Chapter 13: Expansion
The lingering musk of sex still hung between them, thicker than the scent of sizzling chicken and roasting sweet potatoes filling the warm kitchen. Trent, barefoot and wearing only low-slung sweatpants that showcased the powerful curve of his ass and the sweat still glistening on his lower back, expertly flipped a breast in the pan. Olive oil hissed. He’d declared this meal – lean protein, complex carbs – essential fuel for Mike’s quest for a thicker ass and those massive, soft pecs he’d admitted craving, especially after learning how deliciously sensitive his body could be.
Mike sat happily exhausted at the worn wooden table, working on one of Trent's Clean Out smoothies. His thick torso was bare, the grey hair on his chest matted in places, his moustache slightly askew. His own shorts felt loose, inadequate, after the intensity of Trent’s possession. He wondered about his clothes in general. He would talk to Trent about updating his wardrobe. If he could afford it. The memory of Trent inside him was a physical thrum in his muscles, a deep, satisfying ache radiating from his core. Trent had fucked him with a relentless, almost scientific precision, turning his body inside out until Mike had screamed, hoarse and wrecked, into a pillow. The younger man’s massive cock had stretched him obscenely wide, pistoning in and out, hitting that spot deep inside with every brutal thrust while his huge hands gripped worked Mike's nipples. Mike had felt owned, reshaped, his hole left swollen, puffy, and achingly sensitive, just the way Trent loved it, just the way he now loved it, leaking the man’s thick load.
"So," Trent said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the steamy air. He sprinkled something fragrant over the chicken, the spices crackling. "The doc. Singh. Tell me again. After he... y'know. Licked. Did you see him swallow?"
Mike shifted, the wood of the chair cool against his overheated skin. He stared at the swirling condensation on his glass. "Yeah," he admitted, the word rough. "I saw it. Clear as day. His tongue came out, swiped it all up off his finger. Like it was dessert." He swallowed, remembering the doctor's focused expression, the way his Adam's apple had bobbed. "And the tent in his trousers... Jesus, Trent. It was obvious. Rock fuckin' hard."
Trent chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound. He turned, leaning back against the counter, the muscles in his arms flexing. "I told you that pussy was good. Better than good. I'm not the only one who's gonna sense it." He grinned filthily. "And you? Last time I had my dick buried balls-deep in that tight hole of yours, where was your head at? Honestly."
Heat flooded Mike’s face, crawling down his neck and chest. He couldn’t meet Trent’s knowing gaze. He focused on a knot in the wood grain. "Fuck," he muttered. "Okay. Fine. Yeah. I... I thought about him. Singh. About him... watching. Maybe... more." The admission hung in the air, raw and vulnerable. "About him taking a turn."
Trent’s smile widened, predatory. "Thought so. Saw your eyes kinda glaze over, get that faraway look just as you started clenching down like a vice on my dick." He pushed off the counter and resumed tending the food. "Didn't know if you'd be into that. More... sharing. Or being shared."
"Didn't know myself," Mike confessed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Still don't, really." He took a deep breath. "But... I'd try." The words felt heavy, significant. "For you. For... whatever this is. We're exploring, right?"
Trent nodded, plating the golden-brown chicken and roasted vegetables. "Good. 'Cause I think the doc's very interested. That 'weekly check-up' shit? Textbook flirtation. His tent-pole was a fuckin' billboard to me. I WANT THAT ASS, it screamed" He chuckled and slid a generous portion in front of Mike. "Eat up. Ass-building fuel."
Mike picked up his fork, the aroma suddenly making him ravenous. He dug in. As he chewed, his phone buzzed on the table. A notification. He wiped his fingers and picked it up. His breath hitched.
"It’s him," Mike said, his voice tight. "Singh."
Trent paused, spatula in hand. "Yeah? What's he want?"
