My group project partner and I were hunched over our laptops when I felt the first familiar brush across my cheek. “Sorry, I have to go to the restroom,” I told Rebekah as quickly and nicely as possible, then bolted. I was just glad it was starting off slowly this time.
I barely made it into a locked stall before I felt a long, slick phantom object pushing against my hole and working its way inside me. I bit my hand into my fist to keep from making noise and braced myself.
Pretty soon it’d worked its way up to a hard, fast thrusting. Once upon a time I’d have found this incredibly hot, but all I could think about was how I’d just ditched my group partner in the library. I’d already had to cancel on her twice, so she probably thought I was one of those flaky, meatheaded jocks who made the nerds in the group do all the homework. It was true that I was failing this course, but it wasn’t my fault I kept missing classes. And I was really trying to get my grades up so I could actually graduate at the end of the semester.
Or maybe she’d think I had serious bowel issues. Did I? Did this count?
At some point I got hard. I resisted touching myself for as long as I could, but finally I convinced myself that returning to Rebekah with a huge boner was going to look worse than anything. “Fuck you,” I mumbled at the toilet as I shoved my pants down and jerked off in a couple strokes. When I came I felt my butthole clench around the…nothing inside me. The sensation didn’t slow down—sped up if anything—and I endured about five more minutes of pounding before it went through the whole process of stuttering, thrusting deep inside me, coming, and slowly working its way out. I felt a light touch on my backside, as if a thumb had absentmindedly brushed against me, and then all sensations vanished.
I was going to kill that wizard.
In fairness, we were drunk, and $50 was $50. Although the “drunk” part was also my fault.
I wasn’t very close friends with Dmitri Reed. We were part of the same statistics class and we both went to the Junior Queer Alliance. Otherwise, our paths didn’t cross much. I was part of the College of Health Professions, going for a degree in exercise science, and he was a part of the College of Occult-Arcane Practices. Studying wizardry was even more difficult than studying medical science, so he spent a lot of time cramming for tests in his room. Unfortunately, I don’t know if he ever had the kind of natural talent he needed for any arcane career paths.
What I did know was that Dmitri texted me one night, losing his mind, saying that he’d contacted absolutely everybody else he knew and nobody had responded. He needed a test subject for a magic assignment due the next morning and he hadn’t started it yet.
It’s on sympathetic magic and were not allowed to do it on ourselves and i need you to come over and let me connect you to something please PLEASE was the text I received. And also, please I’ll pay you.
I was going to come over without him needing to bribe me, but we negotiated and landed on $50 anyway.
I was at his apartment half an hour later with a few White Claws stashed in my backpack. We drank and Dmitri tried his best to explain sympathetic magic to me.
“It’s uh,” he said, moving some decorative pebbles across his coffee table as if that would help to explain, “you connect a small thing to a similar big thing, and the two are psychically linked. People use it to put out houses on fire, and move big rocks, and that sort of thing.”
“Do you have to bring it to class and fuck with it?” I asked warily.
“No!” he said. “We literally have to take a few pictures and write a report. I swear to god it’s not a big deal, I just need to borrow your hand or foot or something. It wears off in three hours.”
It sounded like a pretty easy fifty bucks. “Okay,” I said with a shrug. “What object are we using?”
At first we decided on connecting a three-in-one shampoo bottle to my own fairly bulky forearm, but Dmitri couldn’t get the spell to work. No matter how he shook or tapped the bottle, I couldn’t feel a thing. “They’re not similar enough,” Dmitri guessed.
We tried a stuffed bear. A plant. Socks. A hand traced onto a piece of paper. A half eaten package of hot dogs. An empty White Claw can. Every single time, Dmitri would chant about a paragraph of words in an unknowable tongue, his eyes would glow and do a little woo-woo thing, and then the spell would fizzle out and die. As it got later and we got drunker, our tempers and common sense started running on fumes.
“You’re bad at this,” I accused him, flinging our carefully sculpted piece of chewed gum (which we’d used in lieu of clay) to the floor.
“I am not! They look too different.”
“That looks exactly like an ear, fuck off.”
Dmitri picked up the gum ear and scrutinized it, ignoring the spit. He sighed and stuck the gum on the table. “Do you mind stealing my retainer? It’s in the upstairs bathroom. Maybe we can connect it to the roof of your mouth, I don’t know.”
