*** SLITHER INTO RUIN ***
*** Chapter 8 ***
*** Sightseeing in Anal Hell ***
Sea View Boulevard was a commercial mid-rise neighborhood, stretching from the `Ophion Arc' that spanned across the junction with Highway 101 all the way down to Ocean Point.
The wide, palm-lined sidewalks were overflowing with casually dressed locals and tourists, too dense to run through.
Back in high school the hunks had spent a lot of time hanging out in Sea View's shops and being teen nuisances. They knew the area.
"The Arc Café," Marsh said as he got off the bus, shoving aside a slow moving lady. He was getting lightly choked already.
The trio pushed through the crowd to a little coffee shop with a thin side alley separated by a wrought iron fence.
Bryce swung the backpack across the fence and jumped up. Ken drove his knee into Marsh's crotch and climbed after the swimmer.
Marsh took a breath through the ball pain and swung himself up the fence as his airways closed. He clambered over the edge and was pulled back by someone grabbing his tank top. He lost his balance and slipped to the ground, barely avoiding getting skewered.
His top got stuck on the fence and ripped.
Half hanging on the iron, Marsh twisted to see his attacker. Nobody. The serpent had pushed his shirt with its malicious magic.
Running out of breath, the bodybuilder drummed his balls hard enough to suck in air, convulsing and fighting tears.
"I gotcha," Ken said and aimed his phone at the struggling snake victim.
March tore himself lose from the remains of his shirt and looked for a spot to hide.
The alley had been cleared out. The large trash containers the boys had hid between to smoke were gone. Now it as just a straight path between buildings with nothing to obscure them from anyone looking through the fence.
Marsh was nearly hard, even though the serpent could only wrap around his dick when Ken was filming him from the back. Marsh made sure to be seen from all sides, flexing at the camera as he got fully erect. Only continuous nut-slapping kept him breathing but it wouldn't be enough for long.
Bryce tore the hanging shirt fully apart and speared it on the wrought iron as a pathetic curtain that would hide them only from the most cursory glance.
"Gimmi yours," Bryce said to the filming Ken. The gymnast undressed and Bryce combined their shirts into a barely more functional curtain.
"My turn with your ass," Bryce said, semi-hard in his speedo. He rolled a condom on his five incher while Marsh spread the last of Python's Kiss on two gloved fingers. It didn't seem like much. Ken squirted the rest of their Viper's Sting on top of it. Viper was only a tenth as strong but the amount was hopefully enough to satisfy the snake.
Marsh rammed the saucy fingers up his hole, half-squatting. His blood was rushing in his ears as his throat stayed closed.
He rammed his fist into his balls, while finger fucking himself, and barely managed a single wheezed inhale, his whole body quivering, eyes rolled into his head.
He could have sworn his ass-burn hadn't faded at all, but the fresh dose reminded him that he'd been back down to a six out of ten. The inescapable anal pain flaring up again, spread heat through his core and finally he got some control over his cramping lungs back.
"F-fuu...uck meee..."
As Bryce lined up behind him, Marsh's eyes fixated on the spot where he had fondled the tits of a girl he'd brought here after the cinema. He'd gotten his first blowjob here between the now missing trash containers.
The memory seemed impossibly far away as his dick was consumed by the pain of Ken's sneakers kicking his balls repeatedly and Bryce invading him to make the ass-burn worse.
Marsh flexed his body and hammered his pecs, grunting with a hoarse voice.
The burn from his friend humping his sore guts was so all-consuming, Marsh felt like he had trouble with his senses.
"Fuck, I..." he gasped. "I can take it like a man, fuck. I'm a stud, I'm an alpha, I can take it. I'm a fucking... muscle god."
He flexed for the camera, only able to perceive Ken's blurry outline through his teary vision. He felt his own dick slap against his abs as Bryce rammed into him harder.
"Yeah dude uh uh," Bryce said. "You're a good little bitch, hehe. Daddy's gotcha uh uh..."
Marsh grunted and slapped backwards. "Fuck you."
The bodybuilder held onto one nut with each hand and squeezed alternately, pulling on his sack as a light jerk off.
"...uh uh say it," Bryce said, sounding winded.
"Fuck you, dicklicker."
Bryce slapped Marsh's glutes. "Say you're a little bitch... uh uh ...for daddy."
Marsh gave himself even harder nut-slaps to keep talking through light choking. "I'll rip your dick off, fag uh uh uh..." He felt a familiar sensation rise. "...uh fuck, I'm gonna pain-gasm in the nuts. Keep it up."
Bryce slowed down. "Hehe. Only if you say it."
"Ffffu- I... Imalittlebitch."
"For?"
Marsh grunted with anger. "Ughhhh for you, daddy."
"Do you like it, dude?"
"Fuck you uh uh..."
Bryce slapped the bodybuilder's glutes again. "I said do you like it?"
"Hnnng... love it... uh uh uh."
"Guys," Ken said, "I think you're good."
"No," Marsh said, finally getting the climax through his nut pain. He had to keep exploring his ballsack for the sweet spot that elusively wandered to the precise area of greatest sensitivity. The bodybuilder had to achieve maximum pain to get his minor reward. It wasn't worth it – not even close – but he had to fight for something.
"For real, man," Ken said and nodded toward the fence where several teens were staring past the `curtain'.
"No... keep going uh uh uhhhh..."
Bryce slowed down just as a backdoor opened at the end of the alley. A 6'4'' tall, fat gut in an apron walked out, holding an unlit cigarette.
