Mendes; Chapter 3/3: Mendes
LENGTH: 3,399 words
WARNING: This story contains sexual acts between young adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relations to real persons or acts that may appear within are unintentional. THIS STORY IS FICTION.
NIFTY: If you enjoy this story, make sure to donate to nifty.org!
DISCLAIMER: This story was written for the enjoyment of readers. It should not be reposted or reproduced without the writer's consent.
AUTHOR: Early drafts of future chapters and/or future work may be available first at www.conormonaghan.com. The author would love to hear your feedback on the story at conor.monaghan.writing@gmail.com
New York, New York. Justin and Shawn walk into their shared suite at the top floor of the Four Seasons. They just finished working out at the gym down the hall. Troye is out, reacquainting himself with some old friends in the city, but for these two, the tour fatigue has long since set in. Months performing in front of thousands almost every night takes a toll on the mind and body.
Both boys are wearing gym clothes: black t-shirts, black basketball shorts, socks. Their sneakers are discarded by the door. Their bodies are both damp, still covered in a rapidly cooling layer of sweat.
Shawn sits on the couch. Justin stands in the center of the living area. The room is quiet. It's midday. Lazy rays of light lounge in the corner, warming the room. It's sunny.
Justin pulls out his phone to check it. He's been texting Selena all day, but it's been a one way conversation, which is to say it hasn't been a conversation at all. He heard from a friend that she was in town, so he expected a response, maybe a hookup tonight. They weren't on the best of terms, but why not?
Still five hours before the show. He needs to shower. What else?
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. As if. Shawn had woken the next morning to a text message containing the video. The boys clowned on him throughout breakfast, forcing him to sit through and endure the humiliation in front of them, the spit, the tea bagging, everything. Boys will be boys.
But by the afternoon, Troye was over the immaturity, Cameron and Nash had moved on to new distractions, and it was forgotten. By everyone, except for Justin. In the weeks following, he took advantage of every free moment, on tour, treating it as a fresh opportunity to share the experience with Shawn, again and again. He would send Shawn text messages containing screenshots from the video. On the road, whenever they were stuck sharing the same suite, he would stream the video to a television, diligently maxing out the volume so that the sound of Shawn's humiliation would seek him out no matter where he chose to lounge in the suite. He was careful to only torture Shawn when they were alone together, though. He didn't want Troye to think he was obsessing over something that he wasn't. Just a way to kill time.
This afternoon was no different, and Shawn reluctantly, though unknowingly, has a front row seat for the events. Justin switches on the stream to the television sitting just a few feet away. The screen clicks on. Justin seeks through the video to locate his favorite part before pressing play, so that the sound of his fart in Shawn's sleeping face is the sound to finally the shatter the silence of the room.
Startled, Shawn jumps, but he quickly recovers once he realizes what's happening. He rolls his eyes before standing up and retreating to his bedroom without a word.
Justin turns the television volume up and looks down at his phone. Solid two minutes occupied. He leaves the video streaming, but drops his phone on the couch carelessly before taking his leave from the room. He makes his way into his bedroom. It's the largest of the three, and rightfully so. He lifts his shirt up over his head and throws it on the floor, adding to the disarray. They checked in this morning, but his room is already littered: deoderant on the dresser, an open box of donuts from Tim Horton's on the bedside table; piles of clothes and shoes spread seemingly at random, the remnants of Justin's time trying to pick out an outfit for this afternoon; and the clothes he was wearing this morning on the airplane before checking in, some adidas track pants, an earth-toned hoodie, and some dirty underwear. He finishes stripping for the shower and adds a second pair of dirty underwear to the pile.
He walks into the bathroom and turns the faucet. He gives the shower some time to heat up while he looks at himself in the mirror. Toned muscles. Full sleeves, tattoos canvassing his entire chest and stomach. A slim happy trail leading down to his pubes, trimmed clean and short this morning, one less thing he has to do in the shower. His long cock hangs down over his balls.
Satisfied, he opens the door and hops into the shower. He lathers the body wash and works it slowly over his body, first and back, then his pubic area, fully coating his cock and balls. He even takes the time to clean out his ass crack for good measure, still clinging to the hope that he might meet up with Selena tonight.
