Edwin’s dry admiration boosted Leira’s confidence. Seventeen, nineteen—what’s the difference? He started believing his own lie.
“I guess I’ve got a knack for it. Figured it out on my own.”
(Six months later, he’d regret those words as he kicked his goose-down blanket in frustration.)
“What’s it feel like?”
“…Feel like?”
Leira hesitated. Truth was, he’d barely touched himself that one time—too scared by the sudden gush of white, the uncontrollable noises, the way his thighs shook. But right now, he needed to play the part of the experienced, worldly noble.
“It’s… amazing.”
“Amazing?”
Was it? He didn’t even remember. He’d just rubbed until his vision whited out, made some weird noise, and collapsed in a trembling heap. But he nodded firmly. Of course it was.
“I see. So everyone else knows this amazing thing… and I’m the only one who didn’t.”
Edwin’s dejection was so palpable that if he whined “I’m hungry,” a starving beggar would hand over his last loaf of bread.
“You know I’m not as impressive as people think.”
“Mmm…”
Impressive was an understatement. As a child, people had whispered about his “developmental delays,” but by fourteen, he’d convinced his father to invest the Earl’s “seed money” (read: entire liquid assets) in the tobacco trade. Without ever smoking, he’d picked the finest leaves, creating a luxury brand that took the royal court by storm. Now, the once-struggling scholarly family was richer than some cities.
Yet here he was, calling himself unremarkable.
Leira winced, remembering how he’d once sneered, “Guess you’re good at making money,” like it was an insult. The guilt gnawed at him.
“N-no, you’re not an idiot! I didn’t mean it!”
“It’s fine. It’s true. But it hurts… Am I just… broken?”
“Don’t say that! You’re not!”
The melancholy was contagious. Leira scrambled to undo his past pettiness.
“I-I could show you? How to do it? You’re not—”
“Yes. Teach me.”
Before Leira could finish, Edwin nodded eagerly. The contrast—this perfect man, desperate over something so trivial—was almost funny.
“Fine. If you really want to know…” Leira steeled himself. I’m not embarrassed. I’m just helping a friend.
“First, you take off your pants. Because, uh, it might get on the sheets or clothes.”
Edwin obeyed, hiding his amusement. So that’s why he stopped trying—worried about the mess. He played along, nodding innocently as Leira’s tension eased.
“Then you… grab it. And, uh, move your hand up and down. That’s it. Simple, right?”
Leira rushed the explanation, face burning. Edwin said nothing about the time he’d rubbed himself raw, or the day at the river when he’d locked himself in his room, chafed and bleeding.
“So… semen comes out?”
“Yeah.”
“How do you clean it up? Wiping leaves a smell. Should I… eat it?”
“WHY WOULD YOU EAT IT, YOU IDIOT?!”
Leira’s face turned beet red. Good. He always did what Leira yelled at him to do.
“Who in their right mind eats their own—?”
“But I really don’t know… Teach me, Leira.”
Huh? Leira tilted his head, processing the request. Edwin gave his cock another little shake.
Leira yelped and stumbled back.
“Teach me how to masturbate.”
***
“Ugh… disgusting…”
“Nngh, ah… Am I disgusting? Why?”
Leira had no idea how he’d ended up flat on his back.
He’d been horrified by Edwin’s request, argued that he’d already explained it, then—after Edwin’s insistent pleas—relented to demonstrating. But watching Edwin’s clumsy attempts (stroking like he was petting a chick) had been too much. In a fit of exasperation, Leira had grabbed his wrist to correct him—
And then his fingernail brushed the tip.
Spurt. Spurt—
Edwin came hard, ropes of cum splattering Leira’s wrist, his stomach, soaking through his lifted uniform shirt. The sheer volume made Leira’s head spin. An eighty-year-old man could’ve done better than that pathetic wrist flick—
But now Edwin was panting like a beast in heat, his body trembling.
“Stop, please—”
Edwin’s usual poker face was gone. This was something new—something terrifying. Leira had never seen him like this.
“Hngh… Leira… feels so good…”
He looked good. Proof: the sticky mess now painting Leira’s abdomen, seeping into the waistband of his pants.
