Chapter 8: Sling, Baby, Sling
The basement air hung thick and still, heavy with the skunky sweetness of the joint they’d just finished and the lingering musk of their sweat. The black leather sling, warm under the soft basement lighting, dominated the cleared space near the small bathroom door. Mike eyed it, the lace of his harness suddenly feeling flimsy against the sling’s industrial promise. Trent stubbed out the roach, the small ember fading in the dimness.
"Alright, big man," Trent murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the warm, comfortable space. He stood, stretching, the muscles in his back shifting like coiled rope. As Trent got up, Mike was able to appreciate what he was wearing. The same jockstrap as his white one, but in black. He looked immaculate. "Time to get acquainted with your new favourite piece of furniture." He approached Mike, his gaze appraising, heat simmering beneath the surface. Strong hands settled on Mike’s shoulders, guiding him backwards until his knees hit the sturdy leather edge of the sling. "Lean back. Easy."
Mike obeyed, lowering himself into the yielding cradle. The leather was cool but quickly warmed against his skin, especially the exposed skin of his ass cheeks. Trent knelt, his movements deliberate. He grasped Mike’s right ankle, lifting his leg with surprising care, guiding his foot into the padded stirrup attached to one side of the frame. He repeated the motion with the left leg. The stirrups held Mike’s legs wide apart, knees bent, lifting his hips slightly off the sling’s base. His ass was presented, utterly exposed, the black lace straps of the jock framing his puckered hole but offering no cover. The cool air brushed against his puffy rim, making it tighten instinctively. Trent adjusted the straps, checking the tension, ensuring Mike’s hips were lifted just enough, his hole perfectly positioned. His rough knuckles brushed the sensitive inner skin of Mike’s thighs.
"Comfortable?" Trent asked, his eyes fixed on the display before him.
"Yeah," Mike breathed, feeling suspended, vulnerable, yet strangely secure in the sling’s embrace. "Feels… solid."
"Good." Trent settled himself on a low stool Mike hadn’t noticed before, positioned perfectly between Mike’s spread legs. He leaned in, close enough Mike could feel his warm breath ghosting over his balls and the swollen flesh of his hole. "Gonna start slow, Mikey," he murmured, his voice dropping to a thick whisper. "Real slow." He didn't use his hands yet. Just his mouth. His tongue, broad and wet, swept upwards in one long, flat stroke, starting just above Mike's tailbone, gliding over the very centre of his puffy hole, and ending with a gentle press against his perineum, skimming the underside of his balls.
Mike gasped, arching slightly off the leather. The sensation was immediate, electric. Not the deep probing he had been getting used to, but a slow, luxurious exploration. Trent repeated the motion, slower still. His tongue felt like hot velvet, tracing the engorged rim, circling it with deliberate, maddening slowness. He teased the outer edges, licking around the puffy folds, occasionally dipping the very tip just inside the rim, enough to make Mike’s hole flutter and clench around nothing. The wetness was immediate, Trent’s saliva mixing with the natural slickness Mike’s transformed hole now seemed to produce. Trent lapped it up, humming softly, the vibration resonating through Mike’s core.
"Fuck, Trent…" Mike groaned, his head falling back against the leather, the slow, relentless teasing already coiling tension deep in his belly.
"Just getting it wet for you, pussyboy," Trent murmured, his breath hot against the slick skin. "Making it nice and puffy." He changed angle slightly, focusing on one side of the rim, sucking gently at the swollen flesh, pulling it into his mouth, letting it go with a soft pop. Then the other side. He alternated, suckling, kneading the engorged tissue with lips and tongue, turning the already puffy hole into a hot, throbbing flower of sensation. The squelching sound started soft, just the wet slide of Trent’s tongue, the soft pop as he released a mouthful of swollen flesh.
Trent leaned back, bringing his hands to the edge of the sling’s bed, Mike’s hips. He gave a small push. The sling swayed gently. Mike felt a moment of weightlessness. Then Trent leaned in again, letting the returning momentum bring Mike’s ass swinging back onto his waiting face. His mouth latched onto Mike’s hole just as it made contact. Schlup. A wet, sucking kiss directly on his rim. Trent pulled back slightly as the sling began its outward swing, his tongue dragging out. He pushed again, harder this time. Mike’s ass swung away, then snapped back. Trent met it perfectly, burying his face deeper this time, his tongue stabbing in a fraction deeper as the momentum drove Mike onto him.
