#rough play | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monkeerotica · 28 days ago

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Mike likes it rough. Which of the boys will give him just that?

which indeed? 1500 words to find out. -author🦋

explicit.

rough and rowdy ways

Ask Peter, was always the refrain around the canyon. Peter understands. They said he had a mind like the side of a barn. So Mike went ahead and asked him.

“Harder.”

Peter went faster.

Mike grit his teeth. “Give it to me hard.” He tried to move Peter’s hips into him, ram him in.

Peter started to catch on. He rolled like water and ended with a jerk. “You like that?”

Mike nodded breathlessly, laying the back of his head into the pillow as stars filled his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah.”

Peter fucked into him sharply, growling with effort.

Mike started to float. “Hit me.”

Peter stopped, and the room spun. Finger bones knocked clumsily against Mike’s jaw. He opened his eyes.

“Did that hurt?” Peter was panting from exhaustion, his eyes wide with fright.

Mike gave him a real look. “Are you kiddin’?”

“I just– I can’t–”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mike wanted to say, You’re hurting me right now. You’re a pain in my ass in more ways than one. “It’s not gonna hurt me, come on. Just gimme one.”

Peter raised his hand. Heartbreak was visible on his face as his shoulders rose and fell with deep, preparatory breaths.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Are you gonna CO your way out of this, too?”

Peter’s other arm had begun to shake from the labor of holding himself up above Mike. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, just…” Mike sighed. “Yeah. Yeah. Let me…”

They broke apart ungracefully, damp and trembling.

Peter drank several long gulps of water and said, “You can hit me if you like.” He bravely raised his chin.

Mike rolled over and pulled his pants back on.

---

If Mike had grown up with a father figure, he probably would have told him that you can never send a boy to do a man’s job. Instead, Mike had picked up that phrase from the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, and how true it was. This was why, not long after his would-be romp with Peter, Mike picked up the telephone again.

It was the last decision he wanted to make that day. This had been the week straight out of hell, the fate of his job, his money, and his family always one second-guess away from falling to pieces. If all went well, this would put his head on straight and make him forget the whole lousy week. And he was reasonably confident that it would.

---

After buzzing a visiting car through the gate, Phyllis opened the front door and found herself staring into the black eyes of Davy Jones.

“David,” she said.

He seemed just as surprised to see her. “Hi. You’re looking well, how are you?”

Phyllis followed his gaze over her shoulder and found no one.

“I phoned him I’d be coming—Mike should be expecting me,” he said hastily, by way of apology for dropping in on her unannounced.

“Don’t be silly. Won’t you come in?”

She didn’t mean to be cold, but it was Peter she’d been anticipating. Why Mike made the switch was anyone’s guess. Some women would take issue with what he was doing. Sometimes she still did. But at over a year postpartum, when the very thought of being touched almost always brought needles of pain, this was the best way for both of them. She hoped this time would be the one that clicked. He was running out of friends.

In the time it took her to show Davy the kitchen and offer a drink, Mike had decided to grace them with his presence. He was dressed for the day. Davy cleared his throat, politely but meaningfully.

Unable to think of anything else to do, she left the kitchen without a word. Mike caught her with a hand at her waist as she was leaving. Once he saw she was looking at him, he gave her a kiss on the cheek and sent her on her way.

---

“D’you have any cigarettes?”

“You know I don’t smoke.” Now that they were alone in the bedroom, Mike opened a drawer and pulled out a silver case.

Davy set it on the nightstand. “For after.”

“Long as you do it outside. I don’t want–” Mike hissed with a sudden gasp as Davy grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked downward, forcing him to his knees.

His fist still full of Mike’s hair, Davy looked puzzled. “You’re ready, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Mike croaked, “I am.”

He’d better have been. The next yank sent him eye to eye with Davy’s zipper, jeweled fingers pawing at the pull-tab. Mike did away with the belt as fast as he could. He was rewarded with a mouthful of Davy’s soft cock, making him sigh deep thanks through his nose. At last he could turn his mind off. All he had to do now was take it.

