Chapter 11: Clench
Trent’s tongue was relentless, a hot, wet brand lapping at Mike’s stretched, sensitive hole. He slurped noisily, burying his face deeper between Mike’s spread cheeks, his broad nose pressing against Mike’s taint. The sensation was overwhelming – a mix of intense sensitivity from being freshly fucked wide open and the shocking intimacy of Trent feasting on the mess they’d made. Cum and lube mingled, slicking Trent’s chin as he worked his tongue in tight circles around the swollen rim, then plunged it shallowly inside, tasting Mike deeply. Mike whimpered, his body twitching weakly on the damp towel covering the sofa cushions. "Fuck, Trent... it's... it's so good!" he gasped, but his hips lifted slightly, pushing his ass back against Trent’s mouth.
Trent pulled back, his lips glistening, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "Too much?" he chuckled, low and dark. He traced Mike’s puffy rim with a slick fingertip, feeling the muscle flutter weakly. "Bullshit. This cunt’s fucking singing for me." He leaned in again, not with his tongue, but to bite gently at the curve of Mike’s ass cheek. "Thought maybe you wouldn’t want this anymore," he murmured against the skin, his breath hot. "Now you take my cock like a champ." He pressed his thumb firmly against the loosened opening, sinking it knuckle-deep with obscene ease. Mike groaned, his cock giving a feeble twitch. "But fuck," Trent breathed, twisting his thumb inside, "look at it. All red and puffy, gaping perfectly for me… fucking beautiful. Ruining this hole, making it mine… it’s just as good as pounding it full." He withdrew his thumb and replaced it with two fingers, spreading them slowly inside Mike’s yielding heat. "Better, maybe. Knowing it’s always ready for me, always wet."
Mike shuddered, a confusing mix of embarrassment and fierce arousal flooding him. He was loose, wrecked, yet Trent’s obvious, visceral delight in that state made his own neglected cock thicken again. "Just… just don’t stop," Mike rasped, pushing back onto Trent’s fingers.
Trent laughed, a rich, satisfied sound. "Oh, I ain’t stopping, pussyboy." He withdrew his fingers, leaving Mike feeling achingly empty. "But we’re changing the scenery." Before Mike could protest, Trent hooked his arms under Mike’s knees and hauled him off the sofa. Mike yelped as Trent effortlessly flipped him onto his hands and knees on the thick rug. Trent knelt behind him, his massive cock already hard again, slapping heavily against Mike’s thigh. He grabbed the bottle of poppers from the coffee table, uncapped it, and pressed it under Mike’s nose. "Deep breath, slut."
Mike inhaled sharply. The harsh chemical rush hit his sinuses, then exploded behind his eyes, a dizzying wave of lightheadedness and intense, immediate arousal that washed away any lingering fatigue. His hole clenched involuntarily, then relaxed into a hungry gape. "Christ," he choked out, his vision swimming.
"Good boy," Trent purred, tossing the bottle aside. He grabbed Mike’s hips, pulling him back onto his knees, ass high in the air. Trent spat thickly onto Mike’s hole, watching the glob slide down onto his balls. He didn’t reach for lube. He just lined up his thick, slick cockhead and pushed forward. Mike braced, expecting resistance, but his prepped, popper-loosened body yielded instantly. Trent’s cock slid home in one smooth, brutal thrust, burying itself to the hilt with a wet schlorp. Mike screamed in ecstasy, a raw sound torn from his throat as he was filled impossibly deep and fast. Trent didn’t pause, setting a punishing rhythm immediately, his hips pistoning, his balls slapping against Mike’s ass with each deep drive. The rug scraped Mike’s knees, the wet slap of flesh echoed in the room, Trent’s grunts punctuating every thrust.
"Fuck! Fuck! Your hole… swallows me… like nothing!" Trent gasped, leaning forward to bite Mike’s shoulder blade. He pulled Mike’s hips back harder onto his cock, driving deeper. Mike could only moan, lost in the overwhelming fullness, the brutal pace, the chemical haze amplifying every sensation. Trent fucked him like this for long minutes, hard and deep, until sweat dripped from both of them onto the rug. Then, abruptly, Trent stilled, buried deep. "Stay," he commanded, panting. He reached for the weed box, pulling out another joint. He lit it one-handed while keeping his other hand firmly planted on Mike’s hip, holding him impaled. He took a long drag, then pressed the joint to Mike’s lips. "Hit it."
