The days that followed were a strange kind of purgatory. Chris moved through them with a new, unsettling calm, while my every nerve felt exposed, raw with a mixture of dread and unbearable anticipation. Then, the night arrived. No discussion. No last-minute doubts. Just a single text from Chris that read, ‘Tonight. 8 PM.’
By 7:55, I was a ghost in my own living room. The air was too still, the silence a physical weight. Chris stood by the window, his silhouette lean and expectant against the dying light. He looked… prepared. He wore simple grey sweatpants and a white tee, but on him, it looked like a deliberate offering.
A sharp rap at the door shattered the silence. My pulse hammered against my skull. Chris moved to answer it, but a voice from the hallway stopped him, deep and familiar, laced with a command that bypassed my brain and went straight to my spine.
"Jason. You get it."
I looked at Chris, who just raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. This was part of it. This was the game. I walked to the door, my rugby-player’s gait feeling clumsy and heavy, and pulled it open.
There he was. Max. He filled the doorway, all defined muscle and coiled energy. He wore a tight black t-shirt that clung to his chest and a pair of faded jeans. His dark eyes scanned the room, a predator taking inventory, before they landed on me. A slow, familiar smirk spread across his face—the same one he’d worn on the rugby pitch.
"Jason," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Been a while."
Max didn't wait for an invitation; he stepped inside, his presence expanding to dominate the room. His eyes swept over me, then locked onto Chris. The look that passed between them was electric, a current of understanding that excluded me completely. My fantasy was happening, but I was suddenly, acutely aware that I was no longer directing it.
Max turned back to me, his gaze appraising. "So. Chris tells me you have a… request." He took another step closer, into my space. I could smell his cologne, something dark and spicy. "And I'm here to grant it."
Chris stepped into his line of sight, a small, confident smile on his lips. “Max. Thanks for coming.”
Max’s gaze shifted to Chris, and the smirk softened into something more appreciative, more hungry. “Wouldn’t miss it.” He stepped inside, his presence making the room feel suddenly, impossibly small. The door clicked shut behind him, a sound of finality.
I just stood there, frozen, a spectator in my own nightmare and fantasy.
“You sure about this, pretty boy?” Max’s voice rumbled low, aimed at Chris but hitting me deep in my bones.
Chris held the stare, his confidence a quieter, steelier thing. “I’m sure.” He looked past Max, his eyes finding mine. “If you are.”
I could only nod, my throat too tight for words. This was my fantasy, twisted into a shape I hadn’t anticipated, and it was a thousand times more potent.
Max chuckled, a dark, rich sound. “Good. But we do this my way.” His eyes slid to me, and the command in them was absolute. “You. Come here.”
I moved as if pulled by a string, stopping inches from Max, who stood there in his tight jeans and t-shirt, radiating power.
“You want to watch?” Max’s voice dropped to an intimate, taunting whisper. “It turns you on? Well, if you want to watch, you need to do whatever I tell you, Jason.”
I looked at Chris, who was grinning hungrily. He nodded at me gently, silently telling me to agree. The idea of taking orders from Max was humiliating, but my cock was so hard, I couldn’t refuse.
I looked back at Max, my submission evident.
“That’s my good boy. Start with my shirt.”
My hands trembled as they hovered in the air, fingers twitching with a mix of hesitation and anticipation. Every muscle in my body felt wound too tight, my heart pounding so loud I was sure Max could hear it. I reached out slowly, almost reverently, and gripped the hem of his black t-shirt. The cotton was soft, warm from his body, and I could feel the faint rise and fall of his breath beneath it. My throat went dry as I pulled the shirt upward, inch by torturous inch.
The first glimpse of Max’s sculpted abdomen made my breath catch. His skin was taut over hard-earned muscle, every line and curve screaming dominance. A trail of dark hair started just below his navel, leading downward into his jeans, and my gaze followed it instinctively. My fingers tightened as I lifted the shirt higher, revealing his chest—broad, defined, and breathtaking. It was like carved stone, perfect and unyielding, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer power radiating from him.
Max stood still, his dark eyes locked on mine, daring me to look away. It was thrilling, a strange mix of vulnerability and control. I was the one undressing him, but I felt powerless. His calm, commanding presence made me feel small. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and forced myself to meet his gaze.
“Keep going,” Max said softly, his voice a rumble that vibrated through me. It wasn’t a request; it was an order, sending another shiver down my spine. I glanced at Chris, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching silently. There was no judgment in his eyes, just curiosity and an intensity that mirrored my own. Knowing he was there, witnessing this, only heightened the tension.
