u/podfive

All participants are over the age of 18.

It was a frigid Tuesday evening when Kyle reappeared in my life. The kind of cold that seeped through your coat and made your bones ache, the kind that turned your breath into white clouds the second it left your mouth. The ancient sycamores lining the street stood bare and skeletal under the old streetlights, their branches creaking softly in the wind like they were complaining about the weather too. The neighborhood was quiet - the kind of deep winter stillness that made every footstep sound louder than it should.

I had my hands shoved deep in my pockets and my head down against the wind when I turned the corner onto my street.

And there he was.

Kyle. Standing outside my building like he’d been waiting for hours. Same messy dark hair. Same face that had been haunting me for six months.

He looked like a man who had been running, but finally ran out of road — ran out of road right there at the door to my building. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes red-rimmed, his face exhausted and raw in the cold light.

I stopped a few feet away, heart hammering against my ribs.

He spoke first, voice rough and low. “I’ve been texting you. Calling you. For weeks.”

A short and bitter laugh escaped me, my breath fogging in the frigid air. “I blocked you. On everything. After I gave up on ever seeing you or talking to you again.”

Kyle nodded like he’d expected that. He looked down at his hands, then back up at me, shivering slightly in the cold.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly. “I just… I need to talk to you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I stared at him for a long moment, the cold wind cutting across my face. Part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off. Part of me wanted to punch him square in the jaw. And a very dangerous part of me wanted to drag him upstairs and never let him leave again.

I exhaled slowly, the air burning in my lungs. “You can come in,” I said. “But you can’t stay long. And you’re not staying the night. And I want my key back.”

Kyle nodded, relief and pain flickering across his face at the same time. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I just… I need to talk to you.”

I unlocked the door and let him follow me inside. The old building smelled the same as always — aged plaster, faint radiator heat, and the ghosts of past tenants. The creaky stairs groaned under our feet as we climbed, the sound echoing in the stairwell like a warning.

We went upstairs in silence.

We sat on opposite ends of the old couch in the dim light of my living room. The radiator clanked softly in the corner. Kyle looked smaller than I remembered — like the weight of the last six months had physically shrunk him.

He couldn’t sit still. His knee bounced restlessly. He kept rubbing his palms on his thighs, then clasping his hands together, then rubbing them again. He wouldn’t look at me for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time our eyes met, he’d glance away like it hurt. I could feel how uneasy he was — the tension rolling off him in waves. Kyle had never been good at this. He’d always been the guy who cracked jokes when things got too real, the one who changed the subject the second emotions got heavy. Watching him try to sit with this was almost painful.

He stared at the floor for a long time before he finally spoke, voice low and strained.

“I thought about you every single day.”

The words came out rough, like they’d been dragged through gravel. He cleared his throat, but his voice still cracked on the last word.

“Every. Single. Day, Jeremy.”

He let out a shaky breath and ran both hands through his hair, grabbing at it like he needed something to hold onto.

“I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a split second I’d think you were there. I’d reach for you before I even opened my eyes. And then I’d feel the empty space next to me… and it was like getting punched in the chest. Every single time. I’d lie there staring at the ceiling, hard as a fucking rock remembering how your lips felt around my cock, the way your hole pulled me deep inside you, like it had known forever what we were figuring out - that we just fit together. I’d have to immediately jerk off to memories of that night.”

His voice cracked again. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, like he was fighting to keep himself together.

“I had these dreams. Almost every night. I’d dream I was holding you — not even fucking you, just holding you. Your back against my chest, my arm around your waist, your hair in my face. And it felt so real. So right. Then I’d wake up and you weren’t there. And every single time, for a few seconds, I’d feel this crushing disappointment. Like the dream was the real thing and waking up was the lie.”

He finally looked at me. His eyes were glassy, and tired, and full of something that looked a lot like fear.

“I tried to turn it off. I hooked up with random girls — a lot. I told myself if I just kept doing it, eventually it would feel normal again. The sex was good. I enjoyed it. But every single time, my mind would drift to you. I’d close my eyes and suddenly it wasn’t her body under me. It was yours. I’d picture the way you looked at me that morning — that raw, hungry, almost worshipful look in your eyes when I was buried deep inside you. And the second I pictured that, the second I remembered what it felt like to be that deep in you… I’d cum almost instantly. It was like my body knew the difference. Like it knew I was faking it.”

Kyle’s hands were shaking badly now. He clasped them together so tightly his knuckles went white.

“I just couldn’t understand. I am straight — and yet I couldn’t stop wanting you. Not men. Just you. My best friend. I never even considered that my love for you could include.. this physical need. That night changed everything. I’ve always loved you, Jeremy. I just never understood that my love also included wanting you like that. And now that’s all I can think about. Every day. Every night. I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know if I’m still the same person I thought I was. But I know I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you.”

His voice cracked again, this time so badly he had to stop and take a shaky breath. He looked down at his hands like he was embarrassed by how close he was to breaking.

“I needed you to know that the night and morning with you wasn’t nothing. It was everything. It changed me. It broke me. And I’ve spent every single day since then trying to figure out who the fuck I even am anymore.”

The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the old building. I could hear how hard he was fighting not to collapse in on himself. This wasn’t just an apology for disappearing. This was Kyle staring straight into the mirror of his own identity and seeing something he didn’t recognize — something that terrified him.

I took a slow breath and finally spoke.

“I blocked you because I couldn’t keep watching you seemingly move on while I was falling apart…”

“Those six months were absolute hell for me — the pain, the confusion, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about that one morning either. I lost myself and I’m still lost.”

When I finished, Kyle looked wrecked.

“I did that to you,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “I left you to deal with all of that alone. I’m so fucking sorry, Jeremy.”

He reached across the couch slowly and rested his hand on top of mine. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, but his hand was trembling.

“I’m here now,” he said quietly. “And I’m not running again. Not from this. Not from you. Even if I don’t know what the fuck that makes me. Makes us.

I looked at his hand on mine, then back up at his face — this man who had always been so good at hiding his emotions, now sitting in front of me with every crack in his armor showing.

The tension in the room was so thick I could barely breathe.

