Date: April 29th, 2043, 9:44 PM
24 Hours ago, Riley turned 18.
To anyone else this is a big achievement... to Riley it just meant one thing...
Riley had spent the last hour sitting in the driver's seat, running his hands over the leather steering wheel, breathing in that new car smell that was already starting to fade into something more ordinary. He didn't care about any of that. The car was just transportation. The real prize was the freedom it represented, and freedom meant getting the hell out of this house and finding some action.
He stormed into his dad's bedroom without knocking, the door swinging open with enough force to rattle the picture frames on the wall. Eli was sprawled across the bed in his usual evening position, scrolling through his phone with the kind of tired resignation that came from raising two boys on his own. The orange throw pillows were scattered around him, the same ones that matched the orange rug and the orange accents that made the whole house feel like it had been decorated by someone with a single-color obsession. He didn't look up when Riley burst in, just kept scrolling, one eyebrow raised in that familiar way that meant he already knew trouble was coming.
"Daddddddy~" Riley sang out, dragging the word out into three long, syrupy syllables that echoed off the walls.
Eli sighed, the sound long and bone-deep. He finally looked up from his phone, fixing Riley with that flat, unimpressed stare he had perfected over eighteen years of parenting. "I told you to stop calling me that. You're eighteen now. A grown man. Act like it."
Riley blinked with exaggerated innocence, his platinum hair falling across his forehead in carefully arranged waves. His makeup was already done for the night, glossy lips and winged eyeliner that made his eyes look huge and deceptively sweet. "What do you mean, daddy? I'm just showing affection to my beloved father. Is that a crime now?"
Eli rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. "What do you want, Riley?"
"I want to go to a party," Riley said, dropping onto the edge of the bed with a bounce that made his massive ass jiggle against the mattress. "Senior party. Huge one. Everyone's gonna be there. Well, everyone who matters. And since I'm a growing boy with needs and desires and a brand new car that needs to be properly broken in—"
"Needs and desires?" Eli cut him off, one hand already pinching the bridge of his nose. "What kind of needs and desires are we talking about here?"
Riley's grin turned sharp and knowing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, letting his crop top ride up just enough to show a strip of smooth, toned stomach. "Daddy, I'm eighteen now. I'm legally an adult. I have a car, I have a license, and I have a very, very empty backseat that's just begging to be STAINED.
You can't keep me locked up in this house forever. What if I never experience the joys of teenage rebellion? What if I end up boring and repressed like you?"
"Boring and repressed?" Eli's eyebrows shot up. "I am not boring. I am responsible."
"Oh yeah?" Riley tilted his head, letting his tongue trace slowly across his lower lip. "Then why are you lying in bed at nine forty-five on a Friday night scrolling through construction memes when you could be out there living your best life? I saw you looking at that new foreman's ass during the site visit last week. The one with the tight jeans and the hard hat? You were practically drooling."
Eli's face went red. "I was not—that's not—his jeans were just very well-tailored. It's a professional observation."
"Suuuure it is," Riley drawled, winking. "Professional observation. That's what we're calling it now. So you can't judge me for wanting to get out there and do some professional observing of my own. It's in my blood. I come from a long line of observers."
"Riley, I swear to God—"
"I swear to God too!" Riley cut him off, pressing one hand to his chest with mock solemnity. "I swear to God that I will be home by midnight. Or one. Maybe two. But definitely before the sun comes up. I'll be safe. I'll be smart. I'll be the most responsible eighteen-year-old at that party. You'll be so proud of me you'll cry."
Eli stared at him for a long moment, his expression cycling through suspicion, resignation, and something that looked almost like affection. "And there's going to be... what exactly at this party? The kind of things I won't like?"
Riley's face went perfectly blank. "Pffft. Nahhh. It's just a regular party, dad. People standing around. Talking. Eating chips. Maybe some light dancing if the mood strikes. Totally innocent. Very wholesome. I might even hold a girl's hand."
"You've never held a girl's hand in your life, non even exist anymore."
"I'm starting a new chapter."
"And the fact that you're wearing crop top and makeup?"
