Down the Rabbit Hole Ch. 02

Dylan's eyes were open, but the room was pitch black.

With one hand, he stroked the tight, furry sack between the man's legs. It was already damp with sweat. With the other, he braced his hand against the stranger's smooth thigh, his untucked shirt trailing gently over the back of Dylan's palm. The man's swollen cock slid up and down his tongue with more and more urgency, pushing past the uvula, stabbing hard against the back of Dylan's throat. The wet sound of it filled the room around them, and then stopped. Cum sprayed out in hard spurts against the back of his throat. The musk of the man was almost suffocating, his pubic hair ground hard against Dylan's lips as his meaty hands held Dylan's head tightly still.

Dylan came loudly, his body shaking in hard spasms. He felt the wet spray land across his ribs, and he blinked wildly in the dark, the fantasy already fading away. Two weeks had passed since that day, and still the memory of it was so fresh. He could still taste the man's seed as clearly as he could that day in the mall bathroom.

His wife, Molly, had hardly noticed that he'd stepped away. By the time Dylan could log back online, the stranger had deleted his account, taking all their shared conversations and photos along with it. All the evidence of his crimes were swallowed up by the universe and the slate was wiped clean. And dozens more new messages were waiting for him.

Ten minutes later, Dylan stripped his shorts down past his feet, and re-positioned the webcam he used for work. He slunk lower into his seat and raised his feet into the air. Holding his ankles in both hands, he stretched them back until he could see the small slit between his ass cheeks pop up on the monitor in front of him. He pulled the muscles of his abs as tight as they would go. Then, in the soft glow of the screen, he stroked his hard, dribbling cock slowly. After a minute, he was already pounding away madly. Gripping one foot against the desk, he freed up one hand enough to stroke the rim of his tight hole with a finger. That was enough.

The chair creaked loudly as his body convulsed, the muscles bulging, his skin bright red and beaded with sweat. Cum spilled against his chest and down his ribs. And still it kept coming, dribbling down his fingers until the last droplets were milked from the shaft. With one last hungry look into the camera lens, he spread his fingers, showing off the thick strands of cum that hung from them. He stopped the recording.

Ten minutes later, with the bedroom door still locked and shut tightly, he was showered and back online. A few careful edits, and a bit of cropping to remove the top of his face, and the video was ready. He uploaded it along with a very detailed account of his first time with a man, and how he needed it again. "More than anything," he wrote, "I need my hole stretched."

He logged off, cleared his history, wiped the video from his system, and then wiped the cum out of his boxers. He unlocked the door and waited for Molly to come home again, sometime in the dead of night.

To be penetrated... It wasn't something he could do himself. He'd tried. Water and soap weren't good enough. You needed lube, you needed toys. You needed evidence that he didn't dare leave behind. And it was driving him mad.

He could picture it so clearly in his mind. The thick, rubbery head, dripping with lube, slowly peeling open his asshole, pushing its way inside him, every nerve alive with excitement as the hard cock stretched the muscles open wide, and then stroked the length of his insides as it drove its fat, swollen head deeper in...

Dylan pictured himself on all fours in bed, gripping two tight fistfuls of comforter as some powerful man mounted him from behind, taking what he needed, riding him hard until he was done. Leaving Dylan like a used toy afterward, his seed still dripping from Dylan's gaping ass.

He needed it and he knew it. And he knew he could have it, too. Dozens of unread messages, photos, and video were waiting for him even now. Few of them were local, though. And those that were local wanted to talk through hookup apps, and he didn't dare to download them, either. The paper trail was too great. Molly used his phone regularly. It was too much to cover up. He would need to meet someone like before. No names, no talking, no apps, no evidence.

Molly had most of the week off, and she did her best to keep him distracted and emptied. She was the sweetest woman on earth. But, by the time the weekend had come around, she was back at work on a string of double shifts, and Dylan was alone in the house again, in need of something she couldn't give. He dove back into the world of bi-sexual married men like an addict jumping off the wagon. Molly was barely down the road and his shorts were past his knees and he was looking around for a new place to film. He was beginning to get an eye for it, too.

