Picked Up In A Sex Shop

Did you ever find yourself standing in a store, staring at the shelf, trying to decide which one would be the better purchase? I'm sure a lot of women do it with clothing. Like if a woman is buying a new dress and is trying to decide if she should get the one that is gonna fit now or get the one that's a size smaller; but she has been working out, losing weight and is gonna fit in it soon.

I was having a moment like that. Except it wasn't dresses I was looking at. It was a couple dildos, both bigger than anything I had fucked my ass with up to that point.

The smaller of them had a shaft that was just a little thicker and a good inch longer than the biggest one I had at home. However the flared head was even thicker than the vein-textured shaft. I imagined pushing it into my ass, stretching my hole, after preparing myself with the one I had been using for several weeks. It might be a little harder to get that flared head in but the slightly narrower shaft wouldn't be an issue.

The other one I was considering had a head that was the same diameter but it didn't flare out. The head and the shaft were the same diameter. At least the first couple inches were. Then it started to get thicker. At the base it was a good inch thicker than the head. It was longer too. Probably 2 inches longer.

I had to weigh the pros and cons of each. I could only afford to purchase one of them

I stood in the aisle with one box in each hand, feeling the weight of a decision that felt equal parts reckless and thrilling.

"Alright, think this through," I whispered under my breath, staring down at the left box.

The first option was a calculated gamble. The shaft was manageable—just a fraction thicker than the favorite I had sitting on my nightstand at home—but that flared head was a direct challenge. My thumb traced the clear plastic casing, mapping out the physics in my head. If I prep myself properly with the old one first, I reasoned, I can get past that initial crown. It’s going to bite for a second, stretch my hole wide open right at the gate, but once that flared ridge pops through, the narrower shaft gives the muscle a chance to relax. It was a sharp, intense hurdle up front, but a smooth ride once I cleared the entrance.

On the other hand, I wasn't gonna be stretching myself to brave new levels and soon, I would be back here deciding on a bigger one to purchase all over again.

Then I looked at the box in my right hand. This one was pure ambition. "Now you're just being greedy," I muttered, a quiet laugh catching in my throat as I tilted it toward the light.

The head wasn't flared at all; it sat flush with the upper shaft. Getting it started would be the same challenge as the other one. I would still have to prepare with the one already waiting at home. Looking at them now, I think the head of this one might be a touch bigger. I was going to have to push myself harder to get this one in. This one also had a vein textured shaft, but they were more pronounced.

But then came the taper. Every inch deeper meant a thicker, heavier stretch, swelling steadily until the base hit a full inch wider than the tip. Plus, it had two extra inches of length over the flared one.

That’s not a quick hurdle, I warned myself, shifting my grip. That’s a sustained climb. With the flared head, the biggest hurdle is over in the first five seconds. With the tapered one, the resistance just keeps building the deeper I push, demanding total control the whole way down.

I put the one in my left hand back on the shelf. The other one was the smarter choice. It was going to be harder to work that fat head into my ass now. I also wouldn't be able to sink its full length into my ass any time soon but I would be using this one to stretch myself for quite some time before I grew tired of it and needed something bigger.

I looked back at the one on the shelf, almost second guessing my decision. I stared at the two silhouetted shapes behind the plastic, feeling my pulse quicken just contemplating the fit. "Buy for the size you want to be," I breathed, a quiet grin tugging at my lip as I finally made up my mind.

I walked down the aisle towards the lubricant section.There would be no comparing there. I liked the thick water-based gel lubricant. It worked well with the silicone toys and made for easy clean up. i just had to see which brand was on sale.

I grabbed a bottle of my usual thick, water-based gel—luckily on sale—and was about to head toward the front counter. As I looked back up the aisle where I had just been standing, I noticed a guy standing in the exact spot I’d just vacated.

He was holding one of the two toys I’d spent ten minutes agonizing over. As I began walking, I noticed him glancing over at me, looking down at the box in his hands, and then tracking my movement again. I kept moving toward the register, assuming he was just casually browsing, when his voice cut through the quiet store.

"Excuse me. Maybe you can help me with this."

I stopped and turned around. He had already closed the distance between us, standing right in front of me while holding the flared-head dildo's box at chest level.

"What made you decide on the bigger one?" he asked, eyeing the tapered shape tucked under my arm.

It was a pretty direct question to get from a total stranger in a sex shop, but he asked it with such matter-of-fact curiosity that it didn't immediately feel out of line. I gave him a quick run-down of my logic—that the tapered shaft was a smarter long-term investment because it let me push my limits gradually over time without having to come right back to the store for a bigger size next month.

He listened, nodding slowly, but a subtle smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe you didn't think of everything," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, shifting the heavy lube bottle in my grip.

He leaned in a little closer, keeping his voice low. "The flared head on this one... when it's fully inserted and you pull it back, that wide ridge is going to catch and rub right against the prostate on every stroke. It gives a targeted, intense pop of pressure every time it's pulled back out, as opposed to just a heavy, uniform shaft grinding continuously along the side of it."

I stood there for a second, staring at the clear plastic casing in his hand as the mechanics of what he was describing registered. He wasn't wrong; the structural difference meant a completely different kind of sensation.

"I honestly didn't think of that," I admitted, looking down at the box in my own hands. A sudden flick of second-guessing hit me, but my budget was firm. "Still... I can't really afford to get two of these right now, so I'll stick with this one."

I started walking away when he asked softly, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, I'm not gay," I answered quickly.

He looked at me with a smirk, like he knew somthing I didn't. "My girlfriend used to peg me," I blurted out, a little too loud. "The prostate orgasms were amazing. We broke up but I didn't want to give up those orgasms."

"I see," he said softly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"No offense taken," I said, relaxing my grip on the bottle of lube and letting out a quiet breath. "Honestly, I’ve only ever been with women. My ex was the one who introduced me to pegging, and she completely changed my way of thinking about some of this stuff."

The lingering tension between us melted away, replaced by an easy, unexpected warmth. He gave a knowing nod and held out a hand with a warm, grounded smile. "I'm Mark," he said.

"Dave," I replied, taking his hand for a brief, firm shake.