Riley glanced down at himself as if seeing his outfit for the first time. "This? Oh, this is just... fashion. Very trendy. Everyone's doing it. It's not like I'm going to be bent over a pool table getting my guts rearranged by some senior with a big dick and no condom. That would be irresponsible."
Eli's eye twitched. "Riley."
"What? I'm just saying, I'm responsible. I know what safe sex looks like. I've read articles. I've watched documentaries. Very educational documentaries. Some of them even had subtitles."
"I can't do this with you right now."
"Do what? Have a normal conversation with your adult son about his social life? I'm trying to bond with you, daddy. This is quality father-son time. We're making memories. Years from now you'll look back on this moment and smile."
Eli rubbed his face with both hands. "Where is this party?"
"At the old warehouse on Elm. You know the one. The one with the graffiti and the broken windows and the really, really good acoustics. It's been cleaned up, obviously. Very sanitary. Up to code. Probably."
"Probably?"
"I'm almost certain they have a porta-potty."
"Riley."
"Okay, okay, fine. It's not up to code. But you know how parties are, dad. The best ones are always in places that technically shouldn't be used for gatherings. It's part of the charm. The danger adds excitement."
"The danger is what adds worry lines to my face."
"Don't worry, I'll protect myself. I have pepper spray. I have a whistle. I have my wits and my charm and my incredibly convincing fake ID that totally didn't cost me three hundred dollars from a guy in the parking lot of the mall last week."
Eli sat up straighter. "Three hundred dollars? For a fake ID?"
"For a very, very good fake ID. It scans and everything. I tested it at the liquor store on Fifth. The guy didn't even blink."
"You bought alcohol with a fake ID?"
"I bought sparkling water with a fake ID. I wanted to make sure it worked before I used it for anything important. And it worked perfectly. So now I can buy all the sparkling water I want, whenever I want. That's freedom, dad. That's the American dream."
Eli was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching out until it felt almost uncomfortable. Riley fidgeted on the edge of the bed, his plump ass shifting against the mattress, his fingers twisting together in his lap. He could feel the weight of his dad's stare boring into the back of his head.
"Fine," Eli finally said, the word coming out like a reluctant surrender. "Fine. You can go. But you're home by one. And if I see any pictures of you doing anything stupid on social media, I'm taking the car away. And the fake ID. And your phone."
Riley's face split into a triumphant grin. He bounced off the bed in one fluid motion, spinning around to plant a loud, exaggerated kiss on his dad's cheek. "Thank you, daddy! You're the best! The absolute best! I'm going to have so much fun and I'm going to tell you all about it tomorrow and you're going to be so proud of me for being such a responsible, well-adjusted adult."
"I don't believe a single word you just said."
"That's fine. I don't believe half the things I say either. It's part of my charm. Byeeee daddyyyyyy!"
He was already out the door, his voice trailing behind him like the tail of a comet. Eli watched him go, shaking his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite everything.
"Riley!" he called out. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!"
---
The BMW's engine purred beneath Riley as he rolled through the late-night streets, the midnight blue paint catching the streetlights in shimmering flashes that made the car look like it was coated in liquid stars. The windows were down just enough to let the warm April air whip through his platinum hair, messing up the carefully arranged waves he'd spent forty-five minutes perfecting. He didn't care. The wind felt good, the bass from his speakers thumped against his chest, and the whole world stretched out in front of him like an invitation to cause as much trouble as possible.
"Take me to the river, drop me in the water," Riley sang along, his voice carrying that breathy, off-key enthusiasm that only came from being alone in a car with zero shame. "Take me to the river, gonna make me squirm like I never been taught to behave—"
He cut himself off with a laugh, slapping the steering wheel as the song switched to something even filthier. His hips swayed in the driver's seat, that massive ass shifting against the leather with a soft rustle, the crop top riding up to show more of his smooth stomach. The road was mostly empty at this hour, just the occasional pair of headlights passing in the opposite direction, but Riley didn't care about being seen.
He was eighteen now. Legal. Free. A grown man with a car and a destination and a whole night of trouble waiting for him.
