You’re already a mess, your body humming with the need for more, the ache of it unbearable. Your hands scrabble behind you, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, spreading yourself wide open. The air is cool against the slick heat of your hole, the stretch of your own fingers nothing compared to what you crave. You push back, blind with it, your hips lifting off the bed, your ass offered up, trembling. The position exposes you completely, your rim fluttering, your cock leaking onto the sheets, your breath coming in ragged, needy gasps. There’s no sound, no words—just the desperate arch of your spine, the way your body pleads without voice, your thighs shaking with the effort to stay open, to stay there, vulnerable and wanton and his.
Aaron’s patience snaps. His hands are on you, rough and demanding, flipping you onto your back with a growl. The bed creaks under the shift, your legs spread wide before you can even process the movement. Your cock slaps against your stomach, the tip already weeping, a shiny pool of precum glistening against your skin. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Just looks—his gaze dark and hungry, drinking in the sight of you, splayed and trembling, your body flushed and needy.
For a heartbeat, there’s something almost tender in the way his calloused fingers brush against your balls, his touch feather-light, like he’s memorizing the weight of them, the way they draw up tight at his touch. His fingers trail upward, following the vein on the underside of your cock, slow, reverent. He gathers the precum from your stomach, his fingers slick with it, and brings them to his mouth. His tongue darts out, lapping at the mess, his eyes sliding shut as he groans, low and rough. “Fuckin’ ambrosia,” he mutters, his voice thick with want.
But then his eyes open.
And just like that, the tenderness is gone.
His hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh as he yanks you to the edge of the bed, your ass hanging off, exposed. He doesn’t bother with gentleness. Just hooks your legs over his shoulders, his piercings cool against your skin, and lines himself up. The head of his cock is thick, slick with spit and precum, pressing insistently against your hole. You can feel the weight of his barbell, the ridge of his crown, the heat of him.
And then he pushes.
One deep, relentless thrust, and he’s seated to the hilt, his cock filling you so completely it steals your breath. The stretch burns, the pressure overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give you time to adjust. Just groans, a guttural sound torn from his chest, his hips flush against your ass. “Fuck,” he hisses, his voice raw. “Tight as a goddamn fist.”
His hands grip your hips, his fingers bruising, holding you in place as he pulls back just enough to slam into you again. The bed shakes, the trailer groaning around you, but neither of you care. His cock drags against that spot inside you, his piercings adding a sharp, electric edge to every thrust. His thighs flex, his muscles bunching as he sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward, his balls slapping against you with every stroke.
“Look at you,” he growls, his voice a dark, filthy thing. “Taking me like you were made for it.” His thumb presses against your taint, his touch possessive, his cock buried deep. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk.” His other hand wraps around your cock, his grip tight, his strokes rough and uneven. “Gonna milk you dry.”
You’re babbling, words spilling from your lips in broken fragments—please, more, fuck—but he doesn’t need encouragement. His body moves like a machine, his cock pistoning into you, his breath hot against your thigh. The sounds he makes are animalistic, grunts and groans and filthy praises, his voice rough with need. “So fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Like you were built for this. For me.”
His thumb circles your taint, pressing hard, and his cock hits that spot inside you over and over, his piercings dragging against your walls. Your cock leaks in his grip, precum dripping down his fingers, and he uses it, his touch slick and punishing. “Come on,” he snarls, his voice a command. “Let go. Want to feel you drown in it.”
And you do.
You shatter.
Aaron doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down as your orgasm rips through you, your cock pulsing in his grip, cum splattering across your chest, your stomach, your fingers clawing at the sheets. Your ass clamps down around him, the muscles fluttering, milking his cock, and it only makes him wilder. His hips snap forward, his skin slapping against yours, the sound wet and obscene. “Fuck, yes,” he growls, his voice rough, his control unraveling. “Squeeze me like that again, baby, and I’ll wreck you.”
He doesn’t let up. Just keeps fucking you through it, his cock pistoning in and out, his piercings dragging against your walls, the barbell in his crown hitting that spot over and over until your vision whites out. You’re oversensitive, your body trembling, but he doesn’t care. He’s lost to it now, his breath ragged, his muscles coiled tight.
And then, with a brutal curse, he slams home one last time, his hips pressing flush against your ass, his cock buried so deep you can feel the pulse of him as he comes. He folds you in half, his body pressing down on yours, his mouth crashing against your lips in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. His teeth sink into your lower lip, just hard enough to draw blood, and you can taste the copper tang of it as he groans into your mouth, his cock twitching, emptying himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and you can feel it leaking out around him even as he stays buried to the hilt, his hips grinding against you, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Fuck,” he pants against your lips, his voice rough, his body trembling with the force of his release. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Then he pulls out with a loud, wet pop, his cock glistening with cum and lube, the barbell catching the light as it slips free. Your legs fall from his shoulders, limp and boneless, but your cock never goes fully soft. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you, warm and thick, has you hardening again, your body already craving more.
Aaron smirks, his lips swollen from kissing you, his beard glistening with sweat. He reaches for his vape on the nightstand, takes a long drag, and exhales a cloud of smoke, his eyes dark with promise. “Round two’s comin’ later,” he says, his voice a low, amused growl. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”
And then he’s standing, turning, giving you one last view of that ass—muscles flexing, the silver ring in the dip of his lower back winking at you—as he saunters out of the room, naked and unashamed, leaving you sprawled on the bed, spent and sore and aching for more.
