Chapter 18: Ivan
The rhythmic clicking of Trent’s mouse punctuated the humid silence of the living room, broken only by the wet, lazy sounds emanating from beneath his desk. Mike was still there, nestled between Trent’s spread thighs, his thick moustache brushing the sensitive skin of Trent’s inner legs as his tongue traced slow, worshipful circles around the base of Trent’s heavy balls. The scent of musk and precum hung thick in the air.
"Fuck, Daddy," Trent murmured, eyes flicking from the glowing monitor displaying a paused frame of Mike’s flushed face, eyes rolling back as Trent’s barely one third of his thick cock disappeared into Mike's mouth, back to the real man below. He reached down, fingers tangling in Mike’s salt-and-pepper hair, gently guiding his head. "Suck ’em proper. Get ’em slick for me." He groaned softly, leaning back in his chair as Mike obeyed, taking one hefty globe into his warm mouth, swirling his tongue, lavishing attention that made Trent’s cock twitch and leak onto his own stomach. "Yeah… just like that. Good boy."
He pulled Mike up on to his lap, the older man’s lips glistening. Trent pointed at the screen. "See that? See how fucking wrecked you looked taking me? Pure filth, Daddy." He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, pride evident. "That’s gold. We got the second session footage too, where you begged me to wreck your ass proper. And Wednesday… shit, we gotta organise this hard drive properly." He traced Mike’s lower lip with his thumb. "Busy schedule."
The shrill ringtone of Mike’s phone sliced through the haze. Trent glanced at the discarded device vibrating on the bedside table. He recognized the name flashing: IVAN.
"Fuckin’ Ivan?" Trent muttered, unmuting the call but keeping it on speaker low. "Yo."
"Trent, you fuckin’ ghost! Where you been, man?" Ivan’s voice, familiar and boisterous, filled the small space. Mike instinctively ducked lower, his breath hot on Trent’s shaft.
"Been busy, man," Trent replied, his gaze fixed on Mike’s head now bobbing slowly back onto his cock, taking just the thick head, lips stretched obscenely. "College grind, other… projects."
"Projects my ass. You dodging me? Look, pints. Tonight. The Ram’s Head. Seven. Catch up. Don’t say no, you prick."
Trent muted Ivan again. He looked down at Mike, whose eyes were wide, watching him, lips still sealed around his crown. "Ivan," Trent stated needlessly. "Wants beers. Catch up. Been a minute." He watched Mike’s reaction carefully. He saw the flicker of… something. Possessiveness? But it cleared, replaced by a warm, if slightly glazed, acceptance.
Mike slid off with a wet pop. "Go," he murmured, his voice rough from service. "It's good for us to have lives. Good for you to see friends. It's healthy." He ran a hand up Trent’s thick thigh. "Two hours. Max. Meet him at seven." His other hand drifted possessively to Trent’s balls, rolling them gently.
Trent unmuted. "Yeah, alright, Ivan. Seven. Ram’s Head. Don’t start without me." He ended the call before Ivan could reply, tossing the phone back. He leaned down, capturing Mike’s mouth in a deep, loving kiss, tasting himself. "Two hours," he growled against Mike’s lips. "Not a fucking minute more. Need to be back inside you before this day’s done. Need to feel that tight hole milking my dick dry."
Mike moaned into the kiss, nodding eagerly. "Thank you, baby."
The clock read 6 PM. Trent reluctantly pushed his chair back, forcing Mike to relinquish his grip. "Gotta finish this edit, then get ready." He clicked rapidly on the timeline, splicing footage, adding markers. "You okay to wait? We’ll eat when I’m back? If you’re cool?"
Mike crawled out from under the desk, stretching his stiff limbs. He glanced towards the drawer where he kept the massive, veined silicone dildo – another recent present from Trent, and an exact replica of his own monster. A slow, determined smile spread across Mike’s face beneath his moustache. "I'll keep busy. With my practicing," he announced, his voice thick with promise. He pulled the dildo from the drawer, its size still daunting. "Work on opening my throat. You like it when my throat gets nice and open, right?" Mike teased.
Trent paused his editing, his eyes darkening with lust. The sight of Mike, in his new tight jeans, his vest covered with fresh stains from Trent's cock, holding that thick toy, the intention clear… it sent a jolt straight to his own cock. "Fuck, Daddy," he breathed, standing up, his erection bobbing heavily. "Seeing you like that… almost makes me wanna cancel Ivan." He moved closer, tracing the line of Mike’s jaw. "Won’t settle knowing you’re here, gagging on fake cock, needing the real thing down your throat… needing my load."
