Episode 3 #4
Mr. Reevesworth groaned. He was fully standing now, against the wall as well, the smaller bed now pushed into the room and blocking the path to the bathroom.
Mr. Moreau had his arms locked around his husband’s, head bent low, littering bite marks across his husband’s breast. Sweat glistened in the low light on their skin.
Each heated breath from Mr. Reevesworth’s mouth made his chest rise and fall, displaying red and purple marks.
His fingers were locked in a punishing grip on Mr. Moreau’s back.
He roared, surging off the wall and throwing Mr. Moreau across the small bed. A distinctive crack shattered the room. The ends of the smaller bed bent inward, toward Mr. Moreau’s weight in the center.
Mr. Moreau laughed. “It’s broken. I feel pieces”
“Damn. Let me throw you on the other bed.”
“You mean the one we reinforced with steel?”
“That one.”
“I’m not sure I should give you a second chance.”
Mr. Reevesworth’s nostrils flared. He leaned down, lifting his lover from the wreckage. Mr. Moreau wrapped his legs around Mr. Reevesworth’s waist and bit his neck.
“Oh, émeric.” Mr. Reevesworth pushed the end of the small bed out of the way with his leg and found the end of the big bed. “Perhaps we need chains.”
“You may try, Richard.” Mr. Moreau let go with his legs and caught his husband with a flip, dropping them both onto the bed. “But you may end up being the one to wear them.”
“When have I ever scorned wearing your chains, my love?”
Mr. Moreau kissed him on the lips. “Never, unless you wanted them on me.”
They laughed together, rolling on the mattress, kissing more than fighting. Until there was a click.
Mr. Moreau was on top with Mr. Reevesworth under him. Mr. Reevesworth raised one hand. A heavy shackle encircled his wrist, and an industrial chain hung from it.
“You know–if I’m chained–Collin is your responsibility.”
“Yes.” Mr. Moreau grinned like the panther who had captured the cream. He grabbed Mr. Reevesworth’s other wrist and wrapped metal around it, stretching Mr. Reevesworth out on his back, arms chained to the upper corners of the bed.
Mr. Reevesworth groaned and arched against the bed. “And I was so looking forward to sinking into your ass tonight, émeric.”
“Your schedule tomorrow only has Collin on it.”
“Because that’s all that I intended.”
“I think you’ll have to add recuperating to that.” Mr. Moreau slunk off the bed and opened an armoire near the walk-in closet. He returned to the bed with a large blue flogger and a small black bag.
Mr. Reevesworth smiled at the flogger. Mr. Moreau returned the look and then held up the small black bag.
Mr. Reevesworth’s arms tightened, jerking at the chains. “Oh, God, émeric. Please no.”
Mr. Moreau smirked. He walked around the bed, throwing off the covers that had come loose and revealing chains at the foot of the mattress that matched those at the top. He gave his husband a long look.
Mr. Reevesworth groaned and closed his eyes, refusing to look as his husband chained his legs down and apart.
“Now you’re safe to be approached.”
“Watch out, I might break this bed too.”
“Those chains are steel embedded in concrete. We learned our lesson last time.” Mr. Moreau opened the bag, revealing two small clamps.
Collin instinctively put his hand to his own chest.
“émeric. I hate those.”
“There’s nothing like them for making you fall, Richard.”
“I am going to torture you, émeric.”
Mr. Moreau laughed. “Promise?”
“Oh, I do.” Mr. Reevesworth could not take his eyes off the small bits of silvery metal.
Mr. Moreau warmed them in his hand as he paced around the bed, blowing on them now and then. “I think they’re ready.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re body temperature or not, émeric.”
“Hmm. How do you think Collin is going to look the first time you use a pair of these on him?”
“Like a pre-Raphaelite angel.”
Collin swallowed, holding very still. His eyes were fixed on Mr. Moreau’s hands.
The Frenchman slid one knee and then another onto the bed from the far side, giving Collin the perfect view of Mr. Reevesworth.
His long fingers, so adept with baking, now gripped his husband’s nipple and rolled the soft nub.
Mr. Reevesworth’s breath quickened. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “If you’re going to do it, just get on with it.”
Mr. Moreau said nothing. Mr. Reevesworth jerked on the chains.
Mr. Moreau changed his focus to the other nipple, leaving the first empty and bereft. Mr. Reevesworth cursed and tossed his head, arching up into the new pain.
Then he sagged into the bed. His eyes met his husband’s and something passed between them.
He screamed behind his teeth as the first clamp met his flesh.
