Hello, smut-lovers! Looks like it's Luka's time to step up and show what he's been learning... A big thank you to everyone who takes the time to email me: feedback is always appreciated at alexp336@gmail.com.
I quietly added a brand new story to my site, www.alexpendragon.com, over the weekend. It's possibly my longest story ever - and one of the raunchiest. Ass-play, exhibitionism, toys, cute guys, and hookups galore, oh and so much cum, all with that "but I thought I was straight?!" slippery slope I know you love as much as I do. It's called "Seven Days to Squirm" and a beta-reader described it as 'classic alexp336'...
Of course, I still love Nifty too, and donations to keep this fine resource running are always appreciated.
Yours, cheekily, -Alex (aka alexp336) www.alexpendragon.com
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** Xander Shows Me My Prostate - Part 16 **
He shouldn't have this effect on me, but he does, and he knows it. Then again, it's not like I'm much good at hiding my reactions; not when Xander is staring into my eyes, a hand wrapped around my crotch, and that damned smirk that just makes me want to kiss him. If I don't, if I resist, it's only because there's some tiny scrap of my brain which is pointing out that we're parked at the side of the road in the middle of town.
I don't know if Xander would care about an audience, but I can't quite bring myself to ignore it.
Anyway, if I kiss him, then he can't keep begging me to fuck him. And a much larger part of my brain really wants to hear that some more.
"Keep going," I tell him, trying to match his smile.
Xander licks his lips. He may have dressed this whole begging thing up as something I want to hear, but I know full well that he gets off on it too. Maybe even more than I am.
"Are you picturing it?" he asks, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "How it'll look when my face is pressed into the floor and I'm holding my ass open for you?"
If I wasn't, I am now.
He chuckles, hand flexing around me. I'm still pinning his fingers in place, partly because I like the feeling of holding him on my cock, but also because I don't trust him not to start digging around in my shorts. Xander would, I have zero doubt, find it entirely entertaining to get me naked in his car, or even just half-naked. And, given my current state, I doubt I'd do much to stop him.
"How often do you get fucked?" I ask him, suddenly curious. Xander shrugs.
"I mean, not that often. Has to be the right guy, y'know."
I frown a little. "What makes the right guy?"
The smirk returns. "Fishing for compliments again, Luka?"
Rolling my eyes at his accusation, I shake my head. "Just curious."
Xander winks at me. "Well, this helps," he explains, squeezing my crotch pointedly. "A big, fat head that I know I'm really gonna feel when it pushes into me."
"And..."
Another shrug. "I mean, usually I'm the one who's in control. So it has to be a guy who I like the idea of giving that up to."
I'm remembering what he said, about his girlfriend. About how she liked seeing him being made submissive. Wonder, not for the first time, about the dynamics of their relationship, and how that all works.
"You told me Lucy likes seeing you that way," I remind him. Xander nods.
"Yeah, she does." He gropes at me again, more pointedly this time. "She likes seeing me beg, too."
My mouth is dry. "She watches?"
A laugh. "There have been... videos."
I don't know if he felt the way I throbbed in his fist, just then, at the idea of it. At the thought of swiping through his phone and seeing clips of him getting reamed by some dude.
"And she watches them... with you?"
Xander nods. "She watches me getting fucked, while I'm fucking her." He frowns, looking thoughtful. "Hasn't ever seen someone breeding me, though."
My throat is thick; it feels like, with just a little more attention, he could have me cumming in my shorts right about now. Not that I plan on telling him that.
"First time for everything," I remind him, instead.
I'm rewarded with the sort of smile that makes me lower the estimate on just how far from cumming I actually am.
"Then maybe we should go somewhere you can dump a load in me, then, yeah?"
I nod, then groan in frustration as he pulls his hand away from my dick. Fighting the urge to rub myself in his place, give myself the scant friction I know it would require. Xander's chuckle makes it abundantly clear he knows how worked up I am.
"No skipping ahead, dude," he warns. "You promised me, yeah?"
I grit my teeth and gesture at him to drive.
I'm not exactly impressed by myself, at how much sway he has over me, how rapidly he can get me worked up and focused on nothing so much as pawing at him and being pawed at in return. All the same, cock leaking inside my shorts and my nerves frazzled, it's difficult to take a mental step back and think rationally about any of this.
