Look, there's being horny because your girlfriend won't put out, and there's being horny because your best friend's gay older brother is hot and fascinating and you kinda want him to play with your dick. In part 2, Lincoln gets an education as to how your body can feel if you're a good boy, and take instructions...
Riley's Basement - Chapter 2
I've been in this house so many times, and yet never like this. Never naked from the waist down; never hard, my cock practically bobbing as I follow Riley down the hallway. Past the open bathroom door, and the guest bedroom I know Chance has slept in so many times. When things with him and his dad get too difficult, too tense.
I've not been in Riley's room, though. This is new.
He pushes the door closed, and the silence competes in my ears with the slam of my heartbeat.
I watch him, wide-eyed. My greasy, sticky fists clenched, arms hanging. Still half in disbelief, that I left most of my clothes downstairs. That I'm standing here, in Riley's bedroom, in nothing but a t-shirt and my socks.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and casts an appraising look across me. Suddenly, away from the basement, he seems more serious. More sober.
"You look terrified."
I probably do. I must be breathing, because I haven't blacked out on the carpet, and yet it doesn't feel like any part of my body is moving.
"We don't actually have to do anything," Riley adds. Still in that controlled, measured tone.
"But..."
He makes a face. "My brother can be a brat. It's fun to wind him up, sometimes." A sly glance, my way. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I."
I shrug. It was an accusation, but a conspiratorial one. I guess we're the two people who tease Chance the most, out of everyone in his life. Then again, we're probably the two who have the most brotherly love for him, too. Literally and metaphorically, of course.
"So you don't want to..."
I don't even know what I'm asking. Part of me wants to look down, to check if it really is true: I'm standing in front of Riley with my hard dick jutting out and slick with precum. Somehow, not seeing it means I can deny that particular reality. Even if I know that, for all my nerves, I'm painfully stiff.
Riley doesn't seem to have the same compunction. My skin prickles, under the intensity of his dredging stare.
"I was assuming it was you that didn't want to, Lincoln."
Oh, right. I'm the straight guy, here.
"But you... you would."
I don't know why it feels so important, that I hear it. The words from his mouth, I mean.
He leans back, arms outstretched behind him. Looking up at me with this appraising expression; like he can hear the words in my head just as clearly as those that come from my mouth.
"Does it turn you on, knowing I'm attracted to you?"
Now I can't help but glance down. My cock looks so fucking fat, pushing out from under the hem of my shirt.
"Of course, that's because of Haley," Riley suggests.
He's grinning again, when I look up.
It was, at first. It really was. That dumb fucking photo she sent, a bra that managed to be less sexy than had she been fully dressed. And maybe it's because I'm starved of sex, or perhaps my brain is just programmed to see something like that and extrapolate - to picture unfastening the hooks, pressing my face to her chest, and the feel of her nipples stiffening between my lips - but it was enough, regardless. My dick doing what my dick always does, getting stiff and needy.
I didn't really understand why it was still doing that, when the thoughts stopped being about Haley's photo, and to Riley's gaze instead.
There are lots of things I could say, should say. Things I should explain.
"Do you really think I'm cute?" I ask him, instead.
Riley laughs. "What's not to like?"
There's that feeling again, that kernel of heat in the depths of my chest. The one which tells me I should quit, while I'm ahead.
"That wasn't an answer."
It's like he's trying to decide whether to call me out, for being an egotist, or quite how honest he really wants to be.
Riley sighs. "Of course I think you're cute, Lincoln."
"What would you do? I mean, if I was a guy you were..."
"Hooking up with?" He grins, at my jerky nod. "So many questions, tonight."
I shrug, still watching him.
He tips his head to one side. "Blow you. Get blown by you. Eat your ass, if you were down for that." The list presented so matter-of-factly, like it's groceries. "Probably one of us would get fucked."
He's got to have heard me swallowing, just then.
"If you were a guy I was hooking up with, of course," Riley adds. "Like you said."
It's been so fucking long since I've had my dick sucked. And no girl has even touched my ass, never mind eaten it.
"I'm not..." I frown. It feels ridiculous to say the words out loud, even more ridiculous than being stood here, dripping precum onto Riley's bedroom carpet. Knowing his brother, my friend, is seething downstairs in the basement. "I'm not gay."
His eyebrow lifts. "Hence why I'm not sucking your dick."
