Gaped on my Eighteenth Birthday

Hey friends!

Since Gumroad decided my sequel to "Gaped on my Eighteenth Birthday" was too filthy (there's a new site and mailing list now, at www.AlexPendragon.com), I figured I'd release it for free instead. Hope you enjoy!

I have a new story, "Hard To Pin Down (College Wrestler Secrets Book 2)" just out this week. You can currently find it on Amazon. If you're into wrestler boys, public sex, skin-tight singlets, and muscle worship, I think you might like it...

Email feedback always appreciated!

-Alex

** Gaped on my Eighteenth Birthday 2: You Promised Me Your Throat **

I was afraid to see him, after everything we'd done.

After what he'd done to me; how he'd made me feel.

Scurried through the lobby instead, eyes fixed on the bank of elevators at the other side. Scrupulously marshaling my gaze, lest in a moment of weakness I glance to the side and see him at the desk, or by the mailboxes.

Knowing he'd be smirking at me: that smirk which had seemed so alluring and so infuriating when he'd been fucking me. But which, outside of that still-hardly-believable encounter, would only make me feel ridiculous and small.

I'd watched him retrieve his clothes, after he'd wiped himself down with mine. Slumped, still, on the couch where he'd not long ago been pinning me, forcing me to feel the mess he'd made of my ass. As Emmett dressed, I had a vision of him in a locker room, unperturbed by the weight of other mens' eyes. Almost thought he was going to leave without saying anything, until he paused at the door.

"Happy birthday, then, little prince."

And with a knowing smile, he'd left me to try to comprehend what'd just happened.

I'd dragged myself to the shower, when the sweat, and cum, and spit on me had tipped over from post-coital to just clammy. Stood in the torrent of water, plucking up the courage to reach down and probe with nervous fingers between my cheeks.

My hole felt soft, tender. But not wide open.

I felt dumb for fearing it, yet still relieved at the confirmation that Emmett's changes to me physically weren't proving to be permanent. That just left the emotional alterations.

I'd wanted him. That much had been obvious to the both of us. And if my advances had been crude, and risky - I winced, at the thought of my parents returning from their vacation to find their son was now accused of being a sex pest - then they at least had provoked the desired result, too.

Or, at least, some semblance of what had been desired.

Emmett was bigger than me, and stronger, and undoubtedly had it in him to be more dominant. And something in my brain, some switch I hadn't been entirely aware of, had responded to that. Taken even more pleasure from his rough treatment than the friction would warrant. Would've welcomed, even if I lacked the words to request it, more still.

The thought of how he'd mauled me - how he'd toyed with my body by whatever measure amused him and then forced me to acknowledge that - was making me hard in the shower. My hand finding my dick without my brain's intervention, flesh satisfying flesh as I ran a soapy fist along my length.

No way not to imagine Emmett's mouth on me as I did it. The way he'd straddled my face as he blew me; how his cock had nudged the entrance of my throat. As though we were one perfectly-joined loop of sucking pleasure: as if I was somehow lapping along my own dick, even as I writhed and twisted beneath him.

I couldn't pigeonhole him, brand him "straight but he'll take an opportunity to get off." Not after he'd had my dick in his mouth. Not after he'd let me cum that way, my balls feeling as though they were inverting with the twist of those sensations. And yet the idea of asking him how he identified - of drawing attention to my naive, unobservant goof: seeing a Pride pin on his chest and assuming it was revelatory rather than work-issued - felt impossible.

Even just making eye-contact seemed like it would be too much, in fact. Hence my wishing there was a back entrance to the building that I could use, bypassing the lobby in its entirety. Not that I thought Emmett would say something, and maybe that only made it worse. He'd look at me, and I knew the eighteen-year-old he'd see.

And yet. And yet.

"Next time," he'd said. Not a threat, a promise. And fuck, I wanted that next time.

Perhaps I would've never summoned the courage, had it not been for my mom dispatching me downstairs to check the mail for her. My stomach churning in the elevator; wishing it wouldn't have seemed so odd to have changed my outfit before I left. Wanting to see Emmett, and yet also terrified of it, too.

The entrance hall seemed empty. Something in me twisted in a mixture of relief and disappointment.

There was a stack of parcels in front of the mailboxes, so I bent to push them out of the way. Slipping our key into the pocket of my shorts while I did it, the cardboard squeaking as it slid across the marble.

"Can I help you with that, sir?"

My jaw instinctively clenched. I forced myself to soften it, before standing and turning around.

I'd spent every day of the past week or so picturing him. Fantasizing about having him in front of me; of his face smiling, and scowling, and smirking as he'd pumped half his hand in me. Somehow, in person, Emmett seemed brighter and more saturated to my eyes.

"You never used to call me 'sir,'" I pointed out. Brain reaching for the first response that came to mind, unable to spare too much attention when I was trying to fix this newest picture of him in my greedy memory.

Six foot two. Short blonde hair and blue eyes. Every bit the vision of the football playing, boy-next-door jock, even in the dorky blue polo shirt and khaki cargo shorts of his uniform.

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "You're eighteen, now. A man."

He was teasing me, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Or, at least, to take issue with it. If only because that conversation was what allowed me to rake my gaze across his body, memorizing the swell of his biceps and his narrow waist. Knowing I had to be obvious in my staring, too, yet unable to stop.

"If not 'sir,' then what should I call you?" Emmett continued.

I shrugged. "Cole. That's my name."

A knowing grin. "Yeah, it is. I recognize it from your mail."

My throat felt thick, forcing me to swallow. He'd taunted me with the knowledge that I'd ordered sex toys online: had looked up the anonymous, too-innocent sounding businesses on the boxes, he'd said. Even if his had been the first real cock inside me, Emmett had known my ass was no stranger to being filled.

"Are you so attentive to all the residents?" I asked him. "Actually, don't answer that."

There was part of me that didn't want to share him, to share his interest in me. Not wanting to hear that he Googled the mail for every 20-something woman in the building, too, or every attractive guy. I'd been mortified when he called me out on my toy collection, and yet I wanted desperately to be the only one he took such pains over.

"You want me to move those for you, Cole?"

Something about the emphasis on my name. As if, by volunteering it to him - this detail I knew he already knew - I'd granted him some fresh power over me.

Awkwardly, I took a step back. Gestured at the unwieldy boxes. "Thanks."

I expected him to finish what I'd started, shove the pile across the floor and hope they wouldn't topple in the process. Instead, Emmett started transferring them to the counter. I watched him rebuild the stack.

"Did your ass close up again?"

Asked so casually, so conversationally, it took a moment for my brain to catch up and then startle. Hurriedly looking around us, to make sure there was nobody there to overhear Emmett's question.

"Dude!" I hissed.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Such a hot fucking gape, I couldn't believe it. And the look on your face when you were feeling around it, too." He chuckled. "Like you were horrified and turned on, all at the same time."

I fought the urge to look around again. Knowing I would've heard the front door or the elevators, and yet still not ready to have this discussion out in public.

"I'm glad you liked it," I said, as coldly as I could manage.

Emmett set down the box he was moving, then turned. Leaning back against the edge of the counter, watching me knowingly.

"Judging by how hard you were, you liked it too. And judging by how hard you are now, you're not as pissed at me bringing it up as you're pretending to be."