"Good to meet you, Dave. Look, at the end of the day, we’re just a couple of guys in a store talking about purchases," Mark said, gesturing lightly with the box in his hand. "No big deal. But for what it's worth, I actually have a vast supply of similar instruments at home that I’d be happy to let you try out."

I raised an eyebrow, my practical instincts kicking in. "What's the catch?" I asked.

"No catch whatsoever," he replied. "Look, I'm in here all the time, buying stuff. Ask the guy behind the counter. Hell, they have my credit card info on file."

I looked at the guy behind the counter, leaning over the glass display case with an amused look on his face. He knew Mark well, I could tell by the jealous look on his face—Mark was in the store all the time buying new gear, or they were or had at one time, fucked. Mark didn't have the stereotypical gay guy look to him, but the clerk sure did.

Mark chuckled when he saw the guy staring at us, then he turned his attention back to me. "Like he said, no catch. You mentioned earlier that you could only afford to purchase the one toy today," he said, holding up the box with the flared head—the exact one I’d spent ten minutes agonizing over before putting back on the shelf. "I happen to have a very similar one to this back at my place. You're more than welcome to try it out."

I stood there in the aisle, looking between the heavy bottle of lube in my hand and the clear plastic casing held up in his. The offer was remarkably direct, but coming from a guy who talked about toy design like an engineer comparing tools, it had a strangely practical logic to it. I looked down at the tapered toy tucked under my arm, then back up at Mark, weighing the sudden turn the afternoon had taken.

"I'm not gay," I said softly.

Mark gave a low, quiet chuckle, his expression remaining easy and entirely unbothered. He didn't shift his stance or try to close the distance between us, keeping the vibe completely relaxed.

"I heard you the first time, Dave," Mark said, his voice smooth and reassuring. "I’m not asking you to change your orientation, and I’m not asking for a date. You like prostate stimulation—that's just physiology, not a label. I’m just offering you access to a solid lineup of gear so you don't have to keep playing a guessing game with your wallet every time you want to step up a size."

He gestured toward the front entrance with a slight dip of his head. "Look, you buy your lube and the dildo you want. I’'m going to put this one back and grab the toy I originally came in here to pick up," Mark continued, holding up the box in his hand.

"We head over to my place. I’ve got a clean, high-end collection, proper sanitization gear, and a setup that lets you test out different shapes and tapers to see what actually works for your body before you drop more money on them. What happens from there is entirely up to you—zero pressure, no expectations."

I looked down at the box under my arm, then back up at Mark, feeling the strange, lingering adrenaline of the offer. Standing in the middle of a sex shop with a guy calmly offering me a solution to my exact purchasing dilemma, the sheer absurdity of the moment washed over me.

"So," Mark said softly, a subtle, confident grin playing on his lips as he waited for my answer. "Are you heading to the register, or are you still trying to talk yourself out of it?"

I stood silent for a long beat, looking down at the heavy bottle of lube in my left hand, the tapered dildo tucked under my right arm, and then back up at Mark.

The absurd practicality of his offer landed hard. On one hand, following a complete stranger home to test out sex toys sounded like the opening act of a terrible decision. On the other, Mark’s clinical, almost structural approach to the whole thing stripped away the awkwardness. He made trying out high-end gear sound less like a shady hookup and more like test-driving a high-performance sports car.

I glanced over at the clerk behind the counter, who gave me a subtle, single-nod of silent endorsement before looking back down at his screen.

"Alright," I said, a half-laugh escaping my chest as I shifted the box under my arm. "You make a convincing argument for budget management."

Mark’s grin widened—warm and victorious, but strictly relaxed. "Smart man. I'll grab my stuff, you grab yours, and I'll meet you by the front register."

Ten minutes later, I was following the taillights of Mark's silver sedan down a quiet, tree-lined residential street. I pulled into the driveway of his sleek, modern townhouse, feeling a sudden spike of nervous adrenaline.

Inside, Mark’s place looked straight out of an interior design magazine—spotless hardwood floors, minimalist leather furniture, and not a single speck of clutter in sight. It was a really nice place.

"Make yourself at home," Mark said, setting his shopping bag on the kitchen island. "Bathroom’s down the hall, last door on the left if you want to wash up. There is enema equipment under the sink. I’m going to go prep the playroom. It's the door directly across from the bathroom."

I took a deep breath, the reality of the situation settling in as I walked down the hall to the bathroom. The space was pristine, stocked with thick white towels, antibacterial soap, and as promised, a clean enema kit neatly stored beneath the sink. I took my time washing my hands, cleaning up, and using the kit to ensure I was entirely prepared.

After thoroughly washing my hands again, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my shirt and taking one last moment to ask myself if I was really going through with this, before stepping back into the hallway.

Crossing to the door directly opposite, I pushed it open. The room was softly lit, maintaining the same sleek, ultra-clean aesthetic as the rest of the townhouse.

There was a wall of shelves, loaded with dildos and buttplugs of every shape and size. There were also shelves that held restraints and what looked like latex and leather hoods and some ballgags.

There was a sling, made up of leather straps hanging from the ceiling by chains. Off to one side sat a padded table with stirrups, like in a gynecologist's office, and beside it was a gleaming stainless steel table covered with a spotless white towel. Arranged in a precise row were several silicone toys of varying lengths, diameters, and shapes—including the flared-head model I had almost bought, a few tapered options even larger than the one I had just purchased, and a dedicated sanitization unit resting on a lower shelf.

Mark turned around, having just set down a couple of fresh micro-fiber towels and a fresh bottle of high-viscosity lubricant. He was completely calm, keeping the atmosphere relaxed and devoid of any aggressive energy.

"Take a look around," Mark said gently, gesturing toward the table. "Everything here has been medical-grade sanitized, but feel free to inspect anything. We can start with the one you were eyeing at the store to test that flared-head sensation, or step up to a gradual taper. You're in complete control of the pace—just let me know how you want to handle it. I can help you with anything you want to try or I can just sit in the corner."

The air in the room felt heavy with anticipation, the sharp scent of clean silicone and fresh lubricant cutting through the quiet. I walked over to the stainless steel table, my eyes scanning the row of toys laid out like surgical instruments.

