#chrissad

Eric was less surprised by the request than Assad had expected. He only laughed, and then launched straight into negotiations.

Assad would be caged. Well, yes, he had expected that. He had also expected the stipulation that no one but Eric would be allowed to touch his hole.

"Belongs to daddy," he finished in unison with Eric, affecting a bored voice and an eye roll that he immediately undercut with a warm smile.

"Just my mouth then," he said. "That's what I was envisioning anyway."

Eric reached up and ran a thumb along his bottom lip.

"Such a pretty little mouth," he said. "I'll be reluctant to share. Just don't forget how far I'm willing to go to make you happy."

Assad smiled, leaning into the touch.

"It's yours too," he said. "And I'm sure you won't let anyone forget it."

The day of the party couldn't come fast enough. By the time the first guests knocked on the door, Assad was fidgety with anticipation, bouncing up and down on his haunches as he kneeled by Eric's armchair.

He wasn't restrained at all, other than his cock. He wanted to be able to touch, to feel, to soak up his present through his fingertips as well as his mouth.

Eric had bought him a pretty little purple dress for the occasion, with a short, frilly skirt and a white lace floral overlay and a neat little bow at the back. Assad had blushed when he'd opened it, but when Eric had said he didn't have to wear it if he didn't want to, he'd clutched it to his chest and shook his head.

Now, he almost regretted the decision. He felt painfully self conscious, warm all over, as Eric patted his head and then walked over and opened the door.

"Hi Sam," Eric said, and Assad wished he could curl up into himself and disappear.

"Hi Eric," Sam's deep, resonant voice said, hitting someplace deep in Assad's tummy. "Good to see you, as always. Where should, uh… Where should I put this?"

Assad couldn't see them from where he was sitting, but he thought Sam must either be holding up a present or a bottle of something.

"Kitchen table," Eric said. "Unless it's something you want to use on him now?"

Sam laughed.

"Well, that would violate one of your possessive little rules, old man," he said. "I'll let you save it for when you're alone later."

Assad bit his lip and fiddled with the hem of his dress. He wondered what the present was. A plug maybe? A vibrator?

Sam peaked around the corner and gave him a goofy, affectionate grin.

"Hey, babe," he said. "Look at you in your party dress."

Assad swallowed.

"Hi Sam," he said. His voice came out small, higher pitched and breathier than usual.

"Looks like I got here first. What do you think I should do while we're waiting for the rest of your guests to arrive? Looks like your daddy has some snacks set up in the kitchen. Think I should go gorge myself on grilled pineapple skewers?"

Assad shook his head.

Sam slipped around the corner and came closer. His movements, Assad thought, were so different than Lestat's — more understated, more grounded. He had his hair pulled back in a low ponytail and his jeans were loose and worn at the knees.

"Hi, sweetheart," he murmured as he bent down and kissed Assad gently on the mouth.

"You already said that," Assad told him.

Sam laughed, stroking Assad's cheeks with his thumbs.

"Impatient, are we?"

Sam's fingers found the collar around Assad's neck and tugged gently. It was a simple black leather collar with an O-ring, an ancient artifact from Eric's early days in the scene. Eric had offered to buy him a new one, but Assad liked the worn, buttery-soft leather and the history it carried.

He opened his mouth and gave Sam a pointed glare.

Sam rolled his eyes, but his fingers were already on his fly.

"You're such a brat," he said. "Alright, fine. Is this what you want?"

Assad's mouth watered at the sight of Sam's flushed, hard cock. He was cut, unlike Eric, and much smaller, but it was a very pretty thing, slender and curving upwards, with a drop of precome already glistening at the tip.

Assad stuck his tongue out and waited, staring at it.

"Well," Sam said. "Go on."

It wasn't exactly what Assad wanted, but he took the instruction, licking kittenishly at the drop of precome, tasting salt and drawing out a little huff from Sam above him. When he'd licked the tip clean, he swirled his tongue around the head, then slowly, steadily pushed forward until his nose was pressed against Sam's pubes and he could feel Sam's tip in the back of his throat.

"Fuuuck," Sam groaned, digging his fingers into Assad's hair. "You're so fucking good at that."

The sounds of more guests arriving only heightened Assad's high as he finally lost himself in his ministrations, licking and sucking and grasping at Sam's thighs. The taste of Sam, the sounds of Eric chatting with their friends while he was on his knees in plain view, the weight of the collar around his neck and the rustle of his skirt every time he moved were almost enough to make him forget how badly he ached to be brutalized.

This was fine. He'd never expected Sam to be rough with him. They were barely getting started; there was plenty of time.

But Jacob was gentle with him too, calling him princess and stroking his hair, and Ben made him do all the work. Delainey was a little rougher with her strap, but only a little, and Nick and Bill were too focused on making out over his head to fuck his face until he cried.

"No one understands the assignment," he grumbled to Eric, when Eric brought him some water and a plate of biscuits.

"Mmm," Eric hummed. "Yeah, I'd noticed that. But hey, Chris should be here soon."

Assad shivered.

