Kota's sigh cut through the thick, cum-heavy air of the trashed bedroom like a blade finally sheathing itself after too much blood. The Alaskan king bed looked like a war zone now—sheets soaked white in every direction, pools of Dennis's cum spreading in glossy lakes across the cream fabric, streaks running down the sides where the boy had lost count of his orgasms somewhere around the ninth or tenth dry, shuddering release.
The vibrator still buzzed angrily against Dennis's cocklet, the scrotum sleeve on Grayson snapping quiet electric pops that made both boys twitch like live wires. Kota's own body felt raw and heavy, hips burning from the endless pounding, cock still half-hard and slick with the mix of loads he'd dumped into Elliot and Riley, but the exhaustion was starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. He needed to streamline this. Get it done. Get home. No more chaos.
"Enough," he ordered, voice still carrying that deep, Khalil-edged growl that made the room feel smaller. "Dennis. Grayson. Stop fucking. Now."
The words landed like commands from a drill sergeant. Grayson pulled his tongue out of Dennis's ass with a wet, obscene pop, strings of spit and lube stretching between his glossy lips and the puffy, abused hole. Dennis whimpered at the sudden emptiness, hips twitching backward like his body was begging for more, but both boys froze instantly, chests heaving, faces flushed deep red.
Kota reached down without ceremony, fingers finding the switches on the toys—one quick flick and the vibrator against Dennis's cocklet went silent, the scrotum sleeve on Grayson's balls powering down with a final, fading buzz. The sudden quiet felt almost shocking after the nonstop hum and snaps, the room settling into a heavy, panting stillness broken only by the ragged breaths of the four boys and the faint drip of cum from Riley's wrecked hole onto the carpet below.
Dennis and Grayson both let out long, shaky sighs of relief at the same time, their bodies slumping forward onto the soaked sheets like puppets with cut strings. Dennis's pale cheeks jiggled softly as he collapsed, ass still high, hole winking and leaking in slow pulses. Grayson's darker skin glistened with sweat, freckles standing out sharper across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, long curly ginger hair matted to his forehead. They breathed deep, chests rising and falling, the tension draining from their limbs for the first time in what felt like hours.
But Kota wasn't done looking at the mess. His eyes narrowed on the absolute disaster Dennis had made across the bed—thick white ropes and puddles everywhere, some still warm and glossy, others already cooling into sticky patches that clung to the fabric like glue. Without a word he grabbed the back of Dennis's head, fingers tangling in the darkish-red hair with its ginger roots showing through, and shoved the younger boy's face straight down into the cum-soaked sheets like a dog being punished for making a mess on the carpet. Dennis's cheek squelched into the wet fabric, nose buried in one of the larger pools, lips parting on instinct.
"Clean it," Kota growled. "Like the slut you are."
Dennis didn't hesitate for even a second. Like the perfect, broken little whore he'd been trained to be in the last chaotic stretch, he started licking—tongue lapping eagerly at the cum-soaked bed, slurping up every thick rope and puddle with wet, greedy sounds that filled the room. His eyes fluttered half-closed in bliss, ass still arched high behind him, cheeks jiggling faintly as he worked. "Mmm—yes—Master—" he mumbled between licks, voice muffled against the sheets, tongue swirling through the salty mess like it was the finest meal he'd ever tasted. He swallowed audibly, throat working, then dove back in for more, licking long stripes across the fabric, chasing every drop until his face was shiny and streaked white.
Kota watched for a long moment, his own hand drifting down to wrap around his cock again, stroking slow and deliberate as the thick length swelled back to full hardness in his grip. The sight of Dennis face-down in his own cum, licking like a desperate good boy, sent fresh heat coiling low in his gut. He stepped closer to the bed, cock bobbing heavy with every step, veins standing out thick and dark along the shaft. Grayson was still kneeling there beside Dennis, identical to Elliot in every way that made Kota's pulse jump—same freckles dusting his cheeks and shoulders like scattered stars, same long curly ginger hair falling in messy waves across his forehead, same annoying cheeky little grin tugging at the corners of his mouth even now, like he knew exactly how much trouble he was in and loved every second of it.
Kota sat down on the edge of the Alaskan king bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, cum-soaked sheets squelching softly beneath him. He spread his thighs wide, cock standing proud and leaking between them, the fat head glistening in the slanted light from the velvet curtains. "Grayson. On your knees."
Grayson obeyed instantly, sliding off the bed and dropping to the carpet between Kota's spread legs with a soft thud of knees hitting fabric. His curly ginger hair bounced with the motion, freckles standing out sharper against his flushed skin. He looked up with those big, eager eyes, then made the cutest little woof—high and playful, tongue lolling out just a fraction—before starting to pant like a happy puppy, chest rising and falling fast, small cocklet twitching between his thighs.
Kota reached down, grabbed a fistful of that long curly ginger hair, and pressed Grayson's face firmly against the side of his cock. The heat of the younger boy's cheek burned against the veiny shaft, freckled skin soft and warm. Grayson yipped softly at the contact—cute, needy, breath hot against the sensitive skin—then wrapped both hands around the thick base, fingers barely meeting around the girth. He started working the tip like a good bitch, tongue flicking out in rapid, insane little licks that traced every ridge, every pulsing vein, swirling around the swollen head in tight circles before flattening out to lap at the leaking slit. The tongue work was unreal, wet, precise, hungry, Grayson grinning the whole time, eyes sparkling with clear enjoyment as he worshipped the cock like it was the center of his world. His curly hair tickled Kota's thighs, freckles brushing the shaft with every eager bob of his head.
Then Grayson took it all down.
He opened wide, jaw stretching, and sank forward until his nose pressed flush against Kota's pubic hair, the entire thick length disappearing down his throat in one smooth, effortless glide. He stayed there for a full thirty seconds, balls deep, throat fluttering and milking in rhythmic pulses that squeezed and rippled around every inch, nuzzling his face deeper into the coarse hairs like he never wanted to leave.
The wet heat, the constant swallowing, the way his tongue still worked underneath even while fully stuffed—it was pure perfection. Kota's hand tightened in the curly ginger hair, breath catching as the milking grew stronger, throat muscles working him like a living sleeve.
Grayson popped off at the last possible second, right before Kota could tip over the edge, strings of thick spit and pre-cum connecting his swollen lips to the glistening head. He grinned up, freckles shiny with spit, curly hair a mess, and said in that cheeky, breathless voice,
"Wanna see a magic trick?"
Kota panted hard, chest heaving, cock throbbing angrily in the cool air. "I… thought I told you to only answer with woof."
Grayson didn't care. Not even a little. He just grinned wider, freckles dancing across his cheeks, then dove back down again—deep throating the entire length in one greedy swallow until his nose was buried once more. But this time he didn't stop there. With a wet, determined push he managed to fit Kota's heavy balls inside his mouth too, cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk stuffed with nuts, lips stretched impossibly wide around the base of the shaft and the full sac. He sloshed everything around inside that hot, wet cavern—tongue swirling, throat milking, cheeks hollowing and puffing in obscene rhythm—working Kota with everything he had until the pressure built back to a breaking point.
Before Kota could even growl another order, Grayson popped off with a loud, sloppy gasp. The sudden release sent Kota over the edge instantly, thick layers of cum erupting in heavy ropes that coated Grayson's entire face in glossy white streaks, painting his freckles, his curly ginger hair, his cheeks, his open mouth, dripping down his chin in thick, messy rivers.