My gaze settled on the flared-head model—the exact one I’d agonized over in the aisle. Seeing it out of its plastic casing made the flared ridge look even more intimidating, but the logic Mark had laid out at the store echoed in my head.

"I want to try the flared one first," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline humming under my skin. "I need to know if you were right about the pressure on the way back out, but I have to work up to it. I haven't stretched my ass for a couple days

Mark smiled softly, giving a single, approving nod. "A man of science. I respect it." He picked up the toy, checking its surface one last time before stepping back to give me space. "The sling or the padded table? The table gives you a solid base to push against, but the sling, that's a wild experience, if you've never tried one."

I looked at the leather sling suspended from the ceiling. It looked intense, but the idea of hanging there, swaying as I fucked myself excited me. After all, I was trying new things today.

"The sling," I decided, unbuckling my belt.

I stripped down from the waist down, setting my folded pants on a chair, and stepped into the leather straps. As I leaned back and let the sling take my weight, my legs parted effortlessly in the stirrup-style loops. The position felt vulnerable, but surprisingly comfortable.

"I like to use an inflatable buttplug to stretch myself a bit, but there are plenty of dildos to choose from if you would prefer," Mark explained.

"I've never used an inflatable plug. But if you think thats the way to go..."

Mark nodded smoothly, he picked up a pair of shiny black latex gloves and pulled the tight material over his hands. The cuffs snapped into place against the middle of his forearms with a loud snap. He walked over to one of the organized shelves and picking up a sleek silicone plug attached to a thin tube with a small handheld inflation bulb and pressure valve.

"An inflatable plug is the ultimate tool for this," Mark said, stepping closer and showing it to you. "Unlike a rigid toy where you have to take the full diameter all at once, this lets you insert a relatively small, comfortable tip. Once it's inside, we pump it up to gently expand the muscle from the inside out. You have total control over the pace, and it prepares your sphincter for that wide flared head without the sharp, sudden sting."

Mark generously coated the uninflated plug with a liberal amount of the thick, high-viscosity gel, ensuring every inch was thoroughly slick. Stepping up to the side of the sling, he gave a quiet, reassuring nod as he held it out for me to take.

I was surprised at how at ease I was. After all, I was naked hanging in a sling in a relative stranger's sex room. I didn't want to ask, but I was hoping he would use the plug on me himself.

I looked at the slick plug in his gloved hand, then up at Mark. The initial nervous edge had completely given way to a heavy, thrilling curiosity.

"Actually," I said, leaning back into the leather straps and letting my thighs relax into the loops, "why don't you do it? You know the gear better than I do."

Mark didn't hesitate or make a big deal out of it. "Fair enough," he said smoothly. He stepped between my parted legs, positioning himself right at the base of the sling. His posture was completely composed, but the focus in his eyes was sharp.

"Just breathe out when you feel the pressure," Mark instructed quietly.

He coated his gloved fingers with extra gel, applying a cold, slick layer directly to my hole to ease the entry. The sensation made me draw in a quick breath, the tight latex tracing the muscle before resting the uninflated tip of the plug against the center.

"Starting slow," he murmured. With a steady, firm pressure, Mark guided the slick silicone tip past the sphincter. Because it was narrow in its uninflated state, it slid in with surprising ease, popping past the ring of muscle and settling deep inside. The cool gel filled the space instantly, and my body instinctively clamped down around the foreign shape.

"Good," Mark said, taking hold of the small hand pump attached to the thin tube. "Now we let the inflation do the work. Tell me when to hold, and tell me if it's too much."

He gave the rubber bulb a gentle squeeze. Deep inside, the plug expanded just a fraction, pressing outward against the internal walls. The sensation was entirely different from a standard toy—instead of a long, sliding stretch, it was an even, rounded pressure expanding from the core outward.

"How's that feeling?" he asked, keeping his eyes on my face to gauge my reaction.

"It's... direct," I managed, exhaling slowly as the muscle adapted to the sudden fullness. "Pump it again."

Mark gave the bulb two more steady squeezes. The plug swelled inside me, opening up the muscle from the inside out, perfectly prepping the entrance for the wider, flared-head toy sitting on the table nearby. The feeling of fullness slowly building inside was intense, entirely new, but strangely exciting.

"You're taking it like a champ," Mark said, a quiet, knowing grin returning to his face as he watched me adjust to the stretch. "We need to stretch the rim too," he said as he grasped the base of the plug and started pulling it out, still inflated.

The resistance hit instantly. As Mark slowly drew the inflated bulb backward, the expanded silicone pressed directly against the inner ring of my sphincter. My breath caught, my hips lifting slightly off the leather straps of the sling as the muscle fought the sudden, outward stretch.

"Easy," Mark said softly, holding the inflated plug halfway inside my ass, stretching my rim, before pushing it back inside me. Then after pumping the bulb another time, he pulled it partway out again. "Don't fight it. Let the muscle open around it," he said softly.

The sheer width of the expanded plug forced my hole open wide. A sharp, dizzying pulse of pleasure shot straight up my spine as the inflated silicone stretched the tight rim of my asshole, then glided back deep into me.

"Jesus," I gasped, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the chains of the sling. "That's... fuck, Mark."

"That’s the beauty of it," Mark replied calmly, his gloved hand working the plug in a slow, deliberate rhythm—pumping a small burst of air into the bulb, pulling it back until my rim stretched tight around it, then guiding it deep again. "It preconditions the muscle so you don't tear when the big stuff goes in."

After a few minutes of the relentless, expanding friction, my hips were rhythmically meeting his thrusts, completely addicted to the heavy, stretching fullness. Mark released the air valve with a sharp hiss. The plug deflated instantly, and he withdrew it halfway, then started pumping it up again.

As I lay hanging in the sling, watching Mark work the plug into my ass, I happened to glance down at my lap. My cock was definitely starting to get pretty hard. It wasn't standing straight up yet, but it had grown thicker and heavier, responding to the steady, deep pressure inside me. When I looked back up, I noticed Mark was staring right at it.

He didn't look away when I caught him; his eyes slowly drifted up until they met mine. A quiet, knowing smirk played at the corner of his mouth.

