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Night has fallen by the time Mac climbs down from the roof, caked in dirt and shivering in his wife beater. It’s Philly after dark- of course it’s going to be fucking freezing.
Stripping the pink gloves from his skin, he tosses them to the ground with a huff, smashing them with the bottom of his shoe for good measure. He can practically taste the gutter muck in his mouth, can still feel the rotted leaves and bird shit squishing in his hands. A long, hot shower and a cup of tea with Dennis sounds like the tits right about now.
“Oi, Pussyhands!”
Goddamnit.
A low level jockey walks up to him, black tracksuit blending into the night. Mac thinks his name is Jon, but can’t really remember. Fuck that guy.
“What, man? I’m done with the roof, so-“
“Nah, nothing bro. Don Sal called a group meeting, told me to come and get you.”
“Group meeting? Like an important one? Am I getting a promotion?”
“Not quite, Pussyhands.” The guy laughs, claps him on the shoulder to start steering them towards the door. “It’s an initiation, of sorts.”
“Initiation? So what the fuck have I been doing all these chores for?”
“Trust me. You’ll like this.”
Inside, they trek down a hallway, past offices filled with filing cabinets and darkened doorways looming with cigar smoke. Mac wishes vaguely that he’d gotten a change of clothes before the event, but figures he’ll be in and out after some long-winded bullshit speech.
When Jon pushes open the door, nudging the peeling white paint with his foot, Mac expects to see the group sitting at a long table, Don Sal at the head with a signet ring and a glass of whiskey. Or, maybe, they’d be in a dim lit lounge, red upholstered seats sticky and loud when you tried to escape them.
Instead, all he sees is a hoard of tank-topped, track-suited men. And, in the middle of it all, taller than the rest of the heads, Don Sal with a sickening grin on his face and a black thong dangling from his teeth.
“That bastard, he started without us!” Jon shouts, but his voice is buried beneath the din, the group of men shouting and cheering as Don Sal raises his hands in triumph. “Look, Pussyhands, just wait until your turn, okay? They’ll call you.”
Mac’s eyebrows scrunch on his face, starting a little when the crowd cheers again. “My turn? What the hell is going on?”
“God, man, comeon we’re missing the action!” Jon shoves him into the crowd, Mac stumbling over his feet and dodging glares from the other men. “You can do whatever the fuck you want, you hear, except pull your dick out. That’d be way too fucking gay, looking at everyone’s shlongs while you’re trying to beat one out. The boys’ll jump you for that.”
“I don’t know what kinda sick shit y’all have got going on around here, but I don’t-“
Mac’s words grind to a halt as they break through the gathered gang members. In the center of it all, a small circle of a clearing sporting a single round table, Don Sal is dripping sweat, shirt unbuttoned, thong still between his teeth. In front of him, bent over the table, a half-dressed man is clinging to the edge for dear life, getting fucked within an inch of his life by the mob boss. Thirty fucking guys watching this all go down, and Mac sees it now, half of them with hands down their pants, mouths split in seedy grins, puffing on cigars under the low lights. It’s loud, deafening, with the jeers and some Italian song splitting the air. Mac can’t seem to take his eyes off Don Sal, though, each thrust of his hips issuing squeaks from the table and slaps from the skin-on-skin contact.
“Nice, huh?” Jon, still here for some reason, nudges Mac with his elbow. “The bosses got some pretty bitch for us to share. And, hey, if you want a cigar, someone’ll get the box passed this way eventually. I think Donny in the back corner has some whiskey, too, you could snag.”
Mac just nods, not really listening, too distracted by the clear visual of Don Sal’s dick snapping in and out of a whore’s assshole. His angle is a perfect side profile of the boss, every movement of his hips revealing more dick than Mac’s ever wanted to see in his life. And the whore, being pushed and pulled from the vice like grip of the boss’ hands on his hips, back bent in a painful arch from the force of the fucking.
The head of curled hair looks suspiciously familiar to him, when Mac thinks about it, squinting in the light at the bent-over head of the man, concealed by arms framing his face as he scrambles for a tighter grip on the edge of the table.
A striped shirt, too, blue and white like he’d seen Dennis ironing that morning in their kitchen-
No.
No.
