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The room was still thick with the humid scent of sweat and sex. Shane watched, his chest heavy with each panting breath, as Ilya deftly pinched the base of the spent condom, sliding it off his cock in one slick motion. The latex, stretched and glossy with their combined fluids, was tied off and flicked with a careless toss into the small trashcan beside the bed. A strange, hollow pang hit Shane’s gut as it disappeared.
Ilya turned back, his own breathing still ragged, and caught Shane’s stare. Shane’s gaze was fixed, his eyes wide and dark, his lips parted. His own arousal throbbing between his legs as he mourned the fullness he’d just lost.
“You look unsatisfied,” Ilya murmured, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth. His hand drifted down to his own softening length, but as his fingers brushed it, the flesh twitched, then began to swell again against his thigh, thickening rapidly under Shane’s watchful eyes. The sight alone made Shane’s pussy clench, a fresh trickle of slick warmth seeping from his swollen entrance.
Ilya moved to the bedside drawer, pulling out another foil square. He held it up, the shiny packet catching the low light, and brought it to his teeth to tear.
Shane’s hand shot up, fingers wrapping around Ilya’s wrist. The touch was sudden, stopping all motion.
Ilya paused, his eyebrow arched. He assumed fatigue, or a waning desire. His expression softened into concern.
Shane shook his head, his throat tight. The words felt clumsy, lodged behind his tongue. “I… I was thinking,” he started, voice a low rasp. “We’re exclusive now. We’re both… clean. Maybe… maybe we could…”
He didn’t finish. He just let the implication hang, his eyes searching Ilya’s face.
Ilya’s reaction was instantaneous. A visible heat flashed through him, starting in his brain and rushed down his spine to his groin. His cock, already half-hard, surged to full erection, standing thick and eager against his stomach. The thought of being bare and inside Shane with no barrier was so potent it had his mouth going dry.
He stared at Shane, his usual cool composure utterly vanished. His lips parted in a silent, stunned exhale. His knee, pressed against the mattress, began to twitch with a barely-contained energy.
“Is that… okay with you?” Shane asked slowly, each word measured.
Ilya nodded frantically. He didn’t speak. He just tossed the condom packet onto the floor with a dismissive flick and grabbed Shane’s ankles, hoisting his legs up and over his shoulders.
Shane yelped, his body sliding down the bed under the force, his back flat against the sheets. Ilya moved forward, his body flush against Shane’s, the heat of his torso radiating against Shane’s thighs. His cock, now fully engorged, rested against Shane’s lower belly. The head, a deep color and slick with his own excitement, nudged the soft skin just above Shane’s folds.
Ilya’s eyes tracked down, his gaze intense and focused. Shane’s pussy was exposed, glistening. The outer lips were plump and puffy from their earlier rounds, a brown hue darkening at the edges. The inner lips, slick and glistening, peeked out from between. A pool of lube gathered at his entrance, shining in the dim light.
Ilya positioned himself. Not attempting to rush and used one hand to guide his cock, the other still gripping Shane’s waist. The broad head of his penis pressed against Shane’s opening, meeting the wet, yielding warmth. He pushed in by an inch, just enough for his head to disappear.
Shane gasped. He didn’t miss the smooth, uniform slide of latex. He could feel the textured flesh of Ilya and the prominent vein that ran along the underside. It just felt so hot and raw.
Ilya groaned out a deep, visceral sound from his chest. His lips pursed, his eyes half-closed as he savored the feeling. Shane’s insides were a hot, soft furnace, and as Ilya sank deeper, the muscles inside clenched around him. The grip welcoming him and pulling him in.
He watched Ilya’s face. The Russian’s eyes were shut tight, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. He stayed there, buried halfway, not moving. As if he feared it would be snatched away.
Then, with a controlled exhale, he began to move.
He pulled back, slowly, until only the swollen head remained nestled inside, stretching the entrance wide. Shane could feel every millimeter of the retreat, the delicious drag of skin against his sensitized walls. Then Ilya pushed forward again, sinking back to that same deep point. The pace was slow and appreciative.
Forcing a quiet breathy moan from Shane. The friction was exquisite without the barrier, he could feel the entire anatomy of Ilya’s cock. It seemed to swell just before the head, in a way that Shane had never noticed before. His own wetness increased, a fresh gush of fluid coating Ilya’s length, making the slide smoother, hotter.
Ilya muttered something, his voice thick. “So good… so perfect for me.” His thrusts became more purposeful. He pulled out almost completely, then plunged back in, deeper this time, aiming for a specific spot.
Shane whimpered, his body arching off the bed. Ilya was seeking a depth he hadn’t before. His chest lowered, forcing Shane’s thighs against his own chest, his hips driving forward with a determined force. His hands on Shane’s waist tightened, fingers digging into the flesh to anchor himself.
Words spilled from Ilya in a mix of English and Russian, a stream of sweet, dirty compliments lost in the sensation. “Ты такая мягкая… такая горячая…” Shane laughed, a soft, surprised chuckle amidst his moans. He hadn’t expected Ilya to be so utterly entranced, so vocal in his native tongue.
