Chapter 3: The tables finale
Marcus made his hand into the swan head shape. With a quick thrust Marcus pushed his entire hand into John's loose ass with one fluid motion. John screamed with pleasure and the sudden fullness and surprise by Marcus. Pausing for a moment, Marcus adjusted his fingers inside John, curling them slowly into a tight, unyielding fist. John’s scream dissolved into a ragged, broken moan, his body shuddering violently against the massage table’s leather. The sheer, impossible intrusion forced the air from his lungs, replaced by a deep, visceral groan that scraped his throat raw. Every nerve ending screamed, overwhelmed by the brutal stretch, the deep ache, the shocking heat radiating from Marcus’s knuckles buried inside him. "Fuck... Marcus... Christ!" John panted, forehead pressed hard into the cool leather, knuckles white where they gripped the table’s edge. His entire world narrowed to the furnace in his ass, the thick wrist pressed against his stretched rim. "Feels... feels like you're tearing me in half..."
"Shut up and take it," Marcus growled, his voice a low rumble of pure dominance. He didn't move his fist, letting the weight of it, the solid reality of his hand crammed deep inside John, settle. His free hand traced the curve of John's trembling flank, a possessive caress over sweat-slicked skin. "Look at you. Look how fucking greedy your hole is. Sucking my hand right down past the wrist like a starving bitch." He emphasized his words with a subtle rotation of his fist, grinding his knuckles against John’s inner walls. John cried out again, a high-pitched sound that cracked midway, his hips jerking involuntarily. The friction was excruciating, a deep, grinding burn, yet beneath it pulsed a terrifying current of raw, forbidden pleasure. His cock, trapped between his belly and the table, throbbed painfully hard, leaking profusely onto the leather.
"You love it," Marcus stated flatly, watching the ripple of muscles across John’s back, the desperate clench and spasm around his wrist. "Can feel you trying to milk me already, you filthy slut. Bet you dreamt about this, didn’t you? Dreamt about some big black fist rearranging your guts?" He leaned his weight forward slightly, increasing the pressure. John whimpered, a desperate, needy sound that wasn’t denial. "Tell me," Marcus commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me you fucking love it." "I... I..." John gasped, struggling to form words against the sensory onslaught. The pressure was immense, a constant, dominating presence deep within him. "It’s... so... full... Marcus. God, so fucking full." It wasn’t exactly the confession Marcus demanded, but the ragged admission, the sheer helplessness in John’s voice, was confirmation enough.
Marcus chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. He began to move. Not thrusting yet, but slowly, deliberately rotating his buried fist. It was a grinding, deliberate motion, massaging John’s insides with brutal pressure. Each tiny shift sent shockwaves through John’s body, making his legs tremble uncontrollably. "Feel that? Feel how deep I am in you? Half way up my arm now in' this hole." His other hand slid down, rough fingers wrapping around John’s neglected cock. The sudden, tight friction made John arch his back, a strangled cry escaping him. "Christ, you’re leakin’ like a faucet man. What did you need? Needed someone other than Jane to truly fuck you open?" John could only grunt, his words lost in a haze of pain-pleasure. Marcus’s grip on his cock was punishing, the strokes rough and demanding, perfectly synced with the relentless grinding inside him. The dual assault was overwhelming, dragging him towards the edge with terrifying speed. He could feel the telltale tightening in his balls, the desperate coiling in his gut. "Marcus... I’m... gonna..."
"Not yet," Marcus snarled, abruptly releasing John’s cock and flattening his palm hard against John’s lower back, pinning him down. He stopped the rotation of his fist, holding it utterly still, a solid anchor deep inside. John groaned in frustration, the peak snatched away, leaving him trembling on the precipice, achingly hard and impossibly filled. "Patience. We’re just gettin’ started." Marcus leaned close, his breath hot on John’s ear, his voice dripping with dark promise.
