Disclaimer: I do not own Desperate Housewives, and I do not make any money from these writings. But you're always welcome to give me gifts, and as Gabby would say, everybody loves cash!
Rick was screwed. No, really, he was being screwed, and damned if he wasn't loving every moment of it. Can you imagine it? Big, butch Italian sous-chef Rick Coletti taking it up the ass. Damn, if any of his friends saw him - the ones he didn't drive or cast away during/after the whole cocaine ordeal, he meant - he'd never be able to live it down. Not that, at his current state of mind, he cared about that much. At least, judging from the drool he was leaving all over the bar counter, which incidentally was the thing he was being bent over right now.
The thing about smooth, marble imitation countertops? When somebody forces your torso on it and basically fucks you so hard you're practically polishing the surface - the same surface he has tossed his dough on, he might add - you can kind of feel the friction, in a good way. Not to mention, arousing, somehow, to feel the cool surface rub over his pecs and abdomen and grind his erect nipples. Seriously. But that's nothing compared to the absolutely... amazing waves of pleasure spasming from his lower body. Man, and he thought sex he had with his ex-girlfriend was good.
In fact, he had to stuff his forearm against his mouth to keep from moaning out loud, and even then it felt so good he was involuntarily drooling and kind of flexing his tongue around, swiping against his own skin, tip trailing across the hairs and tasting the salty tang of sweat - that added to his arousal too. But the best part was feeling that delicious friction, the movement within him... Ooh. The pain he had first felt during penetration had almost entirely faded, and the thickness of the cock inside his stretched anal sphincter no longer felt intruding or perverse, but, well, it sent him into throes of delight. And as it slammed in and out, the pubes around it slamming into his hairy crack, ecstasy.
'Mmmmph,' he moaned, voice muffled by his forearm. The salt and pepper shakers and rolling pins and - hell, basically the kitchen equipment - looked blurry in his lust-induced haze, and it occurred to him that the thought of this was going to be printed in his memory for a long time - especially given that he's going to be working here, using the aforementioned rolling pins and serving with the shakers. The head of his erection jabbed into the drawers on the counter with every thrust, flecking precum and sending entirely different - but still incredible - impulses to his brain.
With each shove, the amazing girth inside him grazed against his inner walls, bringing him sensations he had never even knew existed. Then it grounded into a particular spot inside him, and then he had to open his mouth to scream, flooding the counter with his saliva, and he was pushing his ass back, shoving it onto the pole that impaled him, buckling like a bitch in heat. Fucking hell, that felt absolutely divine - that sudden shock of electric sensation, he could practically feel sparks bursting within him, and oh my God, is such a feeling even possible? He frantically pushed himself back onto the cock, this thing that had brought him such pleasure, and oh, where's that goddamn spot he just hit? Shit. That felt real good.
A moment later, he realized the man behind him had stopped moving, allowing his cock to remain horizontally at rest while Rick rocked back and forth and back and forth, actively searching for that spot that brought him such sensations. He was fucking himself on another guy's cock. Oh, God. That thought would have paralyzed him with fear and shock hours ago, but now, he was nothing but a wanton whore, grunting, 'Unh, unh, unh,' and barely coherent words strung together like 'harder' and 'please' and 'unh, unh, unh'. Jesus Christ. It should've scared him, but it felt so good. No, self-control, Rick, self-control. Remember what you learned when you got rid of your addiction. Stop this. Stop giving in to lust. You can manage it. Keep your dignity. Whatever's left of it anyway.
A barking laugh as he slowly stopped moving, frozen in his tracks. Which was hardly a better position, what with him bending over the counter with a cock up his ass. But hey, at least he wasn't scrabbling for it like he was... so desperate for something to fuck him he'd abandon all common sense, all traces of civility.
Oh, who was he kidding? It felt so fucking good. He'd give anything for the damn motherfucker to start pumping again, shoving the thick cock in and out of. He was this close to losing his mind when the bastard finally started moving, shoving his cock in and pulling it out and shoving it in and pulling it out. He wished he could jerk off, but one of his arms was under his face, pressed against the counter, and the other was held behind his back, so there's no chance of him pleasuring himself without permission.
The pumping was at a steady rate now, almost with casual nonchalance, as if it simply didn't occur to him how much Rick needed release. God, it fucking hurts to even stand there and not do a thing about his aching erection. Fuck, he'd never been so hard that it hurts, and now, with a cock up his chute, he was feeling more desperate for release than ever. Why can't he just fuck him like he was a- motherfucking son of a bitch, just fuck me!
He didn't realize he had vocalized that, but there was an audible chuckle, then the bastard finally sped up, shoving in and out and jabbing in all angles and directions, gouging into his fucking asshole and carving it out like some- he didn't know. All he knew was that he was being hammered, and he loved it. Each time the cock yanked itself from his clenched asshole, it felt like there was this vacuum that damn near sucked his guts out; and each time it slammed back in to the hilt, there was this immense satisfaction, like he wanted to just keep that huge cock inside him and never let it out again.
