Roommate Bonding Time
Josiah B Vale
🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ EXTREME SPICE ALERT. Bondage, dom/sub, “straight” bros, rope kinks. EXPLICIT NSFW. Adults only (18+).
The story is completely made up fiction and the characters are consenting adults.
Four straight … ish bros. One couch, a joint, and way too much rope.
CHAPTER ONE
Rope’s got this thing about it. It doesn’t mouth off. Doesn’t mock you when you fumble a knot. It just sits there, obedient, gripping tight exactly how you want it to. People, though? They’re a whole other beast. Messy, unpredictable, and way too fucking emotional.
Which is why I usually keep the shibari videos to myself, tucked in between the climbing tutorials on my laptop. But tonight, four beers deep on the thrift-store couch, with my three roomie bros scattered in their mismatched thrifted chairs, the topic somehow landed on “weird hobbies.”
Dante, the one I’ve known the longest, leaned forward.
Dante always looks like he just wandered in from a better party. He was six feet of lean muscle and long legs, dancer’s posture that makes him look like he’s about to step into a spotlight, and rich brown skin. His black hair is tied back in a loose man bun, though there’s always one rebellious strand that slips free to brush his cheek like he thought he was Lara Croft. His amber-hazel eyes catch whatever light’s in the room, holding it like he’s hoarding secrets. His fitted black long sleeve tee hugs just enough definition, sleeves rolled to show strong forearms.
He gave me that slow, dangerous grin.
“Evan, you’re into rope, right?” he said, like it was nothing.
I told him not to bring up my search history. Sure, the desktop PC in the corner of the living room was technically for all of us, but Dante was a chronic snoop.
“Climbing,” I corrected. “Knots, mostly. Decorative stuff too.”
“Decorative,” Milo repeated, already smirking. “Like… rope sculptures… or?”
Milo crashed into my life as Dante’s stepbrother, the newest roommate in our chaotic setup. He’s average height, got a bit of a softer gut, but damn, those biceps, forearms, and calves are thick, built from lugging around way more than any sane person should. His black hair’s always a mess, hanging over his forehead like he’s too cool for a barber, framing these deep brown eyes that are always glinting with some smartass comment he’s about to drop. Tonight, he’s sprawled out in this oversized Elden Ring tee that’s seen better days and gym shorts that cling just a little too much, with mismatched socks yanked up like he’s daring you to call him out on it. He’s pure swagger, the kinda dude who’ll rip into you with a brutal roast but shove a cold beer in your hand before you can even blink.
And look, I’m not blind, his ass is straight up distracting. It’s thick, round, the kind of curve that’d have me losing my mind if he weren’t a dude. Hell, I’ll admit it, sometimes it still gets me, even if I keep that shit locked down tight. I’m not about to say a word. Milo’s always telling the chicks who flock to him that he’s straight as an arrow, shutting down their flirty vibes with a grin. And even if that backside has me second guessing myself late at night, I’m not gonna cross that line. I just keep my thoughts to myself and try not to stare too long when he bends over to grab something from the fridge.
He soaked up attention like it was oxygen. He liked being looked at, and even if he pretended otherwise, he knew exactly when to lean over just a little too far.
Heat crept up my neck. “Like—” I shrugged. “Some people call it rope art. You know. Shibari.”
Chris leaned forward. “Wait, is that… when you tie a chick upside down with some rope and fuck the living daylights out of her?”
I almost spit my beer, laughing. “Not always exactly like that.”
I fucked up by letting my eyes linger on all six-foot-two of him, sprawled out like he owns the damn place. Those broad shoulders are practically busting out of his white tank, the fabric so thin and damp it’s molded to every hard plane of his chest, sticking to the curve of his pecs like it’s begging to be peeled off. His dirty blond hair, still wet from a shower and drying in messy waves, hangs just low enough to shadow those piercing blue-gray eyes that are fixed on me with this unnerving, quiet intensity, like he’s daring me to say something. His boxers are slung low on his hips, barely holding in the thick, heavy outline of his dick, pressing against the fabric like it’s got a mind of its own. He’s always flopping it around, not giving a single shit who sees, even though he’s made it crystal clear a hundred times that he’s straight as hell. Maybe it’s some power play, some jock bullshit to remind everyone he’s the alpha in the room. That cock shifts with every lazy move he makes, like it’s taunting me, daring me to stare, and fuck, I hate how much it’s getting to me.