A realization seemed to hit Ilya a moment later like a lightning bolt of inspiration. Cumming inside. The ultimate culmination of this new intimacy. The thought must have ignited something in him, because his rhythm changed.
He didn’t announce it or say anything, he just sped up.
The appreciative pace vanished, replaced by a driving, urgent tempo. His hips pistoned, driving his cock in and out of Shane’s soaked cunt with a force that jolted Shane’s whole body. Shane’s moans escalated, coming out louder and more unrestrained. He bit into his own knuckle, trying to muffle the sounds, but they burst out anyway. His chest, firm and muscled, bounced with each impact. His ass, pressed into the mattress, still clenched and lifted with each inward drive.
Ilya’s teeth were clenched, his jaw tight. His eyes were open but unfocused, locked on some invisible point beyond Shane. His breaths were sharp grunts, matching the rhythm of his pumping.
Shane’s pussy was stretched wide, accommodating Ilya’s thickest part each time he buried himself. The walls, sensitive and swollen, rippled around him, massaging his shaft with each pass. Shane could feel the distinct bump of his own G-spot being struck, a brilliant burst of pleasure that radiated through his lower belly each time Ilya’s angled head collided with it.
It lasted only minutes, but each second was amplified, intense. Ilya’s movements became wild, a final, desperate chase for his peak. He fucked into Shane with hard, wide strokes, his balls slapping against Shane’s perineum with a damp thud.
His climax approached, and he voiced it. A series of guttural, escalating moans—“Ah… Fuck—Shane—”—and then, with a final, deep thrust that shoved Shane up the bed, he buried himself as deep as he could go. He held there with his body rigid.
A low, rough growl tore from his throat as he released.
First, Shane felt the intense, pulsing throb of Ilya’s cock inside him, the veins becoming even more pronounced as his orgasm took hold. Then, the sudden, liquid warmth flooding his depths, filling the space Ilya occupied and then spreading beyond. Shane’s legs, still hooked over Ilya’s shoulders, began to quiver uncontrollably. The feeling of being completely filled triggered his own near-peak. His eyes fluttered shut, a wave of pleasure crashing over him.
Muscles tightening as waves of pressure built deep inside his core. Suddenly, he shattered, his body convulsing as clear fluid gushed out in forceful spurts, soaking Ilya’s shaft and dripping down his balls.
Ilya’s steel grip on Shane’s waist tightened impossibly, his fingers leaving bright, immediate red marks in the skin. Shane whined, a mix of overstimulation and overwhelming satisfaction.
Ilya removes a hand to play with moisture leaking from Shane, with a soft breathless chuckle.
For a blissful, silent minute, Ilya stayed there, nestled deep, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. His breath was hot against Shane’s neck.
Then, with a sigh that sounded almost pained, he began to pull out.
He did it slowly, with a deliberate care that felt ceremonial. Shane felt every inch of the retreat, the sensitive drag of Ilya’s softening cock against his overstimulated, wet walls.
And the real spectacle came next.
Ilya, still breathing hard, dipped his head. He kept Shane’s legs up, spread, stilling holding his ankles. His gaze was fixed on Shane’s entrance.
His own cum began to seep out.
It dribbled, slow and thick, from the stretched opening. A pearly, opaque stream that trailed down Shane’s tan skin, following the curve of his ass cheek toward the mattress. It glistened, catching the light. More followed, a lazy leak of the intimate fluid.
Ilya watched, utterly captivated. His eyes were wide, his expression one of hungry fascination. He was taking mental pictures, memorizing the sight.
Reluctantly, after a long, quiet moment of observation, Ilya straightened. He got up, his movements slow, and fetched a tissue from the box on the dresser. He returned, and with a gentle, almost worshiping touch, began to clean Shane up, wiping the glistening trails from his skin.
Shane lay there, totally spent, his body a map of their activity. As Ilya tended to him, he thought, with a clear, certain finality, that this was easily in the top three best times they’d ever had.
Shane wasn’t expecting Ilya to spend the following days trying to outdo himself.
And Ilya’s competition with himself started the next morning.
Shane awoke to a deep, persistent pressure. A dull, pleasant ache nestled inside him, a heavy fullness that pulsed gently against his tender walls. He rubbed his eyes, the morning light filtering through the blinds casting stripes across the rumpled sheets. The first thing he heard wasn’t the usual silence of dawn, but a low, appreciative groan right next to his ear.
His body was moving. Not by his own volition. A subtle, rhythmic rocking. Up and down, a slow, steady undulation of the mattress beneath him.
He blinked, trying to focus. Ilya’s face hovered above him, his features concentrated, his brow slightly knit. He was braced over Shane, his broad shoulders blocking the light, his hips working in a slow, deliberate grind. Shane’s legs were splayed, a warm weight settled between them.
