(Author's note.
Okay this was supposed to be about the length of the 1950's package but I realised as I went that I couldn't tell the story I wanted to in a few parts. At the moment it looks like it's going to balloon out to somewhere between seven and ten chapters. I hope you're all enjoying this, because we're not done.
Please keep the comments coming! After this project is done I don't have anything immediately to do next, so if you can think of anyone the Dollmakers can work on next, feel free to float the idea!
Okay, I'm done now, let's get to the porn.)
At first he'd spent most of his time with Anna. They'd hang out for a few days, have some sex, talk shit, then he'd eventually suggest that they go and visit Matt. Every few days, when he could build up the courage.
Then it was every couple of days.
Then it was every night.
When Anna stopped agreeing to go with him, he'd gone without her.
When she'd broken up with him all he'd had was his shame. "I feel like you don't even want me anymore. Like you've lost all interest in me and only want him. That's fine, you can do that, but you don't need me to do it." He'd asked her to stay, but he wasn't too persuasive. His heart wasn't in it. She'd been his excuse, the veil that hid his shame from the world and himself.
From that point on he visited Matt on his own. He'd text in advance, slip inside and pretend they were here for something other than what they were here for before Matt bent him over and fucked him.
That first time had apparently been him going easy. Each time he visited it seemed like Matt was rougher with him, fucked him harder, started grabbing and biting him, leaving handprints on his ass. His language only got more and more degrading, sometimes he'd keep up a steady stream of abuse throughout the entire act. Other times he'd be almost affectionate until he inevitably turned around and delivered some insult as he came inside him.
Afterward he didn't stay to talk or let Matt touch him, which Matt was fine with. He got dressed and practically ran out of the room as the other man lay there looking smug. Sometimes Pete would call him an asshole, a faggot, a prick, Matt took the insults with a smile on his face. He didn't care what Pete thought of him and that was frustrating.
Sometimes he wouldn't even remember going home. He'd just be home with a sore ass and a determination that he wouldn't do it again. That this time he'd be strong enough, that this time he'd get it out of his system and be done.
Eventually they stopped being determined statements of purpose and just became the words he was reciting to make himself feel better, then they stopped even being that. They were just words.
Still, the sex he was having now was better by far than any he'd had in his life. Every time he came his entire body shook and shuddered, every time he got fucked it was like nothing he'd experienced any other way.
Had he been gay this whole time? Had that been there inside him waiting to come out?
He called Anna a few times and left rambling insulting voicemails on her machine. Called her every bad name he could think of, blamed her for doing this to him, for making him like this.
He had no idea how true that was.
