The Best Man At My Brother's Wedding

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 5: The GolfCart Blowjob

Now that we were alone, no groomsmen nearby, no teasing voices echoing across the green; I could finally hear how hard I was breathing. The tree gave us shade, the slope of the hill gave us privacy.

The cart sat idling in the shade beside the tree, and Calvin had this look on his face again.

That look like he was about to ruin me.

He walked backward, casual as ever, and dropped into the driver’s seat. Legs spread wide, tattoos stretched across his forearms, the navy blue polo clinging to his chest in a way that made me stupidly addicted to him. He looked at me like he was already winning something.

I stayed standing for a second, trying to act like my knees weren’t weak.

Then I climbed in next to him, glancing left and right instinctively before settling beside him.

Calvin didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Masey-boy,” he said, slow and taunting, “stop looking around and suck my cock.”

I blinked. “Uh—Calvin—”

“Don’t give me that.” His arm stretched behind me on the seat, eyes narrowing like he had me pinned already. “Don’t pretend you haven’t been looking at me like you wanna rip my fucking clothes off and swallow my cock whole.”

I scoffed. “Sure. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about during a wholesome golf morning with the boys.”

He smirked, jaw flexing. “If you wanna pretend, Monroe, I can drive this cart right back and we can keep pretending none of this happened.”

My throat tightened.

“But I can already tell what’s real. You haven’t looked at my face since I said cock.” He leaned closer. “Your eyes are locked on my crotch.”

I wasn’t even thinking about it. He was right; I hadn’t once looked up. My gaze was stuck on the way those tight white pants hugged his thighs, the faint imprint of him heavy and thick beneath the zipper.

I swallowed.

My hand grazed the top of his thigh, fingers brushing the firm muscle underneath.

“There you go, Monroe,” he muttered, breath already hitching. “Go ahead.” He spread his legs a little wider. Then reached down, and unzipped his pants.

I shifted awkwardly, trying to get down onto the floor of the cart; if you could even call it a floor. There was barely any space between the pedals and the seat. My knees bumped into metal and my shoulder hit the steering wheel.

But oh well.
I didn’t fucking care about comfort. I was about to see Calvin Hale’s cock. After years of imagining it; jerking off to mental snapshots of him coming out of the shower, bulging through his towel, changing in front of me like I was invisible; I was finally here.

And I hesitated.

“Nathan cannot know about this,” I muttered, eyes flicking up to meet his for just a second.

Calvin barked a laugh. “Masey. I ain’t fuckin’ telling Nathan that his little brother has his mouth full of my cock.”

He shoved his pants and black boxer-briefs down in one smooth motion.

Fuck.

His cock sprang out, thick and hard and fucking perfect. Eight inches easy, long and flushed and heavy, a trimmed dark bush at the base that made the cock stand out even more. Veins tracked down the sides like he’d just come out of a workout. His tip was thick and cut, slightly curved up, already glistening at the crown.

And he knew exactly what he was doing.

He leaned back against the cart seat, arms stretched along the back, legs spread even wider; bare muscular thighs tense and tan. His cock sat up proudly between his legs, twitching slightly, pointing right at me.

His eyes flicked down to mine. “Come on then boy,” he murmured. “Show me how bad you’ve been wanting it.”

I leaned in, licking my lips, heart hammering as I looked up at him.

Then I stuck my tongue out.

Smack.

He slapped his cock against it. Once. Twice.

“Fuck, boy,” Calvin growled, watching the strings of saliva stretch between his shaft and my mouth. “That mouth looks hungry.”

I didn’t wait.

I wrapped my lips around the tip, felt the weight of him press against my tongue. I swirled it once, twice, teasing the underside before pushing deeper. My left hand gripped his thigh, feeling the tension there. My right hand clung to the edge of the golf cart for balance as I took more of him in.

“Masey-boy,” he groaned, hips twitching forward, “I knew you were a fucking cock-sucker. No warm up? Straight in?”

His voice was dark with pride. With ownership.

His hand moved. Raked through my hair. Then gripped it.

Tight.

He tilted my head up to look at him; his eyes locked onto mine, cock still pressing at my lips. “You’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you, boy?”

Before I could even nod, he shoved my face back down on his cock.

Gawk—gawk—gawk.

I moaned around him, the sound vibrating through his cock, and hummed a soft, breathless yes.

He groaned. “That’s it. Take it. Show the best man what your pretty mouth’s for.”

His grip in my hair tightened as he angled my face just right; then shoved his hips forward.

Gawk.
Gawk.
Gawk.

I choked, throat tight, spit spilling from the corners of my mouth. I was still on my knees; half-squatted, really, crammed awkwardly into the narrow space between his legs on the golf cart but I didn’t care. Not when Calvin Hale’s cock was down my throat.

