Chapter 6: Inside Outside
The cool night air felt strange after the basement’s humid intensity. Mike shifted in the passenger seat of Trent’s Jeep, the silver plug a constant, grounding presence nestled deep within him. They’d eaten at a quiet diner – grilled chicken, steamed greens, water. Trent’s orders. "Fuel, not fun," he’d stated, watching Mike carefully. "Gotta keep that sweet hole clean and ready." Mike had flushed, the words sending a thrill through him even as he obeyed, the plug shifting subtly with every movement. The meal was functional, charged with unspoken anticipation. Trent drove now, not towards home, but aimlessly it seemed, the city lights fading behind them, replaced by the dense black of encroaching fields and looming trees. Crickets chirped a frantic chorus. The scent of damp earth and cut grass flooded the open windows.
After ten minutes of winding roads, Trent slowed, tires crunching gravel as he pulled onto a narrow, unlit lane barely wider than the Jeep. Tall pines stood sentinel on either side, blocking any moonlight, plunging them into near-total darkness. He killed the engine. The sudden silence was profound, broken only by the ticking of cooling metal and the distant hoot of an owl.
"Out," Trent commanded, his voice low and thick. He was already opening his door. Mike’s heart hammered against his ribs. He climbed out, the cool gravel sharp under his shoes. Before he could even register the surroundings, Trent was on him. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him towards the front of the Jeep. "Lay on the hood. Now." Not a request. Mike obeyed instantly, sitting up on the warm metal. Trent guided him back and raised Mike's legs into the air, shoving his sweatpants down enough to expose his ass to the cool night air. Mike gasped, the sudden vulnerability intense. "Legs apart. Lift your hips. Get that fat fucking pussy right out here." Trent’s voice was a guttural rasp. Mike pushed back, curling his spine, lifting his hips until his ass, snug in the white jockstrap he still wore under his sweats, was presented above the Jeep’s hood, the plug’s base a cool, hard circle against his skin.
Trent wasted no time. Mike heard the rustle of clothing, then felt strong, warm hands grip his hips. A thumb pressed against the jewelled base of the plug, twisting it slightly. Mike grunted as the cold metal sphere began its slow withdrawal. The stretch as its widest point passed his rim was sharp, delicious. Then it was out, held in Trent’s hand. Cool air kissed Mike’s wet, exposed hole.
"Look at that," Trent breathed, his voice awed and predatory. "Still gaping. Still hungry, even without it." Mike felt a slick finger trace the puffy rim, making him shudder. "Taste it, pussyboy." Trent passed the plug into Mike’s hand. The metal was cool, slick with lube, amongst other things. The unique, musky scent of his own ass filled Mike’s nostrils. His mouth watered. He brought it to his lips without hesitation, licking the length of it. His tongue swirled over the smooth surface, gathering the salty-slick residue. The taste was primal, intimate, deeply his. He moaned around the metal, sucking it clean, the flavour flooding his senses. "Fuck yes," Trent growled. "Suck your own fucking hole off that plug. Taste how good you are."
Mike did, sucking it greedily until it gleamed. He handed it back blindly, his face flushed. Trent held out a small plastic bag and Mike dropped it in. His hands were back on Mike’s hips, fingers plunging roughly into the slick, open hole presented before him. "FUCK!" Mike groaned, the sudden invasion stretching him, the cool night air replaced by the heat of Trent’s fingers fucking deep. "Yeah, that’s right," Trent snarled, frigging Mike’s ass with two, then three fingers, the squelching sounds obscenely loud in the quiet country night. "Feel it out here, pussyboy. Open air. It doesn't always have to be so hidden, so buried." The thought was terrifying, electric. Mike pushed back onto the thrusting fingers, lost in the violation and the exposure.
Trent suddenly stopped. He pulled his wet fingers free with a pop. Mike felt himself being yanked upright on to his feet. Trent’s face, eyes burning in the near-darkness, was inches from his. Before Mike could react, Trent’s mouth crashed onto his. This wasn’t a kiss. It was ownership. Need. Trent’s tongue thrust deep, probing, dominating, mimicking the relentless work he'd performed on Mike’s ass. He fucked Mike’s mouth with his tongue, hard and wet. And Mike tasted him. The unmistakable, musky tang of Trent, transferred from his lips and tongue. Trent wanted Mike to taste him. Not just the cum and the juices, but him. Moaning into the brutal kiss, Mike surrendered, letting Trent’s tongue claim him, the flavour a concrete sacrament.
