Chapter Text
Ⅰ.
Today has been testing Dennis Whitaker. Not only for the amount of patients going in and out throughout the day in an incessant manner, but also his bladder.
He’s never one to submit to his primary needs within the walls of the ED but right now, it’s too much. Release is needed. Immediately.
On his way to the bathroom, Dana cuts him and asks, “Can you check if Robby’s in there? It’s been at least ten minutes since I last saw him.” He nods to the request.
Stepping into the bathroom, Whitaker hurries to one of the stalls, sits down for good measures—his legs are about to give up on him—and sweet, sweet release happens.
Dennis uncontrollably lets out a moan in the shape of a soft “ah” during the first couple of seconds. “Fuck, that feels good… finally.” As he finishes, he pulls back his pants. On the ground, his badge fell down in a clank of metal and plastic sliding slightly under the neighboring stall.
With a curse and sigh, Whitaker gets on his knees, arm reaching to grab his badge but his hand doesn’t seem to touch anything. Lying closer to the ground, his head peeks under the stall as he finally reaches for his target but in that same time, he notices that said stall is occupied.
Occupied with a half-naked Dr. Robby, pants down to his knees, scrubs and undershirt lifted up to his collarbone; cock in hand, hard while masturbating and playing with one of his nipples. The picture makes Dennis blush to a degree that borders on clinical anomaly.
Both men catch each other’s eyes, both with looks of horror and surprise.
“Holy shit—fuck!” Whitaker blurts out.
“Whitaker!”
Without missing a beat, the young man disappears from the occupied stall and back into his, and on his way out, he bumps his head into the porcelain toilet in a comically loud boink and a delayed “Jesus fucking Christ!” upon impact.
This is beyond insane. It doesn’t make sense. Why is Robby jerking off in the bathroom, half-naked, on the clock? And why does Whitaker have to be the one that catches him in the middle of it?
“W-wait! Whitaker, h-hold on! Come back!”
Dennis still hears the ruffling of clothes and curses under his attending’s breath as he gets himself dressed in his own stall while he makes his way out of there.
The next morning, Whitaker cannot help but replay the scene of Robby jerking off in the stall, even since yesterday he hadn’t been able to stop himself from envision that single frame of his attending masturbating in one of the stalls, wondering what would that frame look like if it could keep on moving, acting…
One thing’s for sure, it’s going to be awkward being around him and not having this moment being plastered all over Robby while working with him, being supervised, guided, asking for his opinion and every single interaction involving his attending.
“Whitaker, a word?”
His head turned to the voice like it usually did, but this time it feels all too tinted of an underlying secret. Robby stands around the patient board where he finally finds a moment to catch Whitaker for a talk.
“S-sure, Dr. Robby.”
He passes by him and one of his hands lands on his back to guide him to the Family Room. Robby holds the door for him, looking around before stepping in and locking the door behind him.
Whitaker is nervously standing almost to the other side of the room, next to the gray couch. Sounds of a busy and running ED are now muffled and drowned out when the door closes and locks in a click.
“So,” starts Robby, hands joined together to his lips. “I wanted to talk about yesterday.” Whitaker nods and only nods because he doesn’t know what else to do or to even say in a situation such as this one where your attending—your boss—was jerking off in a bathroom stall and got caught while doing so.
“I’m deeply, deeply sorry for what you saw yesterday and nothing I can say can excuse my behavior but, I’m asking you to not say anything regarding this and to not talk about it to anyone as well. It could end my career and tenure as Chief of Emergency Medicine at PTMC.”
“Why did you do that?” All the professional aspects, the career, the status don’t matter to Whitaker—even though he understands the high-stakes repercussions on Dr. Robby’s life in and out of their wokeplace—because what he actually wants to know is why was he masturbating in the bathroom during work?
Robby scoffs in disbelief, “That’s all you care about right now? And not the fact that you could end my entire career and reputation over this?”
“Maybe you can at least owe me an explanation about this, especially for someone that has always told me to deal with the fact that bathroom breaks are as rare as eating for lunch while being in the ED.”