“Hey, slut, stop hiding your face!” Don Sal shouts, panting between the words, voice thunderous over the crowd and only riling them up further. He removes one large hand from the whore’s hip, leaving white imprints of his fingers behind, instead wrapping the thing in that mess of hair. “The boys- want- to fucking see.”
Yanking the man’s head up from the table, Mac feels his stomach fall all the way to his feet.
“Dennis?!” He can’t help but shout, voice rising to an octave he hasn’t hit since middle school. It gets buried under the noise of the gang around him, the grunts of Don Sal, but it doesn’t erase his clear view of his best friend’s face, red and sweaty, mouth dropped open as he heaves for breath. That same shirt he’d been ironing this morning, unbuttoned and exposing his toned chest. His back, arched and feminine over the table’s edge, and asscheeks turning visibly red from Don Sal’s treatment.
How long has this been happening?
How long will it go on?
Why is it Dennis ?
Turning again to Jon, who’s cupping the front of his sweatpants with one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other, Mac smacks him hard on the shoulder. Shooting him an affronted gaze, Jon snarls around his cigarette. “Don’t touch me! Are you gay or something, man? What?”
“What- no . Jon, why the hell is this guy here?” He motions harshly to the scene before him, nerves rattling with each screech of the table’s legs against the wood floor.
“Ah.” Jon exhales a long stream of smoke, clouding the air around them with a haze. “Boss said he’s paying off some debt an asshole owes the gang. Pretty sweet for us, huh? Free pussy Friday!”
“ Goddammnit, Frank !” Mac swears under his breath, harsh, brimming with red hot rage. That asshole would rather pimp his son out to a group of thirty men than pay a couple grand? He has to get out of here, get Dennis out of here, grab their gun and commit mass murder, maybe call in an airstrike-
“You like that, huh? Ah, listen to him, fellas, whining like a goddamn bitch in heat!” Don Sal calls out, rhythm of his hips picking up, smacking against Dennis with an erratic beat. “Your pussy feel good, slut ?” Around him, the crowd cheers, a few men groaning out loud into the air. Others, too, call back to Don Sal, whistling and egging him on.
“Hurry up, boss, this bitch needs to feel the touch of a real man!”
“You fucking wish , Lefty.” Don Sal calls back, his fist in Dennis’ hair pulling at his scalp so hard that his entire chest rises off the table. “He’s not gonna remember anything but this cock for the rest of the goddamn night!”
It’s endless before him, the slam of the boss’ dick into Dennis, rocking him back and forth and back again, spit glistening under the lights as it pools out of the corners of his open mouth. His spine, Vertruvian, bent all the wrong ways by the gruff hands of a crude man. Mac’s blood boils, fists clench and unclench at his sides, he takes a broad step forward-
A long, low whine sounds out, and he stops right in his tracks as Dennis starts to convulse violently beneath Don Sal’s body. It’s a sound he’s heard a hundred times on the tapes, the same one he’d rewound to when a small woman from Reno had fucked Dennis with her fingers.
It’s much louder in person. All-consuming. Visceral in Mac’s body, sending a shiver all down his spine and compelling his feet backwards to where he’d been in the crowd. His stomach swoops, less nauseously violent and more twisted and tight.
Everything he’s ever wanted to hear, that he plays over and over on their speakers when Dennis stays out late with a date, live right before him.
“ Goddamnit .” He seethes from between clenched teeth, shifting on his feet as Don Sal finally releases Dennis’ hair, his forehead falling to the table and hiding his face from the insidious view of the crowd. The boss fucks into him with such reckless abandon Mac’s certain the man won’t be able to sit upright tomorrow.
It’s weird when the crowd begins to cheer as Don Sal grunts, violent and sharp, while he cums straight into Dennis’ hole, splatters of cum falling to the floor as his dick continues sliding in and out of his body.
Mac can’t look at anything but the roll of Dennis’ head on the table, the muffled cries he can pick up when there’s a momentary lull in the crowd noise. He’s still convulsing, twitching in Don Sal’s grip, but he’s writhing more, hands slipping over the table.
When Don Sal pulls out, Dennis’ body sags onto the piece of furniture, and he cries out like he’s sobbing.
Mac’s stomach twists tighter, and it’s impacting his lungs so he can’t breathe, can’t get a full breath down into his chest.
“Anthony, you’re up! The whore’s practically begging for it!”