Mike read aloud, his voice gaining a shaky excitement. "'Mike, great to see you today. Really glad you felt comfortable seeking support. Wanted to make the follow-up easy. Link below books your standing weekly slot for the next two months. Look forward to it. - Bashir'" He looked up, eyes wide. "There’s a link. It took me right to the booking page. Same time, next week. Already confirmed it."
Trent slammed the spatula down on the counter with a triumphant clatter. "Fuck yes!" He strode over, his own excitement palpable. He gripped Mike’s shoulder, his large hand warm and possessive. "See? Told you. Doc wants a taste. Two months of 'check-ups'?" He laughed, a rich, dark sound. "Plenty of fuckin' time to see where that leads."
The possibilities shimmered between them, electric and illicit. Mike felt a fresh thrum of arousal beneath his fatigue. The image of Dr. Singh’s intent eyes, the bulge in his trousers, mixed dizzyingly with the memory of Trent’s relentless pounding.
"Got me thinking," Trent said, his voice dropping, becoming more serious. He leaned his hip against the table, looking down at Mike. He paused, seeming to choose his words. "About money. The future. Our future." He blushed.
Mike took another bite, watching him warily. "Yeah?"
"Okay, look," Trent started, running a hand over his shaved head. "I make… a decent chunk on the side. Online." He met Mike’s gaze directly, no shame. "Showing my dick. Mostly just the dick, sometimes more, sometimes the girls I'm with. Was with. That’s how I knew about the blurring tech for faces. Got it dialled in tight."
Mike blinked, processing. He knew Trent was unapologetically sexual, but this was a concrete facet he hadn't considered. "Seriously?"
"Dead serious. Pays for my supplements, gym fees, nice shit." Trent gestured vaguely. "But here’s the thing. I look around… there’s content of guys like us? Sure. But most of it’s… amateur hour. Bad lighting, bad angles, bad fucking. Guys who don’t know how to really work a hole, make it sing." His eyes glinted. "We could make something… high-end. Visceral. Real. The way I open you up, get you sloppy and begging? The size difference? My cock wrecking that hairy ass of yours? That shit’s premium."
Mike felt a jolt of heat at the explicit description, coupled with sheer disbelief. "You want… us… to make porn?"
"High-quality, anonymous, exclusive subscription shit," Trent clarified, his voice intense. "We blur faces, neither of us had any tattoos or scars that would identify us. Use voice changers if needed. But show everything else. The prep, the stretch, the fucking, the mess. The way your hole gapes after I’m done with it." He leaned closer. "It could bring in serious cash, Mike. Enough that…" He paused, letting the implication hang. "Enough that if that bullshit office job ever grinds you down too much… you wouldn't have to go back. Could be a future there."
Mike stared at his plate, his mind racing. The sheer audacity. The risk. The raw, undeniable thrill of the idea warring with ingrained caution. "Christ, Trent. That's… wild." He tried to seem anxious, but Trent could see the excitement bubbling. "The anonymity… you sure it's solid? Sounds risky. And not exactly long-term security, needing people to be interested. To pay. To keep paying." Visions of accidental exposure, losing a regular income, constantly having to film themselves.
Trent nodded, unfazed. "Okay, fair. The porn? Maybe a side gig. Explosive, but volatile. But here’s the other idea." He straightened up. "I’m gonna be a qualified physiotherapist, right? Legit. End of this year. What if…" He gestured around the kitchen. "What if I set up my own practice? Private. Niche. Sports recovery, strength conditioning… maybe some… specialized soft tissue work." A sly grin touched his lips. "And what if you… ran the show? Admin. Office manager. Patient liaison. Your rugby background, the people skills you use now… you’d be perfect. We’d be partners. Solid income. Legitimate." His grin widened, predatory again. "And who knows what kind of interesting men might walk through the door needing… treatment?"
Mike just looked at him. The whiplash was intense: from the raw, illegal thrill of secret porn featuring Trent’s massive cock splitting him open, to the unexpected vision of a legitimate, shared future in a professional setting. Both scenarios pulsed with possibility, danger, and the undeniable connection that crackled between them. The kitchen air felt charged, thick with the scent of food, the ghosts of sex, and the dizzying scent of potential futures.