There's a knot of frustration, lodged in my throat. I don't even know what I want him to say, really.
No, that's not true. I know; I want him to suggest the things I'm too embarrassed to ask for.
"Are you good at sucking dick?"
There's a non-zero chance he'll laugh at me, or get all outraged at such a question, and I think in either case I'd burn up in a sort of fiery shame.
He doesn't, though. Just licks his lips, then flashes me this big, knowing smile.
"I'm fucking excellent at sucking dick," Riley tells me.
I'm shuffling forward before I realize it. Body on autopilot, some distant part of my brain noticing how he spreads his thighs wider so that I can stand between them. The cool of his fingertips as he holds my hips; a gentle grip, like Riley isn't even worried that I might bolt away, and I can't help but think I ought to be offended that he's decided I'm such a foregone-conclusion.
"You've got a really pretty cock, Lincoln," he tells me, and I'm still taking a breath to respond when he eases my swollen head between his lips.
And that's not fair, quite frankly, because there's zero fucking way I can formulate words, now.
He's gentle, just swirling his tongue around my tip, and now I know what his hands were for, why he took hold of me. Nothing at all to do with me pulling away, but to stop me from thrusting my hips forward as he teases me now, because even just a few seconds of pleasure leaves me desperate for more.
His mouth is wet, and soft, and carefully sucking, and I should probably be worked up that it's a guy whose tongue is tracing the thick, flared ridge of my cockhead while I drool precum like a leaky faucet. Only it's tough to feel upset about that, when he's lapping so keenly across my tender, hyper-sensitive flesh, and I'm having to grit my teeth to keep from shouting out.
I squeak, instead, as Riley bobs further down onto me. Half my shaft in him, now, his lips taut around me. His tongue still eager, pressing my tip against the grooved roof of his mouth. An unexpected massage that's almost as much sweet torture as pleasure.
I want to grab his head, to steady myself more than anything, but I don't know what the rules are, here. Standing up and getting my dick slobbered on should feel powerful, like I'm in control, but there's something about the way Riley does it that inverts the roles. Reminds me - with each near-buckling of my knees, and every moment I have to bite my cheek to keep from crying out - that suddenly I'm solely dependent on him for these intense, incredible feelings. A dumb cock, and the dumb guy it's attached to, and if he wants to overwhelm us both with his lips, and tongue, and teeth, then there's nothing we can do but squirm, pant, beg.
His lips just brush the fat root of my prick, my head nudging with indecent promise at the tightness of his throat, when he pulls off me. Leaving my dick bobbing and slick, and it's beyond me to keep from whining in frustration.
Riley smirks up at me, with wet lips. "Anybody ever told you that you taste pretty good?"
I can feel myself blushing. No, nobody's ever said that to me before, and had they I'd probably laugh, or say that was disgusting. Whereas hearing it from Riley makes me feel like a puppy-dog, all wagging tail and eagerness to please.
He chuckles at my reaction, then pats my thigh. "Spread your legs more."
I swallow, because I remember what he said. About his usual wish-list for hookups; about how ass stuff would be on the menu. I'm not sure I can handle Riley putting his fingers in my butt.
Maybe the fear is visible, or maybe he just guesses what my first reaction would be. Riley rolls his eyes, like I'm ridiculous.
"I just want to play with your balls, Lincoln. Don't get all Neanderthal on me."
It doesn't seem the right time to tell him that my concern wasn't that it'd feel bad, but that him touching me back there would be too good. That I'd discover - just like with the blow job - that I'd been missing out on something incredible. Settling for second-best, or for nothing at all.
So I spread my thighs a little wider, instead of talking, and then groan as his deft fingers wrap around my balls.
It's a reminder, an unmistakable one, a dizzying one, that everything's connected down there. Riley pulling down on my nuts, bringing my leaky tip in line with his lips, and then squeezing them more firmly as they try to pull up when he loops his tongue in slow, teasing circles around my cockhead. Joining the dots between the most sensitive parts of my body.
Not like I haven't played with my balls before, tugged on them a little while I jerked off, but Riley's expert hand and mouth are another level. Conjuring a thick miasma of lust that fills my brain; when I look down at him - my mouth lolling open and eyes hooded - it's almost like there's a smile there, despite how taut his are around me.
