Page 87 of Full Split
I’m shaking and sweating and barely holding myself up.
His finger retracts, and his lips release my cock, but Wyatt isn’t done with me. He holds me on either side of my ass, keeping me spread wide and in one place while he laps at me like a dog. The sounds he’s making would be too much for even porn. It’s grotesque, the way he’s slurping and lapping and gulping me down. Before I know it, he’s got my hips rocking, riding his tongue, chasing another crest that feels impossible. I shift in an attempt to alleviate the pressure and make sure he can breathe, but his hands hold me tight and pull me down harder onto his face. He spears me with his tongue until I’m crying out again, pleasure with an edge of pain frizzling through me.
I slump forward, all the energy wrung from my body as Wyatt continues to eat, insatiably, lapping his tongue between my holes, drawing out the electric shocks of overstimulation.
“Wyatt…” I whine his name, but I don’t think he can hear me over the salacious sounds of him sucking every millimeter of my anatomy. The closer he gets to my dick again, the more afraid I am that I can’t handle any more.
Below me, Wyatt’s spent cock twitches, trying to come back and taunt me.Well, two can play this game, mister.
Making a quick shift, I engulf his cock in my mouth, taking him all the way back at once before focusing all my attention on the head. I latch on and suck in long, slow pulls, determined to milkthis thing for all its nourishment. I get the shortest reprieve as Wyatt throws his head back and makes a sound like he’s holding back a roar. I think I’ve gotten the upper hand, but before I know it, I’m flung off him, flipped and reversed or however the lyrics go. All I know is I’m suddenly flat on my back with my legs splayed wide.
Wyatt holds the inside of each of my thighs and runs his cock up the length of the mess he’s made of me. I spasm with a mixture of need and overstimulation. I know my sensitive dick is going to hurt so bad, but there’s something inside me that wants to be filled, some nerve or phantom spot that begs to be pounded into the mattress.
So when he pauses for the fraction of a second it takes for him to get permission, I take a breath. Only for it to be driven out of me in one hard thrust.
I’m not going to lie. It hurts, but in the best possible way. As active as we’ve been lately, I’m on the frayed end of a tightrope, and he’s aggressively humping the last string holding my limbs together. Thank fuck I have a rest day tomorrow, but even that might not be enough. Part of me wants to remind him I need my body to win this competition, but so much more of me wants to give myself over. To submit myself to this terrible, amazing, raw, blissful, vicious pleasure that he’s forcefully pulling from my body.
I want to curse him. To tell him to keep going. I want to tell him I hate it and I love it and it hurts so bad but please never fucking stop. But no words come out. I’m incapable of them. The only sounds I’m capable of are long, guttural moans that sound better suited to livestock, and weak, breathy whimpers. There is no in-between.
The wet squelch and smacking of our bodies meeting speeds up, and I force open my eyes to watch the spectacle. Wyatt’s abs flex, his thighs bulge. His skin is flushed and dripping with sweat, his face covered in a gloss of fluids he drank from my soul.
He sees me watching him, and although he doesn’t relent, his features soften. His mouth falls open a little, and he huffs out a breath.
“You… Are… So… Fucking…Unnngghh—” He falls forward, one hand braced next to my head, the other holding onto my hip, and kisses me hard and deep. All the while, he keeps thrusting, slowing some but keeping them long and deep. The slight change in position puts him at an angle where he’s hitting a nerve inside and putting more friction on my oversensitive dick. I cry out at the same time as his, “Oh, God, Niles—” And he pumps me full.
There’s an ache that’s still present, an intangible thread still holding me together, and I’m confused but relieved, because I genuinely don’t think I could survive any more. My breathing tries to settle, like I’ve just run a marathon rather than laid here and had someone try to kill me with orgasms.
Wyatt leans down and kisses me gently, smiling against my lips, looking quite proud of himself.
“Not laughing at my dick anymore, are you?” he says, which makes us both laugh. I’m still contorted into an odd position, and Wyatt’s still inside me. I wiggle to indicate it’s time to move, but he chuckles and bends down to kiss me again. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “I haven’t made you scream yet.”
The face I make must rival a cartoon character’s eyes popping out of their head.
“I don’t know who you are or where my sweet, shy Wyatt is?—”
“You wanted aDaddyto—What was it, again?—Ruin this tight little boy pussy?”
“Fucking hell,” I spit out. “You’re not allowed to talk like that. It’s obscene when you say it.”
"It's obscene when you say it, too. And now you know what it does to me, so maybe you'll take more care to watch your language in the future."
"Doubtful," I say, but the snark is ruined by my hiss as Wyatt slowly pulls out of me. I flinch at the tickle of a fingertip chasing a drop of cum that spills out and returning it. It's a futile task though, as more and more starts to trickle from me, which may or may not be caused by me flexing because I like watching his expression when he watches it.
"Look at what a sloppy mess I made of you," Wyatt says, resuming his scary, growly, sex god voice. "This tight little boy pussy is good and thoroughly wrecked, I think."
"Mmmhmm," I agree, breathless. How the fuck can I still be turned on after all that? I'd literally die if I came again, I'm sure of it. But there's an intangible ache present, an invisible thread still holding me together. And he fucking knows. He senses it.
He pushes himself down to lie between my splayed thighs.
"Um… What are you doing?"
Wyatt licks his lips. "It would be rude of me not to clean up after myself. Besides, I haven't heard you scream yet."
I laugh, because surely he's kidding, right? "Yeah, well, that was for your son's benefit, as well as any others who have to share a wall," I whisper-yell, because he's out of his mind.
"Hmmm, but who said you had a choice in the matter?"
I open my mouth to protest some more, but Wyatt does a nosedive right back into the soup he's made of my body. No matter how much I writhe and tell him, "I can't, I can't," he doesn't relent. Not even when I'm in tears.
