Chapter Ten #3
I wrapped my fingers around a hot pipe, letting it burn me, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure of being simply used.
I dizzily wondered what Ghost was getting out of this; the satisfaction of proving me wrong?
Reclaiming control? Establishing dominance?
Whatever it was, I was going to let him have it.
He wanted me humiliated; he wanted to see me get my hands dirty. Fine.
I wanted him.
I twisted in his arms, determined to face the shadow as the setting sun shone right through his shimmering form.
He watched me with those cold, possessive eyes as I twisted in his hold, forcing him to turn me enough that I could see him.
I lifted my filthy hand, black grease covering my fingers; soot had worked into every line of my skin and had destroyed what remained of my manicure.
Ghost watched as I dragged two fingers down my cheek. The grease left a dark streak over my skin. I traced my lower lip, coating it in soot and oil.
Then I pushed my fingers into my mouth, leaving the smears on my tongue and letting Ghost see it.
My lips didn’t stay parted for long as our mouths crushed together in a savage kiss. There was no elegance left in it, no careful seduction. It was grease and teeth and smoke, his hand closing around my throat to hold me still while I laughed into his mouth like a madman.
Because perhaps I was one.
Perhaps I had always been one, and Ghost had simply found the correct tool to loosen the bolts.
I stroked the metal frame of the engine bay. Ghost’s motor responded with a growl, and my cock jerked helplessly.
I pushed my hand further into the engine, blackening my wrist. Oil coated my skin. Soot streaked my forearm. I could smell nothing but hot metal, gasoline, and my own sweat.
The taste remained in my mouth, bitter oil clinging to my tongue each time I swallowed. Smoke seemed to sit behind my teeth. I had never felt filthier.
I had never been more aroused.
Ghost’s hand increased the rhythm. The tools moved with more confidence now, their handles sliding in and out with slick, mechanical sounds. The pressure against my prostate became relentless. Each stroke tightened something low in my stomach.
I began pushing back to meet him.
Ghost chuckled.
The wrenches struck the perfect place. My head fell forward against his shoulder as Ghost laughed openly, keeping me upright as he slid down to his knees. I closed my eyes, expecting the obvious, his mouth on my throbbing cock, but instead I felt more coldness. More metal.
I looked down; another tool, a handled rubber strap that Ghost flexed in his hands before he closed it around the base of my erection.
The ring tightened, and I gasped, thighs jerking apart. The tight band trapped the blood inside my cock, making it swell harder, the head darkening, wetness gathering at the slit. I stared down at it, breathing hard.
The band tightened one fraction more. A strained sound escaped me.
“Oil-filter wrench,” Ghost explained. “Quite a grip, don’t you agree?”
Ghost’s thumb stroked the underside of my cock, tracing the swollen vein without offering relief.
I nodded, eyeing another tool I’d spotted in his hand. I knew what it was; I had used plenty of them putting together furniture. Well–supervising while someone else assembled it for me. “Allen key,” I said, still sounding like I was doubting myself.
“Good boy.”
My entire body went still. Ghost had never called me that before; the praise struck somewhere deep and humiliating. Heat flooded my face, and the muscles around the tools inside me clenched hard enough to make the metal shift.
Ghost saw everything.
“Oh,” he murmured. “You like that.”
He dipped the longer end of the key into grease.
“Ghost.” The word emerged less as a warning and more as a plea.
He wrapped one hand around my cock; the filter wrench kept me rigid in his grip, and his thumb spread the wetness that had gathered at the tip, mixing it with grease.
The rounded end of the Allen key pressed against the slit. I sucked in a breath.
Ghost pushed gently.
The first intrusion stung. My body instinctively tried to retreat, but Ghost held me steady. The narrow rod slid deeper, sinking into a part of my body no one had ever explored before.
“Breathe,” Ghost purred.
I obeyed; the discomfort sharpened, then transformed. Every fraction of movement created a strange, concentrated heat that radiated through my entire cock. The oil-filter wrench intensified it, keeping me swollen and preventing the pressure from escaping.
Ghost fed the key further inside until the curved end approached the tip. The internal pressure became maddening, and I let out another silent gasp.
“How does it feel?” He asked.
I couldn’t answer immediately. My cock throbbed around the key. Each pulse pressed the metal against sensitive tissue, creating a sharp, involuntary pleasure that bordered on pain.
“Wrong,” I whispered.
Ghost’s thumb stroked beneath the rubber strap. “And?”
“Good.”
His smile turned almost tender, and I could no longer remain upright.
I sank fully onto my knees. Ghost rose before me.
His cock hung inches from my mouth, heavy and dark, the underside patterned with the raised tread texture of a tire.
The ridges caught the light each time he moved.
My eyes trailed from base to tip, and I saw, for the very first time, the chrome ring pierced through the tip of his cock and out from the underside, the metal shivering with each twitch and throb.
He did not touch me.
He simply waited.
I leaned forward, my lips parted for him. I hated how desperate I was, but my mouth remained the only empty space in me, and I wanted Ghost to fill me completely.
My lips brushed the underside first. The texture scraped lightly against them, rougher than skin but softened by shadow. I opened my mouth and traced the grooves with my tongue, tasting smoke and something faintly metallic beneath the smoke.
Ghost’s hand twisted into my hair.
“So this is what you wanted,” I accused, voice shaking. “To make me worship a car.”
His fingers tightened and pulled my head back.
“No, darlin’.”
He forced me to look up at him, his glowing blue eyes wicked and bright. “To make you worship your car.”
The possessiveness in his voice made my body clench. I looked at the shadow above me, my tongue out, presenting him with an invitation.
He took it. Ghost pushed forward, the head of his cock spreading my lips, the tread texture dragging over my tongue. The ridges felt enormous inside my mouth, each one scraping over my teeth as he moved deeper.
The taste of him grew stronger.
Smoke. Salt. Hot metal. The faint bitterness of fuel after a stop at the gas station. Nothing about him tasted human.
My tongue flattened beneath him, accommodating his girth.
Ghost advanced slowly until the thick head pressed against the back of my throat. My body didn’t resist, even around the unfamiliar texture.
It wasn’t a gentle grinding from a loving partner; there was no concern, no holding back. Ghost was a Dodge Challenger, and there was nothing gentle about him. A car like that did one thing: it pushed boundaries. Ghost was testing exactly how much I could handle.
He withdrew.
Air rushed into my lungs.
Then he pushed in again.
This time I relaxed sooner, swallowing around him as he forced himself deeper. The ridges slid over my tongue, and his piercing pressed against the roof of my mouth. My jaw ached from the stretch.
Ghost watched every reaction. His fist tightened in my hair. He thrust forward until my nose nearly touched the darkness of his body. The head of his cock lodged deep in my throat, straining the muscles of my neck around it.
I couldn’t breathe. The lack of air sharpened everything else: the tools still inside me, the Allen key filling my cock, the wrench clamped around the base, Ghost’s grip controlling my head. He held me there for one more second before pulling free.
I dragged in a ragged breath. Saliva hung between my lips and the head of his cock.
Ghost did not allow me time to recover.
He thrust again.
Harder.
His textured length scraped over my tongue, striking the back of my throat. Tears gathered in my eyes. My hands flew to his thighs, gripping for balance as he established a brutal rhythm. Each thrust forced my throat open. Each withdrawal gave me barely enough air to remain conscious.