“There you fucking go,” he growled, voice ragged, watching every messy inch disappear between my lips.

My tongue licked at the base when I could, tasting sweat and skin and the faint tang of cologne. My hands were useless now both gripping his thighs for balance as he rocked into my mouth again, again, again.

Wet sounds filled the air. Gawk. Gawk. Gawk. Spit dripped down my chin. Strings of it hung from my lips to his cock as he pulled back, only to stuff himself back down my throat seconds later.

He hissed, “That’s it, Masey-boy. Make a fucking mess.

I moaned around him.

He throbbed against my tongue.

“Shit,” he groaned, head tilting back, jaw clenched. “You always wanted it rough, huh? Could’ve just asked me, boy. Would’ve facefucked you stupid years ago.”

He yanked my hair again, forcing my face flush to his base, burying every inch. I gagged around him, throat stretching, but I held it...held him and looked up, eyes wide, spit smeared across my chin. His cock flexed hard in my throat.

“Fuck...keep lookin’ at me like that with those pretty eyes, and I’m gonna bust,” he growled, hips twitching, voice breaking. “Shit—shit, Masey—”

He slammed in once more and groaned deep, loud, guttural.

He came with his cock still deep in my mouth. Hot pulses of it flooded my throat; thick, bitter, endless like a stream of river. My eyes squeezed shut as I swallowed instinctively, gripping his thighs tight, letting him stay buried until the last twitch. My nose was pressed to the soft hair at the base, and still he held me there, groaning through his teeth as he emptied every drop of his cum inside my throat..

Finally, he loosened his grip, and I pulled back with a messy gasp, strands of spit and cum still clinging to my lips.

Calvin looked down at me, sweat-damp and smug, his cock still twitching as it slipped free from my lips. “There you go, boy,” he panted, chest rising. “You can wash that down with some wine at lunch."

I was still kneeling, spit and cum dripping from my chin, trying to catch my breath when he shifted his hips. His softening cock hung heavy as he reached down and ran two fingers through the wet mess at the base; wet with spit and thick with the last of his cum, glistening in the sunlight on the mat of dark pubes.

He brought his fingers to my mouth, coating them slow. “You know what to do.”

I didn’t hesitate. I opened up and sucked them in deep, tongue swirling, eyes locked on his. His jaw flexed. “That’s my fuckin’ good boy,” he muttered. “Told you last night; next time you suck on these fingers, it’d be my load..”

He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, tucked himself back into those tight black trunks and his white pants, and buttoned up like he didn’t just fuck my throat on a golf cart parked under a tree.

I sat there for a second, catching my breath, spit on my chin, throat sore in the best way. Then I wiped my mouth and let out a dry laugh. “Holy fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “My hair’s a fucking mess.”

Calvin reached out, casually smoothing it down with the same fingers I’d just sucked clean. “Yeah,” he said, smirking. “Wonder why.”

“C’mon, Masey,” he said, stepping down from the cart, voice low and amused. “Time to clean up and pretend we’re civil..”

_________________________________

Parts 6-10 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 6: Back at the Estate

Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[tommy69]

Really fucking sexy

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 6: Back at the Estate

By the time Calvin and I got back to the estate, my hair was only slightly less of a mess and Calvin’s smirk still hadn’t faded.

He walked like a man who just got his dick sucked on a golf cart; slow, loose, satisfied. I, on the other hand, had wiped my mouth three times and still wasn’t sure if I could speak without the taste of his cock creeping up the back of my throat. My stomach was a tight knot of nerves and heat. I could still feel his cum sliding down my throat, clinging to the back of my tongue, stubborn as sin.

Lunch was already in full swing, set outside beneath the barn’s overhang, where long rustic tables stretched across the flagstone patio, dressed in soft linen runners and dappled sunlight. The garden buzzed with voices and champagne corks, and someone had tucked an old Bluetooth speaker near the barn door, filling the air with lazy acoustic covers of wedding playlist classics. Bees drifted near the florals. Glassware clinked. Someone was already tipsy enough to be slurring. Nathan’s fiancée floated from table to table in a lemon-colored sundress, trying to wrangle the groomsmen into “candid” shots that were clearly staged.

Calvin settled into the seat across from me, broad shoulders stretching the sleeves of that blue polo that should honestly be banned because of how fucking hot it looked on him.

I kept my eyes on my plate. I could still taste Calvin. The tang of him clung to the back of my tongue, thick and somehow still making me half-hard under the damn table. I was sitting there, fork in hand, nodding along to something Nathan was saying about table arrangements and last-minute RSVPs pretending that everything was normal. As if I hadn’t had his best friend’s dick down my throat less than an hour ago.

My voice stayed even. My posture, polite. I even managed a smile when Nathan’s fiancée passed behind me, tousling my hair and calling me “cute as always.” But beneath the table, my thighs were clenched and my mind kept skipping...golf cart, hand in my hair, his voice growling "Take it, Masey boy."

