5. Michael #2
The thought came unbidden, fierce and certain despite how insane it sounded. He barely knew Henri, but something primal had awakened in Michael’s chest. A need to protect, to stand between Henri and anyone who would hurt him.
He grabbed a chair, placed it behind the camera, and sat. His eyes never left Henri’s.
“I’m staying right here.”
Henri deserved to have someone in his corner. Someone who saw him as more than an object to be used. Michael might not be able to stop what was about to happen, but Henri wouldn’t face it alone. Not tonight. Not ever again, if Michael had anything to say about it.
Henri nodded, something flickering in his eyes that might have been gratitude.
“Thank you,” he whispered, settling against the pillows, positioning himself for the camera.
A visible shiver ran through him. “You have to stay quiet. Promise me you won’t say anything, no matter what.
I’ll explain everything later, but for now. .. You can’t make a sound.”
Michael wanted to protest, to stop this before it started, but he nodded. If staying silent was what Henri needed from him right now, he could do that. Even if every instinct screamed at him to intervene.
“Remember,” Michael said softly as Henri’s finger hovered over the connect button, “it’s my cum inside you right now. Mine.”
Not his. The thought burned fierce. You’re not Marc’s toy anymore. You’re mine now, whether you know it or not.
Whatever sick game Marc was about to play, Henri would face it knowing that Michael had claimed him first tonight. That someone had touched him with reverence instead of cruelty, had made him feel pleasure instead of just pain.
Let Marc see his precious possession filled with another man’s cum.
The dark satisfaction that thought brought should have disturbed Michael, but it didn’t.
If this was the only way he could protect Henri right now, by making sure Henri remembered he belonged to someone who actually cared about him, then so be it.
Henri’s breath caught, but he pressed connect. Marc’s voice filled the room immediately, sharp with anger.
“What took so long?”
“I told you I needed to get ready,” Henri replied, his voice carefully controlled.
“Unacceptable.” Marc’s tone could freeze water. “You should always be ready. Where’s your toy? Why isn’t it already in you?”
The dildo in Henri’s hand suddenly came to life, making Henri startle. Michael’s jaw clenched as understanding dawned. The toy was remote-controlled, and Marc held that control from across an ocean.
“Get the pillows under you,” Marc snapped. “I want a better view.”
Henri moved without hesitation, arranging pillows beneath his hips to elevate himself. Michael’s hands gripped the arms of his chair as Henri positioned himself further. Completely displayed, vulnerable. Michael could see the slight tremor in Henri’s thighs, the way his breathing had gone shallow.
“Now,” Marc ordered. “I want to see it.”
Henri swallowed hard, then shifted, spreading his legs wide and angling himself perfectly for the camera. The position was obscene. Legs parted, everything exposed.
Michael couldn’t look away, even as every instinct screamed at him to shut off the phone, hurl it out the window, and pull Henri back into his arms. But Henri had asked him to stay quiet, had needed him here as a witness rather than a savior.
Soon, Michael promised himself. I’ll have you in my arms again soon.
“Do it slowly,” Marc ordered. “Let me see every inch disappear inside you.”
Henri’s hand trembled as he positioned the toy.
The thing was massive, far beyond normal proportions, clearly designed more for punishment than pleasure.
Michael watched Henri’s muscles tense as he pressed it against himself, saw the fear flicker across his face before he buried it under a mask of compliance.
Inch by agonizing inch, Henri began to take it, gasping as the stretch burned through him. Michael’s knuckles went white against the chair arms, every ounce of his control focused on staying silent, staying still, when all he wanted was to stop this torture.
“Tomorrow and Monday,” Marc’s voice cut through the moment, cold and precise. “You’ll keep it in all day. Consider it punishment for making me wait.”
“I can’t,” Henri’s voice shook, breath catching. “It’s too large, Marc. People would notice. I’d do it, of course I would, but they’d know...”
Marc’s silence stretched taut. Then the toy’s vibration suddenly intensified, and Henri’s words dissolved into a strangled gasp. His hips jerked involuntarily, fingers twisting in the sheets as the higher setting tore through him.
Michael’s control frayed at the edges. Henri was trembling violently now, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to accommodate something designed to hurt rather than please.
And yet Michael couldn’t deny his own body’s traitorous response. Henri spread out, filled with Michael’s cum and Marc’s cruelty, writhing between pleasure and pain. The image seared itself into Michael’s mind even as his conscience recoiled from it.
