Chapter 11 On Your Knees
Avoiding Mason’s gaze at all costs isn’t just about being bratty—it’s self-preservation. If I acknowledge him when Oliver’s in the same room, I’ll make a mistake, and Oliver will keep pestering me about it until I finally give in and tell him the truth.
That I’m breaking my promise. That I let Mason touch me. That I got off by rubbing myself on his cock. That I let his cum-soaked finger rub my hole, and that I’ve been thinking about that moment nonstop since I woke up.
Waiting until tonight feels like one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Pancakes might fix me, though. Pancakes fix everything.
“When did you get so good at cooking?” I ask, voice muffled from munching on my soft, fluffy pancakes drenched in a hefty serving of maple syrup.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Oliver mumbles. He spins around on his gaming chair while he eats. “Dad used to… I mean, Logan used to teach me.”
“Well, he did an awesome job.”
“He was such a good cook,” Oliver continues, gaze fixed on one of the posters on the wall—a red vintage car. “He was good at everything.”
I follow his gaze to the car on the poster. “I didn’t know you liked cars like that.”
Oliver shrugs and smiles wryly. “I don’t. It’s Logan’s poster. It was one of the few things he left.” His voice is light, as if it doesn’t matter much to him, but I know it does. I can see the little tells, like how his shoulders grow stiff and how his chewing slows.
I set my empty plate aside, unsure if I should ask this or not. It’s not that I think he’ll get angry with me; it’s just… it’s a touchy subject. “Hey, um… Have you heard from him? Logan, I mean.”
Like I suspected, Oliver’s eyes darken, and he looks away. “No. If I had, I would’ve told you.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
As far as I remember, when Logan broke up with Oliver and Mason’s mom, he left town and changed his number. He went from years of being their stepdad to being a stranger.
My mom died when I was really young, and Dad worked so much he hardly had time to find another partner.
I can’t imagine what it would be like if your stepdad disappeared like that for seemingly no reason.
I mean, sure, the relationship with Oliver’s mom didn’t work out, but Logan seemed to have been close to her sons, so why just cut them off like that?
Oliver tears his gaze from the poster and smiles at me again, but it looks forced. “Hey, ready to smash this quest?”
“Yeah.” I boot up my laptop, and we go to town.
Focusing on gaming has worked okay so far—uh, since I started to get physical with Mason, I mean—but now and again, memories of last night invade my mind, and I have to be careful I don’t get a boner.
We’re young and horny, but for some reason, Oliver gets kind of awkward whenever the subject of sex comes up, just like he gets awkward talking about his estranged stepdad.
Anyway, aside from a snack break, we game until about 1 AM. During my nightly shower, my thoughts start to stray and my hands start to roam, but I know I won’t come if I try to jerk off. I’ll only get even more frustrated.
Something is deeply wrong with me to need Mason to be able to come. I need his rough hands and his deep voice and his big… cock. Fuck. Uh… Oh no.
I end up having to stand in the shower and try to think the most unsexy thoughts to make my erection go down before I can face Oliver, and when I do, I’m so embarrassed I can barely keep up with his enthusiasm about our successful quest. Guilt swirls through my chest, but that guilt is quickly overridden by excitement for tonight.
By the time Oliver’s snoring and I’m wide awake on the mattress in the dark, it’s already 3 AM.
Not late by my standards, but I know Mason keeps a different sleep schedule.
I shouldn’t really care, but I’d rather not walk in on him sleeping again.
He looked annoyed last time. Scary. His annoyance didn’t last long, though.
I get up from my mattress on light feet and make my way to his room. When I get inside, the bedside lamp is lit, and Mason is sitting naked on the side of the bed, as if he was waiting for me and knew exactly when I would come.
“I want you on your knees this time, puppy,” he says.
My mouth goes dry. “Why?”
“You’ll see. Just come here.”
I approach him and drop to my knees on the floor, and my mouth waters as the position puts his cock at eye level. It’s thick and slumped between his substantial thighs, not yet hard.
