Stranger on the Bus – Part 3

Everyone in this story is 18+

Sunlight spilled across the tangled sheets, warm against my bare back. I blinked slowly, breath thick, body heavy with soreness. My thighs ached. My ass was still stretched, used and crusty. My cock was hard again already—morning wood, sure, but there was more to it than usual.

Max was still asleep beside me, half on his stomach, half on me. His hair was a mess, his face smudged with dried sweat and a streak of his own cum across his cheek. And fuck if it didn’t make me even harder.

I rolled toward him, dragging my hand down his back, then under, cupping his ass. He stirred, hips pushing back into my palm instinctively.

“Morning,” I said, voice rough.

He cracked one eye open, grinned sleepily. “Mmm. Already hard?”

“I blame you.”

He stretched like a cat—limbs long, slim, golden in the light—then looked down. “Damn,” he whispered, seeing my cock standing thick and flushed, leaking pre down my length. “Wanna taste.”

I didn’t even have time to respond before he crawled down, lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling, sucking me into that soft, wet mouth. I groaned, hips lifting slightly off the bed.

“Fuck, Max…”

He pulled back just long enough to grin. “You’re not getting all the fun.”

He swung his leg over me and sat on my chest, his cock dangling above my face—still half-hard but filling fast. Smooth everywhere, except his pubes, his balls heavy and low, cock pink and leaking already.

I didn’t wait.

I grabbed his ass and pulled him down to my mouth, licking a long stripe from the base of his shaft up to the head, then sucked him deep. He moaned around my cock, both of us now locked into it—raw, needy, devouring each other.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t slow.

It was sloppy and dirty.

Our mouths full, lips stretched, spit dribbling, balls slapping gently against cheeks with every hungry bob. He sucked with confidence, deep and wet, moaning around me while I tongued his slit, then moved lower to mouth at his balls, sucking each one into my mouth while he squirmed.

Then I went lower.

I lifted his hips, spread him open, and licked.

“Fuck—Jones—” he gasped, pulling off my cock as I buried my tongue between his cheeks, lapping at his hole. Tasted remnants of myself in there, deep. I tongued him open while he rocked back against my face, moaning loud and raw.

His hole twitched under my tongue, already slick deep inside from the night before. I gripped his thighs, pulled his ass wider, and dove back in, devouring him, tongue-fucking him until he was shaking.

“Shit—get inside me,” he panted, nearly begging. “Now.”

I didn’t hesitate.

I flipped him over, grabbed the lube, and lined up. His hole was a bit more stretched from the night before but tight enough to grip me. I sank in one thrust—slick, easy, right.

He gasped, face buried in the pillow. “Fuck, yes.”

I grabbed his hips and pounded into him, the bed slamming into the wall with every deep thrust. My cock drove into him again and again, his hole sucking me in like it wanted to be ruined.

“You love this, don’t you?” I growled, pulling his hair to lift his head.

“Love it,” he gasped. “Harder.”

So I gave it to him—rough, fast, fucking him down into the mattress. My balls slapped against his ass, lube and spit and last night’s cum making it the night kind of nasty.

He stroked himself under him, moaning my name again and again until he shook, legs twitching.

It was too much I was grunting, slamming deep, and cumming deep inside him for the second time in less than twelve hours.

I pulled out, breathing hard, collapsed beside him.

But Max? He wasn’t done.

He rolled on top of me, eyes dark and wild. “You’re not the only one who can fuck like that.”

He got on top of me, slicked himself quick, and grabbed my cock—still sensitive, half-hard—and stroked it back to almost full attention.

I barely had time to speak before he lined up and slammed himself inside of me, my ass forced to take his cock to the root in one breathless drop.

I choked. “Max—fuck—”

He didn’t go slow on me.

He fucked me.

Bounced hard, fast, ass slapping down on my thighs, hands gripping my chest for balance. His cock jackhammered me, I was fully hard again already, untouched and leaking.

“Who's tight now?” he growled, sweat flying as he fucked me into the mattress.

I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Just held his hips as he bounced into my hole he owned it—like he wanted to break me, and then fix me again. My eyes rolled back, mouth falling open as he slammed in harder and harder.

He leaned forward, hand around my throat—not choking, just holding—and fucked me faster, tighter, hotter.

“You love it,” he whispered in my ear. “Being taken. Being fucked by a twink who knows exactly how to fuck your manly ass.”

And fuck me—

He was right.

I came with a shout, hands gripping his hips, filling him again as he groaned and shot his own load deep inside my inner walls.

We collapsed, trembling, sticky, and both utterly used.

He lay on my chest, breathing hard.

“Still think twinks can’t fuck?” he whispered, smug.

I wrapped an arm around him, kissed his sweaty forehead.

“Goddamn,” I whispered. “I would never claim something else.”