Again and again, Daniel rocked up and down, working Peter's dick in his “vagina” until his pace became faster, the bed shaking as they fucked. Peter kept stroking Daniel's dick with his fuck and he felt how it grew wet and slippery in Peter's hand. He felt every delightful move of Peter's hand and every thick inch of his cock as he drilled himself on it.
The room grew warmer, his breathing became faster as he moved on top of Peter. When he felt Peter's other hand touch his breast and move up to his neck he noticed his skin was very hot, slippery with his exertions. Peter pulled him down and kissed Daniel, wildly, tongues fighting as he rode Peter's dick. When his dick flexed hard within Peter's grasp, when he felt his body grow tight, every straining muscle with his exertion, Daniel knew he was too close, too close to stop and he pushed down harder, again and again, driving Peter into his hole harder as he could, taking the whole thing, feeling it bump his insides and he thrust he hips forward roughly rocking on Peter.
"Oh damn...shit, I'm coming" Daniel uttered out, then his cum flowed across Peter's stomach and chest. "Ahhhh, ooooh" Daniel exclaimed as the second sport blew from his dick, then followed by another one. He covered Peter's front with his cum. The smell of it filled the room while Peter kept rocking beneath him, pushing upward harder and harder. Daniel knew Peter too was close and with a second wind he worked his ass on Peter's dick, up and down Daniel worked his body while Peter painfully continued to stroke his dick, his hand moving slickly along the slippery dick keeping it erect.
All of a sudden, Peter became wilder, pulling Daniel tight to his body as he rolled him over till he was on top. He had kept his dick buried in Daniel's hole and he started to thrust his hips harder and slammed their bodies together, feeling the way Daniel's hole squeezed his dick. The bed shook and squeaked loudly as Peter thrusted his dick in Daniel's hole till he felt the juice rushing out of his shaft and ejaculated deep within Daniel. He pushed his hips with every spurt of cum, thrusting harder till his dick pumped through his slick cum, and he kept pumping his hips feeling his sensitive dick stay hard.
"Fuck me, fuck me, again..." Daniel urged.
Peter kept fucking, pushing himself till sweat dropped down his face and torso. He continued to fuck, pumping his dick through the slick remains of his first fuck, slickly pushing into Daniel. He fucked like a wild bull, very physical, with everything he had and Daniel held on, arms around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist.
"Shit, oooh, fuck me, give it to me" Daniel pleaded as Peter did as he asked, fucked him as hard as he could, driving into his hole with every inch of his cock. Peter's first spurt of cum pumped back out, but it only added to the wetness of their bodies, the heat and slickness of their moving together, with Peter on top of Daniel.
Daniel's cock grew hard again, leaking abundantly with the feel of Peter on top of him keeping it pinned between the two of them, he felt the way they moved together. Peter rose up on his hands and fucked even faster, hard thrusts that were short rocked Daniel roughly beneath him. Daniel could take his own dick and stroke it with Peter's rhythm, rough, fast, his hand bumping down the hard dick till he felt his need to explode in cum again.
"Oooh, shit, ooooh" Daniel uttered out as he released his second spurt of load, feeling the warm juice landing on his tummy.
Peter felt the way Daniel's hole contract around his dick, pressing it hardly it as he thrust inward. It was too much, the scent of Daniel's second load and the way his hole tightened around his own dick and he felt the cum race through his dick and exploded into Daniel.
- - -
They laid down on Daniel's bed together and talked for a while about how they had been playing like a cat and mouse with each other before they slept.
The next morning, Peter left first, his 7 am class was all the way across campus. Daniel woke up alone. He touched his still painful ass and smiled. What happened was unforgettable.
--THE END--
Lust and Love
Life at college can be rough. Throw in the burden of keeping your werebear abilities a secret, and things have the potential to get deadly. Sierra Davies thinks she's doing pretty well, though. Having an amazing guy like Dex Myers around is a definite bonus. But Dex is hiding secrets of his own, and he's not big on sharing. Using her powers of persuasion, Sierra attempts to get the guy of her dreams to trust her, but will she succeed? Or will Dex continue to keep her in the dark?
