Hold Me Down

Mar 22, 2024 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Stephen turned up the walk to Pablo’s apartment, wiping his damp forehead with the back of his hand. His stomach did a little flip as he took the stairs, and he nervously shifted the bag containing his swim trunks and towel on his shoulder. Just as he’d done dozens of times over their summer break from University, he was going swimming with Pablo and Molly, more for relief from the stifling heat of this summer than for recreational reasons.

The door was only a few steps away, and just as he’d done before, he paused, wanting to rush forward, wanting to rush home. Their company was wonderful and terrible, and when he went home at night his head would be spinning from it. It was more than he could take, some days.

He took a deep breath, walked forward again. He knocked, then heard Molly’s laughter behind the door, and quick footsteps.

“Stephen!” Molly said, smiling, as she opened the door. Her face was pink, her long, thick red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, several wisps coming loose and clinging to her face and neck. She wore a pale, sleeveless blouse that clung to her full breasts and a knee-length skirt, nothing fancy, but Stephen thought she looked absolutely beautiful.

“Pablo’s ticklish,” she told him as she backed away from the door.

Stephen eyed her askance. “Is he.” He glanced at Pablo, who sat on the couch, his hand raised in greeting. Pablo looked rumpled and embarrassed, and huge and muscular and handsome in his tank top and old faded jeans.

“Yes!” Molly shut the door behind Stephen. After the bright sunshine it was dark as a cave in the apartment.

“But he won’t let me tickle him,” she said. Then, almost in the same breath, she asked, “Do you want something to drink? I brought lemonade.”

“Yes, I’d like some, thank you,” Stephen said. He dropped his bag to the floor beside the doorway and toed off his shoes, then he accepted the glass Molly offered him.

He almost couldn’t swallow the first drink; it tasted like she had used an entire bag of sugar, and he thought that that actually wasn’t unlikely. Pablo’s glass sat nearly untouched on the low table beside the couch, Stephen noticed once his eyes adjusted to the interior lighting.

Stephen approached the couch and nonchalantly placed his glass beside Pablo’s.

“Come on,” Molly said, standing before Pablo with her hands clasped behind her back. “Let me.”

Pablo shook his head, looking as if he were trying not to smile.

“Come onnnnn,” Molly insisted, rocking from her heels to her toes. “Please? I’ll stop if you say stop. And really mean it.”

Pablo continued to shake his head, and he shot Stephen a glance before looking back at Molly. He still said nothing, which was unsurprising, coming from him.

“It’ll be fun.” Molly took a step closer and brought her hands out and wiggled her fingers. “And if you let me, I’ll let you tickle me next.”

Pablo didn’t answer right away, only looked solemnly at Molly. The solemn look was his default expression, but Stephen could almost hear the gears grinding in his head.

Because for anyone else, trading tickles with Molly would have been a no-brainer. Anyone else would jump at the chance.

This, however, was a little more complicated.

Stephen had watched the tension grow between them for months, a strange, shifting, sometimes almost unbearable tension. The kind where you stared too long, then looked away; the kind where you jerked back sometimes at an accidental touch. Stephen knew that he was attracted to both of them, and he was positive that Pablo and Molly were attracted to each other. Beyond that, he could never really tell one way or another.

And it wasn’t as if he would ask.

So he wanted to say, No, please don’t. He watched Pablo staring up at Molly and wanted to tell him, Say no. Let’s just go swimming and get our ice cream, and pretend this didn’t happen. And they could continue to dance around each other for a little while longer, and Stephen could continue to be a part of the dance, however small a part it was.

But then Pablo smiled. “Fine.”

Molly turned to Stephen, grinning. “And you can hold him down!”

“W-what?” Stephen stammered. “I couldn’t…”

But Pablo was nodding at him. “It will help,” Pablo said. “I might jerk around, and I don’t want to accidentally hurt her.”

Stephen sighed and nodded back. “All right. But I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

He thought it was a credit to Pablo’s kindness that he didn’t snort, didn’t give any indication of the fact that thin, bookish Stephen probably couldn’t hurt Pablo with his bare hands if he tried. He only made a short sound of agreement, then pushed up off the couch to stand towering nearly a foot and a half over Molly. He raised his arms, and Stephen, not exactly short himself, stood and tried awkwardly to grab them.

“No, not standing up. On the floor,” Molly said, taking a few steps back. “If you’re standing up, we can’t hold you down, can we?”

