Naughty Stories

ambrose nightmare?

"...A-ah...!” ambrose stammers, hands bunching up the sheets in a desperate grip. His blanket is on the floor and his white t-shirt is rolled up to his chest, leaving in plain view the golden and almost flawless skin of his back and abdomen and the elegant shift of robust muscles underneath it as the young man tries to brace himself against the rough back and forth. His black hair is plastered on his forehead, with beads of sweat rolling down his body to meet the already damp sheets, skin glistering under the side table lamp´s soft light.

The demons bedroom is enshrouded in a half-light. The sole bed creaks under viscous squelches and slurps, no staccato of skin on skin or the ruffle of clothes, except for the ones caused by the writhing young man twisted over his mattress, face buried on the pillow to muffle his voice but his hips facing sideways, legs spread apart, one foot with toes tightly curled raised on the air as if someone was holding it there.

But if ambrose were to look, there wouldn’t be anything there. If he were to reach out with his hands, he would only find empty air. Doesn’t matter that he can feel a firm grip wrapped around his ankle and calf that he cannot escape from. Doesn’t matter that his boxers’ left leg opening clings to him like a second skin of so wet, while the fabric of the right was pushed and stretched to the limit to make space for— something. Something that he can feel filling his pussy, screwing one way as it shoves inside and then the other as it draws back. Something that is dripping with ambrose’s slick. That is f-fucking him, hot and hard and unrelentingly, so, so big and full of- of nubs that slip into him, stretching then dragging and digging against his sensitive flesh and sending electric jolts that makes his breath break from him in shaky cries.

Ambrose has no idea what’s happening.

He woke what feels like hours ago, so damn warm and damp with sweat underneath the thin blanket. A weak breeze was coming from the open window, not doing much to break the almost oppressive summer heat. He could hear the ceiling fan above him.

Ambrose felt exhausted from his day, but his sluggish mind remained only half-asleep, still distantly aware of the world around him.

His boxers were clammy. He slowly became aware of a slow pulsation between his legs, hot and pervasive, and he shifted feeling bothered, letting his thighs fall open, shivering as the fabric brushed against his lips. His body was so heavy and tired from training all afternoon with Sebastian. He didn’t want to move. The pulsation only grew worse, however. Demanding. Slick was soaking up through the fabric, to the point where even his ass was feeling a bit moist.

His dreams changed – or would better to call them thoughts? A faceless man leaned over him in the dark, kneeled between his open legs. Ambrose's mind gave him Sebastian:  a lock of his black hair falling over eyes of the color of a dark storm clouds that swirled A lean body with just the right muscle, ambrose knew, and the young man could feel his face flushing, mouth falling open slightly, as one of those hands cupped his pussy, broad and firm.

“A… ah…”

Sebastian started to stroke a finger up and down along his slit, and the young man shivered at each touch and stroke, feeling his lips filling out and pressing against his cotton boxers. Soon, Sebastian stopped right over his hole and pushed a finger in. Ambrose whimpered at the sensation of the digit sliding inside him while wrapped on the soft fabric, bigger than what he expected, feeling himself quiver at the stretch. His heart pounded in his chest, soft moans rising as Sebastian pushed harder and harder as if trying to go deeper. “seb… Sebastian…” The young man pushed his face against the pillow, panting. Hands closed into fists. His mind fumbled through his sleep, confused, because it didn’t feel like a f-finger anymore. It was hot. Thicker. Getting thicker? Ambrose could still feel something easing back and then squirming between his boxers’ leg opening and skin, warm and damp as it slid under the fabric and it was big and flexible as it twisted around, it was not a finger. That was not—the young man opened his eyes to darkness while gasping, finally pulled from his slumber.