Forced in Panties for My Buddy's Cock

Darius stood in the hallway outside Roman’s apartment with his pulse already knocking hard in his throat. Twenty-four, office worker, usually the guy who kept his jokes clean and his Friday nights quieter than this, he had spent the whole drive over replaying the conversation they had finally stopped dancing around. Roman, twenty-six, personal trainer, the buddy who spotted him at the gym and stole half his fries afterward, had admitted he wanted a willing mouth and a willing ass. Not a girlfriend. Not some stranger from an app. A hole he could use while talking like the guy under him was nothing but a pathetic little panty-sissy who had been forced into it.

Darius had gone quiet, then said the part that still made his stomach flip. He would satisfy Roman’s hard cock. He wanted it. But Roman had to act like it was forced. Heavy emasculation. Humiliation. Darius’s own pleasure ignored. They had agreed on a word, red, and on the simple fact that if either of them said it, everything stopped. Roman had texted an hour later: Come over. Wear something easy to take off. Darius had showered, shaved, and driven across town with his hands tight on the wheel, half hard the whole way and telling himself he could still turn around. He hadn’t.

The door opened before he knocked twice. Roman filled the frame in a gray tank and black shorts, broad through the chest, damp at the hairline like he had just finished a set. His eyes dropped once over Darius’s button-down and jeans, then came back up with a look that made the air between them feel charged.

“You’re here,” Roman said. Not a question.

“Yeah.” Darius swallowed. “Still good?”

“Still good.” Roman stepped aside. “Get in. Close the door.”

The apartment smelled like laundry soap and the faint citrus of Roman’s post-workout cologne. A pair of pink lace panties sat folded on the coffee table, delicate and ridiculous against the dark wood. Darius stared at them. His cock twitched so hard he had to shift his weight.

“Those are for you,” Roman said, already sounding different. Lower. Meaner. The play starting the second the lock clicked. “You asked me to make you do this. So I’m going to make you. You don’t get to be a man tonight. You get to be the hole that takes my cock. Understand?”

Darius’s mouth went dry. “Yeah.”

“Yeah what?”

“Yeah. Force me.”

Roman’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Good. Strip.”

Darius’s fingers fumbled the first button. Roman didn’t help. He stood with his arms crossed and watched every inch of office-pale skin come into the lamplight, shirt, undershirt, belt, jeans kicked aside with his socks. Darius hesitated at his briefs. Roman’s gaze dropped to the obvious ridge straining the cotton.

“Those too. I’m not putting panties on a guy who still thinks he gets to keep his own underwear. Off.”

Heat crawled up Darius’s neck. He shoved the briefs down and stepped out of them. His cock stood up, flushed and leaking at the tip, and the humiliation of being hard already, before Roman had even touched him, made his knees feel unreliable.

“Look at that,” Roman said, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Pathetic. Your little dick’s already begging and I haven’t even put the girls’ panties on you. Turn around.”

Darius turned. Roman picked up the panties and crouched behind him. The lace was cool when it brushed Darius’s ankle. Roman drew it up slowly, one leg, then the other, knuckles grazing the insides of Darius’s thighs on purpose. He settled the waistband at Darius’s hips and tugged the back snug between his cheeks, then reached around and tucked Darius’s cock into the front. The lace strained. A wet spot darkened almost immediately.

“There,” Roman murmured against his ear. “Pretty little panty-boy. You needed this. You needed somebody to force you into girls’ underwear because you don’t have the balls to ask for it like a man. Say it.”

“I needed it,” Darius whispered. His voice cracked. “Force me.”

“Pathetic dick-hungry sissy.” Roman’s palm smacked the lace over one cheek, not hard enough to hurt, hard enough to jolt. “On your knees. You’re going to start earning the privilege of being used.”

Darius dropped. The carpet bit his knees. Roman shoved the shorts down and his cock sprang free, thick, heavy, already shining at the head. He gripped Darius’s hair and held him there, an inch away, close enough that Darius could smell skin and soap and the sharp salt of precome.

“Open. And keep your hands off that useless thing in your panties. I don’t care if you leak through the lace. I don’t care if you ache. Tonight your holes are for my cock and my balls. That’s the deal you begged for.”

