Terry and John Pt. 02 - Final

I can't express how much I appreciate the reception the first part of this story got. Thank you all for reading! This is the conclusion of Terry and John's first time, but I'm sure I'll revisit these two in the future. For now, I hope you enjoy!

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John's room, set off to the side in the windowless rear of the game room, was roomy but basic: a queen mattress on a frame made to look like polished limbs, two old wooden side tables each with crude pictures of forest animals emblazoned on them, a small closet with its accordion door open and his duffle laying on the floor inside, clothes strewn on top. He had always called dibs on it simply because it was the coolest room in the house, and he tended to run hot when he slept. Plus the isolation from the other floors meant nobody was going to hear his stroking to whatever porn he had decided to watch. Sure he used headphones and of course he kept quiet, but it was still nice to know nobody was right on the other side of the wall all the same. Normally he carried lube just for that - to ease his own aching after a long day keeping a discreet eye on Terry. Terry who's self-consciousness tended to hide his strength, and yet when heavy lifting was needed, whether that be a log for the fire or scooping a friend from white water rapids into a raft, Terry would accomplish it with ease. It did something to John, seeing the bursts of muscular prowess mixed with the teddy bear nature of Terry's personality. John never could quite put his finger on what, exactly, the sensation was. It was just a lightning bolt down his spine and straight to his groin.

Yes, of course that was why John carried lube, or so he told himself. He had never actually dared hope this day would come, this day of seeing a naked Terry timidly take to all fours on his bed. Certainly he had had a spike of lustful daydreaming once he got the invite, assuming, as he had told Terry earlier, it would end up just being the two of them. Brent and Charlie's arrival had crushed that dream, and the seal on his fresh lube bottle had been broken on night one. But now? Now here was Terry, putting his faith in John's desire, and putting his ass in John's hands.

Like much of Terry, there was a firm, rounded muscle to that ass, easily noticeable beneath a thin layer of fat which just added more spring than anything. On an impulse, John slapped his hand across the right cheek, hard enough to feel the sting in his palm but not so hard as to leave a mark.

Terry moaned.

For some reason John hadn't expected that, despite what Terry had hinted at earlier. He hadn't expected this big, warm, cushion of a man to have a desire for anything resembling pain in his life. But then, he supposed, everyone has their own inverse within them somewhere. Maybe this is how Terry released that inner demon.

"Oh, you liked that huh?" John purred, gently rubbing the spot on Terry's ass he had just slapped. Terry didn't respond verbally beyond a quiet, contented sigh, but he did sway his hips, pressing himself into John's palm.

John smirked and reared his arm back again, this time causing something approaching an echo in the near empty cabin and definitely leaving a rising red hand mark where flesh had connected to flesh.

Terry bodily moved this time, a louder moan escaping his lips, his cock swaying with the recoil. John wondered what was going through his mind. He was enjoying this, clearly, his deep breaths and leaking cock would've confirmed that if the moans hadn't. But there was still an edge there, a wall. He had a barrier of caution up and John wasn't sure whether it was better to gently scale it or brutishly smash through.

He mulled that for a bit as he stepped away and dug into his duffle for the lube bottle. Terry didn't say anything, didn't even glance over, just swayed his hips and sighed in eager patience.

Caution hadn't got Terry into this room, John realized. And caution hadn't got him moaning either. Action did. Spanking did. And suddenly he knew. A kaleidoscope of hints over the years flooded John's brain: Terry joking about cuffs in college, Terry admiring a smaller dude who was apparently dating a taller, firmer woman in his first workplace, Terry remarking how much he disliked how BDSM was so often mocked and misunderstood in media. All things that, at the time, seemed like simple quirks and niceties - Terry just being Terry. But now the pieces fell into place, and John had never been so sure.

He smirked as he threw the lube on the mattress, reached back into the duffle, and grabbed his belt.

Terry had heard the jingle of the belt buckle as John removed it, but had assumed it was just the zippers on his duffle. It wasn't until he felt the crack of leather across his ass that he realized his error. A voice in the back of his mind was telling him that this was wrong, that he shouldn't be enjoying this, and yet only pleasure poured from his lips and dripped from his dick. Hormones were winning the day, desire was pressing that nagging voice further and further into silence. But it was still there...

