It's Saturday, and I'm in the mood to let my hair down a little. It's been one hell of a week, so I sigh in contentment as the first, icy sip of beer trickles down my throat. I take in the dark, dingy room. A pool table to my left, a large screen on the wall. The bar is a bit of a shithole. It's called The Dive, for God's sake, but we've come to meet our friend, Jess's new boyfriend, and they chose the place.
I'm sitting at the bar, watching the game, when Liza gets my attention.
"Ethan," she says, with no way of knowing, she's about to alter the course of my life, "this is Oliver."
I spin around in my stool, so I'm facing him. I smile, a welcoming smile, but the second my eyes make contact with his, it seems to freeze on my face. My throat constricts instantly and I swear, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
What's going on?
"Nice to meet you." He says. His voice is husky, a tiny bit hoarse and he speaks with a very slight, lilting brogue.
His hair is sandy blonde, and slightly disheveled, falling carelessly forward, almost into his eyes. He reaches up and with an inexplicable, unhurried charm, brushes it backward.
"Irish, huh?" I say, reaching out to shake his hand. As our hands touch, I'm hit by an intense, burning vibration. Skin, heart, adrenalin, all instantly activated. I almost recoil in shock, but his expression is neutral, so I do what I can to match mine with his.
What the fuck is going on here?
He sits down and orders a beer. We drink and watch the game. I let him do the talking, as I try to stop my mind reeling. I find myself struggling to follow what he's saying, as I feel ever so slightly hypnotized by the melodious way that he speaks.
When he looks up at the screen, I steal a quick sideways glance at him. He's wearing a navy, v-necked t-shirt. The base of his neck is exposed and I can see his sleeves straining, as his biceps curl when he raises his drink to his lips.
Jesus, he's built.
And arrogant, I think meanly, desperate, frantic, to try to work out why I'm feeling this way.
Could his arrogance be weirding me out?
I steal another look at him. He catches me this time, one side of his mouth creeping up slowly, causing one cheek to crease slightly, as he mistakes my look for something entirely different to what it is.
No, I realise immediately, not arrogant. Cocksure, yes, but arrogant, no.
I can't really blame him. In his twenty-five plus years, he must surely have had access to a mirror. No plausible way he could have gone through his life without encountering his own reflection. No wonder he's cocky. It's understandable, really.
But, I think, what's not even remotely understandable, is why the hell I'm thinking like this.
What is going on here?
A horrible, panicky feeling squeezes my chest, as I look down and feel colour rising all the way to my cheeks. The seams of my fly are straining.
Why the fuck is my dick so hard?
Nevermind, why is my dick so hard, why the hell is it hard in the first place?
Full scale panic engulfs me now.
Just try to act natural, Common Sense commands. Get out of here as fast as you can, and in future, just to be safe, avoid this guy at all costs.
Okay, I think frantically, good. A plan. A simple one at that. Just get through this train wreck and everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
I'm following the plan, honestly, I am, but by the time he and Jess leave, I've had quite a few beers and my dick has been solid for over an hour. As Oliver turns and holds the door open for Jess, I pull Liza toward me, pressing her body hard against my erection. I watch him, as I cup her face and slide my tongue in her mouth, running my eyes down his body, across his broad shoulders, down the arch of his back, to the curve of his ass.
He turns back unexpectedly. For some inexplicable reason, I don't blink as his eyes meet mine. Instead, I deliberately part my lips and force my tongue roughly, deeper into her mouth. A current rips through me, for the second time that evening.
"Goodness," says Liza, "what's got into you?"
"We need to go home." I growl in her ear, as she looks at me in wide surprise.
Afterwards, I try not to think about what happened that day. I try to block everything out.
Don't think about The Dive
Don't think about him.
Don't think about what he did to your dick.
I'm pretty good at compartmentalizing things in my mind, I have years of practice, so, even though it takes a bit of work, it's not long before I'm not waking every morning, thinking of him. I've put him, and whatever the hell that was, in a neat little box and it's not long before I actually feel pretty good. Normal.
