u/StoriesByMattVane

Everyone is over 18

Previous part here

Quick recap: It all started with a joke from my roommates, who laughed that Jack was so quiet because he probably had a small one, and then I saw that he was hung and had absolutely nothing to hide. Recently, I caught him with a stroker, but he quickly admitted he'd rather have my hand, so I gave him exactly what he wanted and brought him to climax.

The door to his room was ajar. He was waiting for me.

"Matt," I heard his voice. Calm, quiet, almost a whisper. "Can you come in for a minute?"

I walked in without a word. Jack was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, shirtless, wearing only boxers. The room was dimly lit, the only light came from the lamp by the bed. There was silence. But not an awkward kind. The kind that promised something.

I sat down across from him. I could feel the tension hanging between us.

Jack looked me straight in the eyes. And he said, without any pretense, without a smile:

"Sometimes I wonder... what it would be like if someone took it whole. Down their throat."

I didn't speak right away. My brain was analyzing the sentence, but my body already knew what it meant. It was already reacting.

"Who do you mean?" I asked half-jokingly, though my voice was slightly strained.

Jack didn't look away. There was something new in his eyes. Calm. Certainty. Need.

"You."

The silence thickened. But it wasn't awkward. It was electric.

I looked at him. At his face. At his chest. At his boxers, which were already bulging slightly in the front.

"Let's find out," I said calmly.

Jack didn't answer. He just stood up slightly, slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them down. His cock sprang out, already partially hard. He was naked. Completely. Ready.

He sat back down comfortably, leaning his back against the wall, spreading his legs wider. He left his hands loosely at his sides. He didn't say anything else. He was just breathing a little heavier. And watching as I approached.

He gave me complete control. And he knew exactly what I was about to do.

I knelt between his spread legs. I could feel the warmth of his body even before I touched him. His cock was already hard, but not fully so. His skin was taut, his veins visible, the head glistening slightly with moisture. It looked impressive, raw, physical, real.

I took my time.

I leaned down and started at the very bottom. With my tongue. A long, slow stroke from the base all the way to the tip. I could feel his body tensing at my touch, his abdominal muscles twitching. Jack sucked in a breath through his teeth, loudly. He didn't say anything, but his breathing was already changing.

I started licking him thoroughly. I focused on the shaft, then returned to the base, gently grazing his balls with my tongue. They were heavy, taut, hot. I could smell warm skin, something natural and purely sexual. My tongue circled around, teasing, exploring.

When I reached the head again, I stopped there. I licked it with the tip of my tongue, slowly, in a spiral. Then I moved on to broad, wet strokes across the head itself. I could feel it pulsing slightly beneath my tongue. Saliva began to drip from my mouth, mixing with his precum. It ran down the shaft, all the way to his balls, wet, warm, slippery.

Jack shuddered. He let out a short, guttural moan. His hands clenched the sheets.

"Fuck..." he mumbled. "I really like this..."

I didn't answer. I just looked up at him from below. With my tongue on his head. I knew I hadn't even started yet. And he was already all tense.

He knew what was coming next. And he wanted it just as much as I did.

I took him into my mouth slowly. First just the head, heavy, throbbing, still wet. I swallowed to make room and began to suck him gently, rhythmically. Jack took a deep breath, his hips tensing beneath my hands. I held him by the thighs with both hands, steady, as if we were in control together.

I slid lower. I could feel him stretching my mouth. He was thick, long, and his cock slid deeper with every movement I made. My throat started to tighten, but I didn't pull back. I breathed through my nose, focusing only on how deep I could take him. How much I could feel him.

When I hit the back of my throat, I stopped. I let him stay there for a moment. Saliva started running down my chin, onto his balls. I could feel the entire lower half of my face getting wet, sticky, intense. And he just moaned. Deep, drawn-out moans.

"Fuck, Matt…" he rasped. "I didn't think it would be… this much…"

I didn't answer. I just moved back and down again. Deeper. I felt my throat open up. I pushed past that moment when everything in your body says pull back, and you answer, not yet.

I picked up the pace. The rhythm was mine, deliberate but not fast. My lips tightly encircled every inch, and my tongue worked constantly, teasing, massaging, sensing every pulse beneath the surface of his skin.

Jack wasn't sitting still anymore. His hips moved slightly in time with my rhythm. I could feel him rising and falling, his body wanting more, deeper, harder. He moaned louder and louder, his breath catching at times, his hands clenching the edge of the bed.

"Matt," he gasped. "I'm close. Don't stop."

I felt it first. A twitch of his muscles, the moment just before he came. But I didn't pull back. I took him deep into my throat until his cock filled me completely.

And then he shot.

The first stream of cum hit me deep. I felt the heat, the thickness, the taste. Then more, hot, intense, full. My throat clenched reflexively, but I swallowed. I didn't stop.

I kept him in my mouth until the end, until his hips stopped moving, until his whole body went limp. Only then did I let him out slowly, my tongue sliding along his shaft, until all that remained was quiet, satisfied breathing and pulsing silence.

Jack lay there, propped up, sweaty, spent.

I was still kneeling between his legs. My mouth was wet, saliva mixing with the remnants of his cum, and my own cock was hard as a rock. But I didn't reach for myself.

Not yet.

The silence between us was thick. The kind that needs no words. Jack was breathing deeply, staring somewhere at the ceiling, his chest still rising. His cock lay limp on his thigh, covered in traces of my saliva. I was still kneeling between his legs, my hands on his hips, my mouth wet. But the satisfaction moved through my whole body.

I looked at him. He looked at me. And then Jason's voice rang out from the hallway:

"Matt! Jack! Come on, dinner's ready!"

Damn.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I stood up, walked over to the desk, grabbed a tissue, and fixed what I could. Jack picked up his boxers from the floor and slipped them onto his hips without a word. His T-shirt landed on his shoulders. I watched him, he was still a little shaken, but in control. Only his eyes said that something had changed.

"Ready?" I asked quietly, standing in front of him.

"Yes," he replied. But he didn't move yet.

I stepped closer and said in a low voice, with a slight smile:

"Maybe it's time to tell them the truth… or better yet, show it to them. Seriously, it'll be better that way."

Jack looked at me for a moment, as if analyzing every word.

Then he nodded slowly.

"You're right," he replied quietly.

And then I knew the secret wasn’t going to stay between us much longer.

That the jokes were over.

It was time for everyone to see that they were wrong about Jack.

Everyone is over 18

Quick recap: It all started with a joke from my roommates, who laughed that Jack was so quiet because he probably had a small one, and then I saw that he was hung and had absolutely nothing to hide. Recently, I caught him with a stroker, but he quickly admitted he'd rather have my hand, so I gave him exactly what he wanted and brought him to climax.

The door to his room was ajar. He was waiting for me.

"Matt," I heard his voice. Calm, quiet, almost a whisper. "Can you come in for a minute?"

I walked in without a word. Jack was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, shirtless, wearing only boxers. The room was dimly lit, the only light came from the lamp by the bed. There was silence. But not an awkward kind. The kind that promised something.

I sat down across from him. I could feel the tension hanging between us.

Jack looked me straight in the eyes. And he said, without any pretense, without a smile:

"Sometimes I wonder... what it would be like if someone took it whole. Down their throat."

I didn't speak right away. My brain was analyzing the sentence, but my body already knew what it meant. It was already reacting.

"Who do you mean?" I asked half-jokingly, though my voice was slightly strained.

Jack didn't look away. There was something new in his eyes. Calm. Certainty. Need.

"You."

The silence thickened. But it wasn't awkward. It was electric.

I looked at him. At his face. At his chest. At his boxers, which were already bulging slightly in the front.

"Let's find out," I said calmly.

Jack didn't answer. He just stood up slightly, slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, and pulled them down. His cock sprang out, already partially hard. He was naked. Completely. Ready.

He sat back down comfortably, leaning his back against the wall, spreading his legs wider. He left his hands loosely at his sides. He didn't say anything else. He was just breathing a little heavier. And watching as I approached.

He gave me complete control. And he knew exactly what I was about to do.

I knelt between his spread legs. I could feel the warmth of his body even before I touched him. His cock was already hard, but not fully so. His skin was taut, his veins visible, the head glistening slightly with moisture. It looked impressive, raw, physical, real.

I took my time.

I leaned down and started at the very bottom. With my tongue. A long, slow stroke from the base all the way to the tip. I could feel his body tensing at my touch, his abdominal muscles twitching. Jack sucked in a breath through his teeth, loudly. He didn't say anything, but his breathing was already changing.

I started licking him thoroughly. I focused on the shaft, then returned to the base, gently grazing his balls with my tongue. They were heavy, taut, hot. I could smell warm skin, something natural and purely sexual. My tongue circled around, teasing, exploring.

When I reached the head again, I stopped there. I licked it with the tip of my tongue, slowly, in a spiral. Then I moved on to broad, wet strokes across the head itself. I could feel it pulsing slightly beneath my tongue. Saliva began to drip from my mouth, mixing with his precum. It ran down the shaft, all the way to his balls, wet, warm, slippery.

Jack shuddered. He let out a short, guttural moan. His hands clenched the sheets.

"Fuck..." he mumbled. "I really like this..."

I didn't answer. I just looked up at him from below. With my tongue on his head. I knew I hadn't even started yet. And he was already all tense.

He knew what was coming next. And he wanted it just as much as I did.

I took him into my mouth slowly. First just the head, heavy, throbbing, still wet. I swallowed to make room and began to suck him gently, rhythmically. Jack took a deep breath, his hips tensing beneath my hands. I held him by the thighs with both hands, steady, as if we were in control together.

I slid lower. I could feel him stretching my mouth. He was thick, long, and his cock slid deeper with every movement I made. My throat started to tighten, but I didn't pull back. I breathed through my nose, focusing only on how deep I could take him. How much I could feel him.

When I hit the back of my throat, I stopped. I let him stay there for a moment. Saliva started running down my chin, onto his balls. I could feel the entire lower half of my face getting wet, sticky, intense. And he just moaned. Deep, drawn-out moans.

"Fuck, Matt…" he rasped. "I didn't think it would be… this much…"

I didn't answer. I just moved back and down again. Deeper. I felt my throat open up. I pushed past that moment when everything in your body says pull back, and you answer, not yet.

I picked up the pace. The rhythm was mine, deliberate but not fast. My lips tightly encircled every inch, and my tongue worked constantly, teasing, massaging, sensing every pulse beneath the surface of his skin.

Jack wasn't sitting still anymore. His hips moved slightly in time with my rhythm. I could feel him rising and falling, his body wanting more, deeper, harder. He moaned louder and louder, his breath catching at times, his hands clenching the edge of the bed.

"Matt," he gasped. "I'm close. Don't stop."

I felt it first. A twitch of his muscles, the moment just before he came. But I didn't pull back. I took him deep into my throat until his cock filled me completely.

And then he shot.

The first stream of cum hit me deep. I felt the heat, the thickness, the taste. Then more, hot, intense, full. My throat clenched reflexively, but I swallowed. I didn't stop.

I kept him in my mouth until the end, until his hips stopped moving, until his whole body went limp. Only then did I let him out slowly, my tongue sliding along his shaft, until all that remained was quiet, satisfied breathing and pulsing silence.

Jack lay there, propped up, sweaty, spent.

I was still kneeling between his legs. My mouth was wet, saliva mixing with the remnants of his cum, and my own cock was hard as a rock. But I didn't reach for myself.

Not yet.

The silence between us was thick. The kind that needs no words. Jack was breathing deeply, staring somewhere at the ceiling, his chest still rising. His cock lay limp on his thigh, covered in traces of my saliva. I was still kneeling between his legs, my hands on his hips, my mouth wet. But the satisfaction moved through my whole body.

I looked at him. He looked at me. And then Jason's voice rang out from the hallway:

"Matt! Jack! Come on, dinner's ready!"

Damn.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I stood up, walked over to the desk, grabbed a tissue, and fixed what I could. Jack picked up his boxers from the floor and slipped them onto his hips without a word. His T-shirt landed on his shoulders. I watched him, he was still a little shaken, but in control. Only his eyes said that something had changed.

"Ready?" I asked quietly, standing in front of him.

"Yes," he replied. But he didn't move yet.

I stepped closer and said in a low voice, with a slight smile:

"Maybe it's time to tell them the truth… or better yet, show it to them. Seriously, it'll be better that way."

Jack looked at me for a moment, as if analyzing every word.

Then he nodded slowly.

"You're right," he replied quietly.

And then I knew the secret wasn’t going to stay between us much longer.

That the jokes were over.

It was time for everyone to see that they were wrong about Jack.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Previous part here

Quick recap: I bought my horny straight friend a birthday gift that was supposed to help him deal with being constantly turned on: a Fleshlight. But instead of testing it later, Max decided to use it right there in front of me, and the tension between us became something neither of us tried to hide anymore.

I went to Max's place the next day, still reeling from what I'd seen the night before. I knew he'd invited me over on purpose, that he wanted me there, but part of me still wondered what exactly I'd find behind that door. Was this supposed to be a continuation of the test? An experiment? Or maybe something that just started happening on its own, as if we'd both been waiting for this moment for a long time?

I knocked.

He opened the door immediately.

He stood in front of me wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, and somehow it looked like the only reason it stayed in place was because he wanted it to.

His body was even more taut than yesterday, as if something inside him had been pulsing, growing, and preparing since morning. His shoulders were broad, glistening slightly with moisture from the shower. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. His abs were perfectly defined. And his thighs… strong, taut, with that characteristic energy of a guy who really is constantly thinking about fucking.

Before I could say a word, Max ran his hand along the edge of the towel and, without warning, let it fall to the floor.

The towel slid down in silence.

And he stood before me completely naked.

Hard.

His cock stood at full attention, as if my presence at the door was enough for his whole body to understand why I had come.

"I'm ready," he said calmly, as if the question were unnecessary. "And you?"

In that moment, I felt the blood rush straight down, my body reacting faster than I could control it. There was something undeniable about his stance, something inviting, something that stripped away my last inhibitions.

I took a step inside.

I closed the door behind me.

And I looked him in the eyes, feeling myself harden in a matter of seconds.

"I think I am too," I replied quietly.

Max didn't look away as I started undressing. My T-shirt went first. Then my pants. I slid my boxers down slowly, knowing he was watching, that his breathing was quickening slightly. Finally, I was completely naked in front of him, just as exposed, just as tense, just as ready.

For a brief moment, we just stood facing each other, two naked men, tense as if all that silence were a touch.

Max nodded and moved toward the couch.

"Sit down."

I sat down next to him. My bare skin touched his warmth, and the space between us was so charged you could cut it with a knife.

Today we were supposed to be testing something new.

But we both knew we were testing each other, too.

Max reached for the table beside the couch with that calm confidence he only had when he truly knew what he wanted. He grabbed the bottle of lube, unscrewed the cap in one smooth motion, and looked at me as if he were just starting something we hadn't finished yesterday.

He tilted the bottle over my cock. A drop of cold gel fell first onto the head, and then more began to run down the shaft. I shuddered slightly, not from surprise, but from the tension that grew inside me with every one of his movements.

"Can I?" he asked, holding his hand just above my cock, as if he wanted to give me a second to decide.