“Ah,” Pablo said, and he slowly Eskort Bayan lowered himself to the floor. He lay there, his arms at his sides, looking blank-faced up at the ceiling. Stephen frowned down at him, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, trying to figure out how in the world he was expected to restrain gigantic, powerful, probably-able-to-bench-twice-his-bodyweight Pablo.

Molly stepped lightly to Pablo’s side, nudged one bare foot between his knees and pushed. Pablo grunted and spread his legs slightly, and Molly plopped down on his thighs.

“See?” She looked up at Stephen, her face glowing. “I get his legs, you get his arms. We can do it.” She wiggled, tucking her feet between Pablo’s knees so that her weight was on her shins, which pressed down on Pablo’s thighs.

“Okay.” Stephen strode to Pablo’s head and stood there, looking down at Pablo’s face and dark messy hair. Pablo was smiling now, and Stephen realized that he himself was too, a little. Molly’s excitement was infectious, had always been, and it would definitely be something to see Pablo wiggle and… laugh.

With a bit more enthusiasm, Stephen dropped to his knees above Pablo’s head. He put his hands on Pablo’s shoulders.

“You need to…” Pablo said, then he lifted his arms, flattened them on the floor so that they made a Y-shape with his body. “Here. Kneel on my arms, and hold my wrists.”

“How?” Stephen asked, frowning. He scooted closer and pressed down on Pablo’s forearms, and tried to puzzle it out.

“Knees on his biceps,” Molly said.

The frown deepened. “But won’t that hurt?”

“No.” Pablo said.

“Oh.” Stephen twisted his mouth, then knee-walked forward. His crotch was almost pressed against the top of Pablo’s head by the time he had his knees centered on Pablo’s thick upper arms.

“You can press down harder,” Pablo said. “Put your weight on me.”

After a deep breath, Stephen scooted forward a bit and did just that, grimacing as his bony shins pressed against Pablo’s biceps. That had to hurt.

“Good,” Pablo said, and in truth he showed no sign of discomfort. He bent his arms at the elbows so that Stephen could take hold of him, Stephen’s hands looking pale and small on his dark skin.

“Have you got his wrists tight?” Molly asked, her eyes glittering.

Stephen squeezed. “Tell me if it hurts,” he said to Pablo. When Pablo nodded, he looked across his body to Molly. “I’ve got him.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Molly attacked Pablo’s sides with her fingers. In his surprise, Pablo bucked up so powerfully Stephen feared he’d be thrown off, but he tightened his grip and pushed down with his knees, and he righted himself.

Molly grinned fiercely as she dug her fingers into Pablo’s sides, into his ribs, walking them up to his armpits. A dig under the heavy swell of his chest muscles, and Pablo let out a loud gasp. Molly boldly swept the bottom of Pablo’s tank top up above his nipples, then raked her fingers over his bare sides, back down to his waist. She dug in, tickling hard and fast, and Pablo’s mouth fell open, and he laughed once, a dry, gasping sound.

“Theeeere you go,” Molly said, laughing herself. She tickled his stomach, making a silly baby noise-goochy goochy!-and again Pablo lifted Stephen up momentarily. Stephen had to wrestle with him, scooting closer until the crotch of his slacks did bump the top of Pablo’s head, then Molly’s hands were crawling all over him, and Pablo was jerking and trying so hard not to laugh or throw them both off that his face was turning red.

“Laugh, laugh!” Molly ordered, shoving her thumbs under the waist of his pants and digging them into his hipbones. Pablo’s mouth fell open again in a hoarse bark of laughter, and Molly laughed aloud and kept at it, poking at his hips until he laughed again, the muscles of his torso visibly flexing. Just like his forearms flexed under Stephen’s hands, his biceps strained under Stephen’s knees, and Stephen knew without a doubt that Pablo could easily throw them off if he wanted.

But with their weight on him, he could pretend he couldn’t get away from it, couldn’t stop them, and he could let Molly touch him, and none of it would be his responsibility. Molly smiled and dragged her fingers down Pablo’s heaving chest, and Stephen was suddenly, intensely jealous of both of them. What he wouldn’t give to be in either of their places. On second thought, though, the idea scared him senseless. To be at Molly’s mercy, or to be given a free ticket to touch Pablo’s body; Stephen didn’t know what he might do or say, how he might give himself away and end it all in awkwardness.

He squeezed down on Pablo’s arms when Pablo jerked. Forcing a distant smile on his face, Stephen watched Molly wiggle her fingers against Pablo’s stomach, zeroing in on a spot just below his navel that made him jerk and laugh openly, short, sharp sounds coming out of his mouth. The sound of Pablo’s laughter echoing in the apartment was surreal.

