase, and Harper, and Aidan, and me, we all rip each other mercilessly. But the thought of doing it while one of them was hooking up, in the same room...
I don't get to finish that thought, to picture my best friend pounding some chick's pussy while I watch him and call out suggestions. Because my best friend's brother is trying to get my attention, and apparently the best way to do that is via my ass.
A finger, pushed deep into my still-slicked hole. My hips surge up, despite Riley's weight, and I hear him gasp over the rushing of blood in my ears. Grunt myself, a moment later, as the surge of feelings from fucking deep into him catch up with me.
Maybe that's why girls say no to anal, my brain suddenly wonders: because they know there's every chance we'll only last thirty seconds or so, before we're spewing inside them.
The thought of it, of how quickly the pleasure could destroy your ego, makes me snort through my clenched teeth.
Riley's cheeks are red, this time, when he glances back. Giving me this amused look, like he wasn't expecting me to laugh and now I'm suddenly more interesting.
Him and his buddies aren't so different to me and my friends, I figure. Even if we might normally joke about different shit.
"I thought you'd be tighter," I tell him, grinning.
"I was gonna say the same about you," he replies.
I want to have some smart-ass response to that, only my brain is too busy focusing on his second finger grinding back into me. Two of them, hooking up and brushing - not hard, but not soft, either - against that spot which makes me wriggle like I've been electrocuted or something. Waves of unruly pleasure, and the way he's stretching my hole, and that knowing expression on his flushed face all conspiring to leave me gasping and flopping around like a landed fish.
"I mean," Riley adds, "feel this, and tell me... does this feel like a straight boy's hole to you?"
My eyes are wide as I stare up at him, and I'm trying to find the words to point out that my experience with asses - straight or otherwise - is hardly comprehensive, when I realize he wasn't even talking to me in the first place. At least, that's the only thing I can conclude, with what feels like more fingertips stroking between my cheeks.
No way to stop my jaw from falling open, as a third finger digs into me. Not from pain, or even from discomfort; just because it feels so otherworldly, still a sensation my body just doesn't fully know how to process.
"You don't mind sharing, do you, Lincoln?" Riley's watching the shock play out across my face, and I don't know what's more crazy: the fact that he's asking me that and seemingly expecting an answer, or the fact that some random dude is already fingering my ass while I fuck another guy for the very first time.
"I... I..."
"You want a fourth, is that it?"
Somehow my eyes can get even wider, even if my mouth still isn't working properly. All the better to see Riley's smirk spread.
There are two of them, between my legs. Colby and Theo, presumably shoulder to shoulder, though I can't see that past Riley's body. Muscling my thighs further apart, spreading me as I feel another rough fingertip sliding around my already-stretched entrance.
The sound of someone spitting, and then the fourth digit that Riley promised is trying to work its way inside me.
I don't know whose it is - Colby's most likely, some distant chunk of my brain finds space to conclude, squeezed in alongside his husband's forefinger and two of Riley's - but it doesn't matter. The sensations so foreign, so unbelievable, that the details aren't important. Riley's ass clamping down on me, and my own trying to do the same around the cluster of fingers tugging and stretching me, and suddenly it's like I'm fucking myself. Like it's my own dick in my own hole, a perfect loop of unbelievable, indescribable pleasure, like that dumb snake-eating-its-tail tattoo that some guy from high school got when he turned eighteen.
We'd laughed at the tattoo, but I'm not laughing now.
I can see, even though the angles aren't great, when Theo's head dips down. And from the way Riley's insides suddenly go crazy around me, all I can figure is that he's getting his dick sucked.
Maybe he's trying to fuck Theo's throat, and that's what starts him moving on me. Or maybe Riley decides I've had enough time to get past the hair-trigger stage, and it's safe to start riding me properly. Either way, for a moment I can feel his thighs tense and his heels dig into my sides as he lifts off my cock, before everything's lost to a sparkling, static haze as my overwhelmed senses try to process what's happening to me.
He's fucking himself on me, grinding on my dick like he's testing the angles to see which one might feel best, but I can hardly focus on that. Not with my legs spread so wide, my most sensitive parts on full display, and four fingers from three different people all mauling my tender hole. Sometimes pushing in tandem, like they're trying to mimic Riley's bouncing on my thick, throbbing inches, but other times haphazardly pulling and stretching and tugging on me. Stretching me as if I'm some sort of toy, a curiosity with unclear limits.
"Fuck, do that again." Riley sounds gleeful."I swear, he got twice as big when you did that."
I whimper, no hope of holding the sound back, as fingers ply me. Brain in meltdown, and no point in trying to understand how what should feel powerful, and dominant, has been inverted so thoroughly. Or, for that matter, why I'm so eagerly going along with it.
It feels empty, my ass, just for a moment, when Riley yanks his fingers out of me. Only briefly, though; barely any time at all before two more take their place. But by then, I'm already gritting my teeth as he squeezes my balls.
Is it more gay, to want to see the expression on the face of the guy you're fucking? Or does it not make a difference: is the fact that you're inside another dude's ass enough?