His hand drifted toward the glovebox, popping it open with a casual flick. Inside, nestled among the registration papers and a half-eaten bag of gummy bears, sat a small box of condoms. Tiny condoms. The kind that were designed for post-Vanishing bodies, the ones that actually fit. Riley counted them quickly, his lips moving silently, and let out a satisfied hum. Twelve condoms. Twelve opportunities. He made a silent vow right there in the driver's seat that he was going to finish every single one of them before the night was over. Every. Single. One.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder, the screen lighting up with a name that made him grin. Magnus. The 2.2 inch king himself. The guy who had been strutting around school like he owned the place. Riley snatched the phone up, swiping to answer without even glancing at the road.
"Magnus! My favorite little top with the big personality!" Riley's voice was pure honey, sweet and teasing, the kind of tone that could make even the most confident guy squirm. "What's up, cutie? You missing me already? I haven't even gotten to the party yet."
Magnus's voice came through the speaker, deeper than Riley expected but carrying that familiar edge of desperate need. "You still coming to the warehouse? I heard some of the guys were thinking about leaving early if the turnout's shit. Wanted to make sure you were gonna show up before I committed to anything."
"Duhhhh," Riley drew the word out, letting it hang in the air like a promise. "Of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss this for anything. I've been looking forward to this all week. Well, not all week. I've been looking forward to the after party. The main event. The part where I get to see that 2.2 inch wonder you're always bragging about in action."
"Hey," Magnus's voice sharpened, that wounded pride bleeding through even over the phone. "2.2 is a lot. Most guys can barely crack two. I'm basically a legend."
"You are a legend," Riley agreed, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "A legend with a teeny tiny little cock that I've been thinking about nonstop. I can't wait to see what you do with it. All that power, all that confidence, all packed into such a small package. It's impressive, really. You've gotta work twice as hard to make up for what you're lacking in size."
"I am not lacking in size."
"Of course you're not, baby. That's what I keep telling everyone. Magnus has got it all. The height, the charisma, the dick that could probably fit in a shot glass if you really tried. It's cute. It's adorable. It's everything I've ever wanted in a man."
Magnus was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to decide whether he was being complimented or insulted. Riley let the silence stretch, enjoying the power of making a guy second-guess himself.
"So you're really coming?" Magnus finally asked, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Like, for real?"
"For real for real, Magnus. I promised I'd show up and I'm a man of my word. Unlike some people I know."
Magnus made a strangled sound that was half laugh, half groan. "That was one time. It was because my phone died."
"Suuuure it did. Your phone died for three days. That's a very convenient excuse."
"I'm serious! I lost my charger and my brother was being a dick about ordering a new one. It was a whole thing."
"Whatever you need to tell yourself, baby. I'll see you at the party. Try not to cum before I get there, okay? I want to see that big, powerful 2.2 inches in action. Don't waste it on some random when you could save it for me."
"I'll do my best," Magnus said, and Riley could practically hear the blush in his voice.
"Good boy. I knew you had it in you. Now go get ready and try not to think about me too much. It'll ruin your concentration."
The line went dead as Riley tossed the phone back into the cup holder, laughing to himself. The game was so easy. So predictable. Guys like Magnus were putty in his hands, all that bravado and posturing melting away the second someone gave them even a scrap of real attention. Riley had been playing this game since he was sixteen, and he was only getting better at it.
He cranked the music up again, the bass thumping through the speakers as he took the next turn a little too fast. The road stretched ahead, dark and empty, the streetlights casting long orange pools across the cracked asphalt. He was getting close now, the warehouse district looming on the horizon in a collection of dark, broken shapes. He could see the lights from the party flickering in the distance, the faint thump of bass carrying through the warm night air.
And then the blue and red lights flashed in his rearview mirror.
"Shit," Riley muttered, glancing at the speedometer. He was barely over the limit. Not even speeding, really. Just... spirited driving. Enthusiastic driving. The kind of driving that came from being young and free and full of possibility.
He pulled over to the curb slowly, letting the BMW roll to a gentle stop. He killed the music, rolled the window all the way down, and arranged his face into the perfect expression of innocent confusion. The kind of look that said "me? naughty? never."