Robby pinches the bridge of his nose and he sighs excruciatingly heavily. Troubled to the idea that his mentee overlooks the high-risks of this situation but prefers to know why he jerked off at work.
“I… I haven’t gotten a lot of… action, recently… for a while, actually.” The declaration itself earns the older man an embarrassing flush across his cheeks, and so does Whitaker with wide-opened eyes to the candid explanation. “And I get really pent up when that’s the case, even at work. When it happens, I need to deal with it or I just can’t focus whatsoever to do my job properly and optimally. That’s why. So, please, don’t say anything to anyone and, please, don’t… report me to HR, Whitaker.”
Confessing one of the most embarrassing explanations of his life—bordering on humiliating—, Robby rubs the back of his neck while throwing a glance at Whitaker who is still standing but not moving, not reacting; simply blushing to no avail.
“Okay… okay, I won’t say anything, Robby.”
Sounds of relief manifest themselves as Robby exhales deeply from the other side of the room, hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat calming and reaching a steadier rhythm.
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Whitaker,” he breathlessly says.
“I won’t say anything only if you let me suck you off.”
His already wide eyes were big and open from surprise but now, they’re widely opened from determination and seriousness.
Whitaker said what he said and he meant what he meant.
He won’t say anything to anyone only if Robby lets him suck his dick.
“Wha—excuse me?” says Robby in utter confusion, eyes narrowed and brows knitted.
“It’s up to you. I mean, I’m not the one jerking off at his workplace while being on the clock in a public space.”
“You can’t be serious, right? Are you blackmailing me, Whitaker?”
“Alright then, I’ll see myself out to HR.”
Whitaker walks toward the door and Robby intercepts him, blocking the path with his big and large frame, arms reaching out in front of the man.
“Okay! Okay, okay, okay, just—okay! For fuck sake but let’s just—this gotta be a joke…"
“Okay, then.”
Moments later, they find themselves in the bathroom, in the exact same stall where Robby jerked off. The biggest one, large and spacious—probably the handicap stall that is the furthest away from the door. Scrubs and undershirt removed as the articles of clothing sit on the ground, Robby’s back rests against the cold metallic wall while an eager Whitaker waits on his knees before him.
Confident hands unbuckle the belt passed through the black cargo pants’ belt loops, he slowly pulls them down with Robby’s underwear in the same practical movement, freeing Dr. Michael Robinavitch’s cock.
Whitaker’s brows go high, close to reaching his hairline as he looks up to face Robby, asking at a loss, “Getting hard already?”
“No? I’m not hard at all.”
Oh, God. If Robby’s not hard right now, not even semi-hard, what does it look like when his cock is fully pulsating and engorged from arousal and desire to bury himself into someone? Not that Whitaker is complaining but that is one big fucking cock that his attending has between his legs. He, unironically, wonders how Robby walks around without having to readjust constantly.
And it’s absolutely, beautifully mouth-watering.
Robby’s cock is circumcised, Whitaker thinks “Jewish, makes sense,” probably around seven to eight inches while not being hard. The tip is a faded shade of pink, large enough to make anyone feel it instantaneously as he pushes the head with calculated precaution—all too aware of his size—but not too big where it looks disproportionately off to the rest of his cock. The shaft is large, smooth skin of the same skin color, although slightly darker with traces of wide apparent veins across its length giving it this hypermasculine and dominating feel and sensation while looking at it. Clearly, Robby keeps it natural with a minimum of manscaping; there’s a gorgeous, dark and thick forest of hair at the very bottom of his lower abdomen and Whitaker asks himself at the sight how good it must smell, taste or feel. His balls are perfectly round and look heavy. Maybe it’s by nature but, maybe, Robby wasn’t kidding when he said that he gets pent up and needs release because Whitaker swears they’re throbbing for simply existing, matching the pulse of Robby’s heart. Hairs are gracing his ball sack but by just a thin amount, nothing that would feel too uncomfortable if someone wanted to suck on them viciously.
