Remembering the events of the evening, I pushed the scrambled eggs around on my plate, the yellow mush mirroring the churning in my gut as I sat having breakfast. Mum bustled by the kettle, Dad rustled his newspaper behind the sports section. Normal. Safe and conventional.
"Sleep alright, love?" Mum asked, pouring tea. Her eyes held that familiar, gentle concern.
"Yeah," I mumbled, forcing a smile. "Was out late. Ended up at The Black Horse with mates." The lie tasted like ash. My thighs ached beneath my jeans, a constant, raw echo of the bench.
Dad lowered his paper slightly, peering over the top. "The Black Horse? Out past Millcross?" His brow furrowed. "Bit of a rough place, son. Not somewhere I'd expect you lads to go."
Mum set a steaming mug in front of me. "Oh, it used to be lovely years back! Bill Tanner runs it now, doesn't he? Bit of a character, I hear." She leaned against the counter, wiping her hands on her apron. "Anything happen? A bit late for just popping in."
My fork scraped the plate. "Nah," I said, keeping my voice light. "Just talked rubbish. Had a Coke." The memory of Bill's spit-slicked fingers, his thick cock forcing its way inside me, flashed violently behind my eyes. "Just a quiet night," which ended the conversation.
And it was then that I made up my mind. The roughness hadn't repelled me; it had branded me, I guess, and strangely, I craved it again, on my terms. I wanted Bill Tanner's cock. Not as payment, but as a mature, dominant man with experience, and so, two days later, I stood outside The Black Horse at 9pm sharp. The pub looked different in the soft twilight, less menacing, more worn. My memories were very much at the front of my mind as I pushed the heavy oak door open.
The familiar smell of stale beer and wood polish hit me. Bill stood behind the bar, polishing a pint glass with a drying towel. His eyes snapped to mine instantly, dark and unreadable. A flicker of surprise crossed his weathered face, quickly masked by a curt nod and a smile.
"It's quiet tonight," was all I could say when I saw him.
Bill grunted, setting the glass down. His gaze travelled over me, lingering on my jeans. "Couldn’t keep away, hey boy."
It wasn't a question. A statement thick with implication as he tossed the towel aside. "What do you want to drink?"
"Just a Coke, please," I asked. "Where is everyone?"
"Most folks leave early because it's a working day and we are in the middle of nowhere, so drink driving is an issue."
Bill slid a Coke across the bar. His eyes, dark and assessing, lingered on my face. "You look different, Steve," he said, his voice low. "Older. Less... lost,” as he wiped the bar top with a damp cloth, knuckles scarred and thick. "I'm pleased you decided to return. How's your motorbike?"
"Fine," I mumbled, wrapping my hands around the cold glass. The condensation felt sharp against my palms. "I fixed the tyre."
Silence stretched, thick and expectant. I took another sip, the fizz sharp on my tongue. "You said... next time with the lube. You still promise?"
Bill froze, the damp cloth clenched tight in his fist. He leaned forward, elbows planted wide on the bar, his voice dropping to a rough whisper only I could hear. "I didn't think you would be back." His gaze drilled into me, searching, wary. "Why have you come back?" The question hung heavy, charged with the memory of the bench, the van, the raw ache still ghosting through me.
I met his stare, forcing myself not to flinch. "Because," I said, my voice steadier than I felt, "except for the pain... I enjoyed you taking me." The admission burned my tongue as I continued. "I liked..." I faltered, searching for the words that weren't gentle or soft. "I liked how much you wanted it. How much you wanted me. How rough you were. How you... owned me."
The flush crept up my neck, hot and undeniable. "The pain was bad, Bill. Really bad. But the rest... the hunger... I liked that. No more pain if you want me again."
Bill didn't move. His knuckles whitened where he gripped the bar edge. The silence stretched, thick with the unsaid. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached beneath the counter. His hand emerged holding the familiar half-used tube of lube.
"Pub's empty," he said, his voice like gravel scraping stone. His eyes never left mine. "Why don't you relax in your underwear, lad? Get comfortable, and hopefully you're not in a rush this evening."
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pushed off the barstool, legs trembling only slightly. I kicked off my trainers and then fumbled with my belt buckle. Without delay, I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pushing them down to step out of them.
The cool air prickled my bare skin as I pulled my t-shirt over my head, leaving me standing in just my white cotton Y-Fronts, my cock already tenting the fabric with precum leaking into the material.
Bill watched, motionless behind the bar, his gaze burning over my exposed skin. His tongue darted out, slowly wetting his lower lip. "My my," he breathed, the rough edge in his voice softened by genuine awe. "You look amazing, boy," as he leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on the polished wood, eyes locked on mine. "A proper sight."
He pushed himself upright, moving with deliberate slowness around the bar. A low groan escaped him. "Christ, Steve... you're leaking for me already."
Bill stopped inches away, his shadow swallowing me. The scent of stale beer and male sweat thickened the air. His calloused thumb brushed the damp patch on my Y-Fronts. I gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily. "See?" he murmured, his breath hot against my temple. "Your body remembers."
