A Bellyful

Erotic short. A wayfaring mage stops for the night, and exchanges services with the innkeeper.

Cis M/trans M, rated E, 2.6k. On his way north from his studies, a mage stops by at an inn and pays for a place in the innkeeper’s bed — all the better to use each other. Overstimulation, oral, anal, and vaginal sex, breeding kink, denial, come inflation, begging, tears, rough sex, size difference, a bit of magic. Pregnancy threats at the end.

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The innkeeper is a big man, fat and burly, his skin thickly thatched with dark hair — he’s shaven, but it’s anything but clean, stubble bristling over his cheeks and his lip and his chin and the underside of his throat.

Jory shifts his satchel on his shoulder, hearing the clink inside of the bigger bits and pieces from his haul — goblets studded with gemstones, two platinum plates, a few encrusted daggers he’ll need to take to get examined at the temple in the morning, before he goes north to get them fenced if not sold.

It’s been over a month since he set out, so much of his time spent mapping out the place — it’s mostly infested only by spiders, and while there’s a colony of kobolds, when he’d managed to get across to them what it was he was there for — to wipe out the big spiders and bugs and to clear out only the ruined temple, that he mostly wanted the old books and the holy icons the kobolds couldn’t touch anyway — they’d formed a decent enough truce. He’s often found they’re easier to deal with when he talks to them as just one man rather than as a party — they never see him as a threat, don’t panic like they would if he was a party member.

“You’re a long way from the university,” says the innkeeper, gesturing to the clasp on his cloak.

“They send us forth, we send knowledge back,” Jory says.

“Isn’t the point of a place of learning to do the learning there?”

“Naturally,” Jory says. “That’s why we send the books back there once we find them.”

The innkeeper huffs out a laugh, polishing a glass and setting it down on the bar. “Food, drink, a room?”

“I can afford food and drink,” says Jory, and rests his palms on the bar, leaning on it and looking up at the innkeeper. He’s closer, now, close enough that he really has to look up at the innkeep, his dark eyes, his dark lashes. “I don’t know if I can afford a room, though.” He pouts out his lips, shifting his head to the side. “Are you by any chance open to barter?”

The innkeeper looks amused, one hand going to his hip as he takes Jory in. His eyes flit over him, over the full coin purse at Jory’s belt, over his satchel that clinks and clunks with metal and gold and gems, over the enchanted jewellery he wears, and how strong and well-made — albeit not particularly pretty — his robes are under his battered uniform cloak.

“The brothel is open, if you want a fuck, lad.”

“They don’t have men like you in the brothel.”

“They have plenty of little lads like you, though.”

“You’re a busy innkeep in a bustling wayfaring town — when would you have time to go to the brothel?”

“When would I have time to go to bed at all?”

“Fuck me here, then,” Jory says, and the innkeeper laughs, smacking his palm against the bar and looking down at him, slowly shaking his head.

“Two coins for a bowl of stew and a cheap ale — five for the room. It’d normally be ten, but seeing as you’ll be sharing a bed with a stranger, I’ll happily discount it.”

Jory scatters some of the coins from his pocket onto the bar — they’re not the copper coins the innkeep expected, but fat, heavy gold ones from a century ago with a long-dead king on their flipside, and the innkeeper sighs as he looks down at them, raising his eyebrows and giving him a flat look.

“Can it be a spiced ale?” asked Jory.

“Sit,” the innkeeper says, and calls for a boy to bring Jory a bowl of stew.

* * *

The innkeeper has him place his valuables in a chest and makes a big show of giving him the key — Jory sees no point in explaining to the man that as valuable as it all is, he’s only selling enough of it to pay for messengers and carts to transport the rest, that if he wants to steal it, he’s welcome to take it.

He doesn’t point out, either, that he could very well have multiple keys to the same lock, given that it’s in his house, in his quarters, at that.

His name is Vesper Tonlee, and he was an adventurer himself, once upon a time, before he took on the inn from its previous owner. He walks a little stiffly, one of his calves slow and scarred from a jagged cut he’d received across the back of it fifteen years back.

“Clothes off,” Vesper orders him, and Jory strips his robes off, hanging them over the back of a high-backed chair so that the hems of them don’t brush the floor. His belt rests over the top of them, and the longest of his necklaces, his leggings, the dagger strapped to his calf.