Above this gift of manhood, Robby's bare chest is just as marvelous and enticing. The broad chest is covered in a layer of dark fur going from the top of his pecs—where between them, some graying has already happened and it’s driving Whitaker a bit too crazy—to the birthing line of his hips which blends exquisitely into a coarser patch of hair. The large and imposing shoulders are also graced with hairs but not as pronounced compared to his chest—leaving Whitaker with delicious hypotheses about what Robby’s back looks like. His pecs are faintly defined in shape and size but not from muscle mass but mostly from a protective layer of fat giving them their weight and heaviness. Beautiful nipples proportional in size to his chest and pecs, large—ideal for sucking on them and pinching them—a dark shade of pink that gets lighter at the tip of his perky nipples; tying together the beauty that is Dr. Robby’s chest. But what caught Whitaker’s attention the most—even with this irresistible display of middle-aged attractiveness—is Robby’s small belly creating a dome and does it look perfect. Perfect to the point where Whitaker thinks he might have started to get wet on both ends. The Magen David lays peacefully high on his chest, reflecting and catching the blinding recessed lights from the ceiling with the golden chain it is attached to.
“Well, fuck… you’re… fucking massive,” Whitaker says, cock facing him and eyes to Robby, words rough around the edges in a quiver.
“Yeah, well—let’s just get this over with… please.” A rare sight of seeing Robby abashed that way; face turned to avoid the young man’s eyes ogling him and a twisted neck exposing a pigmented flush all the way to his face and ears.
Whitaker doesn’t waste a second and carefully grabs Robby’s cock to get a feel of it and it’s blissfully heavy in hand. He closes his fingers and wraps them around the shaft to begin slow, languid strokes. Meanwhile, his other hand cups his heavy balls and their warmth is almost comforting against Whitaker’s palm; tugging on them and playfully feeling them get Robby to wince to the stimulation followed by a controlled exhale through parted lips.
Moving his face forward, Whitaker plunged his nose at the juncture of Robby’s cock and his dense bush of hair.
Feverishly, the contact against the intimate zone and Robby’s auditory reaction makes him mewl pathetically as he loses some of his brain capacities in the time the odor hits his nostrils like chloroform; the powerful musk and sweaty smell of Robby’s groin—the smell of a man. A deep inhale where his nose is lodged, and Whitaker’s halfway gone.
“Mmph—God, Robby… y’smell so good.”
All he can hear is the shakiness in Robby’s breaths, desperately trying to keep a hold on some sort of steadiness.
Leaving the musky spot, Whitaker faces Robby’s dick at eye level and swallows its head at a glacial pace, concealing an everlasting appetite for cock… for Robby’s cock. As he’s taking Robby in his mouth, he pushes the hardening dick in him, tongue rubbing the underside of it throughout its journey to welcoming a beautiful, fat and mind-numbing gift of nature to the back of his tight throat.
“Ooh—shit…” he sighs, at the touch of the warm and slippery tongue.
At the sound of Robby’s voice, Whitaker looks back at him, surprising himself that he hasn’t been gazing at the man deeply in his eyes from the beginning all the while swallowing him, showing how much he enjoys it, how much he has been wanting it. Halfway through, he slides back his mouth, cupping the head with his glossy, pouty lips, hanging heavily on the boy’s bottom lip. Robby is making a herculean effort to not shiver at the picture painted at his feet, because his mind is already betraying him, thinking for him: “What a pretty boy he makes.”
Whitaker lightly chuckles at Robby’s attempt to not fall apart and licks his cock from root to tip multiple times before letting his tongue flick at his balls.
“Ooh, fuck, that’s—” says Robby breathless, breaking the verbal silence.
Tongue on the underside of the attending’s cock, Whitaker locks his gaze with Robby’s before saying teasingly, “Sensitive down there?”
“Yeah, e-easy…” he alerts.
His hand is brought close to his mouth and all the while looking at Robby. Eyes sparkling with pure desire and depravity, the young man spits in his hand. A small pool of saliva gathers in the well made by his palm, bringing it against a fully erect cock to lubricate it and to stroke it with all the eagerness brewing in the most cavernous places of Dennis Whitaker’s lower belly.
While stroking the length of the man towering over him, Dennis takes a moment to finally take in the beauty that is Robby’s sex. Going from seven to eight inches while resting, to—what he approximately can guess—nine to ten inches, probably ten and a half. Upon such realization, the boy’s mind can’t help itself but imagine all potential partners Robby has had in the past.
