Twink Getting Fucked by Daddy’s BWC by the Fire
Adventures of Stallion and Bunny – Episode 251
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Bunny’s cock was already hard, pressing against the fabric of his long johns, as he looked up at Stallion with adoring eyes. “You’re so fucking hot, Stallion,”
The fire cracked and spat, a wet log surrendering to the heat. Shadows licked up the timber walls of the cabin, and the only light was the orange bloom from the hearth, painting Stallion’s chest in shifting bands of gold.
He sprawled in the worn leather armchair, legs parted, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, ready to bareback by the fire. The outline of him was impossible to ignore—thick and heavy against his thigh, a suggestion that promised more. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, the dark hair dense between his pecs, thinning to a trail that vanished beneath the waistband.
Bunny knelt between his feet.
The gay longjohns clung to Bunny’s lean frame, the waffle-knit fabric hugging every line—the narrow hips, the sharp V of his back, the perfect swell of his ass. His cock jutted against the cotton, a damp spot already darkening the grey. The braces on his teeth caught the firelight when his lips parted.
“You been staring all night,” Stallion murmured. His voice was low, a gravel road in summer.
Bunny’s freckled cheeks creased. “Can you blame me?”
Stallion flexed his pec. Just a twitch, a quick contraction of muscle that made the dense slab of his chest jump. Bunny’s breath hitched.
“Go on then,” Stallion said.
Bunny rose on his knees. His palms found Stallion’s thighs first—the sweatpants soft and worn, the heat beneath radiating like stone after a day of sun. He dragged his hands upward, thumbs tracing the crease where thigh met hip, and then his fingers were walking through the coarse hair on Stallion’s belly.
Stallion watched him with half-lidded eyes.
Bunny’s mouth found the ridge of Stallion’s collarbone. He kissed it, the skin salt-sharp from the day. His tongue darted out, tracing the hollow above the bone, and Stallion’s chest expanded beneath him. Bunny moved lower, lips brushing through the thicket of hair, until his cheek pressed against the swell of a pec.
“Fuck,” Bunny breathed.
He turned his head and his mouth closed over Stallion’s nipple.
Stallion’s hand came up, fingers threading into Bunny’s hair. Not guiding. Just there, a weight, a presence. Bunny’s tongue circled, and the muscle beneath his lips tensed—a hard, unyielding plane that made his own cock throb against the confines of his longjohns. He sucked, drawing the flat disc deeper, and Stallion’s fingers tightened fractionally.
“That’s it,” Stallion said.
Bunny switched sides. His hand cupped the pec he’d abandoned, thumb sweeping the wet man nipple, and his mouth found the other one. Stallion’s chest hair was springy against his nose, musk and woodsmoke filling his senses. He bit down, gentle at first, then harder, and Stallion’s hips lifted an inch.
A low sound rolled through Stallion’s chest.
Bunny pulled back, a string of spit connecting his bottom lip to Stallion’s skin. The braces made him self-conscious sometimes, but Stallion never seemed to care. Stallion looked at him like he was a meal.
“Daddy,” Bunny said. “Let me.”
His fingers hooked into the waistband of the sweatpants. Stallion lifted his hips, and Bunny peeled the fabric down. The cock that sprang free was everything—veined, uncut, the head already glossy where the skin had retracted. Eight inches, thick as Bunny’s wrist, curving slightly toward Stallion’s belly. A pearl of pre-cum beaded at the slit.
Bunny’s mouth watered.
He stroked the shaft with both hands, the skin sliding over the steel beneath, and Stallion exhaled hard through his nose. A thick vein ran the underside, pulsing against Bunny’s palm. He traced it with his thumb, following the corded line from root to frenulum, and Stallion’s thighs spread wider.
Bunny lowered his head.
The head slipped past his lips, smooth and hot. His jaw ached immediately—a good ache, a stretch that reminded him what he was made for. The braces made it dangerous, a razor’s edge, but Bunny had learned control. He kept his lips wrapped over the metal, his tongue flat, and he took Stallion deeper.
Two inches. Three.
Stallion’s hand was still in his hair. Not pushing. Just present. Bunny breathed through his nose, the scent of clean sweat and arousal thick in his sinuses. He pulled back, tongued the frenulum, then plunged again.
Four inches. The head bumped his soft palate.
Tears pricked at the corners of Bunny’s eyes. His throat constricted, and Stallion’s hips jerked—a reflex, immediately checked. Bunny hummed around the shaft, and the vibration made Stallion’s abdominal muscles contract, a quick flutter that Bunny saw from the corner of his streaming eye.