It was repulsive. Yet his lower belly burned, his own body reacting in ways he didn’t want to examine.
“Leira… touch me. Please. Like before—with your nail, right here… at the tip where the cum comes out.”
“Ugh…”
Edwin whimpered, rubbing the swollen head of his cock against Leira’s navel as if trying to shove it inside—impossible, given its apple-sized girth.
“Nngh, ah… it’s weird…”
The slick, leaking crown kept prodding Leira’s lower belly, sending strange, electric jolts through him. His murmured complaint only made Edwin’s hips snap harder, his smaller frame rattling with each thrust.
“Weird? What’s weird about it? I’ll make you feel weird too… Hah…”
Before Leira could retort (“Then what the hell was everything else we’ve done?!”), his ass lifted into the air. Edwin’s powerful hand hooked under his knees, spreading him open.
“What are you—?!”
“Can’t hold back.”
Panicked, Leira kicked his legs in midair, but Edwin’s strength was overwhelming. He yanked down Leira’s uniform pants with his free hand, the fabric burning against his skin.
“Ow! Ack—!”
“Hah… you smell so good…”
Edwin buried his face between Leira’s cheeks like a starving man, inhaling deeply. This hole—his hole—had always been meant for him, damp and flushed and reeking of sin.
“Hah! N-no, ah—! Wait—nngh!”
When Edwin tugged the underwear taut, a small, dark birthmark—no bigger than the beauty mark at the corner of Leira’s lips—was revealed beside his hole. Edwin’s tongue darted out, lapping at it hungrily. Had that always been there? He’d never examined Leira this closely before. The thought of the bath attendants who’d washed Leira as a child knowing about this mark made his blood boil. He wanted to strangle someone. Or tear this pretty, fragrant hole apart right now.
The birthmark was dark as a black pearl, slightly raised. “A mark on a woman’s sex means she’s lewd,” went the old saying. If that were true, Leira had been born a whore of the highest order.
Edwin bit down, relishing Leira’s whimpers—how they turned to moans when he sucked hard enough. The hole clenched, gushing sweet fluid, the same scent that had haunted him since the day Leira first touched himself.
This fucking tease…
Parading around like the world’s most innocent fool while reeking of this. Some days, Edwin wanted to freeze him in ice. Others, to burn him alive. How could Leira always be so happy? Laughing like some brainless flower while Edwin suffocated in his own obsession.
He lapped up the flowing nectar, swallowing every drop. His perpetual thirst—finally quenched.
“Leira… Leira…”
He murmured the name like a prayer, grinding his lips against the hole, marking it with his cool breath. Leira didn’t understand the desperation in his voice, but his body knew one thing:
It felt unbelievable.
“Hah—ah, nngh—”
He’d never imagined someone would lick him there, never dreamed it could feel this good. His back arched, toes curling, as his hole pulsed around Edwin’s invading tongue. His pants had long since slipped to his ankles, but he didn’t care—he fisted Edwin’s hair, grinding his ass down, riding that wicked tongue like a cock.
“Nngh! Ah—! Hah—!”
Only when Leira’s legs went limp did Edwin pull away, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the gaping hole. He licked his own lips, savoring the taste, then crushed their mouths together—less a kiss than a force-feeding of Leira’s own musk. Their lower bodies ground together, their cocks smearing pre-cum between them.
Edwin’s massive, downward-curving erection dragged against Leira’s hole. Even just rubbing made the hole twitch, eager—clearly a cunt, not some mere shithole.
“Want to put it in…” Edwin whispered against his lips.
His eyelids were dry. No tears. But his voice cracked like he was weeping.
“Please…”
The word sent a chill down Leira’s spine. In ten years of friendship—rivalry, brotherhood—Edwin had never begged. Yet today, twice.
He was terrified to say yes, too reluctant to say no. Indecision paralyzed him. So instead of answering, he bit his lip… and slowly, shyly, spread his legs.
“Hah. You—”
No explicit consent, but the intent was clear. Edwin scoffed, amused by his cowardice. Leira flushed, avoiding his eyes—
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