Kyle stayed for another hour. We talked about nothing and everything. When he finally stood up to leave, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can come back.”

He left with my key still in his pocket.

And just like that, the door that had been slammed shut for six months cracked open again.

All participants are over the age of 18.

Kyle texted me around 10 a.m.

Kyle: Hey. I’m heading straight from the gym after work. That cool?

I stared at my phone, heart suddenly racing. The memory of his post-gym scent hit me instantly — that sweet, musky mix of man and sweat I’d always loved. I texted back quickly.

Me: Yeah. Come over.

When the knock finally came at 7:15, I was already hard.

I opened the door and there he was.

Kyle stood in the hallway in his gym clothes — black shorts and a tight gray tank top that clung to his chest, still damp with sweat. His dark wavy hair was messy and slightly wet at the temples. A gym bag was slung over one shoulder. In one hand he held two dozen red roses. In the other, a plastic bag with chocolate milk and a box of Busken Bakery cookies.

Our old hangover cure. Our lazy-day snack. Our cheat-day ritual.

He was trying.

His eyes met mine and I saw the nervousness there, but also something deeper — hunger, hope, and that same raw need I’d felt the night before.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

I didn’t answer with words.

I grabbed the front of his tank top, yanked him inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. Before he could even drop the flowers or the bag, I shoved him back against the door and crushed my mouth to his.

The kiss was explosive.

Six months of pent-up longing, anger, and desire poured out of both of us. Our tongues fought for space, sliding against each other with desperate, messy hunger. Kyle groaned into my mouth, one hand coming up to grip the back of my neck while the other still clutched the roses. I could taste the salt of his sweat on his lips. His body was hot and damp against mine, and the rich, masculine post-gym scent of him hit me like a drug.

I moaned and pressed harder against him, grinding my hard cock against his thigh. Kyle kissed me like he was drowning and I was the only air left. His tongue pushed deep into my mouth, claiming, demanding. We were both breathing hard, lips bruising, teeth clashing as we tried to get closer.

Then Kyle’s hands moved.

He dropped the roses and the bag on the floor without looking, grabbed my shoulders, and shoved me down to my knees right there against the door.

I hit the floor with a soft thud, heart racing.

Kyle didn’t hesitate.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts and ripped them down in one rough motion. His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, and fucking angry.

It was rock-hard, veins pulsing along the shaft, the head flushed dark and glistening with precum. But what made my mouth water was the smell. Hot, sweaty, musky, and unmistakably Kyle. The post-workout scent was strong — sharp and masculine, mixed with that sweet undertone I’d always loved. His balls hung heavy and full beneath it, also damp with sweat.

Last night, when he’d stood in my living room pouring his heart out, he’d seemed smaller somehow — diminished, like the guilt and the months of running had physically shrunk him. But tonight? Tonight his dick looked bigger. Harder. Longer. Thicker. A solid, fat 7.5 inches of veiny, angry cock, so hard it stood almost straight up against his abs, the heavy shaft pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart.

Kyle looked down at me, chest heaving, eyes dark with months of pent-up need.

“Fuck, Jeremy…” he growled, voice rough. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of this. How many nights I laid there hard as fuck, stroking my cock and imagining your mouth back on me. Since that first time. Since the only time. I’ve jerked off to the memory of your lips wrapped around me more times than I can count. I’ve dreamed about shoving my dick down your throat again every single fucking day for six months.”

He gripped the base of his fat cock and rubbed the thick, sweaty head across my lips, leaving a trail of precum.

“Open up, baby,” he whispered. “I need to feel that mouth again. I need it so fucking bad.”

I opened my mouth and took him in.

The taste of him — salty, musky, sweaty — exploded across my tongue. He was thicker than I remembered, my jaw aching almost immediately as I sank down. Kyle groaned loudly, one hand fisting in my hair.

“Jesus Christ… yes. Just like that. Take it. God, I missed this. Missed you.”

He started thrusting — not gentle, not slow. He fucked my mouth with desperate, hungry strokes, hips snapping forward as he used my throat. The wet, filthy sounds of me gagging and sucking filled the entryway. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t pull away. I wanted this. I wanted him to use me.

Kyle’s head fell back against the door with a thud, his grip tightening in my hair.

“Six months,” he panted. “Six fucking months I’ve been dreaming about this. About your mouth. About how good you feel. About how you look up at me with those eyes when you’re taking my cock.”

He looked down at me then, eyes glassy with lust and something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he promised, voice cracking slightly. “Not ever again.”

And then he started fucking my throat in earnest — deep, steady strokes that made my eyes water and my cock throb untouched in my pants.

I knew, right then and there, that this fat long dick was going to be inside me in every way possible before the night was over.

Kyle’s hand tightened in my hair, gripping hard enough to make my eyes water.

“Open wider,” he growled. “Take it all.”

He pulled my head forward and thrust his hips at the same time, driving that fat, thick cock deeper into my mouth. I gagged hard as the swollen head pushed past the back of my tongue, but Kyle didn’t stop. He kept pushing, forcing inch after inch down my throat until my nose finally landed right in the trimmed hair at the base of his cock.

And that’s when it hit me.

The scent.

A powerful, concentrated wave of him — hot, sweaty, musky post-gym smell, thick and raw and unmistakably Kyle. It flooded my senses the second my nose pressed into that warm, damp patch of skin and hair. It was stronger than anything I’d smelled all night, and it went straight to my brain like a switch being flipped.

I went feral.

A deep, animalistic moan ripped out of me. My hands shot up and grabbed his ass, pulling him forward as I tried to shove even more of his cock down my throat. My eyes rolled back. My whole body shuddered. I started sucking harder, sloppier, more desperately — like I was trying to devour him.

That reaction did something to Kyle.

He broke.

A low, dangerous growl tore from his chest. His grip in my hair turned vicious. His eyes went dark and wild.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he snarled. “Smell me. Take it. You fucking love that smell, don’t you?”

He started raping my throat.

There was no more teasing. No more slow, controlled thrusts. Kyle grabbed my head with both hands and started fucking my face like a man possessed — hard, deep, relentless. He slammed his cock in and out of my throat with brutal force, the fat head punching past my gag reflex over and over. Spit flew everywhere. My eyes streamed with tears. My throat made obscene, wet gagging sounds with every thrust, but Kyle didn’t care. He was gone — completely lost in it.

