r/gaystories

Everyone is over 18

Quick recap: Cody's date was getting closer, and somehow I had become part of his preparations. After measuring him, helping him shave, and finding the right condom size with him, a test that ended with him coming, the line between a simple favor and something much more intimate was getting harder to ignore.

That evening, Cody and I sat on the couch pretending to watch TV.

At least I was pretending.

After everything that had happened over the past few days, simply sitting beside him no longer felt simple. I had already seen far too much of him, held him in my hand, shaved him, rubbed lotion into his skin, put a condom on him, and made him come while he was wearing it. And now he was supposed to sit beside me in a T-shirt and shorts as if he were just my roommate?

That was impossible.

Cody checked his phone every few minutes. At first, he smiled to himself, but then his expression changed slightly. The smile remained, though something more nervous appeared beneath it.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing."

"Cody."

He looked at me, then back at the screen.

"She wrote something... direct."

I immediately felt my stomach tighten.

"How direct?"

Cody rubbed the back of his neck and laughed quietly.

"She said that if the date goes well, she's definitely going to give me a blowjob."

For a second, I didn't answer.

I should have made a joke. Told him he was lucky. Acted like a normal roommate cheering his friend on before a date.

Instead, I immediately pictured his cock.

Cody must have noticed my silence, because he quickly added, "I know, it sounds good. It's just that now I've started wondering."

"About what?"

"Whether everything will be... okay."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Okay?"

"You know. The taste. The smell. Whether it'll be weird."

He watched me more carefully, and by then, I already understood where the conversation was going.

Cody put his phone down on the coffee table.

"Since you've already helped me with my size, the shaving, and the condoms... could you check one more thing?"

For a moment, I stared at him without speaking.

He didn't need to explain. After all those "practical" requests, I already knew that tone. Cody always began as if he were asking about something sensible, technical, almost innocent. Then it ended with me having his body in my hands and trying to pretend I wasn't completely hard.

"Cody," I said slowly. "Are you really asking me to... taste you?"

His face turned slightly red, but he didn't look away.

"Just check."

"Just."

"What?" He shrugged, although this time he looked less confident. "I just want to know if everything will be okay. I don't want it to be weird during the date."

I should have told him he was taking this too far. That we had already crossed too many boundaries.

But the truth was that my body responded faster than my common sense.

"All right," I said quietly.

Cody blinked as if, despite everything, he hadn't expected me to agree so quickly.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. If you want to be sure, I'll check."

For a moment, he sat completely still. Then he stood from the couch and moved in front of me. This time, there was no measuring tape, trimmer, lotion, or condom. There was nothing we could use to pretend this was ordinary technical help.

Cody hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts and slowly pulled them down over his hips.

He was already half-hard.

The sight hit me harder than I wanted to admit. His cock hung heavily in front of my face, as if it already knew that this time, it wouldn't end with looking or touching.

I swallowed.

"It looks good," I said.

Cody smiled faintly.

"That's not the same as tasting it."

He was right.

I moved closer to the edge of the couch and looked up at him. He was beautiful in that shamelessly natural way of his.

"Come closer," I said.

Cody took a step toward me, and I realized I genuinely couldn't wait to take him into my mouth.

I started carefully.

At first, I only brushed my lips over the tip, as if I really intended to perform a quick test and pull away after a few seconds. Cody stood tense in front of me, one hand resting on my shoulder, looking down as if he couldn't decide whether he should watch or turn away.

I didn't have that problem.

I wanted to see all of him.

I touched my tongue to the spot where a small drop had gathered and felt his body react immediately. Cody twitched slightly, but he didn't pull away.

"Well?" he asked more quietly than usual.

I moved back only far enough to answer.

"You taste good."

His lips parted slightly.

"Is that all?"

I smiled briefly.

"Clean. Mild. Very masculine."

Cody swallowed, and I watched him grow even harder.

That was when I stopped pretending it was only a quick check.

I wrapped one hand around the base and took him deeper into my mouth. Slowly and confidently, letting him feel the difference between an accidental touch and someone who genuinely knew what he was doing. Cody let out a low, surprised sound and tightened his fingers on my shoulder.

"Fuck, Matt..."

I didn't answer. I didn't need to.

I took my time with him, moving slowly and steadily, making every motion feel like an answer to his earlier question. Yes, he tasted good. Yes, the girl would have no reason to complain. Yes, he was exactly the kind of man who couldn't be ignored.

His hips moved gently toward me, then stopped as if he were trying to control himself. I looked up at him and ran my hand along his thigh, letting him know it was all right.

"You really know what you're doing," he forced out.

This time, I pulled away for a second.

"I told you. She won't have any reason to complain."

Cody stared at me, dazed.

Then I took him into my mouth again, deeper and with more confidence.

He stood completely hard in front of me, his body tense with a level of pleasure he probably hadn't expected to feel so strongly.

I could sense it in every movement he made.

In the way his hips began responding to my mouth. In how difficult it was becoming for him to stand still. In the way he looked down at me, stunned, as if he were only now realizing that my "help" was something completely different from a test before his date.

I gripped him more firmly near the base and sped up. Not roughly, but with more confidence and precision, guiding him with my mouth and tongue until he stopped thinking about anything except what he was feeling.

"Matt..." he gasped, his voice tightening.

I didn't move away.

I only looked up at him.

Cody understood.

"I'm going to come," he forced out. "I'm really going to come."

I nodded slightly, still holding him in my mouth. That was my answer. My permission. And I think that was what made him lose the last of his control.

His body tensed harder, his fingers tightened on my shoulder, and a moment later, he came in my mouth with a short, muffled moan that went straight through me and settled deep inside me. I took it calmly, still holding him until the final tremors slowly began to fade from his body.

When I finally pulled away and looked up at him, Cody seemed to have no idea what to say.

For a moment, he simply stood above me, naked, relaxed, and completely shocked by how far the "test" had gone.

"Fuck," he finally said quietly. "If she does that even half as well as you, I'll be lucky."

That sentence should have made me laugh.

Instead, it sank too deeply into me.

Cody pulled up his shorts and sat beside me on the couch, still looking slightly dazed. I stared straight ahead, the taste of his climax still in my mouth and my own hardness hidden inside my pants.

There were still a few days left before the date.

But after that evening, I was no longer sure whether Cody was really preparing for her or becoming more and more accustomed to me.

I was horny the other night and I found an older man(39) looking for anything. I told him I’m a verse bottom. He said I can wait or come now and play with another daddy (68). I happily obliged and told him I’d be there soon. I got to his house which was very close to me, and as soon as I got inside I stripped naked and took a hit of poppers. I started sucking him and he said the other guy should be there any second. I heard the door open and I didn’t even look. I just kept sucking till I heard a man undress. I was so horny by the fact I didn’t even see his face yet and he’s eating my ass. I felt him try his cock but he was so damn thick I needed another hit of poppers. I relaxed and he shoved his cock in me deeply. I took it like a good boy. They took turns fucking me and being sucked. It was all bareback too. I let the older one cum in my mouth while the other filled my ass. I kept playing with their cold till we couldn’t handle anymore sensation. We all cleaned up and parted ways after they both stuck their fingers in my ass to make me cum.

Hi and horny one thing led to another so I gave him a bj

I was flying from Bombay to Bangalore in India

Flight was at 2 am, I reached early after dinner

I was just unbearably horny in the cab itself

Reddit was bullshit so I opened grindr for the first time. Loads texted

One guy worked in the airport itself,staff of an airline

Young guy

We met after I had checked in my luggage,didn't even talk

Just walked together to a washroom

He entered one cubicle,I entered the one beside it

He nearly layed down and brought his mouth with his tongue out,from under the side door gap

I leaned down too and put my cock in his mouth

Position wasn't ideal but he still sucked like a very eager cock sucker

Kept sucking till I blasted my load in his mouth. I could see him slurp it up like a good lil cum hungry slut!

And then we both went out

Didn't even speak after and I left,and uninstalled grindr immediately!

🔞Everyone is 18+

I remember the rain. It had a sound like static, like the universe trying to tune into a dead channel. That was my life at fifty-two—a lot of quiet noise in a house that was too big for one man. The divorce left me with the four-bedroom Craftsman and a kind of hollowed-out peace I mistook for contentment. Then Chloe came home. My daughter, twenty years old, a burst of color and chaos, her old room filling up with canvases and the sweet, sticky smell of vanilla perfume. She brought life back into the halls.

And she brought him.

Nathan.

The first time I saw him, I felt it in my teeth. A low, resonant hum. He walked into my dining room and the light bent around him. Twenty-three, but he had an old soul in his eyes. Dark eyes that didn’t just look at you; they absorbed you. His handshake was firm, his palm warm and slightly rough. “John,” he said, and my name in his mouth felt like a key turning in a lock I’d forgotten about. I watched him all through dinner. The way his forearm flexed when he lifted his wine glass. The shadow of stubble along his jaw. The faint smile that played on his lips when he listened, like he was hearing a secret punchline to a joke only he understood. I wanted to know that punchline. The wanting was a hot, shameful stone in my gut.

But that was just the appetizer. The main course was served a week later, on a Friday night soaked in that relentless rain.

They were upstairs. I was in my tomb of an office below, a spreadsheet glowing green on my monitor, meaningless. The movie ended. Laughter faded. Then the new sound started.

It wasn’t music for listening. It was music for fucking. A deep, insistent bass that vibrated up through the floorboards and into the soles of my feet. A synth line that coiled around my spine. My skin tightened. Every instinct, every decent, fatherly fiber in me screamed to get up, to leave, to put on headphones.

I didn’t move. I leaned back in my chair. The leather sighed beneath me. I was a man awaiting a verdict.

Then came the creak. The slow, rhythmic groan of the old oak bedframe. Creak… creak… creak… A piston firing. My breath hitched. My mind, that filthy collaborator, didn’t need a visual. It provided one in high-definition, surround-sound detail. Nathan. The powerful, rolling muscles of his back, slick with sweat. The desperate clench of his ass. The driving, animal rhythm of his hips as he moved over my daughter. I could see the sweat dripping from his hairline, the concentration on his face dissolving into pure sensation.

A low, muffled groan punched through the floor.

Him.

It wasn’t a sound of passion. It was a sound of work. Of effort. Of a man giving himself over to a physical truth. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard.

My body betrayed me completely, instantly. My cock, which had been semi-dormant for years, hardened into a rigid, aching bar of need against my zipper. It was so sudden it was painful. Shame followed—a scalding flush that crept up my neck. This was my daughter. This was her boyfriend. I was a pervert. A voyeur. I gripped the arms of my chair until my knuckles ached.

The creaking accelerated. It lost its rhythm, became frantic, pounding. The bed was slamming against the wall now, each impact a thunderclap in the silent house. And his control shattered.

Another groan, deeper, torn from the base of his throat. It was g uttural. Raw.

Then the cry.

“Fuck! Oh, GOD, yes!”

It was Nathan’s voice. But not the polite, measured voice from my dinner table. This was a voice stripped bare, broken open by pleasure. It was surrender. It was victory. It was a sound so intimately male, so violently honest, that it felt like he’d reached down through the ceiling and wrapped his hand around my heart, my lungs, my cock.

I came undone. Just listening. My own hips gave a helpless, minute thrust against nothing. A hot, desperate pulse throbbed through me. I was panting, my mouth dry as ash. I was hard enough to drill through steel, humiliated, exhilarated, and completely owned by the sound of another man’s climax.

The pounding reached a frenzied peak—three final, brutal slams—and stopped dead.

Silence. A ringing, deafening silence filled with the ghost of his voice. The synth music trickled on, absurdly cheerful. I heard the rustle of sheets, Chloe’s soft, murmured word. A giggle.

I sat there, trembling. The image of him—head thrown back, throat working, body seizing—was burned into the back of my eyelids. I could still smell it, or I thought I could: sex, sweat, salt. My own arousal was a sticky, uncomfortable reality. I had to get out. I felt like I was suffocating.

I stood up. My legs were water. I fumbled with my fly, a pathetic attempt to adjust the impossible strain against the fabric. I was a mess. A walking, breathing crime scene.

I opened my office door.

The hallway was a canyon of shadow. The nightlight from the bathroom painted a jaundiced yellow puddle on the hardwood. My eyes adjusted.

The door to the attic stairs, always shut, was open.

And he was standing on the landing.

My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stuttered and died for a full second before lurching back to life with a violent, sickening thud.

Nathan.

Shirtless.

The light from the bathroom didn’t just fall on him; it worshipped him. It traced the perfect, sculpted mounds of his pectorals, the deep, defined grooves of his abdomen, that infamous V that pointed like a arrow straight down into the loose waistband of his grey sweatpants. They were slung so low I could see the twin lines of his hip bones and the shadowed trail of hair that disappeared beneath the fabric. Sweat glistened on his skin, making him look oiled, luminous. Every muscle was etched in the faint gold light, from the hard caps of his shoulders down to the powerful cords of his forearms. His dark hair was a wild, damp mess, curls plastered to his forehead and temples.

He was frozen, one foot on a lower step, caught in the act. He was the aftermath of the symphony I’d just heard. The living, breathing proof.

Suddenly, his head turned. His eyes found mine.

They weren’t black in this light. They were a deep, bottomless brown, wide with a shock that mirrored my own. He saw me—a man twice his age, standing in a darkened doorway, caught red-handed in the act of listening. He saw the panic on my face, the guilt, the undisguised hunger that I was too shattered to hide.

His gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, then lower, tracing a path down my own clothed body. I felt it like a physical touch. It lingered for a heartbeat at the obvious, unforgivable bulge in the front of my chinos.

Time didn’t just stop; it evaporated. The world shrank to the ten feet of hallway between us, charged with a voltage that made the air crackle.

The shock in his eyes didn’t melt into horror. It transformed.

It smoldered.