"Yeah," Trent growled, his voice muffled, pushing the sling rhythmically now. "Ride it. Fuck your man's face." The squelching intensified, becoming a wet, rhythmic slap-schlup-slap-schlup as Mike’s ass bounced off Trent’s mouth and tongue with each swing. Trent used the momentum, his tongue plunging deeper on the inward swing, dragging out on the outward, creating a frantic cycle of penetration and suction. He sucked hard, pulling Mike’s rim into his mouth, then pushed it out, feeding it with spit, sucking it back in, the obscene wetness building, dripping down Mike’s crack onto the towel below. Mike cried out, lost in the motion, the relentless wet friction against his most sensitive spot. The sling turned the act into something primal, a mechanical violation that amplified every touch.
Amidst the dizzying sensation, a separate awareness pierced the haze. His cock, trapped in the lace pouch, was rock hard. Uncomfortably hard. Feeling bigger than he was used to. It felt thicker, heavier, straining against the delicate straps in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The pressure was immense.
Trent pulled back slightly, breathing hard, his chin glistening. He glanced over at the tented lace, a slow, knowing smirk spreading across his face. "See that, Mikey?" he rasped, giving the sling another push to keep Mike swaying gently. "That blue chew does wonders. That dick’s filling out real nice." His eyes flickered back up, locking onto Mike’s glazed expression. "But that's not the only thing getting big and puffy, is it?" He reached down, not touching Mike’s cock, but running a single, slick fingertip around the outer edge of Mike’s gaping, spit-slicked hole. The touch sent another shockwave through him. Mike focused, past the bliss, past the ache in his cock.
Trent was right. The sensitivity there was off the charts. He could feel every ridge, every fold of his own rim, swollen and hyper-aware. The sense of engorgement was deeper, more pervasive than just the surface puffiness Trent created with his mouth. It felt like the tissue itself was thickening, becoming heavier, more responsive. A slow, permanent transformation settling in. He sighed, a long, shaky exhalation, caught between overwhelming contentment at the pleasure and a dazed sense of surrender to the physical changes taking hold. "Fuck… it feels…"
"Full?" Trent supplied, his finger circling again, making Mike gasp. "Good. Means it’s hungry." He leaned back in, but paused, his gaze sharp. "Hands above your head, Mike. Hold the frame." Mike fumbled, gripping the cold steel above him. "Don't you fucking touch those titties," Trent warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr as his eyes flicked to Mike’s lace-covered chest, his nipples visibly peaked beneath the fabric. "Not even a brush. You stroke those needy nips or squeeze that fat dick, you'll blow your load like a fucking teenager. And we are not done." The threat, the promise, was electric. "Let me work. Sink back. Take it."
Mike obeyed, forcing his hands to stay locked on the frame, consciously relaxing his body back into the sling’s support. He closed his eyes, surrendering completely. Trent dove back in with renewed focus. The squelching symphony resumed, louder, wetter, even more relentless. He used the sling’s swing ruthlessly, meeting Mike’s descent with deep, plunging tongue thrusts, sucking voraciously on the outward pull. He alternated between broad, flattening licks that coated the entire area and sharp, pointed jabs that sought the deepest spots inside. Mike moaned continuously, a stream of broken sounds, his hips rocking minutely to meet each thrust, his cock a throbbing, ignored monument trapped in lace. The intensity built and built, a pressure cooker of sensation centred entirely on his violated, adored hole. Trent’s fingers joined the fray, not penetrating yet, but rubbing firmly around the rim, spreading the copious wetness, occasionally dipping in just past the first knuckle alongside his tongue, stretching the already puffy entrance further. Mike writhed, overwhelmed, sweat dripping down his temples, his knuckles white on the frame. He was balancing on a knife-edge, held back only by Trent’s command and his own white-knuckled grip on the steel.