He hadn't looked down, but I had to. Even though I knew what I'd see, the heft of my erection pushing against the front of my shorts.

"Fuck you," I spat at him. More angry at my body's own reaction, really, than at anything Emmett had done.

"Yeah," he drawled, "I did that. Fucking unloaded in you, too, if I remember right."

I could feel my face blushing. Yet another reaction to be furious about.

"Weren't you meant to be moving those boxes?" I could hear how brittle my voice sounded. Knew he'd hear it just as clearly.

A lopsided smirk, one which I couldn't help but read triumph in.

"Terribly sorry, sir."

I didn't correct him on my name, or call out the mocking emphasis. Just watched as his muscles flexed while he transferred the last of the packages.

"I believe this one is yours?" Emmett gestured to our mailbox with a sweep of his arm. Apparently he was immune to my glare.

Cautiously, feeling like an animal inching into a trap, I stepped forward. Pulled out the key, fumbling it into the lock of the little metal door. I had to bend over, the mailbox at waist height. Hyper-aware of Emmett stood off to the side.

The weight of his eyes on me made my flesh squirm, and yet I couldn't claim to not enjoy it, too. Wondering where his attentions fell, on which part of me was his gaze catching.

He was closer than I expected when I stood again, envelopes and flyers bunched in my fist. Near enough that I had to steel myself not to take a step back. Just look up, at his face, suddenly feeling the five or six inches he had on me.

"Anything you've been waiting for?" Innocent words, but hardly delivered that way.

I gestured, vaguely, with the bundle. "Maybe. I think a lot of it is junk."

Emmett winked. "I remember you being pretty hands on, when it came to junk."

I was blushing again, but I wouldn't let myself run. Even as much as my body was demanding I extricate myself from this loaded teasing.

"It's tough knowing how well received that'll be," I told him. "I've misread in the past."

A single, silent chuckle. And then, somehow, he was a quarter-step closer. Towering over me, now, my head tipped back just to hold his stare.

"Coy doesn't really suit you, Cole," he said.

I reached out and squeezed him, gently, between his legs.

The first time had been a gamble. One which had seemed to enrage him with my presumptuousness, as much as it had aroused him. This time, though, I felt like I could reasonably claim I'd been invited.

Still, I watched his face, to see how his expression would change.

Another quarter-step instead, Emmett pushing himself into my grip on him. No way to miss the way he was swelling under my fingers, even if all I could look at was his predatory stare.

Another step; I stumbled back, hitting the bank of mailboxes behind me. Emmett not letting up, though, sandwiching me between the heat of his chest and the bank of cold, angular metal doors. My hand still wrapped around his erection, caught between our bodies.

"That's better," he murmured, softly.

I let the mail drop, a flutter of envelopes across the floor. Happy to ignore their fall; focused instead on his fingers pushing up, across my neck and into the unruly mess of my hair. Knowing, instinctively, what would come next.

His fist bunched, tugging my head back and forcing me to bite down on a hiss of pain.

I remembered the expression on his face, the intensity of it. The way it felt as though Emmett's glare was peeling back through my layers, exposing the needs and desires I wasn't sure I could tell people. The ways in which I wanted to be treated.

"So how many times have you jerked off, thinking about it?" His voice was soft, but not so much as to stop me from worrying about us being overheard still.

I gave him an unimpressed look. "Think a lot of yourself, don't you."

His fingers tightened a little more, hand lifting. Instinctively I rose up, onto my toes, to try to avoid the ache in my scalp.

"Are you always this rude, when someone's just trying to make conversation?"

I snorted. "Is that what this is?"

Emmett shrugged.

His thickness was obvious even through the cargo shorts; I let my fingers shape the fabric around him, remembering the way he'd peeled down his Under Armor trunks. That feeling of nervous anticipation when I'd seen him naked for the first time, remembering what I'd promised him. The way he'd made me deliver on that promise, and how it'd left my body afterwards.

"Like, every day," I blurted out. Some strange compulsion to confess, now, as though blunt honesty would only make the memory, the mental image of it all, brighter and clearer in my brain. "I jerked off every day, thinking about it."

I wasn't sure whether Emmett's smile or the way his cock throbbed in my fist was more rewarding after that confession. Either way, it felt like a kind of permission.

"You could come up, later," I suggested. Suddenly feeling presumptuous, worried that he might laugh and turn me down. "When my parents are out."

He gave me a wry look. "Some of us have to work all day."

I grimaced. "Like, you don't get a break or something?"

Slowly, he shook his head. As though he was amused by the discussion. "It's called responsibility, little prince. Maybe they don't teach you that in your fancy school?"

I scowled at him. "Fuck off with that 'little prince' shit, okay?"

His fist tightening again, yanking up. I yelped, reaching for his arm as I tried to support myself, relieve the pressure.

Emmett pressed into me, squeezing me against the wall of mailboxes. Hard enough that I could feel his erection jammed into my stomach, some part of my brain wondering if he could feel the way I was rigid in my shorts, too.

"Such a foul mouth, Cole." He shook his head again, rueful. "Perhaps that should be our next project."

I grit my teeth against the pain, watching him warily.

"After all," he continued, "you did tell me I could have everything. Mouth, throat, ass."

Fingers trailing down from under my chin. Tracing the shape of my neck, muscles and tendons pulled taut as I strained against him.

"I thought you had to work," I sneered. Knowing I was playing with fire, but unable to stop myself.

A laugh. "I do. But nothing to say you can't keep me company."

I yelped, as he tugged me away from the mailboxes. Dragging me, fist still bunched in my hair, my feet stumbling and catching on the slick marble floor. Another yelp as he shoved me into the wall, my cheek pressed against it.

"Wait..." I gasped, as his other hand reached around my waist and yanked at the button of my shorts. "Wait, come on..."

No stopping him, though. No sign, even, that he was listening to me. Just his deft, efficient stripping: my shorts yanked down to pool at my ankles.

"Someone could come," I blurted out, feeling increasingly desperate.

Emmett snorted, his fingers already tugging at my briefs. "Should've thought of that before you were a cocky little shit, then, shouldn't you."

There was only so much I could strain against his hold on me, before it felt like I was tearing my own hair out at the roots. Still tried it, though, frantically twisting in a vain attempt to stop him from undressing me.

"Fuck, you're like a little precum hose, aren't you," he teased. "These cute designer undies are soaked through."

I could feel myself flushing, even as I tried to glare at him out of the corners of my eyes. Hating the fact that I knew he was right: that my cock had been practically gushing its own natural lube, oozing it through the cotton, ever since I set eyes on him.

Still pinning me by my tender scalp, Emmett reached down and between my legs. I had to chew down on a squeal as he roughly grabbed my cock and pulled it back, my hips tilting up to try to avoid the pressure on my erection.

"Well damn, Cole, sure seems like you're enjoying this," he observed.

I writhed as he gave me a few long strokes: even with my precum slicking his fingers, his calloused hand still straddled the point between pleasure and discomfort. Judging by his chuckle, that fact wasn't lost on him, either.

"You can't do this here," I hissed, furious. Still wary of speaking too loudly, terrified of being discovered like this by some delivery person or neighbor. Emmett could quickly step back, feign shocked innocence, I knew. Whereas I'd be the one left with my clothes a tangle around my feet, and my hard dick all too obvious.