Whether they were meaningless hookups to liberate his mind from exhausting days in the ED with the need to pound someone deep into his mattress—just as hard as his days were. Or, past lovers who’ve gotten the privilege to get unconditionally fucked senseless by Robby and his massive cock on a daily basis, ready to submit them from witnessing him in his full glory. Standing tall and proud, naked and ready to take them—ready to make you understand that your body belongs to him, that you are going to let him consume you in such a way that you will be left wanting for more, even after begging him to stop fucking you without a care in the world, like the good dirty little slut that you have always been and are for him; only for him.
Dennis swears he almost cums in his pants at the thought. Instead, a sticky puddle of precum finds its way in his underwear. Feeling too hot, too slimy, too restricted, too encaged by his own briefs and he’s not even hard.
The thought of Robby fucking people—men, women and everybody in between—made him “cum” a significant amount of precum in his pants.
Now, it’s over. It’s too late.
Dennis feels deeply to his core that he has lost all sense of rationality—and possibly, humanity—with the want, need, even necessity of becoming an outlet of pleasure, release and control for Robby.
With an unforeseen dizziness crashing at full speed into Whitaker, he abandons the ongoing strokes around the thick, hard and unbelievably hot shaft of his attending while the man himself battles with flickering expressions shaping his face. Arousal, restrain, surprise, shock and even curiosity. Robby’s eyes are fixated on the kneeling young man who stopped stroking his nearly painful hard-on as the absence of Whitaker’s hand on him catches Robby off guard with a moan sounding like a grunt loaded with physical sensitivity. Between his legs, Robby sees the glassy look in Whitaker’s eyes, his thin reddened lips are parted with a looseness that lets the tip of his tongue to lazily be shown against his bottom lip—halfway leaning on its inside and on the actual lip. An undeniably cute and maddening reddish pink blush all over his face, ears and neck; sounds of questionable breathing for how the boy is taking long but hurried breaths.
“Fuck… you said you were going to—” Robby breathlessly mentions, trying to put the pieces back together from their previous conversation.
Moaning, Dennis forces all of his middle-aged mentor’s huge cock in his mouth all the way down his throat, and as he does, he takes an equally long and big breath before giving up on the possibility of having access to air altogether.
When the head of Robby’s cock hits deep in his throat, Whitaker whines, wishing it could go deeper than it already has. Taking Robby is no joke, let alone all the way down. The young man feels an amount of pressure in his jaw that would be unbearable for most people, from how forcefully open it is, but Dennis truly doesn’t give a shit; he actually relishes the tension and the cramp-like stillness of his opened jaw that Robby imposes with his godlike penis. Dennis would be lying to himself if the idea of Robby being connected to some sort of holiness doesn’t do something to him—bringing the possibility of worshiping him, of worshiping Dr. Robby (he already does, in some ways), of worshiping Michael Robinavitch; the man, not the doctor, but he already knows he doesn’t need Michael to be from the heavens to kneel before him since he’s already doing that, the exact same way Dennis Whitaker had done it with many, many middle-aged men (who looked, at times, like a certain attending) in the past, dutifully kneeling between the legs of otherworldly gorgeous men—or against any surface Dennis found himself before getting used until they cover or filled him with cum—with their salt and pepper hair and beards, their swooning-inducing wrinkles, their gravelly voices and their huge fucking cocks in dire need of being taken care of; ravishing older men deserving to be worshiped the way it should always be with them.
His guts twist at the fantasy Dennis built in his mind. It simultaneously triggers many physical reactions all over his body, but what appears evident at first glance is how frantic his breathing—with difficulty, nonetheless—becomes and the lousy moans as well as strangled keens cannot find a proper exit but instead vibrate and reverberate against the entirety of Michael Robinavitch’s rock-hard manhood nuzzled with a new found familiarity deep in his mentee’s throat.
“—suck my cock—fuck…” Michael moans languidly.
“Mm-hmm,” he hums cock in mouth, looking at Robby.
Dennis bobs his head along the whole length. He sucks it without shying away his eyes from the man.
