Max - Bey Deckard Page 0,22

got laid? When was the last time you fucked your wife? Gosh, it makes me want to cry. I bet she doesn’t even let you put it in her ass.”

“Shut up!” Shaking with a desperate desire to hurt Max, Crane dove for him on the bed and trapped him beneath his weight.

“What? I… huhhh… I bet she makes you… huhh… ask for sex,” wheezed Max, laughing as Crane struggled to hold him down. “I bet she makes you beg for— ufff!” Crane forced Max over onto his stomach and fumbled at the back of the dress, hauling it up to Max’s waist. He heard material rip and Max yelped, then giggled. “Are you going to fuck me, Dr. Crane? Is that what you want?”

“Shut up,” Crane repeated. Was he really going through with this? He felt weird and unhinged and so fucking horny. His dick was literally dripping, he was so excited.

A hole was a hole was a hole…

“C’mon, Doc… Yeah, you wanna fuck me. Ow.” Max panted in pain as Crane handled him roughly. Crane recognized the filmy material barely containing Max—it was a thong he’d bought Mary one Valentine’s Day years back. She’d never even worn it.

Fumbling the lacy black fabric aside with hasty fingers, Crane flared his nostrils and stared down at Max’s slightly furred asshole, his hand stroking his shaft. He should put on a condom, he knew it, but instead he watched himself stab at Max furiously with his naked cock.

“Ow. Ow, fuck, Doc… Jesus,” keened Max, his hand reaching back to push him away. Crane grabbed Max’s wrist and twisted it so that it was pinned against Max’s lower back. Max moaned and bucked as Crane gave a hard push, penetrating him deeper—precum made for poor lubricant but he was beyond caring. “Ow. Oh, fuck… fuck, Doc.”

Crane began to fuck Max with short thrusts, his balls already tight and aching.

“Yeah, fuck that ass,” rasped Max. “Ufff… Fuck it hard. You like that? Ow. Fuck… I want you to cum in my ass. Pretend I’m your little wifey and cum in my ass, Dennis…”

Crane closed his eyes and groaned. He grabbed a pillow and shoved it over Max’s head to shut him up, holding it down hard as he pistoned his hips, his hoarse breathing all but drowning out Max’s muffled cries.

Then he came abruptly and with such force that a deep grunt burst out of him as he shot his load into Max, three big pulsing explosions that left him shaking and huffing.

And then it was done.

He pulled out and fell over on his side. Max’s head emerged from under the pillow, a smirk on his face. Crane didn’t even resist when Max curled up against him, nuzzling up into his neck and drawing his arm over his waist.

Down, down, down the rabbit hole.

But… What did he say “yes” to?

Sunday, August 14th

Crane woke up, bleary eyed and confused and feeling heavy with guilt over something he couldn’t quite remember. Next to him on the bed, Max lay naked, his limbs akimbo, his breathing deep and steady.

He stared at Max, wondering what the fuck he was going to do.

Crane’s phone buzzed, and he groaned, leaning over the side of the bed to get it out of his pants pocket, but to his surprise, he couldn’t find it. When it buzzed again, it sounded like it was on the bed, tucked beneath his pillow. Confused, he slid it out and saw that it was a message from Mary. He unlocked his screen and was alarmed by what seemed to be an entire conversation of messages logged between him and Mary. Heart beating fast, he read the first one from earlier that morning and was disconcerted that he couldn’t remember writing any of the replies. Horrified, he saw that the messages from him had become lewd after a few exchanges. Mary, from her responses, didn’t seem impressed. His heart gave a hard double thump. Jesus, there was even a picture of his dick in one message.

Mary’s most recent reply was a terse: What is wrong with you?

“Mary seems like a lovely woman,” Max mumbled, rubbing his face. He turned over and buried his face in his pillow. “Absolutely lovely.”

Understanding dawned on Crane. “How the fuck did you unlock my phone?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

Max didn’t reply.

In his mind, Crane got out of bed, walked calmly out of the room, and called the police. In reality, he lay back down and stared up at the ceiling.

“Are