Bursting
A story of friends and lovers and the secrets that they can't contain.
I think I'd be blushing if I didn't have greater than my own bodyweight sitting squarely on my shoulders. There's just something lewd about squats. It'd be awkward if I didn't know that doberman's hand so well, resting just above the hernia strap, another hand on the barbell. Only two of us, so we have to spot differently. He's just there to help me bail without getting hurt too bad if anything goes wrong. I can still feel his eyes though, not quite the gentleman he purports to be. It doesn't help that I like to wear the singlet I wore for college wrestling.
It's okay, we're both married. We know how it's supposed to be, but we also know how it is. Workout buddies only, we do the best we can but he's only so good at the willpower thing and I'm bad at stopping him. We'll hold it together tonight I think. We do, most of the time.
It's the poker nights that kill us. The nights where his wife goes out drinking with her sister and he knows she's not coming home. She never does on those nights so he brings the boys over. You've seen the prints of dogs playing poker so you know how wild it can get. We don't really care if Tony cheats because we're not really playing for money. The winner's buying dinner and more beer so they'll spend way more than the ten dollar buy in wins them. The only thing winning gets a guy is bragging rights and the right to choose where dinner comes from, and the second thing sometimes gets vetoed anyways. Good enough prizes for our crowd.
We slay hours before the herd thins, and people have to start going home. Movies after we get bored with cards. Bombs and breasts or haunted hallways with walking guys that always somehow gain steps on running co-eds. The jokes are only sometimes funny, but we're laughing anyways, if not at the joke, at the guy telling it, some people scowl but it's all in good fun and nobody doesn't get made fun of. The night ticks on, the later it gets and the fewer guys are around, the harder it is to keep hands to ourselves. It's extended foreplay, because with the beer swimming thinning our blood way less than our inhibitions.
It takes hours for the last guy to leave. By the time my doberman shuts the door to his house I'm against him with a tongue on his neck and hand down the front of his pants to feel the hot head peeking a few inches out of that sheath. He lets me molest him, grinding against that ass and help that thick cock grow. Eventually he grabs my wrist and growls and pulls it to his lips to kiss and tug me closer to the wall to pin me and kiss me for real.
I cling to him because it's the only way we can stand, and my weight pulls him to the wall. I feel his hardness aching against mine even two layers of jeans, my jock and the nothing he wore underneath. And he knows I'm wearing a jock because as much as we pretend this isn't going to happen, we both know. I'm lightheaded with my hands over those shoulders while he dry humps me and the kiss finally breaks so we can find air and maybe think about finding our balance or going somewhere softer than a wall.
It still takes minutes before we part and he's peeling off that shirt to show the black and rust torso I help keep cut and he's cantering back with a smirk on his lips because he knows what that crooked smirk does to me.
"Such a pretty little shepherd." He pats his lap and opens up his jeans so that big red cock with it's bigger than a fist sized knot pops out all the way. I'm only three inches shorter than him and I weigh thirty pounds more because I'm stocky. Nobody but he would ever apply the word pretty to me because I look like the kind of guy that might throw a haymaker if you press that button. If anyone else did, I might. He knows I call it a compliment coming from him because I know he means it to be. I watch that red log leak it's sap and strip down, black and tan fur, muscles just as good as his if not so lean. I'm stronger, but the sight makes my toes and tail curl, my black jock stretches and distorts the little white X on top. And then, I'm on my knees.
I smell this scent at least three times a week, sometimes four, this moist and meaty scent. Tangy hot like smoke and caves and other deep places. All the time I say no to it, fight back what I really want to do with it. It adds up over time, because poker nights never come soon enough and when they get here we're both full to bursting from saying no. We know poker night is just a fuse for all the gunpowder we store when we row at a machine and sit back to back while we curl or spot benchpresses, or pack down with helping hands on squats. The beer is a match, our excuse to spark something that would have been combusted anyways.