"I dunno, little prince." He hummed, thoughtfully. "It kinda feels like I already am doing this, here."

My legs threatened to buckle as he swiped his thumb across my tip, the fountain of sensations close to overwhelming. Only his grip in my hair held me upright, with a stab of pain that had another long cord of precum spooling out from my tip.

"Look at all that shit you're getting on the floor," Emmett scolded, his voice laced with amusement. "I should make you lick it up, you little creep."

Some horrified part of my brain wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't, either. Push my face down until my lips were pressed against the marble; demand I lap my own salt-sweet juice up as he smeared my face through it.

"Come on," I whined, knowing I sounded childish but unable in that moment to stop myself.

"Come on, what?" He laughed, hand tugging on me again. "Jerk you harder? Give you permission to be a snobby little brat?"

His fingers hooked around my swollen head, twisting as though he was polishing a cue ball, and I about howled at the way my nerves erupted. Jolting and writhing in his unflinching grip, reduced to a gibbering, drooling idiot as he toyed with me.

"Pl-pl-please!"

Hardly recognizing my own voice, tremulous and desperate as I clawed at the wall and shook in his hold on me.

"Please what, brat?" Emmett's voice was hard. As unyielding as the rough burr of his palm's edge, as it scored against the flare of my tip.

Only the way he'd laced his fingers through my hair held me upright. The pain of that tight grip a lance of clarity that I clung to, perversely. Knowing that without it, I'd dissolve into the torturous tsunami he'd unleashed on my crotch.

"Y-you can do it here," I gasped out. "An-anything..."

A grunt, of approval and amusement.

For a moment I thought it wasn't going to be enough; that Emmett wouldn't relent until I was mindless and entirely broken. Until, with an abruptness that made every nerve ending shake, he pulled his hand back from between my legs. Slick fingers brushing across my hole, the motion swift but still enough to remind me of just what I'd promised him once before.

And, for that matter, how I'd renewed that promise now.

The sound of his belt buckle seemed extra-loud. I felt the jerk as he tugged his shorts open, unable to see him yet knowing he was stripping off.

A flood of icy dismay rushed through me. I'd seen, felt the results when Emmett had fucked me: it'd pushed me to the edge, and even then that was with plenty of lube. If he tried to nail me now, it'd not so much be a case of teetering on disaster but rushing headlong into it.

"Wait, wait..." The fear plain in my voice, quavering and uncertain.

No response. Just the sound of those dumb khaki shorts being pushed down his muscled, football player thighs.

"Please, you can't... not without... I'm not..."

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Cole," he interrupted.

I hissed as he spun me around, scalp protesting even as my shoulders bounced off the wall. Winded, the shock of it forcing the air from my lungs, and then grunting in surprise again as he gave my shoulder a sharp push and sent me down onto my ass on the floor.

He was close, looming over me as I tried to right myself. A front row seat as Emmett tucked his fingers into his Under Armour trunks and shoved them down too. The soft white fabric pooling at his ankles.

Not that I was watching it do that. Not when face to face with the full heft of his erection as it jutted urgently toward me.

Two fingers, under my chin. Easing my head back, until I was peering up at him.

"No teeth. No throwing up. No tapping out." He smirked, knowingly. "You promised me whatever I wanted, didn't you, Cole?"

Wide-eyed, I nodded. And if I'd thought the idea of him fucking me raw was overwhelming, with little more than precum and sweat to lube his way in, the idea of his hard cock filling my throat left me with similar doubt that I'd survive.

"I don't know if... if I can..." I started. Silenced by the way he shook his head, slowly. Words stopped on my lips by the way the head of his dick brushed against them.

Instinctively, I licked them. Tasting where he'd smeared precum across me, sweet and sharp.

"Show me your tongue," he instructed. Words soft and coaxing, as if we'd both fooled ourselves I could protest, squirm away from him.

I opened my mouth; stuck out my tongue. Rewarded by the heft of his cock resting on it, Emmett's scent filling my nostrils.

"You look," he purred down at me, "so perfect like that."

I glared at him, eyes narrowing with frustration. Annoyed, too, at how I couldn't exactly claim I didn't like this feeling, of being sandwiched between him and the wall, waiting for his next instruction. Drool already spilling over my lips.

"Show me how much you love having me in your mouth."

It was the permission I'd been waiting for, liberation to close my lips around his fat shaft and work the flared tip with my tongue. His taste exponentially stronger, now.

I wanted it, but I was terrified, too. Feeling the way my lips stretched around Emmett's cockmeat, and remembering how that had left my ass gaping. My muscles no match for his hardness, for the size that even managed to look big compared to his muscled jock body.

He gently slapped my cheek, dragging me from my spiraling panic. Looking at me, with an expression that left me wondering just how much of my fear was visible.

Or maybe he just had a thing for younger guys already struggling to handle even the tip of his dick, and the look on their faces as they realized quite what they'd got themselves into.

"Gimme your hands," he ordered.

Obedient, despite everything, I raised both arms. Felt them gripped by just one of Emmett's big hands, crossed at the wrists and pushed back against the wall. Realized I'd just willingly allowed him to imprison me even more.

"Remember the rules?"

Not a chance of replying, not out loud anyway. Not with my mouth already so full. I tried to nod, instead.

No teeth. No throwing up. No tapping out.

My heavy gulp wasn't just to swallow the spit and precum that was already making my mouth a sloppy mess for Emmett to push through. Eyes widening as he pushed his hips forward, the swell of his thick inches stretching my lips even further as more of him filled my face.

I grunted, the sound of it glottal and thick, when he nudged the entrance to my throat. Felt his hand tighten on my wrists in response, an unmistakable reminder of just who was in charge, here. Who set the pace.

I'd promised him my throat, and Emmett was going to take his due.

Feeling desperate, I swallowed again, and again. Body jolting as that last gulp slurped his meaty head past my tonsils, skewering me.

"Fuck, yeah... so tight."

The praise drifting distantly into my awareness, my attention dominated by the heft of him filling me. When he'd fucked me, it'd been like a baseball bat pushed into my hole. Now, I was getting the same from the opposite direction, and the urge to freak out was spiraling.

A tug, and suddenly I could breathe again. The head of Emmett's dick popping out of my throat, as I coughed and spluttered around him. Lips still taut, body still pinned, and yet just being able to gasp down lungfuls of air felt like the sweetest sort of liberty.

The feeling upended a second later, when I felt him push in again.

He'd worked my hole like this, some remote part of my brain reminded me through the overwhelming fog of horny desperation. Grinding the wide, flared edge of his cock head just inside me, stretching my muscles in a way that felt almost impossible, and then jerking it back out again. Never quite letting me get used to it, my body overwhelmed until my ass was spread wide for him. A gooey, pliable gape for him to long-dick without resistance.

And now, it was dawning on me, he planned to do exactly the same to my inexperienced throat.

I'd sucked a couple of guys off before; just dumb hook-ups, drunken fooling around. Had barely had them in my mouth before they'd finished themselves off by hand. More like a dare than a sexual encounter.

Nothing so big as Emmett, though. Nothing so thick, and meaty, and insistent. Nothing that had come with the warning that - even though we were in the mailroom of my condo building, and even though anybody could walk around the corner and find us - we weren't going to stop until he was satisfied he'd broken in my throat.

