The Knock, pt 2
JASON POV
He crosses the room and stops inches from me in the shadows by the sliding door. The scent of sex is thick, clinging to the air.
“Come here,” he says, eyes locked on Chris. “Sit on it. Face me.”
A pause.
“I want to see your eyes when you take my cock.”
Jesus. Max is insatiable. I am so turned on I can feel slick precum gathering in my palm as I stroke my aching, rock-hard cock.
Chris stands, his body trembling, and moves between Max’s spread thighs. He hesitates, just for a second, glancing at me before looking back at Max. Max’s expression never changes. There is no room for refusal.
Chris inhales, then lowers himself onto Max’s lap, hands braced on those broad shoulders. The blunt head of Max’s cock presses against him, teasing, cruel. Chris whimpers.
Slowly, deliberately, he sinks down.
When Max breaches him, Chris’s head tips back, a low moan spilling from his throat. His body stretches, quivering as it works to accommodate the sheer girth. Max’s hands clamp onto Chris’s hips, guiding him down inch by inch until they are fully joined, bodies pressed tight.
They stay like that for a moment—Chris perched, chest rising fast as he adjusted to the fullness. Then Max slaps his ass, sharp and loud.
“Move.”
Chris obeys. Up. Down. Slow at first, then more desperate. His eyes lock with Max’s raw hunger written all over his face. Max tightens his grip, urging him faster, harder. Soon Chris ss bouncing in his lap, riding him with reckless need, clutching Max’s shoulders for balance as each drop drives Max deeper.
The sounds are obscene—the wet slap of skin, the creak of leather, Chris’s breathless moans tangled with Max’s guttural grunts. Max never looks away from Chris’s face.
“Look at you,” he growls. “Taking me like you were made for it.”
Chris whimpers, movements growing erratic. His cock hung hard and leaking between them, untouched, desperate. Max wraps a hand around it and gives a rough stroke.
Chris cries out, his body jerking.
“You like that?” Max murmurs. “My hand on your cock while I’m buried in you?”
“Yes—” Chris gasps. “Please… don’t stop.”
Max’s thrusts become methodical, merciless. “You’re such a good little slut,” he says quietly. “You’d let me do anything to you.”
Chris nods frantically. “Anything. I’m yours.”
“Then give it to me. Let me see you cum.”
Chris seizes up, back arching as his orgasm tears through him. He spills across Max’s hand with a broken cry, muscles clenching tight around Max’s cock. Max growls and drives into him harder, chasing his own release, forcing Chris to ride every wave until he collapses against him, shaking and spent.
I watch from the chair, my hand flying over my own cock. I know Max is only getting started. The thought makes me feel electric—terrified and alive.
The sound of Chris’s climax still hangs in the air, the smell of sex and sweat clinging to us. Max’s chest is smeared with Chris’s release, blatant and possessive. I sit frozen, my cock softening in my grip, heart pounding.
Max doesn’t give Chris more than a moment. He hauls him upright by the hips. Chris stumbles, legs weak, clinging to Max for balance. Max steadies him, then looks past him—straight at me.
“Bedroom. Now.”
It isn’t a suggestion. It is a rearrangement of reality.
My body moves before my mind catches up. I stand on unsteady legs and lead the way down the short hall. Our bedroom—usually safe—feels foreign, waiting to be claimed.
Max flicks on the light, gives the room a dismissive glance, then focuses on me.
Chris cried out—a raw, fractured sound—as Max shoves into him in a single merciless thrust. Chris’s back bows, knuckles white where he grips the bed, his whole body straining to take it.
Max stays buried, letting him feel every inch. His eyes stay on me.
“Fuck,” Max mutters. “Still tight. Like he’s trying to forget you were ever in here.”
The insult burns. My cock surged back to life.
Max begins to move—slow withdrawal, then a brutal thrust that slams Chris forward and drags another scream from him. The rhythm is relentless, punishing.
Chris babbles, already lost. “Yes—God—Max—”
“You like that?” Max says, slapping his ass hard enough to leave a red print. “You like how I fuck this ass?”