“Gross,” I said, but I left anyway. It was nearing 1 a.m. and I was exhausted. I was beginning to wonder if he could afford to take an F.
In the bathroom I found a little semicircular container that rattled when I shook it, and I stuck it in my pocket. Then, for safekeeping, I ducked into Dmitri’s room. We’d already raided it, but I started checking dressers and the messy top of his desk anyway.
That’s when I pulled open the bottom desk drawer and found two perfectly-smooth, peach-colored, globe-shaped, rubbery asscheeks staring up at me. I made the worst mistake of my life: I inspected further. There was a small wrinkled hole in the middle of the cheeks and a nice roomy pocket that would fit something the size of a human penis. It was, undeniably, a fuckable silicone ass.
I returned downstairs and held it up to Dmitri with a big dopey grin. Dmitri turned so red it looked like his face would explode. “That’s not mine,” he said.
“Why’s it in your dresser?” I countered, squashing the silicone cheeks in my hands. For the record, I’d like to make it clear that touching someone else’s sex toy is a no-no. Even if you don’t fall victim to a wizard’s curse as a direct result, it’s just not sanitary.
“It was a present for my ex,” Dmitri said. “Look, we can’t–”
I was already almost crying with laughter at the thought. “I think we have to.”
“It’s for my professor!”
“It’s just a report and a few photos. I think she’d get a kick out of it.” I shoved it into his hands.
“I’ll get in trouble,” he protested, but I could tell the late night was wearing him down too. He still had a whole report to write.
“We’re not going to find anything more alike than a butt and a butt,” I said. To this day I don’t know why I tried so hard to convince him, but I was on a roll. “Like, we don’t have to get my asshole involved. Just my buttcheeks. I’ll keep my pants on in the photos. It’ll be hilarious.”
“Everyone will think it’s mine,” Dmitri moaned.
“Do you want to keep trying with my finger and the hot dog?”
He paused before letting out a very, very long sigh. “Give me a second to look up the arcane word for butt.”
I sat down, Dmitri picked up his spellbook, and we started the ritual. And you can probably guess that it worked.
At first the whole thing was actually pleasantly erotic. Not at first at first, obviously. The first time I felt something invading my butthole, I thought I was dying. I very nearly took myself to the hospital before remembering—oh, fuck—the false backside I had been sympathetically attached to one week prior.
See, Dmitri’s spell worked, but it worked too well. I think the object he chose was a bit too human-shaped, or I demonstrated too many qualities adjacent to that of a sex toy, because the spell turned out to be extremely sticky. Dmitri had failed the sympathy assignment in that he hadn’t temporarily aligned the fates of two separate objects. He’d actually just bound two objects into one.
I tried contacting Dmitri for weeks afterward, skipping way too many classes out of nauseated terror, but the fucker sent me my $50 and completely blocked and ghosted me afterward. He must have been too ashamed to talk about what happened that night, and I don’t think he realized that his stupid spell never got broken. He was a good guy who thought he was making a clean break.
After the first month or so, there was a grace period when I tried to look on the bright side. I’d hadn’t hooked up with anyone for months, and it was kind of like having a boyfriend again, in a bizarre way. There was a method to the madness: I would feel someone fuck the fake ass most Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays after 8 p.m. But that didn’t stop the person on the other end from striking at all hours of the day, any day of the week. As time went on I was just furious that the person apparently considered themselves too good to use their damn hand, or any other toy that wasn’t a big plump derrière.
I had no real way of knowing who was on the other end, if it was a real person or if it was just some kind of completely abnormal magical side effect. I was pretty sure it wasn’t Dmitri because Dmitri had been so adamant that he didn’t use it. But I thought it had to be someone. The detail in the touch was too lifelike.
Sometimes, with my eyes closed, I could trick myself into visualizing the person attached to the cock, a big, strong dude who loved me and thought I was so so sexy that he had to have me multiple times a week, and he wasn’t afraid to fuck me hard because he knew I could take it.
That was months ago. It had been almost a year since and the shine had really worn off. Now I would have compared it to something like IBS, or the occasional uncontrollable nosebleed, if symptoms included having to run and jerk off due to the cock in your ass.
It had been about a week since my group project meeting when I returned home from my morning class. I was wondering if I’d have time to head to the gym before picking up some groceries. I had barely taken off my shoes when I felt a gentle, unmistakable nudge between my cheeks.