"Nothing to be upset about," Mark said, his tone entirely relaxed. "When my hole's getting worked over, I get excited too."

The matter-of-fact way he said it instantly killed any flash of embarrassment I might have felt. I let out a low breath and leaned back into the leather straps, letting my thighs drop open a little wider.

Mark gave the rubber bulb two more steady squeezes, expanding the plug until my internal muscles were stretched wide open. He held it there for a long moment, then slowly drew the inflated bulb backward to stretch my rim before releasing the valve with a soft hiss. The plug deflated, and he smoothly pulled it free, setting it aside,

leaving my hole feeling warm, wide, and throbbing with a desperate need for something substantial.

Mark reached for the flared-head dildo sitting on the stainless steel table. He poured a generous palmful of high-viscosity lube over the wide, intimidating crown, coating the vein-textured shaft until it glistened under the soft light.

"Ready for the real test?" Mark asked, his voice low, stepping back between my suspended legs.

"Do it," I breathed, letting my knees fall even wider in the sling.

Mark centered the flared head directly against my gaping, prepped hole. With firm, steady pressure, he pushed forward. The wide, solid crown hit the outer ring, and for a second, my body tried to resist the sheer volume. But thanks to the inflatable plug, the muscle yielded.

Pop. The flared head breached my hole, slipping past the ring of muscle.

"Fuuuck," I groaned out loud, my eyes rolling back as the narrower shaft followed, allowing the initial stretch to ease just as I had predicted in the store. He slowly pushed the dildo deep into my ass.

"Now," Mark said, a confident edge in his voice. "Remember what I said about how its gonna feel on the way back out?" He gripped the base of the toy firmly and slowly pulled it back.

As the shaft withdrew, that thick, flared ridge angled upward inside me, catching directly against my prostate with an intense, concentrated pressure before dragging over it and popping past the rim. The sensation was so sharp, direct, and overwhelming that a loud, involuntary moan ripped from my chest, my toes curling hard in the air.

"You were right," I panted, my entire body trembling in the sling as Mark guided the flared head back inside to repeat the devastating stroke. "Holy shit, Mark... you were completely right."

Mark didn't brag; he just let out a quiet, satisfied breath and set into a steady, rhythmic stroke. Every time he pushed the toy in, the slick, textured shaft filled me completely. But the pull-back was what completely wrecked me. That pronounced crown hooked against my prostate on the way out, dragging the sensitive gland along with it for an agonizing second before popping free with a sudden, heavy burst of pressure.

My hips instinctively bucked against the leather straps, chasing the friction. The sling swayed gently with each push, keeping me suspended while Mark controlled the angle with careful precision. He tilted the base slightly downward, forcing the flared ridge to dig even deeper into the exact spot on every retraction.

"Focus on the pull," Mark murmured, his gloved hand glistening with lube as he maintained the pace. "Let the ridge do the work."

I couldn't even manage a coherent answer. My hands gripped the cool metal chains above my head until my knuckles turned white, my neck straining as my head rolled back against the leather. My cock, fully hard now, twitched against my lower stomach with every stroke. The sheer intensity was completely different from anything my ex had managed with a strap-on; the combination of the rigid silicone shape and Mark’s steady leverage hit angles I hadn't realized were there.

The buildup was fast and relentless. A heavy, aching fullness began coiling tight deep in my gut—not from touching myself, but strictly from that flared ridge repeatedly grinding over the prostate.

"I'm... fuck, Mark, I'm close," I choked out, my voice raspy and completely stripped of pride.

Mark didn't speed up into a frenzy. Instead, he slowed the tempo way down. He pulled the flared crown back until it sat hooked directly against the gland, holding it there under firm, teasing pressure. The concentrated stretch made my entire body go taut. Then, with one deliberate, agonizingly slow pull, he dragged the head all the way over the mark.

That was the breaking point. A sudden, white-hot surge exploded through my hips, my thighs shaking violently in the stirrups as I came hard, shooting across my chest without ever laying a hand on my dick. Mark held the toy steady at my entrance, letting the muscle throb around the flared head until the wave finally washed through me and left me limp in the straps.

My chest heaved in ragged, shallow gasps as I tried to pull actual oxygen back into my lungs. Every muscle in my thighs was trembling, locked in that hypersensitive, jelly-like afterglow that leaves you completely pinned. My heart hammered against my ribs, and the cool air in the room felt sharp against the mess smeared across my chest.

Mark stayed completely still for a few seconds, holding the toy steady until the last residual pulses passed through me. Then, with practiced ease, he smoothly slid the flared crown out for good. He didn’t make a big spectacle of it. He just turned to the stainless steel cart, grabbed a warm, damp microfiber towel, and held it out to me with that same easy, low-key composure he’d had in the aisle of the store.

"Take your time," he said softly, stepping back to give me plenty of room. "That was a serious rush."

"You aren't kidding," I panted, taking the towel with a hand that wouldn't stop shaking. I wiped my chest and stomach, letting out a breath that sounded half like a laugh and half like a groan. Sitting up in the sling was an effort in itself; my core felt completely spent, buzzing with a deep, heavy warmth that made moving seem like a secondary priority.

I unhooked my legs from the stirrup loops and swung my feet over the edge, resting my elbows on my knees while I gathered my senses. The sling swayed gently, rocking me.

Looking down at the slick, glistening silicone head resting on the tray, the sheer physics of what had just happened clicked into place. My ex had given me some unbelievable nights with a strap-on, but the structural design of that flared ridge—combined with the leverage Mark had maintained—hit an angle that was downright surgical.

"So," Mark said, leaning back against the edge of the adjacent table. "Still think you made the right call going with the tapered one at the shop?"

I looked up, letting out a genuine, breathless laugh as I shook my head. "I dont know. Maybe. I'm not entirely sure that I could have gotten the same results, fucking myself with the same dildo. The person driving needs to know where they're going. Right, buddy?"

Mark set down the towel and leaned back against the edge of the stainless steel table, crossing his arms with that same calm, analytical posture.

"Now that you have the premise down," Mark said, his tone as relaxed as a instructor finishing a lesson, "it's going to transfer to any other toy you use. The one that you just bought, you can use that one the same fashion to rub it along the prostate. There's not as much to catch, but leveraging it, angling it is going to grab that prostate and shift it giving you those feelings. You're going to be able to make yourself come with anything."

