Sticks, Tricks, and Dicks – Part 10

Everyone in this story is 18+.

The suite door had barely clicked shut before Chris was on the phone to room service, voice calm, sexy as always.

“Send up the strawberries, the ripe ones. And the whipped cream. The real stuff. Thanks.”

He hung up, tossed his blazer over a chair, and rolled his sleeves back.

Jake and I stood in the middle of the living room, city lights glittering behind us, adrenaline from the maybe-yes still buzzing under our skin. Chris looked at us, slow smile spreading.

“Take your shoes off, boys. We’re not in a hurry.”

There was a soft knock a few minutes later. Chris signed, tipped, shut the door. A silver tray appeared on the low coffee table: fat strawberries the color of fresh blood, a chilled bowl of whipped cream so thick it held the shape of the spoon.

Chris dipped one berry, let the cream cling in a heavy dollop, and held it out to Jake.

Jake took the offering with his teeth, slow, eyes locked on Chris. A bead of cream slid down the corner of his mouth. Chris caught it with his thumb, then, without breaking eye contact, licked the thumb clean.

Jake exhaled like he’d been holding the breath since dinner.

I reached for a berry, but Chris shook his head.

“Uh-uh. You wait your turn.”

He fed me next, same way, cream first, then the berry. When I bit down the fruit burst, sweet and sharp, juice running down my chin. Chris leaned in and licked the trail from jaw to lip, open-mouthed, tasting strawberry and skin.

Jake watched us, pupils blown wide. Chris handed him the bowl.

“Your move, Jake.”

Jake scooped two fingers through the cream, painted a thick stripe down the side of Chris’s neck, then followed it with his tongue, slow drag all the way to the hollow of his throat. Chris’s head tipped back, a low sound rumbling out of him.

I couldn’t stay still anymore. I took a handful of cream, smeared it across Jake’s collarbone, and licked him clean while Chris watched, eyes intent on us.

Shirts started coming off between bites. Buttons slipped open like secrets. Jake’s black shirt slid from his shoulders and hit the floor. Chris peeled mine off next, palms skating over my chest, thumbs flicking my nipples until they stood hard and aching.

We ended up on the wide sectional, half-reclined, limbs tangled. Chris sat back against the armrest, legs spread. Jake knelt between them, feeding him strawberries, letting cream drip onto Chris’s chest and chasing every drop with his mouth. I moved behind Jake, hands sliding over the ridges of his abs, mouthing along his spine, tasting faint salt and the remnants of whipped cream.

Chris’s fingers threaded through Jake’s hair, guiding but not forcing. Jake’s breath was coming faster, hips rolling back against me without thinking.

I reached around, popped the button on Jake’s slacks. Chris did the same to mine from the front. Fabric whispered down thighs. We were all hard as fuck, straining, the air thick with the smell of sugar and want.

Chris pulled Jake up by the chin, kissed him deep and filthy, sharing the taste of strawberries and cream. I watched them, hand stroking my cock slow, until Chris broke the kiss and crooked a finger at me.

“Come here.”

I crawled forward. Chris drew me in, kissed me just as slow, Jake watching now, lips swollen, chest rising fast.

Then Chris guided us both down, one hand on each of our necks, until Jake and I were face-to-face, inches apart, breathing the same air.

“Kiss him,” Chris said, voice rough velvet. “Show me how you taste together.”

Jake and I crashed together like we’d been starving for it. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, the faint sweetness of fruit still on both of us. Chris’s hands moved over our backs, shoulders, down to the waistbands of boxer briefs, easing them lower.

Skin on skin now. Chris’s palm cupped the back of Jake’s neck, then mine, steering us gently apart just far enough to look at us both.

“Bedroom,” he said, simple, certain.

We moved like one organism, shedding the last of our clothes on the way, leaving a trail of fabric and strawberry stems across the hardwood.

The huge bed was waiting, sheets already turned down, city glowing beyond the windows like it was watching.

Chris pushed us down side by side, then stood at the foot of the bed, taking us in, slow, reverent, like he was memorizing the moment in a way that looked both content and slightly melancholic.

Jake reached for me first, hand sliding up my thigh. I mirrored him. Chris watched a second longer, then crawled up between us, a hand on each of us, guiding, joining, until there was no space left for questions.

Chris disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a dark glass bottle, the label in French, something that smelled faintly of sandalwood and warm skin. He flicked off the overhead lights so only the city glow and one low lamp painted us in gold and shadow.

“On your stomachs,” he said, voice quiet, like the room itself was listening.