Trent reached out, his thumb brushing lightly over Mike’s pec, right above the nipple. The touch sent a jolt straight to Mike’s groin. "Think about it," Trent murmured, his voice a low thrum. "Both ideas. We got options now. Options we didn’t have yesterday." He squeezed the firm muscle gently. "Finish your chicken. Build that ass. We got plans to make."
Mike looked down at Trent’s dark hand on his chest, then up into those confident, hungry eyes. Options. Futures. Legitimacy and obscenity, strangely intertwined. The doctor. The porn. The practice. The promise in Trent’s touch. The world felt suddenly, terrifyingly, exhilaratingly wide open. He picked up his fork again, his appetite returning with a sharp, demanding edge.
The rich, savoury bite of chicken grounded Mike momentarily, the flavours sharp against the lingering phantom sensation of Trent inside him. He chewed slowly, the silence stretching comfortably, punctuated only by the clink of cutlery and Trent scrolling through his phone nearby, the glow illuminating his focused expression. Mike scrolled too, aimlessly, the X profile Trent had given him access to for inspiration a digital beacon of illicit potential. His mind drifted back to the sterile room, the cool air, Singh’s intense focus, the wetness.
"Y'know," Mike began, his voice a low rumble breaking the quiet, his eyes fixed on a random news headline he wasn’t reading. "That fantasy I had? When you were fucking me raw earlier?" His pulse picked up. "It... got specific. Real specific."
Trent lowered his phone, his dark eyes sharpening instantly, locking onto Mike’s face. "Yeah? Tell me." His voice was dangerously soft, a predator scenting blood.
Mike swallowed, the memory vivid, visceral. "Singh. On his knees behind me. His fucking tongue... deep. Like, working me. Probing. Like he was tasting something incredible." Mike shifted on the wooden chair, feeling his own cock stir against his shorts. "And me... bent over... but my mouth? My mouth was full. Of you. All of you I could take. Trying to swallow you down while he ate my ass like it was his last meal." He exhaled shakily. "Felt so goddamn real."
Trent didn't move for a second. Then, slowly, a massive, unmistakable bulge began to tent the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants. It swelled rapidly, thick and heavy, the outline stark. A low chuckle escaped him, rich and amused. "Fuck, Mike. Look what you did." He gestured casually at his own erection, stretching the material obscenely tight. "Just picturing that? Your fantasy got me harder than the steel cable on a fuckin' crane."
Mike stared, a flush heating his neck and chest. He laughed too, a mix of embarrassment and primal satisfaction at the obvious, immediate effect his words had. The sheer size of Trent’s arousal, straining against the cotton, was both intimidating and intensely flattering. "Looks like it," he managed, his own breath catching.
"You think your mouth could handle it?" Trent asked, his voice showing actual concern. He pushed back his chair slowly, the legs scraping the floor. Then it dropped lower, more predatory. "Handle taking my cock like that? While someone’s got their tongue buried in your hole?"
Mike met his gaze, a spark of challenge flashing in his tired eyes. He thought of the stretch, the ache, the surrender of his asshole accepting Trent's girth. "If my ass can take that fuckin' monster you call a dick," Mike said, his voice rough, defiant, "why the hell wouldn't my mouth manage?"
Trent’s grin was pure feral delight. "That's my boy." He stood, the sheer size of him momentarily dominating the warm kitchen space. "And you can prove it. After food. After digestion." He gestured towards the mostly cleared plate. "I don't fuck with throw up."
They laughed in agreement and finished their food. They cleaned up, Trent constantly finding reasons to crush his semi-hard cock against Mike's ass, nuzzling his neck, biting his earlobe. Mike's head was buzzing with sex, his jaw aching for Trent's meat. They continued to clean, the activity helping their food, wiping down the couch in the living room in an effort to not let their cosy environment slide into a den of filth and debauchery. "We need a fuck room." Trent commented, off hand.