“Six months,” he growled between savage thrusts. “Six fucking months I’ve been waiting for this. Waiting to ruin this pretty throat again. You feel that? Feel how deep I am? Your throat is just opening up for me like it’s starving. Like it missed me.”

He was merciless. Every thrust buried him to the hilt, his heavy balls slapping against my chin, his sweaty pubic hair rubbing against my nose and lips with every brutal stroke. The smell of him was everywhere now — thick, overwhelming, and it only made me more desperate. I was moaning nonstop around his cock, drooling, gagging, and loving every second of it.

Kyle looked down at me with pure, feral hunger.

“Look at you,” he panted. “My filthy little slut. Taking it like a fucking whore. You were made for this. Made to have your throat used. Made to smell me while I fuck your face.”

He picked up the pace even more, hips snapping forward like a machine, using my mouth like it was nothing but a warm, wet hole for him to destroy. I could barely breathe. My jaw ached. My throat was on fire. But I didn’t want him to stop. I wanted him to ruin me.

Kyle’s breathing turned ragged. His thrusts became erratic.

“Gonna cum,” he warned, voice rough and shaking. “Gonna flood this fucking throat. You better swallow every drop, baby. Every single fucking drop.”

He slammed in deep one final time, buried himself to the hilt, and came hard.

I felt every powerful pulse of his thick cum shooting straight down my throat. He held me there, groaning loudly, his whole body trembling as he emptied himself into me. I swallowed around him as best I could, feeling his cock twitch and jerk against my tongue.

Kyle’s cock slipped from my mouth with a wet pop, thick strings of spit and cum connecting my lips to the head. I was gasping, chin soaked, throat raw and throbbing.

Before I could even catch my breath, Kyle reached down, grabbed me under the arms, and hauled me to my feet like I weighed nothing. My legs were shaky, but he didn’t give me time to steady myself.

In one smooth, powerful motion, he bent at the knees, wrapped one strong arm around the back of my thighs, and lifted me straight up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

I let out a surprised yelp as my world flipped upside down. My stomach pressed against his hard, sweaty shoulder, my face hanging down near his lower back. My ass was now right next to his face.

Kyle’s big hand immediately grabbed a full, possessive handful of my ass, fingers digging in hard, squeezing and spreading my cheeks as he adjusted his grip.

Kyle’s voice was low, rough, and dripping with filthy ownership.

“My dick is living here tonight.”

A hard slap landed on my butt cheek, making my ass jiggle and my cock throb where it was pressed against his chest.

He started walking toward the bedroom, carrying me like I weighed nothing, his hand still gripping and squeezing my ass possessively.

“Been dreaming about this ass for six fucking months,” he growled as he walked. “Dreaming about bending you over and breeding you until you can’t walk straight. This hole is mine tonight. All night. Every inch of it belongs to me now.”

Kyle reached the bedroom and kicked the door open with his foot. He didn’t set me down gently. He tossed me onto the bed like I was his personal toy — face-down, ass up, legs slightly spread.

I landed with a bounce, my sore throat still burning, my ass stinging from his hand, and my cock rock-hard and leaking against the sheets.

Kyle stood at the foot of the bed, completely naked now, his fat 7.5-inch cock still rock-hard and glistening with my spit. He looked down at me like a predator that had finally caught its prey.

“Stay just like that,” he ordered, voice thick with lust. “Ass up. Don’t you fucking move.”

He climbed onto the bed behind me, grabbed my hips, and yanked me back toward him until my knees were at the edge of the mattress.

Then he leaned down, spread my cheeks with both hands, and spit directly onto my hole.

He placed his throbbing head against my puckered hole and growled, “My dick is moving into your cunt permanently.”

It was a frigid Tuesday evening when Kyle reappeared in my life. The kind of cold that seeped through your coat and made your bones ache, the kind that turned your breath into white clouds the second it left your mouth. The ancient sycamores lining the street stood bare and skeletal under the old streetlights, their branches creaking softly in the wind like they were complaining about the weather too. The neighborhood was quiet - the kind of deep winter stillness that made every footstep sound louder than it should.

I had my hands shoved deep in my pockets and my head down against the wind when I turned the corner onto my street.

And there he was.

Kyle. Standing outside my building like he’d been waiting for hours. Same messy dark hair. Same face that had been haunting me for six months.

He looked like a man who had been running, but finally ran out of road — ran out of road right there at the door to my building. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes red-rimmed, his face exhausted and raw in the cold light.

I stopped a few feet away, heart hammering against my ribs.

He spoke first, voice rough and low. “I’ve been texting you. Calling you. For weeks.”

A short and bitter laugh escaped me, my breath fogging in the frigid air. “I blocked you. On everything. After I gave up on ever seeing you or talking to you again.”

Kyle nodded like he’d expected that. He looked down at his hands, then back up at me, shivering slightly in the cold.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly. “I just… I need to talk to you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I stared at him for a long moment, the cold wind cutting across my face. Part of me wanted to tell him to fuck off. Part of me wanted to punch him square in the jaw. And a very dangerous part of me wanted to drag him upstairs and never let him leave again.

I exhaled slowly, the air burning in my lungs. “You can come in,” I said. “But you can’t stay long. And you’re not staying the night. And I want my key back.”

Kyle nodded, relief and pain flickering across his face at the same time. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I just… I need to talk to you.”

I unlocked the door and let him follow me inside. The old building smelled the same as always — aged plaster, faint radiator heat, and the ghosts of past tenants. The creaky stairs groaned under our feet as we climbed, the sound echoing in the stairwell like a warning.

We went upstairs in silence.

We sat on opposite ends of the old couch in the dim light of my living room. The radiator clanked softly in the corner. Kyle looked smaller than I remembered — like the weight of the last six months had physically shrunk him.

He couldn’t sit still. His knee bounced restlessly. He kept rubbing his palms on his thighs, then clasping his hands together, then rubbing them again. He wouldn’t look at me for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time our eyes met, he’d glance away like it hurt. I could feel how uneasy he was — the tension rolling off him in waves. Kyle had never been good at this. He’d always been the guy who cracked jokes when things got too real, the one who changed the subject the second emotions got heavy. Watching him try to sit with this was almost painful.