“Yo, you good over there?” he drawls, voice low and rough, catching me off guard as he shifts, making that outline even more fucking obvious. “You’re staring pretty hard, man.”
I snap my eyes up, heat crawling up my neck, trying to play it off. “Just zoning out, bro. Long day.”
He smirks, leaning back further, one arm slung behind his head, stretching that tank even tighter across his chest. “Sure, whatever you say. Don’t let me distract you.” His tone’s got this teasing edge, like he knows exactly what’s running through my head, and it’s messing with me more than I’ll ever admit.
I force a laugh, shifting in my seat, trying to ignore the way my pulse is hammering. If he weren’t a dude, I’d be all over that, no question. I just grit my teeth and pretend I don’t notice how that heavy outline twitches when he adjusts himself again, right in my fucking line of sight.
“Have you ever actually done it on a person?” Milo asked.
I shook my head.
Chris grinned, that lazy, fearless grin jocks get when they smell a dare. He set his beer down on the coffee table hard enough to slosh. “So practice on me, dude. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Dante laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Knot Nerd. Show us your skills.”
Heat rose behind my cheeks, the kind you can feel all the way to your ears. I tried to play it off, but there was no way I was passing up the chance.
I crossed to my room where my stash of rope was coiled, neatly bundled in loops, and quickly returned. Maybe a little too eager.
“Pick a color,” I told Chris.
“Black,” of course.
I unrolled it onto the cleared rug, the hemp sliding through my hands. The rope still tight and a little stiff from not being used much yet. The faint scent of fiber and wax catching in the air. My fingers automatically found their rhythm, smoothing along each length, with every pass my pulse picked up.
Chris stripped off his tank without hesitation, tossing it onto the couch like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The sudden exposure of his chest made the room feel smaller. Thick flushed skin catching the warm apartment light, accented with light brown curls in between his nipples and trailing down.
I stepped in close, the rope in my grip, and looped the first length around his wrists. My knuckles brushed the edge of his forearm, solid muscle under smooth skin, before I pulled the wraps snug and bound his hands behind his head and connected them to a hook in the ceiling. The ceiling hook had been there since we moved in. A leftover from the last tenant, who either liked hammocks or was a freak. I kept my gaze fixed on the cord sliding through my fingers, deliberately not on the flex of his biceps or the faint rise and fall of his chest when he breathed.
The rope stretched in clean lines across his chest, forming a diamond lattice that framed his pecs and abs. Each knot was snug and deliberate, the kind of precision that made my shoulders loosen and my mind narrow to just fiber, tension, and symmetry. From there, I let the line trail down his back, cinching it low over his spine, my knuckles grazing the dip at his waist. I looped it around his hips, the tension naturally cupping him tight before I guided the line down and between his ass cheeks.
He sucked in a breath, quick and sharp, and I pretended not to notice. I tied off the line at the small of his back, the final pull snugging the harness into place.
That’s when Dante stepped in. Always silent until he wasn’t. He moved behind Chris with that unhurried, dancer’s stride, the soft creak of the floorboards announcing him only a second before his hand settled low on the rope at Chris’s hip. He tugged once, not hard, but with enough precision to make the tension bite exactly where it mattered.
Chris made a sound that was half exhale, and half something he probably didn’t want anyone naming, and his cock stiffened. He was undeniably hard, dick twitching beneath his boxers obviously now.
“Oh my god,” Dante said, voice mock innocent. “You’re actually into this.”
Milo barked a laugh from his chair. “Dude, you’re so gay.”
Dante’s tone turned lecturing, like he was about to deliver a TED Talk on the subject. “Nah. Getting hard in this kind of situation doesn’t make you gay. It just means you’ve got a dick. The ropes tighten in areas that affect blood flow, thats all. Biology, baby.”
I kept my hands busy, adjusting a knot that didn’t need adjusting. “Exactly,” I murmured.
My head was a damn mess. The way that harness framed every inch of him, the way it pulled tight in places I shouldn’t be thinking about…it was fucking with me.
If he weren’t a guy, I’d already be too deep into this, imagining how far I could push it, how that tension would feel under my hands in a different context…
Shit, I’m already thinking it anyway, and I hate myself for it.
I’m straight, I’ve always been straight, but the way his body’s locked up in my knots, the way he twitched with that tug…my pulse is jacked, and my jeans are feeling way too tight for my liking.
Milo leaned forward, grinning like he was watching a live episode of a show he never wanted to end. “This is better than TV.”