The large and incredibly hard cock is swiftly covered in saliva-based slick, each time Dennis pushes his head to the base, nose buried in a delicious patch of dark hairs, his throat tightens with a grunt that sounds so pathetic to his own ears. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to be.
His hands have grabbed Robby’s tights from purchase at the time he took Robby to the hilt and seized the opportunity to discover them. They feel wonderful under his palms. Large, imposing, firm and hairy. Dennis caresses them with eagerness but a tint of impatience catches him—even if they are perfect to the touch and sight; he’ll surely know about taste as well at one point.
They move higher and—fuck.
Dennis’ hands make contact with a hairy belly, automatically moaning uncontrollably to the first touch of it.
Michael shivers to the scene.
Feeling the roaming and exploring hands of Whitaker all over him is a new kind of arousal. Blatantly getting off from the hairy chest of his attending, slowly becoming harder and harder to maintain self-control and subtleness about how much the boy enjoys what’s happening.
Both hands hurriedly feel the protuberant gut as whimpers and moans bounce around Michael cock before reaching higher and groping his pecs. Dennis’s lids flutter in an overdose of pleasure as he has two hands full of Robby’s chest. The older man shakily breathes under the younger’s dominion, almost shuddering when both thumbs rub against his hard nipples, reacting to the stimulation with a quick inhale through gritted teeth.
“Fu-uck, yeah—u-ugh…!”
Dennis retrieves his greedy hands to large hairy thighs, slowly runs his sloppy slick-covered mouth back to the head of Robby’s cock before taking a needed sharp breath, strangling his voice as he exhales.
“Someone seems to be having a good time,” Whitaker points out, smiling with an open mouth and faintly panting through it.
“Y-yeah, sure.” Michael is immediately betrayed by his equally unstable voice, jerky breathing and a dangerously mind-fucking sheen of sweat all over his body.
Dennis doesn’t wait for Robby to finish his poor excuse of a justification to go back to swallowing a bouncing cock from how hard it is.
He spends some short quality time on the reddened tip, sucking on it with fervor and swirling his tongue in an avid chase to remember Michael’s taste on his tongue. With lips barely wrapping the edges of the tip, Dennis puts his index finger and thumb around Robby’s glistening cock, rests his lips on the circle made out of two digits as he resumes the sucking and now, an added jerking motion from his two fingers tight around the thickness.
When Dennis starts working on Michael, the man releases a stretched out grunt while throwing his head back against the metallic wall in a thud.
“God…” The word is shaped by a raspiness that has the effect of an electroshock within Whitaker.
As he reverently tortures his attending in his endeavor, Robby magnetically brings back his head to look at his resident, and without giving it a thought first, he dips his hips forward, forcing him to lift his lower back from the supporting gray wall. He quickly catches the rhythm of Dennis’ back and forth to meet his mouth and face halfway when they both push in. Each time Robby pushes in the very last inch of his cock, the boy’s throat tightens in its instinctive gag reflex accompanied with a guttural choke—and it’s glorious.
The attending himself is not immune to the great pleasure of meeting Whitaker’s mouth midway. His breathing becomes one with moans, soft stutters of his grunts, full breathed out “ahs” that rapidly lose their initial syllable to transform into pure guttural, hoarse, wanton meaningless sounds because Michael Robinavitch is far more gone than he’d love to admit to the young man putting him in this state.
Keeping their team effort going, Robby selfishly decides to make it a one-man project. He gives up Dennis’ pace to force him with his instead. Not that it is faster, but actually stronger. Robby pulls away with a fleeting pause, then thrusts himself back in—it only takes two thrusts for Dennis to get the message as he lets his tongue, mouth and throat being abused and fucked by the Chief of the Emergency Department.
Robby gives Whitaker a couple of thrusts before straightening himself and leaving altogether the then-cold bathroom stall’s wall. He stands tall and towers over the kneeling frame even more than before. His hips fuck the tight throat with a single powerful movement of his hips, arms lying down at his sides with tight fists like grabbing the air around them—soiled by the inappropriate sounds emanating from both men at their workplace and the rancid smell of depravity, shamelessness and the overpowering masculine musk of Michael Robinavitch—to help him find leverage to properly assault Dennis Whitaker’s cock-starving throat.