I sat on the edge of the sling, feeling the residual hum of my own orgasm slowly settling into a warm, confident heat in my chest. I looked straight into Mark's eyes.

"Think I can make you come with it?"

Mark laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed off the high ceiling. "Is that a challenge, Dave?"

"I don't know," I said, my voice steady as I stood up on the cool hardwood floor. "You just said that I can use this information. Do you think I could transfer it to making you come?"

He smiled at me, a big, wide smile stretching from ear to ear. "There's only one way to find out."

Without a single beat of hesitation, Mark reached for his belt. The transition from confident guide to willing subject was entirely seamless. He unbuttoned his pants, stripped off his clothes with practical efficiency, and stepped toward the sling.

I moved out of the way and he climbed up, resting his back against the straps and lifting his legs into the stirrups, opening his thighs wide and completely exposing himself to me. His composure was still intact, but I could see his pulse quickening in the hollow of his throat.

I noticed that his cock was massive. It was only semi-erect but it was the same size as mine, when I was fully hard. He caught me looking and smiled. After that I tried to avoid looking at his crotch.

"Your call," Mark murmured, "You can use the flared one we just tested, or break open the box on your new tapered one. Hell, you can use nearly anything in this room on me, if you want."

I walked over to the stainless steel tray, my eyes scanning the row of tools. I picked up a pair of black latex gloves, pulling one onto my hand, enjoying the snapping sound the shiny latex made. "Do I need to use the inflatable plug on you first?" I asked, turning around to face him while snapping the second latex glove against my forearm.

Before the question could even settle in the air, Mark had already reached down between his suspended thighs. and with a smooth, practiced tug, he pulled a massive silicone plug straight out of his ass. It came free with a slick, wet pop, glistening under the dim room lights as he held it up by its broad base.

"Oh," I said softly, blinking at the sheer size of the thing. "I guess not."

It was big—but probably not any wider than the inflatable plug had been after he’d pumped it up inside me.

Mark chuckled, "No need to waste time on stretching, buddy. I'm ready to go right now. But first, I want you to to feel this plug. Turn around."

My gaze drifted involuntarily to his hole. With the plug removed, the muscle sat loose and slightly gaping, the rim puffy, swollen, and thoroughly prepped. Seeing him like that—completely open and demanding for me to take his plug, made my hard cock instantly throb back to life. It grew thick and heavy in seconds,

I walked over beside the sling and handed him the bottle of lube before turning around and bending over.

Mark squirted a generous dollop of the thick gel on his gloved fingers and rubbed them against my hole, his fingers sliding over the sensitive muscle before sliding inside and twisting around. Then they pulled out and I heard him squirting more lube out of the bottle.

"Keep your knees wide," Mark instructed, his voice low and raspy behind me as he aligned the slick, wide tip of the plug against my rim.

He didn't wait. With a slow press of his hand, he drove the massive silicone plug into my ass. My breath caught sharply as the widest part forced my rim to stretch wide all over again, the thick silicone filling me before the flared base settled flat against my cheeks. The sheer weight of it seated inside me set off a deep, throbbing ache that made my cock twitch hard. I groaned loudly at the full feeling.

"Now," Mark breathed, as he gripped the base of the plug and pulled it back out. "Feel how loose that leaves you?"

I nodded, seemingly unable to form words

He pushed it back in, then he slowly pulled the plug out until the widest part was stretching my asshole, holding me at the absolute maximum stretch, before finally plunging it all the way back in. A low, involuntary groan escaped my throat as the heavy fullness hit my prostate, the raw friction completely overriding any lingering thoughts of restraint.

"Reach back," Mark whispered, taking my gloved hand and guiding it down to the base of the plug lodged inside me. "Take control of it."

My fingers wrapped around the slick silicone base. Holding the toy myself while bent over in front of him, feeling the exact depth and leverage of every stroke, the power dynamic shifted completely. The pull was unreal—drawing it back until it was stretching my rim to its absolute limit. Then came the push, driving it deep with my own hand and targeting the exact angle Mark had just shown me until every single thrust sent a sharp, electrifying wave of pleasure straight up my spine.

"Yeah," Mark muttered, watching my hips meet the rhythm of my own hand. "Just like that, Dave. You've got it." 

After fucking my hole with the plug a few more times, I pushed it back into myself and stood up. I turned around and watched Mark's eyes fall to my rock-hard cock.

"Ready to fuck my hole now, Dave? Anything you want to use, feel free," he said as he handed me the bottle of lube.

I stepped up to the edge of the sling, my heart hammering a heavy, rhythmic cadence against my ribs as I stood between Mark’s wide, suspended thighs. The slick latex of the gloves clung tight to my hands, the sharp scent of the thick gel lubricant filling the space between us. Every boundary I’d held before stepping into the shop had dissolved, replaced by a raw, mechanical focus on the sensation of stretching and driving deep into the muscle.

I didn't grab either of the toys from the table. Instead, I poured some lube in my hand and stepped back between Mark's legs, and looked down at my own cock—thick, fully erect, and glistening.

"I think I'll use this," I said, my voice dropping into a low, steady register.

Mark’s eyes widened slightly, a genuine, sharp spark of heat flashing through his relaxed composure. "Even better," Mark rasped, leaning his head back against the leather straps of the sling as his thighs opened even wider in the stirrups. "Show me what you learned, Dave."

I slathered my cock with a generous palmful of lube, coating myself from the base to the head. I reached out with one hand, gripping one of the chains of the sling, while my other hand guided my hard tip straight to Mark's gaping hole. The muscle was soft, open, and throbbing from the massive plug Mark had used just moments before.

Without hesitation, I leaned my weight forward, pressing my glans straight past the swollen rim. The entry was effortlessly slick. I drove my length deep into Mark's ass in one smooth, continuous thrust, sinking all the way to my pubic bone. The heat inside Mark was intense, tight yet yielding, wrapping around my shaft like a tailored sleeve. Mark sucked in a long, deep inhale, his chest expanding as his fingers locked firmly into the chains above his head.