Mason slides a hand into my hair, tugging gently. “Want a treat tonight, puppy?”
A treat? I frown, then look down at his crotch, to… to…
A treat.
The realization sets my cheeks aflame.
This isn’t what we’ve agreed on. I don’t know what we’ve agreed on exactly, but until now the focus has been on making me come, not me touching him. Not really. Especially not… there. Oh, fuck. Does he want me to suck him off? My lower lip trembles with a mixture of excitement and dread.
It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I want it too much.
My mind shoots back to the porn video I’ve gotten off to countless times—the one with the older man and the younger one. Is Mason going to rip me off his cock and spit in my mouth? Is he going to slap my cheek with it? Fuck. We can’t be loud, though. What is he thinking?
“Go on,” Mason says, unaware or uncaring of the war going on in my head. “I know you’ve been thinking about it. You can hold it if you want.” He wraps his hand around the base of his cock, offering it up to me.
I shuffle closer until his legs are on either side of my shoulders, caging me in. I’m so close I can smell him: salty musk, a faint whiff of shower gel, and a scent I can only describe as masculine. Fuck, I don’t know if I can do this. I shouldn’t. But I want to.
I wrap my fingers around his shaft, feeling it twitch in my hand.
Wow, he’s big. I already knew that, but he’s fucking with my head so much that I kind of forget his body in favor of his presence and voice, even though they’re intimately connected.
His cock is just another way to control me—thick, heavy, and pulsing in my grip.
The hand in my hair gives a little tug, guiding me to look up.
“You’re drooling for it, aren’t you?” Mason runs a finger at the corner of my lip, and I realize it’s wet—I am drooling. “Go ahead. Have a taste.”
I lean in, heart pounding. The first nudge of my tongue against his slit makes me moan.
It’s wet with precum. I’ve tasted it twice before, but straight from the source is another experience entirely.
The head is so smooth, like silk. I sucked Micah’s cock a few times, but it didn’t feel like this.
Micah wasn’t as big, and his presence wasn’t as intoxicating, as dominating, overtaking my every thought.
Feeling bold, I take the head into my mouth. The shaft is plumping up in my grip and growing hard in my mouth until it stands at alert between his thighs.
“Good job,” Mason says. “You can take it a little deeper now.”
I sink down, lips wrapped around his shaft. I moan, and saliva builds at the back of my mouth.
“Just like that.” No grunts, no groans, just the quiet, heady pressure of his hand on my neck, guiding me deeper, and the slick sound of my tongue swirling at the underside of his shaft.
I’m getting lost in it fast. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I told him this didn’t mean anything—that I was just here to get off. But now I’m getting him off, though I’m gaining pleasure from it too. A lot of pleasure. Too much.
His cock slides out of my mouth, and I lick at the underside instead, from base to tip. Mason tilts my head back with his grip in my hair, forcing me to look up at him again. My face feels flaming hot as I meet his eyes, tongue out, waiting for more.
“That’s it, puppy,” he says. “Now suck it back in.”
I tilt my head and take him back into my mouth, humming as he presses me down, burying me between his thighs.
Distantly, I feel the discomfort of my knees on the floor—not to mention the ache in my jaw and throat—but it’s all chased away by the haze of submission, of being good, of being obedient.
I get lost in that feeling as I let Mason use my mouth.
Once, he pulls me back just to look at me, just to take a mental snapshot of the lost, dreamy look in my half-lidded eyes before he pushes me back down.
After what feels like hours of the blissful slide of my mouth on his smooth, slick shaft, the muscles of his thighs tighten, and his voice goes sharp.
“Ready to take my load, puppy?”
I hum in breathless assent, still impaled on his shaft. My jaw aches something fierce, but even that feels good. Yes. Yes, please.
His cock pulses in my mouth, and the first hot spurt of his cum hits the back of my throat. I swallow desperately to keep from gagging, and to my horror, I moan louder than he does.
His breaths are heavy as he pulls me off his cock and makes me look up. My tongue is still out, ready for more.