But then, and this is a big, but then, I overhear Liza talking to Jess on the phone. They're making plans to go meet up, calling back and forth to arrange a time and a place. A terribly irrational, unscrupulous, and frankly, dangerous, idea takes hold. Rather than questioning it, or quashing it hard, I act on it instantly, before it even fully takes form.
Don't, urges Common Sense, before taking a step back, shaking its head disapprovingly.
"Liza," I say, trying to sound nonchalant, "why don't you ask Jess to drop Oliver here when you girls go out?"
And that's it; my darkest confession.
Given everything that happened as a result, given the crash-course it set my life on, what it did to his life, and the lives of those that we loved, the terrible truth is this: I engineered it. I willed it to life. I asked for it.
It was me.
Liza looks up in delight and a little surprise. I'm usually quite cagey and don't normally enjoy getting to know strangers.
"Ethan," she says, sounding pleased, "that is a lovely idea. We need more couple friends."
"I know," I agree, with a chuckle, "all our friends are such dumbasses, most of them are still living like students."
"Mmh," she smiles, "It would be so nice to have people to do our kind of thing with. Think of the brunches. Think of the hiking." Her eyes are sparkling with excitement.
"God," I groan, "I've created a monster."
She giggles happily, "It's going to be great, you'll see."
Nothing's going to happen, I tell myself again, as Liza opens the door. It's just your imagination. He's just here to watch the game, have a few beers and maybe eat pizza. This is on you. Truly, there's no reason at all, to think he felt anything weird.
This is a terrible, terrible idea, says Common Sense, yet again. I'm telling you, it might very well be the worst one you've had.
I ignore it completely. It's too late to do anything about it now anyway, though that doesn't explain why I didn't cancel this foolhardy assembly, when Common Sense warned me sternly before.
Liza greets Jess and Oliver warmly, I'm grateful she's here. I'm not sure what I would have done if I was alone. The second I see him; it all comes rushing back. He's out of the neat little box I tried to put him in and he's even hotter than I remember. Not only that, he's right here in my hallway.
The girls head off, leaving the two of us on our own. Chattering happily as they head down the stairs. If they'd only known, they wouldn't have let us come within a hundred foot of each other, never mind leaving the two of us alone.
The second the door closes, the mood in the room shifts dramatically. He seems a little subdued, almost stunned. I offer him a beer and I'm positive I can feel his eyes boring into me as I lean over to get it out of the fridge.
Maybe it wasn't just me.
I bring it over to him and as I do, I feel the heat emanating from his body. So hot, it feels like it's coming at me in waves.
No way it's just me.
He's looking right at me, holding eye contact, as I make my way over to him. His eyes are bright blue. So blue, that, like the sun, it almost feels impossible to look directly into them. My eyes seem to skid off them, like oil skidding off water. He reaches his hand out to take the beer and I don't know quite what makes me do it, but as I hand him the drink, I sock him playfully on the side of his ribs.
"What the fuck, dude?" He exclaims, smiling a little, still perfectly happy to put it down as a joke.
I should have stopped there.
Sure, my behaviour was a little bit odd, but up to this point, it could still be explained away. But I can't. I just can't. I'm desperate to touch him, and this is the only way I know how. I jab him again, a little harder this time. His eyes widen in confusion and a little surprise.
I pause for a second, giving Common Sense a chance to make his voice heard. But, there's nothing but silence. Common Sense has left the building.
Without thinking, I reach down. It feels as if someone else is in command of my body, as I very deliberately tap his dick.
"What the fuck?!" He exclaims. His voice is low now, nostrils flared slightly, brows arching down. He drops his beer as he grabs me roughly by the scruff of my neck, swinging me round and shoving me hard up against the wall.
Christ, he's strong.
He's breathing hard, teeth clenched. I see his left shoulder tensing, his fist clenching too. I don't feel afraid. No, I feel nothing but lust. Even as I wait for the strike, I can't take my eyes off him.
The strike doesn't land.