Finally, Trent pulled back, breathing heavily. Mike’s hole gaped, glistening, pulsing visibly in the dim light. "Need a breather, pussyboy?" Trent asked, standing and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You look fucked, in all the right ways, but I don't want to break you." He grabbed a towel, dampened it at the utility sink, and gently wiped Mike’s thighs and ass, the cool cloth a shocking contrast. "Yeah, you are wrecked, man. Hold tight." He walked over to his small stash box on a nearby shelf. Mike sagged in the sling, trembling, his body humming like a live wire. Every nerve ending screamed. He watched, dazed, as Trent deftly rolled another fat joint.
Trent left the joint on the table and helped Mike out of the swing, giving him some much needed support on his shaky legs. Trent led him to the couch and they both sat down, Trent lighting the joint. Mike didn't want to be there on the couch next to him. He slid down and half curled between Trent's legs, nuzzling at his cock, while Trent fed him puffs from the joint. His new favourite place.
"Whoa, easy tiger," Trent chuckled, a hand coming down to ruffle Mike’s hair, not pushing him away, but not encouraging further exploration either. His voice was rough but held a note of warning. "Careful. We're both on the blue. I’m just as fucking sensitive as you are right now, and this dick’s feeling fat." He gently guided Mike’s head back a fraction. "Just smoke. Enjoy the view." He held the joint of for Mike to draw on.
Mike sat back on his heels, exhaling the drag, his eyes never leaving the straining pouch. They smoked in silence, the air thickening again. Trent watched Mike with dark, assessing eyes. When the joint was down to the roach, Trent took it and dropped the remnant into the ashtray. He reached over to the side table and pulled out a small, dark glass bottle with a white cap. Poppers. He unscrewed the cap, the sharp, chemical smell cutting through the weed haze instantly. He held it under Mike’s nose. "Deep breath, Mikey. Time to go deep."
Mike inhaled sharply. The rush was instant and dizzying – a hot wave surging through his head, loosening his muscles, amplifying every sensation tenfold. The basement swam. Colours seemed brighter, sounds sharper. His hole throbbed with a sudden, desperate emptiness. Trent capped the bottle, replaced it, and pulled Mike to his feet. "Back in the saddle," he commanded, his voice sounding both distant and hyper-clear. Mike stumbled slightly as Trent guided his legs back into the stirrups, his body pliant under the poppers’ influence.
Trent didn't return to the stool. He stood directly before the sling, his hands gripping Mike’s hips. He leaned in, and this time, there was no slow tease. His tongue stabbed deep into Mike’s hole, a hard, claiming thrust. Mike cried out, the poppers and Viagra making the penetration feel wider, more intense. Trent fucked him with his tongue, rapid, piston-like jabs, burying it to the root with each thrust. The wet squelching returned, louder, more obscene than ever. Mike writhed, pinned by the stirrups and Trent’s grip, completely at the mercy of the invading muscle. Then Trent’s fingers joined. One thick finger, slick with spit and Mike’s own wetness, pushed in alongside the tongue. The stretch was immediate, incredible. Trent curled the finger, rubbing firmly against Mike’s prostate. Stars exploded behind Mike’s eyelids. He screamed, a ragged, broken sound. Trent added a second finger, scissoring them slightly, stretching the impossibly sensitive, engorged ring. The poppers made it feel like his nerves were on fire, every touch magnified into overwhelming ecstasy. He was panting, drooling, lost in a haze of pure, unadulterated hedonism. The sling creaked with his desperate movements.
He heard Trent’s voice, distorted through the fog and the wet sounds, a low rumble vibrating against his flesh. "...so fucking ready for this cunt... opened up beautiful... gonna take it all..."
Mike smiled dazedly, a slack, blissful expression. Ready. The word echoed. He was ready. More than ready. He wanted it. Needed it. The stretching, the fullness, the burn... He pushed his hips down, trying to impale himself deeper on the tongue and fingers.
Then he felt it.
A different pressure. Hotter. Blunter. Immense. It wasn't fingers anymore. It wasn’t a tongue. Trent had pulled his fingers free. His mouth was gone. Mike blinked, trying to focus through the popper haze. Trent stood before him, his expression fierce, primal. He’d freed his cock from the jockstrap. It stood thick and heavy, glistening with lube Mike hadn’t even seen him apply, the purple head swollen, veins standing proud. Trent gripped the base with one hand, guiding himself with the other.
