Archive of Our Own ^beta

The dildo was long and unevenly ribbed. The edges faced down, so – aside from having to accommodate the substantial girth – thrusting in was easy; it was pulling out when the sensations shone. 

The ribs met resistance, then flexed open until overpowered. Then they grazed achingly along your walls, scraping all the lube until your hole burned. One by one, they caught on your sphincter. Dragged. Spread you open. 

It was almost like pulling out your own spine.

Scott cursed and fixed his grip on the thing.

Harry liked watching him use it on himself. Sometimes Harry helped, and then Scott writhed and whined under his hands – because Harry was impatient and always did it too fast – but usually it was Scott, himself, working the dildo in, then slowly, slowly, oh so slowly wrenching it out. 

It was a present from Harry, one of the many toys Harry had given him over the years. Because they were gifts, Scott always felt inclined to use them whenever Harry asked, like he owed Harry something. 

In his heart of hearts, Scott believed Harry didn’t buy them for Scott but for his own satisfaction. 

There was a thick, ribbed urethral sound to go with the dildo, and Scott was afraid Harry would make him use that next. Last weekend Scott had begged that off – since Harry had already whipped the tip of Scott’s cock red and swollen – but, today, Harry would probably want to see Scott stuffed from both sides. 

There was this glint – oh so familiar – to Harry’s eyes.

“Push it as deep as you can,” Harry said. “Now go wash your cock and hands.”

When Scott limped back from the bathroom, the sound was unpacked and waiting for him. Beside it lay gloves, gauze, disinfectant, and a clear, needleless syringe full of water-based lube.

Scott gulped.

Harry patted the bath towel spread on the bed beside him and smiled his wicked, wicked grin.

Scott’s knees weakened. 

He could no longer look at him. 

Obediently, he lowered himself to the bed – grunting when the dildo shifted when he sat on it.

One by one, Harry passed him the items. Gloves first, then – when Scott slid them on his shaking hands – a piece of gauze. He poured disinfectant on it and ardently watched Scott rub it on his cock.

The sensation burned cold, but it didn’t sting. Scott sort of liked it – compared to other things Harry demanded of him, this was nothing. Pleasant, even. In fact, Scott could do with more of the feeling.

Later, he’d have to talk about that with Harry.

He cleaned the sound with another piece of gauze, drenched in the disinfectant generously enough to reach all of its many crevices. The sound was baby blue, and with its many small ridges, it resembled a terribly long, exotic caterpillar. 

The thing had a give to it, but much less than Scott would’ve liked. It’d feel invasive in him even after he’d get used to the challenging thickness. And when it would move—

Harry wiggled the syringe with the lube in front of him.

Obediently, Scott held his glans for the cold pseudo-injection.

Harry observed Scott as he was pressing the plunger.

The unnaturally cold, slimy feeling spread in. Scott’s breathing quickened. His skin flushed.

His hole clenched uncomfortably on the dildo’s ridges.

Harry poured the lube on the sound next, then waited for Scott to spread it. “Look at me,” he said, and when Scott did – Harry’s eyes were so intense, so dark and hot, oh God – he nudged Scott’s chin with a single fingertip and gave Scott a lightning-quick, barely there, wet kiss. “Go on,” he said. “Do it.”

Scott blinked at him – his ears were buzzing – and aimed the tip of the sound into his slit.

For maybe a quarter of an inch there were no ridges, so at the beginning the insertion was easy. Then the trouble started. Unlike the smooth metal sounds, there was no way this one could go in on its own, so Scott had to help it every terribly stimulating step of the way. Just as on the plug in his ass, the ridges curved out, so the slide in, while uneven and burning from the stretch alone, felt good on a deeply satisfying level.

It was the slide out Scott was dreading.

“Deeper,” Harry said.

Scott’s hands shook, but he pushed deeper.

Soon, he hit the swirling, unnervingly good ache of his prostate, and he went rigid.

“Through it,” said Harry.

Carefully – very carefully – Scott obeyed. 

Tears filled his eyes. Then they spilled when all the muscles in his backside seized. The pressure from both sides overwhelmed. ‘I can’t take it,’ he had at the tip of his tongue, but it got lost in a series of moans.