Dante tugged at another line, casual, but it made the harness shift, pressing into sensitive spots. “Damn, you’ve got a knack for this. You sure you’ve never done it before?”
“Nah, just good with knots,” I forced out, trying to laugh, but it sounded choked even to me. I stepped back, wiping my hands on my jeans, but the friction didn’t do shit to calm the heat crawling through me.
My eyes flicked up, just for a second, catching the way the rope carved into Chris’ frame, accentuating every fucking line, and I had to tear my gaze away before I lost it completely. I’m not like this, I don’t think about shit like this, but the room’s too small, the air’s too thick, and every move he makes is burning into me.
“Bet you could make it even tighter,” came the taunt from Milo, that cocky edge cutting through.
“Alright, smartass,” Dante said, zeroed in on Milo like a hawk spotting prey. Smirk sharp as he jerked his chin toward the cleared rug in the middle of the room. “Let’s see how you look all tied up.”
Milo didn’t even hesitate, just rolled his eyes with that over-the-top sigh of his, like he was doing us all a favor. “I’m not a pussy like Chris. I’m getting all the way naked. You gotta know what it’s like to tie up a bare body, right?”
“Right,” I managed, the word sticking in my throat as I swallowed hard. My palms were sweaty against the rope, and I gripped it tighter to keep my hands from shaking. He was pushing it, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for where this was going.
“Don’t hold back, I can take it,” he winked.
Milo made a show of it, peeling off his tee with a slow, deliberate tug over his head, letting it drop to the floor like he was on stage. His chest was broad, covered in that thick mat of black hair that trailed down his stomach in a dark line. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his gym shorts, shimmied them down with a little hip shake that got Dante snickering, and kicked them off. The briefs were last, slid down his thick thighs with no hint of shame, revealing everything.
He stepped out of them, stark naked now, and flung himself onto the rug with a dramatic flair, sprawling on his side, one hand propped under his head, the other waving lazily in the air.
“Tie me like one of your French girls,” he mocked, batting his eyelashes at me, his voice high and breathy before he burst into a cackle.
The room erupted with laughter, Chris and Dante losing it while I just stood there, heat creeping up my neck.
I tried to laugh too, but it came out forced, my eyes stuck on him despite myself.
There he was, casual as if he wasn’t buck ass naked in front of us all, bare on the worn-out rug. Hairiest guy in the room by far, with a thick, black, bushy spread across his chest, narrowing as it ran down his stomach, then exploding into an even fuller patch at his groin.
It framed him, made him look rugged, raw, like he didn’t give a damn. He wasn’t hard, not yet, but even soft, his cock hung thick and heavy, resting over a pair of full, round balls that looked weighted, grounded against the rug. He didn’t bother covering up, didn’t cross his legs or shield himself. Just stretched out, limbs loose, muscles shifting under his skin as he settled into position.
Then he grinned right at me, all teeth and challenge, his dark eyes glinting under the dim string lights. “Just bros being bros,” he said with a laugh, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like being naked and tied up by your buddy wasn’t a line we were all teetering on.
His voice was light, but there was an edge to it, something daring me to react, to say something, to do something.
“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, dropping to my knees beside him, the blue rope now clenched in my hands. I forgot to ask him about the color. His bush was…distracting.
My heart was thudding hard enough I was sure someone could hear it. My eyes kept slipping to the expanse of his bare skin, to the way that dark hair curled over his nipples, to the weight between his legs that I shouldn’t have been noticing.
I’d always been straight, always thought I was, anyway. Dated girls, liked girls, never even considered anything else. But kneeling there, so close I could feel the heat rolling off him, I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“What? Like what you see?” Milo quipped, shifting a little, his thigh flexing as he propped one knee up for a second before letting it flop back down. The movement made everything shift, his cock settling heavier against his thigh, and I snapped my eyes back to the rope, my face burning.
“Shut up,” I grumbled, looping the first coil around his wrists, my fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. It was softer than I expected, the hair there rough against my knuckles, and I felt a weird twist in my gut, something between curiosity and a heat I didn’t know how to deal with. “Just hold still.”
“Bossy,” he shot back.
I pulled his hands behind his back, and looped the first coil around his wrists, feeling the warmth of his skin under my fingers. I kept going with artful ties connecting up his arms, around his waist, across his chest.
Milo kept up a running commentary, leaning into the bit, though his pulse was quick under my touch. I tightened a knot, tested it with a tug, and tried to ignore the way my stomach flipped when he let out a soft huff, like the pressure of the rope surprised him.