Darius opened his mouth. Roman pushed in, slow at first, letting Darius taste the weight of him, the stretch of his lips, the way his own cock throbbed neglected against the damp lace. Then Roman’s grip tightened and the pace changed.

“There you go,” Roman said, thrusting deeper, voice rough with the dirty talk they had both wanted. “Look at you. Just a worthless panty-boy hole for real cock. Choking on it like you were made for this. You thought you were my buddy? You’re the sissy I put in pink and feed my dick to.”

Darius gagged and took it anyway, spit slicking his chin, eyes watering. Roman fucked his mouth with steady, claiming strokes, one hand fisted in his hair, the other cupping the back of his neck. Every time Darius’s hands twitched toward his own lap, Roman slapped them away.

“No. You don’t get to touch. You don’t get to come until I say, and I’m not saying. Suck. Get my balls wet too. Use that mouth.”

He pulled out long enough for Darius to mouth down the shaft, tongue dragging, then pushed his face into the heavy sac. Darius licked and sucked, panting through his nose, the lace at his hips sticky and tight. Roman groaned, low and pleased, and hauled him back onto the cock, deeper this time, until Darius’s throat fluttered and his ignored erection jumped uselessly in the panties.

“Good little forced slut,” Roman said. “On the couch. Ass up. I’m not done using you.”

Darius scrambled up, dizzy, and bent over the arm of the couch the way Roman shoved him. Roman hooked two fingers in the lace and yanked it aside, baring him. A bottle clicked. Cool lube smeared between his cheeks, then a thick finger pressed in, then two, working him open while Roman kept talking.

“Tight for a guy who agreed to get forced onto my cock. Relax, panty-boy. You’re taking it. All of it. Your little dick can drip on my couch all it wants. I’m not touching it.”

The head of Roman’s cock nudged him, blunt and hot. Darius gripped the cushion and pushed back, wanting it, playing the struggle only in the small sounds he made. Roman sank in with one long drive that stole Darius’s breath and seated him to the root.

“Fuck,” Roman hissed, then laughed once, mean and warm. “There. Forced all the way in. Look at those panties bunched to the side like you couldn’t even keep them on while you got used. Worthless.”

He set a rough rhythm, hips snapping, the couch creaking under them. One hand pinned Darius’s shoulder. The other stayed off his cock entirely, sometimes gripping a hip, sometimes slapping the bare curve of ass above the displaced lace. Each thrust shoved Darius forward and dragged a broken noise out of him. His own erection bobbed in the pink fabric, leaking, aching, completely ignored while Roman used his ass like it belonged to him.

“Listen to you,” Roman said, leaning over his back. “Moaning like a girl in panties. You love being forced to take real cock. Say you’re just a hole.”

“I’m just a hole,” Darius gasped. “Your hole. Please.”

“Please what? Please let you come? No.” Roman drove deeper, balls slapping lace and skin. “Please use you harder? That I’ll do.”

He fucked him until Darius’s arms shook, then pulled out suddenly, leaving him empty and clenching. “Up. On me. Reverse. I want to watch that ignored dick bounce while you ride.”

Roman sat back on the couch, cock gleaming, and hauled Darius into his lap facing away. He lined up and yanked Darius down onto him in one brutal drop. Darius cried out, full again, thighs spread over Roman’s, the panties still dragged aside and clinging wetly to one hip. Roman’s hands locked on his waist and made him move.

“Ride it. Work that ass on my cock. And look at that.” A sharp slap landed on Darius’s ass, then another, the sound cracking in the quiet apartment. “Your little dick’s just flopping in those ruined panties. Bouncing like it doesn’t even matter. Because it doesn’t. You’re here to pleasure me. Mouth, ass, whatever I want. Your pleasure doesn’t count.”

Darius rode him, awkward and desperate, sinking down until Roman’s cock kissed deep and rising until only the head stayed inside. Roman slapped his ass again, mockery thick in his voice.

“Pathetic. A grown man in pink lace, forced to bounce on his buddy’s cock while his own dick leaks and gets nothing. That’s all you are tonight. A sissy hole. Get down and get my balls in your mouth again. I want both.”