The spurt of precum from my rock-hard dick was an uneasy reminder that I didn't exactly hate that warning. No matter how much it also scared me.

Not that I had much choice either way, as he eased back again and I choked and coughed around his thickness. Knowing I only had seconds before he plugged me again, trying as best I could to prepare myself to hold my breath and settle my racing heartbeat. Ignore the drool running down my chin and soaking through my shirt, or the way my eyes were watering, or the constant pull on my lips.

And squirming still, no matter how pointless it was in the vice-like grip of his hand, as he drove himself back into my gullet and held there. My body spasming around his slick inches, lubed by my own throat slime, and unsure if it was horniness or oxygen deprivation that was leaving me so light-headed.

A whimper, hoarse and weak, as he yanked himself out of me again. My head sagging forward, neck feeling like it'd been deboned, as Emmett slapped my cheeks with his dick and chuckled.

"You're doing so well, little prince. Such a good little cocksucker."

I mustered just enough strength to look up at him, gaze narrowed, and fury twisting my wet lips. "Fuck off."

No hesitation, no warning. Just his fingers pushing into my mouth, three of them thick against my tongue. Shoving my head back, it hitting the wall with a sharp stab of pain that made me wince.

I was still blinking away stars as he hauled me away, one hand still gripping my wrists as they other yanked my jaw. My feet slipping desperately on the polished floor, as he spun me and then threw me down.

The weight of his legs, pinning my arms to the marble. I looked up, at his expression of cold intent, as he pushed a hand under my head and lifted it.

"Open."

Glaring still, I opened my mouth. Preparing for more of our sniping, of the part-teasing, part-angry arguing that I couldn't deny was as arousing to me as it was infuriating. Then felt my eyes bulge as he thrust himself between my lips.

Not measured, not patient. I'd felt overwhelmed before, limp with the flood of sensations, but now I knew that'd been Emmett taking it easy on me. Allowing me to get used to the width of his horse cock, to the weird and unnerving feeling of having my throat filled by it. Patient, even, and a patience that had now clearly run out.

Barely time to gasp the shortest of breaths before he was pushing deeper. Pulling my head into his crotch, tilting his body so as to find the perfect angle to feed himself into my twitching gullet. My legs kicking, scrabbling for impossible purchase as he stuck me.

A beat, my nose and lips pressed into his crotch: feeling as though I'd tried to swallow a tree trunk whole, every muscle vibrating as my brain swam.

And then he was pulling me off him, fist bunched in my hair, my lungs heaving as the feeling of being dragged inside-out by his cock left me limp and overloaded. Tears streaming down the sides of my face and slimy drool bubbling across my lips.

"Five, four, three, two, one..."

I knew what was coming, sluggish brain catching on halfway through his countdown, but not enough time to protest, to plead. Just to snatch as deep a breath as I could, already feeling Emmett pulling me up again, and then every other thought and feeling and intention was lost as he pressed back into my throat.

Long, stretching seconds, with no focus to count them. My brain losing track of everything else bar the thickness he'd ground into me, the rest skittering away like tumbled marbles.

Coughing and spluttering as he released me again, vision blurred with tears and the pain of his grip in my hair almost welcome. Something to center myself on, to remind myself that my body was real, was whole: more than just a hole for Emmett to rut into.

"Well fuck, Cole, looks like you're enjoying it."

I blinked at the taunt, then bucked and wriggled again when he reached back and roughly stroked my erection. Hand twisting around it, and nowhere for me to escape with his weight pinning me.

I was gasping at the rush of pleasure-pain from it, when Emmett drove back between my lips. His fist still working me, even as he buried every last inch as far as he could reach, the sensations from the two combining in my brain until all I could do was howl around his cock.

My whimpering was hoarse, fractured, when he slid out of me again. Face a mess, body sweaty and boneless, and my dick hiccuping great bubbles of precum across his fingers.

Emmett leaned down, face close to mine. The twist of his grin bright, even through my blurred vision.

"Your throat's gonna be as wide as your ass was, when we're done."

I could just about hear my groan of dismay through the ringing in my ears. Knew, too, that however much I might protest or glare at him, Emmett had the truth of my compliance throbbing in his fist.

"More?"

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. Opened them again, looking past the thick, glistening length of his cock to where he was watching my reaction.

"Please..."

I wasn't entirely sure whether I was begging for mercy or asking him to use me again.

Emmett made that decision for me.

Driving between my lips again, across my tongue, into my throat. Overwhelming my gag reflex; no time to think about that, to consider what comes next, just to focus on relaxing my muscles as much as possible.

He held there for a moment - grip on me tight, the smell of his musk and fresh sweat sharp - before sawing his hips back and forth. Not just plugging my throat, now, but fucking it. Long, measured strokes, the fat head of his dick filling my mouth one moment, before he drove it back down toward my lungs the next.

So intense, I hardly realized at first that his fingers were pushing against my hole.

Slicked with my own precum, slyly insistent between my cheeks. My arms twisting ineffectively underneath Emmett's bodyweight; no way to stop him from sliding one long digit inside my twitching ass.

I grunted around his cock, body jerking as he plied me at both ends. A finger quickly becoming two, then three; easier this time, as though my hole remembered how he'd treated it the last time, and had already given up any pretense of resistance. Stockholm syndrome for my flesh, a compliance Emmett took full advantage of as he dug and corkscrewed inside me.

"Wait," I croaked, when he jerked himself out of my mouth again. My voice sounding raw and splintered.

He stared down at me, hand still pushing at my hole. He'd added a fourth finger, I realized belatedly; taking advantage of my distraction as he cored out my throat.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

"No, please, wait..."

"Seven, six..."

"Wait! I... we..."

"Five, four..."

"Please! We can't..."

"Three, two, one."

That sense of immersion, of sinking like the heaviest stone as he pushed into me again. My lips, my mouth, my throat not even thinking of resisting, despite my desperate pleas for a delay. Opening to him, to his thickness as it glistened. His balls pressed against my chin and the scent of him, the heat of him filling me. Until I was simply twisting beneath his heft, a landed fish pierced at both ends, flopping helplessly even as it felt as though I was one scratch, one graze away from painful orgasm.

He used his grip in my hair to fuck me on him. Squeezing me to his crotch and then dragging me back; teasing and experimenting with the friction of my holes, the play of the angles, and the combinations which brought him most pleasure.

I mewled, frustrated, feeling as though I'd been an inch from my own climax when he finally released me again. Trying to clench my ass around the half-hand pushed inside it, as though that might delay him, postpone the cadence of what I knew Emmett saw as my education.

"Wait, not here, we can't here, someone could, could find us, not saying stop no, no, no, just not here..."

The words spilling out of me in one long, barely-punctuated stream. Terrified of hearing his countdown again: of being so focused on how he used my body that I wouldn't notice a delivery guy, or a neighbor, or some random visitor walking in and finding us coiled and sweaty on the mailroom floor. Wondering if even their gasp of surprise would make it through the blood roaring in my ears as Emmett plugged my throat and stretched my ass. If, in that delirious moment, I'd care at all who saw me.

He raised an eyebrow; opened his mouth as if to reply.

Interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing in the hallway outside.