Eventually, once the cleaning supplies were away, and the smoothie had done it's work, Mike caught Trent's gaze and he gestured to the couch. Mike followed, the remnants of dinner gone, the simmering excitement overriding everything else. Trent sprawled back, sinking deep into the cushions, legs spread wide. His erection tented his sweats, a thick, proud line. "Off," he commanded softly, nodding at his own crotch.
Mike knelt on the rug between Trent’s powerful thighs. The scent of Trent, musky and masculine, intensified here. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of the sweatpants and boxers beneath, pulling them down in one smooth motion. Trent’s cock sprang free, thick and heavy, already glistening at the tip. It rested against the dense curls at the base, a deep, flushed purple, veins prominent under the skin. Mike’s mouth watered instinctively, but he held back, waiting.
Trent reached down, his large hand not gripping, but gently cupping Mike’s jaw, guiding. "First rule: Forget swallowing the whole fuckin' thing. Ain't happening. Not today, probably not ever." His thumb brushed Mike’s lower lip. "It’s about the head, the first few thick inches. Making that feel incredible. Your hands can do a lot of work making up the rest." He traced the flared ridge of his glans with a fingertip, smearing the pre-cum. "Use your tongue here. Flat, broad strokes. Swirl it." He guided Mike’s head closer. "Lips tight, but not clenched. Suck, like you're pulling the taste outta me."
Mike leaned in, the salty, musky scent filling his nostrils. He opened his mouth, pressing his lips around the swollen head as Trent guided. He followed the instructions, flattening his tongue against the sensitive underside ridge, licking firmly. A guttural groan rumbled from Trent’s chest. "Yeah... fuck... like that. Now suck. Get it wet."
Mike complied, sealing his lips and drawing gently. He felt the hot, smooth skin, tasted the distinct, bitter tang. He swirled his tongue as he pulled back slightly. Trent’s hand tightened slightly on his jaw. "Good. Don't choke yourself trying to deepthroat. Throat ain't built for this girth. You gotta angle." He shifted his hips, lifting slightly. "Tilt your head. Like this." He demonstrated with Mike’s head. "Chin up, throat open. Now... slowly... take a bit more. Just feel where it starts to hit the back. That's your limit. For now."
Mike tilted his head back, opening his throat. He pushed forward, taking another inch of the thick shaft. The pressure against the back of his palate was intense, triggering the gag reflex instantly. He pulled back sharply, coughing.
"Easy," Trent murmured, his voice thick with arousal but patient. "That's it. Find that spot. Just brush it. Get used to the pressure. Don't fight it. Let your throat relax. Anything you cough up is gonna be hot as fuck covering my shaft." He repositioned Mike gently. "Look at me." Mike’s eyes, slightly watering, met his. "Breathe through the sides of your mouth. Around the dick, when you can. Always. In and out, slow. Nose breathe if you can, but that will get blocked first" Trent’s own breath was heavy. "Try again. Slow. Just to the point of pressure. Hold it a second. Feel the stretch."
Mike did. He focused on breathing, relaxing his jaw, letting the thick head press firmly against his soft palate. The urge to gag was a tight knot, but manageable this time. He held it, his eyes locked on Trent’s. Trent’s gaze was dark, intense, watching his lips stretch obscenely around his girth. "Good boy," Trent breathed. "So fuckin' good. Now use your hand. Wrap it around the base. Stroke what your mouth can't take."
Mike wrapped his fist around the thick shaft, his fingers barely meeting. He began to move his head slowly, shallowly, focusing on the head with his lips and tongue, while his hand pumped the base in rhythm. He gagged again, but only slightly, noticing the thick, viscous liquid now filling his mouth. He let it drool from his mouth, mixing with his pre-cum slicked his hand, making the glide easier and nosier. Trent’s groans deepened, becoming ragged. "Fuck... yeah... just like that. Work the head... suck it... shit..."