Marcus withdrew his fist with a slick, obscene pop, leaving John’s asshole gaping wide and throbbing. The sudden emptiness was almost as shocking as the intrusion had been, a hollow void where overwhelming pressure had been. John gasped, his body shuddering, his hole clenching desperately around nothing, slick with lube and sweat. He felt raw, stretched impossibly open, yet buzzing with an electric current of need. "Look at that fucking hole," Marcus rumbled, running a thick finger around the stretched, glistening rim. His touch was possessive, almost clinical, tracing the swollen edges. "Begging for more already. Can't decide if it wants my cock or my fist back, can it?" He chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated through the quiet room. His own massive cock, thick and deep purple at the tip, stood rigid against his stomach, dripping pre-cum onto the leather below John.
John pushed back instinctively, his ass seeking contact, a low whine escaping his lips. "Please, Marcus... fist me," he rasped, his voice hoarse, knuckling white where he clutched the table edge. Marcus didn't hesitate. A fresh flood of thick, clear lubricant cascaded over John’s gaping entrance and Marcus’s own thick wrist before he aligned the broad heel of his palm directly against the swollen, glistening ring. He pushed. Not slowly this time. He slammed his fist back inside John’s ass with one brutal, powerful thrust. John’s body jackknifed violently, a strangled scream tearing from his throat, echoing off the sterile walls. The leather beneath him squeaked as his hips lifted entirely off the table from the force. "FUCK! MARCUS! GOD!" John bellowed, his vision spotting, the brutal invasion overwhelming every sense. His hole burned, stretched beyond anything he thought possible, the thick wrist grinding deep, pulsing inside him like a second heart. Marcus leaned his full weight onto the buried fist, feeling the incredible heat and tight spasm around his arm.
"Yeah, scream for me, you greedy pig hole," Marcus growled, his own breath ragged with exertion and lust. He began to move. Short, brutal pistons of his arm, driving his fist in and out of John’s ravaged ass. Each inward slam forced a choked gasp or a high-pitched whine from John, each outward pull made his hole flutter desperately around the thick knuckles and wrist, sucking it back in. The rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick of lube and stretched flesh filled the room, punctuated by John’s ragged sobs and Marcus’s guttural grunts. Sweat poured off Marcus’s torso, dripping onto John’s trembling back. John’s own cock, trapped and painfully hard, throbbed against the leather, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum. Marcus watched the desperate twitch of John’s neglected dick, a dark smirk twisting his lips. "Still hard as a fucking rock while I wreck this ass?" he grunted, his voice thick with exertion and lust.
He kept pistoning his fist, the brutal in-and-out motion a relentless assault on John’s stretched, glistening hole. Each withdrawal made the swollen ring gape obscenely before sucking his knuckles back in with a wet schlorp. John’s breath hitched on every inward drive, a choked gasp escaping his gritted teeth; his body was a taut bowstring trembling under Marcus’s dominance.
"Fuck... Marcus... can't... it's too much..." John rasped, desperation cracking his voice, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the slippery leather. The deep, grinding pressure inside his guts was overwhelming, a constant ache edged with terrifying flashes of pleasure that made his balls tighten unbearably. Marcus ignored the plea, his focus absolute. With his free hand slicked in the copious lube pooling around John’s ass, he pressed two thick fingers firmly against the stretched, quivering rim already stretched taut around his wrist. He didn’t ask. He didn’t warn.
He simply shoved the two fingers in alongside his fist.
John’s entire body convulsed violently as if electrocuted, his scream ripping through the room, raw and primal. His back arched impossibly, muscles straining against the new, impossible invasion. The sheer, shocking fullness was beyond anything he’d imagined – a brutal, burning stretch that felt like his insides were being forcibly rearranged around the massive intrusion of fist and fingers. "JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST! MARCUS! URRRRGGGH, YESSSS!"
Marcus leaned heavily onto the newly compounded invasion, grinding the mass of knuckles and fingers deep inside John’s violated channel. He felt the intense, clenching spasm, the desperate flutter of John’s hole trying and failing to accommodate the impossible girth. Sweat dripping from his brow onto John’s heaving back. "Feels like home, don't it? Fist and fingers buried balls-deep in your greedy guts."