I'm drooling, I realize, as I see the stains of it dark against my shirt. Suddenly mortified at just how far gone even this few minutes of relief have pushed me.
A wink, and then Riley's suddenly driving forward, and it's the tight squeeze of his gullet around me. Too much, too soon, too unbelievable. My whole cock sleeved in him, his lips pressed against my skin as his hand practically kneads my balls. Stretching them down, the skin taut, and I know it should be uncomfortable but right now it's the only thing stopping me from blasting down his throat as I teeter on the precipice of my orgasm.
And then, just as quickly, he pulls off me again. Gasping, chin sticky with drool. Nudging his face against my slick shaft, rubbing his cheeks on me, as though he wants to mark himself with my fuck-scent. Something urgent and animal there, a crack in the self-possessed shell I associate with Chance's brother.
There's a flash of something in my chest, something close to pride. At knowing it's me, my body, that has granted me this glimpse of a different Riley.
The knock on the bedroom door makes me jolt in shock. No, not a knock, a hammering. The sound of someone angry.
I look down, knowing the surprise has to be clear on my face.
Riley just rolls his eyes, as he pushes himself to his feet. Up close to me, so close it would only take a little shove of my hips to have the slick head of my dick brushing against his jeans.
There's spit and precum all across his face, an unmistakable sign of what we've been doing in here. Just when I think he's going to step away, Riley reaches down and pulls up the hem of my t-shirt. Ducks his head, so that he can wipe himself on the cotton.
"H-hey," I manage to stutter out, a meager protest.
He winks at me, as he lets the streaked fabric drop again.
"What?" Louder, an invitation to come in, but a bored-sounding one.
The door shoves open.
Chance looks like he's about to burn up in outraged indignation. His arms hanging, fists clenched at his sides; eyes flitting around the room, as if he daren't let his gaze settle. Just in case, perhaps, he can see something that he'll never forget.
Riley flashes a look my way, one which says "this fuckin' idiot, right?"
"What?"
Chance's lips tighten, and it takes a moment before he can even speak. "You made your joke. Ha ha, very funny. That's enough, now, though."
"And what's the 'joke'?" Riley's tone is positively frosty.
"You and him." Chance jerks his chin at me, though it's clear he doesn't want to actually look at me properly.
Probably because my erection is - despite everything - still hanging around, hoping the arguments stop so that the blowjobs can resume.
"With all due respect, little brother..."
I bite my lip, trying not to smirk, because it's really fucking clear that the "due respect" here amounts to "absolutely zero."
"...I don't think that's any of your fucking business, is it?"
Chance gives me another sour glance. "He's my friend."
"Whose house is this?" Riley fires back.
"Yours."
"And whose basement have you been treating like a social club, and whose beer have you been drinking?"
Chance's jaw works, angrily. "Yours."
"Right." Riley crosses his arms. "And whose decision is it, which guys I look at, or hook up with?"
They're talking about me like I'm an object, a piece of meat, and I can't say it's making me any less hard right now.
"Yours." Chance says it like the word is painful to get out; like it has thorns that are sticking in his craw. "But Lincoln isn't even into dudes!"
Riley looks at me, then down at my dick. Back at his brother, an eyebrow raised. "Sounds to me that's something for Lincoln to decide, not his best friend."
I can see how that winds Chance up even more. The implication that he might've been a less-than-decent buddy leaving him bristling.
"Just... just come back down. Watch the game."
It's about as close as my friend comes to an apology, which he fucking hates making.
Riley, though, isn't inclined to let his younger brother off the hook so easy. "And if Lincoln wants to jerk off, down there?"
Chance's jaw clenches. "Your couch, your rules."
"And if I want to watch him do it?"
Chance's eyes flit down, just briefly, to my crotch. I have no idea if he even possesses the imagination, right now, to wonder whether his brother and I were doing something just as he hammered on the bedroom door.
"Your couch, your rules," he grates out.
Riley turns to me. "You wanna watch the game, Lincoln?"
I swallow, because the way he's looking at me makes it very, very clear that it's not whatever sport's on the big screen that Riley's interested in watching down there. And that's as terrifying as it is flattering.
I nod anyway.
He gestures for me to follow his brother, and I do, then find myself wondering if Riley's looking at my ass as I walk in front of him. Glance over my shoulder, and am rewarded with the almost-guilty jerk of his head back up to meet my eye.