I can't help but worship with my nose pressed against that sack, his cock resting lewdly along my muzzle drooling just under my ear. I know it's cold to start but his hot flesh warms my nose and then I snuff up to the base of that cock, that knot and that's where I start. Tongue all the way from tip, cleaning his seed as best as I can but all it really does is shine and really slick it up. That's how we want it anyways. I can't help but fondle myself just sucking him off and I whine in pleasure when I finally take the tip in and start to bob.
He groans deeply and clenches my head, just to hold it at first, then leverage to help him fuck me. I stop moving when he does and I make him move me while I squeeze that stretchy fabric around my cock and beat off to the knot thumping against my nose and the rubbing of that wedged head deep in my throat. I grab his balls and suck, and keep my muzzle tight to pull all the blood to the tip, and the pressure gets intense. It pulls hard and his fucking slows because it's hard to move in my mouth. His toes curl hard on the outside of my thighs when I finally get it so tight it's stopped his hips from moving we hold position and I watch his face so I know when. Seconds then now, the pressure pops when I let him go and he moans in relief because all that pressure swelled the head almost too big and now he's tingling from the tip of his cock to his toes and his nipples and those cropped ears. I watch lovely euphoria dance across twitching muscles while he floats on the edge. I take his balls in hand, because I don't want him to come from just that. His cock twitches trying to shoot time and again but I'm fondling him firmly and away from his body.
He tugs me up, and we're cock to his twitching cock while he sits in the afterglow I gave him without even letting him shoot his load. He licks the clear lines of pre from my face and then we're spelunking so deep in each other's muzzles we get lost. Somehow, I find my way into his lap and not out of his mouth. I hike up and press chest to chest for a moment, one hand behind his neck and the other on the edge of the couch or balance. He holds himself just above his knot and aims and I ease down blindly until I feel flesh along my crack and work my hips forward a few inches to help.
I lean back, sitting knees around his thighs and the kiss breaks.
"My sweet pretty shepherd's tight little hole." It's the least lewd thing he says for the rest of the night, and he plays with a nipple and guides me one hand length below before he lets go and trusts it's enough to stay in. I keep going until I can feel that knot and I don't give him a minute to pause before I'm riding him, clinging to that neck and his couch and rocking up just to roll back down and feel that big knot spreading my cheeks and teasing against my pucker. I press against it hard with weight. He thrusts up and now I'm just going for the ride. In this position it'd take us both to get it in or at least his hands on my hips. When he's thrusting up I just get to ride it and bounce when I'm not falling as fast as his hips are rising, and I grab his hands when he goes for my hips and we struggle for a bit. I pin him to the couch and kiss him to shut his growls up while he fucks me all the harder. I break it and just tuck my head into his neck so he can't get the mating bite yet that'll make me actually submit. He fucks me hard enough the couch moves. I tease him, keep him working for the tie until he's whining he wants so bad.
I can't help myself either, after a while. He's thrusting up, pressing so hard. Next thrust I meet him half way and he arches his best. I bear down with weight and force, and I'm unstoppable. His butt hits the couch and it's still pressing up when I seat myself in his lap.
There's always that moment of pain when you're spread so wide for just that instant. The tart that makes everything sweeter because then you're more full than you can ever get. I sit there and roll, like a boulder down a hill picking up speed. I lose my focus and the pin slips and my boulder takes me over and then I'm pinned and rolling hips with legs around him. He kisses me instead of going for the bite because he knows he doesn't need it. He joins our tongues almost as tight as our bodies are but there's no knot so we can't hold it when I cum first from the way that stomach rubs against me.
I'm howling, and painting us sticky. He joins me and I feel shots pulsing long and going deep because I teased him bad. Even when he's done he's humping in, but it slows into these short little thrusts. We've got half an hour at least but the afterglow lasts that long. We stoke it with kisses and playful nips and nuzzles.. hands sliding and fondling. He fingerpaints swirls in sodden fur before he cleans them with my muzzle. His tongue cleans where he can reach. I get him underneath his chin where I managed to mark him anyways.