I covered my face and took a deep breath into my palms like I was going to scream, but in the end I just trudged upstairs. All my errands would have to wait.
The person fucked me decently hard that afternoon, not as strong as I knew they could go, but so deep and steady I could almost feel the rhythm of their balls against my ass. I came halfheartedly and then tried to calculate if I could get to the store and back before they returned for another round. It was Monday and they usually saved themselves for the evenings, so I took my chances.
At the nearest Aldi, I was just debating the pros of buying a bunch of salad kits versus buying lettuce and eating it before it went brown (unlikely) when a familiar black-haired head swooped around the corner of the aisle. Honestly, if he hadn’t dove out of my line of sight like a ninja fearing detection, he might not have caught my eye at all. But he was known for his poor decisions. That was Dmitri Reed for you.
I caught up with him in the world foods aisle, trying with all my might not to cause him bodily harm. But my anger was mostly eclipsed by the sheer relief of finding him again.
I broke the ice by snapping, “Dmitri, you asshole, why did you ghost me?”
He was already apologizing, but he spoke quickly so he could spill the whole story. “I’m sorry, but I had to cut ties when you fucked up my project. You know I had to drop out because of you?”
“Wait, you dropped out?” I knew he’d moved out of his old apartment—I’d figured that out when I knocked on his door for an hour and a random girl told me to fuck off—but I thought he’d just found nicer housing.
Dmitri was nodding. “It’s definitely your fault I got kicked out of Historic Arcana.”
“The professor was that mad at you?”
“She failed me and wrote a letter to the dean asking them to expel me from the program. It turns out she already had beef with all the queer kids and was looking for an excuse.”
“Uh, shit. I’m sorry, dude.”
“It’s whatever, I’m doing an English program at JRCC.”
I was about to go into further apologies, explain that I’d grown as a person since then, ask if he wanted to make gum ears with me again sometime, when I remembered that I still had some serious issues of my own from that night. “Dude, listen,” I said. “The fake ass is still working.”
As soon as I saw his reaction, I knew Dmitri had never done it on purpose. He actually broke out into a sweat; I could see the beads pop out on his forehead.
“Jesus, Owen,” Dmitri mumbled. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah, I know! So undo it!”
Dmitri looked extremely nervous. “I, um…”
“I’m serious. Please, man. What do you want?”
I was already reaching for my wallet when he said, “No! Of course I would, but I don’t know how!”
“You did the spell, aren’t you supposed to be able to undo it?”
“Man, I couldn’t even tell you how I got it to stick. I’d need the fuc—the thing. Like how IT people can only solve the problem if they’re looking at the computer.”
“Okay, then where is it?”
“I may have sold it,” he said frantically. “I may have not had fifty dollars lying around, so I sold it to some guy so I could pay you back.”
“I sold it on Facebook Marketplace—”
“You sold a magic ass on Facebook Marketplace?!”
“Shh!” Dmitri covered his ears as if it would keep the other shoppers from overhearing us.
“Who did you sell it to?”
“I don’t know, they were using a screen name!” he said. “They did a porch pickup so they must live close by. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Give me the screen name,” I told Dmitri. And because I guess I was a little more pissed off at him than I thought, I added: “And if it doesn’t work, do the spell again so I can shove something up your butt.”
That evening, Dmitri sent me a Venmo screenshot of a transaction with a guy named eurum378. It almost didn’t sound like it would be worth looking up, but since it was the only potential solution I’d found in months, I had to try. I got nothing but bottom-of-the-barrel gibberish.
In frustration I searched eurum378 ass fucking idiot. Which you wouldn’t have expected to be any more useful, but. Well.
The search led me to a porn site called xxxcams.com. I usually wasn’t a huge fan of live camwork, but the user eurum378 stood out to me not just for his username but for the tags on his content: queer, gay, m4m, fleshlight, sex doll, toys, top, ass fucking, dirty talk, masturbate, hunk, gamer, and a bunch of other keywords. His bio introduced him as Erik, 24. I saw the notification at the top of his page, and I realized he was live at that very same moment, Monday at 8:04 p.m. With no other leads, I scrolled to his livestream and hit ‘play’.
A blonde guy was sitting on a bed with a gray bedspread and twinkling yellow lights framing the wall behind him. Erik was trim and dark-eyed, with a mop of soft-looking hair. He was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his pants were unzipped so you could see the bulge inside his dark blue underwear. Not entirely X-rated yet, but the intent was clear enough that this was a bannable offense by most of the Internet’s standards.