Mike laughed, a warm, rumbling sound. He pushed playfully at Trent’s solid chest. "Go! It's two hours. It will be good for me to miss you. Enjoy the beer. Catch up with your friend." He picked up the dildo, its heavy base firm in his grip. "I’ll be busy." He leaned in, kissing Trent hard, a promise of things to come. Then, with surprising strength fuelled by focused desire, he steered Trent firmly towards the stairs. "Go. Get ready."
Trent allowed himself to be pushed, a reluctant grin touching his lips. After about 30 minutes, he reappeared and grabbed his keys and wallet from the dresser. At the door, he paused, looking back. Mike was already kneeling on the plush rug by the sofa, the massive dildo held suction cupped to the coffee table, his tongue tentatively tracing the bulbous head, eyes fixed on the task. The image burned itself into Trent’s mind.
"Practice hard, Daddy," Trent murmured.
The click of the front door felt like a physical echo in the sudden quiet. Mike remained kneeling on the plush rug, the cool air of the living room hitting his spit-slicked lips. He stared at the silicone monstrosity suctioned to the coffee table, its hyper-realistic veins glistening under the lamplight. Trent’s command hung in the air: Practice hard.
He took a deep, steadying breath, the lingering taste of Trent's pre-cum a familiar tang on his tongue. Wrapping his hand around the thick base for stability, he leaned forward, opening his mouth wide. The bulbous head pressed against his lips, demanding entry. He pushed, relaxing his jaw as much as he could, feeling the familiar, uncomfortable stretch as the girth filled him. A low gag rumbled in his chest, but he pressed on, sinking lower, inch by stubborn inch.
Saliva pooled instantly, dripping freely down the shaft and onto the rug beneath him. He focused on breathing through his nose, and then around the fake cock when his nose was blocked, forcing his throat muscles to relax, to accept the intrusion. He pulled back slowly, sucking hard, creating a wet, obscene slurp as the head popped free, coated in thick strings of drool. Then, he plunged down again, deeper this time, aiming for that elusive spot where his throat yielded completely. He couldn’t yet achieve it, the ridge hitting the back of his palate, triggering a stronger gag reflex. Tears welled in his eyes. "Fuck," he gasped wetly, pulling off for air, chest heaving. "Gotta open." He pictured Trent's thick cock, the stretch, the low groan Trent made when Mike took him deep. The memory spurred him. He dove back down, burying it as far as he could, swallowing convulsively around the hard shaft. He held it there, feeling the pressure, the burn, fighting the urge to retch. Time dissolved into the repetitive rhythm: shallow sucks, deep attempts, gagging, drooling, pulling back, breathing, diving down again. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his hairy chest under the stained vest. His jaw ached fiercely. He shifted position, kneeling wider, arching his back, trying different angles, relentlessly working the massive silicone cock down his throat like it was his job. He imagined Trent watching, praising him. "Take it all, Daddy. Open that slutty throat." The thought made his own neglected cock twitch, thick and heavy in his jeans. He redoubled his efforts, bobbing faster, sucking harder, drool soaking the rug completely, his throat raw and burning, but determined. He needed to be ready. He would be ready.
The chime of his phone made him jolt, pulling off the dildo with a loud, wet gasp. 8:45 PM. Trent's face flashed on the screen. Mike wiped his mouth hastily with the back of his hand, clearing his throat, trying to sound normal despite the rasp. "Trent? Everything okay?" Worry pinched his voice. Had something happened with Ivan?
"Potentially amazing, actually," Trent replied, his voice vibrating with a low excitement Mike could feel even over the phone. "Listen, Ivan knows nothing. Zero clue about us. Thought I was just fucking around like I used to." Mike exhaled, relief warring with a strange thrill at the secrecy. Trent continued, "Turns out Ivan's got his own new thing going on. He shared, I shared... a bit." Mike's pulse quickened. Shared what? About them? "Anyway," Trent pressed on, "he's got secrets. Hot ones. Similar to how you and I... clicked. Question is..." Trent paused, letting the implication hang heavy. "You up for more action? Like with Shane and that ginger bloke? But... maybe different. If you are, we can head back now. Don't tidy anything away. We'll eat late."