****
The end of finals week should have been a happy thing. I’d turned all my papers in on time, I hadn’t scared anybody off with my frenzied, Red Bull-driven all-nighters, and I’d even managed to get a few hours of sleep before being woken up by my louder-than-life neighbors. I’d just set myself up with the perfect Netflix queue, when Cassie—my fluffy bunny of a roommate—forced me out of bed and into one of the nicer, off-campus houses; my whiny, relentless protests went unheard.
“This party’s going to be crazy,” she’d insisted, dragging me past at least five other “crazy” parties. “Just wait, Sierra. You’ll love me for this in the morning.”
Three hours later, Cassie was sandwiched between two guys, alternating between dancing with them and grinding against them, and I was standing in a dark corner of the living room, exhausted and not even one-tenth as buzzed as I wanted to be; I was not going to love Cassie for this—or anything else—ever.
Sighing, I took a swig from the red plastic cup in my hand, and almost immediately, I spat it back out. “Jesus,” I muttered, setting the disgusting, warm beer down on a table in the next room. “This party blows.”
A dense cloud of Axe body spray surrounded me before I heard someone say, “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”
Glancing behind me, I bit back a groan as Tate Wilson—self-proclaimed badass and the host of the party I was trying really hard to escape—strutted towards me, bringing his cologne cloud with him.
“Hey,” I said, pasting a smile on my face. “Sorry about that.”
He shot me a lopsided grin, and only when he settled against a countertop did I realize that I’d wandered into the kitchen at some point. That was the first good thing I’d discovered all night. Kitchens usually meant back doors, and all I had to do was find it and I was home free.
“Are you sorry you said it?” he asked, crossing his legs in front of him. “Or are you sorry I heard you?”
“The second one,” I replied on autopilot, sweeping the room for my way out; I resisted the urge to jump around when I noticed the plain white door by the sink. All I needed was a plausible reason to leave, and my night could finally start going the way I’d wanted it to. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the dour expression on Tate’s face, and belatedly, I realized what I’d said. Clearly, I’d been too intent on finding the exit to bother with tact. With a sheepish shrug, I added, “Sorry. Again.”
“Whatever, man.” Scuffing the floor with his foot, he scoffed, “Like you would have any idea what a good party looked like.”
It wasn’t easy, but I managed to force myself not to react. The asshole was right, but like hell I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. Besides, I knew I wasn’t going to flunk out of college midway through my sophomore year; somehow, I doubted Tate could say the same thing.
On the bright side, his comment made it that much easier for me to walk away without an explanation; the thought brought a genuine smile to my face.
“Have a good break, Tate,” I chirped, almost skipping to the door. With my hand on the knob, I paused and looked back at him over my shoulder. “Thanks for the beer, by the way. It was terrible.”
His jaw dropped, but before he could regain his wits enough to curse me out, I pushed my way out of the house, and into the cool spring night. Stepping out onto the back porch was like entering a new world—one without keg stands and music loud enough to make my ears bleed—and the first hit of clean, earth-scented air made me want to squeal with joy.
Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I moved fu
rther away from the house. With every foot I put between myself and the party from hell, the muscles in my neck loosened. By the time I walked onto the neighbor’s sprawling backyard, the tight knot of tension had completely disappeared. It had been my one constant companion through the night, but I didn’t miss it at all.
Grass crunched beneath my flimsy sandals, and without a second thought, I bent down and slipped them off; my eyes fell shut as blades of grass tickled my bare feet. I curled my toes, lifting my head to the heavens and breathing in the scents I’d been craving all night. Though I couldn’t see it, I knew that the sky would be peppered with beautiful specks of light, and no matter how hard I tried, I would never be able to count them all.