He started moving again, a slower, grinding rotation now, the combined thickness of his hand and fingers creating an agonizing, deep friction. John sobbed, ragged, broken sounds torn from his throat with each grinding pass inside him. His cock twitched madly against the table, untouched yet leaking profusely, a traitorous response to the brutal violation. "Can't... breathe... oh god... oh fuck... it's... tearing..." he gasped, tears streaking down his cheeks, mixing with sweat. "Good," Marcus hissed, his own breath coming in harsh gasps, mesmerized by the sight of John’s ass stretched obscenely wide around his embedded arm. He twisted his wrist slightly, the knuckles scraping sensitive inner walls, eliciting another choked shriek. "Look at this fuckin' wrecked hole, beggin' for more." He pressed down harder, feeling the incredible heat and tightness threatening to crush his hand even as it yielded. "Bet Jane never opened you up like this, huh? Bet she never made you feel this fucking owned." John wondered what Jane had said to Marcus, how did he know that Jane fisted and used toys on John regularly? How did Marcus know how far to push him and when to stop? What had she said, he felt very venerable but so turned on at the same time. He made a mental note to tell her how much he loved her, the filthy bitch!
Marcus suddenly shifted his weight, driving the monstrous intrusion even deeper in one brutal shove. John’s scream dissolved into a high-pitched whine, his body rigid, every muscle locked in agonized ecstasy. Marcus felt the telltale fluttering deep inside around his knuckles – John’s prostate being relentlessly massaged by the grinding bulk invading him. "There it is," Marcus grunted triumphantly. "That sweet spot beggin' to make you blow. Gonna cum just from takin' my fist and fingers like a filthy whore, ain't ya?" John could only nod frantically, his vision blurring, his cock pulsing violently against the cool leather as Marcus ruthlessly twisted the embedded mass inside him.
John’s frantic nod dissolved into helpless, guttural moans as Marcus’s embedded knuckles scraped over that raw, electric nerve cluster deep inside him. John was slumped, face down drooling from both ends, his body felt like a live wire, crackling under the brutal ownership of Marcus’s fist and fingers grinding relentlessly within his core. “Fuuuuck!” The curse ripped out, sharp and ragged, swallowed almost immediately by another deep groan as Marcus twisted his wrist again, the massive intrusion shifting, stretching already traumatized tissues wide.
Marcus leaned down, his breath hot and laboured against John’s sweat-slicked ear. “Hear that?” he growled, the sound vibrating through John’s skull. “Hear your greedy little hole sucking me back in?” He punctuated it with a slow, deliberate withdrawal until just his knuckles stretched the glistening rim, then slammed the entire mass back home in one brutal stroke. The wet schlorp echoed obscenely. John’s entire body spasmed, his cock jerking against the leather, a thick rope of pre-cum spilling onto the surface beneath him. “S’like a fuckin’ vacuum seal on my fist, you slut.”
The grinding pressure, the impossible fullness, the relentless assault on his prostate – it coalesced into a white-hot detonation deep in John’s belly. His balls drew up tight as fists, an agonizing, unavoidable pressure building with terrifying speed, obliterating thought. He felt the orgasm cresting, unstoppable, born purely from the savage violation itself. “Marcus! Oh god, Marcus, I’m gonna cum!” he screamed, the words tearing raw from his throat, terror and ecstasy warring in his voice. “Please! Fuck! I can’t stop it!” His hips bucked wildly, involuntarily fucking himself back onto the impaling fist, seeking the friction that would tip him over the edge.
Marcus held him fast, pinning John’s hips down with bruising force against the table. He watched, fascinated, as John’s body betrayed him completely, trembling on the cusp. “Yeah? Cum then,” Marcus snarled, grinding the heel of his palm deep, rotating the embedded mass with cruel deliberation. “Cum untouched like the filthy fist-pig you are. Show me how bad you fuckin’ need this!”
The command, the final brutal twist, shattered John’s control. A raw, animalistic howl tore from his lungs as his cock erupted. Thick, pearly ropes jetted violently onto the leather, splattering his stomach, the table, his own clenched knuckles. He convulsed like a man electrocuted, his ass clamping down in desperate, rhythmic spasms around Marcus’s invading fist and fingers, milking the impossible girth as wave after wave of intense, almost painful pleasure racked him. Sweat poured off him, mingling with the tears streaking his face.