It looked like he was just having a casual conversation with his audience. His voice was tinny, and every so often the speaker would lag and drop a few words. Erik had the barest hint of an accent that I couldn’t place, as if he’d kissed another person who actually had an accent.
The chat seemed to like him okay. He had less than a hundred viewers keeping up a slow but steady stream of comments like so hot and feet please. Every so often someone would donate five or ten dollars, filling up the tip jar toward his next goal: “Fifty tips and I take my pants off.” “Seventy-five tips and I show you my hole.”
I cooked dinner while watching the livestream. I wasn’t willing to discount him just yet, even if it wasn’t the most appetizing video. After another half hour, he had progressed to taking off all his clothes.
Even through the webcam quality, he was surprisingly beautiful. And hot. Erik didn’t have abs quite like me, but his arm muscles and defined pecs pointed to some amount of working out. His chest hair was so light it was barely noticeable except for the pale fuzzy glow it picked up under the room lights. He was half hard and his cock was surprisingly thick and long. The stream chat started to pick up as more people entered the room.
Erik idly played with himself as he kept up the lazy chatter. I found that I liked hearing him talk; it was relaxing and arousing at the same time. His almost-accent was cute. I guess some people asked him about his personal tastes because he started talking about anime and the indie gaming scene and other stuff that went a little over my head.
Finally: “Thank you everyone for the tips,” Erik said with a seductive little smile. “Who wants to see me cum inside my favorite toy?” And then he brought out the fucking ass.
I would have recognized that thing anywhere, and that was even without feeling the familiar little brush against my backside as he lifted it into frame. I was so angry I wanted to slam-dunk my laptop. I wanted to keysmash in the chat. I wanted to reach through the screen and beat Erik over the head with the silicone ass. Instead, I was frozen at my kitchen table, watching as he settled it on his thigh and started reapplying lube to his straining erection.
Erik’s fingers were deft and long like a guitar player’s. He made a little ring with his thumb and pointer finger and teased the head of his cock with it. From the way he threw back his head and moaned “Oh, baby, yes,” I knew he was playing it up for the camera, but I couldn’t bring myself to mind.
When he was practically dripping lube, Erik braced one hand on the bed behind him and started to slowly push the ass down onto his lap with the other. Thanks to the quality of the stream, there was a bit of real-time delay. Just seconds before he entered the ass on camera, I could feel that same cock working its way into me.
Unusually, I was already hard. Normally I didn’t get this aroused at all, but I had to reach for the tent in my shorts and fist myself to take away the ache. There was just something about seeing the real face of the guy who was fucking me screwed up with pleasure, even if it was through a screen. His harsh, whispered dirty talk, and the glances he flashed at the camera, felt like they were directed straight at me. The chat was also loving this, incidentally.
“I jacked off this morning too,” Erik said to the camera between huffs. He was starting to work the ass over himself two-handed, partly thrusting up into it and partly letting gravity do the work of letting it fall. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how bad I wanted you. God, you feel so good around my cock.” I knew it was just acting, but it didn’t stop me from moaning and jerking myself even faster. I was leaning forward in my seat and spreading my legs as if to accommodate the thick, bruising cock that wasn’t really there.
After a little while Erik shifted position and placed the ass on the bed. He stood up and turned around, giving us a beautiful view of the way the muscles in his thighs and ass rippled as he gripped the toy tightly and thrust into it with merciless precision.
I tried to outlast him, but he was a professional. Minutes before he came, I ended up shooting my load all over myself. I was surprised that I even had this much come left in me—enough that I fucked up my shorts and caught a good amount of come on my palms. I shuddered as my orgasm rocked through me in waves, trying to catch my breath as I both listened to and felt Erik start to twitch inside of me.
I ended up shutting off my laptop and tuning out the rest before he was even finished. My mind was in a daze—I was overwhelmed by everything I’d just learned and everything I could do next.
I started small. First I wiped the come off my lap. Then I blew a hundred bucks on a private session with Erik.
Erik sat on his bed, shirtless and smiling cheerily into the camera. He’d clearly spent years cultivating a “customer service” attitude that translated well to cam work: he sat, pleasant but neutral, ready to transform into whatever I’d want most. As he thanked me graciously and asked how I was feeling that afternoon, I almost felt bad that I was about to blow his world into little pieces.
