Chapter 4: Chapter 4
Erik woke to the familiar, dull ache in his ass and the deep soreness in his gut. Morning light, harsh and accusing, sliced through the gaps in the blackout curtains of Glen’s bedroom. He was alone in the massive bed, the sheets cool on his side. His body felt different. Heavier. When he pushed himself up, a soft roll of fat pressed against his forearm, a new weight settling around his middle that hadn’t been there a month ago. He poked his stomach, watching the impression linger a second too long before filling back out.
“Just lazy,” he mumbled to the empty room, his voice scratchy. “Need to move more.”
But the thought of his console in the media room was less compelling than the memory of the scrambled eggs and bacon he could smell cooking downstairs.
He found Glen in the sun-drenched kitchen, not in leather, but in soft gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt that strained across his shoulders and chest. Glen’s own stomach, once flat and hard, now pressed against the fabric in a definite, solid curve. He was flipping pancakes with a fluid ease, a stack already steaming on a plate.
“You’re alive,” Glen said, not turning around. “I was beginning to think I broke you.”
“Feel like you did,” Erik grumbled, sliding onto a stool at the marble island. His thighs spread wider to accommodate the seat, another small, unregistered change.
Glen turned, a smile playing on his lips. His eyes travelled over Erik, lingering on the way Erik’s borrowed t-shirt—one of Glen’s, now snug across the chest and belly—clung to his form. “You look good. Rested.”
“I look soft,” Erik countered, but he was already reaching for the orange juice Glen pushed toward him. It was thick, pulpy, and sweet.
“Soft is good.” Glen piled three pancakes onto a plate, drenched them in warm maple syrup, and slid it in front of Erik. Then he added two more. “You need the fuel. Big day.”
“What’s happening today?”
“We’re christening the pool. It’s heated. And private.”
An hour later, Erik stood at the edge of the infinity pool, the water a shimmering turquoise under the late afternoon sun. The estate’s high walls ensured complete seclusion. He was naked, the sun warming his skin, highlighting the new paleness of stretch marks like faint silver trails on the swell of his hips. He was aware of his body in a way he’d never been—the jiggle of his thighs when he shifted, the soft shelf of his belly obscuring the view of his own feet.
Glen emerged from the house, also naked, his body a testament to shared indulgence. His hair was loose, falling over shoulders that were still broad but now layered with a pleasing heaviness. His cock was half-hard, swinging thick between thighs that were solid with new weight. His belly, a proud, rounded dome, led his progress.
“See something you like?” Glen asked, his voice a low tease.
Erik flushed. “Just thinking the water’s gonna overflow when we get in.”
Glen laughed, a rich, full sound. “Fuck you.” He walked straight into the pool, the water sloshing up over the edge as he submerged himself. He surfaced, hair slicked back, and looked at Erik. “Well? You coming in, or are you just gonna stand there admiring the view?”
Erik stepped in, the warm water enveloping him, making him feel buoyant, less conscious of his mass. He paddled over to Glen, who was leaning against the submerged bench, arms spread along the pool’s edge.
For a while, they just existed. The silence was comfortable, charged with the memory of the dungeon, the feeding, the violent claiming. Erik felt a thrum of need low in his belly, unrelated to hunger.
“I can still feel you,” Erik said quietly, breaking the stillness. “From last night. Inside.”
Glen’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Come here.”
Erik obeyed, wading through the water until he was between Glen’s spread legs. The water lapped at their chests. Glen’s hands found Erik’s hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into the soft flesh there.
“You take it so good,” Glen murmured, pulling him closer. Erik’s buoyant body floated easily, his legs wrapping around Glen’s waist. Their stomachs pressed together underwater, two warm, rounded planes meeting. Glen’s cock, now fully hard, slid against Erik’s under the surface.
Erik kissed him, open-mouthed and hungry. The taste of chlorine and Glen was intoxicating. Glen’s hands slid down to grip Erik’s ass, kneading the plentiful flesh, pulling him tighter. The water made everything slow, frictionless, a sensual slide.
“Want you again,” Erik breathed against his mouth. “Right here.”
“You’re insatiable,” Glen growled, but he was already shifting, turning Erik around in the water. He guided Erik’s hands to grip the pool’s edge. “Hold on.”
The afternoon air was warm on Erik’s back, the water cool where it wasn’t displaced by their bodies. He felt Glen’s thick tip press against him, not with the clinical lube from the dungeon, but with just the slickness of the water. It wasn’t enough.
“Glen,” Erik whined.
“Shhh.” A hand splashed beside him, and then Glen was pouring something slick and cool—poolside lube from a hidden compartment—over his cleft, working it into him with rough, eager fingers. “Better?”
“Yes. Just fuck me. Please.”
The plea was all Glen needed. He gripped Erik’s hips, his fingers sinking into the softness, and pushed forward in one relentless, fluid stroke. The water swallowed Erik’s cry. Glen filled him utterly, a stretching, burning fullness that made his toes curl against the polished pool tiles.
Glen set a brutal, deep rhythm. Each thrust drove Erik forward against the wall, his belly squishing against the cool stone, then pulled him back onto the thick length of him. The wet slap of skin on skin, muffled by the water, was obscenely loud in the quiet yard. Glen’s own belly, solid and heavy, bumped against Erik’s ass with every drive.
“This is what you’re for,” Glen hissed, his breath hot on Erik’s neck. One hand stayed anchored on Erik’s hip, the other snaked around to paw at Erik’s chest, pinching a nipple, then sliding down to rub over the swollen, tight curve of his stomach. “To be full. To be used. To get so fucking soft and perfect on what I give you.”
The words, filthy and possessive, sent a lightning bolt of pleasure straight to Erik’s cock, which bobbed untouched in the water. He was so full, stretched so wide, each thrust grinding something deep and electric inside him.
“Glen, I’m—I’m gonna—”
“Come.” It was an order.
Erik’s orgasm ripped through him, a silent, convulsive wave. His cum shot out in white streaks that clouded the water in front of him. His channel clamped down viciously on Glen’s cock, milking him.
With a guttural groan, Glen buried himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering. Erik felt the hot, internal pulse as Glen filled him up, another claiming, another secret feeding. They stayed locked together, panting, as the water stilled around them.
Glen finally slipped out, and Erik sagged against the wall, boneless. Glen turned him, pulling him back into his arms, cradling his weight effortlessly in the water. He nuzzled Erik’s damp hair.
“We should order in tonight,” Glen said, his voice rough with satisfaction. “That new Italian place. Their carbonara is basically just cheese and pork fat.”
Erik, floaty and sated, nestled his head against Glen’s chest. The profound fullness inside him mirrored the one in his gut. A distant, logical voice whispered that this was not normal, that the scale in the bathroom was lying, that his jeans didn’t just “shrink.”
But that voice was drowned out by the warmth of the water, the solidness of Glen’s arms, and the deep, thrilling ache of his own well-used body.
“Yeah,” Erik murmured, already tasting the imaginary richness on his tongue. “That sounds perfect.”