The initial surprise was burned away by a slow, dawning heat. A profound, unsettling understanding. He knew. He knew every second I’d listened. He knew the effect his voice had had on me. He could see the evidence tenting my pants. And instead of disgust, his expression shifted into something else entirely. Curiosity. Challenge. A dark, delicious amusement.

He didn’t look away. He didn’t cover up. He stood his ground, letting me look my fill. His chest rose and fell with his still-heavy breathing. My eyes were dragged, helplessly, over the landscape of him. The smooth skin, the dusting of dark hair across his chest. And there, on his left pectoral, a flash of silver—a small, perfect hoop through his nipple. The sight was a bolt of lightning straight to my groin. It was a detail of beautiful, subversive rebellion. It was hot as hell.

He saw me notice it. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Not a friendly smile. A knowing one. A shared one.

Slowly, with a predator’s grace, he brought his other foot down onto the landing. He was closer now. I could smell him. It wasn’t just soap or sweat. It was the musky, peppery, unmistakable scent of a man after sex. It was the scent of his sex. It flooded my senses, dizzying, primal. My knees felt weak.

Then he moved. Not toward the bathroom. He turned sideways and leaned back against the wooden banister, arching his spine just so. The pose was deliberate, exhibitionist. It thrust his chest out, making the silver ring gleam. It made the sweatpants dip another crucial inch, revealing the taut, smooth skin of his lower stomach, the dark line of hair thickening as it ventured south.

My mouth was desert-dry. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t breathe. Every nerve ending was on fire. He was performing. For me. This wasn’t an accident. This was a show. A second act.

His eyes locked on mine again. They held a question, and an answer. They were full of a lazy, confident heat that said, You liked the audio, old man? Here’s the visual.

He let the moment stretch, thick and syrupy with tension. He let me drown in it.

Then, ever so slowly, he lifted his right hand. His long fingers drifted down his own torso, over the ridges of his abs, a slow, sensual caress. They didn’t stop until his thumb hooked into the front of his sweatpants, right at the center, pulling the fabric down a fraction more, revealing a hint of darker hair beneath.

And he winked.

It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t friendly. It was a slow, deliberate drop of a gauntlet. It was a promise whispered in a silent language that bypassed my brain and spoke directly to my blood. It said, This could be yours.

My entire body went rigid with want.

He held my gaze for one more endless second, letting the promise hang in the air between us, potent and undeniable. Then, he pushed off the banister. He didn’t hurry. He turned and walked the few steps to the bathroom, each movement fluid and unconcerned. He closed the door. The soft snick of the latch was the period at the end of a sentence that had rewritten my entire world.

I don’t know how long I stood there in the dark. The rain had finally stopped. And the house was silent again.

But nothing was silent. My blood was roaring in my ears, skin feeling too tight. The smell of him lingered in the hallway. The image of him—arrogant, beautiful, offering—was seared into me.

I walked back into my office on unsteady legs. I didn’t look at the spreadsheet. I sat down in the chair that still felt warm from my body.

I looked up at the white, innocent ceiling.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I smiled. A real, slow, secret smile.

I am 38 years old. A 22 years old guy just fucked my ass 1 hour ago. It was the first time for me getting fucked. I just went to suck his cock and he bent me over and fucked me for good 10 mins. It felt like pooping all the time and he was telling me it is just normal. I liked it overall. Now I am officially a bottom and I am happy about it. Excited to make more cocks cum for me. 🤎

I remember him saying all the time" what a hot ass you got" 🥳

🔞Everyone is 18+

The first thing I remember is the smell. That’s what sticks with you, I think, when you’re trying to pinpoint the exact moment your life veered off its comfortable, paved path and into something wild and overgrown. It was the smell of chlorine, hot cedar, and something else—something clean and sharp, like expensive aftershave cut with pure, masculine sweat. It was the smell of the country club sauna, and it was the smell of him. Darell.

My dad, Simon, had been talking about Darell for years. “My golf buddy,” he’d say, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Single-digit handicap. Built like a damn linebacker, but with the swing of a poet.” He’d always say it with a kind of wistful pride, the way men do about other men they admire—a mix of envy and aspiration. I’d seen him in passing, a broad-shouldered silhouette in the pro shop or laughing on the veranda with a gin and tonic in his hand. He was one of those men who seemed to occupy more space than was physically allotted to him, not just in a room, but in the air itself. His presence had weight.

The “private lessons” were my father’s idea. A bribe, or maybe an investment. I’d just turned twenty-one, floundering through my final year of a business degree I had zero passion for, spending more time at the club’s pool than in the library. Simon was a strategist. He saw my lack of direction not as a crisis, but as a piece to be moved on his board. “You need an edge, Matt,” he’d said over dinner, sawing into his steak. “Networking happens on the green, not on LinkedIn. You’re a decent golfer, but you’re inconsistent. Darell’s agreed to tune you up. Consider it an internship in social capital.”

I’d agreed because it was easier than arguing. Because the idea of spending hours with my father’s formidable friend sent a confusing, electric jolt through my gut—a jolt I was adept at ignoring.

So, that’s how I found myself pushing open the heavy oak door to the clubhouse’s private sauna suite at seven on a Tuesday evening, the rest of the building quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of pool filters and the thwock of my own nervous heartbeat in my ears.

The heat hit me first, a solid, woolly wall of it that stole my breath and instantly beaded sweat at my temples. Then, the light—a soft, hellish glow from the ceramic heater stones, illuminating swirling motes of steam and the rich, red grain of the cedar walls.

And then, him.

Darell was already there, sitting on the highest bench, a white towel draped loosely around his hips. His body was a lesson in anatomy carved from oak and corded with thick, ropy muscle. He wasn’t lean; he was dense. A powerful chest, dusted with dark hair that trailed down a ridged abdomen and disappeared beneath the towel. Shoulders so broad they seemed to curve with the walls of the small room. His arms were resting on his knees, biceps swelling even in repose, veins standing in stark relief under skin glistening with a fine sheen of sweat.

He turned his head, and his eyes found me. They were a startling, pale blue, like chips of winter sky, and they didn’t just look—they assessed, they took in every detail of my own towel-clad body, my hesitant stance in the doorway. A slow, easy smile spread across his face, carving lines into his stubbled cheeks.

“Matt,” he said, and his voice was a low rumble, deeper than I remembered, vibrating through the humid air and settling right in the base of my spine. “Don’t just stand there letting the cold in. Shut the door. The heat’s a gift. You have to commit to it.”

I obeyed, the door clicking shut with a finality that echoed in the small space. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the hiss of steam as Darell ladled water over the rocks. A fresh, scorching wave bloomed, carrying that scent—his scent—directly into my lungs. It was musk, soap, and something fundamentally, undeniably male.

“Your dad says you have a problem with your follow-through,” Darell began, not looking at me now, but staring at the glowing stones. Sweat was tracing the deep groove of his spine, sliding down the hard planes of his back. “That you get in your head. You tense up. Golf’s not a game of force, Matt. It’s a game of release.”

I moved to the lower bench, opposite him, the wood searing against the backs of my thighs. I could feel his gaze on me again, a physical pressure.

“I don’t know,” I managed, my own voice sounding thin and young. “I just… I can’t seem to get it right when it counts.”

“That’s because you’re fighting yourself,” he said, and now he did look at me, those blue eyes piercing through the steam. “The power doesn’t come from muscling it. It comes from letting everything go. All the tension. All the…” he paused, his eyes dropping for a fraction of a second to my mouth, then lower, to where my own towel was tented over my lap, “…the resistance.”

The word hung in the air, thick and laden. My mouth went dry. I was painfully, acutely aware of my own body. Of the sweat trickling between my pecs, over my stomach. Of the way the damp towel clung to me. And of the traitorous, swelling heat that was gathering low in my belly, completely independent of the sauna’s temperature.

“Show me your grip,” he said suddenly, swinging his legs down. He landed on the floor with a soft thud, standing directly in front of me. He was closer than any man had ever been to me in a state of near-nudity. I could see every pore, every scar—a thin white line on his ribs, the dark circles of his nipples drawn tight from the heat. The towel around his hips seemed perilously loose.

“My… grip?”

“On an imaginary club. Show me.”

My hands were trembling slightly as I raised them, mimicking a golf hold. In an instant, his own hands—massive, calloused, strong—enveloped mine. His skin was blazing hot, slick with sweat. His front was only inches from my face. The scent of him was overwhelming.

“Too tight in the right hand,” he murmured, his breath stirring the damp hair on my forehead. His thumbs pressed into the fleshy parts of my palms, a firm, insistent pressure. “You’re choking it. You have to hold it like you mean it, but like you’re not afraid it’s going to fly away.”

His fingers slid between mine, adjusting, his touch lingering. A jolt, white-hot and undeniable, shot straight to my cock, which twitched violently beneath my towel, thickening, lifting the fabric. I knew he could see it. There was no hiding it. A flush that had nothing to do with the heat burned up my neck and across my face.

He didn’t move away. His eyes locked on mine, and in that blue depth, I saw no surprise, no disapproval. I saw a flicker of something else—a recognition, a dark, mirrored hunger. His own towel, I noticed with a dizzying rush of blood to my head, was no longer lying flat. A distinct, heavy bulge was pushing against the terrycloth, tenting it outwards in a formidable ridge.

“See?” he said, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register that seemed to vibrate in my very bones. “Tension. It’s all right here.” One of his hands left mine and, with a slowness that was pure torture, came to rest not on my shoulder, but high on my inner thigh, just where it met my hip. The heat of his palm seared through the towel. “You’re holding it all in your core. In your… hips.”

His thumb moved, a tiny, circular stroke against the sensitive skin. My breath hitched, a sharp, audible gasp. I was fully, achingly hard now, my cock straining upwards, the head pressing blatantly against the damp fabric. Pre-cum was already leaking, a hot spot of moisture I was sure was visible.

“The lesson,” Darell whispered, leaning in so close his lips were almost at my ear. His stubble brushed my cheek. I could feel the solid wall of his chest hovering just over my shoulder. “Is about follow-through. It’s not enough to make contact. You have to commit to the entire motion. You have to finish.”

His hand on my thigh slid upward, an inch. Then another. The rough pad of his thumb brushed the underside of my shaft through the towel. A full-body shudder wracked me. A helpless, needy sound escaped my throat—a soft, choked-off ahh.

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes again. His own were hooded, dark with an intent that made my stomach clench with wild anticipation. The bulge in his towel was monumental, the outline of the head clearly defined.

“Your dad wanted me to teach you consistency,” Darell said, a wicked, knowing curve on his lips. “To show you how to perform under pressure.” His free hand came up and, with a deliberate slowness that stopped my heart, he tugged at the knot of his own towel. It loosened. The fabric gaped. I caught a glimpse of a thatch of coarse, dark hair and the thick, ruddy base of his cock before he stopped, leaving it hanging open.

He saw where I was looking. And he smiled.

“Lesson one, Matt,” he rumbled. “Let’s see if you can finally learn to… release.”

His hand on my thigh crept the final, decisive inch, his fingers curling over the hard, aching length of me, squeezing just once through the fabric—a promise, a claim, an end to all the pretending.

And in that stifling, scented heat, with my father’s name hanging in the air between us, I did. I let go. Everything.

CHAPTER 1: THE CONNECTION

Nathan and Jake met through a local gaming forum. Both in their 40s, they were looking for people their age to game with, and what started as online matches quickly turned into grabbing beers and hanging out in person. They clicked instantly—Nathan, 42 and openly gay, had an easygoing confidence, while Jake, 49, straight and divorced, was more reserved but appreciated Nathan’s laid-back nature.

Their friendship felt effortless. They talked about everything: work, exes, gaming obsessions. But one night, after a few drinks on Jake’s back porch, the conversation took a turn.

Jake had been unusually quiet, rolling his beer bottle between his hands, staring off into the dark.

“You good?” Nathan asked, nudging his shoulder.

Jake hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “I’ve been thinking about something. And it’s… weird.”

Nathan smirked. “Weird is my specialty. Hit me.”

Jake scratched his jaw. “Okay, so… you’ve been with straight guys before, right?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. A few.”

“And, uh… you’ve, like… done things for them?” Jake kept his eyes on the table, clearly uncomfortable but pushing forward.

Nathan set his beer down, now fully intrigued. “I have.”

Jake exhaled hard. “So, if—and I mean if—a guy wanted to… try something. But didn’t want to… you know, do anything back…” He trailed off, his ears turning red.

Nathan leaned in, voice soft but teasing. “Jake, are you asking me to play with your cock?”

Jake winced, covering his face. “Jesus, man.”

Nathan chuckled. “Relax. It’s just us. And, yeah, I get what you’re saying. You want to feel it but don’t want any pressure to reciprocate.”

Jake nodded stiffly. “It sounds selfish.”

Nathan shook his head. “Not at all.” He placed a hand on Jake’s arm. “Look, I enjoy giving. I get off on a guy letting go and just feeling good. You don’t owe me anything.”

Jake swallowed. “And you’d actually like it?”

Nathan’s smirk turned into a slow grin. “Jake, I love it. And if you let me, I’d worship you.”

Jake exhaled through his nose, staring at his beer for a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay. Let’s… let’s try it.”

It started simple—Nathan’s hands, warm and slow, palming over Jake’s heavy bulge through his jeans. The reaction was immediate.

“Fuck,” Jake muttered, head tipping back.

Nathan unzipped him, eyes widening slightly as he pulled Jake’s cock free. Even soft, it was thick and weighty, resting heavy in Nathan’s palm. “Damn, big guy.”

Jake huffed a laugh, clearly self-conscious. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Nathan looked up at him, stroking lightly. “You have no idea how much I love a lot.”

Jake’s breath hitched as Nathan’s fingers explored, slow and deliberate. As he hardened, Nathan watched with open admiration. He had seen plenty of cocks before, but Jake’s was impressive—thick, long, cut, and pulsing with heat in his grip.

“No one’s ever really looked at it like that before,” Jake admitted, voice rough.