That one word, simple but deliberate, made my whole body tense with excitement.

"Sure," I replied calmly, though inside everything was racing.

His hand fell onto my cock with technical precision, without hesitation. He didn't caress or tease. He lubricated me like someone testing, checking, and evaluating whether everything worked the way it should. His grip was firm, steady, and strong, and his movements were long, smoothly guided from the base all the way to the tip. The lube spread smoothly, and I had to clench my fingers on the edge of the couch so I wouldn't come right then and there.

With every stroke of his, I felt my stomach start to tighten, my body tensing forward, my breath catching in shorter rhythms. Max saw everything. He was registering my reactions, just as I had registered his yesterday. He smiled gently, as if the very fact that I had to fight to stay in control gave him satisfaction.

"Good," he muttered under his breath, as if talking to himself. "You react quickly."

He didn't pull his hand away until he really had to, when he noticed that a few more strokes and there would be nothing left to test. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my body.

Then he took the lube again, poured a dollop onto his hand, and slid it down to his own cock. His cock had been hard from the moment I entered. Now it glistened with gel, and Max massaged it with calm, controlled movements. He wasn't doing it to get himself off, he was doing it to prepare for what was about to happen.

That was the difference between yesterday and today:

Yesterday, Max was testing the toy.

Today, Max was testing both of us.

When he was done, he set the bottle aside, straightened up, and looked at me in a way that made it clear:

We're ready for the next step.

Max wiped his hands on the corner of the towel lying on the floor, then leaned back slightly and looked at me as if he already had the whole plan laid out in his head. That calm confidence of his, that control in his gaze, did something to me that I didn't even want to hide.

"All right," he said, reaching for the Fleshlight on the table. "We'll start with you."

He handed me the Fleshlight. The same one he'd so confidently used in front of me yesterday. Now the soft material was cool, ready. When I took it in my hand, I felt a strange combination: the awareness that in a moment I would be inside something that had still been wrapped around his cock just yesterday… and the awareness that Max was looking only at me.

I sat back, spread my legs to give myself room to move. Max didn't look away for a second. He didn't rush me. He just watched.

I pressed the entrance of the toy against the head of my cock, then slowly slid it down over me.

The first touch of the material was different than I expected, warmer, softer, more enveloping.

I clenched my fingers to feel the resistance.

And then I started moving.

Slowly at first.

Sliding in just a couple of inches, rhythmic, controlled. The material tightly wrapped around my cock, and I felt my body react immediately, how all the tension from my stomach moved lower, how my breath shortened by half. Max saw it all. How my thighs tensed, how my hips trembled slightly, how my body automatically adjusted to the rhythm.

I pushed the toy deeper.

I found my rhythm, up and down, smoothly, harder, then slower.

The change in rhythm was so intense that I had to fight to maintain control. I knew Max was watching every contraction, every tremor of my fingers, every clench of my jaw.

"Well," he said quietly after a moment, in a tone that sounded more like a statement of fact than a comment. "It's really getting to you now."

That single sentence made it even harder for me to maintain my rhythm.

I slid the toy all the way to the base of my cock and quickly moved back up, and at that moment I felt a wave coming that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. My hips moved faster, my body tensed, my breathing lost its rhythm.

"Max…" slipped out before I could stop it.

A few harder thrusts and it was over.

My whole body arched slightly forward, and the toy filled with hot cum. The material muffled the sound, but it didn't muffle my trembling. For a second, I was nothing but breath and pulsing.

I pulled the toy away slowly, trying to regain my balance. And Max was watching. Closely. No laughter, no jokes, no mask.

As if he were registering something important.

Something he hadn't expected to see himself.

"Good," he said finally, in a low voice. "Now it's my turn."

Max reached out toward me, a calm gesture asking for the toy. I handed it to him without a word. It was still warm from my body, its interior filled with a fresh trace of what had just happened between us. Max looked at the toy with a brief, appraising smile, as if to say: this is exactly what I expected.

He leaned back more comfortably on the couch, spreading his legs slightly wider. His cock had been hard from the very beginning, throbbing, ready. I didn't have to look for long, one glance was enough to know that the mere sight of me using the toy had done more to him than he intended to show.

He slowly pressed the tip of the toy against his head.

I hadn't even had a chance to speak when his body reacted with an immediate twitch.

"Fuck…" he muttered lowly. "I haven't even started, and already…"

He slid inside slowly, inch by inch. I watched as the soft walls enveloped his length, as his stomach tensed, as his arms grew heavier, as his fingers clenched around the toy's casing. It was different from yesterday, more focused, more deliberate, as if he wasn't just testing the toy today.

As if he were testing himself in front of me.

When he was halfway in, he stopped, taking a deeper breath.

"Oh yeah... it fits perfectly."

He began moving up and down, at first slowly, in a controlled manner, as if testing the resistance and elasticity. His hips moved spontaneously, short thrusts, deeper pushes, momentary pauses that looked like deliberate provocations. His abdominal muscles tensed with every movement, and I could see exactly the moment when his body began to take the initiative.

He sped up.

The rhythm grew deeper, stronger, until you could hear the wet, rhythmic sound of the toy sliding over his cock. Max tilted his head back, closed his eyes, tensed his thighs, and let out a long sigh, the kind of sigh a straight guy only makes when he's truly losing control.

"This... is..." he paused, catching his breath between thrusts. "Fucking amazing."

I watched as his body began to tremble from the inside out. As his hips started moving faster, as his breathing lost its rhythm, as his fingers turned white from the grip on the toy. I knew he was close, the tiny muscle spasms at his hips gave it away, as did the way his thighs began to tremble under a control he'd almost lost.

"Matt..." he let out, low and harsh.

A few hard thrusts.

One deep thrust.

Max's body arched slightly forward.

"Oh fuck...!"

His release filled the toy violently, hotly, intensely. Max stayed inside it for another second, as if he didn't want to let the last impulse of pleasure escape him. Only after a moment did he loosen his grip and slowly slide out of the toy.

For a moment he sat motionless, breathing heavily.

Then he looked at me. There was no shame in that look. No joke either.

Just something quieter, deeper, more attentive.

Something that suggested something new had just opened up between us.

"Tomorrow… we'll do it differently," he said quietly.

And we both knew what that meant.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Quick recap: I bought my horny straight friend a birthday gift that was supposed to help him deal with being constantly turned on: a Fleshlight. But instead of testing it later, Max decided to use it right there in front of me, and the tension between us became something neither of us tried to hide anymore.

I went to Max's place the next day, still reeling from what I'd seen the night before. I knew he'd invited me over on purpose, that he wanted me there, but part of me still wondered what exactly I'd find behind that door. Was this supposed to be a continuation of the test? An experiment? Or maybe something that just started happening on its own, as if we'd both been waiting for this moment for a long time?

I knocked.

He opened the door immediately.

He stood in front of me wearing nothing but a towel around his hips, and somehow it looked like the only reason it stayed in place was because he wanted it to.

His body was even more taut than yesterday, as if something inside him had been pulsing, growing, and preparing since morning. His shoulders were broad, glistening slightly with moisture from the shower. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. His abs were perfectly defined. And his thighs… strong, taut, with that characteristic energy of a guy who really is constantly thinking about fucking.

Before I could say a word, Max ran his hand along the edge of the towel and, without warning, let it fall to the floor.

The towel slid down in silence.

And he stood before me completely naked.

Hard.

His cock stood at full attention, as if my presence at the door was enough for his whole body to understand why I had come.

"I'm ready," he said calmly, as if the question were unnecessary. "And you?"

In that moment, I felt the blood rush straight down, my body reacting faster than I could control it. There was something undeniable about his stance, something inviting, something that stripped away my last inhibitions.

I took a step inside.

I closed the door behind me.

And I looked him in the eyes, feeling myself harden in a matter of seconds.

"I think I am too," I replied quietly.

Max didn't look away as I started undressing. My T-shirt went first. Then my pants. I slid my boxers down slowly, knowing he was watching, that his breathing was quickening slightly. Finally, I was completely naked in front of him, just as exposed, just as tense, just as ready.

For a brief moment, we just stood facing each other, two naked men, tense as if all that silence were a touch.

Max nodded and moved toward the couch.

"Sit down."

I sat down next to him. My bare skin touched his warmth, and the space between us was so charged you could cut it with a knife.

Today we were supposed to be testing something new.

But we both knew we were testing each other, too.

Max reached for the table beside the couch with that calm confidence he only had when he truly knew what he wanted. He grabbed the bottle of lube, unscrewed the cap in one smooth motion, and looked at me as if he were just starting something we hadn't finished yesterday.

He tilted the bottle over my cock. A drop of cold gel fell first onto the head, and then more began to run down the shaft. I shuddered slightly, not from surprise, but from the tension that grew inside me with every one of his movements.

"Can I?" he asked, holding his hand just above my cock, as if he wanted to give me a second to decide.

That one word, simple but deliberate, made my whole body tense with excitement.

"Sure," I replied calmly, though inside everything was racing.

His hand fell onto my cock with technical precision, without hesitation. He didn't caress or tease. He lubricated me like someone testing, checking, and evaluating whether everything worked the way it should. His grip was firm, steady, and strong, and his movements were long, smoothly guided from the base all the way to the tip. The lube spread smoothly, and I had to clench my fingers on the edge of the couch so I wouldn't come right then and there.

With every stroke of his, I felt my stomach start to tighten, my body tensing forward, my breath catching in shorter rhythms. Max saw everything. He was registering my reactions, just as I had registered his yesterday. He smiled gently, as if the very fact that I had to fight to stay in control gave him satisfaction.

"Good," he muttered under his breath, as if talking to himself. "You react quickly."

He didn't pull his hand away until he really had to, when he noticed that a few more strokes and there would be nothing left to test. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my body.

Then he took the lube again, poured a dollop onto his hand, and slid it down to his own cock. His cock had been hard from the moment I entered. Now it glistened with gel, and Max massaged it with calm, controlled movements. He wasn't doing it to get himself off, he was doing it to prepare for what was about to happen.

That was the difference between yesterday and today:

Yesterday, Max was testing the toy.

Today, Max was testing both of us.

When he was done, he set the bottle aside, straightened up, and looked at me in a way that made it clear:

We're ready for the next step.

Max wiped his hands on the corner of the towel lying on the floor, then leaned back slightly and looked at me as if he already had the whole plan laid out in his head. That calm confidence of his, that control in his gaze, did something to me that I didn't even want to hide.

"All right," he said, reaching for the Fleshlight on the table. "We'll start with you."

He handed me the Fleshlight. The same one he'd so confidently used in front of me yesterday. Now the soft material was cool, ready. When I took it in my hand, I felt a strange combination: the awareness that in a moment I would be inside something that had still been wrapped around his cock just yesterday… and the awareness that Max was looking only at me.

I sat back, spread my legs to give myself room to move. Max didn't look away for a second. He didn't rush me. He just watched.

I pressed the entrance of the toy against the head of my cock, then slowly slid it down over me.

The first touch of the material was different than I expected, warmer, softer, more enveloping.

I clenched my fingers to feel the resistance.

And then I started moving.

Slowly at first.

Sliding in just a couple of inches, rhythmic, controlled. The material tightly wrapped around my cock, and I felt my body react immediately, how all the tension from my stomach moved lower, how my breath shortened by half. Max saw it all. How my thighs tensed, how my hips trembled slightly, how my body automatically adjusted to the rhythm.

I pushed the toy deeper.

I found my rhythm, up and down, smoothly, harder, then slower.

The change in rhythm was so intense that I had to fight to maintain control. I knew Max was watching every contraction, every tremor of my fingers, every clench of my jaw.

"Well," he said quietly after a moment, in a tone that sounded more like a statement of fact than a comment. "It's really getting to you now."

That single sentence made it even harder for me to maintain my rhythm.

I slid the toy all the way to the base of my cock and quickly moved back up, and at that moment I felt a wave coming that I couldn't stop even if I wanted to. My hips moved faster, my body tensed, my breathing lost its rhythm.

"Max…" slipped out before I could stop it.

A few harder thrusts and it was over.

My whole body arched slightly forward, and the toy filled with hot cum. The material muffled the sound, but it didn't muffle my trembling. For a second, I was nothing but breath and pulsing.

I pulled the toy away slowly, trying to regain my balance. And Max was watching. Closely. No laughter, no jokes, no mask.

As if he were registering something important.

Something he hadn't expected to see himself.

"Good," he said finally, in a low voice. "Now it's my turn."

Max reached out toward me, a calm gesture asking for the toy. I handed it to him without a word. It was still warm from my body, its interior filled with a fresh trace of what had just happened between us. Max looked at the toy with a brief, appraising smile, as if to say: this is exactly what I expected.

He leaned back more comfortably on the couch, spreading his legs slightly wider. His cock had been hard from the very beginning, throbbing, ready. I didn't have to look for long, one glance was enough to know that the mere sight of me using the toy had done more to him than he intended to show.

He slowly pressed the tip of the toy against his head.

I hadn't even had a chance to speak when his body reacted with an immediate twitch.

"Fuck…" he muttered lowly. "I haven't even started, and already…"

He slid inside slowly, inch by inch. I watched as the soft walls enveloped his length, as his stomach tensed, as his arms grew heavier, as his fingers clenched around the toy's casing. It was different from yesterday, more focused, more deliberate, as if he wasn't just testing the toy today.

As if he were testing himself in front of me.

When he was halfway in, he stopped, taking a deeper breath.

"Oh yeah... it fits perfectly."

He began moving up and down, at first slowly, in a controlled manner, as if testing the resistance and elasticity. His hips moved spontaneously, short thrusts, deeper pushes, momentary pauses that looked like deliberate provocations. His abdominal muscles tensed with every movement, and I could see exactly the moment when his body began to take the initiative.

He sped up.

The rhythm grew deeper, stronger, until you could hear the wet, rhythmic sound of the toy sliding over his cock. Max tilted his head back, closed his eyes, tensed his thighs, and let out a long sigh, the kind of sigh a straight guy only makes when he's truly losing control.

"This... is..." he paused, catching his breath between thrusts. "Fucking amazing."

I watched as his body began to tremble from the inside out. As his hips started moving faster, as his breathing lost its rhythm, as his fingers turned white from the grip on the toy. I knew he was close, the tiny muscle spasms at his hips gave it away, as did the way his thighs began to tremble under a control he'd almost lost.

"Matt..." he let out, low and harsh.

A few hard thrusts.

One deep thrust.

Max's body arched slightly forward.

"Oh fuck...!"

His release filled the toy violently, hotly, intensely. Max stayed inside it for another second, as if he didn't want to let the last impulse of pleasure escape him. Only after a moment did he loosen his grip and slowly slide out of the toy.

For a moment he sat motionless, breathing heavily.

Then he looked at me. There was no shame in that look. No joke either.

Just something quieter, deeper, more attentive.

Something that suggested something new had just opened up between us.

"Tomorrow… we'll do it differently," he said quietly.

And we both knew what that meant.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Previous part here

Quick recap: A cabin trip with my two horny straight friends, Max and Dan, was supposed to be a simple week away from everything. But when we found out there was no signal, no internet, and no way to watch porn, everything changed. I found a stack of gay DVDs, played a movie where a guy sucked off his friends, and it turned them on more than they wanted to admit, while my mouth finished what the screen started.