Plus, some conspiratorial part of my brain reminds me, we'd agreed this would just be physical. That we'd push away any feelings, that either of us might be having, in favor of keeping it simple. Within the bounds of what he and his girlfriend had agreed upon. And so if I'm turned on, and horny, and can't think of anything but pushing myself into him as Xander writhes underneath me, aren't I just doing the thing we promised we would?
We're about two blocks away from the coffee shop, and his phone is ringing. I watch him take a fast glance at the screen, eyes flicking back up to focus on the road ahead. A frown, and then he's thumbing the screen. Looking around us - I'm guessing to check for cops - before pushing the phone to his ear.
"Yeah. I mean... yeah. Shit, okay." The side-eye he gives me is lightning bolt fast, but I still catch it. "Fine. Yeah, no, I know. Fine."
Xander tosses the phone down into the center console. Glowers at the road for a moment, before he turns to me again.
"Work. I have to go in. I promised I'd do this job, and it's early."
I want to scream at him in frustration. To point to my hard dick, and to where I know his is bulging with equal eagerness in his jeans, and to remind him that he promised, he told me this was happening. Got me worked up for it, after scaring me into thinking that the stuff he and I have been doing might have to stop, for reasons I still can't quite fully get my brain to comprehend.
And I know, from the way that he's staring at me, that he knows all that is going through my head. That saying it, well, that would only make me look childish, and ridiculous, and - maybe worst of all - needy and demanding.
So I bite my tongue, and shrug, and grin at him instead. Best as I can, anyway.
"You owe me," I remind him. Xander smirks.
"I was about to tell you the same thing."
I can feel myself blushing. Cheeks roasting hot at the intensity of his need for me, and his blunt willingness to show it. Judging by his smug expression as he turns back to the road, Xander is entirely aware of the impact, too.
"I'll drop you home first," he tells me. I nod, not trusting my voice for the moment.
My body should be able to simmer down now, relax a little, but whatever switch that controls that in my head clearly hasn't been thrown yet. Cock still rigid, my muscles tense; there's the phantom feeling of Xander's finger still pumping inside me, making me want to squirm in the seat to try to get some friction against my overworked but eager hole. Only the knowledge that he'd tease me relentlessly if he knew I was trying to grind myself against his upholstery stops me from giving in to the urge.
He pulls up just down from my house, by the sparse handful of trees between my parents' place and our neighbors. Puts the car in park and turns to look at me, frowning.
"I feel like I've let you down, dude."
My shrug feels awkward, just like the way my arms are positioned feels awkward, just like my legs feel awkward, sprawled out in front of me. I'm hyper-aware of my own body, even when Xander isn't looking at me, just from being around him somehow. As though it required a reflection of myself in his eyes before I could start to see myself as something more than ungainly and gawky.
"It's okay," I say, knowing I can't just sit there mute. He grins at me, the smile looking like he's playing something through from his memory.
"I had a fun day, though." Xander doesn't need to explain exactly what he's thinking about; I can guess. My cheeks reddening again at the idea of him picturing my ass, the expression on my face, as he pounds me.
"Me too," I tell him, and mean it.
A glance around us, at the quiet street. When his eyes meet mine again, he's squinting a little wickedly. "But I can't send you home all worked up, can I. What sort of buddy would that make me, right?"
I open my mouth to speak, but the words don't have a chance to emerge. Not with Xander's palm pressing across my lips suddenly, hand gently but insistently pushing me back against the headrest. The other tugging at the waistband of my shorts, roughly stripping them down just far enough that my cock springs free.
I grunt into his skin, watching with startled eyes as I splatter flecks of precum across the dashboard and my shirt. Then squeal as he wraps his fingers around the base of my cock and encloses the swollen head in his mouth.
It's not a blowjob, it's not anything like the sucking or licking he's done to me before. Too focused, too targeted for that; the force of Xander's slurping going from zero to a hundred near-instantly, and all of it aggressively aimed at the most sensitive part of my most sensitive parts.
My instinct is to buck, to twist away, but his fist around my shaft is like an anchor. Other hand pushing back, muffling my yelps of over-stimulation as my body hurtles near-painfully toward orgasm.
