Chapter 1 #3
He punctuates his point by letting the blade of his knife drop to my dick.
There’s a thick layer of fabric between my skin and the blade, and he’s not putting pressure on it, only teasing me with the edge of the blade.
I wince anyway out of human instinct, but even as I do it, I feel myself thrum with arousal.
God damn he’s beautiful. Looming over me, holding my dick hostage, threatening to do something ungodly right here in this torture shanty like it’s the fucking apocalypse and nothing matters anymore.
All my thoughts of the outside world and things that are supposed to matter officially fly out of the non-existent window.
“So? Am I right? Does the poor strung-up rabbit want to be freed, or does he want to get his dick wet?”
“Um,” I say like fucking moron. “Both, please.”
The man shrugs and makes a meh face. “You can’t have everything you want in life. You have to pick one, and maybe I’ll give you the other one as well if I feel like it. Or maybe I’ll kill you after. We’ll find out.”
Then his face shifts into a grin, but there’s no mirth to it. Flat affect, just his mouth twisted up and pulled to the side like a carnival clown.
Fuck, why does that make me want him even more? I knew I wasn’t super mentally healthy. You probably can’t be if you’re going to be a career criminal. But I never realized I was quite this fucked up.
“Dick, please,” I blurt out without thinking about it.
Like a child begging for dessert. Absolutely pathetic, but I don’t even regret it.
If he tries to kill me after, I’ll figure that out when it happens.
Or maybe I’ll just die happy.
He tilts his head at me again, obviously not expecting that answer but not displeased.
“Alright, little rabbit.”
Without further ado, he starts to strip.
Jesus Christ. I thought he was maybe offering to blow me.
Or jack us both off, or something. Not anything that requires him to get fully fucking naked.
But here he is, exposing miles of tanned, smooth skin, marred only by the occasional scar.
Not a single tattoo in sight, which is not something I think I’ve ever seen in person. Not with the kind of company I keep.
He’s just as cut as I thought. A tapered waist, lines of definition everywhere, and absolutely no body hair from the neck down, like he waxes or something. The kind of torso I would expect to see oiled up in a magazine. Or maybe a Greek statue.
I’m not that picky when it comes to partners. I’ve been attracted to a wide range of body types, and while I make it a point to be as muscular as I can, I don’t give a fuck about there being some fat on top of it. And I definitely don’t care about body hair shit, on me or anyone else.
But in this moment, with this person, I want nothing more than to see him sweat-drenched and slippery before running my hands and tongue over every inch of that tight little body. So far, there’s not a single thing about him that I’m not attracted to.
He’s wearing a jock strap, which is so sexy I might incinerate right here in my torture chair, but also a bitter disappointment when it means I don’t get to see his dick.
As soon as he finishes efficiently stripping down—ignoring me the whole time—he does something that I really do think will make me burst into flames.
He reaches into the pocket of his abandoned jeans, pulls out an individual packet of lube, rips it open with his teeth and then gets to work with the same mix of clinical efficiency and wild enthusiasm that he just had as he butchered my kidnappers.
His fingers get coated and then plunged directly into his asshole.
This is obviously something he does regularly, because he’s quick as he works his own hole open.
Soon he’s breathless again, his hard cock pushing at the pouch of his jock, the room filled with nothing but his occasional moan and the wet sounds of him fingerfucking himself for me.
Jesus fucking Christ. If I make it through this without coming in my pants before he touches me, I’ll be proud.
As soon as he decides he’s ready, he pulls out his fingers and wipes them on one of the dead guy’s shirts, zero fucks given. Then he saunters back to me, once again a lion on the prowl.
My hands flex as I reach for him, even though I’m still bound.
“Untie me, please,” I groan. “I need to touch you.”
He tuts me for a few seconds with a condescending look, shaking his head.
“No. I like you like this.”
I groan in frustration, then my hips buck up, also desperate for him to come closer. For me to be able to put my skin on his delicious golden skin, that’s only a few inches away.
“Kiss me,” I beg on an exhale.