Just then, the pub door creaked open. A young man stumbled in, bleary-eyed, wearing only a faded t-shirt and loose boxer shorts. He shuffled towards the bar, scratching his stomach. "Bill?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "Forgot my phone charger. Left it plugged in behind the bar." He blinked, finally noticing me standing half-naked in the dim light. His gaze flickered over my Y-Fronts, the tenting obvious, then to Bill's looming presence beside me.
Bill froze, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Right," he growled, the possessiveness in his voice hardening into annoyance. He moved back behind the bar with stiff movements, retrieving a charger from a shelf. He slapped it onto the countertop. "Get gone, Tommy."
Tommy snatched the charger, his eyes darting back to me, wide with disbelief and a flicker of curiosity. "Yeah... sorry, Bill," he mumbled, backing towards the door. He hesitated, staring openly at my near-nakedness, my Y-Fronts clinging damply. The door clicked shut behind him, plunging the pub back into tense silence.
"Who's that?" I demanded, my voice sharper than intended. The intrusion shattered the fragile intimacy, leaving me exposed and prickling with irrational jealousy. "He just walks in like that, and you say nothing?"
Bill’s gaze snapped back to me, dark and intense. "Tommy," he grunted, wiping his hands on his coat. "Works the fields for old man Higgins. Lives in a caravan out back." He jerked his head towards the rear door. "Can't afford rent. Barely scrapes by." His tone held no pity, only weary resignation. "He’s harmless. Just forgets things after a few pints, oh, and he knows my tastes."
The admission hung heavy as Bill stepped closer again, his rough palm settling firmly on my hip, thumb stroking the bare skin above my Y-Fronts. "Forget him," he commanded, low and rough. "He doesn't matter. Only us."
"But is he like us?" I pressed, unable to shake the image of Tommy's sleepy eyes lingering on my exposed state. "Does he... does he come here for... this?" The words felt clumsy, dangerous.
Bill’s thumb stilled on my hipbone. "From time to time," he admitted, "When he’s desperate enough and needs a pint he can’t pay for, or a fiver for petrol." His voice dropped lower. "It's an arrangement that just works."
Before I could process the "was I just another arrangement? Bill’s hands clamped onto my hips. His strength, hinted at before in the van and on the bench, became terrifyingly apparent. He lifted me clean off my stool like I weighed nothing, the sudden motion stealing my breath.
My back hit the cool, sticky surface of the bar top with a soft thud. He pushed me firmly backwards until I lay sprawled along its length, the polished wood cold against my bare shoulders and spine. My legs dangled over the edge, feet brushing the brass rail. Above me, the dim pub lights haloed Bill’s shaved head, his expression unreadable, intense.
"Oh my god," Bill breathed, the words rough with awe and hunger. His thick fingers hooked into the waistband of my Y-fronts. With one brutal yank, he ripped the thin cotton clean apart at the fly. The tearing sound was obscenely loud in the empty pub. Cool air rushed over my exposed cock, already slick with precum and straining hard against my belly. "Christ, Steve," he rasped, his gaze devouring me. "Look at you. Ready for taking."
He didn't waste a second. His large, rough hand wrapped around my shaft, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. Then his head dipped. His mouth, hot and wet, engulfed me whole. It wasn't a gentle exploration; it was immediate possession. His lips sealed tight around my cockhead, his tongue swirling hard and demanding against the sensitive slit. A choked cry tore from my throat as pleasure, sharp and electric, shot straight to my core.
Outside, pressed against the grimy pub window, Tommy froze. His forgotten charger slipped from his fingers onto the damp gravel. Through the smudged glass, the scene burned itself into his eyes as he watched Bill’s broad back hunched over the bar, the pale sprawl of my naked legs dangling helplessly over the edge, the rhythmic bobbing of Bill’s shaved head.
Tommy’s breath hitched as his neglected cock twitched against his loose boxers.
Inside, Bill’s mouth worked relentlessly, pulling deep, wet sounds from my throat. His tongue flattened against my shaft, dragging upwards with brutal precision before plunging back down, taking me to the root. I arched off the bar, fingers scrabbling at the polished wood, the cold surface biting into my bare skin. "Fuck, Bill", I choked out, the words dissolving into a gasp as his teeth grazed the sensitive underside, a sharp counterpoint to the searing suction.
On the CCTV monitor above the spirits shelf, I could see Tommy standing outside the window. His boxers pooled around his ankles in the gravel. His cock hung hard between his legs, twitching visibly as he watched Bill’s head bob between my splayed legs. One hand drifted down, fingers wrapping around himself in a slow, absent stroke.
Bill saw none of it. His thick fingers dug into my hips, pinning me to the bar as he sucked with bruising intensity. Every pull dragged me deeper into a haze of raw sensation. The scrape of his stubble on my inner thighs, the wet heat of his mouth, the rough pads of his thumbs pressing bruises into my hipbones. His low groan vibrated through me when I bucked helplessly against his face.
It didn't take long. The coil in my belly tightened unbearably, sharp and urgent. "Bill", I gasped, a warning choked off as he sucked harder, deeper. My back arched violently off the cold wood. My release hit like a physical blow, thick pulses flooding his throat. He swallowed greedily, noisily, his tongue working relentlessly against my oversensitive cockhead until I whimpered, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
Bill pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening. He straightened, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "Good lad," he rasped. Then, abruptly, he released my hips and stepped back. "Stay."
