by R. J. Moray
But that wasn’t true. This was for Jack, for anyone Jack wanted. If Channon was a slut, he was Jack’s slut. Jack’s to share, Jack’s to put on display for the entertainment of his friends, and Jack’s to gloat over afterwards.
Channon opened his eyes, glancing across his cheek. There was Jack, relaxing in a chair and watching avidly. Next to him, Danny had his jeans open, was stroking himself slowly with one hand, eyes fixed on the place where Nate had Channon skewered on his dick.
Channon moaned, writhing on the mattress. He hadn’t even thought of that, of what it might be like to see them watching him. The thought of it, that he was turning them on, turned him on, made him hot and fizzy, his nerves trembling with the knowledge that they all wanted him, that they were all waiting for a chance to get inside him.
And Nate was inside him now, fucking into him with leisurely strokes, not in a hurry to get off, not trying to get Channon off either. Taking his time because he could, because he had his dick in a hot, wet hole and there was no rush, no need to think of Channon at all. Channon was there for his enjoyment and Nate was enjoying himself, and it made Channon’s guts tingle with the joy of it.
He lost track of time. Nate fucked him slow, and then a little faster, and then firm, slamming in with obscene wet slaps as their flesh met. “Fuck,” he muttered, “you fucking gorgeous little.… God, Channon, your ass is so nice…I could fuck you all fucking night…” but he didn’t, in the end, just gripped Channon’s hips and hauled him in tight and groaned as he came, and Channon thought, That’s one, and tried to catch his breath.
“That was fucking hot,” someone breathed—was it Adam?
Danny said, “I want him next,” and Jack laughed, low and so familiar.
But what he said was, “Be my guest,” and Channon tipped his face into the mattress, breathing in through the weight of fabric. Nate’s dick slid out of him and left him open, the heat of him pulling away to expose Channon’s thighs, leaving his hole on display.
Then there was a hand on his ass, a thumb running around his wet rim, and Danny’s low chuckle. “Hey, beautiful. I’ve been thinkin’ about this ever since you sucked my dick for me.”
Channon swallowed, canting his hips up as his face burned in shame. He wanted Danny in him, wanted those rough hands tight on his hips. He wanted Danny to know it, wanted Danny to feel how much he wanted, wanted to feel ashamed of himself for wanting it, only the shame wouldn’t come.
Danny’s dick was already out, already slick, so all he did was shove right in, and Channon cried out because it was so sudden. And then he groaned because Danny was halfway there already, and Channon had already been fucked open, so he didn’t need to waste time on prep. Danny gripped Channon’s hips and drove into him like a machine, while Channon whined and gasped and scrabbled beneath him. He caught Channon’s hair and yanked his head back and Channon made high-pitched, needy noises, desperate for more of it. Danny’s dick missed his prostate by a hair, every stroke, and Channon realized he was arching into it, trying to get a little friction in the right place, but Danny’s hand settled heavy on his tailbone, leaving him trapped and helpless.
So he let himself be helpless. He let Danny fuck him the way Danny wanted, listened to the rough catch of Danny’s breath, the heartfelt, “Fffu-uck!” that spilled out of him when he finished, as his hips slowed to a halt and his cock emptied in wet, heavy throbs.
Channon felt wrecked, fucked half out of himself. Danny petted him all down his spine.
“Sweetheart,” and the pet name that was Jack’s out of Danny’s mouth made Channon shiver all the way to his toes. Danny stroked him, firm and slow. “You’re doin’ great.”
He pulled out. Channon sunk into the mattress. He felt hot all over, like his skin had been scoured raw. Who next? Tom? He shuddered, pressing his face into the sheet, his dick hard and heavy between his legs, his balls full and aching.
“Hey-hey.” It was Adam. Channon took a deep breath, shifting his weight. Adam’s fingers were cool on his thighs, running down to stroke his calves. “You good? Wanna roll over?”
Channon shook his head. He didn’t want to. If Adam ordered him to, he would, but if he had a choice, he wanted it like this, almost anonymous. He didn’t want to look at Adam while Adam fucked him, wanted instead to hide his face in his arms and imagine the others watching them.