He lifted Darius off, turned him, and pushed him back to the carpet between his spread thighs. Darius’s ass clenched around nothing, sore and slick. He went where he was put. Roman fed him his cock, then his balls, then his cock again, using Darius’s mouth while one hand occasionally reached down to slap the side of his ass or tug the waistband of the panties like a leash.

“Both holes,” Roman said, breathing harder now. “That’s what you offered. That’s what I’m taking. Throat first.” He fucked Darius’s mouth until spit ran down his chin and Darius’s eyes streamed. “Now the ass. Back over.”

Darius bent again. Roman shoved back in without pause, panties yanked aside, and pounded him with short, grinding thrusts that made the lace scrape Darius’s trapped cock every time their bodies met. Still Roman never wrapped a hand around him. Still the dirty talk didn’t let up.

“Look at you, just a worthless panty-boy hole for real cock. Emasculated little sissy. I forced you into these and you’re dripping through them like you’re grateful. You are grateful. Say thank you for ignoring your dick.”

“Thank you,” Darius choked out, face pressed to the cushion, cock throbbing untouched. “Thank you for ignoring it. Use me.”

Roman’s rhythm broke. He pulled out, spun Darius onto his back on the carpet, and straddled his chest just long enough to slap the wet head of his cock against Darius’s lips, then hauled him up by the panties and bent him over the coffee table instead, driving back into his ass for a dozen brutal strokes while he talked filth into his ear about how small he looked, how pretty the lace was when it was soaked, how a real cock didn’t need the sissy’s pleasure to get off. Darius took all of it, mouth open, ass full, his own orgasm denied and somehow making every nerve scream louder.

Roman yanked free one last time. “Face up. Mouth open. I’m finishing on the panties and on you.”

Darius dropped to his knees and tipped his face up, lace clinging, cock still hard and ignored inside the ruined front. Roman stroked himself twice, rough, and came in thick pulses across Darius’s cheek, his lips, his chin, and the pink lace stretched over his chest and lap. Hot stripes painted the fabric and Darius’s skin while Roman groaned through his teeth.

“Used-up cum-rag,” he said, voice wrecked and satisfied. “That’s what you are. My buddy’s face and his pretty forced panties, both wrecked. Don’t you dare wipe it yet.”

Darius knelt there shaking, come cooling on his mouth, the lace a sticky mess, his own cock still aching and untouched. Roman’s hand settled on his hair, gentler now that the scene was breaking.

“You good?” Roman asked, quiet, the trainer voice coming back. “Color?”

“Green,” Darius said, hoarse, and almost laughed. “Really green. Jesus.”

Roman exhaled, then crouched and used his discarded tank to wipe Darius’s face with surprising care, then the worst of the mess on the panties. He didn’t pull them off yet. He helped Darius onto the couch, grabbed two beers from the fridge, and pressed one into his hand. They sat shoulder to shoulder, sweaty, the room smelling like sex and hops. Roman’s knee bumped his.

“That was the perfect scene,” Roman said. He sounded almost shy about it, which was ridiculous after everything he had just said. “You were unreal. I mean it. Thank you.”

Darius took a long drink. His ass throbbed in a way he already knew he would think about in the shower tomorrow. The panties were a loss. His cock had finally started to soften, neglected on purpose, and the denial sat in his gut like a second heat.

“I liked it,” he said. “More than I thought I would. The ignoring. The talk. All of it.”

Roman nodded, staring at the bottle in his hands. “We could do it again. Soon. I’ve been thinking about next time while we were sitting here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Roman’s mouth twitched. “Same rules. You agree, I force it. But next time I want you in the panties before you even walk in the door. And I want to keep you denied longer. Make you clean my cock with your mouth after I finish in you, then send you home still hard. If you want that.”

Darius’s pulse kicked up all over again. He could already see it: the lace under his jeans in the car, Roman’s hand on the back of his neck, the word red unused in his pocket like a key he didn’t need. He tipped his beer against Roman’s.

“Plan it,” he said. “I’ll be here Friday. Panties on. You can act like you’re making me.”