The next day, I woke up earlier than usual. The house was quiet, but it wasn’t an innocent silence. It felt heavy, the kind that lingers after things no one would dare mention at breakfast. I could still taste yesterday's finale on my lips, feel the memory of their hips in my hands, and still feel it in the air that said one thing: there are no boundaries if everyone wants to cross them.

I sat down in the living room with a cup of coffee. I was curious to see who would come out first and in what state.

Dan walked in after a few minutes.

Wearing only boxers.

No shirt.

Without pretending it was an accident.

He scratched the back of his neck, paused for a moment, and flashed me a half-smile, the kind that betrayed both embarrassment and excitement.

"You got…" he began, drawing out the words. "You got anything better than just jerking off and blowjobs in those videos?"

He said it as if it were a joke, but his body wasn't joking at all.

His cock was already slightly hard, clearly visible through the fabric.

And his breathing was too heavy for the morning.

I set the mug down.

I looked at him calmly, confidently, deliberately.

"Oh, yeah," I replied. "Something you've never seen before."

Dan swallowed. Slowly.

The same shadow of curiosity appeared in his eyes as on the first day, but now deeper, the kind that says: I'm ready, even if I haven't said it yet.

Then Max appeared in the living room doorway.

Also in just his boxers.

And also… clearly already half-hard.

"I heard," he muttered, stretching his body so that his abs tensed perfectly. "Go ahead. I'm curious."

Two guys, a half-naked morning, zero pretense.

That's what I liked best, that moment when their bodies speak faster than their heads.

They sat down on the couch next to each other. Their thighs involuntarily spread apart, and their cocks strained against the fabric of their boxers with every breath.

They hadn't seen anything yet, and they were already halfway there.

I walked over to the TV, opened the DVD drawer, and pulled out the one I knew would shift the dynamic to the next, much more intense level.

I popped in the DVD.

The screen lit up.

Two muscular guys, a third one thrusting deep between the buttocks with his tongue, slowly, intensely, rimming that was raw, intense, impossible to ignore that even I could feel it under my skin.

Silence fell over the living room.

But there was neither fear nor resistance in it.

There was curiosity.

And something even more electric.

Their bodies tensed simultaneously.

And both knew, though they hadn't said it yet:

today we'll go further than ever before.

The film started slowly, with that characteristic confidence that immediately sets the rhythm. On the screen, one guy was kneeling between the other's buttocks, spreading them apart with his hands, calmly, technically, with a kind of concentration that drew even me in, though I'd seen similar scenes many times. A moment later, his tongue touched the first centimeter of skin, slid deeper, and the camera showed everything very clearly: the trembling of the thighs, the tension in the back, a reaction that couldn't be faked.

Max and Dan watched as if hypnotized.

At first in silence.

In shock.

But not the kind that repels, the kind that opens.

Max blinked a few times, as if trying to remind himself he had to breathe. His shoulders tensed with every stroke of the tongue on the screen. Dan unconsciously leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, as if afraid of missing even a second.

When the guy in the video spread the other guy's ass wider and slid in even deeper, Max let out a shaky breath like someone whose entire definition of sex had just been rewritten.

"Oh fuck..." he muttered quietly. "This looks different than I thought."

He didn't take his eyes off the screen for a moment.

His cock pressed against his boxers so hard that the fabric began to rise with every breath he took.

Dan barely blinked.

When the tongue on the screen began to circle intensely, slowly, thoroughly, Dan tilted his head as if he wanted to understand every detail.

"Is… that really how you do it?" he asked, but his voice sounded as if he were speaking more to his own body than to me.

Before I could answer, the next scene hit even harder: the guy on the screen moaned, arched his back, and the camera captured the moment when the rimming brought him so close to the edge that he held his breath.

At that very moment, Max's and Dan's boxers stretched to their limit.

Max adjusted his hips, but it only made his cock stand out clearly against the fabric.

Dan slid his hands to the insides of his thighs, as if he needed something he couldn't yet name.

The final scene was like a punch:

the guy in the movie started coming without touching his dick, just from rimming. A moan, a stomach spasm, cum hitting the floor.

Max froze.

Dan stopped breathing.

They exchanged glances.

Brief.

Deep.

As if they'd both just discovered that what they were seeing didn't just not repulse them, but turned them on way too much.

Their eyes asked:

Does it really work like that?

Could it work… on me?

Their bodies answered faster than their minds:

Yes. Right now.

They sat on the couch as if hypnotized.

Their boxers were stretched so tight that the fabric barely held its shape. Their thighs parted as if by reflex, as if their bodies were preparing themselves for something they hadn't yet spoken aloud. On the screen, the rimming continued, intensely, deeply, one moan flowing into another, and the camera captured every muscle spasm, every tremor.

Max swallowed.

Dan licked his lips, unconsciously.

They both looked as if they'd forgotten they were in their own bodies, as if for the first time they were seeing something that was changing the way they looked at their own pleasure.

For a moment, I let the silence work its magic.

Bodies respond better when they have time to feel what the mind hasn't yet allowed.

Then I leaned back slightly, resting my hands on my thighs, and said what had been hanging between us like an electric impulse.

"Want to try that too?"

The words fell on them like a touch.

Not aggressively.

Not with pressure.

But with that calm certainty that they were both beginning to associate with me.

They froze.

Literally for a second, while their brains tried to find an answer, but their bodies had known it for a long time. Max was the first to catch his breath, which sounded like an affirmation.

"Yeah… we can try that."

He said it with that confidence of his, but there was a fire in his eyes, a hunger he couldn't hide.

Dan looked at me a moment longer. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his thighs were trembling, his cock was throbbing so hard that his boxers couldn't hide it.

He nodded.

Quietly, but firmly.

"Me too."

That was enough.

I moved between them, kneeling on the floor, my face level with their hips.

With a gesture of my hand, I pointed at their boxers.

"Take them off."

They did it immediately.

Slowly, as if every inch of exposed skin were part of a ritual.

The boxers fell to their ankles, and their cocks sprang up, hard, heavy, ready.

"Turn around," I said softly.

Max was the first to turn on the couch, getting down on all fours, sticking his ass out toward me. His back tensed into a long line, his buttocks lifted, and his breathing quickened, as if he'd suddenly gotten too hot.

Dan did the same, but slower, more deliberately, more sensually. He placed his hands on the back of the couch, leaning forward so that his buttocks parted slightly on their own, revealing exactly what I wanted to see.

I knelt between them, looking at two different bodies, both equally ready.

My hands rested on their hips, warm, hard, taut.

"Spread your thighs."

Their thighs parted wider, obediently.

Their bodies opened like an invitation.

I leaned closer.

I could feel their heat, their tension, and their anticipation, so thick you could almost hold it in your hands.

I knelt between them, facing two taut, heated bodies. Max on the left, hard, confident, yet now trembling with anticipation. Dan on the right, sensual, open, as if he already knew this would be the moment that would change the way he felt his own body.

I placed my hands on their hips and slowly parted Max's buttocks. His breath caught halfway. His hole was hot, tight, yet soft, ready. I leaned in, so close I could feel his warmth, his scent, his slight tremor.

I touched him first with just my breath.

Max moaned.

Only then did I slide my tongue in, slowly, deliberately, as deep as his reaction allowed me. His body tensed immediately. His hips lifted noticeably, as if he wanted more, faster, harder. He clenched his hands on the back of the couch and pushed himself slightly forward, presenting everything to me without hesitation.

"Fuck..." he muttered under his breath. "This... this is... something else."

I ran my tongue over him rhythmically, exploring every millimeter, feeling how his body reacted, how his ass trembled with every deeper thrust. Max was breathing in short, sharp gasps, and his cock, untouched, twitched with every movement of my tongue.

After a moment, I pulled back and turned my attention to Dan.

He wasn't even pretending to be in control.

His back was arched, his fingers clenched the edge of the couch, and his ass was perfectly thrust out, as if begging for it before I'd even touched him.

I spread his buttocks just as slowly.

His body reacted immediately, a tremor, a sigh, the tension in his thighs as they tried to keep their balance.

I slid my tongue in.

Deep.

Precise.

Dan practically jumped, his body let out a sound he didn't try to hold back.

"Oh fuck… Matt…"—he pressed his forehead against the backrest, his breath catching every few moments.

His hole was soft, accepting my movement with such ease, as if he'd been doing this for years. His cock pulsed intensely, twitching without a touch, as if every movement of my tongue were directly connected to his crotch.

I moved between them, once Max, once Dan, changing the rhythm, depth, intensity. Their bodies responded like two different instruments playing the same melody: Max's moans short, choppy, strong, Dan's longer, trembling, more sensual.

After a moment, they were both on the edge.

I could tell by their thighs, they were trembling.

By their breaths, they were gasping for air.

By their cocks, red, swollen, throbbing.

"Matt… I'm about to…" Max blurted out.

"Me too…" Dan added, barely audibly.

I held them by the hips and gave them one last, strong, deep stroke of my tongue, once, twice.

That was enough.

Max came first, his cum hitting the couch, over and over. His whole body shook, his hips thrust out as far as they'd go.

A second later, Dan came.

Long and hard.

Stream after stream.

His thighs trembled, his back arched even more than before, and his voice was almost a whisper, almost a scream.

When they both collapsed, breathing heavily, their asses were still trembling under my hands.

Their cocks throbbed long after the last spasm.

And I knelt between them, looking at two exhausted, heated bodies.

We all knew this wasn't just another step.

It was a leap.

And tomorrow…

tomorrow we'll go further.

Everyone is over 18

Part 1

Quick recap: My roommates laughed at Jack, suggesting he was so quiet because he was small, but when he went to his room offended, I followed him and saw the truth that completely surprised me. His cock turned out to be big, heavy, and impossible to ignore, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it, a moment later, I already had him in my hand and was bringing Jack to the edge.

I didn't knock. Especially not on Jack's door, since yesterday, something had come between us that was hard to describe as anything other than a shared secret.

I slipped in quietly. Jack was sitting in a chair at his desk, with his back to me. Naked. Broad back, tense shoulders, a perfect line of spine all the way down to his hips. I didn't know exactly what he was doing until I looked lower.

His legs were spread apart. And between them, there was movement. Slow. Rhythmic. Wet. Something was covering his cock, some kind of transparent cylinder, slightly shiny. I heard a quiet sound of sucking, wet friction. It took me a moment to realize what it was.

"What's that?" I asked without thinking, intrigued.

He didn't flinch. He wasn't even surprised.

"Sometimes I like to play with this," he replied calmly, as if he were talking about making coffee.

I stepped closer. And then it dawned on me what I was seeing.

A clear stroker. A silicone sleeve, slick with lube and wrapped tightly around his cock. The head pressed visibly against the closed end of the toy with each slow thrust, and the shaft looked thick and slightly distorted through the glossy material. Jack moved his hips slowly, as if testing the rhythm.

I stopped a few steps away from him.

"And does it… work well?"

"Good enough. But it's not the same."

I didn't say anything for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was doing this on purpose in front of me or if he just didn't care that I was watching.

"Can I watch?" I asked finally.

Jack tilted his head back and gave a slight nod.

"Sure."

And he continued. As if it were the most normal sight in the world. As if he knew I'd be closer anyway.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, maybe two meters away from him. Jack didn't stop for a moment. His movements were slow, calm, but precise. The clear stroker slid up and down his cock, glistening slightly with lube. And that's when it hit me, how huge he was inside that thing.

The plastic sleeve seemed too small. His cock was pushing it apart from the inside, thick, veiny, all taut. Every thrust of his hips drove the head deep into the toy, and then he'd pull it back out, leaving a thin string of lube stretching to the rim.

I stared at it without saying a word. I felt tension in my neck. My own cock began to harden under my pants, as if my body knew better than I did that this scene wouldn't end with just watching.

Jack was breathing deeper, but he was still controlling the pace. I noticed something strange, though.

The look on his face. Calm, focused, but… there was something about it. As if something was missing. As if all of this wasn't quite giving him what he wanted.

And then, without looking at me, he said:

"Honestly… I'd rather have your hand."

Silence. I didn't know if I'd heard right. I froze, staring at his back, at his movements, at his body.

He said it as if offhand. But he wasn't joking.

I felt my throat tighten slightly. My heart raced.

"If you want... I can," I replied cautiously. "But this time, I do it my way. No thrusting. No helping. My hand, my rhythm."

Jack stopped. For the first time, he looked me in the eyes.

"Then get started," he said. And he slid the toy off himself.

I heard a quiet, wet sound of detachment. His cock sprang out of the toy, hard, slick, swollen, looking even bigger now that it wasn't hidden anymore.

He turned in his chair to face me. Completely naked. He sat with his legs spread, his body tense, his chest rising and falling slightly. He leaned forward slightly, never taking his eyes off me.

"I'm ready," he said quietly.

I stood up slowly. My heart was pounding in my chest, but my hands were steady. I stepped closer, took the lube from the table, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a generous amount straight onto his cock. He looked at me from under half-closed eyelids as the cool gel touched his skin.

I spread it with one hand, starting at the base, running my fingers along the entire shaft, thoroughly, evenly. Then I wrapped my whole hand around it tightly. It was slippery, hard, warm.

I started slowly. Movements from the base all the way to the tip. I took my time. I could feel every inch of his cock sliding beneath my skin. How it reacted. How it pulsed. The lube made everything glide perfectly, my hand slid over him like the smoothest fabric.

Jack tilted his head back. He moaned softly, a guttural sound. His stomach tensed with every movement of mine. The muscles in his thighs twitched gently. And I just kept the rhythm. My rhythm.

I started using my other hand, massaging his head with my thumb, feeling the precum already gathering there, hot and sticky. His body moved under my touch. He opened his mouth but said nothing. What I was doing was enough.

I was fully focused. On his breath. On the pulse of his cock. On how much it turned me on. How much control I had over him.

His hips began to tremble under my hand. The movements were irregular, as if his body had decided on its own that there was no turning back. Jack opened his eyes, looked up at me, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed with arousal. He was breathing shallowly, quickly, and his cock pulsed harder with every beat of his heart.

I sped up. I tightened my grip, sliding my hand rhythmically along his entire length. I could feel it tensing beneath my fingers, his whole body focused on a single point. With my other hand, I grabbed his thigh, steadying him. His head fell back. He moaned deeply.

And then I felt the first spasm.

His cock shook violently. Jack moaned louder, as if something had snapped inside him, as if he'd just crossed a threshold. Hot cum shot out of him in a powerful stream, hitting my hand directly, then a second wave onto his stomach. More spurted over my fingers, dripping onto the floor. There was a lot of it. He was all wet, and so was I.

I didn't stop my hand until his body began to relax. He was breathing heavily, slowly coming back to himself.I could smell it, sharp, fresh, purely sexual.

Silence. Calm, thick.

And then we heard the front door slam.

"We're back!" someone shouted from the hallway.

Jack glanced at me quickly. In a second, he grabbed his T-shirt and wiped his stomach, then slung it over his shoulder. I grabbed the towel from the nightstand and wiped my hand, but my heart was still pounding like crazy.

