All characters are over the age of 18.
The command hung in the steamy air, a final, degrading period on the scene that had just shattered my world. Clean him up. My limbs moved on autopilot, heavy and disconnected. I slid off the bed, my own nakedness feeling insignificant, and went to the adjoining bathroom, my mind a numb void filled only with the phantom sounds of skin slapping and Chris’s ecstatic cries.
I returned with a warm, damp cloth. Max stood to the side, a conquering god surveying his territory, slowly stroking his softening, glistening cock. I avoided his gaze, focusing on Chris. He lay sprawled, wrecked and beautiful, his chest and stomach painted white. The smell of sex—musky, primal, and distinctly Max—was overwhelming.
I knelt beside the bed, the towel in my hand trembling. I started at his chest, wiping away the evidence of his climax, the proof of a pleasure I hadn’t given him. My touch was gentle, reverent. Chris’s eyes were half-lidded, a sated, blissful smile on his swollen lips. He hummed softly at my ministrations, arching into the cloth.
“Mmm, Jason,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “That feels nice.”
His words, so kind and familiar, were a bizarre contrast to the violation and triumph that saturated the room. I cleaned his stomach, my fingers brushing his hip, and then I hesitated. The cloth hovered over his thighs, near his used, spent hole.
“Do it,” Max’s voice cut through the silence, low and amused. “Finish the job.”
My jaw clenched, but I obeyed. I gently parted his legs, my heart thudding dully. I dabbed at the tender flesh, cleaning the mix of his release and Max’s that trickled from him. The intimacy of the act was staggering, a servitude that went deeper than anything before. Chris let out a soft sigh, a mix of contentment and sensitivity.
When I was done, I dropped the cloth to the floor. The silence was heavy, punctuated by our breathing.
Max broke it. “Shower.” It wasn’t a question. “All of us. Now.”
He pointed toward our large, glass-walled bathroom. I helped Chris sit up, his body loose and pliant. He leaned into me, and for a moment, it was just us, the familiar feel of his skin against mine. But the illusion shattered as Max moved behind us, his large hand landing on the small of my back, pushing us forward. We’re moving as a unit, I thought wildly, a fucked-out little train.
The bathroom was spacious, all cool tile and chrome, dominated by the wide, two-headed shower. I turned the knobs, and water cascaded from both showerheads, quickly fogging the glass. Steam began to fill the room, clouding the mirrors, creating a humid, private world.
Max stepped in first, the water sluicing over his powerful shoulders and down the sculpted planes of his back. He turned, facing us, his dark eyes daring us to join him. His cock, under the spray, was already beginning to thicken again, a monstrous promise hanging between his thick thighs.
Chris followed, sighing as the hot water hit his skin. I was the last to enter, the glass door clicking shut behind me, sealing us in our wet, transparent box.
“Jason,” Max said, his gaze locking on me. He tossed me a bottle of expensive, sandalwood-scented body wash. “Wash us.”
The command was clear, another layer of my submission. I squeezed the slick gel into my palm, the crisp aroma cutting through the steam. I looked between them—my boyfriend, soft and receptive, and my rival, hard and commanding.
I went to Chris first. It was easier, a familiar territory I could navigate. I lathered my hands and began to wash his chest, my palms moving in slow, circular motions over his pecs, his tight abdomen. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing, a soft smile playing on his lips. The water plastered his blond hair to his forehead, making him look younger, more vulnerable.
“You feel so good, J,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper over the drumming water.
I moved behind him, soaping his shoulders, his back, my hands sliding down the groove of his spine. I cupped his perfect, round ass, kneading the firm muscles there, and he pushed back against my hands with a soft groan. I was hard again, my cock pressed against his lower back. For a fleeting moment, it was just us, a shared intimacy in the steam.
Encouraged, or perhaps compelled by the sheer, bizarre energy of the moment, I turned Chris toward me, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The taste of him was clean and familiar, a anchor in the storm. He kissed me back, his mouth gentle and loving, a stark contrast to the brutal possession he’d just experienced.
We broke apart, breathing each other’s air.
Then I felt Max’s presence behind me. He was so close the heat from his body rivaled the shower’s. He wasn’t touching me, but I could feel him, a wall of muscle and intent.
“Now me,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the humid air.
I turned. He was right there, water streaming over the dense forest of hair on his chest, down the incredible V of his hips. His cock, now fully hard again, stood thick and proud, the head glistening under the water. It was a demand in itself.
I swallowed, my throat tight. I poured more gel into my hands and reached out, placing my slick palms tentatively on his chest. The hair was coarse under my fingers, the muscle beneath it unyielding stone. I washed him with a reverence that felt both forced and genuine, my hands gliding over the massive pectorals, the defined ridges of his abdomen. I was worshipping a physique I’d envied for years, now under the guise of servitude.
