31. Chapter 25
Lorenzo
I don’t bother locking the bedroom door. There’s no one in the apartment but us, and I also need him to know that the door is literally open if he ever decides to leave.
Dash stands near the foot of the bed, cold-flushed skin, hair mussed from the club and from my tugs, his thong doing almost nothing to cover his erection.
He watches me carefully, hungrily, waiting for my next instruction like it’s a treat.
I like that look on him—it suits him.
Pointing to the bed, I say one word. “Sit.”
He sits on the edge of the bed. Doesn’t ask what comes next, though I can almost see the question straining behind his teeth. Good. He’ll learn.
I take my time crossing the room. There is a drawer in my dresser I’ve rarely had a reason to open recently. Now, I slide it open, unhurried, and select what I need from inside.
Dash’s eyes are on my hands the whole time.
I let him watch as I pull a dildo from the drawer and heft it a few times in my hand. Silicone in the olive tones of my own flesh, thick, curved a bit, with a broad head and prominent veins. Just over eight inches long.
A birthday gift, in fact, from Pepe.
He said it was a perfect replica of my cock. Though he refuses to give me his sources, I have to say, he got it pretty damn right.
I hold it up for Dash.
“Know what this is?”
“A dildo,” he says, almost mockingly. I want to wipe that smug, horny smile off his face.
“It’s your punishment.” I turn it over in my hands. It even has heavy silicone balls that are eerily like mine.
Something flickers across his face. Confusion, then dawning understanding. It brings me forbidden pleasure, watching Dash realize just how much trouble he’s actually in.
“I’m not going to fuck you tonight,” I explain, and sit in the chair facing the bed.
I cross one ankle over the other knee. Comfortable.
“You broke my rule, Dash. If we’re going to do this, you need to learn what happens if you don’t obey.
So, tonight, you don’t get to have me fuck you.
Instead, you’ll use this on yourself. While I watch. ”
His lips part, eyes widening.
“That’s what you wanted, right?” I continue, enjoying each syllable. “From the very beginning. Leaving your door open to shower, then the whole deal with Eddie. You want to be watched. And so, that’s what I’m giving you. Nothing more.”
I pause, then raise the dildo for his inspection. “This, by the way, is modeled after me. So I can see how good I’ll fit in that tight little hole of yours.”
“Fuck, daddy,” he whispers.
“You think you can take it?”
He nods eagerly. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
I toss the dildo to the floor, then spread my legs, massaging my cock through my pants.
“Good boy. Now get it.”
He climbs off the bed and I stop him before he takes a step. “Wait. Crawl.”
Slowly, he lowers himself to his knees, not breaking eye contact with me. My cock hardens beneath my grip. I’ll take it out soon, but right now, I savor the friction.
I watch as Dash crawls along the rug until his hands reach the dildo, just in front of me. He looks up at me beseechingly, waiting for further instructions.
“Now turn around.”
He shuffles until he’s on his hands and knees, his ass facing me. And what a beautiful ass it is. Leanly muscular, pale—though showing the delectable remnant of a skimpy tan line. I remember from his Instagram how much Dash likes to wear Speedos in the summer.
The thin strap of his thong slices between his cheeks, the cleft of which is lined with the softest-looking dust of hair.
I reach forward and hook my finger in the strap of the thong and tug, exposing the tight rosebud of his hole.
“Such a nice hole,” I mutter aloud. “And so fucking tight. You think you can take that cock, boy?”
“I’ll try, daddy,” he whimpers.
I release his thong, letting it snap against his hole. He grunts, his back arching, and then his grunt turns into something that sounds suspiciously like yes sir.
“Now crawl back to the bed.”
He does, then climbs onto it at my instruction.
“Take off the thong.”
In seconds, it’s on the floor.
He moves only at my direction, lying back, propping himself up on some pillows, reaching for a bottle of lube in the nightstand.
“Start with your fingers.”
“Yes, sir.” He slicks his fingers and uses them to work himself open. I greedily catalogue every small sound he makes, every hitch of his breath, every time his eyes drift shut.
“Eyes on me,” I growl.
I want his attention on me. Only me. Not on the ceiling, not lost in his own head. On me.
“Sorry, sir.”
A wicked grin touches my mouth. “No, you’re not.”
He’s not. I can see it in the satisfied curl of his lips, and fuck it, I don’t want him to be sorry. I want this. This small, ongoing rebellion, this constant testing of every boundary I set.
He works two fingers into himself, a fucking beautiful moan escaping him. I sit back in my chair, unzipping my pants finally and touching myself. My cock is hard and aching. It, of course, wants to be inside Dash right this fucking moment, but Dash isn’t the only one I’m teaching to be patient.
I stroke myself instead—a deeply inadequate substitute for Dash’s hole.
“Now the toy,” I say, after his breathing has gone ragged, after sweat has coated his body, after he’s gouged himself knuckle-deep.
He reaches eagerly for it, slicking the dildo and then pressing it against himself. He’s slow at first, and I watch as his whole body responds, back arching off the pillow, his mouth falling open in an unspoken grunt.
“Slower. I want you to take your time with this.”
He bites his lip as inch after slow inch disappears inside him.
“Good boy.” The praise causes his hips to hitch, driving the dildo all the way inside.
Fuck.
His free hand fists in the sheets, his knuckles white, while he works the toy inside him, finding his own steady rhythm. His hole clenches and flexes around the toy, accommodating its girth, and the speed of my hand on my cock ratchets up.
“Oh, and Dash?” I add, my own breath growing a bit shallow.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t get to cum tonight.”