Dante lurked nearby, watching with that smug look of his, arms crossed. “Damn, I think you’re hard Evan. You sure you ain’t into this a little too much?” he teased at me, and I felt my jaw clench.
“Fuck off,” I said under my breath, moving to Milo’s ankles next, keeping my eyes on the rope and nowhere else.
But even as I worked the loops, binding his feet together, I couldn’t shake the awareness of him…naked, vulnerable, but still so cocky, still pushing every button I didn’t know I had.
And the worst part? I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted to keep going, to see how far this could unravel before I could think too hard about it and figured out what the hell was happening to me.
Now, with Milo sprawled out on the rug in front of me, tied up in my knots, I couldn’t ignore the way my pulse was hammering my dick.
But this was just a game, just bros screwing around…right?
The air felt heavier with every loop I made. I pulled the lines together that connected ankles to thighs, thighs to chest, and back to wrists, forcing him into a submissive position that had his ass up and open, and his face on the ground.
Rope framed him perfectly, and I kept my gaze on the rope, not the way the pose made him look even more exposed. His cheeks spread toward Dante who seemed unafraid to look right at the hole that lied beneath…
When I worked the decorative wraps under his thighs and around his hips, the central line had to pass between his legs. My knuckles brushed against him — warm, soft, and bushy with that thick dark hair — and I kept moving, feeding the rope through like it was no different than any other tie. But by the second pass, he’d thickened, the skin flushed. A slick bead of pre-cum rolled down over my knuckle before I could pull away.
Dante laughed from above us. “See! You called Chris gay for getting hard, and now you’re leaking on Evan’s fingers.”
He spread his hands like he was delivering a lecture. “Just biology, baby.”
Milo groaned into the carpet, half laughing and half mortified. “Shut the fuck up.”
I just focused on the knot, pretending I hadn’t felt that twitch against my palm.
“This is not sexual…just hot,” Milo announced to no one in particular.
“Sure,” Dante murmured, sliding in to “test” the thigh knots. Just enough to make the rope wrapped around his crotch shift, and Milo’s grin faltered for half a second.
“You’re blushing,” Dante observed.
“Yeah, homo!” Chris shouted from behind them. The four men all laughed dangerously.
“Shut up. I bet Evan is enjoying this more than I am.” Milo remarked.
“…Kinda,” I admitted, tightening a knot under his neck that lifted his chin just slightly. “I’m enjoying finally getting to practice shibari, I mean.”
I was technically finished, but my hands kept moving, toying with a few decorative ties I knew would pull subtly at his groin.
Each adjustment made more slick pre cum bead up and trail over the curve of his stomach, pooling faintly in the shallow dip of his bellybutton. I kept pretending not to notice, but even I couldn’t fool myself that I wasn’t enjoying the scene.
Behind Milo no, I tightened a pair of knots around his thighs and, for a moment, let my gaze wander lower…to his hole. The inviting ring was framed perfectly between two plump, smooth cheeks. Warm brown, surrounded by a neat halo of dark hair. It twitched once, like it was reacting to being on display.
One wrong move and my finger could “accidentally” brush across it. A part of me wondered if he’d like it.
The sharp flick of a lighter broke my focus. Dante was leaning back in one of the mismatched chairs, sparking up a joint he must’ve rolled while I was lost in the work.
“Fuck, man, why would you light that when I can’t grab it and smoke it?” Milo whined, twisting his head toward the sound.
“Yeah, that’s not fair. I want a hit,” Chris said, pulling at his bonds against the ceiling hook.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Dante rose with lazy confidence and walked to where Milo’s head rested on the rug. “Ever heard of shotgunning?”
Milo narrowed his eyes. “Is that really the only way?” he said, turning his head slightly — but his cock twitched, betraying him.
“It’s the best way to do it,” Dante said, lips curving into that dangerous half-smile.
He took a deep inhale from the joint, then bent down and pressed his mouth to Milo’s, exhaling the smoke slow and deliberate.
Milo inhaled, eyes flickering shut, then blew the smoke back out with a satisfied grin. “Fuck yeah, it works.”
“Okay, don’t leave me out,” Chris called, straining slightly in his ties.
Dante straightened from Milo with a lazy roll of his shoulders, the joint still smoldering between his fingers. “Alright, big guy,” he said, turning toward Chris. “Your turn.”
Chris smirked like he was above all this, but the way he shifted in his bonds made the hook creak overhead. Dante stepped close, close enough that the heat of him must’ve cut through the air, and took a long pull from the joint. He tipped his head up, closing the space until his mouth met Chris’s.