Mike's mind raced. More action. With Ivan? Different? The possibilities buzzed. His throat was raw, his cock hard. "Anything you think I'll enjoy," Mike answered, his voice rough but sure. "I'm in. Absolutely." The line went dead. Adrenaline surged. He had minutes. Scrambling up, his knees protesting, he headed straight for the bedroom and the stash of clothes Trent had encouraged him to buy. He bypassed the usual jeans. His hand closed on the thin black elastic of the jockstrap. He shimmied out of his clothes, the air cool on his damp skin. He stepped into the jock, the pouch snug and supportive around his heavy balls and thick, short cock. Next came the shorts – impossibly short denim cut-offs. He pulled them on, the frayed hems riding high on his thick thighs. The black straps of the jock were clearly visible above the back waistband and cutting across his ass cheeks. The old band t-shirt was next. He grabbed scissors and with quick, sure cuts, sliced off both sleeves right up to the collar and then sliced down the sides from underarm to hem, turning it into a vest that hung open, exposing his hairy flanks and his rock hard nipples. He looked in the mirror. The image was startling – the mature, hairy rugby player barely contained by the skimpy, revealing clothes, the jock straps framing his solid ass. Arousal tightened his gut. He adjusted himself in the pouch. Would Trent like it? Would Ivan?
The metallic snick of the front door lock cut through his thoughts. Heart pounding, Mike walked downstairs, trying to project a casual confidence he didn't quite feel. Trent stood in the hallway, shrugging off his jacket. Beside him stood Ivan. Mike registered the sharp features, the modern blond haircut, the silver earrings glinting. The dark blue tracksuit hugged Ivan’s athletic frame, the jacket emphasizing broad shoulders, the pants straining prominently over a substantial bulge in the front. Ivan’s light eyes, holding that mischievous glint, scanned Mike from head to toe, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. "Mike," Ivan nodded, his voice smooth.
Trent didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, a wide, possessive grin on his face, and pulled Mike firmly against him. One strong arm wrapped around Mike's waist, pulling him close, while the other hand slid down possessively to grip Mike's ass cheek through the thin denim, fingers slipping under the hem to touch skin. Trent kissed him deeply, passionately, right there in front of Ivan, a blatant claim. Mike melted into it, the taste of beer and Trent flooding his senses, his own hands coming up to Trent's solid shoulders. Trent broke the kiss but kept Mike tucked tightly against his side. "Smells like practice in here," Trent murmured low in Mike's ear, a hot thrill shooting down Mike's spine. "Good boy."
The air in the living room was thick now – the scent of Mike's earlier efforts mixing with the aroma of beer on the men's breath and the skunky tang of the joint Trent swiftly rolled on the coffee table, right beside the still-moist dildo. Ivan didn’t flinch, just watched with amused interest as Trent sparked the lighter. They passed the joint, the smoke curling in lazy tendrils, adding a hazy layer to the already charged atmosphere. Trent settled heavily onto the sofa and pulled Mike down sideways onto his lap. Mike went willingly, straddling one thick thigh, the denim cut-offs riding up even higher, the open sides of his t-shirt, exposing his hairy flank, pressed against Trent’s chest. Trent’s hand rested low on his hip, a warm brand. Ivan took a long drag, exhaled slowly, his eyes sharp despite the weed. "So," Ivan began, his gaze flicking between them, landing pointedly on Mike. "Trent mentioned you guys... clicked. Found something unexpected." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Turns out, I found something unexpected myself. About a month back. Met this guy. Hiro. Japanese. Thirty-two. Quiet, but intense eyes." Ivan took another pull. "Started talking at some bullshit college mixer. One minute we're discussing investment portfolios, the next... we're whispering about ropes in the coat check." He chuckled, a low, dirty sound. "I always fantasized about tying someone up. Really tying them. Making them helpless. Hiro..." Ivan’s grin widened. "...he always dreamed of being the one tied. Wanted to be completely given over. Restrained. Used." He spread his hands. "We just... fit. Like you two, I guess. Different kink, same spark." He gestured vaguely. "Hiro's been discovering he loves being in knots. Literally. Every weekend. Sometimes more." He laughed again, shaking his head. "Man’s got a gift for it. Taking it. Loving it."