“Okay, can we talk about how intense golf got this morning?” Calvin said suddenly, his voice slicing clean through the clinking of cutlery and the scattered hum of conversation. He sat across from me, fork dangling from his fingers, tan forearms propped casually on the table, chewing like he hadn't nearly broken me earlier.

I froze mid-bite. My head turned, slow. Like..what the fuck was he doing? He wasn’t talking about the game. I narrowed my eyes across the table. He smirked. That smug, dimpled, fuck-you smirk that made my blood run hot and my stomach twist.

One of the groomsmen Ralph, in a pale pink shirt and with a sunburn already creeping across his cheeks groaned through a mouthful of salad. “Bro. You both were getting crushed. You two bailed mid-round.”

Calvin gave a casual shrug. “We were clearly losing. Had to protect our fragile egos.”

Laughter. Someone tossed a roll at him.

Miguel, another groomsman, leaned in from across the table, smug. “I won, by the way. In case anyone’s pretending not to know.”

“No one asked, Miguel,” Ralph muttered, rolling his eyes.

“It’s not my fault you sliced every shot into the bushes,” Miguel said, sipping his wine. “I’m just a natural athlete.”

Calvin leaned back in his chair, twirling his fork like he was bored of the conversation already. “Yeah, I don’t know, man,” he said casually. “I should’ve just used the golf cart to find the damn hole. Would’ve stuffed the ball in first try.”

I nearly choked on the wine I was sipping.

He didn’t even look at me...just kept talking, kept chewing, as if he hadn’t just referenced the exact position I’d been in an hour ago, ..on my knees in that golf cart, exactly where he’d left me stuffed full and speechless.

“The greens were real firm too,” Calvin added with a shrug. “Didn’t want to force anything.”

I stared at him across the table. He was clearly doing this on purpose.

Nathan raised his glass like he was toasting. “To Miguel’s ego, may it live forever.”

More laughter, easy and warm, with the kind of energy that only comes when everyone’s slightly sun-drunk and wearing linen.

I kept quiet. I could feel Calvin’s gaze drifting to me sometimes; not in a way anyone else would catch. But I caught it. Every time. Especially when I licked wine off my lip, or leaned back in my chair with my legs slightly spread, or shifted my hips just a little too slow when standing to grab another plate.

“So,” Nathan said, glancing down the table, “we’re gonna need more wine soon. Mase..mind grabbing a few more bottles from the cellar?”

It wasn’t a request. More like something Nathan had already decided; the kind of ask older brothers make when you’re young enough to still be the errand boy. But honestly? I would’ve volunteered myself if he hadn’t. I needed to get the fuck away from Calvin.

God knows what he’d say next, or what he’d do-- like adjusting his sleeves again to show off those stupidly sexy biceps. Or stretching back in his chair in that tight, ridiculously hot, deep-navy blue polo that clung to his chest like a second skin. I was one line or one rolled-up sleeve away from popping a boner in front of twenty people and a charcuterie board.

“Yeah,” I said, already getting up, “I’ll go grab a couple of bottles.”

I turned and started walking toward the barn doors. The sunlight outside was blinding, but not as much as the sudden sound of Calvin’s chair scraping back behind me.

“Uh-Mase...” he called out, standing up, casually brushing crumbs off his jeans. “Wait up. I’ll help you carry ‘em.”

Of course he did. Of course he wanted to join me in the cellar... away from all the laughter and polite conversation and fucking witnesses. God knows what that ridiculously hot man had planned this time. He’d already stuffed my mouth at the country club. God only know what he had planned for me now.

Calvin leaned in just enough for only me to hear. “Hope it’s dark down there,” he murmured, voice low. “Might have to feel my way around to find the… bottles.” He half-stuttered on the word, then gave a soft laugh like he couldn’t help himself.

I shot him a look. “Dude. Shut up.”

He smirked, clearly not planning to.

We walked in sync, his fingers grazing the small of my back like he owned me. Back toward the barn. Toward the cellar. Toward the cool, quiet shadows waiting underneath and whatever mischievous thing he thought he could get away with next.

_________________________________

Parts 7-11 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy. (Along with some pictures)

The Best Man | Part 7: Wine Cellar

Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[alan882324]

Ohhh I cannot wait till they get to the cellar..all alone. Mmm

 

[tommy69]

I hope something happens in the wine cellar

 

[alan882324]

I hope something happens in the wine cellar

U and me both!

 

[michaelnola]

The Best Man | Part 2: Sharing A Room

Calvin was already waiting for me in the hallway in that deep blue shirt from earlier, sleeves pushed up, collar open just enough to draw the eye. The tattoos along his forearms looked darker against the crisp fabric, like the ink itself had thickened since this morning. He leaned against the doorframe with one arm braced high, the other casually resting on his thighs. His watch caught the light. His smirk didn’t move.