Marcus kept grinding slowly inside him throughout the violent climax, drawing out every shuddering pulse, every choked gasp. He relished the brutal grip of John’s spasming channel, the slick heat, the sheer power of forcing this orgasm purely through deep, invasive domination. John whimpered, utterly spent, his body collapsing bonelessly onto the table, only Marcus’s impaling fist holding his hips slightly aloft. His hole fluttered weakly around the colossal intrusion, still impossibly stretched. He felt hollowed out, his mind blank except for the overwhelming, bruising pressure deep in his gut.
Marcus leaned close again, his voice a low rumble against the shell of John’s ear, thick with lust. “Look at you,” he breathed, his free hand tracing the curve of John’s trembling flank, slick with sweat and lube. “Look at this wrecked, gaping hole. Still sucking me in, even after you blew your load.” He gave a slight, testing thrust with his fist, making John gasp sharply. “Knows where it belongs, doesn’t it?” John could only manage a weak, shuddering nod, his eyes squeezed shut, utterly overwhelmed. “Good.” Marcus slowly, almost tenderly, began to withdraw his fist, inch by torturous inch. “Now, let’s see how loud you scream when I shove my cock into this loose, fucked-out hole.” John’s eyes flew open wide, a fresh wave of terror and desperate, traitorous anticipation flooding him. "Please... Marcus... no more... I can't... please!"
Marcus's low chuckle vibrated against John's sweat-slicked back, a dark counterpoint to the older man’s ragged pleas. "Shush, it’s OK, next time," Marcus rumbled, his voice thick with dominance and exertion. He slowly, deliberately withdrew his gloved fist from John’s ruined entrance, knuckles dragging against the hyper-sensitive, stretched rim with a slick, obscene sound.
John gasped as the immense pressure vanished, leaving behind a shocking, echoing hollowness, his asshole fluttering weakly like a dying fish out of water. Cool air hit the raw, glistening ring, making him shudder violently. "Christ... feels... gaping..." he managed, his voice wrecked, trembling arms barely holding his position on the leather. Marcus smiled at him, peeling off the latex glove slick with lube and John’s own fluids with a sharp snap.
As John lay there in a mess of lube, cum and sweat breathing heavy, feeling like he had run a marathon and ending up fighting the level boss and getting battered, yet satisfied. Alongside many wild and kinky nights with Jane, that this was one of the most sexually charged and erotic experiences of his life.
John lay there wondering how Jane felt after her time with Marcus? Like John did she also feel guilt at having a pleasurable experience without the other? What did Jane have planned for them next? Marcus gently lifted John up off the massage table and helped him into the shower. Gently and carefully cleaning John from head to foot, inside and out, before drying him and helping him into Marcus’s own bed. John lay there and Marcus spooned him, whispering to rest and nod off for a couple of hours before returning home. John fell asleep quickly, resting in Marcus strong arms and feeling safe and comforted after what had happened between them.
After John slept, Marcus gently woke him up and said that it was time to leave. John dressed in silence recalling and contemplating the events of the previous few hours. He offered to pay Marcus for his time, Marcus put his hands on Johns hands, pushing the money away. Marcus said perhaps double or nothing next time, perhaps free. John thought about Jane again and wondered had she already paid him, what else did she plan? Thoughts for another time perhaps? As Marcus embraced and kissed John pushing his tongue into his mouth before pulling away and patting him on the bottom and the leading him towards the door by his hand that had been so brutally and pleasurably forced into him earlier. On his way out Leo was sitting in a chair by the fire, reading the paper. Without looking up at the duo he said “Sounds like you two were having fun? Perhaps you would like a third next time, how’d you feel about two Black cocks in you at the same time John?”
John’s heart skipped a beat as Marcus squeezed his hand smiled and gently pulled him toward the front door. After a final kiss and embrace John left, still a bit shaky, he could not wait to get home to Jane and tell her every detail of what had happened to him today and wondered what dirty plans she had for them both with Marcus?
The end, for now…