Chapter 16 Brody #3
“Or, if you’d rather, I can bend you over right here,” I murmur, “and put on a show.”
He chokes out a sound—half shock, half arousal—then fumbles to open the liftgate.
That’s my desperate boy.
The trunk opens and I step behind him, lowering my voice into that tone I know liquefies him.
“Take your pants off and climb in.”
He hesitates for a single breath and drops his pants but doesn’t kick them off or crawl into the back. I give him a moment to decide if this is really what he wants, or if he’s going to run again, but he doesn’t move.
His posture is straight and stiff again, nose slightly in the air. I see what he’s doing. He’s trying to take control of small details to assert himself. Interesting.
Well, if he wants to expose his ass to forty-degree temperatures to make himself feel stronger, more power to him. We’re blocked by trees, the SUV, and shrouded in darkness. The moon and a nearby streetlight give me just enough light to see.
I step up behind Beck and put pressure on his back, guiding him to bend for me.
He does, placing his hands on the edge of the trunk.
My palm caresses the spot on his ass that just days ago was pink with my handprint.
I drag the tips of my fingers through his crack, a barely there tease to remind him to relax.
Shifting to the side, I bring two fingers to his face. “Suck, Becky. Get them nice and wet for me.”
He whimpers and opens his lips, letting me slide them into his mouth. I pump them between his lips, a preview of what’s to come.
“I can’t wait to hear you beg again,” I say, gripping one cheek and spreading his ass so I can look down at his perfect, tight hole. “And I can’t wait to feel this tight ass squeezing my fingers while I milk you.”
He shudders and releases a shaky breath when I spread his spit over his hole and rub circles around it, watching it pulse and wink at me.
“Just fucking get it over with,” he hisses, but his voice is weak and raw.
“You want it?” I ask him. “Want my fingers inside you, stretching you, filling you?” I tease his hole with the tip of my middle finger, putting pressure on it but not pushing.
“I guess we’re going to find out,” he chokes out. His voice is surprisingly resolute.
I step closer until his back brushes my chest. He’s bent over the lifted trunk, hands braced on the floor of the cargo space, pants pooled around his knees. His breath clouds the cold air in sharp, uneven bursts.
God, he looks perfect like this.
“Someday I’m going to fuck you like this,” I murmur against his ear. “So play close attention and do exactly what I tell you to.”
A shiver rolls through him.
I drag my fingers down the mounds of his ass, watching the way his body tenses and melts in the same second. His skin is heated, and when I pull his cheeks wider and spread him with my thumb, the sound he makes is already a half-plea.
“You ready for my fingers?” I ask.
He nods so hard he’s almost rocking the vehicle.
Words, baby. Come on.
“Use your words,” I say, letting my tone dip to that register that turns his bones to jelly. “Tell me.”
“I… I want your fingers.” He swallows. “Please.”
Oh, holy night.
Not I’m ready for your fingers. Not get on with it. He wants them.
And he said please.
I bend low and spit directly onto his hole, adding to his mostly dried saliva that I used to soften and tease him. The sound is loud in the cold, quiet lot. I spit again and tease my finger just inside, slickening the tight, trembling ring of muscle.
The first finger presses in slow. He gasps, his spine arching like a cat. I pump my finger in and out, letting him get used to it while I push more spit inside his hole. I go a little deeper with each pulse, until I’m sinking in to the second knuckle.
His thighs shake with the first light stroke over his prostate, and I know I could probably prove my point with just the one finger, but I’m desperate to see his ass gape.
Beck bites down on the inside of his arm to muffle the sound in his throat, but he can’t hide the way his back arches, pushing his ass into my hand.
“Relax, Becky,” I hum. “You know you love this.”
His breath sputters out in a shaky moan. “I… I don’t.”
I curl my finger.
He chokes on a cry. It’s muffled, but sharp and desperate. His knees buckle so hard I have to grip his hip to hold him up.
“Baby, you can’t lie to me,” I rasp. “Your body tells the truth even when your mouth doesn’t. Now bear down for me.”
I add a second finger.
His body jolts forward, forehead dropping to the carpeted trunk floor. His hands fist in the fabric of his hoodie, now pushed up his torso to expose his muscular back to me. His thighs tremble so violently I can feel it through my wrist.
Jesus Christ and all his disciples, I beg you, for all that is holy in this world, please don’t let me come before he does. And thank you, Lord, for making this perfect specimen of a man and placing him in my path. In Jesus' name, I pray.
Ah-fucking-men.
“Brody—Oh—Fuck—”
“That’s it,” I say. “Let me open you up.”
I work my two fingers steadily, scissoring, stretching him just enough to make him gasp but not enough to overwhelm him. His breath is ragged, broken on every exhale.
Then I angle my hand just slightly, a tiny shift and a beckoning motion, and goddamn. When my fingers drag over his spot, his entire body locks up. He makes a sound I’ve never heard before. Something wild and untouched and terrified of how good it feels.
“Right there,” I say, dragging over it again.
He moans. Loudly. He can’t even pretend he’s not getting his world rocked.
“That’s the spot,” I murmur, my breath fogging in the night air. It no longer feels cold, though. I’m burning up. “This is how you fall apart for me.”
“Brody—Brody, please—Please—”
I curl my fingers again.