“I love it. It’s so big—”
Max never breaks eye contact with me. This is for me. Every thrust, every sound.
After a while, Max slows. He leans over Chris and whispers something. Chris’s glazed eyes meet mine. He nods.
Max pulls out. Chris whimpers.
“Jason,” Max says. “Get over here.”
My blood goes cold. I walk to the bed, shrinking with every step.
“On your back.”
I strip clumsily, the remainder of my clothes pooling on the floor, and lay back on the bed, exposed, heart racing.
Max turns to Chris. “Hands and knees. Over him.”
Chris obeys, crawling onto the mattress and settling above me. His ass hovers inches from my face, still slick and stretched. His cock sways over my chest.
Max strips off his Henley, the muscles of his torso rippling, and pushes his jeans and briefs down his powerful thighs. Max strokes his own cock, thick and impossibly hard, and kneels behind Chris on the bed.
He doesn’t enter right away. He leans forward and forcs my chin up.
“Your job,” he says softly, “is to get him ready. You’ll lick him. Taste me on him. And you’ll clean my cock every time I pull out.”
The humiliation hits hard—and my body answers immediately. It is the most potent aphrodisiac I’ve ever known. I nod.
“Good,” Max said. “Open your mouth.”
I tilt my head up. The smell is intoxicating. I flick my tongue out, tasting Chris, tasting Max. I lick slowly.
Chris gasped.
“That’s it,” Max grunted. “Get him wet.”
I tilt my head up, my heart hammering. The musky, intimate scent of their sex fills my nostrils. I can see every detail—the way Chris’s body yields, the faint tremble in his thighs. I dart my tongue out, the tip making contact. The taste is complex, a mix of Chris’s unique flavor and the lingering, saltier taste of Max. I lick a slow, tentative stripe over his quivering hole.
Above me, Chris gasps, his whole body jolting at the contact. “Jason…”
I focus, licking and probing, feeling Chris relax. With a final thrust, Max buries himself inside him.
Chris screams, a raw, ragged sound of pure ecstasy, his body bowing under the force. His hands fist the duvet on either side of my head. The bed shudders.
Max begins to move, setting a slow, deep, punishing rhythm. Each powerful thrust drives Chris’s body down, his ass pressing against my face, his cock slapping against my chest. The world narrows to this: the sound of skin slapping against skin, their guttural groans, and the overwhelming, suffocating sensation of being trapped between them.
“Now,” Max says, pulling out. “Clean it.”
I don’t hesitate. I lean up, capturing the head of his cock with my mouth. It’s hot and heavy on my tongue, coated with the combined taste of both of them. I suckle it clean, licking along the shaft, my own moan vibrating against his flesh.
He chuckles, a dark, triumphant sound, and shoves back into Chris, making us both cry out.
Again and again. Fuck. Present. Clean.
Chris is babbling, lost in a world of sensation. “Oh god… yes… so deep… fuck me, Max, please…”
Max leans over him, his face close to Chris’s ear, but his words are for both of us. “Feel that, swimmer? Feel your boyfriend’s tongue on you? On me? He’s loving this. He’s loving watching you fall apart on my cock.”
His pace quickens, becoming frantic, animalistic. The bed rocks violently. I keep my mouth open, ready, my tongue darting out to catch every drop, every sensation. I am consumed by them, my own pleasure a distant, secondary thing to the overwhelming act of witnessing, of servicing this raw, primal connection.
Max’s grunts turn into ragged groans. “Gonna fill you up, Chris,” he snarls. “Gonna pump you so full, your boyfriend will taste it for a week.”
Chris screams, his body seizing up as his own orgasm rips through him, painting my chest and stomach in hot, wet stripes. The clenching of his ass around Max’s cock is the final trigger. Max buries himself as deep as he can with a roar that seems to shake the room, his body rigid as he empties himself inside Chris.
Max pulls out and we all collapse together on our bed. I close my eyes, and for a moment, there is only the sound of our ragged breath. When I reopen my eyes, Max is looking right at me. The look is intense, but it holds no note of malice or even domination. It feels like his dark eyes are really seeing me – and the thought of it makes my heart skip a beat.
More to cum . . .