Mike felt a strange lurch in his stomach. Restrained. Helpless. Used. Trent’s fingers tightened slightly on his hip. Mike looked up. Trent was watching him intently, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim, smoky light. But Mike knew that look. It was the look Trent got when he wanted something. When he was about to push. Trent didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. The question hung in the thick air, amplified by Ivan’s expectant gaze and the memory of the dildo still cooling on the table nearby: You want to be tied up tonight? Mike’s breath hitched.
The silence stretched, thick with weed smoke and the pounding of Mike's heart against his ribs. Restrained. Helpless. Used. The words resonated with a deep, terrifying thrill that coiled in his gut, tightening his balls. He felt Trent’s gaze, hot and heavy, waiting. He knows, Mike thought. He always knows what I need before I do. He swallowed, his throat still raw from the dildo, the sensation a sharp counterpoint to the heat flooding his groin. His voice, when it came, was rough, barely above a hoarse whisper directed at Ivan, but meant for them all. "This Hiro... you ever... share him? With anyone?"
Ivan took a slow drag, holding the smoke, his light eyes gleaming with sudden, intense interest. He exhaled, a plume drifting upwards. "Fuck, no. Not yet." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But the idea..." He grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Fuck, it heats my blood. Thinking about it. Tying him up suspended, legs wide fucking open... almost in a split, off the ground. Hole just... presented. Two cocks." He made a sharp, thrusting motion with his hand. "One sliding out, the other sliding in, right after. Fucking him in a rhythm. His hole stretched, puffy, wet... taking it." He glanced pointedly at Trent. "My dick’s too fucking big for double penetration, though. Try stuffing two into Hiro? Nah. Not happening. He’d split."
Trent’s hand tightened on Mike’s hip, his thumb rubbing circles on the exposed skin above the denim cut-off. "Same," Trent rumbled, his voice dark with intent. "Almost tried it once back in the day. No one has that kinda room. Doesn’t work. Unless the other guy has a micro dick." His gaze locked onto Mike’s. "But one in, one out? Fuck yeah. That works."
Mike felt a jolt, electric and undeniable. The image Ivan painted – the vulnerability, the exposure, the relentless rhythm of two cocks claiming a single hole – slammed into him. His cock, already thick and heavy in the jockstrap pouch, jerked. The raw need wasn't just Ivan's fantasy; it was suddenly, viscerally his own. "Fuck," he breathed, the word scraping out. He looked from Ivan’s eager face to Trent’s intense, commanding eyes. His heart hammered against his ribs. "Do it. Please. Do it to me." The plea was raw, stripped bare.
Trent didn’t hesitate. He moved, lifting Mike easily off his lap and standing in one fluid motion. "Garage," he commanded, already striding towards the door connecting the living room to the converted garage gym. "Now." Ivan was on his feet instantly, but heading to the front door. "I need my bag" he called back. The air crackled with anticipation, the scent of sweat and adrenaline cutting through the haze of weed.
The garage was cool, smelling faintly of rubber mats, motor oil, and the sharp tang of metal from the weight rack and pull-up station dominating one wall. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh, revealing light on the equipment. Ivan moved with purpose, heading straight for the heavy-duty pull-up stand bolted into the back wall. He dropped his bag with a thump and started pulling out coils of thick, dark rope, metal carabiners, and padded leather cuffs.
"Right," Ivan said, his voice all business now, the playful glint replaced by focused intensity. "Safety first, yeah? Comfort is key for this, Mike, or it turns to shit fast." He held up a carabiner. "This connects the cuff to the suspension line. Won’t snap. Ever." He tossed a set of cuffs to Trent. "Put these on his ankles. Snug, but leave space for two fingers. The same with his wrists." He knelt, uncoiling a long length of rope. "Main suspension lines go from the bar, down through the carabiners on the cuffs. We're using a simple one-line suspension tonight – less fuss, more stable for the position we want. He'll be suspended by his ankles, legs spread wide open." Ivan looped the rope expertly, demonstrating a complex knot. "This is the tension lock. Holds firm, releases fast with a pull here." He showed Trent the tail end. "You see? Pull this, everything drops slow and controlled."
Trent watched intently, absorbing the lesson as he knelt to buckle the wide leather cuffs around Mike’s ankles. The leather was cool, firm. "Got it," Trent murmured, his fingers brushing Mike’s calf. "Release here. Stable." He looked up at Mike. "You good?"