Mike sucked in the smoke, coughing slightly, the weed layering over the poppers' buzz, deepening the haze. Trent took the joint back, smoking leisurely while Mike remained stretched wide around his thick cock. Mike felt every throb, every pulse of Trent’s hardness inside him. He shifted slightly, experimentally squeezing his ass muscles around the invading girth. Trent's body convulsed briefly. "Fuck, Mikey… do that again."
Mike focused, drawing his pelvic floor muscles up tight, clenching around Trent’s shaft with surprising strength. Trent groaned, long and low. "Holy shit… yeah… squeeze that cock, slut." Mike held the clench, then slowly released, feeling Trent’s cock drag against his sensitized walls. He did it again, tighter this time, a deliberate milking pressure. Trent’s hand tightened on his hip. "Fucking hell… you’re learning fast." Mike repeated the motion – clench, hold, release – finding a rhythm, working Trent’s cock inside him purely with muscle control. It was a revelation. His hole wasn’t just a passive receptacle; it could work, it could take control. The power surged through him, mixing with the intense pleasure radiating from his core.
"You're gonna ride it," Trent growled, pulling out slowly, making Mike whimper at the loss. He flopped onto his back on the rug. "Get on. Show me what that greedy cunt can do."
Mike scrambled around, straddling Trent’s hips. He reached behind, guiding Trent’s slick cock back to his entrance. He sank down slowly, controlling the descent, feeling every thick inch stretch him open again. Once fully seated, he paused, adjusting to the renewed fullness. Then he began. He locked eyes with Trent, planted his hands on Trent’s chest, and focused inward. He drew his pelvic muscles up tight, clenching hard around Trent’s shaft, lifting himself slightly off Trent’s lap purely through the contraction. He held it, feeling Trent’s cock pulse inside him, then slowly released, sinking back down. Up with a clench, hold, release down. Up, clench, hold, release down. He established a slow, deliberate rhythm, using only the muscles of his ass and pelvic floor to ride Trent’s cock. It was demanding, intense, but the control was intoxicating.
"Fuck me…" Trent breathed, staring up at him, mesmerized. "Look at you… fucking yourself on my dick… just using that tight little ass…" Trent’s hands found Mike’s nipples again, pinching and rolling the stiff nubs, sending jolts of pleasure that made Mike’s internal clenches even stronger. Mike moaned, throwing his head back, the dual sensations – the deep internal massage and the sharp nipple play – hurtling him towards the edge. His rhythm faltered, becoming faster, more frantic. He clenched harder, riding Trent’s cock with desperate, powerful contractions.
"Yeah! Milk it! Milk my fucking cock!" Trent roared, his own hips bucking up involuntarily to meet Mike’s downward plunge. The added friction tipped Mike over. He cried out, his body seizing, his hole clamping down in a vice-like spasm as his cock erupted, thick ropes of cum splattering across Trent’s abs and chest. The intense rhythmic clenching triggered Trent instantly. He arched off the rug, driving up hard, burying himself deep as he came, thick jets flooding Mike’s depths again. Mike collapsed forward onto Trent’s chest, shuddering through the aftershocks, feeling Trent’s cock pulse inside him, filling him anew.
They lay tangled on the rug, breathing heavily, slick with sweat and cum. Trent’s arms came around Mike, holding him close. "Fucking incredible," Trent murmured into Mike’s sweaty hair. "That control… shit, Mikey."
Mike just hummed, utterly spent, a profound sense of satisfaction settling over him. Trent eventually nudged him. "Come on, old man. Bath time. We’re fucking sticky." They helped each other up, wobbly-legged, and Trent grabbed towels, roughly wiping the worst of the mess from their skin. He led Mike down the hall to the bathroom.