He strode towards the pub's entrance, boots heavy on the wooden floorboards. The heavy iron bolt scraped loudly as he slammed it home, locking the front door. "Fancy a change of scenery?" A slow, rough smile touched his lips. "Fancy getting properly fucked outside, boy? Under the stars?"
"Only if you are going to be nice?" I demanded, my voice shaky as I pushed myself up on trembling elbows. The bar felt cold beneath me. Outside, Tommy continued to watch from the shadows, his cock still hard and forgotten.
Bill chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the silence. "I promised proper, didn't I?" as he snatched the tube of lube off the bar. "Proper means using this, and proper," he added, his voice dropping to a possessive growl, "means taking my time. Owning every inch of you. So, don't just lie there. Outside," he commanded, his eyes gleaming. "Now."
I scrambled off the bar, bare feet hitting the cool wooden floor. My ripped Y-Fronts hung uselessly around my thighs. With a quick shove, I pushed them down and kicked them aside, standing naked and exposed in the empty pub. Bill watched, his gaze heavy and approving. "Go on," he urged, nodding towards the rear door leading to the beer garden.
As I turned towards the exit, Bill's eyes flicked sharply to the CCTV monitor above the spirits shelf. The grainy image showed Tommy pressed against the front window. Bill's expression hardened instantly. "Oi!" His voice cracked through the silence like a whip. "Tommy! Stop spying on us, you little shit!" He jabbed a thick finger towards the screen. "Get around the back. Now!"
I walked outside into the garden, my nakedness suddenly feeling more exposed under Tommy's voyeuristic gaze as he joined me, coming round the side. "Hi, Tommy, nice to meet you."
"Nice cock and such a nice body," Tommy responded. "I can see why Bill likes you."
Bill emerged from the pub, wearing nothing but his battered M&S briefs, the tube of lube clutched in his fist.
His gaze locked onto Tommy. "You'll watch," he commanded, not asking. "Learn how it's done properly." He tossed a folded bath towel onto the damp grass. "Kneel on that and for Christ's sake, lose the clothes. You're overdressed."
Tommy scrambled to obey, peeling off his t-shirt and boxers, his lean frame pale in the moonlight. He knelt on the towel, eyes wide and fixed on me as his cut cock stood proudly, demanding attention.
Bill tossed me a folded towel. "Lie down on the bench, boy," he ordered, his voice low and gravelly. "On your back," his gaze burning into mine as I obeyed. Tommy, though, just watched, transfixed, his own hand moving slowly on his cock.
Bill hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and shoved them down his thick thighs, kicking them aside. Moonlight caught the heavy curve of his cock, already hard and flushed against his belly. He squeezed a thick dollop of liquid into his palm, his fingers wrapped around his shaft, massaging the cool gel into his skin with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Turn on to your side, Steve," he murmured, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "On your side, facing towards Tommy, because he’s going to watch."
I obeyed, shifting onto my side, facing Tommy, kneeling wide-eyed on his towel. Bill knelt behind me, his thick thighs bracketing mine. The cold night air prickled my skin, but his hands were warm as they settled on my hips. "Easy now," he breathed, his lips brushing my shoulder blade. "Just relax for me."
His slicked fingers found my entrance, circling slowly, pressing gently. The lube was cool, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me. He worked with unhurried patience, one finger sliding in, then another, stretching me carefully. "That's it," he murmured, his voice rough but softened. "Good lad." The tenderness was jarring, unexpected. Gone was the brutal urgency of the bench. This was deliberate, almost reverent.
Bill positioned himself behind me, sort of at my side, his thick cockhead nudging against me. He leaned forward, his broad chest pressing warm against my back, his breath hot on my neck. "Easy," he whispered again. Then, with infinite slowness, he pushed forward. The stretch was intense, a deep, burning pressure, but it lacked the tearing agony of before.
I had never been entered from the side, and it felt different as he slid deeper, inch by careful inch, pausing when I tensed, letting me adjust, his hand stroking my flank soothingly as I watched Tommy and his reactions.
When Bill was fully sheathed inside me, he stayed still for a long moment, buried deep inside. A low groan vibrated from him as he grunted, "Christ, Steve," he breathed, "You feel incredible."
Then he withdrew slowly, almost completely out, before pushing back in with that same deliberate, unhurried pace. The angle was perfect as his thick cockhead dragged firmly across that sweet spot inside me with every steady thrust. Pleasure sparked, sharp and electric, radiating outwards from my core. A startled gasp escaped me. Tommy's eyes widened further, his hand moving faster on his own cock.
Bill established a rhythm, deep and slow, with purposeful strokes that filled me each time. Each inward stroke pressed relentlessly against that bundle of nerves, sending waves of pure sensation crashing through me. I was floating, suspended in a haze of heat and pressure and the possessive weight of Bill behind me. His low groans vibrated against my skin, his breath hot on my neck. "That's it, lad," he murmured, his voice thick with exertion and desire. "Take it. Feel it."
He shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, and hit the spot dead-on again. A choked cry tore from my throat. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. This wasn't just good; it was heaven. Bill was claiming me, possessing me utterly, but with a control that amplified every sensation tenfold.
I knew my climax was building too fast, a tight coil winding tighter with every perfect thrust. Bill’s cock was a relentless piston against my prostate, stoking the fire impossibly high. The inevitability was part of the thrill. Letting Bill push me over the edge while he maintained his own iron control, while Tommy saw me unravel completely under Bill’s mastery.
Bill’s thrusts didn't falter, didn't speed up. They remained deep, measured, devastatingly accurate. "I know, boy," he growled into my ear, the rumble sending shivers down my spine. "Let go. Show Tommy how good I make you feel."
One thrust, timed perfectly with his inward movement, was too much. The coil snapped. My back arched violently as ecstasy ripped through me, white-hot and blinding. Thick pulses shot over Tommy's chest, onto his stomach, as he remained kneeling next to me on the ground. My cry was ragged and loud in the quiet night air. Tommy gasped, his own release hitting him seconds later as he watched me convulse in Bill's grip, my cum spurting horizontally from my body onto his as his own cum shot through the air, only to land on the towel.
Bill held me tight through the tremors, his cock still buried deep inside me, pulsing with its own restrained heat. He didn't stop moving. His thrusts continued, slower now, deeper, possessive. He watched Tommy play with my cum as it dribbled down his torso, with shaky hands, then he turned his attention back to me. "Good lad," he breathed, his voice rough with satisfaction as he muttered his favourite saying. "Beautiful."
His rhythm shifted subtly, became more urgent, less controlled. The slow, deep strokes shortened, intensified. His breathing grew ragged against my neck, his fingers digging harder into my hip. "Gonna fill you proper now, Steve," he grunted, the words thick and strained. "Hold onto it."
I felt him swell impossibly larger inside me, the pressure building where we were joined. Then came the hot, liquid pulse, deep within, flooding me with his release. It wasn't violent like before; it was a powerful, claiming surge, a wave of heat that radiated through my core. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through my bones as he emptied himself, thrusting shallowly to push every last drop deep. It felt... wonderful, perfect and lovely. A claiming done right, filling the emptiness he'd created with warmth instead of pain.
He stayed buried inside me for a long moment, catching his breath, his forehead pressed damply against my shoulder blade. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew. The sudden coolness where he'd been was replaced by the slick, warm trickle of his seed escaping down my inner thigh onto the towel. He shifted, his spent cock resting heavy against his thigh.
His gaze, dark and satisfied, swept over me lying spent on the bench, then flicked to Tommy kneeling wide-eyed, covered in my release. "I didn't give you permission to cum, boy." his voice sounded rough, but without real anger.
Tommy flinched, hastily wiping sticky streaks off his stomach with trembling fingers. "Sorry, Bill," he mumbled, cheeks flushing crimson. "Just... watching him... it was..." His words trailed off into a helpless shrug.
Bill didn't yell. He just stood, breathing heavily, his gaze fixed on Tommy. Then, unexpectedly, he walked over to the wooden bench opposite mine and sat down heavily. The old wood creaked under his weight. He patted his thick, bare thigh. "Come here, Tommy," he commanded, his voice low and dangerously calm. "Now."
Tommy scrambled forward on his knees, eyes wide with apprehension. "Bill, I'm sorry, I didn't mean."
"Shut it," Bill cut him off, his voice dangerously quiet. He grabbed Tommy's skinny arm and hauled him bodily across his lap. Tommy landed with a soft thump, his pale arse exposed to the cool night air, his cheek pressed against Bill's thick thigh. "Naughty boys," Bill growled, his large hand settling possessively on Tommy's bare flank, "who don't obey... get spanked."
The first smack cracked through the stillness of the beer garden. Sharp, stinging. Tommy yelped, a high-pitched sound that made me flinch instinctively on my bench. Bill’s palm landed again, harder this time, a meaty slap that left a bright red handprint blooming on Tommy’s pale skin. Tommy kicked his legs uselessly, whimpering, "Bill, please."
"Should've kept your hands to yourself," Bill snarled, punctuating each word with another heavy thwack! "Should've kept your eyes where they belong." Thwack!
Tommy’s cries grew louder, tears streaking his face as Bill’s big hand painted his arse crimson. I watched, transfixed, my own spent body tingling with a strange mix of sympathy and dark fascination. Bill wasn't gentle; this was punishment, pure and simple. Each slap echoed Tommy’s earlier disobedience, a harsh reminder of the price for failing to control himself.
After three dozen full-on smacks, Bill paused, his hand resting hot and heavy on Tommy’s flaming skin. Tommy sobbed quietly, his body trembling. "You want money, Tommy?" Bill asked, his voice rough but calmer now. "You want petrol for that clapped-out van? Or a pint?" He squeezed Tommy’s bruised cheek hard. "Then you pay the price for your disobedience. You don't touch yourself unless I say. Understand?"
Tommy nodded frantically against Bill’s leg, gasping out a tearful "Yes, Bill," as tears flooded down his face.
