#*xxx

“Y-Yes, that long-- What’s so funny about that? Ya jealous I can keep a boner for that long?” He snaps, though his petulance is very short lived as his pulsing erection becomes the star of a disappearing act, performed by the famed magician Marty DeMayo. Teeth dig into his bottom lip to stifle a moan, tiny fangs pricking the skin and urging magenta blood forth. He hates the way his voice sounds so he’ll do anything to silence his obnoxious cries.  “F-Fuck...”, is about all he’s able to manage the moment he allows himself to speak, letting the word fall back into his throat and rattle around as he fidgets in place, muscles tensing as the pads of his fingers roughly grip at the other’s scalp. His arms comply with the other’s movements, they can’t seem to do much of anything else at the moment.

Every tiny little motion of Lars’ hand as it beings to pump him is electric to the hypeman. The way the bandaids and bands make soft scrapes over his skin just adds texture and sensation that he now needs so bad. Marty’s lost the energy at this point to squirm in the uncontrollable way he normally would as he gets lost in pleasure, but he does have the energy to continue to make long drawn out groans as his dick twitches under Lars’ fingers.

The second Lars’ hot wet mouth has taken in the tip of Marty’s cock he’s shouting mixes of Lars’ name and some unintelligible babble. He tangles one hand in the boy’s hair and with his other hand he’s grabbing at his shirt. Lars’ mouth is so hot and so perfectly wet; his tongue feels incredible to the hype man as it laps at him, cleaning him up.

Marty is shaking. Lars’ mouth focused on his most sensitive spot and his talented hand stroking him slow has the older man going crazy. He feels a warmth inside his stomach that is about to burst, it matches the incredible heat around his dick head. “L-Lars…Lars! Ughn…oh, God, yes, Lars, Lars I’m, it’s too good, I can’t last–” He manages to get a sentence shouted out before his shaking peeks, his cock pulses rapidly, cum shooting out of him fast in thick, huge globs. He’s whimpering as his hips try to settle and his balls ache from being utterly drained completely.

He’s conscious of Marty’s moans, the steady increase in their frequency and volume. He’s aware of them, but barely registering what any of it means. He’s dedicated to his task as well as still stunned by his own euphoria, which lingers throughout his body, leaving him with a foggy mind and a tingling midsection. The sensation is heightened by the pro-motor’s taste, by the feeling of his warm cock heavy in his head, by the weight of the head of his dick pressed against his tongue. There’s nothing to think about. His senses are absorbing only the most visceral of things. 

He doesn’t think, either, when he hears Marty’s telltale cries as he approaches his climax. The way his voice fragments and he ejects Lars’ name from his mouth in something akin to a scream. His body simply knows, and he isn’t surprised when his mouth begins to fill with hot, creamy liquid. He continues to suck diligently and swallow each wave of the viscous fluid as it enters his mouth in spurts, feeling each ribbon of cum drape over his tongue and splash against the back of his throat. 

His hand slides all the way down to the hype man’s balls, massaging the swollen mounds as they’re depleted of their savory broth. His palm weighs against them, as if he can force more of it out, before the appendage attaches itself to his aching length, gripping it tightly as he inches up the shaft slowly, his actions again hinting at his wicked intentions. 

Once he’s sure he’s obtained every last drop he allows Marty’s cock to slip from his mouth, a dribble of cum clinging to his lips and forming a bridge between them and the slit of the older man’s phallus. It’s broken as Lars straightens his back, fixing his catlike eyes to the pro-motor’s gaze.

That last thrust has Marty moaning disgustingly loud as the pressure against his teeth digs in deep and just as quickly as the sensation happens, the hype man’s choking as he’s pressed flush against the younger boy and held. He wants to moan but it just comes out as strangled gasps as he hastily swallows the immediate excess flowing freely down the back of his throat. His nose snorts desperately for a breath of air and he continues to lap down any of that sweet pink cum as Lars just continues to empty into him.

As the wave of orgasm seems to slow inside Marty’s overflowing mouth he’s able to slack his jaw, slightly. He’s using his tongue now to guzzle down what he can, but he’s also so utterly exhausted that any semen dripping down his chin is just left to fall with his drool, some of it onto his hard, exposed cock. The older man is looking up at Lars, trying to smile faintly in all his fatigue. His eyes are hazy but wet and he sighs contentedly; really he must be a mess of a sight.

His grip has loosened, lanky fingers trembling as they press into Marty’s hair, holding him only with the firmness necessary to steady his head so he can pry his still pulsing cock from his throat. He jerks his hips back and his massive length is pulled over Marty’s teeth one last time, exiting his mouth with a wet pop, still dribbling cum as it bobs between his legs at half-mast.