“You coming, Pretty Boy? Or just standing there thinking about it?”

I followed. Hesitantly.

I mean, yeah, I was excited to be close to him. Who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t trust my dick at all. It had been trained to get hard just from looking at him. Sharing a room with Calvin Hale meant things would get hard. Literally.

Still, I followed. Slowly. Like I was walking into a trap I couldn’t help but want.

The room was bigger than I expected. High ceilings. Open windows. Warm light pooling onto hardwood floors from the bedside lamp. But I barely registered any of that. Because his scent was still in the air. And the only thing I could focus on was how long I could hide this hard-on before it became a problem.

The staff had already moved my suitcase. It was near the edge of the bed, beside Calvin’s messy pile of stuff.

And his things were everywhere.

One of his cologne bottles was half-uncapped on the dresser, thick and masculine with that dangerous, woodsy smell that made my knees soft. His belt was coiled on the floor beside it like it had been yanked off in a rush. A white button-down, the one from earlier had been tossed across the back of a chair. His underwear, dark gray and clearly worn, sat beside the bed like a warning sign.

“Damn,” I muttered, stepping in. “You’re messy.”

Calvin kicked the door shut behind us with one boot and rolled his shoulders. “I travel light.”

“Looks like your boxers traveled straight to the floor.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past me, grabbing the shirt off the chair and slinging it into a half-zipped duffel like it didn’t matter. His back moved with every step; those broad shoulders flexing under that shirt like they knew I was watching.

“You’re on that side Mase” he said, nodding toward the left.

I dropped my bag, still pretending I wasn’t painfully hard from just being in the same space. The bed was big. But not that big.

“Don’t worry,” Calvin added, already unbuttoning his cuffs, “I don’t bite.”

He paused. Glanced back over his shoulder.

“…unless you ask nicely.”

I turned away too fast. My face was on fire.
My dick? Hard enough to snap the waistband of my underwear.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

He started unpacking without fanfare; a deodorant, a second pair of boots that looked expensive and fully unnecessary. I caught myself looking too long when he bent to adjust something under the bed, that tight shirt clinging to his back like it was stitched on.

I tried to busy myself with my own stuff: charger, moisturizer, overpriced night cream and told myself I was being normal. That I could survive a few nights like this. But when I turned back around, he was standing way too close.

“Forgot something,” he said.

Then reached past me; deliberately... to grab something from my side of the bed. His cologne bottle. His fingers brushed mine on purpose. His body was a wall of heat.

I didn't move.

And then his scent hit me.

Rich. Heavy. Masculine in the way that clung to your skin and made your mouth water. It wasn’t light or polite. It was the kind of smell that made you want to bite down and beg. My cock twitched, thickening fast, pressing hard against the front of my pants. My hole clenched like it already knew what it wanted, who it wanted... like my body was one step ahead of my pride. I stood there, frozen, pulsing, too aware of how close he was and how fucking good he smelled.

He grabbed the bottle. Kept it on his side of the bed. Said nothing. Just smirked like he knew I was about to fall apart.

I couldn’t take it.

“Uhm ... let me check if they brought my duffel bag from the other room,” I blurted. “Think they forgot.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I bolted.

Down the hall. Around the corner. Anywhere I could get a second to breathe and pray my cock didn’t prematurely cum right there in my pants like some desperate, submissive little bitch who couldn’t handle being in the same room as him.

Which, apparently, I was.

I tried to wait it out.

Ended up sitting on a old velvet sofa in the living room of the estate, now turned reception area, where candles flickered against the stone walls and the florists had already started prepping fake flower arrangements for a photo-op. I sat there, legs crossed tight, scrolling through nothing on my phone, willing the ache in my pants to settle. I couldn’t be seen like that; not with a full hard-on and my brother’s best man two rooms away looking like the way he did.

But waiting didn’t help.

The more I sat there, the worse it got. I kept thinking about the smell of him. The weight of his body just inches from mine. The way his voice dropped when he said Pretty Boy like he already knew what it did to me.

After a few minutes, I gave up.

I walked down the hall, ducked into my old bedroom....grabbed my duffel from the corner, and made my way back to Calvin’s room. My stomach was still tight. My cock not fully soft.

When I walked in, the shower was running.

Steam slid out from under the bathroom door. Calvin’s blue shirt was slung carelessly over the chair. His pants were bunched up on the floor beside the door, one sock half inside out like he’d peeled them off in a rush. His belt had been dropped beside the dresser again... wide, leather, thick enough to do damage.

I swallowed and looked away.