As Don Sal steps away from Dennis’ body, he finally pulls the thong from his teeth, grinning at the black lace in his hand before shoving it deep into his pants pocket.
Mac’s fingers twitch, his eye too, and he just wishes he could punch that asshole in the face and rip the underwear from his sweaty clutches. That belongs to Dennis .
Don Anthony breaks through the crowd, already untying the drawstring of his pants. Mac scoffs at the speed he marches up to the table, eyes wild and desperate at the sight of the twitching body in front of him. He grabs Dennis roughly, nails no doubt scratching against his perfectly smooth skin, before flipping him over on the table with a grunt- Dennis lands hard on his back but doesn’t make a sound, already lifting his legs to wrap his ankles behind the Don’s back. It jars Mac to his bones, watching him get manhandled, wrestled into position by anyone but him or Charlie or Dee. The Golden God, subject to the whims of a volatile stranger. He’s not quite sure how Dennis is doing it, letting his control fall away, but he had been acting weird ever since Frank put that ad in the paper (which may or may not be folded neatly between Exodus 5 and 6 on Mac’s nightstand).
A sharp whistle sounds out from the crowd, a wolf whistle louder than he’s ever heard, as Don Anthony tugs his sweats down just enough for his dick to be freed from its confinement, making a show of it by sticking his tongue out and gyrating outlandishly against Dennis’ ass.
The movement makes Dennis’ own dick sway, and Mac realizes that Dennis’ dick is out in front of him . When was the last time that happened? High school, in the gym locker room? Ever since they’d moved in together, Dennis had made a habit of staying covered up around Mac, save for the explicit view of his dick in all the sex tapes.
God, it’s surreal, like he’s sitting in the room while Dennis is filming. There’s no layer of screen between him and the action. Dennis’ cock is there, right before him, red and pulsing and glistening. He looks violently hard, but his face doesn’t show it, mask of passivity shining up at Don Anthony as he continues his little show.
Damn assholes won’t even finish their fucktoy off before cumming inside him. That has to be a violation of decency and chivalry.
If it was Mac up there, he’d slide one hand up Dennis’ side, admiring his pristinely exfoliated skin. Make a trip of it, skate over his rib cage and around his chest, pinch his nipple for just a second and watch him squirm. No man has more sensitive nipples, Mac can confirm that.
He’d take Dennis’ dick in one hand, slick from precome, stroke it so slow so he could watch every minute facial change as Dennis approached euphoria. No way would he nut in the man with nothing to thank for it.
Instead, Don Sal just left him there, cum dripping out his asshole, and Mac can see it running down onto the table, as Don Anthony spreads Dennis’ asscheeks and slides his dick straight into him. It’s one fluid motion, makes the mob boss sag into himself, no doubt slick and hot from the fucking that just ensued, the other man’s cum working like lube.
Atop the table, Dennis has thrown his head back, looking glassy-eyed up to the ceiling instead of into Don Anthony’s face. His bottom lip is clamped tightly in his teeth, hard enough that it could draw blood, and his chest is stuttering with the erraticness of his breath. Don Anthony doesn’t waste any time, setting a brutal pace from the get go that sends loud smacks echoing through the room, rocking the table hard enough to tilt.
Mac can’t take his eyes off Dennis, even more so when breathy sounds begin to escape his clenched teeth. They grow louder, and the men surrounding grow quieter to listen. Hands are moving faster in their pants, a man next to Mac is breathing so hard he could hyperventilate. It’s like candy on his tongue, music to his ears, the gasps and groans that Dennis tries to hold back, resistant enough to the fucking that he doesn’t want the whole room to know how it’s making him feel. And everyone else in the goddamn room gets to enjoy them.
But Mac has the upper hand: he’s been snorting this drug for years. Mob boss or not, when he goes home, he’s got access to hundreds of videos showing off the exact noises that are getting a room full of men hard in their pants.
One particular groan, high and stuttering between breaths, makes Mac’s dick jump in his own sweatpants, threatening to grow hard before the presence of the crowd throws him off and compels him to flaccidity once again. It’s an evil back and forth, a shameful one, ripping him from aroused to righteous to disgusted in a matter of seconds.
But, still, Dennis cries around his teeth, and Don Anthony fucks into him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Mac’s hand itches to cup himself through his sweats, inches closer to the vague outline of his dick, before he kicks himself again and snaps his hand away.