Then, in a perfect sudden strike. Ilya’s cock, buried deep, hit a specific, brilliant spot inside Shane’s cunt. A firm, focused pressure against a cluster of nerves that lit up like a fuse. Shane let out a surprised moan, a sound that was muffled by a sleepy hoarseness in his throat.
His eyes flew fully open, meeting Ilya’s gaze. Ilya’s lips were parted, his breath coming in soft, controlled pants. “Good morning,” he muttered, distracted by the movement.
But Shane was cut off before he could reply. Ilya’s hips picked up pace. The slow grind transformed into a proper thrust, a smooth withdrawal followed by a firm re-entry. Shane’s lip wobbled, his mouth falling open. The sensation climbed, a coil of pleasure winding tight in his belly, fed by each precise, angled penetration.
He gasped for air, his hands fumbling to grip the sheets. The wet, slick sound of their joining filled the quiet room. Shane’s pussy, already softened and stretched from the night before, welcomed the invasion with a fresh flood of warmth.
Despite the intrusion, his body hadn’t woken up fully. His mind and vision still groggy and tired.
But he could make out Ilya’s face as it contorted, a mask of focused release. He drove into Shane with a final, desperate series of lunges.
Even in his tired, half-asleep state, Shane’s body responded instinctively. His cunt squeezed, a series of internal pulses milking Ilya’s length, trying to draw out every last drop of the spend.
Ilya shuddered, collapsing his weight onto Shane for a moment before carefully pulling back, just enough to rest his forehead against Shane’s shoulder. His breath was hot and ragged against Shane’s skin.
Placing a trail of kisses against Shane’s skin.
He felt Ilya’s softening cock still nestled within him, a comforting presence. He was ready to drift back into sleep, lulled by the warmth and the weight until he felt more movement.
Ilya was repositioning above him.
Shane’s eyes cracked open again, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Ilya was looking down at him, a soft, almost mischievous smile playing on his lips. He tapped Shane’s cheek lightly with his knuckle.
“Just go back to sleep,” Ilya murmured in a soothing rasp.
Shane made a small, questioning sound, but Ilya was already shifting. His hips moved again, with a slow, shallow in-and-out motion. Intending to maintain their connection.
The pleasant drag lulled him back to sleep. Shane whimpered slightly, a mix of confusion and lingering pleasure, but he obeyed. He let his eyes close, his body relaxing back into the mattress. Ilya kept moving and Shane drifted off with Ilya still moving inside him.
Two hours later, Shane stood under the cool spray, letting the water cascade over his shoulders and down his muscled back. He had slipped into the bathroom after Ilya had gone downstairs, moving quietly on wobbly legs.
He’d peeled off the panties that Ilya had pulled back onto him. As he slid them down his legs, a string of milky, opaque liquid trailed from the fabric to his thigh.
Now, under the water, he reached between his legs. The cool stream felt strange against his overheated flesh. His fingers probed at his entrance, which felt looser, softer than usual.
He took one hand, spreading his fingers to gently pull himself open under the spray. The water rinsed over his swollen folds, the lips slick and glistening even without touch. He tried to coax the remaining fluid out, a gentle internal pressure with his fingers. It hurt, a little but the greater pain was the emotional twinge of removing it. He already missed the feeling of being claimed in that way.
The water ran clear between his legs until he heard heavy footsteps on the wooden floor outside the bathroom. Followed by a firm knock on the door.
“I’ll be out in a minute—” Shane called out, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled space. “I’m just cleaning up…”
He barely finished the sentence when the door slammed open.
Shane froze, his head snapping toward the sound. Ilya stood there, framed in the doorway, dressed only in his boxers. His expression was dark, intense. His eyes were sharp, focused. And he looked pissed.
“What are you doing?” He practically growled like it was an accusation.
Shane opened his mouth, but words failed him. His mind scrambled, slightly confused. “I’m just…”
“Stop.” Ilya’s voice was a flat.
He stepped into the bathroom, stepping through the bathroom and out of his boxers in a quick motion. He stepped under the spray, the water immediately plastering his hair to his forehead and running down the carved muscles of his chest and abdomen.
Shane’s instinct was to explain, to soothe but he wasn’t even sure what for. He thought, for a fleeting second, that Ilya was volunteering to help him clean, to finish the task with a lover’s care.
That assumption shattered instantly.
Ilya moved toward him with a purposeful, possessive stride. One large hand clasped Shane’s wrist, pulling his probing fingers away from his own body. The other hand pressed firmly against Shane’s back, between his shoulder blades.
Shane stumbled forward, his front pressed against the cool, fogged glass of the shower wall. His ass, now exposed and raised, poked out toward Ilya.
“Ilya, wait—” Shane started, but a heavy, familiar weight settled against the curve of his ass. The position feeling more submissive and vulnerable the longer he was stuck in it.
Ilya’s cock, already hardened again, pressed against him.
Shane was sure his boyfriend had a magic dick because this many erections in such a short amount of time couldn’t be humanly possible. But who would Shane be to question it?
The thick, hot length slid down, finding the crevice between Shane’s cheeks. The head poked and played at Shane’s folds, nudging against his outer lips.
