My Bullies - Part Eight

Ethan’s hips still swayed in clumsy, desperate circles, his hand gliding slow and slick along his cock as the boys lounged on the bed and chair like they were watching a private strip show. Sweat beaded on his temples; his thighs trembled from holding the position so long. Every roll of his ass made his hole clench emptily, the memory of their spit and piss from the locker room flashing behind his eyes and sending fresh pre-cum dripping over his knuckles.

Caleb watched with half-lidded eyes, then reached lazily into the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a clear plastic bottle of lube—generic, no label, the kind that came in bulk—and tossed it underhand toward Ethan.

It landed with a soft thud between Ethan’s bare feet.

“Catch,” Caleb said, voice thick with amusement. “Lay on your back. Legs up. Work yourself open for us. Nice and slow. We want to see every finger disappear.”

Ethan froze mid-sway. His hand stilled on his cock; his chest rose and fell in quick, shallow bursts. The room went quiet except for the low bass still pulsing from somewhere in the house.

He blinked at the bottle like it might bite him.

Mason snorted. “Don’t act surprised, princess. You knew this was coming when you showed up with a boner.”

Tyler leaned forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. “You gonna make us wait? Or you gonna be a good little slut and finger that tight hole while we watch?”

Diego didn’t speak. He just lifted his phone again. Red light on.

Ethan’s throat clicked when he swallowed. He bent slowly, fingers closing around the cool bottle. The cap snapped open with a small pop that sounded deafening in his ears.

He lowered himself to the carpet—first one knee, then the other—until he was sitting, then lying back. The fibers scratched against his spine and ass. He drew his knees up toward his chest, spreading them wide, heels planted on the floor so his hole was on full display. His cock lay heavy against his stomach, still leaking, twitching with every heartbeat.

He squirted a generous dollop of lube onto his fingers. The gel was cold at first; he rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger to warm it, then reached down.

His fingertip brushed his rim—smooth, puckered, untouched until this moment.

He hesitated.

Caleb tilted his head. “Go on. Push it in. One finger. Let us see your face when it stretches you.”

Ethan pressed. The pad of his index finger slipped past the first ring of muscle with surprising ease—thanks to the lube, thanks to the way his body was already loose and overheated from the dancing and edging. A small, involuntary gasp escaped him.

It didn’t hurt.

It felt… strange. Full. Warm. A gentle pressure that spread outward, tingling up his spine. He pushed deeper, knuckle by knuckle, until his finger was buried to the second joint.

A soft, surprised moan slipped out before he could stop it.

Mason laughed low. “Hear that? First time and he’s already moaning like a bitch in heat.”

Ethan’s cheeks flamed, but he didn’t pull out. He crooked his finger experimentally, brushing something inside that made his cock jump and leak harder against his abs. His hips rocked up without permission, chasing the sensation.

“Add another,” Tyler said, voice rougher now. “Two fingers. Stretch it good.”

Ethan obeyed. He withdrew, added more lube, then pressed two fingertips against his hole. They slid in easier than the first—his body yielding, opening, greedy in a way that made shame and pleasure twist together until he couldn’t tell them apart.

He pumped slowly, in and out, scissoring gently to widen himself. Each thrust dragged against that sensitive spot inside, sending sparks behind his eyes. His free hand gripped his thigh, holding himself open wider. His cock throbbed untouched now, a steady drip of pre-cum sliding down the shaft and pooling in the dip of his navel.

Diego moved closer, camera angled low between Ethan’s spread legs, capturing the glossy stretch, the way his rim clung to his fingers on every withdrawal.

“Look at him go,” Caleb murmured, palming himself through his sweats. “First time fingering his own ass and he’s already hooked. Bet he’s been dreaming about this.”

Ethan’s breaths came faster, shallower. The initial awkwardness melted away; every slide felt better, fuller, hotter. His toes curled against the carpet. A whine built in his throat—high, needy, embarrassing.

He was terrified of how much he liked it.

He was terrified of how much he wanted more.