Trent’s hips began a shallow thrust, fucking gently into the wet heat of Mike’s mouth and the tight circle of his fist. He kept one hand tangled in Mike’s hair, not forcing, just anchoring. The other hand slid down, fingers brushing briefly over Mike’s crotch – a deliberate tease, acknowledging but not engaging, leaving Mike achingly hard and ignored. "Focus on my cock," Trent growled. "Feel it pulsing? Gonna fuckin' blow."
Mike redoubled his efforts, sucking hard on the engorged head, swirling his tongue frantically over the slit, stroking the thick base firmly. The taste flooded his mouth, salty and primal. Trent’s body tensed, a strangled sound ripped from his throat. "Oh! Fuck! Mike! Gonna... cum!" His cock jerked violently in Mike’s mouth and hand. A hot, thick spurt hit the back of Mike’s throat, followed by another, and another. Mike swallowed convulsively, the salty-sweet bitterness coating his throat. He kept sucking, milking the shaft with his hand until Trent’s thrusts stilled, until he was soft and spent in Mike’s mouth.
Mike pulled off slowly, gasping, a strand of saliva and cum connecting his lips to the slick, spent head of Trent’s cock. He’d managed maybe a quarter of that massive tool. Trent lay back, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat on his dark skin, a look of utter satisfaction on his face. He ran a hand through Mike’s hair. "Fuck, Mike. You did good. Real good." He chuckled, breathless. "Something to practice."
The shower spray was hot, steam filling the small bathroom. They stood close, water sluicing over them. Trent turned Mike around, leaving him standing under the warm water, pressed gently against the cool tile. "My turn," he murmured against Mike’s hairy shoulder. He dropped to his knees behind him. His hands gripped Mike’s thick thighs, spreading him. The water cascaded over Mike’s back and Trent’s broad shoulders.
Trent didn’t hesitate. He buried his face between Mike’s cheeks. His tongue, strong and agile, delved straight into the center of Mike’s hole, probing the tight ring of muscle, still loose and sensitive from their earlier fucking. He licked broad, wet stripes, then focused, his tongue tip pressing insistently inside, fucking into him with shallow, rapid thrusts. He alternated, spreading Mike wider, sucking hungrily on the puffy rim, his lips sealing around the hole, pulling it into his mouth, engorging it, then plunging his tongue deep again. The sensation was overwhelming – wet, intimate, possessive. He worked the hole relentlessly, his tongue a demanding instrument, finding the spot inside that made Mike’s legs tremble.
"Fuck! Trent! Oh god!" Mike braced his forearms against the tile, his head hanging, water running into his eyes. The dual assault of the hot water and Trent’s insistent mouth was too much. Trent sucked hard on the stretched rim, his tongue still working inside, and Mike felt the orgasm rip through him with shocking force. His cock jerked, untouched, spilling thick ropes of cum against the wet tile, his body shuddering uncontrollably. Trent kept his mouth locked on his asshole, milking the aftershocks with his tongue until Mike sagged, utterly spent, held up only by Trent’s grip and the wall.
Later, tangled in clean sheets, the smell of freshly washed skin and sex in the air, Mike felt boneless, floating. Trent pulled him close, spooning behind him, his heavy arm draped possessively over Mike’s chest, fingers idly brushing a nipple. "This weekend," Trent murmured, his voice thick with sleep and promise against the back of Mike’s neck. "When I don't have classes and practice to get to, I'm gonna fuck you all night long. Break that ass in proper. Make you scream until you forget you're human." His hand drifted lower, palming Mike’s spent cock briefly. "Need more than gym workouts to build your stamina."
Mike just hummed, already half-asleep, the deep ache inside him a pleasurable echo of Trent’s claim. The doctor, the porn, the clinic – it all faded to a distant hum beneath the immediate, overwhelming reality of Trent’s heat against his back and the raw promise vibrating in those final words.