It’s not supposed to go like this. He won’t let it.
Dennis’ eyes are supposed to be on him. He’s supposed to be tasting his best friend’s tongue, the sweat dripping down his neck and between his tits.
Not watching a second man blow a load into him, legs twitching and groaning, nearly collapsing onto Dennis’ well-groomed chest from the orgasm’s ferocity.
Not watching another man immediately take Don Anthony’s place, whip his dick out and slide it right in, hips snapping and hands trailing over Dennis’ skin.
Mac’s dick has started responding on its own by the time the twelfth man has left cum seeping out of Dennis’ asshole. There’s a wet spot on the front of his underwear, it’s seeping through to his sweatpants, but he’s remained resistant to the urge to slip his hand down and jerk off real fast.
Dennis hasn’t seen him. Now, he’s slumped on the floor, face down ass up so his arms don’t have to keep holding his weight. Two men ago, he came untouched from the sheer stimulation of repeated ass fucking, and the room had gone wild. He still hasn’t seemed to recover, face smushed against the ground, panting and sweating and drooling, except his dick is hard again and some scrawny dude is fucking his thighs.
“Slap him around a little, Theo, wake him up!” A voice calls from the crowd, spurring a chorus of shouts.
“Yeah, the slut probably likes that!”
“Backhand him, why don’t ya? Leave a nice red print for the morning!”
On the floor, Dennis groans, words slurred, the first he’s said all night. “ Not the face .”
It sends off another rowdy cheer from the crowd, and it seems some of the guys can’t contain themselves. They surge forward, shove Theo out the way to pull Dennis to his feet. He slumps in their arms, head lolling, knees weak.
“You work for me , whore!” One man shouts in Dennis’ face, and before Mac can process it, has wound up and struck him across the cheek. The smack is resounding, certainly hurt like a motherfucker, and sends Dennis’ head snapping to the side.
A second slap, whipping his head the other way, forces a whimper from Dennis’ mouth.
Someone from the onlooking crowd pipes up, voice high. “Ah, he fucking likes it! Look, his dick’s leaking like a pussy!”
And it is. Still untouched, Dennis’ cock twitches against his stomach, ruby red yet again. Cum leaks down his shaft, all the way to his thighs, and more spurts out when another backhand sends Dennis’ head rolling.
Mac groans behind his teeth, stopping the sound before it can leave his throat, dick fully twitching in his pants. It’s bordering on painful, how hard he is, but the mental game is too important for him to give up now. It’s the principle of the thing. Even if he’d currently sell his soul to touch his dick.
A bruise is blooming on Dennis’ cheekbone, moving from red to purple with surprising speed, and Mac marvels at it. When was the last time it was Dennis on the losing end of a fight, covered in bruises and bleeding? He truly can’t remember.
One of the assailants has taken Dennis’ dick in his hand, waving it around carelessly with a laugh splitting his face, before jerking it roughly just once before Dennis is twitching violently and cumming all over the floor.
Mac bites his lip so hard he breaks the skin, wants to get Dennis in his own hands and see how long he can stretch the orgasm out, but instead watches the men jump back and drop his slack body to the floor. The sound it makes, the thud of bones and skin against linoleum, rattles Mac’s skull. There’s going to be bruises all over Dennis’ body later, will have him walking gingerly through the bar for days.
Another man comes up, lasts five minutes as he fucks the body limply splayed on the floor.
And another, who doesn’t bother putting his dick in Dennis, instead just fists his cock in his hand and cums all over his back.
And another, and another, and another. A never ending train of men who tap their cigarette ash over Dennis’ body, who fuck into him until he’s whining, who fold him into positions that Mac’s never seen.
Until one man positions Dennis just the right way that he’s staring straight into Mac’s eyes. It’s after he’s lit a cigarette of his own, refusing alcohol in case he needs to put up a fight in Dennis’ honor, but needing something to distract his hands from the boner that’s decimating his entire lower half. And some nicotine to take the edge off always helps.
His heart jumps into his throat, meeting his best friend’s eyes, choking a little around an inhalation. Dennis- oh God, he’s going to be so fucking mad, going to shoo Mac away, or at least not speak to him for a couple weeks. What was he thinking, hanging around here? He should’ve left the moment he recognized Dennis, but instead watched everything go down. Mac’s no better than the guys next to him, getting off on the torture of Dennis’ body, gaining perverted satisfaction from the sights and sounds.