Mike nodded, throat too tight for words. The clinical nature of Ivan’s instructions, the solid feel of the leather, the sheer reality of what was coming – it was terrifying. Exhilarating. He was hard enough to ache.
"Okay," Ivan said, standing. "Let's get those clothes off and you up. Trent, grab his waist. Support him. Mike, relax. Don't try to help. Just go limp." Mike and Trent quickly removed his clothes and Ivan clipped the carabiners onto the ankle cuffs and began feeding the rope ends up through the pulleys mounted on the pull-up bar. He then bound Mike's hands over his head, feeding the rope over the top of the bar itself. "Ready? Lift."
Trent’s strong arms encircled Mike’s waist, lifting him easily off the ground. Mike let his body go loose, his head dropping back. Ivan pulled steadily on the ropes. Mike felt the shift, the slight sway, then the pressure on his ankles as his feet lifted higher. His world tilted. The garage ceiling spun momentarily, then resolved. Trent guided his legs wide, positioning each foot onto the sturdy crossbar extensions built into the pull-up station itself. His calves rested on the padded horizontal bars, forcing his legs into a wide, almost extreme split, held perfectly open. His hole was utterly exposed, angled perfectly upwards. The leather straps bit slightly into his ankles, a grounding pressure amidst the dizzying vulnerability. The ropes held him secure, suspended perhaps two feet off the ground, his full weight supported by the cuffs and the crossbars. He hung there, helpless, spread obscenely wide, his hole a dark, glistening pucker in the harsh light, framed by his hairy ass cheeks. His jockstrap and shredded t-shirt felt like pathetic, tantalizing decorations on his exposed form. His cock strained against the black elastic pouch. He felt the cool air on his most intimate parts, heard his own ragged breathing echoing in the cavernous space. Utterly vulnerable. Perfectly presented.
"Fuck, look at that," Trent breathed, stepping back to admire the view. "Perfect fucking height." Ivan grinned, wiping his hands on his track pants, his own arousal clearly outlined.
"Ready to break him in?" Ivan asked, his voice thick.
Trent just nodded, his eyes fixed on Mike’s exposed hole. He approached, dropping to his knees directly beneath Mike. "Gonna make you so fucking wet, Daddy," he growled, his hot breath ghosting over Mike’s sensitive skin. He didn’t hesitate. His tongue, thick and rough, licked a broad, wet stripe from Mike’s taint straight up over his exposed hole, circling the tight rim. Mike gasped, arching his back as much as the suspension allowed, a low moan ripping from his throat. The sensation was electric, amplified a thousandfold by his helplessness. Trent’s tongue pressed in, probing, rimming him with deep, wet strokes, making the hole flutter and soften.
While Trent had been busy, Ivan had gotten naked. He stood in front of Mike, completely uninhibited, his body a canvas of masculine allure. His chest was broad and well-defined, covered in a soft mat of blond hair that trailed down to his navel. His torso was lean but muscular, hinting at the strength he possessed. His arms were equally well-toned, with visible veins tracing their length. Below, his cock hung heavy and thick, partially covered by a dark bush of hair. The head was a deep rose, contrasting with the lighter shaft. It was a clear invitation, a promise of raw, unadulterated pleasure
Locking eyes with Mike, Ivan murmured, "My turn," his voice a low rumble. He didn't tease. His mouth latched onto Mike’s hole with shocking suction, his tongue driving deep, stabbing inside in a way that was different from Trent’s broad strokes – sharper, more focused. Trent knelt beside him and watched, entranced, "That's my man, that's my pussy." Ivan sucked hard on the rim, pulling it into the wet heat of his mouth, then released it with a lewd pop before plunging back in. The dual assault – Trent’s deep rimming, Ivan’s sharp, sucking probes – was overwhelming. Mike cried out, his suspended body trembling, his hole pulsing open and shut, slickness dripping down his crack.
They traded off relentlessly. Trent would bury his face, eating Mike’s hole like a starving man, his nose pressing against Mike’s perineum, his tongue fucking deep inside. Then Ivan would take over, focusing on the engorged rim, sucking it into a puffy, swollen state, nipping his inner cheeks lightly with his teeth until Mike sobbed. The wet sounds of their mouths working his hole, slurping, sucking, licking, filled the garage, mingling with Mike’s desperate whimpers and gasps. His cock was a throbbing, leaking ache, trapped in the jockstrap. His muscles were complaining, but it only added to the intensity. He was so open, so wet, so ready.