Instead, he opens his hand and places his palm on my belly, on that small bit of skin just above my belt, the skin he exposed when he seized my neck. His touch scalds me, burning so hard, I press my lips together to stop myself from whimpering. He slides his hand up, up my side, grabbing my pec hard, before raking his fingers down gently, leaving me shaking.
I hook my fingers in his belt loops and drag his groin hard against mine. His eyes fly open in surprise, from the quick jolt of power, as our cast-iron cocks touch each other.
He feels it too.
He's let go of my collar now, and has wrapped his hand around my neck. He's fingers are digging into me, incinerating everything they touch. I can't catch my breath. My senses are flooded with his scent. It's so strong and enticing, my vision goes blurry, as I grab the hem of his shirt and drag it roughly over his head.
My God, what a sight.
His body is astounding. Built but not brawny. Broad shoulders, insanely defined arms. Nothing but muscle, sinew and bone. Whatever was controlling my body earlier, takes over again, as I coarsely pull his belt open and tear down his fly. His hands are still on me, but he gasps in surprise, as I yank down his pants. We stumble back a few steps. I'm not sure where we're headed, but when he bumps into the dining table, I know we've arrived.
I steal one last look at his face, before spinning him round and forcing him down. Leaving him unceremoniously bent. I drag his jeans down further, so they're down round his ankles as I take a second to admire the sight. His legs are unreal. Hard, angular lines instead of soft curves. I comb my fingers through the hair on his thighs. Coarse instead of silky smooth.
My eyes wonder upward. Truly, his ass has to be seen to be believed. Muscle and meat, hard when it's clenched, but something tells me there's plenty to fondle and squeeze. I don't waste any time testing my theory, as I knead his cheeks with both hands. I part them a bit, drawing a small sound of protest from him. He struggles a little, but before he can move, I twist his arm, hard up his back, pushing him down roughly, as I run my fingertips down his taint. He gasps as I cup his balls in my hand. Holding them gently, testing their weight in my palm. His asshole is calling me like a siren, clenching and winking. Inviting. There's not a single rational thought in my head, as I wet my thumb in my mouth and shove it quickly inside him.
His head arches back and he lets out a low groan. For some reason, that sound feels like it's coming from me.
I stroke his dick quickly, closing my eyes in pleasure, as I wrap my fingers around him. He's burning hot, pulsing and straining, so hard, it hardly feels human.
My mind is swimming, swaying and reeling.
I have to have him.
I have to.
I have to.
Common Sense makes a quick guest appearance. Get lube and a condom, it says, making no effort to hide its judgement.
I lean over him, my face close to his. I'm overcome by his musk, so heady and strong, it makes my lungs quiver as I breathe him in.
"Don't. Move." I warn him.
I hurry to the bedroom and back, a small part of me expecting to find him gone. Relief and something else, quite possibly dread, washes over me, when I see him right where I left him. Bent. Elbows on the table, knees bowed slightly, butt jutting out. His head quickly whipping forward, facing ahead, trying to avoid looking at me.
My hands are shaking as I unbuckle my belt and unzip my fly. I spring my cock free, stroking it gently, as I ease my middle finger inside him. I move slowly, just to the first knuckle, then a little bit more. He's hot and he's tight. Gripping my finger, tugging gently as I withdraw. I move in and out until I feel him relax, then I give him a little bit more. I add another finger, working it in slowly, as he wriggles and struggles to keep still. His teeth are clamped shut, and I can see from the slight bulge of his jaw, he's trying hard to keep quiet.
Hmmm, I think, as I finger him harder, I'll make you squeal.
I prep him and stretch him as much as I can, but my dick's voice has grown louder and it's impossible to think. I'm so hard, I feel pressure in every cell in my body, as My Dick starts to chant:
I roll the condom on quickly, and then pining him down on the table and holding him open, I rub my slick head on his opening.
"Relax." I say. I can hear the desperation in my voice. I rub myself against him again, pushing, pressing a little bit more.
Yield, I think desperately, yield.
