The Best Man | Part 7: Wine Cellar (Patreon)

All characters depicted in this story are fictional and 18 years of age or older. Everything portrayed is safe, sane, and consensual.

The old cellar door creaked of the estate open like it had secrets. Calvin reached for the light switch, but the bulb overhead flickered once and gave out, plunging us into a dim, dusty sort of silence.“Perfect,” he muttered, already stepping down the creaky wooden stairs like he owned the place. “Guess I really will have to feel around.”

I followed behind him, the door groaning shut above us. The air was cooler down here, thick with the smell of oak barrels, cork, and years-old earth. Wine racks lined the stone walls, some full, some half-raided, and a few bottles stacked in crates on the floor like someone had been too lazy to shelve them.“We’re supposed to grab a few good ones for the toasts,” I said, squinting through the faint strip of sunlight coming from a high, narrow window. “Nathan said look for the expensive stuff. Something that says, ‘We’re classy, but we’ll still do body shots later.’”Calvin raised a brow. “I mean, I do have a body. You can do more than a shot off it, if you ask nicely.”

I rolled my eyes, turning toward the racks. “Are you going to help me find some fancy wine or just keep flirting with me in your sex voice?”

He walked over to a stool in the corner, sat down like he had all the time in the world, arms folded across that annoyingly tight polo. “Nah. I’m going to watch you struggle. See that twink body of yours stretch and bend while you...what’s the phrase...work for it.”

“Urgh. Fine.” I muttered, even though I was already half-smiling.

The cellar was bigger than it looked at first glance. Racks towered up to the ceiling in that chaotic, not-quite-organized way that suggested someone started sorting things alphabetically, then got lazy halfway through. I crouched down near a crate labeled in thick, black marker '2009 Bordeaux' and ran my fingers along the dusty glass. Not bad. But i figured I'd look for a few more. I moved toward another rack, scanning the faded labels. My shoulder brushed a cobweb, and I let out an involuntary shiver. “Jesus, it’s like a haunted vineyard down here.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin exhale a low chuckle. “There. Top shelf. That dusty one with the gold foil on the neck.”

I followed his gaze, then squinted up. The top row of the far rack tucked between some old-looking Italian reds and a champagne bottle that looked like it had survived a war. Sure enough, there was one bottle gleaming under the dim light, label intact, foil shimmering faintly. It looked like money. Probably tasted like it too.I grabbed the old ladder propped up in the corner and started dragging it toward the rack.

Calvin didn’t move a muscle.

I turned back toward him. “Why’d you build all those muscles if you’re not gonna help?”

He smirked. “They’re decorative. Like abs on a Greek statue. You don’t use them, you just admire.”

He finally pushed himself off the stool with a theatrical sigh, walked over, and grabbed the ladder from me with one hand like it weighed nothing. Then he placed it just under the highest rack, perfectly aligned with the dusty bottle in question. “C’mon. I’ll hold it steady. You climb and get it.”

I gave him a look. “You just want a view of my ass.”

He didn’t even blink. “Obviously. Mase”

I climbed up slowly, partly because the ladder creaked like hell, and partly because, well; if he wanted a show, I might as well give him one. My shirt rode up as I reached toward the top shelf, fingertips brushing the neck of the bottle. I pulled it down gently and handed it to Calvin, who took it and set it on the counter behind him with a thunk.“Here comes another,” I muttered, grabbing a second bottle, then a third.

The third one had a little more dust, and I had to stretch for it; hips shifting, arms reaching all the way, my thighs tight against the steps.

Behind me, Calvin groaned. “Fuck the wine. I wanna taste what’s in front of me.”

I froze on the ladder. “Did you just moan?”

“No,” he said, voice thick. “That was appreciation. Like an art collector seeing the Mona Lisa up close.”

I looked over my shoulder. His gaze was locked on my ass, his hands still on the ladder rails but white-knuckled now.

“Are you fucking serious, Calvin? Someone might walk in.”

He didn’t even flinch. “Let them.” His eyes trailed down the back of my thighs like a slow pour of honey. “I’ll tell them it’s a tasting. Pairing wine with ass.”

“Jesus Christ.” I was already halfway hard.

“Fuck, I didn’t know Mase-boy would have an ass with so much definition…” Calvin let out this guttural sound, like the words burned his throat. “Didn’t think I’d ever have my best friend’s brother bent over in front of me like this.”

I smirked over my shoulder. “You mean this ass?” I placed both hands on the shelf, gripping it at the edge, then arched my back and pushed my hips out; slow and deliberate, right into his face. I gave a little shake, a twerk even.. just to be a brat.