He stared at the floor for a long time before he finally spoke, voice low and strained.

“I thought about you every single day.”

The words came out rough, like they’d been dragged through gravel. He cleared his throat, but his voice still cracked on the last word.

“Every. Single. Day, Jeremy.”

He let out a shaky breath and ran both hands through his hair, grabbing at it like he needed something to hold onto.

“I’d wake up in the middle of the night and for a split second I’d think you were there. I’d reach for you before I even opened my eyes. And then I’d feel the empty space next to me… and it was like getting punched in the chest. Every single time. I’d lie there staring at the ceiling, hard as a fucking rock remembering how your lips felt around my cock, the way your hole pulled me deep inside you, like it had known forever what we were figuring out - that we just fit together. I’d have to immediately jerk off to memories of that night.”

His voice cracked again. He swallowed hard, jaw tight, like he was fighting to keep himself together.

“I had these dreams. Almost every night. I’d dream I was holding you — not even fucking you, just holding you. Your back against my chest, my arm around your waist, your hair in my face. And it felt so real. So right. Then I’d wake up and you weren’t there. And every single time, for a few seconds, I’d feel this crushing disappointment. Like the dream was the real thing and waking up was the lie.”

He finally looked at me. His eyes were glassy, and tired, and full of something that looked a lot like fear.

“I tried to turn it off. I hooked up with random girls — a lot. I told myself if I just kept doing it, eventually it would feel normal again. The sex was good. I enjoyed it. But every single time, my mind would drift to you. I’d close my eyes and suddenly it wasn’t her body under me. It was yours. I’d picture the way you looked at me that morning — that raw, hungry, almost worshipful look in your eyes when I was buried deep inside you. And the second I pictured that, the second I remembered what it felt like to be that deep in you… I’d cum almost instantly. It was like my body knew the difference. Like it knew I was faking it.”

Kyle’s hands were shaking badly now. He clasped them together so tightly his knuckles went white.

“I just couldn’t understand. I am straight — and yet I couldn’t stop wanting you. Not men. Just you. My best friend. I never even considered that my love for you could include.. this physical need. That night changed everything. I’ve always loved you, Jeremy. I just never understood that my love also included wanting you like that. And now that’s all I can think about. Every day. Every night. I don’t know what that makes me. I don’t know if I’m still the same person I thought I was. But I know I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you.”

His voice cracked again, this time so badly he had to stop and take a shaky breath. He looked down at his hands like he was embarrassed by how close he was to breaking.

“I needed you to know that the night and morning with you wasn’t nothing. It was everything. It changed me. It broke me. And I’ve spent every single day since then trying to figure out who the fuck I even am anymore.”

The room was quiet except for the occasional creak of the old building. I could hear how hard he was fighting not to collapse in on himself. This wasn’t just an apology for disappearing. This was Kyle staring straight into the mirror of his own identity and seeing something he didn’t recognize — something that terrified him.

I took a slow breath and finally spoke.

“I blocked you because I couldn’t keep watching you seemingly move on while I was falling apart…”

“Those six months were absolute hell for me — the pain, the confusion, the way I couldn’t stop thinking about that one morning either. I lost myself and I’m still lost.”

When I finished, Kyle looked wrecked.

“I did that to you,” he whispered, voice barely holding together. “I left you to deal with all of that alone. I’m so fucking sorry, Jeremy.”

He reached across the couch slowly and rested his hand on top of mine. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, but his hand was trembling.

“I’m here now,” he said quietly. “And I’m not running again. Not from this. Not from you. Even if I don’t know what the fuck that makes me. Makes us.

I looked at his hand on mine, then back up at his face — this man who had always been so good at hiding his emotions, now sitting in front of me with every crack in his armor showing.

The tension in the room was so thick I could barely breathe.

Kyle stayed for another hour. We talked about nothing and everything. When he finally stood up to leave, he hesitated at the door.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” he asked softly.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can come back.”

He left with my key still in his pocket.

And just like that, the door that had been slammed shut for six months cracked open again.

The pain didn’t hit all at once. It crept in slowly, like poison.

The first few weeks were the hardest. I kept checking my phone constantly, hoping for even a single text. I replayed that morning over and over — the way Kyle had held just the thick head of his cock inside me for so long, teasing me, owning me, while he whispered all the filthy things I had said in my sleep. The way he had finally pushed all the way in and bred me. The way he had kissed the back of my neck while he was still inside me.

Then he was gone.

The silence was deafening.

I felt hollow. My hole still ached for days afterward, and every time I moved I was reminded of how stretched and used I had been. I missed Kyle so much it hurt. Not just the sex — though that was part of it — but him. My best friend. The person I could talk to about anything. The person who made me laugh until my stomach hurt. The person who had been there for every major moment of my life since we were kids.

And now he was just… gone.

By the end of month one, the constant checking of my phone had slowed, but the ache hadn’t. I started going out more, trying to fill the void. Bars, clubs, late nights with other friends. But nothing felt right. Every guy I met felt wrong. Every conversation felt empty.

By month two, I had started to accept that he really wasn’t coming back. The pain had settled into something dull and constant. I still thought about him every day. I still missed him with an intensity that surprised me. But I had stopped hoping he would text.

I started going out more aggressively. I hooked up with a few guys here and there — nothing serious, just physical. But none of it felt the same. None of them made me feel the way Kyle had when he was inside me. None of them held me afterward. None of them made me feel that deep, warm, claimed feeling.

I kept chasing it anyway.

By month three, something inside me had broken.

I was lonely. I was hurting. And I was desperately trying to recreate the feeling I had only ever gotten from Kyle — that overwhelming sense of being filled, stretched, and completely dominated. The way his thick cock had stayed just inside me for so long before he finally claimed me. The way he had held me afterward, his cum still warm inside me, his lips on my neck.

I started seeking that feeling with more and more intensity and more and more men.

