Loaded Summer - Part 9 (Patreon)

Wanna see what Felix sees? Click the link one line below to see, VIP members only ;)

Everyone in this story is 18+

He stops and looks me up and down. “Will, why are you shirtless?”

“Oh, shit. I spilled some… bleach. So I just wanted to grab a new polo.”

Felix nods once. “Okay. I have to change my polo too. I’m sweaty as fuck. Follow me. I need a word.”

He turns and heads toward the staff laundry room. I follow. Inside the air is warm and laced with the smell of detergent and clean cotton. Felix reaches over his head and pulls his polo off in one smooth motion. The scent that comes off him hits me harder than Brandon’s ever has. More manly. Warm skin and clean sweat with something deeper underneath that settles low in my gut.

He steps over to the sink and starts washing under his arms with quick, efficient movements. Water runs down the dark hair in his pits and over the solid muscle of his chest and sides. I reach for a fresh polo on the shelf.

“There’s a stain on your khakis too,” Felix says without looking away from the sink.

I glance down. A faint wet patch sits near the front of my thigh where a little of my own cum must have caught the fabric earlier. It’s obvious if you know what to look for.

“Oh, shit. It’s probably yoghurt or dressing.”

Felix keeps washing his pits. “Yeah. Sure.”

I unbutton the khakis and push them down. My grey boxers have a small hole near the left side of the pouch. I catch Felix’s eyes flicking down for half a second, lingering just long enough that I feel it, before he looks away again.

“So,” he says, still at the sink, “how is Marco working out?”

I pull a clean pair of khakis from the shelf and step into them. “He’s a little inexperienced, but eager.”

Felix shuts off the water, grabs a towel, and dries under his arms. The dark hair there is still damp. He reaches for a stick of deodorant and rolls it on in long strokes.

“Good. I’m sure you and Brandon will show him the ropes. You two were quite inexperienced too at one point.”

“Yeah, true. He just needs time.”

Felix pulls a fresh polo over his head and tugs it down across his chest as I do the same with my fresh polo. “Good. This heatwave is something else, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s hot as balls.”

He laughs, low and easy. “You betcha.” Then he looks at me and winks. “Okay. Back to work?”

“Yeah. Of course, Sir.”

I finish buttoning the clean polo and head out of the laundry room. The scent of him still clings to the back of my throat as I walk back toward the villas to find Marco.

I walk back up the path to the Dewitt villa with the taste of Felix’s scent still lingering at the back of my throat. The outside furniture is still scattered from earlier. I grab the hose and start rinsing the chairs and the low table, letting the cold water run over the wood and metal.

A sound cuts through the rush of water.

A soft, high whimper. Then the wet slap of skin on skin. Another whimper, higher this time, followed by a low, deep moan that could only come from a man.

I shut off the hose and set it down. The noises keep coming from inside the villa, clearer now that the water has stopped. I step closer to the big living room window and look through the glass.

Brock has Marco folded nearly in half like some slutty pretzel on the wide sofa. Marco’s knees are pushed up toward his shoulders, ankles locked over Brock’s thick arms. Brock is driving into him with long, steady thrusts, his muscular ass flexing hard every time he bottoms out. His heavy balls swing forward and slap against Marco’s smaller ones with each deep push. Marco’s own dick is hard and bouncing between them, the head shiny and wet, his sack drawn up tight and getting knocked around with every impact.

Marco’s mouth is open. Soft broken sounds keep spilling out of him every time Brock’s cock sinks in. Brock’s face is calm, almost focused, one hand gripping Marco’s thigh hard enough to leave marks while the other holds him open. The wet sound of lube and skin fills the room even through the glass.

I stand there with the hose still dripping in my hand and watch Brock fold the new guy open like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

I can’t look away. My hand tightens around the hose until the plastic creaks. The cold water still dripping from the nozzle runs over my fingers and down my wrist, but I barely feel it. All I can see is Brock’s thick cock disappearing into Marco over and over, the way Marco’s smaller body takes it, the way his face twists with every deep thrust. Brock’s heavy balls keep swinging and slapping, wet and full, and the sound carries clearly through the glass.

Heat floods straight down into my shorts. My dick hardens so fast it almost hurts, pressing tight against the stiff khaki fabric until the outline is obvious. I shift my weight and feel the damp spot already starting where the head rubs. The taste of Brandon’s cum is still faint on my tongue from earlier, and now this is layered on top of it.

