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Dennis doesn’t know if he’s ever been this fucking horny in his entire fucking life.
He knew, of course, that testosterone increased his libido by quite a bit. He’s… clinical about it. Gives himself the shot, jerks off a little extra for a couple days. It’s just a bodily need. Drinking water, eating his greens, rutting himself stupid on a pillow til he’s crying into his sheets. Eyeing vaguely insertable objects in his room because he still doesn’t have any toys, and he wants to be full so bad but can’t use his fingers without getting in his head. Y’know, regular, routine stuff.
So, it’s always a lot. Always a vaguely humiliating ordeal, feeling like a dog in heat, slave to the insistent pulsing between his legs. But it’s manageable, it’s fine, and it’s been a long time since masturbation has equated to sin in his head.
He only gave himself the shot a few hours ago, and it’s feeling very unmanageable at the moment. Not to mention about… ten times more humiliating. Because of all the reasons he had to be extra fucking horny, this is one of the more pathetic.
House-sitting. For Robby, Doctor Robby, Michael, Dad, Daddy, Master, Owner… Dennis can’t quite decide on how to address him in his head. Right now Daddy keeps popping to the forefront, which is probably really terrible and— considering his luck— will probably slip out of his mouth one day at the most inopportune time possible, in front of the man himself. After an exhausting shift, maybe, when he’s stressed and frazzled. Mumbling a ‘see ya later, Doctor Robby,’ realizing too late that Robby turned to Daddy.
But maybe… maybe Robby’d perk up at that. Maybe his eyes would darken, lips quirking in an amused sort of grin, stepping closer… murmuring ‘Daddy, huh? You need a Daddy, baby?’ while one of his big hands reaches up to tug at Dennis’s curls, making him whimper, making him squirm…
Dennis shakes his head to clear the fantasy, frustrated with his stupid wet fucking cunt and his stupid hard fucking dick. No, of course nothing like that would ever happen. Of course. Logically, he knows that. Logically.
Stupid wet fucking cunt.
Feeling like a pervert, he glances around Robby’s living room, as if someone would be watching. As if the man isn’t slated to be halfway across the country by now. He’d just been sitting on the couch, watching mindless TV, trying to distract himself. See, Dennis is polite. Or, he tries to be. Jerking off on his boss’s couch doesn’t feel… right, really.
His hand drifts down anyways.
A moan sighs past his lips as he cups his cunt, rutting his pulsing little tdick against the palm of his hand. Just a little friction, just a little relief… soft noises sigh out of his mouth, the throb of his cunt making him feel stupid already, puppybrained and whiny.
It’s not enough.
He tries, anyways, curling over himself, rutting into his palm, humping like a mutt. Tears start to well behind his squeezed shut eyelids, the frustration of pleasure that’s just enough to tease and not enough to get off on driving him crazy. Little whimpers huff out of him as he presses his palm up harder, yelping a little at the sensitivity of his tdick, passing pleasure into a bolt of pain. Not wet enough.
Hazy and desperate, he wriggles out of his shorts, shoving his boxers down with them, fingers sliding back between his legs. Shaky breaths shudder from his nose as he gathers slick from his cunt, dragging it up to his achingly hard dick. Slotting himself between two fingers, he jerks himself slowly, a whine sounding in the back of his throat. It’s still not fucking working— not really, his rhythm poor, hips stuttering into the touch, sloppy and uncoordinated.
He knows, if he’s honest with himself, that he’s shit at jerking off. It’s never been easy, a self-conscious, clumsy ordeal, lucky if he gets to cum. He’s also fucking impatient, unable to really work himself up, rarely teasing before diving right in.
And fuck, he just wants to be full.
He feels stupid and hazy just thinking about the concept of it, getting to clench his cunt down on something thick and long. Full all the way up to his tummy, sated, the constant ache dissipating.
He whimpers something babbled and pitiful, something like daddy, please, reaching for a pillow to stuff between his legs. “Ah— fuck..”
He rubs and rubs and rubs his aching cunt on Robby’s throw pillow, head hung, eyes squeezed shut. Adjusting over and over, mounting it, fucking against it, panting and dizzy. “Mmnhh, please, please… I’ll be good, daddy, please…” he sobs, starting to shake at the exertion, so much work for pitiful pulses of pleasure.
He groans miserably, frustrated as his hips stop, nowhere near even the beginnings of an orgasm. Lazy and he knows it, stupid in his horny haze, reduced to feelings, sensation, and pathetic tears. It takes him longer than most to cum, that’s fine, normally he’d work for it— but he’s just so tired. Why can’t someone else take care of him for once? Loneliness seeps heavy into his limbs as he melts into Robby’s couch, sniffling to himself.
Idly, he fantasizes. Too sleepy to keep trying to get off, too horny to not think about it. Robby’s hands… cradling his face, prying open his jaw to spit in his open mouth. Rubbing it into his tongue with two fingers and forcing him to swallow it, mumbling a good boy in that gravelly time he gets sometimes. Dennis can feel his stupid cunt squeeze at the thought.
