He got out of bed with more than his usual swagger. Where were his missing boxers tho? The blue-green ones were his favourite, and he couldn’t think where they might be? Wiping himself down, he tried to focus his thoughts on the day ahead, but all he could think about was how sexy he was. His nice boner wasn’t going down either. Slipping into his dirty purple shorts, he buttoned his jeans and made for the kitchen in search of coffee.
He decided to go shirtless. He knew that Rosy and Seb both fancied him. He’d seen them checking him out, and he wanted them to see just how fucking hot he was today.
As luck would have it, Seb was already downstairs balancing a percolator on the hob.
“Morning, Mate,” Seb grinned, his enormous pupils dilating to take in the vision of cocky, boyish fitness that stood before him..
This was just the kind of attention Mikey had been hoping for, clocking how Seb shot glances at his nipples and purple shorts. Their connection felt electric today. Little did he know his missing boxers were on the gayboy standing there. Seb could see the lighting sparks leaping between them, the spell keeping them in contact, their cheeky boners in sync.
This feeling went unspoken, both chatting with one another like normal, but the eyes communicated more than their words. Michael couldn’t help but wonder about his friend. How was Seb still single? He was obviously a really hot guy, even a straight lad could see that. The salt and pepper grey hairs in his temples and beard only improved his manly looks. He was tall and broad and in great shape. Always wearing his cut-off black vests. Sure he was a bit spooky with tarot and that, but Michael thought the magic stuff was kind of cool and mysterious. He’d asked him about it once or twice. Seb even promised to give him a tarot reading, but they hadn’t got round to it yet.
All these thought’s were Michael’s own. Babalon might have granted Seb power of his body, but his mind was out of the bargain. If the boy enjoyed any aspect of the bewitchment it was genuine, and standing now in the presence of his secret master he felt a nagging sense of attraction.
Michael couldn’t hang about though. He had a band practice to get to. Seb wished him the best with the rehearsal and went back upstairs with his coffee. Rosy yawned into the kitchen next, but her flirtations didn’t hold Michael’s attention somehow. He took his cheeky semi with him to the studio instead.
It was the first time he ever got their before the others. Mickey was usually always late. the guys had even formed a habit of showing up later than the agreed time to save them waiting for him. He was just so full of beans today, and itching to hope on his drums. Setting up to his satisfaction, Michael ran through his favourite beats.
Was the heat in that basement studio, or was it the music making him so hard in his pants? The rhythms just felt so sexy, he was getting more of those hands-free pleasures from this morning. But it wasn’t his dick this time. It was his butt. He’d never felt butt feelings like this before. The beats were teasing somewhere deep inside. It was just so naughty and nice.
Soon the lads arrived, cracking jokes about Michael’s miraculous punctuality and plugging their guitars. They got right into the set they’d planned for the upcoming gig in Falmouth. Everyone was vibing, the grooves were sweet, and Michael was on fire. But the weird butt feelings kept surging through him in lovely waves. It got so intense at moments that he dropped a beat. The fellas were starting to notice and throwing glances his way.
Back at the house in his loft, surrounded by candles, Seb writhed. Under the stolen shorts he was wearing, he’d pushed a vibrating butt plug in his ass. He knew Michael was playing with his band. He knew they were watching him flounder on his drum stool. He was going to give him his first buttgasm right now, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Michael moaned like a girl as he shivered, inaudible over the sound of the band, but his face gave everything away. The guys knew what they were watching. Their drummer was having an orgasm before their very eyes, and Michael wanted them to watch.
What the fuck was happening to him today? He woke up a sex maniac, but the sensations were just too delicious. It was like a hidden sexuality was suddenly on show – desires previously unknown revealed – and he loved it. He wanted the sex to conquer his good sense and spill over into his life. Even if it shocked his bandmates he knew they’d secretly enjoy it. Who wouldn’t want to watch him cum? He was the sexiest lad in town.
The dirty moment inevitably dawned upon him, and Michael nearly feel off his seat. The music stopped to let him groan in the glory of his mystical coitus. Speechless, the boys covered errant boners with their guitars and saxophones.
“…fuck!” Adam, the bassist, eventually managed to whisper thirstily, speaking for all off them in their amazement.
“You really like that song, huh?” Jonny quipped, relieving some off the crazy tension with a joke.
Michael mopped his brow with a towel, flushed with embarrassment,
“…uh,” he struggled, unable to respond.
“Let’s try the breakbeat one,” Jonny cut in, eager to move on from the incident, and the guys jumped on his cue.
Michale played well enough after that, but his fire was spent. A hundred questions distracted him. A meaty little semi still swole up in his crotch, leaking salty drops of shame. Where was all this sex energy coming from?
Working this kind of magic took it’s toll. Seb was burnt out. Overcome with fatigue he’d been drifting in and out of sleep all afternoon, but at last he felt restored, and still wearing those precious shorts, he throw open a skylight and clambered out into the sunshine.
Standing on his rooftop high above the city Seb could see everything. His cute victim was lying on the grass in St. Andrew’s park, toking innocently on a spliff with a group of mates. He’d left his band behind and was chilling in the sun. Seb couldn’t leave him unmolested a moment longer, his next torment was long overdue. With a cruel grin, he pushed his big dick through the button-fly of Michael’s shorts and let pour a sparkling torrent of piss – over the edge of the house, crashing noisily on the patio four stories below.
On the far side of town, Mikey sat bolt upright. He was pissing his pants – the hot liquid gushing from his crotch, the clammy sting of wet denim on his thighs, the total inability to stem the flow, and the blind, bad-dream panic doing it in public.
“What the fuck…” his mates gawped, staring incredulous at the burgeoning wet patch in his jeans.
On his knees, dumb with shame, Michael could only wait for the flood to subside. And when it was done, his sluggish day-long semi stiffened into a full-blown hard-on, undisguised in the taut fabric of his sodden trews.
What was wrong with him? How could he piss himself in front of all his mates, and why was the disgrace so fucking sexy? He wanted them to point and jeer and take photos. He wanted the lads to bully him and girls to laugh, but they were so sympathetic. His friend were nice people, and they told him to take off his jeans and cover up with the picnic blanket.