As much as Marty enjoyed coming onto the baker and making his knees quake from a sudden deep throating he also loved getting held and face fucked by him, making today his lucky day. 

The hypeman could always tell when Lars was reaching his climax. There was a way his breathing changed and got louder, and it made Marty excited and determined. The pull on his hair hurts, technically, but mixed with the scenario it just heightens the sense of belonging to the pink boy. His body is for his kitten to use as he needs.

His hands fall to his sides, he’s too focused on the quickening pace and wanting Lars to cum for him. It’s so fast now, he’s concentrating on making sure every thrust into his mouth is met with as much attention and sensation he can deliver. Razor teeth inevitably prodding at almost every push the thick length forces. His own erection is practically swollen, a testament to how much he enjoyed their activity.

The hype man moans even louder, more wanton and shaking, as he’s spoken to. He attempts feebly to utter out an agreeable response but it comes out as a “ehyyeaush”, the inflection the only thing to possibly decipher what he was saying.

He lets his tongue work itself over the boy’s cock, every which way it can, there’s no pattern to it or delicacy. He laps at every inch of skin as it passes over the wet muscle. It causes drool to pool and drip out of his gaping mouth, spilling out over his pointed teeth.

His breathing is erratic, every other breath seems to skip and gasp as he snorts through his nostrils. He’s playing with his foreskin now, not really able to comprehend his mannerisms; he just feels an uncontrollable urge to fondle himself, but he wants to be hard every second Lars is, being hard feels so good, and he knows how to slowly and methodically achieve both.

“You like that, huh? Y-You like the way it feels, don’t you?” It was hard not to have a surge of confidence when you were pummeling someone’s throat with your cock. Especially when you could see it creating an unsightly bulge in their neck each time you pressed your pelvis flush with their mouth-- The confirmation he had been looking for when he first approached the hype man asking for his opinion on his size. 

He revels in the use of his face and while he tries now to keep staring into those beautiful cat-eyes he finds his own eyes keep rolling back. A gooey tear pries itself a quarter way down the pro-motor’s cheek; it had been welling up over time with his gags and finally fell out.

The hype man has become a mess of long drawn out groans that must vibrate over the pink cock inside him. He feels so hot and so good, and he has to let it out by moaning.

He undoes his jeans by now, just enough to only have his cock breath. It’s dripping pre; down itself, onto the fabric. He thumbs at the tip, slow but with pressure.

He tries to keep his focus on Marty’s face, reading his expressions, desperate to see what he was doing to him, trying to glean how it made the pro-motor feel to be used to sate his voracious appetite for pleasure. How it made him feel to have ten inches of cock wedged down his throat over and over. He doesn’t disappoint, but it grows harder to fix his gaze on him as his actions grow more barbaric. It’s reached that point where it feels good, but it could be so much better if he went just that extra bit further.  He grips the hype man’s hair on either side of his head, giving it a harsh tug as he fixes to keep him stationary. He thrusts more fervently down, sending Marty lurching back each time he slams his hips forwards despite the desperation with which he grasps at him. It’s inevitable when that much force is involved.  A gurgling noise rumbles in his throat, creating something that sounds like a watery purr and he’s too consumed by his arousal to damn himself for the noise. He always reaches that breaking point where it just doesn’t fucking matter anymore. 

He continues his deliberate rhythm, just slow enough to savor the baker’s taste, feel, the scent of his groin, sheer weight of the erection against his throat muscles, but also deep enough to light the boy on fire in pleasure.Breathing deep through his nose and exhaling every time in a contented gritty moan. His moans get louder when Lars pushes back against him. There’s the occasional tooth to skin contact with Marty not entirely in control of the thrusts; really a toothless blowjob from him is going to be impossible regardless.

He pulls back for the smallest second when he has the chance, making sure a hand comes down to massage that beautiful length so for no part of time it’s left alone. “Do you wanna fuck my face, Laramie? Don’t be shy, I can take it.” His voice  is seductive, and he always has a way of almost-singing Lars’ name. Marty takes the baker’s length whole again, watering eyes also staring deep, encouragingly into the other’s as he tries to keep his jaw relaxed.

Every sound the boy makes causes the pro-motor’s cock to ache. Working over Lars with his mouth gets Marty worked up more than anything. His hand that had been fondling the boy had fallen to his side, but it starts rubbing the crotch of his jeans in small strokes.

He loved those teeth though. They were hardly a deterrent. Lars liked to play with fire and knew well enough if you did so you were going to get burned; but some people like that, some people think it feels good.