Bill shoved Tommy roughly off his lap when he finished spanking him. The young man landed hard on the damp grass with a sharp cry, curling instinctively around his stinging arse. Bill didn’t spare him another glance. Instead, he turned to me, his expression shifting from harsh disciplinarian to something softer, almost contemplative. "Fancy a coffee?" he asked, his voice low and rough, yet unexpectedly gentle. "Or tea? Something hot."
"Coffee," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Strong."
Bill nodded curtly. He didn't move from the bench. Instead, his gaze snapped back to Tommy, sitting on the grass at Bill's knees. "Tommy," Bill commanded, his voice slicing through the night air. "Get up, kitchen's unlocked. Kettle's on the hob. Make us a coffee and tea. Bring it back out here." His eyes narrowed. "And Tommy? Use the proper mugs. Not those plastic shit ones."
Tommy got to his feet, wincing at the movement. I watched him go, my eyes instinctively drawn to the dark curve of his buttocks, wanting to see the marks Bill’s hand had left. But the moonlight seemed to shy away from the details, casting deep shadows across his retreating form. I did, though, find him terribly attractive.
"You like what you see, Steve?" Bill asked.
"Yes, I do, and he's very attractive from a physical perspective," I answered. "I'm sure you have fun with him whenever you want it."
Bill shifted on the bench, the wood groaning under his weight. "Tommy's useful," he admitted, his voice low. "But he's not you." His gaze lingered on my nakedness, the drying trails of his seed on my thigh. "You're... different." He paused, searching for words. "Do you want to fuck him?"
The question hung stark in the cool air. Tommy’s lean, bruised form flashed in my mind, the vulnerability, the defiance and his submission. The thought sent a jolt through my spent body. "Yes, if he agrees, but I don’t know him," I breathed. "I guess you like to watch."
"Of course, I like to watch. It would be a shame to miss it," Bill confirmed.
Tommy returned minutes later, balancing two steaming mugs. The first one Bill took without a word. Next, Tommy approached my bench. He hesitated, his gaze flicking from my nakedness as he placed the mug carefully on the wood beside me.
"Like I said, Steve, he has his uses, don't you, boy, playfully slapping his bottom.
Tommy flinched at the contact with his bruised skin but managed a shaky smile. "Yes, Bill."
Bill gestured towards me with his chin. "Steve here fancies a go. Says he wants me to watch," as he took a slow sip of tea, his eyes never leaving Tommy's face. "You up for that, lad? Letting Steve own you?"
Tommy swallowed hard, his gaze darting between Bill's stern expression and my naked form sprawled on the bench. "Yes, Bill," he whispered, his voice trembling. "If... if that's what you want."
Bill leaned back against the bench, mug steaming in his hand. "It's exactly what I want," he confirmed, his voice low and commanding. "And Tommy?" He locked eyes with the younger man. "Make sure you give him a good time. Show him what you can do."
Tommy nodded, a flush spreading across his cheeks. He turned towards me, his movements hesitant but deliberate. His eyes, wide and dark with nervous anticipation, met mine. He leaned in slowly, closing the distance. His lips brushed mine, soft and tentative, a stark contrast to Bill’s roughness. "Steve," he whispered against my mouth, his breath warm and smelling faintly of cheap coffee. "I really do want you to fuck me. Please." His voice was barely audible, trembling with a mix of fear and eagerness. "I’d love it."
My cock stirred against my thigh, responding instantly to his whispered plea. I reached down, fingers wrapping around my hardening length. The cool night air kissed my skin as I shifted, lying back fully on the wooden bench. The damp towel beneath me felt rough against my spine. "Then climb up," I murmured, my voice thick with desire. "Show Bill how good you can be."
Tommy’s eyes flickered towards Bill, who sat watching like a stone sentinel, his mug steaming untouched beside him. Tommy swallowed hard, then climbed up onto the bench, straddling me. His lean thighs trembled as he positioned himself above me. His skin felt warm against mine. His cock, hard and leaking, brushed my stomach.
"You’re… beautiful," he breathed, his hands settling tentatively on my chest. "I saw you… earlier… and I wanted…" His words dissolved into a shaky sigh as he reached behind himself, fingers slicking himself with the lube Bill had tossed onto the grass earlier. The wet sound was loud in the stillness.
I guided my cockhead to his entrance, pressing gently. Tommy gasped, his body trembling as he sank slowly, inch by agonising inch, onto my lubricated shaft. His eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in a silent cry. He was tight, incredibly tight, but slick and yielding. "Relax," I murmured, my hands gripping his hips. "Let me in."
He nodded frantically, forcing himself to loosen. When he finally seated himself fully, impaled on my length, he shuddered violently. "Oh god," he choked out, his head falling back. "It’s… deep."
Bill’s low chuckle cut through Tommy’s ragged breathing. "He likes it deep, Tommy," Bill rumbled, his voice thick with dark amusement. "Show him how you ride it." He took another slow sip of tea, his gaze predatory.