Dropped my duffel next to my other suitcase. Fished through it, grabbed a pair of my boxers. Usually, I sleep with nothing on just skin and sheets but tonight? I couldn’t trust my cock with Calvin Hale in the same room. So I changed. Quietly. Quickly. Pulled the waistband high and tried not to imagine him wet, nude, dripping on the other side of that door.

I climbed onto my side of the bed and tucked myself under the blanket, willing myself to breathe normally. Just lie down. Just sleep. Just don’t think about—

The bathroom door opened.

And my eyes, completely betraying me, drifted over.

Calvin stepped out in nothing but a pair of black trunks; tight, high on the thigh, clinging like they’d been painted on. His skin was still damp, glistening under the light. Water dripped from his collarbone down his chest, sliding between two ridged pecs before vanishing across his abs. His arms looked thicker wet. Veins visible. Shoulders wide enough to block out the doorframe behind him.

His tattoos; thick blackwork along one shoulder, curling across his chest like smoke were even darker now, soaking into every inch of skin like they belonged there. His hair was wet, messy, pushed back with his fingers. And his cock, heavy and outlined through those trunks, swung slightly with each step like it didn’t give a single fuck what room he was walking into.

I blinked.

I could not believe the sight of him. Calvin Hale.. in his fucking underwear... huge, walking toward the bed like it was just another night and he wasn’t the living embodiment of every single orgasm I’d had in the last 10 years.

I gripped the blanket tighter.


“Masey-boy,” he said from across the room. “You find your bag?”

I hesitated. My brain stalled. I was too busy trying to will my hard-on down while pretending I hadn’t just been staring at the shape of his cock through those tight black trunks. His chest was still damp. His abs flexed every time he moved. I forced myself to look away, cleared my throat, and nodded like my voice wasn’t seconds from cracking.


_________________________________

Parts 3, 4 and 5 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy.

The Best Man | Part 3: Hard to Sleep


Thank you for all the support on my other stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

Love this story and the characters---Excellent as always

 

[michaelnola]

Hot as fuck man---damn Calvin's character is on point.

 

[StoriesByTroy]

The Best Man | Part 7: Wine Cellar

The old cellar door creaked of the estate open like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence.

“Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.”

I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth. Wine racks lined the stone walls, some full, some half-raided, and a few bottles stacked in crates on the floor like someone had been too lazy to shelve them.

“We’re supposed to grab a few good ones for the toasts,” I said, squinting through the faint strip of sunlight coming from a high, narrow window. “Nathan said look for the expensive stuff. Something that says, ‘We’re classy, but we’ll still do body shots later.’”

Calvin raised a brow. “I mean, I do have a body. You can do more than a shot off it, if you ask nicely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning toward the racks. “Are you going to help me find some fancy wine or just keep flirting with me in your sex voice?”

He walked over to a stool in the corner, sat down like he had all the time in the world, arms folded across that annoyingly tight polo. “Nah. I’m going to watch you struggle. See that twink body of yours stretch and bend while you...what’s the phrase...work for it.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I muttered, even though I was already half-smiling.

The cellar was bigger than it looked at first glance. Racks towered up to the ceiling in that chaotic, not-quite-organized way that suggested someone started sorting things alphabetically, then got lazy halfway through. I crouched down near a crate labeled in thick, black marker '2009 Bordeaux' and ran my fingers along the dusty glass. Not bad. But i figured I'd look for a few more. I moved toward another rack, scanning the faded labels. My shoulder brushed a cobweb, and I let out an involuntary shiver. “Jesus, it’s like a haunted vineyard down here.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin exhale a low chuckle. “There. Top shelf. That dusty one with the gold foil on the neck.”

I followed his gaze, then squinted up. The top row of the far rack tucked between some old-looking Italian reds and a champagne bottle that looked like it had survived a war. Sure enough, there was one bottle gleaming under the dim light, label intact, foil shimmering faintly. It looked like money. Probably tasted like it too.

I grabbed the old ladder propped up in the corner and started dragging it toward the rack.

Calvin didn’t move a muscle.

I turned back toward him. “Why’d you build all those muscles if you’re not gonna help?”

He smirked. “They’re decorative. Like abs on a Greek statue. You don’t use them, you just admire.”

He finally pushed himself off the stool with a theatrical sigh, walked over, and grabbed the ladder from me with one hand like it weighed nothing. Then he placed it just under the highest rack, perfectly aligned with the dusty bottle in question. “C’mon. I’ll hold it steady. You climb and get it.”

I gave him a look. “You just want a view of my ass.”

He didn’t even blink. “Obviously. Mase”

I climbed up slowly, partly because the ladder creaked like hell, and partly because, well; if he wanted a show, I might as well give him one. My shirt rode up as I reached toward the top shelf, fingertips brushing the neck of the bottle. I pulled it down gently and handed it to Calvin, who took it and set it on the counter behind him with a thunk.

“Here comes another,” I muttered, grabbing a second bottle, then a third.