For a moment, Ilya rubbed the tip against Shane’s clit, a brief, teasing stroke that sent a jolt of electric pleasure straight up Shane’s spine, making his knees buckle slightly.
Then, without further preamble, without even a guiding hand, Ilya positioned himself and pushed.
He slipped back inside.
The penetration was quick and decisive. Shane’s body was perfectly loose. But the surprise of it made Shane gasp, a sharp intake of breath that was swallowed by the steam.
And then, a low hum of satisfaction vibrated in his throat.
Because Ilya, it seemed, understood. He knew Shane hadn’t truly wanted to wash him away. He knew the hollow ache that had started in Shane’s chest when he saw the evidence rinsing down the drain. And he was rectifying it.
Ilya filled him back up.
The thick, rigid shaft reoccupied the space, stretching Shane’s softened walls anew. The water ran over their joined bodies, mixing with the fresh seep of Shane’s arousal and the remnants of Ilya’s previous release still inside. It created a slick, hot slurry that made the slide effortless.
His thrusts were slow, at first. A testing, re-acclimating rhythm. Each withdrawal pulled a mixture of fluids out with him—water, Shane’s juices, his own spend—a messy, intimate mixture that dripped down Shane’s thighs. Each re-entry pushed it all back inside.
Shane’s face was pressed against the glass, his breath creating a small clear circle on the fogged surface. His eyes were wide, watching the distorted reflection of Ilya’s powerful form behind him. Ilya’s face was dawning a look of intense concentration.
The pace quickened. Ilya’s hips driving Shane forward against the glass with each inward stroke. The wet slap of their bodies meeting mixed with the sound of the shower spray. Shane’s chest pressed flat against the cool surface.
“You try to clean me out?” Ilya’s voice was a low, rough murmur against Shane’s ear. “Without my permission? So rude.”
Shane whimpered in agreement. Nodding his head against the glass was all he could manage. The scorching heat from where he met Ilya cock was a stark contrast to the cool water streaming down his back.
Ilya’s fingers digging into the flesh, sure to leave more marks. He changed his angle, tilting Shane’s body slightly upward. Shane cried out and his legs trembled, his toes curling against the wet tile floor.
Shane felt it coming. He was becoming more familiar with the internal throbbing of Ilya’s cock that intensified when he drew closer to cumming. The shaft becoming even harder and somehow larger, but Shane is still sure he wouldn’t get used to it.
Ilya’s breaths became sharp, ragged grunts, echoing in the small space.
With a final, deep surge, Ilya buried himself as far as he could go, his body pressing Shane firmly against the glass. Shane felt the hot, sudden gush of his release.
Ilya growled, a rough, satisfied sound, as he emptied himself.
For a long moment, he stayed there. Then, slowly, he pulled out.
The separation was accompanied by a thick, messy spill. A rush of opaque fluid, mixed with water and Shane’s own slick, leaked from Shane’s stretched entrance. But before it could escape any further, Ilya slipped two fingers inside. Pushing it all back inside.
Giving his cunt one final love tap before stepping out the shower.
Shane was foolish enough to think that was it.
But Ilya just wanted more.
He became enraptured with the concept of keeping Shane filled up at all times.
Shane’s hands moved with practiced efficiency, scooping a final portion of roasted vegetables into a glass container. The lid clicked shut with a satisfying snap. He wiped his palms on a dish towel.
A little smile perked up on his lips once he heard the sound of front door opening and closing.
Moving through the living room and into the kitchen’s open space. Shane didn’t bother turning around. He kept his focus on aligning the containers in the fridge, his back to the entrance.
“How was practice?” he asked, his voice casual and a little distracted.
Ilya didn’t answer with words. A low, humming noise was his only response. Then Shane felt him envelope him. Strong arms wrapped around Shane’s waist from behind, pulling him back against a firm, broad chest. Ilya’s lips found the nape of Shane’s neck, pressing a series of warm, lingering kisses there before nuzzling into the skin with another soft hum.
“You smell.” Shane complains softly.
“Mmm, but you likee it.” Ilya mumbled against his skin.
Shane laughed and pushed the last container into the fridge and turned within the circle of Ilya’s arms, intending to face him. But Ilya’s hands didn’t loosen. One slid down, over the curve of Shane’s ass, palming it through the thin fabric of his shorts. The material was soft, a light gray cotton, and it left little to imagination. Ilya’s fingers traced the outline of Shane’s cheek, then dipped into the crease between his leg and his rear.
A shudder ran up Shane’s spine. “Ilya—” he scolded, but the protest was weak, barely there.
Ilya’s other hand settled flat against the small of Shane’s back. He applied pressure, gently pushing him again the counter. Shane’s body responded automatically, bending forward on instinct, his chest coming to rest against the cool marble of the counter top. His palms flattened on the smooth surface.
Without a word, Ilya’s hand at his ass moved. It slipped under the elastic waistband of the shorts. The fabric was tugged down, just enough. The air of the kitchen touched Shane’s exposed skin with a faint chill.
