It’s the sight of a lifetime.
Kit is—yeah. Fuck.
He’s on my bed. Naked, face down, cheek to the mattress, arms loose at his sides. His hips are hiked up, ass high in the air like he’s presenting, but there’s nothing eager about it. He looksplacedthere. Arranged like furniture.
The guys pile in behind me, trying and mostly failing to be quiet about it.
“Welcome to the house, bro,” Grant says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Nobody’s used it today,” Walker says from somewhere behind my left shoulder. “We made sure it was cleaned and ready for you. It’s in prime condition.”
“It,” I say, because my brain is stalling and it needs to fix on something that isn’t the curve of Kit’s perfect ass.
“That’s the language,” Finn says. “When he’s offline, it’s the doll. He wants it that way.”
Kit’s completely still. Not the stillness of someone unconscious; the stillness of someone who’s opted out of being a person. His ass is—fuck. It’s a masterpiece. Two round, pale globes, smooth and firm, with the tight, dark shadow of a crack between them. He looks like he was sculpted just to be wrecked.
I reach out and cup both cheeks because I’m only human.
The guys make noises behind me. Low grunts and chaotic encouragement.
“Go on, get in there.”
“Don’t be a pussy about it, bro. Ruin that hole.”
“This doesn’t make you gay, man. It’s just a toy.”
I almost laugh at that one. Almost.
I part Kit’s cheeks, stretching the skin to look at his hole. My brain, which has been cataloging things for three weeks, makes a very specific note: His hole’s pink, well-worked, and perfect. It’s a little pouty, the rim softened from use, but still waiting to be stretched out again. It’s twitching.
“Damn,” I say, feeling the saliva pool in my mouth.
“Yeah, bro, Iknow.” Walker grins. “We left it alone all day so it wouldn’t be too blown out for your first run. Didn’t want you slipping around in there.”
“You should’ve seen it when it was still all tight, though,” Finn says, not even trying to hide the bulge in his jeans.
“But it’s not bad at all. I mean, look at that pucker,” Grant adds. “It practically looks like a cunt now when it’s this hungry for a cock.”
I look back at Kit’s hole, processing the crudeness of the description. It’s fluttering, a rhythmic, involuntary twitching of the muscle that suggests he’s loving every word.
Then I look lower. His dick’s hard—forced downward against the mattress, the tip dark and glossy. There’s a massive wet spot soaking into my sheets.
“It’s been like that for an hour,” Grant says. “Just aching for it. Aren’t you, doll?”
Kit’s hole blinks. Once. Twice.
Grant laughs.
“It’s always hungry,” he explains. “No matter how many times we fill it up, it always wants more. Like a bottomless fucking pit.”
I swallow. My cock’s thickening fast in my jeans.
“Any rules?” I ask, not looking away from Kit’s ass.
“Rules?” Grant snorts. “Bro, it’s a doll. Do whatever you want with it. Fuck it, spit on it, slap it around, fill every hole. The only rule is you don’t break the doll. If it gets too much, he’ll wake up and you are banned from using it. Waking up is the safeword.”
“Also, try not to use it after Finn’s been alone with it,” Walker says.
