Chapter 5
Garcia
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
I can’t believe I’m here.
On my knees.
With Zero’s dick actually in mouth.
I also can’t fucking fathom how my cheeks seem to be sucking themselves in on their own volition.
Or how my tongue – also without my conscious advisement – is gently moving up and down.
Slathering spit on his slit.
Painting precum across my tastebuds.
Hell, I really can’t even begin to process that I like this shit.
Why I like it.
How. Fucking. Much. I like it.
Because this isn’t supposed to be happening.
This was never supposed to happen.
I’m not like my best friend.
I can’t just say “fuck it” and take what I want.
Do what I want.
Enjoy who I want.
There are consequences to these actions.
Complications.
Ramifications…although…then again…there are evidently consequences to not completing these actions.
I guess this is the sexual equivalence to arguing the difference in varying degrees of murder.
Intent is everything.
And honestly?
Under oath?
If I asked about whether my intent was to stay alive or make him feel fucking alive, I’m not sure I could answer with certainty the answer I’ve coached myself for years to answer.
I mean…come on.
His cock is going down smoother than Extra Anejo tequila.
“On all fours, Mr. Garcia,” instructs the dangerous woman from somewhere behind me. “Ass out.”
Correcting my frame not only forces me into a more humiliating position, it strips me of any control I may have been able to hold onto.
Which I am now understanding is the whole fucking point.
Of this.
Of everything.
Ravencroft – clearly – isn’t just entertained by making someone do the unexpected.
She’s amused by reminding someone of their place in her world.
Just how helpless they are and how powerful she is.
“Much,” begins the female I had truly had no business being in the presence of at the same time she props her heel covered feet on my back, “better.”
Are you fucking kidding me?!
I’m not only a blow job action figure but a fucking foot stool?!
“Fiorenzo,” she precedes despite my increasing disbelief, “fuck his face.”
My cock swells in tandem with Zero’s.
“Wh-wh-wh…”
“Grab his hair,” Ravencroft orders as she presses the bottom of her shoe into the back of my head, callously pushing me forward, “and fuck his face.”
Shaky fingers slowly invade my hair.
“And really fuck his face, Fiorenzo.”
They suddenly flex, prompting my mine to do the same against the warm ground beneath me.
“I expect to see tears.” Her foot shoves me again. “And hear him choking.”
I’ve never done either.
Fuck, the closest I’ve ever even gotten to some shit like this was a few sharing experiences over the years, but even those weren’t like this.
Maybe someone’s hand felt someone’s nuts.
Or maybe someone gave someone else a stroke or seven.
Or maybe balls were slapping into balls during a DP.
However, not this.
Nothing.
Like.
This.
“Do to him…” Ravenscroft sultry coos, “what it is you dream of him doing to you.”
There’s barely time to grab a glimpse of Zero’s face before mine is yanked forward to the point my nose is smashed against his base. Groans of discomfort fuse with choked gasps causing my throat to viciously constrict, a constriction that leads to clawing at my scalp.
And balls slapping at my skin.
And unrecognized grunts gracing my ears. “Fucking. Take it.”
Zero darts deeper.
Cuts off any ability to catch a breath – even through my nose.
“That’s right,” he purrs as he rams himself forward once more. “Gag, Master.”
Master?
Did he really just call me master?
Is that the type of shit he wants from me?
Dreams of what I could do to him?
Would do to him?
Can’t deny that I have thought about doing to him?
Feeling my own shaft swell to the point of pain is what has me hungrily whimpering.
Anxiously trying to relax my slick muscles.
Suck in air through my smushed nostrils.
Work to swallow and suck and slop up the spit escaping at the corners of my lips.
“Fuck,” growls Zero in a voice I vividly dream of using on him. “Open wider, for your little fuck toy.” He aggressively yanks himself back. “We wanna hear you fucking choke.”
I drop my jaw as far down as it’ll go, extend my tongue outward, and arch myself forward to grant him the access he’s requesting.
Without hesitation.
Or resistance.
Or concern.
Fuckme…I can’t believe I like this.
That I’m doing this.
That I have no objection to this.
“Such a good Master,” praises the male almost half my age prior to heaving himself further.
“Listen to that shit.” One glide across my wet tongue into my throat gets us both groaning, yet it’s the second that drives itself deeper that results in my entire frame seizing.
Twitching. “What a pretty fucking sound…” He grabs two handfuls of hair near my ears and ruthlessly rocks into my face.