He leans his head against the tile beneath the faucet and closes his eyes, letting the water pour down over his face, scalding but relaxing, a physical and mental cleansing. What the fuck has been up with Selena lately? Sure, they've had their ups and downs, and they were definitely in a slump, but why ignore him? She usually had the decency to respond to him. The rumors about her and Shawn circled in the back of his mind.
He flips the shower knob off. The flow of water dies down to a trickle. The glass door to the shower opens and steam pours out to battle with the frigid bathroom air. Then follows the naked body of Justin Bieber, flaccid cock dangling, fertilized by the heat of the shower. He grabs a towel from the rack and rubs it over his body, starting at his head, before looking into the mirror. His hair is long and shaggy, probably the longest it's been since the advent of the original Bieber bob. He likes the look, feels that itl lends him a new air of sexual mystery. He turns to the side, now admiring his backside in the mirror. He has been working on his back muscles and lower body at the gym. His eyes move down to his ass. He has a swimsuit tan from a recent vacation. Troye was right about him, he loves showing off his ass, to girls he fucks, to the cameras, to whoever. He knows it's a nice ass and if it can help a fan get off, bring her fantasies to life, get her wet while she imagines herself on her knees behind him with her tongue in his crack, then all the better.
Finally dry, he drops the towel carelessly on the tile floor and walks into the closet. Fortunately, handlers stock it in each city before he arrives, filling it with pieces carefully drawn from the collections of designers around the globe, designers hoping that he'll grace the covers of a tabloid with their creations on display. He lazily digs out a brand new pair of white CK underwear from an unopened bag and steps into them. Then, he picks out a pair of black basketball shorts. No shirt.
He returns to the bedroom, now searching for his phone. It's nowhere to be found. After a few moments, he realizes that he left it in the living room and heads there, where he spots it on the couch.
He jogs over to pick it up. Text message. That instant rush of excitement. It's not Selena. It's Shawn. He opens the text. It's a screenshot. He taps it to enlarge. What the fuck.
It's a text conversation. A conversation between Shawn and Selena. The most recent message from Selena is dated at 7:03PM last night.
"Can't wait to see you tomorrow. Night ;)"
Then, Shawn's reply.
"Morning ;)"
Attached below Shawn's reply was a picture message. A picture of a cock. A pornstar cock. A completely erect monster cock. Justin recognizes it, though. That wild mound of pubic hair around it. His heart stops. It belongs to Shawn. Obviously, he had surrendered to the reality that Shawn was a decently endowed dude, after glimpsing his limp meat a month prior, but he had assumed Shawn was just a shower. Some guys were, after all. But, he's not. He's a grower. Then again, with no frame of reference in the picture, how can he be sure of the size? It may look bigger and thicker, but it could just be the angle. He wasn't going to send a picture of his meat to a girl from bad angle.
Then the greater humiliation set in. What the fuck was he doing sending this to Selena?
He stands stunned for a few moments, confused. Then, he makes his way to Shawn's bedroom. The door is ajar, so he enters the room uninvited, without warning. He's not sure what he'll say to Shawn's face, but he's operating on rage now, ready to confront him nonetheless. He scans the room. No sign of Shawn. There's a large duffle bag laying open on the hardwood floor. An iPhone charger on the bedside table. A pair of black desert boots sitting on a mesh chair. A pile of dirty clothes near the bathroom door.
He paces over to the bathroom. No Shawn in there, either. He glances down at the pile of clothes. Some pajama pants, a t-shirt, some black underwear. The clothes Shawn was wearing earlier this morning before they changed to head to the gym. The underwear are Calvin Klein. Either boxer briefs or trunks. He always through his dirty underwear on the floor too, knew that someone would pick them up and throw them away from him. He never wore the same pair twice. Did Shawn? He bends over and picks them up, inspecting them in his outstretched hand. Trunks. Smaller and tighter than ordinary boxer briefs.
Suddenly an arms wraps around his neck and lifts him off the ground into a chokehold. The wind is instantly knocked out of him. A second arm reaches out and grabs the underwear from his hand before bringing them to rub against his face.
His immediate reaction is to scream. His bodyguard isn't around, not even standing outside of the room, but he screams nonetheless, thinking that someone might hear. His outburst is muffled by the combination of underwear and vice-like necklock. Whoever has him locked in this position is built, muscular, at least 6'2'', half a foot or more taller than him, lifting him off the ground with ease.
