Erotic short. A trans man is the favourite pocket on the pool table.
Rated E. Cis M/trans M/cis M. 4k. Featuring consent play with a prenegotiated rape roleplay, object insertion (not sanitary, not safe, just sexy), double penetration, begging, tears, size difference, age difference, lots of anal play, belly bulging.
Jock and Phineas first appeared in Centre Pocket, where Jock initially makes the threat of the pool balls.
We all know that this is unsafe, but I just want to note specifically that the reason inserting pool balls into an orifice is bad is not just that they’re dirty — it’s that they have no flared base and can be super hard to get out again, with no guarantee they’ll pop right out like they do in this erotic fiction short. No one wants to go to A&E to get pool balls removed from their vaginal or anal canals, and Johannes especially does not want his name cited as the reason that someone did that.
So, you know. Don’t try this at home, or even at your local homoerotic biker bar.
“Albus,” says Jock as they pull up outside the bar, and Vince doesn’t pull away from him right away, leaning back against the warm weight of the older man’s chest. “You change your last name at the same time as you changed your first?”
“Who says my parents didn’t call me Vincent?” asks Vince, and dismounts the motorbike, looking back at the old Scotsman with his lips shifted into the slightest of smirks, watching his brow furrow, watching his lips twist.
“Is that a joke?” he asks finally.
“It’s a joke, yes,” says Vince. “I changed my name to Vincent — my surname was already Albus.”
It was not the first time that Jock Williams had been a client of his, but suffice it to say, this was not like their usual routine — as a rule, Jock came over to Vince’s, or on his birthday once, Vince had done a house call and dropped into Jock’s bungalow. He had emigrated from Scotland some decades ago with his brother, Duncan, who had a successful landscaping and construction business.
Jock had used to help him, but the physical labour was somewhat beyond him now, and he ran deliveries now, drove a truck with some hot young otters doing the actual physical work.
Vince has even met Duncan in passing, and the man’s been perfectly pleasant,
Tonight’s a break from the usual routine, a special occasion.
Dino’s Bar is a nasty little dive, filthy and dismal and full of big, scary men in leather, and Vince smiles as he crosses the threshold and makes his way inside, walking over to the pool table as Jock orders drinks.
Jock hadn’t got into the specifics, had just negotiated precisely what he wanted to happen, and Vince is aware that this is for one particular person’s benefit… He smiles at the other man across the pool table, bats his eyelashes and looks across at the beautiful twink in the denim vest who’s just setting up balls on the table.
“Hi,” says the twink. “You haven’t been in here before.”
“Nope,” agrees Vince. “Jock brought me.”
The twink’s eyes flit up and look him over, then over to Jock at the bar, his brow furrowing slightly.
Ha.
It’s actually rather sweet, the jealousy that twists his mouth, makes his eyes narrow. He’s really quite beautiful, smooth and slim, has big, brown eyes, thick locks of really quite luscious hair, his skin a golden, sun-kissed brown.
“Oh,” says the twink.
“My name’s Vincent,” he says. “Want to play a game?”
“Fine,” says the twink witheringly. “For a friend of Jock’s.”
He’s far too good at pool for Vince to have even the slightest chance of winning, but it’s not as if it really matters, is it? The evening isn’t about Vince winning at pub sports — the pub sports are really just a matter of passing the time.
Vince watches, amused, some hours into the evening when Jock slides his arm around the twink’s — Phineas’- waist and pulls him close, mouthing over the side of his neck, then coming to murmur in his ear. His voice is loud enough for Vince to hear: “You remember I told you what would happen if you keep mouthing off to me, lad?”
“Who says I mouth off?” asks Phineas coolly.
“Ha,” says Jock, and looks over at Vince. “You’ve been the centre of attention here pretty regularly, haven’t you, Phin? It’s Vince’s turn tonight.”
“What, you’re bored of me?” asks Phineas.
“No, no,” says Jock. “This little fella just has different qualities to you. Don’t ya, Vince?”
Vince smiles, and unbuttons his shirt, letting it slide off his shoulders. He hadn’t bothered to wear a binder this evening, and Phineas stares at the bounce of Vince’s chest as he moves from side to side, his hairy tits wobbling in place.
