I bump into a couple of guys I know from high school. We catch up for a bit; they are on their way to the city, and casually ask if I want to go with them. They are probably just talking; just asking to be friendly, but I say yes. I’ve been feeling out of things since leaving school and while these guys aren’t close friends we get on alright. They are like a double act; full of jokes and banter and are fun to be around. It will be good to spend some time with them, and it will make a nice change from spending another weekend doing nothing in my shitty flat.
We catch the train through and tour a few pubs in the city. We stop for a pizza then a few more drinks and on to a club. I think we were all having a good time, though the more we drink, the more the other two talk between themselves than to me, and I feel a little like I am just along for the ride. It’s natural they are more in tune with each other though; I am out of work, while they both work for the same company. I haven’t seen them in over a year while they spend hours together every day. We are all half cut anyway, so it doesn’t matter.
We’ve been in this club for some time and my two pals are off dancing confidently close with a couple of girls. I’m hanging around on the edge of the dance floor with the other awkward sods, thinking about that scene in Trainspotting. I feel self-conscious about not having a job; about having a bit of a belly; about not having had my hair cut for a while and so on. My watch with its broken strap is in my pocket and I take a sly time check.
I watch the dancers’ bodies move together in the deafening beat; girls’ compact bodies absorb male advances; men they only met five minutes ago gripping them white. Mouths yelling into ears, heads nodding. One of my mates puts his hand up his girl’s mini skirt to feel her bare arse and she just carries on yelling in his ear. I imagine myself feeling a girl up and getting slapped for it.
I’ve always been shy and a bit afraid of girls, I suppose. They talk and confide in each other so easily; hugging and hanging on each other. All the boys I know just back slap and play-punch; talk about anything other than how they feel or what is going on inside them. I am feeling left out now.
We have to be leaving for the train soon, so I nip to the toilet. It’s disgusting; the pan overflows with shit and loo roll. I really need to piss though, so I use one of the urinals. The guy next to me is wasted, laughing and waving his cock about as he pisses.
It’s like a couple of busloads of people have poured into the club while I’ve been in the toilet. I see all of these people talking and gesticulating, but the music is so loud I might as well be deaf – I can’t make out a single voice. I feel pretty spaced out too; it must be time to make a move. I dig in my pocket for my watch again. I was in the toilet for longer than I thought.
I tour the whole club looking for my pals; roaming back and forward through the crowd, saying sorry mate, sorry, pal, sorry, as I worm between people; nudging their elbows to get by, spilling a couple of drinks and having to stop and apologise. I press gently on a girl’s upper arm to get her to move and she gives me a dirty look, mouths “What the fuck?” at me. I should probably have pressed her arse.
I get pissed off fighting through the crowd; either my two mates have gone for the train without me, or I’ve missed them, or they are off with those lassies and I’m going home alone anyway, so I just give up looking and head out of the club.
I am wearing jeans with a light jumper over a t-shirt, so the heat from all my drinks and the press of the club bleeds away quickly. I keep an eye out for my mates as I head for the station, but there are a lot of clubbers and last orders chuck-outs I have to wind my way through so I jog for a bit once I am clear. I think I am going to make it, but the last train is pulling out as I rush down the ramp into the station.
“Shite.”
I just stand there for a while as the station empties; the last couple of last trains leaving for other places. The departure times clear off the board one by one until the display is blank.
What will I do? My town is a good thirty miles away, so there will be no walking home; I can’t imagine how much a taxi would cost, not that I have the money, and anyway, I doubt if they would go out that far. I don’t know anyone who lives in the city; I’ve only been here a few times, and mostly during the day to go round the shops. I know my way around the centre, but that’s it.
I walk up the ramp out of the empty station. The night is pretty much over in this part of town; the club we’d been in is down along a road with all the other clubs and late bars. Is there any point in going back there? Maybe I will just happen to meet my mates, and we can all have a laugh and pitch in on a taxi, or maybe they will have a couple of girls who will take us home for a night of passion? I don’t think so. I watch a drunk couple fighting as they cross the road; screaming and swearing at each other until the woman screams “Fuck off, ya pished cunt,” at the top of her voice and storms away while her man staggers along behind, pausing to throw up at a bus stop.
I remember hearing about a night bus service that leaves the city late on after the clubs and late pubs close, dropping off at a load of stops including my town. Saved. I feel good again, chuffed to have remembered. This will be a story to laugh about sometime — that time when I missed the train but got home anyway. It will be hilarious. I have no idea what time the bus will leave, or where it will set off from, but the bus station is probably as good a place to look as any.
The bus station is on the other side of the city centre from where the clubs are. The shops are all dark; this isn’t one of those 24/7 cities, buzzing at all hours. Taxis race past; a few groups of people and a handful of couples walk, but they are all moving through the centre, heading somewhere else. I turn off the main shopping street, left up a side street and turn right under a concrete canopy.
Ranks of concrete platforms carrying metal and plexiglass shelters run between wide, oil-stained roadways. The bus station is deserted and grim under dull white lighting. There are no signs or flyers advertising the night bus near the blacked out main office. I hop across the platforms to the stance busses leave from for my town. Seeing as I don’t live in a destination place, just a place on the way to other places, the town it doesn’t get a platform of its own, just a slot on a departures list. The panel which should have held timetables is cracked and burned where some joker has held a lighter flame to it, but I can see there isn’t a timetable in there anyway.
I drop onto the cold metal bench seat under the shelter. The numbers on my broken watch seem a bit meaningless; you’ll not get home the night, they say. I’m exhausted; I think it wasn’t such a good idea after all, to come to the city and piss all my money away with people I hardly know. I’m shivering; the drink is fading out of me and I’m thinking it will be a long night on the streets.
“Time’s the next bus then, buddy?”
I jump to my feet. There’s a bloke grinning at me from a few feet away, his hands in his pockets. “Made you jump, pal, sorry,” he says.
“Eh, yeah, I was miles away. I was looking for the night bus timetable,” I say, thinking he might be a security guard.
“Ah, is it no there?”
I shuffle back a bit as he steps up to the timetable panel. I see he isn’t a security guard, just some random guy. He smells strongly of after shave and that scent men seem to generate as they get older; not unpleasant. He’s maybe over forty, so a lot older than me; his skin fairly smooth for his age and probably tanned, though it’s hard to tell in this light. He has a tiny scar above his right eyebrow. His eyes are in shadow but there is a lump on the bridge of his nose like it has been broken at some time. Narrow lips and fine stubble, with a shallow dip in his chin. He’s wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket over a sweatshirt. Decent gear, I think. Taller than me, maybe, though only just, but bigger; built up around his body, like a lot of older guys who’ve spent their lives on manual work. He turns back as I am looking at him.