Each slam results in Michael grunting through his teeth, and even a growl or two show up in the mix. On his end, Dennis encourages—and for his own pleasure—Michael with hums sounding like affirmations, positive reinforcements to the harsh digs.
“Ugh… ugh… erm… u-ugh!” Robby grunts through his clenched jaw, sounding out of breath and feeling almost primal.
“Mhm… mhm… mh–hmm!” He doesn’t for a second stop looking at Robby, continuously humming each time his cock chokes him amazingly and coaxes the older to keep on going with nods as he pulls his hard cock back to push it in again with strength.
Robby’s pace accelerates, he gently puts a hand on the top of dark curls and takes a fistful of them. Suddenly, Whitaker goes still to the impairment knowing exactly what’s coming, and he shivers in anticipation.
Robby takes hold of the young man’s head and plunges his massive cock in his throat to fuck him mercilessly. Dennis doesn’t stray away from Michael’s aggression nor his overly smoldering brown eyes, he accepts it and lets himself be manhandled by him all the while drowning in his dark browns.
“Fuck! Yeah, that’s it… take it, Whitaker—aah, fucking take it,” he orders in spats between breaths.
The man pounds Dennis’ throat without a care in the world if he cannot handle it, but it doesn’t matter since he is handling it. He handles it so well.
His other hand reaches under the abused man’s chin, cupping it and a little bit of his jaw too. Robby leans his upper body forward to put as much strength as possible to break apart Whitaker in his opportunistic pursuit of his own personal sexual gratification. He fucks Whitaker’s face that way for a good minute until he crashes his hips into the young man’s face, pulling it in at the time that Robby buries himself.
“Mmph—right there… stay right there.” His voice is low and husky, consumed by the heat in his loins and Michael wishes he could push deeper the remaining nonexistent inches of his burning dick in Whitaker.
Robby has an iron grasp on the cock-swallowing head as he begins to grind against its face. Small impulses from his hips create even more tension and straining inside a slobbering mouth.
The friction given by Robby rubs Dennis’ nose against his bush, forced to breathe in the strong and powerful smell of Robby’s crotch. Dennis thinks it might be the best scent he’s ever smelled in his life and he wants to bathe in it.
Even with such oral skills, holding such a long and big cock so deeply in his throat, Dennis struggles to fight back his gag reflex as he gurgles in a choked-up cough around Robby’s monster with glossy bubbles around the rim of his sucking lips. It splatters all over the older man’s hairs and painfully swollen balls; trying his best to ease the feeling in his mouth, Dennis attempts to swallow the excessive amount of thickened spit that has been secreting since Robby turns his mouth into a fucktoy to, instead, involuntarily massage his cock with the swallowing motions.
“Ooh, yes. C’mon, choke on it. Th—There you go—yes, exactly…” Robby coos.
When his head is set free, Dennis gasps and coughs from no longer being fucked in the mouth while Robby grunts in the absence of his mouth around him. A thick trickle of slobber is rooted securely from reddened glistening lips to a throbbing cock as well as thickened slick slowly dripping on Dennis’ chin.
It is now uncomfortable for Dennis—edging on painful—to breathe through his mouth and it’s already challenging to do so with a mouthful of cock-sucking drool in his stinging throat.
Catching his breath, Robby puts two fingers under the slobber-covered chin to steady his hand, gently rubs his thumb on Whitaker’s bottom lip. He invites the digit in his mouth and Robby licks his own lip at the sight. His thumb is removed from the burning tongue that is now resting on to caress one more time the lip before leaving Whitaker’s mouth. In its retrieval, Robby sits and grunts with fatigue on the closed lid toilet.
“Aah… Fuck…” Dennis, with a cock-drunk smirk, patiently watches Robby as he sits down on the lid, pulling his cargo pants down to his ankles to spread his legs. His attending springs back upright, slides his hips to the edge of the lid for a better and more comfortable position. Once Robby feels at ease, both hands move to the back of his head looking like a pasha waiting to be served.