A young police officer approached the driver's side, his flashlight cutting through the darkness and illuminating the interior of the car. He was young, clearly a rookie, maybe twenty years old at most. His face was fresh and unlined, his uniform still crisp and pressed, and when his flashlight swept across Riley's face, his eyes went wide for just a fraction of a second before he composed himself.
"Evening, officer," Riley purred, leaning forward just enough to let his crop top ride up another inch. "Is there a problem? I wasn't speeding, was I? I'm usually so careful. My daddy would be so disappointed if I got a ticket."
The officer blinked, clearly thrown off by the casual flirting. He cleared his throat, trying to summon the professional authority of someone who had been on the force for more than a week. "sir—do you know why I pulled you over?"
Riley tilted his head, letting his platinum hair fall across one eye. "No, officer, I don't. I was just driving along, minding my own business, singing along to my music and having a lovely time. Did I do something wrong?"
Your taillight is out," the officer said, his voice wavering just slightly as he tried to maintain his composure. "And you swerved back there. A little. When you took that last turn. I just wanted to make sure you weren't under the influence of anything."
Riley's eyes widened with theatrical innocence. "Under the influence? Officer, I would never! I'm a good boy. I'm a very, very good boy. I don't even drink. Well, I don't drink and drive. That's the important part. I only drink sparkling water. And maybe the occasional juice. I'm basically a saint."
The officer's flashlight wavered, dipping down to trace the line of Riley's jaw, the curve of his neck, the exposed strip of smooth stomach where his crop top had ridden up. Riley watched him watching, a slow smile spreading across his glossy lips.
"Speaking of identification," Riley said, reaching into his pocket with exaggerated slowness, "you probably need to see my license and registration, right? I think that's how these things work. Officer, do you need to see my identification?"
He held out his license, his fingers brushing against the officer's hand as he passed it over. The contact was brief, just a whisper of skin on skin, but it was enough. The officer's breath caught, his eyes flicking down to where Riley's fingers still lingered.
"Thank you," the officer said, his voice slightly strained. He looked down at the license, then back up at Riley's face, then down at the license again. "Riley Renegen. Eighteen. That's... that's a nice name."
"Thank you, officer. It's a family name. Well, first name is a family name. Renegen is my dad's. He's a construction guy. Very butch. Very manly. He's always telling me to be more responsible and less flirtatious. I try, I really do. But sometimes I can't help myself."
"You seem... very flirtatious," the officer observed, his thumb tracing the edge of the license absentmindedly. "For someone who's just been pulled over."
Riley leaned forward, resting his arm on the window frame, letting his crop top ride up even higher. "I can't help it, officer. It's a curse. A gift, some people call it. I just see someone attractive and I have to let them know. It's like a reflex. An instinct. Blame evolution."
The officer swallowed hard. "I'm not... this is a traffic stop. I'm supposed to be writing you a ticket."
"A ticket? For a broken taillight? That seems so harsh, officer. And I was being so good. I was singing along to my music, not bothering anyone. I was a model citizen. I was even thinking about volunteering at the local animal shelter next week. I'm considering a career in social work. I have a lot of love to give."
"There's nothing wrong with giving love," the officer said, and his voice had gone slightly breathless. He was staring at Riley's lips now, at the glossy shine, the way they curved into that slow, knowing smile.
"Nothing at all," Riley agreed. "You know, if you wanted to check my record, you could take down my number. Just in case you need to verify anything. For official purposes, of course. Strictly professional."
"You're propositioning a police officer," the officer said, but there was no heat in it. Just wonder. Just surprise.
"I'm not propositioning anyone," Riley said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm just offering a solution to your problem. You need to do your job, I need to get to my party. We both want the same thing, really. We both want to be happy. We both want to feel good. And if you call me later, maybe we can make each other feel very, very good indeed."
The officer stared at him for a long moment. His flashlight clicked off. He handed the license back, his fingers brushing against Riley's palm.
"This is your warning," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Next time, I'm writing the ticket."
He stepped back, already pulling out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen.