The tub was old-fashioned, deep but narrow. Trent started the water running hot, adding a generous glug of Mike’s expensive sandalwood bath oil. Steam quickly filled the room. They showered off briefly and then climbed in awkwardly, Trent sitting first, legs spread wide. Mike settled between them, leaning back against Trent’s solid chest. The hot water was bliss on their aching muscles. They barely fit; Mike’s broad back pressed against Trent’s pecs, Trent’s legs bracketing Mike’s hips, their feet tangling at the other end. Trent reached for a sponge, gently washing Mike’s chest and shoulders, his touch unexpectedly tender after the earlier brutality. Mike relaxed completely, sinking deeper into the water and Trent’s embrace, the scent of sandalwood and sex mingling in the steam.
Later, wrapped in towels, they padded into the dimly lit kitchen. Trent pulled out cold chicken, sliced cheese, and rye bread, assembling simple sandwiches. Mike leaned against the counter, watching him, feeling strangely domestic amidst the lingering echoes of debauchery. They ate standing up, hungry and silent for a few minutes.
As Mike finished his last bite, Trent pointed a finger at him. "Supplements," he stated firmly. "Especially the psyllium husk. Don’t forget." He grabbed the large jar from the counter near the coffee maker. "Gotta keep that gut happy, Mikey. Keep everything moving smooth. And keep those balls good and heavy" He shook two capsules packed with the fibrous powder, along with one of each other supplement Trent had bought Mike, and handed them to him with a glass of water. "Chug it."
Mike happily gulped down the handful of pills. Trent watched him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Good slut," he murmured, taking the empty glass. He pulled Mike close, kissing him deeply, tasting of rye bread and sandalwood. "Bed," Trent declared against Mike’s lips. "Sleep. You earned it." He steered Mike towards the hallway, the house quiet around them, the only sound their damp footsteps on the hardwood floor.
The shrill beep of Trent’s phone alarm shattered the quiet at 6:30 AM. Mike groaned, burying his face into the pillow. Trent silenced it instantly, his body shifting. "Good morning, old man," he murmured, voice thick with sleep but already carrying that familiar command. "Fuck, no, not Monday. Work. College. Life. Ugh." His hand, still resting on Mike’s belly, slid lower, fingers tracing the crease of Mike’s thigh near his groin. Mike could feel Trent’s morning erection pressing insistently against the small of his back. "Fuck, you feel good," Trent breathed, grinding subtly, his fingers dipping lower to brush over Mike’s thick cock, already hard and leaking. A jolt of electricity shot through Mike, his cock twitching heavily despite the bone-deep fatigue. He arched back instinctively, pushing his ass against Trent’s hardness. "Want it…" Mike mumbled, half-asleep, half-desperate.
"Tempting," Trent growled, his own need evident in the rasp of his voice. He rolled his hips, his thick cockhead nudging Mike’s sensitive entrance. Mike pushed back harder, a whine escaping him. Trent stopped, his body tensing with the effort of control. "Not now, pussyboy. We need to treat that hole right. It is not just a pussy, let's remember" he sighed, regret heavy in his voice. He pulled his hand away, giving Mike’s ass a sharp, stinging smack. "Why don't you come for a run with me? Work on your stamina. Then we can shower. Save it for then." He rolled out of bed, his impressive frame stretching in the pale light. Disappointment warred with relief in Mike; his body screamed for Trent’s cock, but he was worried his ass might not be getting the rest it needed. He dragged himself upright, the movement pulling at his tender insides. Reality, cold and demanding, settled over them both.
The morning air outside was bracingly cool. After a quick stretch, Trent set a punishing pace for the run, his long legs eating up the pavement, forcing Mike to push harder than he had for a long time. Every footfall sent a dull throb through Mike’s ass, a constant reminder of the previous night. "Focus on the stride, Mikey!" Trent called back, barely winded. "Lengthen it. Open your hips." Mike gritted his teeth, concentrating on his form, feeling the strain in his hamstrings and glutes – muscles intimately connected to the ache deep inside him. The exertion, strangely, began to ease the stiffness. Afterwards, in the quiet side yard, Trent led him through a series of deep stretches designed for hip mobility and pelvic floor engagement. "Deep breath in…" Trent instructed, pressing firmly on Mike’s lower back as he folded forward. "Now, exhale, relax everything down there… let it open." Mike complied, feeling a profound release in his core, a loosening that echoed the sensation Trent induced with his fingers and tongue. "Good," Trent murmured, his hands moving with practiced knowledge. "We need you flexible. I need that hole supple." Mike flushed but held the position, the clinical instruction morphing seamlessly into something deeply intimate under Trent’s touch.