Nathan grinned. “No one’s ever appreciated it like I do.” He leaned in, pressing a slow, wet kiss to the shaft, watching Jake’s stomach tense. “And no one’s ever taken all of it. But I will.”

Jake made a choked noise. “No way.”

Nathan just smirked and dragged his tongue along the underside, then—inch by inch—took him into his mouth. Jake’s hands shot to Nathan’s hair as he felt the impossible heat, the tight suction, the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how to make a man crumble.

“Holy fuck,” Jake gasped.

Nathan kept going, relaxing his throat until his lips met the thick base. Jake’s cock throbbed inside his mouth, pulsing against the tight grip of his throat. No woman had ever been able to take him like this. No one had ever wanted to.

Nathan pulled back with a wet pop, stroking him slow. “Told you.”

Jake could only stare at him, breathing hard. “You’re fucking amazing.”

Nathan just smiled and took him back down.

Jake didn’t last long. Between the warmth of Nathan’s mouth, the tight suction, and the way Nathan was clearly enjoying every inch of him, it was too much. His grip in Nathan’s hair tightened. “I’m—shit—I’m gonna—”

Nathan hummed around him, not stopping, not hesitating, swallowing every pulse of Jake’s orgasm. When he finally pulled off, Jake was boneless against the couch, panting, eyes dazed.

After a long moment, he muttered, “That was… I don’t even have words.”

Nathan wiped his lips, grinning. “Best orgasm of your life?”

Jake let out a weak laugh. “Easily.”

But as he pulled his boxers back up, his face fell slightly. “I still feel bad I didn’t do anything for you.”

Nathan clapped a hand on his thigh. “You don’t need to. That was for you, and I loved giving it. Just like I said before.” He squeezed gently. “You don’t owe me anything, Jake. Just your trust.”

Jake exhaled, tension leaving his shoulders. “You’ve got that.”

And that was enough.

CHAPTER 2: EVOLUTION

After that first night, things between Jake and Nathan changed—but in the best way.

It became a regular thing. Whenever Jake needed relief, Nathan was there, eager and ready to worship. It wasn’t just about getting him off; it was about devotion. Nathan took his time, exploring every inch of Jake’s thick cock, learning exactly how he liked to be touched, kissed, and sucked.

Jake, for his part, had never felt anything like it. No woman had ever given him this kind of attention—not just a blowjob, but worship. Nathan treated his cock like a prize, like something sacred.

It started with casual texts.

Jake: You around?

Nathan: You know I am bud. Need me?

Jake: Yeah. That thing you do.

Nathan: I’ll be there in 15.

Jake never had to ask twice.

Nathan would show up, drop to his knees, and take his time. Slow, wet strokes. Deep, lingering sucks. Worshipping Jake’s cock with his mouth, hands, and lips until Jake was gasping, gripping his hair, begging for release.

One night, Nathan had Jake sprawled back on the couch, his cock thick and heavy in his hands, when he grinned up at him.

“You ever jerk off just thinking about my mouth?” Nathan teased, tongue flicking over the tip.

Jake groaned. “Jesus, man.”

Nathan smirked, licking a long, wet stripe down his shaft. “I bet you do.”

Jake’s hand tightened in Nathan’s hair. “Shut up and suck.”

Nathan chuckled—and swallowed him whole.

It wasn’t long before Jake was panting, back arching as Nathan worked him over, drawing out every last drop with slow, milking strokes. Afterward, Jake lay there, spent and satisfied, shaking his head.

“You ruin me, man.”

Nathan grinned, wiping his lips. “That’s the goal.”

Outside of their sessions, their friendship remained the same. They still gamed, grabbed drinks, and talked about life. The only difference? Nathan knew exactly how big Jake was packing—and he had no problem subtly letting it slip when the moment was right.

One night, they were at a bar, drinking and people-watching. A woman named Melissa caught Jake’s eye—mid-40s, dark hair, gorgeous. She seemed interested, but Jake was hesitant....even a bit nervous.

Nathan smirked and leaned in, speaking just loud enough for her to overhear. “You should go for it, man. You’re a big catch.” He let the word big hang, his gaze flicking down before meeting Jake’s eyes again.

Melissa raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

Jake cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—”

Nathan grinned, taking a sip of his drink.

Melissa’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. She leaned closer to Jake, her hand grazing his thigh. “We should talk more...wanna buy me a drink?”

Jake shot Nathan a glare, but Nathan just winked.

That night, Melissa went home with Jake. And it was incredible.

The next morning, Jake showed up at Nathan’s place, looking exhausted—but smug.

Nathan opened the door, arms crossed. “So?”

Jake smirked, stepping inside. “You’re a damn menace.”

Nathan laughed. “She liked you, huh?”

Jake exhaled, dropping onto Nathan’s couch. “Man. The moment we got back to her place, she ripped my clothes off....Like, first thing.”

Nathan grinned, already half-hard just imagining it. “And?”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “She lost her mind. Said she was so wet over and over.” He let out a low chuckle. “She went nuts for me.”

Nathan licked his lips. “Bet that felt good.”

Jake groaned. “Dude. She was riding me like it was her life mission.” He shook his head. “I came so fucking hard, I swear I blacked out for a second.”

Nathan was already kneeling between Jake’s legs, palming his growing bulge. “And yet, you came straight here.”

Jake smirked. “She passed out. I figured I might as well get round two.”

Nathan unzipped Jake’s jeans, freeing his thick, heavy cock. “You’re a spoiled man.”

Jake sighed as Nathan’s warm mouth wrapped around him. “And you love it.”

Nathan just moaned in response, taking him deep.

Jake groaned, fingers threading through Nathan’s hair. “Jesus, man… no one does it like you.”

Nathan hollowed his cheeks, stroking the thick base as he swallowed Jake down to the root. His lips stretched around the sheer size of him, his throat relaxing to take him deeper. This was his favorite thing—worshiping, pleasuring, making Jake feel how much he loved doing this.

Jake’s hips lifted slightly, fucking into Nathan’s throat. “God, you’re perfect at this,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded. “No one’s ever taken me like you do.”

Nathan hummed around him, sending vibrations up his shaft.

Jake groaned, gripping Nathan’s hair tighter. “Shit, I’m close—”

Nathan didn’t stop. He took him all the way down, swallowing around the thick head, massaging every inch with his tongue until Jake shouted, pulsing down his throat.

Nathan swallowed every drop, slowly pulling back with a satisfied hum. He licked his lips, looking up at Jake with a lazy grin. “So. Better than last night?”

Jake let out a breathless laugh. “Man… you ruin me.”

Nathan smirked. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

Jake stretched, letting his head fall back against the couch. “Damn right I do.”

And he always would.

CHAPTER 3: THE TWIN

A few months into their arrangement, Jake got a call that changed everything.

“Man, I’ve got some news,” he told Nathan one night after a long, slow milking session.

Nathan looked up from where he was still stroking Jake’s softening, still-thick cock. “Yeah?”

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My twin brother, Josh… he’s ...he's moving in with me next week.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You have a twin? An identical twin brother?”

Jake nodded.

Nathan smirked. “The ladies out here are going to love you both!”

Jake laughed, swatting his shoulder. “He’s going through a divorce. It's been really rough for him. She asked for space, so he is coming here. I just… I don’t want him finding out about this.”

Nathan tilted his head. “You worried he’ll judge?”

Jake shook his head. “Nah, nothing like that. We’re close, man. But this—” He gestured down to Nathan’s hand still lazily stroking his spent cock. “—This is weirdly personal. I just don’t want to freak him out.”

Nathan smirked. “I’ll be careful.”

But careful didn’t last long.

CHAPTER 4: DISCOVERY

Josh moved in the following week. The transition was almost too easy.

Josh’s divorce had left him drained—mentally, emotionally, financially. The life he’d built had crumbled so fast, he barely had time to process it before he was packing up his things and heading across the country to move in with Jake.

But the moment he walked into his twin’s apartment, something in his chest eased.

Because this?

This felt like home.

Living together again was effortless. They’d always been close—so close that growing up, people swore they had some kind of twin telepathy. Same laugh, same mannerisms, same taste in damn near everything. And now, despite the years apart, it was like no time had passed.

Jake had already set up a second gaming rig for him in the living room, and from the moment Josh dropped his bags, they fell into an easy rhythm—just like old times.

Gaming for hours. Late-night fast food runs. Bullshitting on the couch about work, life, and their exes.

And Nathan?

Josh hadn’t expected to click with him so quickly.

He had assumed Jake’s best friend would be Jake’s friend, not his. But within days, it was like they’d known each other forever.

Nathan just got him.

He was easy to talk to, easy to game with, and he never pried when Josh wasn’t in the mood to talk about the divorce. But when Josh did want to talk, Nathan was there.

No judgment. No pressure.

Just a drink in hand, a game on the screen, and a quiet, “That fucking sucks, man. You deserve better.”

Josh hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

The three of them settled into a perfect routine—hanging out, gaming, hitting bars, Nathan running wingman whenever they went out.

It was good.

It was so good.

Josh felt like he was finally getting his life back—piece by piece, night by night...and suddenly, everything changed.

Josh wasn’t supposed to be home that early when he walked into Jake's bedroom.

“Yo, Jake, you seen my—”

Josh froze.

Nathan was on his knees, sucking Jake deep, hands gripping his hips as Jake groaned, fingers tangled in his hair. The room was filled with wet sounds and heavy breathing.

Jake’s eyes flew open just as Nathan pulled off with a slick pop, eyes wide, lips still shiny from Jake’s cock.

Josh went rigid. His face turned red.

“…Okay,” he finally muttered, blinking. “So. That’s a thing.”

Jake swore, grabbing a pillow to cover himself. “Josh, get the fuck out!”

Josh didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and bolted, nearly tripping over himself as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Nathan let out a breath, wiping his mouth. “Well. Yikes....”

Jake groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck. I gotta talk to him.”

Nathan looked worried. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Jake sighed. “I’ll handle it.”

Later that night, Jake knocked on Josh’s door.

“…You decent?”

A muffled groan. “Unfortunately.”

Jake sighed and stepped in. Josh was lying on his bed, face-down, groaning into a pillow.

“Dude,” Jake said. “You gonna be weird about this forever?”

Josh turned his head. “I walked in on you getting your dick sucked. By our friend. I think I’ve earned some weirdness.”

Jake sat on the edge of the bed. “Look, man. I didn’t plan for you to see that. But… it’s not a big deal.”

Josh let out a dry laugh. “Not a big deal? Dude, I had no clue you were into that.”

Jake shrugged. “I’m not, really. But Nathan? He is. And he’s fucking amazing at it.”

Josh hesitated. “…So, you’re still straight?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. It’s not about that. It’s just… damn, man. You have no idea how good it feels.”

Josh fell silent.

Jake eyed him. “You’re not… like, grossed out, are you?”

Josh shook his head. “No! No, it’s not that.” He hesitated. “…It’s just. Fuck, man. My ex never even tried to go down on me. Not once. And you’re over here getting the best blowjobs of your life?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “…Wait. Are you jealous?”

Josh hesitated. Then sighed. “Maybe.”

Jake blinked.

Then smirked.

“…Dude.”

Josh groaned, rubbing his face. “I know.”

Jake leaned back, folding his arms. “So what, you want in?”

Josh’s ears burned. “…I mean....um....”

Jake chuckled. “Jesus.”

Josh exhaled, eyes darting away. “Look, man. I’d ask Nathan myself, but this is your situation. If you’re not cool with it, I won’t bring it up again. I don't want to ruin your thing.”

Jake rubbed his jaw.

Then sighed.

“…Alright.”

Josh’s head snapped up. “Wait. Really?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m not just gonna spring it on him. I’ll talk to him first. He is pretty chill, but this might be too much. We will see.”

Josh grinned. “You’re the best, bro.”

Jake groaned. “Shut the fuck up.”

But Josh was still grinning.

And Jake had a feeling things were about to get a lot more interesting.

Jake closed the door to his bedroom, leaning against it with a deep exhale.

Well. That just happened.

Josh—his twin—wanted in.

And honestly? Jake wasn’t surprised.

And now, Josh had asked him to talk to Nathan.

Which is why Jake found himself knocking on Nathan’s door a few minutes later.

Nathan answered, leaning against the frame with an easy smirk. “Well, this looks serious.”

Jake chuckled. “Kinda is.”

Nathan stepped aside. “Come in, then.”

Jake flopped onto the chair in the corner while Nathan sat on the bed.

There was a beat of silence.

Then Jake sighed. “Alright, so… I'm not sure how to say this....but Josh wants in.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. And, uh—he’s really into the idea.”

Nathan looked surprised. “Really!? Wow! I wasn't expecting that!”

Jake shot him a look. “I told him I’d talk to you first. He doesn’t wanna step on our thing if it makes you weird about it.”

Nathan tilted his head. “And what about you?”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought it’d be way weirder. But it’s… not.” He sighed. “I mean, he’s my identical twin. We’ve done everything together growing up. And if I’m being completely honest?” He smirked. “It’s kinda hot in a way.”

Nathan chuckled. “Well, damn.”

Jake leaned forward. “But, look—you’re the one in charge here. If you don’t wanna do this, just say so, and I’ll tell him it’s a no-go.”

Nathan studied him for a long moment.

Then he smirked. “You really think I’d say no?”

Jake exhaled a laugh. “Didn’t think so. But you never know.”

Nathan leaned back, arms crossed. “Identical twins, huh?”

Jake chuckled. “Yep - and if you're curious...yes....identical everything.”

Nathan’s smirk deepened. “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

Jake grinned. “Figured as much.”

Nathan tapped his chin. “Only one condition.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Nathan’s voice dropped. “I want you both at the same time.”

Jake swallowed.

Okay, that hit different.

His twin. Next to him. While Nathan took care of them both.

Jake exhaled. “Damn, man. Really? You really want that?”

Nathan chuckled. “Tell me that doesn’t turn you on.”