“No times there for sure,” he says. “Been out on the ran dan, eh? Out with your mates?” He rolls his words out quickly; I feel a little interrogated.
“Yeah.”
He sits down on the end of the bench. “Me an all; been round at my mates. What happened to you; you get dumped by your lassie an’ miss your bus?”
“Nah, I was just out with a couple of mates and got split up; missed the last train.” I always do this thing around blokes; reflect their manner of speaking to make out I am older and tougher, though it is maybe just me being shy as well; hiding by seeming to be just the same as them.
“Nae luck, pal.” The guy says, sounding sympathetic. He must just be another bloke out for a pint, wandering home.
“Some pals,” he says; “leaving you high an dry in the big city. Did they get on the train?”
I shrug. “I suppose so. I didn’t see them; I got to the station just as the train left.”
“Aw no, and you had tae watch it leave? Bastard. I’ve been there myself, mind, when I was your age. What are you, twenties?”
“Nineteen.”
“Nineteen and nae mates. Nae luck. Where are you headed?”
I shrug a wait-till-you-hear-this laugh and name my town. He nods like he knows it.
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I dunno; I’ll just hang about till the first bus or the train, I suppose.” I am feeling sick with the drink curdling in me. It’s cold and I don’t want to go on talking and standing still. I am about to say ‘see you’ and walk off to wander the streets but the man puts his hand out. “Jack.”
I am a bit slow on the up take but put my hand out to his. He covers my hand in a very firm grip. His hand is hot from his pocket and a little damp. We shake but he isn’t letting go; looks at me until I realise he is waiting for me.
“Oh. Eh, Robert, sorry.”
“Robert, good to meet you, pal,” says Jack, giving my hand one last squeeze before dropping it. I flex my hand and put it in my pocket.
“Yeah, likewise, Jack. Well, I’d better get on, I’ll see you.”
“Hawd on. Where are you going to go, do you know anyone here?”
“Nah, I’ll just hang about till the morning, it’ll no be long, I’ll be fine.”
“Fuck that, Robert,” says Jack. “I was out at one of my mates, and I’m on my way back to my car. I’ll give you a lift.”
A lift to where, I wonder; he can’t mean to my town and there is nowhere else. “Nah, thanks man, but I’ll be fine.”
“It’s no that far in the car, Robert. I’ll take you and I’ll be home in my own bed in an hour.”
“It’s pretty far, it’s like 30 miles or something.”
“Crap, it’s twenty minutes on the motorway. I’m no going to let a man wander the streets all night for the sake of a wee run. You’re not exactly dressed for the weather are you, Robert?”
Everything Jack says is true; along the motorway to my town is only half an hour at best; there will be almost no traffic at this time of night. I am cold and getting colder; my body is probably heading toward hypothermic temperatures with all the drink I’ve taken. That’s what I am telling myself anyway; persuading myself to take up the offer of a lift from a complete stranger.
Jack watches me hesitate, says abruptly, “Come on, Robert, my car’s just round the road there. Let’s go, I’m no hanging around at this time of night, and you’ll catch your death out here.”
We leave the bus station, walking out through the main entrance and cross a couple of streets to where there is parking. Jack keeps asking questions as we walk, and he is walking so fast I am just about at a jog to keep up with him, gasping out the details of my life.
“It is pretty boring, to be honest,” I say.
“Aye, well you’re young yet, and there will be plenty of excitement afore you I’m sure.”
Jack’s car is a new-looking estate with leather seats. With the heat on I can relax. The car is running smoothly and almost silent. It won’t be long now; I think the night isn’t going to end too badly after all, though I will have to ask Jack to pull over for a pee break before we get back.
All I can see are darkened buildings beyond the streetlights. Shops flit past; offices and then tenement blocks; random windows are alight, and I think about the night hawks, maybe partying up there. We turn, cross junctions; stop for a set of lights. I don’t recognise anything.
“I’m lost outside the city centre,” I say.
“Ah, you’ll get used to it once you get going.” Then a minute later Jack says, “I don’t know about you, Robert, but I am dying for a slash.”
I laugh; “actually I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Right then; my place is just up on the right here so we’ll stop in and have a quick piss, alright?”
“Yeah, cool,” I say, relieved we won’t have to go in some layby. I wonder what kind of place a man like Jack lives in; I haven’t even asked if he has a wife or family. I haven’t actually asked my new friend anything.
Jack turns off into the car park of a block of modern flats. “Come on in then,” he says, getting out. He unlocks the main door of the flats, ushers me in; “straight up to the top.”
The stairway is painted magnolia; cleaner than my flat and well lit. We climb to the fourth floor, passing solid-looking doors, each fitted with a tiny peephole. My ears are still ringing from the pub and club noise. Apart from our steps the building is silent. My trainers squeak quietly on the runners; Jack’s shoes tap behind. I think of how fast he walked and try to go up quickly so when we reach the top I am out of breath.
Jack whispers, “you need some exercise, mate.” I am really bursting for the toilet.
Jack passes me and unlocks his door. Again, he ushers me in first. Jack flicks on the light. We’re in a well-kept hallway lined with doors. Jack takes his jacket off.
“You don’t mind taking your shoes off, do you, Robert? The carpets are fairly new.” I kick off my trainers by the heel and toe them into line by a rack of men’s shoes.
“Guests first. Light switch there on the right.” Jack indicates the bathroom door and I don’t argue.
The bathroom is all white tiles and polished chrome. I laugh, thinking of the club toilet. One end of Jack’s bathroom is glassed in shower bigger than my whole bathroom at home. There is a cluster of shaving tackle and after shaves above the sink. I feel like a right scruff as I wash my hands in the glistening sink.
Jack is coming out of the room on my left as I open the bathroom door, he presses a tumbler of whisky into my hand as pushes past. “Have a quick one while I am busy.”
So this is what a grown up’s flat looks like, I think, sipping Jack’s very good whisky. His living room is spacious, done out minimally; very clean and tidy. There are uplighters at either end of the one three seat sofa which faces across a coffee table and a thick rug to a wide television. The carpet under my feet is snug with what must be underfloor heating. I can’t hear a single sound.
The kitchen looks unused; new, or maybe just very clean. Like everything else here, it looks nothing like my filthy flat. The whisky bottle — single malt, is on the worktop alongside a second glass and a cut crystal water jug. I nod to myself at the bottle as if I know something about whisky. I don’t know, but tastes good, and is warming me up, cancelling out the post-drinking queasiness from earlier.