“Perfect fucking sound.” Having my face ceaselessly bashed in between choked breaths is enough to make my eyes water, which quickly leads him to noting.
“And perfect fucking tears for me, Master.”
Inexplicable urges to please him – as if pleasing him is what’s pleasing me – convince me to meet him buck for buck.
Fuck for fuck.
Literally cry for more.
Drool wildly flies off my lips and onto his tensing thighs while tears blur my vision to the same speed erotic ringing rattles my ears.
Each barbaric punch into my throat makes me more ravenous than the last and greedier for more than just the steady stream of precum that’s promising a huge load to follow.
I find myself mindlessly attaching my fingers to the back of his calves.
Throwing myself into his thrusts.
Grunting and humping and wordlessly commanding he comes for me.
Like a good little fuck toy should…
“F-f-f…” is all that managers to slip loose alongside body shaking shivers.
“Beg,” demands Ravencroft in a deliciously malicious tone. “Beg me to let you come.”
Except I don’t want him begging her.
He should be begging me.
And only me.
“Beg me to let your master taste you.”
The division between my separate wants instantly deepens.
Widens.
Tears my soul in two.
Convinces me to swipe away some of the spit sliding down my neck and smear it across the outside of my pants, desperate for some reprieve.
Any.
“Please, can I come?” Zero asks, voice unsteady just like the grip on my crotch.
“No.”
I don’t know whose balls clench tighter, mine or his.
“P-p-p-please?” breathlessly implores the man whose shaft I’m now completely closing my mouth around again, lips feverishly rushing towards his base once more, anxious for the reward I can’t stop salivating about. “Fuckkkkkk, Master. I-I-I c-c-cannn’t…”
“You come without my permission, and I’ll cut it off while it’s still in his throat,” Ravencroft emotionlessly threatens.
It’s impossible to deny the slight deflation in his dick; however, instead of allowing that to be the deterrent it should, I suck harder.
Roll my tongue around faster.
More vicious.
Squeeze his length to the same frantic rhythm he was fucking my face mere moments ago.
“Please!” shouts Zero at the top his lungs, grasp continuously oscillating between pulling me closer and pushing me away. “Please, let me come!”
“No.”
Spit yet again begins trailing past my pressed lips towards his surprisingly smooth sack.
Didn’t know he shaves or perhaps waxes.
It honestly makes me want to drop my attention down to it.
Trace his balls with my tongue.
One.
Then the other.
Collect them both at once and guzzle them together like I’m guzzling his cock.
Groans spring free over the idea alone adding maddening vibrations to a situation my best friend is already white knuckling through.
DiosMio, why do I find his struggle deliciously addictive?
Why is it the more he fights himself for control the faster my palm pumps my pants covered dick?
And why the fuck am I so close to coming too?
This isn’t normal.
None of this is normal.
Which doesn’t have to be a bad thing…or does it?
“Pleaseeeeeee,” airily sobs the one person on the planet I’d do anything for. “Pleaseeeee, let me come, Ravencroft. Pleaseeeeeeeeee…”
An irrefutable, malevolent hum precedes her coldly announcing, “Never forget it’s me you answer to in this world, Fiorenzo.”
Zero’s cock noticeably thickening has my fingers moving faster against my own.
Rubbing and needily trying to cup my balls.
Fuck, I’m so close.
Close enough that I’ll come when he comes and playoff the mess during mental redirect in the car.
“You may borrow a watercraft vehicle.”
Defeated pants in him spark them in me.
“And you may come,” Ravencroft indifferently declares, “while Garcia swallows.”
And I do.
The instant the first blast hits the back of my throat I greedily groan and gag and gag and moan; however the next is when I savagely begin gorging on the salty, blazing heat, allowing it to simultaneously sooth and sear my sore, elongated muscles alike, prompting my own load to rush past my tip, soaking my boxer briefs.
My pants.
My palm.
Instinctively, I lift my damp hand up, wordlessly demanding he lick it.
Taste it.
Me.
There’s no hesitation in the initial lick.
Or the next.
Or even the ones that follow it.
He licks and laps and laps and licks in between hot, heavy huffs of satisfaction that are the signature of approval I didn’t know I needed, and one I – unfortunately – don’t have the time to truly appreciate courtesy of my head, being abruptly ripped backwards to meet Ravencroft’s stare.
“This little play session came with a photoshoot of fun for collateral damage purposes.” Her slow, vile smirk successfully churns my stomach. “Would you like copies for your own personal case files, or will the ones I’m keeping to potentially share with your colleagues be enough, Mr. Garcia?”