A sharp twist settles low in my gut. Part of me wants to look away and walk off like I never saw it. Another part wants to keep watching until Brock finishes and pulls out so I can see everything. The rivalry with Brandon flares up for a second, stupid and useless, because neither of us even got this far with Marco and Brock just walked in and took him on the sofa like it was nothing.

My breathing stays shallow. I can feel my pulse in my throat and in the base of my dick at the same time. Marco lets out another high broken sound and Brock answers with that low, steady groan, never breaking rhythm. The muscles in Brock’s back and ass flex with every push. Marco’s own cock keeps bouncing between them, leaking onto his stomach.

I stand there with the hose forgotten in my hand and let the whole scene burn itself into my head, knowing I should move and knowing I am not going to.

I cannot stand there hard and do nothing.

I glance both ways along the back path. No one is coming. I shove my hand down the front of my khakis, push the waistband of my boxers out of the way, and wrap my fingers around my dick. It is already wet at the tip. I start stroking in time with Brock’s thrusts, matching the same steady rhythm I can see through the glass.

Every time Brock drives in, I stroke down. Every time he pulls back, I stroke up. The wet sound of my hand mixes with the louder wet sounds coming from inside the villa. My breath stays short and quiet. I keep my eyes locked on the way Brock’s thick cock stretches Marco open and the way Marco’s smaller body takes every inch.

Marco’s sounds get higher and more desperate. His cock starts twitching hard between them, untouched. A second later he comes, thick white ropes shooting up his own stomach and chest while Brock keeps fucking him through it. Marco’s hole must tighten because Brock’s rhythm finally breaks. His hips snap forward harder, balls drawn up tight, and he buries himself deep with a low broken groan.

I stroke faster, matching him. The second I see Brock’s sack tighten and clench, my own orgasm hits. I aim down and shoot across the low bushes beside the path, long thick ropes landing on the leaves while my knees almost buckle. I keep milking myself until nothing else comes out, still watching Brock stay buried inside Marco as they both catch their breath.

I tuck my dick back into my shorts with a shaky hand and wipe my palm on the side of my thigh. The bushes are marked. My heart is still hammering. Inside the villa Brock is finally pulling out, slow and careful, and I force myself to step away from the window before either of them looks up.

Inside the villa Brock finally pulls out of Marco and gives his ass a firm smack that leaves a red mark. He says something I cannot hear and then walks toward the bathroom, cock still shiny and half-hard as he disappears through the door.

I look down at myself. No obvious stains on the fresh khaki or the polo. I pull a small bottle of antibacterial gel from my pocket and scrub my hand until the smell of cum is mostly gone. When I glance at the bushes the thick white load is still sitting there in pearly droplets and short strands across the leaves. I shake my head once, still not fully believing what just happened.

Voices drift up the path. Nova’s bright giggle and Brandon’s low answering laugh. I step sideways into the shadow of the villa wall just as they come into view. Brandon is carrying her oversized beach bag, stuffed with towels and sunscreen. Nova walks ahead of him in a tiny bikini, still damp from the pool.

I press the button on my earpiece and keep my voice low.

“Marco. Get dressed and get out of there. Nova is on her way.”

Through the window I see Marco freeze on the sofa. For a second he looks around like he cannot remember why a voice is speaking in his ear. Then his eyes find me outside and the panic hits. He scrambles for his clothes, pulling on his shorts and polo in a clumsy rush.

Nova and Brandon are almost at the front steps when she stops and turns.

“Bran, take a couple pics of me first? The light is perfect.”

Brandon sets the bag down and pulls out his phone. I catch Marco’s eye through the glass and make a sharp hurry-up gesture. He fumbles with his belt, finally gets the buckle closed, and grabs a stray sock off the floor just as the front door opens.

Nova walks in with Brandon right behind her. She glances at Marco standing in the living room holding the sock like he was in the middle of cleaning and does not seem to care at all.

Brandon follows her, still holding the phone, and neither of them looks twice at the slightly messy sofa or the new guy who was bent in half on it less than two minutes ago.

Thanks for reading! Since you got 2 posts today, There wont be a post tomorrow. Next Post will come this Friday :)