It started small — hooking up with guys I met on apps, letting them fuck me raw because it felt closer to what I had experienced with Kyle. But it quickly escalated. I wasn’t consciously deciding to become anything. I was just trying to feel something. I was trying to chase that high — the fullness, the domination, the warmth of being filled and held.

One weekend in particular still stands out as the turning point.

I went on a complete bender. I don’t even remember how it started. I just remember waking up Friday morning with a deep, aching need to feel something real. By that night I had already been with three different guys. I let them fuck me however they wanted. I begged them to go harder, to fill me deeper. I wasn’t thinking about being a “cum dump.” I was just trying to feel that same overwhelming fullness I had felt when Kyle bred me.

Saturday was worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it. I spent the entire day and night getting fucked. Four more men. I didn’t clean up between them. I let their cum mix inside me. I kept my eyes closed and pretended every cock was Kyle’s. Every time one of them was about to cum, I would whisper the same thing without even realizing it:

“Fuck yes. Fill me with your load, Kyle.”

I wasn’t saying it for them. I was saying it for myself. I was fantasizing that every single dick inside me belonged to Kyle. That every load pumping into me was his.

By Sunday I had completely lost control. Seven more men. I was sore, exhausted, and leaking constantly, but I couldn’t stop. I needed that feeling. I needed to feel filled. I needed to feel dominated. I needed to feel something.

By the end of that single weekend, I had been fucked and bred by twenty different men.

I didn’t set out to become anything. I was just broken and lonely and desperately trying to recreate the one moment that had made me feel whole.

By month four, the frantic energy of that weekend had faded into something quieter but more constant.

I was still miserable. I still missed Kyle every single day. But I had become resigned to the fact that he was gone forever.

The only thing that made me feel even remotely close to alive was sex — raw, intense, and frequent. I wasn’t consciously choosing to be a cum dump. I was just chasing that same feeling of being filled and dominated that I had only ever gotten from Kyle. Every time a thick cock pushed into me and started pumping cum deep inside, I would close my eyes and pretend it was him. I would imagine his voice in my ear. His arms around me. His lips on the back of my neck.

It became normal for me to get bred multiple times a week. Sometimes every day. I took loads at my apartment, at the gym, at the park, at the bathhouse. I stopped keeping track. The numbers didn’t matter. What mattered was the brief, fleeting high I felt when I was being used — that moment when a stranger’s cock was buried deep inside me and I could almost convince myself it was Kyle.

I was numb most of the time. I went through my days on autopilot. But at night, or whenever I had a free moment, I sought out that feeling with increasing desperation. I let men use me however they wanted. I let them fill me up. I let them leave me leaking and sore. Because for those few minutes while they were inside me, I could almost feel what I had felt with Kyle.

By the end of month six, I had been fucked and bred by dozens of men. I felt like my hole was permanently loose and used. Cum leaked out of me almost constantly. I walked around with that warm, wet, slippery feeling between my cheeks nearly every day — a constant, physical reminder of how far I had fallen in my search for something that only Kyle had ever truly given me.

I wasn’t proud of it. I wasn’t even fully aware of how far I had gone until much later. I was just hurting, lonely, and desperately trying to feel something — anything — close to the connection I had lost.

That was the six months Kyle was gone.

I wasn’t trying to become a cum dump. I was just trying to feel filled again.

I woke up slowly the next morning to sunlight filtering through the blinds and the heavy, warm weight of Kyle still pressed against my back. We had shifted in our sleep. He was spooning me tightly, his bare chest against my back, one heavy arm draped over my waist.

And then I felt it.

His cock — rock-hard and throbbing — was nestled perfectly between my cheeks, the thick shaft resting hot and heavy right against my hole through the thin white fabric of my briefs. Every slow breath he took made it twitch and pulse against me. The heat of it was intense, the head leaking a steady bead of precum that soaked into the cotton right over my entrance.

Kyle was still half-asleep, but his hips were moving in slow, unconscious grinds, sliding that thick, hard cock up and down between my cheeks. The friction was driving me crazy. My own cock was straining painfully against the front of my briefs.

I let out a soft, shaky breath.

Kyle stirred behind me. His arm tightened around my waist and he pressed his face into the back of my neck, inhaling deeply.

“Fuck…” he muttered, voice gravelly with sleep. His hips rolled forward again, deliberately this time, grinding his cock harder between my cheeks. “You feel that?”

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yeah.”

He reached down between us, hooked his fingers into the waistband of my briefs, and tugged them down just enough to free my ass. His bare cock slid between my cheeks again — skin on skin now — hot, thick, and leaking steadily.

Kyle lined the fat, swollen head up against my hole and pushed forward.

The thick head popped inside with a wet, stretching burn that made me gasp. But instead of pushing all the way in, he stopped. He stayed there — just the fat, throbbing head inside me — for long, torturous minutes.

He didn’t thrust. He didn’t move much at all. He just held himself there, letting me feel every single inch of that thick crown stretching my entrance wide open. The head pulsed hot and heavy inside me, leaking a constant stream of precum that trickled deeper into my hole. Every few seconds he would give the tiniest roll of his hips — just enough to nudge the head a fraction deeper before pulling it back to the tight rim, making my hole flutter and clench desperately around the intrusion.

The stretch was constant, intense, and maddening. I could feel every ridge, every vein of the head as it sat just inside me, owning that first inch completely. My hole kept spasming around it, trying to pull more of him in, but Kyle held firm, breathing slow and heavy against the back of my neck.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing my ear as he whispered, voice low and rough:

“I know you’ve been dreaming of taking my dick for years. You talk in your sleep.”

I was mortified. My face burned hot with embarrassment.

Kyle gave another slow, deliberate roll of his hips, the fat head popping in and out of my rim with wet, obscene sounds while he continued in that same low, teasing voice:

“You regularly begged for my dick when we were roommates at Morrison. Used to wake up hard as fuck listening to you whimper my name in the middle of the night.”

The words hit me like a shock. My entire body flushed. He had heard me moaning his name and begging for his cock all those years ago in our shared dorm room.

I was trembling, pushing back against him, silently begging for more, but he kept me right there — just the thick head inside — for what felt like forever. Every tiny movement made the head nudge and stretch me in new ways. Precum kept leaking steadily from him, making everything slick and filthy. My own cock was throbbing and leaking into my briefs, my balls tight and aching.