His urethra burned, cock throbbed, hole ached, and deeper in, in his core, pleasure swirled and pulsed like a thick, mad worm.

From all the sensations, the pleasure was the most unbearable.

“Now – back and forth.”

Scott’s hand moved on its own.

“Are you close?”

“Hnn!” was the only answer Scott was capable of.

“Try to stall it. I want to fuck it out of you using your other hole. No, don’t stop! Keep thrusting – faster – yes, good boy. Go on your knees, so I can reach.”

Scott kneeled on the bed – trembling all over.

He bent in half, supporting himself on one shoulder and keeping his hands busy.

His groin was made of harsh, liquefied fire. The ridges scraped through him, then caught on the slit on their way out, then no longer resisted when he forced them back in. 

Meanwhile, Harry gripped the flared base of the dildo, and – ridge-by-excruciating-ridge – he started wrenching it out. He twisted it slightly when he was at it, which added to the sensations.

Scott whined and whimpered and clenched.

“No, don’t stop,” Harry said again. “I want to see your hands moving.”

So Scott moved them. After a few moments, and without his conscious decision, his thrusts synchronized with Harry’s thrusts. A slide rushed in – a wave of pleasure rolling through Scott’s belly; A slow tug out – pain joined it, in burning, building jumps. It thrilled through him, not taking away from the pleasure but amplifying it, then turning it into something else, something other. There was a point when Scott’s body could no longer take it, and he tried to squirm away from Harry’s relentless hands, but Harry pulled his hips back into position, spanked him three times, and then continued.

Scott prayed for an orgasm now, but it had become elusive – cowing before the barrage of sensations, before the otherness. It just kept building, swarming, swelling, thicker and larger with every second, with every thrust more inevitable and looming more unbearable.

After so much abuse, Scott’s body had loosened, so Harry could fuck him harder. In the beginning, it’d been a quick thrust in, then a slow pull out, now most of the resistance was gone, so the timing shortened and evened.

In the front, in his cock, Scott had followed his lead.

God, but it burned.

“Harry, please, please, please!”

He wasn’t sure what he was begging for.

They couldn’t stop. It all would be for nothing if they stopped!

“Harder?” Harry asked. “Okay, I’ll give you harder.”

From then on, the pace became brutal. Scott floated on it, forgetting entirely about the ache in his back and increasingly strained shoulder. His existence had concentrated in his crotch, condensed into a ball of no longer categorizable sensations. They both, he and Harry, pumped that balloon wider. It swelled within him; it swelled so huge and tense, so overwhelmingly there, that a part of Scott had become afraid. 

What would become of him when it finally burst? Would he even survive?

He didn’t stop, though; he no longer had a choice. He thrust rapidly, back and forth, back and forth, the movements of his hand overtaking even Harry’s speed. His cock was a weeping, throbbing thing, so ridiculously sensitive that, squeezed in his other hand, and compared to what was happening inside, it seemed almost numb.

It burned, oh, how it burned. 

It felt so enormously good!

“Are you close?” Harry asked, but Scott couldn’t answer. Harry chuckled. “Of course you’re close.” He shifted behind Scott, then his thrusts slowed and lengthened.

Then he spanked. 

It jolted something in both Scott’s body and mind. Something unstuck, unlocked – then fire came, and he was cumming.

Slowly, searingly – around the sound. Around its thickness, between its ridges. He spilled and spilled, dripped and dripped.

He screamed like a wild thing. 

Afterwards, Harry turned him over and carefully eased out the sound. “Damn,” he said, “but it got you good.”

Scott couldn’t speak yet.

He wouldn’t be able to for a while.

Ridge by excruciating ridge, Harry wrenched out the dildo, then he massaged the ache out of Scott’s overused rim. He cleaned him between the legs and wiped Scott’s sweat with a warm, damp towel. He rolled Scott under the sheets, then cleaned all the toys and put them away. 

Lastly, he lay behind Scott, over the covers, and hugged him from behind. 

Scott closed his eyes.

Slowly, the corners of his lips curved up.