And he could picture it: lean, handsome Adam running his palms over Channon’s calves while the others watched. He could picture a grin on Adam’s face, and Jack shifting in his chair when Adam slipped a hand between Channon’s thighs. Adam stroked his balls, holding them in his palm, but he left Channon’s dick alone—one of Jack’s rules. He played with Channon’s hole a little. Channon was disgustingly slippery now, his body responding easily to the press of Adam’s fingers.
“Don’t make him wait,” Max rumbled. Channon realized with a start that Max had settled onto the mattress behind Adam, and then there was a third hand on his ass, squeezing his flesh between thick, strong fingers.
“Okay, okay,” Adam grumbled. Then— “Daddy, will you put me inside him?”
Oh fuck. Channon shuddered, clutching at the sheets. Max’s hand was heavy on Channon’s hip as his other curled into a ring to fit Adam up.
Adam made a guttural noise of contentment, sliding smoothly in. Channon twisted to look back over his shoulder—Max had Adam in his lap, his hands braced on Channon’s hips and Adam’s wrapped around his wrists. Adam caught Channon’s eye and grinned wickedly, rising up on his knees to fuck down into him, and hit Channon right in the sweet spot. Channon let out a wail, arching into it; Max grunted disapprovingly.
“You’ll make him come,” Max said.
Adam laughed breathlessly. “Good!”
“You’re not allowed to make him come,” Max said with a kind of calm that seemed impossible right now.
“Master Jack said—”
Max growled, “And now I’m saying you can’t.”
It made Adam bite his lip, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Then he shifted his angle, said, “Yes, Daddy,” and started to move, and Channon had to look away because God, he made it look good.
Adam was enthusiastic, but Max kept murmuring to him the whole time, telling him to slow down, telling him to go deeper, telling him he was beautiful, his favorite, Daddy’s good boy, until Adam begged him for permission to come.
“Go on,” Max said, fondly indulgent.
Adam’s hips stuttered as he sighed and gasped. “Thank you, Daddy, thank you.”
Then Adam slid out of him and Max slid in, and Channon clawed at the sheets because, fuck, Max didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath. He wasn’t rough or careless, just pounded Channon with deep, firm, deliberate strokes while Channon whimpered and Adam lay on the mattress beside him, laughing breathlessly.
They left Channon with a kiss each (Adam on his jaw, Max on the rise of one ass cheek) and Channon took a moment just to breathe, sore and aching and so wound up he felt like he could go over the edge just from rubbing his cock between his thighs. God, he was on fire, all his nerves sparking like there was electricity running in his veins.
He pushed himself up on one hand, scrubbing the other over his face, and rocked back on his knees, asking, Please, with his body because he couldn’t ask it aloud.
“Oh, you pretty thing.”
The sound of Tom’s voice was electrifying. Channon shuddered, his thighs quivering, breath catching in his throat. He’d forced himself not to think about this, not to anticipate it or hope for it, though he’d known it was coming. And now it was going to happen. He breathed out, long and slow, breathed in, out again, let himself relax. He’d need to, he knew it, knew already how it felt for Tom to sink into him, opening him right up for the taking.
Tom’s gloved hands spanned Channon’s cheeks, holding him open for anyone to see. “Damn, you look good like this.” Channon whimpered, dropping his head, letting it hang down between his shoulders as Tom thumbed gently acros
s his poor hole. “I bet you’re sore. Need a little something to take the edge off?”
Channon shook his head. He didn’t want numbing stuff or anything like that. He was too full of endorphins to be sore, though maybe he’d regret this later. He folded down onto his forearms, pressing his brow to the mattress, and waited. Tom wasn’t going to make him wait too long, was he? God, he’d waited already, he wanted—
The first pressure of Tom’s cock-head against his rim made Channon sigh gratefully, but then Tom leaned into it, and Channon remembered just how big he was. Fuck, it had been a lot the first time, and now, even fucked open as he was, it was still a stretch. He felt unmade by it, like he was coming apart at the seams and yet, somehow, he held together. Tom took him slow, every half inch of him building something wonderful in Channon’s gut, something that sparked and bloomed in him, suffusing him in delicious heat. He felt liquified, melted by it, his hips Tom’s to do with whatever he wanted, his body no longer his own.