It was a quick firm seal of lips, smoke spilling from one into the other, but Chris still flinched like he hadn’t expected to actually go through with it.
He exhaled slow, but halfway through, Dante’s hands slid up and pinched his nipples in a playful twist.
The sound Chris made was low guttural, and absolutely not planned: a moan breaking loose as the last of the smoke left his lungs. His hips jerked involuntarily, and his cock betrayed him, twitching hard enough to leave a dark, wet circle of pre cum spreading at the front of his boxer briefs.
“Fuck, I could play like this all night,” Dante said, laughing under his breath.
My own briefs were soaked with arousal. Between the smoke, the heat, and the sight of both of them caught up in it, my cock felt thick enough to split a mountain.
Dante stayed in the space between us all, holding the joint loosely at his side, eyes moving from Chris’s flushed chest to Milo’s spread thighs like he was deciding where to move his next chess piece.
He crouched beside Milo first, brushing his fingers down the inside of a thigh. Milo sucked in a breath through his teeth but kept grinning, trying to play it cool.
Then Dante rose and crossed to Chris, running one hand down the diamond harness until his palm rested flat over Chris’s abs. “You’re holding up alright?”
Chris gave him a look that was half glare, half challenge. “Yeah.”
“Mm.” Dante’s fingers trailed lower, to the rope cupping Chris’s crotch, and tapped it twice like he was checking tension. The move made Chris’s hips push forward a fraction before he caught himself.
Dante was moving like a conductor, coaxing little reactions out of both without ever committing to more than a touch here, a brush there.
The three of them were so wrapped up in it that for a second I forgot I was supposed to be the one in control. My hands itched to join in… not just with the rope, but with the game Dante was playing.
I realized no one was laughing now. The banter had bled into something quieter, heavier, with all three of them watching each other as much as I did.
Dante took a slow drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his cheeks before letting it curl lazily from his mouth. His gaze landed on me now.
“You know,” he said, “you’ve been running around in shorts and a t-shirt all night, working harder than any of us. You’ve gotta be overheating.”
“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice came out tighter than I meant.
“Nah.” He shook his head, stepping in close enough that I could smell the weed on his breath.
“We’ve got two guys already tied up, half-naked and sweating, and you’re still fully dressed? Doesn’t seem fair. You should strip down. Even the playing field.”
My pulse was already ticking fast. “I’m not the one tied up.”
“All the more reason,” Dante said, lips curling. “You’re working. You deserve to be comfortable.” He crouched beside me, eyes flicking to my waistband. “Unless you’re shy?”
I rolled my eyes, but my hands were already tugging my shirt over my head, kicking off my shorts, I hesitated over my briefs… because there was no hiding it now. I was hard. And not just kinda hard. I was throbbing, balls full, dick drooling at the slit.
When I pushed the briefs down, my cock curved out into the open, a bead of pre cum catching in the warm light as it dribbled to the floor.
Dante’s eyes widened, then that slow, dangerous grin spread across his face.
“Damn,” he said, openly looking. “I’m glad you’re finally showing off. You must be a grower, not a shower.”
Heat burned under my skin, a flush that went deeper than embarrassment. I forced my hands to drop to my sides instead of covering myself, even though Chris and Milo’s eyes were on me now too.
“There we go,” Dante said, and without missing a beat, peeled his own shirt over his head and toed off his jeans. He stripped to nothing with the same ease he did everything else, stretching his long frame before dropping back into a lazy stance.
Chris cleared his throat. “Uh, not that I’m complaining, but if we’re doing ‘even playing field,’ I can’t exactly take these off myself.” He shifted his hips, the wet patch at the front of his boxers leaving no question what he meant.
Dante’s grin sharpened. “That’s a fair point.” He glanced at me. “Evan, why don’t you help him out first? Give him a hit while you’re at it. You ever shotgun before?”
“Once or twice,” I said, my mouth dry.
He handed me the joint, nodding toward Chris. “Go on. Give him the full experience.”
I stepped up, took a deep drag, and closed the space until my lips sealed over his. His mouth opened under mine, taking in the smoke, his chest straining against the harness as he exhaled slow through his nose.
And then Dante moved — one quick step forward, one sharp tug — and the fabric of
Chris’ boxers tore in his hands. His cock springing free, flushed and also obviously slick at the tip.