I squealed as he yanked his fingers from inside me. Legs jerking at the sudden roughness and the hollowness that quickly followed. Lungs dragging in what felt like the first deep breath I'd managed in a lifetime, as he swung his leg over me and stood. Hard cock jutting obscenely, wet from my throat slime, and for a moment I questioned everything, unbelieving that something that big could fit inside me.

The pool of my own drool and Emmett's precum that my head lay in was a reminder that yes, it was real. And that I doubted he was done with me yet.

Phone still ringing, he reached an arm out to me.

Willing my muscles into action, I just about managed to stretch out my hand and clasp his. Then grunted in surprise as he jerked me to my feet; not stopping there, either, but dragging me through the open doorway and into the foyer. Half my clothes left behind, and my heart rate racing frantically as I realized how exposed we now were.

"Sit," he ordered, tossing me down under the desk.

I'd seen him there so many times before, cast so many needy, hungry glances his way as I scurried through the hallway. Trying to memorize his features, the way his cheeks always looked halfway to reddened. Full lips and intense eyes. Wishing, desperately - and laughing at myself even as I did so, knowing myself to be ridiculous, a pathetic little cliche - that this handsome, studly jock would look back at me and see something other than an awkward teenager.

Emmett spun the chair to sit down on it, then pushed forward on its wheels until I was caught in the cage of his thighs.

I heard him scoop up the receiver. A faint click.

"This is Emmett at the front desk, how can I help you?"

His work voice. Jarring, now, given everything we'd done. Everything he'd done to me.

Something about that goaded me into action. Head ducked, crouched awkwardly, I leaned forward. The swollen length of Emmett's erection lolling between his powerful legs, too wide for my hand to wrap around. A two-fisted grip on him, then, as I slipped the plump head between my lips and suckled, gently.

His legs twitched, as I ground his sensitive tip across the grooves at the top of my mouth.

"Certainly sir, I... uh... I mean, I can totally..."

I heard him gulp.

"I mean to say, yes, we can totally do that for you."

Could the guy he was on the phone with hear the slight shake in his voice? Tell, perhaps, that he was distracted?

The clatter of the phone, set back down. I peered up, past the wide expanse of Emmett's chest, to see he was already staring down at me. Eyes narrowed, looking unimpressed.

"You think it's funny, to fuck with my job?"

I could've taken his cock out of my mouth to answer him, but I wasn't sure he'd appreciate any reply I could give.

His glare deepened. "So fucking entitled."

I knew I should explain, that I was teasing not anything more serious, but I didn't get the chance. Not with both his hands suddenly on the back of my head, pulling me in close. Cock bruising its way back into my throat, setting me choking and squirming around it. My fingers pushing at his thighs, digging into the muscles desperately, but there was no escaping him. Emmett bigger than me, stronger than me, better hung. And if he wanted me to deep-throat him until I was borderline terrified of passing out, then I didn't get a say.

"You feel that, little prince? You like how full that obnoxious throat feels right now?"

He yanked me back, my vision already narrowing. Drool spilling down my chin as I gasped and spluttered, body noodle-limp between his thighs. Would've slumped back, if it wasn't for his two handed grip on my skull, pinning me in place.

He squeezed, and as I yelped from the pain in my scalp he drove his erection back into my open mouth. Another quick, deep stroke that gave me no time to complain, no time to fill my lungs. Angry now, and no disguising it.

"You're a fucking hole, you cocky little bitch. Feel how much your throat is stretched around me."

Thoughts spinning, the sound of my groan felt foreign to my own ears.

"I said feel it," Emmett barked.

Shaky hands lifting, my fingers wrapping around my neck. Feeling the way it bulged, the thickness of his cock unmistakable as he skewered me.

Too much for me to comprehend, to understand, though. Overwhelmed by the reality I found myself in: the tears running down my cheeks hot, scalding even, as the wide, flared head of his dick ground against my palms.

It was like I'd been caged, folded up under the desk with his legs and the chair blocking me in. Half naked and dripping, my cock rigid as he mauled me. A hole to him, little more: slick and clinging, something to pound away your sexual tension on and little else. No more worthy of consideration than a Fleshlight would be.

For a moment, I thought the chime of the elevator was just the ringing in my ears. Sluggish brain struggling to catch up, to process. Too focused on the girth of Emmett's dick, and the way it felt like it was dragging my gullet inside-out.

The click click click of heels across the marble.

Emmett froze, my lips still taut around his shaft. Pressure in my hair easing; fingers slipping free. Before I could pull back, though, I felt his leg crossing. Muscled calf pressed against the back of my neck, trapping my head in place with every inch of him squeezed inside of me.

He sat up, a little straighter, and I groaned at how that twisted the throat-plugging flare of his tip. It felt like he was halfway to my stomach.

And then any fight in me evaporated as I heard my mom's voice.

"Oh, um... Emmett, yes."

I could imagine her squinting at his name badge; the way she'd try to make it look entirely casual, as if it wasn't completely obvious that she'd forgotten his name.

Then again, it wasn't like I memorized the names of everyone who worked in the building. Just the ones I wanted to fuck.

"How can I help you, ma'am?"

The same tones as before, on the phone. Deferential, considerate. Only now I knew my mom was standing on the other side of the desk I was folded underneath, with no idea that her only son was currently being throat-fucked by the charmingly polite bellman sitting there.

"My son came down here, a little while ago. To check the mail. Did you happen to see him?"

I'm here, mom. It was mainly junk mail, and then I got distracted, and now I can't breathe past the slab of cock this ever-so-attentive, butter-wouldn't-melt 20-something all-American boy has brutalized my mouth with. Can't squirm or wriggle my way out of the lock his muscled jock leg has on my neck; can't tap out, or plead defeat, or do anything but gurgle silently as he throbs in the depths of my gullet. But it's okay, mom, because you can tell by the pool of precum I'm drooling across the floor that my fucked-up body doesn't seem to mind.

"I believe he got a call and went out," Emmett said. The lies slipping out as easily as he manhandled me. I could picture his face, too: the expression of unthreatening sincerity. Even though I know enough of him, of the way he thought, to recognize he must spend plenty of his time seething at the entitled people that live in the building and take him and his coworkers for granted.

As far as I knew, I was the only one he got to take that seething resentment out on. And I kinda invited that upon myself.

"Oh, well, how typical," my mom said, sighing. "I always say he could do worse than learn a little from you and the other staff. I'm sure you could teach him a thing or two about commitment, and sticking with something until the end."

The slight flex, of his calf against the back of my neck. Grinding his hardness into me an extra fraction of an inch. Not that I needed it: the tunnel-vision was well on its way.

"I'll be sure to let him know you're looking for him, when I see him next," Emmett told her, voice dripping with trustworthiness.

I silently pleaded that she wouldn't feel obliged to come up with smalltalk. My fingertips digging into the meat of his thighs: focusing on the almost painful pressure, to distract from the burning in my lungs as he suffocated me with his dick.

It had a second purpose, too. It stopped me from reaching down and jerking myself frantically, my cock now beyond achingly stiff.

"Thank you, I appreciate that. Well, I had better..."

It was, some scrap of my brain still had oxygen to process, a textbook example of her vague - and vaguely uncomfortable - exits. Why opt for a period, when an ellipsis will do.

Click click click. And then, after a delay that had my whole body vibrating with tension, the ding of the elevator.

A beat.