"Fuck," I muttered, the feeling of real skin and pulsing muscle gripping my shaft sending an electric surge straight down my spine. "That feels unreal."

"Now angle it," Mark choked out, his voice losing its clinical composure as his hips twitched upward into the sling. "Find the spot."

I remembered the mechanics. I didn't just mindlessly pump in and out; I adjusted my stance, planting my feet firmly on the hardwood floor and angling my hips downward. I pulled back slowly, letting the natural ridge of my own glans drag along the top wall of Mark's rectum, catching the firm, sensitive gland buried inside.

When the head of my cock dragged squarely over Mark's prostate, his entire body went rigid. A sharp, loud groan ripped from Mark's throat, his knuckles turning stark white against the metal chains.

"Right there," Mark panted, his eyes rolling back as his legs shook in the stirrup loops. "Shit, Dave... just like that."

I gritted my teeth, a fierce, primal satisfaction washing over me. I established a steady, deliberate rhythm—pushing deep to fill Mark completely, then drawing back slowly, leveraging my shaft upward to hook my head over the prostate on every single pull.

The wet, rhythmic friction echoed through the quiet room, mingled with the heavy, ragged breathing from both of us.

Every time I pulled back to tease the entrance, Mark’s hips bucked helplessly into the air, chasing the contact. The sling swayed gently with the momentum, turning my controlled, surgical thrusts into a relentless, deep grinding motion.

I watched the confident, analytical instructor completely melt away under me, replaced by a man trembling under the sheer intensity of the angle.

"You're... you're driving it right over it every time," Mark rasped, his voice breaking as his breath came in short, desperate hitches. "I'm gonna... fuck, Dave!"

I tightened my grip on the sling, driving my hips forward in shorter, harder strokes, concentrating every ounce of pressure directly against the gland. The tight, pulsing contractions of Mark's muscle clamped around my shaft, pulling me deeper into the climax.

With a sudden, violent shudder that shook the entire hanging rig, Mark gasped, his core going completely taut as he came hard, shooting across his own stomach without touching his dick.

I slowed down, not wanting to cum and end the experience any time soon.

Mark lay suspended in the leather straps, his chest heaving as the last ripples of his climax gradually subsided. The tight, slick grip of his internal muscles pulsed around my shaft in rhythmic waves, milking my cock as I held still inside him. The heat radiating off his skin was intense, the sharp scent of lube and sweat heavy in the small room.

When Mark finally caught his breath, he looked up at me through heavy lids, a raw, exhilarated grin spreading across his face.

"That was fucking amazing," he rasped, his voice still low and gravelly from the strain. "You're a quick study, Dave. But now you need to fucking shoot your load too."

I gritted my teeth, holding my position deep inside his prepped, open hole. My shaft was throbbing relentlessly, the heavy plug still lodged firm in my own ass setting off a constant, dull hum of pressure that had my lower stomach coiling tight.

"As you're fucking my hole," Mark continued, his eyes locking onto mine with sharp, commanding focus, "clench your asshole on every stroke in. That's going to push that plug up against your prostate. You're going to love the way that feels, I guarantee it."

The mechanical logic clicked instantly. I leaned my weight forward, hands gripping the leather straps above his shoulders, and slowly pulled back until my head sat right at his entrance.

Then I drove back in, sinking all the way to my pubic bone. Right at the apex of the thrust, I flexed my internal muscles, clenching my sphincter tight around the base of the plug.

The effect was immediate and staggering. Squeezing my own ass forced the wide head of the plug to shift upward internally, grinding directly into my own prostate at the exact moment my cock buried deep inside Mark. A sharp, electrifying shock ran straight down my spine, making my vision blur for a second.

"Fuck," I gasped out loud, my knees nearly buckling.

"There it is," Mark breathed, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as his hips rose to meet mine. "Keep doing that."

I established a brutal, rhythmic cadence—pulling back to drag my cock head over Mark's sensitive gland, then plunging forward while clamping my asshole tight around the silicone plug inside me. It created a double circuit of intense pressure: my own body giving and receiving the exact same mechanical leverage at once. Every stroke sent a wave of heat coiling tighter in my gut, the relentless friction driving me straight toward the edge.

My breath came in ragged, furious hitches. My thighs shook as I drove into him faster, locking my stance and clenching hard on every deep push. The sheer intensity was unreal—feeling his warm, wet muscle gripping my shaft while my own body drove the plug straight into my prostate.

"I'm right there, Mark," I growled, my grip on the straps tightening.

"Fill me up," Mark urged, holding my gaze as I slammed home for just a few more, devastating strokes.

I clenched my ass as hard as I could, driving the plug directly into my prostate as my entire body went rigid. A white-hot explosion ripped through my hips, and I came hard, pulsing deep inside Mark's ass with relentless force.

Wave after wave poured out of me, my internal muscles spasming tight around the plug as I buried my face against his neck, riding out the sheer, overwhelming power of the release until we both finally collapsed into the slow sway of the sling.

After a few minutes, as my breathing slowly smoothed out, I picked my head up from his shoulder and looked down at Mark's face. His hair was damp against his forehead, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm with mine.

"That was totally wild," I panted, wiping a bead of sweat from my temple.

"That it was, Dave," he replied, a breathless, genuine laugh lingering in his voice. "That was really, really wild." He rested his hands lightly on my forearms, his eyes searching mine with a quiet, lingering focus. "But you’ve come this far tonight. What do you think about going all the way?"

I looked straight into his eyes, the underlying weight of the question settling over me. I knew exactly what he was asking—stepping past the boundary of toys and mechanical curiosity into something entirely personal between two men.

"I don't know," I admitted softly. The raw honesty of it surprised me, but my pulse was already quickening again. "I’m curious, but... I don't know. I mean, I really don't know." Sure I had just fucked him, but him pushing his cock into my ass, fucking me, cumming in me. Was I ready for that?

Mark offered a warm, reassuring smile, completely devoid of pressure or judgment. "I'll tell you one thing, Dave," he said, his voice dropping into a low, smooth murmur. "It beats a piece of silicone every time."

I stood there for a long beat, feeling the residual heat humming beneath my skin as the last trace of my hesitation dissolved. "Okay," I said.

