“Yeah,” he grunts, never taking his eyes off mine. “I do.”
“It looks…”
“Perfect.”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”
“That’s the whole point, Calvin.”
“No, I want…” I’m gasping for breath, the words barely forming. “I want this to last.”
“This doesn’t end here. We’ll do it again." His breathing is ragged, the rhythm of his thrusts turning more desperate. “And again. You didn’t think this was a one-time thing, did you?”
“I’m not really thinking at all.”
“Good. That’s where I want you.”
“But it feels—ahh, fuck—so good to look at you. At us. At you splitting me open on your cock.”
“I’m gonna lose it if you keep talking like that.”
“Yeah? You gonna paint my insides? Mark your territory?”
“Calvin—”
“You’re gonna fill me up so I can feel you dripping out of me for days?”
“Holy shit.”
“Come on, big guy. Give it to me. Everything you’ve got. I know you want to.”
He pulls back until just the tip is inside, then slams home, grinding deep, making a choked sound. I can feel the way he swells inside me, the tremble that runs through his whole body.
“Calvin, I’m—” He can’t even finish the sentence. His whole body goes rigid. A deep, guttural groan rips from his chest as he buries himself to the hilt, and I feel it. The hot pulse of him coming inside me. One, two, three hard spurts, flooding me with warmth. The wetness of it, so deep into my gut, is what sends me over the edge.
My back arches, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my own cock erupts, spattering thick ropes across the bar and floor below. The orgasm rips through me, starting deep in my core where he’s still pulsing inside me, radiating out through my whole body. My toes curl. My ears ring. My hole clenches tight around his cock, milking every last drop from him.
There’s cum everywhere. His flooding my ass, dripping down the inside of my thighs. Mine painting the bar top, pooling on the dusty floor. It goes on and on, wave after wave of brain-melting pleasure until I’m a panting, boneless mess collapsed against the wood, pinned in place by Brock’s weight draped over my back.
He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried to the hilt, both of us shaking and trying to catch our breath. I can feel him inside me, still thick and hard even after coming. Feel the warmth of his cum deep in my gut, the way my hole flutters and clenches around his shaft like it doesn’t want to let go. His chest is plastered to my back, both of us slick with sweat, his heart hammering against my spine in time with mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my neck, his cock giving one more twitch inside me.
“Double fuck,” I manage, my face smashed against the bar. My throat is raw. My whole body feels like jelly.
When he finally pulls out, I feel every inch of him dragging against my sensitive rim, leaving me empty and gaping. Then there’s a wet rush. His cum floods out of me, running down my inner thighs in a warm, sticky trickle. I can’t stop it. Can’t clench tight enough to hold it in. My hole is too stretched, too used, too thoroughly fucked.
“Jesus,” Brock mutters behind me. His fingers trace my rim, now loose and puffy, and I shudder. “Made a mess of you.”
“Tell me about it,” I rasp, trying to push myself up, but my arms give out. “You flooded me.”
“Yeah, well.” He smacks my ass, a sharp crack that echoes in the bar. “That’s what happens when you tease me all night.”
I finally manage to push myself upright, leaning my hip against a barstool for support. My legs are shaking. My ass is throbbing. Every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out and hung up to dry.
I look down at the mess we made all over the bar. My cum is smeared across the wood, dripping down the side. The floor is splattered with our combined fluids. My jeans are in a heap next to the foil lube packet and the discarded condom Brock never used. If you didn’t know better, you’d think this was a sex club instead of a dive bar.
“We should probably clean this up,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.