His leg loosened, and I fell back as though electrocuted. Cock dragging wetly from my throat, a splash of drool and the slick he'd dredged up from me spilling down my chin and across Emmett's crotch. The dull thud of my head hitting the underside of the counter, but no way to focus on that, to even register the ache because I was too busy gasping down air into burning lungs.

He pushed back on the chair, wheels smooth and silent, looking down at where I was slumped in a panting heap. I knew I must look dazed, overwhelmed. Knew, too, that the erection between my splayed legs must be equally obvious.

"Your mom's looking for you," he said, deadpan.

The laugh hurt my raw-feeling throat, quickly morphing into a grunt of pain as Emmett reached under the desk and dragged me out by my hair.

"You're gonna get me into trouble," he spat, sounding angry.

I gave him as unimpressed a glare as I could. It was probably a little lacking, given I was stripped to the waist, my shirt was soaked with spit, and there was precum roping out of my dick in long, wet strands.

"Get over yourself," I sneered back at him.

He stared at me, for a moment. Expression unreadable.

I yelped, as he tugged up. Sending me onto my tiptoes, his fist bunched tight against my scalp sending sharp jags through me. Eyes watering again, hands clawing desperately at his wrists as if I stood a single chance of moving him.

"Oh, little prince," Emmett said, tiredly. As though I'd had a chance to prove myself, and once again - so true to form - disappointed him instead. "When will you learn not to be such a little brat?"

I opened my mouth, to say something, anything. Promise him I'd be good, be better, maybe; tempt fate with more snark, giving in to that flare of righteous indignation he always seemed to spark deep in my chest.

And howled, instead, when he reached down underneath me and forced his fingers into my ass.

Two, maybe three, no way to tell from the shock and the suddenness of it. No more than I'd taken before, true, but the roughness still sending me hopping on my toes, from foot to foot. My hole fluttering around him, muscles overwhelmed by Emmett's thick digits.

No chance to protest, to plead. Not when he was already dragging me across the room, my feet skidding and slipping on the marble floor. Scalp burning while his fingers drove me forward, perpetually off-balance. Knowing there was no way I could afford to fall, not if I didn't want to lose a handful of hair or drive his hand even further inside me.

"Entitled, cocky, and always, always right, aren't you." It wasn't like he sounded angry, now, or even frustrated. Just resigned to the idea that he'd have to teach me another lesson.

One that, as the bubbling fear, and excitement, and dread surged in the pit of my belly, I knew I'd likely love and hate in roughly equal measure.

He shoved me forward, toward a door off the foyer. "Open it."

Problem was, I'd have to let go of my hold on his wrist if I was going to do that, and every muscle in my arms told me that wasn't an option. Not with that the only thing stopping my full weight being applied either to his grip of my hair, or his fingers in my ass.

Another yelp, as he shook me bodily.

"I said open it."

Arm shaky, I reached out a hand. Fingers twitching, feeling the impatience radiating off him in waves as I finally got the door open.

A janitor's closet. Small, tight with shelves and stacked boxes.

"Light," Emmett instructed.

I flailed out, to grab at the dangling chain. Missed it, my overwhelmed body haphazard and imprecise.

"You do it," I whined.

Maybe it was subconsciously recognizing the shift of his muscles before he moved. Maybe the universe granted me a split-second of useless premonition. Either way, I knew I'd fucked up even before his hand jabbed into me. What had to be three fingers pushing in to the knuckle, and even then Emmett seemingly determined to go further still. Sending me hopping and cursing, desperately grabbing at the cord and - finally, with a squeak of relief - switching on the bare bulb.

A shove, both hands releasing me as I tripped forward, hearing him shut the door behind us. My vision blurred with tears and the pendulum swing of the light.

"Let me guess," he said, still in that level, flat tone. "You think, because your parents have money, because you get to live in a fancy building, that you're better than the rest of us, right? A special little fancy boy, who gets to ignore the shit that's beneath him."

The air thumped out of my chest as his hand slapped me down between my shoulders. Chest slamming into a low shelf in front of me; my gasp turning into a cough of shock as Emmett's fingers jabbed back into my exposed hole.

"You want something, mommy and daddy will get it for you," he continued. "Want someone, well, just reach out and grab them, right? No way they can complain about that, not if they want to keep their job."

There was an edge to his voice, now. A sharpness I couldn't miss, even with the way his fingers were churning and corkscrewing in me.

"Everyone knows their place, don't they, little prince, and it's you at the top of the fucking pile."

He slapped my ass, my legs jerking in surprise and hiking my hips up toward him.

"Anyone used this, since me?"

I shook my head, the movement jerky as my brain stuttered. Then squealed again, as he scissored his fingers open.

"I asked you a question."

I bit my lip, to try to steady my voice. "N-no. Not since..."

Not since you plowed me mercilessly. Not since you left my ass gaping open, and forced me to feel with my horrified, fascinated fingers just how exactly you'd overwhelmed my flesh.

"Weird. I thought you'd be tighter, then. You been playing with those secret toys of yours, little prince?"

I could feel my face flush: somehow still capable of feeling self-conscious, shamed, even after all that'd happened. At his reminder that he knew I'd ordered sex toys online, even if they'd barely prepared me for how he'd overloaded me with his bull cock.

The snap of a bottle opening, and then I felt something cold and slick dribble down the crack of my ass. Oozing along my hole, around Emmett's still-probing fingers.

"Lucky for you there's something we can use in here," he observed, sounding amused now. "Otherwise you might never close up again."

There was no way to hold in my groan at the idea of how he could wreck me, if he wanted to. At what I'd allow him to do to me, my cock throbbing ever-harder at the thought of him overpowering me and taking whatever friction he desired.

He kicked my legs further apart, hand still twisting. Somewhere, along the way - my brain distracted, thoughts struggling to coalesce - he'd added a fourth finger. My ass succumbing, even as I fought the urge to reach down under myself and give myself the mere handful of strokes it would take to have me unloading across the grimy floor.

A sudden sense of emptiness, as he yanked his fingers out of me.

"I don't know if..." I started, not even sure what I was trying to say, to warn him of.

Interrupted, anyway. Emmett's hand, firm and foreboding, at the small of my back. "I know you don't, little prince. That's why you need someone to teach you." He chuckled, softly. "So, first lesson..."

I howled, squirming under the weight of his hand. Toes desperately trying to gain traction; failing, as the achingly wide head of his dick pushed through my twitching muscle. Just deep enough that I clenched around his thickness, whole-body shudders leaving me feeling like so much jello.

"I take it back, little prince," he told me, "you're still pretty damn tight. Let's change that, shall we?"

Hardly a whimper, more just a long, pleading exhale as he gripped my hips and sunk into me. Tauntingly slow, making me feel each swollen inch as I spread around him.

"Fuck, you feel good."

The compliment not even delivered grudgingly; I tried not to think too much about the way hearing it set sparks surging in the pit of my stomach. What it said that I took such strange pride in how readily I could be used.

Then again, the heft of his dick rearranging my insides was a pretty effective distraction from self-analysis.

Another groan, as he steadily pulled out of me. Some part of my brain trying to track each feeling, each sensation: craft a ledger of the way he possessed me, that I knew I'd want to dwell on later, when it was just me and the lonely privacy of my bedroom. A task made almost impossible, though, with the way my nerve-endings were erupting with that wild stretching.

Emmett paused, just his tip lodged in me. "Lesson two..."