We looked at each other again. Briefly. Intensely.

This wasn't the end.

This was the beginning.

Everyone is over 18

Quick recap: My roommates laughed at Jack, suggesting he was so quiet because he was small, but when he went to his room offended, I followed him and saw the truth that completely surprised me. His cock turned out to be big, heavy, and impossible to ignore, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it, a moment later, I already had him in my hand and was bringing Jack to the edge.

I didn't knock. Especially not on Jack's door, since yesterday, something had come between us that was hard to describe as anything other than a shared secret.

I slipped in quietly. Jack was sitting in a chair at his desk, with his back to me. Naked. Broad back, tense shoulders, a perfect line of spine all the way down to his hips. I didn't know exactly what he was doing until I looked lower.

His legs were spread apart. And between them, there was movement. Slow. Rhythmic. Wet. Something was covering his cock, some kind of transparent cylinder, slightly shiny. I heard a quiet sound of sucking, wet friction. It took me a moment to realize what it was.

"What's that?" I asked without thinking, intrigued.

He didn't flinch. He wasn't even surprised.

"Sometimes I like to play with this," he replied calmly, as if he were talking about making coffee.

I stepped closer. And then it dawned on me what I was seeing.

A clear stroker. A silicone sleeve, slick with lube and wrapped tightly around his cock. The head pressed visibly against the closed end of the toy with each slow thrust, and the shaft looked thick and slightly distorted through the glossy material. Jack moved his hips slowly, as if testing the rhythm.

I stopped a few steps away from him.

"And does it… work well?"

"Good enough. But it's not the same."

I didn't say anything for a moment. I wasn't sure if he was doing this on purpose in front of me or if he just didn't care that I was watching.

"Can I watch?" I asked finally.

Jack tilted his head back and gave a slight nod.

"Sure."

And he continued. As if it were the most normal sight in the world. As if he knew I'd be closer anyway.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, maybe two meters away from him. Jack didn't stop for a moment. His movements were slow, calm, but precise. The clear stroker slid up and down his cock, glistening slightly with lube. And that's when it hit me, how huge he was inside that thing.

The plastic sleeve seemed too small. His cock was pushing it apart from the inside, thick, veiny, all taut. Every thrust of his hips drove the head deep into the toy, and then he'd pull it back out, leaving a thin string of lube stretching to the rim.

I stared at it without saying a word. I felt tension in my neck. My own cock began to harden under my pants, as if my body knew better than I did that this scene wouldn't end with just watching.

Jack was breathing deeper, but he was still controlling the pace. I noticed something strange, though.

The look on his face. Calm, focused, but… there was something about it. As if something was missing. As if all of this wasn't quite giving him what he wanted.

And then, without looking at me, he said:

"Honestly… I'd rather have your hand."

Silence. I didn't know if I'd heard right. I froze, staring at his back, at his movements, at his body.

He said it as if offhand. But he wasn't joking.

I felt my throat tighten slightly. My heart raced.

"If you want... I can," I replied cautiously. "But this time, I do it my way. No thrusting. No helping. My hand, my rhythm."

Jack stopped. For the first time, he looked me in the eyes.

"Then get started," he said. And he slid the toy off himself.

I heard a quiet, wet sound of detachment. His cock sprang out of the toy, hard, slick, swollen, looking even bigger now that it wasn't hidden anymore.

He turned in his chair to face me. Completely naked. He sat with his legs spread, his body tense, his chest rising and falling slightly. He leaned forward slightly, never taking his eyes off me.

"I'm ready," he said quietly.

I stood up slowly. My heart was pounding in my chest, but my hands were steady. I stepped closer, took the lube from the table, unscrewed the cap, and squeezed a generous amount straight onto his cock. He looked at me from under half-closed eyelids as the cool gel touched his skin.

I spread it with one hand, starting at the base, running my fingers along the entire shaft, thoroughly, evenly. Then I wrapped my whole hand around it tightly. It was slippery, hard, warm.

I started slowly. Movements from the base all the way to the tip. I took my time. I could feel every inch of his cock sliding beneath my skin. How it reacted. How it pulsed. The lube made everything glide perfectly, my hand slid over him like the smoothest fabric.

Jack tilted his head back. He moaned softly, a guttural sound. His stomach tensed with every movement of mine. The muscles in his thighs twitched gently. And I just kept the rhythm. My rhythm.

I started using my other hand, massaging his head with my thumb, feeling the precum already gathering there, hot and sticky. His body moved under my touch. He opened his mouth but said nothing. What I was doing was enough.

I was fully focused. On his breath. On the pulse of his cock. On how much it turned me on. How much control I had over him.

His hips began to tremble under my hand. The movements were irregular, as if his body had decided on its own that there was no turning back. Jack opened his eyes, looked up at me, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed with arousal. He was breathing shallowly, quickly, and his cock pulsed harder with every beat of his heart.

I sped up. I tightened my grip, sliding my hand rhythmically along his entire length. I could feel it tensing beneath my fingers, his whole body focused on a single point. With my other hand, I grabbed his thigh, steadying him. His head fell back. He moaned deeply.

And then I felt the first spasm.

His cock shook violently. Jack moaned louder, as if something had snapped inside him, as if he'd just crossed a threshold. Hot cum shot out of him in a powerful stream, hitting my hand directly, then a second wave onto his stomach. More spurted over my fingers, dripping onto the floor. There was a lot of it. He was all wet, and so was I.

I didn't stop my hand until his body began to relax. He was breathing heavily, slowly coming back to himself.I could smell it, sharp, fresh, purely sexual.

Silence. Calm, thick.

And then we heard the front door slam.

"We're back!" someone shouted from the hallway.

Jack glanced at me quickly. In a second, he grabbed his T-shirt and wiped his stomach, then slung it over his shoulder. I grabbed the towel from the nightstand and wiped my hand, but my heart was still pounding like crazy.

We looked at each other again. Briefly. Intensely.

This wasn't the end.

This was the beginning.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Max has always been the kind of guy who affected me more than he should have.That jock vibe of his, broad shoulders, a chest like he's been hitting the gym, abs so tight it's like every breath is a workout. And his habit of saying, half-jokingly, half-seriously: "Man, I'm always horny. I could fuck three times a day, but I don’t always have someone to do it with. Good thing I've got my hand."

I pretended it amused me, but every time he said it, I felt something I shouldn't. Because the truth was, if it weren't for our friendship, if it weren't for that thin, invisible thing I was afraid to cross, I would have told him a long time ago that he had something much better than his hand right in front of him. Me.

But his birthday was fast approaching. Too intimate? Maybe. Too suggestive? Probably. And yet the idea came to me on its own, so naturally that I didn't even question it: I'd buy him a Fleshlight. A decent one, soft, well-fitting. One that would feel good to him.

When I held the sleek, black box in my hand, I felt a slight rush of adrenaline. Part of me wondered if this was overkill. The other part, the one I usually keep locked away, was glad that I could finally give him something that at least came close to what I really wanted to give him.

I went over to his place that evening. Max opened the door wearing a gray T-shirt and athletic shorts, fresh out of the shower, still slightly damp. He smelled clean, masculine. His hair was tousled as always, as if someone had just run a hand through it.

"Hey, Matt," he smiled broadly. "Come on in."

I stepped inside, holding the box in my hand.

"This is for you," I said, handing it to him.

He raised an eyebrow, curious.

"A gift? What's going on?"

"Birthday," I reminded him with feigned nonchalance. "I thought you could use it."

I didn't know yet how much this would change our relationship. But when he looked at the box, and then at me, with that glint I couldn't decipher, I felt that today I was opening not just the door to his apartment.

I was opening the door to something much bigger.

Max sat down on the couch and placed the box on his lap. I watched as his large hands, the same ones he supposedly uses to get off when there's no one to fuck, began to tear open the plastic wrap. He did it slowly, with curiosity, maybe even with a slight excitement he didn't try to hide.

"Dude… what did you buy me?" he muttered, lifting the lid.

When he saw what was inside, his eyes widened for a moment. A quiet chuckle escaped him, but it wasn't a laugh of embarrassment, more of that surprised, genuine delight that comes when a guy gets a gift that perfectly hits the mark.

"Oh ho," he leaned in closer. "Well then… I won't have to work my hand so hard."

The way he said it hit me like an electric shock. I watched him turn the toy in his hands, feel the material with his thumb, gauge its weight. Even his breathing deepened a little.

Meanwhile, I tried to look normal, calm. Not to give away that this scene, him, the gift from me, his hands on something that would wrap around his cock, was starting to heat me up from the inside.

I stood up, wanting to end the moment before I revealed more of myself than I wanted to.

"Well, I'm off," I said with a slight smile. "Let me know how it works."

I took a step toward the door, but Max looked up at that very moment.

"Hey." His voice stopped me in my tracks. "Wait."

I turned around. He was holding the toy in his hand, and something appeared on his face that I don't think I'd ever seen on him before: full, open curiosity. And something else… something that could be mistaken for an invitation.

"I'll try it out now," he said casually. "And I'll let you know if I'm satisfied."

Time slowed down completely for a second.

This "stopping me" wasn't accidental. Nor was it innocent. Max could have done this tomorrow, in an hour, when I was at home, when no one was watching. And yet he was looking at me and wanted to do it in front of me.

"Stay a moment," he added, in a tone that sounded more like a statement than a request.

I felt something stir inside me. Warmth, tension, anticipation. I nodded, slowly returning to my seat, and I knew one thing:

Max wasn't going to test the gift after I left.

He wanted me to witness it.

Max set the box aside and stood up, as if testing the gift in front of me was as natural to him as trying on a new pair of shoes. But what he did a moment later took my breath away.

He grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, lifted it in one fluid motion, and pulled it over his head. My gaze immediately locked onto his body. His chest was broad and firm, the hair on his chest forming a line that led downward, his abdomen divided into distinct muscle segments, each one moving as Max took a calm breath. That body was alive, strong, perfectly built… and had long been the subject of my fantasies, which I had never dared to voice aloud.

I wanted to say something stupid, some kind of joke, to break the tension, but the words stuck in my throat.

Max, meanwhile, slipped his fingers into the waistband of his shorts. He slid them down slowly, in one fluid motion. As if he did this every day in front of me. As if nudity were no step, no signal, just a natural stage of this display.

His cock sprang out immediately, heavy, hard, ready. Not semi-erect, but a full, firm erection, triggered either by anticipation or by my presence.

I felt my heart pounding beneath my ribs like a hammer. Like the air was getting too hot. Like all those fantasies I'd kept beneath the surface were suddenly surfacing, spreading throughout my body like an electric current.

Max looked at me from under half-closed eyelids, not shyly, not questioningly. He was simply gauging my reaction. As if he cared. As if he wanted to know if it was making an impression on me.

Of course it was.

It had for a long time.

"Sit down," he said calmly, gesturing to the spot next to him.

I smiled, though inside I was a nervous wreck. I sat so close I could feel the warmth of his skin, the scent of his body, that slight tremor in the muscles of his thighs, which held a tension ready to explode.

For a moment, he looked down at his cock, as if assessing its hardness. Then he looked at me and muttered:

"Well… I think it's ready for testing."

Those words hit me exactly where they were meant to.

There was something raw, confident, masculine about them.

Something that said: you'll watch, and I'll do it.

I sank a little deeper into the couch, trying not to give away how hard I was getting. My heart had already stopped asking if this was a good idea.

My body knew it was.

It always had.

Max took the toy in his hand, weighing it like a tool that was about to show him a whole new kind of pleasure. But before he did anything, he reached out his hand toward me, lifting his chin slightly.

"Pass me the lube."

His tone was calm but absolutely confident, as if he were giving an order to someone who had long known his needs. I reached into the drawer next to the couch, I knew his apartment so well that I didn't even have to look and pulled out the bottle. I handed it to him, feeling Max's fingers brush against mine for half a second. Too brief to call it a touch, and yet… long enough to feel it in my gut.

Max unscrewed the cap. I saw him focus his gaze on his cock, as if preparing for some kind of ritual. He slowly poured the lube onto the head, letting it run down the shaft, glistening in a wet streak. He sighed quietly, didn't even moan, just let the air out in a way that made my whole body react.

"I'm glad you're here," he said suddenly, without irony, without a laugh. "You want to do it?"

He fixed his gaze on my eyes, not on my hands. And that look made the air in the room thicken. I could have turned down the offer, I could have pretended it was too much… but I couldn't. I could never say no to him.

"Sure," I replied calmly, though inside I was on fire.

I reached out, wrapped my hand around his cock and began spreading the lube. A focused motion, my fingers moving slowly along the shaft, there was nothing erotic about the gesture itself… but its warmth, its hardness, the pulsing beneath my hand, it was more than it should have affected me. I tried to stay in control, breathe calmly, focus only on the task at hand and not on the reactions I wanted to provoke in him.

Max watched me in silence, as if studying how I'd behave, how I'd move, whether I cared. Then he took over the hand movement and began lubricating the toy opening, stretching it with his finger, preparing it as thoroughly as if he already had a plan for how to use it.

At that moment, there was no ambiguity between us.

Just him, his body, his cock, his focus.

And me, beside him, in the role I'd accepted without hesitation.

When he was done, he raised the toy to hip height and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

"All right," he muttered. "I guess we can get started."

Max settled comfortably on the couch, legs slightly apart, hips thrust forward, as if he wanted to give me a perfect view of what he was about to do. In one hand he held the toy, in the other he supported his cock at the base. For a second, he simply watched as his head touched the soft entrance of the toy. And I watched him.

When he began to slowly push his cock inside, his whole body trembled.

Not forcefully, not theatrically, but genuinely.

"Ohhh..." he exhaled deeply, lowly. "Oh fuck, that feels good."

The way he sounded hit me right in the gut. I hadn't expected something as simple as his first inch inside that toy to make such an impression on me. But Max pushed the toy further in, slowly, inch by inch, until the soft texture enveloped half the length of his cock. His breathing quickened, and his chest rose high.

Then he began up-and-down movements. At first slow, controlled, testing. His hand tightened around the toy with varying pressure, as if he were searching for the perfect grip. He changed the pace, sometimes faster, sometimes almost stopping mid-stroke to feel the difference more precisely. His hips finally began to move in gentle unison, light thrusts, short but steady.

I sat beside him, hard, warm, with a tension in my lower abdomen that grew with every sigh he let out. Today, however, I didn't want to touch myself. I just wanted to watch. I wanted to memorize his face, his body, the way his abdominal muscles tensed with every stronger pull of the toy downward. It was a sight like the fulfillment of something I didn't even dare to name.

"Holy shit…" he mumbled, tilting his head back. "This is better than I thought."

The toy made a rhythmic, wet, smooth sound. Max picked up the pace, his lips parted, his hips began to work harder, his whole body was in motion. I knew he was close, I could tell by that characteristic tightening in his thighs, by the trembling just above his knees, by the way his breath suddenly caught in shorter gasps.

"Matt..." he let out without thinking, like in that moment he had forgotten he was supposed to hide anything. "I'm... gonna..."

And then it happened.

His whole body arched, his hips pushed forward, and I knew he was filling the toy. Max groaned low and sharp, sending a shiver through my whole body. His hand didn't stop moving until a moment later, as if he needed a few more seconds to come back into his own body.