Dennis crawls closer on his knees between Robby’s legs. He chuckles drunkenly, teasing him as he looks in the man’s eyes, “Can’t handle me, Robby?”
Dennis’ opened mouth hovers around the tip of Robby’s pulsating cock, his tongue slightly out for him to see and his hot breath brushing provocatively its underside. From the knitting of brows, pursing of lips and exhaling through them, Dennis looks down to see the heavy balls flex upward. He darts his eyes back at his mentor, his mouth takes back its smirky form and wiggles his brows.
“Must really like it then, huh?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, kid. I’ve had better,” Robby claims, still shaking from the hot breath of his mentee.
“Don’t worry, Dr. Robby. You haven’t had me yet.”
He gives a tormentingly sluggish lick of tongue a few inches below the head before reaching its very top. Robby predictably moans. Dennis scoffs at the reaction; eyes still focused on him, he gathers the hanging drool off his chin with his hand, spits some more on it before spreading all of it along the massive cock to start jerking the man.
It doesn’t take much time before Dennis launches his mouth on swollen balls to taste them again, to give them much needed attention, and it takes even less time before Dennis goes back to choking himself on Robby’s cock.
Michael grunts and moans endlessly under Whitaker’s mouth, his body twists and writhes not knowing how to hold himself back in the face of its intensity.
A comforting hand caresses his thigh up and down before traveling to his belly—that’ll also be caressed and stroked in an attempt to ground the man.
With one free hand, Dennis uses it to jerk off Robby as he sucks him fervently. Twisting his hand in the rhythm of his back and forth motion.
The older man grunts through gritted teeth, trying to find a way to maintain his composure. But as they say: the best defence is offense. Therefore, Robby puts one hand on the bobbing head and uses it once more.
If Whitaker struggles more, then no need to maintain composure.
The young man’s hand is still calmingly stroking Michael’s hairy belly while the man uses him. Now used to his fat cock in his mouth, his moans are coming from a place of pure ecstasy—Dennis loves it when it hurts a little bit… more than a little bit sometimes; the line between hurting and pleasuring is a fine one. Dennis loves to be fucked on both—and it almost sounds like Robby’s cock is actually fucking him. Robby knits his brows from the rising fire in his guts and parts his lips as he breathes through them.
He has never once thought that the Dennis Whitaker he knew could behave that way, and for some reason, Robby gets this image in his mind. An image painted by his perverted-old-man mind showing that he’s the one corrupting the boy, leading him astray on a path of perversion—that makes Robby go insane.
After this obscene image disappeared, Robby’s groin aches with Dennis between his legs. Cock and balls tighten as the aftermath of his train of thought, resulting in his cock twitching in the boy’s mouth and his balls slightly rising at the time that his guts keep on twisting and burning of a fire greater than ever. The weaving hand claiming his lower abdomen bends the flames eating his insides.
Oh, God. Robby thinks to himself that it’s like Dennis controls him with his palm. He squirms and wriggles his body, hoping it’ll help him control and handle this wave of mindless pleasure toppling him better.
Once eased-up, he redirects his focus to the very dedicated boy before him.
“Yeah… you like that, Whitaker?” he teases, visibly out of breath.
He hums and moans in response. Blue spellbound to brown.
“I know… I know, Whitaker,” Robby coos, a crooked smile on his lips, making the right side of his face crinkle as it beautifies his already apparent wrinkles even more. “Ah-ah, open your mouth. Open your—that’s it… good job, Whitaker.”
Dennis whimpers.
Robby’s praises hit differently here; voice as low and raspy as he could ever get it. He’s certain that he saw Whitaker bring his thighs closer and rub them together.
Michael feels his breathing becoming erratic and ever so close to snap. With both hands, he holds Whitaker’s dark locks and chases with his mouth his own release.
Under his attending’s assault, Dennis is gone. Eyes rolled back, moans and whines and sounds so fucking desperately pathetic—Robby seems to love it from how his face keeps grimacing with grunts, moans and snarls—before Robby winces, pulling involuntarily his hips back—not enough for his cock to leave Dennis’ mouth.