A rough, accented chuckle vibrated against Shane’s neck. “No underwear,” Ilya murmured, his voice thick with implication. “You’ve been like this all day? Waiting for me?”
He nudged against the top of his ass, leaving a damp trail of pre-cum on his skin.
“No...” Shane mumbles before a sudden moan escapes at the feeling of Ilya entering him so easily.
Ilya simply shifted his hips and pushed forward, “You are a liar, hm?” Ilya taunted him, whispering close to his ear, “I know you’re just a desperate slut. You don’t need to lie.”
Shane gasped, his forehead pressing against the cool marble, Ilya driving forward in one smooth, uninterrupted stroke.
Ilya didn’t pause. He didn’t savor the entry. His hands tightened on Shane’s waist, holding him steady against the counter. Then he began to move.
Ilya fucked him with a focused intensity. Each forward drive shoved Shane’s body a little further across the marble surface. there was little conversation, just the slick schlick of his cock moving within Shane’s soaked cunt.
Ilya takes two fingers to spread him apart further, watching as his sheer girth stretched Shane’s entrance wide on each withdrawal, making the outer lips look taut and strained.
The view was enough to send Ilya over the edge.
After, Ilya’s hands tugged Shane’s shorts back up, the elastic snapping against his skin with a soft thwap and he stepped back.
Shane stayed against the counter, breathing heavily, his body trembling with the aftershock. He heard the faint sound of Ilya’s bag being picked up from the floor.
“Need to shower,” Ilya said, his voice now flat, casual. “Then a nap.”
He walked out of the kitchen.
Shane listened to his footsteps fade down the hall. Slowly, he straightened. His legs were unsteady. He turned, his back to the counter, and looked at the empty space where Ilya had been.
He took a breath, then another. He reached behind himself, his fingers touching the damp spot on his shorts. He pressed, feeling the wetness there, the evidence of Ilya’s claim already cooling on the fabric.
He fixed his shorts, smoothing the material. Then he turned back to the fridge, opened it, and placed his meal prep containers on their proper shelf.
The next evening, Shane settled onto the sofa, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his lap. He grabbed a handful and threw them into his mouth.
Ilya was on the other end of the couch, his phone pressed to his ear. His responses were short and dry. “Yes. No. I understand.” His eyes were on the screen, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.
Shane ate another handful. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.
He glanced at Ilya, who didn’t even spare him a glance. Shane huffed a quiet sigh, letting his body slump deeper into the cushions. He picked up his own phone, scrolling through meaningless notifications for a few minutes.
The restlessness grew. And so did his irritation at being ignored during their designated time with each other. He didn’t care who was on the other side of the phone. Who could possibly be more important than his own boyfriend anyway?
He shifted again, this time closer to Ilya. He let his knee brush against Ilya’s thigh. Ilya didn’t react. Shane scowled, a faint, playful frown pulling at his lips. He inched closer, until his side was pressed against Ilya’s. And then as a last resort, he lets out a long, louder, sigh.
Ilya finally looked over. His eyes met Shane’s. He shrugged with an apologetic look, and mouthed a ‘Sorry’, before turning away again.
That made Shane drop his head back and groan. Arms crossed tightly over his chest, his lips pursed in irritation. Tapping finger against the skin on his arm impatiently.
Without a word, Ilya’s arm hooked around Shane’s waist. He pulled, and Shane’s body moved easily, lifted across Ilya’s lap until he was facing him and straddling his thighs. The popcorn bowl tipped, spilling a few kernels onto the sofa, but Shane ignored it.
His phone pressed firmly against his cheek as he murmured into it, his voice low and steady. “Yeah, sure. I can come round tomorrow.”
Ilya glanced at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't respond to the voice on the line. Instead, his free hand shot out, gripping his wrist with unyielding strength. Before he could protest, he yanked him toward him, pulling his disgruntled form onto his lap with little effort. Shane gasped, his knees bumping against the armrest as he straddled him awkwardly, his shorts hiking up his thighs.
“What the hell?” he hissed, trying to wriggle free, but Ilya’s arm wrapped around his waist like a vice, pinning him in place. The phone stayed glued to his ear, flushed against his cheek. “Sorry, just a sec,” he said into the receiver, his tone casual, as if nothing was amiss.
Then with his other hand, pulling out his cock. Shane's eyes widened, his breath catching as he felt air hit his pussy, Ilya pulling his shorts taut to give himself room. “I’m watching the movie…” he whispered blandly, head gesturing to the forgotten film on the television.
Ilya ignored him, his fingers shoved his panties aside roughly. With a firm thrust of his hips, he pushed inside him, stretching his pussy around his thick length. Shane bit his lip to stifle a moan, his hands clutched his shoulders as he sank down fully onto him.
“Shh,” he murmured against his ear. “Yeah, sorry, I’m back. Go on.” The word on the phone droned on, but Ilya's focus was split, his cock buried deep in his warmth. But he didn’t show it.