When he pulled the toy away and looked at me, there was no shame in his eyes. No joke, either.

"Maybe... you'll drop by tomorrow," he said calmly, as if it were the most obvious invitation in the world. "And try this with me?"

I nodded.

Because at that moment, the only thing I could think was:

This is just the beginning.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Max has always been the kind of guy who affected me more than he should have.That jock vibe of his, broad shoulders, a chest like he's been hitting the gym, abs so tight it's like every breath is a workout. And his habit of saying, half-jokingly, half-seriously: "Man, I'm always horny. I could fuck three times a day, but I don’t always have someone to do it with. Good thing I've got my hand."

I pretended it amused me, but every time he said it, I felt something I shouldn't. Because the truth was, if it weren't for our friendship, if it weren't for that thin, invisible thing I was afraid to cross, I would have told him a long time ago that he had something much better than his hand right in front of him. Me.

But his birthday was fast approaching. Too intimate? Maybe. Too suggestive? Probably. And yet the idea came to me on its own, so naturally that I didn't even question it: I'd buy him a Fleshlight. A decent one, soft, well-fitting. One that would feel good to him.

When I held the sleek, black box in my hand, I felt a slight rush of adrenaline. Part of me wondered if this was overkill. The other part, the one I usually keep locked away, was glad that I could finally give him something that at least came close to what I really wanted to give him.

I went over to his place that evening. Max opened the door wearing a gray T-shirt and athletic shorts, fresh out of the shower, still slightly damp. He smelled clean, masculine. His hair was tousled as always, as if someone had just run a hand through it.

"Hey, Matt," he smiled broadly. "Come on in."

I stepped inside, holding the box in my hand.

"This is for you," I said, handing it to him.

He raised an eyebrow, curious.

"A gift? What's going on?"

"Birthday," I reminded him with feigned nonchalance. "I thought you could use it."

I didn't know yet how much this would change our relationship. But when he looked at the box, and then at me, with that glint I couldn't decipher, I felt that today I was opening not just the door to his apartment.

I was opening the door to something much bigger.

Max sat down on the couch and placed the box on his lap. I watched as his large hands, the same ones he supposedly uses to get off when there's no one to fuck, began to tear open the plastic wrap. He did it slowly, with curiosity, maybe even with a slight excitement he didn't try to hide.

"Dude… what did you buy me?" he muttered, lifting the lid.

When he saw what was inside, his eyes widened for a moment. A quiet chuckle escaped him, but it wasn't a laugh of embarrassment, more of that surprised, genuine delight that comes when a guy gets a gift that perfectly hits the mark.

"Oh ho," he leaned in closer. "Well then… I won't have to work my hand so hard."

The way he said it hit me like an electric shock. I watched him turn the toy in his hands, feel the material with his thumb, gauge its weight. Even his breathing deepened a little.

Meanwhile, I tried to look normal, calm. Not to give away that this scene, him, the gift from me, his hands on something that would wrap around his cock, was starting to heat me up from the inside.

I stood up, wanting to end the moment before I revealed more of myself than I wanted to.

"Well, I'm off," I said with a slight smile. "Let me know how it works."

I took a step toward the door, but Max looked up at that very moment.

"Hey." His voice stopped me in my tracks. "Wait."

I turned around. He was holding the toy in his hand, and something appeared on his face that I don't think I'd ever seen on him before: full, open curiosity. And something else… something that could be mistaken for an invitation.

"I'll try it out now," he said casually. "And I'll let you know if I'm satisfied."

Time slowed down completely for a second.

This "stopping me" wasn't accidental. Nor was it innocent. Max could have done this tomorrow, in an hour, when I was at home, when no one was watching. And yet he was looking at me and wanted to do it in front of me.

"Stay a moment," he added, in a tone that sounded more like a statement than a request.

I felt something stir inside me. Warmth, tension, anticipation. I nodded, slowly returning to my seat, and I knew one thing:

Max wasn't going to test the gift after I left.

He wanted me to witness it.

Max set the box aside and stood up, as if testing the gift in front of me was as natural to him as trying on a new pair of shoes. But what he did a moment later took my breath away.

He grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt, lifted it in one fluid motion, and pulled it over his head. My gaze immediately locked onto his body. His chest was broad and firm, the hair on his chest forming a line that led downward, his abdomen divided into distinct muscle segments, each one moving as Max took a calm breath. That body was alive, strong, perfectly built… and had long been the subject of my fantasies, which I had never dared to voice aloud.

I wanted to say something stupid, some kind of joke, to break the tension, but the words stuck in my throat.

Max, meanwhile, slipped his fingers into the waistband of his shorts. He slid them down slowly, in one fluid motion. As if he did this every day in front of me. As if nudity were no step, no signal, just a natural stage of this display.

His cock sprang out immediately, heavy, hard, ready. Not semi-erect, but a full, firm erection, triggered either by anticipation or by my presence.

I felt my heart pounding beneath my ribs like a hammer. Like the air was getting too hot. Like all those fantasies I'd kept beneath the surface were suddenly surfacing, spreading throughout my body like an electric current.

Max looked at me from under half-closed eyelids, not shyly, not questioningly. He was simply gauging my reaction. As if he cared. As if he wanted to know if it was making an impression on me.

Of course it was.

It had for a long time.

"Sit down," he said calmly, gesturing to the spot next to him.

I smiled, though inside I was a nervous wreck. I sat so close I could feel the warmth of his skin, the scent of his body, that slight tremor in the muscles of his thighs, which held a tension ready to explode.

For a moment, he looked down at his cock, as if assessing its hardness. Then he looked at me and muttered:

"Well… I think it's ready for testing."

Those words hit me exactly where they were meant to.

There was something raw, confident, masculine about them.

Something that said: you'll watch, and I'll do it.

I sank a little deeper into the couch, trying not to give away how hard I was getting. My heart had already stopped asking if this was a good idea.

My body knew it was.

It always had.

Max took the toy in his hand, weighing it like a tool that was about to show him a whole new kind of pleasure. But before he did anything, he reached out his hand toward me, lifting his chin slightly.

"Pass me the lube."

His tone was calm but absolutely confident, as if he were giving an order to someone who had long known his needs. I reached into the drawer next to the couch, I knew his apartment so well that I didn't even have to look and pulled out the bottle. I handed it to him, feeling Max's fingers brush against mine for half a second. Too brief to call it a touch, and yet… long enough to feel it in my gut.

Max unscrewed the cap. I saw him focus his gaze on his cock, as if preparing for some kind of ritual. He slowly poured the lube onto the head, letting it run down the shaft, glistening in a wet streak. He sighed quietly, didn't even moan, just let the air out in a way that made my whole body react.

"I'm glad you're here," he said suddenly, without irony, without a laugh. "You want to do it?"

He fixed his gaze on my eyes, not on my hands. And that look made the air in the room thicken. I could have turned down the offer, I could have pretended it was too much… but I couldn't. I could never say no to him.

"Sure," I replied calmly, though inside I was on fire.

I reached out, wrapped my hand around his cock and began spreading the lube. A focused motion, my fingers moving slowly along the shaft, there was nothing erotic about the gesture itself… but its warmth, its hardness, the pulsing beneath my hand, it was more than it should have affected me. I tried to stay in control, breathe calmly, focus only on the task at hand and not on the reactions I wanted to provoke in him.

Max watched me in silence, as if studying how I'd behave, how I'd move, whether I cared. Then he took over the hand movement and began lubricating the toy opening, stretching it with his finger, preparing it as thoroughly as if he already had a plan for how to use it.

At that moment, there was no ambiguity between us.

Just him, his body, his cock, his focus.

And me, beside him, in the role I'd accepted without hesitation.

When he was done, he raised the toy to hip height and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.

"All right," he muttered. "I guess we can get started."

Max settled comfortably on the couch, legs slightly apart, hips thrust forward, as if he wanted to give me a perfect view of what he was about to do. In one hand he held the toy, in the other he supported his cock at the base. For a second, he simply watched as his head touched the soft entrance of the toy. And I watched him.

When he began to slowly push his cock inside, his whole body trembled.

Not forcefully, not theatrically, but genuinely.

"Ohhh..." he exhaled deeply, lowly. "Oh fuck, that feels good."

The way he sounded hit me right in the gut. I hadn't expected something as simple as his first inch inside that toy to make such an impression on me. But Max pushed the toy further in, slowly, inch by inch, until the soft texture enveloped half the length of his cock. His breathing quickened, and his chest rose high.

Then he began up-and-down movements. At first slow, controlled, testing. His hand tightened around the toy with varying pressure, as if he were searching for the perfect grip. He changed the pace, sometimes faster, sometimes almost stopping mid-stroke to feel the difference more precisely. His hips finally began to move in gentle unison, light thrusts, short but steady.

I sat beside him, hard, warm, with a tension in my lower abdomen that grew with every sigh he let out. Today, however, I didn't want to touch myself. I just wanted to watch. I wanted to memorize his face, his body, the way his abdominal muscles tensed with every stronger pull of the toy downward. It was a sight like the fulfillment of something I didn't even dare to name.

"Holy shit…" he mumbled, tilting his head back. "This is better than I thought."

The toy made a rhythmic, wet, smooth sound. Max picked up the pace, his lips parted, his hips began to work harder, his whole body was in motion. I knew he was close, I could tell by that characteristic tightening in his thighs, by the trembling just above his knees, by the way his breath suddenly caught in shorter gasps.

"Matt..." he let out without thinking, like in that moment he had forgotten he was supposed to hide anything. "I'm... gonna..."

And then it happened.

His whole body arched, his hips pushed forward, and I knew he was filling the toy. Max groaned low and sharp, sending a shiver through my whole body. His hand didn't stop moving until a moment later, as if he needed a few more seconds to come back into his own body.

When he pulled the toy away and looked at me, there was no shame in his eyes. No joke, either.

"Maybe... you'll drop by tomorrow," he said calmly, as if it were the most obvious invitation in the world. "And try this with me?"

I nodded.

Because at that moment, the only thing I could think was:

This is just the beginning.

Everyone is over 18

The apartment was always loud. Too loud for four grown men who pretended there was no chemistry between us. I was sitting on the couch, shirtless, my legs spread out comfortably. Nick had just walked through the living room wearing nothing but a towel, his hair wet, his chest still damp from the shower. Jason threw a pillow at him, laughing like an idiot.

"Seriously, Nick, put something on already," he snorted. "Matt's going to start checking you out any minute now."

I didn't deny it. I didn't even flinch.

Jack was sitting across from us. Calm. Quiet. His T-shirt hugged his chest perfectly, his pants sat low on his hips. He was always like that, present, but somehow distant. And that's exactly why Jason couldn't help himself.

"Hey, did you guys hear that?" he blurted out suddenly. "Apparently Jack has a tiny one. That's why he's so quiet."

Nick burst out laughing. I didn't. I looked at Jack. For a second, his jaw tensed. That was all.

"It's bullshit," he said calmly. "You don't know the truth."

The silence was thick. Jason tried to add something else, but Jack had already stood up. He walked past the couch. I could smell him, feel the warmth of his body. He didn't even look at me.

The door to his room closed without a slam. It was worse than a slam.

Nick shrugged.

"Hey, chill, it's just a joke."

But I was already getting up. Something inside me had snapped. Not curiosity. Something deeper. I knew it wasn't a joke to Jack. And I knew it wasn't over yet.

I followed him.

I stopped at his door. It wasn't locked. Just ajar. I knocked lightly, once.

"Jack?" I asked quietly.

Nothing. Silence. I pushed the door open.

He was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, still in the same T-shirt, but without his shoes. His gaze fixed on the ceiling. I stepped inside carefully. I closed the door behind me.

"Don't worry about it," I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Jason's an idiot. Everyone knows he talks shit."

Jack glanced at me sideways. His eyes were calm, but the tension in his body gave him away.

"It's not about him," he said quietly. "It's that I'm pissed off because… because the truth is completely different."

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked me straight in the eyes. I could feel the temperature in the room rising.

"You think they made that up?" I asked.

Jack didn't answer right away. He slid his legs off the bed. He sat down across from me. The distance between us: maybe half a meter. I could feel his heat. His tension. His resolve.

"Yeah," he said firmly. "And maybe it’s time someone finally saw what the truth looks like."

Before I could react, he stood up, unbuttoned his pants. The movement was calm, confident. No rush, no shame. He slid them down and let them fall to his thighs.

I didn't get a chance to say anything.

I didn't have to.

Because the truth came to the surface. And it silenced me immediately.

I froze.

Not dramatically. Not exaggeratedly. My brain simply stopped keeping up with what my eyes were seeing for a second.

It wasn't "tiny."

It was a monster.

Jack's cock hung heavy, thick at the base, massive along its entire length, slightly raised as if it were already reacting to the mere fact that someone was finally looking. Semi-erect, but one that still looked bigger than the full erections of most guys I'd seen in my life. The skin was taut, the veins prominent, pulsing lazily. The head was darker, full, as if it were about to swell even more.

"Fuck…" slipped out before I could stop myself.

Jack didn't smile broadly. He didn't look smug. He just looked at me intently, as if gauging my reaction. As if he wanted to make sure I saw.

"The guys were wrong," I said quietly. "Very wrong."

He reached for the nightstand. He opened it. He took out a measuring tape. A plain plastic one, the kind you'd keep in a drawer and never think twice about. He handed it to me without a word.

"Here," he said calmly. "Measure it. And stop staring like you've seen a ghost."

I swallowed. My fingers trembled slightly as I took the measuring tape. I sat closer. Too close for a casual conversation. His cock was right in front of me, at the height of my hand. I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I placed the tape at the base and slid it up slowly, inch by inch.

"Seven and a half inches…" I said aloud.

Jack just nodded. As if it were technical information. As if he were waiting for something more.

I felt shame. And excitement. It's a strange combination when you know you're crossing a line, but your body says: go further.

"And now..." Jack said, looking me straight in the eyes. "If you want, wrap your hand around it."

I thought: I'd love to.

And before my brain had a chance to protest, my hand was already on it.

My hand wrapped around him carefully. I felt how tight the skin was under my fingers, hot, almost slick from body heat. He was heavy, as if his size demanded gravity and had to fight against it. He didn't fit in my hand. My fingers couldn't fully close around the shaft. He was too thick. Too wide.

It pulsed. I could feel it clearly. Every heartbeat echoed in it, steady, deep, faster and faster. The head became more swollen, darker, moist at the tip.

Jack wasn't looking at me anymore. He leaned back slightly, resting his hands behind him on the bed, his hips shifted forward, as if giving me more access, more room. His abdominal muscles twitched. And then he did something that surprised me.

He started moving his hips. Slowly, calmly. His cock sliding in my still hand. I didn't have to do anything. He was the one fucking me. Slowly. With focus.

I watched his lower abdomen tense. How every movement looked as if it were just the beginning of something bigger.

"I like this," he murmured low, almost to himself. "Do you?"

I looked into his eyes. They were dark, focused, intense. Without shame. Without asking for permission. As if we'd already done this a million times.

"Me too. Very much so," I answered, my voice lower, rougher, as if my body had already started losing control.