Fuck.
He doesn’t know what to do, but can’t look away from Dennis’ eyes, even as his body rocks from the beat of a mobster’s hips against his.
And Dennis. He grabs at the man’s hair, lifting his arms over his head to arch behind him, not moving his gaze. Actually, his mouth is sort of tilting up in a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, almost predatory in a house-cat kind of way.
Switching between men jostles Dennis around, forcibly tears his eyes from Mac’s, and it leaves his heart pounding in his chest, threatening to claw out of his mouth. Dennis didn’t look mad, there were no veins popping out of his neck.
No; he was strangely triumphant, looking at Mac the way he looks at Charlie after successfully manipulating him into doing particularly heinous Charlie Work.
Mac plows through his cigarette faster than he’s ever done, dropping the butt on the floor and promptly lighting up another.
More men make their way through Dennis, the crowd continues to murmur, and someone has turned up the volume of the music. Only rarely does Mac catch Dennis’ eye again, but each time his heart jumps up into his mouth and his hand itches to touch his dick.
He doesn’t, though. He fucking doesn’t.
It’s been hours, it seems, and guys Mac has never even seen have been tossing Dennis around. They must be nearing the end.
If there will even be an end.
There’s a shift in the air after a barely-legal kid steps away from Dennis, shoving his dick back in his pants and slapping Dennis on the ass where it’s displayed over the edge of the table, reminiscent of the position he’d been in at the start of the event.
Don Sal walks out of the crowd, ushering some excited whoops from the others, and Mac is confused until the man turns to look straight at him. As does every other person in the room- thirty pairs of eyes digging into his flesh with a hunger so intense Mac is prepared to be eaten alive. He wishes he could dissolve into the crowd.
“Pussyhands, get up here!” Don Sal calls out, motioning to Mac with a curt twitch of a finger.
Dennis is looking right at him too, fucked out and slumped over but still capable of a stare that is so piercing it burns Mac’s skin, accentuated further by the bruising that throws his face into shadow. The look promises a scratching, but Mac can’t tell what’ll trigger it. Does Dennis want him to run?
“Hey, uh,” He laughs awkwardly around his words, shifting on his feet. “Look, I don’t know if I really want to-“
Dennis’ mouth folds more into a frown, eyes sink into soullessness as Mac speaks, so his words break off into nothing.
Dennis wants him to stay ?
“Come on, Pussyhands.” Don Sal is also frowning, and the crowd is murmuring. “Don’t make me ask again.”
So Mac stays, steps out of the comfort of the crowd cover and walks four steps to Dennis’ side. He avoids his eyes so thoroughly, turns his head so intentionally away from the man, wincing slightly at the amount of bruises covering Dennis’ skin. “So, what, I just whip my dick out or something?”
Don Sal starts up a roaring laugh, echoed by others in the room, though it sounds hollow and isn’t accompanied by a smile. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Your treat’s a little different.”
With that, a heavy hand claps onto his shoulder, more pushing against his back, steering him away from Dennis’ face and towards his ass, bent over the side of the table. He can feel the heat of Dennis’ body through his clothes, balks a little at the state of his ass, rubbed raw from slaps and nails and the repeated beating of heavy hips against it, chafed and red and bruised all at once. It must hurt like hell.
Mac chuckles awkwardly, looking over at Don Sal again. Whose hand is still on his shoulder, actually, that’s kinda weird he never took these guys for the touchy feely type-
“Woah, woah man!” The hand has abruptly put on force, pushing his shoulder down and prompting his body towards the floor. He thrashes a little, tries to knock Don Sal off, but the other people gathered step in and shove him down to his knees.
“Now, Pussyhands, this is your initiation. The boys have been looking forward to this all fucking night, so don’t you dare think about skipping out on us.” Don Sal removes his hand, instead gesturing to the crowd. “Youse all ready to see this fucker eat?”
Eat ?
Eat what ?
Louder than it’s been all night, the room vibrates with uproarious cheering and hollering. A small chant has started up, but he can’t make out the words, still too confused and whipping his head around, searching for answers.
Don Anthony, stepping over to him, leans close to his ear, gripping the back of his neck like a vice. His breath smells like whiskey and smoke, sour and hot against the side of Mac’s face. He cringes away from it as the man speaks.