Riley shrugs, grinning, as if I'd have been a fool to expect anything more from him.
It's impossible not to smile back at him.
"Christ, Lincoln, does that thing ever go down?" Aidan sounds amused.
Him and Harper are in the same spots as when Riley and I left, the football still playing on the TV. Harper's giving me and Riley this curious look, like he half wants to ask what the hell happened.
I'm kinda hoping he doesn't ask, because then I'd have to put into words what was going through my brain. As well as try to decide just how much further I'd have gone, too.
I wag my hips, instead, setting my dick flopping around. "It's called being naturally virile," I tell Aidan, laughing.
Chance snorts. "A natural pervert, more like." He rolls his eyes, at his brother's pointed look. "I'm not complaining, you know it's fucking true."
Yeah, and Riley knows a lot more than that, too. Like how I taste, and how my nuts try to drag themselves into my body when I'm getting close to spewing.
I flop down, sideways on the beat-up sectional, then watch Chance's nostrils flare as his brother sits down close to me. Near enough that I'd only have to uncross my legs, and they'd be laying across Riley's lap.
For a few minutes, though, it really does seem like we are just gonna watch the game. Even Riley's eyes are on the screen, though I can tell by how his lips quirk around the beer bottle that he knows I'm shooting these darting little glances at him every so often.
My cock isn't quite so rampant-teenage-boy hard any more, but it's far from soft. Laying, heavy and thick, across my thigh. The other guys are cheering and fist-pumping, when whatever team they're supporting tonight scores, when Riley stares at my crotch and licks his lips. Suddenly, I'm rigid again.
His house, his rules.
Casually, I stretch my legs out. Riley's thighs feel warm, even through the denim, under my calves.
I want him to reach across, to slip his fingers around my cock and stroke me. Fuck, I want him to lean over and start sucking me again: the memory of how incredible it felt, his tongue swarming urgently around my swollen tip, is already getting me leaky again. But Riley seems content to just sit there, and it's not like I can ask him to blow me.
Well, I could, but then there'd be no fighting Chance's pervert accusations.
It's a consolation prize, then, to ease my own fist around my shaft and rub myself, slowly. A consolation which still feels pretty fucking epic, mind, as does Riley's head turning so that it's clear he's watching me, now, and not the game.
I squeeze a little tighter, and we both watch the way it makes my cockhead bloat even fatter. Who knows: maybe I can lure Riley down into my lap, by making my dick impossible to resist.
The idea of it makes me snort, just softly, but it's enough to get Harper looking over. And when his head turns, that makes Chance and Aidan look around, too.
"You're an addict, dude," Aidan says, though he sounds amused rather than disgusted.
Chance just makes a face, having seemingly taken his brother's scolding to heart. He leans forward, setting down his empty bottle. "You're out of beer."
Riley grunts. "What a surprise. I wonder where it could've all gone."
Considering there are now four empties in front of Chance, he wisely decides not to snark back. Then again, it's not like any of us are particularly prone to abstention when we're at Riley's place. Periodically - when I haven't spent all my cash on taking Haley out for dinner, or any of the other dozens of things which are expected of a dutiful boyfriend - I'll leave twenty bucks or something on the kitchen counter. Just so it doesn't feel quite so much like we're all freeloaders.
"My wallet's upstairs," Riley says. Apparently he's under no confusion as to who'll be restocking the refrigerator, either.
His brother makes an unimpressed noise. "Oh, so I'm going, am I?"
"Are you offering to pay, instead?"
Chance is broke, and everyone in the room knows that. Hell, he was grumbling about it earlier, before Haley sent me that dumb photo.
He pushes himself up, then gives me a pointed look. "You coming with me?"
I flash him a big, toothy grin. "I think I'll hang out here."
Chance narrows his eyes. Just when I think he's going to snap at me, Aidan stands.
"Fine, we'll walk with you." He drags Harper to his feet, too.
The liquor store is a few blocks away. Quick to drive, but years of "buzzed driving is drunk driving" reminders mean they'll be walking. Anyway, Chance is probably too cheap to use up his gas.
The basement seems a lot quieter, with them gone. Just the game announcers still chattering about nothing.
"Mute that shit, will you?" Riley sounds casual, so I guess it's only me whose heart is hammering fit to burst.