Jake shook his head with a smirk. “No comment on that. Fuck, I’ll tell him. I know he will say yes.”

Nathan grinned. “Good. ‘Cause I cannot wait to get my hands on him.”

CHAPTER 5: FIRST TIME TOGETHER

Josh’s heart was pounding.

He had agreed to this. He had wanted this. But now that he was standing here—face to face with Nathan and his identical twin, Jake—his nerves were hitting hard.

Nathan must have sensed it because he smiled, easy and reassuring. “You don’t have to be nervous, man.” His voice was smooth, warm. “This is just about feeling good.”

Josh let out a breath. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…” He glanced at Jake, then back at Nathan. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

Jake chuckled, giving his brother a nudge. “Neither had I. And look at me now.”

Josh smirked. “Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Nathan stepped closer, eyes dark and inviting. “That’s the best part.” His gaze traveled between the twins. “Let me take care of you.”

Josh swallowed. The warmth in Nathan’s voice sent a shiver through him.

Jake, ever the confident one, was already pulling his shirt off.

Josh hesitated for half a second before following his lead.

The moment their shirts hit the floor, Nathan’s eyes raked over them both. Identical.

From the broad shoulders to the thick carpet of chest hair, the same build, the same trail of hair leading down past their waistbands—everything about them was perfectly mirrored.

Nathan exhaled. “Goddamn.”

Josh felt his skin heat under Nathan’s hungry gaze. He shifted awkwardly, but Jake—always his anchor—gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Relax, man.”

Nathan smiled, stepping closer, his hands trailing over both of them—over identical ridges of muscle, warm skin, the soft scratch of chest hair beneath his fingertips.

Josh exhaled sharply.

Nathan leaned in, voice low. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

Josh huffed a laugh. “We are identical.”

Nathan smirked. “Exactly.” His fingers traced lower, teasing the waistband of their jeans. “And I love that.”

Jake, already familiar with this rhythm, started unbuttoning his jeans, slipping them down with practiced ease.

Josh hesitated—just for a moment.

Then he did the same.

And just like that, they were standing before Nathan—two mirror images, from the strong build of their thighs to the identical size and shape of what lay beneath their briefs.

Nathan’s breath hitched. “Jesus.”

Josh felt his cheeks heat.

Nathan reached out, palms warm as they skimmed over their hips. His thumbs hooked beneath the elastic of their waistbands, tugging just slightly. “You okay?”

Josh exhaled. “Yeah.”

Nathan glanced at Jake, who simply smirked. “Go for it.”

And then—together—Nathan slid their briefs down.

Josh shivered as the cool air hit his skin, but what made his breath catch was Nathan’s reaction.

A deep, reverent exhale.

Jake chuckled. “Told you we were identical.”

Nathan swallowed. “Damn.”

Josh was still processing the sensation of being seen when he felt Nathan’s hands return—warm, steady, appreciating.

The first touch made him tense.

Nathan noticed. “Breathe, Josh.” His voice was calm, coaxing. “Just let it happen.”

Josh let out a slow breath.

And then—warmth.

Nathan’s lips, his hands, the way he worshipped them both with equal care, equal focus.

Josh gasped. His fingers instinctively dug into the sheets beneath him as his twin exhaled a deep groan beside him.

The identical rhythm, the mirrored attention—it was overwhelming.

Josh’s head fell back. “Oh, fuck.”

Nathan hummed, pleased.

And then—deeper.

Josh’s entire body shook.

The sheer sensation—the heat, the pressure, the unbelievable feeling of being taken in so deeply—sent a rush of pleasure so intense it stole the air from his lungs.

His fingers clenched. His pulse pounded.

Jake’s voice, low and breathless beside him: “Yeah, man. Let go.”

Nathan’s hands—everywhere. Holding him steady, guiding him through it, encouraging every helpless sound, every involuntary movement.

Josh barely had time to warn them before pleasure ripped through him, stealing every thought, every breath—his first release in this kind of intimacy, this kind of worship.

Nathan didn’t stop. He relished it—took everything he could until Josh was left boneless, spent, overwhelmed in the best possible way.

Josh could hardly form words. His body still hummed with the aftershocks, his mind trying to process.

Jake, still catching his breath, smirked at him. “Told you.”

Nathan wiped his mouth, grinning as he glanced between them. “So…” He cocked an eyebrow. “You still nervous?”

Josh let out a breathless laugh. “Not even a little.”

Nathan smirked. “Good.” He leaned in. “Because I plan on doing that again.”

Josh shivered.

And suddenly, he knew—this was only the beginning.

CHAPTER 6: SETTLING IN

What started as a single night of exploration quickly became a regular ritual.

At first, Josh had been hesitant—still getting used to everything—but that hesitation melted away with each passing day.

Nathan had a way of making it feel so natural. No expectations, no pressure. Just… friendship. A friendship unlike any other.

Every evening, after long hours at work or intense gaming sessions, the three of them would end up in Jake’s or Josh’s room, stretched out, relaxed, knowing exactly where the night would lead.

Josh quickly learned that Nathan had a knack for this. A way of making them crave it. The moment his lips brushed against their skin, his hands mapping out every inch of their identical bodies, it was like flipping a switch—one that left them both undone beneath him.

And with time, they got comfortable.

They experimented with different ways to experience it.

Some nights, they sprawled out side by side, arms resting behind their heads, watching in awe as Nathan worked—his mouth moving seamlessly between them, his hands keeping perfect rhythm, taking them apart in tandem.

Other nights, they found new ways to indulge—like the first time they tried what Nathan called the King of Clubs.

Jake had smirked at the suggestion, intrigued, while Josh hesitated. But soon, they were both reclined against the pillows, legs spread in that mirrored, regal pose, letting Nathan take his time worshipping them as they sat back and let go.

It was never rushed. Never transactional.

It was intimate.

Not in a romantic way—but in a way that felt deeper than just pleasure.

Nathan loved it.

And they loved that he loved it.

It wasn’t long before it became second nature—morning, night, even the occasional stolen moment in the afternoon when the craving was too strong to ignore.

And through it all, their friendship only deepened.

Nathan’s talents didn’t stop at what he did behind closed doors.

He was just as skilled at setting them up with women.

One night, the three of them were at a local bar, taking a break from their usual routine, when Nathan spotted a woman eyeing Josh from across the room.

“Dude,” Nathan murmured, elbowing him. “She’s checking you out.”

Josh blinked. “Who?”

Nathan subtly gestured toward a stunning brunette near the bar.

Jake leaned in. “Yeah, man. She’s definitely interested.”

Josh ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I’m not great at just—”

Nathan clapped him on the back. “Relax. Let me handle it.”

Before Josh could protest, Nathan was already sliding up to the woman, striking up an easy conversation. Within minutes, he was weaving Josh’s name into it, throwing in little comments that had her very intrigued.

And then—the kicker.

Nathan grinned. “He’s a great guy. Super smart. Talented. And, uh… let’s just say he’s got some impressive qualities.”

Josh’s eyes widened from across the room.

Jake choked on his drink. “Jesus, Nathan.”

But it worked.

Within minutes, she was at their table, her eyes locked on Josh’s, smiling in that way that said this night was going to end very well for him.

The next morning, Josh stumbled into the living room, still looking a little dazed.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Josh exhaled, dropping onto the couch. “That was… insane.”

Nathan smirked. “Told you she was into you.”

Josh shook his head. “No, I mean… holy shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Nathan chuckled. “Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

Josh grinned. “Dude, she was wild. Like—no hesitation, completely into it.”

Jake smirked. “Damn.”

Nathan leaned back, looking smug. “You’re welcome.”

Josh huffed a laugh. “Alright, I officially see the value in having you as a wingman.”

Nathan grinned. “And that is why you keep me around.”

Josh smirked. “One of many reasons.”

And later that night, as Nathan settled between them once again—hands and lips exploring with familiar reverence—Josh let out a slow exhale.

Because damn.

This friendship?

It was perfect.

CHAPTER 6: A NEW LEVEL

By now, their routine was as natural as breathing.

After hours of gaming and an easy dinner, the three of them sprawled out in Jake’s bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across their identical forms.

Nathan knelt between them, his hands exploring their warm, hairy bodies, his touch confident, reverent. He knew them now—every ridge of muscle, every sensitive spot, every way their bodies responded to him.

And tonight, he wanted to take them somewhere new.

Jake lay back, letting his head sink into the pillows, his mind drifting as Nathan’s warm hands explored his body. He’d been carrying so much weight these past few years—stress, expectations, the aftermath of his divorce. He never talked about it, not even to Josh. It was just something men were supposed to handle.

But here?

Here, he didn’t have to handle anything.

Nathan had shown him what it was like to let go. To just feel. No expectations, no pressure—just pleasure. Just trust.

Josh exhaled beside him, his body tense, uncertain. He’d only started this journey recently, and part of him still felt like he was stepping into the unknown. His own divorce had left him wrecked—years of a sexless marriage had drained something from him, made him question what he even wanted.

But Nathan had never judged him.

Jake had assured him this was easy—that he’d understand once he let go.

And now, as Nathan’s tongue traced a slow, teasing path down his body, he did.

It was about more than pleasure.

It was about being seen.

Nathan lingered—his mouth trailing, his hands mapping, his worship evident in every touch. He wasn’t just doing this for them—he loved it. That was the part that had taken Josh by surprise.

He had spent years feeling like a burden, like intimacy was something he had to ask for, something his wife barely tolerated.

But Nathan? Nathan wanted this.

His fingers traced identical paths down their thighs, his hands gripping, teasing. And as he took Jake into his mouth first, Josh watched, felt the heat of it—felt the sharp pull of desire he hadn’t experienced in years.

Nathan moved between them, stroking one while deepthroating the other, switching between their identical cocks with practiced ease.

Josh let out a sharp, strangled breath as it finally hit him—hot, overwhelming, perfect.

He’d never been touched like this. Never been wanted like this.

And when Nathan took him deep, his throat relaxing around him, his tongue working in tandem with his hands—Josh shattered.

His body locked up, pleasure ripping through him in a way he didn’t even know was possible. His groan was wrecked, desperate, grateful.

Jake followed seconds later, gripping the sheets as he lost himself completely.

For a long moment, the room was nothing but harsh breaths and the distant hum of the city outside.

Then, Josh let out a slow, stunned laugh.

“Holy shit.”

Jake exhaled, running a hand over his face. “Yeah.”

Josh turned his head, looking over at his twin. Then at Nathan, still kneeling between them, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Josh grinned. “Jake.”

“Yeah?”

Josh sat up slightly. “We need to keep this going. All the time.”

Jake chuckled, still catching his breath. “I mean… yeah.”

Josh turned to Nathan, eyes warm, serious. “Move in with us.”

Nathan blinked. “What?”

Josh grinned. “Dude. Think about it. You game with us, hang out with us, you’re the best damn wingman ever—” He gestured vaguely. “And this.”

Jake smirked. “He’s got a point.”

Nathan hesitated—but not because he didn’t want it.

He loved them. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that felt deep, unshakable. They trusted him, wanted him. And wasn’t that all he had ever really wanted?

He exhaled, smiling. “Alright. I’m in.”

Josh grinned. “Hell yes.”

Jake shook his head, amused. “Best arrangement ever.”

Nathan smirked, already anticipating what this meant. Daily. Uninterrupted. A new level of closeness.

As he settled back between them, hands already exploring again, Jake let out a contented sigh.

Josh turned his head slightly, catching Jake’s smirk.

They didn’t even need to say it—they both knew.

This was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

And it was only going to get better.

Josh let out a slow breath. “So… what do we try next?”

Jake chuckled. “Oh, I’ve got some ideas.”

Nathan grinned. “I love where this is going.”

Josh smirked. “Then let’s get started.”

And as Nathan settled between them once more, they knew—this was just the beginning.

(Edited with Grammarly)

All characters are 18+

I wasn’t sure if it was healthy to think about another man so much, even if that guy happened to be my little brother. A surrogate one, I reminded myself. The result of an exercise, of an assignment.

“You will pretend to be brothers,” Jack had said. I didn’t have to pretend anymore.

I had become far too attached in a single month. I wondered if Freddy was on the same boat, or I was developing a one-sided bond.

Freddy. A mouth too smart for his own good. Reckless enough to let it run free. Not because he hadn’t thought about the consequences. Because he did and didn’t seem to care.

I took his barbell in my hands when he struggled too much with the lift. “That’s enough. We are dropping the weight for the next set,” I said.

Freddy glared at me as he sat up, panting heavily. “Stop coddling me.” His frown and curved lip were cute.

“Sorry lil bro. It’s my job to do that,” I said, as I changed the weights for my own lifts.

“Making others mediocre can’t be a job.”

“Keeping you from hurting yourself is,” I replied, taking the bench for myself.

Freddy remained silent, which struck me as odd. He would be running his mouth by now, pushing my buttons, even if I was doing the exercise. He was stubborn like that. When I finished, the burn on my chest made me proud.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just tired. I stayed up too late engrossed with a drone’s code.”

I nodded. The kid certainly was prone to do that.

However, that afternoon when we met at the library again to co-work, I noticed more weird behavior. He wasn’t hunched on his laptop, instead leaning against his seat. He didn’t angle his laptop away when I looked at his screen. And most damning of all, he wasn’t muttering to himself.

I put the back of my hand on his forehead. He was burning. The fever wasn’t mild at all.

It took a moment for Freddy to swat the hand away.

“Since when are you sick?” I growled.

Freddy bit his lip. We made eye contact for a few seconds until Freddy relented. “This morning. It’s just a mild fever and-”

I stood up and shut his laptop, gathering our things to get out of the library. “We are going to your room. Now.”

“I have to work!” Freddy protested, attempting to retrieve his bag. I grabbed his wrist, slinging his bag on my shoulder. I pulled him up.

“You and your stupid Superman complex,” I said, grabbing him by the back of his neck to steer him. Freddy complied, not even putting a token fight, which made me worry more.