I'm clawing at his shoulder, at the car door; legs kicking ineffectually in the footwell. Nowhere to go, to escape the torrent of pleasure that borders on discomfort, as my balls tug up tight and I feel the twist of it build with runaway speed in my groin.
I couldn't tell him, even if I wanted to, even if I still had the capacity to make words. Can only howl into the tight grip of his hand across my lips, tasting his skin and his sweat as Xander gulps around my knob and then, a moment later, we both feel the slimy, squishy flood of cum there's no hope of me holding back. Swirling around my tip as his cheeks work, his tongue rough across me even as my load amplifies the sensations, and I'm not sure I can handle much more of it, the intensity, without crying or blacking out.
Finally, I feel him gulp. Lap the dregs of my cum from off my dick, wielding it in his hand like it's an ice cream cone he's worried will drip. Only when I'm scrupulously clean, glistening with spit alone, does Xander pull his hand from my face.
I feel... wrung out. Like I've been tumbled in a concrete mixer, all my limbs and bones broken and disjointed. Slumped in the seat, cock still half-hard and lolling out of my shorts, as Xander sits up and grins at me with wet lips and an air of sly triumph.
"Couldn't leave you hanging, dude," he observes. I try to blink at him, but the memory of his hand pressed into my face is still leaving me dizzy. Like he's somehow permanently stolen my voice, stolen any sound I could make beyond the most desperate of needy grunts, and now I need to relearn how to speak like a real person again.
His fingers are gentle as they brush through my hair. My scalp tingling at his proximity.
"You okay, Luka?" Softer, now. The cockiness discarded as he smiles at me with friendly amusement.
I nod, finally. Feel my lips curl up in a smile to match his, as I try my best to push my cock away and rearrange myself into some semblance of order. Xander winks.
"Gimme your phone."
Obediently, I hand it to him. Watch him swipe it open - turning it briefly to face me, security no match for my meek compliance - and then his fingers tapping. Then, with a click, he passes it back.
"There. Now we can actually message each other, like proper friends."
It feels dangerous somehow. Like I'm standing on the edge of something deeper than I realize; could take a step forward and plunge down further than I can swim, further than my lungs have air to sustain me. But I don't say any of that, just grin at him and reach for the door handle.
"Uh, I'll see you, then..."
Another wink, and then the clear and undisguised track of his gaze, down my body and back up again. No mistaking his interest, and Xander making no attempt to disguise his stare. I can't quite stop the shiver that flushes through me.
I'm not sure I can handle it if he watches me walk up the driveway to the front door. Just know that the prickling feeling on my back will overwhelm me, the force of his attention too much. Let out a sigh of relief, then, when I hear his car pull away from the curb.
I only let myself turn, to watch it, when I know there's little chance of Xander seeing me do it.
The heat of the shower is good, but it's the volume of the hissing water that I really want. Pounding against my head and across my shoulders, drowning out with an almost percussive insistence any of the thoughts I'm not quite ready to have yet.
Because when I'm with Xander, the stuff we do together seems right, somehow. It's only later on, when I'm by myself, that I wonder what the hell it is I think I'm doing.
I've been fucked twice today. Not just fucked; felt Xander's cock swell inside me as he bred me each time. Whimpered and moaned like I was in heat, desperate to feel him deeper inside me than any fingers have reached so far. I'm blushing even at just the thought of it, trying to match what I know happened with the Luka I was familiar with.
Even then, though, it's not the sex that I'm really getting worked up over. Well, not totally, anyway. Because I'm trying not to think about the look on Xander's face, when he'd told me he'd liked me too much and how that'd been a bad thing, not a good thing. Trying not to think about how the panic had curled in my chest; at how quickly I'd promised that what we were doing was physical and nothing more, shoving aside any thoughts beyond what I needed to tell him, convince him, to make sure what was between us wouldn't stop.
I needed the shower drowning everything out, because I felt guilty about lying to him.
Some truths, as soon as you say them - even if it's just in your own mind - become indelible. You can't un-hear them. And so I turn the water off, and scrub myself with frustrated, jerky motions using a towel that isn't as soft as I remember Xander's being.
Not for the first time this week, I'm kinda pissed that there's not really anyone in my life I can talk about this shit with. Like, maybe not all the details, sure, but even just the basics seem like they'd trigger too many questions.
