Thanks IH! It's a journey to self-acceptance for sure, but Tim is airways there to lend Mark a helping hand, or mouth...
The Office Gloryhole
- Thread starter mGlottalstop
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Or in the future ass lolThanks IH! It's a journey to self-acceptance for sure, but Tim is airways there to lend Mark a helping hand, or mouth...
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Been reading it since beginning, so good and well written. But a bit worried with plot. I understand all Mark's confusion and not knowing who he is anymore but I would prefer the resolution not being sub craving humiliation....even if this could be a fun story too in other circumstances. Anyway. Thanks for the story.
At this point, I'm intending a happy ending for Mark, but what constitutes happy for him is the question I'm wrestling with at the moment!
I'd like Mark to learn to accept himself, but does that mean a happily ever after with Tim or with Sarah, or spending the rest of his career sniffing Greg's pits every chance he gets, or starting a whole new life away from everyone where he doesn't have others' expectations upon him?
I'm going to have fun finding out, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Please keep leaving feedback and things you'd like to see in future chapters - I've mentioned before that I'm posting each chapter as its written, and kinda making it up as I go along, so it's never too late to suggest things you'd like to see which I can then write into future chapters.
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I always love a good comeupance for the arrogant prick of a story!
Chapter Thirty-Three: The Other Side
The handle was cool beneath Mark’s palm, slick with sweat from his trembling fingers, each shake a pulse of dread and need. His hand lingered, caught in a purgatory between want and fear, the door a towering precipice that split his life in two. One foot clung to the safety of shame, to his vows, his guilt, the weight of Ryan’s sneers still bruising his mind and squeezing his balls. The other ached to cross, drawn by a hunger that churned in his gut, raw and relentless, for the man who’d unravelled him with a mouth that promised absolution. Tim waited beyond, not with judgment, but with a low, knowing smile that had already stripped Mark bare, inviting him deeper into a mystery that felt like both sin and salvation. His chest tightened, breath shallow, a prayer for courage unanswered. He pushed.
The door creaked open, the soft, golden spill of hallway light piercing the dimness, catching Tim in a half-shadow that made Mark’s heart lurch. Tim crouched on the cushion beneath the gloryhole, backlit, lips swollen, glistening with spit, parted in a satisfied, filthy smile that twisted Mark’s insides with a want so fierce it shamed him. Those eyes sparkled, with mischief, yes, but something patient, something that saw every crack in Mark’s armour and didn’t flinch. The air was thick, heavy with musk and the faint tang of lube, the storage room’s grimy intimacy pressing against Mark’s skin like a dare. He stepped inside, legs unsteady, his pulse a frantic drum, insecurity screaming he didn’t belong here, that he was too broken, too weak for this.
Tim rose from the cushion, slow and unhurried, his body unfolding like a man who’d just unwrapped a gift he hadn’t dared hope for, every movement savouring the weight of Mark’s presence in this grimy, musk-heavy storage room. His rumpled shirt clung to sweat-slick skin, half-unbuttoned, revealing the taut lines of his chest, while the green jockstrap at his hips was a stark, obscene temptation, framing thighs thick with power and an arousal that strained against the cotton, radiating a confidence Mark both envied and craved with a desperation that burned beneath his shame. Mark’s pulse hammered, his throat dry as his gaze snagged on that jock, the way it cupped Tim’s body like an offering, heat surging in his belly, a traitor to the insecurity that screamed he was out of his depth, too broken for this.
Tim stepped forward, clicking the door shut with a soft snick, his fingers grazing Mark’s wrist, a touch so light it was more dare than demand, coaxing Mark’s trembling nerves toward surrender. “You’re here, mate,” Tim murmured, voice low, gravelly, thick with a warmth that seeped into the jagged edges of Mark’s fear, like a mate daring him to leap. “Reckon that’s the tough bit done, yeah? Getting your arse through that door.” Mark couldn’t speak, his nod a feeble twitch, eyes locked on Tim’s sweat-damp shirt, the jock’s elastic digging into solid hips, the unmistakable bulge that made his mouth water and his mind scream he didn’t belong here.
Tim closed the gap, his nose brushing Mark’s cheek, breath hot and teasing, carrying the faint tang of spit and sex. “You alright, yeah?” he asked, soft but rough, like he’d clocked every doubt in Mark’s head and wasn’t fazed. Mark managed a shaky breath, voice barely a whisper. “Dunno what I’m bloody doing, Tim...” Tim’s lips grazed the corner of his mouth, a fleeting kiss, filthy and tender, his words a low rumble that vibrated through Mark’s bones. “Don’t need to do anything, mate. Just let me take care of you, yeah? Like you took care of me.” The promise in his voice, crude and steady, tugged at the desire churning beneath Mark’s doubt, urging him to fall into the heat of Tim’s orbit, where shame might finally burn away.
Tim sank to his knees with a deliberate ease, his broad hands moving to Mark’s belt, fingers working the buckle with a deftness that made each clink and scrape of metal echo obscenely in the dim, musky storage room, the sounds slicing through the quiet like a challenge to Mark’s fraying nerves. His touch grazed Mark’s still-hard cock through the fabric, a fleeting brush that sent a jolt through Mark’s body, his erection already dripping with anticipation, straining against the confines of his trousers, a traitor to the shame that screamed he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t let himself fall. Mark didn’t pull away, didn’t step back, his breath hitching as he watched, helpless and awed, Tim’s hands undoing the button, then the zip, each motion deliberate, until he tugged Mark’s trousers and boxers down in one swift pull, freeing his cock to spring heavy and flushed into the cool air, pulsing with a need that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
Tim’s gaze lifted, eyes dark with a reverence that made Mark’s chest tighten, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, rough with the grit of a mate who’d seen it all. “Fuck, look at you, Mark—look at this.” Mark’s legs trembled, nearly giving out, his voice a broken gasp. “Shit, mate…” Tim didn’t draw it out, didn’t play games; he leaned in, lips wrapping around the swollen head of Mark’s cock, tongue swirling slow and filthy, a wet, searing heat that tore a groan from Mark’s throat, his head tipping back to thud against the scuffed door. The suction was immediate, overwhelming, Tim’s mouth sliding down, down, until his throat took Mark whole, a tight, pulsing embrace that made Mark’s world narrow to the slick drag of lips and the desperate throb of his own need.
His hand flew to Tim’s head, fingers knotting in soft, sweat-damp hair, the other braced against the door, nails scraping wood as his legs shook under the weight of sensation, shame and desire warring in his gut, each moan a betrayal of the guilt that still clawed at him. Tim pulled back with a wet, obscene pop, spit trailing from his swollen lips, a lopsided grin splitting his face as he caught Mark’s dazed stare. “Stay with me, Mark, yeah? Focus. Tell me how it feels, mate.” Mark shuddered, voice cracking, raw with the effort to speak through the haze of pleasure and doubt. “Fuck, Tim, it’s… it’s too bloody good, like I can’t—” That wicked tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of Mark’s cock, cutting off his words with a whimper.
“You’re okay, Mark. It’s alright to let go like this,” Tim said, voice thick, coaxing, not a command but a dare, his eyes locked on Mark’s, steady and warm, urging him to embrace the heat, to see this as good, as whole, not a sin to be buried. The words sank into Mark, a balm to his jagged fears, stoking the desire that churned beneath his insecurity, pulling him deeper into Tim’s orbit where shame might finally loosen its grip.
Tim sucked him down deeper, his throat a tight, scorching grip that clamped around Mark’s cock, wrenching a shattered moan from his lips as his hips jerked forward, chasing a pleasure so fierce it felt like it might tear him apart. He felt Tim’s spit dribble down his cock like a molten wave that drowned the shame screaming in his mind, the guilt that whispered he was wrong, filthy, a traitor to everything he’d vowed to be. He felt Tim’s moan humming around him before the sound reached him, a filthy, rumbling vibration that left Mark seeing stars.
The intensity was unbearable, sharpened by a tenderness that wasn’t just show: it was worship, raw and real, Tim’s lips and tongue returning his care in kind, venerating him with a reverence that cracked Mark’s defences, leaving him trembling against the wall. He could feel his legs barely holding him up in the musk-thick air of the storage room, heavy with sweat and the sharp tang of their want, before his knees gave way, sliding Mark down the wall, slow, shaky, his arse hitting the cold floor with a thud, legs splayed wide, heart pounding. Tim followed without missing a beat, his mouth locked on Mark’s throbbing cock, spit slicking his chin, the wet heat relentless, unbroken, a lifeline pulling Mark deeper into desire.