Kneeling, I took a shaky breath and reached for the button on Max’s jeans. The denim was rough under my fingers, the metal cold against my skin. I hesitated for a moment, my mind racing with thoughts I couldn’t articulate. This was it—the point of no return. With a click and the sound of the zipper sliding down, I undid his jeans, my pulse quickening. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and briefs, brushing against his warm skin, and pushed them down in one decisive motion.
Max’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already fully erect. My breath hitched as I took in the sight, my mind going blank. It was everything I’d imagined and more—the embodiment of his arrogance, his dominance, his sheer physicality. I have a good sized dick, and I’ve always been proud of it, but Max is definitely bigger. His cock had to be at least 8 inches long, and damn, it was thick. Maybe 6 inches around? Christ. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, mesmerized by it, my hand twitching with an ache to touch, to feel its weight, but I didn’t dare move without permission.
Max’s voice sliced through the charged air, low and commanding. “Looking at my hard cock, Jason, tell me what you like about what you see, and how it makes you feel.”
My breath caught, my eyes flicking down to his shaft—thick, veined, and impossibly hard. My mind scrambled, torn between the raw desire coursing through me and the humiliation of voicing it. But there was no escaping his gaze, dark and unyielding, demanding submission.
“It’s… huge,” I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. The admission felt like a confession and a surrender.
“More, Jason” he barked.
“The way it looks—how powerful it is. It’s massive. It is beautiful.” My cheeks burned, but I couldn’t look away, my hand twitching as if still feeling its heat.
Max smirked, a slow, predatory curl of his lips. “And what do you want me to do with it?”
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My words came out haltingly, each one pulled from me like a secret I didn’t want to admit.
I look at Chris, and whisper. “I want to see what that cock can do.”
Max’s laugh was low and dark, vibrating through the room. “Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.” His hand gripped my jaw, forcing our eyes to meet. “You’re going to watch, and you’re going to feel every second of this. You’re going to know exactly what he’s getting from me—something you’ll never be able to give him.”
My heart pounded, shame and arousal twisting in my gut. I nodded mutely, my body trembling. Chris was looking up at me, his gaze soft but pleading. I could see the huge bulge twitching in his sweatpants. In that moment, I knew there was no turning back.
Max leaned down, his face inches from Chris’s, his voice low and commanding. “Your turn, Chris,” he growled, his fingers tightening on Chris’s hips, “I want to know how seeing my hard dick makes you feel.”
Chris’s breath hitched, his body trembling. “I—I’m so horny,” he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. “I’m hungry for it. I want your cock so fucking bad”
Max smirked, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Is it bigger than Jason’s?”
Chris hesitated, his gaze flicking to me, standing frozen, watching helplessly. Then, with a shuddering breath, he answered, “Yes. Your dick is bigger than Jason’s.”
Max’s grin widened, predatory and triumphant. “How much?”
“Your dick is much bigger than Jason’s,” Chris repeated.
“And?”
“And thicker. So much thicker.”
Holy shit. Hearing Chris talk about how much bigger Max is stung – but it turned me on so much I was straining against the confine of my jeans. Deep in my gut, I could feel a horniness more intense than anything I had ever felt. I was so turned on, I almost felt delirious.
Max chuckled, his hand sliding up to grip Chris’s jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. “How long have you wanted it?”
Chris’s lips parted, his voice trembling. “I’ve wanted your dick for a long time. I wanted it the first time I ever saw you at Jason’s rugby practice.”
Fuck, that was like 2 years ago. Chris has been into Max this whole time???
Max smirked at me. He was stroking his cock, and I could see a drop of precum glistening at the tip. His expression darkened, his tone dropping to a dangerous purr. “Chris. Have you ever thought about me while Jason was fucking you?”
Chris stammered, his cheeks flushing crimson, but Max didn’t let him escape. His grip tightened, his voice sharp and unyielding. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” Chris whispered, his voice barely audible.
“Yes what?” Max demanded, his thrusts slowing but no less punishing.
Chris’s eyes fluttered shut as he gave in completely. “Yes, I’ve fantasized about you while Jason was fucking me.”
Max laughed, low and dark. “Good boy,” he growled, his eyes locking onto mine once more.
“Wow, Jason,” Max said to me, his voice rough with anticipation. “Your fantasy is to see another cock in your boyfriend's ass. And lucky us, your boyfriend has been hungry for my cock for years.”
I could feel the precum leaking from my cock, still straining against my pants.
“You’re going to sit there and watch as I take what’s mine, as I fuck your boyfriend so deep and so hard he'll forget your name. By the time I'm through, you’ll both know exactly who owns him.”
His words struck like a hammer, raw and unrelenting, and I felt the weight of his dominance press down on me, crushing any lingering illusion of control. It was clear that this was no longer just a shared fantasy—it was Max’s game now.
To be continued . . .