It took forever, or no time at all, and then Tom was seated in him, deep in his core, and Channon could hear the harsh pant of his own breath and knew he was a heartbeat away from sobbing.
Then Tom rocked back, and in.
Channon cried out. It came out hoarse and desperate, and he clung to the mattress as Tom took him with long, slow thrusts, each one proving to Channon that he’d been wrong, that he hadn’t had all of Tom, not yet—God—not yet, not even. He felt choked by it, overcome, swept up in the bone-tightening pleasure of something so big inside him, pressing against him in a way he couldn’t avoid or ignore. He was going to come. It was impossible not to. He couldn’t fight this for long, and he wasn’t supposed to speak but he could hear himself begging into the mattress and it shamed him, and yet…God, he couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything except coil up and break like a wave smashed over rocks, a great swell of it carrying him over to be dashed to pieces. It throbbed through him like his heart’s blood, pulsing out of him endlessly. And Tom kept on fucking him through it, until Channon was all poured out, nothing left but an empty vessel.
Tom came. He must have. Channon wasn’t paying attention. Everything was soft and wet, his throat hurt, and his eyes ached. He was sore but so blissfully happy he could have cried. And still, something was missing.
When Tom pulled out, Channon felt empty, and he would have cried then if not for the hand on his shoulder. “Shhh, sweetheart. You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”
“S-sir,” Channon sobbed wetly, and Jack rolled him onto his back, kissed his face, his mouth, his hands moving over Channon’s skin despite how dirty he was. He felt filthy. He felt cleansed. Every worry he had in the world had been stripped away, and here Jack was, still taking care of him. Loving him, always.
“Color, Channon,” Jack prompted, as if he’d said it already.
“Green,” Channon told him, “green, green, green…”
Jack kissed him. Then Jack was pushing into him, and Channon ached but it was okay, it was Jack. Jack’s hands on him were gentle, his kisses sweet and soft, and he kept saying things like, “Beautiful, beautiful boy,” and, “Love you so much,” and, “You’re all mine.”
Channon let it happen, basking in the aftermath of orgasm and the wonder of Jack’s hands. Jack shuddered inside him and Channon laughed breathlessly—he must be overflowing with come, he thought, and that made him laugh some more, and then he was sobbing again but it was okay.
It took a while to come back to earth. When he did, he was wrapped in a blanket, the lights down low, music playing softly. Someone was stroking his hair. He opened his eyes to see who it was.
“Hey, Channon.” Nate beamed at him. “Thirsty?” He felt too wrecked to say it, but Nate seemed to understand, and put the straw of a juice box between Channon’s lips. “It’s grape.”
Channon sucked it thirstily and then couldn’t summon the energy for more. He closed his eyes, and Nate went back to stroking his hair, chatting to him in a low, even tone.
“I bet you’re sore right now. You took it like a champ, though. Definitely fun to watch.”
Channon tried to tell him something, anything, but it just came out a mumbled mess.
Nate chuckled. “Don’t stress, you’re all good. Just take your time.” He kissed Channon’s hair. “You’re very, very sexy when you’re being fucked, Channon, I hope you know that.”
Channon didn’t know that at all, but he couldn’t manage the slightest bit of embarrassment over it. Anyway, Jack was there with a mug of hot chocolate, kneeling to prop Channon up on some cushions, his smile soft and tender.
“Drink some of this. Good boy.” Channon leaned on Jack’s shoulder, nuzzling into the side of his neck, and Jack chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”
“M’okay,” Channon managed, wincing a little. He was starting to ache a bit, his thighs sore now they were stretched out. Nate was rubbing his calves, mouth curled with amusement, and Jack kissed his hair gently before making him take another sip of chocolate.