“This pretty whore here has her pussy full of cum, yeah? You got to clean it up for her. It’s only polite.”
“W- what ?!” Mac cries, jerking away from Don Anthony’s grip.
A foot kicks sharply into his side. “You fucking heard me, Pussyhands. You’re going to lick the cum out of this slut’s ass, or you’re through.”
What the fuck .
“Done with the gang? Fine, fuck yeah, I’m done. You’ll never see me again.” Mac chokes around the words as he rushes to spit them out, trying to climb to his feet but stopped by various hands shoving him back down to the ground.
“No, no, no.” Don Anthony hisses, lips touching Mac’s ear as if he’s poised to bite it off. “You misunderstand me. You’re going to eat this slut’s ass, or we’re going to have to put a bullet through your skull. Capisce?”
Mac stiffens where he sits.
Goddamnit.
“Get going.” Don Anthony backs off, Don Sal too, giving him some space.
He’s knelt before Dennis’ ass, pale thighs displayed for him, and for a second he can forget about the task at hand. It’s just him and Dennis, like usual. Just him and Dennis, finally, after thirty men have had their way with him. The scents of sex and sweat and cum are sour in the air, but beneath it, there’s still that specific smell of Dennis, the cologne he likes to wear, and the earthy musk of his skin.
Mac shifts on his knees, sighs aloud.
“Hurry up, you bastard.”
He starts at Dennis’ voice, looking up and meeting his best friend’s pointed stare. He’s twisted his torso, propped up on one hand, to look back over his shoulder at Mac on the floor. A manicured eyebrow arches high on his forehead, and he looks pretty good for a man just fucked by an entire gang.
Oh, who is Mac kidding. He always looks good.
“You sure?” He whispers, staring up into Dennis’ face, eyes wide.
A nod in response is all he gets, but Dennis is still watching him, eyes following as he shifts again on his knees.
Another sigh, a puff of air that ghosts over Dennis’ thighs and makes them twitch.
“ Chrissakes .”
He steels himself, shakes his head.
And then he’s touching Dennis, skin to skin, like they used to do playing basketball in the sweltering Philadelphia summers. It’s still got that same zing to it, as he rests his fingertips at Dennis’ ankles, but now it’s intentional. There’s no casual brushing of sweaty arms, no clash of fingers while passing a water bottle- he’s got his hands on Dennis, firmly, all ten fingers leeched to his skin.
Mac starts slowly, holding his breath in his mouth, dragging his hands up the backs of Dennis’ calves. His head is swimming, not just from the cigar smoke he’s been breathing all night, but from the stimulation of it all. The smell of Dennis, the feel of his skin beneath his hands. His dick, hard and heavy in his sweats, and the thunderous pounding of his heart. Men shifting around them, chattering and hooting, music still buzzing in the air.
Dennis shivers as Mac’s hands circle to the inside of his knees. He can’t quite tell if it’s from Dennis’ state of nudity, bare from the waist down, or the satisfaction of a soft touch.
The flesh of a god, pliant in his hands.
Mac bites his lip hard as his hands rise, flat against the smooth skin of Dennis’ thighs, free of hair and still somehow smelling like his eucalyptus body soap. His breathing is growing labored, puffing out through his nose like a steam engine, loud in his ears and powerful enough to skate over Dennis’ skin.
How it was supposed to be, between them: Mac pressing Dennis into his bed, touching every inch of his skin and blessing it like a priest. Telling Dennis to give it up, to stop thinking and scheming for just a second, to let Mac truly take care of him. He shouldn’t have had to wait in line to take what is rightfully his. Shouldn’t have a roomful of eyes watching him.
Mac sighs at the thought, the vision, of Dennis splayed out on his sheets, hair getting mussed from the pillow, skin glistening with sweat and leaving the smell of sex and lust and Dennis behind.
He should’ve kissed Dennis straight on the lips, with gumption and force, guided him through the room with his eyes closed and undressed him slowly. The taste of Dennis’ lips, it has always evaded him- will it be sweet with lip balm, sour with beer? Mac should know. He should know.