He looked totally unbothered and it was infuriating.
Even when Shane squirmed. His pussy clenching involuntarily around him as he tried to hold still. Every subtle shift sent sparks through him, and it didn’t help when his knees jerked, making him slip further onto Ilya’s cock. His face burned with a mix of frustration and pained arousal.
He rocked his hips just once, a teasing grind that made his inner walls flutter. A soft whimper escaped his lips, barely audible over the movie. Ilya's eyes darkened, his hand sliding up to cover his mouth gently but firmly. “Do you mind?” he breathed, his thumb pressing against his lower lip. “I’m on the phone.”
His sarcastic and painfully condescending tone had Shane glaring at him through half-lidded eyes, his body trembling as he fought the urge to ride him. But he made no further moves, content to let his stew in the fullness, the pressure building unbearably. The phone conversation dragged on but Ilya's grip on him tightened, his free hand kneading his ass to keep him seated flush against him.
Another involuntary clench from his pussy drew a low hum from him, which he masked with a cough into the receiver. “Uh-huh, got it.” Shane's nails dug into his shirt, his disgruntlement melting into desperate need. He wanted to curse him, to demand he hang up and fuck him properly, but the thought of disappointing or annoying Ilya only felt worse .
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of torturous stillness, Ilya wrapped up the call. “Alright, talk soon.” He ended it with a tap, tossing the phone onto the seat beside them without breaking eye contact with him. “Good boy,” he whispered, his voice laced with satisfaction.
“Now, where were we?”
What follows after that is Ilya refusing to fall asleep without plugging Shane with his cock. But the two of them were busy people so then a little parcel arrives at the house, Shane watches from the couch as Ilya slices the tape and pulls out a silver butt plug. He didn’t see it again until the next morning.
Ilya moved over him, his morning erection already a hard, hot line against Shane’s thigh. He entered Shane slowly, with a dreamy, fluid ease. That only got easier and easier. Shane’s body, pliant and warm from sleep, opened for him without resistance.
That was how it started.
It didn’t stop.
Round after round, Ilya took him. On his back, on his stomach, bent over the edge of the bed. Ilya’s cock, thick and pulsing, plunged deep, stretching Shane’s swollen entrance wide. Each climax was a hot, gushing flood that filled Shane’s depths until his stomach felt tight, a bloated, achingly full sensation that lingered long after Ilya had softened and pulled out.
Shane lost count after the fourth time, his mind fuzzy with pleasure and exhaustion, his body a vessel being relentlessly filled.
Finally, as late morning light pooled on the floor, Ilya rolled off him with a satisfied grunt. Shane lay sprawled, breathless, feeling the distinct, heavy weight of Ilya’s latest release deep inside him. He was sore, wonderfully used, his inner walls feeling bruised and stretched in the best way.
He heard the quiet click of a drawer. Shane turned his head, his cheek against the pillow.
Ilya was standing by the bed, holding something the plug in his hand. A shiny plug, with a flared base, silver with a glossy finish. He coated it generously with lube from the bottle on the nightstand, even if Shane didn’t need it.
“Turn over,” Ilya commanded.
Shane obeyed, pushing himself weakly onto his hands and knees. The movement made a fresh trickle of cum seep from him, a warm dribble down his inner thigh. Ilya’s hand settled on the small of his back, holding him in place.
Shane felt the cool, lubed tip of the plug nudge against his well-used entrance. Ilya didn’t hurry. He pressed the tip in, just past the outer ring of muscle, and paused.
“Relax,” Ilya murmured, though Shane’s body was already yielding. With a slow, steady pressure, Ilya worked the plug deeper. It was narrower than his cock, but its shape was insistent, a persistent stretch that made Shane whimper into the sheets. He felt the widest part of the toy pop past his rim with a soft, wet snick, settling snugly inside him. The flared base rested against his outer lips, a constant, undeniable pressure.
Ilya gave his ass, a firm, approving smack. “All day,” he said, the words a simple, thrilling command.
And so it was.
Every step, every shift in his chair as he tried to work on his laptop, sent a fresh jolt of awareness through his core.
When Ilya casually mentioned some of his teammates were coming over for pizza and a game that evening, Shane’s stomach dropped.
He hated having plans jumped on him last minute at the best of times but now Shane sat on the couch, his muscles tense, trying to find a position that didn’t make the plug shift too noticeably. It was impossible. Every laugh that shook his body, every slight lean forward to grab any food, made the toy press deeper, a subtle nudge against his most tender, overstimulated spots.
He was painfully aware of the emptiness above the plug. Ilya had filled him so completely, so many times, and now this poor imitation barely cut it. It was a taunt half-measure that left Shane’s pussy feeling hungry and aching for the real thing.
He stayed close to Ilya all night. His thigh pressed against Ilya’s on the couch, his shoulder brushing his arm. Ilya would glance at him occasionally, a knowing glint in his eyes, his hand coming to rest briefly, possessively, on Shane’s knee. That simple touch sent a fresh flood of warmth between Shane’s legs.