It still feels epically strange to be naked from the waist down, while he watches me retrieve the remote from the other end of the sectional. When I turn around, Riley makes no disguising of the fact that he was staring at my bare ass.
I could sit down again, I could even pull my pants on. But something in me says I need permission, first.
And so I stand there, a pace or two in front of him. Trying to make it look like I'm relaxed, even though my dick is back to throbbing and my palms are getting sweaty. I want to wipe them on my shirt, but then it'd be even more obvious what sort of mental state I'm in.
I really, really want Riley to suck me again.
He looks up at me, from his sprawl on the couch. Watching me fight the urge to beg him to touch me.
"Take your shirt off."
I reach for the hem, pause. "Are you gonna, too?"
Riley's eyebrow lifts. "Do you want me to?"
I shrug, feeling awkward, because I can understand his surprise. What does the straight guy care, if the gay guy is clothed or not?
"Just feels fair," I hedge. I'm not sorry for the moment of my face being covered, as I tug the t-shirt over my head. I don't think I could handle seeing him laugh at me.
He's not laughing, though, when I toss the spit-soaked fabric to the side. Is pulling off his own shirt, in fact, Riley's torso on the slim side but lean muscle with it. A layer of close-cropped fur across his chest, snaking down to the treasure trail disappearing into his jeans.
"And should I take these off, too?" His hand resting on his belt, expression curious.
The fucker is going to make me ask for it.
I can't say the words, though, can't bring myself to. Nod, instead, hoping he'll take pity on me. And maybe Riley is horny, too; maybe he's just as eager, but better at hiding it. Because that nod is enough to have him unfastening his jeans, and lifting his hips, and shoving them down until he can kick them off and away.
He's hard, in white trunks, and I'm not sure whether I want to close my eyes and pretend I didn't see, or ask him to take his underwear off as well.
Riley pushes himself back, further up the couch. The distance makes me feel even more observed, as though - rather than splitting my body into sections, each viewed close-up - he can see the whole of me, now. Judge whether or not this latest conquest passes muster.
I'm shocked by how much I want his verdict to be positive.
"Come here, Lincoln."
I follow him, on my knees. My obedience apparently a foregone conclusion for both of us; no surprise on Riley's face, just anticipation, as I straddle his outstretched thighs.
"You know you can say no, right?"
I'm tempted to laugh, to point out what a ridiculous statement that is. To remind him that his fingers are already wrapping around my shaft, my cock the hardest I can ever remember it being; to point out that, almost from the moment I kicked off my sweatpants and spread my legs for him to better see me, I was locking myself into a trajectory I couldn't understand.
It's not about age, or being gay or not, or having experience or even just the imagination to fill in for inexperience, I want to tell him. It's about having faith in yourself, in your ability to go to the brink and then reel yourself back in from that: to try something new, and incredible, but also maintain that core sense of self.
I'm scared, I want to tell Riley, because I already know whatever he deigns to do with me, tonight, is going to feel epic. And I'm not sure I'll be able to compartmentalize that, the way I think he can.
"I know," I say, instead. Because I wouldn't have the right words at the very best of times, at my most focused, and fuck, I'm so far away from that now.
He's stroking me, just slowly. A tight grip, milking out precum to ooze down his fist and dangle, in glistening cords, all the way to his bare skin.
"You ever taste yourself?"
I shake my head, my eyes wide.
It's a firmer squeeze, a more purposeful one. Like he's eager to gather up as much of my cock-drool as he can.
I stare, almost cross-eyed, at the hand presented inches in front of my mouth.
"Try it," Riley says, softly. "You might just like it."
The voice in my head is already congratulating myself, for saying - politely, firmly - no, thank you, I'm not into that, even as I lick across his finger. The sweet-sharp taste of myself flooding my mouth, musky and somehow intensely familiar, and then suddenly it's like I'm ravenous, desperate. Lapping across his hand, along each digit, as Riley turns his wrist to expose new, slick flesh to my tongue.
I'm panting, when he pulls his arm back. Brain feeling like it's spinning in my skull, my heartbeat thundering.
It's my own spit lubing his stroking, now, and the splay of my legs makes it easier for him to reach between them. To toy with my balls as he gropes at me, not so much a handjob as simple, curious exploration. As if, now that I've shown I'm willing to try something new, Riley's busy considering just which part of my own body he can introduce me to next.