Kyle growled against my skin, his voice dropping even lower:

“You know what else you said in your sleep?”

“Really?” I whispered, voice shaky. “There was more?” I couldn’t believe that Kyle had waited years to tell me I used to beg for his dick in my sleep.

He nipped at my ear, still holding just the thick head inside me as he continued:

“You begged me to fill you with my cum. You begged me to breed you. You told me that I owned your hole.”

The revelation sent a fresh wave of heat through my entire body. My hole clenched hard around the head of his cock at his words.

Only after several long, torturous minutes did Kyle finally let out a low, ragged groan and push forward, sinking the rest of his cock into me in one slow, relentless thrust until he was buried balls-deep.

I cried out, back arching as he filled me completely for the very first time.

Kyle groaned low and deep, his arm locking around my waist as he held me in place. He started fucking me in slow, deep strokes, the wet sounds of my hole taking him filling the quiet morning air. Every thrust made my briefs — still caught around my thighs — rub against my leaking cock.

He fucked me like that for a long time — spooned tight, his cock sliding in and out of my ass with steady, relentless strokes while his hand reached around to stroke me through the front of my briefs. The room smelled like sex and sweat and last night’s whiskey. The only sounds were our heavy breathing, the wet slap of skin, and the occasional creak of the bed.

When he finally got close, his thrusts grew harder, deeper. He buried his face in my neck and growled against my skin.

“Gonna breed you,” he muttered. “First time… fuck, I’m gonna fill you up.”

I pushed back against him, moaning. “Do it. Breed me, Kyle.”

He slammed in deep one last time and came hard — thick, hot ropes of cum flooding my guts for the very first time. I could feel every pulse, every spurt, as he pumped me full. My own cock throbbed in his hand and I came seconds later, soaking the front of my briefs with my own load.

Kyle stayed buried inside me for a long minute, both of us breathing hard, his cum slowly leaking out around his cock and down my thighs.

When he finally pulled out, a thick gush of his load followed, warm and messy. He reached down and pushed some of it back inside me with two fingers, like he already knew he wanted it to stay there.

“Fuck…” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck. “That was the first time I’ve ever bred anyone.”

We fell back asleep for another few hours, Kyle still holding me tightly from behind. My hole was sore — throbbing, stretched wide, and leaking his cum. It felt like it had been permanently stretched, like it would never be tight again.

When I woke up again hours later, Kyle was gone.

I lay there for a long time, staring at the empty space beside me, my briefs still damp and messy, my hole still aching and full of his dried cum. Eventually I picked up my phone and texted him:

Me: Hey, you wanna grab dinner later?

He didn’t respond.

He didn’t respond for six months.

My best friend ghosted me.

He bred me, held me while we slept, then disappeared like it never happened.

If I had known I would lose my best friend over this, I never would have let it happen. It was the worst six months of my life.

It was a random Thursday night in late 2012 almost 4 years before the cabin, and before I had ever met my fiancé, Eric. I was living alone in a small one-bedroom apartment near campus. I was already in bed, half-asleep, wearing nothing but a pair of small white Calvin Klein briefs — tight, low-rise, the kind that hugged my ass like a second skin and left the curve of my cheeks and the outline of my cock clearly visible. This was back before I started sleeping naked.

My phone lit up on the nightstand.

Kyle: Striking out hard tonight. Mind if I crash? Your place is closer.

I didn’t even hesitate. Kyle was my best friend. Of course he could crash.

Twenty minutes later I heard his key in the door. I had given him a key so he could feed my cat when I went out of town, but he used my place like it was his second apartment. The front door opened and closed, then heavy footsteps. He didn’t knock. He just pushed my bedroom door open, kicked off his boots, and launched himself onto the bed like he always did when he was drunk.

Two hundred pounds of Kyle landed right on top of me.

“Fuck, dude,” he groaned into my neck, his breath hot and thick with whiskey. The sharp, boozy scent filled my nose as his full weight pressed me down. His jeans were rough and warm against the thin white cotton of my briefs, grinding against my ass and pinning my cock between my body and the mattress. The heat of him sank straight through the fabric, making my skin prickle.

We lay there for a minute, both of us breathing hard from the impact. I could feel the steady thump of his heart against my back and the thick, musky smell of his sweat mixing with the whiskey on his breath.

Then Kyle rolled off me with a grunt and sat on the edge of the bed. Without saying another word, he yanked his hoodie over his head, stood up, and shoved his jeans down. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

His cock swung free — already half-hard, thick, and heavy between his legs. The head glistened faintly in the low light. He didn’t seem to care that I was right there watching. He just flopped onto his back on my bed, completely naked, and laced his fingers together behind his head like he was settling in for the night.

The movement lifted his arms. His hairy armpits were suddenly on full display — dark, thick hair damp and matted with sweat from the long night out. The sharp, ripe, masculine smell of him hit me instantly — earthy, salty, and deeply musky, like warm skin after hours of drinking and frustration. It was thick enough that I could almost taste it on my tongue. My cock twitched hard inside my tight white briefs, the head pressing against the soft cotton and leaving a small damp spot.

I had been turned away, trying to play it cool, but that scent pulled me like gravity. I rolled over to face him.

Kyle was watching me. A slow, cocky smile spread across his face the second our eyes met. He knew exactly what I had just smelled. And he knew exactly what it was doing to me.

“Hey Jeremy, look,” he said, voice low and teasing, rough from the whiskey.

Before I could respond, he grabbed the base of his cock and started helicoptering it — swinging it in wide, lazy circles while he grinned at me. His thick shaft slapped wetly against his abs and thighs with every rotation, the heavy head leaving faint streaks of precum on his skin. The sound was obscene — a soft, fleshy thwack-thwack-thwack in the quiet room.

I stared, completely mesmerized, my mouth going dry.

“Put that thing away,” I muttered, trying to sound annoyed, though I was secretly hoping he wouldn’t. My voice came out tighter than I meant it to.

Kyle just laughed and kept swinging it for a few more seconds before letting it settle against his stomach. It was now fully hard — perfectly straight, thick, veined, and standing proud against his abs. The head was flushed dark and shiny.