Trent broke the kiss, panting. He stepped back half a pace, Mike suddenly noticing that Trent's cock is out and hard. It stood thick and glistening in the faint starlight, already leaking. "Watch me beat this fat cock, baby," he purred, his voice raw with need. One hand wrapped around the thick shaft, pulling at it with powerful, urgent strokes. Pre-cum beaded and dripped onto the gravel. Trent positioned Mike so he could access his ass whilst giving him a full show. His other hand plunged two fingers back into Mike’s open, squelching hole, pistoning in and out, delighting in his stretched width. "Feel that pussy," Trent groaned, his strokes on his cock relentless. "Feel how it sucks my fingers in. Feel how fucking wet it is." Mike looked back, mesmerized by the sight of Trent’s thick fingers disappearing into his own glistening, gaping hole, the rhythmic squelch filling the air. He knew what it looked like now, could recall the monitor from earlier. Trent was a frenzy of motion: fucking Mike’s ass with one hand, beating his own cock with the other, his breath coming in harsh gasps. "Gonna cum," Trent growled, a warning and a promise. "On your knees. Open wide. Now!"
Mike dropped instantly, his knees hitting the sharp gravel. This was new, but Mike wasn't going to start complaining. He tilted his head back, mouth open, tongue out. He stared up at Trent’s towering frame, the thick cock jerking violently in his fist. Trent’s eyes locked onto his. "Fuck yeah, take it!" With three final, savage pulls, Trent came. Thick, white ropes of cum shot from his cock, hitting Mike’s tongue, his lips, splattering his chin. The hot, salty taste flooded Mike’s mouth. He swallowed frantically, catching the spurts, his own cock jerking untouched in his sweatpants. Trent grunted, shuddering, the last pulses dripping onto Mike’s waiting tongue.
Before Mike could even register the last swallow, Trent hauled him back to his feet. He slammed his mouth against Mike’s again, tongue thrusting deep, licking the cum from Mike’s lips, mixing it with the lingering taste of Mike’s ass. It was a messy, possessive claim. Then Trent spun him back around, bending him roughly over the hood again. "Stay," he ordered, voice thick. Mike felt Trent’s cum-slick fingers plunge back into his hole, fucking the wetness deeper. Then Trent’s thumb pressed hard against his rim, spreading it wide. "Fuckhole open," Trent commanded. Mike bore down and pushed, feeling his hole gape. He felt the hot, thick ooze of Trent’s remaining cum being pushed directly into his open passage, fed deep inside him by Trent’s thumb. "Take my cum inside, pussyboy. Keep it warm." The sensation of being filled with Trent’s seed was overwhelming. Trent pulled his thumb free, grabbed the bagged plug, slicked it hastily with the mess around Mike’s hole, and slid it back home with one firm push. The cold metal sphere seated itself deep, plugging Trent’s cum inside him. Mike gasped, filled and stretched once more.
Trent yanked Mike’s sweatpants up, the rough fabric scraping his sensitive skin. "Get in." His voice was calmer now, the frenzy momentarily spent. Mike scrambled into the passenger seat, trembling, the plug a solid reminder, Trent’s cum a warm presence within him. The Jeep roared to life, headlights slicing the darkness as Trent swung them back towards the road.
Silence hung heavy for a few miles, the only sound the engine and Mike’s ragged breathing. He stared out the window, the taste of his own ass and Trent’s cum mingling on his tongue, the ache of his stretched hole a constant throb. Trent glanced over. "Alright?" His tone was casual now, almost conversational.
Mike nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. Yeah, Christ. That was... intense." He shifted, the plug shifting with him.
Trent chuckled, a low rumble. "Sometimes," he said, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, "I just gotta fucking take it. Get that release. Like a pressure valve. Can get a bit... dominant." He shot Mike a sideways look, gauging his reaction. "You good with that?"