I began at a complete loss. “Hey, I’m Owen, and, uh, I think I’ve been feeling you fuck me in the ass for almost a year?”
Hastily, I explained sympathetic magic, Dmitri, and the enchanted ass that was put up on Facebook Marketplace. I couldn’t tell if I was making any sense and I was way too aware of the minutes of our time together ticking by.
Erik’s expression remained locked in complete non-judgement. He just kept looking at me with his charming little smile, his brown eyes zeroed in on me. Finally he said, “So this ass is actually your ass…”
With dismay, I realized that he (sensibly) thought I was doing some kind of fetish routine. “No, no,” I said, exasperated, “I’m not roleplaying with you, man. Hang on. Don’t you remember talking to a guy named Dmitri?”
I fumbled with my phone and held the picture of Dmitri’s Venmo transaction up to the webcam, waiting for it to focus, but Erik frowned and averted his eyes. “I don’t discuss personal details with my clients,” he said quickly. Remembering he was talking with someone who was paying money to be there, he softened his voice. “That’s a limit of mine. Sorry.”
“But you’ve heard of sympathetic magic, right?” I pleaded.
“Then test it out, c’mon, please.”
It took some convincing, but Erik finally started humoring me.
I’ll spare you the gory details, the rigorous scientific tests we had to conduct. When I was in grade school, I was friends with a pair of twins. We tried to convince ourselves that they had a psychic twin connection; we’d do all sorts of psychic tests like ‘what number is your twin thinking of,’ ‘can you feel which of your twin’s hands I’m holding,’ et cetera. It was something like that, only with a truly miserable number of “how many times did I just tap this fake butt” back-and-forths.
I could tell when Erik was finally getting convinced because he started to look truly and deeply uncomfortable as the ramifications of the last, oh, ten months started to hit. Imagine your toilet started talking to you one night and complained about the quality of your piss. Something like that.
“I’m so sorry,” Erik said finally, mournfully. He’d given up on the cam session at some point and stopped the money timer, and he’d even put on some clothes just for me. “Are you going to press charges?”
It hadn’t even occurred to me to get a third party involved. But Erik looked like he was expecting the cops to bust in and drag him to jail any minute. “No, man,” I said, “I just want the ass back.”
Erik nodded eagerly, having already put it far away where I assured him it wasn’t currently sending telepathic signals to my ass. “Do you want me to mail it to you?”
“No thank you,” I said, immediately envisioning a seventy-two-business-hour hellscape of jostling. “I live in Jenison.”
“I’m close,” he said, perking up. “I’m in Rockford. Can I treat you to dinner?”
We made a plan for the next week. Before we disconnected, I made him promise to me, again, that he wouldn’t touch the toy at all. As much as I already liked him, I wasn’t taking any chances.
At the very least, I was able to go to sleep that night knowing that for the next six days, I could relax without a single chance of randomly getting fucked in the ass. Euphoric.
Erik looked different in person. His hair was fluffier, and his irises were like pools of strong tea versus the indistinct dark color they’d appeared on camera. And he looked nervous. And he was definitely intimidated when I walked up: I was both taller and broader than him, and I’ve been told I have chronic resting bitch face. We shared an awkward greeting—should we hug? shake hands?—and settled for bro-slaps.
We split a meat lover’s pizza and salad at the little Italian restaurant he suggested, and we talked.
“Camming isn’t my only job,” Erik said. “I do some Dutch-English translation work now and then, and I’m taking a remote course at my university. I’m in a band with a few friends. I’m building a little gym at home.” He smiled. “A lot going on.”
“I also work out a lot,” I ventured. I was a little embarrassed that working out was the only hobby I could speak of. Between classes and sleep, I didn’t have the energy for much else. “I cook sometimes. Mostly chicken and protein stuff.”
His eyes lit up. “I make protein smoothies! They’re incredible.”
“We should totally work out together sometime.”
Erik’s expression flickered with surprise. “Wasn’t sure if you would want to meet up again after this,” he admitted, smiling with both sheepishness and shame.
“I don’t hold anything against you,” I assured him. I tried to inject as much sincerity into my voice as I could, but I’d just taken a huge bite of pizza and it ruined the effect. “I mean…you look awesome. I’d love to see your routine.”