“I was going commando tonight,” he said with a smirk, still holding the base. “Wanted to accentuate my long dick in my jeans. Guess it worked.”

He flexed his cock on purpose again, making it bounce and twitch while he watched my face. A fresh bead of precum welled at the tip and slowly rolled down the shaft.

“See something you like?” he asked, voice low and rough from the whiskey.

I couldn’t answer. My mouth had gone dry. My eyes were locked on his cock.

Kyle didn’t wait for me to speak. He reached down with one hand, wrapped his fingers around the thick base, and gave it a slow stroke while he kept his other arm behind his head, pits still exposed, that heavy, sweaty musk still thick in the air between us.

“Come on,” he said quietly, almost gently. “I know you want to.”

I didn’t think. I just moved.

I crawled between his spread legs and took his cock into my mouth.

The taste of him hit me immediately — salty, warm, a little bitter from the precum, with an underlying musk that matched the smell of his pits. He was thick enough that my jaw ached almost right away, stretching my lips wide around the veined shaft. I sank down as far as I could, feeling the fat head nudge the back of my throat while my own cock throbbed and leaked against the thin white cotton of my briefs.

Kyle let out a deep, satisfied groan that vibrated through his body. Both of his hands came down and grabbed my head, fingers threading firmly into my hair. He didn’t ask. He just took control.

He started using my mouth exactly how he wanted — slow at first, then deeper, guiding my head up and down with steady, possessive pressure. The wet, obscene sounds of my sucking filled the room — slick, rhythmic, messy. Every time I tried to pull back for air, his hands would push me down again, forcing me to take more of him until my nose was buried in the trimmed hair at the base and I could barely breathe around his thick cock.

“Fuck… that’s it,” he muttered above me, voice thick and ragged. “Take it. Just like that.”

I could feel him throbbing against my tongue, hot and alive. Every flex of his hips pushed him a little deeper. The heavy, sweaty smell of his pits still lingered above me, mixing with the taste of his cock and the quiet creak of the bed springs. It was filthy. It was overwhelming. It was perfect.

Kyle’s breathing got heavier, faster. His thighs tensed on either side of my head. I could feel him getting close — the way his cock swelled and pulsed, the way his grip on my hair tightened almost painfully.

“Gonna cum,” he warned, voice ragged. “You gonna take it?” Though it sounded like more of a command than a question.

I moaned around his cock in answer, my own dick aching and leaking steadily into my briefs.

He held my head down and came hard — thick, hot pulses shooting straight down my throat in heavy ropes. I swallowed as much as I could, but some still leaked out the corners of my mouth and down his shaft in warm, sticky trails. Kyle kept me there until he was finished, only letting go when his cock finally stopped twitching.

When I pulled off, gasping, a thick string of spit and cum connected my lips to his cock. My chin was wet. My throat felt used and sore in the best way. Kyle was looking down at me with that same cocky, satisfied smile, his chest rising and falling. His cock was still half-hard, shiny with spit and cum, resting against his stomach.

He reached down and wiped a bit of cum from my chin with his thumb, then brought it to my lips. I licked it off without thinking, tasting the salty, bitter-sweet flavor of him.

Kyle chuckled, low and warm, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Fuck, man… that was good. Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything else about it. He just pulled me up beside him, threw an arm over my chest like it was the most normal thing in the world, and passed out within minutes — still completely naked, his soft cock resting warm and heavy against my hip.

I lay there for a long time after, heart still racing, the thick taste of his cum still coating my tongue, the heavy musk of his pits and sweat still clinging to the sheets and my skin, my own cock still rock-hard and aching inside my small white Calvin Klein briefs.

That was the first time anything had ever happened between us. And the second time came before he ever left my bed.

It was the spring of 2016 and my bachelor party had taken over a big cabin tucked deep in Hocking Hills. The whole crew was there—Kyle, my best man, plus Gavin, Gordon, Alex, and several others. I’d really only ever had straight friends since high school, and at Ohio State I was the only openly gay guy in our entire architecture program. These dudes had been my brothers for years.

By 2 a.m. the whiskey had done its job. Everyone was loud and sloppy until one by one they started crashing. I claimed the master bedroom at the end of the hall, stripped completely naked like I always did when I slept, and passed out face-down on top of the comforter. My ass was fully exposed to the cool night air drifting in from the open window. The comforter was soft and slightly cool against my skin. I thought I had the room to myself.

Then the door banged open.

Heavy footsteps. A loud “Fuck—shit—” and suddenly Kyle’s full 200-pound frame crashed right on top of me while I was still lying on my stomach. His weight slammed down hard, pinning my exposed body into the comforter. His face smashed into the back of my neck, one thick thigh shoved between my legs, his body heat pouring over me. We both groaned. For a long minute we just lay there tangled, his jeans rough against my bare skin, the smell of whiskey and sweat thick between us. Kyle finally lifted his head, eyes glassy, that stupid lopsided grin spreading across his face—then he froze.

“Wait… holy shit,” he slurred, clearly surprised. “You’re fucking butt ass naked.”

I blinked up at him from the pillow, still pinned under his heat. “I always sleep naked. I thought I had the room to myself.”

Kyle laughed—deep, drunken, way too loud—and pushed himself up on his elbows. The movement dragged his bulge right across my ass again. He rolled off me, sat on the edge of the bed, and started stripping—boots, hoodie, jeans—until he was down to nothing but tight black boxer briefs. The thick outline of his cock was already pushing against the fabric.

He turned back to climb into bed, got a full view of me still lying there completely exposed on top of the comforter—stomach-down, ass up and on display—and let out a low, appreciative whistle. Then he flopped onto the bed beside me. The mattress bounced. His body heat rolled off him in waves.

We lay there talking in the dark, voices low so we wouldn’t wake the others. Gavin’s snoring drifted down the hall. The cabin smelled like pine wood, spilled whiskey, and the faint musk of too many guys in one place. Kyle asked me about the open relationships I’d had in the past. He seemed genuinely curious but confused.