He still has on the studs and loops in his ears, the tighter necklaces at his throat, the cuffs on his wrists and around his ankles.

“You have a lot of metal on you,” Vesper murmurs as he hangs up his vest and his hat, kicking off his shoes at the same time. “It’s a wonder you don’t clank when you walk even without your sack of loot over your shoulder.”

“Less a clank, more a gentle rattle,” Jory says.

“I bet you make all sorts of noises when the monsters pick you up and shake you.”

“All sorts of noises,” Jory agrees.

Vesper smirks at him, then grips him by the hair and tosses him toward the bed. Jory lands on his belly with an “Oof,” of sound, and before he can even get up on his elbows, Vesper is behind him, and the weight of his cock drops with a quiet smack onto Jory’s backside, resting fat and thick just between his buttocks. Jory’s breath hitches in his throat at the silent threat of it, already hard and weeping at its tip, and he reaches for the pillows to drag beneath his chest, to rest on.

Vesper nudges his thighs apart with one knee, and then with spit-slick fingers reaches between Jory’s legs and slides into his cunt where it’s wet and open — for the past hour or so, they’ve been flirting as Jory had eaten his stew and drank his spiced ale, and the anticipation has made him open and wanting. Weeks on weeks without a cock inside him, and yet the last hour has been the most agonising of them all.

He doesn’t go in very deeply, just teases the outer part of the entrance and moves through the slickness gathered there, plays against his rim and makes him whine and squirm. He wants to be full, he wants to be filled, but first —

“I want to suck it,” Jory says, pushing himself further up on his elbows and turning to look back at the other man.

Vesper’s chest is thatched with thick hair, curling and dark all over him like a cave bear, and Jory inhales the scent of sweat and leather and beer that clings to him, to his body. His cunt clenches, tightening reflexively around nothing — and then Vesper shoves his cock forward in one sudden, brutal thrust, not into his open cunt, but into the tight furl of his arse.

Jory howls so loudly the rafters shake, a little dust coming down from them, at the sudden burn of heat as the tight muscle is forced to open up to the invader, and Vesper laughs at him as he bands his arm about his body and flattens his heavy palm against his lips to keep him quiet.

“I’ll have that cunt of yours before the night is out, lad, don’t you worry about that,” Vesper says, sinking his huge cock inside Jory’s arsehole to the root, and while his prick is hot, the lube he’d drizzled over it is very cool, and it soothes his poor arse at the same time as it hurts him. “You’re right — I don’t get too much time to go over to the brothel. Here I have three holes to play with, and attached to a pretty little lad at that. I’ll be getting my money’s — sorry, your money’s — worth, and using every one of them.”

Jory is breathing heavy, his skin so hot with flushing blood he feels as if his own sweat is going to bubble and steam right off of him, leaving crusts of dry salt in place like it does on the coast on a sunny morning.

The bed creaks loudly as Vesper drops his weight down on top of him, the fat swell of his belly resting on his back and flattening Jory to the bed. The position lets him better sink his cock all the way into his arse, and as he thrusts into him, he lets his belly stay in place, blanketing him, flattening him to the bed. He’s pinned in by Vesper’s knees as his thighs let him piston into him, and Jory can do nothing but submit himself to the onslaught, his cock rubbing against the sheets as Vesper fucks him.

The burn has receded already, his arse barely even twinging as Vesper sinks inside him, pulls almost all the way out, sheaths himself again — the rub within him is excruciatingly good, each thrust a satisfying sense of fullness and at the same time an agonising reminder of just how empty he is.

It can’t even be called friction, exactly, the thrust on the outside of his cunt rather than within him, but it’s such a close parallel to the pleasure he craves that his cock throbs and his breaths hitch and go shaky, his hands grabbing and dragging as best as he could at the sheets beneath him.

The slap of flesh on flesh is deafening, and Jory scarcely thinks he’ll be able to survive it when Vesper releases a groan and comes and Gods, fuck, but it’s a hot spray, his balls pumping, and Jory whines into Vesper’s hand as he feels the rush of it within him, so hot and fast and so deep into his guts he feels like he might well soon be able to taste it in the back of his throat.

Vesper draws back, and Jory looks back at him as he slides open a side door Jory had assumed was a cupboard and steps immediately under the spray of a magical shower, hot water streaming over his body. Jory stares at him dumbly, reaching back and feeling the wink of his arsehole, left slightly agape by Vesper’s cock.