Jack comes into the kitchen, pours himself a dram, adds a dash of water. He holds up his glass.
“Cheers.” We clink.
“Cheers,” I say, and we drink.
“Good stuff,” says Jack. He smacks his lips and holds up the bottle, pours more whisky into each of our glasses, adding a short tip from the water jug.
“Have a seat before we set off, Robert; a wee break, eh?” He laughs and I smile along, follow him into the living room. I’m not thinking; I’m too fuzzy and relaxed to wonder why Jack is drinking whisky just before driving me home.
Jack sits at one end of the sofa and I sit at the other. I sit back and sink into the cushions, take a minute. Jack is sitting with his right leg crooked up on the sofa, his body angled to face me. The whisky and water are on the coffee table. I hadn’t seen Jack carry them through. I take a deep breath to perk myself up.
“Nice place,” I say.
“Aye, it does me. You don’t live with your folks, Robert.”
“No, I’ve got my own place as well. It’s nothing like this though; it’s tiny.”
“What age are you again?”
“Nineteen. Twenty next June.”
“Nineteen,” says Jack, slowly. “Jeez, I remember when I was nineteen. Wild times: no lassie was safe in those days, I’ll tell you. Have you got a lassie, Robert?”
“Nah, just me.”
“Just you and madam palm, eh?” Jack laughs.
“Eh, yeah.”
“What about those pals of yours; they got lassies?”
“I dunno, I don’t really know them that well, to be honest; I haven’t really seen them since we finished school. They were dancing in a club when I last saw them.”
“You don’t know them? How did you come to go out with them tonight then?”
“I do know them, just not very well. I bumped into them in town earlier on. They said they were on their way here and asked if I wanted to come along. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I’m not so sure now.”
“Don’t hurt my feelings, Robert, we’ve only just met.”
“Sorry, no offence.”
“I’m just joshing you. Did you not have a good time the night?”
“It was ok. It seemed great at the time, but I suppose they know each other better than I know either of them, if you know that I mean.” Jack is looking at me all this time. Not exactly staring, but not looking away except to take a drink. I’m not used to being looked at like that; not used to sitting in a strange house, drinking whisky. I’m a bit uncomfortable; feeling a bit awkward.
“Do you think they were into each other, then?” I look at Jack, but he doesn’t seem to be joking.
“In to? You mean, like, together?”
Jack shrugs, raising his eyebrows as he pours out more whisky and water for us.
“Do you think they were?”
“What, into each other?” It’s something to snigger about; the thought of two men together, it can’t be a serious question. “I dunno. I don’t think so, they were dancing with lassies. Nothing to do with me anyway.”
“Maybe you missed more than just the train then tonight, Robert,” says jack.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they might have asked you back to their place for a threesome; you might have been right in there.”
Jack is looking at me; he laughs as I start to say something.
“I’m just winding you up,” he says. “It’s a bad habit I have, pulling legs. You’ll get used to it.”
I laugh along, but it’s not that funny; “Right,” I say. We should be making a move to go.
“What would you have said if they had asked you?”
“Asked me what?”
“To go for threesome with them. They might have been like ‘Robert, we were thinking it is a cold night, and we wouldn’t want you catching your death out here, why don’t you come back and cosy up with us in our big bed?'”
“Eh, I’m ok, thanks all the same.”
“A man’s man, eh, Robert? What about lassies?”
“They’re alright.” It’s like all old blokes’ banter; get a younger man and an older man talking and it always comes round to shagging. I think Jack isn’t get it that much these days and is angling for some stories. I don’t have any to tell him.
“Aye, lassies are alright if that’s what you’ve got.” Jack says.
I don’t really get that, but I shrug anyway; “alright if you’ve got one.”
“Aye,” says Jack; “it’s alright getting a lassies hand on your cock, but it’s a lot better getting a young laddie to put his hand on it. Did you ever put your hand on a man’s cock, Robert?”
I’m laughing, looking at Jack sitting there, looking so serious. He must be winding me up again, but the moment is stretching out a bit beyond that moment where Jack should laugh as well.
“No.” I say, going bright red, I’m sure. I’m not as pissed or as tired as I was a second ago. I’ve turned away so I don’t inadvertently look down at Jack’s crotch, him sitting there with his legs spread.
“You can put your hand on my cock, Robert.” He says.
“Eh, no, I’m ok, thanks.” Looking at my glass, around the room, anywhere except at Jack.
“Yeah, come on mate, take the chance while you’ve got it.”
“Maybe we should just set off now,” I say. I put my glass on the coffee table, make to get up.
“Sorry Robert, but I’ve had too much to drink to drive just now. I’ll take you home when we’re done.”
My heart is pounding. Jack is looking at me. I look at him; what to say, what to do? Without meaning to, without wanting to, I look at the tight material in the crotch of his jeans, where his cock is. Look away.
“That’s it, Robert,” says Jack “my cock is right in there; go on.”
I am sweating and breathing fast, my mind whirling. I feel sick; confused and ashamed of myself that in spite of the fear in me — the near terror, my own cock is hardening. Nerves, I say to myself, it happens with nerves.
“I’ll make it easier for you, Robert,” says Jack. “I’ll pull my zip down, and then all you have to do is slip your hand in there.” He shuffles on his seat a little, putting his glass on the coffee table and pulling at his zip so his jeans gape. I can’t help it; I catch a glimpse of white underwear and the swell of Jack’s cock. My mouth is bone dry.
“Jack, look.” I say.
“Robert, put your hand inside my jeans and touch my cock. Do it now.” He’s like a teacher or a policeman snapping at me; that authority; that solid sense of his power and my powerlessness. Jack is going on in a smoother tone; “it’s hard, Robert, and getting wet, but it’s just muscle, it won’t bite you. Do it, Robert. I know you are thinking about it; you can’t think of anything else right now but the feel of my cock in your hand, can you, Robert?”
Jack is older than me, much bigger and stronger, I don’t doubt that. I’ve never been in a fight in my life, while he might have beaten someone to death. He must have done this before now; he’s so confident, sitting there with his jeans open. I could put my hand in there, just to get it over with. I think about missing my train and there being no night bus and my emotions are all over the place. I think about my shitty flat and how much I love it now.
Jack speaks quietly. “You take a ride in my car, Robert, accept my good will when you’re at your lowest; you sit here drinking my whisky, and now you can do something for me. You put your hand in my jeans, Robert. You touch my cock. Don’t you think about it, just do it.”
