Bent Backwards Ch. 04

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Ch 4 The Great Unknown

“You should invite him to go to the cabin.” Says Liza, still on the quest to find out how Oliver feels about Jess. “She called me crying yesterday.”

A sick feeling of guilt washes over me.

“Okay.” I say, despite Common Sense hissing, if you really felt bad, that’s the last thing you’d do.


Later, we meet up with Jess and Oliver for a milkshake, he’s sitting across the booth from me, with Jess curled up against him. She’s looking up at him in wonder, hanging on every word that he says. She has her hand on his chest, possessively, trying to keep him all to herself.

Hands off, I think unkindly.

Jesus! Exclaims Common Sense, He might not be all hers, but he sure as hell isn’t yours either.

This unpleasant thought is interrupted by the dim realization that something has changed. He’s attention has wondered. Liza is talking, but I can see he isn’t following. I don’t have to look at him, to know his eyes are on me. I can feel them tracking up my body. His expression has changed, his eyes low and a little glazed over. His breathing has slowed. He grazes his lips with his teeth slowly.

Uh, oh.

This doesn’t bode well.

Liza is asking him about fishing, but he’s a million miles away. I consider giving him a little kick under the table to bring him back to Earth, but experience has shown me, our touch is explosive and the reaction is no longer neutralized by who we’re around.

“Do you, Oliver?” Liza asks again, “Do you like fishing?”

He swallows quickly, only skipping one or two beats.

“I love it!” He says emphatically. I try not to show my surprise. He doesn’t seem like the type who can sit still long enough for fishing.

Liza looks up at me, nudging me with her eyes.

“What do you say?” I ask, right on cue, “Fishing next week-end?”

“Sure.” He says, trying to keep his voice even, but I can see the flash of excitement. It’s so obvious, I wonder how the hell Liza and Jess miss it.


A crazy, wild feeling of exhilaration takes hold, as we hit the highway. The road opens ahead of us, trees flying past. He’s wearing sunglasses, looking ahead. Maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are obstructed, but for some reason, I can’t take my eyes off his lips. Or his jaw. Or those cheekbones. His legs are parted, blue denim stretched tightly over his knees. He’s sitting so close. I could reach over right now, put my hand on his leg. Run my hand up his thigh…

Eyes on the road, says Common Sense.


By the time we get to the cabin, I’m rampant. Wild. It’s been so long since I’ve had him. Days. Maybe a week. My body is screaming for release. Release only he can give me. I can see he feels the same, as we both spill out of the car and head for the trees. I tear my clothes off, not looking back, I know he’s right there, behind me. I turn to him when I’m naked, twigs digging into the soles of my feet, Balsam pinene filling my nostrils. I reach for him and pull him toward me, burying my face in his neck briefly. He smells like an orgasm waiting to happen.

I can’t think. I can hardly see, as I turn him around, spreading him roughly and in seconds, I’m deep inside him. Relief washes over me, but it’s not enough. I can’t get enough. His moans are unbridled. Guttural and raw. That husky voice making the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. I fuck him and fuck him, but as soon as I come, before I even pull out, I want him again.

He looks around quickly, looking afraid, “Did anyone hear?”

“Nah,” I smile, “and besides, even if they did, no way anyone would think that racket was human.”

Well, admits Common Sense begrudgingly, that much is true.


The evening passes in a blur. A blur of his flesh. His arms and his legs. His hands and his mouth. His chest. The sweet cheeks of his ass and all the things that live between his legs. I feel drunk, and not just from the beer or the whiskey. I’m exhausted, drained, but I’m also filled with a new, unfamiliar panic.

I can’t get enough.

What if I can never get enough? What happens then?

He’s a little drunk too. He’s had quite a bit to drink and we haven’t eaten much. His eyes drooping ever so slightly as he bobs his head to the beat in the background, unreservedly. He’s smiling a lot too, even more than usual. That sweet, sideways grin, causing his left cheek to pleat. He looks happy. And chatty. He tells me about his family, about leaving Ireland after his father died. He tells me he was a swimmer at school. The captain of the team, until he discovered girls and then couldn’t stand spending his time with his head under water. He tells me about the first time he had sex. The first time he made a girl come.

I hang on every word.

