Just finished the second draft of my story, boys.
Here it is:
They've landed in an unusual position. James' bare ass is flat on the floor, getting all slippery and sticky with mint scented soap, and Carlos' bare ass is on top of, well, almost on top of James' dick. He's straddling him, thighs tight around James' waist, tensed against impending impact with the tiles. If it weren't for the fact that James had instinctively put a hand out to protect his junk, Carlos would be squishing his cock or worse. Come to think of it, though, it wouldn't really be worse, because a lot of people seem to like that and maybe he could too. He'll try anything once.
"Fancy meeting you here." He says, imitating the porno Kendall managed to score off one of the guys who worked at the record company. He isn't a girl, obviously, and James isn't a sexy, ripped Latino janitor with long flowing hair, but he likes their version better.
James looks at him and he smiles because it's okay, he doesn't mind, and then one of James' fingers, slick and cold from spilled shampoo, slips into him, through no fault of James' own. Carlos has all his weight on his friend, on his hand, so it makes sense that his shifting around would cause some slippage. He's not quite sure if he likes this, it's very intrusive, like the time the doctor shoved a thermometer up his butt. He'd rather get up and take his shower, maybe kiss a little, get to second base, third if he can manage to stay awake long enough. He's not ready to go all the way; James hasn't even bought him dinner yet. He learned from his brief stint as a Jennifer that only real sluts sleep with a guy before he pays for a meal or two. "Nggh." James has like three fingers in him now, stretching him open and it burns. The extra two fingers aren't an accident. "No." His voice is a high pitched whine, not very convincing.
He tries to stand up, but the floor is slippery as unpolished ice and James puts his free hand on his thigh to push him down further and madre de díos, he's stuffed too full too fast. He feels like his poor culo is going to split at the seams. This is going too quick for him to properly adjust, he's too tight inside, never had anything inside him before. "James, cut it out."
"I'm more than halfway in, you'll like it, I promise." James isn't even close to halfway in; his dick isn't even near Carlos' asshole. As experienced as he may be James doesn't appear to be very good at this, or even know the logistics of gay sex.
Suddenly the bathroom goes white hot and blinding and Carlos' eyes try to roll back into his head as his eyelids snap closed reflexively. Holy shit, he gets what James is doing now, and his ass wants to cry. He's heard about this before, in the way that kids hear about the Chupacabra and Big Foot, more of a myth than a fact, something scary told late at night.
>>7850671
"This is impossible." He squeaks, really, really, impossibly full, stretched to his limits, five fingers are too many, too much, way bigger than a dick.
"Nah." James shushes him, kisses him on the mouth, licks along his bottom lip.
"Oh fuck." He clutches at James' bare shoulders, digs his fingers into the muscle, clinging for dear life. James can't really think this is going to work. Five fingers are one thing, but he still has the widest part of his fist to work in, and there's just no way. Carlos may have gotten a C in science class but he paid enough attention to know that a hand is too big to fit in someone's ass, especially his ass. He knows what can go inside his ass. James' fist is not one of those few things.
"Almost there." James isn't as encouraging as he thinks he is. Carlos can barely breathe, can't get enough traction with his feet to stand up and get this fist out of him.
"Dude, it can't fit." James is going to see he's wrong and Carlos isn't going to walk for a week and it's going to suck for both of them.
Apparently, it really can. James curls his fingers in towards his palm and pushes his hand forward in a slow, steady motion, rubbing the bowstring tight muscles in his belly as they quiver, his ass efficiently stuffed full of fist.
"Told ya it could." He wants to hit James for being so smug when he is never going to be able to poop or sit or walk again.
"Now what?" He speaks in pants, growing accustomed to the feel and kind of enjoying it, as much as he can enjoy it, anyways.
"This." James moves his hand back, then forwards, in pulses of motion, unclenching and clenching his fist for fun, just to torture him. Carlos thinks he might be dying again and if he is, he wants to continue this awesomely weird death. James has his hand in him to the wrist, twists and pushes, strokes him from the inside out. James catches his thumb on something and presses, firm and deliberate, and then he's coming so hard he could go blind from losing too much semen, if that old wives tale holds true, and given the results of this whole fisting thing, it probably will.
"Jesus Christ." James works his hand out gently, nuzzles his face into the curve of Carlos' throat.
"Get up."
"What, why?" He couldn't get up if he wanted to and he doesn't want to. He wants to stay on the floor with James, scoot closer to the warmth of his skin.
"I'm hoping this time you'll fall on my dick."
- Fin -
>>7850675
>>7850671
DELETE THAT