We obeyed without a word. Jake and I stretched out side by side on the cool sheets, shoulders touching, foreheads turned toward each other. Chris knelt between us, uncapped the bottle, and let a slow ribbon of oil pool in the small of Jake’s back first. The scent bloomed, rich, heady. He spread it with the heels of his hands, long gliding strokes from spine to ribs, thumbs pressing into the thick muscle along Jake’s lats until Jake exhaled a shaky, grateful sound.

Then the same for me, oil warm from his palms, sliding down the groove of my spine, over the curve where back meets ass. Chris’s hands were sure, unhurried, like he had all night to map every inch of us.

He worked lower. When his thumbs swept over the swell of Jake’s ass, Jake’s hips lifted just slightly, instinctive. Chris took the invitation, kneading deep, spreading the cheeks just enough for more oil to trickle down the cleft. Jake’s breath stuttered; I felt it against my own lips.

Chris mirrored the motion on me, palms firm, fingers tracing the sensitive skin behind my balls, never quite touching where I suddenly needed it most. Just teasing, promising.

“Turn over,” he finally said.

We rolled in unison. The oil had warmed against our skin; now it caught the low light and turned every muscle into liquid gold. Chris poured fresh oil across Jake’s chest, watched it run in slow rivulets over his impressive pecs, down the center groove of his abs, pooling in the hollow just above his cock. Then he leaned down and licked a single stripe through it, from sternum to navel. Jake’s back arched off the bed.

Chris’s hands followed his mouth, spreading the oil everywhere, thumbs circling Jake’s nipples until they stood hard and slick, then sliding lower, tracing the deep V of his hips, stopping just short of his dick. Jake’s cock jerked against his stomach, leaking pre already, but Chris ignored it, moving to me instead.

He painted my chest the same way, palms gliding, fingers pinching lightly, mouth following, tasting oil and skin and the faint leftover sweetness of whipped cream. When he reached my hips he paused, drizzled more oil directly onto my cock, and finally, finally wrapped his hand around my erection which felt ready to burst. Slow, oily strokes from root to head, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke until my hips were chasing his fist.

Jake watched, lips parted, chest rising fast. Chris reached over with his free hand and mirrored the motion on Jake, two slick fists moving in perfect sync, oil dripping down balls and thighs. The room filled with the wet sound of skin on skin and the low, broken noises neither of us could hold back.

Chris leaned over us, one knee planted between our spread legs, and kissed Jake first, deep, then me, sharing the taste of oil and pure need. His hands never stopped, twisting just right at the head, squeezing at the base, keeping us both right on the knife-edge.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he said against my mouth, voice ragged.

Jake answered first, a strangled “Fuck, now,” and Chris slowed, cruel and perfect, until Jake was writhing, begging with his hips.

Only then did Chris let go, pour more oil across his own palms, and slide them lower, between Jake’s cheeks, between mine, one thick finger circling, pressing, slipping inside with almost no resistance because we were both so ready it hurt.

He crooked both fingers at once, found the spot that made Jake cry out and my vision white out for a second.

And still he didn’t rush.

Just kept us there, trembling, open and dripping.

Chris eased his fingers free and slid down the bed like warm water, settling between us on his knees. The city light painted silver across his shoulders as he bent over me first.

He took my hard dick into his mouth in one slow, wet glide—no teasing, just heat and suction and the swirl of his tongue under the head that made my hips buck off the mattress. At the same moment his hand slipped back between my thighs, two slick fingers pushing inside me again, curling, stroking in perfect rhythm with his mouth. It was like my spine melted.

Jake watched, chest heaving, cock flushed dark and leaking more precum onto his abs. Chris reached over with his free hand, wrapped it around Jake’s shaft, and started stroking him in long, lazy pulls while he kept sucking me like it was the only thing in the world.

I turned my head, found Jake’s mouth, and we kissed messy and desperate, tongues sliding, teeth catching, swallowing each other’s moans. Every time Chris took me deeper, Jake’s hand tightened on my neck, like he could feel it through me.

Then Chris switched.

He pulled off me with a wet pop, shifted sideways, and swallowed Jake’s cock down in one smooth motion. Jake’s head slammed back into the pillow, a broken “fuck” ripping out of him. Chris hummed around him, the vibration making Jake’s thighs shake. His fingers never left my hole, massaging gently, keeping me open and aching while his mouth worked Jake to the edge.

We kept kissing the whole time, sloppy, hungry, tasting oil and each other, hands roaming wherever we could reach—Jake’s fingers in my hair, mine pinching his nipples, both of us trembling under Chris’s relentless attention.