“O-okay, Dennis. I-I’m really close,” he warns him. All past bravado falters once approaching the precipice of his orgasm.
Dennis ignores him, adamantly.
He frees his mouth of Robby with a wet pop while trying to catch his breath through lewd pants. Tongue out, breathing through his mouth and never moving his eyes away from Robby’s, he chuckles with a challenging smile on his fucked-out face.
Robby gathers his brows together to the unknown mischievous intentions. Before anything, Dennis puts his mouth back on his sensitive dick; only around the tip. Dennis moans as though three fingers pushed inside his wet begging hole during which he suckles on the reddened, slobbered-on tip of his cock. Head bobbing but not by much as he applies a delirious amount of suction around it; he makes a good work out of his tongue while flicking, wrapping, brushing it all over the head.
Michael almost cries out to the about-to-become overstimulation around him. It doesn’t hold him back to still grunting through his clenched jaw and gritted teeth to contain himself.
Suddenly, his arms go limp to his sides. Robby breathes with his now opened mouth, breaking their visual link as he throws his head back and eyes following the same motion, moaning openly and loudly out of breath—clear signs that he’s about to make a mess out of the boy.
“Stop—pull—hrmph, Dennis… Stop!” Robby garbles jerkily, pointlessly warning Dennis who’s ignoring his words. “I-I’m coming—stop!”
As warnings keep on being ignored, Michael throws his hand to small bangs of dark matter curls and makes a fist out of them, giving him enough purchase to yank Dennis’ head back to remove him from his cock.
Immediately as Robby yanks the boy’s head, he groans profusely when the first shot of his burning release spits out of his heavy cock. His massive cock shining with Dennis’ deep throat slick bounces every time it releases long, heavy, thick and smoldering endless ropes of cum.
Only a couple of them go to waste on the ground. Dennis can’t have that. He can’t let this man’s cum, Dr. Michael Robinavitch’s cum crash purposelessly on some bathroom floor. Through Robby’s tight grip, he pushes his face forward where it used to belong even through sharp tingles rising on his scalp, making him hiss in his travel just as much as he likes the tingling sensation around Robby’s controlling grasp.
Dennis bobs his head slowly and languidly around Robby as well as welcoming the overwhelming onslaught of his ejaculation. Look still pinned on him, he swallows each shot finding respite in his mouth with a satisfactory moan as he does.
But what Dennis takes a second to realize is that Robby is still cumming, a lot. His orgasm and release seemingly growing and gaining in intensity. Robby is lost in his pleasure, going through every single sensation there is to feel and letting go.
In his mouth, Dennis feels the quantity of cum growing while he struggles to swallow properly. So much in his mouth, to the point where he coughs and chokes on it. A splatter of white leaves his mouth all the while having Robby’s cock and buckets of cum in his mouth. He tries his best to swallow everything, feeling and tasting the purest form of him.
God, he’s still cumming, he thinks to himself as he swallows an overbearing amount of Robby’s cum.
As Dennis decides to retract himself, Robby brings his head toward the young man visibly struggling to breathe.
The sight makes Robby whine, “Oh, Dennis… so good to me, always so good to me…” he coaxes breathlessly. In a last grunt, Robby closes his eyes shut with frowned brows and grits his teeth as his last grunt sounds like an effort, holding his breath in doing so, reaching deeply for something, almost like pushing something out of him. His body tenses so much that he goes silent—Dennis feels it under his hand who found its place on Robby’s belly—and after a couple of seconds, final remaining ropes of sperm land on his boy’s face.
Robby moans in his gravelly and raspy usual way when his release is finally over, taking in long and deep open-mouth breaths. When the intensity subsides, his body shivers and spams through the end as he examines the damages of his orgasm.
Dennis searches for Robby’s eye contact, and when he does, he gives him his best grateful grin and chuckles sleepily. He drops his head to one of his thighs, still grinning and not letting go for Robby—covered in the Chief of the Emergency Department, Dr. Michael Robinavitch’s semen, looking blissfully cock-drunk, abused and slutted out by a beautiful man like him, by him.
Dennis lethargically rubs Robby’s belly to catch his attention and ground him before saying: “Thank you, Dr. Robby.”