He cries out and pushes up, gripping the edges of the trunk like he’s trying not to fly apart.
“You want to come?” I ask.
He nods frantically, eyes clenched, teeth between his lips, and hips rocking back onto my hand without shame now.
“Tell me what I want to hear.”
His voice comes out shredded. “I want to come… On your fingers…”
“Say it right.”
He shudders and forces the words out.
“I want to come on your fingers like a… a good girl.”
My cock throbs painfully at that.
“You’re my good girl?” I ask, my voice quiet, dangerous.
His head drops, shoulders heaving. “Yes. Yes—Please—”
“You beg so prettily.”
He whimpers.
I focus my efforts, picking up the pace. Not rough, just precise. Deep strokes, curling over that perfect spot each time. His body shakes uncontrollably, and he pushes up on his toes, fucking himself on my fingers.
His body is strung as tight as a wire, every muscle trembling. He’s so close he can’t even breathe right.
“Come for me,” I command softly. “Come, Becky.”
Like he was waiting for permission, he doesn’t last a second longer. His orgasm detonates. His entire body snapping tight, then bowing beautifully. I hold him steady with one hand as the other stays buried inside him, curling and coaxing every last shudder out of him.
Hot pulses of cum shoot out onto the bumper, onto the carpeted trunk floor, and all over my hand where it slipped under him to brace his hip.
I lift that hand instinctively, letting his warm spill coat my palm.
“God,” I murmur, low and hungry. “Look at you.”
Beck collapses forward, trembling, breath coming in broken gasps. He’s so wrecked he can’t even form a word, just a soft whining sound that shoots straight to my dick.
I slide my fingers out of him slowly. He makes a helpless little noise, like he doesn’t want to lose the contact.
“Shh,” I whisper. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Before he can lift his head, I bring my cum-slicked hand down between his cheeks. I spread him open gently, dragging the slick of his own release across the seam of his ass, smearing it up and down the crack.
He gasps a sharp inhale that edges into a moan.
“Brody—”
I hum softly, rubbing the warm, slippery mess right over the spot that makes him twitch. “You feel how hot you are? How sloppy?”
His hips jerk helplessly backwards.
“Yeah,” I breathe, letting my voice drop. “That’s all you. You did that.”
I smear a slow circle over the entrance I just opened with my fingers, letting the cum coat him. He whimpers, pushing back without even realizing he’s doing it.
“Such a slutty little hole.”
He shudders so violently the car creaks.
My cock aches against the fabric of my pants. The sight of him like this, bent over, open, shining with his own release, is too much.
I step in behind him, pulling my cock from the confines of my pants and positioning myself between his shaking thighs. I grip his hips, guiding him just where I want him, pushing his chest down and tilting his ass back.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to fuck you. I just want to feel you.”
To his credit, he stays still, or tries to, but his legs are trembling so hard his ass pushes back into me in tiny involuntary movements.
I line myself up between his cheeks and drag the length of my cock through the slick mess I milked out of him, pushing his cheeks together. My breath punches out of me at the heat of him, and the tight slide of his body embracing the ridge of me without taking me inside.
He gasps. Loudly.
“That’s it,” I groan, rutting slowly between his cheeks, letting the head of my cock glide up and down the slippery crack. “Feel that? That’s what you do to me. Such a good girl for me. Such a filthy, slutty, good girl.”
He moans into his arms, hips rocking back to match every stroke like he can’t stop himself.
“You’re perfect like this,” I pant. “So fucking perfect.”
His body flexes, muscles clenching with every drag of my cock. His spit and cum-shined ass create a slick, hot path I glide through again and again until the pleasure coils sharp and deep in my gut.
Beck tries to lift his head to look back at me, but his neck gives out and he collapses forward again, shaking. He’s hard again, jerking himself while I use his ass to get myself off.
I growl, thrusting faster now, pushing his cheeks together and sliding through him with smooth, obscene friction. “Fuck, baby, I’m going to come all over this perfect ass.”
His answering moan is so fucked-out and needy it nearly finishes me on the spot.
I brace one hand on the small of his back, pressing him down, angling him just right. My other hand grips his hip, holding him still as my hips snap forward again and again, grinding between his cheeks, over his hole, smearing his cum everywhere.
“There,” I gasp. “Fuck—Right there.”
Sensation coils in the base of my spine, a tight, thick ball of pressure that expands, pushing out until there’s nothing but spine-tingling pleasure wracking through my body.
“Such a good fucking girl.” I come hard, spilling between his ass cheeks. Hot stripes paint his skin, mixing with his own release. Beck shouts his release, and I groan, riding out the aftershocks of my orgasm, hips rocking through the last pulses.
When the aftershocks fade and I can see straight again, I still and rest my forehead between his shoulder blades for a second, catching my breath.
I feel limp and destroyed and more fucking satisfied than I ever have.
Beck is quiet except for the small rasps of breath. I drag my fingers through the mess coating his ass, both of our cum combined, and gently rub it into his skin in slow, soothing strokes.
“Good girl,” I murmur, kissing the top of his spine. “You did so fucking good for me.”
His breath catches again, softer this time. Fragile. I can sense the oncoming panic, but I’m determined to be with him through it all, so I don’t let him pull away.