Mike met his gaze. The memory of being bent over the hood, exposed, fucked open, tasting himself, swallowing Trent’s load, being filled... it wasn't just good. It was electric. Addictive. A fundamental shift in the axis of his world. "Good?" Mike echoed, a slow, shaky smile spreading across his face despite the lingering tremors. "Trent... I fucking love it." The words hung in the air, raw and true, sealing the pact as the Jeep sped through the night, carrying them back towards the house, the plug, and the promise of what came next.
The Jeep’s tires hummed against the asphalt, the darkness outside swallowing the road ahead. Inside, the air hung thick with the scent of Trent’s cum, Mike’s own musk, sweat, and damp earth. Mike shifted, the silver plug a cool, insistent presence deep inside him, holding Trent’s seed captive. His lips still tingled, tasting the mingled salt of Trent and himself. I fucking love it. The admission echoed in his skull, raw and undeniable. Then, Maria’s voice, light and teasing, sliced through the haze: "I wouldn't blame you if you did hook up with him." It wasn’t just permission; it felt like encouragement.
Mike swallowed, his throat dry. He stared straight ahead, the dashboard lights casting faint glows on Trent’s strong profile. "Trent," he started, his voice rough. "Back at the house... before you came down. Maria said something."
Trent glanced over, one eyebrow slightly raised. His hand rested casually on Mike’s thigh, fingers tapping rhythmically. "Yeah? What’d she say?"
Mike took a shaky breath. "She said... she wouldn't blame me if I hooked up with you." He forced himself to meet Trent’s gaze. "Said I was falling in love with you. And... I couldn't disagree." The words hung heavy, vulnerable. "But... fuck, Trent. We gotta tell her. Properly. When she gets back Sunday. This... us... it’s not fair otherwise."
Silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the engine’s drone. Trent’s fingers stopped tapping. He nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the road, thoughtful, calm. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice low and steady. "We do. Shoulda happened sooner, maybe." He squeezed Mike’s thigh gently. "And... Mike? It’s okay. Telling her." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "This ain't exactly my first rodeo with Maria finding out about...stuff."
Mike frowned. "What d'you mean?"
A wry smile touched Trent’s lips. "Remember I said finding the right guy wasn't easy? Well, six years ago, when I was eighteen... Maria walked in on me." He chuckled softly, without humor. "Sucking off one of her boyfriends at the time. In the laundry room."
Mike’s eyes widened. "Jesus Christ."
"Yeah," Trent nodded. "She blew her fucking top. But not at me. At him. Screamed about him taking advantage, corrupting her kid, all that shit." He sighed. "Once she calmed down, we talked. Really talked. She wasn't pissed about the sex itself. It was the lying. The sneaking around. Him being her guy, doing that with me behind her back." Trent’s hand slid higher on Mike’s thigh, possessive. "We hashed it out. She realized... hell, she discovered how fucking sexual I am. Always have been. That’s why she lets me be loud upstairs. Better I’m getting my rocks off safe at home, where she knows, than out god-knows-where with god-knows-who. Her words"
He glanced at Mike again, his expression earnest. "Look, Mike. I don’t want to take you from her. That ain't it. Never was. She loves you. You love her. That’s solid." His fingers brushed the waistband of Mike’s sweats, near the plug’s base. "I just... saw something in you. Felt it. That night in the hall, when you looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive? That was my opening." He paused. "I’d been looking... researching, yeah, watching porn, but also talking online. Chatting with straight dudes who’d crossed that line. Understanding why they did it, how it worked for them physically, mentally... the type of guy who might be open to it, deep down." His thumb rubbed circles over Mike’s hip bone. "You fit. Perfectly. But I needed that spark. That moment. The hall gave it to me."
Relief washed over Mike, warm and profound. The secrecy, the guilt about Maria – it loosened its grip. Trent wasn't some opportunistic predator; he was calculated, yes, but also honest in his own way, and Maria knew him. "Okay," Mike breathed, leaning his head back against the seat. "Okay. That... helps. A lot."
"Good," Trent murmured. He pulled the Jeep into their driveway, killing the engine. The sudden quiet felt charged. He turned fully towards Mike, his eyes dark pools in the dim light from the porch. "Feels better, yeah? Getting it out?"