I could fight; can I fight? Could I say no? I can, but then what? How does the night end then? My body is burning with sweat yet my mouth is utterly dry. I move my left hand, dragging it across my jeans, slowly reaching between us to Jack’s lap. I feel Jack’s triumph as I’m reaching, his anticipation. I manage one hesitation and put my hand in through his open zip. Teeth rasp the soft skin on the back of my hand. The material of Jack’s underwear is under my fingertips and the hardness of his cock beneath that. Jack’s hips move, push his cock against my fingertips, and as I move my hand deeper the shaft of his cock nestles into my hand. It is warm in there, and I shiver to feel Jack’s cock pulse. Jack lets out a hiss of breath.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
I nod, hopeless. I’m helpless now I have taken that first step; made that first contact. Maybe I’ve been helpless since I shook Jack’s hand, or since I missed the train, or since I got on the train that afternoon, or since some other time I can’t even remember.
Then, as always happens when I try not to do something; as I am trying to keep my left hand very still, it cups itself slightly over Jack’s cock.
Jack left hand closes on mine; his fingers round my wrist, trapping me, pushing down so my whole hand closes along his cock. It feels fat and heavy; hard but yielding. My own cock is hard in my jeans, humiliating me. I’ve got nothing to write home about next to the cock under my hand; big enough but no more, balls like pebbles.
“Come closer,” Jack says. His mouth stays open; his tongue moves between his teeth. He breaths deeply.
I slide across awkwardly until Jack’s right knee presses against my hip. I am so close all I can smell is Jack; his after shave; his sweat; the whisky he’s drunk; something else, maybe his cock, I think.
Keeping my hand pressed into his cock, Jack is walking up my arm from my wrist to my shoulder with his right hand. He runs his fingertips around the skin of my neck. He is at the hairline above my spine and I am letting out a low sound; “unn”, as he circles there. I cut the sound off as it comes out, shamed I let Jack’s fingers pull that out of me.
He shushes me; “Let it go Robert; let it out.” Jack’s fingers stroke the hairs on my neck, and I realise I am clutching his cock. I let it go, but Jack holds my hand in there.
“Your cock must be hard too, Robert. Is your cock hard, Robert? Say it, Robert.”
“My cock is hard.”
It is like someone else says it, but it is my voice; I must be saying it. My head moves in response to Jack’s caress on my neck. My thumb rubs along the outline of Jack’s cock. My own cock is hard, and I hear my voice saying it again; “My cock is hard.”
“Do you want to show me your cock, Robert?”
I have nothing to put between myself and Jack; whatever resistance I might have had against him. Jack, this man; whoever he is, however old he is, his hand on my neck and his cock under my hand are mesmerising my body. My body, of its own accord, wants things; things I never ever suspected I would ever want; more touch; it wants more of Jack’s hand; wants it. My conscious mind is helpless, marvelling at this hunger; it’s like I’m a passenger in my own body.
“I want to show you.” I hear myself say. I say it. I’ve never been looked at by another man, not even by a woman, and before now I would have cringed at the idea. But now? To show myself; to be seen by Jack, for him to look at me is exciting. I want him to see me, all of me; I want to be naked.
“Take your tops off.”
Jack releases my left hand. It is hot and damp from being in his jeans; red marks on the back where Jack’s zip scratched me. I pull my jumper and t-shirt over my head together and let them drop on the floor.
Nineteen. Puppyish around my body; white and smooth. Thin drifts of dark, soft hair flow across my belly and up my chest; there are gathers of them in my armpits. Jack is examining me. He runs his fingers across my belly and up my chest. I gulp the air. My nerves are on the brink; I know I am waiting for his approval; for Jack to tell me I am not the pathetic lump I see in the mirror. Wanting that disgusts me. I wince as Jack squeezes my nipples. The feeling as he circles their hard centres is incredible. Jack’s grinning; “You’ve beautiful skin, Robert; you are a very beautiful boy.” I flush red all over, and I am actually fucking grateful.
“I’m a bit fat,” I say. Jack shakes his head, cups my waist to pinch where it crests my jeans.
“Keep going.”
I lay back to undo my belt and the flies of my jeans. Jack puts his hand inside his jeans, stroking himself as I undress.
I push down my jeans and underpants, let my cock flap back against my belly. Pre cum is dripping out; a clear thread connects my cock to where my pubes thin out near the root. I’m so hard my foreskin has pulled back off the head. I’m sitting, almost lying here, back against the sofa cushions, nude in front of Jack. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what he wants me to do; what I want to do.
Jack is looking me over; his eyes drag up from my calves to my almost hairless thighs, up to where the darkest hairs crowd on my balls. He is a long time looking there and at my cock poking clear of the hair, dripping. It isn’t impressive down there, but that doesn’t seem to matter now. I part my legs a little to show myself off.
Jack looks up from my cock, questioning, and I say, “Touch me,” very quietly. “Touch my cock.”
Jack pulls closer to me, turning his right leg, forcing it under me so I have to move and lift my left leg to lie it across his lap, opening my legs wide so I am completely exposed. Jack pulls my left arm under his right where I clutch at the solid meat of his flank and I am nestled there with Jack’s right arm across my shoulders, hugging me; his left hand grips my naked left thigh and my whole body is held by him or within his reach.
Jack’s face is within inches of mine; our whisky breaths mingle as he looks down on me. My mouth is open, I am running my tongue around my lips, and Jack kisses me. His lips are on mine; my mouth is wet with shared saliva. Jack’s tongue, strange and cock-hard, is making its own way around in me; wrestling my tongue down, rubbing against my teeth and the inside of my lips. His stubble scrapes and scrapes, burns me. I’m groaning from deep in my chest. Jack lets go his grip on my leg, feeling up me to where my skin is softest, where my thighs rub.
What do I feel? I can’t say, don’t know; embarrassed to be touched? Ashamed to want it so much or just humiliated and powerless? All that, and exhilirated. My pre cum drips and pulls where it sticks; my cock so hard it hurts. Jack’s fingers brush the hairs around my balls, plunge in palps me, dragging at my bag, groping around; I am moaning into his mouth. My left hand grips and rubs Jack’s side and back, my right hand tight on his left shoulder.
Jack pulls back for a breather, he is grinning and I laugh, helpless. Jack caresses my cock.
I come straight away, spurting cum up my belly as far as my throat. Jack catches my cock, wanking me rapidly. I grunt and jerk as I goes at it, my cum slugging out across his hand into thick puddles.
“Just you fucking go, boy.” Jack keeps at me, squeezing me out until I have to grab him.