Drunk Oliver is adorable, there’s no getting around it. He’s even more laid back then usual. His Irish accent a little stronger. He’s gaziantep escort funny too. I can see why he’s so popular. Why he’s always the life of the party, despite the fact that he doesn’t demand attention or even seem to seek it out.

No wonder everyone loves him.

He’s irresistible.

It’s getting late, we should probably sleep. Especially, if I have any hope of surviving a whole, uninterrupted day of being with him tomorrow.

“Sleep.” I say at last, though I’m a little reluctant to break the spell.

“Sleep?” He says softly.

He reaches for my hand, turning it over, spreading my fingers, exposing my palm and tracing my lifeline with his nail. Despite how tired I am, I feel myself stir. He edges his fingers under the cuff of my sleeve. I wonder if he can feel my pulse quicken. He slowly undoes the button on my cuff, opening it gently, snaking his hand up my arm, the heat of his body running through my veins like venom, paralysing me.

I look at his face, I can’t look away. He looks so serene, as he seduces me.

All the lights are off, except for the soft light omitted by a single table light. He’s naked and I swear, in this light, he seems to glow. I lie back. My body’s exhausted, but I have enough left to give, if he’s willing to take it.

He’s never ridden before. He’s never seemed to want it. I get it, it seems a little too personal, too close. Honestly, if I wasn’t drunk and so weary, I’d probably be bending him over, but what he’s doing feels good and I find myself completely unable to move.

He straddles me and I can’t describe what he looks like, as he carefully reaches back, lining me up, guiding me in. After all this time, I still can’t believe that we do this. That he lets me. That I put part of myself inside him.

He’s sinking down now, taking me in, impaling himself. He winces slightly.

“Does it hurt?” I ask softly.

He nods, eyes hooded, mouth open slightly. “Just a little, and only at first.”

I must be a little drunk too, as my filter seems be slipping. “How does it feel?”

He grits his teeth as he sinks down on me. Pursing his lips and closing his eyes, moaning a little, before saying, “It’s heaven.”

His body starts rocking.

“Heaven and hell, at the same time. Everything good, and everything bad, all crashing in.”

He’s shaking and moaning. I’m moaning too.

“It’s so big.” He whispers, his voice sounding strained, “I feel so full. I feel full in every part of my body. Every. Single. Part.”

I can’t take this feeling. Seeing him like this. Hearing him like this, is almost too much. My hips start thrusting up. Harder and harder. He’s wincing a little, making that sound that I love. The sound when I’m deep. He’s stroking his dick, head back, mouth open, hooded blue eyes fixed on me.

“In the end,” he groans, “everything is confused, I can’t tell where I end or you start.”

He gasps and arcs, “I can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain.”

He throws his head back and howls as he cums. He’s shaking all over.

I’m shaking, too.

Baby, I think, as he collapses onto my chest, what the hell are you doing to me?


I wake up the next day, looking straight into blue. I blink a few times, slowly orienting myself. I slept like the dead. Straight through the night for the first time in months. He looks away quickly, seeming embarrassed. I grab the pillow and shove it at him, laughing and giggling as he struggles beneath it. The sight of him squirming does it for me, and I’ve barely opened my eyes, when I find myself reaching for him.

I run my fingers down his spine, not stopping when I reach his crack. I stroke his hole gently, raising my finger to my mouth before pressing it in gently. He stiffens and bows away from me, his face twisting.

“Aah, shit.” He cries.

Oh, shit.

“Are you okay?”

His face tells me he’s not.

“Oh, fuck,” I say, as a sinking feeling settles in my belly, “did I wreck your ass?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Come ‘ere, let me see.” I say, pulling him to me. He squawks and struggles, pulling the sheet up, trying to get away. I can’t help a soft chuckle escaping from me, as I leap onto his back, pinning him down, digging my hands into his sides, tickling him, as he laughs, high pitched, hysterically. While he’s distracted, I part his cheeks and take a peek at his ass. It’s pink and a little puffy, but there’s no sign of anything worse.

“It looks okay,” I say, when he calms down. “You probably just need a break.”

His face is still buried in the pillow, but I hear him mumble, “Sorry.”

Sorry? Why are you sorry? This is on me.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say, evil intentions taking hold, “What do you think we have hands and mouths for, hmm?”

I see that slow flash his eye.

I do my best to make it up to him, taking my time, making sure he feels good. We are at it for hours, taking turns. One at a time. Both of us crazed. It’s hard to say, which one of us has it worse.