“He’s trans?” asks Phineas, and his pretty little jaw drops as Vince slides his jeans down his hips, his thighs. Phineas’ gaze goes directly to Vince’s cock, staring at the bright pink bud of it sticking out from his thatch of curling pubes, and Vince still feels the heat of his gaze on his back as he turns and bends over the pool table, reaching back to pull the plug out of his arse. “Fuck,” says Phineas.
“Al?” prompts Jock, and there’s almost no delay before his friend Al is sinking raw into Vince’s arse, spreading him open. The plug had been big enough to ensure he was nice and open, enough to take a prick without any faffing about first, but Al is thick enough that Vince really feels it, moaning into the green baize he’s bent over.
“Spread your legs a little, Al,” says Jock, and Vince hears the sound of his hand smacking against the other man’s skin, feels him reposition himself with his legs spread wide as he continues to thrust his cock into Vince’s arse, sheathing himself to the hilt again and again.
It’s a dull, thudding pleasure inside him, making his cunt feel warm and wanting, and when he clenches down he feels the splendid fullness of his arse and at the same time the aching emptiness of his cunt, the desire to have something inside him, something else splitting him open.
“You see that, lad?” Vince hears Jock ask his boyfriend, and he says something else, but it’s blurred into vague noise by the fact that Al shifts his position and starts fucking into him harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, his balls clapping against the edge of Vince’s cunt, his own cock throbbing with want, with need.
Vince works to control his breathing as he’s driven into again and again and again, Al breathing heavy behind him, his belly an intensely erotic weight on Vince’s lower back — Al’s changed his angle so that his cock is shoving down against his arse as he sinks into the channel, rubbing Vince’s cunt almost from the inside, and he needs it, for fuck’s sake.
Then —
Then again, he knows what’s coming, and that makes his body shudder.
“Put him on his back, Al,” says Jock, and Vince lets out a squeak of sound as Al steps back and pulls his cock out, flipping him onto his back. When he’s dropped onto the table this time, it’s on top of some sort of extra fabric, because Al doesn’t just bend him over the edge, but instead spreads him on the actual table surface, albeit not directly touching the baize.
“Am I on a blanket?” he asks dazedly, spreading his thighs apart when Jock nudges at them, and Jock nods his head as he looks down at him, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
“Vaughn doesn’t want us staining the baize,” he says, and finishes tying one of Vince’s ankles to the leg of the table, his knees bent over the edge of it, his arse and cunt pulled to the centre edge. “You still good with traffic lights?”
“Yeah,” Vince murmurs under his breath, looking past Jock to pretty Phineas, who’s standing a little back and is looking on with his face pale, his eyes fixed on the shape of Vince’s body, the way he’s arching his back off the table as Al rocks inside him. “Red to stop.”
“Good lad,” says Jock, and ties the other ankle down. “Let’s play, shall we?”
* * *
The trans twink is called Vincent Albus, and Phineas has never seen him around before. He’d been dressed in understated but well-fitting clothing, jeans and a button-up shirt and some sneakers, but naked Phineas can see how fucking hairy he is, the hair on his ass, his thighs, his calves, on his back, trailing down from his navel to his pubes, thick on his tits and a thatch on his chest.
Phineas’ stomach does a nervous flip as Jock ties down Vincent’s other ankle, looping the rope against the little legs at the base of the table, ensuring his legs are spread wide, his back against the table.
He steps slowly to the side of it, and with Al’s belly on top, he can’t really get a look at Vincent’s pussy, can only get glimpses of it whenever Al pulls back enough to let him see it under the shadow of his body.
Al drops forward, bracing his hands either side of Vincent’s body, and he’s letting out low, desperate grunts as he fucks into his ass, clapping sounds filling the air as Vincent squirms and lets out breathless, eager noises of his own.
Al has ridiculous stamina, can normally go for ages, but he’s fucking Vince bare, and Phineas swallows at the noise that AL makes, throaty and growling, as he finishes inside him and then pulls out.
Phineas stares at the open pucker of his asshole, pink on the inside, slick and wet, and even pinker on the inside, even wetter, is his cunt. His lips are a dusky brown, but he can see the pinkness just inside, the wetness shining on the skin.