His hands slid to the sides of my jeans, palms hot and greedy. “Mmhmm, fuck, boy…” His voice dropped into a moan as he pressed his face into the curve of my ass. “You are so fucking slutty.”

I grinded back against him, dragging my ass across his face like I knew he’d eat it raw. “Only for tatted hunks who think they’re straight.”

His head lifted, breath ragged. Then...shkkk...his hands yanked my jeans and briefs down in one rough motion, exposing me completely. My bare ass met the cool air, but all I could feel was his gaze. “I never said I was straight,” Calvin muttered, eyes locked on my ass. “You’d be surprised how many men have taken my cock.”

My chest fluttered. Not just surprise, but something like relief. He wasn’t going to be that kind of guy; the type to nut, freak out, and ghost. Calvin wasn’t built like that. Guys like him… they always come back for seconds. And thirds. Guys like him get addicted to fucking men.

He grunted behind me. “Fuck, boy…” His voice was hot and breathy as he leaned in. One hand gripped my hip. The other slid down, fingers running between my crack.

Then I felt it; his fingertip brushing against my hole.

“Ahh, fuck..” I hissed, body jerking at the contact.

Calvin laughed low, dark, and full of promise. “Is that pretty little hole equipped to take big cocks like mine?”“Oh, you’d be surprised. You’re not the first hunk I’ve -”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence.

His face dove in. And then I felt it. A wet tongue dragging right over my hole; slow, deep, with zero hesitation. My knees nearly buckled.

“Fuckkk... fuckk..” The sound left me in a helpless moan, my fingers clenching tight around the shelf.

He groaned into me like he’d been starving to eat me out. His hands spread my cheeks wider, and his tongue started moving in deliberate circles. Soft at first, then firmer. Then he pulled back, spat on my hole, and licked it all up again; messy, unbothered, like he was claiming me.

Another spit. This one loud. Hot. I felt it slide down between my cheeks and collect right where I needed it. He smeared it in with his tongue, his nose pressed in, beard scratching gently against the curves of my ass as he devoured me.

My whole body rocked with each lick. Each pass of that hot, wet tongue felt deeper. Needier. Like he was tonguefucking the words out of me.

I gasped and whimpered. My hips started grinding back on their own, chasing every drag of his mouth. The scratch of his beard against my skin made it even filthier. Every time he pulled back for air, I felt the burn of it; a bristly friction, rough and masculine and impossible to ignore.

I shook my ass side to side, dragging it across his face just to feel it again. That beard. That heat and the pressure which felt too fucking good.

“You like the feeling of my beard across your cold ass, don’t you?”

“Unghh... fuck, I do..”

He didn’t wait. He dove back in, growling...He buried his face between my cheeks and started motorboating; messy, wild, completely unhinged. His tongue slid back and forth while his stubble scratched everywhere at once.

I was moaning, whimpering and gasping.. Trying not to be too loud.. I felt like a slut. That’s all I felt like in that moment. Bent over. Legs spread. Ass getting eaten like I was made for it.Calvin’s tongue was working my hole with obsession. His beard was spattered with saliva. My thighs were shaking. He was making these desperate little noises, like every taste of my hole was driving him insane. I was so far gone I didn’t even realize my jeans were fully off now; bunched somewhere near my ankles, bare ass high in the air, back arched, breathing hard.

I moaned again as he pressed deeper; his hands gripping my hips now, spreading me open like he owned me.

And then...

A sound behind us.

Footsteps.

A low chuckle.

Calvin didn’t even pull away. His breath was still hot on my hole.. I couldn't register until I heard a voice.

“What the fuck...” a voice said casually, amused... in a playful tone.

I whipped my head around, panic thudding in my chest.

There, standing just inside the cellar door, leaning against the wall like he’d been watching for a while, was Ralph. One of the groomsmen. Tall. Thick forearms. He was holding a small toothpick, lazily chewing on the last corner of a cheese cube like he was at a wine tasting.

His eyes were on me. Then on Calvin’s face between my ass. Then back on me again.

He didn’t look away. Didn’t leave. Didn’t create a scene.

He smirked. “Didn’t know you two were into that kind of fun.”

I tried to move. Tried to pull my jeans up. But Calvin didn’t budge. His hands just tightened on my hips.

Ralph licked the salt from his fingers, cocking his head as he walked towards us. “Got room for one more?”

Calvin’s breath was still warm against my hole. My back was still arched. I watched as Ralph stepped closer, unhurried, his tongue dragging slowly across his bottom lip like he was going to devour my hole.The Best Man | Part 8: The Usual Stuff