“Better,” Dante said, tossing the ruined waistband aside like it was nothing.
Chris groaned, somewhere between relief and embarrassment.
Dante spoke with a grin lazy but sharp. “Alright,” he said, “Evan, you’ve given Chris the treatment. Now it’s Milo’s turn.”
Milo snorted. “Yeah, sure, let’s get this over with.”
“Not quite yet.” Dante stepped behind him, put a hand on the rope binding his wrists together, and with a gentle push tipped him sideways. Milo landed on the rug with a grunt, now on his hip, his tied limbs pulled to keep him open.
Dante kept one hand at the junction of those ropes, holding him in place like a piece of sculpture. “There. That’s a better angle,” he said, looking right at me.
Milo shifted instinctively, arching toward me where I stood over him. My gaze swept down without meaning to…the curve of his back, the spread of his thighs, the way the harness framed him.
“Go on, Evan,” Dante said, voice low but full of push. “Get down there with him. Make it comfortable.”
My pulse was hammering when I lowered myself onto the rug. Dante gestured, and I stretched out along Milo’s back, my chest to his spine. Being taller, my hips settled lower, my cock brushing the crease of his ass before I could stop it.
The contact was electric, a jolt straight to my core, and I froze, fighting the urge to grind forward, to press harder, to take what was right there. I wanted to grip his hips, pull him back onto me, make him feel every inch…but I clenched my jaw, holding myself still by a thread.
I took the joint, drew in a slow lungful, the smoke heavy in my chest, then leaned forward. He turned his head back toward me, closing the last inches so our lips met. Smoke filled the space between us, warm and thick, and my control slipped another notch.
His hips shifted back, not much, just enough that my slick tip pressed into the barest give of his tight hole.
Not even an inch, barely a touch, but it fucking wrecked me.
We both played it off, pretending it wasn’t happening, but my mind was roaring with how much I wanted to push deeper, to hear him moan for real, to dominate every reaction out of him.
As I exhaled into him, his mouth opened wider. His tongue slid against mine, a slow, teasing flick, and mine answered before I could think, a wet brush that lingered too fucking long before we both pulled back.
He let the smoke drift out on a casual sigh. “Thank you.” I could’ve sworn the words were almost a moan.
Dante’s smile turned wicked, eyes glinting. “Perfect. Now, we’re getting somewhere.” And I knew, deep down, that I was fucked, now caught between what I’d always thought I was and this raw, hungry need.
I didn’t know if I could stop, didn’t know if I wanted to.
Dante moved away from us just far enough to pace, slow and deliberate, the joint hanging between two fingers. He looked each of us over like a craftsman checking his work: Chris tied up and stretched tall under the ceiling hook, Milo in my arms, tied in secure decorative blue rope, me still pressed along the curve of Milo’s back with my cock throbbing under his ass.
He took a lazy drag, “You know what I like?” he said finally. “That no one here’s said stop. Not once. And yet… none of you have asked for more either.”
Dante stepped toward Chris first, trailing a fingertip down the ropes framing his pecs, just close enough to a nipple to make Chris tense without pushing him over the edge.
Then he was gone again, crossing back to us.
Milo’s breath hitched when Dante crouched, his hand ghosting along the rope at his thigh, adjusting the tension so it pulled just a little more snug around his cock. The subtle shift made my tip nudge into his hole again, just barely, slick and aching, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep still.
“You feel that, Evan?” Dante asked without looking at me.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
He stood up tall, grinned, flicked ash into an empty mug, and said, “We’ll just keep playing like this… until one of you begs for more.”
The room was quiet except for breathing, the faint creak of rope, and the soft burn of the joint.
I think we all knew we were already close to the edge of doing just that.
To my surprise, it didn’t take long. It was Milo who cracked first.
He shifted in my grip, the ropes groaning as he pressed his body back into mine, almost my whole dick head sank into him as he was grinding against me with intent.
His head turned, brown eyes locking with mine over his shoulder, burning with need. “Please, Evan,” he rasped, voice low but unyielding. “I’ve always wanted to be tied up like this… and now I know how good it feels.”
His gaze darkened, dropping for a split second before snapping back up. “There’s one more thing I’ve craved…and I need it now.”
My eyes widened.
“I want you inside me.”
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This is so fucking HOT ‼️🔥😈🥵
Shibari and the other version, which I can never remember, are sexual triggers for me! I like bondage and Shibari, etc...are the ultimate expression of it!😍💯‼️🔥
Love this! 👍🏻💯‼️