Riley grinned and put the car in drive, the engine purring back to life. He pulled away slowly, watching the officer in his rearview mirror, watching the way the young man's hand twitched toward his pocket, watching the way he pulled out his phone and started typing.
"Works every time," Riley purred, pressing his foot to the accelerator and disappearing into the night, the BMW's taillight still flickering faintly as he rounded the next corner.
---
The warehouse loomed ahead, its broken windows glowing with the warm, flickering light of a hundred cheap string lights that someone had strung up across the ceiling. Music thumped through the walls, bass so heavy it vibrated through the asphalt and up through the soles of Riley's designer sneakers. The parking lot was already packed with cars, everything from beat-up sedans to a few flashy sports cars that probably belonged to seniors with rich parents and no sense of responsibility. Riley killed the engine and sat there for a moment, letting the anticipation build, letting the bass thump against his chest like a second heartbeat.
He stepped out of the BMW, the midnight blue paint gleaming under the flickering streetlight, and immediately the warm April air hit him like a wall. It smelled like sweat and cheap perfume and the faint, sweet tang of whatever concoction someone had mixed up in a plastic cooler. Riley smoothed down his crop top, adjusted his jeans so they sat just right on his hips, and started walking toward the warehouse entrance with the kind of confident, rolling stride that made heads turn.
Magnus spotted him before he'd even made it through the door. The 2.2 inch king himself came bounding over like an excited puppy, all that swagger and bravado on full display, his massive post-Vanishing ass swaying with every step.
He was wearing a tight black shirt that showed off his lean frame and a pair of jeans that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. His face split into a wide, hungry grin the moment his eyes locked on Riley.
"There he is!" Magnus called out, his voice cutting through the thump of the music. "My favorite party boy! I was starting to think you weren't gonna show!"
Riley's grin matched Magnus's, sharp and knowing. "And miss the chance to see you in all your glory? Never. I've been thinking about that 2.2 inch wonder all night. Couldn't stop myself from coming."
Magnus closed the distance between them in three quick strides, and before Riley could even react, his hand shot out and grabbed a large handful of Riley's plump, perfectly shaped ass. The grip was firm, possessive, the kind of grab that said "you're mine and I don't care who knows it." Riley let out a soft, breathy moan, his body arching instinctively into the touch.
"Mmmph—Magnus, those hands are gonna get you into trouble one of these days," Riley purred, his voice dropping into that low, syrupy register that made guys weak in the knees. "A boy could get used to that kind of attention."
Magnus's grin widened. "That's the whole point, baby. I want you to get used to it. I want you to crave it."
"Bold words from a guy who doesn't even have a full two and a half inches to back them up."
Magnus's eyes narrowed playfully, but he didn't let go of Riley's ass. "Size isn't everything. It's how you use it."
"Then show me," Riley challenged, reaching out and grabbing Magnus's own ass with both hands, squeezing the plush cheeks hard. Magnus let out a surprised grunt, his hips pressing forward into the grip, his tiny cocklet already starting to harden against Riley's thigh. "Show me what you can do with that little monster of yours."
Magnus leaned in close, his lips brushing Riley's ear. "Later. I've got some business to handle first. But don't you worry, baby. I'll be back for you."
He pulled away, turning to walk back toward the main crowd, and Riley's hand shot out like a viper, delivering a sharp, stinging slap right across Magnus's ass. The crack echoed through the entranceway, and Magnus's cheeks rippled beautifully, the impact sending a hypnotic wave through the soft flesh. Magnus stumbled forward half a step, letting out a startled yelp that turned into a low, appreciative groan.
"Tease," Magnus called back over his shoulder, his voice carrying a hint of promise.
"Learned from the best," Riley replied, already scanning the room for his next target.
The party was in full swing. Bodies packed the warehouse floor, writhing and grinding to the thumping bass, the air thick with heat and the mingled scents of sweat, cheap cologne, and something that smelled suspiciously like weed. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, casting everything in warm, golden glow that made even the grungiest corner look inviting. Riley navigated through the crowd with practiced ease, his hips swaying, his massive ass drawing more than a few appreciative glances.