With each thrust forward, Rick pushed himself back, trying to get as much length inside him as possible, and oh, God, did it feel good, him humping this way and that way, exploring the never-been-touched depths of his asshole, and God it felt so good and exciting and arousing and motherfucking hell, just fuck me as hard as you can!
After several slams so violent the man's balls hammered on his asscheeks, he rammed all the way up to the pubes, thrust as deep as possible up his bowels, just as Rick shoved himself backwards as far as he would go, his chute clenching in fearful anticipation of what was about to come. And boy, what a coming it was, too. Strings of semen spurted out and splattered all over his insides, coating the walls of his asshole in layer after layer. God. He would have blown his load too - at least, had the bastard's calloused hand not close around the base of Rick's cock and squeeze, impeding his release.
'Damn you,' Rick seethed, wriggling as the fucker - literally - planted his seed deep within him. In seconds, the man behind him pulled out with a gasp of exhilaration and what Rick suspected as amusement, slapping a palm on his cheeks as he did so. Rick straightened up and turned around, teeth gritting almost as hard as his erection was.
'You bastard!' He yelled at Tom Scavo's smug, condescending face, shoving his shoulder with one hand. 'You fucking bastard!' Rick's erection was still painfully hard, and as he moved it slapped against his abdomen. He tried to shove Tom a second time, but his legs were weak from the hard fucking and buckled under him. Tom - Tom with the fucking thrown out back, damn it - caught him under the arms, digging his fingers into his sweat-soaked, hairy armpits.
Lifting him by his underarms, Tom carried him over to a strategically placed wooden chair, seated him on the edge in a way that exposed his asshole and pulled his legs open. Rick wondered if Tom was going to fuck him again - fuck, he's still horny, but again? No wonder the Scavo's had so many kids - but no, he sat in the chair opposite (only with his legs crossed, he noticed) and scratched under his chin.
'Go on,' Tom said, 'Jerk off. You know you want to.' He spoke in a bossy, matter-of-fact way that made Rick want to punch him in the nose, but damn. He was right. He wanted - no, needed - to jerk off. Fuck it. Fuck dignity. Fuck decency.
He wrapped his fist around his dick and started moving, rubbing the head and smudging the precum over it. Ooh. Damn, that felt good. As much as he hated to admit it, it didn't feel as good as it was when he was being... fucked, but it should be enough to help him reach release. He moaned slightly to himself at the delicious friction between his palm and his sensitive dick, fanning the fire in his loins.
The sound did not escape Tom's notice, and he chuckled. Shifting his chair over nearer Rick, he kneaded his bare chest with one hand, fingers ruffling his chest hair, then reached his mouth over and licked at one nipple, sending a tingle up his spine. Fuck. It wasn't enough that he had to fuck him and deny him ejaculation, he had to fuck with him too?
'Wait, wait,' Tom said as he looked up, his face lighting up the way it did whenever he had an innovative - and often ill-fitted - idea. 'Why don't you... finger yourself?' Rick stared at him, incredulous and still fisting his cock. Oh, God, did he hear him right? 'Finger fuck,' Tom explained, 'Stick a finger up your ass? You know?' then brought his mouth to Rick's nipple again.
'I know what that means, Tom,' he said. That goddamned perverted bastard. Did he really think he'd be cheap enough to do that? Because as much as he enjoyed the sex, he wasn't a - oh, hell, who was he kidding? He loved it when he had something up his ass. Rick wriggled one finger up his chute and pulled it in and out. It added to the pleasure of jerking off, but one finger was too... little. Not enough to satisfy him. Without prompting, he added a second finger, then a third, feeling the sticky substance coating his insides. Digging into the walls - that brought a sharp gasp - he dabbed a glob and pulled out. In between licks, Tom grabbed Rick's hand and shoved his cum-covered fingers at his mouth. Rick opened and sucked the semen off his own fingers - his own fingers which had just been buried in his own ass moments ago - savoring the viscous, salty substance.
The immorality of that made him feel real dirty - and by extension, aroused - and as he jerked up and down sparks added to the flames and built up until it was near explosion, and then - it did. An immense rupture of pleasure, of bliss, and he was buckling, white spots blinding his sight as he felt globs of his semen blast out and hit himself in the face and splatter over his cheek and lips and hair. Subconsciously he licked out with his tongue and was greeted with the same taste again, the same brackish tang.
And then when the ecstasy passed, it hit him. He's sitting in a chair at the restaurant he worked at, semen leaking from his ass and over his face and hair, sweaty and exhausted and strained and in general, looking like a used whore. And there was Tom, complacently sitting there but looking like he was towering over him, basking in his humiliation moments after watching him masturbate to ejaculation. And that was after he had mercilessly fucked his ass to oblivion. God.
He gasped, semen dripping off the contours on his face, barely registering as Tom said to him, 'By the way, we'll need you to come in early tomorrow, to prepare that spaghetti carbonara you suggested. And I'm hard again.'
And Rick thought, maybe having sex with the wrong Scavo wasn't so bad after all.