He's fighting hard, but I'm fighting harder. An ass is no match for my rock-solid cock. With one hard shove, I feel him give way. My head jams inside him. I suck a long breath in through my teeth. His head rears back and I see every muscle in his back contract. He gasps and cries out. It's the best sound I've heard. Primitive and ancient. It seems to come from a time long before we were made.
Oh, fuck, he's tight.
"Relax!" I say again. He's squeezing my dick so hard that it hurts.
Yield, I think again, even more desperate this time, please, please yield. I have to get inside you. I have to. I'll die if I don't.
My hips gather force, arcing back before they begin their assault. The force is too strong, there's no way I can stop it, so I'm relieved when I feel him softly give way. I ease into him over and over, a little more each time, until finally, I'm in, right up to the hilt.
I gasp and moan in relief. I'm fully encased in his body and nothing has ever felt better. I start thrusting in earnest. Pulling all the way back, till only my head is still sheathed in his ass, before driving myself right back inside him.
He's struggling to take it, his body tensing and lurching. I hold him down firmly and make him take it, regardless. I can hear that he likes it. He's grunting and groaning. The sounds travel through me, shaking my core. Each thrust seems to follow a similar trajectory. The first part, where I'm shallow, just in near his opening, seems to be tender, followed by a sweet spot, a spot that makes him unravel and come undone, and then, the last bit, the deep bit, makes him flinch and shows me I was right.
I do make him squeal.
My orgasm's building. Swirling around the room, gathering force.
"I gotta pound a little," I warn him, "I need to nut."
His eyes close in fear, but instead of struggling or pulling away, he bends his knees a little bit more and arches his back.
"Aarrrgh" He cries, helplessly, as my body gathers speed.
He's reached down between his legs now and he's stroking himself. His moaning grows urgent and I feel his ass clench with the effort, as he suddenly explodes. His moan turns to a wail and then a long scream. It's a jaw dropping sound, so loud it might be too much, even for Mrs de Vaal in 2B, and she's damned nearly deaf. I clamp my fingers over his mouth and catch that beautiful sound in my hand, holding it gently, keeping it safe.
My body lurches violently, as I find my release. I grunt and gasp from the strength of it, shaking my head quickly, bringing me back down to Earth.
I pull out of him carefully, catching my breath, before pointing down the hall and saying, "Bathroom's that way."
By the time he comes out, I'm dressed and I've cleaned up the beer that he dropped. I've ordered a pizza and I've got us more drinks.
He avoids looking at me, as he takes a seat on the sofa furthest from me. I can't help noticing how carefully he sits, gingerly easing himself down.
I should feel awful, but I don't. Not at all. In fact, I like knowing that he can feel where I've been.
We sit in silence and drink a few beers. When the pizza comes, we eat it wordlessly, too. He doesn't seem to notice I ordered a Meat Lovers, or if he does, he doesn't seem to think that it's funny.
The silence is getting uncomfortable.
I told you this was a horrible idea, says Common Sense.
Why's he making it weird? I wonder.
Common Sense raises an eyebrow, maybe it would be weird for you too, if you were the one who just got fucked up the ass.
That's not a bad point.
"You okay?" I ask finally.
"Yeah." He says, a little dismissively.
"You done that before?" I ask, jerking my head to the table, the scene of the crime.
"No!" He exclaims, glancing at me quickly, before adding, "You?"
I shake my head slightly. "No." I say quietly.
He seems painfully relieved when the girls finally call. Leaping up and bolting to the door, the second he hears the car in the drive. I don't want him to leave like this, but I don't know what to say. I hold the door open awkwardly for him and as he starts to leave, I blurt, "We should do this again some time."
He looks at me in disgust, "Blow me!" He hisses.
My guts clench and blood rushes to my cock. It's not what he meant, not by a long shot, but his words have planted a seed. I think of his dick in my hand. How it felt. I imagine that feeling filling my mouth.
I look him up and down, feeling a staggering tension throughout my body.
"Maybe I will."
This series is the second part of my first story, Bent. This story can stand on its own, but if you enjoy it, you may want to read Bent first, and then start with this one.