"I don't think I've ever known you this quiet, Lincoln," he muses, as he fondles me. Looks up, from his eager handiwork, to flash me an amused expression, but only for a moment. Attention drawn back down, and there's something flattering about that; a reminder that, for all I project cool nonchalance onto him, Riley is flesh and blood, too. Turned on, by what we're doing, and if I ever doubted that, then the growing wet spot where the tip of his dick strains in his underwear would reassure me.
"I'm..." I don't know how that sentence ends.
Riley nods. "Do you like it?"
"Yes."
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to keep going?"
"Y-yes."
He looks up, stare intent. A gaze so sharp, no prey animal could look away.
"Do you wish my brother was here, watching you? All your friends? Seeing you get your dick stroked, and sucked, and your ass played with?"
I can hear myself panting, even past the ringing in my ears. The skin on my back prickling, as if from three sets of eyes watching me from across the room. Chance, Aidan, Harper, all recognizing my absolute complicity.
"I... I don't know."
"You don't know about being watched?" Riley presses. "Or about me playing with your ass?"
What would it feel like, to know they were standing there, watching, as he eased his long forefinger into my hole? To know that Chance was seeing me lose that innocence, feel those sensations for the very first time, at the hands of his own brother?
"It was so fucking hot, watching you jack off while they were all doing their usual bullshit," Riley says. "I was biting my tongue, wanting to tell you how to touch yourself next."
The idea of it, of my hands reacting with mindless obedience as he fed me instructions, makes me shudder. A thrill I don't fully understand.
His fingers are stroking behind my balls, toying with that soft strip of super-sensitive flesh that I like to rub as I'm jerking. The memory of that making it easier, somehow, to reach back and - a hand on each cheek - spread my ass.
Riley looks up at me, expression pleased and sly.
I gasp when his fingertip brushes across my hole. So light, I could almost question whether I even felt it, but the way my cock just twitched is confirmation enough. Riley still watching my face as he strokes me again, and I know I must be giving him the most wide-eyed, shocked look possible, but nothing has prepared me for how good it feels.
His fingertip circles around my tight, flinching muscle. The rough pad pulling and scraping at tender skin.
I'm pushing my ass back against his hand, before I even realize it.
Ass still spread wide, hips driving against his teasing fingers. Ignoring the way thick, glossy dribbles of precum are slopping onto his forearm as he reaches under me; my cock not quite forgotten, but too much for me to focus on, what with the riot of sensations radiating out from between my cheeks.
"You like that, Lincoln?"
I nod, the motion jerky. Grunt, though the sound is shaky.
"Tell me what you like," Riley pushes.
It takes real effort to find the words; more, to force my mouth to shape them into reality. Physiology and embarrassment conspiring.
"Uh... I like... I like you touching me."
Riley licks his lips. He's alternating, now, circling round my hole and then swiping across it. The rasp of his fingertip putting all manner of possibilities front and center in my brain. "Where do you like me touching you?"
My face is burning up, but I also know I can't afford to stay vague. Not if that risks him deciding to stop what he's doing.
"I like you... you touching my ass."
"Go on..."
I swallow, my throat feeling thick. "Your fingers, on my hole," I manage to grate out. "It feels... so good."
He nods, approvingly. "You want it to feel better, Lincoln?"
My nod is the epitome of desperation.
"If you want it, you've got to ask for it."
It's not fair, demanding cogent thoughts and organized sentences from me. I shove my hips back, but Riley simply moves his hands with my ass, keeping up that tauntingly light pressure.
"Come on, dude," I hiss, in frustration. "Just do it."
That fucking raised eyebrow again, like I'm a constant source of surprise to him.
"It sounds like you're asking me to finger your ass, Lincoln?"
Honestly, I wasn't even sure I was. Hadn't put into thoughts, into words, what my ambitions here were. Only knowing that what he was doing with his hands could only be the tip of the iceberg.
"Please..."
He's tapping on me, now. A soft, rhythmic pattering, right on my tight little hole.
"Please, what?"
I want to scream. "Please, finger me."
For a moment, I wonder if he's heard me. If I only said those mortifying words in my head, because Riley's pulling his hand away.
And then I feel it corkscrew around the sloppy, dripping head of my dick, and I realize what's coming next.