Back inside, the promised, comfortable bowel movement was a welcome relief, smooth and effortless thanks to the psyllium, leaving him feeling genuinely clean. The shared shower was steamy and efficient, yet charged. Standing under the hot spray, Trent’s soapy hands explored Mike’s body with a thoroughness that was both cleansing and claiming. He spent extra time massaging Mike’s lower back, his ass cheeks, his inner thighs. "Still sore?" he asked quietly, his fingers grazing Mike’s hole, which fluttered weakly at the touch.
"A bit. Tender," Mike admitted, leaning back into Trent’s solid chest. "Good tender."
Trent hummed, his soap-slick hand sliding around to grasp Mike’s thickening cock. Mike gasped. "Just a quick one," Trent murmured against his wet shoulder, his other hand pinching a nipple. "Take the edge off." His grip was firm, his strokes relentless, knowing exactly how to work Mike. Water sluiced over them as Trent jerked him efficiently, his thumb rubbing the slick head. Mike came quickly, explosively, his seed swirling down the drain almost instantly, a sharp release of tension. Trent followed moments after, groaning as he painted Mike’s lower back with thick stripes of cum before washing it away. They dried off in silence, the intimacy lingering but the urgency of the day pressing in. Trent grabbed his keys. "Don’t forget your lunch. And the supplements later," he reminded, his gaze intense. "Stay hydrated. Think about that hole staying ready." He gave Mike a searing, possessive kiss before heading out. Mike dressed mechanically, the ghost of Trent’s hands and the phantom fullness in his ass making concentration impossible.
The office was a sensory void after the intensity of the weekend. Fluorescent lights hummed. Keyboards clacked. Mike’s own chair felt like a constant pressure against his still-sensitive ass. Emails blurred on the screen. His mind kept replaying the feeling of Trent’s cock stretching him wide, the shocking intimacy of Trent’s tongue cleaning their mess, the powerful clench of his own muscles milking Trent deep inside him. Colleagues’ voices sounded tinny, distant. "Mike? Earth to Mike?" Dean from Marketing waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay? You look… flushed. And miles away." Mike blinked, forcing a smile that felt brittle. "Yeah, fine. Just… didn’t sleep great. Big weekend." He tried to focus on the quarterly report, but the numbers swam. All he could feel was the persistent, low throb between his legs, a constant echo of Trent’s possession. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the pressure only serving to remind him of the emptiness. He needed it. Needed the stretch, the burn, the dizzying fullness only Trent provided. It was a physical craving, deep in his gut and his ass.
Desperate for distraction, he reached into his backpack for the apple he’d packed. His fingers brushed against unfamiliar plastic. He pulled out a small, opaque ziplock bag. Taped to it was a note in Trent’s sharp handwriting: "In case you struggle." Mike’s heart hammered against his ribs. He glanced around furtively. The office was buzzing, but no one was looking his way. He peeked inside the bag. Nestled within was a smooth, clear silicone dildo, modestly sized but unmistakable in purpose. Fire spread through Mike’s veins. He grabbed the bag, stood abruptly, mumbled something about calling his wife to his bewildered deskmate, and practically ran for the stairs. The third-floor bathroom was rarely used, tucked away near storage. He locked himself in the end cubicle, his hands shaking. He fumbled his phone out, propping it precariously atop the toilet roll dispenser, angling it as best he could. He tapped record. The red light glowed. Shame warred with a fierce, rebellious thrill. He turned his back to the camera and slowly pulled down his khaki's, watching his soft plump ass appear. He bent and spread his cheeks, marvelling at the sight that greeted him. His pussy. Trent's pussy. He spat into his palm, the sound obscenely loud in the tiled space, then slicked the saliva over his pink, puffy ring. The sound was delicious. He spat again and again, coating himself, all the while sucking on the relatively small dildo. He didn't want to go in without lube, so he checked the bag again and there it was. A small, single use tube of lube. Trent thought of everything. He applied it thoroughly and reached behind himself, guiding the tapered tip to his hole.