Molly’s hands slowed, dragging lightly up and down Pablo’s sides, making him arch his back and gasp as she touched sensitive points. Pablo was panting now, his chest and stomach rising and falling rapidly, his forearms slick with sweat under Stephen’s hands. Molly leaned back then, going for the hipbones again, and when she did, Stephen’s breath caught in his throat.

Pablo had an erection. It was unmistakable, it was obscene, it was a huge bulge in his jeans. There was no way Molly didn’t see that; her hands were only inches away. But she kept on tickling as if nothing was amiss, and Pablo didn’t mention it, but Stephen couldn’t stop looking. He licked his lips and tried to drag his eyes away, and they lit on Molly’s neckline, the blouse gaping open when she leaned forward to get at Pablo’s ribs again. The pale, full swells of her breasts moved and swayed as she laughed softly, obviously tiring already.

She sat back again, fingers trailing down Pablo’s stomach, and looked straight down at his crotch. “Is this uncomfortable?” she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she unbuttoned Pablo’s jeans. It was such a casual motion, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, as if she were simply… straightening his tie, or pushing a wayward strand of hair back into place. Stephen was shocked and a little impressed by the casual boldness of it, and he watched with wide eyes as she unzipped the pants and tugged on the open fly, and Pablo’s erection sprang up, tenting out his pale blue boxer shorts.

Pablo grunted, panting open-mouthed, and Stephen looked down at his flushed face, almost expecting Pablo to say something, to protest. Almost wanting it. But not quite. Jealous or not, third wheel or not, he knew he wouldn’t want to miss whatever happened next.

But what happened next was that Molly tickled Pablo’s ribs, grinning that fierce, shining-eyed grin. Pablo laughed in surprise and wriggled, and she dug her fingers in, and Stephen had to question his sanity.

Had that really just happened? Had he imagined it? Fantasized it?

Stephen swallowed and tightened his grip, which had slackened in his shock. He tried to subtly back his hips away, aware that he himself was getting hard, and that it was pressed against Pablo’s head. All he succeeded in doing was rubbing it against Pablo, though; Pablo moved and twitched and turned his head to the side as Molly attacked him, and Stephen took a shaky breath and prayed that Pablo would somehow not notice.

“Why did you never tell me you were ticklish?” Molly asked gleefully as she made Pablo writhe and buck and gasp.

She leaned back once more, and Stephen saw that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing. Pablo’s cock was a long, hard pole inside his boxers, jutting up from the open vee of his jeans fly, bobbing when he laughed. There was a small damp spot at the tip, and Stephen had to bite his tongue not to groan when he saw it.

“I got you nooowwww,” Molly said, her voice low and husky, and she went after Pablo’s belly again, poking her fingers in hard. Pablo’s back came off the floor at that, and when it went back down, his legs and arms spasmed, and Molly was lifted up, and came down with a soft “Oof!” a few inches higher up Pablo’s body.

“Sorry,” Pablo gasped, panting, and Stephen noticed Molly’s wide eyes, noticed that Pablo’s erection was no longer visible… because it was almost definitely pressed flush against Molly’s body. Right between her legs.

“It’s okay,” Molly said, breathless. She shifted, just a little, her breath coming out in a short sigh, and Stephen watched Pablo bite his lip.

It has to stop now. It has to, Stephen thought frantically, unable to decide if he really wanted it to or not.

It didn’t. Molly planted her hands on Pablo’s chest and moved again, a slower, more deliberate motion this time, and Pablo groaned softly.

Pablo’s dark, liquid eyes opened, and Stephen’s breath nearly stopped, because he wasn’t looking at Molly; Pablo was looking straight at him. Pablo’s hands slipped out of Stephen’s slack grip and spread out over Stephen’s sides, and they squeezed, then ran down to Stephen’s hips and squeezed again. It was a possessive touch, an intimate, lingering one; it wasn’t at all the way one touched a friend. With a leap of his heart in his chest, Stephen understood what it meant. Or hoped he did, anyway.

It meant that Pablo wanted him here, too.

Stephen nodded slowly and, holding Pablo’s gaze, carefully lifted his knees from Pablo’s biceps. He stopped as soon as they were clear, and looked up at Molly.

Her eyes were wide, her pupils huge, and her face was still a bright red, and glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. She looked hopeful and a little scared, but the fear melted away as she gazed at Stephen.

Then Pablo moved, hesitantly rocking upwards, and her eyelids shuttered closed. Her hands slid closed, tightening on the bunched fabric of Pablo’s tank top, and she rocked forward, just as slowly.