His fingertip is slick, when it presses at me a moment later. None of the friction of before, as Riley eases it around my muscle. I hold my breath, as I feel the pressure rise.
The air rushes out of me, as his fingertip digs in. A gasp, of shock, of uncertainty at a feeling so indescribably new.
"More?"
His voice is low, goading.
I nod, frantic. "Come on..."
Riley chuckles, as he drives the full length of his finger into me.
There's a thickness to the noise that comes from me, a wetness. The sound that comes from surprise, and disbelief, because I know how big his hands are and yet my ass feels impossibly full.
I want, suddenly, overwhelmingly, to jerk off. Knowing, instinctively, how good it would feel to simply flail at my cock, my fist a blur, while Riley strokes my insides.
"I wanna cum," I groan, and the neediness is so obvious, it'd be embarrassing if I wasn't so far gone.
"Do you?" He still sounds amused. "Or do you want a second finger?"
My brain is trying to predict how that would feel; what that stretching, pulling sensation could be like. Only my imagination is short-circuiting.
A nod is all I can manage.
Pressure, of a second fingertip alongside the first. Worming its way past the meagre protests of my taut muscle, my body resisting by instinct. And yet no real obstacle for Riley, who smirks at my moan as he digs into me.
"Haley never done this for you?"
I frown, at his teasing. Glare at him. Because I don't want to think about her, don't want the comparison of what Riley's doing between my cheeks, and what my girlfriend might one day deign to do. I feel guilty, certainly, and yet the greater feeling is resentment. Fury, that Riley has made me feel more things, in a scant few minutes, than anyone else has made me feel in my whole damn life.
He's fucking me with his fingers, now. Some chunk of my brain has found the capacity to be horrified by that knowledge, and yet it's being drowned out by the shimmering layers of pleasure rippling through me. The sensation of being stretched, and stroked, and of untouched parts of my body finally awakening and discovering their real purpose.
"You're so fucking hard, Lincoln." Approval, in his tone, and satisfaction. A master taking pride at his handiwork.
I'll tell him anything, praise anything, if only that hand's work continues.
My fingers are itching to jerk myself, fists clenching with anticipation of how good it would feel. No way of stopping once I'd started, either: we're far beyond self-restraint, now, or edging. Fuck, I'm not even sure I could make it to a half-dozen strokes, before I'd be blasting all over Lincoln's chest. That'd be the sort of thing that, even in my fantasies with Haley, I'd have to apologize for. With Lincoln, I get the feeling he'd be delighted.
"You want to play with your dick, don't you."
That sense, again, that he can read my mind. Or maybe my supreme horniness is just laughably clear.
I nod, anyway, beyond hiding it.
"Put your hands behind your back," Riley tells me.
I want to protest; to whine that I need it, that it's time. Point out that surely we've done enough, he's introduced me to enough, and the moment is ripe for me to crest over on the waves of glorious sensations created from him strumming my insides so adeptly.
The look on Riley's face makes it clear that arguments will not be accepted. Biting my lip, I lock my hands around my wrists, at the small of my back.
I don't know if it's that he's never looked at me this way before, with this degree of untempered lust, or if I just never noticed it. That's hard to imagine, difficult to accept that I could be so blind to it, but maybe I really am the dumb jock that Haley brands me sometimes. And realizing I might be attractive to another man is too much even for the one-track mind she complains I have.
The whimper escapes me before I can control myself, when Riley's fist wraps my shaft. Suddenly overcome with the possibility that maybe he isn't cruelly withholding the orgasm I so desperately want; perhaps all he intended was to be the one that coaxed it out of me. My hips pushing forward by instinct, trying to fuck myself through his grip.
A smirk, and then he strokes down to my tip and corkscrews his palm around it.
No stopping the yelp, as the burr of his hand grinds around my hyper-sensitive cockhead. The sheen of fresh precum somehow only amplifying the torture, my whole body shaking at the overwhelming intensity of it.
I pull back, or try to. Fuck myself onto Riley's still-probing fingers, driving the two of them even deeper into my inexperienced hole. Desperate to alleviate the monstrous pleasure-pain overload he's delivering to my swollen tip, and yet in the process swapping it for a fresh wave of raw, giddying feelings in my ass.