When we arrived at his room, I put our bags at a far corner of the room. Then I turned, and grabbed the hem of Freddy’s shirt. His skin was cold and damp from the sweat. He obediently put his hands up. When it came off and the cold air hit him, he shivered. I rested my hands on his hips for a second, looking his slim body that was slowly gaining definition. He held his breath, his face flushed.

Next I pushed him to the bed, unzipped his pants, and rolled them off. He was wearing some green lantern boxers which would have made me chuckle in normal circumstances.

But he wasn’t even half hard from all the touching, which given how horny Freddy was when it came to me, it would have been certain on normal circumstances.

I tucked him in his bed. His eyes immediately shut. I moved his clothes to the far end of the room, hiding his phone among the piles of our things. Then I found a washcloth on the bathroom, soaked it, and put it on Freddy’s forehead.

Freddy’s eyes fluttered open. “Fu, are you angry?” he asked. He sounded so much like Akira, my real little brother.

I didn’t dignify the question with a response.

Freddy looked at me, his face half-red. “I’m sorry. I won’t blame you if one day I make you run out of patience and hit me.”

It took a moment for me to understand what Freddy had just said. It took me a full minute before I had my breath back in control, and I trusted myself to voice a question.

“Freddy, did your parents hit you?” I asked, some anger leaking into my voice.

Freddy nodded. “Yeah. They were strict. Sometimes cruel,” he said, as if it was a fact of ancient history, and not his. “It made me successful, even despite them.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, very slowly, gripping my fists tightly.

Freddy stayed silent for a moment. “They kicked me out of the house when I came out to them. I was seventeen,” he said, looking at the ceiling. “I went to a friends house. I got a job, a scholarship, financial aid. I survived. I thrived.” He was silent for a long moment. “There’s no home to go back to… only here,” he finally said. His eyes were glassy.

I would have to tell Jack about this.

I put my hand on Freddy’s hair, slowly petting it. He took a sharp breath. Tears fell his eyes, before he slapped my hand away.

“Don’t you dare pity me,” he almost yelled, red eyes glaring at me. He rubbed the tears away against the sheets.

I clenched my teeth. “I’m not,” I said, and it was the truth. “You said you were tired of handling things alone. Don’t push me away.”

Freddy looked to the ceiling, more tears falling.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just-” he breathed hard “- hold me? Brothers do that.”

I looked at him for a moment. I took my shirt off, then my jeans. I got into bed with him. I put his head on my chest, his body on top of mine. He was like a furnace, but I didn’t care. He didn’t let me see his eyes again, but I felt the wetness on my skin.

I rubbed his back in circles. “Is this okay?”

Freddy let out a long exhale. “Yeah. Thanks big bro.”

Soon, after minutes of repetitive motions and the stillness of the room, I felt his breath even out. I closed my own eyes, letting the tiredness of the day claim me too.

When I woke up, the inside of the covers were blazing, and both me and Freddy were drenched in sweat. I tapped him twice on his drenched back. “Freddy,” I said.

He groaned in response. “What time is it?” He asked, lifting his head.

“Time for a bath. We are disgusting,” I said, pulling him with me into an upright position.

He clung to my back, burying his nose in my shoulder, before he went to my armpit and sniffed. He took a deep breath. “You smell good big bro,” he said, grinding his ass against my dick. Damn this kid. I swear he is the only guy attractive enough to make me question if I really preferred women.

I stood up, forcing him to stand up. I took him to the bathroom where we discarded our boxers, and started the shower. He already had an erection, making no effort to hide it. In fact, he hugged me below the stream, and started grinding on me. He was less hot than yesterday and hornier; a good sign. My dick was quickly becoming hard too.

I tried to focus on soaping him up, but that proved impossible as I explored his body. His ribs. His nipples. His abdomen. His ass. His erection. “Big bro,” he said, breathless. “Please stroke me. I love how your hands make me feel.”

I closed the shower, and stroked his erection with soap. He clung to me harder, looking at me with eyes lidded with lust. It gave me a rush of energy. Suddenly, I picked up the pace. He moaned when I twirled my hand around the head of his dick. When I felt him about to burst, I slowed back down. He whined, trusting into my hand.

“Fu, stop torturing me,” he said, as he tried to wrestle my hand away to finish himself off.

I took both of his wrists with one hand, and pinned them against the wall above his head. He shivered when his back hit the cold tiles. I got close to his ear, and whispered. "I want you to call me big bro."

His knees trembled. "Big bro, please-"

He moaned, as I squeezed his erection. "Please what?" I growled.

"Make me cum. I want it to be your hand," he said, louder than he normally would.

"Anything for my little bro," I said, enjoying how he shivered against my breath. I let his hands go, and centered on stroking his erection rapidly.

"Fu," "Bro" "Big hnn-" he moaned as I brough him close to the climax. His hands gripped my back, digging nails there.

“I’ve got you lil bro. Cum for me,” I said when his hips jerked.

I aimed his dick at my abs, multiple spurts bathing me with Freddy’s cum. I kept stroking him, milking him until he was spent. When I finally stopped, he sighed in relief.

“My cum looks good on you bro,” he said, a blissful smile on his lips.

I snorted. “Brat.”

He got on his knees and attempted to suck me, but I pulled him up. “No. You have to rest,” I scolded.

Freddy crossed his arms. “I’m not an invalid vegetable.”

I shook my head, turning him around, and grinding on the cleft of his soaped ass. I held his back against my chest with an arm, while the other hand guided his hips against me.

Freddy bit his lip, clinging to my arm. “Fu…”

“You make me so horny lil bro,” I said, tightening my grip. “Your ass feels so good and you are so cute.”

“Shut up!” he half-yelled, but offered no resistance.

I chuckled, and centered on my grinding, his body pliant. Soon, heat was pooling on my groin. I turned my little brother around and made him kneel, stroking my dick rapidly. “Open you mouth,” I instructed. He swallowed saliva before he opened, sticking his tongue out. “It’s time for your medicine,” I said, guiding my length on his mouth while I gripped the back of his hair. His lips closed around my dick, and he began sucking.

I felt my warm liquid fill him. “Hnnn- Swallow it all, or it won’t work,” I said, enjoying how he looked at me while he sucked.

When I was spent, he pulled away, and wiped his mouth. “I think I'll need another dose later. I heard it’s absorbed better through my other hole.” He smirked as he pulled up.

I started the water again, ruffling his hair. “Nope. We aren’t doing that. I’m not hurting you just because you are a horndog that cannot control himself.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are overprotective.”

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I said, squirting shampoo over my hand, and working his hair.

“I hate it,” he said. The effect was lost as his body relaxed when I massaged his scalp.

“You love me.”

He stayed quiet for a moment. Then a small smile came to his lips. “Maybe.” He took shampoo in his hands, and massaged my hair back.

This story is part of a larger story. First part. Second part.

I scrubbed the last plate, hands shaking. When I turned, he sat waiting—legs spread, feet bare, that hairy chest rising slow.

"Kneel," Adeel said. "Contract first."

I knelt. He placed his foot on my thigh, heavy and warm.

"You serve me. Only me. My brother watches. He does not touch unless I allow. Say it."

"I serve only you, sir."

He lifted his foot to my lips. I kissed—the sole, the arch, each toe. Then he leaned down, gripped my hair, kissed my forehead. Ownership.

"Open."

I did. He slapped my balls first, light, stinging, reminding.

My nub leaked a drop, I'm not allowed to touch myself without the permission of my younger alpha Adeel. Then his cock filled my mouth, thick and heavy, the size I could never be.

His brother stood, unzipping, moving toward me. I felt his hand on my neck, guiding me toward his bulge.

Adeel shoved me back by the hair. "This one is mine." His older brother froze, jaw tight, angry, but he stepped back. Could not disobey his alpha brother. Just like I could not disobey mine.

[kindly, comment your views about this read]

so i have been straight whole my life, i am 22 years old white boy, had a few relationships in the past but always wanted to have a gay experience...

SO i went to grindr and match with this 25yr old black man, we chatted and i told him about my experience that i want it to be gentle.

so after a week of chatting we met at a hotel, i was so nervous that my legs were shaking, he started gentle and i thought i can take it, i was even enjoying but after few mins idk what happened to the guy, he lost control, closed my mouth with one hand , pushed my head down in the mattress and started humping like crazy.. he made a video and i get scared when i see it

i was litrelly crying , when he finished i confronted him and he started apologizing, i am done now, never gonna try this sh*t again

Everyone is over 18

I arrived a little late at the apartment where the party was being held.

Someone yelled my name when they saw me. Someone else immediately handed me a beer before I even had time to take off my jacket.

The living room was loud, stuffy, and familiar. Around ten guys from our college days were sitting on couches, chairs, and the floor, beers in their hands, laughing too loudly at stories every one of us had already heard at least three times.

They weren't all close friends of mine. Some were more like guys I knew from the dorms, parties, late-night walks back through the city, or those stupid bets that had seemed like the most important thing in the world back then.

But it didn't matter.

That evening, we were all acting a little like we were still twenty years old and had no responsibilities beyond who could tell the best story, who could drink the fastest, and who could remind someone of their most embarrassing moment from college.

The conversations jumped from one subject to another. Work, apartments, old parties, girls whose names half of us could no longer remember, and bets no sane person should ever have accepted. The longer we sat there, the more that old atmosphere returned. That stupid, masculine kind of competition where nobody wanted to seem boring, cautious, or too grown-up.

At first, it was innocent. We laughed about who had once fallen asleep in the hallway, who had broken the bathroom door, and who had tried to pick up a girl but ended up talking to her boyfriend for an hour.

Then the jokes started getting bolder.

Someone brought up the old dorm challenges. Someone else said that students today wouldn't have the courage to do half the things we had done back then without a second thought. Naturally, that immediately led to protests, laughter, and bragging.

I sat on the edge of the couch with a beer in my hand, watching all of them with a faint smile.

Even then, I knew the night wasn't going to end normally.

I don't remember who mentioned Ryan first.

Maybe it started with some stupid dorm story. Maybe with a bet nobody could tell the same way anymore. All I know is that at some point, someone laughed louder, pointed his bottle toward the armchair by the window, and said:

"Okay, but nobody here can beat Ryan."

We all looked in that direction.

Ryan was sprawled in the armchair as though the entire apartment belonged to him. One arm rested on the armrest, while the other loosely held his beer. He wore that shameless grin of his, the one that immediately reminded me of college.

He had already been handsome back then, but now he looked even better. His T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and chest, making it impossible not to notice how much broader he had become.

"Ryan?" someone scoffed. "Why? Because he's going to start talking about his legendary trick again?"

Ryan raised his eyebrows.

"I don't need to talk about it. Everyone remembers."

Several of the guys immediately started laughing. I smiled too, although I didn't completely know what they were talking about. I had once heard fragments of the story, something involving a shower, a bet, and a "volcano," but I had always assumed it was one of those college legends that became more absurd with every passing year.

"Wait," one of the guys said. "Can you seriously still do that cum volcano trick?"

Ryan slowly set down his beer.

"Of course," he said. "Even better than I could back then."

The room immediately became louder. Someone swore, someone laughed, and someone said there was no chance.

Then one word was spoken.

"Prove it."

For a moment, Ryan simply stared at the guy who had challenged him. Then he gave a short laugh, as though he had just heard something ridiculous, but I could see in his eyes that this was exactly what he had been waiting for.

"You really want to see it?" he asked.

Several of the guys immediately responded with laughter and swearing. Someone said that after all these years, Ryan was probably all talk. Someone else said that anyone who had a problem with it could go into the kitchen.

Nobody left.

Ryan stood up from the armchair and moved a chair into the middle of the living room. That simple movement suddenly changed the entire atmosphere. A moment earlier, it had only been a joke, another piece of college bragging dragged out after years.

Now everyone was watching him.

And he liked it.

I could tell by the way he removed his T-shirt. Slowly, without rushing, without the slightest trace of embarrassment. The fabric slid over his stomach and chest, revealing a body that looked almost perfect. He was built in a way that was genuinely difficult to ignore. Broad shoulders, a hard chest, a flat stomach, powerful thighs.

People were still joking, but the laughter had changed.

It sounded more nervous now.

When Ryan unbuttoned his pants, someone whistled. Someone else muttered something under his breath.

I didn't say anything.

I watched.

When he finally exposed his cock, the room became quieter for a second. It was long, heavy, impressive, and already partially hard.

Ryan sat down on the chair, relaxed and confident, as though he knew exactly what kind of impression he was making.

He wrapped his hand around himself and smiled.

"Okay," he said. "Watch closely."

Ryan started slowly, as though he had no interest in reaching the finish too quickly.

First, he moved his hand lazily along his shaft, more for the benefit of his audience than because he was seriously trying to get himself off. His cock twitched between his fingers, long and heavy, growing harder with every passing second. Ryan leaned back more comfortably in the chair, spread his thighs wider, and flashed that shameless grin of his, as though the entire room had become his audience.

"You still think I was just talking?" he asked.

Someone answered. Someone laughed, but I barely heard them.

I was watching his hand.

He held himself confidently, slowly sliding his palm from the base all the way to the tip. He wasn't nervous. He wasn't rushing. Every movement was controlled, almost arrogant, as though Ryan knew perfectly well that everyone was waiting for the moment when he finally lost control. He rubbed his thumb across the wet tip, spreading the first drop over his skin, then moved his hand down again and gripped the shaft more firmly.

At first, people were still making jokes. Stupid comments, nervous laughter, curses spoken more out of disbelief than disgust.

But the longer Ryan touched himself, the quieter the room became.

Because it no longer looked like a joke.

His cock was completely hard now. Long, tense, and heavy in his hand. Ryan's breathing grew deeper, and the muscles of his stomach tightened with every slower stroke. Again and again, he moved his hand along the full length, tighter around the base and slower near the tip, as though he were deliberately delaying the moment when everyone would find out whether the legend was really true.

At one point, he stopped smiling.