Justin continues to panic. He can't see. The briefs are blocking out his vision, strangling his entire face. His eyes are useless. His voice is useless. He tries using his legs to kick the intruder, but they aren't connecting from this position.
"What are you doing in my room, Bieber?"
It's Shawn, Justin realizes. Shock abating, heart pounding, his fear transforms into rage. First, he brags about sending my ex a picture of his dick, and now he has me in a chokehold. He swings his legs again to try and catch Shawn in the sack. No luck.
"I guess you're mad that I was texting Selena. Sorry, bro. Looks like I'll be fucking her tonight."
Justin takes another swing at Shawn, this time with arm and this time making contact, but from this position the blow doesn't carry much force. Shawn ignores it.
"I don't blame you, but I have to say that I was surprised to walk in here and see you feeling up my dirty underwear, man. Not very bro of you. How do my undies smell?" Shawn laughs.
Fear replaced by rage. Rage replaced by embarrassment. Embarrassment accompanied by realization.
"Speaking of which, if you wanted my ass in your face, you just had to ask dude," Shawn continues.
"Fuck you!" Justin screams into Shawn's underwear.
"You know, now that you've forced me to watch that video a dozen times, it doesn't bother me anymore. My favorite part is when you jump on the bed and swing your dick around for the camera like a douche. It's kind of funny, man. Has anyone ever told you how small your dick is, though? No offense, just in case you think of swinging it around again on camera, you might want to reconsider. I expected more after all the media craze about your soft dick in those paparazzi pictures."
Justin stops struggling, face scorched red with embarrassment beneath the briefs. Shawn removes them from his face and wads them into a ball. He roughly stuffs them into Justin's mouth.
Shawn relocates his newly freed hand to Justin's waist and yanks down his only two articles of clothing: black basketball shorts and white CK briefs. They fall in a heap to the brown hardwood floor.
"How did I know you would be enjoying this?"
Justin is still suspended above the ground in a chokehold. His penis is erect. Shawn flicks it a few times with his free hand, causing Justin to flinch.
Then, Shawn whispers.
"Bieber. Want to feel the cock that fucked your ex last?"
Justin feels a large, warm hand wrap around his. His hand is guided into Shawn's shorts, into his underwear. His first instinct is to go for the balls and break free from the chokehold, but his motivation dissolves when his hands wrap around Shawn's cock. It's warm. Sticky. Moist inside Shawn's underwear. He hasn't showered yet, Justin realizes. His hand isn't large enough to hold the entire cock, so he moves up and down the length to evaluate its size, moving from tip to base, where his hand is engulfed by a forest of pubes.
"Stroke it," Shawn breathes in his ear, tightening the grip on his neck.
Justin obeys, and starts slowly moving his hand up and down Shawn's cock.
Shawn reaches his fingers into Justin's mouth and extracts the briefs. He rubs his index finger on Justin's lips. After a few seconds, Justin submits and opens his mouth, allowing the invader in.
Shawn pushes the finger deep into Justin's mouth, lets him suck on it, coat it with a nice thick layer of saliva. He removes it after a few moments and moves his hand down to Justin's ass, which immediately clenches. He slaps it. Hard. Bieber shrieks. Shawn rubs his wet index finger up and down Justin's crack. His cheeks slowly loosen, giving Shawn access to its depths. He circles Justin's asshole for a few moments, prompting an unsanctioned moan from Bieber's lips.
Shawn smiles.
He releases Bieber from the chokehold, letting him fall harshly to the ground. He pushes Bieber back against the bed, his naked ass now resting on the cold hard floor. Shawn grabs him by the hair and moves his crotch up to Bieber's face.
Shawn lowers his shorts and underwear to the ground. Bieber's first true look at his hard cock. He is truly hung. His penis is completely erect, but so long and thick that it doesn't jut straight out; it just dangles down from his pubes, suspended over a manly sack, if ever there was one.
Justin is silent, in a trance, but whether from fear, shock, or longing, it's unclear.
"Which cock do you think Selena prefers? Mine or yours?" Shawn asks, slapping his penis against Justin's cheek. "I think you like mine more," Shawn adds, alluding to the hard dick between Justin's legs.