The broad, hot crown pressed firmly against Mike’s spit-slicked, stretched, and throbbing hole. It wasn't pushing yet. Just sitting there. A claiming. A promise. The sheer size of it, pressed against his entrance, sent a shockwave of pure, terrifying anticipation through Mike. His hole fluttered wildly against it, trying to suck it in. The poppers pulsed, making the moment stretch, the pressure immense and undeniable.
Trent’s cock head, a heated brand, pushed at the rim of his hole. The blunt pressure intensified, a relentless, living heat that demanded entry. Mike held his breath, muscles quivering, his hole fluttering wildly around the intrusion. Trent paused, his own breath coming in rough rasps, knuckles white where he gripped the base of his cock. "Breathe out, Mikey," he commanded, voice strained. "Push out." Mike obeyed, exhaling shakily, consciously relaxing the clenched ring of muscle. He felt the impossible stretch begin, a slow, burning invasion as the crown breached him.
"Oh fuck," Mike gasped, head falling back against the sling leather. The stretch was profound, unlike the tongue or fingers, a solid, unyielding thickness spreading him wide. Trent groaned, a deep, primal sound vibrating in the basement air. "That's it… take that fucking head… your cunt’s swallowing it…" He didn't thrust. He applied constant, steady pressure, letting Mike’s body slowly, inexorably accommodate him. Millimeter by agonizing, exquisite millimeter, the thick glans sank deeper into the slick, engorged channel. Mike felt every ridge, every vein imprinting itself on his hypersensitive inner walls. The poppers pulsed in his skull, amplifying the sensation into overwhelming fullness without sharp pain, a deep, demanding pressure that radiated through his pelvis.
Trent finally stilled, buried just past the head. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his chest heaving. Mike could feel the thick shaft throbbing inside him, a hot brand stretching his deepest places. "Fuck, Trent… it’s… huge…" Mike panted, writhing minutely, trying to adjust to the sheer presence. Trent’s large hands smoothed over Mike’s trembling thighs, his touch surprisingly gentle. "S’alright, big man," he murmured, leaning forward slightly, resting his forehead against Mike’s knee. "Just… fuck… just hold there. Feeling you… Christ, you’re tight even like this…" His voice was thick with wonder, a raw vulnerability beneath the dominance. This was new ground for him too.
Slowly, Trent began to move the sling. Not thrusting, but rocking. Tiny, shallow motions, pulling back just enough to let the thick ridge of his cockhead drag against Mike’s inner walls, then pressing forward again to nestle deep. The friction was intense, focused on that stretched rim and the sensitive nerves just inside. Mike moaned, a low, continuous sound. The sling creaked softly with their minute movements. Trent’s eyes were locked on where they joined, watching his thick shaft disappear into the swollen, glistening flesh. "Look at that," he breathed, awed. "Look how your fucking pussy grips me…"
He pulled back a fraction more, then pushed in again, sinking a little deeper this time. The stretch intensified, a deep, visceral burn that morphed instantly into shocking pleasure as the broad head nudged firmly against Mike’s prostate. "Oh GOD!" Mike arched violently, a strangled cry tearing from his throat. Stars exploded behind his eyelids. Trent froze. "There?" he growled, his voice rough with excitement. "That the spot?" He deliberately angled his hips and pressed again. Another electric jolt seared through Mike, making his cock jump painfully in its lace confinement. "Trent! Fuck! Yes!"
Emboldened, Trent began a slow, deliberate rhythm. Short, deep strokes, each one dragging his thick cockhead over that swollen gland. Each inward push stretched Mike gloriously; each withdrawal made his hole cling desperately. The wet, slick sounds filled the basement – a low, rhythmic squelch as Trent worked himself deeper millimeter by millimeter. Mike was lost, adrift on the sensations: the overwhelming stretch, the shocking pleasure blooming from his core, the sheer intimacy of Trent’s intense focus, the heavy scent of sex and sweat. He surrendered completely, letting the sling hold him, letting Trent possess him. Trent’s breathing grew harsher, his strokes gaining a fraction more purpose, sinking deeper with each slow pump. "Fucking made for this… your cunt… taking it so good…" he gritted out, his control fraying.