His face broke into a broad, satisfied grin. "Okay," Mark agreed softly. "First things first—get up and help me out of this sling."

I stepped back, gripping the cool leather straps to steady the hanging rig as Mark unhooked his legs from the stirrups. He slid his feet down to the hardwood floor, taking a brief second to catch his balance before standing tall beside me.

"Go over to the table," he instructed, his tone shifting back into that calm, authoritative rhythm that had guided me all afternoon. "Lay your chest flat over the pad, and spread your feet wide apart."

I walked over to the padded table, the cool vinyl pressing against my chest as I leaned forward. I planted my hands firmly against the far edge, straddling my legs wide on the floor. The position left me completely exposed, my hips tilted back as my breath caught in my throat.

I heard the quiet rustle of Mark moving behind me, his heavy footsteps closing the distance across the hardwood. The cool air of the room brushed against my skin right before I felt his warm, heavy hand settle against the small of my back. He reached down, his gloved fingers wrapping firmly around the slick, broad base of the plug still lodged deep inside me, and slowly, deliberately, began to pull it out of my ass

The slick silicone head cleared the muscle with a low, wet sound that left me shivering, my breath catching as the room’s cool air hit the over-sensitized skin. I stayed planted over the vinyl pad, every nerve ending in my lower back humming from the sudden release of pressure.

"Take a deep breath and keep your lower back loose," Mark said softly behind me, his hand resting flat against my hip to keep my frame grounded.

I exhaled slowly, letting my weight settle into the table as I felt the warm, heavy crown of his shaft align directly against my slack hole. There was no hesitation, no sudden rush—just a steady, deliberate forward press. The heat was immediate and completely distinct from any toy. He pushed into me, forcing my hole to stretch wide to accommodate his width.

"Fuck," I choked out, my fingers curling tight into the edge of the padding as he sank all the way home, his pubic bone pressing flush against my glutes.

Mark held still at the hilt for a long beat, letting my body adapt to the heavy, pulsing fullness. He leaned down, his chest resting against my back, his breath warm against the side of my neck. "You doing alright?" he murmured.

"Yeah," I panted, my voice raspy as I tilted my hips back to meet the depth. "Keep going."

He established a slow rhythm, pulling back until his fat cock head sat right at the gate before driving deep again. Without the rigid trajectory of silicone, every stroke felt fluid and organic. He angled his hips downward on the pull, dragging his glans squarely over my prostate with a thick, friction-heavy pressure that sent electric shocks straight through my core.

My knees buckled slightly as the cadence built, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin filling the quiet room. I flexed my internal muscles instinctively on every deep thrust, clamping down around his shaft just as he had shown me earlier.

"That's it," Mark rasped, his hands gripping my hips tightly to dictate the angle. "Right there."

The friction coiled tight in my gut, building toward a sudden, overwhelming wave that swept away any lingering thought. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the vinyl as Mark drove into my ass even harder.

With a sharp, breathless groan, Mark went rigid behind me, his hands digging into my hips as he came deep inside my ass, the intense heat of his release pulsing internally.

I remember thinking that I felt just like a little bitch as his hard cock shot a big load of cum deep in my ass.

The contractions of his climax triggered my own over-stimulated core, and without even touching my dick, my body gave out entirely, shooting my second load across the stainless steel legs of the table.

We stayed like that for a few minutes in the quiet room, breathing in tandem as the heavy adrenaline slowly cleared. When Mark finally stepped back and pulled his fat cock out of my gaping asshole, I stood up slowly, using the edge of the table for support as I wiped the sweat off my body with a fresh towel.

Mark handed me my clothes from the chair with a low, genuine smile. "Not a bad afternoon for a quick trip to the store."

"Not at all," I replied with a breathless laugh.

I pulled my pants up over my hips, but before I zipped them, my curiosity finally got the better of me. I looked over at the sleek paper bag sitting near the entrance of the room—the purchase Mark had picked up right before we left the shop.

"What did you end up buying at the store, anyway?" I asked, pausing with my hands on my belt.

Mark smiled at me, an easy, teasing glint in his eye as he leaned back against the edge of the stainless steel table. "Maybe if you come back, I'll show it to you next time."

"Well, I've got to come back to see it then," I said, a quiet laugh escaping my chest.

Mark let out a low chuckle, his gaze lingering on me with that same relaxed confidence. "Come by tomorrow afternoon. I should be, uh, recuperated enough by then to show you, what I got. Hell, maybe I'll even let you use it on me."

"I'll definitely be back tomorrow," I said, the words spilling out without a single trace of hesitation.

Mark’s grin widened, a sharp spark of satisfaction crossing his face. "Well, if that's the case, better push this plug back into your ass so you're ready."

The suggestion sent an immediate, jolt of heat straight down to my gut. My body was still humming from the double release, my hole warm and over-sensitized, but the thought of walking out to my car with that massive piece of silicone keeping me wide open felt addictively intense.

Without saying a word, I stepped right back up to the padded table. I bent over the cool vinyl, planting my hands flat against the far edge, and reached back to spread my cheeks wide open for him. The cool air of the room hit my sensitive, swollen rim instantly.

Behind me, I heard the sound of Mark picking up the plug from the stainless steel tray, then fresh lube squelching against the heavy silicone. He stepped up close, his hand settled against the small of my back to steady my frame.

He aligned the wide plug directly against my asshole. He didn't rush, but he didn't hold back either. With a firm, steady press, Mark pushed the plug straight back into me.

I moaned loudly as the width forced my hole to stretch wide all over again, the thick silicone stretching me before the broad base settled flat against my rim. I stood there trembling, completely filled, already counting down the hours until tomorrow afternoon.

"Leave that new dildo here. I don't want you cumming any more till you come back. I want to show you what else I'm really good at," Mark said with a smile as he scooped up some cum that was on his thigh. He put his finger in his mouth and sucked it clean.

As I stood over the padded table with the heavy plug lodged firm inside me, Mark’s posture shifted. The easy warmth in his demeanor vanished, replaced by an unsettling, clinical detachment.

"You can put your shirt on now, Dave," Mark said, his voice flat as he grabbed a damp towel from the stainless steel cart and tossed it over to me.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden drop in temperature. "What's up, Mark?"

