Garden Party, Part 1
JASON POV
The city’s annual athletic awards gala is a sea of navy blazers and cocktail dresses. Crystal clinks against glassware, and laughter bounces off the high ceilings of the grand ballroom. I adjust my tie, feeling it constrict my throat. Chris looks devastating in a slim-fit suit, his blond hair perfectly styled, his smile bright as he chats with a donor. He belongs here, I think. He looks like a champion.
Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.
Then I see him.
Max stands across the room, a dark monolith in the crowd. He’s not in a tux like most of the other athletes of the year nominees; he’s in a perfectly tailored black suit that strains across his shoulders. He holds a tumbler of amber liquid, holding court with a group of rugby admirers, his laugh a deep, confident rumble I feel in my bones.
Our eyes meet.
He doesn’t smile. He simply gives me a slow, deliberate once-over, then lets his gaze slide past me to land on Chris. The possessiveness in that look is a physical blow. My hand tightens around my champagne flute.
The formal part of the evening drags. Speeches, awards. Max wins ‘Male Athlete of the Year.’ Of course he does. He takes the stage, a mountain of contained power, and gives a short, arrogantly charming speech. His eyes find ours in the crowd several times. Each time, Chris shifts beside me, a faint flush creeping up his neck.
After the presentations, the crowd breaks into mingling. Chris is pulled into a conversation with his swim coach. I’m momentarily alone, drifting toward the quieter terrace overlooking the gardens.
The hand on my elbow is large, firm, and unmistakable.
“Jason.”
Max’s voice is low, close to my ear. His breath is warm and smells of whiskey. He guides me, without apparent force, through the open French doors and into the shadowy corner of the stone terrace. The sounds of the party become muffled.
“Enjoying the show?” he asks, releasing my arm but not moving away. He crowds me against the cold stone balustrade, his body a wall blocking my exit.
“It was fine,” I say, my voice tight.
“Looked like you were enjoying my speech.” He smirks. “You were staring pretty hard.”
“I was watching a rival accept an award he doesn’t deserve.”
He chuckles, a dark, amused sound. “Still lying to yourself. To both of us.” He leans in closer. “Where’s your better half?”
“With his coach.”
“Good.” Max’s hand comes up, and I flinch, but he only adjusts my tie, his knuckles brushing my throat. The touch is intimate, proprietary. “He looked incredible tonight. That suit… it makes me want to peel it off him right in the middle of the ballroom. See if anyone would stop us.”
A violent mix of jealousy and arousal hits me like a punch to the gut. I can’t speak.
“You’re thinking about it too,” he murmurs, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Aren’t you? You’re picturing me bending him over the awards table, that pretty little ass on display for everyone. Hearing him scream my name while you watch.”
“Stop it.”
“Why?” He leans in, his lips almost touching my ear. “You love it. You love knowing he wants it. That he needs it. My cock in him. My cum in him. You’re hard right now just thinking about it, Jason. I can see it straining against your trousers.”
It’s true. I am. Shame burns my face, but I don’t deny it.
“Follow me,” he says, the command absolute. He turns and walks, not toward the party, but down a set of narrow, dimly lit stone steps that lead to the private gardens below.
I shouldn’t. Every rational part of me screams to go find Chris, to leave.
My feet move. I follow him.
The garden is a labyrinth of hedges and rose bushes, lit by sporadic, soft ground lights. The air is cool and fragrant. Max leads me to a secluded stone alcove, hidden from the terrace above. He turns, his back to a marble statue.
“Text him,” Max says, his voice a low growl.
“What?”
“Chris. Text him. Tell him to come find you. Say you’re getting some air in the south garden.”
My hands are trembling as I pull out my phone. I type the message, my thumb slipping. I hit send. The whoosh sound feels obscenely loud.
“Good boy,” Max purrs. He steps forward and his hands go to my belt. I’m frozen, watching as he unbuckles it with practiced ease, pops the button of my trousers, and drags the zipper down. The cool night air hits my exposed skin. With the sounds of the party so close I can hear the laughter and clinking glasses, Max shoves my trousers and briefs down to my thighs in one rough motion. My cock springs free, already fully erect, achingly hard.