He lifts his right foot onto the bed beside Bieber's head and places his hand on the back of Justin's head, encouraging him forward. Justin complies, opens his mouth, and takes the penis into his mouth. It's thick, difficult for Justin to swallow, and salty. Shawn helps him out, guiding Justin's head up and down his long shaft. Justin stares into Shawn's bush, too embarrassed to peer up into his eyes.
Shawn quickly reaches the limit. Five inches and Bieber is coughing. Shawn pushes a little bit more in, choking him with a few deep thrusts before pulling out. Shawn slaps the saliva-covered cock on Bieber's forehead and moving his pelvis forward, encouraging Justin to keep licking, to explore his body with his tongue, which he does, sliding his tongue over Shawn's balls, his perineum, and finally, his ass.
Shawn's ass appears hairless, but Justin's tongue soon discovers the dark hairs lining his crack.
Shawn looks down at him. Justin is still hard. Shawn can see precum leaking out of his tip.
"I told you all you had to do was ask, man."
Justin moans, almost imperceptible, if not for the soft vibration against Shawn's ass.
Shawn looks to the ceiling with closed eyes, absorbing the sensation, the feeling of a warm tongue navigating the inside of his ass cheeks, a tongue that in five short minutes has been demoted from the mouths and soft clits of women to his sweaty ass cheeks, but then again, it's been a long time coming.
Finally, Shawn reaches down and grabs Justin's hair. He removes his leg from the bed and throws Justin onto the bed. He places his hands on Justin's feet and slides them up his legs, against the friction of his light hairs, scales them until his hands reach the bend of Justin's knees. He pushes Justin's legs back against his chest, moving his body onto the bed and on top of Justin in a synchronous movement.
He looks directly into Justin's eyes. Inches separate them. He whispers.
"Come on, Bieber. Hold them for me. Show me you want it."
Justin, hypnotized, paralyzed by embarrassment, lays motionless. Then, his hands reach up to latch onto his feet, one hand on each foot. Shawn places one hand on each of Justin's and applies pressure, extending Justin's feet farther above his head. Shawn releases and stands up. Justin holds his legs in place.
Justin's naked body, from hairless pink asshole to tattooed torso, is exposed to Shawn. His balls are taut, pulled up near his hard cock, leaking a pool of warm precum onto his stomach.
Shawn smiles and rubs his penis on Justin's asshole, teasing it. Justin looks toward the ceiling. His cheeks are visible flushed. Shawn sinks the head of past Justin's rim. Justin's eyes widen, mouth prepared to scream in pain, but he doesn't. Shawn reaches down and slap his face gently.
"Look at me."
Justin does.
With the head penetrating Justin and his legs pulled back, there is little resistance. Shawn slides his penis in an what might be a leisurely pace, if not for how hung he was; instead, it is unforgiving, giving Justin little time to adjust his ass to the girth and length, purposefully silenced moans managing to leak out into the room.
Shawn is gentle, tests the waters, gives him an inch at a time, pulling out and pushing back in with care, repeating the motion again and again, until his pubes bottom out against Justin's ass.
He stands still, allows Justin to take an accounting of the butt-stuffing he's receiving, of the nine inches of meat opening his ass. Still staring down at him, Shawn lifts his hands up and positions them behind his head, fully exposing his own naked chest, sprinkled with the faintest dusting of chest hair, his hairy underarms, his muscular torso, to Justin. Somehow, he appears even more masculine, even more dominant in this position. He doesn't need his hands. The bitch has his legs pulled back begging for it.
He starts butt-fucking Justin, hard. His balls slap against Justin's ass with each thrust.
The moans have evaporated, but Justin's mouth is open in silent ecstasy. He is a wreck. His stomach is covered in precum. He's covered in sweat, but his hands are still gripping his feet, keeping them pulled back behind his head. He's staring into Shawn's eyes, intoxicated by the feeling of his ass being opened, stretching to accommodate a man's cock for the first time.
Jets of hot cum streak his face, his lips, drip into his open mouth. Shawn's cock is buried in his ass. It's his semen. Shawn looks down at Justin. His cock looks even smaller from this angle, with his own meat moving in and out of Justin's ass as a point of reference. He considers opening his mouth to share the thought with Justin, but he resists. Instead, he leans out of Bieber. His tongue snakes out from between his lips and a wad of spit pools at the end before dripping slowly, deliberately into Bieber's open mouth.