Just Scratching an Itch

"Holy shit," exclaimed the blonde, "he just fucking came!"

Without hesitation, Dave ripped his cock out of me for the first time since his excruciating entry. The egress of his cock head through my ring was almost as painful. I yelped again, weakly, still out of breath from my orgasm.

"What the fuck," he roared, grabbing me roughly by my upper arm and jerking me backwards off the ottoman. I fell to the floor in a clumsy heap, cum still dribbling out of me with the final, weak contractions of my climax. "Get up! Get the fuck up!" I shakily clambered to my feet. As I turned to face him, I caught a glimpse of the unsettled expressions of the girls on the couch. I couldn't tell if it was Dave's anger or my depravity that affected them so.

"Did I give you permission to cum," Dave demanded. I stared at the floor.

"No," I answered weakly. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. It was an accident."

"What a useless little cunt you are," he said, his voice filled with contempt. "Can't follow a single fucking instruction." I was ashamed that I'd let him down — I was ashamed about a lot of things — and I was scared by his sudden ire. I realized I was grateful that the girls were there, serving as something of a buffer against whatever violent impulses he might have.

He grabbed me by the back of the neck and turned me to face the ottoman once again. "Look at that mess you made," he said, shoving my head down. Strands of my semen were spattered across the surface of the leather, a stray rivulet dripping down into one of the inlaid brass buttons.

"Perhaps he should lick it up, nasty little thing that he is," suggested the brunette, her velvety royal voice brimming with feigned helpfulness.

"Yeah, perhaps he should," Dave agreed, still running hot, leaving nothing more to be said. I bent over the ottoman, wondering absently what previous bodily fluids had been spilled on the surface I was about clean with my tongue.

For the most part, the cum was easy enough to lap up. The bit pooled in the recessed brass fixture took some focused effort. I did my best not to think too deeply about any unfamiliar flavors. When I'd gotten it all, I looked up. The girls on the couch wore expressions of unadulterated disgust. The brunette was positively glowing, a cruel smile corrupting her delicate features.

The black girl leaned over to the blonde and whispered something urgently. The blonde looked at her and nodded in grave agreement, then turned to Dave without consulting their brunette friend.

"So, I think we should probably get going," she said in a carefully neutral tone. "This was really . . . educational. Really cool of you to let us watch . . . . But, uh, we have plans, so . . . we gotta get going."

Dave nodded at her, his anger apparently subsiding. He was still naked, and his cock was still jutting out at its full length. I supposed he was feeling unsatisfied.

"No problem," he answered the blonde. "Glad you all stopped by. I think —" he paused, glancing over at the brunette, who had stood up and was smoothing her dress down over her thighs. "— I think you ladies added a little something extra to the festivities."

The girls started to shuffle past me toward the door. The brunette paused for a moment and turned to face me. She peered into me curiously, as though searching for something and then, in an instant, I saw her eyes reach a decision. Before I could react, she reached back and slapped me hard across the face with an open hand. My head jerked to the side with the blow. I reeled back to gape at her in open astonishment, hand covering my stricken cheek, unable to form words. Pain thrummed through my skull.

"That was just because I could," she announced, almost coolly. She considered me for a moment further as I stood frozen in a defensive posture; she licked her lips absently. And with that she turned on a heel and followed the others. Dave walked them to the door, disappearing around the corner momentarily. I heard them exchanging closing pleasantries in low voices, though I couldn't make out what was said. And then the door opened and then closed. Dave returned. We were alone.

Damage control time.

"Look, I'm really really sorry," I began. "I didn't mean to do that. I got overwhelmed by what you were doing and what she was doing, and I just . . . I didn't mean to disrespect you. I'm sorry."

Dave snorted. Was he amused? Placated?

"I get it," he said. "I sure as shit didn't see that little peep show coming either. Hell of a thing. Something not quite right about that girl." I breathed a sigh of relief. "Thing is, though, it's really your problem more than mine." I looked at him, not comprehending. He registered my confusion.

"It's like this: You were all worked up about the idea of getting a cock in you. Shit, it's probably been building for years. And when you were in that state — horny as fuck — it seemed so hot to take my cock down your throat and have me fuck your ass. In that frame of mind, all those sex chemicals racing through your system, you want to do all kinds of filthy, transgressive shit. The dirtiness, the shame . . . all of that was feeding your arousal.