Chris pulled off Jake just long enough to growl, “On your knees, both of you.”

We scrambled up, facing each other on all fours, foreheads almost touching. Chris moved behind us, but instead of what we expected, he dropped lower, mouth finding Jake’s cock again from underneath, sucking him upside-down while his fingers slid back into me. Then he switched, taking me deep while stroking Jake with a slick fist.

The room spun. All I could feel was wet heat, the stretch of his fingers, Jake’s ragged breathing in my ear.

Eventually Chris rose up on his knees between us, cock heavy and flushed, curving up against his stomach. Jake and I moved without needing to be told—two mouths descending at once, licking up opposite sides, tongues meeting at the head, trading messy kisses around him.

Chris groaned, one hand in my hair, the other in Jake’s, guiding us as we took turns swallowing him, lips sliding past each other, sharing spit and pre-cum and the faint taste of strawberries still clinging to our tongues.

Jake pulled off first, voice wrecked. “Chris… please.”

I echoed him, desperate. “Fuck us. Please.”

Chris’s eyes went almost black. He leaned down, kissed Jake hard, then me, tasting himself on our mouths.

“On your backs,” he said, voice raw. “Legs up. I want to see both of you when I decide who gets it first.”

We fell back, knees pulled to our chests, open and shaking, oil and spit shining on us, cocks leaking onto our stomachs.

Chris knelt between us, one hand stroking his tool slow, the other sliding two fingers into Jake, then into me, back and forth, keeping us both on the brink.

He looked from one of us to the other, eyes hungry, possessive, tender all at once.

“Eenie, meenie…” he whispered, and pressed the head of his cock against Jake first, just resting there, hot and oiled up.

Jake whimpered.

Then Chris shifted, dragging the head across to me, nudging, not entering, just letting us feel the promise.

I couldn’t breathe.

Chris smiled, slow and wicked, and leaned down to kiss us both again, tasting the begging on our tongues.

“Not yet,” he teased. “I want you both insane first.”

And he sank back down between us, mouth and fingers working in perfect and merciless unison.

Chris kept us teetering on that razor’s edge for what felt like hours, mouth and fingers trading between us, never letting either of us tip over. He’d swallow me down until my thighs shook, then pull off and sink three fingers into Jake, curling hard until Jake’s back bowed off the bed. Then switch again, licking a hot stripe up Jake’s cock while stretching me open with slow, twisting strokes.

Every time one of us got close he’d ease off, kiss us quiet, whisper filthy praise against sweat-damp skin.

Finally, when we were both babbling nonsense and dripping onto the sheets, Chris rose up on his knees, oil-slick hand stroking himself slow.

“Grayson first,” he decided, voice gravel.

He pushed my knees wider, lined up, and slid in with one long, burning glide that punched the air from my lungs. The stretch was perfect, overwhelming, exactly what I’d been dying for. Chris stilled, letting me feel every inch of him pulsing inside me, then leaned forward, folding me nearly in half so he could kiss me deep while he started to move.

Jake watched us, pupils blown, cock flushed dark against his stomach. Chris reached out, guided Jake’s head down.

“Suck him, baby.”

Jake didn’t hesitate. He swallowed me to the almost to the root, throat working around me while Chris started fucking me in slow, deep rolls of his hips. The dual sensation—Chris stretching me open, Jake’s mouth hot and wet. I lasted maybe a minute before I was warning them both, voice wrecked.

Chris pulled out just long enough to flip us like we weighed nothing. Jake on his back now, me straddling his chest so his mouth could reach me again. Chris slicked himself once more and pushed into Jake in one smooth thrust.

Jake’s moan vibrated around my cock. Chris set a harder rhythm this time, hips snapping, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room. Every thrust drove Jake’s mouth deeper onto me until I was fucking his throat in shallow, almost desperate strokes.

We were a chain of heat and need: Chris driving into Jake, Jake swallowing me, my hands braced on the headboard, head thrown back, city lights strobing across my closed eyelids.

Chris pulled out again, breathing hard, sweat shining on his chest.

“Side by side,” he smirked, voice ragged. “Asses up.”

We scrambled into position, shoulders touching, knees spread, presenting ourselves like offerings. Chris knelt behind us, one hand on each of our backs, grounding us.

He slid into me first, just a few deep strokes, enough to make me cry out in pleasure, then pulled out and pushed into Jake, same rhythm, same depth. Back and forth, never letting either of us adjust, just keeping us open and aching.

On the fourth switch he stayed inside Jake, hips stuttering.

