Kota's hand was already tangled tight in Tommy's black hair, fingers gripping the slick strands like a lifeline as he dragged the goth boy's face forward without a single second of hesitation. The van's cramped interior felt even smaller now, the air thick and humid with the heavy musk of sweat, cum, and the faint vanilla body spray that still clung to Corey's skin somewhere in the background. Tommy's eyes widened for half a heartbeat, piercings glinting under the dim filtered light, but he opened his mouth eagerly, tongue already lolling out in anticipation.
Kota didn't tease. He didn't ease in. He shoved the entire massive length straight down Tommy's throat in one brutal, claiming thrust — the fat head punching past the back of his tongue and bulging visibly in the front of the goth boy's neck as it sank to the hilt.
Gauk—gauk—glug—glug—glug—
The sounds that tore out of Tommy were immediate and filthy, wet choking gags mixed with desperate, gurgling swallows as his throat convulsed violently around the impossible girth.
Spit sprayed everywhere in messy arcs, bubbling at the corners of his stretched lips and dripping down his chin in thick, glistening ropes that splattered onto the seat and his own chest. His eyes went glossy almost instantly, tears welling up and spilling over as Kota started fucking his face like a man possessed — in and out, deep and relentless, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes that made Tommy's head bob violently. The wet, obscene rhythm filled the entire van: gluck-gluck-gluck-glug-glug-glug — the sounds wetter and sloppier with every thrust, pre-cum spraying from the sides of Tommy's mouth in fine mists every time Kota bottomed out.
Kota's personality had shifted completely.
The quiet, reluctant boy who had been trying to keep some control was gone. All that remained was raw, single-minded focus.
He couldn't hear anything else, not Corey's low chuckles from the side, not Toby's soft, twitching whimpers on the seat, not even the faint rattle of empty energy drink cans rolling on the floor. The only thing that existed in his world was the repeating, hypnotic sounds of the blowjob — the constant, wet glucking and glugging of Tommy's throat being wrecked, the desperate gagging that vibrated straight down his shaft and into his heavy balls.
His hips moved on autopilot, driving deeper and harder, the thick veiny length stretching Tommy's throat into a perfect, bulging sleeve that clenched and fluttered around every inch.
Tommy was a mess.
His black hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead, piercings catching the light as his head was forced back and forth.
His eyes stayed glassy and unfocused, tears streaming freely down his flushed cheeks while his hands clutched desperately at Kota's thighs, nails digging in but never pushing away. Every brutal thrust made more pre-cum and spit spray from the sides of his stretched lips, dripping in long, messy strings onto his chest and the seat below. He gagged harder on the deeper strokes. Yet he never pulled back. His tongue worked frantically underneath, swirling and pressing as best it could while his body trembled violently from the sheer intensity.
Kota's grip tightened in the black hair, pulling Tommy's face flush against his pelvis on every inward drive, holding him there for long seconds so the throat could convulse and milk him before pulling back just enough for a desperate, gurgling gasp of air. The rhythm was merciless — deep, fast, punishing — the wet sounds growing louder and filthier until they drowned out everything else in the van. Tommy's small cocklet twitched and leaked untouched between his legs, the overstimulation making his entire body shake as he was used like a living toy.
The pressure built fast and heavy in Kota's balls, the new stamina making the edge drag out longer, but the constant, wet throat-fucking was too perfect to resist. He pulled out at the absolute last second, the thick shaft sliding free with a long, sloppy pop, strings of thick spit connecting it to Tommy's swollen lips for a heartbeat before snapping. Kota stroked himself twice — fast and rough — and then he came.
Thick, powerful ropes erupted across Tommy's face in heavy, endless arcs, painting the goth boy's features in glossy white layers. Cum splattered across his forehead, streaked through his black hair, coated his eyelashes, ran down his cheeks in thick rivers, and dripped from his chin onto his chest. Tommy's eyes fluttered, a soft, broken moan escaping his cum-covered lips as the warmth covered him completely.
When the last heavy spurt finally tapered off, Tommy slumped sideways onto the seat, completely passed out, face and hair absolutely painted, body still twitching with aftershocks, tongue lolling out in a satisfied, dazed expression.
Kota stood there for a long moment, chest heaving, the exhaustion finally crashing over him like a wave. His legs felt weak, the constant, unnatural need in his body temporarily sated, and he let himself collapse back against the van's side panel, eyes growing heavier as the world around him started to blur at the edges.
Eventually, Kota passed out too, the van falling into a heavy, cum-scented silence around the three spent bodies, the only sound the faint, distant hum of morning traffic outside the tinted windows.