Near the back wall, tucked away from the main chaos, three of the most nervous senior femboys huddled together on a ratty couch. And they looked like they had been dragged to the party by someone more confident and left to fend for themselves. Their eyes darted around the room with wide, uncertain expressions, and when they noticed Riley approaching, they all straightened up at once, trying to look cooler than they felt.
Riley descended on them like a hurricane. He dropped onto the couch between two of them, his body pressing close, his arm draping across the back of the couch like he owned the place. The femboys on either side of him went stiff, their breath catching in their throats.
"Heyyyy there," Riley purred, looking from one nervous face to the next. "What are three cute little things like you doing all alone in a corner? This party is full of hot, horny people ready to play. You should be out there having fun."
"We're—um—we're just—" one of them stammered, a lanky redhead with more freckles than skin.
"Just what? Being shy? Boring? Wasting your prime ass-shaking years?" Riley leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the redhead's ear. "Let me guess. You're a bottom. All three of you. You've got that look. That sweet, submissive, 'please wreck me until I can't walk' look."
The redhead's face went bright red. "I—uh—we—"
"Don't lie to me, baby. I can always tell." Riley's hand drifted down to rest on the redhead's thigh, his fingers tracing slow, teasing circles. "Are you a bottom? Be honest now. I promise I won't judge."
The femboy swallowed hard. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the music. "I'm a bottom."
Riley let out a soft, breathy moan, the sound vibrating directly into the redhead's ear. "Good answer. Very good answer. You know what happens to good little bottoms who give good answers?"
The redhead shook his head, his eyes wide and glassy.
"They get rewarded," Riley purred. He turned to the other two, who were watching the exchange with a mix of fear and desperate hope. "What about you two? Bottoms or tops?"
"Bottom," one of them breathed, the word tumbling out like a confession.
"Bottom," the other echoed, his voice cracking on the word.
Riley's grin stretched wide. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I've got a backseat with your names all over it. Literally. I'm gonna write your names in my cum. It's gonna be romantic. Now come on, babies. We don't have all night."
He stood up and grabbed the redhead's wrist, pulling him to his feet. The other two scrambled up after them, following like obedient little puppies as Riley led them through the crowd and out the side door into the cool night air. The BMW sat waiting in the shadows, its sleek curves gleaming under the faint light of a distant streetlamp.
Riley popped the back door open and gestured with a dramatic flourish. "Welcome to the party bus. All aboard. Don't worry about the mess, the seats are leather. Easy to clean. Very practical for exactly this kind of activity."
The three femboys piled into the backseat in a tangle of nervous limbs, their massive post-Vanishing asses filling the space, their hands fidgeting in their laps. Riley slid in last, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft thunk that sealed them off from the outside world.
"Alright, babies," Riley said, his voice dropping into that low, commanding register that made bottoms melt. "Here's how this is gonna work. You're gonna suck my cock, all three of you. You're gonna take turns. You're gonna get it nice and wet. And then I'm gonna eat each and every one of you out until you're crying and begging for more. And then, if you're very, very good, I might just let you ride me. Understand?"
The three femboys nodded frantically, their eyes wide, their breaths coming faster.
"Good boys," Riley purred, already reaching for his zipper. "Now show me what those pretty little mouths can do."
The redhead went first, his lips parting as he leaned in and took the head of Riley's small but perfectly proportioned cock into his mouth. His technique was clumsy, inexperienced, all desperate suction and eager bobs, but Riley didn't mind. The enthusiasm made up for the lack of skill. The other two femboys crowded in close, their hands roaming over Riley's thighs, their breath hot against his skin, watching and waiting for their turn.
By the time they had all taken their turns, Riley's cock was glistening and slick, and the three femboys were panting with desperate need. Riley pushed the redhead onto his back, yanked his jeans down, and buried his face between those plush cheeks without any warning. The redhead's moan was immediate and high-pitched, his body arching off the seat as Riley's tongue found his hole and swirled around it in lazy, filthy circles.
"AHHH—RILEY—YOUR TONGUE—OH FUCK—!"