Maybe I should tell him to stop, or that I'm not enjoying it, but we both know either would be a lie. Even if I'm blushing fit to burn, at the way I'm being manhandled; even if I flinch each time they spit on me, between my cheeks. Fresh lube to grind their fingers into me, scissoring and stretching my overwhelmed hole. A constant pawing at my body at its most tender, most delicate and sensitive, punctuated by hard smacks across my ass. Each leaving me writhing, bucking underneath and deep into Riley, and he in turn gripping my balls as though he's half-minded to twist them off.
"I think he's getting close," someone says, sounding entertained, and I groan at the truth of it. Shocked, still, by how quickly I've been driven to this point; at how adeptly they've worked me, these devious, expert hands each playing in ways I can't imagine my girlfriend ever even thinking to.
It's a slapping sound, wet and hard, as Riley slams himself down onto me. Determined, as though he's realized - just like I did - that I can barely muster the sense to reach up and grab his hips, never mind thrust into him.
"Fuck it, give him the fifth," I hear, and then laughter, and then my ears stop working altogether. All sound lost to me, at the sensation of my hole being gaped even further, and I don't know whose finger it is, which of Riley's friends is now adding to this incredible, addictive, unbelievable torment, but that doesn't matter. Not with my balls practically throbbing in Riley's palm, as I unload deep inside his body.
He's gripping me with his legs, squeezing us together, as the world does a good impression of turning itself inside-out. An orgasm so incredible, it's borderline painful; enough to make me want to sob from the sensations.
And then gasp, as Riley shifts on me again. A churning sensation, around my cockhead at its most sensitive, and I want to squirm away, to escape this fresh torment as my cum swirls around my tender flesh, but I can't with him on top of me. His bodyweight pinning me, and my legs squeezed, and fingers still pushing into me, and suddenly what felt like the best fucking orgasm of my twenty-two years of life seems like it's about to become the worst torture imaginable.
Riley letting go of my balls isn't going to fix it, but I won't argue with small mercies. Even as he topples onto me, his back against my chest, and it's instinct to wrap my arms around him and pull him to me. His heat inexplicably fierce, like he's running a fever, and the shudder of his panting breaths falling in and out of sync with my own.
I don't resist, as he pushes my hand down. Don't second-guess what's expected of me, as my fingers close around his rigid dick. Just stroke him, the movements oddly familiar with him draped across me like this, and feel him wriggle with pleasure as I strum him in some particularly pleasing way, at some particularly rewarding angle.
Barely a minute or so, before he stiffens. A hand reaching back, fingers knotting in my hair, as Riley's back arches and he swells in my fist. Grunting, as he sprays his chest, and then that sound dissembling into a groan, and then a whimper, as I keep working the fat flare of his cockhead until he has to shove my hand away.
He seems relaxed - or, as much as you can be, balanced atop someone and with their dick still inside you - and so it almost seems unfair to trouble him with a request. But I do, anyway.
"Can you ask your buddies to take their fingers out of my ass."
Riley snorts, sounding genuinely amused, and for a moment I think he's going to tell me we're not done yet. And the possibilities there, the options that might be unlocked when a group of horny dudes who fuck other dudes have just spent time working over your hole until it's soft and practically sloppy, it makes the breath catch in my chest.
He pats my cheek, though, and then sits up again. Ignoring the way I hiss through clenched teeth, at the fresh wave of sensations radiating out from my cock in his ass.
"Stop pawing at the straight boy."
I don't know who laughs - whether it's Colby, or Theo with the taste of Riley's dick still in his mouth, or the third guy whose name I don't even know, yet - but it doesn't matter. Identity and source taking a distant second place, compared to what I know they're actually amused by. The possibility that, after everything they've just watched, and taken part in, I might be so presumptuous to insist that I'm still straight.
Only I am, I want to tell them. If Haley was here, if Haley would do the things that Riley does - if my girlfriend was as eager as he was, not grudging of it - then I'd be fucking her, right?
Laugh at yourself, some taunting part of my brain tells me, you might as well join in with them.
Frustrated, I push him off me. Grit my teeth again, at the weird feeling of my dick sliding out of his well-fucked hole; watch, as Colby and Theo settle back, out of the splay of my thighs, each eyeing my angry expression curiously. Interest there, but no surprise: like this sudden flush of doubt and confusion is predictable, to be expected.
Just a dumb dick, attached to a dumb guy, I remember.
I shove myself up, legs aching from how they'd spread me. Glance down, to see Riley leisurely wiping his chest with my underwear. Smirking, as he holds it up: the black Under Armour logo smeared with his load.
"If you tell Harper," he suggests, idly, "break the news gently, okay? He wanted to be your first."
My skin prickles, with the heat of his attention.
"I wasn't planning on telling him anything," I snap.
Riley shrugs. "You want another beer?"
I shake my head, the motion jerky. "I'm good."
His grin turns lascivious. "Yeah, you are."
Even now - angry, confused, infuriated at myself for letting things get this far - I have to fight the urge to smirk back at him. To say something equally leading, and charged.
"I should go," I say, instead.
Somehow, even though he's laying there sweaty and with cum all over his chest, and my load dripping out of his ass, when Riley winks it's me who feels self-conscious. I take a step back.
"Nice to meet you," Colby adds, and I have to hide the jolt. The jerk of surprise, my brain having somehow forgotten that it wasn't just Riley and I in the room.
I nod at him stiffly, my voice untrustworthy, and then half-stumble to the stairs.
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