Urgency builds up in his chest, tight and coiling, stronger than the twist in his stomach and the throb of his cock. He can’t resist it, sliding his hands to cup Dennis’ ass, lifting himself up from the floor for just a second to place a closed-mouthed kiss on the small of Dennis’ back. It’s not enough to get a taste of his skin, but it shoots rockets down Mac’s nerves, lips tingling as he pulls away.
Beneath him, Dennis pulls in a tight breath and doesn’t release it for a long moment. He’s not looking anymore, face pressed into the table in an attempt to support his weight, but Mac can see his mouth, open and panting, against the wood.
A small smile ticks the corner of his lip up.
“Get a fucking room already!” A loud shout booms through the room, startling Mac where he sits and making his grip on Dennis’ ass grow tighter.
A chorus of laughter follows.
“Yeah, what are you, gay ?”
“Come on Pussyhands, I haven’t got all night!”
Mac locks eyes with Don Sal over Dennis’ body. Slowly, the man reaches into his waistband, and Mac catches the flash of a gun tucked into his pants.
He gulps, ripping his eyes away, focusing on Dennis before him.
“Alright.” He whispers under his breath, stomach rolling. “Alright.”
Without fanfare, he spreads Dennis’ ass, balking at the carnage left behind by thirty shameless men. How is Dennis still standing?
Cum spills down the cleft of his ass, and Mac follows the path of it, caked all over his balls and slowly drying onto his dick, messy and disgusting and absolutely reeking.
Sucking in a deep breath, Mac dives forward, hands digging into Dennis’ skin. He’s done this before with lots of girls, Carmen and Megan and Barbara, it’s like riding a bike. Except this bike has been abused to death, and Mac’s feeble attempt to lick the rim of Dennis’ hole fails spectacularly; instantly, his tongue slips an inch into Dennis, and he gags aloud at the gush of cum that enters his mouth, salty and bitter on his tongue.
He swallows around it, tries to maneuver the cum into his cheek to spit out later, but every movement carries more into his mouth, like there’s an endless supply of it, until Mac is choking, he can breath, retracts his tongue into his mouth to shudder and swallow and gag. He can feel it sliding down his throat, thick and cloying, and keeps swallowing until the lump disappears.
Around him, he can hear feet stomping and voices yelling, but his heartbeat in his ears drowns it all out with its volume.
Meanwhile, Dennis is arching his back further into the table, tiny jerks of his hips brandishing his ass like he’s serving it to Mac on a silver platter. He’s hard again, somehow.
Swearing under his breath, Mac moves in again, licking a forceful strip up between Dennis’ asscheeks and feeling a little satisfied when a low groan breaks out of his chest. He wastes no time stretching Dennis open, obviously, tongue slipping into his hole and pistoning like a cock. It’s a marvel how much it feels like a pussy, lubricated with cum, and the thought shoots straight to his still aching dick, making his thighs clench where he kneels.
When Dennis starts to grind his hips up into Mac’s face, he can’t help the grunt that punches out of his chest, vibrating up his whole body and making his nerves tingle with arousal. He maneuvers his hands to Dennis’ side, encouraging the movement and nearly forgetting about the cum drizzling into his mouth and down his throat.
The more he swallows, the less horrific it tastes. And it’s not like he’s never tried his own before- the flavor isn’t all that different. Tolerable, even.
“ Mac .” His name comes out of Dennis as a whine, the man jerking his hips faster in an effort to get some stimulation on his cock, where it pushes against the table.
Instantly, Mac responds, pulling his tongue out of Dennis’ ass and licking a long strip up his palm. Without looking, he grapples for Dennis’ cock, catching his hand on his balls before finding his way around the base of Dennis’ dick. It shudders in his palm, and Dennis sags into the table, breaths coming out short and high-pitched, tinged with the wet sound of sobs in his throat. He’s already came twice- the overstimulation must be killing him.
Mac moves slowly, pumping once up Dennis’ dick and freezing at the head so he can continue attending to his hole, swirling his tongue around its rim with a smile on his face. Dennis twitches atop the table so violently, Mac envisions him tumbling to the floor.
Pumping his hand again, Dennis cries out, getting responding noises from the crowd. Mac had all but forgotten them, focused too intently on the movements of Dennis’ body and the way his dick is leaking through his sweatpants.
