Archive of Our Own ^beta

Pangi is jerking off perfectly normally until his thumb dips bluntly into the slit in the middle of his cockhead. He was just supposed to spread the precome a little, but his nail catches on the hole and it is such a strange sensation panging all over him– down his cock and up his belly– Pangi becomes obsessed. 

He continues just with his fingers, mostly his pinky edging against it until he’s sensitive and it's almost ticklish as he wiggles against the opening trying to pry it open. His finger, even his pinky, is stupidly blunt and big. It feels good, but Pangi keeps thinking of something going into him, going into his cock. It makes him come more forcefully than he’d ever admit– not that he would tell anyone that he keeps imagining metal rods and other cylinder objects going into his cock. 

It’s with shame he stands in his bathroom, cock hard as he’s washing a chopstick with the most perfume-free soap he could find in the house (his sister’s intimate wash soap stolen from her bathroom), before sitting down on the toilet. He could do this in his room, but he wants the extra locked door between him and anyone else. 

It’s weird. He’s straining in his boxers, hard and leaking without even touching himself just at the pure anticipation of something maybe being able to fit down his cock. 

He decides to only pull his cock out of his boxers– no need for bare ass cheeks on the toilet seat. It’s a bit awkward, holding his cock in one hand and a chopstick in the other. He pushes past his own embarrassment with a well-placed rub of his thumb against his cockhead, smearing the clear sticky liquid in little circles. 

Pangi brings the thin end of the chopstick up against his opening. He tries to be gentle, okay. Tries. But the slick wood presses into him easier than imagined, with a sharp pain and a lot of pleasure. It carries through his whole body, groaning as tingles spread from his cock. 

“Fuck!” He groans as he pushes it even further down. 

It’s entirely overwhelming, nothing like just rubbing a finger against the opening. Sharp and intoxicating, Pangi pushes it further. 

Pangi stops only to jerk off with the chopstick still inside— it’s weird, how he feels fuller, how the mass of the wood makes his cock heavy. It sinks further in by itself, forcing a gasp from him. 

It’s so fucking weird. There's a pressure, like something wants to come out, but can’t because he’s so fucking full. 

His balls tighten. He’s full. He’s filled up, cock twitching and wood poking out of it because it’s inside him. Inside him! Pangi moans. 

The pressure builds- the typical waves of an orgasm spreading through his body, but nothing is really making it past the chopstick. It’s weird as fuck. There’s a little bubble of come? Maybe? Pangi can’t really tell. 

He tries to drag the chopstick out and promptly stops— it’s even worse, better, so overwhelming as it drags against his insides. 

Fuck. 

With a grip around his cock and as firm as a grip as he can on the chopstick, he continues to pull. The pressure builds, follows the drag against him as he pulls it out slowly. It makes him whine as it pops out. A mess of come follows it, warm and sticky as it lands all over his hands and thighs. Fuck.

There’s nothing he can do. He has a messy chopstick in one hand (he needs to throw it out or burn it or keep it buried in his desk drawer for safekeeping) and his softening cock in the other. 

He really needs to do this again.