Trent pulled back, his chin gleaming. He spat a thick glob of saliva directly onto Mike’s gaping hole. "Fuck, look at that pretty hole," he groaned, fumbling with his jeans. "Begging for cock." Ivan purred. Trent’s monster sprang free, already dripping pre-cum. "I'm going first," Trent stated, slicking his length with lube from a bottle Ivan tossed him. He positioned himself half squatting beneath Mike, the bulbous head of his cock pressing firmly against Mike’s slick, stretched entrance. He looked up, meeting Mike’s wide, desperate eyes. "Take it, Daddy. Take me deep."
With a low grunt, Trent pushed. The thick crown stretched Mike’s well-prepared hole wide, a familiar, deep burn that quickly morphed into intense, full pleasure as Trent sheathed himself to the hilt in one smooth, powerful thrust. Mike screamed, a ragged sound torn from his chest, his body convulsing against the restraints. "Fuuuuck! Trent! So deep! So fucking deep!" Ivan moved behind Mike, reaching around to caress his nipples as Trent took him.
Trent began to move, slow, deep pulls almost all the way out, then powerful drives back in, each thrust punching a guttural groan from Mike. He set a brutal, possessive rhythm. After a few strokes, he pulled almost completely out, Mike’s hole gaping obscenely around nothing. "Ivan! Now!" Trent commanded.
Ivan was already there, his own thick cock slick and ready. As Trent’s cock slid the last inch out, Ivan thrust forward, burying himself to the root in Mike’s vacated, spasming hole. Mike choked, the sensation of a different thickness, a different angle, slamming into his stretched channel overwhelming him. Trent began to suckle and nurse on Mike's tits, sending Mike into deeper and wilder bouts of ecstasy. Ivan’s rhythm was faster, harder, pistoning into him with sharp jabs. "Beautiful fuckin' hole!" Ivan gasped.
Then Trent was back, pushing Ivan’s cock out as he thrust deep again, reclaiming Mike’s depths. Out. Ivan in. Out. Trent in. The rhythm built, relentless, brutal. One cock withdrawing, the other plunging in almost simultaneously, denying Mike any respite, keeping his hole constantly filled, stretched, and fucked. The wet slap of flesh on flesh, the groan of the ropes under the shifting weight, Mike’s constant, high-pitched keening – it was a symphony of raw fucking. The pull-up bar creaked faintly with each powerful thrust. Sweat poured down Mike’s face, stinging his eyes. He was lost in the sensation, a vessel being used, his hole a slick, puffy gateway taking cock after cock. His own dick throbbed, untouched, a painful counterpoint to the brutal pleasure tearing through his ass.
"Fuck... close... Trent... so fucking close!" Ivan gasped, his thrusts becoming erratic, brutal slams. He pulled almost all the way out, his cock gleaming with lube and Mike’s juices. "Gonna fucking cum!" Instead of thrusting back in, he grabbed the base of his cock, aiming it down. Ropes of thick, white cum erupted, splattering hot and wet across the lower half of Trent’s dick, still buried to the balls in Mike’s clenching hole. "Take it! Fuck it into him!" Ivan groaned, pumping the last pulses onto Trent.
Trent didn’t hesitate. He pulled back slightly, then slammed his entire cum-slicked cock back into Mike’s depths, grinding deep, fucking Ivan’s load into him. The warm wetness inside, the friction of the cum, the sheer animal dominance of the act – it detonated Mike’s overloaded nerves. "TRENT!" he screamed, his back arching violently against the ropes. His untouched cock exploded, thick jets of cum shooting out, hitting his own chest and stomach, soaking the shredded t-shirt. The intense, rhythmic clenching of Mike’s hole around his cum-slicked cock, combined with the visceral sight of Mike coming untouched, was too much for Trent. With a roar that echoed off the garage walls, Trent slammed in one final time, grinding his pelvis against Mike’s ass as his own orgasm ripped through him. Thick spurts of hot cum joined Ivan’s, flooding Mike’s already stuffed hole, the excess oozing out around the base of Trent’s shaft, dripping down onto the mat below. Trent held himself deep, shuddering, his powerful frame trembling with the force of his release, buried inside Mike’s utterly conquered body.