And if one thing is clear after today, and the coffee shop, it's that I can't really ask Xander about it. Not unless I want him to think that my promise that we could control things, and keep it totally physical, was all a lie.
So I text my best friend, instead. Like, not to ask him about what you're meant to do when you're getting worried you might be catching feelings for another dude, but just to take my mind off all this craziness. Though because it's Dan, he automatically brings the conversation back to his current obsession.
"u tried it yet???"
I shake my head at the screen, grinning despite myself. "u got a 1 track mind dude," I tap back. There's zero way I'm going to tell him that I not only tried fingering myself, but found a tutor in it too.
"ur missing out dude ;)"
I decide changing the subject is probably easier than deflecting. "wanna hang?"
Dan has his own car, even if it's his mom's old shitbox, so as always we agree that he'll come over here rather than the other way around. I feel zero need to tidy up, since we've known each other forever so it's not like he's gonna get prissy about mess, but I do at least pull on new boxer-briefs, sweatpants, and a t-shirt.
Well, I do eventually, anyway. First - knowing it's ridiculous but feeling like it's the second-best-thing if I can't actually talk to him - I sext Xander. Not even a sext, really, just a quick photo of myself stood in front of the mirror, trying not to feel self-conscious about my body and how I look with my hand kinda half-covering the semi I'm sporting. As though it's any big mystery or surprise to him what I've got going on down there.
Don't overthink it, Luka, I tell myself, and just hit send.
My hair is still damp when Dan rings the doorbell, looking like he just woke up from a nap with all his clothes on. I give him a skeptical look.
"Dude, you look like trash."
He flips me off, grinning, and pushes past me into the hall. Toes his sneakers off by the pile on the mat, and brandishes what I know from painful past experience is a very cheap, borderline unpleasant bottle of vodka. The sort of liquor that could easily - and preferably, if I'm being honest - double as an industrial paint thinner or something.
"Bad idea, dude," I point out. Dan winks at me.
"Or, hear me out, the best idea you've heard all day."
Considering several of the ideas I've heard today have involved dicking me down, fingering me, eating my ass, and making me worry I'm about to cum in my shorts in public, Dan doesn't know what sort of competition he's up against. I head down to the kitchen so that he doesn't see me blushing at the memory.
"Fine. One glass."
The chuckle behind me tells me he's following. I pull down a couple of glasses, and watch skeptically as he sloshes vodka into them. Top them up with soda and then - grimacing preemptively - take a sip.
"Fuck, dude, you could kill someone with this shit," I tell him. My eyes aren't quite watering, but it's close. I watch Dan try to swallow without having the same reaction.
"Don't be a pussy, dude. You get used to it."
It's my turn to flip him off, as I lead him down to the rec room in the basement.
Dan's not so bad, for all the shit I give him. Like, we say the worst, meanest things to each other all the time, but if someone was hassling him - or if he found out someone was doing that to me - we'd totally have each other's backs, I know that. I was always the quieter one, growing up, and probably the more innocent one too. Which left my best buddy to be the vocal one, and the one who found out about weird sex shit first.
Weird sex shit he then took great pains to explain to me, regardless of whether I wanted to hear it.
So yeah, this whole ass-play stuff is just the latest in a series of Dan trying different ways to get off. Usually I can placate him by saying yeah, sure, sounds good, and then waiting for his ADHD brain to hop onto the next thing not long after. It's only this time around that I got stupid, tried it myself, and stumbled into this whole situation with Xander.
I don't know whether to curse Dan for that, or thank him.
Still, it feels a whole lot easier on my brain to just sit back on the big, faded sectional in the basement and half-listen to him yammer on about whatever is jetting around his head right now. Sipping my drink - which is, I'm finding, a little easier to stomach with each progressive gulp - and only tuning in to one word in three, at best, and it's ridiculous but I can start to feel my body relaxing already.
Right up until I hear the tone of his voice change.
"Why is some naked guy sending you photos, dude?"
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Liked it? Hated it? Like most authors I'm a glutton for feedback (alexp336@gmail.com) and there's more to read plus a mailing list at https://www.alexpendragon.com/ where I'll periodically flag up new stories.