“Fine,” Marc finally said. “I’ve had something more suitable sent to your room. You’ll wear that instead.”
Henri opened his mouth to respond, probably to thank him, to appease, but his head suddenly jerked back, a strangled sound tearing from his throat.
Michael looked away, guilt and fury burning in equal measure. But only for a moment.
He wouldn’t leave Henri alone in this. Not even with his gaze.
Marc’s voice poured through the phone. “God, look at you. Already twitching. Can’t even take a toy without falling apart. Pathetic.”
Michael caught Henri’s eye. The moment locked them together across the room, cutting through Marc’s words. Slowly, deliberately, Michael slid his hand over his own cock, stroking himself with silent reverence. Then he mouthed, Look at me.
Henri’s chin trembled. He nodded.
His hand twitched, drifting toward his own cock, but Marc’s sharp snarl made him freeze. “Don’t you dare. This isn’t for you.”
Henri dropped his hands back to the mattress. But he didn’t look away from Michael.
Michael kept stroking himself, slow and sure, never breaking eye contact. Beautiful , he mouthed. Perfect. Mine.
Henri’s breath hitched.
Marc’s voice droned on. Degradation, command, control. But Michael refused to hear it. Instead, he filled the space between them with unspoken praise. You’re doing so well. I’m here. You’re safe.
The toy buzzed louder, more insistent. Henri’s hips jerked, his back arching with effort and shame and something else, something deeper. He was trembling now, not just with stimulation, but with restraint.
Still, he didn’t break eye contact.
Michael mouthed, You’re strong. Come for me.
Henri broke with a silent sob, his body convulsing as he came. His tears spilled freely, chest heaving, but still he watched Michael. He didn’t look away.
Michael let go with a growl, stroking himself through the edge and spilling across his fist. He mouthed, Good boy, just as Henri shivered and flushed at the words.
The call ended abruptly. Marc’s angry voice cut off. The sudden silence was deafening.
Michael immediately reached for the phone, verifying the screen had gone dark, the connection fully severed.
Then he moved to Henri’s side, reaching for the toy, but Henri caught his wrist.
“Wait,” he whispered. “It won’t stop until he’s done. He’s angry I... that I finished so quickly.”
Michael’s hand hovered, fury lashing through him at the idea that Henri’s pleasure, his release, was considered a punishable offense. That someone had taken something so intimate and turned it into a weapon.
But he said nothing.
Instead, Michael sat beside Henri and wrapped them both in the heavy hotel comforter, drawing the edges tight around their bodies. One hand stroked slow, grounding circles over Henri’s chest; the other smoothed damp strands of hair from his forehead.
Henri shook in his arms, overworked nerves fraying under the assault. Involuntary twitches ran through his thighs. The tight clench of his jaw showed his determination not to make a sound, but tears still fell, silent and unchecked, streaking down his cheeks and across Michael’s bare skin.
Michael pressed his lips to Henri’s temple, holding him closer. The idea that Henri was being punished for climaxing, for responding to his own body, for needing, boiled something dark in his chest. Rage, yes. But also helplessness.
Then Henri’s phone chimed again. The sound made Henri flinch.
Michael leaned over and checked the message. “He wants a picture,” Michael said flatly. “Of the toy. Still inside you.”
Henri let out a small, defeated exhale. “Of course he does.”
Henri moved, sluggish and mechanical, as though this was just one more thing to endure. He shifted his hips slightly, adjusted the blanket, and took the photo with a trembling hand. The shutter sounded loud in the silence. A second later, he hit send.
Marc’s response came seconds later.
Good.
Michael pulled him back to his chest, burying his face in Henri’s damp curls. “I hate him,” he whispered.
Henri didn’t respond. He just nodded against Michael’s chest, lashes wet, expression blank. Time slipped, dragged, stretched painfully long as they waited. Michael kept holding him, kept murmuring wordless comforts, fingers tracing slow paths down his side.
Then he felt it: a shift. Henri’s hips twitched again, but this time for a different reason.
Michael stilled.
Henri’s breathing had changed. Shallower, softer. A flush crept over his cheeks, and Michael realized with something close to awe that Henri was hard again. Despite everything.
Henri began to pull away, face going crimson. “I’m sorry. You’re just... you’re so close. I didn’t mean to, it’s not...” he stammered, mortified.
Michael silenced him with a hand on his jaw, gently turning his face. “Stop apologizing,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”