“Fuck, Bunny.”
Bunny withdrew until just the head rested on his tongue. He looked up, meeting Stallion’s gaze, and then he took him again. This time, he didn’t stop. His throat opened, and the thick length slid home. His nose pressed into the dark curls at the base. His chin met the heavy warmth of Stallion’s balls.
He held.
The fire popped. Stallion’s chest heaved. Bunny’s throat worked around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that drew a broken groan from somewhere deep in Stallion’s belly.
Bunny pulled off with a wet gasp. Spit coated his chin, his braces slick and gleaming. “I love your cock.”
Stallion thumbed a tear from Bunny’s cheek. “Turn around.”
Bunny scrambled, his knees sliding on the braided rug. He faced the fire, dropping to his elbows, his ass lifted high. The longjohns stretched taut over the globe of him, and he heard Stallion’s breath change—a sharp inhale, a pause, a slow release.
Stallion’s fingers hooked into the back of the longjohns. Instead of pulling them down, he tore them. The cotton gave with a ripping sound that made Bunny’s cock jump, the fabric splitting down the center seam to expose him.
“Been thinking about this all week,” Stallion said. His voice was smoke.
Bunny’s ass was perfect. Peachy, tight, the hole pink and furled. Stallion’s big hands spread him open, thumbs pressing into the crease, and Bunny pushed back into the touch. One thumb breached him, dry, just the tip, and Bunny cried out.
“Please.”
Stallion spat. The wet sound was obscene in the quiet cabin, and then the slick warmth landed on Bunny’s hole. Stallion’s thumb spread it, worked it, and Bunny’s forehead pressed into the rug. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, dripping onto the wool.
The head of Stallion’s cock replaced the thumb.
“Breathe,” Stallion said.
Bunny did. The pressure built—a blunt, insistent push that made his vision narrow to a pinpoint. Then the head slipped past the ring of muscle, and Bunny’s mouth opened on a silent scream.
Stallion didn’t stop. He sank in, inch by inch, until his hips were flush with Bunny’s ass. The fullness was obliterating. Bunny felt rearranged, stuffed beyond capacity, his own cock leaking steadily now. Stallion’s hands gripped his hipbones, the span of them nearly circling Bunny’s narrow waist.
“Look at you,” Stallion murmured. “Taking all of me.”
He moved.
The first thrust was slow—a long withdrawal that dragged against every nerve, followed by a deep, grinding push that made the twink’s toes curl inside his wool socks. The second thrust was faster. The third was something else entirely, a pounding rhythm that filled the cabin with the slap of skin on skin.
Bunny’s braces clicked with every impact.
Stallion leaned forward, his chest pressing against Bunny’s back, and the change in angle made Bunny see stars. Stallion’s weight bore down, his cock driving deeper somehow, and Bunny’s hand found his own shaft. He jerked himself in time with Stallion’s thrusts, the friction electric.
“Breed me,” Bunny gasped. “Daddy, please—breed me.”
Stallion’s rhythm stuttered. His hips snapped forward, once, twice, and then he buried himself to the hilt with a roar. The heat of his release flooded Bunny’s insides, pulse after pulse that Bunny swore he could count.
Stallion pulled out slowly, his seed spilling down Bunny’s thighs.
“Turn around,” Stallion said. His voice shook.
Bunny obeyed. He lay on his back, his legs spread, and Stallion knelt over his chest. The cock—still hard, still glistening—dangled above Bunny’s face.
“Clean it.”
Bunny took him in his mouth, tasting salt and musk and the faint bitterness of his own body on Stallion’s skin. He sucked, cleaning every inch, while his hand worked his own slick shaft. Stallion’s taste filled his mouth, his throat, and Bunny’s hips bucked into his fist.
He came with Stallion’s cock still on his tongue, the orgasm ripping through him in thick white stripes across his own stomach. The first strand hit his sternum. The second painted his navel. The third pooled in the shallow dip of his hip.
Bunny released Stallion’s cock with a gasp. His body shuddered through the aftershocks, his hole clenching around nothing, the wet mess of Stallion’s release still seeping onto the rug beneath him.
Stallion looked down at him, chest heaving, firelight catching the sheen of sweat on his shoulders.
“We’re not done.”
Bunny’s spent cock twitched.
The fire popped again, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney. Stallion’s shadow swallowed Bunny whole against the floor.