That was the first thing that truly struck me.

Ryan, who only moments earlier had been turning it into a show, suddenly looked focused. His jaw tightened slightly, his head tipped back, and his hand began to move faster. He was no longer merely putting on a performance.

Now he was genuinely pushing himself toward the edge.

That was when I realized something nobody else seemed to notice.

Ryan wasn't getting hard only because of his own hand.

He was getting hard because everyone was watching him.

The attention turned him on. Every stare, every nervous laugh, every quiet "fuck" from the other side of the room only made him more aroused. He sat there naked and shameless, his cock in his hand, looking like a man who truly believed he was about to prove something nobody else would have the courage to attempt.

His movements became shorter and firmer. His hand moved faster, his skin grew wetter, and his breathing broke more frequently. His thighs tightened on either side of the chair.

His stomach trembled.

"Okay," he gasped suddenly. "Now watch."

He slowed down.

One more stroke.

Then another.

And then he stopped.

He released his cock.

For a second, nothing happened. Ryan sat with his legs spread wide, breathing heavily, his cock standing hard and wet, as though his entire body were suspended in that one moment.

Then his cock pulsed, and the first thick spurt burst from the tip.

Someone beside me swore immediately, but Ryan wasn't finished. His cock continued to pulse untouched, without any movement of his hand.

I was shocked by how much cum was pouring out of him.

It wasn't one quick shot followed by nothing. It kept spilling from him, thick and white, running from the tip, down the shaft, and over his balls. It gathered there for a moment, sticky and heavy, before beginning to drip onto the floor.

One drop.

Then another.

The room erupted in laughter and disbelief. Someone shouted that Ryan really hadn't been lying. Another guy half-rose from his seat, as though he couldn't decide whether to keep watching or turn away.

I remained completely still.

Because to them, it was a party trick.

To me, it was something entirely different.

I stared at his tense body, his trembling thighs, and the long cock from which the final white streaks were still slowly dripping.

Then a thought appeared in my mind so clearly that heat rushed through my entire body.

I wondered what something like that would feel like in my mouth.

I swallowed, forced myself to smile, and before I could truly think about what I was doing, I said:

"Party at my place next week. Everyone's invited."

Everyone is 18+ and all things are consensual

The gym was almost silent by the time I wandered into the posing room. The thud of barbells out on the floor had faded, most of the treadmills sat dark, and the whole place smelled faintly of chalk, rubber mats, and stale sweat. In here, though, under the white strip lights and surrounded by floor-to-ceiling mirrors, it felt like another world. Just you, your body, and the truth of what it looked like.

I’d spent enough years in this room to be comfortable with that truth. At thirty, my body was carved from years of lifting... thick chest, shoulders that stretched every T-shirt I owned, thighs that could crush the steel bench if I pressed hard enough. And the trunks. Always the trunks. Barely a scrap of fabric, riding up high, showing everything. That was the point: no hiding.

Tonight, I wasn’t alone.

Jamie was there, already in front of the mirrors. New guy. Twenty-three. I’d noticed him in the free-weight section the past couple weeks... wiry frame filling out quick, the kind of hunger in his training that reminded me of myself at his age. But tonight was different. He was standing there in tiny black posing trunks, adjusting his waistband, staring at his reflection like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here.

He saw me in the mirror before he turned, his eyes going wide for a second. “Oh..hey. I didn’t think anyone else was still around.”

I smirked, crossing the room. “Posing room’s never empty for long. You practicing for something?”

He shifted, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake nerves out of them. “First comp’s in a few months. Figured I should… I don’t know, get used to the trunks, the lights, the mirrors. Feels different than training.”

“Yeah,” I said, stepping close enough that my reflection filled up beside his. “The gym’s one thing. Up here, every angle shows. No way to fake it.”

Jamie’s gaze darted to my body before he could stop himself ... chest, arms, down to where my trunks barely contained me. He looked away quick, pretending to fix his stance. I caught it though. I always catch it.

“Show me your front double biceps,” I said.

He hesitated, then lifted his arms. His lats flared, but the pose was stiff. I stepped behind him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. My hands hovered, then settled on his elbows, adjusting the angle.

“Relax your traps. Pull from here.” I squeezed gently at the base of his neck. He obeyed, lowering slightly, and his whole frame looked better instantly.

“See the difference?”

Jamie nodded, breathing out hard. In the mirror, our eyes met. He didn’t step away.

We worked through a few more poses together... side chest, most muscular, lat spread. Each time, I guided him, hands skimming over his arms, his back, his waist. Every touch lingered a little longer. Every correction brought me closer, until my chest nearly brushed his shoulders when I leaned in to murmur directions.

He was sweating now, not from the posing, but from me. His skin glistened under the lights, and I caught him biting his lip when my palm slid across his abs to “correct his core tension.”

“You’re tense,” I told him, voice low. “But not in the right places. You gotta learn to hold it without locking up.” My hand stayed on his stomach, just above the waistband of his trunks. I didn’t push lower, not yet.

Jamie looked at me in the mirror again. This time, he didn’t look away.

“You okay with me adjusting?” I asked, quiet enough it was just for him.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked, then steadied. “I want to learn.”

That was all I needed.

I slid my hand down, pressing lightly on his hip, angling him toward the mirror. “Better. Hold it there. See how it changes the line of your leg?”

He swallowed, eyes flicking from his reflection back to me. “Yeah… I see it.”

I let my breath graze his ear. “Good. You’ve got potential. Don’t waste it.”

When I finally stepped back, his chest rose and fell fast, and he was half-hard in those black trunks, pretending not to notice. I didn’t call it out. Not yet. The posing room was already thick with heat, and this was just the beginning.

────୨ৎ────

Jamie shifted into another stance, hands on hips, trying for a side chest but twisting too far. His face was serious, like he was desperate to get it right, but all I saw was the way the lights cut over his thighs.

“Not bad,” I said, circling him slowly. “But you’re over-rotating. You want the chest to pop, not look like you’re wringing yourself out.”

He adjusted, fumbling a little. That’s when I noticed. Fuck. His quads were flexed, sweeping lines carving across his thighs, and higher up...yeah. His ass. Round, high, firm, like it was carved for the stage.

I let out a low breath before I could stop myself. “I don’t know about your poses,” I murmured, eyes dragging down his body, “but your quads… and your glutes… holy fuck.”

In the mirror, I caught him grinning, just for a second, before he bit it back and tried to play serious again.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Think so?” I stepped closer, meeting his eyes in the glass. “Mate, chicks would kill for that shape. You’ve got a dumptruck on you.”

He laughed under his breath, a little red creeping into his cheeks. But he didn’t back away. He straightened his stance, trying again, clearly hoping I’d notice more.

“Can you… show me?” he asked. “Like, where I should place my feet?”

I hesitated just long enough to make sure. “You okay with me holding?”

He nodded quick. “Yeah. Please.”

That was all I needed.

I moved in behind him again, close enough to smell the clean-sweat mix rising off his skin. My hands found his waist, firm grip, guiding him an inch wider, tilting his hips. Then I crouched, palms brushing down the tops of his thighs, adjusting the line of his stance until his glutes popped perfectly under the lights.

“Right there,” I said, still crouched, staring at the mirror. “Hold that tension. See how it makes your ass look?”

He looked. His eyes flicked to me in the mirror... me, crouched behind him, my hand still on his hip, my chest practically pressed to his back. I stood, slow, stepping beside him, shoulder to shoulder now so we were both framed in the glass.

“Check it,” I said, flexing my own legs into the pose. “You’re young, so you’ve got that tightness. Mine’s thicker, but yours? Different kind of shape. You’ll kill with it on stage.”

Jamie tried again, imitating my stance. His eyes were focused at first… until they weren’t.

I saw it. His gaze dropped. In the mirror, plain as day, he was staring at the bulge in my posing trunks.

He tried to cover by glancing away, but his lips twitched like he’d just caught himself smiling. “Uh… looks like your trunks aren’t doing a great job of hiding.....that.”

I chuckled, shaking my head, but damn if my cock didn’t twitch against the fabric at his comment. “Yeah,” I muttered, looking at him hard in the glass. “That happens sometimes in here.”

Jamie’s grin widened, his nerves turning into something else.

I exhaled slow, dragging my palm over my face, half-laughing at myself. “Sorry, man. It’s just—your ass…” I glanced down, then right at him in the mirror again. “No homo, but… fuck.”

The room went quiet. Just the hum of the lights, the sound of our breathing.

Jamie’s eyes stayed locked on mine in the mirror. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. Just waited, like he wanted to see what I’d do next.

And that’s when I realized how hard I actually was in those tiny trunks.

True Story!!!
.

I’m eighteen now. Finally. Legal. Like that suddenly makes the shit I’ve been doing in my head for years okay.
I’ve been sniffing my bio father’s laundry since I was fifteen. Stolen boxers from the hamper, pressed to my face in the bathroom with the door locked, cock in my hand. Those gray ones he wears after runs were the worst—dark crotch, dried sweat rings, that thick cheesy smell under the fabric where his uncut dick had been sweating all day. I’d bury my nose in them and jack off until my legs shook. Sometimes I’d hold them over my mouth and breathe through the cloth while I came. Fucking pathetic. And I never stopped.
Dad’s thirty-eight. Hairy brown skin, thick sporty legs from all the running, uncut cock that always looks heavy even soft. He comes home stinking after every run—sweat, feet, that deep crotch funk. I’ve jerked off to the thought of it more times than I can count. Tonight I decided I was done with the laundry.
He got back from his evening run around nine. I heard the door, the usual heavy breathing, the sound of him kicking his shoes off. I stayed in my room and waited. Listened. Shower ran for maybe four minutes—he never washes properly after runs, just a quick rinse. Then the living room TV went on low. I waited another forty minutes until the house got quiet. No more channel-changing. Just the fridge humming.
I walked out barefoot. Heart going fucking crazy. Cock already half-hard just from the plan.
He was on the couch, one leg hanging off, the other stretched out. Still in those same damp gray boxers. The crotch was darker than the rest. I could smell him from three feet away—sweat, balls, that sour foot stink mixing with it. My mouth started watering like an idiot.
I dropped to my knees between his legs carefully. Didn’t want the couch to creak. His thighs were thick and warm. I leaned in slow until my nose was almost touching the fabric. First inhale

. Fuck.

That concentrated dick smell trapped under sweaty cotton. Cheesy, salty, a little pissy. Exactly like the boxers I’d been stealing, only hotter and wetter because it was still on him.
I pressed my face harder into the pouch. Breathed deep through my nose. The funk coated the back of my throat. My dick twitched in my shorts. I stayed like that for a good thirty seconds just inhaling, heart slamming, listening hard for any change in his breathing. Nothing. He was out.
I hooked two fingers under the waistband and tugged it down slow. His thick brown cock spilled out soft, foreskin half-covering the head. The smell jumped stronger right away—raw uncut dick, that thick cheese under the skin, mixed with the heavier ball stink. I shoved my nose straight into the base where the hair was densest and sucked in a long breath. Fuck. Rank. Perfect. Hairy, sweaty, pure cock. I could feel the heat of his skin against my face.
I stayed there, breathing him in, one hand braced on the couch so I didn’t put weight on him. My other hand went down to his foot that was hanging off. Lifted it carefully. The sole was still damp. I pressed my nose into the arch and inhaled. Sharp, sour, pure stinky-foot smell from the run. I dragged my tongue across it once, tasted the salt, then put the foot back down quiet. Didn’t want to risk more.
Back to his crotch. I nuzzled lower, pushed my face into his balls. The smell there was deeper, warmer, almost thick. I kept my mouth closed and just breathed, slow and steady, like I was trying to memorize every note of it. Cock, balls, the leftover sweat in the boxers still pulled halfway down. My own dick was fully hard now, leaking into my underwear. I didn’t touch it. Didn’t want to move more than I had to.
I knelt there for what felt like forever, nose buried in my sleeping father’s crotch, sucking in that filthy mix of uncut dick, ball sweat, and foot stink, heart still racing, listening to every breath he took. Part of me was terrified he’d wake up. Most of me didn’t give a shit anymore. I’d planned this too long to chicken out now.

4. Discovering Ryan.

Flustered yet submissive, I knelt between his spread legs, lowered his trousers, and grabbed his cock to stroke it. I was blushing with shame at doing this in front of Ryan, but I quickly licked his erect cock and took it into my mouth to swallow it. Jack saw that Ryan was in heaven watching me:

"Darling, I think you should take care of our host, too."

I felt I had no choice—otherwise, I’d surely get a good spanking—so I did the same for Ryan. Once his cock was in my mouth, I set to work, using my skills to suck it deep down my throat, then releasing, licking, and swallowing the whole length again. I could feel his pleasure mounting with every suction, and I began working my throat muscles to caress the cock buried inside me; this made him gasp, then quickly groan, arch his back, and cry out in pleasure as I felt his spurts of cum hitting my stomach. I pulled away and went to sit next to Jack.

"(Ryan) Wow! What a thrill! I can barely catch my breath! Anna, you give a divine blowjob. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much! If the rest is as good as I think it’ll be, I want you for myself!"

"(Me) Oh... thank you so much for the compliments, but Jack was a very good coach. And I’m not sure he’d let me go, nor am I ready to leave him to live with you."

"(Ryan) Of course, Anna. I was just sharing my initial reactions. You’re a divine girl!"

Jack then suggested we take things a step further. We went to the bedroom, and I got on all fours on the bed. Jack took off my thong and spread my legs. Then, right in front of Ryan, he impaled me, making me moan. He immediately teased my sensitive spot with his cock, sending my arousal soaring. Being watched by Ryan only sped things up; I climaxed, screaming and writhing. Jack pulled out and thrust his cock into my mouth for me to suck.

- "(Jack) Ryan, if you want, take my place."

- "(Ryan) Oh no, Jack, I can't do that!"

- "(Jack) Why? Are you scared?"

