Page 146 of The Influencer

He does, slowly, giving me the view of his plump, perfect ass, so high and tight, it’s no wonder people pay him to model their underwear. I coat my cock generously until the lube is literally sliding down my own crack, and then I hold onto his hips and press my lips to his ass, spreading his cheeks and licking a long stroke from his taint to his hole where I wet him with my mouth as well as I can.

His knees repeatedly buckle, but he manages to weather the flurry of my tongue’s thrusts. His soft groans of pleasure mingle with my own more feral grunts as I suck and fuck his hole with my mouth. I swear I fantasize about eating him out more often than I think about fucking him. It gets me so hard, and it makes me feel wild. It’s a different kind of claiming, but stuffing my face in his ass so deep sometimes I nearly suffocate meets my basest, filthiest needs. Needs I never knew I had until I met someone I wanted to consume the way I want to consume him.

Plus, he fucking loves it. He’s never outright asked for it, but the begging shows in the arch of his back, the hard tilt of his ass to perfectly angle itself to my face, the way he pants and praises my work. “Fuck, that’s perfect—God you feel so good. More. Christ, please don’t stop. You’re about to make me come.”

As much as I want him to come—and I do—he’s exactly where I need him to be to handle what comes next—what I need. And that’s to fuck him. Breed his pretty little hole until he’s dripping wet from two sides. “Sit,” I say after one final, long suck. I lean away from him, settling my back against the cushions as I guide him down onto my lap. I add more lube to my dick as he settles on my thighs.

“Can you straddle me, sweet thing?”

He rearranges himself on his knees, balancing himself with his hands on my thighs. “Go at your own pace. If you want,” I say. “I’m not gonna be rough or force this on you.”

“Next time, then,” he says. “Promise?”

“Next time,” I whisper as his hole rests against the glistening Prince Albert piercing on my tip. Fuck, the sight has my vision blurring—it’s that hot.

He grunts, and I watch as his hole opens slightly with the effort of bearing down just before my crown disappears inside him. Hissing at the extreme tightness, I throw my head back. The heat is intense when it’s just flesh on flesh—so fucking good.

With small, tight movements, he works just the crown, clenching on it and letting it stretch him as he moans and does all the work. Between the spit and lube, it’s slippery as hell, but his control is incredible. I hold onto his waist with both hands as he mercifully takes more of me.

“Oh my fucking God,” he whispers as one by one, each of my studs breaches his tight ring, meeting resistance first and then bumping past as his hole gives way and slides down to the next. With each stud—there are six on top and four beneath—he curses, “Fuck—ohhh…fffuucckk…”

“Stop if it hurts,” I pant, the words rushing out, holding him still before he takes on the fourth.

“I like the way it hurts,” he says, but I can’t tell if that’s true or not. He sounds like he’s in agony.

“Do you need more lube?”

“Shut the fuck up, Asher. Fuck…” he hisses as the fourth studs thump inside. Holding onto those for a few delicious moments, he works them back and forth in his ass, using his magnificently flexible spine to lift and lower himself with precision. The sight is mind-blowing—two thirds of me sheathed between his muscular cheeks and my abdomen rising and falling with rapid unsustainable breaths.

I get a hold of myself long enough to ask the only question I have left before I give in to how good he feels just like this and accept that this may be as far as he’s willing to go. “Can you take the rest?”

41

jade

The size, I’m used to. The texture, I’m not. Who knew how much a thin layer of latex would keep me from feeling? I mean, I guess Asher knew, since he’s letting me manage the altogether new and mildly torturous situation. For my fans—my work—I can be versatile when my choice of partner calls for it, but I’ve only ever hooked up for pleasure with men who top. Therefore, I don’t personally consider myself vers. I love to be penetrated. To be stuffed full of lube and cock. I love the sting of the stretch and the fiery burn, the slam of hips against my ass, the grunting efforts of my partners, and the internal pressure on my sensitive glands. Everything about it is my ultimate vice.

And yes, I’ve dealt with several Prince Albert piercings before. Even a Jacob’s Ladder, but I’ve never even seen piercings like Asher’s, and even for as smooth and slick as they are, each stud I take in makes me feel like I’m ripping. I have to trust that he’ll tell me if I’m bleeding, but he hasn’t said anything yet, so I must be doing well.

Once they’re inside, it’s nothing but pure stimulation. My cock is rigid with the need to be touched, burning for it, but my asshole is also on fire like this is my first time taking a dick. The answer to his question about whether I can take it all has to be yes. There’s no other answer that’s even capable of coming out of my mouth, and yet I’m already shivering at the thought of the next brutal bump.

Adjusting my hips to the substantial length of him already inside me, I arch my back to position myself best, suck in a deep breath, and shove down to his base—taking both final studs at once and crying out in shock at the searing burn in my already over-tender hole.

“God—” he grunts, his hands moving from my waist to clasp my hips as he arches up from the couch at the same time.

I release my breath, a shudder of relief moving through me. He’s in—and it is by far the most intense thing I’ve ever felt. We have about an inch and a half to move without popping one of those studs back out, and we get right on that. It’s a grind more than a pounding, and fuck it feels amazing. I’ve got no more words, so I do my best to keep my mouth open, letting my grunts and moans of aching pleasure speak for themselves. It is so, so different like this.

And it is so much fucking better, which is a feat in and of itself because having Asher inside me has never been anything less than a transcendent experience. It feels like I’m co-existing in both heaven and hell because this is the devil’s cock I’m fucking, and yet the euphoria is undeniable. Endorphins flood my senses, and I move mindlessly against him, taking my pleasure from every possible pressure point. When he wraps a hand around my cock, I nearly lose it.

I almost shout—no—not yet—but his strokes are slow and measured, keeping with the same rhythm we’ve found, and I balance on the knife’s edge of restraint and release, suffering and ecstasy. I’m so fucking high from it. Like I think this must be how heroin makes people feel, and I can understand the need to go back for more and more. This is god-tier sex. The best sex. The ultimate sex. His hips roll beneath me, and I relish the pressure building everywhere. The steady pulse of our connection, the scent of musk and sweat as we endlessly rut together.

I miss his mouth, but I lick my lips, bite them and whisper his name like a prayer.

His other hand moves up my abdomen, over to my pec and squeezes before his fingers find what they’re looking for. My erect nipple, begging for a pinch, another stinging burn, the searing sensation that goes straight to my balls and drives me closer to the pinnacle of bliss.

“I can’t,” I breathe. “Oh…God…Asher…I’m gonna come…”

“I’m with you. I’m right there with you,” he groans and both of us pick up the pace—everywhere.

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