No way to swallow my grunt, as he tugged himself loose. My slick muscles trying to hold their grip on him, keep him lodged in place, but no match for his strong jock body. Only to find him pushing forward again, my hole barely having time to close before he was spreading me wide again.

"Oh, no..."

The memory of it, sodium bright in my mind. How he'd worked me over; used the intimidatingly girthy flare of his cock to torment me, to brutalize my ass into gaping defeat. Had shown him, too, that I could take it. That I was pliant, and submissive, and - for all I might whimper, and moan, and claw at the rough wooden shelves with my shaking fingers - I wasn't going to do anything to stop him from ruining my almost-virgin teen hole.

The sweat was sticking my shirt to my back. Panting, as though I'd run a marathon, and every inch of my body reduced to boneless jelly. Well, almost every inch, anyway: the ones wagging stiffly between my thighs were the dripping exception.

"Help me out, here, little prince."

I groaned, brain fizzing like a broken television. Too mesmerized by the sensations between my cheeks to process what Emmett was saying.

Then dragged right back into painful focus when he reached out and grabbed my arms. Pulling them toward him, my back arching as he manhandled me roughly.

"Hold yourself open for me," he demanded.

I obeyed, with twitching fingers. Tugging at my cheeks, first, spreading them wider, before inching closer to where he pierced me. Adding my own contribution to the way Emmett was stretching me.

"Yeah, fuck, that's it. God, you look like such a little slut."

I could feel my face blushing, pressed into the wood.

"Here's the thing, little prince," he continued. Hips jabbing forward with a fast rhythm, now, my body barely resisting him any more. "I'm on the clock, so we're gonna have to skip the foreplay."

I almost laughed, at the idea that this counted as us easing into sex. Knowing, with a sense of twisted dread and anticipation, that already Emmett could probably pull out of me and my ass would stay wide open.

He didn't wait for a response, anyway. Just slammed his hips into me, riding the whole-body vibrations that shook me as he bottomed out in what felt like my stomach. His hands pressed on top of mine, thumbs yanking at my overwhelmed muscles where they were already pulled taut around his shaft.

A chuckle. "It's like fucking pudding," Emmett observed, amused. "Sloppy, entitled pudding."

I was too busy gasping and drooling to formulate any sort of reply.

"What do you reckon mom would think, eh? If she saw her precious, cocky little boy on his knees, desperate for someone to unload in him?" His voice was taunting, as cold as the flush across my cheeks was hot. "Or daddy, maybe... how he'd react, knowing his son was a slutty, gaped-out little hole?"

I just about managed a whine, as his thumbs pushed into me. Stretching me further, even as his cock pounded away.

"Fuck," he grunted, suddenly, "I was gonna bust in your throat, but now..."

He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. Not with the way I felt him thicken, impossibly, inside me; the way his dick jerked as his cum flooded me.

I didn't think I'd ever get used to the sensation of him pulling out of me. That twist: like I was being inverted, turned inside-out.

"Well fuck, little prince, I think we set a new record."

Only biting down on my lip kept the moan of dismay from escaping. The pain of it surging as his fingers twisted in me.

Emmett hauled me out from where I was splayed across the shelf, fist bunched in my shirt. Dragging me over his thighs as he sat back on the floor, my ass hiked up as he toyed with my gaping entrance.

"That's four fingers," he observed, "and I hardly touch the sides."

"Y-you bastard," I managed, but any venom I could muster evaporated like smoke when his other hand grabbed my dick.

The angle was weird, Emmett reaching across to milk me with his fist while still playing with my hole, and the friction was tight bordering on painful, but I didn't care. Couldn't argue with the maelstrom of sensations, even as he corkscrewed his rough palm around my hypersensitive tip and I writhed and bucked on his lap. No way to escape, not really, and no real hope of doing so. Not when it felt like I was moments away from the orgasm I'd been chasing.

"Really makes me wish I'd brought my camera in here," he said, mischievously, and that was it.

The idea of him taking photos of me, at my most vulnerable. Of him standing over me, cock still slick from plowing me, and snapping picture after picture as I slumped in a heap on the cold floor. No way of knowing to who he might show the evidence of how thoroughly he'd subdued me.

It was part-whimper, part-mewl as I filled his palm with my cum.

"Such a healthy, virile little prince," Emmett taunted, "daddy would be so proud." He stroked me again, hand obscenely slimy, as my legs shuddered. "Can't let this go to waste, now..."

The blessed relief of him releasing my dick, upended by the pressure of his hand across my mouth. Fingers dripping with my load, palm coated with a thick mess of it, and nowhere for it to go but between my lips. Not even needing instruction, coaxing, threats... just knowing what he expected of me, my tongue lapping around him as his other hand kept plying my cum-slicked hole.

I was limp, when he finally relented. Draped across his lap, muscles unresponsive. Knowing I should get up, but even the thoughts were tenuous and flighty. Drifting out of my head almost as soon as they formed.

Realizing too late that I would've been wise to pull myself together when I had the chance.

"So relaxed. Guess that means it's time for one last lesson."

Toppling off his legs when he shifted under me, sprawled at his knees. Only to have my head dragged up once more; Emmett's customary grip in my hair almost reassuring in its familiarity as he turned my face to look up at his. Past the still-hard jut of his glistening cock, to where he was smirking, knowingly.

"Open."

One word, a simple command, and even as my brain was howling, my body attempting to muster the strength to moan in near-helpless protest, my mouth was obeying. Understanding what would come next, the way his dick - still wet, greased from my own hole - would inescapably be filling my throat.

The taste of cum, and lube, and the scent of him rich and dizzying, stronger now after the exertions of our fuck, of the way he'd pounded me. Driving out any other thoughts in my head bar his closeness, the way Emmett pulled me into him as our bodies meshed. Mine opening to him, not so much easier than before as unprotesting: my flesh accepting that it was his rightful place to be throat-fucking me, and mine to be the sweaty, limp-limbed hole from which Emmett took his pleasure.

He pulled back, long sticky cords joining his tip to my lips. More of it spilling down my chin and further soaking the bedraggled wreck of my shirt.

"Ask for it."

I looked up at him with watery eyes. "What?"

"Ask me to wreck your throat, like I did your ass." He slapped his cock against my face. "I said ask for it."

Something itched in me, like the itch you get as a burn is healing. The one you know you shouldn't scratch, and yet you really can't help yourself.

"Uh... please wreck my throat," I told him, hesitantly.

"Like..."

I grit my teeth. "Like you did my ass."

Emmett's grin was smug. "Because..."

He hadn't fed me the line, but I could take a good guess at what he wanted to hear.

"Because... I deserve it?"

He swiped the slimy tip of his dick against my cheeks and across my mouth. Instinctively I found myself tilting my head, trying to capture it between my lips.

"Hold your mouth open good and wide, so I know you're really learning your lesson."

Some part of me wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong. Undermined in the next moment, as I used my weak fingers to pull my lips further apart, cheeks bulging.

Emmett shook his head, amused. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

I didn't have time to process that before his shaft was pushing into me again. Harder and rougher this time, the tiny room filling with my frantic gurgling and the sloppy, mushy sounds of my throat as it stretched around him. My brain barely able to register that, almost every thought fleeing bar the knowledge of how he was ruining me.