Come drips out of him, and he feels it hot from his arse, clinging to one of his lips before it this the sheet beneath him.

“Come here, boy,” rumbles Vesper, idly stroking his cock under the steaming spray as he rubs soap into his skin, the white suds clinging to his swirling hair as he scrubs at it with his other hand. “Let’s see what they taught you to do with that tongue at university.”

Jory stumbles, he gets to his feet so fast, and Vesper laughs at him, his expression dark and full of promise, and steps back to allow him space under the spray.

* * *

Vesper comes down his throat, fucks his ass again, fucks his throat again; he ties Jory’s legs apart the better to access his hole and spanks it until it’s tighter again, then sinks himself inside; as he washes his own cock off, he sucks Jory’s, and the whole time won’t even put fingers inside him.

He has tears on his cheeks by the end of it, his thighs quivering — he’s come already twice, and this is his third time, and yet at the same time he feels so empty, he feels hollow.

His belly is so full of the once-barbarian’s come that his belly has a paunch to it, come in his stomach and filling his guts, and yet his cunt is so painfully empty, so hungry for the weight of Vesper’s cock inside him.

“Please,” he begs raggedly — his throat is hoarse from begging, from moaning, from crying out. It’s starting to get light outside. His hands are tied above his head and he hangs from a hook, up on his tiptoes for Vesper to play over his lips and his arsehole and his aching, throbbing cock. “Please, just fuck me — ”

“Fuck you?” asks Vesper, raising bushy eyebrows. He’s breathing heavily, is out of breath, but he has enough air in his lungs to be smug. “Why didn’t you say?”

He grasps Jory by the sides of his chest and lifts him from the hook, drops him down onto the bed again, this time on his back with his legs falling open. He’s so used to being teased it takes him wholly by surprise when Vesper’s unerring, indefatigable cock is sheathed within his cunt instead of his gaping arse, and he is frozen in the moment.

He can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t even blink.

Time freezes, the sand in the hourglass stopped between the lower bulb and the upper — Vesper’s fat prick is stopped inside his cunt, rooted in him, stuffing him full to the brim. His cunt clenches and twitches around it, and it’s the only part of him that can move.

He blinks, looking dizzily up at Vesper’s face, and a stammered, flustered moan tumbles out of his throat, sore from the shove of cock inside it as much as his moans. Vesper gulps loudly from the gleaming golden liquid, then tosses the potion bottle aside, such that it clatters.

He belches, his belly shifting with it, his fat tits wobbling with it — his cock inside Jory gets bigger, harder, stretches him even wider, and Jory whines. Powerlessly, he grips and drags at the sheets beneath him, his head falling back on the pillows, as Vesper shoves his legs up with his hands underneath his knees, and starts to fuck him so hard and so deep and so fast that Jory feels it could fucking kill him.

“You came in here for a bellyful, lad,” Vesper tells him, and in the light shining in underneath the shutters, the sweat on his skin and the rings through his nipples gleam as gold as that potion had, and he looks so holy, so full to the brim with magic, that Jory feels he should burn for touching him. “You’re going to fucking get one.”

He squeezes Jory’s cock as he starts to come again, and if he’d thought it was a powerful gush before, now it’s as hot and powerful a spray as the enchanted shower, and Jory yelps and struggles as he feels it pour into his womb.

“You been pregnant before?” Vesper asks, and Jory sobs as he shakes his head, staring at his fattening belly with wet eyes as it bulges up and outward, Vesper’s heavy balls slapping against his arse. Vesper laughs. “You will be by the time you’re on your way home tomorrow.” He smacks the side of Jory’s drum-taut, come-stuffed stomach, and Jory howls. “I bet it’s taken already.”

He comes twice more before the innkeep is done — how many times Vesper spends inside him, he couldn’t begin to count.

* * *

Jory hires a horse to go north.

Vesper lifts him up to place him in the saddle — the metal clanks, and his jewellery rattles.

“Listen to that slosh,” Vesper remarks with a nudge to his still-swollen belly, and Jory’s sore cunt throbs with the urge to get off the horse and climb back into Vesper’s bed. “See you next time, lad. We’ll see if you come back with a present for me.”

“Fuck,” Jory mutters, cock twitching under his robes, his holes clenching around the plugs inside him, and he begins to ride.