“Stop, stop. Jack, please, no more. I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m sorry.”
It’s shaming, how quickly I have come and by how much; how close to the surface my spunk has been. Jack’s hand had just touched me to pull that out of me; that much cum, that feeling and those animal sounds. The feeling of his hand on my cock; my cock almost hidden in his fist. He is holding on, slowly milking the last out of me, me shuddering.
I am very naked now. Exposed; lying here, my legs wide, splatted with my own cum, almost literally in the lap of this stranger; this much older man.
“It’s alright mate,” Jack says gently, “There’ll be plenty more of that later; there’s always more cum in a man.” He brings up his hand slick with cum and pre cum and he licks at it with broad stokes of his tongue, his eyes on me. I am staring at the gobs and the sheen he is licking at.
“Every man knows what their own cum tastes like, don’t you?” I nod. Jack scoops up my cum on the tips of his fingers and pushes them between my lips, leaving them sticky. I tongue at Jack’s fingers swirling around in my mouth.
“Delicious, isn’t it.” I nod up at Jack, sucking the salt slime off his fingers to the last one until he pulls it out with a pop.
“Now undress me, Robert.”
Jack just stands up. Since my left leg is across his lap I get tipped off him, to struggle on the sofa. I’m right on the edge and I slip off onto my arse on the floor, feeling stupid and clumsy. I am spent, and it’s a cheap move of Jack’s to just shrug me off him like that. But Jack is standing there smirking, looking down on me. He’s there, fully dressed and I’m here, naked; covered in my own cum, my cock wilting. I get to my feet. Jack is taller than me, and while that hasn’t seemed important before, it is intimidating now.
Jack lifts his arms and is looking expectantly at me. I take the hem of his sweater and pull it up. Jack lifts his hands higher so as I pull his sweater up I have to step closer to him to reach. I have my head tilted up to see what is getting caught and my body presses against Jack. The rough of his jeans is on my thighs with my cock pressed between; the smooth skin of his exposed belly heats against mine. The sharp hairs on his body tickle harshly, catching in my cum. Jack is looking down on me, watching without any emotion I can see. With that couple of inches he has in height; with those years of his and the pounds of meat in his body I am nothing beside him, I know it. Nineteen. So what? I’m a little boy against a grown man.
I free his sweater and Jack lowers his arms. His body is thick with dark and coarse looking hair, some of it going grey. His body is big and broad with a film of fat, fuller here and there, covering muscle. Jack’s belly is flatter than mine, just a narrow rise around his waist. I look at his body. I don’t want to go on, I just want to go home now; I don’t want anything more to do with this old man and his grey hairs; I don’t want to touch his body, any part of it.
“Go on,” Jack says. I start to unfasten his belt, but I move functionally, just going through the motions. Jack grabs my wrists and holds me, grips me till the hurt is showing in my face and he knows I get his message. He lets go and I rub my wrists where the skin is crushed alternately white and red.
“Go slowly, Robert,” says Jack; “just enjoy it; we’ve got all night, and I won’t be rushed. Go on your knees now.”
I kneel, feeling sick about what I will be doing when I get Jack’s jeans off. His zip is still down, so just his belt and the one button of his jeans.
“Can I have a drink of water, please?” I ask.
“Alright. Of course you can, Robert. Glasses in the cupboard on the right above the sink. Bring me one too, will you, mate?”
I get up and go to get my t-shirt, but Jack tuts at me.
“You don’t need that.”
In the kitchen I feel the full exposure of the window above the sink; the cold cum dripping from my cock onto my leg, the smears all the way from my throat to my crotch. The light in the kitchen is off, but I can see enough in the light from the living room. I get out two glasses and run the water for a moment before filling them. I drink some of one and top it up. Jack comes and leans against the jamb, watches me in the dim light.
“You are a real honey, Robert, you know that? A real honey. Your body’s about as hot as I’ve ever seen.”
Jack takes the glass I hold out and drains it in quick gulps.
“Ah, that’s good. I’ll need another piss soon. I expect you will as well, eh, Robert? Guaranteed after cumming I always need a piss, don’t you Robert?”
I just shrug and turn away to drink my water. Jack holds his glass out for me to take. I put both glasses by the sink. As I turn Jack moves into the kitchen to catch hold of me, holds me in a lovers embrace. His chest is against mine; the skin on his arms pressing on mine. Jack holds me the way men hold women, feeling me and kissing me on my face and on my mouth, tonguing me. His hands are all over me, clutching and gripping. He takes my arse cheeks, separating them so I force my groin into his to get them away. I pant and whimper in all this handling; my cock is stiffening, and I run my hands over Jack’s back; over his arms and chest, feeling his hairs under my palms, his skin giving to my pinching and stroking. I kiss Jack’s shoulders and down, tasting him, taking in his sweat and the tang of lotion. I bend to kiss his chest, tounging and lapping at him; I am suckling on his nipples and biting till he gasps and that’s a thrill to hear. It all feels so good and tastes so good. I’m alright again, and I am ready.
I break free of Jack and go on my knees on the kitchen tiles. I take his belt to unfasten it, looking up as I go. Jack is grinning down at me, so I grin back. I let his belt fall apart and flick open the button of his jeans so they fall around his knees. His crotch is right there in my face, his cock straining his underwear, and even in this light I can see a damp sweat of pre cum where the tip presses. I put out my hand to feel Jack’s balls, heavy and packed in. I run my fingers along the shaft of his cock to the damp sweat there and rub it and his head beneath then take my finger and look up at Jack, as I run it around my lips and lick them.
I lean in to catch Jack’s buttocks in my hands, weighing them and massaging them and take his cock between my teeth through the fabric of his underwear, rubbing them along the shaft. Taking handfuls of my hair, Jack crushes it in his fists.
“Yes, Robert.”
I put my hands up Jack’s cheeks to the band of his underpants and pull from there, exposing his arse while his cock is caught tight in the fabric. I’m pulling slowly and Jack heaves a little as his cock is flexing and exposing; first the mass of hairs rushing down from his belly then the broad stump of his shaft then out to near the head. Jack’s cock jerks out of the trap up into my face, catches my lips, smearing pre cum. I open my mouth and Jack’s hands tight in my hair guide me forward to take him in.
Jack’s cock is thick. Heavy around and longer than mine but not some crazy size though it feels like it in my mouth. It rubs into the back of my throat as I gulp and swallow and I make ‘gug-ug’ sounds, groaning on top of that as I tongue and suck and close my lips as hard as I can. I don’t know what else to do, or how to do it the right way or the wrong way, or if there even is such a thing as that.