The hours dragged. Each minute felt longer and longer and Shane’s focus was entirely internal. On the desperate, growing need to be truly filled again. His lips felt plump and sensitive against the base of the plug.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the goodbyes started. Shane stood by the door, a polite smile fixed on his face despite his body screaming at him. Ilya’s hand steadied him on the small of his back. The last friend clapped Ilya on the shoulder, gave Shane a wave, and stepped out into the night.
The door swung shut. The latch clicked at last and the sound was like a starting pistol.
In the sudden, profound silence of the hallway, his hands went to Shane’s sweatpants, yanking them and his underwear down to his knees in one rough pull. The cool air of the entryway hit Shane’s exposed skin.
Then Ilya’s fingers were there, hooking around the flared base of the plug. He didn’t waste time trying to gently remove it, he yanked it out in one swift motion.
It slid free with a wet pop, making Shane gasp, his body convulsing at the sudden emptiness. Ilya didn’t even look at the toy; he tossed it over his shoulder, letting it clatter on the hardwood floor.
His eyes were locked on Shane’s face, then dropped to his exposed cunt. Shane’s entrance, stretched and glistening from being plugged all day, was a puffy, dusty-colored bloom, his inner lips slick and parted. A thin string of lube and his own cum connected him to the empty air.
Ilya pulled Shane back, his spine meeting the solid wood of the front door with a soft thud. Ilya’s own pants were already open, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and already weeping at the tip. He didn’t guide himself. He just lifted Shane by the thighs, hoisting him up until Shane’s legs were wrapped around his waist, his back pressed firmly against the door.
Shane’s arms flew around Ilya’s neck, holding on for balance. His dripping entrance positioned right over the blunt, demanding head of Ilya’s cock.
Ilya looked down between their bodies, his breath coming in sharp gusts. “You did so good,” he rasped, his accent thick. “You’ve been so patient.”
He lowered Shane, just an inch.
Ilya sheathed himself inside Shane to the root in one sinking motion. Shane cries were swallowed by Ilya’s mouth as it crashed down on his. This was the burning fullness he’d been craving all day.
A loud satisfied moan escaped past their connected lips.
Ilya didn’t wait for him to adjust. He pumped his hips upward, each thrust slammed Shane’s back into the door.
“All day,” Ilya gritted out between thrusts, his forehead pressed to Shane’s. “Been thinking about this all day.”
Ilya fucked Shane like an animal, frantic animalistic thrusts that shook violently through Shane. Who dug his nails deep into the flesh of Ilya’s back. All until Ilya filled him up again.
He held Shane there for a long moment, before he let Shane’s legs slide down until his feet touched the floor, though Shane’s knees buckled immediately, his body slumping against the door for support. Ilya catching him with a chuckle.
But without another word, Ilya picks him up princess style, to walk him back over to their couch. Dropping him on it, letting Shane’s legs sprawl open, Ilya’s hands meeting his knees to pull them apart further before descending his mouth on Shane’s sensitive hole.
His pussy lips parted to expose the white substance Ilya had just deposited. He stared at the sight, his dick twitching with aftershocks.
“Fuck, look at that,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust. Without hesitation, he slid down his body, hooking his thighs over his shoulders. He whimpered in anticipation, threading his fingers through his hair as he positioned his face between his legs. Ilya’s breath ghosted over Shane’s sensitive clit, making him shiver.
Ilya leaned in, pressing his mouth to his cum-filled entrance. His tongue darted out, lapping at the sticky mixture of his semen and Shane’s arousal that seeped from him. The salty, musky taste hit him immediately. He sucked gently on his folds, drawing more of the load into his mouth, swallowing it down with a hungry moan.
Shane arched his back, moaning loudly as his tongue delved deeper, probing inside him to scoop out the warm cum. “Oh god, Ilya...” he begged, grinding his hips against his face.
He obliged, his lips sealing around his hole as he sucked harder, tongue swirling and thrusting to collect every bit of his deposit.
His hands gripped his thighs firmly, holding him open as he devoured him. The couch creaked under their shifting weight, the air thick with the wet sounds of Ilya’s slurping and Shane’s trail of gasps. He felt his body tense, his clit throbbing against his nose as he flicked his tongue over it between mouthfuls. More of his cum bubbled out with each thrust of his tongue, and he savored it, the act making his cock ache with renewed need.
Finally, after licking him clean—Shane’s pussy now shiny with his saliva rather than his seed—Ilya pulled back, lips smeared with the evidence of his feast. He crawled up Shane’s body, kissing him deeply, sharing the lingering taste on his tongue.
After days and days of waking up to a sticky pool between his legs, a pile of damaged panties building up in his wardrobe, and endless time spent cleaning himself and the different surfaces they’d defiled.
But now, Shane was starting to feel sore.
He hadn’t noticed it much at first.