"Yeah," Mike admitted, a weight lifting. "It does." He shifted, the plug shifting inside him, a reminder of the night’s intensity. "Sunday night. We tell her together."
"Together," Trent confirmed. His hand slid firmly over the front of Mike’s sweats, palming the bulge where Mike’s cock was trapped, half-hard again despite the exhaustion. He could feel the dampness of the jockstrap beneath, the outline of the plug’s base pressing against Trent’s palm through the fabric.
Trent squeezed, feeling the plug’s base beneath the damp cotton, Mike’s cock twitching in response. "So," Trent purred, a cheeky grin spreading across his face as he cut the engine, "you love me, you said?"
"Fuck off," Mike grunted, shifting again, embarrassment waring with excitement, the plug a solid anchor inside him. "But yes."
"I knew it." Trent chuckled, the sound low and satisfied as they climbed out into the cool night air of the driveway. "Come on. Basement's a bit... intense right now. Woods are fucking freezing." He gestured towards the sprawling backyard. "Let's find a happy medium."
He led Mike through the house to the expansive, glass-enclosed back porch. Overhead heaters hummed to life as Trent flipped a switch, bathing the space in warm, inviting light. Thick, waterproof cushions covered deep wicker chairs and a wide outdoor sofa. Trent immediately peeled off his t-shirt and sweatpants, dropping them carelessly onto the flagstone floor, his thick cock already half-hard again. He settled into the widest chair, the thick pads conforming to his muscular frame. "Gonna roll us some of that good shit, baby," he said, pulling a small tin and rolling papers from a hidden compartment in the chair’s side table.
Emboldened by Trent’s casual nudity and the lingering adrenaline from the country road, Mike hesitated only a second. He kicked off his shoes, shucked his sweatpants, and peeled his damp shirt over his head. He stood for a moment in just the white jockstrap, the soaked pouch clinging to his spent cock, the silver plug’s base a distinct circle against his ass. Trent watched, eyes dark, a slow smile playing on his lips as Mike dropped to his knees on the cool flagstone. Mike crawled forward, settling between Trent’s spread thighs. He leaned in, burying his nose against the thick base of Trent’s shaft, inhaling deeply the musky, intimate scent – sweat, pre-cum, the lingering tang of their encounter. He pressed soft kisses along the heavy vein running its length, nuzzling the coarse hair at its root, licking tentatively at the salty skin. Not sucking, just worshipping. Relishing the heat and the weight against his lips.
Trent sighed, a deep rumble of appreciation. He grabbed a plush cushion from another chair and tossed it onto the floorboards in front of him. "Here, big guy. Knees ain't got no give." Mike settled onto the cushion gratefully, the relief immediate. "You missed the big boy these last few days, eh?" Trent teased, his fingers deftly crumbling weed onto a paper.
Mike chuckled softly against Trent’s inner thigh, the vibration making Trent twitch. "Maybe," he murmured, continuing his slow exploration, tracing the ridge of Trent’s balls with the tip of his nose, breathing him in. He licked a thick stripe up the underside of the heavy cock, savoring the unique flavour – earthy, salty, purely Trent. The joint came together quickly in Trent’s skilled hands. He lit it, the tip flaring orange, the distinct aroma of skunky cannabis joining the humid air. He took a long drag, held it, then exhaled a plume of smoke towards the glass ceiling. He offered the joint down to Mike. "Hit."
Mike leaned back just enough to take the joint between his lips, inhaling deeply, the smoke filling his lungs, further relaxing him, intensifying the heady mix of scents and sensations. He exhaled slowly, then immediately bent back to Trent’s cock, taking the thick head into his mouth just for a second, swirling his tongue over the slit, tasting fresh pre-cum before pulling off. Back to nuzzling, kissing, inhaling. Trent alternated drags, feeding Mike the joint between his moments of worship. Mike’s focus remained entirely on Trent’s cock, a primal intimacy deepening between them. Trent leaned back deeper into the chair cushions, his body relaxing fully. He watched Mike, his expression possessive, satisfied. "Good boy," he murmured, taking a last drag and extinguishing it. Then, his voice dropped lower, rougher. "Alright, stepdaddy. Up."