Jacks cock tastes of sweat and pre cum and a little of piss, but its texture is what gets me going; the silk sheathed velvet hardness of the shaft; the stiff wiriness of its underside on the flat of my tongue; the coils between head and shaft where Jack’s foreskin is folded back, and the misshapen ridge-edged roundness of the head, giving and seeping pre cum. I’m powered up by the sensation of all that meat moving between my jaws, and as Jack moves my head by my hair his cock in me jumps and pulses.
Jack is thrusting forward and wrenching back in gagging drives, his clenching fists almost rip my scalp till I’m whining with the pain between my groans and my own cock is like a stone.
Jack is grunting now, snapping my head back and forwards, actually fucking my face, my nose jamming into him, clotting with hair. Tearing up with the pain I shut my eyes and go with it, let Jack fuck my mouth till his cock lurches and disgorges out, glutting me with the thick salt slime taste of cum. I hold it all until Jack finishes with a few final savage wrenches and eases out. I look up so Jack can see me swallow.
Jack is laughing and pulls me to my feet, holds me tight again. His wet cock wipes the last of its cum on my leg. My cock is pressed into Jack just at the turn of his thigh beside his balls, his hairs scraping my head in a painful trill. I want Jack to touch me there again; to do for me what I’ve just done for him.
“Come on.” Jack says. He grips my hand to pull me through the living room and the hall.
“You need a piss?” Jack asks.
I nod. My mouth is still numb and no matter how much I work up a spit, all I can taste is cum. Jack is going on.
“I’m dying myself; If it hadn’t been the kitchen I might just have pissed in your mouth. How would you have fancied that?”
I don’t fancy that at all, and I think it is a bit much even to say as a joke, if it is a joke, but I just smile and shake my head. I really need a minute to wash out my mouth and just steady myself.
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say.
“We’ll go together,” Jack says, “We’ll use the shower, you can clean it later.”
Jack pushes me into the bathroom. I’m thinking about ‘later’, and about cleaning the shower, and if he means it? Jack won’t take his hands off me, manoeuvring me to stand beside him in the door of his walk-in shower. He holds me right up against him, our hips pressed together; his right arm crosses my shoulder and down to pull on my waist, and so my left arm is behind him and all I can do is hold on to him. He is holding on to me like I am his girlfriend, and we’re just out for a walk. He turns the water on.
“Just let it go, Robert.”
With his cock in his left hand Jack begins pissing into the shower; his pale piss diluting away in the shower water. Is this supposed to be a turn on? My cock is limp, shrivelled up small. I am needing to pee, and all the shower water and Jack pissing beside me is working on that, but I don’t know if I can with him right here pressing on me, holding on to me. He pinches me, hard.
“Come on, Robert, we haven’t got all fucking night for pissing.”
I’ve always hated pissing in urinals; standing beside another man with my cock out in a public toilet is something I never want to do; I’ve avoided it whenever there was a cubicle I could use. This is something else entirely; I’m fully naked, with a fully naked man beside me in a brightly lit bathroom, and I’m supposed to piss into a shower. Was it always just the awareness of another mans exposed cock just inches from me that put me off urinals; the fear I might look, or want to look, and even more than that?
“Go on Robert,” Jack taunts; “go ahead; I won’t look.” I turn away as much as Jack will let me and I eventually began to piss, it is a huge relief to let it go. My piss sprays out bright yellow.
Jack is shaking himself off and steps behind me, reaching around to grab my cock. My piss goes all over me, all over Jack’s hand as he catches hold and directs my flow, I can’t stop it, there is too much left. I just have to drop my hands and let him do it.
“Put out the fire,” he laughs, waggling my cock around the shower, piss going everywhere. I don’t say anything. Jack shakes me off roughly, pushing me into the shower.
“Clean up.”
He is watching my every move as I wash myself in his shower, making sure I do it right, I suppose. He’s stroking himself, his cock semi-erect. He can’t be ready to go again so soon.
I soap my body, washing off the cum and saliva.
“Get right under that foreskin” Jack says. Then he is in the shower and says, “Wash my cock and balls.” I get my hands soapy and rub around him, lifting his cock to get at his balls. It is as sterile at act as I can imagine right then; and yet Jack is hard under my hands by the time I wash off the soap.
He turns away to grab a towel and dries himself off while I wait, just standing there, rubbing water over myself.
“Turn the water off, get out here.” I step out and he rubs at me; roughing me dry like you’d dry a dog; like I had long hair all over and he had to rub right into it. I can’t stop these little yelps bursting out as he works me over.
“That fucking hurts.” I snap at him, and he grabs my whole cock and balls in the towel and in his hands and is twisting.
“You ungrateful wee whore. I’ve treated you like a princess, you fucking bitch, so don’t you fucking forget yourself, right?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Jack, I’m sorry. Please Jack, please.”
Jack is grinning, keeps his grip on me till he sees me start to cry. He lets go of my crotch and slaps me across the face, hard. He grabs me by the scruff of the neck and shoves me to the door.
“Fucking ingratitude. You better mind your fucking manners, princess. Get in that bedroom.”
Jack’s bedroom is lit by a bright bedside lamp. One wall alongside the bed is all mirror doors. The bed itself is made of some dark wood; it has slatted head and foot boards. The quilt cover is a stylised forest in bright colours. I am feeling sick and my stomach is falling lower than my aching balls. Jack gives me a hard dunt on the shoulder.
“Get in to bed.”
I pull the covers down and lay awkwardly on the cold under sheet. I’m covering myself with one hand and pulling at the downie, but Jack is laughing.
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?”
I hate him now. His power over me is so great, he has nothing but contempt for me. I am crying, but trying to be silent. Even if I wasn’t so exhausted and beaten down, I wouldn’t be able to help myself against Jack’s viciousness and his strength.
He is rummaging in one of the bedside drawers and pulling out a sheaf of condoms then a long toothpaste-type tube. Laying them down ready to hand between the lamp and the digital clock. The clock shows an unbelievable hour of the night; I have been in Jack’s flat for hours.
“Your hole is going to be so tight and sweet I will need a bucket of lube to open you.” Jack says.
“Jack, please,” I say, “you know. I.”
“Yes,” he cuts me off. “I do know.” He stands there, looking down; he is smiling at me like he has done nothing. “Time for a wee rest, princess. Then when you’re fresh and ready I’ll fuck you, fuck you so hard. See, I could do it now, see how fucking ready I am? I like a bit of a sleep first though; it’s always better first thing; sets you up for the day a good fuck does. Gives us time for a bit of lovey-dovey first as well, doesn’t it, especially seeing as it’s your first time, princess. It is so fucking good breaking in a sweet little princess ass like yours. You will feel so special afterwards as well, you’ll be begging for more.”
