Content notes: insufferable discourse, public humiliation, reluctance (insincere)

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“Say the words, boy,” Tom purred in my ear. He stood behind me, the whole of his body pressing against mine. I was wearing a leather chest harness, and he used it to hold me close, against the heat of his bare chest. We were both sweating in the sun, wet and slick and musky.

“Delta Airlines LGBTIQ+ Employee Resource Group has not authorized this behavior,” I whispered back.

“Is that so,” Tom said teasingly, grinding his crotch against my ass. I could feel his cock was already hard, and involuntarily, mine began to swell in response. It wasn’t fair. He could hide himself from the public, make it look like it was just an act, and only I knew how real his arousal was. But I was already on the edge of the parade float shaped like an airliner flying through a balloon rainbow, with nothing in front of me but a safety railing that gave me no cover. I tried to hold my bag of rainbow-colored branded giveaway pens in front of myself, feebly; I knew it hid nothing.

Tom released my harness, but his body still pinned me against the railing. I could feel him reaching for something in his pockets. “We are here to positively represent our community,” I said. Then I realized what he had was a knife. I held myself very still as I felt Tom grasp the back of my pants and thrust his knife into the fabric. The float was moving slowly, but on the outer edge of the wing we could feel the roughness of the road, making his hand just a little unsteady. I was not sure how careful he would be with me.

Another pull, another cut, and I felt steel against my skin. Tom had slit my underwear in the same place, from just below the waistband down to the lower curve of my ass, and what I felt was the spine of the knife. He was being careful.

For just a moment he turned the knife and let me feel the point of it at the base of my spine, not quite breaking the skin. I froze in place, holding my breath for an instant, imagining the float hitting a pothole.

In another moment the knife was gone, and it was just Tom’s big, coarse hand slipping between my cheeks now, spreading them effortlessly to press his fingertip against my asshole. He worked his fingertip in little circles, pushing it forward, teasing at my sphincter.

I tried not to look at the crowd, but it was impossible not to; the street was packed with cheering spectators, waving pride flags and taking pictures. There was no way they didn’t see what was happening. Was there? I remembered myself enough to smile, and threw a handful of pens on the sidewalk. The people who ran out to scramble for them had an even better view of us as Tom took his finger away for a moment, swirled it lasciviously in his mouth, and jammed it wet and slick into my tingling anus.

There was another hour left in the parade route.

“Behavior like this will set back the advancement of LGBTIQ+ rights,” I told Tom, but I couldn’t get the sentence out right, he was in my ass to the second knuckle and my whole body was tightening around him.

“Oh no, how terrible,” Tom said, and pulled his finger almost out of me, and then thrust it in deep and swirled it around.

Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” pumped from the speakers behind us, covering my moan.

Flight attendants pushing aisle carts flanked out around the float, tossing handfuls of candy into the crowd. Parades like this used to toss condoms and lube packets, but obviously Delta Public Relations would not consider doing such a thing. Nobody had even had the nerve to suggest it at the planning meetings.

The cart pushers gave Tom the moment of distraction he needed, if he needed it at all. I could do nothing but grip onto the railing and my pathetic little bag of pens as I felt him get out his cock, already sheathed in a condom and wet down to the base with lube, and press the blunt head of it against my asshole.

“The spectators haven’t consented to this,” I whispered to him.

“But you do, don’t you,” Tom said. He didn’t press further, didn’t let up. I could feel my asscheeks were squeezing him already, and however I wanted to deny it, my body wanted him, wanted him up in my guts, wanted him to savage my sensitive little asshole.

“Why can’t we keep our disgusting fetishes in the bedroom,” is what I said, but I made it rhyme with “yes.”

Tom thrust against me, hard, and his cock forced his way into my hole. I wasn’t loose enough, he wasn’t lubed enough, I knew it would hurt but I still wasn’t ready. I screamed, so loud that I knew everyone had heard me, even above the thumping beats of the Weather Girls’ “It’s Raining Men.”

“HALLELUJAH!” the crowd screamed back.

Tom pushed forward relentlessly, feeling my body desperately trying to adjust to the thickness of his cock, and the length that bottomed out inside me and then with a rough wiggle and pull on my hips found greater depths to penetrate.