Tommy whimpered as he lifted himself slightly, then sank back down with a soft cry. His rhythm was hesitant at first, awkward, but he soon found a slow, grinding cadence. His inner muscles clenched rhythmically around me, pulling me deeper with each downward stroke. Pleasure surged through me, sharp and intense, amplified by the raw vulnerability in Tommy’s wide, dark eyes fixed on mine. His hands braced on my chest, fingers digging in slightly, playfully twisting my nipples.
"Faster," Bill commanded softly from the shadows. "Make him feel it."
Tommy whimpered again but obeyed, his hips rocking harder, faster. His breath hitched with every downward plunge. I felt his cock twitch against my stomach, leaking freely. His gaze flickered towards Bill, seeking approval, fear mingling with desperate need.
Bill leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. "Good lad," he growled. "Now… look at Steve. Only Steve."
Tommy locked his tear-bright eyes onto mine. His movements became more purposeful, driven by Bill’s command and his own rising desperation. He rode me with increasing abandon, his cries growing louder, mingling with the slick sounds of our joining. His body arched, seeking friction, seeking release. "Steve," he gasped, his voice breaking. "Please… I’m… I’m close…"
"Not yet," Bill interjected, his voice a whip-crack. "Hold it. Make Steve come first."
Tommy understood but couldn't control what was happening, his rhythm faltering for a second before he forced himself to continue, grinding down hard, milking me with frantic clenches. The pressure built unbearably inside me, coiled tight beneath his desperate movements. Tommy’s face was a mask of agonised pleasure, tears tracing paths down his cheeks as he fought to obey, his body trembling on the edge of his climax.
He leaned forward, his sweat-slicked chest brushing mine, lips hovering near my ear. "Feels... too good," he gasped, his voice thick with emotion and the desperate need to do what Bill wanted. "I can't... hold..." His hips stuttered, losing their rhythm as his inner muscles spasmed uncontrollably around me.
I saw it in his eyes first, the wild, helpless dilation, then felt the hot splash across my stomach as his cock jerked violently, spilling thick pulses of cum between us and onto my face. He cried out, a ragged, broken sound, collapsing forward onto my chest as his body convulsed through the release Bill had forbidden.
"Didn't I tell you to hold it?" Bill shouted
It didn't make any difference, Bill shouting. Tommy continued to ride my cock with joy, his climax overtaking him as I hit the buffers of my own endurance, shooting my replenished stock of cum into him.
Tommy shuddered violently atop me, his body trembling as my release pulsed deep inside him. His eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in a silent cry that echoed the intensity of his own forbidden climax moments before. Warmth flooded him, my seed mixing with the slickness already there, and he collapsed forward onto my chest, breathing ragged against my skin.
A slow, deliberate clapping broke the stillness. Bill leaned back on his bench, mug abandoned beside him, his broad palms meeting in a resonant, mocking applause. "Well," he rumbled, his voice thick with dark amusement. "That was... entertaining." His gaze, sharp and predatory, swept over Tommy's spent form draped across me. "I enjoyed that, even though Tommy, you didn't listen to me."
Tommy trembled violently against my chest, his breathing shallow gasps against my skin. The heat of him, the slickness where we were still joined, the mingled scents of sex and spilt coffee filled the air. He whimpered softly, a broken sound muffled by my flesh. My own release pulsed weakly inside him, a final echo of the intense climax he’d ripped from me despite Bill’s command.
Bill’s slow clapping ceased abruptly. He pushed himself off the opposite bench with a grunt, the wood groaning in relief. "Right then," he announced, his voice rough but devoid of anger now. He picked up his discarded mug, drained the lukewarm dregs, and set it down with a decisive clunk. "I'm going to bed, boys. Steve," he said, his voice softening almost imperceptibly. "You come back whenever you want." He paused, letting the invitation hang heavy in the cool night air. "Door’s always open for you."
And with that, only Tommy and I stayed together on the bench.
I waited for Bill to disappear in the pub, noting that his bedroom light switched on upstairs, before I asked Tommy, "Why do you let him treat you like a slave?"
He lifted his head slowly, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks in the moonlight. His hips shifted unconsciously, still straddling me, my semi-hard cock slipping free with a wet sound that made him flinch. "He pays," Tommy whispered, voice raw. "For petrol. Food. Sometimes..." He trailed off, fingers tracing the angry red handprints blooming across his buttocks. "Hurts less than being cold."
"Do you even like him?" I asked.
Tommy slid off me, landing unsteadily on the damp grass. He winced as his bruised skin touched the cold ground. "Doesn't matter," he mumbled, avoiding my eyes while wiping cum from his stomach with trembling fingers. "Bill gets what he wants. Always." He gestured vaguely toward the darkened pub. "He owns this place. Owns the petrol pump down the road. Owns..." His voice cracked. "People like me."
"Do you fancy hanging with me tonight for a change. It's only just past 11 pm. We can have more sex or just friendship. What do you fancy?"
Tommy froze mid-wipe, fingers trembling against his sticky stomach. Moonlight caught the uncertainty in his eyes as he finally met my gaze. "You... you want me?" The question came out raw, disbelieving. "After... all that?" He gestured vaguely toward the bench where Bill had punished him.
"I know we only met this evening, but I like you and I think you look great and....I want to do anything you like."