I didn't pull my hand away. I let him fuck my hand, faster and faster, harder and harder. I could feel him tensing up, how every movement became heavier, more desperate. As if his body was deciding on its own that it needed more.

And honestly? I wanted it too.

His hips sped up. There was no more slow dance, no more feigned control. Now there was only tension, raw, hot, growing with every second. I could feel his cock pulsing harder and harder in my hand, as if it were about to explode.

Jack suddenly grabbed my wrist with both hands. Tightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. As if that was the only thing that could keep him in check.

He let out a quiet, broken groan.

And then it happened.

He shot.

Hot cum hit my fingers, my palm, spilling across my palm and over my knuckles. It wouldn't stop. Stream after stream, pouring, heavy, copious. I felt something strange welling up inside me, not just arousal, but something more primal. As if I'd received something intimate, raw, real.

Jack leaned forward slightly, breathing heavily. His cock was still throbbing, lazily, as if it were still trying to squeeze something out of itself.

He looked me straight in the eyes.

He was still holding my hand, soaked with his cum.

"Do you think they'll keep laughing?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

I looked at his face, then at my hand. I felt my throat tighten with excitement.

"No," I replied. "Now they'll be jealous."

I didn't wipe my hand. Not yet. I wanted to feel it a little longer. I wanted… more.

Everyone is over 18

The apartment was always loud. Too loud for four grown men who pretended there was no chemistry between us. I was sitting on the couch, shirtless, my legs spread out comfortably. Nick had just walked through the living room wearing nothing but a towel, his hair wet, his chest still damp from the shower. Jason threw a pillow at him, laughing like an idiot.

"Seriously, Nick, put something on already," he snorted. "Matt's going to start checking you out any minute now."

I didn't deny it. I didn't even flinch.

Jack was sitting across from us. Calm. Quiet. His T-shirt hugged his chest perfectly, his pants sat low on his hips. He was always like that, present, but somehow distant. And that's exactly why Jason couldn't help himself.

"Hey, did you guys hear that?" he blurted out suddenly. "Apparently Jack has a tiny one. That's why he's so quiet."

Nick burst out laughing. I didn't. I looked at Jack. For a second, his jaw tensed. That was all.

"It's bullshit," he said calmly. "You don't know the truth."

The silence was thick. Jason tried to add something else, but Jack had already stood up. He walked past the couch. I could smell him, feel the warmth of his body. He didn't even look at me.

The door to his room closed without a slam. It was worse than a slam.

Nick shrugged.

"Hey, chill, it's just a joke."

But I was already getting up. Something inside me had snapped. Not curiosity. Something deeper. I knew it wasn't a joke to Jack. And I knew it wasn't over yet.

I followed him.

I stopped at his door. It wasn't locked. Just ajar. I knocked lightly, once.

"Jack?" I asked quietly.

Nothing. Silence. I pushed the door open.

He was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, still in the same T-shirt, but without his shoes. His gaze fixed on the ceiling. I stepped inside carefully. I closed the door behind me.

"Don't worry about it," I said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Jason's an idiot. Everyone knows he talks shit."

Jack glanced at me sideways. His eyes were calm, but the tension in his body gave him away.

"It's not about him," he said quietly. "It's that I'm pissed off because… because the truth is completely different."

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked me straight in the eyes. I could feel the temperature in the room rising.

"You think they made that up?" I asked.

Jack didn't answer right away. He slid his legs off the bed. He sat down across from me. The distance between us: maybe half a meter. I could feel his heat. His tension. His resolve.

"Yeah," he said firmly. "And maybe it’s time someone finally saw what the truth looks like."

Before I could react, he stood up, unbuttoned his pants. The movement was calm, confident. No rush, no shame. He slid them down and let them fall to his thighs.

I didn't get a chance to say anything.

I didn't have to.

Because the truth came to the surface. And it silenced me immediately.

I froze.

Not dramatically. Not exaggeratedly. My brain simply stopped keeping up with what my eyes were seeing for a second.

It wasn't "tiny."

It was a monster.

Jack's cock hung heavy, thick at the base, massive along its entire length, slightly raised as if it were already reacting to the mere fact that someone was finally looking. Semi-erect, but one that still looked bigger than the full erections of most guys I'd seen in my life. The skin was taut, the veins prominent, pulsing lazily. The head was darker, full, as if it were about to swell even more.

"Fuck…" slipped out before I could stop myself.

Jack didn't smile broadly. He didn't look smug. He just looked at me intently, as if gauging my reaction. As if he wanted to make sure I saw.

"The guys were wrong," I said quietly. "Very wrong."

He reached for the nightstand. He opened it. He took out a measuring tape. A plain plastic one, the kind you'd keep in a drawer and never think twice about. He handed it to me without a word.

"Here," he said calmly. "Measure it. And stop staring like you've seen a ghost."

I swallowed. My fingers trembled slightly as I took the measuring tape. I sat closer. Too close for a casual conversation. His cock was right in front of me, at the height of my hand. I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I placed the tape at the base and slid it up slowly, inch by inch.

"Seven and a half inches…" I said aloud.

Jack just nodded. As if it were technical information. As if he were waiting for something more.

I felt shame. And excitement. It's a strange combination when you know you're crossing a line, but your body says: go further.

"And now..." Jack said, looking me straight in the eyes. "If you want, wrap your hand around it."

I thought: I'd love to.

And before my brain had a chance to protest, my hand was already on it.

My hand wrapped around him carefully. I felt how tight the skin was under my fingers, hot, almost slick from body heat. He was heavy, as if his size demanded gravity and had to fight against it. He didn't fit in my hand. My fingers couldn't fully close around the shaft. He was too thick. Too wide.

It pulsed. I could feel it clearly. Every heartbeat echoed in it, steady, deep, faster and faster. The head became more swollen, darker, moist at the tip.

Jack wasn't looking at me anymore. He leaned back slightly, resting his hands behind him on the bed, his hips shifted forward, as if giving me more access, more room. His abdominal muscles twitched. And then he did something that surprised me.

He started moving his hips. Slowly, calmly. His cock sliding in my still hand. I didn't have to do anything. He was the one fucking me. Slowly. With focus.

I watched his lower abdomen tense. How every movement looked as if it were just the beginning of something bigger.

"I like this," he murmured low, almost to himself. "Do you?"

I looked into his eyes. They were dark, focused, intense. Without shame. Without asking for permission. As if we'd already done this a million times.

"Me too. Very much so," I answered, my voice lower, rougher, as if my body had already started losing control.

I didn't pull my hand away. I let him fuck my hand, faster and faster, harder and harder. I could feel him tensing up, how every movement became heavier, more desperate. As if his body was deciding on its own that it needed more.

And honestly? I wanted it too.

His hips sped up. There was no more slow dance, no more feigned control. Now there was only tension, raw, hot, growing with every second. I could feel his cock pulsing harder and harder in my hand, as if it were about to explode.

Jack suddenly grabbed my wrist with both hands. Tightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. As if that was the only thing that could keep him in check.

He let out a quiet, broken groan.

And then it happened.

He shot.

Hot cum hit my fingers, my palm, spilling across my palm and over my knuckles. It wouldn't stop. Stream after stream, pouring, heavy, copious. I felt something strange welling up inside me, not just arousal, but something more primal. As if I'd received something intimate, raw, real.

Jack leaned forward slightly, breathing heavily. His cock was still throbbing, lazily, as if it were still trying to squeeze something out of itself.

He looked me straight in the eyes.

He was still holding my hand, soaked with his cum.

"Do you think they'll keep laughing?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse.

I looked at his face, then at my hand. I felt my throat tighten with excitement.

"No," I replied. "Now they'll be jealous."

I didn't wipe my hand. Not yet. I wanted to feel it a little longer. I wanted… more.

Everyone is over 18

Previous part here

Quick recap: Austin came to me devastated after his breakup because his girlfriend had left him for a woman, and I let him stay the night, giving him the closeness he needed. In the morning, I caught him in the bathroom trying to release the tension, and I offered to help, which ended with oral and his quiet admission that it was better than with her.

I was awakened by the sound of water.

First, the steady, monotonous hum of the shower. And then something else. Quieter. Deeper. A moan that could be mistaken for nothing else.

For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was still half-asleep, the morning light was just beginning to seep through the blinds. And again, that same sound. Heavy breathing, as if a body were fighting against itself.

I got up. Without rushing. As if I knew exactly what I was going to see.

The bathroom door was ajar. Steam hung in the air, warm and thick. I opened it wider. Austin was standing in the shower, naked, with his back to me. He was leaning against the wall with one hand, his head bowed, his neck tense.

Water ran down his back, over his broad shoulders, down his spine, lower still, over his round, firm buttocks, which looked almost too good in that light. Natural. Heavy. Real.

His body looked like it was begging to be touched.

"Again?" I asked calmly.

He flinched but didn't turn around. He was breathing heavily, as if the words needed a moment to come together.

"It was easier with her…" he said finally. His voice trembled slightly.

"I loved how she washed me. How she touched me, without rushing."

A short pause.

- "That's what I miss."

I stood in the doorway, watching the water run down his body as he stood there, stripped of more than just his clothes. And I already knew that this morning wouldn't end with just words.

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

I simply took off my boxers and set them on the counter. It came naturally to me, as if we'd practiced it dozens of times, though we both knew it was the first time.

I stepped into the shower without a word, moving close enough to him that the steam rising from his skin mingled with my breath.

"Then let me wash you now."

He stood in silence for a moment. The water drummed against his back. I could feel the muscles in his neck react to my voice.

"All right," he said finally. Plainly. But there was a hint of hesitation in it. Or maybe excitement.

I took the bottle of gel and squeezed it directly onto his neck.

I started at the top, spreading the lather with my hands, slowly, in circular motions. I could feel his body reacting to every touch. His shoulders, tense, hard, wet. My fingers glided over them with patient certainty.

Then I moved lower, to his shoulder blades, spine, sides, where he was more sensitive. He sighed, but quietly. As if his body betrayed him faster than his words.

I walked around him. I stood face to face with him, but his gaze was lowered.

I squeezed out another dollop of gel and began washing his chest, gently but with some pressure. The skin beneath my fingers was warm, taut. His abdominal muscles rippled as I moved my hands lower.

I reached his hips. I hadn't touched his cock yet. But I was close.

Too close for it not to affect him. Too precise for him to pretend it was just hygiene.

My hands glided over his thighs, and his breathing grew deeper, heavier.

He shuddered when I brushed the inside of his thigh. His cock was no longer still, it was slowly beginning to harden, rising beneath the streams of water. I didn't comment on it. I just took note.

Austin's body was open.

And I was just beginning to read it.

I reached for the gel again.

I took my time. I let the water run down our bodies, letting the steam settle on our skin and enclose us in this small, damp space.

I stopped and asked simply:

"Can I?"

"Do it," he answered immediately, his voice tight and hungry.

I squeezed the gel directly onto his cock.

For a moment, I just watched as the thick, slippery liquid ran down the shaft, mixing with the water, as his body reacted immediately, a slight contraction of his hips, heavier breathing.

"Take it easy…" I said quietly, more to his body than to him.

I wrapped my hand around him, slow, firm, and began to spread the gel with a slow motion, feeling under my fingers how it was hardening even more. His cock was hot, heavy, reacting to every millimeter of movement. I didn't speed up. I wanted the tension to build, not to explode too quickly.

With my other hand, I grabbed the back of his neck, lightly, firmly. I wasn't pulling him closer. I was just there. I was giving him a point of support.

Austin moaned. Deeply. Without shame.

His head dropped forward slightly, his forehead almost touching mine.

"Matt…" he let slip as he exhaled.

I didn't answer.

I changed the rhythm.

The movement of my hand became more decisive, but still fluid. Like I knew exactly what I was doing. My thumb slid over the tip, gathering moisture, sliding back down. Each time a little slower. A little harder.

Water poured over our bodies, splashing off his chest, running down his stomach and hips. His thighs tensed, his muscles working as if he were trying to maintain control, but it had slipped away from him long ago.

He moved his hips, instinctively, seeking deeper contact with my hand.

I let him.

But I was the one setting the pace.

"Breathe," I said quietly, near his ear.

He shuddered. His cock throbbed distinctly, heavy in my hand. I could feel the tension building throughout his entire body, in his stomach, his thighs, his neck, which I was holding.

This wasn't just washing anymore.

It was guiding his body to a place of no return.

And I knew exactly when he would get there.

I could feel it.

His body began to tense unevenly, small spasms under my hand, twitches in his stomach, his hips growing less precise, as if he himself no longer knew whether he wanted to hold back or give in.

But I knew.

I quickened the movements of my hand.

Not violently, just exactly when his body asked for it.

It sucked him in completely.

His cock hardened to the limit, and he moaned loudly, from the bottom of his throat, no longer in control of anything. His hand clenched my forearm, as if he needed something to hold onto so he wouldn't drift away.

And then he came.

Cum shot onto my thighs, my hand, mixing with the water, the gel, everything. The warmth of his ejaculation and the coolness of the stream combined into something unforgettable. His body rippled in my hand, his hip muscles pulsing for a few more seconds before going completely limp.

I stood before him, holding him, letting him finish in my touch until only breath remained.

Heavy, ragged, damp.

I leaned in and whispered in his ear, slowly, quietly, with a smile that knew everything:

"I hope I was better than her at this, too."

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

Only silence remained.

Silence punctuated by breaths, dripping water, and something deeper… something we couldn't name yet

But it was already between us.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

Previous part here

Quick recap: I went on a cabin trip with my two horny straight friends, Max and Dan. When we found out there would be no signal for a week, they were pissed they couldn't watch porn, until I found a stack of gay DVDs and suggested we put one on. They reacted harder than they wanted to admit, and by the end of the first night, we weren't just watching anymore, we were naked, turned on, and jerking off together.

I woke up early, before the rest of the house had even stirred. The living room still smelled of last night, a heavy, masculine scent, sweet in a way that gave away exactly what we'd been doing. Dried traces of cum on the couch, our clothes tossed in the corner, empty beer bottles. And that silence… but not the usual kind. The silence after something none of us had planned, yet every one of us remembered with our entire bodies.

I sat on the floor, my back to the couch, feeling a pleasant coolness in the air. I knew we'd go further today. Because you can't go back to "normal" once you've seen someone's body in a state where there's no room left for pretense.

I heard footsteps. First heavy, confident, Max. Then lighter, more cautious, Dan.

They entered the living room almost simultaneously.

And both of them… in just their boxers.

As if they couldn't be bothered to look for their shirts.

As if yesterday had unlocked some inner barrier, making nudity feel natural now.

Or maybe… arousing.

Max stretched demonstratively, his cock clearly visible through the fabric. Dan adjusted his boxers, exposing the top of his hardening shaft.

"Good morning," I said calmly, watching their reactions.

"Morning…" Max mumbled, but his gaze immediately wandered to the TV. "Are we watching something today?"

I smiled slightly.

Without a word, I reached into the cabinet and pulled out another DVD, a more explicit one. I popped the disc in. The screen lit up. Two guys were sitting on the couch, a third was kneeling in front of them, taking their cocks into his mouth one after the other, slowly, deeply.

Max froze.