“You know what I have Vince here for yet, kiddo?” asks Jock, and Phineas doesn’t look away from Vince’s pussy right away, almost hypnotised by the look of it, wondering what he feels like inside. Phineas doesn’t top much, can’t normally be bothered with the effort, but Vincent’s cunt is probably tight and wet inside, already ready with no work needed.
“To fuck him, you said,” says Phineas.
“Uh huh,” says Jock, holding one of the pool balls in his hand and sort of letting it roll along his palm, rocking it back and forth in the cradle of his fingers and thumbs without letting it drop. “Sure.”
And then he takes the ball, which is the green number 6, and pops it against Vincent’s lips, forcing them to spread.
“Aah, ah,” hisses out Vincent, arching off the pool table to try to see. “Hey, hey, Jock, Jock — ”
Phineas stares, his mouth agape, as Jock concentrates on the pool ball and forces it inside. Vincent yells out, whines and tries to struggle but can’t manage it with how his ankles are spread apart, is forced to just take it as Jock pops the green ball past the opening sphincter of his cunt and pushes it further inside.
Phineas can see the shadow of green ball just inside him, his lips not able to close up into the fat little sandwich they’d formed before, and now he can now really see the pinkness of his insides, of the inside of his pussy.
Jock picks up the orange 5 and the banded orange 13, and he lets them dance around his palm, making a quiet click against each other and make that smooth noise of the two of them sliding against one another.
“Wait,” says Vincent, and Phineas feels fluttery and hot under his skin at the way his lips quiver, the way his eyes are wide. He’s English or something, and Phineas isn’t used to his accent, the way it sounds coming out of his mouth as he talks, the way he puts what sounds like too much emphasis on the t even as he whines. “Wait, Jock, you just said you guys would fuck me, you didn’t fucking say — ”
“I’m teaching the boy to mind his manners,” says Jock evenly, undeterred by the quiver to Vincent’s body, the way his body is shuddering. His cunt is clenching and working, and Phineas can see more and more of the green ball as it’s pushed outward, like he’s fucking laying it like an egg. “You don’t mind demonstrating, do you, Vincent?”
“No, stop it, I don’t fucking, I can’t — ” Vincent’s cut off in a sharp whine of noise as Jock pushes the 5 inside him, pushing the green ball back, and the click of resin on resin is muffled by flesh, but loud enough that Phineas can still hear it.
The 13 follows soon after, and Vincent keeps on moaning, letting out sharp, bitten-off noises as Jock grabs hold of the cue ball and the 8-ball too, then the 2 and the 10. The 8 hadn’t gone as deeply as the others had, even with Jock pushing them forward with his fingers, but he uses the 2 and 10 to just force them deeper.
Phineas, who’s been standing there stunned and dizzied, takes a slow step forward so that he can look more closely, confirm what he’s pretty sure he can see, which is the slight jut out of Vincent’s belly, seven pool balls pushed inside of him and forcing his belly to bulge out just slightly.
“Good boy,” Jock purrs, two of his fingers inside of Vincent’s pussy and stroking around the edges of his open cunt, massaging him just inside the entrance. As he’s rubbing a slow circle at the roof of his cunt, he flicks across Vincent’s swollen little cock at the same time, and with the first strum of it, Vincent wails and arches his back.
“Stop it, stop it,” Vincent wails. “I can’t fucking take it, I’m too full, please, please, don’t fucking do this — ”
“He’s saying to stop,” says Phineas, barely loud enough to talk.
“Sure, he’s saying that,” agrees Jock. “But when I rub his cock in a slow little circle with my thumb, just like this…” It moves so smoothly over the skin, easy as anything, and Vincent moans from low in his throat, his eyes squeezing shut. He’s so wet that Phineas can see it dripping down into his ass crack. “He likes it. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Please, Jock, you said you’d just fuck me, please, please — ”
“Sounds like he’s saying please, lad,” says Jock to Phineas, casual as anything, although his voice has a rumbling quality to it because he’s undoubtedly turned on. He nudges the 4 and the 11 closer, so that they slide across the baize toward them. “You want to put the next ones in?”