No sense of time, then. Nothing beyond the stretching sensation which suffused my entire body, as though Emmett's dick wasn't just digging into my gullet but all the way through me. And while I wanted to resent him for it, to hate him for how readily he took his pleasure from whichever hole he saw fit to use, I knew full well I was doing nothing to stop him.

He wasn't even fucking to cum, now, I could tell. Just to teach me my lesson: to demonstrate, with no question or uncertainty whatsoever, that if he wanted to push his thick, gag-reflex-destroying inches deep into me until I squirmed and flopped like a caught fish, Emmett could. And even with the breathlessness, the fear that I was on the edge of passing out time and time again, and the stretching that made his cock in my broken throat the center of my world and all I could think about, I couldn't deny that in some dark, seedy way it thrilled me, too.

I fell, sprawling in an uncoordinated mess, when he finally released me. Hoarse and gasping; feeling as raw as if I'd been hollowed out by knives.

Unresisting, too, as Emmett dragged me upright. It took blinking a few times before I could focus on his smirk. The fact that he was pulling on my hole again, fingers from both hands tugging the exhausted muscles, wasn't exactly helping me concentrate.

"Maybe I should lock you in here, leave you for the other doormen to have a turn," he suggested, sounding entertained. "Something to make the shift go faster."

I thumped him on the chest, my arm weak. Knowing, even as I did it, that it would likely only amuse him.

Sure enough, Emmett laughed as he caught my wrist. One sharp jerk and I was pulled in against him; a squeal, as I felt his mouth latch against the side of my neck, muffled by his fingers pressing into my mouth and the sharp taste of his cum as he gagged me. Squirming in his grip, but too overwhelmed to escape the cinch of his arm.

After a few moments of sucking, he sat back, looking satisfied.

I glared at him, wishing there was a mirror I could see what sort of angry hickey he'd marked me with. "Why'd you do that, asshole?"

That smug grin again. "Because it's fun to make your body do what I want it to?" he suggested, with a shrug. "Because it's fun to see you get all worked up over shit like this?"

Silently demanding my legs comply - and only a little shakily - I pushed myself up, out of his lap. Trying to muster what little dignity I could, half-naked and sweaty. My hair a mess, face still wet. Knowing, too, that nothing I could say or do would intimidate Emmett, or make him feel in any way powerless.

"What am I meant to tell my parents, if they ask?" I demanded.

He stood, making it look graceful somehow despite the tightness of the closet we were in. Having to look up in order to meet his eyes wasn't exactly helping my feeling of insignificance.

"Lie. Make something up." He was giving me that dismissive look, now. Cold, to match his sneering tone. "I'm pretty sure being sneaky comes naturally to you, right, little prince?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat as he yanked my head over. Mouth clamped to my neck again, the other side now: higher up, too, so that I knew no collar would hide it. Shuddering as his other hand wrapped around my erection, the stiffness that betrayed me with its refusal to go away, not jerking me but even just the burr of his rough palm was enough to have me writhing bonelessly.

Finally, ignoring my wriggling attempts to detach myself, he released me. Leaving me seething, fists clenched in impotent rage at my sides.

Emmett took a step back. Even furious as I was, I couldn't help my eyes' treacherous glance down him. Impressed despite everything, despite my indignation at how casually he manhandled me. My frustration at that coexisting with my lust.

And it stung like hell, when I looked back up at his face and saw from his expression that Emmett knew exactly what I was thinking, and feeling.

"Don't forget your mail," he reminded me. "Wouldn't want to disappoint mom again, would we."

I was still glaring when he slipped out through the door. Trying to balance my anger with the urge to fall to my knees and jerk off over everything that'd just happened. Knowing, too, that I could reach between my cheeks and, from the mess Emmett had left of my hole, use his cum to lube my frantic fist. Cum that I could already feel sliding in sticky dribbles down my thighs.

I shook my head; bit down on the inside of my cheek, so hard I had to wince from the sting. Forcing myself to focus, to ignore the erection that just wouldn't go down.

It felt like I was poking my head out of a foxhole, as I glanced tentatively around the lobby. Bracing myself to rush back inside, should a neighbor, or a delivery guy, or one of the other doormen be out there.

Silence. Not even Emmett at the desk.

Praying my luck held, I scurried across to the mail room. Only to pull up short, when I realized he was already there. Dressed, too, and moving the stack of boxes I'd asked for his help with earlier.

Emmett glanced over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile twisting his mouth. "Can I help you, sir?"

I could rise to the bait or, I knew, I could focus on what was actually important. Like, getting to the stage where I was wearing something more than a t-shirt.

I looked down, to where I thought he'd tossed my shorts and underwear. Trying to forget the tingle in my half-hard cock at the memory of how he'd deftly stripped me. How I'd known, even then, that he was going to ruin my body for a second time.

Nothing. No shorts. No briefs. Nothing.

"What did you do with my clothes?" I demanded.

Emmett carefully set down a final box, then turned to stare at me. Made a face, after a moment, as if understanding had suddenly dawned.

He dug into his pocket, then held out a key. Our mailbox key, I realized. The one I'd shoved into my own pocket earlier.

Furious, I snatched it out of his fingers. "Where. Are. My. Clothes?" Practically a snarl, from between clenched teeth.

Maybe someone else would be convinced by his innocent expression. The sensation of cum oozing out of my tingling ass left me more skeptical.

"Sorry sir," Emmett said, "I'll be sure to keep an eye out in lost-and-found for you."

We stared at each other, the seconds dragging out. I could feel the anger in my chest building, like a stack of Mentos dropped into cola.

"Look, asshole, I want..." I started, the words erupting out of me. Stoppered, too, with equal haste by his hand around my throat, as Emmett surged forward to close the space between us.

I gasped out a shocked protest, unintelligible, but he wasn't stopping. Pushing me back, out of the mailroom door, through the lobby. My heels skidding and skittering on the marble, arms pinwheeling, until the smack of cold metal hit my shoulders.

Emmett stabbed an impatient finger at the elevator call button, his other hand still gripping my neck.

Wide-eyed, I watched as he glanced up at the display of numbers, slowly counting down the floors with each dull chime. And then, how his gaze fell too, to where my cock was rigid again between us. Had been, since he grabbed me and hustled me across the room; only throbbing harder when he slammed me against the elevator doors.

"At some point," he observed, sounding almost casual with it, "you're gonna want to ask yourself why being tossed about gets you so worked up."

He'd be able to feel my gulp against his palm, I knew.

A final ding, and I felt the doors sliding on my back. Barely halfway open before Emmett shoved me, sending me toppling down onto my ass. Shoulders slumped against the far wall, my legs shaky and splayed, and nothing I could do but stare up at him, panting with intermingled rage and arousal.

He reached in, and tapped the button for my floor. Then looked, pointedly, between my thighs. My ass wide open, thighs glistening with his load.

"Cheer up, Cole," he drawled. "Not everyone's gonna look at you and see an entitled little cocksucker. Some will just see a hole, instead."

I didn't even begin to have the words to reply as the door slid closed on his smile.

Hope you enjoyed it! It's always a treat to hear from readers - my email is alexp336@gmail.com.

If you're looking for more stories, meanwhile, I'm under "Alex P" on the Nifty authors page, and I have a handful of books at www.AlexPendragon.com. Happy reading!