He doesn’t touch me. He just looks, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Look at you. All dressed up for a party, with your dick out for me in a garden. Pathetic. And so fucking hot.”
Footsteps on the gravel path. Light, quick. God, please be Chris, and not some other partygoer. Although the thought of being caught like this, exposed and vulnerable, causes my cock to twitch.
“J, you okay?” Chris rounds the corner of the hedge, his face concerned. “I got your…” His words die in his throat as he takes in the scene.
Me, pinned against the alcove wall, pants around my thighs, cock jutting out.
Max, standing tall, next to me, like a conqueror.
Chris’s blue eyes widen. His lips part. I see the shock, then the dawning understanding, and then, unmistakably, the flare of raw want. His gaze flicks from my exposed cock to Max’s face.
“Chris,” Max says, not turning around. “Get over here.”
Chris doesn’t hesitate. He walks to us, his steps quiet on the path. He stands beside Max, looking down at me. The shame is a living thing, coiling in my stomach, but the arousal is stronger, a throbbing demand.
“Look at your boyfriend,” Max says to Chris, his hand coming up to cup the back of Chris’s neck. “He followed me out here like a needy puppy. He’s so hard for this. For us.”
Chris’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s breathing faster. He drops to his knees in the gravel before me. He doesn’t look at my face. His focus is entirely on my cock. He leans in, and his hot, wet mouth envelopes me in one smooth, deep glide.
I gasp, my head thudding back against the cold stone. The sensation is electric, overwhelming. His tongue swirls around the head, his lips working my shaft. It’s expert, loving, familiar—but the context makes it filthy. He’s servicing me on the orders of the man who fucks him better than I ever could.
Max watches, his hand still possessively on Chris’s neck. “Such a good mouth,” he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. “You’ve trained him well, Jason. But we both know who he really uses it for.”
Chris moans around my cock, the vibration shooting straight to my core. He’s palming himself through his suit pants, his own need obvious.
“Enough,” Max says after a minute, pulling Chris gently but firmly off me. My cock glistens in the low light. Max undoes his own trousers, freeing his massive erection. It’s already thick and heavy, jutting aggressively from his body. “Now him. Get me slick for you.”
Chris turns his head, and without a second’s hesitation, he takes Max into his mouth. I watch, mesmerized and humiliated, as my boyfriend’s cheeks hollow, as he deepthroats Max with a desperate hunger I know intimately. Max’s head tips back, a low groan escaping him. He fists a hand in Chris’s hair, controlling the rhythm.
“That’s it, baby,” Max grunts. “Get it nice and wet. You’re going to need it.”
After a moment, he pulls Chris off. A string of saliva connects Chris’s lips to the shining head of Max’s cock. Max steps toward me, his body caging me in. He spits into his own palm, then wraps his huge, wet hand around my shaft, stroking me roughly, coating me with his spit and Chris’s saliva.
The feeling is brutal, possessive, and incredibly arousing. He’s marking me. Claiming this act.
“Turn around,” Max orders Chris, his eyes locked on mine. “Bend over. Hold onto the bench.”
There’s a stone bench nearby. Chris, his breathing ragged, stumbles to it. He braces his hands on the cold stone, presenting himself. Max pushes Chris’s suit jacket up his back, then yanks his trousers and briefs down to his knees. Chris’s perfect, round ass is pale in the moonlight.
Max’s hand leaves my cock and grips my hip, turning me. He positions me behind Chris. I’m flush against my boyfriend’s body. I can feel Chris trembling.
“Now,” Max whispers into my ear, his chest pressed against my back. His own cock, rock-hard and leaking, presses into the cleft of my ass through his open trousers. “Fuck him, Jason. Fuck your boyfriend while I watch. While I tell you how.”
His hand guides my cock, the head nudging against Chris’s waiting entrance. Chris pushes back with a soft, needy whimper.
“Do it,” Max breathes, his voice a dark promise. “Show me how you take what’s yours. Before I take it back.”
More to cum..
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Substack.
