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Corey Taylor's Fuckin' Birthday

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Corey couldn’t remember much. His whole body was sore. It felt like he hadn’t slept for a week and he wouldn’t even dare to move his legs. Or indeed the entire lower half of his body. The few things he could remember were more like snapshots. He was fairly certain someone had also been taking a few polaroid photos. But he couldn’t be sure. The singer groaning under his breath, someone’s hand petting gently at his head. The memories from the previous however many f ucking hours it had been running through his head. The one thing he was glad for is that no one was around the mansion to hear him, God help him. He knew he’d been loud. 

 

0

Corey had quickly discovered that Sid seemed utterly and completely intent on making Corey lose his mind immediately. The Dj had been rolling his hips frantically, chin slick with drool, his skin sweaty and warm to the touch. The man’s insides sickeningly hot as the muscle contracted and spasmed around Corey’s dick, the singer gagging out something like a plea for Sid to slow down; Which only made the Dj slam his hips down with more vigor. If it was any consolation, Sid had insisted on giving Corey a sloppy drooly kiss after everything. 



1&2

“Harder, you f-fuck” The collar around his neck yanked forward, the other man’s mouth back against his own. Their teeth clicking together. Corey grunting and squirming. His wrists bound together, arms folded behind his back, legs bent under him. A large hand had been locked in his hair, pulling at the candy floss strands and getting Corey to whine loudly into Joey's mouth. The drummer's hand half clasped loosely around their dick’s which were rubbing together. The singer could tell just by the dick currently up his ass and gravelly breaths of the man behind him who it was, The bassist seemed to be having fun as he bucked up into Corey with a grunt. The collar around his neck, which was always Joey's favorite, was tight and near painful. If not for the men in front and behind him; Corey was certain he would have already collapsed multiple times. His whole body trembling and already dead aching. 

 

3

Chris’s mouth had been both a blessing and a curse. If nothing else Corey had to admit the man looked next to an Angel while sucking dick. And at the moment that’s what Chris was doing. And doing well. Corey’s arms were free again, one of his hands loosely grasping at the percussionist’s long hair, fingering tangling in the brunette stands. The throat around his cock contracting, the percussionist humming low in his chest and causing a shiver up Corey’s spine. The singer panting. At point one the singer's legs around Chris’s head so hard the percussionist couldn’t move and was forced to stay put with the cock down his throat so far he couldn’t breathe. But that only made the percussionist try harder. 

 

4

Corey was back on the floor, his tongue lulling out of his mouth. Legs folded up almost to his chest, arms unbound; though he couldn’t find the strength to move them. Jim’s form bent half over him, one of the man’s hands gently stroking the downy hairs on the back of the singer’s thigh, while the other worked between the man’s bent up legs. Corey whimpering desperately as the guitarist’s lithe fingers twisted and curled inside of him. Luckily or unluckily for him, the guitarist had gone slow, painfully slow. Working in each of his long fingers like it was going to kill Corey if he went any fast. Which the singer hadn’t hesitated to complain and beg about. That was until he found himself not able to form words anymore. Especially after Jim had moved up to capture the other man’s mouth in a soft but determined kiss. 

 

5

He’d been right to be slightly afraid of what Craig had planned for him. He’d seen the grin that would occasionally grace the man’s lips when Corey had caught his eyes in the last few days. The kind of smile that the sampler only got when he was very excited about something. And at this point, Corey could very much see why. The sampler had taken up the liberty of sucking hickies into every single bit of skin that would make Corey squirm and whimper. Up and down his chest, over his belly, down to his thighs. And especially around his neck and collarbones. Not to mention the purple dildo that had been shoved so far up his ass it might have very well been puncturing a few organs. Corey had quickly discovered the thing vibrated, which had fried his brain down to the last neuron. Though he did remember Craig whispering some filthy things into his ear. Which was a treat. 

 

6

Oh fuck. The only words, along with some other swear were just about the only thing in Corey’s head. Bound, gagged and trussed up like a thanksgiving fucking turkey. Shawn insisted on making his life hell in every way possible apparently. The clown got some sick pleasure from forcing Corey to wear his mask, the straps tight around his head, the thing pressing to his face. The stitches through the thing’s jaw stretching as Corey practically howled as the clown gently and agonizingly guided a thin metal rod into Corey’s dick. The singer trembled, his whole form aching and tender. The rod gradually worked all the way to the base of his dick, at which point Corey was fully convinced he’d lost his mind. Some god had clearly pitied him though, as the clown eventually ceased his torture. But not before fucking the rob slowly in and out of the singer’s painfully hard dick, getting near inhuman sounds out of Corey.  

 

7

All things considered, Mick had been gentle. Much more gentle than Corey had expected of the man. The singer collapsed in the guitarist’s lap, his back pressed to the man’s chest, head tilted back against a broad shoulder. Corey could barely move, every single nerve in his body sore and raw. Insides slick and stretched out. His throat hurt, his jaw was sore and his hair was a tangled mess. He supposed he should have been grateful Mick was treating him so nicely, the man nuzzling his face into the colorful hair and humming softly. But all Corey could do was slowly blink his eyes and whimper. The cock up his ass throbbing in his guts, which made Corey breathe out a weak sound. 

He was barely conscious enough to notice as the rest of his bandmates gathered around them, Mick nuzzling his hair again; one of the guitarist's large hands snacking up to grab ahold of Corey’s multi-colors locks and tilting the singer’s head up and off his shoulder. Corey blinking hard again, his eyes going a bit wide as his gaze focused on the fire in front of him. The panic settled as soon as he realized it was just from the candles stuck in a crudely made birthday cake. The top of it covered with colorful icing that probably spelled out something, but Corey couldn’t bring himself to read at the moment. Some of the singer's hair almost lit ablaze by the candles before someone tucked it back. A chorus of ‘ happy birthday’ sounding out from all around them, the last once accented by Mick bucking his hips up just enough to get Corey’s eyes to roll and his jaw to go slack with a breathy moan. The candles were soon snuffed out after everyone realized that Corey indeed didn’t possess enough brainpower to blow them out himself. 

Though Corey apparently had enough cognitive thought left to shake off the hand holding his head and allow himself to fall face-first into the cake. Lucky him Sid had stolen all the candles and was licking the excess frosting off. Everyone shocked for a moment before they broke down laughing. Mick locking a hand back in Corey's candy floss hair and pulling the man up off the cake. Frosting covering the singer's face, some in his hair. Some of the purples used to write his name on the cake smeared over his mouth and nose. One of the other men leaning forward to lick some of it off the singer's cheek, followed by a collective groan from the group, and then a “What? It tastes good!”. Corey still completely out of it, but a lopsided smile had fought its way onto his face, tugging the corners of his lips up into a smile. 

Happy Fuckin’ Birthday.