He setup his makeshift tripod, stripped off the last of his clothes, and got down on all fours. With his butt to the camera, he beat the pre-cum out of his bright red cock until it puddled on the ground beneath him. He begged to be fucked, to be used.

More messages poured in. Ireland, UK, the West Coast. Everywhere but his city. Men begged him for video calls, but it was too early to get off again. Then what else would be left to do? Watch TV all weekend? He needed his edge. He needed cum sprayed down his throat again.

"28M Looking to Give BJ. Discrete". He posted it to his city's meet-up page, along with a photo of his tight belly splattered with cum. He tried some variation of it every few days, but there had yet to be any replies.

And no replies followed now. He browsed glory holes in his area, but they were all closed or too far away or in too dangerous of a neighborhood. He paced through the room liked a caged animal, his hard cock bobbing in the air, slicked with cum, refusing to go limp or be ignored. With each new message, he leapt toward the computer, and pumped away before he could even read the words.

But it was all the same: Requests for more photos, dirty talk. Too many of them wanted to talk about his wife, and the things they wanted to do to her, or things other men had done to her. They didn't get it. They didn't know what he needed.

"you still free?"

Dylan's eyes locked onto the message as it appeared. "For you, yes," he typed quickly. His face was stony, not wanting to get his expectations raised.

He opened the man's profile. A few text posts looking for hookups, but nothing else about himself.

"meet @ grocery on townsend and abbot? Do you need a photo" the stranger wrote.

"I can be there in ten," Dylan wrote back, "And no."

He was already out of his chair and slipping his feet into his boxers when he saw the final message pop up. "see ya soon".

Dylan knew the grocery store. It wouldn't be very busy, but the parking lot extended on forever. He could already feel the pre-cum leaking through his jeans against the side of his leg, the erection pulling the material tight. He was there two minutes later, his hands shaking against the wheel.

As he expected, most of the lot was empty. He found an empty row against a wall of hedges, and a space that fell in a dead spot between two lamps. The flush on his face felt warm enough to burn the skin. He was glad the dark would hide the worst of it.

Each car that pulled in and left sent his heart into his throat. His eyes jumped back and forth to his phone and the entrance, each passing minute more unbearable than the last. A sudden, shrieking ping made him loudly gasp. His fingers flicked through the notifications quickly. It was Molly. She was on lunch and bored. She wanted to call. He muted it, and glanced back up in time to see headlights facing him in the mirror and slowing to a crawl. They flashed twice. Dylan stomped the breaks twice in return on instinct.

The car rolled forward, and came to a stop beside his. Dylan waved him over through the window.

He was younger than Dylan by a few years, clean shaven and heavier set. Not what Dylan had pictured, but it didn't matter for this. When a man finally took him, he was going to be older, powerful, and experienced. But this... this was just the band-aid he needed to get through.

"Hey there," the man said, sliding into the passenger side seat.

"Hey," Dylan said back, his voice cracking. He hadn't expected conversation.

The man made no move to undo his pants. He was just sitting there. Dylan glanced back up to the man's face. He was grinning.

"You seem eager. Has it been awhile?" Dylan nodded quickly. The man grinned again, then laught. "Yeah, I get it. You're married, though?"

Dylan glanced down at the ring on his hand, and felt his face burning harder. Why was he bringing her into this?

"Does it matter?" Dylan asked, trying his best to stay polite.

"Hey, if it doesn't bother you," the stranger said, his pants still firmly on. He didn't even seem to be hard.

Dylan felt his blood pressure rising, and it wasn't from lust. This man seemed to think they were here to hang out. He set his hand on the man's leg, feeling the warmth beneath. The man didn't shy away.

"I'm Mike," the man said. "You live here in town, too?"

"I don't want to be rude," Dylan said quickly, and he paused, knowing the phrase always lead to rudeness, "But my wife might be back soon, and I really need a cock in my mouth right this second. I really want to wrap my lips around that big dick of yours, and suck you off with my warm mouth. Then I want you to see me drink it all down. Is that you want to?"