I was fairly confident that I looked like an idiot. Standing still in the middle of someone else’s backyard—arms out, shoes in hand, eyes closed, head in the air—had a tendency to appear moronic to most people. Who could blame them? They had no idea how warm my body was or how every additional second I spent surrounded by nature felt precious and wonderful.
A rumble rang through the air, and my face flamed when I realized the sound was coming from me. “Good thing nobody’s around,” I mumbled, shaking myself out of my contented stupor.
I hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps forward when I heard another, similar sounding growl—this time from somewhere behind me. My head snapped around, and not for the first time, I was grateful that I could see as clearly in the dark as I could in the light. Scanning my surroundings, I took in the shrubs and lawn ornaments, the chain-link fence on the other edge of the property, and dim lights glowing from the row of houses on my right.
None of those things possessed the ability to sound like a bear.
Snarling in frustration, I turned back around and stomped across the yard, my earlier good mood forgotten. I had lost count of how many times I’d thought I’d heard or seen a bear around campus—I’d yet to actually find the animal in question. One of the main reasons I’d picked this college to go to over other, more reputed institutions was its proximity to a wonderfully dense forest, and the fine print on the college website that read, ‘Please be aware that we are located very close to bear country.’
If that was true, then where the hell were all the other bears?
***
In the interest of full disclosure, I wasn’t some wildlife fanatic nor was I particularly keen on finding the perfect bearskin rug for my dorm room. I didn’t go traipsing through the woods, smelling like meat and making as much noise as I could, in a random attempt to get a bear to maul me.
I just wanted to find someone else like me.
***
I ditched the scenic route and went back to the streets, uncaring of the strange looks I got from passersby—maybe they didn’t have short, angry blonde women walking barefooted on dirty sidewalks where they came from. If they thought that was the weirdest thing about me, they’d be dead wrong.
The walk back to my dorm building was long, and without Cassie’s endless chatter, it was quiet. So quiet that it allowed the churning, restless thoughts in my brain to whisk me off down memory lane.
I hated memory lane with the passion of a thousand suns.
***
I was sixteen when it happened.
It was the night of my junior prom, and I was uncharacteristically excited. No surprise there. I’d been abnormally pumped about prom for two weeks—ever since Deacon had asked me to go with him.
Deacon Myers wasn’t one of the popular guys or one of the smartest kids in school. He wasn’t part of any after-school clubs and he didn’t really care about getting the teachers to like him. He was just another ordinary sixteen-year-old boy, one of the faceless people in the hallways, waiting for the day he could leave high school and do whatever he wanted to do.
To put it another way, he was just like me.
I didn’t know Deacon all that well, but what I did know, I liked—a lot. I looked forward to the classes we had together, just so I could see him stare blankly at the teacher. His dark blonde hair was almost always sticking up in messy tufts, and whenever he got too bored with class to bother faking it, he’d fish out a marker from his backpack and doodle on his high-tops.
We’d talk if we passed each other in the hallway. Never about anything serious or meaningful, but I treasured each conversation anyway. His wit was sharper than a razor blade, and I’d know whenever something I said amused him; his gray eyes would spark with laughter and my heart would lodge itself in my throat.
There were a lot of things I didn’t know about Deacon—important things, things that would eventually matter to me more than life—but two weeks before junior prom, when he asked me if I wanted to go with him, all I could focus on was keeping my expression firmly in check; it wouldn’t do to have my feelings for him scribbled on my face in permanent ink.
When the night I’d been dreaming about finally arrived, I was psyched beyond measure, without a hint of nervousness in sight. My mom had helped me pick out a turquoise blue dress that flowed like it was made of liquid, and my hair was in a messy bun that was held up with pins to match my dress, courtesy of my older sister. Throw in a pair of sparkly ballet flats, and I was ready to go with half an hour to spare.