Dan moved closer, as if unconsciously.

They weren't pretending anymore.

Their cocks hardened instantly, the fabric of their boxers bulged sharply, clearly. Max cleared his throat, trying to maintain control, but his hand wandered of its own accord to his stomach, just above the waistband.

"Damn..." he muttered, drawing out the word. "He's sucking them off so well..."

Dan just nodded, not taking his eyes off the screen. His lips parted slightly, his breathing quickened. His cock stood out so clearly that even he must have felt it.

The atmosphere thickened instantly.

They weren't curious anymore.

They were hungry.

And I could see their bodies repeating what had started yesterday on my couch, automatically, naturally, as if they'd passed the first stage and were waiting for the next.

The movie kept playing.

The guy on the screen was taking two at once, moving smoothly from one cock to the other.

Max adjusted his boxers with his hand, but he did it so slowly that I couldn't help but notice.

Dan did the same. Their bodies were in sync, even if their heads were still trying to pretend it was just… watching.

I knew that now all it would take was one sentence, one suggestion, one step.

And they'd go further.

Without hesitation.

They sat next to each other on the couch, as if they couldn't move even an inch away. Max with his elbow resting on the backrest, Dan leaning slightly forward, both tense, focused, completely different from the day before. Now they weren't pretending it was just curiosity. Their bodies gave everything away.

On the screen, the guy was taking two at once, slowly, rhythmically, with such confidence that it looked like a show. Every time he thrust deeper, Max straightened his back, and Dan drew in a quiet breath.

Their boxers… they barely contained it all.

Both of them were adjusting them no longer "accidentally," but openly, without shame.

Max's fingers paused on his bulge, pressing lightly, as if to check if it was as hard as he thought.

Dan squeezed the fabric at the sides, revealing the outline of his cock, clearly throbbing.

I thought about how much this was turning them on.

How much they wanted to see where the next step would lead them.

And how much they wanted me to be the one to take it.

I rested my elbows on my knees, leaned forward slightly, and said what had been hanging in the air since the first seconds of the video.

"I can do this better than him."

Silence.

Heavy, electric, full of tension.

Max stopped breathing for a moment. He opened his mouth but said nothing.

Dan stared at me wide-eyed, as if he couldn't believe it had come out so calmly, so effortlessly, as if it were the most ordinary sentence in the world.

Their bodies answered for them.

The throbbing beneath the fabric of their boxers had become so distinct that they could no longer hide it. Max leaned forward, revealing a shaft as hard as rock. Dan flinched, as if the sentence had pierced him through the stomach.

"Come on," Max said, the first to find his voice. Short, hoarse, with disbelief and hunger at the same time. "I'm curious."

Dan didn't need time.

Immediately, almost in the same breath, he added:

"Yeah… me too."

That was the moment when everything ceased to be accidental.

Both reached for their boxers and slid them down slowly, as if they wanted me to see every inch of the body being exposed, every abdominal muscle tensing with the movement, every twitch of the cock released from the fabric.

Max, thick, heavy, with a prominent vein running its entire length.

Dan, long, taut, pulsing in time with his rapid breathing.

I knelt down between them.

Close.

Close enough to feel the warmth of their thighs, the scent of their skin, the tremor of their bodies.

They lifted their hips instinctively, as if my approach alone were a touch.

They were both ready.

Consciously, without hesitation, without a single step back.

And I knew that this was the first real moment in which my dominance became physical, and that they both wanted this more than they were able to say.

I knelt between them, and they sat half-relaxed, half-tensed, their cocks as hard as if each of them had been waiting for a touch for many days. I felt their heat on both sides, saw their thighs tremble slightly, their bellies ripple, their breathing quicken just from my being so close.

First, I raised my hand and, without rushing, wrapped my hand around the base of Max's cock. He shuddered immediately, his whole body, from his shoulders to his thighs. I brought my lips closer, but not to start sucking right away. I gently brushed the tip with my tongue, circling it slowly, as if testing his reaction, not letting him guess what I'd do next.

Max closed his eyes.

Briefly, violently, as if he'd lost control for a moment.

Dan looked down, his mouth wide open. I saw his cock twitch, as if his body itself were demanding touch.

I took Max's head into my mouth, slowly, deeply, warmly, and let him slide inside a few centimeters. Just enough for him to forget everything else. I ran my tongue along the underside before pulling back and hearing the first, broken moan.

Then I moved my hand to Dan. His skin was hot, taut, and his cock twitched beneath my fingers. I brought my lips closer, running my tongue from the base all the way to the very tip. Dan sucked in a breath so sharply that his chest quivered.

"Oh, fuck..." Max mumbled as I returned to him, this time taking him deeper, more confidently into my mouth.

I took my time.

I varied the rhythm with my mouth, sometimes slow and exploratory, sometimes more intense, just like the guy in the movie did, but with greater awareness, greater control.

And then their bodies began to respond to me.

Max, his head resting against the backrest, his hand clenched on the edge of the couch, his hips rising slightly but distinctly toward me.

Dan, softer, more sensually, watched as if in a trance, his hands on his thighs, spread wider than before, as if he were giving me all the space between them.

I went back to him.

I slid it into my mouth a little deeper, pressing my tongue against the sensitive spot just below the head.

Dan moaned as if something inside him had snapped, quietly but intensely, with his whole body.

"This..." he gasped. "This is better than in the movie..."

I smiled slightly, without stopping my sucking.

I moved from one cock to the other, smoothly, confidently, so that both of them could feel that I was leading them exactly where I wanted and where they wanted more than they could admit.

Their hips began to respond with movement.

Their breaths, with rhythm.

Their bodies, with surrender.

That was the moment when they already knew they wanted me to finish.

And I knew exactly how to do it.

Max was first.

I could tell by his breath, ragged, heavy, as if each successive breath were meant to carry him exactly where he could no longer stop. His hips began to tremble slightly, and his hand, which had been clenched on the edge of the couch, slid into my hair, gently, as if he were asking but afraid to say it out loud.

I pushed deeper into him.

The heat, the wetness, the tight embrace of my mouth, the rhythm I knew so well, confident, guiding, the kind no one can last long against.

"Matt… I…" he mumbled, his voice trailing off mid-sentence.

That "I" always sounds the same, no matter the guy: the last attempt at control, the final moment before the body takes over everything.

I sped up.

I slid my tongue along the underside of his shaft, all the way to the very end, sliding down and back at a pace that left him no room to resist. His thighs tensed so tightly that his skin quivered. And then… he snapped.

A moan escaped him, louder than yesterday.

Deep, full, unstoppable.

A series of spasms jolted his cock, and I felt a hot burst hitting straight into my throat. One, two, three, intense, violent, completely surrendered. I swallowed it all, not pulling my lips away from him for even a second. And when he came down, still panting, he held my hair so gently, as if he were afraid I'd disappear.

Dan watched in silence.

But his body spoke much louder, his cock pulsed so hard it almost stood on its own. His thighs were spread, his back arched, his lips slightly parted. I knew I didn't have to ask if he wanted it.

I moved toward him on my knees, so close that his breath brushed against my cheeks. I slid him into my mouth smoothly, confidently, immediately finding that spot, that angle, that rhythm that makes a guy come in seconds.

Dan gasped sharply, as if something had pierced him.

"Matt… I can't believe…" he trailed off as his hips made their first uncontrolled movement, begging for more.

I took him deeper into my mouth, tighter. My hands on his thighs kept him in a rhythm that pulled him closer and closer to the edge. I felt his stomach tense in waves, his breath breaking, his fingers clenching my arm.

"I'm..." he whispered. "I..."

And then it came.

His release was different from Max's, longer, more fluid, more tremulous. A series of warm pulses filled my mouth, and Dan arched backward, as if his body alone couldn't bear the intensity. I swallowed it all slowly, deliberately, feeling every spasm pass through his body.

When he came down, he sat half-reclining, eyes wide, as if he was just beginning to understand what had happened and that he wanted more.

Max looked at me with a wide smile.

"You... were better than that guy in the movie."

Dan just nodded, still panting, his cheeks red with excitement.

And I saw something in their eyes that hadn't been there yesterday:

devotion and complete openness to the next step.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

The evening was quiet. I was alone in the apartment, with a cup of tea and nothing important to do. The sounds from the street were muffled, the windows fogged up from the heat. My phone finally fell silent, and the music from the speaker faded. And then, a knock. Quiet, as if hesitant. I wasn't expecting anyone.

The door opened slowly. Austin stood in the doorway, a backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a sweatshirt with a slightly torn sleeve and eyes that looked… empty. Red from crying, without a trace of their former sparkle. His lips were slightly parted, but for a moment he said nothing. He just stood there. Like he didn’t even know why he came. Or maybe he knew all too well and didn't want to say it out loud.

I stepped aside, letting him enter without a word. He walked past me, leaving the cold from outside behind him. He sat down heavily on the couch. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and fell to the floor. I didn't stare. I gave him space. I gave him time. I waited. For him to say something… or not.

A minute passed. Maybe two.

"She left me," he said finally. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd just stopped crying. "She said she prefers girls."

I didn't answer right away. I just stood there. His hand rested on his thigh, his fingers clenching slightly. You could see how hard he was trying not to fall apart right in front of me. As if the presence of someone familiar was hard enough, and admitting his pain was too much.

"You don't have to say anything," he added more quietly. "I don't want to talk about it. I just… had to go somewhere. I didn't want to be alone."

I nodded, though he wasn't looking anyway.

The scent of mint wafted from the kitchen. I made him some tea, as if it were the simplest way to say, "Stay. You don't have to rush." I set the mug down next to him without saying a word. I sat down beside him. Not too close. Just close enough.

Austin took off his sweatshirt. In the dim light of the room, his shoulders looked even more massive than I remembered. A body built from the gym, sports, maybe also from tension. Arms that once embraced someone else now hung limply. As if they had nothing left to protect.

"Thanks," he said quietly, reaching for the mug. His hands were trembling slightly. From the cold? From tension? From everything at once.

After a few minutes of silence, he moved closer. I felt his thigh against mine. Warmth seeping through the fabric of my pants. For a moment, I held my breath, not that he'd notice. Maybe he needed this more than I could understand.

And then, without warning, his head fell onto my shoulder.

I didn't look at him. I stayed still, letting him choose this moment. His temple touched my shoulder, and his hair, slightly damp from the evening's humidity, smelled like something familiar. Not his cologne. Something more intimate, a body after a storm.

"I don't know if anyone will ever love me again," he whispered, almost without a sound.

I turned my head slightly. My fingers rose slowly and rested on the back of his neck. Gently, as if it were a glass object. I felt the tension in his muscles, the tremor beneath his skin.

"You'll find someone," I replied. "Someone who will love you just the way you are. And understand."

He didn't answer. But he didn't pull away.

And my hand stayed there, on the back of his neck,

warm, soft, without questions.

We sat in silence for a moment longer. His head rested heavily on my shoulder, and I no longer knew whether I wanted it to stay there or for me to stop feeling it that way.

"Stay the night," I said finally, calmly, without hesitation. "You shouldn't be alone in this state."

Austin lifted his head. For a moment, he looked at me as if trying to gauge whether I was saying it out of pity. But he didn't ask. He didn't judge. He just nodded.

"I guess... that would be okay," he replied. His voice was lower, as if something had snapped inside him.

I stood up, stretched slightly, and then headed toward the bedroom, calling over my shoulder:

"I'll be right back. I'm going to change."

I took off everything except my boxers. Nothing new. I liked sleeping that way, my body breathes better, and I feel more… present.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom swung open. Austin was standing in the doorway. He was in just his boxers, too. And he was smiling slightly, but it wasn't a smile meant as a joke. More like one that hid uncertainty.

And that's when I saw him. In the full light of the night lamp.

His chest was taut, rising slightly with each breath. His stomach, defined and firm, as if all the tension of the day had settled there and hardened in silence. His shoulders, broad and strong, his legs, muscular, hairy, slightly apart. He wasn't overdoing the posing. But he wasn't pretending it was nothing, either.

I froze for a moment. Only one thought flashed through my mind: He looks as if someone had just created him for intimacy. To be held. To be touched.

"Aren't you against me sleeping with you?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

I smiled slightly, as if it were the most normal question in the world.

"Sure. There's plenty of room."

We lay down without a word. He on one side of the bed, me on the other. For a moment, we were separated by a few centimeters of empty sheets and all the tension seeping from them.

I turned off the light. The darkness wasn't complete. Outside the window, a streetlight cast a soft, warm shadow through the blinds. I could see his silhouette. He was breathing more slowly, but not evenly. Like someone trying to pretend they're falling asleep, when in reality they're wide awake.

I don't know who moved first.

Maybe me. Maybe him.

But suddenly his arm touched mine. Almost casually. As if by accident, but too calmly for it to be an accident.

Then his thigh brushed against mine. Skin against skin, separated only by the fabric of our boxers. The warmth of his body crept under my skin, leaving a trace that refused to fade.

I held my breath as his stomach moved in time with mine. In the same rhythm. As if our breaths had begun to synchronize. I could feel him. All of him. Next to me. And on top of me.

I didn't say anything. Neither did he. Just silent consent, as if everything were written in the tension of our muscles, the flutter of our eyelids, and the rhythm of his heartbeat, which echoed against my shoulder.

And then I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Quiet, warm, unhurried. Not intrusive, it was just there. As if his body were saying, "I'm here. I want to be close."

I didn't pull away. I didn't flinch.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself a thought I didn't voice aloud:

"This isn't sex yet. But it's more than friendship."

I woke up earlier than I planned. Not because of the alarm clock. Because of a sound.

Muffled. Low. Intermittent.

For a few seconds, I lay still, listening to the silence of the apartment. And then I heard it again, a quiet moan, as if someone were trying to hold it back, but their body wouldn't let them. It was coming from the bathroom.

I sat up in bed. The sheets were still warm from his body. The spot next to me was empty. I got up slowly, feeling the coolness of the floorboards under my feet. Every step was deliberate. I took my time.

The bathroom door was ajar. I opened it slowly, without a sound.

Austin was standing with his back to me. Naked.

With one hand braced against the wall, he gripped his cock with the other, stroking it in a slow, desperate rhythm. His head was tilted back. His body was tense, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing visibly with every movement, while his hips rocked in the same rhythm as his hand.

He looked… damn sexy.

Not posing. Not for me.

Just for the relief he couldn't give himself.

His breathing was heavy, ragged. I heard the wet sound of a hand sliding across skin. The scent of morning, warm skin, and something rawer, arousal.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

He didn't turn around. He didn't even flinch. As if he knew I was there. As if he'd been waiting for it.

"I miss her…" he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with tension.

"She sucked me so well."

A brief pause. A firmer stroke of his hand.

"That's what I miss the most."

His hand continued to move rhythmically along his cock, harder now, as if speaking those words had only intensified the tension.

I didn't take my eyes off him. I watched his shoulder blades tense beneath his skin, his hips seeking relief in the empty space. I stepped out of the shadows and took the first step.

One step, closer to his back.

A second, close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. Calmly. Confidently. Not to stop him. Rather… to show him he didn't have to do this alone.

I leaned slightly toward his ear and whispered:

"Trust me… I'll do it better than her."