“How was that, puppy?” he asks, only slightly out of breath. “Taste good?”
I nod, my brain still set on the motion of my tongue and the taste of his cum coating my mouth, so I lean down and keep lapping at his spent cock until he chuckles softly.
“Can’t get enough now?”
I tear myself away from him, embarrassed.
“Want to get off?” he asks.
I nod. Yeah, I need to come. Maybe that will get rid of this haze clouding my mind.
Mason shifts to his back, legs on the bed. I get to my feet on shaking legs, strip naked, and climb into his lap. While I was sucking him off, my dick was happy enough not being touched, but now I feel like I’m about to explode, desperate to release the aching pressure in my balls.
Mason pumps some lube into his hand and closes his fist around my shaft, but he doesn’t move—he just creates a tight channel for me to thrust into. I do so with an enthusiasm I know I’ll regret tomorrow, bucking into his hand as if my life depended on it.
Like last night, he sneaks a hand to my ass and finds my hole—this time with his finger slick with lube instead of my own cum.
And this time, I fail to pretend I don’t care for it.
Moaning, I keep rocking against him, his fist a tight glove around my cock and his finger pressing harder against my rim, almost slipping inside but not quite.
“Have you ever played with your ass, puppy?” he asks.
“Um…” I begin, struggling to think a single rational thought. “No. I mean… yes! A finger.” I’ve done more than that, but it’s all I can think of at the moment. A finger. His finger.
“A finger, hmm? Want to try mine?”
My mouth drops open, and I keep slipping and sliding, back and forth, chasing the dual sensations of both his finger and his fist. Please… please… The words are at the tip of my tongue. Please put it in…
“Let’s make you come, puppy. You’ve earned it.”
Fuck, I wish he’d stop calling me that, but at the same time, it feels so good when he does.
My cheeks flush with heat, but the embarrassment and shame run alongside the pleasure until I can’t stand how good it feels anymore.
Hips jerking, I shoot my release all over Mason’s stomach, little sobs tearing from my throat.
Mason keeps stroking my hole, seemingly unaffected, though he obviously enjoys doing what he’s doing. Right when I’m about to tell him—to beg him—to slip the finger inside, he withdraws his touch and taps my trembling thigh.
“Tomorrow.”
That word makes something in my brain snap, and my sanity comes back online.
What did I just do? Was I just about to beg him to finger my ass? And why didn’t he just do it? He’s already done so much to me. Crossed so many lines. Might as well cross another.
Head swirling with a shameful mixture of relief and disappointment, I make a move to get off him, but just then, he grabs my shoulders and nudges me downward, pulling our faces close.
“One more thing before you go.”
For an exhilarating moment, I think he’ll kiss me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. But then his head tilts to the side. His mouth meets the side of my shoulder and latches on, licking and biting, sucking a slow, indulgent hickey into my neck.
It’s like an on switch for my dick, and it stands up happily even though I came just a few minutes ago.
I squirm in discomfort, whispering, “Oliver will see.” At the same time, it feels too good to pull away.
Satisfied, Mason licks at the burgeoning hickey and lets me go. “He won’t.”
When I climb off him, I can barely stand; my legs are shaking, my glutes and inner thighs spasming. I came so hard. It felt so good. And still, a part of me is left unsatisfied.
Somehow I manage to get my clothes on, and when I turn to leave, Mason says, “Leave your collar on next time, okay?”
My collar. He means my choker, but just like he insists on calling me “puppy,” he seems determined to keep calling my choker whatever he wants, regardless of whether it’s appropriate or not.
I refuse to acknowledge his suggestion, or more like his demand. I don’t even turn around. In a slight panic that Oliver will notice the hickey tomorrow, I sneak into the hallway and back into Oliver’s room, feeling like I’ve set something in motion that can’t be stopped.
I should want to stop it. The sane part of my mind says I should tell Mason to fuck off, that I should never set foot in his room again.
At the same time, every nerve ending in my body is screaming at me to continue, and I’m filled once again with a mix of apprehension and excitement at the promise of tomorrow.