“Don’t,” says Vincent urgently, looking at Phineas with his eyes big and shiny with wetness. Phineas is so fucking hard he feels dizzy with it. “Please, please — ”
Phineas takes the 4 as it’s pressed into his hand, and he wonders where the fuck Jock met this guy, how many times Jock’s fucked him for him to go along so easily with the idea of a gangbang, enough that Vincent’s just let him tie him up. His cunt is so hot when Phineas puts the ball forward, and as he pushes it inside him, he can feel the hot slickness of the inside of his lips, feel his cunt working, the clench and squeeze of it trying to force the 4 out, trying to stop it from sliding into him, as Phineas forces it forward.
When it pops inside, it’s still half sticking out, the curve of it shiny with his juices, and over the whining Vincent’s letting out, Jock can hear the click of the balls, and hear them grinding against one another inside him.
Jock nudges Phineas out of the way to push the 11 in, and he really has to concentrate, really has to force it. Vincent’s whining has changed in pitch and there’s a kind of desperation in his face as he moves and writhes, tries to kick his legs free, but the 11 finally forces its way inside, and Jock gives a savage shove of his fingers after that.
Phineas hears the muffled click of the balls against each other as Vincent yells and arches, shaking his head and letting out a sob, but his cock is twitching, and —
“Fuck,” Phineas whispers, and puts his hand over what was previously the flat expanse of Vincent’s belly, and is now slightly nobbled with a few of the balls shoved in him, and when Phineas presses on them, Vincent says, “No, no, no — !” but all Vincent can think of is the fucking feel of the balls inside him, the way he can feel them nudging and shoving against one another where they’re all shoved tight together.
“Get us the rest there, would you, Al?” Jock asks, but he’s not really asking — it’s an order, easily given, and Al jumps to do as he says. “Your cock hard, Phineas?”
Phineas gulps, because yes, of fucking course his cock is hard, what the fuck kind of question is that? Is he meant to say no, when they have a twink sprawled out over a pool table and are shoving the pool balls inside his fluttering, clenching pussy, when he’s radiating hate, when he’s writhing, when he’s begging?
“Yes, sir,” says Phineas.
“Good,” says Jock. “Put it in his arse.”
“No!” whines Vincent, but all Phineas can think is Yes.
He rushes to push down his jeans, his cock bouncing out heavy and hard and ready, and he pushes Vincent’s asscheeks apart to bare more of his asshole to the air, pulling down on his foreskin so that he can just nudge his cockhead against the wet opening there, circling it around the hole.
He can barely fucking breathe.
“The fuck are you pissing about for?” asks Jock. “I said in.”
Phineas sinks inside, and he moans at the tight, wet heat enveloping him on all sides, at the tight clench of Vincent’s hole around him as he tries to force him out, and at the way he’s nudging the balls. They’re moving and clicking against each other, shoved up against the walls of Vincent’s cunt, and he can see them moving, feel them moving as Phineas slides himself in to the hilt. He moans at the way Vincent clenches and works around him, and he can’t help but stare down at the sight of his own cock as he slides a bit further out, sees the lube clinging to him, sees where his cockhead is holding Vincent’s ass open.
“Seven more to go,” says Jock, and forces the 15 inside him, and fuck, fuck, but the way Phineas can feel Vincent working his cock as he writhes, as Jock grabs hold of a few more balls, pops each one of them into him, and God, God, but Phineas can feel them sliding against his fucking cock, his shaft, as they’re forced into Vincent’s cunt.
His belly is bulging with them, lumped out under the skin and forcing it to round out, and as Phineas thrusts erratically into him, feeling his hips twitch and his cock jerk inside the tight heat of his ass, he steadies one hand on the table and uses the other to play his palm over the skin, to just feel the texture, before he presses down slightly.
He feels the balls move, feels the sudden release as one of them almost lets down, but there are Jock’s fingers, pressing the ball further inside him again and making Vincent wail as he keeps two fingers hooked in place and starts to play back and forth over his cock with his thumb.
Phineas knows he can’t fucking last like this, and he doesn’t even try, thinks about how the inside of Vincent’s ass is slick with Al’s come as well as lube, how he’s so tight because of all the balls forced inside him, how every thrust of his cock is making them shift inside him and that’s why Vincent’s writhing so much underneath him.
His cunt is twitching like crazy, his ass too, and when he clenches down particularly hard, Phineas just can’t stop himself, sinks himself in as deep as he can as he feels his cock pulse, his balls drawn up tightly. He thrusts through it, feeling Vincent’s ass become even wetter with his come easing the way, and he shudders as he looks down at the picture he makes, shining with sweat, breathing heavily, tears streaked on his cheeks, his belly bulging with the pool balls shoved inside him.