He looked down, breath ragged and Tim’s shoulders flexed, sweat-soaked shirt clinging to the sharp curve of his spine. Below, his arse, round and perfect, strained against the tight green jockstrap, silently begged to be touched. Mark’s hands twitched, hesitant, caught in a tangle of doubt: could he, should he, was this too much? Then Tim swallowed him to the root again, whiting out his vision and sending his hands grasping aimlessly. They caught on his shoulders, then slid down, grazing Tim’s hips, fingers brushing the jock’s elastic, tentative, until they found those arse cheeks and squeezed, instinctive, bold, a spark igniting through the fog of shame.
Tim groaned, a muffled, desperate sound, his head bobbing faster, throat gagging, the vibration ripping a gasp from Mark. “Fucking hell, mate, yeah,” Tim rasped, pulling back just enough, voice thick, gravelly, spit dripping from swollen lips as he shifted his knees, adjusting his angle, “Grab it proper, Mark, get into it.” Mark’s cock pulsed in response. He squeezed again, harder, deliberate, fingers digging into firm flesh, feeling Tim arch back, greedy, needy, a silent beg that flipped a switch in Mark’s gut. “Shit, you’re into this,” he muttered, voice raw, bold now, cracking with nerve, a thrill surging as Tim’s high, pleading moan confirmed it.
The power shifted, electric. Mark’s hands grew possessive, kneading, pulling Tim’s arse closer, the jock taut against his grip. Shame burned away, replaced by a heat, an ache to give, to claim this filthy moment. Tim’s gag, wet and obscene, was a gift, stoking Mark’s hunger to push further, to explore, to own this beautiful, chaotic exchange in the dim, flickering light, their shadows tangling on the cluttered shelves, Mark leaning into the fire of his want, no longer just a passenger but a man taking what he craved.
Mark’s voice cracked, raw and urgent, as he rasped, “Up,” the single word heavy with a hunger he barely understood, a churning need to give, to explore, to claim something he’d never dared before, his heart pounding with the thrill of crossing a line he’d only ever dreamed of in the darkest corners of his shame-soaked mind. Tim pulled back, lips glistening with spit, cheeks flushed a deep, fucked-out red, his eyes glinting with a mix of surprise and delight. “Yeah, mate?” he murmured, voice thick, daring Mark to follow through. Mark didn’t hesitate now, his hands steady as he reached for Tim, turning him gently, guiding him to all fours on the cushion in the dim, musk-drenched storage room, Tim’s body yielding without a hint of resistance, his arse a fucking masterpiece framed by the tight green jockstrap, round and firm, a decadent invitation that made Mark’s mouth water and his cock throb against his thigh.
He pushed himself to his knees, breath catching at the sight, hands parting those cheeks with a reverence that felt both sacred and profane, his inexperience a buzzing anxiety as he debated whether he could do this right, or if he would fuck it up, but the need to taste Tim, to devour him and claim him as his own, overpowered it all. His first lick was tentative, a slow, exploratory drag of his tongue from Tim’s taint to the base of his spine, the musky heat hitting him like a drug, Tim’s full-body shiver and sharp gasp a jolt of encouragement that lit Mark’s nerves on fire.
He dove in, eager but clumsy, licking and sucking, tongue flicking against the tight ring of muscle with a messy, desperate enthusiasm, learning through Tim’s reactions, the way his hips rocked back, greedy, his moans high and pleading, a non-verbal plea to keep going, to get filthier. “Slower, yeah,” Tim panted, voice ragged, guiding, “tease it a bit—fuck, like that!” Mark adjusted instantaneously: his tongue circling deliberately, lapping with focused hunger, pride swelling as Tim’s trembling intensified. His legs were shaking now, his tight hole opening under Mark’s untrained but fervent mouth, the room’s gritty air thick with their sweat and the obscene, wet sounds of Mark’s worship. Tim was unravelling, his moans frantic, “Jesus, Mark, your fucking mouth!” and Mark revelled in it, his own arousal spiking at his improvement, at the power to reduce Tim to this quivering, desperate mess. He slipped a hand between Tim’s thighs, cupping his balls through the cotton pouch, then gripping the shape of Tim’s cock, stroking in rhythm with his tongue, Tim’s hips jerking, legs nearly collapsing, his cries raw and unhinged.
Mark flipped him onto his back, bold now, his hands steady with a newfound fire as he yanked the green jockstrap down, the fabric catching briefly on Tim’s hips before revealing his diamond-hard cock, so rigid it lay flat against his stomach in a glistening pool of pre-cum, a sight so obscenely filthy it made Mark’s breath hitch, his own arousal spiking at the raw decadence before him. Their eyes locked for a fleeting, electric moment where Mark’s searching gaze found Tim’s, open and unguarded. They shared a silent exchange of trust and gratitude that burned with equal giving and receiving, permission granted in the quiet heat of their shared want. Mark scooped the slick pre-cum with his fingers, coating them, the warmth and slip of it sending a shiver through him, then pressed one to Tim’s spit-soaked hole, teasing the sensitive rim with slow, deliberate circles, pushing in devilishly slowly and curling just right to hit that spot. Beginner’s luck drew a sharp, trembling cry from Tim’s lips, his body arching, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in ecstasy.
Mark growled, voice thick with a possessive hunger that surged through him like wildfire as Tim whined, “Right there!” a high, trembling sound that cracked with desperation. Beneath Mark’s manipulations, his body arched under the relentless touch, every muscle taut and quivering in the dim, musk-drenched storage room, where the air hung heavy with sweat, pre-cum, and the raw, animal tang of their want, a sordid embrace that burned away every shred of Mark’s doubt and shame. He stroked Tim’s pulsing cock with a dripping palm, each pump of Mark’s fist drawing a shudder that rippled through Tim’s frame, his hips bucking, chasing the edge of oblivion.
Tim’s mouth found the nape of Mark’s collarbone, biting down just enough to make him gasp, while Mark’s hand slid higher, his fingers slipping through the slick at the tip of Tim’s cock. Pre-cum, hot, thick, and spilling freely, coated Mark’s fingertips, and before he could question it, he brought it to Tim’s lips. “Open,” he murmured, and Tim obeyed without hesitation, his tongue darting out to lap at Mark’s offering like it was something sacred. Mark watched, breath caught in his chest, as Tim suckled greedily at his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with worship.
Something primal cracked open inside him; he yanked Tim forward by the back of the neck, slamming their mouths together, and it was messy: sloppy and uncoordinated, a wet, obscene kiss where their tongues tangled and twisted and shared the taste of Tim’s own lust. Their moans bled into each other, Mark’s head spinning at the sensation, at the raw, staggering intimacy of it. When Tim sucked his tongue deeper, letting a fresh bead of pre-cum trickle between them, Mark groaned into the kiss like a man possessed. He’d never done anything like this, barely even imagined it, but now that it was happening, now that Tim was letting him feed it to him and was giving it back in abundance, he felt like he could fall apart from the sheer, unholy pleasure of it. It was obscene. It was perfect. It was his.
Mark worked his finger deeper, the wet, filthy slide of it curling inside Tim’s spit-soaked hole, hitting that spot with a precision that felt like a revelation, a decadent dance of power and surrender, Mark’s enthusiasm now a blazing confidence as he watched Tim unravel, his moans a broken, frantic litany, “Don’t stop, mate, fuck, please, I’m—fuck!” Each word a plea, a prayer, teetering on the brink of release. Tim’s legs shook, his thighs splaying wider, his face twisted in ecstasy, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, the green jockstrap tangled around his knees, a testament to their chaotic lust, shadows flickering on the cluttered shelves, the room’s grimy intimacy a crucible for their heat.
Mark leaned in, breath hot against Tim’s thigh, his own cock throbbing, ignored against the curve of Tim’s spread cheeks, as he poured every ounce of focus into Tim’s pleasure, stroking faster, finger thrusting in sync, the obscene squelch of lube and pre-cum filling the air, Tim’s body a live wire, so close, so fucking close, his moans climbing higher, sharper, a crescendo that promised a shattering climax any second now, Mark’s heart pounding with the thrill of pushing him there, of owning this moment, their connection a blaze that felt eternal, unstoppable, the sordid, sweat-soaked embrace of their dance consuming them both, the outside world incinerated in the fire of Tim’s impending release.
But then the air shifted. It was subtle at first: just a prickle along the back of Mark’s neck, a shiver like a change in pressure, something primal and alert inside him reacting before logic could catch up. His breath caught. There it was again: a low scrape, the sound of a shoe or boot against tiled floors, followed by a slow, deliberate creak. A door, the one on the other side of the wall, opened.
Mark didn’t dare move. The world narrowed. His heart pounded like something cornered, and still, he didn’t turn his head away from the shadow that crossed the gloryhole. The silence that followed felt impossibly loud, stretching thin and taut like skin before it breaks. Then, the faintest rustle of fabric, the softest thud of something heavy being pulled free.
And then it appeared: a cock, thick, brutal and unmistakeable.
