How Far Would You Go Again



Michael really needed a better couch, or a bed. The brown and orange weave of the one he had in the trailer scratched his skin and the arm didn’t have much cushioning. It wasn’t long enough for the type of activities it was primarily used for, now, either. When Michael had bought it, he’d wanted a place to sit and memorize scripts or play his guitar between calls. Sure, he’d had a passing thought about entertaining the ladies, but he’d only been thinking about blowjobs and not extended bouts of sex.

Welling adjusted his grip on Michael’s ankles, keeping Michael’s legs in the air. He rubbed the underside of his dick, poking from the unzippered slit of his pants, against Michael’s shaved scalp. The low arm of the couch pillowed Michael’s head, his naked body curled, ass exposed fully by Welling’s hold. Ackles’s knees cushioned Michael’s lower back, the denim of his jeans rough against Michael’s skin. A rotten grin twisted Ackles’s lips as he fucked Michael with an empty beer bottle.

The kink was hot, Welling’s salivating stare even hotter, as the condom-covered bottle slid in and out of Michael’s asshole. The condom protected Michael from any sharp edges around the lip, allowing Ackles to fuck him deeply. Michael breathed shallowly, taking his pleasure from sublimated plain. Sweat pooled in his navel and caught on his body hair. The thick, musky odor of sex filled the air.

“Fuck, Michael,” Welling swore with a moan, his dick smearing pre-come on Michael’s scalp. A dark flush stained his cheeks, puffs of air coming from between his slackened lips.

Michael grinned and fixed his hold on the sweat-slicked backs of his knees. It wouldn’t be long before Welling gave into his need, like he did every time, unable to withstand the slutty sight of Michael being topped by the fat bottle.

Sure enough, Welling let go of one of Michael’s ankles and grabbed his hard on. He put a knee on the arm of the couch beside Michael’s ear, balancing forward to see better. Michael got a close up view of Welling’s rough strokes over the deep plum of his dickhead. He licked his lips, ready for the taste of Welling’s come, like too-salted, bitter cream. He’d gotten used to the taste like he’d gotten used to being fucked and let go of his hang-ups over gay sex. Being the plaything of two fit guys had given him some of the best orgasms to date.

“Push it in, Jenson,” Welling panted, hand flying over his dick, “push it in deep.”

Michael could feel Ackles’s fingertips scrape the rim of his asshole, stretching him even wider as the bottle went in. Ackles let go, leaving the bottle in place, and Welling stuttered about hotness and worship and god and came all over Michael’s face.

The bottle came out, and Ackles slid in after a rasp of denim and the crinkle of a condom wrapper. Michael’s ankles moved to rest on Ackles’s t-shirt-clad shoulders, feet bouncing as he was fucked. Michael wiped Welling’s come from over his eyelids and sucked his fingers in his mouth. Welling moaned wantonly. “You’re making me hard again.”

“Good,” Michael said without even a thought. He opened his body to Welling and Ackles for use when and what and how they wanted, and made himself enjoy it. He’d always known he was a slut; being trapped for years in an undeveloped body that no girl had wanted would do that to a man. And Welling’s fat lips looked perfect stretched around Michael’s dick.

Welling proved him right by shifting forward, half-laying on Michael’s chest, and sucking Michael’s dick into his mouth. Michael couldn’t see it, but Ackles’s “Yeah, suck him, Tom,” showed that mouth was gold. Michael exhaled heavily through his nose as Welling licked him hard. Ackles opened Michael’s legs more, giving Welling room to bob his head over Michael’s crotch.

Michael wiped the come off his face and licked his fingers clean before giving over to hot, wet mouth surrounding his dick. Welling was a cock-sucker through and through, and paired with the fucking Ackles gave him, it wasn’t long before he was coming down Welling’s throat.

Ackles pulled out, and when Welling moved, Michael saw he was still hard. Ackles tugged him by the hand. “Get up a sec.”

Michael climbed off the couch and the mirror he’d installed over the back window reflected him standing there naked in his trailer under the bright florescent light, with two fully dressed men who only had their dicks hanging out. “I am such a slut.”

“That’s what we like about you,” Welling said, slurping a wet kiss on his shoulder. Welling sat down in the spot Ackles vacated and fisted his condom-covered cock until it stood fully stiff. He beckoned Michael onto his lap.

Michael straddled Welling and hissed as his nipples were pinched. The fart of the KY tube coincided with the cool squirt against his asshole. He was already lubed more than an oil station because of the beer bottle. Ackles massaged the lube against his asshole. Welling slouched far, his knees spread wide, and slid right in with barely any pressure.

Welling kissed him sloppily, gripped his asscheeks, and held him open. “Brace yourself,” he mumbled against Michael’s chin.

Michael’s fingers dug into Welling’s shoulders, as Ackles blanketed him from behind. “Fuck!” he yelped, as his ass was cleaved in two.

Ackles didn’t stop pushing until he was all the way in. Michael clenched his teeth, eyes watering, two hard dicks pulsing in his ass.

Welling started kissing him again, licking the wetness from his cheeks. “Relax. Let us fuck you.”

“In a minute,” Michael grunted and rested his forehead against the scratchy weave of the couch, over Welling’s shoulder.

His ass burned, and he couldn’t quite get used to it like he had other things. Welling stroked his sides and Ackles held his shoulders in wait. Michael blew out a sharp breath. “Okay.”

Ackles moved immediately, and it still hurt. He clamped his hands tighter on Welling’s shoulders. “Oh shit, this is gonna be short,” Ackles rasped, as the snap of his hips grew faster.

Michael was relieved when Ackles came. This was one kink that wasn’t that much fun.

“I hope my new costar is as good as you,” Ackles mumbled against the back of Michael’s bent head. His panting gusted hotly across Michael’s skin.

“No one is,” Michael stated, earning a chuckle that he felt like a knife.

Ackles pulled out, leaving Michael throbbing with Welling still inside. Welling’s calloused palms skimmed over his back. “He’s right, no one is. And now I don’t have to share anymore.”

Michael raised his head at the possessiveness he heard in Welling’s voice. Welling looked back at him steadily. Something inside Michael’s stomach flipped.

“But let us know how it goes.” Welling craned his neck to look over Michael’s shoulder. “So we can rub our better sex life in your face.”

Ackles laughed and shook his head. “You guys suck.”

“Hn, yeah.” Welling turned his attention back to Michael, sliding a hand up to cup the back of his neck. His mouth pressed warmly and firmly against Michael’s, kissing him differently than any time before.

Michael squirmed and Welling thumped inside his ass. He broke the kiss as he began a slow bounce, fucking himself on Welling’s dick. The pain lessened, adding only a sharp spike every dozen or so humps. Welling breathed through his mouth, lips shiny from their kiss, watching Michael watch him as they fucked.

“I’m gone, guys,” Ackles said from somewhere behind him. “I’ll leave the key under the tire.”

“Okay,” Michael said absently. He shifted his hips and rubbed his hardening dick against Welling’s t-shirt.

Welling pushed his hand between them and wrapped his fingers around Michael’s dick. The door opened and shut.

“You’re all mine now,” Welling said, jacking him firmly, until Michael came all over his fist.

The weave of the cushions scratched his back and the sofa arm was not a soft pillow. Welling kissed Michael hard, then hovered over him, after laying him on his back, wearing a fierce, intent expression on his face. Michael hooked his ankles over Welling’s shoulders and watched his feet bounce as he was thoroughly fucked.

It was definitely time to buy a bed.



End



Send feedback