He froze.

His hand dropped. His breath caught for a second, as if time had stopped along with him.

He turned his head over his shoulder. He looked at me in disbelief, but he didn't pull back. Everything was in his eyes: surprise, tension, hunger.

His cock was even harder than a moment ago. It throbbed slightly, wet at the tip, ready. He didn't look away when I looked at him. He didn't cover himself. He wasn't embarrassed.

It was just there, all of it. Open. Real.

"Can I?" I asked quietly, my hand still on his shoulder.

For a moment, he just looked at me. Quietly. Motionless.

And then he said one word:

"You can."

And that was enough.

I didn't need anything else.

I already knew what to do and how much he wanted me to do it.

I slid down to my knees. Slowly, without a word, letting the moment unfold on its own.

The cold tiles touched my legs, but I didn't feel the chill. All my attention was focused on him. On his body. On what stood before me, literally and symbolically.

Austin stood, upright, his arm still resting against the wall. His cock, hard, wet, taut to the root, twitched slightly with every breath. Up close, it was even more arousing. Thick. Heavy. It smelled of something I knew only from male skin, raw, unfiltered arousal.

I looked up at him.

His gaze was fixed on me, unmoving. Only his hand tightened its grip on the doorframe. As if he couldn't believe this was really happening.

But it was. And I was the one in control.

I grabbed him at the base, wrapping my hand tightly around him, but without rushing. I could feel it pulsing beneath my skin.

I leaned in, stuck out my tongue, and licked the tip, slowly, thoroughly, tasting the salty precum waiting for me there.

Austin moaned softly. His head fell back.

"Fuck..." he gasped.

I didn't stop.

I rested one hand on his thigh, guiding him with the other, controlling the depth.

I slid his cock into my mouth, slowly, inch by inch. I took my time. I wanted him to feel every movement, every tightening of my throat.

I started sucking, rhythmically, sensually, deep and wet.

I varied the pace. Sometimes I sped up, sometimes I slowed down. I let him move, but not enough to lose control.

Austin was breathing heavily. His moans grew louder. His hips began to thrust toward me on their own, but I held his thighs so he'd know who was in charge.

The warmth of his body spread to my hands, and his cock slid over my tongue with every wave of tension.

His hand finally found my neck, not to push me away.

To pull me closer.

"She… didn't do it like this…" he whispered. "You… you know what you're doing."

I moved deeper. The tip of his cock touched my throat, and I let him moan louder, without shame.

Saliva was running down my chin, but I didn't stop. His body was giving in, trembling, his legs buckling slightly. He was all tension.

And then I felt his hips stiffen.

He was coming.

And I wasn't going to back down.

I felt his whole body tense up.

His fingers clenched my neck, his hips twitched, once, twice, and then…

he filled my mouth.

He didn't moan.

He let out only a single, ragged breath, one that sounded like relief mixed with disbelief.

His cum was hot, thick, flowing onto my tongue in waves.

I didn't pull away.

I swallowed it all, slowly, feeling his body lose tension with every pulse he released inside me.

I was still holding his thighs, but gently, no longer guiding him, just being there.

He was leaning against the wall. He was trembling. His legs buckled slightly, as if he wasn't sure he could still stand.

When I slid off his cock, I looked up.

His eyes were misty. He was breathing through his mouth, quietly, irregularly.

He was… disarmed.

Not just physically. Completely.

I stood up calmly, without a word.

I didn't wipe my mouth. I didn't fix my hair. I just stood in front of him, just as he had stood in front of me earlier, exposed, calm, confident.

There was silence between us. But not an empty one.

A silence that contained everything that had just happened.

And then he said, barely audibly, as if only now were the words able to pass through his throat:

"That... was better."

He didn't say better than what.

He didn't have to.

Because we both knew it wasn't just about sucking.

It was more than a comparison.

It was an admission.

An acknowledgment that someone, me, had just made a mark on his body like no one had before.

And I didn't need an answer.

Because I had his taste on my tongue.

And his tension beneath my fingers.

All characters in this story are over 18 years of age.

The evening was quiet. I was alone in the apartment, with a cup of tea and nothing important to do. The sounds from the street were muffled, the windows fogged up from the heat. My phone finally fell silent, and the music from the speaker faded. And then, a knock. Quiet, as if hesitant. I wasn't expecting anyone.

The door opened slowly. Austin stood in the doorway, a backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a sweatshirt with a slightly torn sleeve and eyes that looked… empty. Red from crying, without a trace of their former sparkle. His lips were slightly parted, but for a moment he said nothing. He just stood there. Like he didn’t even know why he came. Or maybe he knew all too well and didn't want to say it out loud.

I stepped aside, letting him enter without a word. He walked past me, leaving the cold from outside behind him. He sat down heavily on the couch. His backpack slipped off his shoulder and fell to the floor. I didn't stare. I gave him space. I gave him time. I waited. For him to say something… or not.

A minute passed. Maybe two.

"She left me," he said finally. His voice was hoarse, as if he'd just stopped crying. "She said she prefers girls."

I didn't answer right away. I just stood there. His hand rested on his thigh, his fingers clenching slightly. You could see how hard he was trying not to fall apart right in front of me. As if the presence of someone familiar was hard enough, and admitting his pain was too much.

"You don't have to say anything," he added more quietly. "I don't want to talk about it. I just… had to go somewhere. I didn't want to be alone."

I nodded, though he wasn't looking anyway.

The scent of mint wafted from the kitchen. I made him some tea, as if it were the simplest way to say, "Stay. You don't have to rush." I set the mug down next to him without saying a word. I sat down beside him. Not too close. Just close enough.

Austin took off his sweatshirt. In the dim light of the room, his shoulders looked even more massive than I remembered. A body built from the gym, sports, maybe also from tension. Arms that once embraced someone else now hung limply. As if they had nothing left to protect.

"Thanks," he said quietly, reaching for the mug. His hands were trembling slightly. From the cold? From tension? From everything at once.

After a few minutes of silence, he moved closer. I felt his thigh against mine. Warmth seeping through the fabric of my pants. For a moment, I held my breath, not that he'd notice. Maybe he needed this more than I could understand.

And then, without warning, his head fell onto my shoulder.

I didn't look at him. I stayed still, letting him choose this moment. His temple touched my shoulder, and his hair, slightly damp from the evening's humidity, smelled like something familiar. Not his cologne. Something more intimate, a body after a storm.

"I don't know if anyone will ever love me again," he whispered, almost without a sound.

I turned my head slightly. My fingers rose slowly and rested on the back of his neck. Gently, as if it were a glass object. I felt the tension in his muscles, the tremor beneath his skin.

"You'll find someone," I replied. "Someone who will love you just the way you are. And understand."

He didn't answer. But he didn't pull away.

And my hand stayed there, on the back of his neck,

warm, soft, without questions.

We sat in silence for a moment longer. His head rested heavily on my shoulder, and I no longer knew whether I wanted it to stay there or for me to stop feeling it that way.

"Stay the night," I said finally, calmly, without hesitation. "You shouldn't be alone in this state."

Austin lifted his head. For a moment, he looked at me as if trying to gauge whether I was saying it out of pity. But he didn't ask. He didn't judge. He just nodded.

"I guess... that would be okay," he replied. His voice was lower, as if something had snapped inside him.

I stood up, stretched slightly, and then headed toward the bedroom, calling over my shoulder:

"I'll be right back. I'm going to change."

I took off everything except my boxers. Nothing new. I liked sleeping that way, my body breathes better, and I feel more… present.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom swung open. Austin was standing in the doorway. He was in just his boxers, too. And he was smiling slightly, but it wasn't a smile meant as a joke. More like one that hid uncertainty.

And that's when I saw him. In the full light of the night lamp.

His chest was taut, rising slightly with each breath. His stomach, defined and firm, as if all the tension of the day had settled there and hardened in silence. His shoulders, broad and strong, his legs, muscular, hairy, slightly apart. He wasn't overdoing the posing. But he wasn't pretending it was nothing, either.

I froze for a moment. Only one thought flashed through my mind: He looks as if someone had just created him for intimacy. To be held. To be touched.

"Aren't you against me sleeping with you?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

I smiled slightly, as if it were the most normal question in the world.

"Sure. There's plenty of room."

We lay down without a word. He on one side of the bed, me on the other. For a moment, we were separated by a few centimeters of empty sheets and all the tension seeping from them.

I turned off the light. The darkness wasn't complete. Outside the window, a streetlight cast a soft, warm shadow through the blinds. I could see his silhouette. He was breathing more slowly, but not evenly. Like someone trying to pretend they're falling asleep, when in reality they're wide awake.

I don't know who moved first.

Maybe me. Maybe him.

But suddenly his arm touched mine. Almost casually. As if by accident, but too calmly for it to be an accident.

Then his thigh brushed against mine. Skin against skin, separated only by the fabric of our boxers. The warmth of his body crept under my skin, leaving a trace that refused to fade.

I held my breath as his stomach moved in time with mine. In the same rhythm. As if our breaths had begun to synchronize. I could feel him. All of him. Next to me. And on top of me.

I didn't say anything. Neither did he. Just silent consent, as if everything were written in the tension of our muscles, the flutter of our eyelids, and the rhythm of his heartbeat, which echoed against my shoulder.

And then I felt his breath on the back of my neck. Quiet, warm, unhurried. Not intrusive, it was just there. As if his body were saying, "I'm here. I want to be close."

I didn't pull away. I didn't flinch.

I closed my eyes and allowed myself a thought I didn't voice aloud:

"This isn't sex yet. But it's more than friendship."

I woke up earlier than I planned. Not because of the alarm clock. Because of a sound.

Muffled. Low. Intermittent.

For a few seconds, I lay still, listening to the silence of the apartment. And then I heard it again, a quiet moan, as if someone were trying to hold it back, but their body wouldn't let them. It was coming from the bathroom.

I sat up in bed. The sheets were still warm from his body. The spot next to me was empty. I got up slowly, feeling the coolness of the floorboards under my feet. Every step was deliberate. I took my time.

The bathroom door was ajar. I opened it slowly, without a sound.

Austin was standing with his back to me. Naked.

With one hand braced against the wall, he gripped his cock with the other, stroking it in a slow, desperate rhythm. His head was tilted back. His body was tense, the muscles in his back and shoulders flexing visibly with every movement, while his hips rocked in the same rhythm as his hand.

He looked… damn sexy.

Not posing. Not for me.

Just for the relief he couldn't give himself.

His breathing was heavy, ragged. I heard the wet sound of a hand sliding across skin. The scent of morning, warm skin, and something rawer, arousal.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

He didn't turn around. He didn't even flinch. As if he knew I was there. As if he'd been waiting for it.

"I miss her…" he said after a moment, his voice hoarse with tension.

"She sucked me so well."

A brief pause. A firmer stroke of his hand.

"That's what I miss the most."

His hand continued to move rhythmically along his cock, harder now, as if speaking those words had only intensified the tension.

I didn't take my eyes off him. I watched his shoulder blades tense beneath his skin, his hips seeking relief in the empty space. I stepped out of the shadows and took the first step.

One step, closer to his back.

A second, close enough that I felt the warmth of his skin.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. Calmly. Confidently. Not to stop him. Rather… to show him he didn't have to do this alone.

I leaned slightly toward his ear and whispered:

"Trust me… I'll do it better than her."

He froze.

His hand dropped. His breath caught for a second, as if time had stopped along with him.

He turned his head over his shoulder. He looked at me in disbelief, but he didn't pull back. Everything was in his eyes: surprise, tension, hunger.

His cock was even harder than a moment ago. It throbbed slightly, wet at the tip, ready. He didn't look away when I looked at him. He didn't cover himself. He wasn't embarrassed.

It was just there, all of it. Open. Real.

"Can I?" I asked quietly, my hand still on his shoulder.

For a moment, he just looked at me. Quietly. Motionless.

And then he said one word:

"You can."

And that was enough.

I didn't need anything else.

I already knew what to do and how much he wanted me to do it.

I slid down to my knees. Slowly, without a word, letting the moment unfold on its own.

The cold tiles touched my legs, but I didn't feel the chill. All my attention was focused on him. On his body. On what stood before me, literally and symbolically.

Austin stood, upright, his arm still resting against the wall. His cock, hard, wet, taut to the root, twitched slightly with every breath. Up close, it was even more arousing. Thick. Heavy. It smelled of something I knew only from male skin, raw, unfiltered arousal.

I looked up at him.

His gaze was fixed on me, unmoving. Only his hand tightened its grip on the doorframe. As if he couldn't believe this was really happening.

But it was. And I was the one in control.

I grabbed him at the base, wrapping my hand tightly around him, but without rushing. I could feel it pulsing beneath my skin.

I leaned in, stuck out my tongue, and licked the tip, slowly, thoroughly, tasting the salty precum waiting for me there.

Austin moaned softly. His head fell back.

"Fuck..." he gasped.

I didn't stop.

I rested one hand on his thigh, guiding him with the other, controlling the depth.

I slid his cock into my mouth, slowly, inch by inch. I took my time. I wanted him to feel every movement, every tightening of my throat.

I started sucking, rhythmically, sensually, deep and wet.

I varied the pace. Sometimes I sped up, sometimes I slowed down. I let him move, but not enough to lose control.

Austin was breathing heavily. His moans grew louder. His hips began to thrust toward me on their own, but I held his thighs so he'd know who was in charge.

The warmth of his body spread to my hands, and his cock slid over my tongue with every wave of tension.

His hand finally found my neck, not to push me away.

To pull me closer.

"She… didn't do it like this…" he whispered. "You… you know what you're doing."

I moved deeper. The tip of his cock touched my throat, and I let him moan louder, without shame.

Saliva was running down my chin, but I didn't stop. His body was giving in, trembling, his legs buckling slightly. He was all tension.

And then I felt his hips stiffen.

He was coming.

And I wasn't going to back down.

I felt his whole body tense up.

His fingers clenched my neck, his hips twitched, once, twice, and then…

he filled my mouth.

He didn't moan.

He let out only a single, ragged breath, one that sounded like relief mixed with disbelief.

His cum was hot, thick, flowing onto my tongue in waves.

I didn't pull away.

I swallowed it all, slowly, feeling his body lose tension with every pulse he released inside me.

I was still holding his thighs, but gently, no longer guiding him, just being there.

He was leaning against the wall. He was trembling. His legs buckled slightly, as if he wasn't sure he could still stand.

When I slid off his cock, I looked up.

His eyes were misty. He was breathing through his mouth, quietly, irregularly.

He was… disarmed.

Not just physically. Completely.

I stood up calmly, without a word.

I didn't wipe my mouth. I didn't fix my hair. I just stood in front of him, just as he had stood in front of me earlier, exposed, calm, confident.

There was silence between us. But not an empty one.

A silence that contained everything that had just happened.

And then he said, barely audibly, as if only now were the words able to pass through his throat:

"That... was better."

He didn't say better than what.

He didn't have to.

Because we both knew it wasn't just about sucking.

It was more than a comparison.

It was an admission.

An acknowledgment that someone, me, had just made a mark on his body like no one had before.

And I didn't need an answer.

Because I had his taste on my tongue.

And his tension beneath my fingers.