It jutted through the opening in the wall with quiet authority, no fumbling, no hesitation, as though it had every right to be there, because, of course, it had been there before. Mark’s stomach dropped, his knees wavering. He didn’t need to see a face, he knew that cock, his body knew it before his brain dared to form the thought. He had seen it lit by the grimy glow of pub toilet strip-lights, watched it fire its payload across greasy tiles under the aghast gaze of the aghast barmaid, dreamt about it in feverish terror and involuntary arousal before jerking awake with guilt and the afterecho of salt on his tongue.
His throat tightened as the scent of the man's pre-cum hit him, sharp like saltwater, threaded with the cheap insistence of cologne that did nothing to hide the stale ghost of cigarette smoke beneath. It wrapped around him like a net, clinging to voyeuristic memory, to the fear he felt when being caught. His body went rigid, blood cooling instantly, a shudder of recognition rolling down his spine.
On the other side of the hole, hard and waiting…
Dave.
---
Sorry this one took so long, guys - I'm going through a busy time with health and work, and my time to write has dropped significantly. I'll get the next chapter to you, as soon as I can!
The handle was cool beneath Mark’s palm, slick with sweat from his trembling fingers, each shake a pulse of dread and need. His hand lingered, caught in a purgatory between want and fear, the door a towering precipice that split his life in two. One foot clung to the safety of shame, to his vows, his guilt, the weight of Ryan’s sneers still bruising his mind and squeezing his balls. The other ached to cross, drawn by a hunger that churned in his gut, raw and relentless, for the man who’d unravelled him with a mouth that promised absolution. Tim waited beyond, not with judgment, but with a low, knowing smile that had already stripped Mark bare, inviting him deeper into a mystery that felt like both sin and salvation. His chest tightened, breath shallow, a prayer for courage unanswered. He pushed.
The door creaked open, the soft, golden spill of hallway light piercing the dimness, catching Tim in a half-shadow that made Mark’s heart lurch. Tim crouched on the cushion beneath the gloryhole, backlit, lips swollen, glistening with spit, parted in a satisfied, filthy smile that twisted Mark’s insides with a want so fierce it shamed him. Those eyes sparkled, with mischief, yes, but something patient, something that saw every crack in Mark’s armour and didn’t flinch. The air was thick, heavy with musk and the faint tang of lube, the storage room’s grimy intimacy pressing against Mark’s skin like a dare. He stepped inside, legs unsteady, his pulse a frantic drum, insecurity screaming he didn’t belong here, that he was too broken, too weak for this.
Tim rose from the cushion, slow and unhurried, his body unfolding like a man who’d just unwrapped a gift he hadn’t dared hope for, every movement savouring the weight of Mark’s presence in this grimy, musk-heavy storage room. His rumpled shirt clung to sweat-slick skin, half-unbuttoned, revealing the taut lines of his chest, while the green jockstrap at his hips was a stark, obscene temptation, framing thighs thick with power and an arousal that strained against the cotton, radiating a confidence Mark both envied and craved with a desperation that burned beneath his shame. Mark’s pulse hammered, his throat dry as his gaze snagged on that jock, the way it cupped Tim’s body like an offering, heat surging in his belly, a traitor to the insecurity that screamed he was out of his depth, too broken for this.
Tim stepped forward, clicking the door shut with a soft snick, his fingers grazing Mark’s wrist, a touch so light it was more dare than demand, coaxing Mark’s trembling nerves toward surrender. “You’re here, mate,” Tim murmured, voice low, gravelly, thick with a warmth that seeped into the jagged edges of Mark’s fear, like a mate daring him to leap. “Reckon that’s the tough bit done, yeah? Getting your arse through that door.” Mark couldn’t speak, his nod a feeble twitch, eyes locked on Tim’s sweat-damp shirt, the jock’s elastic digging into solid hips, the unmistakable bulge that made his mouth water and his mind scream he didn’t belong here.
Tim closed the gap, his nose brushing Mark’s cheek, breath hot and teasing, carrying the faint tang of spit and sex. “You alright, yeah?” he asked, soft but rough, like he’d clocked every doubt in Mark’s head and wasn’t fazed. Mark managed a shaky breath, voice barely a whisper. “Dunno what I’m bloody doing, Tim...” Tim’s lips grazed the corner of his mouth, a fleeting kiss, filthy and tender, his words a low rumble that vibrated through Mark’s bones. “Don’t need to do anything, mate. Just let me take care of you, yeah? Like you took care of me.” The promise in his voice, crude and steady, tugged at the desire churning beneath Mark’s doubt, urging him to fall into the heat of Tim’s orbit, where shame might finally burn away.
Tim sank to his knees with a deliberate ease, his broad hands moving to Mark’s belt, fingers working the buckle with a deftness that made each clink and scrape of metal echo obscenely in the dim, musky storage room, the sounds slicing through the quiet like a challenge to Mark’s fraying nerves. His touch grazed Mark’s still-hard cock through the fabric, a fleeting brush that sent a jolt through Mark’s body, his erection already dripping with anticipation, straining against the confines of his trousers, a traitor to the shame that screamed he shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t let himself fall. Mark didn’t pull away, didn’t step back, his breath hitching as he watched, helpless and awed, Tim’s hands undoing the button, then the zip, each motion deliberate, until he tugged Mark’s trousers and boxers down in one swift pull, freeing his cock to spring heavy and flushed into the cool air, pulsing with a need that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.
Tim’s gaze lifted, eyes dark with a reverence that made Mark’s chest tighten, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, rough with the grit of a mate who’d seen it all. “Fuck, look at you, Mark—look at this.” Mark’s legs trembled, nearly giving out, his voice a broken gasp. “Shit, mate…” Tim didn’t draw it out, didn’t play games; he leaned in, lips wrapping around the swollen head of Mark’s cock, tongue swirling slow and filthy, a wet, searing heat that tore a groan from Mark’s throat, his head tipping back to thud against the scuffed door. The suction was immediate, overwhelming, Tim’s mouth sliding down, down, until his throat took Mark whole, a tight, pulsing embrace that made Mark’s world narrow to the slick drag of lips and the desperate throb of his own need.
His hand flew to Tim’s head, fingers knotting in soft, sweat-damp hair, the other braced against the door, nails scraping wood as his legs shook under the weight of sensation, shame and desire warring in his gut, each moan a betrayal of the guilt that still clawed at him. Tim pulled back with a wet, obscene pop, spit trailing from his swollen lips, a lopsided grin splitting his face as he caught Mark’s dazed stare. “Stay with me, Mark, yeah? Focus. Tell me how it feels, mate.” Mark shuddered, voice cracking, raw with the effort to speak through the haze of pleasure and doubt. “Fuck, Tim, it’s… it’s too bloody good, like I can’t—” That wicked tongue flicked out, tracing a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of Mark’s cock, cutting off his words with a whimper.
“You’re okay, Mark. It’s alright to let go like this,” Tim said, voice thick, coaxing, not a command but a dare, his eyes locked on Mark’s, steady and warm, urging him to embrace the heat, to see this as good, as whole, not a sin to be buried. The words sank into Mark, a balm to his jagged fears, stoking the desire that churned beneath his insecurity, pulling him deeper into Tim’s orbit where shame might finally loosen its grip.
Tim sucked him down deeper, his throat a tight, scorching grip that clamped around Mark’s cock, wrenching a shattered moan from his lips as his hips jerked forward, chasing a pleasure so fierce it felt like it might tear him apart. He felt Tim’s spit dribble down his cock like a molten wave that drowned the shame screaming in his mind, the guilt that whispered he was wrong, filthy, a traitor to everything he’d vowed to be. He felt Tim’s moan humming around him before the sound reached him, a filthy, rumbling vibration that left Mark seeing stars.
The intensity was unbearable, sharpened by a tenderness that wasn’t just show: it was worship, raw and real, Tim’s lips and tongue returning his care in kind, venerating him with a reverence that cracked Mark’s defences, leaving him trembling against the wall. He could feel his legs barely holding him up in the musk-thick air of the storage room, heavy with sweat and the sharp tang of their want, before his knees gave way, sliding Mark down the wall, slow, shaky, his arse hitting the cold floor with a thud, legs splayed wide, heart pounding. Tim followed without missing a beat, his mouth locked on Mark’s throbbing cock, spit slicking his chin, the wet heat relentless, unbroken, a lifeline pulling Mark deeper into desire.
He looked down, breath ragged and Tim’s shoulders flexed, sweat-soaked shirt clinging to the sharp curve of his spine. Below, his arse, round and perfect, strained against the tight green jockstrap, silently begged to be touched. Mark’s hands twitched, hesitant, caught in a tangle of doubt: could he, should he, was this too much? Then Tim swallowed him to the root again, whiting out his vision and sending his hands grasping aimlessly. They caught on his shoulders, then slid down, grazing Tim’s hips, fingers brushing the jock’s elastic, tentative, until they found those arse cheeks and squeezed, instinctive, bold, a spark igniting through the fog of shame.