- "(Ryan) No, but you don't treat a beautiful woman like that!"

- "(Jack) Sure. But we're doing compatibility tests."

- "(Ryan) Anna, do you agree to let me take you?"

- "(Me, with Jack's cock in my mouth!) Yeah, I'd love for you to try!" He moved behind me; his soft, caressing hands found my hips, then my waist, before moving up to cup my breasts and pinch my nipples between thumb and forefinger. It sent electric shocks through me—sensations that intensified, heightening my desire and my need to be taken! As I moaned, he asked:

- "Anna, do you like my touch? And are you ready to take me inside you?"

- "(Me, still with a mouthful!) Yeaaah, Ryan, take me—I want it."

I felt his hands on my buttocks, spreading my hole open as his cock head pushed against it. He gripped my waist again, holding me steady as he slid inside without any pain. Once he was fully in, I felt his balls against my sex; then he began to pound into me, picking up the pace. I gasped and met his thrusts, impaling myself on his cock and pulling back against it! It felt amazing; my body quivered with pleasure at being sandwiched—Jack’s cock in my throat and Ryan inside my pussy! It was probably the most humiliating position for a woman, yet also the most sensual—the ultimate assertion of my submissive role. I was truly a female in heat, a slut desperate to be fucked! I felt Ryan stiffen and thrust deep inside me in one go, emptying his load while he cried out. Jack grabbed my head, ramming his cock deep down my throat and holding me there, breathless, so he could empty himself too. I struggled for air, but it was no use—I was trapped between the two males! Once I caught my breath, I loved what had just happened to me: confirmation that I was a desirable woman who’d been thoroughly fucked.

- "(Jack) So, darling, did you enjoy it?"

- "(Me) Yes, in a way; I was overjoyed by the pleasure I gave you and the pleasure I experienced myself. Ryan is a good lover."

- "(Ryan) Thanks, but that’s not all I’m looking for. I want a real, full-time life partner—someone for sex, certainly, but also someone to be by my side during trips, social events, or even when entertaining clients. You’re well-read and look lovely, which could make you the perfect partner for me, if we can come to an agreement."

- "(Me) It all depends on the terms. But what about Jack? I was a rather shy, lost young man when Jack helped me. He introduced me to things I’d never even imagined and showed me I could become a woman. That’s when we fell in love; I came to rely on him, became a fulfilled woman, and happily became his partner. We’ve had a full life since then—I have a partner and a job I love, and I’m happy. Why would I leave all that to live with you? I owe everything to Jack; he created me, and we love each other—as husband and wife."

- "(Ryan) I understand. I was just making an observation: a woman like you is exactly what I need, and I’d know how to make her happy."

- "(Jack) Perhaps, but you have to find one."

Later that week, Jack brought up Ryan’s situation again. He’d known him for a long time and knew him to be a serious, wealthy man. "Anna, I saw you when the three of us were together, and you looked very happy. What do you think of him?"

- "It’s true, he’s great. He’s pleasant to talk to, very charming and tender with women, and a good lover." "But I don’t want to leave you!"

"That’s not the point. I’ve seen how much you enjoy it when he caresses you, kisses you, and makes love to you—just as much as when we’re together. Besides, he’s younger than I am, and we can always still see each other as friends."

"But I don’t want to be involved with two men! I’m with you."

"What if I suggested you spend a month with him—as his temporary mistress? I’d be lending you to him so you could give it a try."

"You’d do that? So you don’t love me?"

"Oh, I do, my darling, but your happiness comes first. I think he could step in and fulfill you even more than I do."

"That remains to be seen. First of all, what would his conditions be?"

See my actual life on next and last part. Good reads.

All true, all over 18, and consensual

I was really having a rough time when I first broke up with my first ex. I was not sure I wanted to really put myself out there again, but unfortunately my sex drive was not letting me stay single.
I downloaded Grindr and thought I would see what I could find. What I found out was that 99% of the users are all talk and the others seemed to be catfishing with pics that didn’t match when we met up.
Anyway, I did have a guy that kept messaging me. He was very aggressive when he messaged and while I was horny AF, he was a total arrogant ass!
He would message me and say things like you need to come over and be my bitch, or come over and let me show you how to please me. Well, to me, you can have a perfect body, perfect penis, perfect whatever… but if you are an ass… you are an ass all over. Unfortunately he was the only person talking to me so I was like, ok… sure.. I’ll play his game and decided to go to his place.
On my way I just got more and more angry at myself for agreeing to it. I am not anyone’s “Bitch” and I don’t take orders from anyone. So I decided on the way to change it up, and see what happened.
When I arrived to his place, I knocked and as soon as he answered the door and told me to come in, I stepped inside and he locked it behind me. He told me to take my shoes off and get on my knees. I smiled at him, put my hand over his mouth and shook my head. I started pushing him backwards into his own living room. His eyes were all over the place looking at me like I had lost my mind. He started to say something and I smiled again and waved my finger at him to keep quiet. When he was backed up against his couch I turned him around, away from me, and reached around and unbuttoned his pants and pushed both his pants and boxers down began stroking his cock from behind. Every time he tried to talk I just growled in his ear and told him to stay quiet.
He was a big guy, built well and had an impressive cock! I would say a good 7 1/2, and it was hard enough to break rocks!
I undid my own pants let them drop to the floor, and spit in my hand, rubbed it on my cock and lined it up. I bent him over his couch, and slowly gave him my 8” with his cock in my hand slowly stroking.
From the time he opened the door to my cock being balls deep in his confused ass, couldn’t have been more that 5 minutes. I slowly started working myself in and out, until he was stretched out. Then i gave it to him hard and fast, our skin slapping him moaning, and me not letting up.
As I felt myself about to blow my nut, I pulled out, spun him around and pushed him down to his knees and came on his shocked face.
Pulled my pants up grabbed my shoes and walked to the door. As I left I smiled at him and said “now who is the Bitch”?

I hadn’t even made it back to my car and he was calling me, saying that was so fucking hot! Come back man! I didn’t get off! I tossed my phone into the passenger seat started the car and drove home…

I talked to him a little bit later that night and he was a totally different guy. He was saying man you can be in charge anytime! I never went back…

I am not usually an aggressive guy, but something in the way he always messaged me, made me want to set him straight! Anyway…

So use to mess around with an old neighbour on and off for while but sadly he moved away, I’m always anxious and weird so I was always flaking on Grindr chats but I had a free night last night and felt bit more daring then usual. Sent a video of me fucking myself with a dildo to my old neighbour and he said he would get me a taxi over even though it was a couple hours, can’t explain the feeling of him buying me travel and getting me drinks ready for when I came and knowing he wanted to use me as much as possible. Anyway when I finally got there we had a little small chat and I said I’m gonna wait in bed while he does whatever , and then for 4 hours somewhat on and off he fucked me and cummed in me multiple times, I’m very straight acting whatever that means but god at one point he had my legs shaking around while I’m on my back while he was on his side and sucking his fingers while I leaked precum over myself. It was a night that made me realise how I don’t even want my cock touched and just love being used , now on the train with a tender hole wanting to just get fucked again 🙈

All characters are 18+

The alarm blared at 5:30 a.m. I angrily swiped my phone, hitting by accident snooze instead of stop. I wanted to throw my phone against the wall.

I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar absence of energy. The thought of getting up and doing something didn’t entice me. What was the point? I could just skip the gym. Skip class. Skip everything. It wasn't like anyone would notice or care.

But then my phone buzzed with a text. Freddy.

*"Still on for the gym? I'll meet you there at 6."*

Right. I'd promised to train him. I'd told him I'd help him get stronger, teach him proper form, make sure he didn't hurt himself.

I had a second chance at being a big brother. One I couldn’t deserve, but I couldn’t waste either.

I groaned, rolling out of bed with a force of will that felt like lifting a truck. My body was heavy, my mind foggy, but I forced myself to make myself presentable. The cold air hit me as I stepped outside, and I almost turned back. But Freddy was waiting. Freddy counted on me.

That thought carried me all the way to the gym.

---

The gym was nearly empty at this hour, which was why I'd chosen it.

Every time he struggled, Freddy looked like he didn’t want me watching him. Too bad I wasn’t letting him get hurt.

"Your form is shit," I said as Freddy attempted another squat. Freddy had loaded the bar with unreasonable weight while I was distracted at my own exercise. His legs were shaking. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

"It's fine," Freddy gritted out, pushing upward. His knees wobbled dangerously.

I stepped closer, my hands hovering near the bar. "It's not fine. You're going to hurt yourself. Drop the weight."

"No."

"Freddy—"

"I said no." Freddy's voice was sharp. I could see it in the set of his jaw, the stubborn tilt of his chin. He was determined to prove he could handle things on his own.

He pushed up again, and this time his left knee buckled. The bar tilted. Freddy's eyes went wide-

My hands were there, gripping the bar, steadying it, taking the weight back onto the rack. I struggled to keep my breathing even, my heart from shooting out of my chest. Freddy went still when I turned to him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" My voice was low, and I wasn’t hiding my anger. "I told you your form was off. I told you to drop the weight. You could have seriously hurt yourself."

Freddy didn't flinch. He didn't cower. He just stood there, his arms at his sides, his chin up, his eyes fixed on some point past my shoulder.

It took a moment for me to understand what he was doing: he was bracing. He looked ready to take whatever blow came his way and keep his back straight and his face impassive when that happened. The fog of anger on my head was extinguished.

I remembered grabbing him by the collar at the frat house. The way he'd gone up on his toes, his eyes wide but defiant. He hadn't fought back then either. He'd just waited, like he was already calculating how much it would hurt.

I forced myself to breathe, to unclench my fists, to step back. "I'm not going to hit you," I said, my voice rough. "I would never hit you."

Freddy's eyes flickered to mine, and for a moment, I saw something raw and uncertain there. Then he looked away.

"We're done for today. Get your stuff."

---

The walk back to Freddy's dorm was silent. I kept glancing at him, waiting for him to say something. Apologies. Explanations. Anything. But he just stared straight ahead, his jaw tight, his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to hold himself together. The corner of his eyes on me, in case I went back on my promise.

When we got to his room, I headed straight for the bathroom. I needed to wash off the sweat, the anger, Freddy’s distrust. I stripped and turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, letting the hot water pour against my shoulders. It calmed my burning back, the only muscle group I managed to target before Freddy fucked it all up.

"Can I... can I help?" Freddy's voice came from the doorway.

I looked at him, surprised. "Help with what?"

"Wash your back. As an apology. For scaring you."

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no, angry still. But another wanted him close. Wanted to make sure he was okay.

"You don't have to do that," I said.

"I want to." Freddy swallowed. "Please."

I nodded. He stripped off his clothes with quick, efficient movements, and I tried not to stare at the way his slim body moved. I failed. He was cute from this angle too. Lean lines and smooth skin, his face a light shade of red. His modest cock already half-hard.

He stepped into the shower, grabbing the soap and lathering his hands. I turned to give him access to my back. The first touch was electric. His hands on my back, sliding over the warm, wet skin, tracing the ridges of muscle, the curve of my spine. I let out a low sigh, my head dropping forward.

"Your hands are good at this," I murmured.

"I'm good at a lot of things."

"I'm sure you are."

The air between us shifted, charged with something unspoken. His hands moved lower, tracing the dip of my lower back, the swell of my ass. My breath hitched, but I didn't pull away.

Instead, I turned around, meeting his eyes. They were earnestly nervous, so different from his eyes back when I met him at the frat house. His erection was at full attention, brushing my thigh slightly when I moved.

I felt something hot and possessive flare up in my chest. "If you want to make it a proper apology," I said, "get on your knees."

He didn't hesitate. He sank down, his knees splashing against the wet floor, and took my cock in his hand. It was already half-hard, thickening under his touch. He looked up at me, a drop of water falling from his head to his nose.

"Is this okay?" he asked again.

I nodded.

He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the tip. Then he took me into his mouth, his tongue wrapping my dick’s underside. I groaned, my hand coming up to grip his hair. The heat of his mouth, the suction. He worked me slowly at first. Then his bobs were longer, and his head moved further, excitedly.

“Damn kid. You love this? You love having your big bro’s cock in your mouth?” I asked.

He hummed, looking up at me with those big eyes.

"Fuck, lil bro," I breathed. "You feel incredible. I love using your mouth"

He hummed again, the vibration low like a growl, sending sparks up my spine. His hand worked the base of my shaft while his mouth focused on the head, his tongue tracing the sensitive ridge. I could feel myself getting close, the pressure building low in my belly.

“Yeah lil bro, work for that apology,” I said, moving my hips slowly. “Your big bro is going to dump all his load in your mouth. And you are going to swallow.”

He moved even more excitedly.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you. Drinking my protein shake. Tasting a real man’s seed,” I said, stroking his hair. Freddy had a hand on my thigh, while the other gripped my hand. I was getting close. “I’m close kid. I’m about to give you your breakfast.”

He took me as deep as he could, swallowing around me. His eyes filled up with tears. I let out a guttural groan, my hips jerking as I came, spilling down his throat. He swallowed it all, pulling back only when my grip loosened.

He looked up at me, his lips swollen, his eyes watering. His own cock was hard and leaking, bobbing between his legs. He didn't touch it, didn't ask for anything. He just knelt there, waiting.

I pulled him to his feet, my hand cupping his jaw. "That was a proper apology," I said.

He nodded, but his hips shifted, his erection brushing against my thigh. A small whine escaped his lips. "Fu... my dick hurts."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's not my problem."

"You're supposed to take care of me, big bro." His voice was petulant, needy. "Please. It hurts."

I made a show of sighing, of rolling my eyes. " The blowjob you just gave me was an apology. I don’t owe you shit."

“Big bro, pleaseeee. I need you. I’ll explode if you don’t touch me,” he said, gripping my bicep with both hands.

I sighed, finally moving my hand. “Fine. But you owe me one.”

"Yeah," he said, his breath hitching as my fingers wrapped around him.