Riley pulled back just enough to grin. "That's it, baby. Let me hear you. Let the whole parking lot know who's making you feel this good."
The redhead's moans grew louder, more desperate, his hips bucking against Riley's face as the tongue worked him open. The other two femboys watched with wide, hungry eyes, their hands flying to their own leaking cocklets, stroking themselves as they waited their turn.
Riley worked through all three of them with the same relentless enthusiasm, his tongue dragging long and wet through each deep cleft, pushing inside, swirling around, tasting the salty sweetness of their holes. By the time he was done, all three femboys were trembling, crying, begging for more.
"Please, Riley," the redhead whimpered, his voice cracked and desperate. "Please fuck me. I need it. I need you inside me."
Riley lined himself up, his small but eager cock pressing against the redhead's slick, waiting hole. "You want it that bad, baby?"
"Yes. Yes. Please. I'll do anything."
Riley pushed in slowly, watching the redhead's eyes roll back as he bottomed out. The tight heat enveloped him, velvety and perfect, and Riley started moving with short, deep thrusts that made the femboy scream. The other two pressed in close, their hands roaming over Riley's back, their lips pressing kisses to his shoulders, his neck, his jaw, worshipping him as he fucked the redhead into the leather seat.
He switched between them, giving each one a turn, making sure every single one of them came untouched before he was done. By the time they were all spent and leaking, the backseat was a mess of sweat, cum, and satisfied moans.
Riley climbed out of the car first, stretching his arms over his head with theatrical laziness. The three femboys scrambled out after him, clinging to him like baby koalas, their hands still roaming, their lips still pressing soft kisses to any skin they could reach.
"What are you doing later?" the redhead asked, his voice small and hopeful. "Can we hang out? Maybe get food? Or just, you know... continue this?"
Riley laughed, the sound light and teasing. "Baby, I've got a whole party to get through. I can't be tied down to just three cute bottoms. You know how it is. I'm a busy boy."
But he leaned in and kissed the redhead anyway, deep and lingering, his tongue sliding past those plump lips. The other two pressed closer, and soon he was making out with all three of them at once, their lips and tongues mingling, their bodies grinding against him.
Magnus appeared from the crowd, his expression a mix of amusement and impatience. "Riley. You promised me a turn. You can't leave me hanging like this."
Riley broke away from the three bottoms, giving each one a final, parting kiss. "I'll be right back, babies. Be good while I'm gone."
He let Magnus drag him back into the party, and for the next few hours, Riley was everywhere at once. He fucked Magnus in a supply closet, the 2.2 inch king doing his best to live up to the hype. He drank three shots of something that burned going down and left him feeling floaty and warm. He found a group of tops in the corner and let them take turns with him, his own tiny cocklet leaking as he was bent over a stack of pallets. He found a group of bottoms and made them moan and scream as he worked through them one by one.
Someone offered him molly, a tiny white pill on the tip of a tongue. Riley looked at it, considered it, then shook his head with a grin.
"Nah, I'm good. I don't need anything extra. I'm a natty sex animal. This is all pure, unfiltered Riley energy."
He was in the middle of making out with a dark-haired femboy on one of the ratty couches, his hands roaming, his hips grinding, when a voice cut through the thumping bass like a knife.
"EVERYONE RUN! COPS ARE HERE!"
The party erupted into chaos. Bodies scrambled in every direction, cups flying, drugs being hidden in desperate hands. Riley disentangled himself from the femboy and bolted toward the exit, his heart pounding, his own small cocklet still half-hard against his thigh.
He made it to the BMW, fumbling with the keys, and peeled out of the parking lot just as the blue and red lights flooded the warehouse. And there, standing at the edge of the chaos, was a familiar face. The young rookie cop who had pulled him over earlier. The one whose number he had gotten. The one who had let him go with just a warning.
Riley stuck his head out the window, the wind whipping through his platinum hair, and blew a kiss toward the officer.
"Byeeeeeee, cutie!" he called out, his voice carrying over the distant wail of sirens.
He sped off into the night, the BMW's engine roaring, the party chaos fading behind him, a wide, satisfied grin plastered across his glossy lips.