Tim groaned, a muffled, desperate sound, his head bobbing faster, throat gagging, the vibration ripping a gasp from Mark. “Fucking hell, mate, yeah,” Tim rasped, pulling back just enough, voice thick, gravelly, spit dripping from swollen lips as he shifted his knees, adjusting his angle, “Grab it proper, Mark, get into it.” Mark’s cock pulsed in response. He squeezed again, harder, deliberate, fingers digging into firm flesh, feeling Tim arch back, greedy, needy, a silent beg that flipped a switch in Mark’s gut. “Shit, you’re into this,” he muttered, voice raw, bold now, cracking with nerve, a thrill surging as Tim’s high, pleading moan confirmed it.
The power shifted, electric. Mark’s hands grew possessive, kneading, pulling Tim’s arse closer, the jock taut against his grip. Shame burned away, replaced by a heat, an ache to give, to claim this filthy moment. Tim’s gag, wet and obscene, was a gift, stoking Mark’s hunger to push further, to explore, to own this beautiful, chaotic exchange in the dim, flickering light, their shadows tangling on the cluttered shelves, Mark leaning into the fire of his want, no longer just a passenger but a man taking what he craved.
Mark’s voice cracked, raw and urgent, as he rasped, “Up,” the single word heavy with a hunger he barely understood, a churning need to give, to explore, to claim something he’d never dared before, his heart pounding with the thrill of crossing a line he’d only ever dreamed of in the darkest corners of his shame-soaked mind. Tim pulled back, lips glistening with spit, cheeks flushed a deep, fucked-out red, his eyes glinting with a mix of surprise and delight. “Yeah, mate?” he murmured, voice thick, daring Mark to follow through. Mark didn’t hesitate now, his hands steady as he reached for Tim, turning him gently, guiding him to all fours on the cushion in the dim, musk-drenched storage room, Tim’s body yielding without a hint of resistance, his arse a fucking masterpiece framed by the tight green jockstrap, round and firm, a decadent invitation that made Mark’s mouth water and his cock throb against his thigh.
He pushed himself to his knees, breath catching at the sight, hands parting those cheeks with a reverence that felt both sacred and profane, his inexperience a buzzing anxiety as he debated whether he could do this right, or if he would fuck it up, but the need to taste Tim, to devour him and claim him as his own, overpowered it all. His first lick was tentative, a slow, exploratory drag of his tongue from Tim’s taint to the base of his spine, the musky heat hitting him like a drug, Tim’s full-body shiver and sharp gasp a jolt of encouragement that lit Mark’s nerves on fire.
He dove in, eager but clumsy, licking and sucking, tongue flicking against the tight ring of muscle with a messy, desperate enthusiasm, learning through Tim’s reactions, the way his hips rocked back, greedy, his moans high and pleading, a non-verbal plea to keep going, to get filthier. “Slower, yeah,” Tim panted, voice ragged, guiding, “tease it a bit—fuck, like that!” Mark adjusted instantaneously: his tongue circling deliberately, lapping with focused hunger, pride swelling as Tim’s trembling intensified. His legs were shaking now, his tight hole opening under Mark’s untrained but fervent mouth, the room’s gritty air thick with their sweat and the obscene, wet sounds of Mark’s worship. Tim was unravelling, his moans frantic, “Jesus, Mark, your fucking mouth!” and Mark revelled in it, his own arousal spiking at his improvement, at the power to reduce Tim to this quivering, desperate mess. He slipped a hand between Tim’s thighs, cupping his balls through the cotton pouch, then gripping the shape of Tim’s cock, stroking in rhythm with his tongue, Tim’s hips jerking, legs nearly collapsing, his cries raw and unhinged.
Mark flipped him onto his back, bold now, his hands steady with a newfound fire as he yanked the green jockstrap down, the fabric catching briefly on Tim’s hips before revealing his diamond-hard cock, so rigid it lay flat against his stomach in a glistening pool of pre-cum, a sight so obscenely filthy it made Mark’s breath hitch, his own arousal spiking at the raw decadence before him. Their eyes locked for a fleeting, electric moment where Mark’s searching gaze found Tim’s, open and unguarded. They shared a silent exchange of trust and gratitude that burned with equal giving and receiving, permission granted in the quiet heat of their shared want. Mark scooped the slick pre-cum with his fingers, coating them, the warmth and slip of it sending a shiver through him, then pressed one to Tim’s spit-soaked hole, teasing the sensitive rim with slow, deliberate circles, pushing in devilishly slowly and curling just right to hit that spot. Beginner’s luck drew a sharp, trembling cry from Tim’s lips, his body arching, eyes squeezed shut, face twisted in ecstasy.
Mark growled, voice thick with a possessive hunger that surged through him like wildfire as Tim whined, “Right there!” a high, trembling sound that cracked with desperation. Beneath Mark’s manipulations, his body arched under the relentless touch, every muscle taut and quivering in the dim, musk-drenched storage room, where the air hung heavy with sweat, pre-cum, and the raw, animal tang of their want, a sordid embrace that burned away every shred of Mark’s doubt and shame. He stroked Tim’s pulsing cock with a dripping palm, each pump of Mark’s fist drawing a shudder that rippled through Tim’s frame, his hips bucking, chasing the edge of oblivion.
Tim’s mouth found the nape of Mark’s collarbone, biting down just enough to make him gasp, while Mark’s hand slid higher, his fingers slipping through the slick at the tip of Tim’s cock. Pre-cum, hot, thick, and spilling freely, coated Mark’s fingertips, and before he could question it, he brought it to Tim’s lips. “Open,” he murmured, and Tim obeyed without hesitation, his tongue darting out to lap at Mark’s offering like it was something sacred. Mark watched, breath caught in his chest, as Tim suckled greedily at his fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and gleaming with worship.
Something primal cracked open inside him; he yanked Tim forward by the back of the neck, slamming their mouths together, and it was messy: sloppy and uncoordinated, a wet, obscene kiss where their tongues tangled and twisted and shared the taste of Tim’s own lust. Their moans bled into each other, Mark’s head spinning at the sensation, at the raw, staggering intimacy of it. When Tim sucked his tongue deeper, letting a fresh bead of pre-cum trickle between them, Mark groaned into the kiss like a man possessed. He’d never done anything like this, barely even imagined it, but now that it was happening, now that Tim was letting him feed it to him and was giving it back in abundance, he felt like he could fall apart from the sheer, unholy pleasure of it. It was obscene. It was perfect. It was his.
Mark worked his finger deeper, the wet, filthy slide of it curling inside Tim’s spit-soaked hole, hitting that spot with a precision that felt like a revelation, a decadent dance of power and surrender, Mark’s enthusiasm now a blazing confidence as he watched Tim unravel, his moans a broken, frantic litany, “Don’t stop, mate, fuck, please, I’m—fuck!” Each word a plea, a prayer, teetering on the brink of release. Tim’s legs shook, his thighs splaying wider, his face twisted in ecstasy, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, the green jockstrap tangled around his knees, a testament to their chaotic lust, shadows flickering on the cluttered shelves, the room’s grimy intimacy a crucible for their heat.
Mark leaned in, breath hot against Tim’s thigh, his own cock throbbing, ignored against the curve of Tim’s spread cheeks, as he poured every ounce of focus into Tim’s pleasure, stroking faster, finger thrusting in sync, the obscene squelch of lube and pre-cum filling the air, Tim’s body a live wire, so close, so fucking close, his moans climbing higher, sharper, a crescendo that promised a shattering climax any second now, Mark’s heart pounding with the thrill of pushing him there, of owning this moment, their connection a blaze that felt eternal, unstoppable, the sordid, sweat-soaked embrace of their dance consuming them both, the outside world incinerated in the fire of Tim’s impending release.
But then the air shifted. It was subtle at first: just a prickle along the back of Mark’s neck, a shiver like a change in pressure, something primal and alert inside him reacting before logic could catch up. His breath caught. There it was again: a low scrape, the sound of a shoe or boot against tiled floors, followed by a slow, deliberate creak. A door, the one on the other side of the wall, opened.
Mark didn’t dare move. The world narrowed. His heart pounded like something cornered, and still, he didn’t turn his head away from the shadow that crossed the gloryhole. The silence that followed felt impossibly loud, stretching thin and taut like skin before it breaks. Then, the faintest rustle of fabric, the softest thud of something heavy being pulled free.
And then it appeared: a cock, thick, brutal and unmistakeable.