Jack gets into bed beside me. He does something to the lamp so its light dims very low, just enough to see by. He pulls the downie up over us, manhandles me onto my side to spoon me, his cock pressing right up against my crack, wrapping me in his arms. His hands are all over me, feeling me up and he’s kissing at me; his stubble sharp where he is pressing it into me.
“Jack,” I say, and I am just pleading; “let me go. I’ll go and let you sleep. Why don’t I go and let you sleep? I’ll head off and have a rest and get cleaned up and then come back later today, or tomorrow, if you like.”
“You don’t want to go anywhere princess. Just have a wee rest here the now.”
It can’t be comfortable for Jack, with his arms around me like that, but he holds on anyway, kissing and muzzling at the back of my neck. He catches my limp cock in his left hand. I flinch from his hand back into him. His hard cock jabs me.
“Aw, princess, where’s it gone. is it sleepy?”
“I’m not a princess,” I say.
Straightaway Jack is squeezing me with his whole body; his fist crushing my cock and his leg over me tightening on me, his arms forcing in. I can’t stop gasping and letting out a little cry.
“You are my princess, you sweet wee cunt; my wee girl; my wee bitch; my wee whore. You are a beautiful boy, princess and I am going to fuck you and keep you till I’m all done fucking you. You’ll be drinking my cum till it is running out your nose and I’ll ram so much up your arse you’ll be shitting my spunk for a month.”
I am properly sobbing, and Jack keeps crushing me.
“You are fucking hungry for it, princess; you were fucking begging for it through in that kitchen, and don’t bother denying it. You took my cock in your mouth and fucking guzzled down my cum like it was caviar; it is fucking caviar as far as you are concerned, princess, and you’d better never spill a drop, or I will fucking thrash you, little girl, to within an inch of your life.”
He bites down on me then; on my shoulder, to make me yell, then he lets go, rolling away from me, letting me lie here on my side, crying my eyes out like the little girl I must be. I don’t know how long I am crying for but Jack elbows me hard, telling me to shut the fuck up and get to sleep.
I am less than a girl to him, and I wonder if Jack treats real girls differently, or if he even has girls here like this, or at all. I don’t think so. Anyway, no girl would be stupid enough to hang around a bus station in the middle of the night or get into a stranger’s car.
I am Jack’s girl all tonight, and longer, if he wants. I rage at my pathetic fucking self; hadn’t I just voluntarily – eagerly even, sucked Jack off and swallowed his cum? I’d even enjoyed it. And then earlier, hadn’t I’d been so fucking keen to get my kit off in front of him? Shoving my hand in his trousers to grope him? I am so fucking complicit in this; it’s like I engineered it; like I meet some guy and suddenly I’m stripping off in his lap; begging him to touch me, and then when he was wanking me off, didn’t I just love that? The feel of his hand on me, making me cum, and cum so much; almost as much cum as he put in my mouth, that I sucked out of him?
But I am terrified of Jack’s aggression; his obvious strength, and the way he can just reach out and physically put me in my place. I am lying here in the dim light, and I hear by Jack’s breathing he has fallen asleep. He must think shit of me to sleep there with me right beside him. He knows I won’t try to run; I wouldn’t get out of the flat — this room even, before he caught me. And then when he caught me, then what?
I’m lying here in the bed feeling myself starting to fade. I’m hurt and despairing when Jack rolls over in his sleep, murmuring, and puts his arm over me. His hand is resting lightly on my cock. I’ve tensed up at the feel of Jack’s weight on me, but my cock is responding to the light sensation of his resting fingers and is beginning to swell.
I think about that feeling; that feeling of my body responding to Jack’s touch, coming alive. I’ve never experienced that; never been with anyone before, so I don’t know how it is supposed to feel. Is it like this for girls with guys? Maybe it is always frightening for girls; they can be so small beside some guys, but they put up with it to be with those guys anyway, so is it always frightening and sexy? If I am getting hard then it must be sexy, somehow. It can’t be like this for everyone, but my cock is hard now. I am in a bad situation; Jack is a bastard to me, but he only has a go at me when I stop doing what he wants, or when I complain. It’s not as if I don’t like what he wants to do, and he does actually like me; likes my body. He is hard when he looks at me, that’s exciting, to have that effect.
My cock is hard against Jack’s hand, and some alert part of him must feel that in his sleep, and his hand folds in over my cock, the pads of his fingers right against the most sensitive inner skin of my head.
Wouldn’t I be pissed off if I was with someone and they suddenly went cold on me? Jack moves again in his sleep, squeezing my cock sharply, grunting and settling with his cock hard in the small of my back. Feeling it there doesn’t seem so repulsive in the dim silence of the bed. Jack’s downie is cosy and I am warm with Jack in behind me; the heat of his body and his breath blowing in my hair.
I’ve changed. There’s been some shift in my sense of self; of who I am when I think of myself as a man; of my boundaries for physical contact; for the possibilities. Before I was just a man; I didn’t even really know what that meant except what I’d learned by aping the boys and men around me — emotionless hilarity, football talk, cars and lassies. Now being a man includes kissing; being wanked off by another man, sucking his cock and swallowing his cum. When Jack wakes up being a man will include having another man ram his cock up my arse to fuck me. I move my hips a little, rubbing my cock in Jack’s hand. Am I doing this? Jack turns again, pulling his hand off my cock. He rolls away. I actually want Jack’s hand back on me, but I don’t dare touch him.
I wake with a start to Jack fondling and kissing me. I didn’t even know I’d slept. Jack is up on his elbow, looking down on me, his left hand playing my balls, stroking my morning-stiff cock.
“Good morning, princess,” he says, giving me a playful twist to wince me fully awake.
“What time is it?”
“Time to get up; right up.” Jack jumps up out of bed, pulling the downie right off the bed. I don’t want to look at the clock. Grey light outlines the curtains, but it must still be early.
We get to piss in the toilet this time. Jack gives me a new toothbrush to clean my teeth with while he turns the shower on. He nods me forwards and I am in under the hot hard jets of the shower head with Jack. He gives me the soap.
“Don’t drop it,” he laughs.
I soap him all over; rubbing and cleaning him as he just stands there, only taking his eyes off me to let the water splash over his face. I clean his cock slowly, right under his balls and even into his arse crack, which I am a bit leery of until Jack grabs my hand, forcing it in between his cheeks, rubbing it around his hole.
