Blue Pete

I tried to lever myself upwards by opening my legs and bending my knees, but that made his legs fall down into the space between mine, bringing his cock more solidly in contact with my behind and further exciting him. He began rubbing it up and down the length of my cleft, making rough fast fucking motions against the material of my briefs. He was grunting and panting, his guttural noises becoming yet more feral, and I felt his warm drool on the back of my neck.

I was wishing I could share the dream he was having. It must have been a pretty good one.

I think he would have continued in that position until he climaxed, probably within just a few minutes, if I hadn't have made what has to have been my silliest mistake.

The problem was – and I guess this is the reason I didn't want to let him continue rubbing himself against my backside – that I was starting to develop an erection of my own. I don't know what it was exactly, but the feel of him thrusting against me, panting against my neck – of his sweat and his saliva – coupled with the sound of him being at his most sexual and primitive, made my cock start to stir inside my briefs. I wasn't too comfortable with that: apart from other considerations, if he awoke now it would look like I'd somehow encouraged what he was doing.

So I tried to gently throw him off, bucking my hips back into him to try and destabilise him from my back.

I think I made four attempts. The first couple of times his cock ended up against one of my arse cheeks, rather than in my cleft.

Making good progress, or so I thought.

The third time I was stronger and it ended up being directed between my legs, his ripe bell-end smacking against my balls.

He liked that a lot and his thrusts became even more impassioned. He started making weird croaking noises from the back of his throat as he fucked the narrow space between by thighs.

My balls started aching by the roughness of his cock slamming against them. My own crotch was pressed down into the mattress and my balls were trapped inside my briefs, so they had nowhere to go: they just had to endure his onslaught.

So then, lastly, I tried to buck my hips quite roughly towards him, to push Pete upwards and away from me, but his cock ended up slamming, tip first, right into my arsehole.

He moaned in appreciation at that. He seemed to be aware that his cock had found somewhere more yielding and inviting than the other places he'd tried.

I pushed back against him again, trying to redirect it, but it withstood my attempt and pressed heavily into me through the material of my briefs.

I felt the tip of it trying to enter my anus, pushing insistently against it. The thin cotton of my briefs offered a little resistance to the pressure, but I could feel my hole being forced open.

All I could think of was the stretching that was being inflicted to the seat of what was one of my favourite pair of white briefs. Not to mention the skid marks.

Pete became almost uncontrolled. Perhaps the sensation of entering me had caused his dream to take an especially pleasant twist, or perhaps the physical pleasure of feeling his cock beginning to push its way into such a tight hole was responsible. Whichever it was, he started to make noises like he was snarling and slammed his cock against my arse so roughly and frantically that the whole bed creaked and rocked to his rhythm.

We were both sweating profusely by now and, even though I could feel his cock pushing slightly further into my bum with each of his increasingly violent thrusts, my own cock was throbbing painfully against the mattress. I think it was the fact I was being mounted and penetrated by him in such a wild, untamed state that was exciting me so much; the fact that he was so crudely and fiercely using my body to pleasure himself.

If such a situation had been presented to me in the cold light of day, I'd have found it sickening and repellent, I think: but now that it was happening to me, now that I was being sodomised by this guy in such an uncouth and uncompromising way, I was unexpectedly excited by it.

I think his cock had managed to force its way a couple of inches inside me by the time he came. By now I wasn't resisting him – I was actually enjoying it and pushing my arse out towards him – but the back of my briefs prevented further entry.

He gripped me so tightly that I couldn't breathe and began shuddering against me. The ape noises returned, now much louder and more nasal. He was panting and gasping against me, his hips still humping me while his cock released his semen through the material of my briefs and into my rectum.

There was little time for his climax to subside: just as it seemed as if it had peaked, he withdrew abruptly and flopped off me, back onto his own side of the bed. He spread out, spent, and began snoring heavily.

I thanked God he hadn't woken at this stage; that he seemed completely oblivious.

I recovered my breath for a minute or so, then got out of bed and went quietly to the bathroom. My cock was aching for its own release and, after pulling off my briefs and trying not to notice the horrific stain on the heavily-distorted back of them, I attended to it. I fondled my arsehole as I masturbated, marvelling at how stretched and open it was following Pete's assault on it, and began fingering the warm wet passage inside it with the same rhythm that I was using on my cock. I imagined Pete was still inside me, imagined him grunting and panting on my back as he slept and dreamed he was fucking a woman, and found myself cumming against the toilet cistern almost immediately.

When I returned to the bedroom, I groped around in the dark to find a clean pair of briefs from my rucksack and to hide the stained ones in one of its pockets. Wearing the fresh underwear, I climbed back into bed alongside Pete's splayed snoring body. 

Before I tried to get back to sleep, I reached over and tucked his shrivelled wet cock back into his briefs.

I thought, "We've really got to find you a girlfriend, Pete, mate..."

The next morning, things between us were pretty normal. Pete made us coffee, chatted about the usual stuff while we drank it and suggested we go out into Leeds on Friday evening after work.

Only a few things struck me as a bit odd.

The first was that he'd asked me if I'd slept okay. Pete had never done that before; it just wasn't his style.

I'd replied, "I think so. Why?"

He'd shook his head. "Nothing. I just wondered. I think I was having some pretty weird dreams..."

Another thing was that I caught him looking at my arse through the mirror after I'd showered and was drying myself, and he was shaving. I'd been bending over to dry my feet and when I'd stood up I noticed him staring at my arse.

I said, "Everything okay, mate?"

He'd nodded and smiled slightly. "Yeah." But then, after I'd turned away I glanced back at him and noticed his expression was pensive and serious.

I wondered then if some of what had happened during the night was coming back to him; if he was starting to remember snippets of it.

While we were on the way to work, I made a joke that I thought I must be coming down with the shits; that my bowels were not too happy this morning.

Normally he'd chuckle and blame the takeaway food or the beer.

This time he looked over at me sharply and then turned away without saying anything.

So I'm not sure whether or not Pete knew what he'd done. We never made any other comment about it – never any jokes or indirect allusions to it: we just left it at that.

After that night, he made a pretty obvious concerted effort to find a girlfriend and, like I said, managed to get himself hitched up nicely within a couple of weeks. I never stayed over with him again and he never invited me.

We're still good mates, though: in fact, he's one of my best.

Sometimes, when he gets upset about something but he doesn't want to show how sensitive he is, he'll say, "Hey, it doesn't matter... you don't want to hear this..."

And I'll say, "Come on, Pete, it's me, Seb. If you can't talk to me about stuff, who the fuck can you talk to...?"

And I'm sure we're both remembering that night; both thinking of how he used my body when he was desperate for sex, and that I didn't – and wouldn't – condemn him for it.

After that he seems to relax a little; his expression warms and he starts talking to me.