Robby’s mouth, trailing warm, wet kisses down his throat, his chest, his stomach, making Dennis writhe and arch. Robby’s hot, soft tongue settling between his legs, lapping at his folds, fucking into him languidly. Sucking at his tdick, god… Dennis has never been sucked off, no one’s wanted to, but he can imagine how it might feel. Hot and wet and perfect around his throbbing little dick.
Robby’s dick, pushing steady, unrelenting, into his drooling hole, filling him up. The drag of it against his sensitive walls, how it’d feel pounding into him, nailing his g-spot and making him scream, babble, beg for more.
Dennis sniffles again, wipes at his flushed warm cheeks. He just wants to feel good, wants it, needs it so bad…
Fuck it. He’s gonna be a little selfish.
It’s pitiful, he knows, how he’s acting. Like a petulant kid, like a whining dog in a crate. Wanton and needy, pouty. He doesn’t really care— no one’s around, no one’s watching, no one knows this side of him, not really. He spends so much of his time trying to keep shit together, to be a capable doctor, to help whoever he can, god forbid he has a moment of weakness. Moments of weakness.
As long as he’s housesat for Robby, he rarely stays overnight, and hasn’t touched Robby’s bedroom. It feels wrong, in the same way that touching himself on Robby’s couch felt wrong, but he’s already broken that self-imposed rule tonight— why not another?
Stepping into the room, Robby’s room, and flicking the lamp on… he has to take a shaky breath and try to steady himself at the sight.
The bed is messy. Slept-in. Unwashed. The sheets mussed, pillows in disarray, or… no, it looks like that on purpose, it looks like Robby uses one pillow for his head, and the other to cuddle close to. Dennis feels a bolt of jealousy at the thought. The thought of Robby cuddling a fucking pillow. Jesus, he needs to get a grip.
Gingerly, he lays himself down in the bed, the mattress soft and welcoming. The first thing he does is grab Robby’s pillow, eager, burying his face in it and taking a deeeep, slow breath. An involuntary moan sighs out of his mouth into the fabric, the scent of Robby enveloping him. Pine and coffee and musk, a hint of antiseptic. It’s Robby, so it’s fucking perfect. Dennis’s hips start to rock against thin air.
Curled up and breathing Robby in, a steady heartbeat still firmly between his legs, he feels himself get drowsy. Heavy and soft and so warm, so comfy in Robby’s bed, hips rocking slow and mindless. He adjusts to ball up Robby’s comforter and stuff it between his legs, the pressure pleasant against his achy cunt. It only makes him sleepier, arms around Robby’s pillow, eyes shut… his consciousness starts to slip away.
…
Something hot and firm is prodding at his hole. Pressure, unrelenting, slowly pushing in and stretching him open, making him whimper and jerk, heavy, fuzzy-headed from sleep. Arms, big and firm, tightening around his waist, keeping him spooned against a body, soft and so warm. “Wh— mmhh, a-ah— huh?”
“Shh, shh, sh, baby, s’okay, know you wanted this,” Robby croons, lips warm against Dennis’s neck, breath brushing over his skin. “Needed it so bad, huh? Fuck, watched you on my couch, crying your little heart out… couldn’t take it, kid, couldn’t take it, you just looked so sweet, you poor thing. Such a horny little puppy, mmh, fuckin’ pussy’s squeezin’ me so good…”
Dennis gasps and whines, trying to wriggle out of the grip, futile, useless. It’s hard to believe this is happening, and maybe it’s not, maybe it’s some sort of fucked-up wet dream, but it feels— fuck, it feels very, very real, his cunt stretching to accommodate Robby’s dick, nestling so deep inside of him, throbbing and hot. He feels like crying, like clenching down, like throwing up, like pushing back for more. He hates himself for not hating this. “W-wait— R-obby? Watched me?? Robby, wait, y-you don’t have to— unngh— you don’t have to do this, please—”
Robby laughs, fucking laughs against his neck, the scratch of his beard making Dennis shudder. Two fingers are pressing past Dennis’s parted lips, thick and long, filling his mouth. Shakily, stupid and pathetic, Dennis doesn’t bite, doesn’t fight it. Sucks on Robby’s fingers like a good boy, a docile pup. Feels his tdick throb at Robby’s responding groan.
“There y’are, good boy, suckin’ on daddy’s fingers,” Robby pants, continues to ramble, and Dennis doesn’t smell any alcohol but he wonders if the man is drunk. Wonders if that would be better. Robby draws his hips out and pushes back in, slow and steady, the drag of a pulsing cock in Dennis’s cunt feeling better than it should.
Dennis sniffles, whimpers pitifully around the fingers filling his mouth, because Robby’s right. Sick to his stomach, he knows Robby is right. Isn’t this all he wanted? What he was begging the air for, earlier, rutting like a stupid dog on Robby’s pillow? What he was fantasizing about?
And doesn’t it feel so, so good?