Now it’s my turn, and Jack is scrubbing briskly at me. He has no inhibitions about touching my arse, rubbing the soap right in to my crack, massaging the suds in. Strange and embarrassing to have another man’s – or anyone’s, hand right there, but my cock is hard as Jack works, and he gets behind me. His right hand is where it is and his left thumb is around my cock, my balls gripped in his fingers, I don’t know what I am supposed to do with my hands so I am holding onto his arm. He is calling me princess and nibbling on my ear. I am on the edge of coming again as Jack is circling my soap slick hole. I am panting now and Jack bites into my shoulder hard, slides his finger up into me as he does so. I moan and will cum, but Jack takes his hand off my cock and balls, plucking his finger out of me which makes me yelp.
“I was going to come.” I whine; there’s no other word for it.
“You are so fucking ready for it, princess; you are fucking gagging for it. Do you want me to fuck you, princess, is that it?” He’s under the shower, washing his hands, looking me up and down.
Does he keep having to ask? Can’t he just go ahead and do what he wants with me anyway? Why do I play his game? Because it feels so good to say these things out loud?
“Yes Jack, I want you to fuck me.”
“Do you mean that, princess, or are you just at it?”
“No,” I say, and my head is up. “I really want you to fuck me, Jack,” I take hold of Jack’s heavy cock, and I’m working it. It feels so solid in my hand. “Put it in me, Jack; fuck me, fuck me. Please Jack, fuck me, fuck me. I want it.”
Jack lets me dry myself and we go back to the bedroom. I can feel Jack’s tight readiness, his anticipation. I feel it myself too, but my anticipation is tinged with apprehension; my fear of Jack and the pain he can cause; of letting him down; of the longing in my body to submit; to subject myself and the shadow of the shame I still have at how much that turns me on. Going into the bedroom I experience a wave of sick dread at the unknown consequences and outcomes of what I just begged Jack to do.
I lie down on the bed, on my back. I’m ok. I want it now, I do. I’d felt that finger of Jack’s in my arse and I’d wanted his cock in there, inside me there and then, but was afraid to ask for it. Why not in the shower, why didn’t he? I look at Jack’s cock, pointing at me, head full and glistening wet, I lean my head back and open my legs, like I’d seen girls do in movies.
“You’ve changed your fucking tune. See what a wee rest will do for you? Didn’t I tell you?” He picks up the lubricant. “Fuck the johnnie, it’s your first time, princess, so I’m going to fuck you raw. Turn over, get up on your knees.”
“What?”
“On your hands and knees. Think I want you mooning up at me as I fuck you? Maybe later if you are a good girl and beg me for it. Get up on your knees.”
I close my legs and turn over. Jack’s quick anger is so frightening, but I’m also feeling a kind of disappointment that he isn’t going to do it the way a guy fucks a girl; from on top, him looking down at her; Jack on top, looking down at me, that instead he is going to fuck me on my knees, from the back, like I am a dog.
I feel Jack get on the bed behind me. He is stroking my arse; my cheeks, both at the same time, running his fingers up between them, across my hole. I’m gasping breaths, ready. My cock is hard as anything, pre cum already swelling at the tip when Jack slaps me, hard. I’m swearing, it hurts so much, and he slaps me on the other side, and again and again.
“Fuck’s sake, Jack.” I scream, sobbing with the pain.
“Shut the fuck up, it’s just a wee pet to warm you up.”
I feel the cold slide of the lubricant Jack works in between my cheeks. I am shaking, really shaking so my teeth chatter and when I feel Jack’s cock pressing in I start to cry properly. I don’t know why I’m crying lke this now; it must be that everything up to this point could have been put away and forgotten, but there will be no forgetting this.
Jack is straining his cock against my hole.
“Push out, you bitch, like you are having a shit.”
I push out, opening myself up, and Jack’s cock forces its way in. The loudest, longest groan is ripped out of me. I almost pass out with the pain and exhilaration of Jacks head penetrating me, his shaft running its full length into me, my hole spread wide.
Jack lets out a long sigh.
“You are so tight it is amazing; a fucking work of art. Ah princess, I am so fucking glad I found you. I’ll just sit for a minute, let you get your bearings.”
I nod, groan out something incomprehensible even to myself, then Jack just goes ahead and starts fucking me.
He works his cock in and out, and with every run it feels like the rim of my hole is being torn. Jack is pushing right up against me so his hips grind on me. I can feel his cock inside me, in my guts, though I don’t think that’s true or even possible.
Jack is fucking me faster; his hands grip my hips. His cock is massive and churning in me. I moan with every inward run, and with every thrust and beat of Jack’s hips on me I am humped forward so my head meets the bed head and I cling on to the slats. For how long? Minutes? Longer? Now Jack is raking my back with his short nails; he rakes them deep enough to raise welts, and I am going to come.
I bark out some sound like “come,”; barking like a dog or so it sounds to me; some bitch fucked in a back garden somewhere.
“Come on then and come you fucking cunt. Fucking come you beautiful bitch princess.”
Jack hammers into me and there it is. I am whelping out these sounds and building up and then I come; I am crying again with pain and the sheer sensation of coming with Jack’s cock smashing my insides. My cum spurts down onto the bedsheet. Now Jack starts saying yes, over and over and I know he is going to come inside me then he lets out a long fuck sound and sags, leans his weight on me.
I almost come again as he pulls out of me, and he slaps me as he gets up, though not so hard, pushing me flat onto my own cum on the bed. I hear him in the bathroom, washing himself. I just lie there, literally fucked in so many ways.
“Was that good for you?” Jack quips, coming back into the bedroom. “It was fucking amazing for me,” he says. “You are so fucking hot, princess; your hole is so sweet and tight we are definitely going again soon, fucking right.” He throws himself down on the bed, laughs at himself in his complete victory.
I roll over, wiping at the tears and snot on my face, probably only spreading them. I think my arse hole must be hanging open, and might never close up, and I don’t know if I will ever want to be fucked again, it was so much of so much.
My arse cheeks burn from being slapped, and my back stings like fuck where Jack has scored, branding me. My hips ache from where he gripped, and I have stinging bite marks on me. I lie there, my cum drying on me. My eyes are running, my cock is worn and exhausted, my balls aching from being crushed in Jack’s fists.
“You’re all cummy again, princess,” Jack says, turning to inspect me. “You’re going to need another scrubbing.”
His cock hangs wet with washing, subsiding to lie lazy; I watch a bead of cum oozing from the tip. I nod.
“Thanks for the lift, Jack,” I say.