Tommy stared at me, his bruised skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. The raw vulnerability in his eyes shifted, hardening into something wary. "Anything?" he echoed. "In that case, will you cuddle me tonight. I really would like one. No conditions and no expectations. Just a cuddle?"
I nodded, "Deal."
Tommy’s smile was hesitant, fragile, like dawn breaking after a storm. He took my hand, his fingers cool and calloused against mine. "Caravan’s just past the beer garden," he murmured, leading me towards a shadowed gap in the hedge. The night air prickled my bare skin, a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from his palm. Walking naked across the dew-slick grass felt surreal, vulnerable, yet strangely freeing, with his hand anchoring mine. The gravel path beyond the hedge bit into my soles, but I didn’t care. Tommy moved with a quiet purpose, his lean form pale in the moonlight, the angry marks on his arse a stark reminder of Bill’s ownership. He didn’t flinch, didn’t hide them. He just walked, pulling me gently forward.
The caravan sat nestled under a gnarled oak tree, its small windows dark. Tommy fumbled with a key, the metallic scrape loud in the stillness. He pushed the door open, and a waft of warm, clean air hit me, mixed with lemon polish and fresh linen.
Stepping inside, I blinked in surprise. It was tiny, yes, but immaculate. Every surface gleamed. Neatly folded clothes sat in a plastic crate under a narrow bunk. A single mug and plate were washed and dried on a small draining board. A threadbare rug covered the worn floor, and a single photograph of a smiling woman, maybe his mum, was pinned above a compact gas stove. "Didn’t expect this," I admitted softly, my voice echoing slightly in the confined space. It felt like a sanctuary, worlds away from the raw intensity of the beer garden.
Tommy gave a small, shy shrug, avoiding my eyes. "Keeps me sane," he murmured. He moved past me, his movements stiff from the punishment, and pulled a worn but clean towel from a cupboard, handing it to me. "For... you," gesturing vaguely at the drying trails on my skin.
Then, without another word, he walked carefully to the double bed and lowered himself face down onto the thin mattress with a soft sigh of relief. He pillowed his head on his folded arms, his body a tense line of pale skin and stark, crimson handprints.
I sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning softly. My gaze traced the angry bloom of Bill’s hand across Tommy’s backside, the deep red welts, the slight swelling, the way the skin seemed to throb with heat even in the dim light filtering through the small window. Slowly, almost reverently, I ran my hands carefully over his bottom. My fingertips barely skimmed the inflamed skin, feeling the intense warmth radiating from the bruises. He flinched, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth, but he didn’t pull away.
"Hurts?" I whispered.
Tommy turned his head slightly, his cheek pressed against the rough fabric of the pillow. "Stings like hellfire," he admitted, his voice muffled. "But... the heat feels... grounding," as he shifted slightly, wincing.
I stopped tracing the angry contours of his bruises. Instead, I lay down beside him on the bed, the thin mattress dipping under our combined weight. The caravan felt incredibly quiet, the only sounds our breathing and the distant rustling of leaves outside. "Roll over a bit?" I murmured, my voice low. "I want to cuddle you."
Tommy shifted cautiously onto his side, facing me, wincing as the movement pulled at his sore skin. He tucked his head under my chin, his body a warm line against mine. One arm draped hesitantly over my waist. He smelled of sweat, cheap soap, and the faint, lingering scent of sex, but beneath it all was something clean, like sun-dried cotton. His breathing gradually slowed, deepening as the tension began to ebb from his lean frame.
His free hand drifted down, fingertips brushing lightly against my stomach before tracing a slow, deliberate path lower. They found my half-hard cock resting against my thigh. This wasn’t a demand, not an invitation. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent. He traced the thick vein running along the underside with a single, curious fingertip, following its path from base to tip. His touch lingered on the sensitive ridge of the glans, exploring the contours with a quiet, focused intensity, as if mapping unfamiliar territory. His breath fanned warm against my collarbone as my cock became rock hard.
A bead of precum pearled at the slit, and Tommy didn’t hesitate. He dipped his fingertip into the warm slickness, gathering it. He brought his glistening finger up between us, studying the translucent fluid in the faint moonlight filtering through the caravan window.
There was no lust in his expression now, only a profound, almost childlike wonder. He met my eyes, his own wide and dark in the gloom. "It’s like… liquid silk," he murmured, his voice hushed with awe. He slowly rubbed the precum between his thumb and forefinger, feeling its texture, before bringing his finger back to my cock. He smeared the slickness gently over the head, his touch impossibly tender, sending shivers through my entire body.
His exploration continued, his fingers tracing lower, venturing into the wiry thicket at the base of my shaft. "Steve," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a strange sort of reverence. "Your pubes are so long. Not like mine."
He paused, his fingers gently combing through the coarse curls. "I like to keep mine trimmed." His touch was hesitant, almost shy, as if navigating sacred ground. "Also, Bill... Bill likes it smooth. Easier to... clean up after," a shadow passed over his features at the mention of Bill’s preference, but his fingers remained gentle, exploring the contrast between the wiry hair and the smooth skin beneath.
I whispered, "I had noticed when you rode me that you are trimmed. Do you think I look nice like I am?"