Mark didn't answer directly. Instead, he walked over to the corner of the room, where a laptop sat on a small desk. "I like you, Dave. I had a really good time with you. Just know that, ok?" He opened the laptop and spun it around, showing me the screen. It was divided into 6 different views of the room we were standing in.

"The whole room is wired," Mark said casually, picking up a pen and scribbling a series of numbers on the back of a black business card. "Multi-angle, high-definition audio and video. I archive every single interaction for my private pay channel."

A cold, sickening shock hit my stomach, instantly overriding the deep, warm pulse of the silicone plugged inside me. "You recorded this?"

"Of course," Mark replied, "That's how I can afford this really nice house and all these toys."

I stood frozen, the heavy silicone plug inside me suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling me down into a nightmare. Every instinct I had urged me to react, to move, to strip away the evidence, but my limbs felt leaden.

The warmth that had been building in my chest turned to pure ice in an instant. The hum of adrenaline vanished, replaced by the sharp, metallic taste of raw panic rising in the back of my throat. Around me, the spotless, sleek interior design—the high-end finishes, the pristine stainless steel, the effortless charm I had admired only minutes ago—instantly shifted from modern luxury into a sterile, calculated trap.

"Delete it," I said, my voice dropping into an octave I barely recognized as my own. It came out low, dangerous, and trembling under the weight of a nauseating cocktail of rage and absolute violation. "You turn that off and you delete every fucking second of that right now."

Mark didn't flinch. He didn't even drop his smile, though it lost every single trace of the warm, grounded guy I had met in the store aisle. In its place, his expression hardened into a practiced, bureaucratic smirk—the look of a man who had run this exact play a dozen times before and knew, with complete certainty, that he held all the cards.

"I don't delete content, Dave. That's money," Mark said smoothly, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk as casually as if we were discussing a parking ticket. "And honestly? You were great. Unrehearsed, genuine struggle with your identity, incredible reactions... the subscribers are going to love you. You're a natural."

My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the ambient noise of the room as his words hung between us like an ultimatum wrapped in a compliment. The contrast between my undoing and his complete lack of panic made the floor feel like it was sinking right out from beneath me.

The initial shock hit me like a splash of freezing water, but Mark didn't step back or raise his voice. He just crossed his arms, his posture remaining completely relaxed as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

"Look at it from my end, Dave," Mark said, his tone softening into that same smooth, persuasive murmur he’d used back in the aisle of the store. "My channel has a very specific niche. It’s all about guiding straight guys through this—showing the journey of men who swear up and down they aren't gay, but discover a whole new world of pleasure once they let go of the labels. In some instances, it's guys who thought they were completely straight, but end up realizing they enjoy the whole experience far more than they ever admitted to themselves."

He held my gaze, a faint, surprisingly genuine warmth returning to his eyes. "The reality is, I actually really like you, Dave. You’re charismatic, you’re grounded, and the chemistry we had out there wasn't staged. I’m not in the business of ruining lives or making you feel backed into a corner."

He gestured lightly toward the wall of shelves near the sling. "Here's my proposal. I don't want you leaving here feeling burned, and I definitely want you coming back tomorrow. If you come back, we do things on your terms. I’ve got a dozen different masks in that closet. You can wear a mask for every single scene we shoot going forward. I have so many more things I want to show you, so much high-end gear for us to test, and so many ways for us to have an unbelievable time together."

I stood there with the heavy silicone plug still lodged deep inside me, my chest heaving as his words settled into the quiet room.

"And as for the footage we shot today?" Mark continued softly, stepping half a pace closer with his hands held up in a calm, open gesture. "Before a single second of today's video ever gets posted to the channel, I will personally go through every angle and blur your face out completely. No one will ever know it’s you. You get to keep exploring everything you want with total anonymity, and we get to keep having fun."

The sheer weight of his proposition hung heavy in the air. A part of me was still reeling from the initial shock of the cameras, but looking at Mark—listening to the easy, confident rhythm of his voice—the sharp edge of my anger began to blur into a strange, complicated wave of curiosity.

As Mark walked me to the front door, the heavy silence of the entry hall felt surprisingly gentle compared to the storm of panic that had just washed over me. He paused with his hand on the knob, looking back at me with an expression that seemed entirely sincere.

"Even if you decide not to come back tomorrow, Dave," Mark said softly, his voice echoing lightly in the foyer, "I give you my word that I’ll still blur your face out of every single frame of that video. I meant what I said—I honestly had a great time with you, and I really do hope you come back."

He extended his hand. I looked down at it for a brief second before taking it, giving his palm a firm, lingering shake. "Thanks, Mark," I managed, my voice steadying as the remaining edge of my anger eased. "I appreciate that."

He held the door open, and I stepped out into the late afternoon air. The cool breeze hit my face, but down below, the physical reality of the situation hit me with every single step. I didn't just walk to my car—I waddled.

Every movement of my thighs squeezed against the thick, broad base of that massive silicone plug, keeping my sphincter stretched wide open and sending a continuous, heavy pulse of friction straight into my prostate. The weight of it settled deep inside my rectum, a relentless, throbbing reminder of everything that had just unfolded in that room.

I unlocked my sedan, carefully lowered myself into the driver’s seat, and pulled the door shut. Adjusting my posture on the leather seat sent a sharp, electrifying jolt through my hips as the plug shifted upward, grinding directly against my sensitive prostate once again. I let out a long, shaky breath, gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel tight while my heart hammered a steady, exhilarated rhythm against my ribs.

I sat there in the quiet driveway for a few minutes, watching the tree-lined residential street through my windshield. The initial shock of the hidden cameras had rattled me, but as the adrenaline settled into a warm, heavy hum, Mark's compromise and total transparency took the panic right out of it. The masks, the promise of complete anonymity, and the sheer mechanical mastery he had shown me opened up a world I had never imagined stepping into.

All in all, it was an unbelievable time. As I finally shifted into drive and pulled out into the evening traffic, feeling that heavy, undeniable stretch occupying my body with every bump in the road, I was pretty damn sure I’d be right back in his driveway tomorrow afternoon.