The third one had a little more dust, and I had to stretch for it; hips shifting, arms reaching all the way, my thighs tight against the steps.

Behind me, Calvin groaned. “Fuck the wine. I wanna taste what’s in front of me.”

I froze on the ladder. “Did you just moan?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “That was appreciation. Like an art collector seeing the Mona Lisa up close.”

I looked over my shoulder. His gaze was locked on my ass, his hands still on the ladder rails but white-knuckled now.

“Are you fucking serious, Calvin? Someone might walk in.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Let them.” His eyes trailed down the back of my thighs like a slow pour of honey. “I’ll tell them it’s a tasting. Pairing wine with ass.”

“Jesus Christ.” I was already halfway hard.

“Fuck, I didn’t know Mase-boy would have an ass with so much definition…” Calvin let out this guttural sound, like the words burned his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever have my best friend’s brother bent over in front of me like this.”

I smirked over my shoulder. “You mean this ass?” I placed both hands on the shelf, gripping it at the edge, then arched my back and pushed my hips out; slow and deliberate, right into his face. I gave a little shake, a twerk even.. just to be a brat.

His hands slid to the sides of my jeans, palms hot and greedy. “Mmhmm, fuck, boy…” His voice dropped into a moan as he pressed his face into the curve of my ass. “You are so fucking slutty.”

I grinded back against him, dragging my ass across his face like I knew he’d eat it raw. “Only for tatted hunks who think they’re straight.”

His head lifted, breath ragged. Then...shkkk...his hands yanked my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing me completely. My bare ass met the cool air, but all I could feel was his gaze. “I never said I was straight,” Calvin muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “You’d be surprised how many men have taken my cock.”

My chest fluttered. Not just surprise, but something like relief. He wasn’t going to be that kind of guy; the type to nut, freak out, and ghost. Calvin wasn’t built like that. Guys like him… they always come back for seconds. And thirds. Guys like him get addicted to fucking men.

He grunted behind me. “Fuck, boy…” His voice was hot and breathy as he leaned in. One hand gripped my hip. The other slid down, fingers running between my crack.

Then I felt it; his fingertip brushing against my hole.

“Ahh, fuck..” I hissed, body jerking at the contact.

Calvin laughed low, dark, and full of promise. “Is that pretty little hole equipped to take big cocks like mine?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. You’re not the first hunk I’ve -”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

His face dove in. And then I felt it. A wet tongue dragging right over my hole; slow, deep, with zero hesitation. My knees nearly buckled.

“Fuckkk... fuckk..” The sound left me in a helpless moan, my fingers clenching tight around the shelf.

He groaned into me like he’d been starving to eat me out. His hands spread my cheeks wider, and his tongue started moving in deliberate circles. Soft at first, then firmer. Then he pulled back, spat on my hole, and licked it all up again; messy, unbothered, like he was claiming me.

Another spit. This one loud. Hot. I felt it slide down between my cheeks and collect right where I needed it. He smeared it in with his tongue, his nose pressed in, beard scratching gently against the curves of my ass as he devoured me.

My whole body rocked with each lick. Each pass of that hot, wet tongue felt deeper. Needier. Like he was tonguefucking the words out of me.

I gasped and whimpered. My hips started grinding back on their own, chasing every drag of his mouth. The scratch of his beard against my skin made it even filthier. Every time he pulled back for air, I felt the burn of it; a bristly friction, rough and masculine and impossible to ignore.

I shook my ass side to side, dragging it across his face just to feel it again. That beard. That heat and the pressure which felt too fucking good.

“You like the feeling of my beard across your cold ass, don’t you?”

“Unghh... fuck, I do..”

He didn’t wait. He dove back in, growling...He buried his face between my cheeks and started motorboating; messy, wild, completely unhinged. His tongue slid back and forth while his stubble scratched everywhere at once.

I was moaning, whimpering and gasping.. Trying not to be too loud.. I felt like a slut. That’s all I felt like in that moment. Bent over. Legs spread. Ass getting eaten like I was made for it.

Calvin’s tongue was working my hole with obsession. His beard was spattered with saliva. My thighs were shaking. He was making these desperate little noises, like every taste of my hole was driving him insane. I was so far gone I didn’t even realize my jeans were fully off now; bunched somewhere near my ankles, bare ass high in the air, back arched, breathing hard.

I moaned again as he pressed deeper; his hands gripping my hips now, spreading me open like he owned me.

And then...

A sound behind us.

Footsteps.

A low chuckle.

Calvin didn’t even pull away. His breath was still hot on my hole.. I couldn't register until I heard a voice.

“What the fuck...” a voice said casually, amused... in a playful tone.

I whipped my head around, panic thudding in my chest.