“No way. You?” Erik laughed. His eyes dropped down to my midriff. I would have blushed if I hadn’t also been checking him out the whole time.
There was one thing that became clear as we wrapped up our meal: Now that I had met Erik in person, I wanted him to fuck me for real. Even listening to his amicable tone reminded me of the way he sounded on his livestream, sending stirrings of desire through me. I wanted desperately to know if his indirect, masturbatory, accidental fucking was comparable to the real thing.
I could tell he felt the same way. The tension was so thick between us it was throbbing. If I were him, the sheer curiosity—what would it feel like to fuck this man? has my fake ass really been someone’s real ass the entire time?—would be killing me.
“You know, I’d love to come over and check out your home gym,” I mentioned.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “You need to stop by and grab your item too.”
With all that history between us to consider, we barely made it until the waitress returned Erik’s credit card.
I usually drove like a little old lady, but for some reason the way to Erik’s house inspired me to drive at breakneck speeds.
Erik opened the door and politely invited me inside, offered me something to drink, and then we gave up and jumped each other. He’d barely closed the door behind me when I lunged at him and kissed him hard. He responded with frantic urgency, pushing me up against the door. I moved with him, pliant. At that point, if he wanted to use me like a toy, I would have said yes.
We stumbled our way through his apartment and I was thrilled to see that he had, indeed, started converting his living room into a cute home gym with weights and a yoga mat and a squat rack. I even saw that he had one of those pull up bars tacked to the top of his bedroom door frame, which for all my training was an exercise I’d never been able to conquer. “No way, can you do a pullup?”
“Show me,” I demanded. I made him do a few pullups and as he did his shirt rode up on his stomach. It was awesome.
In Erik’s room I recognized the background from his cam videos, the neatly kept bedroom with the gray bedspread and little yellow fairy lights strung in the background. Those lights were off now, though. Erik wasn’t performing and the hunger screaming through his body language and desperate touches was genuine.
We toppled onto the bed, and that’s when I saw that sitting on the shelf of a cute little organizer was a small collection of sex stuff: lube, vibrators, a Fleshlight, and yes, a familiar ass-shaped object.
“There’s the motherfucker,” I gasped out. Erik stopped kissing my neck and turned to look.
“Oh shit, do you want to take this back now?”
“Nah—” I started to say, but Erik had already picked it up. I felt the touch of fingers across the junction of my ass and thighs. Now that the real man was inches away from me, the phantom sensation was more maddening than ever.
“May I?” I asked him. I picked it from his hands and hurled the goddamn thing against the wall with ten months of pent-up rage. It was silicone, so it bounced. The resulting ass-throwing sensation made me stagger but it was so worth it.
I promptly distracted Erik and coaxed him to the bed with an open-mouthed kiss. He was on top of me and his crotch was pressing down right over mine. I ground against him, but all I could feel was the sensation of thin cotton and too-thick denim.
My hands went down to our hips. I scrabbled to find the zipper while we traded kisses, breathing hard into each other’s air. He kissed the side of my mouth hard as one of his hands joined mine for assistance, taking a moment to palm me hard, finding the outline of my erection through my jeans and molding the fabric around it. He wriggled out of his jeans, the denim flicking against me as he pulled his pants to his ankles one-handed. His other elbow pressed down on the bed by my ear.
As soon as his hand was free he returned to caressing me through my jeans. I shoved myself against him, catching the metal on his fingers. I reached around and grabbed his ass, tantalizingly almost bare, and pulled him as close to me as possible. I was dizzy with want. “I fucking need you inside me,” I begged—after all this time I wasn’t above begging.
“Jesus,” Erik said harshly, like a swear. He managed to pin me flat enough to unzip my pants and drag my jeans and underwear off at once. My cock sprung free, already beading with precome, which he greeted with a dry hand. I felt a momentary burst of relief as his fingers wrapped around me, but it dissipated against the unsatisfying friction. I lifted my hips up, urging him to continue.
Erik suddenly ducked out of sight, but reappeared before I could do something crazy—he was just grabbing the lube. Before he could go any further, I insisted that he take the rest of his clothes off.