That earns me a silvery little laugh from him, making him toss his head back as if he’s genuinely amused.
“No,” he says, without any follow up. “Now hang on, tough guy.”
I’m powerless to do anything but hang on.
I’m just as incapable of movement as I was when I was being tortured, except now I only want to be able to move so I can grab him, yank him closer to me and then rub my fucking face all over him until he’s red raw with stubble-burn and smells like nothing but my sweat for the rest of his life.
The rope that’s tied around my wrists is slung up over a rafter and tied, with the loose tail dangling down the other side, ending a few inches above my head.
The intruder grabs hold of it and uses the leverage to sling himself over my lap so he doesn’t have to touch me at all, which I take very personally, but also does nothing to impact how desperate my dick is to be inside him.
He releases the rope with both hands, reaching down between his legs to deftly open my fly. Then, finally, I get his skin on my skin. I suck in a sharp breath as his warm fingertips dip into my boxers and find my cock, wrapping around my length to gently tug me out.
The pulse of pleasure that shocks through me at the contact after all this teasing is so fierce, for a second I genuinely worry I’m about to go off in his hand. Then he really would murder me, I bet.
Instead, I take a few harsh breaths and try to get myself under control.
I focus on studying his face instead of what he’s doing to my aching dick as he produces a condom from somewhere and quickly slips it on me before lining me up with his wet little hole.
I look at how dark and thick his eyelashes are, making his irises look even more pale.
I notice his face is kind of heart-shaped, which makes him look prettier than he has any right to, and that once you get close enough to see through the stubble, he has a cleft in his chin.
I want to press my thumb into it.
I want to bite it.
I want to drip cum into the little depression after spraying it down his throat.
God, I’m already so lost over this alien creature about to fuck himself on my cock.
As soon as I think that, he brings his hand back up to the rope, braces himself and then steadily presses down until his rim has swallowed my cock.
His pace is unrelenting, like he’s not even breaking a sweat.
He doesn’t stop moving until his body has swallowed me from root to tip, and his thighs are flush with mine.
I’m still panting, my cock twitching inside him.
Move, please.
The urge to grab hold of someone and fuck has never been stronger. But I can already also feel the precipice of my orgasm right there, growing closer as he studies me with those dark-lashed eyes of his.
He looks less affected. Breathing heavily still, sure.
And there’s a pretty flush that’s reached his cheeks.
But apart from that, he seems content to hang there, only occasionally contracting to squeeze around my length and make me gasp, as if it amuses him how desperate and pathetic I am right now.
It’s not like he’s wrong. I am desperate and pathetic. He can do literally whatever he wants to me, and I’d probably thank him for it. And I’m supposed to be the one who’s always in control, both internally and of the people around me.
Without warning, his biceps flex and he raises himself up.
Once again, no part of him is touching me except the rim of his hole as it clutches the tip of my cock, and then he slams himself back down onto my lap, pulling the most strangled, undignified sound out of me that I think I’ve ever made during sex.
After that, it becomes a blur. My fearsome seraphim starts to work my needy, pathetic cock like he’s mounting a bull, and I’m still tied down and only along for the ride.
I cry out and start babbling and begging at some point.
He gets more and more flushed, but otherwise keeps his composure.
The power in his hips is indescribable, as he slams down over and over, swallowing me whole every time.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I babble. “Come. Please come. See you come.”
He considers me when I say it, not breaking his stride at all, only cocking his head to the side while he rides me.
Without warning, he picks up the pace. He’s working me ferociously, and I can feel my ability to stave off my own orgasm weakening.
Then he lets go of the rope with one hand again and wraps it around my fucking throat.
My neck is thick, and his hands aren’t small but they’re small compared to mine.
He can barely get his fingers halfway around, but that doesn’t seem to have an impact on how much force he exerts when he squeezes.
My air is cut off, my vision swims and every sensation in my body is cranked to a new level. With my skin tingling, I try to gasp but fail.
“That’s it,” he moans, more affected than I’ve seen him this entire time. “Come inside me, little rabbit. You know you want to. Spill that load for me.”