He gasped as it breached him. It was nothing like Trent’s massive girth, but the familiar sensation of being filled, even by this smaller substitute, was immediate relief. He pushed it deeper, inch by inch, groaning softly as it slid home. He fucked himself slowly on it, the phone capturing every slick sound, every hitch in his breath. The stretch was mild, manageable, but the act, the sheer taboo of doing this here, now, sent jolts of electricity through him. He focused on the sensation, on the rhythmic glide in and out, picturing Trent. He didn’t need to cum; the pressure deep inside, the simulation of being used, was enough. Soon, a familiar warmth pooled low in his belly. He pulled the dildo out slowly, watching in the phone’s screen as a thick stream of milky, slick fluid – his own ass creaming – followed it, dripping onto the toilet seat. He finished the video, his face a mask of flushed need and release, then sent it to Trent with trembling fingers, with only a purple heart emoji as comment. He leaned back against the partition, breathing hard, the immediate, frantic need temporarily sated. He cleaned the dildo meticulously with toilet paper, then brought it to his mouth, tasting himself – salt, musk, and the faint tang of silicone – before washing it and his hands at the sink and returning it to the bag. His hole felt warm, tingling, slightly stretched, but the gnawing emptiness was quieter now.
He was just tucking the bag away when Trent’s response vibrated in his hand. "Fuck. You are perfection." A pause, then another message: "Check deeper in the bag. Left you a proper balm." Frowning, Mike reached back into the backpack, past the lunchbox, his fingers probing the bottom. They closed around something hard, smooth, and cool. He pulled it out. Nestled in a fold was a heavy, solid silicone sphere, dark crimson, attached to a thick, flared base. Next to it a small tub of something. A butt plug. And his ointment. Significantly larger than the one Trent had used before. The widest point looked daunting, but the stem was thick and short. He stared at it. A perfect balm. Trent knew. Knew the dildo was just a stopgap. Knew his hole would still feel used but ultimately empty. This… this would keep him filled. Keep him stretched. Keep him aware. A slow smile spread across Mike’s face, tinged with disbelief and a fresh wave of heat. He went back into the cubicle, carefully smeared the plug with the ointment, knowing it would nourish and replenish his hole, and slowly drew the plug into his needy hole. The stretch was delicious, a much better reminder of Trent. He went back to his seat, calmed, more able to focus, despite, or perhaps because of, the pressure of the toy.
The drive home felt interminable. Every red light, every slow driver, was an affront. Mike’s mind raced. The plug in his ass felt like a live wire. His body felt simultaneously exhausted and keyed up, a confusing mix of satisfying fatigue and lingering, Trent-shaped need. He found Trent already home, sprawled on the living room sofa where they’d fucked less than 24 hours before, textbooks spread around him. The scent of sandalwood from the bath oil still faintly lingered, mixing with the smell of Trent’s cologne. Trent looked up, a slow, knowing grin spreading as he took in Mike’s slightly dishevelled appearance. "Rough day, pussyboy?" he teased, setting his book aside.
Mike didn’t smile back. He dropped his bag heavily by the door, the thump echoing. He ran his hand through his hair. "Trent. We need to talk." The air shifted instantly. Trent’s grin vanished, replaced by sharp alertness. He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. "Okay…?" The single word hung heavy. Mike saw the flicker of panic – raw and unexpected – in Trent’s dark eyes before it was shuttered behind a mask of wariness. Mike realised his phrasing. "Not us," he clarified quickly, holding up a hand. "Christ, not us. Work. I mean… work." He sagged onto the floor in front of Trent, the insistent push of the plug making him gasp as his nose nuzzled into Trent's crotch, his safe place. "I can't… I can't go back tomorrow. I can't focus. I was useless today. All I could think about…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards his own body, towards Trent, encompassing the intensity that had consumed him. "That plug you left… it helped, but… fuck. I need… I need a break. From the office. From pretending." He met Trent’s gaze, his own exhaustion and desperation laid bare. "I need to just… be here. Be this for a bit. Your… stay-at-home pussyboy." The term sounded ridiculous spoken aloud, but it was terrifyingly accurate.