It jutted through the opening in the wall with quiet authority, no fumbling, no hesitation, as though it had every right to be there, because, of course, it had been there before. Mark’s stomach dropped, his knees wavering. He didn’t need to see a face, he knew that cock, his body knew it before his brain dared to form the thought. He had seen it lit by the grimy glow of pub toilet strip-lights, watched it fire its payload across greasy tiles under the aghast gaze of the aghast barmaid, dreamt about it in feverish terror and involuntary arousal before jerking awake with guilt and the afterecho of salt on his tongue.
His throat tightened as the scent of the man's pre-cum hit him, sharp like saltwater, threaded with the cheap insistence of cologne that did nothing to hide the stale ghost of cigarette smoke beneath. It wrapped around him like a net, clinging to voyeuristic memory, to the fear he felt when being caught. His body went rigid, blood cooling instantly, a shudder of recognition rolling down his spine.
On the other side of the hole, hard and waiting…
Dave.
---
Sorry this one took so long, guys - I'm going through a busy time with health and work, and my time to write has dropped significantly. I'll get the next chapter to you, as soon as I can!
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Great chapter as always. Sending well wishes for work and health!
Awesome---worth the wait...take care of your self
- Joined
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- 118
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And of course, feel better sirWas well worth the wait though!!
Thanks for all the kind words, everyone, it's greatly appreciated! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
--
Chapter Thirty-Four: Don't Look Away
Mark’s breath died in his throat, lungs clamped shut, a vice of dread squeezing his chest as Dave’s cock thrust through the gloryhole, jawbreaker-thick, veiny, its brutal girth a taunt cloaked in the sour musk of arrogance, cheap aftershave, and the stale, fag-end smoke that clung to Dave’s skin like a second hide. He knew it, fuck, remembered it like a fever dream burned into his skull: those pub toilets, strip-lit and reeking of piss and bleach, where he’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dave, wanking in unison, his eyes locked on that monster, heart hammering, shame and want twisting in his gut like a blade. Wet dreams had haunted him since, cock-hardening, disorientating, Dave’s shaft splitting him open in sweaty, shameful fantasies that left him gasping, sheets soaked, Sarah’s sleeping form a cold accusation beside him. Now it was real: no dream, no escape.
Dave’s cock jutted predatory, oblivious to the men on the other side, a loaded gun aimed at Mark’s fragile, straight-passing life. The storage room’s dimness pressed in, a suffocating shroud, air thick with Tim’s sweat, Mark’s spiralling panic, and the lingering tang of their heat: a cocktail of spit, musk, and raw need that coated his tongue. Scuffed shelves loomed, their splintered edges catching the faint light, while coiled cables snaked across the floor, a grimy cage for his dread. His knees burned against the cold, unforgiving tile, thighs trembling from the weight of his crouch, Tim’s arse bare before him, pale cheeks spread, green jockstrap bunched at his thighs, cock freed and leaking, a glossy bead of precum glistening from interrupted coupling as the memory of Tim’s taste still clung to Mark’s lips like a fleeting anchor against the terror. Dave’s cock was a bomb, ticking, threatening to detonate everything: his job, his marriage, the lad’s-lad mask he’d unknowingly worn for years. One wrong move, one hint of recognition through that wall, and Dave’s blokey laugh could turn vicious, brand him “poof” and out him to the office, to Sarah, whose unexplained hotel charge still stung raw at the back of his mind. Mark’s pulse roared, shame clawing raw, his cock twitching, a traitor that remembered Dave’s size, its power, its threat, daring him to kneel again, to lose himself in Tim’s pervy world and never come back.
Tim didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, his body a live wire of want sprawled between Mark’s trembling thighs, face flushed a deep, well-fucked red, his lips swollen and glowing with spit and the glossy smear of Mark’s precum. He tilted his head, slow, deliberate, lust-glazed eyes locking on Dave’s cock, that impossible monster pushing through the gloryhole, as a filthy, conspiratorial grin curled Tim’s lips, and without a sound, his hand reached up, fingers wrapping around the base, palm slick with sweat and the leftover spit from Mark’s earlier worship. He pumped, slow, torturously deliberate, each stroke a masterclass in decadence, his knuckles flexing, veins standing out against his skin as Dave’s shaft pulsed, heavy and demanding. A soft, slutty whimper slipped from Tim’s throat, raw and unashamed, his other hand snaking back, two fingers plunging into his spit-slick arse, still raw and twitching from Mark’s tongue. The sight was obscene, a holy fucking sacrament, Tim’s body a canvas of unbridled want. His hips rocked with a fluid, primal rhythm, arse clenching around his own fingers; beneath him, the green jockstrap bunched at his thighs framing his eager cock, hard and dripping, a glossy bead of precum swaying from the tip, catching the faint light. Mark’s breath shuddered out, panic splintering under the weight of awe, his own cock throbbing, painfully hard, leaking against his thigh as Tim played the wall like a slutty maestro, a god of filth who owned every inch of this moment. Mark’s eyes darted, hypnotised, between Tim’s hand stroking Dave’s cock slow, then faster, teasing a low grunt from the other side, and the fingers spearing his own arse, the wet squelch of spit and musk hitting Mark’s nose, raw, intoxicating, a siren call to his fraying restraint. Tim’s body was a furnace, sweat beading on his spine, muscles flexing as he rocked, fucking himself on his fingers, his moans soft but deliberate, a performance that screamed watch me. Mark’s chest heaved, shame and fear of recognition drowned by the sheer, cock-hardening spectacle of Tim’s abandon, his resilience, his hunger. Tim’s gaze flicked to him, sharp, knowing, a silent dare: 'Stay with me, mate.' It was a hook, yanking Mark from his spiral, his cock twitching, desperate, as Tim’s hips rocked back, arse nudging Mark’s face, a wet, open plea that set his nerves ablaze.
Mark lunged, hands clutching Tim’s hips, fingers digging into sweat-slick flesh, pulling that arse flush to his mouth, the heat of it searing his lips. His tongue dove in, greedy, ravenous, spearing deep into the tight knot, tasting his own spit, Tim’s essence, the pulsing need that throbbed through every clench. The squelch of his tongue was obscene, wet and relentless, filling the storage room with a primal hymn, the air thick with musk and the sharp sting of Tim’s sweat. Mark’s hands kneaded those cheeks, spreading them wide, his thumbs grazing the stretched rim, teasing it open as he lapped, circling, plunging, chasing every shudder that ripped through Tim’s body. Tim moaned, muffled around Dave’s cock, the vibration buzzing against Mark’s lips, a spark that lit his nerves like petrol, his cock leaking, smearing precum on Tim’s thigh. “Fuck,” Mark rasped, voice barely audible, lost in the haze, his tongue swirling, relentless, worshipping the hole that clenched for him, begged for him. Tim’s arse rocked back, greedy, fucking himself on Mark’s tongue, each thrust a tease that made Mark’s balls tighten, his shame burning away in the heat of Tim’s want.
His fingers joined the feast, one sliding in, then two, slick and easy, curling against that spot that made Tim sob, a wrecked, choking sound around Dave’s cock. Mark’s other hand gripped Tim’s hip, guiding the rhythm, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, a filthy dance that drowned out the world outside their small room and the cubicle just beyond. Tim’s body was his anchor, his temple, the squelch and heat a vow that this, here, was real, was his. Mark’s tongue plunged deeper, spit dripping, his lips sucking the edges, every nerve screaming to conquer Tim, to lose himself in the lust Tim’s teasing had unleashed, the dare that had shattered his fear. Dave groaned from the other side, low and smug, “Fuck, yeah, take it,” the sound a thunderclap, his hips nudging the wall, greedy, clueless. Tim’s mouth stretched wide, lips glistening, spit trailing as he sucked Dave deep, throat working with a filthy finesse that made Mark’s cock pulse with anticipation, precum beading at the slit. Mark’s tongue swirled, relentlessly lapping, the tight, spit-slick muscle clenching under his lips, a pulse of want that drove him wild. His hands kneaded those pale cheeks, spreading them wide, thumbs tracing the raw edge, teasing it open as Tim’s hips rocked back, greedy, begging.
Mark pulled back, spitting on the hole, a thick gob that glistened, watching it twitch, beckoning. Two thick fingers slid back in, easy, curling slow, deliberate against that spot that made Tim shudder, his moan a muffled sob around Dave’s cock, vibrating through Mark’s skull. The squelch was obscene, decadent, a filthy hymn filling the storage room’s musky air. Mark’s cock throbbed, leaking, as he pictured his big dick in that tight, eager arse, splitting Tim open to claim him as his own and make him want no other. Tim’s body sang for it, each clench a taunt, a promise: 'I can take you, mate.' Mark’s fingers pumped, steady, stretching, his other hand gripping Tim’s hip, guiding the rhythm, syncing with Tim’s sucking, a primal dance of want as he revelled, arse rocking as he pushed his jockstrap further down his legs, cock dripping silver trails on the tiles beneath him, his hunger a mirror to Mark’s own. Shame burned away, Mark’s boundaries crumbling as he pushed a third finger against the entrance, slow, teasing, feeling Tim relax, open, ready. It slid in, stretching wide, the slick heat gripping tight, Tim’s wrecked moan echoing, a preview of what Mark’s cock might do if he was brave enough to cross that final boundary. Mark’s rhythm surged, fingers curling, relentless, worshipping the hole that screamed for him, foreshadowing the fucking he prayed might come.