Mike was on his feet immediately.
"Sit," Trent commanded, tapping his own mouth. "Right here. Time you rode something."
Mike’s heart hammered. Riding Trent’s face. The thought alone sent a fresh jolt of heat to his core, making the plug feel suddenly inadequate. He hesitated only a second – the weed, the intimacy, the raw need – it stripped away the last shreds of inhibition. Standing on slightly shaky legs, he climbed up on to the chair, a foot either side of Trent's thighs. Mike stood over Trent for a second, their eyes locked. Then Mike turned, presenting his back to Trent. He could feel Trent’s breath hot against his thighs. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself backwards, guided by Trent’s hands settling firmly on his ass cheeks. His ass hovered inches above Trent’s face. He felt the heat radiating upwards. Trent’s thumbs hooked into the sides of his fleshy mounds to fully expose Mike’s ass cheeks and the plug nestled between them. "Pull it out," Trent ordered. Mike's hand found the jewelled knob and gently pulled the plug from his ass. Mike felt the widest part stretch his rim anew, then the cool air hit his exposed hole. "Clean it" he heard Trent mumble as his mouth opened to receive any dripping fluids and he pulled Mike down firmly to sit on his braced hands.
Mike held his breath. He felt Trent’s hands tighten on his hips. Then came the first, hot, wet press of Trent’s tongue directly against his open hole. Not probing, just a firm, flat lick over the entire swollen, puffy mound. Mike moaned, low and guttural, dropping his head forward. Trent did it again, slower this time, savouring the texture he’d created. Then his tongue stiffened. He pressed the pointed tip firmly against Mike’s entrance. Mike instinctively bore down, pushing out, feeling the incredible sensation of Trent’s tongue breaching him. Not deep, just the tip, but it was a shock of pure, wet heat invading him. So different from the cold steel of the plug or the soft slickness of silicone. Warm and alive. Trent withdrew slightly, then pushed back in, fucking Mike’s hole shallowly with just the tip of his tongue.
"Oh God... Trent..." Mike panted, his hips rocking back minutely, seeking more. Trent adjusted his grip, pulling Mike’s cheeks apart wider. He blew a soft puff of cool air onto the wet entrance, making Mike gasp and clench involuntarily. Then his mouth covered Mike’s entire asshole. He sucked hard, pulling the swollen flesh between his lips, creating a vacuum that drew a desperate whimper from Mike. Trent pulled off with a wet pop, then immediately plunged his tongue deep.
This was different from the Jeep hood, different from the basement. Deeper, wetter, more intimate. Trent’s tongue speared inside him, exploring, fucking him with slow, deliberate thrusts. Mike could feel the roughness of it, the incredible pressure against his inner walls. He heard the obscene slurping sounds, loud in the enclosed porch. Trent moaned, the sound muffled against Mike’s flesh, vibrating deep inside him. Mike pushed back eagerly now, riding the rhythm of Trent’s tongue, lost in the sensation of being eaten out with such raw hunger. Trent alternated – long, deep thrusts, then broad, flat licks over the stretched pucker, then sucking hard again, drawing the sensitive flesh into his mouth. He fed Mike’s hole his own spit, sucked it back out, creating the slick, messy cycle Mike had come to need. Mike’s cock, trapped in the damp jockstrap, throbbed painfully, untouched. Sweat slicked his back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.
He was riding Trent’s face, completely impaled on that wicked tongue, owned in the humid air of their sanctuary. Trent’s hands held him fast, anchoring him as he devoured him, the low music a throbbing counterpoint to the wet, filthy sounds of possession. "That's it, pussyboy," Trent growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips slick with Mike’s wetness. "Ride daddy's tongue. Take it deep." He plunged back in, relentless, claiming every inch of warmth Mike offered. Mike could only moan, surrendering to the blissful violation, the plug forgotten, the world outside the glass ceasing to exist. Only this heat, this wetness, this tongue exploring the deepest part of him Trent had remade. Sunday seemed a lifetime away. Trent murmured, his breath hot against Mike's wet, stretched hole, "My pussy."