It started as a gentle, almost pleasant reminder, a soft hum of fullness that lingered between Shane’s legs. He felt it when he walked, a subtle weight that made him clench his thighs together and bite his lip against a small, secret smile. He felt it when he sat, a low pressure that nudged against his nerves from within.
But by the time he was sitting on a rigid oak dining chair at the Pike’s house, surrounded by his best friend and his wife, the pain turned sharp. Poking at him from the inside out.
Shane shifted. He recrossed his legs. He leaned forward, then back. Nothing helped. The ache was a live wire, and every small movement seemed to tap it. He was squirming, a constant, nervous fidget he couldn’t control.
“You okay, Shane?” Hayden’s voice cut through his discomfort. His friend was looking at him, concern etched on his familiar features. He reached out, his hand landing on Shane’s shoulder. “You’re bouncing around like you’ve got ants in your pants, dude. Something wrong with the food?”
Shane felt a hot blush crawl up his neck. “No! No, the food’s great, Hayd, really,” he said, forcing a smile that felt too tight. “Just, uh. A long week. Tough practices. My hips are just… locked up a bit.” The excuse was flimsy, but it was all he had.
Hayden, ever the athlete, nodded sympathetically, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Ugh, totally get it. Take an ice bath when you get home. That always helps me.”
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of distracted agony. Shane pushed food around his plate, laughing at the wrong times, his mind entirely occupied by the persistent, worrying soreness between his legs.
Was this normal? Had Ilya been too rough? The thought sent a fresh wave of heat to his face.
Back at his own place and the silence was a relief. He went straight to the bathroom, walking past Ilya who was too busy playing on his phone to take any notice. Even when he mumbled out a greeting. Flipping on the bright lights. He stood in front of the mirror, chewing his lip.
He awkwardly tugged his jeans and underwear down to his knees and tried to bend, to see. It was useless. Stepping out of them entirely to hoist a foot onto the toilet seat.
Gingerly, he brought his fingers down, applying the lightest pressure to his outer lips. He flinched immediately, a sharp hiss escaping him. It wasn’t just sore; it felt swollen and looked a little red from what he could see. He was more sensitive then he’d ever been. A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach.
What if something was wrong? What if he’d torn something? He immediately jumped to the worst case scenario.
But this angle wouldn’t do.
He pulled his boxers back up and left the bathroom, the anxiety curdling in his gut. He found Ilya in their bedroom, sprawled on his back on the rumpled comforter. He was shirtless, one arm behind his head, the other hand lazily swiping on a game on his phone.
“Ilya?” Shane’s voice was small in the quiet room.
Ilya turned his head, the wild curls splayed on the pillow. His eyes took Shane in, the tense posture, the worried frown. The lazy contentment vanished, replaced by alert focus. “What is it?”
Shane stood at the foot of the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. The words were like barbed wire in his throat. “I… I’m sore. Really sore.” He looked down, unable to meet Ilya’s gaze. “From… you know. All the… this week.”
Ilya said nothing, just watched him.
Shane swallowed, the humiliation complete. “I tried to… to look. I can’t see. Can you… can you check?” The request was barely a whisper. “I’m worried I’m… swollen or something.”
For a long moment, Ilya just looked at him. Then, without a word, he shifted on the bed, moving to sit on the edge. He patted the space in front of him. “Come here.”
Shane pulled off his underwear, not looking his boyfriend in the eye as he shifted into position.
“Lie back,” Ilya instructed, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt.
Shane obeyed, lowering himself onto the cool cotton of the comforter. Ilya guided his legs apart, bending his knees and planting his feet flat on the mattress. The position was obscenely vulnerable. Shane covered his face with his hands, unable to watch.
He felt Ilya’s weight settle in between his legs. He felt calloused, gentle fingers on his inner thigh, stroking once before they carefully touched his outer lips, parting them. Ilya hummed, a low, considering sound in the back of his throat. The silence was worse than any comment. Shane could feel the cool air on his exposed flesh, could feel Ilya’s intense gaze.
The fingers explored with a shocking tenderness. They brushed over his folds, which did feel puffy and oversensitive. A light touch skated over his clit, and Shane jerked, a whimper escaping from behind his hands. It was swollen, too, throbbing at the slightest contact. He heard Ilya’s quiet, steady breathing. Felt the pad of a thumb gently tracing a path to assess him.
The silence stretched. Shane squirmed, his face burning under his palms. The whimper turned into a frustrated, embarrassed sound. “Say something,” he begged, his voice muffled.
He tapped a gentle, open-palmed slap on the top of his thigh as a demand for attention.
“Ilya, please.”
Finally, he felt Ilya shift. The careful fingers withdrew. The weight on the bed moved. Then Ilya was crawling back up his body, his shadow falling over Shane. Shane peeked through his fingers. Ilya’s expression was unreadable for a second, then a slow, smug, utterly triumphant smile spread across his face.
It was the look of a man who had built a cathedral and was now admiring his work. He leaned down, his curls tickling Shane’s forehead, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.
He pulled back just enough to speak, his bright eyes gleaming with possessive delight.
“Looks fine to me.”