I sank to my knees on the shower floor. The water pounded my back. I looked up the incredible length of his body to his face, which was watching me with dark, predatory satisfaction. I soaped his powerful thighs, his thick calves, avoiding the one part of him that demanded the most attention. My own cock ached, trapped between my stomach and my thigh.
“You missed a spot,” Max said, his voice a low thrum.
My hands stilled. I knew what he meant. I looked at his cock, the thick, veined shaft, the broad head. My hands trembled as I reached for it. It was hot and impossibly hard in my grip. I lathered him slowly, my fingers struggling to meet around his girth, stroking him with a slow, punishing rhythm that was both a cleaning and a handjob. Precum mixed with the soap and water, creating a slick, pearlescent film.
Above me, Max groaned, a deep, gratified sound. “Yeah, just like that. Use both hands.”
I obeyed, my humiliation a sharp, bright fire in my gut, my arousal a competing, overwhelming tide. I was on my knees, washing my rival’s cock for him, under his direct orders.
Through the steam, I saw Chris . His eyes were dark with desire, his hand slowly stroking his own length. He wasn’t jealous. He was turned on. The sight of me servicing Max was fueling him.
"You love this, don’t you, Jason?," Max asked.
I looked up at him, water dripping from my hair into my eyes. I couldn’t speak. My hands were still working his shaft.
Chris answered for me, his voice breathy with excitement. “He does. Look at him. He’s never been this hard.”
Max’s smirk was triumphant. He kept his eyes on me as he spoke to Chris. “Come here, gorgeous. Kiss me while your man works.”
Chris moved without hesitation, stepping close to Max, his slimmer body aligning with the larger man’s. Their mouths met, not with the gentle romance of our kiss, but with a hungry, carnal passion. Max’s other hand reached around to Chris's ass, and I could sense from the sudden shudder of Chris's breath that Max had begun to finger Chris while he devoured his mouth.
And I knelt there, the water rushing over me, my hands stroking the thick, hard evidence of my own defeat, watching them kiss above me, and I knew, with a terrifying, exhilarating certainty, that I had never been more aroused in my entire life. My rhythm on his cock faltered, my focus entirely on the show above me.
Max’s glistening cock was just inches from my face. The scent of him, musky and primal, mixed with the steam and soap, filled my senses. I could feel the heat radiating from his shaft as my hands worked relentlessly, the water cascading over us both.
Above me, Chris and Max were locked in a passionate kiss, their bodies pressed tightly together. I could hear the soft moans escaping Chris’s lips as Max’s fingers worked him open. Chris's hips were bucking, forcing his hole deeper onto Max's probing fingers, his flushed face streaked with water. He watched me stroking Max's cock with a combination of desire and fascination. The air between us was electric, charged with something I couldn’t fully comprehend—something that made my stomach tighten and my heart race.
Max’s grip on my hair tightened as he let out a low, guttural groan. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re good at this, Jason. This is even better than on the Rugby pitch, that’s for sure.”
The words sent a jolt of heat through me. My eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, I saw not just triumph but something mutual—an acknowledgment of the twisted bond we shared.
Max, his breathing growing more ragged, growled. “Now, Chris," his voice thick with desire.
Chris stepped back slightly, his own hand stroking his hard length and Max's fingers continued to impale him. He positioned himself in front of me, his cock just inches from my face. The sight of both of them, so close and so ready, sent a thrill of humiliation and arousal through me.
“Do it,” Max urged, his voice a low rumble.
Almost in unison, Max and Chris erupted, their hot releases painting my face in thick, sticky streams. I closed my eyes as their cum splashed across my cheeks, my nose, my lips. The warmth of their combined seed was overwhelming, a stark reminder of my place in this twisted dynamic.
Max’s cock pulsed in my hand as he emptied himself onto me, his groans mingling with Chris’s soft cries of ecstasy. I felt Chris’s cum land on my forehead, trickling down towards my eyes. The sensation was both degrading and intoxicating, a mixture of shame and undeniable pleasure.
When they were done, I remained on my knees, my face covered in their essence, the water from the shower slowly washing some of it away. Max released his grip on my hair, stepping back slightly, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Chris moved closer to him, resting a hand on his arm, their connection undeniable. I stayed on my knees, water cascading over me, feeling the weight of everything that had happened crashing down.
Max looked at me, his expression unreadable. Without missing a beat, he opened the shower door, grabbed a fresh towel from the rack, and began to dry himself. As he left the bathroom, he said curtly, "See you next time."
I nodded, my throat too tight to respond. Chris reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from my forehead. His touch was gentle, almost apologetic, but his eyes sparkled with something else—something that told me he was already looking forward to the next time.
As Chris and I stepped out of the shower and began to dry off, I felt a strange mix of emotions—shame, jealousy, and an ache that went deeper than anything I’d ever known. Yet, beneath it all, there was something else: a dark, undeniable thrill that pulsed through me like a second heartbeat.
And despite everything, despite the shame and the jealousy and the loss of control… I already knew I’d do it all over again.
Definitely not the end . . . more to cum
