Author's note: This series contains (occasional) descriptions of rough and forced sex, some of which crosses the boundaries of consent. If this is not up your alley, please click elsewhere! All sexual contact described occurs between adults aged eighteen years and older.
Part 7.
Several days went by in a sex-crazed, hormone-fueled blur. I was barely home at all. I would stop there for about an hour or so each day after waking up at Mario's and driving, usually pretty hung over, back to my empty house--my parents were still gone--to eat and shower and change my clothes. Then, I'd head to work. Mario let me pick up an earlier shift so that I could get more driving hours. And also, me being around the restaurant in the morning usually meant that the two of us could find our way into the back office at least a few times before things picked up. After work, I would leave before Mario did and drive to his house, parking around the block. Then I would sneak through the yards of the houses behind his and let myself in through the back door. I'd pour myself a whiskey and wait for him to come home.
And then, once he arrived, he'd leave a trail of clothes between the front door and the kitchen, where I'd meet him with a drink and then... well... between booze, weed, and sex, we usually didn't get a lot of sleep.
During the day, as I went out on deliveries, my body would shudder involuntarily, remembering the feeling of Mario's body against mine, his thick cock in my asshole, his tongue in my mouth and his sandpaper chin scraping my body. I smelled him everywhere I went. On my body and on my clothes, and my skin throbbed with the memory of his urgent groping, his greedy consumption of my body each night. That's what it felt like--like he was a starving man and I was made from the last food on earth. It was an overwhelming sensation, to be with him, everything was over the top, excessive, too much.
He had an incredible amount of stamina. Even when drunk, he never seemed to tire of sex. After he came, he'd lie, stroking me, and in minutes I'd feel his erection pressing against me again. And after fucking me once, twice, or even more with very little rest between, he'd be ready for me to fuck him.
It made me uncomfortable, to be honest. I had no idea what to do with myself--my body, my hips, my cock. When Mario would flip over as a signal that he wanted me to fuck him, I would kneel behind his ass and thighs, my erection sticking out between us, and I'd start to panic. I was used to being used--taken, maneuvered into position. And now, when Mario was lying there, his body still, waiting for
me
to act... it was a disorienting sense of being forced into the position of command.
And of course, I didn't want to hurt him. We had lube that Mario pumped from a bottle and used to coat my dick. And he slicked himself with it, too, but even so, as I leaned forward and pressed my cock head against his warm, wet hole, the sheer physics of what we were attempting to do--what we were trying to put where--didn't add up. He was tight, and despite his eagerness and determination, he couldn't always loosen enough for what he wanted, which was to get pounded.
That's what he would say, "Pound me, P. Do it. Pound my ass." And I would try, I really would. First, to coax the head of my cock past the resistance of his tightly drawn hole, and then, once I was part way in, to lean into him so that the shaft of my cock would sink into him.
The first couple of times, after that first time in the shower, that's as far as we got. Just the tip. The rest of my cock just wouldn't go in, and we'd have to stop, both of us flustered. But on the second or third night I stayed over, Mario drank straight from the bottle of Jack after he'd fucked me twice, and this time, he made me lie under him so that he could sit on my cock and use his weight to bear down on me.
When he sank down onto my cock, all the way, he made a sound that I'd never heard before. I was drunk, too, and the warmth of the liquor in my belly seemed to flow up into him through the shaft of my cock. Carefully, he put his knees down on either side of me and rested his full weight onto me. His breath was coming in ragged bursts and I saw that his belly was quivering with little spasms. I reached up to stroke his belly and chest, and his cock, which was lying limp on my stomach, still leaking remnants from the second load he'd blown in my ass that night.
As I stroked it, his cock started to thicken--the head pushed out past the ridge of his foreskin and then lifted up to curve against his furry belly as he rocked on top of me. His head was tipped up toward the ceiling as he tried to acclimate to the feeling of my cock in his ass.
He began to rock harder, and I felt my cock start to slide in and out of his asshole as he flexed his thigh muscles to come up off of me, just a little, and then relax back down. He shuffled his knees up closer to my armpits so that he'd have a little more room to maneuver. As his weight came off of me, I found that my hips had space to move and, on instinct, I arched my back to push my cock up into him.
"Oh, P," he moaned, and sank down to meet the upward thrust of my hips. I repeated my movements, and we started to fuck in slow motion, moving our bodies in opposite directions and then bringing them together again, which made my cock slide up through him, into the deep, tight warmth of him.