"But as soon as you came, all that shit went out the window." I began to see where he was going. "You may be a pathetic cocksucker, but you're a biological male, and I know how it works. The second you shot your load, you were done, at least for awhile. All that lust, all that delicious tension, it just fled. It's amazing how it's like flipping a switch, isn't it? One minute that big cock inside you is so hot; the next minute it's just a painful intrusion. So here you are now, in your post-orgasm glow. Mission accomplished. You scratched your itch. Congratulations."

He shifted his weight slightly from one side to the other. I noticed his erection had hardly subsided.

"Right now, you're not horny at all, and you have no interest in dick. You're sore and you're tired, and all you want is for me to leave so you can go to bed, wake up tomorrow and try to pretend none of this ever happened." He was right. He was absolutely right about all of it.

"But the problem —" he continued, "at least for you — is that I haven't finished what I came here to do. And I'm not leaving until that's done." He started slowly stroking his cock as he spoke, restoring it to its full enormity. "So, because you didn't follow my instructions, you're going to experience this next part, not as an enthusiastic, willing participant, but as a reluctant, uncomfortable piece of meat." It was an unsettling way to think about it.

For a split second part of my brain toyed silently with the idea of saying no to him. For reasons I've chosen not to examine too closely, other parts of my brain immediately rejected that thought.

"Get on the bed," he ordered as he snatched up the bottle of lube.

Like a robot, I turned and walked to the bed. I climbed up and assumed the familiar position on my hands and knees in the center of the bed, facing the headboard, my ass in the air.

"No," Dave said from behind me. "Turn over. I want you on your back like a bitch."

Helpless to deny him for some reason, I flipped over and lay on my back, arms at my sides, my knees bent slightly with my feet planted on the sheet. Looking up between my parted thighs I watched Dave finish massaging another handful of lube onto his tool and then crawl up onto the bed. He pushed my knees apart and knelt between my legs.

"Lift your ass," he said. When I did, he slid a couple of pillows underneath my hips so that my entire pelvis was raised. I settled back down into them. Dave shuffled closer, grabbed my calves and pushed my legs back, fully exposing my ass.

He leaned over me, resting one hand on the sheet next to my head for support; his thighs held my legs aloft. With his other hand, Dave gripped his member and slapped the outside of my asshole with it a few times. His face was just a couple of feet above mine. He looked down at me, a lascivious sneer on his face.

"Now," he snarled, "where were we?"

Dave placed the head of his cock at my opening, and without any of his previous, if limited, patience, thrust the head forward and inside me. It popped through my ring with some discomfort, though nothing like the pain from before. He planted his hands on either side of my head, steadied his balance and rocked slowly forward, pushing his cock into my asshole. He closed his eyes for a moment and loosed a sigh of satisfaction.

He pressed into me until he hit my wall and paused, seemingly reveling in the sensation. Then he rocked gently back, pulling himself all the way out until his cock head rested just inside my entrance, lugging at it. Then all the way in again. Looking down between our bodies, I was able to see for the first time how much of his cock was actually entering me. I was a little bit surprised, and maybe alarmed, that he was hitting a dead end inside me with another couple of inches of shaft to spare.

Back he pulled, dragging his tool out of my void. And all the way in again. Back and forth. The familiar, wet noises breaking the silence. Slowly still, his glans and shaft rubbing against my sensitive membrane, his head striking home on whatever piece of my anatomy stopped his progress on every thrust. My insides felt like they must be covered with bruises from his earlier assault. I was tender and sore, and every motion he made increased my aching. I held my body perfectly still, trying to keep his pathway steady and mitigate the friction as much as was possible. I felt no pleasure.

I'd expected — feared — that he would attack me and pound me furiously in an effort to achieve his release as quickly as possible. But it seemed he wanted to savor this. I simply endured it, hoping he would finish soon.

Again he filled me, and again. Smooth and slow and deep. His breathing was steady. He leaned down, dropping to his elbows, and placed his mouth on mine. I wanted to recoil. This had been merely unpleasant when I was keyed up and horny; now it was just disgusting. I think he knew it revolted me. He slid his tongue between my lips and touched mine, swirled it around, tasting me, a faint trace of whisky still clinging to him. I clenched my eyes shut and suffered it.