“My turn,” says Jock, and pulls on the quick-release ties he always manages to put into bondage, the ones that Phineas hasn’t gotten the hang of yet, just pulls the string on each side and lets Vincent’s ankles free. “You come let?”
“I can’t come,” says Vincent immediately, moving as if he’s gonna crawl away across the table, tries to turn onto his front and then moans and stumbles on his knees, his belly rounded slightly and looking heavy underneath him, throwing him off his balance. “I can’t, please, Jock, it hurts, it hurts — ”
Jock drags him back by one ankle, grabs him around the hips, and lifts him straight off the table, and fuck, fuck, but even with his cock spent and mostly soft between his legs, how is that not supposed to send a thrill through Phineas? It’s just fucking hot, when Jock is just that strong, when he handles someone so easily — he can pick Phineas up, and Phineas must have thirty pounds on Vincent, even without counting the five or six pounds for the pool balls.
Jock drops back on a chair, doesn’t even hesitate or give Vincent any time to recover as he’s squirming weakly in his arms: he drops Vincent straight down onto his own cock, sticking up fat and long from his pants, and sinks right into his ass.
Vincent yelps, his breaths rising and falling, and Phineas sees a ball almost pop out of him, but Jock catches it before it can let free, sinks four fingers into him and at the same time grinds the heel of his hand against his throbbing little cock. Vincent squirms and moans and says, “Fuck, Jock, Jock, I can’t, I can’t — ”
“You fucking can, lad,” Jock replies, a low rumble in his ear before he sucks on the lobe, and Vincent must like that, because he shudders and jerks in Jock’s lap, grinding down into him, like he’s trying to get more of his cock, more of his fingers, inside him. “You’re going to come just like this, with all these balls inside you — and if you can’t manage it like this, I’m pretty sure Vaughn’s got a spare bag. Think you can take another sixteen?”
Vincent’s eyes widen, bulging, his lips quivering, and Jock pulls his fingers free but starts to rub in rough, quick circles against Vincent’s cock, and Vincent chokes on a screaming moan as he comes.
Phineas stares, spellbound, as his cunt works and forces out a ball that pops free, hits the floor, and rolls across it, then the next, then the next — Jock just keeps rubbing him through it, and Phineas can see from his face that it must feel fucking good, Jock’s hips jerking up against Vincent’s ass, his eyes closed, his mouth pressed into the side of Vincent’s neck and his breathing heavy, low grunts coming out of his own mouth.
He must have spat out ten of them when Vincent’s whines start to taper off, his body twitching and shuddering, his legs going limp either side of Jock’s, his body going limp and loose, and he whimpers, “Jock — Jock, please — ”
Jock presses down on his belly with the other hand, and Vincent cries out, his thighs spreading wider, and the last four hit the ground with a crack and roll away: the cue, the 13, the 5, the 6.
Vincent is breathing heavily, but then, so is Phineas.
“You know how to eat pussy?” asks Jock, and Phineas looks at him uncertainly, biting his lip.
“I, uh,” he says. “Not — I guess?”
“Pick those balls up,” orders Jock. “Then you’ll learn.”
“I can’t take it, Jock,” Vincent mumbles, still red, still sweating.
“Colour?”
“… Green,” says Vincent.
“You can take it,” says Jock.
Phineas realises with a distant, guilty thrill that —
“Ha,” he mumbles to himself, and kneels down to start picking up the balls, gripping at them as best he can even though they’re slick and slippery.
“You’d really do that to him?” asks Vincent blearily, softly moaning as Jock begins to thrust up and into him again. “If he misbehaved?”
“I’d give him all those and the spares, too,” says Jock, and Phineas imagines it, imagines having his ass stuffed full of the fifteen pool balls and the cue, and then sixteen fucking more besides, imagines having his guts so full of the things it’s bulged out and pregnant with it, ready to fucking burst.
His cock gives a valiant twitch, eager to get back to it.
“Good lad,” says Jock, and Phineas doesn’t know or care which of them he’s referring to, his jealousy forgotten.
FIN.
Leave a Reply