When he can finally slip out, we head upstairs to his and her bed. I know her scent's going to be there and it bugs me but not enough that I stop him when he's on his knees and licking my chest clean. My nipples never got any seed on them but he spends enough time on each that I'm moaning and writhing. He sucks my cock briefly, already hard. He sucks it hard but only for a moment to really clear that seed off. By that time, all my seed is off of my body at least, if not his. He tilts me back and sucks those balls. I let him, just like I let him roll me over and grab me by the base of that tail and tugs a cheek to side.
It's his seed that gets cleaned this time. Tongue swiping along the outside at first, along the cheeks where the pre matted clear and was just as easily cleaned. Then he's deep and tasting himself with me around him. Tasting me too, heady salt-and-beer sweat with my own deep clean swamp smell that marks me just as much a man as he does. I know he likes it, and he spends almost as much time making me moan and grip his sheets and leak as I did when I sucked him almost off. I lose track of time, but there's a small clear puddle underneath me by the time he joins me on the bed and drags that hard cock up a thigh, over balls to frot along the crack again. He just presses chest to back and holds me while he ineffectually humps me. I press back and grunt, rubbing against him because I want it again. He kisses me and makes dirty promises I know he'll make good on.
We ruin those sheets. They're damp and stained with us everywhere by the time we're ready to call it a night. Holding hands and cuddling sticky in man-fuck sauce no matter where we rest on the bed. It's so bad that we couldn't have slept there even if he didn't have a wife. I've been sober since at least after the second time but I can't stop kissing him. I know he's sober too by now, probably has been for most of the night but we'll blame it on the beer.
I stand up first a little bit after the sun gets up and he tries to stop me. He succeeds the first time because I love the way he holds me. It's not an afterglow, but it is a glow, the way those arms feel around me. I enjoy it as long as I think he can risk it, and then I'm getting up and pulling him with me this time.
We toss the sheets and covers and pillows and anything else from the bedroom that might have my scent on it in the washer. Then we shower together. To save time. Of course. I definitely don't press my hands to the tiles and arch my back and raise that tail with a smirk over my shoulder. He definitely doesn't interlock our fingers and bite my neck just for balance while we enjoy our last chance to make love before the next poker game. We don't fuck that time. It's tender and gently moving tired exhausted bodies against each other. He still ties me and just grinds when we make love in his shower. I dress and head home. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
For years.
He's pushing thirty by the time he tells me. I'm not much younger.
"I'm gay." He's stone cold sober, and too proud to tear even if his eyes are shinier than usual. It's his first time saying those words aloud. I make no effort to even pretend to be surprised. "She filed for divorce." That one catches me off guard and we stand there awkwardly for a few seconds while my body catches up with my brain. I hold him too, because he doesn't know how to feel. I don't either, because I've got some thinking to do now.
"I love you." I tell him and he curls into me all the more. It's not the first time he sat in my lap but it's probably less than the tenth. He leans way more toward pitching than I do. It's the glow that gets me, it's brighter than the candle I feel with my wife and I can't help but want that warmth more. I file for divorce too. Ten years with her, six with him but I want to try for more.
The only thing that changes is we stop pretending. Our friends get a little weird but in less than six months they're all sorted. They do pretty well, considering it took the two of us way longer to find our footing. Our routine is about the same, only we go home together after working out.
He doesn't keep gentlemanly eyes at all when I squat any more. Doesn't even try not to look in the gym. It's okay. We're married.
We've got matching tungsten rings because gold doesn't last. Even if we didn't, he started wearing a bright rainbow bracelet made of chainmail that's kind of hard to miss. I've got a new singlet now, because he budgets for things he likes to see me in and I love to make him stare.
I know it's working. We still burst. Takes just a little longer because we make love even more often than we work out. When we burst though, it barely matters where we are. We'll stop what we're doing if we can. Usually, we cut our workouts short and try not to look like we're hurrying when we head to the stalls section of the shower for the shy folk. It's cramped with the two of us. We make room.
He holds my muzzle to shut me up and mutes himself with the mating bite and we count on the water to hide most of our scent. He toys with my knot until I'm eager and trying to tie his fist. God does he ever give it to me. I can't blame him, those blue and white tiled showers are my favorite too. We complete each other. I know because
The afterglow is brighter now and the glow never really goes away.