Chapter One #2
My dick twitches at his demand, but that voice is there too, the one in my head telling me I shouldn’t want this. That I’m in control of my life, and that giving any kind of power to anyone else will only hurt me, but like I do so many other things, I ignore it.
I start with my shoes, Sir standing in front of me, arms crossed, watching as I remove those and my socks. I begin unbuttoning the two buttons on my polo next, before removing it.
“Same rules and limits as last time?” he asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Anything you specifically need from me?”
No. Yes. I don’t know.
My indecisiveness makes frustration burn at my nape, but it’s okay here.
Sex is the only place it is. “No, Sir.” I fold my shirt and set it on the arm of the couch, my shoes lined up on the floor below it, one sock in each.
I do the same with my slacks, remove and fold them, then my underwear, leaving a neat pile, before worrying they might fall off and setting them on the end table instead. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong. I think it’s cute that you’re tidy.” He winks. Winks. It’s absolutely ridiculous. What am I doing here with this guy?
“I’m a forty-year-old man. I’m hardly cute.”
“Forty-year-old men can be cute. One is standing in front of me right now.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to try and do that—flatter and praise me. I don’t need that.” It’s not that I don’t believe I’m an attractive man. I’m your normal, everyday man my age. I’m fairly handsome and don’t really care about that, but hearing it from him isn’t why we’re here.
“I think you like praise more than you realize. We know you like some humiliation too, but in that pretty little head of yours, being told you’re cute is the same as being a good boy, isn’t it?
You don’t think you should like the praise, but you do.
” He reaches out, wrapping a hand around my already hard and leaking cock.
“This twitched when I called you cute, just like it does when I say you’re a good boy. ”
I whimper when he strokes me, all these unfamiliar good feelings ping-ponging around my brain.
“Jesus, you’re hungry for it, aren’t you? When was the last time you had this?”
“With us.” I moan when his hand twists around the head of my dick.
He frowns. “That was two months ago. You haven’t been with anyone since?”
“No, Sir.”
“How often do you jack off?”
“What?” The question pulls me out of the moment.
“You heard me. Answer.” He uses his other hand to play with my balls, and I swear, I’m almost weak in the knees.
“I don’t know…a couple times a month?”
“That’s it?”
“I’m busy,” I defend. “And it’s not always easy for me to come…not without the other stuff.”
I expect him to argue, expect him to tell me something is wrong with me, but he just watches me for a moment, brow creased before he nods. “Then we’ll have to make sure you come over and over today.”
“Yes, Sir.” Somehow, those two words sound like a plea.
“Lean over the back of the couch.”
“I…okay, Sir.” I rush over to do what he says, resting my forearms against the couch, my ass out.
If I’d arrived before him, I would have brought lube and condoms downstairs in case we didn’t make it anywhere else, but I didn’t have time.
My head begins to spin, worry weighing me down—that I messed this up, that he won’t have what he needs down here to fuck me and we’ll have to stop for me to get it…
I feel Sir’s eyes on me, look over to see him still in the same place, watching me. It’s hard to miss the bulge in his jeans, but as mouthwatering as that is, it’s not what draws my attention. No, it’s the intensity of his blue eyes on me. Is he already disappointed?
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing. I just…if you want to fuck me, I can run up and get the lube and a condom. I meant to have supplies down here as well, but I was late and—”
“You weren’t late,” he says again. “And it’s not only your responsibility to make sure we’re prepared. It’s mine too. I’m not going to fuck you yet, but I am going to make you come. We’ll take the edge off, and then I’ll take you upstairs to continue.”
I hate the way I sag in relief, the way I need to know I didn’t fail him. That’s one thing I can’t handle—failure of any kind. “Yes, Sir.”
He offers a small smile. He’s so different from any Dom I’ve ever played with, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Something about him has me on edge—not in a bad way, not because I think he’ll hurt me or anything like that, but he’s just so…open.
Sir walks over behind me, still fully dressed and hard. He swats my ass, the most delicious stinging sensation spreading across my skin.
“More,” I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so needy.
“I remember how much you like this.” He smacks the other ass cheek. “Such a good, slutty boy who loves to get his ass spanked. Spread your legs.” I do as he says. He holds his hand beneath my mouth. “Spit.”
I’m not the spitting type, not in any circumstance other than sex, but here, it does something to my brain, short-circuits it, makes me crave more, so I obey.
“Again,” he says, and I do it a second time. “Good boy.”
Sir wraps his hand around my dick, working my cock in fast, strong strokes.
“We need to get these balls drained, so we’ll do this quickly. I won’t hold you off, but I still want you to ask me before you come. Understood?”
My body is already tingling, balls full, dick throbbing, Sir’s simple touch feeling so good. “Yes.”
He uses his other hand to swat my ass again, once, twice, then over and over and over again.
Each touch feels better than the last, my body welcoming the burn, the pain, coupled with the pleasure of his hand on my dick, stroking me, while Sir says, “That’s it…
you need this, don’t you? Such a dirty boy, been letting all that cum build up while you were waiting for me, weren’t you?
” Every one of those words does something to my brain.
“Yes. Please. I need more.” I’ll focus on these moments later, think about what it’s like to beg, to plead, to be needy and let someone give me what I desire. I might even be upset about it, but I can’t find it in myself right now. Everything feels too good.
“Suck.” He’s still stroking me, but Sir puts the hand he’s been spanking me with in front of my mouth.
I suck his finger, and then he’s pressing that same slick finger between my ass cheeks, against my hole, then slipping inside.
I’d cleaned myself for him, hopeful and ready for this, and the second his finger brushes my prostate, I’m already seconds away from coming.
“Please, Sir.”
“Please, what?”
“Can I come?”
“How bad do you need it?”
His hand feels so good on my dick, his finger fucking into me, that it takes everything in me to wait until he says I can, to be that good boy I only am when I give myself this. “So bad… I’ve been waiting for so long… I can’t come like this when I’m on my own. I need it.”
He rubs my prostate again, hand moving on my dick, mouth close to my ear when he says, “Let loose, good boy. Come for your Sir. You deserve it.”
That’s all it takes before I’m falling, descending into the kind of pleasure I rarely give myself, and I shoot, not even caring that I might get some on the back of my couch or that I’ll have to clean the rug beneath me. Later, I’ll likely worry about that.
“That’s it. Come for me. You’re doing so well.” He continues until I’m milked dry and there’s nothing left inside me.
Thank you floats around in my head, but I can’t let the words out.
Sir’s finger slips from my ass before he lets go of my dick. He holds his cummy hand out in front of me and says, “Lick.”
I do as he says, lapping at my release until he’s squeaky clean.
It’s then that my thoughts intrude. What am I doing letting some guy twelve years younger than me, whom I don’t even know, dominate me like this? Why do I only fuck strangers and in such dirty ways? What would my colleagues think? My students?
I stand up, slipping out from in front of him. “I should clean this up.”
“I’ll do it,” Sir replies, and strangely, that thought makes panic rise in me.
He watches me, always watching, in this way I don’t understand, like he’s searching for some kind of answer, then says, “I changed my mind. Go get the supplies and take care of the mess. Then we’re going upstairs. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”
I sigh in relief, both because he’s letting me tidy the mess and because he’s still giving me more.