Chapter 76 Elliot #3
I bend over the table again, knees wobbly, but for a totally different reason this time. I part my legs as wide as I can, tilting my hips up and out, sucking in a quick breath as the movement gives me a no-nonsense reminder of the run-in I just had with the cane.
“Oooh,” I say as the syringe slides into my ass. It’s slippery and smooth. Foreign and hard. Narrow enough to secure entry even if I were to clench hard. Stuart slides it out a little and then probes it in even deeper.
“How does that feel?”
“Uh, not nice, Daddy,” I lie.
I’m not lying a little. I’m lying big time. I live for this shit. Seriously, I eat it up. It’s every one of about a million fantasies I’ve had about a dirty doctor brandishing a rectal thermometer come to life, and then some.
“Well,” he says as he slowly depresses the plunger, shooting icy lubricant deep into my anal cavity, “you’re being a very good boy to keep still and take it even though it’s uncomfortable.”
I feel more than a little regret when he removes the syringe, but I buoy measurably when I hear the familiar clank of his belt and fly coming undone.
A trickle of lube spills out of me, dribbling slowly down my taint.
Stuart scoops it up with the head of his dick, rubbing it over my hole once or twice before notching himself into me and thrusting.
“Just relax, baby. This will only hurt a bit.”
I moan like it’s the end of the world. Like black holes are forming and planets are colliding.
My ass clenches and struggles. Stretching and aching as Stuart claims me.
He starts thrusting as soon as he’s inside me.
Hard. Fast. Not slow and gentle like usual.
He holds my hips and drives himself into me. Punishing me. Using me. Teaching me.
The pain is exquisite. Masterful in its intensity.
The pleasure is better. Bigger. Deeper. Harder than anything I’ve felt before.
His thick, fat cock plunges in and out of me, squelching obscenely with each thrust. The pressure is unreal.
It’s heavy. It’s everywhere. It heats my body and sets me on fire.
My balls struggle against their restraints, swelling and trying in vain to get closer to me. Fists clench. Teeth grind.
My orgasm is so close it knows my name. It whispers it softly at first and then louder and louder.
“Please come, Daddy,” I wail in a panic. “Please come. Please come!”
Thank God, that pushes him over the edge. His dick thickens, pulsing once and then shooting a piping hot load into my guts. He shudders and roars, fingers digging into my skin as he forces his seed deeper and deeper inside me.
I collapse onto the desk the second he pulls out. Shaking so much that I can’t speak. Stuart puts a heavy hand on my back. Tears start to flow the second I feel it. He lifts me and turns me around, wrapping me tightly in his arms.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I sob. “Thank you, thank you.”
Tears fall in sheets. Hot, messy streaks run down my face and splash onto Stuart’s nice shirt.
I cry and cry. Not cute crying. Not a sexy little sniffle and a handful of tears.
I bawl. I cry because my ass is hurting like a bitch, and I want to come more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
I cry because, by some miracle, Stuart knows exactly what I need and gives it to me.
I cry because I’ve never felt understood before, and goddammit, it feels so fucking good.
I cry because I’m scared of a world without Stuart, and yeah, I cry a little because I know I love him, and he doesn’t feel the same way.
But mostly, I cry because I’ve never been this happy before.
When I’ve managed to calm down to the point where I’m just hiccupping and spluttering, not sobbing and choking, Stuart leads me down the hall to the living room. As we pass the mirror at the entrance, he says, “Want to see?”
Oh. He’s not perfect, after all. He’s whatever comes after perfect.
Whatever’s more perfect than perfect—that’s Stuart.
I start crying again. Just a little. This time I cry because no one else in the world gets this kind of shit about me, and I never even knew how to put into words what it is, but somehow, I’ve managed to find it.
Do bears shit in the woods?
Of course I want to see what my freshly caned ass looks like.
He puts my arms around his neck, my back toward the mirror, and lifts my shirt carefully.
I crane my head back to see. My inner thighs are shiny and slick, hole dripping with cum and an excess of lube.
My cheeks each have a neat blush of color on them.
Two little swatches made up of six fine, pale-pink welts.
“That’s it?” I wail in disbelief. He smiles at my reflection and laughs softly. “Seriously? That’s all? It feels like they should be purple and blue, and, and blood red and swollen!”
“Well, I can always hit harder next time,” he offers helpfully. As always, he’s a man who focuses on solutions, not problems.
Oh God. I love him.
I drop my forehead to his shoulder and stifle a giggle. “No, thank you, Daddy,” I say quickly.
He fingers my welts, drawing a light line along each one, reliving the intimacy of each stroke with me.
His hands slide under my shirt, pawing my back heavily, digging into muscle and gradually working their way down again.
This time, when he touches my ass, he finds all the places I’m not hurting and caresses me there.
Rubbing and stroking. My head spins. My feet leave the ground.
I exist in a space at least a foot and a half off the floor.
Stuart’s there with me. Holding me, soothing me.
“I know that was hard. I know it was,” he croons, “but you took it like such a good boy. I’m proud of you. So proud. So, so proud.”
My dick digs into his hip, hard and insistent, bringing me back down to Earth.
He takes my hand in his. “Come sit,” he says when we get to the sofa.
“Um, sit, Daddy?”
He smiles darkly, taking my jaw firmly in one hand, reminding me he’s the owner of every one of my fantasies. “Remember what I said happens to good boys?”
“Good things?” I squeak, immediately easing myself onto his lap with only the slightest of hisses.
He unbuttons my shirt, taking his time with each button, sliding his hand over the skin he’s just freed before moving on to the next one.
I squirm, and not just because my ass has been pulverized.
Ravenous desire burns under my skin, demanding attention.
He eases my shirt off my shoulders and circles me with his arms, gently setting about undoing the strap around my balls.
I sigh in relief when they’re free. He smiles and rubs his face against my neck.
I rock my hips desperately, a subtle reminder to him that even though I’m behaving my ass off, I’m pretty damn close to losing my mind.
A big, warm hand slides up my inner thigh. I watch it, willing it to keep moving. Higher. Closer. Suntanned skin on mine. Weathered. Lined. Moving slowly, agitating the hair on my legs, making me tremble in anticipation. He pauses, and for a second, I think he’s going to stop, but he doesn’t.
Thank God and thank fuck.
He scoops up a handful of the mess leaking from me and wraps his hand around my dick.
The pleasure is instant. Entirely absent one second, and then it’s there.
There. Everywhere. Pure pleasure. Absolute ecstasy.
A hard squeeze. A slow drag. A loud, frantic sound seeping from me.
I thrust into his fist, gasping and crying out when my well-thrashed buttocks clench and graze against his lap.
Deep, perfect pain that does nothing but heighten the pleasure.
I ache. Inside. Outside. My balls. My belly.
“More,” I groan, voice shaking scarily.
He reaches between my legs with his free hand and curls his fingers into me. A lot. Three fingers easily. Maybe more. I’m suddenly full. Stretched and completely contained. Owned as he holds me open and strokes me at the same time.
My eyes slide closed. My mouth opens. My moans stop being separate things. They bleed into one. My heart squeezes impossibly hard. I arch back and scream, raspy and raw, broken and whole, as I empty my swollen balls into Stuart’s waiting hand.