Spit Shine

"Look at how good you are," says George, his hands kneading Richie's ass. Richie nearly melts into the bed. "Dressed like a whore and begging to have me inside that tight little ass."

Richie's face burns, even as his legs try to fall even more open.

George smiles. "That's right. You want this thick cock splitting you open, don't you? Bet you've never had anything in that sweet little hole."

Richie shakes his head, watching in fascination as George lines himself up.

The first push almost doesn't go in, the big mushroom head of George's cock lodging briefly against Richie's hole before glancing off. He's so much bigger than Richie. What if he can't fit? Richie wonders, as George lines up again, his cock massive between Richie's cheeks, What if he has to make himself room inside?

The second push catches against the rim of Richie's hole, and then—George presses slow and steady—it starts sliding in, bigger than anything Richie's ever had in his hole.

The stretch is relentless as George keeps pressing. The taste of come is long gone from the panties, but Richie keeps sucking, trying to keep back the whimpers as George just keeps sliding in. Up close, he'd been big, but sliding in, his cock seems endless, pushing in far deeper than anything he'd ever felt before.

"Look at that," murmurs George, after what seems like forever, "Your hungry little hole swallowed all of me the first time."

Trying to squash down the glow of warmth in his chest, Richie lets George pull almost all the way out, before snapping his hips back in, in a bright flare of sensation. Richie groans. George says, "Yeah, you like that. I knew you were made for this, the first time I saw you."

Like this, with his legs hooked over George's shoulders, Richie has no leverage. He can only moan and let George plunder his body, his hole spasming around the thick cock splitting it apart—too much, too much.

"With that sweet little mouth and those legs," says George, snapping a garter suspender against Richie's thigh. It's starting to feel good, making Richie moan for a different reason. His flagging dick is starting to fill out again, pressed between where their bodies meet. "You were out to catch a man, weren't you?"

Richie shakes his head. George stops, all of his formidable length inside Richie, his chest crushing Richie's legs against his body. "Was it your father's friend?" he says, swiveling his hips.

There's a spot inside that makes Richie shiver. He shakes his head.

"Was it that officer in his navy whites?" says George.

He brushes against the spot again, making Richie moan and try to chase after it. He shakes his head again.

George keeps grinding his cock inside, turning Richie into a shuddering mess. "I watched you follow him to the bathroom," he says conversationally, like Richie isn't squirming and sweating under him, "Are you sure you wouldn't have trotted right into a stall after him? Bent over for him where anyone could see?"

And now Richie's imagining it, pushing his ass out to meet a cock plunging into his hole, biting his shirt to keep from crying out in pleasure with each slap of skin, big hands grabbing his hips as George bends him—

His hands had loosened from the headboard at some point, clutching at George's shirt as he tries to pull them closer together, rocking what little he can to meet George's cock. He just needs—

George pulls out, nearly making Richie sob with frustration as he's flipped over.

"What did I say about your hands above your head?" says George, placing a rough palm against Richie's ass.

Richie ducks his head, trying to make himself small draped over George's knee. He feels five years old, put to task for pulling Eva's hair.

The sound registers before the pain, Richie gasping as the red-hot sting blossoms across his left ass cheek. The sound of the slap hasn't even stopped ringing when George's palm lands against the opposite cheek. Smack, smack, Richie's hips jerking against the harsh wool of George's trouser as they try to avoid the hits instinctively.

He spits out the thoroughly wet gag. "Stop—stop, please, it's too loud—"

"Oh now, you're worried about the noise," says George, but he stops, heavy hand resting right at the edge of his smarting bottom.

Richie gasps, "It's you. I was thinking of you when I—"

He's manhandled onto the bed again, onto his front as George lifts his hips and plunges back in with one smooth stroke.

Richie moans helplessly into the duvet.

"Tell me what you were thinking about," says George, not moving an inch.

"Your hands," says Richie, and George rewards him by pulling out and fucking back into him, making Richie's toes curl.

"I noticed you took a fancy to them," says George, drily.

"They're so big," says Richie, sighing as George wraps one around his hip bone, "And so clever."

"You wanted them inside you?" says George, "Stretching you out?"

"I want them around my—" Richie wraps George's hand around his cock, the rough palm in perfect counterpoint to the friction of George's dick filling him up.

"You want that, you gotta play with your tits for me," says George, his fist curled loosely around Richie.

Richie shivers. "My—?"

"That's right," says George, "You get all dolled up, shaking that tail at me so I fill up your cunt." Richie's knees nearly give out from under him. "So you gotta make it good for me, baby, and play with your sweet little tits."

Richie reaches up an unsure hand to his nipple and pinches lightly.

He gasps, the pleasure shooting straight to his dick sliding through the tunnel of George's suddenly-tightening hand, rocked by George's cock bottoming out in his hole. It's so much more intense, George's hips slapping against his ass, his cock deeper than ever from this angle as Richie has to go down to his elbows, pinching and pulling his nipples like he can't stop.

"That's right, baby," says George, "That's the perfect look. Look at you, squeezing my cock like you don't want to let go, trying to milk every last drop out of it." Richie tilts his hips up to meet George's, trying to muffle his moans in the duvet. The pleasure's coiling in his gut, like an overwound spring ready to burst. "You're doing so good—" George's rhythm is starting to falter "—doing so good for Daddy."

Richie couldn't have stopped from coming if he had tried.

---

Tuesday afternoons are slow, even for the Belmont Hotel barbershop, the voices of the barbers having a long smoke break audible even from four floors up. Richie takes a deep breath, shuffling in a way that makes his panties rub against the new glass plug in a way that nearly makes his eyes cross. He's got his best silk stockings on and a one-way ticket to Ft. Sill burning a hole in his pocket.

He knocks on Room 413.

"Who is it?" calls a voice from within, just as they've agreed.

Richie swallows. "I've got a surprise for you," he says, voice wavering with nerves.

The door unlocks, George's face appearing in the doorway.

"Another one?" says George, his eyebrows rising in mock surprise. "Son, you're going to make a man grow old before his time."