The hunks froze and stared, while the barista stared back. His cigarettes dropped from his fingers. "The fuck?!"
Bryce slipped out of the bottom, pulled the condom off and threw it toward the stranger.
The hunks bailed.
Ken swooped their backpack off the ground while Marsh scrambled to slip into his golden thong. Bryce was first at the fence, ripping his red tank top off the iron and practically flying over the barrier.
Marsh was the next to make it, failing to pull the tattered remains of his shirt from their hooks. He landed amidst the giggling teens with his hard-on badly tucked into the shining panties.
As the gymnast dropped behind him, Marsh flexed at the amused girls in the group and raced after his friends.
"Bruh, give me your shirt," Marsh said, casually covering his insufficient thong with one hand.
"Fuck no," Ken said.
"Come on, don't be a cocksucker. You'll get it back when you're hard."
"Shit, fine."
The Asian stripped off his Split Tongue top, making him the only shirtless one. He walked behind his taller friends for cover as they strode through the shopping and sightseeing masses.
Bryce's top had torn in their flight, one strap ripped. It hung across his pec like a lazy caveman costume. He had his Split Tongue snapback drawn low to hide his face, even though he acted confident.
Marsh walked with an exaggerated swagger, his ass demanding attention with a sensation he'd have thought impossible. His legs barely followed orders. The ass-burn seemed to overwrite his nerves, while the slow, dull nut-ache dragging itself up his guts made him want to curl up.
Bryce had a lesser swagger from his own spicy aftermath but was doubtlessly just as fucked on every level.
Only Ken walked normal, but he was stiff with self-consciousness. After a deep sigh, their backpack carrier opened another Mutant Energy, downed it in one go, and pushed his friends aside to walk ahead.
"Fuck this shit," the buff gymnast said. "I'm showing off my assets. Marsh, take the backpack. I've fucking dreamed of walking these streets nude and getting the attention my body deserves."
"Yeah dude," Bryce said. "You work out like it's either gym or cocksucking. Show off, hehe."
Ken got his wish. His physique, covered only by a silver thong, drew looks.
Bryce's semi hard-on hung heavy in his speedo and lightly tented the tank top with every swaggering step.
Marsh wondered if there were already people in the crowd who might have recognized them from their videos uncontrollably spreading online. He posted a Clap, a picture of the boulevard: <Any of my followers in the area? shopping bag emoji>
He couldn't gage anything from the immediate responses of heart eye emojis and jerk off videos. Maybe he didn't have any followers in San Ophion – hopefully.
"Bruh, I'm almost at 60k Clapper followers."
"I cracked 30k a while ago, man," Ken said, grinning back. "33 last time I checked. Gonna catch up in no time."
"Dude, fags are hilarious," Bryce said. "They're tagging us in clips where they ride tabasco dildos. That's some crazy shit."
"We're trendsetters, hehe," Marsh said. He wiped his head with his borrowed shirt. The ass-burn made him sweat-glisten continuously. Waves of light-headedness traveled up his spine with the shifting burn in his guts. The minor high was the only pleasant part.
They were closing in on the Sea View Hotel, a luxury resort dominating the boulevard with its blue tinted glass walls and gaudy gold accents.
Ken kept speeding up his walk. "We gotta rush, man. We're not even halfway to Pyre Park and Brycie-boy is getting snaked any second."
"Fuuuuck," Bryce groaned. "We're out of sauce, right? I'm gonna get the nuclear option, dude. What if I can't walk anymore after the nuke is up my hole?"
"That's... Man, that's a worrying possibility."
Marsh frowned. "How far till the final snake after that? It's in the state park, right? Isn't that gonna be fenced in and locked down like a brotherfucker?"
"Are your fucked in the brain, dude?" Bryce said with a laugh and punched Marsh in the abs. "It's wilderness. There's only the highway barri... Fuck, how do we cross the 101?"
Ken glanced at his phone to jog his memory. "Ten minutes from here by car. On foot, about 90 minutes. And there's no bus to the wasteland."
Marsh grabbed both boys by the shoulders and pulled them closer to lower his voice. "Can we steal a car? I mean, bruh, we stole a whole-ass yacht."
Ken glanced from the street where cars drove to the parking garage next to the Sea View Hotel. "We're obviously getting punished by the Fire Serpent for all the cars we keyed in there when we were bored."
"Haha," Marsh made. "Yeah, I think I popped close to a hundred tires in those six years. Crazy the fuckfaces never caught us."
The hunks were now moving into the shadow of the hotel's perfectly manicured palm alley that lead in a semi-circle around the entrance. A taxi was pulling up to the steps.
"You think they'll fucking drive us, bruh? Looking like this? Do we... highjack a taxi?"
"Uh-oh," Bryce made. The aquatic serpent was ringed around his left arm and coiled around his torso where the torn top exposed the swimmers even skin. "Took you long enough to show, bastard."
Marsh looked around. The taxi was already leaving the hotel entrance, turning the corner to the staff parking area where a bellhop dragged suitcases off a two seater cart's trunk.
What were their options? Jump on the road and stop a car? Highjack for real?
"Fuck, man." Ken jumped on the spot. "Fuck fuck fuck. I'm gonna sort this out. If that security guy shoots be, delete my browser history."
"Wait wh-"
Ken stormed forward and Marsh was about to follow when Bryce grabbed his arm. The blond model was choking, a double ring of serpent tattooed around his neck.
Marsh had to keep his friend alive in the middle of pedestrians streaming around them, while Ken was rushing off toward the hotel.