“Fuck—close—”

He pulled out, fisted himself once, twice, and came with a low, broken groan—first spurts of semen spilling inside Jake, then he shifted fast and gave the rest to me, shallow thrusts painting us both with thick, messy stripes, still deep enough to feel for days.

We collapsed forward, trembling, leaking, wrecked.

Chris dropped beside us, chest heaving, and for a long moment the only sound was three sets of ragged breathing.

Then he rolled onto his stomach, pushed up on his elbows, and looked back over his shoulder with a lazy, challenging grin.

“Your turn,” he said, voice hoarse. “I believe I was promised a proper thank-you.”

Jake and I shared a look—dazed, hungry, suddenly very awake.

I reached for the bottle of oil, let it pour in a slow golden ribbon down the curve of Chris’s back, over the perfect swell of his ass.

“We’re more than happy to oblige,” I said, and Jake’s answering smile was pure filth.

Chris exhaled, long and shaky, and spread his knees wider.

Chris stayed on his stomach, legs spread, cheek turned against the pillow so he could watch us over one broad shoulder. The city painted silver stripes across his back, oil already shining in the dip of his spine.

Jake and I moved like we’d rehearsed it our whole lives.

I poured more oil (warm now from our hands) straight into the cleft of Chris’s ass. It pooled, then spilled down the crease and over his balls. Jake caught it with two fingers, spread it slow, tracing the tight ring of muscle until Chris’s breath hitched and his hips rolled back, greedy for more.

We took turns opening his tight hole.

Jake first: one thick finger, then two, working him gently while I drizzled oil over his knuckles so every push was oily and smooth. Chris groaned into the pillow, thighs shaking. I added my own finger alongside Jake’s, stretching him wider, feeling the soft heat clench and release around us both.

When he was loose and shining and pushing back shamelessly, Jake oiled himself with one long stroke, lined up, and sank in slow—watching Chris’s face the whole time.

Chris exhaled a broken sound, back arching like a bowstring. Jake paused, buried to the hilt, letting Chris adjust, then started to move: long, rolling thrusts that dragged over every nerve inside him.

I slid underneath Chris on my back, mouth finding his cock where it hung heavy and leaking between his thighs. The angle was perfect—I took his cock, tasting the cum from earlier while taking him deep, meanwhile Jake fucked him from behind, every thrust pushing Chris farther down my throat. Chris’s hands fisted in my hair, hips rocking between us, caught in the rhythm Jake set.

Jake’s pace picked up, skin slapping skin, breath ragged. “Fuck—gonna—”

“Do it,” Chris growled, voice shredded. “Fill me up.”

Jake slammed home once, twice, and came with a loud groan, hips jerking as he pumped deep inside Chris, pulse after pulse. He stayed there a moment, grinding slow, then pulled out carefully.

Chris’s hole fluttered, open and glistening, a thick streams of Jake’s cum already starting to slip free.

I didn’t hesitate.

I pushed two fingers in, scooped out a warm, sticky mouthful, and swallowed it down with a filthy moan that made both of them shudder. Then I licked him clean, tongue pushing inside, tasting Jake and Chris together until Chris was shaking and cursing under his breath.

When I finally rose up on my knees behind him, Chris was already pushing back, needy, desperate.

I slid into the mess Jake left—hot, slick, perfect, Jake’s cum easing the way until I was buried to the root on the first thrust. Chris cried out in pure want and pleasure.

Jake moved to Chris’s front now, feeding his cock back into Chris’s mouth while I fucked him hard and steady, hips snapping, the wet sound of Jake’s load echoing every time I pulled out and drove back in.

Chris came again—Jake catching it all in his mouth. He clenched around me so hard my vision whited out, body shaking through it, cum spilling over Jake’s fist where he milked Chris for the last drops.

I wasn’t far behind.

One, two, three more thrusts and I buried myself deep and let go, adding my own load to the cummy mess already inside him, pulsing until I was empty and trembling.

We collapsed sideways, a sweaty, oil-slick pile, Chris in the middle, Jake and I pressed against him from both sides, chests heaving, hearts hammering in the same frantic rhythm.

Chris laughed first—low, wrecked, incredulous.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, voice hoarse from moaning and being fucked speechless. “You two are gonna kill me.”

Jake kissed the back of his neck, lazy and satisfied. “Worth it.”

I nuzzled into Chris’s throat, tasting salt and oil and us.

“Happy to oblige,” I chuckled, and we all laughed, breathless, tangled, utterly spent.

Outside, the city kept shining.

Inside, none of us moved for a very long time.