Gradually he increased his pace. Deep inside then back again. And again. He lifted his mouth from mine as he pressed his cock into me. "You're a hot little fuck, you know that," he breathed into my ear. The compliment repelled me. And then out he dragged. And then in, and then out.

Just a little bit faster now. A long minute ticked by as he continued to invade me. Another. Another. How many had gone by? How long was he going to take? How much more of this could I stand?

Relentlessly, deliberately, he fucked me. Used me. Rubbing me raw despite the lubrication. He was breathing more heavily now. He lifted himself back up onto his hands as he continued stroking, for leverage I supposed. I saw him look down at what he was doing. I followed his gaze. Together we watched his cock piston into me, glistening with lube, firm and relentless. And out, and in, and out. *squick squick* His gaze returned to meet mine, a troublesome smirk taking hold.

"Looks like there's still some of me that hasn't been inside you yet," he said, thrusting back in on "yet" and not slowing at all. I looked back down and noted the couple of inches at the base of his cock — the thickest part — that remained exposed each time he drove into me. I looked back up at Dave and shook my head hurriedly.

"That's all I can take," I urged, getting nervous. "It won't go any farther."

"Oh, don't be so sure about that," he seemed to promise, plunging himself into my hole again. "I bet there's more of you to explore in there. I might just have to rearrange things a little." What in the actual fuck was he talking about? Now I was scared. My breathing started to quicken. Dave reared back up on his haunches, his pole still penetrating me, and shifted his knees forward.

"Just have to find the right angle," he mused. He jerked his hips forward and shoved himself back into my depths, slamming up against my now hopelessly bruised and battered . . . whatever part of me it was that was stopping him from bottoming out. The pressure was unbearable, and there was no slack left to yield to him. I was sure he was going to puncture me.

"Please, stop," I whimpered. He gave me a level stare, unmoved, and began to grind his hips, tilting and adjusting the angle of his tool as he pressed it against my inner barrier. "Please, you're going to hurt me . . . please stop!"

"I might hurt you," he grunted down at me, "but I'm not going to injure you. Shut up and take it."

He kept pushing, grinding, probing. The pain was extraordinary. I didn't fight him. I clenched my eyes closed, clinging to the sheets beside me, desperately hoping he wasn't causing permanent damage; my short, staccato breaths bordered on hyperventilation. He shoved himself at me, into me; digging and scraping and burrowing, and suddenly I felt a sickening pop deep in my abdomen as something inside me shifted in a way that felt . . . permanent somehow. As it did, Dave drove his cock straight into the new void, so deep inside that it knocked the breath out of me. My eyes flew open in a panic. I waited for the searing pain that would signal terrible internal damage. It didn't come.

Dave's cock head ensconced itself in my belly, and the thick base of his shaft spread my ring apart, stretching it impossibly, painfully open. I managed to suck in a shocked, ragged breath. Dave looked down at me, a smile on his lips.

"Jackpot," he declared. His pelvis was flush against me. His full nine inches were inside me. I didn't know enough about anatomy to even guess where that put his cock head. I didn't want to. It could have been the base of my throat for as full as I was in that moment. The feeling was indescribable. Dave had forged a sheath for himself inside my cavity, and he was now occupying every millimeter of it. My entire body was pulled tight, like an overtuned string. I was terrified he would move. And then he did.

Dave pulled his hips back an inch or two, and I felt the head of his cock disengage itself from its new nesting place. The sensation was thick with heaviness and reluctance, as though his cock had begun to attach itself to me and was now tearing away from the tendrils. It pulled at my insides as he withdrew, further and further, leaving a gaping hole inside me — a space that had never been there before now yearning with emptiness. He continued to pull back until his helmet reached my ring and he paused, looked down at me.

I met his eyes, mine wide with anxiety. About what had just happened. About what was going to happen next. He leered at me for a moment. And then he drove his entire nine inches of cock all the way back into me, filling the emptiness, bullying my body out of its way to reclaim its territory. I let out a cry, not from pain but from the dual sensations of fullness and helplessness. And, somewhere, a tingle of . . . something.