I stroked him slowly, my thumb swiping over the leaking tip. He moaned, his hands moving to my shoulders for support, his body trembling under my touch. The water beat down on us, mixing with the sounds of his pleasure.

"You're so responsive," I murmured, my lips brushing against his ear. "So eager. It's intoxicating."

"Only for my big bro," he gasped. "Please big bro, please!"

My strokes quickened, my grip tightening. His moans grew louder, his hips jerking erratically. He was close, so close, and I wanted to push him over the edge.

"Cum for me, lil bro," I commanded.

He shattered. His orgasm ripped through him, his cock pulsing in my hand, his moans swallowed by the sound of the water. He clung to me, his body shaking, and I held him through it, stroking him gently until he went soft. The water flushed the cum away.

When it was over, he looked up at me with dazed, grateful eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

I pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Just... don't scare me like that again."

He smiled. "I'll try. But I can't promise I won't be stubborn."

I snorted, bumping his arm.

We dried off and moved to his bed, still naked, sitting side by side in silence. I could feel the weight of this and last encounter pressing down on me. I couldn’t hurt him by giving him false hope.

"I'm straight, Freddy," I said finally.

He looked at me, his expression shifting from relaxed to angry. "I'm not a girl."

The words hit like a slap. "I know you're not."

"Then what the fuck was that in the shower?" His voice rose, his hands curling into fists on his knees. "It wasn’t straight sex. I can tell you that."

"No." I shook my head, frustration building. "It wasn't. It's just..." I trailed off, searching for words that wouldn't make things worse. "I prefer girls, Freddy. By a lot. Like, orders of magnitude. If I told people I was bi, it would hurt my chances with them. They'd think I was confused, or lying, or just gay and in denial."

Freddy's jaw tightened. I could see the anger in his eyes, and the hurt that flashed. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked away.

"I hate that I agree with you," he said quietly.

I blinked. "What?"

"You are right." His voice was flat, bitter. "It would be harder for you."

He worked his jaw, but no sound came out of him. Instead, he shifted closer, wrapping his arms around me in a tight hug.

I froze for a moment, then hugged him back, pulling him against my side. He was warm and solid, and I felt something loosen in my chest.

"Thank you," I murmured into his hair.

"You accepted Freddy-as-is. It’s only fair I accept Fu-as-is."

I chuckled, patting him in the back. "We should get breakfast," I said, changing the subject before I said something cheesy back.

As we got dressed and headed out, I realized something. I'd woken up this morning not wanting to do anything, not wanting to face the day. Hung up on Akira, and repeating the past on loop. But now, walking beside Freddy, I felt... lighter. More present. Like maybe I had a reason to keep going.

Freddy was already making me healthier without trying. I hadn't skipped breakfast. I hadn't stayed in bed. I'd shown up, for him, and in doing so, I'd shown up for myself.

Maybe that was the point of Jack’s method.

I glanced at Freddy, who was already talking about his robotics project, his hands gesturing animatedly. I ruffled his hair when he looked at me with bright eyes.

This work is part of a larger series. First Part

All characters are 18+

Owen had started thinking of Xander, his macho, basketball-playing roommate, like a disobedient dog. He was loveable, cute, and full of energy, but he wouldn’t listen to basic instructions and he played innocent after pissing on the carpet.

At the start of their first semester at Meridian they hit it off like old friends. Xander pushed Owen out of his comfort zone to go to parties while Owen provided Xander with some responsible reminders to do his homework. Xander flexed in sleeveless tank tops and dragged Owen to the gym while Owen drooled over his roommate’s muscles and helped Xander study for his biology tests. Xander was the hunky, straight Yin to Owen’s drooling, gay Yang.

Then little things started to get under Owen’s skin, like Xander’s habit of throwing dirty laundry on any flat surface, leaving his dishes in the sink, and playing video games without headphones late into the night. The dam finally broke after the Halloween party. It was a debauched campus-wide evening of masked antics ending with Xander fucking a cheerleader in their room and spilling Orange Crush and vodka on Owen’s laptop. Owen had avoided all the chaos by watching movies on his phone in the library until he fell asleep. By the time he got back to their room in the morning it was too late to save his computer. The keyboard was sticky and useless, which was also a good description of Xander, passed out naked on Owen’s bed with a drooling condom hanging off his cock. Seeing that was the only upside for Owen. Even soft, it reached Xander’s belly button–thick and straight like a tallboy beer can.

For a week they barely spoke. Xander, to his credit, started picking up his laundry and wearing headphones when he played video games, but his relative indifference to the loss of a laptop meant Owen never forgave him, and the air in their shared space slowly filled with burning resentment.

And that was when the aliens came.

Owen woke up when his skin started burning like he’d spent all day in the sun. Everything in the room hovered a few inches off the ground, bathed in electric blue light. The bed sheets slid away, followed by his t-shirt and boxers, tugged off his body by invisible hands. He couldn’t do anything. He was paralyzed. He lifted off the mattress like a lost balloon as the heat intensity on his skin grew hotter and hotter and a high pitch ringing echoed in his ears, building in frequency and volume until–

Silence. Blackness. Disembodiment.

Then Owen was suddenly back on a bed, on a cold uncovered mattress that wasn’t his. His joints and muscles felt stiff and slow, but he could move again, and he turned his head to look for his phone. But the phone was gone. The bedside table was gone. The blue light was gone, replaced by sterile white. The ceiling was gone, replaced by a black night with scattered stars. And his clothes were gone, replaced by nothing. Glowing white floor tiles lit the space softly from below. It was a circular room, a few hundred square feet, like a two bedroom apartment with the walls and ceiling removed. There was another bed, a table, a television, a fridge, a toilet, a sink, and a couch all arranged in completely the wrong way. And laying on the other bed was Xander, also naked.

Owen shifted his stiff body into a seated position and rolled his legs off the side of the bed. As his bare feet touched the glowing white floor, he tried to not freak out. He failed.

“What the fuck is going on?!” He yelled but his vocal chords were still numb and all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

The walls were inky black glass, which arched up and enclosed the room in a smooth dome. But beyond the glass was nothing discernible, only ghostly shapes in inky black fog.

A wheezing sound drew Owen’s attention back to Xander. His roommate was awake, sitting up and looking at Owen with wide-eye confusion. His mouth moved and not much sound came out, but Owen assumed he had asked the same question.

Then Xander’s eyes dipped down to Owen’s crotch. In a jolt of self-consciousness, Owen covered himself, but Xander was already looking away to take in their surroundings. He didn’t seem to suffer from the same bashfulness that Owen did, and he left his beer-can cock dangling freely. It was probably all the time spent in steamy showers with other naked basketball players. Sometimes Owen regretted not getting into team sports.

“Hello human entities,” a light voice cut off Owen’s thoughts and they both looked around until they spotted the small face that had appeared on the television. The screen was an old CT box from the 1970s, and the person on it looked like Mr. Rogers. He had the same salt and pepper hair, the same kind and wrinkled eyes, and the same zippered cardigan–a green one–but there was something uncanny about it as it spoke in a mimic of Mr. Roger’s voice, “Welcome to the human entity observation experience location. You are selected and chosen for participation. Congratulations on success!” The not-Mr. Rogers smiled with too many teeth and continued, “Cooperation agreement is welcome, and completion of example demonstration will be rewarded. What is reward request?”

The voice paused, waiting for an answer. Owen pushed through the waning numbness in his throat and managed to say, “Go home?”

“Home return confirmed for success example demonstration.”

Owen and Xander exchanged a look. The bigger, scary questions around who had brought them to this place and where this place was could wait. It sounded like they just had to demonstrate something and they would be taken back.

“What do you want demonstrated?” Owen asked the television.

Not-Mr. Rogers grinned again, “Demonstration is human mating function activity.”

The most uncomfortable silence Owen had ever experienced settled on the room, and then Xander cut through it with a hoarse, “What the fuck?”

When the paralysis had worn off, Xander started to circle around the edge of the room with his hands on his head, taking deep breaths to stay calm.

Owen sat on the floor closer to the television and continued asking questions. The illuminated floor tiles were soft and warm, like heated cork. He let his hands relax a bit but rested his elbows on his knees to keep his cock shielded from view, and he kept one eye on Xander.

Not-Mr. Rogers seemed eager to answer his questions, but was very insistent there had been no mistake. Owen tried to reason with the television that they were both men, but the concept of gender only confused it. Xander tried explaining human reproduction and included a thrusting demonstration, which gave Owen a twinge of pity for all the poor girls he had brought back to their room. Slowly, through Not-Mr. Rogers’ broken answers, their situation became clear.

The room was a human observation chamber, like a zoo with furniture. The insane thought Owen had tried to push to the back of his mind was proven correct: they had been abducted by aliens.

Aliens who wanted to see them fuck.

“Why don’t they understand we’re both guys?” Xander called out his frustration from the middle of his tenth lap around the room.

“Lots of creatures on Earth don’t have binary genders,” Owen replied, “So maybe they don’t understand that much about humans yet.”

Xander turned to Owen and threw his hands out, “Are you defending the alien kidnappers?”

Owen’s frustration with Xander’s whining boiled over and he jumped to his feet, “I’m trying to figure out how to get home, dumbass! I don’t like this any more than you do!”

Xander’s eyes dipped again and he looked back up at Owen with a smart-ass smirk, “Are you sure you don’t like this more than I do?”

Owen looked down. His thin cock was pointed at Xander like a naked hunk divining rod. He quickly tried to cover himself with both hands, but even though he couldn’t match Xander’s girth, Owen had a solid seven inches jutting out of his crotch and the pink head popped out from behind his wrist.

Xander rolled his eyes, “I’ve already seen it, relax. Seeing you naked is pretty low on the ‘fucked up shit I have to deal with’ list.” He laced his fingers together behind his head and continued pacing around the room.

Owen tried to ignore his burning cheeks and sat back down.

Not-Mr. Rogers’ placid face smiled with all the fake tenderness of a corporate AI chatbot, waiting for its next question. Beside the curved screen were two silver knobs for volume and switching channels. Owen twisted the channel knob from one to two and it turned with a heavy and satisfying thunk of analogue technology. Not-Mr. Rogers disappeared and was replaced by a slim twink with blonde 70s surfer hair gripping the bars of a bed frame as a muscular older man with trim black chest hair pounded him into the mattress. The twink called out, “Fuck, you’re so big!”

Owen gasped and twisted the nob from two to three, but the twink and daddy were replaced by a trio of college guys in t-shirts with their bare asses out taking turns fucking a big green watermelon in a barn. Vintage electric keyboard music blasted out of the television behind their melodramatic moans.

He kept twisting the nob, but every time the static cleared on a new channel with more vintage gay porn until he was back to Not-Mr. Rogers. “Welcome orientation guide complete. Speak questions aloud for more additional answers.”

“Was that gay porn?”

Owen jumped at Xander’s breath on the back of his ear. His roommate loomed over him from behind, hands on hips, cock dangling a few inches behind Owen’s head. He stumbled to his feet and tried to assemble a sentence explaining that he had just changed the channel and not made any selections, but then the screen of Not-Mr. Rogers switched over to sepia footage of a half-naked man standing beside the open back door of a station wagon, shirt off, jeans halfway down his ass, fucking a young hitchhiker in his back seat.

“This is Hell,” Xander muttered, “I’ve been sent to Hell.”

“It’s not Hell,” said Owen.

“Of course you don’t think it’s Hell. You’re probably loving this! You get a hot naked roommate and the only television is 24/7 gay porn. Have you checked the fridge? It’s probably stuffed with those horrible garlic pickles you love so much.”

“Or maybe it’s full of that sugary gasoline you drink.”

“It’s an electrolyte booster!”

Owen crossed his arms and tried not to think about how exposed he was. If they were going to be stuck together in this place without clothes he wasn’t going to let Xander be the only one confident enough to not cover his dick.

They both looked at the fridge and Owen’s stomach growled. It was an older style with round corners and a thick steel latch, and when Xander opened the door they found a jar of garlic pickles and a can of Xander’s energy drink. Xander picked up the can cautiously and looked at it like it might come alive, but then he cracked the tab and sniffed the liquid inside. “It smells normal,” he said, and then he took a sip. He swished the liquid around his mouth and swallowed, shrugging, “It tastes normal too.”

Owen looked at the jar of pickles, but then he had a different thought. He closed the fridge door and said aloud to no one in particular, “I want a hot triple cheese pizza.” The fridge made no indication of an answer, but when Owen opened the door again there was a steaming pizza on a round plate sitting where the pickles had been a moment before.

“Holy shit!” Owen pulled the plate out of the fridge and smelled the melted cheese.

Xander looked a little impressed as he pulled a slice off the plate. Owen did the same, and as he took his first bite he was suddenly excited by the possibilities of the fridge. If they could ask for any food they could possibly want and it would instantly appear, like a real-life Star Trek food synthesizer, maybe their captivity wouldn’t be so bad. It was the first good feeling he had had since waking up, and he couldn’t help but grin as he looked over at Xander as they shared their alien food.

Xander spoke with his mouth full, “You know I’m going to have to fuck you to get us out of here, right?”

Owen nearly choked on his pizza.

---

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I took his number without hesitation.

His text came an hour after the gym closed: Brother's place. Tonight. After 10.

At 10:15, I knocked. He opened the door shirtless, sweatpants low, his semi-erect bulge already the size of my fully hard one. His older brother smirked (enough for my nub tightening) from the couch.

"Come in," he said.

I stepped inside. He tapped my face, a light, claiming touch. "Good."

My voice shook. "I am available for your service, sir."

He sat, spreading his legs like a man—a man I'm not—and put his bare foot on the table. The foot I knew I was destined to worship.

"You need to do the dishes first," he said, his eyes pinning me. "Then we discuss your service situation."

He pointed toward the kitchen. "Right now," he added, his voice forceful.

As I walked toward the kitchen, I heard his older brother's slow voice say, "That one is obedient too."