There, standing just inside the cellar door, leaning against the wall like he’d been watching for a while, was Ralph. One of the groomsmen. Tall. Thick forearms. He was holding a small toothpick, lazily chewing on the last corner of a cheese cube like he was at a wine tasting.

His eyes were on me. Then on Calvin’s face between my ass. Then back on me again.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t leave. Didn’t create a scene.

He smirked. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of fun.”

I tried to move. Tried to pull my jeans up. But Calvin didn’t budge. His hands just tightened on my hips.

Ralph licked the salt from his fingers, cocking his head as he walked towards us. “Got room for one more?”

Calvin’s breath was still warm against my hole. My back was still arched. I watched as Ralph stepped closer, unhurried, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip like he was going to devour my hole.

_________________________________

The Best Man | Part 8: The Usual Stuff

Parts 8-13 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy. (Along with some pictures and bonus scenes)


Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

 

[michaelnola]

Damn hard cocks all around for your readers now. Excellent writing and your characters are always on point and hot as fuck

 

[fmbttm]

The Best Man | Part 7: Wine Cellar

The old cellar door creaked of the estate open like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence.

“Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.”

I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth. Wine racks lined the stone walls, some full, some half-raided, and a few bottles stacked in crates on the floor like someone had been too lazy to shelve them.

“We’re supposed to grab a few good ones for the toasts,” I said, squinting through the faint strip of sunlight coming from a high, narrow window. “Nathan said look for the expensive stuff. Something that says, ‘We’re classy, but we’ll still do body shots later.’”

Calvin raised a brow. “I mean, I do have a body. You can do more than a shot off it, if you ask nicely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning toward the racks. “Are you going to help me find some fancy wine or just keep flirting with me in your sex voice?”

He walked over to a stool in the corner, sat down like he had all the time in the world, arms folded across that annoyingly tight polo. “Nah. I’m going to watch you struggle. See that twink body of yours stretch and bend while you...what’s the phrase...work for it.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I muttered, even though I was already half-smiling.

The cellar was bigger than it looked at first glance. Racks towered up to the ceiling in that chaotic, not-quite-organized way that suggested someone started sorting things alphabetically, then got lazy halfway through. I crouched down near a crate labeled in thick, black marker '2009 Bordeaux' and ran my fingers along the dusty glass. Not bad. But i figured I'd look for a few more. I moved toward another rack, scanning the faded labels. My shoulder brushed a cobweb, and I let out an involuntary shiver. “Jesus, it’s like a haunted vineyard down here.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin exhale a low chuckle. “There. Top shelf. That dusty one with the gold foil on the neck.”

I followed his gaze, then squinted up. The top row of the far rack tucked between some old-looking Italian reds and a champagne bottle that looked like it had survived a war. Sure enough, there was one bottle gleaming under the dim light, label intact, foil shimmering faintly. It looked like money. Probably tasted like it too.

I grabbed the old ladder propped up in the corner and started dragging it toward the rack.

Calvin didn’t move a muscle.

I turned back toward him. “Why’d you build all those muscles if you’re not gonna help?”

He smirked. “They’re decorative. Like abs on a Greek statue. You don’t use them, you just admire.”

He finally pushed himself off the stool with a theatrical sigh, walked over, and grabbed the ladder from me with one hand like it weighed nothing. Then he placed it just under the highest rack, perfectly aligned with the dusty bottle in question. “C’mon. I’ll hold it steady. You climb and get it.”

I gave him a look. “You just want a view of my ass.”

He didn’t even blink. “Obviously. Mase”

I climbed up slowly, partly because the ladder creaked like hell, and partly because, well; if he wanted a show, I might as well give him one. My shirt rode up as I reached toward the top shelf, fingertips brushing the neck of the bottle. I pulled it down gently and handed it to Calvin, who took it and set it on the counter behind him with a thunk.

“Here comes another,” I muttered, grabbing a second bottle, then a third.

The third one had a little more dust, and I had to stretch for it; hips shifting, arms reaching all the way, my thighs tight against the steps.

Behind me, Calvin groaned. “Fuck the wine. I wanna taste what’s in front of me.”

I froze on the ladder. “Did you just moan?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “That was appreciation. Like an art collector seeing the Mona Lisa up close.”

I looked over my shoulder. His gaze was locked on my ass, his hands still on the ladder rails but white-knuckled now.

“Are you fucking serious, Calvin? Someone might walk in.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Let them.” His eyes trailed down the back of my thighs like a slow pour of honey. “I’ll tell them it’s a tasting. Pairing wine with ass.”

“Jesus Christ.” I was already halfway hard.

“Fuck, I didn’t know Mase-boy would have an ass with so much definition…” Calvin let out this guttural sound, like the words burned his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever have my best friend’s brother bent over in front of me like this.”