"Mmm," he said. "Yeah."

Eric grinned and fed him a biscuit.

The night went on in much the same vein for far too long, and Assad grew increasingly frustrated. His poor, neglected cock ached in its cage and he felt restless, his mind wandering even as his friends used him, even as he put his tongue to use.

The whole point of this, he thought in despair, was to stop his mind from being able to wander, and here he was thinking sadly about the fact that his new dress hadn't been ruined at all, even as Delainey's strap found his tongue for the third time that evening.

When she gently tucked a curl behind his ear, he pulled back and glared at her, swiping away the strand of saliva connecting his mouth to her strap with his hand.

"Why is everyone being so nice to me?" he whined.

Delainey raised an eyebrow at him.

"You couldn't possibly look sweeter and more vulnerable if you tried," she said. "Are we really supposed to look at you in your pretty dress and perfect angel curls and want to be mean to you?"

Assad pouted.

"Yes," he said. "You're supposed to want to ruin me."

"Hey, babe," Eric said from across the room. "Look who just got here."

Assad looked up. And up again.

"Oh," he squeaked.

Chris gave him an absolutely evil grin.

"Your daddy's covering for me," he said. "I've just been in the kitchen, letting you squirm."

Assad couldn't even muster any annoyance at that— he felt too desperate. Chris could be relied upon to treat him roughly.

As he came closer, Assad craned his neck to keep looking at his face. His height was always striking, but from this angle it was awe-inspiring.

"Well?" Chris said as he calmly unzipped his fly. "Beg."

Assad licked his lips, eyes glued to Chris's cock as Chris's big hand pulled it out and stroked it lazily.

"Please, Chris," he said, voice breathy and desperate. "Please, I need… I need…"

Chris hmphed.

"What did you call me?"

Assad glanced in the direction of the kitchen, eyes passing over all the people watching him, searching for Eric, but Chris grabbed his chin and forced bis face forward.

"I know he won't let you call me daddy," he said regretfully. "But you can do better than Chris."

"S-sir," Assad gasped. "I need your cock, sir, please. Need you to— need you to fuck my, fuck my face until… until…"

His throat felt dry. He swallowed.

"Until the back of your throats bruised?" Chris suggested. "Until you can barely speak?"

Assad nodded vigorously.

"P-please."

Chris chuckled.

"A real slut never outgrows it, huh?" he said, forcibly turning Assad's face this way and that. "Still pretty as ever too. Alright. I suppose I'll indulge you."

Chris grabbed him by the hair and violently yanked his head back. Before Assad could catch his breath, that impossibly long cock was being shoved down his throat.

He closed his eyes, trying to relax and modulate his breathing, but Chris gave him no time to adjust. He slammed into the back of Assad's throat again and again, and it was all Assad could do to keep his gurgling and choking from turning into a full blown coughing fit.

When spit was soaking Assad's chin and dripping onto his dress, Chris pulled back just long enough to slap him across the face with a loud crack.

More than one person in the crowd gasped. Assad moaned, his cock twitching in it's cage.

"Whore," Chris said, and spat on Assad's face.

Assad grinned. He let his eyes flutter shut, riding a wave of bliss as Chris forced him down onto his back. He went easily, laughing when the short skirt of his dress rode up, exposing his caged cock to the room.

When Chris's knees landed on either side of his head, now bare ass hovering over his nose, he opened his mouth, waiting.

He didn't have to wait long.

At this angle, Chris's long cock curved down the length of his throat, fucking deeper than he could believe was possible. He was sure it must be bulging his throat even before Chris's hand closed around it, feeling himself under the skin.

"Fuck," Chris cursed.

Assad wished that someone would touch him. His cock ached in its cage. His belly swirled with heat that had nowhere to go. If only someone, if only someone would…

"Eric," Chris panted. "You want to?"

Assad couldn't see anything, but he knew Eric's hands immediately as they pushed his thighs apart. Eric grunted as he forced himself inside Assad's hole, still wet and loose from when he'd fucked him after caging him and before the guests had arrived, unable to resist temptation. Eric hadn't allowed either of them to come, and Assad was so desperate now that the moment Eric's cock brushed against his prostate he spilled, come spurting through the cage and onto his belly as he whined.

Immediately, everything felt ten times more overwhelming. The heat of Chris above him, the long cock fucking down his throat, the thick, oh so familiar cock pounding his ass, all those people watching, the slide and scrape of his dress between his body and the floor. He felt a tear roll down his cheek and let out a sob.

"Such a good boy," Chris said. "You needed that, huh?"

"Insatiable," Eric grunted. "Are you close?"

"Yeah," Chris panted. "You?"

"Yup."

"Let's ruin his party dress, shall we?"

Assad tasted salt as Chris pulled his cock from his throat, and then Chris was coming, covering Assad with come as Eric pulled out and added his mess to the pretty purple dress.

They all panted, not moving, trying to catch their breath. Then, Chris slapped his thighs and stood.

"Well folks," he said. "That's how it's done, if anyone was wondering. Try and bear that in mind if you go back in for another round."