Mr. Moreau’s face was blank, just staring down into Mr. Reevesworth’s own.
His hands moved to the first nipple. He gripped it and waited.
Mr. Reevesworth bared his teeth, breathing fast. One moment and then two, and he brought himself under control once again.
Mr. Moreau’s hands stripped him of it at once, clamping down the second bit of steel to his chest.
Mr. Reevesworth writhed. There was no other word for the movements his large body made against the mattress, stretched out and pinned and yet continuously in motion.
Mr. Moreau slid from the bed and retrieved the flogger.
He wound the ends around his hands, gathering it together with ease that spoke of practice.
Then he let it fly, catching his husband across the thigh.
It might not have hurt. It didn’t leave a mark.
Not at first. Strike after strike, he circled the bed, catching Mr. Reevesworth’s arms, his shoulders, the sides of his belly, his bulging thighs, and even his groin now and again.
Sweat stood out on his arms and back and pooled in the dimple at the base of his spine just above his buttocks before trailing down the backs of his legs.
Color rose in Mr. Reevesworth’s skin in layers, a light blush and then a deeper pink, darkening to a red here and there.
He still moved on the bed, eyes unfocused, lost in a haze, hair dark with sweat and the sheets drenched beneath him.
His cock was hard, tight, and hard against his flat belly no matter how many times the flogger found it.
Mr. Moreau laid the flogger down on the side table and retrieved a bottle of lube from the drawer.
Mr. Reevesworth continued to undulate on the bed senseless.
Mr. Moreau slid his lubed fingers into his own ass as he watched, stretching himself, but barely.
He poured more lube on his hands and climbed on the bed, straddling his husband.
Mr. Reevesworth struggled to open his eyes. “émeric.”
Mr. Moreau grasped Mr. Reevesworth’s cock and held it upright. In one smooth motion, he sank down on it, taking the entire length into himself. He settled, buttocks pressed against Mr. Reevesworth’s hips. Mr. Reevesworth started to push upward.
Mr. Moreau grasped both clamps at once and released them.
Mr. Reevesworth screamed. It started as a sound and ended in silence, the man’s mouth open, his back arched so deeply that no part of his spine from hip to head touched the sheets.
Mr. Moreau ground his hips down and moved, milking Mr. Reevesworth as he orgasmed.
Mr. Reevesworth shuddered one last time and dropped to the bed.
Mr. Moreau eased off his husband’s cock, still hard and erect, and released all four shackles.
Mr. Reevesworth’s eyelids fluttered as he watched him but was too spent to move.
Mr. Moreau crawled to the top of the bed and kissed him. “Now you may fuck me, Richard. If you wish.”
Mr. Reevesworth half raised one arm, trying to reach for his husband.
The Frenchman leaned in, lying beside him and meeting him in a deep kiss.
It lasted for long minutes of slow movement.
Slowly, Mr. Reevesworth rose up on one elbow, pulling Mr. Moreau down and onto his stomach.
He whispered into Mr. Moreau’s ear and then slid over his husband, mounting and entering him from behind, with Mr. Moreau lying flat beneath him.
They moved languidly together, pausing to kiss every few moments, neither rushing toward completion.
Collin stretched out on his stomach on the couch, getting more comfortable. He still watched, but his eyes were growing heavy.
In time, the muscles in Mr. Reevesworth’s back tightened, and he groaned softly, pumping a little more deeply into Mr. Moreau, emptying himself into his husband for a second time. They separated then and came together, cuddling face to face.
“Do you want to come, love?” Mr. Reevesworth whispered.
“No, I’m saving this for you in the morning.”
Mr. Reevesworth chuckled softly. “We should clean up then.”
“I think we broke a bed. How long has it been since we did that?”
“One year, three months, and nine days.” Mr. Reevesworth sat up. He touched the place where his shoulder and neck met, poking at one of many bruises.
“We should really learn to buy stronger beds.”
“We did for ourselves. That bed wasn’t bought for us.”
“It’s a surface we come in contact with.”
“Fair point.”
Mr. Moreau stood and lifted the mattress on the small bed. Collin couldn’t see past the large bed to what Mr. Moreau was looking at, but the man dropped the mattress and started pushing the wreckage back against the wall. “The loss is complete.”
Mr. Reevesworth laughed. “Like my shower from earlier.”
Mr. Moreau chuckled. There was straight-up pride in eyes as he looked his husband over. “Do you need to eat again before you shower?”
