He had just pulled his bag out of his locker when the arrogant prick came sauntering through the locker room doors. Brom had his cock in hand.
“Why aren’t you in the showers yet? The least you could do is warm that scrawny little ass up for me.”
His throat ran dry. He had never had the opportunity to truly appreciate the horseman’s horse-like cock, having only seen it from around corners and across rooms. Now that it wasn’t sliding out of a mouth or thrusting into a tight ass, he was able to better appreciate the sheer size and girth of the thing — fat and full, as thick as the rest of him. He truly was a leviathan, and this fat, veiny appendage was the biggest thing Ichabod had ever seen.
The horseman gripped Ichabod’s cock in the center of his huge palm, once they were beneath the hot spray of the showers. The polo star’s hands were enormous, which he supposed shouldn’t be a surprise, now that he had seen what Brom was packing in his shorts. Ichabod realized what a precarious position it was in which he found himself — anyone could walk in; anyone could see them. A student, parent, anyone at all! — but Brom seemed not to care, not any more than he had that first day Ichabod had spied upon him.
He stroked Ichabod with a firm hand, pulling back his foreskin, an insistent thumb rubbing into that spot that made his toes curl, and cupping his balls easily, and it was all the schoolmaster could do to keep his cock from erupting right then and there.
“This is what you want, right, professor? To take my fat cock? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have watched so closely. I want to hear you moan when I fuck you.”
First though, he needed to be prepped. Ichabod braced himself against the shower wall, closing his eyes when he felt the first stroke of a thick finger at his entrance. His stomach muscles bunched and contracted with the first push, his knees shaking by the time a second finger was added. When he was comfortably taking a third, his knees were bent, his hips thrusting lightly, and his cock dripping. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
“Nice and slow, professor. I’m going to open you up nice and slow before I ride you like a filly.”
The first press of Brom Bones’s fat cockhead to his ass made him see stars. He felt as though he were being cleaved in twain, the pressure enormous, but he would have been lying if he pretended it did not feel good. The first slow roll against his prostate made him jolt, the second and third nearly sending him into paroxysms. When the horseman’s hand closed around his shaft once more, Ichabod didn’t care how pathetic the moan that pulled from his throat sounded.
Brom Bones began to pump him, stroking his cock to the same rhythm in which he fucked him, every downward stroke punctuated by the slam of the horseman’s hips. It was more stimulation than he’d ever experienced, more pressure, more pleasure, moremore, and he cried out again, his cocktip drooling.
“You’re so tight. Does my big cock feel good in this tight little hole? I think your ass is going to have the shape of my cock after this, professor.” He’d placed his head on the ledge just above, safe from the shower’s spray, and his voice carried to Ichabod’s ears with ease. “Is this how this little cock likes to be stroked? You’d better not come yet, not unless you want to lick it up off the tiles. You’re going to come when I tell you to, understand? Hmm, I think you were sensitive righthere. . .”
The pad of Brom’s thumb zeroed in on that dime-sized spot at the base of Ichabod’s cockhead, rubbing it with an unrelenting intensity until the schoolmaster wheezed, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the slippery shower wall. He wanted to explode, wanted to paint the shower wall in ropes of cum. He wanted to fill the horseman’s cocky fucking mouth, wanted him to choke on it . . . the thought was nearly enough to push him over the edge, but the pressure on his cockhead abruptly ceased.
“We don’t want you going off too early, professor,” the horseman chuckled, relenting at last, giving Ichabod’s ball a light slap. “I’m just getting warmed up, and I want to ride you to a nice creamy load.”
Brom Bones gripped the smaller man’s hips, cock forgotten, focusing on nothing but the steady pump and drive of his own cock, hitting the school master’s prostate like a bullseye, and it required all his willpower to keep from spilling against the wall prematurely.
By the time a steady rhythm had been established, they were no longer alone in the locker room. Ichabod watched the other dullahan approaching the showers, setting his head on the far bench. Ichabod listened as the two men exchanged ribald jokes and chatter from the polo field, watching as the newcomer palmed his own massive meat stick, already jutting out, stroking himself to full hardness.
He realized what was happening a beat too late. Brom’s heavy arms braced around Ichabod’s, palms flat against the shower wall as he was entered from behind by the other dullahan — the filling in a very public, very illicit sandwich.
There was a new urgency to their little détente when the newcomer began to thrust. Their bodies were fused, like an orgiastic centipede, the thrust of one cock setting off a chain reaction that rippled through the other two participants, leaving him, as he’d once dreamed, completely at their mercy. The other dullahan pumped his cock into Brom, and Brom jolted upwards into Ichabod, and he was left to gasp, hands scrabbling again against the slick tile wall.
The pumping pressure matched the timpani of his heartbeat, the throbbing in his balls mirroring the pulse that jumped at his neck, overtaking his very being. The dullahans were vocal and noisy, moaning and grunting as they had each previous time he’d spied on them, but now things were different. Now he was apartof the equation — a participant in this square dance, but not for long. He was going to come, could already feel his balls beginning to lift and tighten, a telltale hum behind his navel.
“I-I’m going to come,” he managed to wheeze out, his cock seeming to vibrate with the need. “I can’t hold it in.”
“Is that so?” Brom Bones growled in his ear, his hand coming around Ichabod again. He braced himself for the horseman’s grip, ready for that huge hand to jerk him to completion, but instead, Bones slapped his balls again with an open palm, and Ichabod cried out. “These fat little plums want to empty? What do you say?”
The horseman squeezed his scrotum as he spoke, and Ichabod moaned again, rising up on his toes. His cock had never been this hard, had never needed to come so badly.
“Please,” he wheezed, going cross-eyed from the thump against his prostate and the hand massaging his balls. “Please let me come. You-your mouth,” he managed to gasp, hands sliding down the wall as he was hammered into from behind. Both horsemen had taken on a punishing pace, hunched and focused, as if they were racing on the track, their cocks plunging in and out, balls slapping, and it was all Ichabod could do just to stay upright. “I want to finish in your mouth.”
Brom Bones laughed, low and deep.
“Seems to me like you’re a greedy little slut, professor. You didn’t even win, but here you are, begging to have your cock sucked.”
The horseman was right — Ichabod had not won their bet, but luck, it seemed, was on his side. Brom palmed his head from above, where it had been placed out of the way, passing it to the schoolmaster.
“If you drop me, I’m going to break your fucking back.”
The head was heavier than he thought it would be. The weight of it made him nervous that he would, in fact, drop it, but the other man’s hair was thick and easy to grip. His toy would never satisfy him again, Ichabod realized, for with the first press of his cock head to Brom Bones’s full lips, the mouth parted, sucking him in.
The tongue never stopped moving. Fluttering around his frenulum, licking that sensitive spot at the base, stroking against his shaft as he sucked, hard and deep, and Ichabod moaned. Being deep-throated by the town hero was not something he’d imagined when he’d started this day, but as Brom Bones slurped on his pulsing erection, Ichabod decided it was the best possible outcome of all his peeping.
The horsemen were each fucking with a mad fervor now, whipping their steeds with echoing slaps to the asses they were buried within, and he decided, as the fat cockhead belonging to Brom Bones continued its assault against his quivering prostate the same time as the man’s tongue tickled his glans, that there was no shame in being the first to spill, not when he got to do it down his rival’s throat.
Ichabod was fully caught up in the bacchanalia, a chance to live out his filthiest fantasy, and now there was no holding back. He began to pump into Brom’s mouth, short hard thrusts, his balls forcefully slapping against the dullahan’s chin.