Mark surged upright, knees pressing into the gritty tile, a raw, electric charge igniting his veins, his body no longer a bystander but a force, seizing the reins of this filthy tableau. One hand drove deeper into Tim’s arse, his fingers plunging with fierce precision against the pulsing knot that sent tremors through Tim’s frame, each shudder a testament to Mark’s command. His other hand knotted in Tim’s damp hair, a tight, commanding grip, jerking his head back with measured force to catch the obscene stretch of those lips around Dave’s thick cock, drool and precum weaving a glossy web that glistened in the dim light. “Suck that fat dick, baby,” Mark rasped, voice a low, feral growl, a surge of possessiveness roaring through his core, not doubt but dominion, a fierce reawakening of his sexual pulse. He thrust Tim forward, lips mashed against the wall and throat gorged with Dave’s shaft, then eased him back, slowly, letting him suck in a ragged drooling breath, eyes clouded with a desperate, lust-soaked glow. Dave’s voice rumbled, “Fuck, yeah, choke on it, you fucking little slut,” crude and oblivious, but Mark’s hold tightened, fingers weaving deeper into Tim’s quiff, dictating the pace, a maestro conducting Tim’s mouth, his fingers in Tim’s arse syncing with ruthless intent, a primal, decadent cadence. Tim’s muffled whimpers sang back, his body yielding, quaking, fuelling Mark’s nerves with a heady rush of power.
Mark rocked his hips, cock gliding through the sweat-damp crevice of Tim’s cheeks; the slick, searing heat was a torment that clenched his gut, each slide a delicious agony. His tip snagged on Tim’s rim with each movement, a fleeting, exquisite catch, sending jolts through his spine, the hole twitching, yearning for him to plunge deep. He held back, savouring the tease, his cock weeping, painting Tim’s skin with slick trails that caught the faint glow of the room’s single bulb. His free hand curled around Tim’s cock, rigid and pulsing, gripping with bold authority, stroking in time with his hips’ slow grind, each stroke a stake, a assertation of ownership. Tim’s precum flooded Mark’s palm, a warm, sticky deluge, his moans fracturing around Dave’s thrusts, a chorus of raw devotion that set Mark’s blood alight. He leaned close, lips brushing the nape of Tim’s neck, whispering, “Remember, you’re fucking mine,” a hushed decree only Tim could catch, sparking a frantic buck of Tim’s hips, his cock jerking in Mark’s hand, craving every ounce of this newfound reign.
The room’s stale air thrummed, heavy with the wet slap of flesh, the reek of sweat and raw need, Dave’s grunts a distant echo to Mark’s orchestration. Hesitation, any lingering quiver of restraint, dissolved in the molten thrill, the hunger to shape this moment, to shape Tim into his own, to wield Dave as a mere cog in their hedonistic machine. Mark’s grip in Tim’s hair surged, urging his mouth deeper, faster, his fingers in Tim’s arse curling with savage precision, his strokes on Tim’s cock a fierce, possessive rhythm. Tim’s frame melted, pliant, ravenous, a living testament to Mark’s control, each twitch a proof he adored this, needed Mark’s hands, his will, his fire. Mark’s pulse thundered, power flooding back, no longer just participating, now he was commanding it!
“My dirty, fucking perfect boy” Mark rasped, voice a silent blade, lips ghosting along Tim’s sweat-drenched spine, the sharp tang of salt exploding on his tongue, a primal spark that jolted his core. Tim sobbed, utterly wrecked, his body a live wire, jerking in a debauched rhythm between Mark’s stroking hand, his plundered arse, and Dave’s cock, revelling in the chaos. “Christ, you’re sucking me dry,” Dave gasped, voice fraying, “Get ready for it, fuck!” Tim pulled off with a wet, guttural gasp, strings of drool and precum dangling from his swollen lips to Dave’s pulsing tip, his face a flushed, panting mess, eyes dark as sin, locking onto Mark’s with a raw, unspoken plea: 'are you doing this with me?'. He seized Mark’s wrist, yanking him down to the cold, gritty tile, straddling him, knees clamping Mark’s hips, thighs quivering, slick with sweat and the residue of their heat, a trembling altar to their shared descent.
Dave’s cock loomed above, angry, swollen, a pearl of precum winking like a dare, its thick veins throbbing under the storage room’s flickering light. Tim reached up, guiding Mark’s hand, their fingers entwining, hot and slick with sweat, curling around Dave’s shaft, its weight a searing jolt in Mark’s palm. He’d wanked beside this beast in those rank pub loos, dreamt of it in fevered, cock-throbbing nights, and now, finally, he wielded its power himself. Tim stroked with him, setting the initial, teasing pace, then released, leaving Mark’s hand alone, a silent challenge. Mark hesitated, pulse hammering, then gripped tighter, stroking on instinct, mesmerised by the sheer heft, the pulsing vein, the brutal potential to split Tim apart, to ruin him. Tim’s resilience was a fucking miracle: those lips, stretched wide, throat swallowing Dave like a champ, a decadent force of nature thriving in the filth. Mark’s cock surged, torn between shock and a drugged, feral lust, his strokes quickening, a vicious edge driving him to shove Dave over the cliff, to make him spill and sod off and leave him alone with this paragon of sexual abandon.
Tim lunged forward, lips engulfing Dave’s head, tongue swirling with obscene precision, a wet, slurping hymn that echoed off the grimy walls, his eyes flicking to Mark’s, a vow carved in their depths: We own this. Dave’s groan cracked, desperate, “Fuck—fuck—I’m—” and Mark’s grip clamped, stroking with savage intent, relentless, a conductor of this hedonistic storm. Dave erupted, a guttural bellow shaking the air, hot ropes of cum blasting forth, splattering Tim’s face, across his cheeks, brow and lips in thick, pearlescent waves. Arcs of it rained down, drenching Mark’s from wide-eyed face to his throbbing cock rising up against Tim's own, the spray warm and viscous, pooling in the hollows of his skin, a shock that set his nerves ablaze, lust spiking like a fever, wild and untamed. Tim moaned, a decadent growl, lapping a stray bead from Dave’s tip, milking him dry with greedy sucks, his eyes never leaving Mark’s, warm, trusting, a sticky secret shared between them.
Dave withdrew, his softening cock vanishing through the gloryhole, a smug grunt ricocheting off the walls. “Fuckin’ hell, mate” he muttered, trousers scraping, belt buckle clanking, voice trailing into the void, “you could teach my bird a thing or two...” The door’s click sealed the silence, leaving the storage room to Mark and Tim, its stale air heavy with the reek of cum, sweat, and a raw, pulsing victory. The tile gleamed with Dave’s release, a cooling smear, forgotten in the wake of their heat. Tim’s chest heaved, his face a glistening wreck, cum streaking his cheeks, clotting in his lashes, lips parted in a spent, trembling sigh. He looked down at Mark, eyes dark, fuck-drunk, a soft, shattered smile flickering, tender yet filthy, a beacon in the afterglow.
For a heartbeat, they stilled, the world’s weight creeping in, a flicker of doubt in the quiet, should we pretend this never happened? Mark’s pulse stuttered, the room’s dim glow casting shadows on Tim’s cum-slick skin, a question hanging between them: could they shove this back into the dark, return to corridor nods and polite lies? Tim’s gaze held steady, unflinching, a silent answer, and then he leaned down, lips brushing Mark’s cum-streaked mouth, kissing the warm, sticky mess across his lips, a slow, reverent connection that tasted of salt and sin. The act was a vow, shattering the pause, binding them in this filthy truth, no turning back.
Tim’s hand slid between them, fingers scooping Dave’s cum from Mark’s chest, smearing it along Mark’s cock, painting it in thick, glossy trails that clung like liquid fire; the heat seared Mark’s skin, his shaft twitching, throbbing, teetering on the edge of madness. Mark’s mind unravelled, the slick, decadent glide of Tim’s hand a torment, lust and surrender knotting in his gut as a primal urge rose to claim what Tim offered. His hands gripped Tim’s thighs, nails biting flesh, breath jagged, chest swelling with a desperate, untamed fire. Tim’s lips curved, a filthy smirk, his tongue darting out, lapping a stray bead of cum from his own chin, eyes locked on Mark’s, a dare and a promise burning in their depths.