With a series of tugs on his scalp, Davy drove Mike to keep sucking him until he filled out some more. As soon as he was fully hard, he gripped Mike’s head with both hands, the better to hold him still while he fucked his mouth. Stroke after stroke hammered into Mike’s throat. Not fast like a drill, but rough and keen. Davy wasn’t big, and that was a sentence by itself. But what he had, he knew how to use. Mike couldn’t open his eyes. He was drooling, shedding tears, and happier than he’d been in a long time. He didn’t even have to think about when to breathe. He caught a choking breath here—and there—where he could get it. It was like being tossed around by the waves.

Davy was a showman, dyed in the wool. When he groaned and cried out, it sounded a little theatrical. To Mike it was music. It was the sound of his own beauty. His own usefulness.

“Get up.”

Mike found his mouth empty, bereft of Davy’s cock. The room came slowly, blearily into focus as he staggered to his feet. Just as soon, he was on the bed; by a shove or a fall, he didn’t know. When he felt a pair of hands get to work on his belt and buttons, he threw his shirt off. He was cold with nakedness and buzzing all over.

Davy still had all his clothes on, even his jacket. Only his pants were undone, the belt in a pile with Mike’s somewhere. He was flushed and sweating, but it was a good look on him—healthy, vital. Without preamble he bent Mike in half, knees against shoulders. A drop of sweat landed on Mike’s forehead with the force. Completely ignoring Mike’s dick, Davy spread him open and plunged a finger inside him. He glided like nothing, slippery with a little tube of grease from his pocket. Mike made a noise like he’d been struck.

“Breathe,” Davy ordered, and worked in another finger from his other hand.

It was all Mike could do. He felt tight but his body was on fire. He drew a shaking inhale that became a double gasp when Davy stuck more fingers in him. Not just widening him, but knocking against something that made him pulse. He let out a long breath. As long as Davy wasn’t going to do it, he squeezed the head of his cock and rubbed it wetly with his thumb.

He only got a moment of that before Davy was making him turn over. There was something vulgar in the way he said it. Ass up. Arse up, Mike supposed, if he had to write it down. It was something Mike could imagine Jack the Ripper saying to a Victorian streetwalker minutes before sending her to God, and he didn’t know why he liked that, but he did.

The touch he was waiting for came in quick series. Davy steadied a hand on Mike’s hip, lining himself up. He shoved Mike’s face into the pillow, and then he sank all the way into him. Drew back, and drove in again. There was a carnal slap as their bodies hit together.

Mike saw lights. He let out an animal sound, high and long. Again, again, again, Davy’s cock struck him deep. Not jackhammering, but hard and so, so steady.

The noise was filthy. Mike heard a smack out of Davy’s perfect metronome time and felt the sting on his skin and realized he’d slapped him a good one, right across the ass. He did it again, the other side, backhanded. With his ring on. Lightning bolts of pain. Mike made an unforgivable noise and bit the pillow as hard as he could. He was going to come. He couldn’t stand it. The way his body was bending, not knowing when or where the next blow would land.

Sounds of wailing bedsprings and the drum-slap of skin on skin filled his head. He muttered Davy’s name into the pillow, over and over like a prayer. The tingle of orgasm started in his limbs. There was nothing he could do. One more thrust and he was done for, body going stiff and then liquid as he came all over his sheets.

Davy didn’t stop, either. Not until he reached his own climax a few minutes later. By then Mike didn’t know which way was up. He was limp as a ragdoll and thoroughly, mercilessly spent.

After lying on the sheets a while, he came to his senses, feeling just plain happy.

Not even the smell of tobacco smoke starting to permeate the room could bring him down.

#filled prompts #mike nesmith #peter tork #torksmith #phyllis barbour #davy jones #jonesmith #rough play #🦋

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