CRACK

STING

MOAN

And the voice quieted another notch.

CRACK

STING

MOAN

And it quieted again.

CRACK

Terry was feeling it build now, the consecutive lashes adding to his growing sensitivity. Each swing was roughly the same strength as the last, and yet each sting resonated throughout his body just that bit more.

You're not supposed to be enjoying this said the voice. But it was quiet now. So very quiet.

CRACK

He half moaned, half yelled this time. Something primal bursting from his lungs, some fear escaping him, some ancient truth wordlessly voiced. His body heaved and he blinked back a tear, not from pain. From something else.

Acceptance?

John was saying something but it was all mumbled emptiness to his ear. He breathed in, let out another quiet, whimpery moan, and attuned his hearing.

"You ok? Need me to stop?"

John's hand was lying gently on his back, his face coming into a blurry field of view. Terry turned away lest John see his tears. He didn't want to ruin the moment, didn't want it to end.

"Yeah." he sighed. "I mean no. I mean, I'm ok. Please don't stop."

John withdrew, accepting Terry's reassurance, but still put the belt aside for now. The streaks on Terry's ass were growing a livid red as John settled back in behind him and admired his handiwork. He placed his palm in his own, red handprint and squeezed, earning another quiet whimper from Terry. His cock was practically dripping now, John noticed almost absently, as he traced his finger down a cheek, over balls, and along Terry's twitching shaft. He let the pad of his fingertip press gently on the head, swirled it, and withdrew - a string of precum stretching and breaking as he pressed the nectar to his tongue.

Salty. Hot. He needed to taste more.

Not just more precum, not even just cum, that would all happen in due course, but more of Terry, more of the whole of him.

He crawled onto the bed behind that bouncy, beautiful, marked ass, resting on his knees as he slapped a hand on either cheek and spread them.

Terry startled but quickly settled, resumed gently swaying his hips in a polite pleading. His hole was clean. Unshaved, but clean nonetheless. John had expected no different, Terry had always been adamant about his personal hygiene but often looked like he never heard of razors in his life. It was an odd dichotomy, but it was yet another aspect that drove John crazy. Hair, muscles, a perfect amount of gut, and a quiet, almost stoic strength. It was masculinity incarnate as far as he was concerned. The arousing kind of masculinity anyway.

And here it was, spread before him.

He didn't hesitate to press his tongue down on Terry's ass. In fact, the most difficult part was keeping Terry still. It seemed John had found a weak spot for his new partner, as Terry's lips turned from emitting long moans to spilling short, ragged ones. His body moved this way and that and his hands flailed, one shot forward clenching sheets, the other swayed back, searching for John's hair. John wasn't sure if he was trying to push his lips off or pull his tongue further in, or perhaps both.

John pushed harder, pressing the point of his tongue inside Terry. He tasted of heat and chlorine, but not overpoweringly so. For his part, Terry pulled away. Not in an effort to have John stop, but seemingly on an instinct, on a need. He couldn't sit still and simply had to move. Before long he was pinned between John and the headboard and his chest was heaving as his hands white knuckle gripped the bars designed to look like sticks. If John didn't know any better he'd have thought Terry was biting it...

Terry's teeth told him if he put much more pressure on them then the headboard would shove them back into his gums, and so he released the tension of his jaw.

This was new. Not as a concept, of course. He knew what rimjobs were, had been more than happy to give them to girlfriends in the past, but only one ever seemed to enjoy it and even then only mildly so. He had thus assumed it to be one of those porn things - done more for the camera than personal pleasure. Not that he thought it would be unpleasurable, just, again... mild.

This was anything but mild.

His mind was blank. His body was in total control now and yet it could only send mixed signals. He simultaneously felt compelled to move away and to never give up this sensation, to flee and to flip John over and ride his face. It tickled, but it didn't. It was arousing, sending shockwaves of pleasure though him, electrifying his nerves, but it wasn't orgasmic. It made him hard, made him throb, made him leak all the more, but didn't send cum surging. It was a different flavor of pleasure, an unknown version short circuiting every innate response instinct he had. It was torture and it was pleasure all at once, and all he could do was squirm, flail, and gasp.

