All my stories take place in a parallel world, very similar to our own, where STI's do not exist, so my stories are filled with practices that are highly unsafe in this world. I'm not going to say don't try this at home, but take care of yourself.
All my characters are of legal age, and you should be, too—do not read my stories if you are under the legal age in your country/area. Any resemblance to real persons, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.
This story is brought to you by my wonderful readers. I love you guys!
And now, our feature presentation...
"Dude, I'm not letting you use my ass as a model for your gay ass sex toy," I laughed at my roommate, taking another shot of tequila.
"Aww, come on, Beau, nobody would ever know it was you. Please, I really need a model."
"Why don't you use yourself, then?" I asked, watching him pour another shot for each of us.
"Because I can't get behind myself to do it, I don't have enough hands, and, uh, let's just say mine won't be as tight."
"Dude, too much information, and I don't even like the idea of dudes sticking their dicks in something that looks like my hole. I get it, you're a homo, but I'm not."
"I'll give you ten percent of all the profits. Come on, a self-cleaning, self-heating sex toy is bound to make a killing." Silence fell after his offer. Before it had been a favor, but now he was talking money. He was grinning, fully aware that he'd caught my attention.
"Fifty percent," I countered.
"Fifteen."
"Thirty."
"Twenty, best offer." He held out his hand to seal the bargain. I stared at his palm for a few seconds, trying to decide if I was truly willing to let him take a mold of my asshole for his sex toy.
"Done," I said at last, grabbing his hand. He let out a cheer and poured us another shot. We tossed it back, and he stood up.
"I'll go get the mold—get your pants down, and we can sort out the paperwork tomorrow."
"You want to do this now?"
"Why not? It'll be easier while you're drunk, do you really want to do it sober?"
"Good point," I agreed, pouring myself another shot while he disappeared in his room, a familiar cloud of incense billowing out the door as he passed through it. When we first moved in together, I thought he was smoking weed and holding out on me but turns out the dude just likes incense and shit.
I tipped back the shot, and reluctantly started unfastening my belt. I was sitting there with my pants open, but on, when he came back, holding a little jar.
"Sorry, but you've got to take them off and face backwards on the couch. It'll be quick, I promise." He opened the jar and dumped what looked like a ball of clay into his palm. "Just think of the money." Grumbling, I stood up and turned around before I shoved my pants and boxers down, stepping out of them before kneeling on the cushions with my arms resting on the back of the couch. "Um, spread your legs more, and you've got to spread your cheeks apart so I can get a mold."
"I can't believe I'm doing this," I glared back over my shoulder at him, watching him kneed and work the ball of clay between his hands. I reached back, squeezed my eyes shut, and spread my cheeks.
I jumped when a warm ball of clay squished down over my asshole. It hadn't looked sticky, in his hands, but it felt like it was sticking to me, gripping every contour. He started tapping on it, and I jumped again.
"Careful, stay still, it won't take long," he said in a calm tone. I could feel him doing something with the clay, which distracted me for a minute from what he was saying... It didn't sound like English.
"What?" I asked.
"Oh, it's nothing, I just have a song stuck in my head, don't worry about it." He went back to his soft muttering, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of freaky music he was listening to. The clay was feeling even warmer now, and my hole was starting to tingle.
It was like I could feel my heartbeat in the clay, and I struggled not to panic as the sensation sent blood rushing into my flaccid dick.
We waited, him muttering under his breath, and me trying not to get hard. Then—all at once—I felt the clay go rigid, releasing its grip on the contours of my asshole.
"All done," Felix said, taking the clay away. "See, that wasn't so bad." I struggled to pull my pants up without letting him see my chubby.
"Uh, yeah, sure." I settled back on the couch, zipping up my jeans as he cradled the clay mold of my asshole in his palms, as if it were precious treasure.
"You good? I want to get the first prototype made tonight so that I can start filling the pre-orders." He was practically dancing on the spot. I laughed, the tension melting away.