To my immense surprise, when I walked into the living room to kill some time with my dad, I found Deacon waiting for me instead. He looked taller and bigger than he did at school. His hair was artfully arranged and his trademark grin seemed sharper, more dangerous somehow. There was a spark in his eyes, one that promised wonderful things, and my pulse fluttered. In his blazer with a skinny tie, he looked like someone else; in his ink-filled sneakers, he looked like the perfect date.
With a soft smile, he placed a silver corsage around my wrist, whispering, “You look radiant, Sierra.”
My poor, sixteen-year-old heart was about to beat right out of my chest. I managed to mumble, “Thanks. You look great, too.”
I ducked my head when I heard my family clamor into the room, but my sister caught my warm expression and shot me a broad grin. After a few token protests, we posed for pictures, got warned to be home by midnight, and before I knew what was happening, Deacon and I were on the sidewalk, making our way to the school building.
Instead of filling the quiet with his usual comments about the tediousness that was junior year, he clamped his arm around my waist and speed-walked us down the street. I was too taken aback by the sudden physical contact to do more than keep up with him, but I should have been questioning the unusual silence.
In hindsight, I should have questioned everything.
“Where are we going?” I squeaked, when he took us down the road leading away from school. “Deacon, what’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, Sierra,” he murmured, not looking in my direction. “I just want to show you something before we head to prom.”
My palms were clammy with sweat, but my voice was steady when I snapped, “If you don’t want people to worry, don’t hijack their night with an unplanned, unknown detour.”
His answering grin was sharper than cut glass. “Deacon told me you were a riot. I’m glad to see he wasn’t just thinking with his dick again.”
“What?” I whispered. My blood turned to ice in my veins. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” he—whoever he was—began. “You’re not the first girl Deek’s had a thing for. Over the years, I’ve learnt that he tends to exaggerate when it comes to the fairer sex. But you!” he exclaimed, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “You’re hotter than he gave you credit for, and you’re reasonably quick on your feet.” Shrugging carelessly, he added, “You might just survive the night.”
I stopped breathing, stopped moving, just stopped completely. The stranger with Deacon’s face stopped with me, his eyebrows quirking in puzzlement. “Sierra?” He waved a hand in front of my eyes. “Are you okay?”
Hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat, but I swallowed it down. “Who are you?” I choked out. “Wher
e is Deacon?”
“See, quick on your feet.” He smiled proudly, like he’d taught his pet dog a new trick. “The other girls Deacon insisted on having, they didn’t bother asking me who I was. They thought good ol’ Deek was having a cuckoo moment, and maybe he needed to lie down?” His voice pitched high at the end, taking on a distinctly feminine tone.
My fingernails dug into my palms, and some of the shock dissipated. “You seem to be in full possession of all your faculties.”
“Well spotted, Sierra Davies.” He trailed his palm across my back and down my arm, twirling our fingers together; bile rose up in my throat, and with a great effort, I kept from spewing it all over him. “You really might be the only one to get away.” His expression held the slightest hint of sadness as he confessed, “For what it’s worth, I really hope you do.”
It wasn’t worth shit. Steeling my spine, I asked the question that he’d been dancing around for a good ten minutes. “What does Deacon want to do to me?”
He looked at me like the answer should have been obvious. “He wants to devour you.”
***
As it turned out, the stranger—Deacon’s twin brother, Dexter, as I’d discovered later that night—hadn’t been trying his hand at poetry. My prom date literally wanted to devour my flesh from my bones. Apparently, he’d eaten quite a few girls from other school districts in the past, but I was the first one he’d been drawn to at his own school. From the way he told me about his culinary adventures, I assumed Deacon wanted me to be flattered.
Unfortunately for Deacon’s ego, I was freaking out way too much by the sight of him turning into a gigantic silver-gray bear, less than ten feet away from me.
Interracial Romance: Gay Romance: Bound By His Own Desires (MMM Endowed Black Men Bondage Threesome Romance) (A Billionaire's Freedom Book 3) Page 118