Mike watched him with a bemused look, chuckling to himself, then finally shrugged and gestured him to go ahead.

Together, they pulled the button free from his shorts, tugged them halfway down his thighs, and freed his cock from the slit in his underwear. Dylan buried his head into the man's lap, and felt his own erection nearing orgasm.

Three strokes in, and it was Dylan that buckled and writhed. Dylan moaned hard with his lips held tight around the man's cock. He moaned like a dying man. Over and over again, he felt the hot spray against his thigh, could feel the cum seeping through the fabric of his jeans. He gasped and shook with his face held firm against the man's overgrown bush. He smelled like sweat and manly musk.

Mike's cock was small, but heavy and rock hard against his tongue. He could feel the pulse of it, and the hard ridge of the head. Dylan felt the waves of orgasm intensifying, like he was about to climax all over again. He bobbed his head faster, one hand wrapped around the man's shaft, the other cupping his sack. He tried not to be distracted, tried to savor the taste of the man, the feeling of the cock in his mouth.

It was all too much. He could feel his asshole puckering, desperate to be penetrated right now. God, I would cum like a fountain, he thought.

In no time at all, Mike's cock tightened, the head growing tighter and more rigid. The man's hands held him still suddenly, and then it was Mike writhing and moaning, his hips grinding hard against Dylan's mouth. In an instant, the load was down his throat and gone. In the space of a second, it was all over.

Dylan sat back up, suddenly feeling cold. Sweat dripped down his face, and soaked through his shirt. He hadn't realized it, but he was exhausted, and his jaw was aching. And Mike was laughing again.

"Wow, you poor thing. You really did need it, didn't you?" Dylan nodded weakly, his mind in a daze. "Feeling better?"

Dylan nodded again. His annoyance for the man had vanished. "Yeah," Dylan said. "Yeah. I'm... sorry about before," he said, looking the man in the eyes again. "I don't know what got into me."

Mike waved dismissively. "I've been there, too. Ya gotta find time for yourself."

Dylan nodded again. He felt weak and shaky. He could still taste the last drops of pre-cum in his mouth, slippery over his teeth. It was salty and bitter and sweet. Dylan looked down at the milky white pool of cum that was leaking out against his thigh. Mike spotted it, too. "I guess it has been too long," Dylan admitted.

"You shouldn't let it build like that. We're all here for you. You don't have to go in need," Mike said, re-buckling his pants and sitting up straighter in his seat. But he made no attempt to leave. "If you go too long, you're gonna lose your mind."

"I don't know," Dylan said, half-joking. "I still might be losing my mind."

Molly wasn't going to be home anytime soon, but there was still so much to clean up now. His clothes needed to be washed. The car needed to be aired out. He needed another shower.

But, then he also needed to see if anyone else was looking for a blowjob tonight. The thought alone stirred his cock again.

"Well," Mike went on, "I only live about ten blocks from here. You start to lose your mind again, you just message me. How about I give you my number?" Mike asked.

Dylan shook his head quickly. "I mean, I'm sorry but..."

"Yeah, yeah. You don't want the wife to see me in your phone?" Mike laughed. "Well... no hard feelings. Actually, I think you might get along with some of the other guys I know around here. I mean," he said, with a glance down Dylan's body, "I know they'd be interested in meeting you."

Dylan's heart was racing again. "How.. does that work?"

Mike snorte. "Well, the married ones usually just call it poker night. Or going to the gym. I've introduced a few of them to each other. You married guys have all the energy. They were busy tonight, though. Lucky for me, I guess," he said, grinning.

Dylan's mind was racing. "Where do they meet?"

"Anywhere they want," Mike said. "We're all adults here. Plenty of public bathrooms or parking lots or hotels."

"But what about..." Dylan swallowed hard, trying to think of the words. "What if I want more than just this?"

"Like a relationship?"

Dylan shook his head quickly. "No. Like... anal. Like, if I needed someone to fuck me."

It sounded lame to say it like that, but his mind wasn't thinking clearly.

But Mike didn't seem to think it was a stupid question at all. "Oh," he said. And he wasn't grinning now. "I think we can work that out."