When we finally can’t take anymore, my legs are wobbly and I have a dull ache in my balls. My abs and glutes feel stiff, as if I’ve overdone it at the gym. We are both starving, so I cook and we eat, before hitting the sofa’s and falling asleep.

I wake before him and get the fishing gear ready. I wake him with a nudge to his side. He’s groggy and confused, looking around and then grumbling like crazy at the suggestion of fishing.

“I can’t,” he moans, “it’s too cold.” It’s colder out here, in the mountains, and the seasons are changing. He hasn’t packed for the weather.

“Take my jacket.” I say, tossing my green army jacket to him, watching as he shrugs it on.

Damn, boy, you make that look good.

We head to the lake and get stuck in, I give him the run down and tie a fly on his line for him. I show him how to cast, demonstrating a few times, before standing behind him, guiding his hand, showing him how to flick his wrist, unable to resist a quick sniff of his hair.

Citrus and honey.

We fish for a while and I catch a nice trout. Oh, man. I love it out here. The lake and the trees. The mountains and the wide-open space.

What could be better than this?

He catches the smallest bass you’ve ever seen, and I can’t help laughing at how much it thrills him. He takes a selfie to send to the girls.

My God, the girls! Being out here, I damned nearly forgot they existed.

Watch yourself, says Common Sense sternly, you’re playing with fire.

“Hey Ethan,” he says, his voice thoughtful and clear, giving no indication of the gravity of what he’s about to say.

“You know what’s just occurred to me?” He continues without so much as a pause, “There are going to be two assholes in that cabin tonight and only one of them is wrecked.”

My mouth drops open in shock.


Well, says Common Sense, looking appalled, that has to be the dumbest idea I’ve heard yet. And at this point, that’s saying something.

I mean to shake my head, to say no, but there’s an awful glint in his eye. He seems to be nodding at me. His eyes stony. Set.

Life is for living, whispers The Dreamer, what’s the worst that can happen?

Is that a joke? Asks Common Sense, losing its cool now.

I’m in, says My Dick.

“It’s getting dark,” I murmur, “we better head back.”


I take my time packing away my gear. I’m feeling unnerved and not just because of the way he’s watching me. My belly is contracted in a nauseating cocktail of fear and excitement.

What the hell am I getting myself into?

Finally, he snaps, grabbing my arm and dragging me unceremoniously to the bathroom and giving me a grisly rundown of my to-do list.

He seems to be enjoying himself greatly, whereas I feel like I’m dying of discomfort and shame. Nerves fluttering uncomfortably in my chest.

“I don’t think I can do this.” I say, hiding my face in my hand.

“Well,” he says matter-of-factly, “you can either do this yourself, or I’ll do it for you.”

I gulp, and shove him out of the bathroom.


I can’t remember ever feeling this nervous, as I cross the room, heading to him. He’s naked, and stands to greet me. He’s making no effort to hide his arousal. His jaw is slack and his eyes are piercing. Following me. Tracking me. A predator, hunting its prey.

He doesn’t let me suffer for long, he rips the towel from my waist, leaving me stark naked, which unexpectedly, seems to help. The waiting was torture. The anticipation pure torment. Now that I’m naked, I know it’s too late. It’s happening, and the second his hands touch my body, I’m on fire.

He slaps my ass sharply. I jump and squeal in a way that could only be described as undignified.

“How’s that supposed to help me relax?” I squawk.

“It’s not supposed to help you relax,” he growls in my ear, “it’s supposed to help you get used to a little pain.”

My stomach clenches in trepidation.

Oh shit.

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh fuck,” I whimper, uncomfortably, “this shit’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

He looks at me in a way that’s hard to read. Is it sympathy? Caring? Sybaric pleasure?

Most likely, I think, it’s all three.

“Don’t worry, Tough Guy,” he says, “I’ll be gentle.” His words hit me in the chest, and travel south, lighting a path as they inch their way through me, reaching my balls and making them contract tightly.

“Bend over.” He says softly, his voice husky and strangely commanding.

You’re a damned fool, says Common Sense, as I quickly comply.

It’s the last I hear from Common Sense for quite a long while, as My Dick steps up and takes the wheel.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the bed, arching my back and spreading my legs. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but once again, something other than me seems in command of my body.

