Chapter 10: Fine Dining Fuck
Harrison didn’t see Gus all day. His roommate had left early for a biology lab and hadn’t returned by the time Harrison was getting ready for his date. The dorm felt different, charged with a silent, leftover energy from the day before. The memory of Gus’s taste, the wet sounds, the shared, sticky mess on the carpet—it looped in Harrison’s head, a film reel he couldn’t stop. He felt a low, warm thrum of excitement whenever he thought about it, but beneath that, a niggling, unfamiliar guilt.
It made no sense. Chase loved him being a slut. He’d said so explicitly, had even led him out to his frat brothers that first night. Harrison knew, logically, that Chase would probably high-five him for hooking up with another bottom. It was more filth for them to talk about, another layer to his sluttiness to celebrate. So why did Harrison feel like he’d cheated?
He pushed the thought down, focusing on the outfit. ‘Upscale and slutty,’ Chase had texted. Harrison had settled on a black bodysuit made of a stretchy, ribbed fabric. It plunged in a deep V down his hairy chest and belly, the material cutting across his hips and ending in a built-in thong strap that rode up between his ass cheeks, keeping his pussy decently covered. He’d paired it with a simple silver cock cage and nothing else. He looked in the mirror—elegant, but utterly fuckable. The contradiction felt perfect.
Chase’s car pulled up, a sleek electric thing that probably cost more than Harrison’s dad’s salary. When Harrison climbed in, the scent of Chase’s cologne and the underlying, sweet smell of his milk hit him immediately.
“Fuck me,” Chase breathed, his eyes raking over Harrison. He was a vision himself: tight white formal shorts that left nothing to the imagination, the heavy outline of his cock pressing against the fabric. His sheer black button-down was open just enough to showcase the magnificent, rounded swell of his breasts, their fullness barely restrained. Glittering silver pasties covered his nipples, sparkling under the streetlights.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Harrison grinned, leaning over to kiss him. Chase’s hand immediately landed on his thigh, squeezing the dense, hairy flesh.
The drive was easy, full of filthy, comfortable talk. Chase described the restaurant, a place called Marrow, and how he couldn’t wait to see Harrison’s pussy get wet from the rich food. Harrison told him about his cancelled class, carefully omitting everything that came after. He laughed at Chase’s jokes, his fingers tracing the rim of his own wine glass in his mind already.
Marrow was all dark wood, low lighting, and the soft clink of crystal. The host was a tall, muscular top in a tailored vest that strained over his impressive chest. His eyes swept over Harrison with professional appreciation.
“Sir,” he said to Chase, his voice a smooth baritone. “Your companion is exquisite tonight. What a beautifully kept bottom. You must be so proud.” He said it the way someone might compliment a fine wine.
“I’m a lucky guy,” Chase said, his hand possessive on the small of Harrison’s back.
They were led to a cozy booth near the back. The restaurant was busy, a low hum of conversation and laughter underlaid with soft jazz. Other diners were dressed in similar codes of upscale debauchery—bottoms in lace bodysuits or sheer tunics, tops in revealing formal wear. At a table nearby, a bottom was quietly nursing from his top’s chest, a cloth napkin tucked delicately under his chin.
Their server appeared, another top with a kind smile and a prominent chest. “Good evening. Can I start you with something to drink? We have a wonderful ’28 Bordeaux, or perhaps a fresh press from the chest?” He gestured to his own full, rounded breasts.
“Milk, please,” Chase said. “Two glasses.”
“Of course.” The server unbuttoned the top of his shirt with practiced ease, revealing a generous, pale breast. He produced two chilled champagne flutes and, with a soft sigh of pleasure, began to express a stream of thick, creamy milk into each. The sound was intimate, a soft pulsing stream. Harrison watched, fascinated and aroused, as the glasses filled. The server handed them over, a bead of milk tracing a path down his sternum. “Enjoy.”
The milk was sweet and rich, coating Harrison’s throat. His pussy gave a reflexive, slick pulse. They ordered: truffle pasta, crab cakes with a rich sauce, a steak for Chase. As they waited, they talked about easier things—classes, frat gossip, a new comic series. But Harrison felt the conversation deepening, peeling back layers.
“This place is insane,” Harrison said, gesturing with his milk glass.
“My top dad brought me here for my eighteenth,” Chase said, swirling his own glass. “Said every top should know how to treat a bottom to a real meal.” He leaned forward. “He worked in the kitchens here when he was in college. Came from nothing. Blue-collar top, worked construction before that. Wanted me to have the shit he didn’t.”
Harrison blinked. He’d assumed Chase’s money was old, effortless. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, well. It’s why I’m pre-law. Not to be some corporate dickhead, but to do labor law. Help guys like my dad who get their tits squeezed dry by shitty contractors.” He said it casually, like it was no big deal. Harrison felt a swell of affection for him, seeing the earnestness under the fuckboy exterior.
The food arrived, decadent and beautiful. Harrison moaned around a bite of crab cake, the buttery sauce exploding on his tongue. His pussy responded instantly, a fresh gush of slickness warming his thong strap.