“I don’t get it, man,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was rough from the whiskey. “Like… only one person for the rest of your life? That sounds fucking exhausting. But open stuff? I don’t know. I guess it must be nice though… not having to worry about only getting to have sex with one person forever. Being able to want other people without it blowing everything up.”

He was starting to breathe a little heavier as he talked, his chest rising and falling in the dark. This had happened before. It started just like this too—slow, easy conversation that somehow got thicker the longer we lay there side by side.

Kyle turned his head toward me on the pillow. His voice dropped to a whisper, almost like he was sharing a secret.

“You remember that time I showed up at your apartment after I struck out on my date?”

I did. I remembered every detail.

It was years earlier. Kyle had come over late, drunk and frustrated after bombing with some girl. He’d crashed into my bed the same way—full weight landing on top of me. Then he got up, stripped completely naked without a word, and flopped onto his back. He laced his fingers together behind his head, elbows out, totally relaxed into the pillow. His hairy armpits were completely exposed, and the room filled with the sharp, sweaty, masculine smell of him—musky and a little ripe from the long night out. I had been turned the other direction at first, trying to play it cool, but that scent hit me hard. I couldn’t help it. I turned over.

Kyle had smiled when he saw me notice. He was already rock hard, his thick cock standing straight up. He kept flexing it on purpose, making it bounce and twitch in the air while he watched my face. No shame. Just that cocky grin and those hairy pits on full display.

Back in the cabin, Kyle’s whisper pulled me out of the memory. His breathing was heavier now, warmer against my shoulder.

“Yeah… that night,” he said softly. “Felt the same then. You turning over and seeing me like that.”

The air between us had shifted, but neither of us said anything about it. Kyle reached over slowly and ran his hand down my back, his palm warm and a little rough. His fingers traced lower, cupping my ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Fuck, man… I never realized your butt had gotten so big. It keeps growing.” he murmured, almost to himself. His thumb brushed over the curve of it, slow and curious. “Round, perfect… built for this.”

Right then I heard it — fleshy sound of him slapping his hard dick against his palm a couple of times. Then he returned his hand to cup my ass again, and it stayed there, warm and possessive, fingers gently kneading while we kept talking in low voices.

We kept talking for a while longer, the conversation drifting, but the closeness stayed. Kyle’s hand never left my ass. The tension grew thicker with every breath, but we didn’t name it. We just lay there, the night stretching on, the heat between us building in the dark.

Eventually I rolled onto my side to face him. Our eyes met. Kyle leaned in first, slow and careful, and kissed me. It started soft—just lips brushing—but quickly deepened, tongues sliding together, the taste of whiskey still on both of us. His hand never left my ass, squeezing and spreading it as we made out.

We kissed for a long time, hands exploring, bodies pressing closer. The heat between us built until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I slid down his body and took his perfectly straight 7-and-a-half-inch cock into my mouth. It was thick, the head already leaking as I wrapped my lips around it.

The second I started sucking, Kyle grabbed my head in both hands and absolutely controlled me — almost like I was just a giant fleshjack. He controlled the pace and the depth completely, pushing my head down and pulling it back exactly how he wanted, using my mouth without mercy. Kyle let out a long, shaky groan, his fingers tightening in my hair as he guided me.

“Fuck… just like that night,” he whispered.

I sucked him the way he directed, tasting the salt of his precum, feeling him throb against my tongue while he used my throat. His hairy thighs tensed on either side of my head. The musky scent of him filled my nose.

After a while he pulled me up, flipped me onto my back on the comforter, and pushed my legs up. He spit on his cock, lined up, and pushed the thick head against my hole.

“Im just going to put the tip in. We don’t have any condoms,” he said. But he didn’t stop. As he started pushing in, he asked, “You want me to stop?” but never gave me time to answer. He kept sinking deeper, inch by inch, knowing I didn’t want him to stop. He knew I was his the second his cock head touched my hole. He knew I was going to beg him to fuck me hard. To fuck me hard and breed me.

No woman he’d ever been with had begged to be fucked as hard as I had. He’d tried to find them, and couldn’t. I was the only one he’d found who could take his cock as fully and as relentlessly as he needed to give it.

He slammed the rest of the way in with one hard thrust, burying his cock balls-deep in my ass.

I cried out, back arching as he started fucking me—deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak. Every thrust punched wet, obscene sounds out of my stretched hole while he kept squeezing my bubble butt, spreading my cheeks so he could watch his cock disappear inside me.

“Take it, bitch,” he growled, pounding harder. “This is for you. I know you’ve wanted this cock again ever since that night. You probably dream about this.”

It’s true. I did. Even when Eric, my fiance, was fucking me I was usually imagining it was Kyle.

“Im going to fill you with my cum,” he grunted, “just like you begged me to do that night.” His balls were now slapping hard against my ass as he pounded hard into me. “I’m sending you down the aisle with my load in you,” he continued grunting between deep thrusts. “If you were a woman we’d be married, and you’d be taking my dick on the daily.”

I was surprised at how different it was this time. Like he regretted something. I jerked my own cock frantically. “Fuck—Kyle—yes—breed me—”

His rhythm broke.

He continued to slam into my ass, “Take-my-load-slut.”

He slammed into me one final time and stayed there, cock pulsing hard as the orgasm tore through his body. As all of his muscles began to spasm, he collapsed on top of me for the second time that evening. I felt every thick rope of cum flood my guts—hot, heavy, overflowing immediately and leaking out around his shaft onto the bed.

As his breathing slowed, his dick softened. When he finally pulled out, a thick gush of his load poured from my gaping hole and puddled beneath me. He scooped some up on his fingers and brought them to my mouth. As he fed me his load from my own ass, he said, “Fuck. I love you, man.”

He collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, his softening cock nestled between my cheeks. Down the hall, Gavin kept snoring.

Kyle kissed the back of my neck, voice low and satisfied. “I’m serious, Jeremy. I love you.”

I lay there in the dark, hole still fluttering and full of his cum, the memory of that night in my apartment and this inevitable breeding blending together. Exactly what I’d always craved. But now I wondered why he had to tell he was serious about loving me. Of course we loved each other. We were best friends. Our breathing began to sync up as we both fell asleep, his dick still nestled near my now filled hole.