He rested his hands on the headboard of the bed, and then we really started to go at it. The wood of the headboard started to knock into the wall and the old bed springs were creaking and whining below us. Mario's hole was looser, now, and I found that I could pull out of him enough so that when I flexed my hips up, the ring of his asshole would slide over my dick with an intoxicating friction.
Mario's stout cock was rock-hard and leaking onto my chest. Sweat, too, from his chin and his furry torso, was dripping down onto me. I grabbed his cock and stroked it, squeezing the wide base of it, feeling the thick veins that ridged the skin of his shaft. Through my cock, I could feel the contraction of his ass and pelvic muscles. His legs started to shake.
"Fuck," he grunted, and he sat down, forcefully on my cock and rocked back, releasing his grip of the headboard. The big muscles of his thighs and ass started to shake violently and then a burst of semen erupted from the head of his cock, blasting me in the face.
"Fuck, P!" he yelled, and another torrent of cum hit me, just missing my eye. I slammed my hips up into him and he let out a loud, pained moan. The shaking in his body spread up through his belly and his chest, and he threw his head back and drew a rough, halting breath as the orgasm ripped across his body.
I had been close to coming, too, but the ferocity of his orgasm had surprised me and the moment passed me by. Coming down from the high of his orgasm, Mario looked down at me and flashed a huge grin.
"Paulie, the stud," he said, and playfully pushed at my chin with his closed fist.
I smiled up at him, too, and he bent to kiss me. Later, after we'd cleaned up in the shower, Mario had wanted me to fuck him in the bed again, and this time, now that his hole was loosened up, my cock went in much more easily. I was able to come, fucking my load into him from behind as he bent down in front of me on the bed. After that, once we'd figured it out, he wanted me to do it to him more and more.
In the morning, after maybe a few hours of sleep, we would wake up and fuck again, or just stroke each other off, or I would take his cock in my mouth as we emerged from the half-sleep of being velcroed together all night. He'd make me breakfast. Then I would steal across the back yards and get into my truck, my lips still tingling from the pressure of Mario's mouth as he kissed me on the way out the door.
When I would see him, later, at the restaurant, he would smile and greet me with a shout, as always, and pat me on the arm or shoulder. But in his eyes there would be an ember of the thing that had flared up between us, between our bodies, and even in front of the other employees, his hands would linger on me, pressing into my skin through my shirt, or the skin of my neck, squeezing me with an intensity that relayed his desire to have me, consume me, press his lips and tongue into my mouth, and my hole, fill me with his cock and his cum and his enormous, boundless energy.
During those crazy days, I still serviced my regulars, of course. By this point in the summer, it had become a part of the routine of my job. But the color seemed to have drained from the encounters. What had been so exciting even a few days ago, my knees hitting the floor and a man shoving his cock into my mouth, was now just kind of a blip in the day--a blip in the hours of not being with Mario.
There may have been a perceptible lack of eagerness on my part, too, because, the most recent time I'd knelt in the doorway of Beercan's house, he hadn't been able to come. When he pulled his cock out of my mouth I expected the usual fire hose of cum to hit my face, but he just grunted in frustration and pumped his dick furiously for a few seconds before giving up. He looked at me, and I could see he was annoyed, but I just shrugged and rose slowly to my feet. He still tipped me five bucks, but I could tell he wasn't happy about it. It didn't really matter to me, though. I was high on whatever it was that had been sparked between Mario and me.
The one person I was worried would notice was Stacy, who I knew had an eagle eye--especially for "sketch behavior", as she called it. But if Stacy thought anything was up, she didn't let on. In fact, it seemed like she was a million miles away, distracted and anxious. I knew it probably had to do with her ex. The fact that he was back in town and had menaced her. I could tell that she was scared and I knew that she could really use a friend, and that I should be doing more to support her. But during those fevered, heady days I became so selfishly absorbed in what was going on with Mario that I didn't have time or attention to give anyone else.
~
Mid-week, Stacy called out and Amanda covered her shift. Amanda showed up wearing a tight, partially unbuttoned top with the edges of a lacy bra framing her truly remarkable breasts just barely visible. Even I had to marvel at how great "the twins" looked. Unsurprisingly, Derek and Jason, and Jeff, when he was around, were all agog in the presence of her exposed flesh. And when Mario was in the kitchen, he too was drawn to Amanda like a magnet. He was all over her, cooing, singing, massaging her shoulders, leading her around like a debutante. For her part, Amanda was loving every second of it.