“You can’t touch your cock,” Tom reminded me. “That would be indecent exposure. A crime. A violation of our parade permit.” Fortunately, his own cock was modestly concealed inside my rectum.

I realized that I had dropped my pen bag. There was nothing between me and the cheering crowd of thousands except for my slashed-open jeans. The force of Tom’s penetration had softened my erection, but I was dripping wet and had no way to hide the growing stain. It felt like every face in the crowd was staring directly at me. I gripped both hands on the railing in front of me.

Tom started to thrust, not gently. Whenever my body relaxed he pushed harder into it, stretching me open more, making me feel it and then greedily burying his cockhead up in my guts so he could feel me feeling it. It was hardly my first time doing anal but the exposure made me tense and the tension made me tight, and Tom was loving it. All my hesitating and twitching was just a massage for his rod.

“Smile,” Tom reminded me. “You’re going to be famous.”

I looked up and saw people holding up their phones, filming us. “No…” I gasped. “…not on social media! We’ll be taken out of context!”

“The context, darling, is that everyone on 4chan and Twitter is going to know that you’re my little bitch boy.”

“It’s X now,” I grunted, and this time when he pounded into me so hard it felt like I couldn’t breathe, I deserved it.

“You’re going to be cited in a Supreme Court brief,” Tom said, kissing me on the back of the neck, before dropping his hand down into my own briefs to cradle my balls.

I moaned involuntarily, wishing I had a pup hood to conceal the expression on my face. Everything he was doing to me was too much, making me too sensitive, and the pain of his cock in my ass was so good I wanted to drop all the pretense and just grind back up against him.

So I did. Fuck it. As if there was anything discreet about this any more. I pushed back on the railing and bent down and shoved my ass back on Tom’s cock and rolled my hips around it, letting him fully take my wide open hole. It was so good, so intense. The pain melted into pure pleasure and I was almost disappointed.

“Look up, babe,” Tom said, and I did, and this time I saw news cameras, rigged for live broadcast.

“It’s only… unf… a local Fox affiliate… unf… they’re more moderate…” I managed to groan.

“You silly little thing,” Tom said. “The networks are one more stop away. That’s when I’m going to make you come.”

“We can get married now!” I pleaded. “Why couldn’t we leave it at that?” He pulled himself entirely out of me and then slammed in down to the pubes, one long stroke that made me cry out, “Why?”

“Aww, you want to be normal, bitch?” Tom mocked, but he was having to pause for his own breath now. “You want to find a house in a good school district? Petition the HOA for a variance to display a rainbow flag? You wanna wear khakis? You wanna present yourself professionally? You wanna not make it your whole personality???“

I couldn’t answer him anymore. I was just panting. I was using the last of my strength to keep my head from slamming into the railing. The cock reaming out my asshole was my whole personality.

The song switched to “I Kissed A Girl” and the float moved on. I was barely conscious of it. Tom had switched to grinding his cock around inside me and it was pressing into my prostate and I couldn’t think. I wasn’t even hard but I was coming. My asshole was coming and involuntarily spasming and I was moaning and whining and Tom started pounding me hard again, so hard and deep it hurt again but I was still coming and the hurt was so good and I felt Tom stiffen and twitch inside me as he came.

I looked up, and the network cameras were there, the logos embroidered on the crews’ hats and jackets. MSNBC. CNN. FOX. They’d seen everything.

But instead of being focused on us, they were panning up and down the parade route. I stood up again and looked around.

Everyone was fucking. The flight attendants had each other bent over their aisle carts. In the center of the float, the Guest Of Honor had her face buried in the PR manager’s pussy. The rainbow plane had become a writing mass of flesh. Even the float driver had a lanky twink sprawled across the passenger seat, their mouth wrapped around his cock while they jerked themself off.

Up and down the road, the same thing was happening. American Airlines had formed a daisy chain filling their cloud-shaped float, each man with a cock in his ass and an ass on his cock. Someone at United had thought to bring a tub of Crisco. From the Alaska float, I heard barking and howling. And far ahead of us, at the VIP grandstand plaza, the Spirit Airlines Dance Brigade were impaling themselves on their rainbow batons in perfect synchrony.

It was a pride parade, after all. And I, for one, felt proud.