Dennis gives in. Embarrassingly easily, he gives in. Relaxing back into Robby’s warmth, cunt fluttering around Robby’s dick. He melts, soft and pliant, letting his body be used. At least he’s being good. At least Robby likes him, right? Maybe loves him, even. Why else would he do this to him?
“Yeahh, oh, precious boy, is that nice? God, such a good boy,” Robby praises, pumping his hips, still nice and slow, syrupy pleasure. “Knew you needed it, s’okay… s’okay, m’just making you feel better… sooo wet you were ruining my sheets, baby, y’know that? Little pussy dripping alll over ‘em. Poor puppy…”
Robby sounds delirious. Pussydrunk and tired, mindless in his babbled praise and filth. Dennis has a passing thought that Robby needed this as much as he did. Pride glows in his chest— Robby needed him. Needs him. And it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and oh, god, Dennis is so full. Whines out a muffled “Feel y’in m’tummy…” around Robby’s fingers, hazy, stupid.
Robby hums, grinds himself impossibly deeper, filling Dennis up to the brim. “I knowww, you precious thing. You feel me in your tummy, mhmm? Daddy’s so deep, isn’t he? Is that so good? Yeah, shh, I know, I know it is… I know…”
Dennis loses himself in it, warmth pooling in his stomach, pulsing at the base of his spine. His neglected little dick begs for attention and he paws weakly at Robby’s free arm, trying to push it down to his cunt. Trying to take what he needs, if Robby’s gonna take from him. It’s only fair.
Robby chuckles, instantly picks up on his intentions. Eases his spit-soaked fingers out of Dennis’s mouth and reaches down, slotting Dennis’s hard, aching tdick between them. The relief is instantaneous and almost-too-much, making Dennis sob out something unintelligible, jerk his hips into the touch. He’s so sensitive his thighs tremor, stomach quivering, cunt squeezing around Robby and making him groan.
“There you go, that’s it…” Robby jerks Dennis’s dick to the tempo of his thrusts, hiding a grin against Dennis’s shoulder, kissing lightly at his skin. Dennis feels like heaven around him, warm and wet and perfect, welcoming him all the way in, clenching down like he can’t bear to let go.
Dennis feels loopy, high, heat coiling tightly in his stomach. “A-aah— mmh, Daddy, think m’gonna cum… m’gonna cum, gonna cum, please, please let me, please, Daddy, need it s-so bad, I was good—”
Robby hums and keeps up his ministrations, working Dennis’s dick and cunt, sending sparks of pleasure through the poor, whiny boy. Moans spill from Dennis’s parted lips until he cuts off in a silent scream, writhing in Robby’s hold, cumming harder than he has in weeks, months, maybe ever. He doesn’t know. He feels out-of-body, limp, a doll that Robby continues to fuck into, punching little sobs out with every thrust.
Robby slumps his face into the back of Dennis’s neck and pumps his hips, picking up speed, pounding desperately into Dennis’s puffy, used cunt. Little whimpers hiccup out of him, and for a second, awfully, Dennis is reminded of a broken man in peds, curled up on the floor and whimpering out a prayer.
Robby needed him then, needs him now. Dennis needed Robby then, needs him now.
“Whitaker— Dennis, fuck,” Robby chokes, pushing himself as deep as he can get inside his boy, whining as he pumps him full of hot, sticky cum. Dennis can only moan, take it, panting and sated, drowsy all over again. “Fuck, feels so good, shit… thank you, baby, thank you…”
All is still for a while, after. Tangled sweaty bodies, sore and sated. Combined panting. Robby loosens his grip, slowly, and Dennis wriggles to face him, whimpering a little as Robby’s soft cock slips out, cum trickling from his used-up hole. It should be disgusting. It is. It is. He shouldn’t have to remind himself that it is.
“M’not a good person, Den,” Robby mumbles, exhausted, a hand coming up to cradle Dennis’s still-flushed, still-damp cheek. “You know that, kid, don’t you?”
“You’re—” Dennis swallows thick, lets his eyes flutter, nuzzling into the warm palm on his cheek. “You can be good. You are good.”
Robby’s silent for a while, thumb stroking underneath Dennis’s eye. Petting him. Dennis is almost back asleep when Robby whispers, “You poor boy. Such a little sweetheart, seein’ something in me that doesn’t exist, huh? I could be so bad to you, I am being so terribly awful to you, little one. But you still think I’m good, yeah? Do you like it when I touch you?”
Dennis shudders, ignores the sick swoop of his gut, his instincts telling him that this is wrong. Very wrong. He feels like prey in a predator’s maw, trusting Robby not to bite down. “Yes,” is his only reply, a responding whisper.
Yes, he loves it when Robby touches him. And yes, Robby could do anything to him, and Dennis would still think he’s good. Being self-aware of his own naiveté does not help it dissipate. He just wants Robby to keep touching him, even if he never asks if it’s okay. Even if he takes til Dennis is all used up.
Robby presses a kiss to his forehead, warm, soft, slow. He doesn’t say another word. Dennis slips back into sleep.