He felt blissfully good, propped up between them. The others were still there, chatting quietly nearby. Slowly, though, they drifted away, saying their goodbyes and telling Channon he’d been good. Channon didn’t have the strength to say thank you. He just smiled and accepted a few kisses and hair ruffles, and then it was just him and Jack and Nate.
Nate settled at the end of the futon with Channon’s feet in his lap, rubbing his thumbs along Channon’s soles and looking generally pleased with himself. “That went well.”
“It did. Thanks for kicking it off.” Jack stroked Channon’s chest through the blanket. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Wanna watch something? Eat something?”
“I could eat,” Channon admitted, though he didn’t want to move.
Jack solved this by producing a tray from one of the end tables. He hugged Channon close and kissed up behind his ear. “You were amazing, baby. So good. So fucking hot.”
“I liked it,” Channon said, tired but also wired, like he couldn’t sleep if he tried. “I liked…everyone was nice.”
“Danny fucked you pretty hard.”
“I was warmed up.” Channon poked Nate pointedly with his foot. Nate grinned at him.
“You’re welcome.”
“Are you staying, or do you have to go?” Jack asked, in a soft voice that made Channon think he was asking for something more, something beneath the surface.
“I don’t have to go.” Nate eyed them both and seemed to come to a decision. “But if I’m staying, I should make a call.” He wandered into the kitchen to do it and came back after a few minutes to hand Channon the phone. “Someone wants to say hi.”
Channon cleared his throat. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Ewan said. He crunched something—probably chips. “You okay?”
Channon grinned. He was checking in. It was so cute. “Yeah. You?”
“I didn’t get my arse reamed by a bunch of seedy old men,” Ewan grumped. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Cos you sound jealous.”
Ewan muttered something that Channon didn’t understand but could tell was rude. “They treat you all right?”
“Yep,” Channon said, snuggling down on Jack’s chest. “Is it okay if we keep Nate tonight?”
“Don’t suck his dick,” Ewan snapped. But then— “Did he…”
“He didn’t suck my dick,” Channon said. “Nobody sucked any dick.”
“No, I mean…”
Oh. “I got your presents,” Channon told him.
Ewan was quiet for a moment. “Good. Nighty-night, then.”
“Bye.”
It was comfortable there on the futon, but Jack made him get up and rearrange himself on the sofa, and then let him pick a movie to watch. Nate came back to curl up under another blanket spread over the top and resumed rubbing Channon’s feet. It was nice. It felt surreal, after everything, but listening to Jack and Nate bickering about ‘reasonable suspension of disbelief’ and ‘space physics’, all h
e could think was that the one thing they were missing was Ewan, muttering in Channon’s ear as he dozed.
Next time, he thought. Because. There probably was going to be a next time. He’d ask Jack later. But for now, this time? He was happy.
Day Six: Saturday
In the morning, Channon ached.
“I told you,” Jack said, far too amused about it for Channon’s taste. He’d made Channon take some ibuprofen and now had him laid out on his front and was massaging Channon’s legs with arnica. “Next time, maybe you should do some more stretches first.”
“Like stretch out my ass,” Channon muttered.
Jack laughed. “We did do that.”
“Stretch it out more, then.”
“Maybe. So, apart from sore,” Jack said, running his hands up over Channon’s glutes, “how are you feeling about last night?”
Channon considered it. In the cold light of morning, it was all so surreal. Last night he’d been fucked by his boyfriend, his boyfriend’s best friend, two guys he barely knew, and two guys he didn’t know at all. He’d done it all on a futon in the middle of his own living room, where he’d never be able to sit again without remembering it. They’d seen him in panties. Channon had moaned and whined and come all over himself. Someone (hopefully Jack) had cleaned him up with wet wipes while he’d been too out of it to care.
“Awesome,” Channon said, his stomach tingling with something savage and wonderful. “Really awesome.”
“That’s good.” Jack’s hands worked up his back, massaging him firmly. “I really wanted you to have a good time. Especially since this week didn’t work out the way we planned.”
“This week was good too,” Channon said slowly. “Like, bits of it were really good. And other bits weren’t the worst.”