Tommy's fingers stilled in my pubic hair. He tilted his head back to meet my gaze, moonlight catching the earnestness in his eyes. "It's... rugged," he murmured. "Manly. Like you," his fingertip tracing the coarse curls again, a shy smile touching his lips, "but you would look awesome if you trimmed a little."
He shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruised skin. His hand drifted back to my cock, his touch still light, exploratory. "Can I...?" he began hesitantly, fingers hovering near the base. "Just... see how it feels?" His eyes searched mine, vulnerable and hopeful. "I won't... finish. Just touch. Please?"
I nodded, my throat tight. "Yeah. Touch however you want, and if you find the hair too much, you can trim me if it makes you happier."
Tommy’s smile was clear as he bent over me. His fingers, calloused yet infinitely gentle, traced the thick thatch at the base of my cock. He explored the texture with his fingers, the wiry resistance, his touch light as dandelion fluff. "So different," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, with deliberate care, he reached for the small drawer beneath the bed. Inside lay a pair of scissors, gleaming dully. He held them up, his eyes seeking permission one last time.
"Go ahead if you wish."
Tommy started to carefully trim the thick curls, his movements precise. The soft snick-snick of the scissors filled the caravan. Cool air prickled my newly exposed skin as dark tufts of pubic hair dropped from his fingers onto the towel that I had discarded before climbing into bed. "Better?" he whispered. "I can now see what I want to enjoy."
"Perfect," I breathed, my cock already hardening again under his gaze.
Tommy’s eyes darkened with intent. He lowered his head slowly, his warm breath ghosting over my shaft. His tongue flicked out, tracing the thick vein from root to tip with agonising slowness. He swirled it around the swollen head, gathering the fresh bead of precum that welled up. A soft hum vibrated against my skin as he savoured the taste, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Then, without breaking eye contact, he parted his lips wider.
He took me in gradually, inch by deliberate inch, his mouth a hot, wet haven. His head bobbed slowly, rhythmically, his tongue pressing firmly along the underside. One hand cupped my balls, massaging them gently, while the other braced against my thigh. His movements were unhurried, almost meditative, each descent deeper than the last. I could feel the back of his throat open, accepting more, his nose finally brushing the trimmed curls at my base. He held me there, buried completely, his throat working around me as he swallowed. The sensation was overwhelming, tight, wet heat and the sheer intimacy of his complete surrender. He pulled back slowly, lips sealed tight around me, then sank again just as deliberately, establishing a deep, languid rhythm that made my hips lift off the mattress.
His gaze never left mine. He hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard as he retreated, then relaxed his throat utterly on the descent. His free hand drifted up, fingertips tracing my stomach, my chest, feather-light touches contrasting with the intense suction below.
He varied the pressure, sometimes a firm, demanding pull, other times a soft, fluttering tease with just the tip of his tongue. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his breathing grew ragged through his nose, but he didn’t falter as his thumb rubbed slow circles on my perineum, pushing me relentlessly towards the edge.
My hands found his hair, not guiding, just anchoring. It was soft, surprisingly clean, smelling faintly of cheap shampoo. I let my fingers tangle in it, feeling the slight tremor run through him as I tightened my grip. He moaned around me, the vibration sending shockwaves down my spine. His rhythm stuttered for a heartbeat, his eyes squeezing shut as if overwhelmed by sensation, before he forced them open again, locking onto mine with renewed determination. His pace quickened slightly, the bobs of his head becoming more urgent, yet he maintained that deep, throat-filling depth. I could feel the tension coiling in my balls, a familiar, irresistible pressure building.
"Tommy," I gasped, my voice thick and strained. "I'm... close. So close."
He understood but didn't pull away. Instead, he doubled down. His head bobbed faster, his suction turned fierce and unrelenting, his tongue a relentless pressure beneath my shaft. His hand on my thigh squeezed hard, anchoring me as his throat worked frantically. He took me impossibly deep one final time, his nose buried in my trimmed curls, and held me there. His eyes, wide and dark, held mine captive as the first violent pulse ripped through me.
I cried out, arching off the thin mattress as my release surged into his waiting throat. He swallowed convulsively, again and again, his throat muscles fluttering wildly against my sensitive tip, milking every last drop. His eyes watered, but he held my gaze through it all, accepting everything I gave him without flinching.
Finally spent, I collapsed back onto the bed, trembling. Tommy slid off me slowly, his lips making a soft, wet sound as he released me. He didn't speak. He just crawled back onto the bed beside me, curling his body into mine, his head finding its place under my chin once more. His breathing gradually slowed, matching mine. Outside, the wind rustled the leaves of the old oak. Inside the tiny, immaculate caravan, the only sound was the soft, shared rhythm of our breathing, and the lingering, intimate warmth.
For the first time in ages, I really felt wanted, and Tommy was the big surprise, finding him purely by accident as he walked into the pub, as Bill had started to exploit my vulnerability. In the end, Tommy had his arse tanned and I got fucked and then fucked him as Bill watched. What a bloody evening, I thought to myself as I drifted off to sleep with Tommy still wrapped in my arms.
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