Inspired by a dream where a friend caught me wanking over his smut, I knew exactly what I was going to write today. Specifically, filth about a bisexual pretty boy, their genderqueer boyfriend, and a punky queer girl having a late night sofa fuck. Can you tell that the idea of a dominant pushing my face into someone’s cunt is very hot to me right now?
Content note for breath play and degradation.
They send him texts from the bar:
I’ve met someone – I think you’d like her. Short, purple hair, nose piercing.
I bought her a drink. She’s wearing a key on a chain around her neck – do you think it’s to a chastity cage?
It IS. She’s giving me advice on how to measure a pretty slut up for a cock cage.
They bent him over and plugged his arse before they left. He’d pulled back on his jeans so he could focus on some work, but with the messages pinging into his laptop there’s no chance of him concentrating.
We’re coming up with all sorts of ideas for ways we could make use of a little slut if we had you here right now.
You know what I can’t stop thinking about? Standing behind you and pushing your face into her cunt. Holding you there so you have no choice but to eat her out.
I know how much you love choking on cock, but when was the last time you couldn’t breath because your face is buried in someone’s cunt?
Or at least, concentrating on anything but how much he wants to jerk off. Which is exactly what they want, but soon he’s painfully hard and doesn’t care that he’s letting them win. There’s something dirty about being this turned on in the living room, so he strips off his jeans and sits there on floor, the plug nudging against his prostate as he scrolls through their messages.
You’re dick is aching, isn’t it? Are you touching yourself?
He growls, leaning forward to type back his frustrated, one-word answer to his boyfriend’s drawn-out teasing: YES.
He’s not allowed to come without their permission. He’s allowed to touch himself; they encourage him to touch himself, because they like him pliable and horny and ready to say yes to whatever hot, humiliating plans they come home with.
They come in to find him jerking off – Usually they’d step over him to sit on the sofa, teasing him that he’s so desperate to get off that he’ll degrade himself in whatever twisted ways they tell him to. Usually they’d smirk, telling him to stop touching so they can see how his poor, hard dick twitches with need. Usually they’d fuck his mouth and slip a cock ring over his dick, telling him that if he really wanted to orgasm then he’d be able to come without anything touching his cock.
But tonight they’re not alone.
“Aww, the little slut’s touching himself!”
He jumps, embarrassment flooding every part of his body. Heat pools in his crotch and flushes his cheeks as he looks up at his boyfriend and a girl wearing fishnet stockings and a filthy grin.
“I told you he would be. He’s not allowed to orgasm without permission, so he knows he has to be a good boy if he wants to come.”
“You should consider locking his dick up, you get a whole different level of obedience.”
They’re talking about him like he’s not there, and it’s ridiculously hot. He whines when they lean down, not to kiss him but to measure the size of his hard, needy cock. They hold their fingers up, showing her how big his dick is.
“What size of cage do you think I’d need for him?”
She giggles. He squirms, but shame from how they casually dismiss him as a slut who’s opinions don’t get asked before he gets fucked holds him in place as she leans down to examine his dick.
“I think his dick is already leaking pre-cum. Is he always this desperate?”
“When he’s sitting on a nice solid butt plug, yes. But tell our guest what was making you so hard, slut.”
“Because my boyfriend made me think abut them pushing my face into your cunt and forcing me to eat you out.” He doesn’t look at her, so obviously they tilt his head up so he can’t hide his blushing embarrassment. Not that there’s any point in doing so when they can both see his hard, aching cock.
“Usually I’d make you ask nicely first, pretty boy, but being that I’m not wearing any underwear…”
She steps over him and plants herself on the sofa, spreading her legs. She’s not wearing underwear: there’s nothing under her skirt but her wet cunt. He can smell her arousal and his dick twitches. Fuck.
And then they’re behind him, pushing his face into her cunt and it’s all he can do to try and keep breathing. He does his best to fuck her with his tongue and suck on her clit but he can’t control the angle they’re shoving him down at, he can’t change position so he can give her better head. This isn’t about him getting her off, this is about them showing her how much control they have over him.
If humiliating him gets them off in the process, that’s just an added bonus.
Even while he’s choking on her cunt, they keep discussing him with a detached cruelty that makes his dick hurt. He does his best to pleasure her, but their hand is firm on his neck and she laughs at his pathetic attempts. Eventually he pushes back, panting and breathless.
“Aww, his face is dripping with my wetness.”
“It is, but I’m not sure why he’s sitting up like he thinks done? It’s so cute that he thinks we’re even close to finished with him.”
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Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.