Chase watched him, his eyes dark. “Looks like you’re enjoying that.”
“So good,” Harrison mumbled, already reaching for another bite.
“C’mere,” Chase said, his voice dropping. He patted his thigh.
A thrill shot through Harrison. He slid out of the booth and, with a graceful ease that came from practice, settled onto Chase’s lap, facing the table. Chase’s hard cock pressed against him through the thin shorts. Chase’s hands slid around his waist, under the bodysuit, grasping the bare, hairy swell of his belly.
“Let’s make it even better,” Chase murmured in his ear. One hand slid back, fingers hooking under the thong strap nestled between Harrison’s ass cheeks. He tugged it aside, exposing Harrison’s slick, waiting hole. Harrison heard the quick rip of a condom packet, then the blunt, perfect pressure of Chase’s cockhead against his entrance. With a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, Chase sheathed himself inside.
Harrison’s head fell back against Chase’s shoulder with a choked gasp. The stretch was divine, familiar and overwhelming. The rich food in his belly, the public intimacy, the feeling of being so utterly full—it coalesced into a wave of pure heat. No one around them batted an eye; a nearby couple smiled appreciatively.
Chase began to move, shallow, deep thrusts that rocked Harrison against the table. He picked up a forkful of truffle pasta, holding it to Harrison’s lips. “Eat up, baby. Keep that pussy wet for me.”
Harrison took the bite, chewing as Chase fucked up into him. The flavors mingled with the sensation of being penetrated, a symphony of indulgence. They talked between thrusts and bites, the conversation weaving deeper into the fabric of who they were.
“My brother’s a faggot,” Chase said casually, feeding Harrison a piece of steak.
Harrison tensed for a second, but Chase’s thrusts never faltered, his tone held no malice.
“Yeah. He’s dating this other top, a really great guy. My bottom dad took it hard at first. Real traditional, you know? But my top dad sat him down, was like, ‘You gonna love our son less because of who makes him cum?’ Took a minute, but he came around.” Chase kissed Harrison’s neck. “They’re coming to visit next month. You’ll meet them.”
The openness, the easy support, flooded Harrison with a sudden, dizzying warmth. It was so different from the tense, judgmental energy he’d felt from Gus’s father. It made Chase seem… bigger, somehow.
“That’s really cool of your family,” Harrison managed, his voice tight as Chase hit a perfect, deep spot.
“It’s just how it should be,” Chase said, like it was obvious. “Love’s love. So long as everyone’s consenting and happy.” He rocked into him harder. “Why? You got a secret, pretty boy?”
The words tumbled out, lubricated by pleasure and Chase’s unexpected acceptance. “I think… I might be bisexual.”
Chase stilled for a moment, then his hips snapped forward, a brutal, wonderful thrust that made Harrison cry out. “Fuck,” Chase growled into his ear, his voice dripping with arousal. “That’s so fucking hot. My perfect, filthy slut. You wanna take tops and bottoms? Let everyone have a piece of that fat ass?”
“Yes,” Harrison hissed, the confession liberating.
“Good. I want to see that. I want to watch a fat bottom bury his face in your pussy. I want to watch some hairy pig scissor with you until you’re both a mess. And then I want to clean you up and fuck you all over again.” His words were a filthy promise, a celebration. He wasn’t threatened; he was turned on. “You’re built for it. Built to be adored.”
His pace became relentless, punishing. Harrison braced himself on the table, silverware clattering, his moans blending with the restaurant’s ambiance. He was close, so close, his own cock straining uselessly in its cage, his pussy clamping rhythmically around Chase’s driving length.
“That’s it, take it,” Chase grunted, his hands vise-like on Harrison’s hips. “My nasty, horny pig. Gonna breed this sweet cunt right here.” The vulgarity was an affirmation. With a final, deep plunge, Chase came, his body shuddering, a low groan escaping him as he emptied into the condom inside Harrison.
The orgasm triggered Harrison’s own, a silent, internal convulsion, a flood of slickness that made a mess between them, soaking the thigh of Chase’s nice shorts.
They sat like that for a long minute, breathing hard, Harrison’s body going pliant against Chase’s chest. Gently, Chase adjusted the thong strap back into place, hiding the wet evidence. He kissed Harrison’s shoulder.
“Best date ever,” Chase whispered, sounding genuinely awed.
Later, in the passenger seat driving back, belly full and body still humming, Harrison stared out the window at the passing streetlights. The guilt was gone, burned away by Chase’s fervent acceptance. In its place was a new, more complicated tenderness. He thought of Chase’s dreams of labor law, his support for his brother, the rough honesty of his love. And he thought of Gus—his shy smile, the terrified confession of being a lesbian, the heartbreaking beauty of his self-discovery.
The warmth for each of them felt different, but both were real, both were deep. They weren’t canceling each other out; they were growing, side-by-side, in the fertile soil of his heart.
He was falling in love with two men at once. The realization was terrifying, and quiet, and absolutely undeniable.
ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18.