I smirked over my shoulder. “You mean this ass?” I placed both hands on the shelf, gripping it at the edge, then arched my back and pushed my hips out; slow and deliberate, right into his face. I gave a little shake, a twerk even.. just to be a brat.

His hands slid to the sides of my jeans, palms hot and greedy. “Mmhmm, fuck, boy…” His voice dropped into a moan as he pressed his face into the curve of my ass. “You are so fucking slutty.”

I grinded back against him, dragging my ass across his face like I knew he’d eat it raw. “Only for tatted hunks who think they’re straight.”

His head lifted, breath ragged. Then...shkkk...his hands yanked my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing me completely. My bare ass met the cool air, but all I could feel was his gaze. “I never said I was straight,” Calvin muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “You’d be surprised how many men have taken my cock.”

My chest fluttered. Not just surprise, but something like relief. He wasn’t going to be that kind of guy; the type to nut, freak out, and ghost. Calvin wasn’t built like that. Guys like him… they always come back for seconds. And thirds. Guys like him get addicted to fucking men.

He grunted behind me. “Fuck, boy…” His voice was hot and breathy as he leaned in. One hand gripped my hip. The other slid down, fingers running between my crack.

Then I felt it; his fingertip brushing against my hole.

“Ahh, fuck..” I hissed, body jerking at the contact.

Calvin laughed low, dark, and full of promise. “Is that pretty little hole equipped to take big cocks like mine?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. You’re not the first hunk I’ve -”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

His face dove in. And then I felt it. A wet tongue dragging right over my hole; slow, deep, with zero hesitation. My knees nearly buckled.

“Fuckkk... fuckk..” The sound left me in a helpless moan, my fingers clenching tight around the shelf.

He groaned into me like he’d been starving to eat me out. His hands spread my cheeks wider, and his tongue started moving in deliberate circles. Soft at first, then firmer. Then he pulled back, spat on my hole, and licked it all up again; messy, unbothered, like he was claiming me.

Another spit. This one loud. Hot. I felt it slide down between my cheeks and collect right where I needed it. He smeared it in with his tongue, his nose pressed in, beard scratching gently against the curves of my ass as he devoured me.

My whole body rocked with each lick. Each pass of that hot, wet tongue felt deeper. Needier. Like he was tonguefucking the words out of me.

I gasped and whimpered. My hips started grinding back on their own, chasing every drag of his mouth. The scratch of his beard against my skin made it even filthier. Every time he pulled back for air, I felt the burn of it; a bristly friction, rough and masculine and impossible to ignore.

I shook my ass side to side, dragging it across his face just to feel it again. That beard. That heat and the pressure which felt too fucking good.

“You like the feeling of my beard across your cold ass, don’t you?”

“Unghh... fuck, I do..”

He didn’t wait. He dove back in, growling...He buried his face between my cheeks and started motorboating; messy, wild, completely unhinged. His tongue slid back and forth while his stubble scratched everywhere at once.

I was moaning, whimpering and gasping.. Trying not to be too loud.. I felt like a slut. That’s all I felt like in that moment. Bent over. Legs spread. Ass getting eaten like I was made for it.

Calvin’s tongue was working my hole with obsession. His beard was spattered with saliva. My thighs were shaking. He was making these desperate little noises, like every taste of my hole was driving him insane. I was so far gone I didn’t even realize my jeans were fully off now; bunched somewhere near my ankles, bare ass high in the air, back arched, breathing hard.

I moaned again as he pressed deeper; his hands gripping my hips now, spreading me open like he owned me.

And then...

A sound behind us.

Footsteps.

A low chuckle.

Calvin didn’t even pull away. His breath was still hot on my hole.. I couldn't register until I heard a voice.

“What the fuck...” a voice said casually, amused... in a playful tone.

I whipped my head around, panic thudding in my chest.

There, standing just inside the cellar door, leaning against the wall like he’d been watching for a while, was Ralph. One of the groomsmen. Tall. Thick forearms. He was holding a small toothpick, lazily chewing on the last corner of a cheese cube like he was at a wine tasting.

His eyes were on me. Then on Calvin’s face between my ass. Then back on me again.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t leave. Didn’t create a scene.

He smirked. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of fun.”

I tried to move. Tried to pull my jeans up. But Calvin didn’t budge. His hands just tightened on my hips.

Ralph licked the salt from his fingers, cocking his head as he walked towards us. “Got room for one more?”

Calvin’s breath was still warm against my hole. My back was still arched. I watched as Ralph stepped closer, unhurried, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip like he was going to devour my hole.

_________________________________

The Best Man | Part 8: The Usual Stuff

Parts 8-13 of this story have already been released on my patreon StoriesByTroy. (Along with some pictures and bonus scenes)


Thank you for all the support on my stories. I love reading your comments.
Stay tuned for more updates on this story.

Fuck yes eat that bussy!