Trent was buried to the hilt now, his balls pressed tight against Mike’s ass. He paused, fully sheathed, both of them trembling. The feeling of utter fullness was beyond anything Mike had imagined. Trent leaned forward over Mike, his sweat dripping onto Mike's chest. One large hand drifted upwards, fingers tracing the edge of the black lace harness. He found the peak of Mike’s left nipple, hard as a pebble beneath the delicate fabric. He circled it slowly with his thumb, the lace adding a delicious friction. Mike whimpered, the dual assault on his prostate and nipple pushing him towards the edge he’d been teetering on for hours.
"These fucking tits," Trent groaned, his voice thick with lust. He pinched the lace-covered nub firmly, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. He did the same to the other nipple. The sharp, sweet pain-pleasure tore through Mike’s restraint. "Touchin' these got you this far, didn't it?" Trent rasped, pinching harder. "Bet you dream about someone suckin' on 'em…" He lowered his head, his hot breath washing over the lace. He didn’t take the nipple in his mouth; he sucked hard on the lace covering it, pulling the stiff peak into the wet heat.
The combined sensations – the deep, thick fullness splitting him open, the rough suction on his sensitive nipples – detonated Mike’s climax. It wasn't a violent eruption, but a deep, shuddering release. His cock, trapped in its lace pouch, didn't spurt. It oozed, thick ropes of cum pulsing slowly, steadily, soaking the lace, hot and heavy against his skin. Simultaneously, his asshole convulsed around Trent’s buried shaft, milking it in rhythmic, clutching spasms. A gush of creamy fluid, Mike’s own slick mixed with Trent’s pre-cum, seeped out around the thick cock impaling him, dripping onto the towel beneath. "Trent! I'm… ahhh… cumming…" Mike gasped, his body locked in ecstasy.
Feeling Mike’s hole clamp down like a hot, wet fist, feeling the sudden flood of slick warmth around his cock, and seeing the helpless bliss on Mike’s face shattered Trent’s control. "FUCK! MIKEY!" he roared, his hips slamming forward instinctively. His cock pulsed violently, buried deep, unloading thick jets of cum directly into Mike’s spasming channel. He thrust erratically, shuddering, his release triggered by Mike’s convulsive grip and the sight of his own seed mixing with Mike’s fluids leaking from the stretched hole. He collapsed forward over Mike, his weight pressing Mike deeper into the sling, his face buried in Mike’s neck, teeth grazing skin as he groaned through the final pulses. They were both slick with sweat, trembling, filled with the aftershocks.
Trent didn't pull out. He lay draped over Mike for long minutes, both breathing raggedly, hearts hammering against each other. Slowly, the intensity faded, replaced by a deep, liquid warmth. Trent lifted his head, looking down at Mike with heavy-lidded eyes. He kissed him, messy and deep, tasting sweat and shared exertion. He shifted his hips minutely. The thick cock still plugging Mike’s hole was softening, but still substantial. Trent began to move again, a slow, shallow rock, almost lazy, the friction now a gentle thrum rather than a demanding burn. "Still feel good?" he murmured against Mike’s lips.
"Yeah," Mike breathed, surprised to feel his cock, sticky and spent moments ago, twitch back to life within its soaked lace prison. The Viagra's persistence, the lingering poppers, and the sheer intimacy of Trent's slow, possessive movements rekindled the flame. He felt Trent’s cock respond too, thickening again inside him as the slow grind continued. "Fuck, Trent… it’s…"
"Getting hard again?" Trent finished, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. He pushed himself up slightly, taking more of his weight on his arms, and began a deliberate, rolling rhythm. Not fast, but harder now, deeper thrusts that slid his thickening shaft along Mike’s sensitized walls, bumping firmly against his prostate with every stroke. "Knew you were a greedy slut," he growled, but the tone was affectionate. "Can't get enough of this cock up your cunt." The sling creaked rhythmically.
The second build was slower, deeper, less frantic than the first. It was a mounting pressure born of renewed connection and the body’s stubborn capacity for pleasure. Trent’s thrusts grew more powerful, his hips snapping with increasing force, driving his fully hard cock deep into Mike’s well-used hole. Mike met each thrust, his own renewed hardness straining against the lace. "Harder… fuck me harder!" Mike begged, his voice raw.