You can still feel him—inside you, on your skin, in the way your body hums with the aftershocks of what he just did to you. The trailer is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the faint creak of the floorboards as he walks away.
Fuck.
You’re already counting the minutes.
Aaron’s patience snaps. His hands are on you, rough and demanding, flipping you onto your back with a growl. The bed creaks under the shift, your legs spread wide before you can even process the movement. Your cock slaps against your stomach, the tip already weeping, a shiny pool of precum glistening against your skin. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Just looks—his gaze dark and hungry, drinking in the sight of you, splayed and trembling, your body flushed and needy.
For a heartbeat, there’s something almost tender in the way his calloused fingers brush against your balls, his touch feather-light, like he’s memorizing the weight of them, the way they draw up tight at his touch. His fingers trail upward, following the vein on the underside of your cock, slow, reverent. He gathers the precum from your stomach, his fingers slick with it, and brings them to his mouth. His tongue darts out, lapping at the mess, his eyes sliding shut as he groans, low and rough. “Fuckin’ ambrosia,” he mutters, his voice thick with want.
But then his eyes open.
And just like that, the tenderness is gone.
His hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh as he yanks you to the edge of the bed, your ass hanging off, exposed. He doesn’t bother with gentleness. Just hooks your legs over his shoulders, his piercings cool against your skin, and lines himself up. The head of his cock is thick, slick with spit and precum, pressing insistently against your hole. You can feel the weight of his barbell, the ridge of his crown, the heat of him.
And then he pushes.
One deep, relentless thrust, and he’s seated to the hilt, his cock filling you so completely it steals your breath. The stretch burns, the pressure overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give you time to adjust. Just groans, a guttural sound torn from his chest, his hips flush against your ass. “Fuck,” he hisses, his voice raw. “Tight as a goddamn fist.”
His hands grip your hips, his fingers bruising, holding you in place as he pulls back just enough to slam into you again. The bed shakes, the trailer groaning around you, but neither of you care. His cock drags against that spot inside you, his piercings adding a sharp, electric edge to every thrust. His thighs flex, his muscles bunching as he sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping forward, his balls slapping against you with every stroke.
“Look at you,” he growls, his voice a dark, filthy thing. “Taking me like you were made for it.” His thumb presses against your taint, his touch possessive, his cock buried deep. “Gonna fuck you until you can’t walk.” His other hand wraps around your cock, his grip tight, his strokes rough and uneven. “Gonna milk you dry.”
You’re babbling, words spilling from your lips in broken fragments—please, more, fuck—but he doesn’t need encouragement. His body moves like a machine, his cock pistoning into you, his breath hot against your thigh. The sounds he makes are animalistic, grunts and groans and filthy praises, his voice rough with need. “So fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Like you were built for this. For me.”
His thumb circles your taint, pressing hard, and his cock hits that spot inside you over and over, his piercings dragging against your walls. Your cock leaks in his grip, precum dripping down his fingers, and he uses it, his touch slick and punishing. “Come on,” he snarls, his voice a command. “Let go. Want to feel you drown in it.”
And you do.
You shatter.
Aaron doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down as your orgasm rips through you, your cock pulsing in his grip, cum splattering across your chest, your stomach, your fingers clawing at the sheets. Your ass clamps down around him, the muscles fluttering, milking his cock, and it only makes him wilder. His hips snap forward, his skin slapping against yours, the sound wet and obscene. “Fuck, yes,” he growls, his voice rough, his control unraveling. “Squeeze me like that again, baby, and I’ll wreck you.”
He doesn’t let up. Just keeps fucking you through it, his cock pistoning in and out, his piercings dragging against your walls, the barbell in his crown hitting that spot over and over until your vision whites out. You’re oversensitive, your body trembling, but he doesn’t care. He’s lost to it now, his breath ragged, his muscles coiled tight.
And then, with a brutal curse, he slams home one last time, his hips pressing flush against your ass, his cock buried so deep you can feel the pulse of him as he comes. He folds you in half, his body pressing down on yours, his mouth crashing against your lips in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. His teeth sink into your lower lip, just hard enough to draw blood, and you can taste the copper tang of it as he groans into your mouth, his cock twitching, emptying himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and you can feel it leaking out around him even as he stays buried to the hilt, his hips grinding against you, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Fuck,” he pants against your lips, his voice rough, his body trembling with the force of his release. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Then he pulls out with a loud, wet pop, his cock glistening with cum and lube, the barbell catching the light as it slips free. Your legs fall from his shoulders, limp and boneless, but your cock never goes fully soft. The feeling of his cum dripping out of you, warm and thick, has you hardening again, your body already craving more.
Aaron smirks, his lips swollen from kissing you, his beard glistening with sweat. He reaches for his vape on the nightstand, takes a long drag, and exhales a cloud of smoke, his eyes dark with promise. “Round two’s comin’ later,” he says, his voice a low, amused growl. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.”
And then he’s standing, turning, giving you one last view of that ass—muscles flexing, the silver ring in the dip of his lower back winking at you—as he saunters out of the room, naked and unashamed, leaving you sprawled on the bed, spent and sore and aching for more.
You can still feel him—inside you, on your skin, in the way your body hums with the aftershocks of what he just did to you. The trailer is quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing, the faint creak of the floorboards as he walks away.
Fuck.
You’re already counting the minutes.