Trent stared at him for a long moment, the initial panic slowly morphing into intense assessment. He leaned forward, turned Mike's face towards his and kissed him on the lips. "Okay," he said slowly, the word deliberate. "Okay, Mikey. I mean, I want that. So badly. But… a break. How? Call in sick?" He ticked options off on his fingers. "Take a leave of absence? Quit?" He arched an eyebrow. "That last one’s a big fucking step, just saying." Mike rubbed his temples. "Sick leave? Maybe? Just… just a few days? A week? I just… I need space. To breathe. To… adjust." He didn’t add "to fuck like a whore", but it hung in the air. Trent nodded, his expression thoughtful, pragmatic. "Sick leave makes sense. Less drastic. But," he held up a finger, his tone shifting towards the professional, "you need to get checked out. Seriously." Mike blinked. "What?"
"That hole," Trent stated bluntly, no trace of embarrassment. "We’ve put it through the fucking wringer this weekend. Way more than it’s ever handled. You felt fine this morning, good movement, but you need a proper medical okay. For real. No arguments." His gaze was firm, brooking no dissent. Mike agreed. "Dr. Singh. He's discreet. He did my prostate exam last year so he has seen it before." Trent agreed, " Yeah, he's good with athletes too. Knows his shit."
Mike hesitated, the thought of discussing his ravaged ass with a doctor mortifying. But Trent’s logic was undeniable. The intensity had been unprecedented. He nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah. Okay." Mike was already reaching for his phone, navigating the clinic’s app. "Let’s see if he has anything soon…" He tapped, scrolled. "Fuck, booked solid… wait… cancellation? Tomorrow… 5 PM?" He looked at Trent. "Last slot."
Relief warred with apprehension. "Grab it," Trent said, his voice firm. Mike confirmed the appointment, setting the phone down. "Would you... er... I mean... do you want to... it might be useful if... er..." Trent caught on, "Yes, Daddy, I'll come with you." Mike felt relieved. "Done. So, self-certify for the rest of the week. Doctor tomorrow. See what he thinks."
Mike's phone began to ring. It was Maria. Trent mouthed that he'll give him some privacy and leaves.
It ended up being a good call, surprisingly. Safe flight? Yeah, smooth. Mum’s… managing. Her tone was weary but steady. You guys okay down there? He gripped the phone tighter, knuckles white. Are you… really okay with this? Me and Trent? The pause felt like an eternity, concrete dust choking his throat even now. Maria’s reply was been startlingly clear, devoid of hesitation. I think we all need it. Maybe that’s the fucked-up point? Who knows? I’m done living by other people’s rules. Her voice softened. I love you both. Doesn’t mean you gotta strangle what you need inside. Relief flooded him, warm and dizzying. They talked about him quitting the soul-crushing office job, her immediate support a balm. Weekly calls, just us, she’d insisted before hanging up. He missed the familiar weight of her in bed, the softness of her skin under his hands, but his traitorous mind kept snagging on Trent’s oral ministrations, the brutal thrust of his cock.
Trent, hearing the silence, returned, and Mike caught him up. "I asked her... er... straight... about us."
Trent froze, muscles taut. "And?" The word was clipped, tense.
"She’s… good with it." Mike swallowed, the admission hanging heavy. "Said she loves us both. Thinks we all need this fucked-up… whatever it is."
A slow, disbelieving grin spread across Trent’s face. "No shit?" He shook his head, running a hand over his short curls. "Fucking wild. Absolutely batshit." He stepped closer, the heat radiating off him again. "But you want it?"
"Christ, yes," Mike breathed, the raw hunger surging back instantly, pushing aside the lingering weirdness. "You know I do."
Trent’s eyes dropped deliberately to Mike’s ass. "Good." His voice dropped, thick with renewed intent. "Cause that plug’s been sitting there long enough, keeping my pussy nice and open. Time to get it the fuck out and replace it with something better."