Mr. Reevesworth yawned and shook his head. “I’ll just have a good breakfast.” He stood up and swayed a little, catching himself against one of the bedposts.
Collin dared to put his feet on the ground. “Sir?”
“Yes, Collin.” Both Mr. Reevesworth and Mr. Moreau turned toward him.
“Can I, I mean, toilet, please?”
“Of course.” Mr. Reevesworth made the motion of reaching into his pocket even though he was not wearing pants.
Mr. Moreau went to his side table and retrieved a key. “I’ll help you, Collin, and then I’ll make sure Richard doesn’t crack his head open in the shower.
“Yes, sir.” Collin dared to approach.
The room was truly wrecked, but perhaps not as bad as it could have been. There was blood on the walls where Mr. Moreau had pressed Mr. Reevesworth up against the surface. Collin stared at it.
Mr. Reevesworth chuckled, picking up on what Collin was looking at. “It happens.”
Mr. Moreau helped Collin with the plug, including returning it to its place.
Collin followed him out of the bathroom.
“Mr. Reevesworth said to be in here, sir, but I’m not sure where…
” Collin looked left and right. One bed was a complete loss and the other was covered in sweat, cum, and tiny streaks of blood from Mr. Reevesworth’s back where his husband’s fingernails had stripped the skin.
“New sheets in here.” Mr. Moreau opened a trunk and pointed. “If you don’t mind putting new sheets on the bed, we can all sleep sooner. I’m assuming you’d rather stay?”
For a split second, Collin imagined returning to his cold, empty room alone. No. Absolutely not. “I’ll change the sheets while you get him through the shower.
Mr. Moreau nodded, a pleased smile on his lips. “Strip the pad beneath the sheets, too. It absorbs fluids. There’s a second one like it with the sheets.”
Collin only just managed to make the bed in time for Mr. Reevesworth to return. The man pitched straight into the clean sheets, eyes already closed, but he motioned Collin close to him. Collin lay down cautiously. How far away should he stay? Those bruises had to be punishing.
“Lose the clothes, kitten.”
Collin stilled. Could he? But no, everyone had seen him naked before. He could do this. He wanted this. He pulled off the sweater and pants and lay down beside his dom, not touching.
Mr. Reevesworth’s hands reached out and examined his body. Fingers plucked at Collin’s boxers. “Off.”
Collin swallowed and dragged the cotton over his ass and off his legs, dropping them over the side of the bed. “Better, sir?”
“Much.” Mr. Reevesworth dragged Collin in against him as the small spoon and stroked Collin’s belly, reaching down and finding Collin’s trapped cock. “So good for me.”
“I try, sir.”
“So pretty.”
“I think you’re high, sir.”
Mr. Reevesworth laughed into Collin’s hair. “émeric is terrifying.”
“So are you. I heard what you said about putting those clamps on me.”
“You’re going to be so devastated and beautiful, suffering for me.”
Collin’s dick twitched and Mr. Reevesworth chuckled. There was no way he had not felt that response, considering he was still carelessly stroking Collin’s trapped balls with the pad of one finger.
“I thought someone was going to fuck me tonight, sir. Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” Mr. Reevesworth’s lips pressed against the back of Collin’s neck. “The energy wasn’t right. But you and I have tomorrow. I want our first time to be alone.”
Collin shivered. That he could do. That he wanted to do. Alone felt manageable.
And romantic. Less like he was the new toy in the house for the puppy to play with and more like his master’s cherished companion.
He pushed back into Mr. Reevesworth’s body and settled in to rest.
Saturday
Collin opened his eyes to an empty bed and the sounds of someone swallowing around a cock. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes and glanced around the bedroom. The sounds were coming from the bathroom. Not his problem then. He snuggled back down into the mattress.
His phone rang from the floor. There was no one he wanted to talk to though who wasn’t currently in The Residency. He closed his eyes again. Whoever it was could go to voicemail.
The ringing stopped and then restarted. The sounds from the bathroom stuttered to a halt. Good grief. Annoying him once was one thing, but stopping that was not allowed. Collin rolled to the edge of the bed and swiped at the floor until he found his discarded pants.
It was Alice.
He thumbed the green button on the screen.
“Code Yellow, brother.”
Collin sat up. “Code Yellow?”
“Mom’s last known location was the airport, and her phone’s location services are off, which only happens when she flies. She doesn’t need to fly to get to me so…”
“She’s coming here.”
“Yep.”
Collin dropped his phone onto his face.
Fuck.
Collin’s story continues in Collin: Episodes 4-6…