Dave withdrew once more, my sphincter grabbing hungrily at his shaft, and then he plunged back in, punching me in the gut with his cock and forcing an involuntary grunt from my lips. And then all the way back, inch after inch after inch reappearing, and then shoving brutally back inside me. As he filled me, I could literally see my abdomen distending with the vague shape of his manhood. It was disconcerting. It was also, for reasons I cannot explain, intensely erotic.

Back and out he went, the emptiness becoming a needy ache, then deep inside again, filling the void, sating the want of him. Dave leaned over my body once again as his tool rooted into it. Thrusting, swelling, stuffing me. As his glans tunneled in and out, something rekindled inside me. The contours of his cock were massaging my passageway as it went, and it began once again to stimulate my prostate. It elicited a shiver and brief spasm from my ring. I don't know if he noticed.

Dave's tempo increased. His deep, even strokes became unadorned fucking. Over and over his huge cock hammered me. A thin sheen of sweat now coated his muscular body, dripping down onto mine. He pressed me into the mattress and angled his hips downward, adding his weight and gravity to the force of his thrusts. Harder and harder. Cramming himself into my depths. His balls slapping my skin each time his shaft wedged my hole agape. His head rubbing my sensitive gland and sending thrilling little jolts through my body.

In amazement, I felt my own cock begin to swell. How was that even possible? I'd just climaxed, what, a few minutes ago?

He was grunting now, his face red with effort, the sweat pouring off of him and showering me. He was pure, primal instinct — rutting me like a wild animal. Slamming his manhood into my guts with raw need. My cock continued to respond to the incessant grinding against my prostate. Filling. Growing. Throbbing. I felt the tugging warning of an orgasm beginning to build. I tried to quell it.

The bed shook with his fury. I wrapped my legs around his waist and gripped his muscular upper arms. For balance, I told myself. I clung to him as he fucked me. As he took me. I heard myself moan with every punch of his cock. Faster still, he rammed me. My climax was starting to take shape.

Almost breathless, I barely whispered, "Please . . . please, I have to cum, I'm going to cum, please please may I cum . . . I can't stop it . . . please . . . let me cum . . . please . . . ."

As if to answer, Dave reared up and let out a roar as he drove his meat into me again, reached down and grabbed my cock. His entire body shook, and I felt hot liquid shoot into my rectum. He jerked me off as he drove his cock into me again, his tool twitching upward against my hole, another burst of wet heat shooting inside me. The pounding of his cock, the flood of his cum drowning my hole, his stroking of my member all sent me over the edge. I spasmed; my body went rigid, my ring tightening around his shaft and wringing his semen into me as he buried himself, and I sprayed my own load upward onto my chest and stomach.

Dave's cock continued to throb inside me, emptying itself. Filling me. His thrusts plunged his seed deep within me, distending unknown realms with unfamiliar pressure. I gasped for breath. So did he, his chest heaving as he looked down at me with something like approval.

His gaze wandered down to the spattering of cum on my body. He laughed bemusedly.

"So much for just an itch to be scratched," he said. He scooped up some of my ejaculate with his fingers and shoved them into my mouth. I hadn't expected that, but I dutifully sucked them clean and swallowed, depositing my own cum with the first load he'd put in my belly however long ago that mouth fucking had been.

"A natural-born faggot," he confirmed with a knowing nod. Then he withdrew his cock from my ass with a heavy, humiliatingly wet plopping sound, heaved himself up off the bed and walked into the bathroom. This time, I heard the shower turn on.

I tried to move but didn't have any strength. I felt . . . empty. Except for Dave's semen, of course, which — because my hips were still hoisted up on a pile of pillows — I could feel drizzling back even deeper inside me. A low gurgle rumbled in my gut as a pocket of air gave way to a semiliquid infusion.

At last I mustered the energy to push the pillows aside and roll over onto my stomach. My body was covered in sweat — his and mine both. The remaining cum on my torso had started to dry. It clung briefly to the sheets anyway as I pushed myself up to sit on the edge of the bed and put my feet on the floor. I experienced a head rush — one of those brief moments of total dizziness and disorientation. It passed.