I'm bucking between the two, mindless and drooling. Not thinking any further than escaping whatever torrent of sensations I'm experiencing right then, thighs and stomach clenched with the strain of it. My hands still locked behind me, as if I've forgotten the rest of my body even exists while this impossible choice continues.
His fist slips down, fingers tight around the fat root of my dick. Fingers shoved deep in my hole on the other side. And suddenly I'm frozen, motionless; balanced, precariously, in this simmering frenzy.
"Do you want to stop?"
I blink at him, his words taking far, far too long to process in my addled, sex-soaked brain. Realize, a moment later and with a fresh flush of embarrassment, that there's drool all down my chin. Long, sloppy cords of it spilling down onto my sweaty chest.
I know I must look like some broken, mindless thing on top of him. A toy, wound up beyond the capacity of its simple spring.
Do I want to stop?
I try to speak; it comes out as a grunt, a nothing sound. Swallow, with muscles that feel like they've been deprogrammed and must learn everything from scratch, and try again.
"Uh... I..."
Riley's fingers squeeze, just minutely, around my shaft. Even so, it's enough to make me close my eyes for a moment and groan.
He's grinning, when I open them again.
"Do you want to stop, Lincoln?"
Part of me thinks I should, that this is the ripcord I didn't know I needed. Horrified by how far I've strayed; not just for what this says about my relationship with my girlfriend, but about me as a man. Like Riley has unlocked some fresh knowledge about my own body, excavated a whole other layer of awareness, and now I can never be the same. Never be satisfied by what I once thought pleasure consisted of.
But there's another part of me, too.
"Don't... don't you want... to..."
I was so close to asking "don't you want me." Rescued myself, from the burn of that shame, at the very last moment.
Riley grins, then reaches behind me. Tugging one arm down, his fingers around my wrist even as he's still pushing at my tender hole with the other hand. Guiding me to the swollen pouch of his trunks, and shaping my grip around the thick length of his erection.
"I don't think there's any question about what I want," he points out, softly. "So the question is, what about you?"
He must've released me at some point, because his hand is back on my dick again, but I don't know when it was. Or, for that reason, why I'm still squeezing his cock through his underwear.
Well, that's not quite true. There's the fact that it's flattering, how hard he is, and I'm so fucking curious I can hardly bear it.
I've never touched another guy's junk before. Would've said I had no interest in that, either, had I been asked. Only now, as Riley strokes me and fingers me, it doesn't feel so big a stretch to be groping at him, too. Especially knowing that he's this turned on because of me.
Some nervous chunk of my brain comes up with the great idea that I should remind him I'm straight, and I can't help it, I have to laugh. At the ridiculousness of it, at the idea that it might make a fucking difference.
"You're cute, when you laugh," he observes, and there's something liberating about that, too.
I lean down, or at least as best I can with his hands on me, and my own still fondling him through the clinging fabric. "Only when I laugh?"
It feels good to tease him like this, to be playful. The way Riley's fingers flex inside me is like a reward.
"You're cute when you jerk off, too," he concedes, grinning too. "And when you're drooling down your chest, because you're so turned on."
"Nobody's put their fingers in my ass before."
His hand twists, just slightly, but it's enough to change where the pressure of his fingertips is applied. To a spot that makes me want to gasp with the intensity of the pleasure, like I'm having whole-body cramps.
He waits, perhaps until my eyes have lost some of their glaze. "You wanna try some other new things, Lincoln?"
Based on what he's shown me so far, anything more might kill me. But, fuck, what a way to go.
"L-like what?" I manage to stutter out.
Riley chuckles, hand still stroking, fingers still gently twisting.
But he's not looking up at me any more, I realize. He's still touching me, playing with me, but his stare is aimed past me. Across the room.
I turn, to see the doorway and - half in shadow, but still clearly watching - Harper there. His eyes wide, expression shocked, sure, but his hand is kneading at his crotch, too. Squeezing himself through his jeans, as he watches me straddling Riley and having my hole toyed with for the very first time.
The look on my face must be as astonished as his is, most likely.
"So," Riley says to Harper, dryly and not without amusement, "do you want to explain the options, or shall I?"
Thanks for reading, and for your comments and ratings on part 1! I released a new book last week, "Shoot Your Best Shot": if you're into messy facials, and shy guys realizing they like getting told what to do, and when to swallow, I think you might enjoy it. More details and a sample at my site.
Thanks for reading!
-Alex