He had no idea how long it had been when John pulled away for air. He would've believed ten seconds as readily as he would an hour. All he knew was that his muscles gave way, girders of tension suddenly melted into putty. He collapsed, sweating, heaving in breaths, more relaxed than he'd ever been.

He had expected to hear John laugh, to say something, to at least give him a friendly jibe if not mock him altogether for his... whatever that was. But no such sound was forthcoming. Instead all he heard was the snap of plastic, followed by the feeling of cold jelly. He didn't fight it, didn't want to. In fact all he wanted, all he needed in the world was to have John inside him.

John hadn't expected Terry to flip onto his back, truth be told. It seemed too soon, too intimate, to be locking eyes with each other as they fucked. Not that doggy was impersonal, but it was that extra degree of detached. Still, his eyes locked with Terry's and he found he didn't mind. No, actually he found it entirely necessary. A connection was forming, wordless, communicated through the touch of skin on skin and the heat of bodies mingling together. John blushed, smiled, looked away, felt like a schoolboy again. When had that last happened? When had he ever felt exactly like this?

A heavy, rough, firm, and yet somehow oh so gentle hand cupped his chin and turned his eyes back to center, locking them again.

"Please."

It was almost a whisper, a plea, a sound he had never heard from Terry. He could only stare silently.

"Please," Terry repeated, "I need you inside me."

Terry's legs were already splayed around John, and he couldn't help but feel there was more than just raw, animal lust as Terry opened himself before him.

He smiled again and obliged, feeling that peculiar mix of cold lube and hot body as his aching cock finally found the salve of warmth encompassing it. It was John's turn to moan now and Terry's turn to smile. For a long moment neither moved, instead they melded together, enraptured by the music of the other's pulse. Then, when it felt right, John began to thrust.

A toy could never compare to a cock. Terry knew that in theory, but this was his first direct exposure, and if anything he believed everyone was underselling it.

It wasn't the physical differences, not exactly, though those were certainly evident. But what truly made it was the motion, the sensation, the primal need of fucking and being fucked coming to fruition. Toys helped you masturbate, fucking helped you be human.

John had filled him. He was no monster in size himself, thank god, but he was more than sufficient. Terry could feel his muscles clenching around John's shaft, trying to bring him in, to hold him there. It wasn't voluntary, but then not much had been since getting on all fours. He had been running on pure adrenaline and raw lust until now, and the only thing that changed was the extra fuel of connection.

He locked his thighs around John's waist, ankles latching together, as John growled and thrust and pressed ever deeper. Somewhere along the way John had wrapped a hand around his throat, not choking him but still establishing dominance of a sort. Terry had grabbed his wrist and held him there, conveying his acceptance, his desire.

They didn't kiss. It didn't seem like quite the time for romance. This was something different, a separate, powerful bonding they both seemed to silently share. Well, silent except for the growls, grunts, and moans.

John was thrusting harder and harder now, as deep as he could, and Terry was driven closer and closer to exploding as John's cock continued to pound and massage his spot. If this were some sort of movie, or perhaps a porn, they would both cum together, but Terry couldn't hold it together for that long. He clenched John's wrist with one hand, clenched the sheets with the other, and let his orgasm overtake him.

Hot ropes of cum splashed against John's abdomen, fueling him all the more. Terry's eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, and he breathed in time with each new pulse of cum. His glazed cock was beautiful as it shot sticky pleasure indiscriminately, coating both John and himself in the physicality of fulfilment.

The compounding of, well, everything was getting to John: Terry beneath him, around him, the superheated sparks crackling between them, the sweat and smell of them, the culmination of years and years of quiet want - it was all too much. John's hips slowed as he burst forth deep inside Terry, causing Terry to open his eyes and flick his gaze back to John's. There was satisfaction there, and something deeper than satisfaction. Terry let out a small, quiet, "Oh." as John came and came and came again. Harder than he could ever remember cumming, at least in the moment. When he was finally spent he collapsed onto Terry's chest, his cock, somehow still hard, locking in the seed of his ecstasy. Terry's bear hug encompassed him and he felt a tension he didn't even know he was holding onto escape his body.

They lied there, entangled, hot, sticky, and most of all, together.