He shifted, hips rising and falling in a frantic rhythm, positioning himself so Mark’s cum-drenched cock nudged his raw, spit-soaked arse, the tip bouncing against his ring like a fleeting, agonising tease that blurred Mark’s vision and made his balls tighten, screaming to drive deep. The room’s grimy walls seemed to pulse, the air thick with the scent of their shared debauchery, Tim’s trembling thighs a testament to his need. His voice, low, cracked with raw, aching hunger, cut through the haze, a plea that sank into Mark’s very bones, a command and a surrender all at once:
“Mark, fuck me…”
--
Chapter Thirty-Four: Don't Look Away
Mark’s breath died in his throat, lungs clamped shut, a vice of dread squeezing his chest as Dave’s cock thrust through the gloryhole, jawbreaker-thick, veiny, its brutal girth a taunt cloaked in the sour musk of arrogance, cheap aftershave, and the stale, fag-end smoke that clung to Dave’s skin like a second hide. He knew it, fuck, remembered it like a fever dream burned into his skull: those pub toilets, strip-lit and reeking of piss and bleach, where he’d stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Dave, wanking in unison, his eyes locked on that monster, heart hammering, shame and want twisting in his gut like a blade. Wet dreams had haunted him since, cock-hardening, disorientating, Dave’s shaft splitting him open in sweaty, shameful fantasies that left him gasping, sheets soaked, Sarah’s sleeping form a cold accusation beside him. Now it was real: no dream, no escape.
Dave’s cock jutted predatory, oblivious to the men on the other side, a loaded gun aimed at Mark’s fragile, straight-passing life. The storage room’s dimness pressed in, a suffocating shroud, air thick with Tim’s sweat, Mark’s spiralling panic, and the lingering tang of their heat: a cocktail of spit, musk, and raw need that coated his tongue. Scuffed shelves loomed, their splintered edges catching the faint light, while coiled cables snaked across the floor, a grimy cage for his dread. His knees burned against the cold, unforgiving tile, thighs trembling from the weight of his crouch, Tim’s arse bare before him, pale cheeks spread, green jockstrap bunched at his thighs, cock freed and leaking, a glossy bead of precum glistening from interrupted coupling as the memory of Tim’s taste still clung to Mark’s lips like a fleeting anchor against the terror. Dave’s cock was a bomb, ticking, threatening to detonate everything: his job, his marriage, the lad’s-lad mask he’d unknowingly worn for years. One wrong move, one hint of recognition through that wall, and Dave’s blokey laugh could turn vicious, brand him “poof” and out him to the office, to Sarah, whose unexplained hotel charge still stung raw at the back of his mind. Mark’s pulse roared, shame clawing raw, his cock twitching, a traitor that remembered Dave’s size, its power, its threat, daring him to kneel again, to lose himself in Tim’s pervy world and never come back.
Tim didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate, his body a live wire of want sprawled between Mark’s trembling thighs, face flushed a deep, well-fucked red, his lips swollen and glowing with spit and the glossy smear of Mark’s precum. He tilted his head, slow, deliberate, lust-glazed eyes locking on Dave’s cock, that impossible monster pushing through the gloryhole, as a filthy, conspiratorial grin curled Tim’s lips, and without a sound, his hand reached up, fingers wrapping around the base, palm slick with sweat and the leftover spit from Mark’s earlier worship. He pumped, slow, torturously deliberate, each stroke a masterclass in decadence, his knuckles flexing, veins standing out against his skin as Dave’s shaft pulsed, heavy and demanding. A soft, slutty whimper slipped from Tim’s throat, raw and unashamed, his other hand snaking back, two fingers plunging into his spit-slick arse, still raw and twitching from Mark’s tongue. The sight was obscene, a holy fucking sacrament, Tim’s body a canvas of unbridled want. His hips rocked with a fluid, primal rhythm, arse clenching around his own fingers; beneath him, the green jockstrap bunched at his thighs framing his eager cock, hard and dripping, a glossy bead of precum swaying from the tip, catching the faint light. Mark’s breath shuddered out, panic splintering under the weight of awe, his own cock throbbing, painfully hard, leaking against his thigh as Tim played the wall like a slutty maestro, a god of filth who owned every inch of this moment. Mark’s eyes darted, hypnotised, between Tim’s hand stroking Dave’s cock slow, then faster, teasing a low grunt from the other side, and the fingers spearing his own arse, the wet squelch of spit and musk hitting Mark’s nose, raw, intoxicating, a siren call to his fraying restraint. Tim’s body was a furnace, sweat beading on his spine, muscles flexing as he rocked, fucking himself on his fingers, his moans soft but deliberate, a performance that screamed watch me. Mark’s chest heaved, shame and fear of recognition drowned by the sheer, cock-hardening spectacle of Tim’s abandon, his resilience, his hunger. Tim’s gaze flicked to him, sharp, knowing, a silent dare: 'Stay with me, mate.' It was a hook, yanking Mark from his spiral, his cock twitching, desperate, as Tim’s hips rocked back, arse nudging Mark’s face, a wet, open plea that set his nerves ablaze.
Mark lunged, hands clutching Tim’s hips, fingers digging into sweat-slick flesh, pulling that arse flush to his mouth, the heat of it searing his lips. His tongue dove in, greedy, ravenous, spearing deep into the tight knot, tasting his own spit, Tim’s essence, the pulsing need that throbbed through every clench. The squelch of his tongue was obscene, wet and relentless, filling the storage room with a primal hymn, the air thick with musk and the sharp sting of Tim’s sweat. Mark’s hands kneaded those cheeks, spreading them wide, his thumbs grazing the stretched rim, teasing it open as he lapped, circling, plunging, chasing every shudder that ripped through Tim’s body. Tim moaned, muffled around Dave’s cock, the vibration buzzing against Mark’s lips, a spark that lit his nerves like petrol, his cock leaking, smearing precum on Tim’s thigh. “Fuck,” Mark rasped, voice barely audible, lost in the haze, his tongue swirling, relentless, worshipping the hole that clenched for him, begged for him. Tim’s arse rocked back, greedy, fucking himself on Mark’s tongue, each thrust a tease that made Mark’s balls tighten, his shame burning away in the heat of Tim’s want.
His fingers joined the feast, one sliding in, then two, slick and easy, curling against that spot that made Tim sob, a wrecked, choking sound around Dave’s cock. Mark’s other hand gripped Tim’s hip, guiding the rhythm, his tongue and fingers working in tandem, a filthy dance that drowned out the world outside their small room and the cubicle just beyond. Tim’s body was his anchor, his temple, the squelch and heat a vow that this, here, was real, was his. Mark’s tongue plunged deeper, spit dripping, his lips sucking the edges, every nerve screaming to conquer Tim, to lose himself in the lust Tim’s teasing had unleashed, the dare that had shattered his fear. Dave groaned from the other side, low and smug, “Fuck, yeah, take it,” the sound a thunderclap, his hips nudging the wall, greedy, clueless. Tim’s mouth stretched wide, lips glistening, spit trailing as he sucked Dave deep, throat working with a filthy finesse that made Mark’s cock pulse with anticipation, precum beading at the slit. Mark’s tongue swirled, relentlessly lapping, the tight, spit-slick muscle clenching under his lips, a pulse of want that drove him wild. His hands kneaded those pale cheeks, spreading them wide, thumbs tracing the raw edge, teasing it open as Tim’s hips rocked back, greedy, begging.
Mark pulled back, spitting on the hole, a thick gob that glistened, watching it twitch, beckoning. Two thick fingers slid back in, easy, curling slow, deliberate against that spot that made Tim shudder, his moan a muffled sob around Dave’s cock, vibrating through Mark’s skull. The squelch was obscene, decadent, a filthy hymn filling the storage room’s musky air. Mark’s cock throbbed, leaking, as he pictured his big dick in that tight, eager arse, splitting Tim open to claim him as his own and make him want no other. Tim’s body sang for it, each clench a taunt, a promise: 'I can take you, mate.' Mark’s fingers pumped, steady, stretching, his other hand gripping Tim’s hip, guiding the rhythm, syncing with Tim’s sucking, a primal dance of want as he revelled, arse rocking as he pushed his jockstrap further down his legs, cock dripping silver trails on the tiles beneath him, his hunger a mirror to Mark’s own. Shame burned away, Mark’s boundaries crumbling as he pushed a third finger against the entrance, slow, teasing, feeling Tim relax, open, ready. It slid in, stretching wide, the slick heat gripping tight, Tim’s wrecked moan echoing, a preview of what Mark’s cock might do if he was brave enough to cross that final boundary. Mark’s rhythm surged, fingers curling, relentless, worshipping the hole that screamed for him, foreshadowing the fucking he prayed might come.
