Written in 70 minutes on mobile while sleep-deprived.
Content: Gay shit, autistic self-insert second-person narration, greentext use, backyard chemistry, cooming your childhood bully's dad into mental oblivion, throat breeding, anal wreckage, and cheesy proposal scene.
>panther bully coming home to see his dad get plowed by anon
Horny mode engage
>senior year of high school
>you get out early because you're already done with grad requirements and just petering down the clock
>it's 1145A. It's lunch time.
>you bike to your favorite asshole's house. Even if his son's an asshole, his single dad knows how to treat you to lunch.
>you get to his house and knock.
>"Who is it?"
>It's anon, man. Don't make me get into this.
>"Come in!" The singsong change of tone in his voice is expected at this point.
>you open the door. Judging the set up, you're probably eating out tonight.
>he's nowhere to be seen. Typical. You shout for him.
>you follow the voice to his bedroom.
>Harold, your discreet boyfriend of the last two years is dressed in a suit.
>"Anon, you've done so much for me. I feel like getting out of bed in the mornings. I can actually see myself at work with some kind of purpose. I've found joy in hobbies I would have never dreamed of."
>you look on like a deer in headlights. You just turned 18. You're really young. You love Harry as much as he does you, but you're scared.
>he gets down on one knee, pulls out a ring with a radiant purple stone and pops the question: "will you marry me?"
>that's an expensive fucking ring. He clearly means it. He's probably stable enough financially that this would work out.
>Yes, you will marry him. You take his hands, getting down to his level as you smooch him on the lips.
>as it starts to develop into frenching, you feel him pick you up easily, his bulky frame untroubled by your weight.
>he carries you to the living room. There's plenty of space to air out and get frisky.
>he tosses you against the couch. "Close your eyes, Anon."
>you close them in anticipation, a nervous erection (and a pillow) the only thing between you and a consummated marriage. You two traded blowjobs before, but this could mean anything.
>you hear him fumbling about a bit. A metal or glass container by the sound of it.
>"Damn it, these things are so hard to open."
>with a POP! loud enough to startle you, he opens it.
>the god-damned backyard scientist made his own lube, didn't he?
>"We can have a few long rounds or many short rounds."
>"alright, this is going to feel hot. Just bear with, alright?"
>you are screaming on the inside. You thought this would fall apart eventually but now you're about to plow your childhood enemy's dad.
>Harry begins to pull your pants down, growling a little as your magnum dong is freed from its denim prison.
>"go ahead and relax." With little preamble, Harry throats down the entire thing. Not to brag, but this thing has made other guys nervous or back out.
>He's probably a seasoned champ at knob-slobbing if he can just throat it like that.
>the wet, nasally suckling draws you in, though -- it's like everything you imagined but with a wriggling, bumpy tongue that drives you NUTS.
>Harry rhythmically bobs his head, clearly getting a charge out of seeing you buckle and squirm.
>before you even know it, you pop HARD and it all goes down his throat, swallowing down to the last drop.
>You're certain that this man is freaky and that you've just struck gold.
>You wriggle a little in his grip as he pulld up, whispering a brief "you taste great."
>Minutes later, you're still breathing heavily from inseminating your fiancee's throat. He's just leaning against you now on the couch.
>"Alright, time for me to show off."
>You look down at your crotch as he smears a thick, white paste on it. It looks like colored vaseline at a glance.
>Harry puts on a good amount, even coating your balls with it.
>You're cracking jokes about it being his cum, even joking about how it smells musky.
>after a couple minutes of shooting the shit, your erection not only comes back to life but is out to exact revenge.
>you start to breathe heavily.
>everything gets hot.
>there's a pressure in your loins.
>your dick, with little provocation besides whatever the fuck this is, feels like it's going to explode.
>in a fit of passion, you grab your panther by his tie.
>you tell him to take off his pants NOW.
>You know that it's mean but your dick needs attention and he clearly wants to give it.
>Harry begins to remove his pants without hesitation, getting on his back in preparation.
>In the heated haze of your artificial fucklust, you shout something like "I hope you're ready to get dicked because I'm in need of some pussy!"
>You aren't going to win a Pulitzer anytime soon, but Harry's sure into it.
>without warning, you cram yourself against his pucker.
>gas escapes his hole as you assert dominance and it begins to feel a lot like that blowjob from earlier, except with less sucking and more "giant squealing cat".
>you effortlessly bottom out. The mewl escaping his lips is all you need to hear before starting to piston in and out of his needy hole.
>the carnal, rhythmic fusion of flesh creates a scent in the air not like any other -- a biological signal that the universe conspired for him to need you.
>"P-please, harder! Make me yours!"
>A bit corny. Maybe the gel stuff is backfiring on him?
>He begins to rock back into you, clenching in rhythm in futile attempt to hold you in.
>Minutes pass, the room shaking.
>You're reduced to a primal shell of yourself, biting into his shoulder to hold him down.
>barely even feeling a thing, you dump a load inside him. Your legs burn in need of rest.
>You will not.
>You continue rutting your muscular bride into the ground, making sure he carries your child by the end of today.
>Harry squeaks out the most bottomly whimper and clenches down hard.
>Faintly, the idea passes that he just came, but you don't care.
>Minutes pass. An hour passes. Orgasms flash and fade, mere drops in the pond.
>By the time it wears off, both you and Harry are sweaty, needy, horny boys in need of a nap and maybe twelve more rounds of whatever the fuck just happened.
>You two take the time to enjoy a nice, passionate session of french kissing.
>CLICK. The front door. The front door. Someone's at the door.
>both you and Harry are deer in headlights, having been caught by the rest of the world as a depraved duo.
>the door pushes open.
>it's Greg. It had to be fucking Greg.
>In the words of your favorite video game character...
>...you shout "Jackpot!" at the top of your lungs.
>while Greg watches, you start to slam Harry again. Too exhausted to resist, he just starts to groan and shake as his sore passage is once again pillaged by the superior male.
>Greg, in standard late teenage horror, runs to his room and slams the door.
>you had done it. Years of psychological and physical torment now repaid double.
>years of stealing your lunch, of taking your glory, of putting gum in your hair, of pulling your pants down.
>so many years, so many crimes.
>and now, you get to pay it all back.
>you didn't just FUCK his dad.
>You ARE his dad. Step-dad, but still -- your bully now has to call you his father-in-law on facebook. You're going to make a Facebook account just to make it happen.
>minutes later, you finish fucking one last load into him. While the height of your orgasm is still going, you jack him off slowly, looking him in the eyes.
>He pops like a champagne bottle, not even flinching.
>the two of you, covered in your collective mess, have just finished your first lovemaking session of a thousand, finishing with a kiss on the cheek.
>You are in love with Harry.
>You are fucking Greg's dad.
>Nothing will ever change that.
>You exchange your I-love-yous before falling asleep together upon what is now an extremely ruined couch.
>You can't wait to see where the future goes with this.