It was now me wearing just a shirt and socks, pulling my legs to my chest for easy access and craning my neck to watch naked Erik kneel between my legs and warm a pool of lube on his palm. His cock quivered subtly between his legs as he worked, standing straight out and pointing toward me. His body hair was feather-soft. It swept down his chest, under his belly, between his thighs. His nipples were so pink and hard, like little eraser heads—you couldn’t get the full effect of how pretty they were from a livestream. I could easily imagine a pleasant afternoon spent playing with his tits while he fucked my thighs, but that would have to wait for another day. I wanted to suck on every inch of him; it was a shame he had me paralyzed.
“I’ll go slow,” Erik promised me.
“No thanks,” I said through gritted teeth. But he took his time anyway. I was so tight and wound up that it ended up being a good thing. If nothing else, now I had solid proof that a thousand times getting fucked hard by a phantom dick were absolutely nothing compared to the sensation of a single real, slick finger just lightly teasing across my hole. I shuddered as I threw my head back, gripping his sheets tightly. I desperately wanted to get a hand on myself but didn’t want to come just yet.
Erik kept stretching me open, taking it easy, for way too fucking long. Being a camboy and dictating your every move to the whims of an audience must have taught him a patience I didn’t have; also my neck was getting sore. When he was about to apply a last palmful of lube to his cock I stopped him. “Can I suck you?” I asked. My voice came out higher and breathier than I intended. He nodded, suddenly looking winded.
We traded places so that he was lying with his feet hanging off the bed. I bent over him, relishing in the feeling of my ass feeling slick and fucked open, still greedy for more.
I took him into my mouth. Right away I couldn’t fucking get enough of his cock; I hadn’t realized how much I missed giving head. I was out of practice and could only fit about half of him down my throat, but I made the most with those inches, swallowing like my life depended on it and doubling down on anything that made his hips jolt off the bed.
Minutes later, my heart was pounding like I’d just ran a mile and there was drool leaking from the corners of my lips. I’d even forgotten about how hard I was, up until Erik said “Jesus Christ I’m going to come” and we had to take a breather.
Erik checked in with me as we separated: “Feeling good?” he asked. I moaned with affirmation, climbing on top of him so I could grind my searing hot cock against the nearest patch of bare skin. Erik took pity on me and let me fuck into his cupped, lubed hands for a hot minute until he said “Okay. Christ.”
I was on top of Erik as I lined up with his cock and slowly—achingly—slid down. In a way it was so fucking familiar. The way he stretched me out as he entered me…I could imagine that it was him fucking the stupid silicone ass the same way he’d done on so many lazy mornings. But it was still like nothing I’d ever felt before: I had never been able to feel the soft touch of downy thighs beneath me or hear Erik’s pitiful, lustful groan or taste the remnants of his precome on my tongue. “This is so fucking weird,” Erik whimpered. I knew we were on exactly the same page.
I didn’t hesitate when my ass touched his thighs—I started painstakingly lifting myself up again. Erik gasped. I wondered how it felt to be buried inside something so familiar and have it hot and clenching and alive above you.
It didn’t take long until I was riding Erik as hard as I could. Erik’s fingers were clenching grooves into my ass. His face was screwed up just as it had been on camera, as if the pleasure was too intense to take. We fit together easily, like we’d been fucking for years; his cock felt perfect inside of me.
As fucking incredible as it felt as I drove the two of us closer to coming, I realized I needed to feel Erik pounding into me again. He was enthusiastically pushing into me from below, but I knew he could go harder, I’d felt it. I slowed down, my thighs burning. Erik moaned. “Fuck me,” I ordered.
In response he flipped the both of us over without skipping a beat. Take that, I thought to the fake ass on the floor (which didn’t answer) as he manhandled me into a position where he could hammer into me with an intensity I knew I’d feel for a week.
My cock was suddenly being pushed into the bed with each thrust, and when Erik wormed his hand between us and caught me in his still-slick fist, I knew I wasn’t going to last. My vision tunneled to white as I came. I knew Erik—whose rhythm suddenly switched to stuttering, deep thrusts that I recognized clear as a bell—was right behind me.
I stayed the night with Erik. We didn’t get a lot of sleep. In the morning, we drank his plant-protein fruit-and-kale smoothies (they were okay) and made plans to meet again soon.
The sun was halfway up the sky by the time Erik walked me to my car. He was gingerly cradling something in his hands. I knew what it was before he presented it to me: the fuckable ass that started the whole mess.
I knew I could take it back to Dmitri, get him to remove the curse, and forget it all ever happened. Instead I shook my head and smiled at him. “You’d better keep it,” I said. “We might have some fun with it someday.”