Mark surged upright, knees pressing into the gritty tile, a raw, electric charge igniting his veins, his body no longer a bystander but a force, seizing the reins of this filthy tableau. One hand drove deeper into Tim’s arse, his fingers plunging with fierce precision against the pulsing knot that sent tremors through Tim’s frame, each shudder a testament to Mark’s command. His other hand knotted in Tim’s damp hair, a tight, commanding grip, jerking his head back with measured force to catch the obscene stretch of those lips around Dave’s thick cock, drool and precum weaving a glossy web that glistened in the dim light. “Suck that fat dick, baby,” Mark rasped, voice a low, feral growl, a surge of possessiveness roaring through his core, not doubt but dominion, a fierce reawakening of his sexual pulse. He thrust Tim forward, lips mashed against the wall and throat gorged with Dave’s shaft, then eased him back, slowly, letting him suck in a ragged drooling breath, eyes clouded with a desperate, lust-soaked glow. Dave’s voice rumbled, “Fuck, yeah, choke on it, you fucking little slut,” crude and oblivious, but Mark’s hold tightened, fingers weaving deeper into Tim’s quiff, dictating the pace, a maestro conducting Tim’s mouth, his fingers in Tim’s arse syncing with ruthless intent, a primal, decadent cadence. Tim’s muffled whimpers sang back, his body yielding, quaking, fuelling Mark’s nerves with a heady rush of power.
Mark rocked his hips, cock gliding through the sweat-damp crevice of Tim’s cheeks; the slick, searing heat was a torment that clenched his gut, each slide a delicious agony. His tip snagged on Tim’s rim with each movement, a fleeting, exquisite catch, sending jolts through his spine, the hole twitching, yearning for him to plunge deep. He held back, savouring the tease, his cock weeping, painting Tim’s skin with slick trails that caught the faint glow of the room’s single bulb. His free hand curled around Tim’s cock, rigid and pulsing, gripping with bold authority, stroking in time with his hips’ slow grind, each stroke a stake, a assertation of ownership. Tim’s precum flooded Mark’s palm, a warm, sticky deluge, his moans fracturing around Dave’s thrusts, a chorus of raw devotion that set Mark’s blood alight. He leaned close, lips brushing the nape of Tim’s neck, whispering, “Remember, you’re fucking mine,” a hushed decree only Tim could catch, sparking a frantic buck of Tim’s hips, his cock jerking in Mark’s hand, craving every ounce of this newfound reign.
The room’s stale air thrummed, heavy with the wet slap of flesh, the reek of sweat and raw need, Dave’s grunts a distant echo to Mark’s orchestration. Hesitation, any lingering quiver of restraint, dissolved in the molten thrill, the hunger to shape this moment, to shape Tim into his own, to wield Dave as a mere cog in their hedonistic machine. Mark’s grip in Tim’s hair surged, urging his mouth deeper, faster, his fingers in Tim’s arse curling with savage precision, his strokes on Tim’s cock a fierce, possessive rhythm. Tim’s frame melted, pliant, ravenous, a living testament to Mark’s control, each twitch a proof he adored this, needed Mark’s hands, his will, his fire. Mark’s pulse thundered, power flooding back, no longer just participating, now he was commanding it!
“My dirty, fucking perfect boy” Mark rasped, voice a silent blade, lips ghosting along Tim’s sweat-drenched spine, the sharp tang of salt exploding on his tongue, a primal spark that jolted his core. Tim sobbed, utterly wrecked, his body a live wire, jerking in a debauched rhythm between Mark’s stroking hand, his plundered arse, and Dave’s cock, revelling in the chaos. “Christ, you’re sucking me dry,” Dave gasped, voice fraying, “Get ready for it, fuck!” Tim pulled off with a wet, guttural gasp, strings of drool and precum dangling from his swollen lips to Dave’s pulsing tip, his face a flushed, panting mess, eyes dark as sin, locking onto Mark’s with a raw, unspoken plea: 'are you doing this with me?'. He seized Mark’s wrist, yanking him down to the cold, gritty tile, straddling him, knees clamping Mark’s hips, thighs quivering, slick with sweat and the residue of their heat, a trembling altar to their shared descent.
Dave’s cock loomed above, angry, swollen, a pearl of precum winking like a dare, its thick veins throbbing under the storage room’s flickering light. Tim reached up, guiding Mark’s hand, their fingers entwining, hot and slick with sweat, curling around Dave’s shaft, its weight a searing jolt in Mark’s palm. He’d wanked beside this beast in those rank pub loos, dreamt of it in fevered, cock-throbbing nights, and now, finally, he wielded its power himself. Tim stroked with him, setting the initial, teasing pace, then released, leaving Mark’s hand alone, a silent challenge. Mark hesitated, pulse hammering, then gripped tighter, stroking on instinct, mesmerised by the sheer heft, the pulsing vein, the brutal potential to split Tim apart, to ruin him. Tim’s resilience was a fucking miracle: those lips, stretched wide, throat swallowing Dave like a champ, a decadent force of nature thriving in the filth. Mark’s cock surged, torn between shock and a drugged, feral lust, his strokes quickening, a vicious edge driving him to shove Dave over the cliff, to make him spill and sod off and leave him alone with this paragon of sexual abandon.
Tim lunged forward, lips engulfing Dave’s head, tongue swirling with obscene precision, a wet, slurping hymn that echoed off the grimy walls, his eyes flicking to Mark’s, a vow carved in their depths: We own this. Dave’s groan cracked, desperate, “Fuck—fuck—I’m—” and Mark’s grip clamped, stroking with savage intent, relentless, a conductor of this hedonistic storm. Dave erupted, a guttural bellow shaking the air, hot ropes of cum blasting forth, splattering Tim’s face, across his cheeks, brow and lips in thick, pearlescent waves. Arcs of it rained down, drenching Mark’s from wide-eyed face to his throbbing cock rising up against Tim's own, the spray warm and viscous, pooling in the hollows of his skin, a shock that set his nerves ablaze, lust spiking like a fever, wild and untamed. Tim moaned, a decadent growl, lapping a stray bead from Dave’s tip, milking him dry with greedy sucks, his eyes never leaving Mark’s, warm, trusting, a sticky secret shared between them.
Dave withdrew, his softening cock vanishing through the gloryhole, a smug grunt ricocheting off the walls. “Fuckin’ hell, mate” he muttered, trousers scraping, belt buckle clanking, voice trailing into the void, “you could teach my bird a thing or two...” The door’s click sealed the silence, leaving the storage room to Mark and Tim, its stale air heavy with the reek of cum, sweat, and a raw, pulsing victory. The tile gleamed with Dave’s release, a cooling smear, forgotten in the wake of their heat. Tim’s chest heaved, his face a glistening wreck, cum streaking his cheeks, clotting in his lashes, lips parted in a spent, trembling sigh. He looked down at Mark, eyes dark, fuck-drunk, a soft, shattered smile flickering, tender yet filthy, a beacon in the afterglow.
For a heartbeat, they stilled, the world’s weight creeping in, a flicker of doubt in the quiet, should we pretend this never happened? Mark’s pulse stuttered, the room’s dim glow casting shadows on Tim’s cum-slick skin, a question hanging between them: could they shove this back into the dark, return to corridor nods and polite lies? Tim’s gaze held steady, unflinching, a silent answer, and then he leaned down, lips brushing Mark’s cum-streaked mouth, kissing the warm, sticky mess across his lips, a slow, reverent connection that tasted of salt and sin. The act was a vow, shattering the pause, binding them in this filthy truth, no turning back.
Tim’s hand slid between them, fingers scooping Dave’s cum from Mark’s chest, smearing it along Mark’s cock, painting it in thick, glossy trails that clung like liquid fire; the heat seared Mark’s skin, his shaft twitching, throbbing, teetering on the edge of madness. Mark’s mind unravelled, the slick, decadent glide of Tim’s hand a torment, lust and surrender knotting in his gut as a primal urge rose to claim what Tim offered. His hands gripped Tim’s thighs, nails biting flesh, breath jagged, chest swelling with a desperate, untamed fire. Tim’s lips curved, a filthy smirk, his tongue darting out, lapping a stray bead of cum from his own chin, eyes locked on Mark’s, a dare and a promise burning in their depths.
He shifted, hips rising and falling in a frantic rhythm, positioning himself so Mark’s cum-drenched cock nudged his raw, spit-soaked arse, the tip bouncing against his ring like a fleeting, agonising tease that blurred Mark’s vision and made his balls tighten, screaming to drive deep. The room’s grimy walls seemed to pulse, the air thick with the scent of their shared debauchery, Tim’s trembling thighs a testament to his need. His voice, low, cracked with raw, aching hunger, cut through the haze, a plea that sank into Mark’s very bones, a command and a surrender all at once:
“Mark, fuck me…”
Praying we get some more of Greg and mark before this is over ahah but it’s an amazing story so far I love it! You are such an amazing writer!!
