The pad of Brom’s thumb zeroed in on that dime-sized spot at the base of Ichabod’s cockhead, rubbing it with an unrelenting intensity until the schoolmaster wheezed, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the slippery shower wall. He wanted to explode, wanted to paint the shower wall in ropes of cum. He wanted to fill the horseman’s cocky fucking mouth, wanted him to choke on it . . . the thought was nearly enough to push him over the edge, but the pressure on his cockhead abruptly ceased.
“We don’t want you going off too early, professor,” the horseman chuckled, relenting at last, giving Ichabod’s ball a light slap. “I’m just getting warmed up, and I want to ride you to a nice creamy load.”
Brom Bones gripped the smaller man’s hips, cock forgotten, focusing on nothing but the steady pump and drive of his own cock, hitting the school master’s prostate like a bullseye, and it required all his willpower to keep from spilling against the wall prematurely.
By the time a steady rhythm had been established, they were no longer alone in the locker room. Ichabod watched the other dullahan approaching the showers, setting his head on the far bench. Ichabod listened as the two men exchanged ribald jokes and chatter from the polo field, watching as the newcomer palmed his own massive meat stick, already jutting out, stroking himself to full hardness.
He realized what was happening a beat too late. Brom’s heavy arms braced around Ichabod’s, palms flat against the shower wall as he was entered from behind by the other dullahan — the filling in a very public, very illicit sandwich.
There was a new urgency to their little détente when the newcomer began to thrust. Their bodies were fused, like an orgiastic centipede, the thrust of one cock setting off a chain reaction that rippled through the other two participants, leaving him, as he’d once dreamed, completely at their mercy. The other dullahan pumped his cock into Brom, and Brom jolted upwards into Ichabod, and he was left to gasp, hands scrabbling again against the slick tile wall.
The pumping pressure matched the timpani of his heartbeat, the throbbing in his balls mirroring the pulse that jumped at his neck, overtaking his very being. The dullahans were vocal and noisy, moaning and grunting as they had each previous time he’d spied on them, but now things were different. Now he was a part of the equation — a participant in this square dance, but not for long. He was going to come, could already feel his balls beginning to lift and tighten, a telltale hum behind his navel.
“I-I’m going to come,” he managed to wheeze out, his cock seeming to vibrate with the need. “I can’t hold it in.”
“Is that so?” Brom Bones growled in his ear, his hand coming around Ichabod again. He braced himself for the horseman’s grip, ready for that huge hand to jerk him to completion, but instead, Bones slapped his balls again with an open palm, and Ichabod cried out. “These fat little plums want to empty? What do you say?”
The horseman squeezed his scrotum as he spoke, and Ichabod moaned again, rising up on his toes. His cock had never been this hard, had never needed to come so badly.
“Please,” he wheezed, going cross-eyed from the thump against his prostate and the hand massaging his balls. “Please let me come. You-your mouth,” he managed to gasp, hands sliding down the wall as he was hammered into from behind. Both horsemen had taken on a punishing pace, hunched and focused, as if they were racing on the track, their cocks plunging in and out, balls slapping, and it was all Ichabod could do just to stay upright. “I want to finish in your mouth.”
Brom Bones laughed, low and deep.
“Seems to me like you’re a greedy little slut, professor. You didn’t even win, but here you are, begging to have your cock sucked.”
The horseman was right — Ichabod had not won their bet, but luck, it seemed, was on his side. Brom palmed his head from above, where it had been placed out of the way, passing it to the schoolmaster.
“If you drop me, I’m going to break your fucking back.”
The head was heavier than he thought it would be. The weight of it made him nervous that he would, in fact, drop it, but the other man’s hair was thick and easy to grip. His toy would never satisfy him again, Ichabod realized, for with the first press of his cock head to Brom Bones’s full lips, the mouth parted, sucking him in.
The tongue never stopped moving. Fluttering around his frenulum, licking that sensitive spot at the base, stroking against his shaft as he sucked, hard and deep, and Ichabod moaned. Being deep-throated by the town hero was not something he’d imagined when he’d started this day, but as Brom Bones slurped on his pulsing erection, Ichabod decided it was the best possible outcome of all his peeping.
The horsemen were each fucking with a mad fervor now, whipping their steeds with echoing slaps to the asses they were buried within, and he decided, as the fat cockhead belonging to Brom Bones continued its assault against his quivering prostate the same time as the man’s tongue tickled his glans, that there was no shame in being the first to spill, not when he got to do it down his rival’s throat.
Ichabod was fully caught up in the bacchanalia, a chance to live out his filthiest fantasy, and now there was no holding back. He began to pump into Brom’s mouth, short hard thrusts, his balls forcefully slapping against the dullahan’s chin.
“Suck my cock,” he grunted, wheezing as his balls lifted. “Suck it good. You love sucking my cock, don’t you, you smug son of a bitch. I’m going to blow my load in your mouth. I’m going to fill you with my cum and you’re going to suck up every drop.”
Every filthy thing he’d said in his dreams, the way he’d used the bastard’s mouth, all of it came tumbling out, thrusting upward and holding Brom Bones’s full lips to the base of his shaft. He cried out when he began to pulse, throbbing contractions that moved up his shaft, twitching with each spurt into the disembodied mouth. Ichabod groaned, his balls convulsing, his cock expelling every fantasy he’d had in the past month concerning the arrogant dullahan, filling the mouth, overflowing the throat, cum dripping from the lips to the tile floor, washed away in the shower’s flow.
When it was over, he may as well have been a deflated balloon. He was limp, boneless, held up by nothing but the thick cock in his ass . . . a thick cock that was pulling out of him. Ichabod locked eyes with the head he still held, an uncomfortable shiver moving down his spine.
He realized he had never actually looked Brom Bones in the eye before, and wished he could still say that he never had. His limp cock slid out of the dullahan’s mouth; his release spat out onto the tiles.
Brom must have indicated to his headless companion to pull out as well, for the man’s head grunted out something intelligible and frustrated from the bench where it sat, his swollen erection bouncing as he took a step back. The huge body that had been braced around him straightened out once its cock had pulled out with a pop, taking back his head. Ichabod watched as the mouth opened wide, taking in a long drink of the shower, swishing and spitting unceremoniously before addressing the other headless man.
“Relax, I know. I’m ready to cum too. About to blow a nice, creamy load. On your knees, Crane.”
Ichabod gaped. Probably from both ends, he realized. Getting on his knees seemed fraction more subservient than he was willing to be, but he told himself the position didn’t matter as he straightened up, refusing to allow his dignity to be impugned. You’re already a part of a threesome, changing positions is to be expected.