His technique is lacking, aimlessly jacking Dennis off with no real attention to his balls or head, but it seems to do the trick, as the movement of his hand grows slicker as Dennis’ cock leaks around his grip, pulling the wetness down to get a smooth rhythm going. Wet smacks greet Mac’s ears, close as his face is to Dennis’ dick, and he groans against Dennis’ ass, hips twitching unintentionally against the air like he’s a fucking preteen. The motherfucker has to be close to nutting, or else Mac is going to bust first, untouched in his goddamn sweatpants. He can feel his balls retracting up into him, tight and unpleasant and aching.
Delirious vigor gets Mac’s tongue matching the pace of his hand, trying his best to hit Dennis’ prostate but can’t quite reach deep enough, jaw tensing and holding his tongue back. He opts instead for an intentional press against the walls of Dennis’ ass, focusing particularly on a spot to the left that keeps Dennis pushing his hips against his tongue.
If he could talk, he’d be whispering all sorts of filthy things into Dennis’ ear. Call him baby, ask him to beg for it. Never in his life has he uttered such things aloud, but for Dennis? He’d say anything. Do anything. Eat the cum out of his ass and fucking enjoy it.
Dennis cums without any warning, his ass tensing and cock jerking before releasing a single spurt of cum against the side of the table.
Mac shouts in triumph, the sound distorted with his face clamped against Dennis’ ass, fucking him through it with his tongue and enjoying the way Dennis sags against him for a single second before limply scrambling to avoid anymore stimulation.
Mac doesn’t let up, just for a moment longer, enough time to pull his hand from Dennis’ softening cock and shove it down his own pants.
Wrapping himself with a tight fist, he fucks up into his hand, tongue still setting a brutal pace in and out of Dennis’ hole. He imagines his dick there instead, or his fingers, and relishes the twinge of pain in his jaw, the drool spilling out of his mouth, the taste of cum on his tongue. He wishes he could see Dennis’ face, but he can imagine it, from the few glimpses he’d gotten in the tapes when the angle had been changed up. He wishes Dennis would stop muffling his sounds, would scream and shout in simultaneous agony and euphoria, but he can hear it in his ears, replayed so many times on his speakers.
Sucking in a sharp gasp, Mac’s eyes roll back in his head as his orgasm overtakes him, flooding his veins with hot fire and sending his ears ringing. His tongue stills inside Dennis, he can’t even feel it anymore, solely focused on pumping his cock through it, hand moving so hard and fast that it stings.
He wants to scream at the peak of it, cum soaking the inside of his boxers, tacky on his hand as he comes down and floats in the blissful blankness of being wrung out, panting wetly against Dennis’ skin.
The urge to kiss him is so strong it’s painful, but his legs won’t move from where he’s kneeling, won’t carry him to Dennis’ lips. Chest heaving, he settles the craving by sliding his free hand up and down Dennis’ thigh, soft and tender even if it’s sticky with sweat.
A heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder makes Mac jump out of his skin, heartbeat yet to come down from his orgasm and threatening to combust in his chest. That’s when his hearing comes back, too, and he opens his eyes, not remembering them falling closed: the crowd around him is riotous, men moving in mass exodus around him and towards the door, but shouting in his direction as they go.
“ Huh ?” He slurs, leaning back from Dennis’ body and extracting his hand from his pants, mindlessly wiping his cum onto his wife beater.
Don Sal is pulling him to his feet, he realizes, and watches the man’s mouth moving but doesn’t hear a word he’s saying. All Mac wants is to keep touching Dennis’ skin, but he’s led away, arms reaching towards Dennis before falling limply to his side. “I have to help- gotta clean him up.” The words are heavy on his tongue, but he pushes them out anyways.
“Your task is done, Pussyhands. His john’ll come take care of him. It’s time for us to drink- you want a drink?” Don Sal pulls him closer, filling Mac’s nose with the scent of his sweat. “Ah, who am I kidding- this kid’s getting a drink!”
Men cheer around him, moving out the door in a hoard and down the hallway towards another room, Mac’s body pulled along with them like a fish in the tide.
“Ya know, you’re a good man, Pussyhands.” Don Sal says, grinning in Mac’s face. “I think we’ll keep ya!”
Leaving Dennis’ wrecked body behind, shirt in tatters and nakedly slumped over a rickety table, still covered in the sweat, cum, and claw marks of thirty men, Mac doesn’t feel like a good man.
He feels like he needs that fucking drink.