Pablo grunted quietly, his hands squeezing down on Stephen’s hips. When Molly arched against him again, a shudder ran through him, twisting the muscles of his stomach. Molly’s soft lips parted in a sigh and she rolled her lower body, a longer, deeper motion that had Pablo groaning.

Stephen’s cock was throbbing in his pants, pressed near-painfully against the folding of cloth at his hip. He thought of Molly unzipping him, letting him spring free, and his heart hammered in his chest. Pablo’s hands tightened again on his hips, and he bit down on his lip at the way it pulled his pants tighter against him.

It was a relief when Pablo’s hands slid away and lessened the pressure. Stephen watched, aching, as those big, dark hands nearly encircled Molly’s waist. They caught her, trapped her, rocked her against him as he thrust up, and Molly cried out.

Her nipples were stiff, hard points pressed against her blouse, and the flushed upper slopes of her bosom heaved above her neckline. As they rocked slowly together, Pablo’s hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing the outer curves of her breasts tentatively. She gazed down at him, her eyelids heavy, and then they closed entirely as Pablo cupped her in his huge, strong hands, carefully, lovingly molding his palms and fingers against the roundness of her breasts.

Stephen watched this, breathing heavily, his heart hammering inside the thin cage of his chest. Arousal and jealousy raged through him, and he felt a brief flash of anger that he was being so thoroughly left out. Then he felt ashamed at his anger and ashamed at his arousal, then Molly opened her eyes and looked straight at him as she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off, and he didn’t know what to think anymore.

Her brassiere was pale blue and lacy, and he could clearly see the pink circles of her nipples through the material. God, was she beautiful, and god, was he hard. Pablo groaned, brushing the backs of his fingers against the lace, then groaned again as she arched her back and reached behind herself to unfasten the clasp of her bra. Her breasts, capped with large, rose-petal pink nipples, bounced free.

There were pale freckles sprayed across the upper slopes of her breasts. Looking at these, Stephen felt the deep tug of helpless love; the puppy love of high school had mellowed and matured, just as their friendship, and they themselves, had. On seeing those light freckles on her skin, it hit him again with terrifying force.

Then she was leaning forward, her face swimming up before his, her fingertips touching his cheek. He could smell her hair, and it smelled good and sweet, like fresh bread and sugar and cinnamon. Her eyes were huge and dark and beautiful, and she kissed him.

Her breasts filled his hands and overflowed, and as he kissed her deeply he felt the weight and fullness of them, the incredible softness he’d always suspected. How many times had he imagined this? It was almost more than he could handle. Her nipples were silky and plump as he ran his fingertips over them, and they stiffened as he touched them.

“Oh,” he sighed into her mouth as he felt the light brush of her fingers over the swell of his cock. She skimmed along its length, her mouth sweet and warm against his, her tongue a surprise, a quick sweep over his lower lip that made him light-headed.

I love you, he thought, helpless against it, and he plunged a hand into the thick mass of her hair and cupped the back of her head, and he opened his mouth in a sigh against hers. His other hand slipped to her waist and he embraced her, fingers trailing the silky skin along her spine. She felt so small in his arms, so good.

Suddenly she moaned into his mouth. Then moaned again, pulling her face away from his and clutching his shoulder for support. Stephen looked down, saw Pablo’s hands curled around her thighs, saw Pablo’s dark curls peeking out from under the crinkled edge of her skirt, and knew where his mouth had to be.

Oh god, he thought, just as Molly said it.

“Ohhh, Pablo,” she sighed, then blinked. With dazed eyes, she looked back to Stephen, gave him one more quick kiss, then scooted down Pablo’s body.

Pablo watched her, his face glowing, mouth wet, then he moaned when she settled over his hips again.

She moaned, her voice breathy, her breasts swaying as she curled her lower body.

“Please,” Pablo said, rolling his hips up, all his sweat-slick muscles tensing. His hands slid up her thighs, lifting her skirt, and now Stephen could see where they were pressed together. Could see how soaked they both were, how the wetness made their underwear nearly transparent. The head of Pablo’s cock was dark, ruddy under the large wet spot of his boxers, and Stephen could clearly see the shape of Molly’s mound, the delicate curves of her labia. Oh, Stephen wanted to come, wanted to touch them, thought if he had to just watch for much longer he might explode.

He couldn’t do much where he was, but he threaded a hand into Pablo’s sweaty hair. It curled thickly around his fingers, and he gripped it and pulled gently, biting his tongue as he watched Pablo’s thumb glide against the wet fabric over Molly’s cleft.

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