He strokes me gently, running his hands up and down my back, warming me. Settling me. Helping me relax, though the feeling doesn’t last long, as he plants searing hot kisses down my spine, not stopping when he reaches my cheeks. Far from it. Instead, he spreads my ass gently and runs his tongue slowly down my crack. He swipes all the way down and I feel my body react involuntarily, as he narrowly avoids my knothole. Arching, straining. He repeats this torment, over and over, until I’m squirming.

Oh God, I think frantically, please, please don’t make me ask for it.

He shows mercy with the next swipe, as he runs his broad tongue firmly over my hole. My body lurches forward, my eyes flying open.

Holy fuck!

It feels unbelievable. I strain back for more, moaning, as he gives it to me. Over and over, bathing my ass, pressing his tongue into me until I feel like I’m falling, sinking and swirling. My thighs shaking so much, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay on my feet.

I hear him reach for the lube. A deep sense of discomfort washes over me.

Why am I letting him do this to me?

That thought is rudely interrupted, slammed to a grinding halt, as his slippery finger worms its way inside me. Strangely, I don’t move, or struggle. He presses his digit inside me, gentle, but relentless. It feels strange, unfamiliar, but good God, it’s good.

I make an awful, humiliating sound. A sound, I’ve never made before. A sound, I’ve forced out of him, more times than I can count. I grunt as he adds another finger.

Holy shit, I think, trying not to wince, that feels like a lot.

I can tell he knows what he’s doing, as he works me over. Stretching me, spreading me. Grazing that hot little spot every time I grow mildly uncertain, sending pleasure so dense through me, my insides turn to liquid.

His breathing has grown ragged, he’s grinding his dick against me. I can feel that he needs it. I need it too, so I crawl on the bed, on my hands and knees, looking back to see him roll on the condom.

Holy shit! We’re doing this.

He runs his hands over my body again, all the way down, before gently parting my cheeks. I’m shaking, but not from fear. No, I’m excited. Wholly, tumescent. He rubs his head against me, up and down, before pressing it in. He’s done a good job of preparing me, as my ass struggles a little, but he enters me smoothly. Still, I’m shocked by the intensity of the pain that engulfs me. It starts at my ring and radiates rapidly out.

“Ow.” I whimper softly. He stills immediately. Pulling me back towards him, sitting back on his haunches, adjusting my position, so my body relaxes. Letting me set the pace. His arms are around me, holding me close. There’s no other way of putting it, I feel safe in his arms. I know that he has me, as he guides me gently.

“Push out a little,” he croons, “right where it stings.” I do as he says, and moan loudly as he rises to meet me as my body gives way. The pleasure is unreal, and he was right, my senses are shot. Confused. Now, I’m the one who can’t tell pleasure from pain. His face is buried in my neck, kissing and biting, as he whispers, “I know, I know.”

You do know, I think, you know exactly how this feels.

He’s patient, as he lets me set the tone, waiting until I relax and bear down, before rising to meet me. Deeper and deeper each time, until at last, I’m sitting back on his thighs. Fully impaled. His hands are on my back, my chest, my nipples, my neck. Pulling my hair. All of my senses give way to nothing but fullness. Nothing but pleasure.

This time I’m the student, and he’s the master.

My master.

He fucks me forever, the pleasure’s unending. But unbelievably, there’s more.

“Jerk it,” he hisses through his teeth, “I can’t hold back.” My hand on my dick and his cock up my ass, brings me to orgasm with shocking speed and intensity.

I explode.

I erupt.

I shatter.

Afterwards, when we’re lying there in the dark. I can’t help thinking, he’s been holding out on me. And maybe, I tell him so, too.

His breathing has shifted. Slowing, deepening, as sleep overtakes him. I examine his face. The outline lit by the soft, blue light of the moon. His eyes closed.

Still and spent.

Even now, here, in the deepest recess of my mind, I cannot admit what I think as I watch him sleep. I can only say, I don’t move a muscle, afraid that if I do, I’ll disturb him and he’ll move the hand that’s currently slung over my chest.

Across my heart.


My dick wakes me the next day. To be honest, it’s a welcome relief. I don’t want to think anymore. I just want to feel.

He opens one eye, taking me in, the side of his mouth instantly curling upward as he pieces together my wicked intentions.

His eyes light up, like a young boy at Christmas, his voice higher than usual, as he asks in delight, “Again?”

I nod, and quickly get back into bed.

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