Trent obliged. He slammed in, burying himself to the hilt with each powerful stroke. The sound of flesh hitting flesh joined the wet squelch of Mike’s loose, cum-filled hole. Trent’s hand slipped down, fingers digging into the lace pouch, roughly gripping Mike’s thick, leaking cock, squeezing in time with his thrusts. "Gonna cum again, pussyboy?" he demanded. "Gonna spray that filthy load?"
The dual stimulation – the deep, hard fucking and the crude hand-job – pushed Mike over instantly. "YES! TRENT!" His body arched violently. This time, his orgasm erupted. Thick, voluminous spurts of cum shot from his cock, splattering over Trent’s hand, his own stomach, the black lace harness. The force of it, the sheer volume, was shocking. Feeling Mike’s hole clamp down again in a fresh, powerful orgasm, seeing the massive load erupt, sent Trent hurtling over the edge a second time. "UNNH! FUCKING SLUT!" he bellowed, his hips pistoning erratically as he emptied another torrent deep into Mike’s depths. He collapsed forward onto Mike, crushing him into the leather, both of them gasping, utterly spent.
They lay fused together in the sling, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and cum-smeared skin. Trent’s softening cock slipped out with a wet, sucking sound, followed by a thick trickle of their mixed fluids leaking from Mike’s gaping hole onto the towel below. Neither moved for long, heavy minutes. The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the basement. Mike felt boneless, utterly drained yet saturated with a profound, buzzing peace.
Trent stirred first, groaning softly as he pushed himself up. He looked down at Mike, then at the creamy mess glistening on Mike’s inner thighs and dripping from his well-used hole. A look of primal hunger crossed his face. "Christ, look at the fucking mess," he muttered, but his voice held awe. Almost involuntarily, he slid off the sling and knelt between Mike’s still-spread legs. He didn't hesitate. He buried his face directly into Mike’s crotch.
His tongue swept upwards in a broad, greedy stroke, lapping up the ooze leaking from Mike’s stretched hole, gathering the mixed cum and slick that coated his perineum and balls. He sucked hungrily at the swollen, puffy rim, slurping the fluids directly from the source. "Fucking taste…" he mumbled, his mouth full. He licked thoroughly, cleaning Mike with rough, possessive swipes of his tongue, devouring their combined essence. He moved lower, licking the streaks of Mike’s thick cum off his stomach, sucking it from the lace of the harness, his tongue swirling over Mike’s softening cockhead to gather every drop.
Trent pushed himself up, kneeling over Mike. His mouth was wet, glistening. He leaned down and kissed Mike hard, thrusting his tongue deep, forcing Mike to taste their mingled cum, the salt of sweat, the earthy tang of his own ass. It was filthy, intimate, claiming. Mike moaned into the kiss, delighting in the depravity, a strange thrill running through him at the violation. Trent broke the kiss, breathing heavily, then immediately dove back down, burying his face between Mike’s cheeks again, lapping fervently at his leaking hole like a man starved, moaning as he fed. He repeated the cycle: licking the hole clean, then rising to kiss Mike deeply, sharing the taste, before plunging back down for more. Twice more he worshipped the source, his obsession with Mike's transformed, messy hole undeniable.
Finally sated, Trent pushed himself upright. Mike was limp, barely conscious. With surprising gentleness considering his own exhaustion, Trent released Mike’s ankles from the stirrups. He scooped Mike up from the sling, cradling his lax form against his chest. Mike’s head lolled against Trent’s shoulder. Trent carried him the few steps to the worn sofa against the basement wall. He laid Mike down carefully on the cushions, then grabbed the blanket thrown over the back. He draped it over both of them as he stretched out beside Mike.
Trent pulled Mike close, spooning him, his larger body enveloping Mike’s. One arm wrapped possessively around Mike’s waist. The other hand drifted up, fingers lightly tracing the lace pattern over Mike’s heart. Mike sighed, a deep, contented sound, already sinking into the void of utter exhaustion. The last thing he registered was the solid warmth at his back, the rhythmic thud of Trent’s heartbeat against his spine, and the lingering, primal scent of sex and sweat and Trent enveloping him. Darkness claimed them both within seconds.