Chapter 16 Andre #2
“Something semi-casual,” I say.
I torture him for the next twelve minutes as we look at the options: the shirts, the pants, the belts.
I increase the vibration twice. I watch him shiver and sweat.
The compression briefs hide his erection, but his arousal is obvious anyway.
I pretend, of course, not to notice, and my own hard cock is similarly masked by compression shorts.
Elias lasts longer than I expect. He’s crouching to look at the shoes.
He chooses a pair. I’ve let him choose everything, and he’s very good at it.
He understands color and structure. He’s asked questions about the party and has adapted his choices to it.
It’s surprising in someone with his background.
But then, a lot about Elias is surprising.
He stands with a pair of shoes and finds me right in his space when he turns. I let my fingers brush his as I accept his choice.
“Mm, you’re good at this,” I tell him.
He can barely think at this point. I don’t know how he’s even making decisions in such a state. His lips are parted. His breathing is shallow.
I smile. It’s a cruel smile. I know it is, I can feel it. Maybe that’s what he likes about it. He shivers.
It’s time to break him.
I lay my hand on the side of his neck and let my thumb brush his jaw. “Thank you, Elias.”
His eyelashes flutter. He presses into my hand, then he catches himself. He startles. His eyes fly wide. A sound breaks from him as he breaks from me. He hurries, half stumbling, to the door.
“I’m sorry, I have to use the bathroom!”
“Other side of the bedroom,” I call after him helpfully as I increase the vibration once more.
He’s out of sight, but I hear his stifled cry.
As the bathroom door slams shut, I pick up my burner phone and make a facetime call.
My camera is already taped over, but I grab the mask with its voice modulator from where I’ve stashed it under a stack of folded sweaters.
I tug it on. I get the door shut with time to spare because Elias isn’t answering.
Oh, he better fucking pick up that goddamn—
His face lights up my screen. “I can’t talk right now,” he gasps. Tears are streaming from his horrified eyes. He’s on his hands and knees on my bathroom floor. The phone is on the ground, the camera aiming up at his face. He moves partially out of frame as he reaches behind himself.
“Don’t you fucking pull that out,” I growl at him, my altered voice harsh and cruel.
“I’m at my boss’s apartment. I’m in his bathroom! Please, I’m gonna come—”
“Yes, Elias, you are going to come, and I know exactly where you are because I’m at his fucking door.”
His eyes widen. “Oh my god!”
“Either you come on that bathroom floor, or I come in there and make it happen.”
“Please, no, please—ahh!” He bites his lip to cut off the cry as the vibrator hits its highest setting.
“You can cry all you want, but you will come.”
He does cry. He’s as quiet as he can manage, but the tears stream.
“Get your hand on your cock—now, Elias.”
I can tell when he does it. I can see the mixture of horror and relief in his expression. I can’t see his cock, but I prefer seeing his face anyway.
On a certain level, I want to touch myself. But I know it would ruin this. It would distract me from Elias, and it might twist things inside me. So I focus on the screen.
Elias’s need is so beautiful. He’s so aroused that he can’t think, but he can definitely feel. He’s desperate and terrified and thrilled. The veins in his neck bulge. He’s gasping. He’s close.
Then his jaw stretches and his mouth opens with an almost silent cry.
He’s shocked and horrified by his own orgasm.
The sight almost makes me come. I feel it so fucking deep.
He’s only a hundred feet from me, ejaculating on my bathroom floor.
He shudders and rocks with the phantom rhythm of being fucked.
“Turn it off,” he begs, breathless. “Please.”
“Show me your work,” I rasp.
“Fuck,” he whimpers as he picks up the phone. He angles it to show the ropes of cum on the tiles.
“And your cock,” I demand, shuddering when he shows it to me, semi-hard and still dripping as the vibrating plug milks him.
“Good boy,” I tell him as I end the call and turn off the vibration.
I take off the mask and hide it. I stow the burner phone. I lock down as best I can. Elias will be in no state to notice any flaws.
By the time he emerges from the bathroom, I’ve gotten changed into the new pants and shirt. I have the closet door open.
His face is pale. His eyes are still wide. He’s trembling.
He needs me.
But he doesn’t need me to break him, not right now, not again. He’s had enough.
What he needs is … fuck, I don’t know. It scares me to see it. It scares me that I want to give it to him when I don’t even know what it is.
At the very least, however, I have to stop torturing him. So I relent. I tell him, “I’ve got it from here. Thank you for coming, Elias.”
He jolts slightly at the word “coming.” Did I do it on purpose? Maybe. I am a little cruel. But he’s so pretty when he’s frightened.
Elias nods but doesn’t manage a verbal reply.
“Can you let yourself out?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“I’ll see you later.”
He nods again. He leaves. His mind is half gone.
When I hear the elevator, I pull up the camera feeds on my phone. I watch him exit the elevator and look around as though his stalker might appear. I watch him enter his apartment.
He lies down on his couch.
* * *
He’s still lying there two hours later when I’m standing on some rich asshole’s patio, smoking. I hate smoking, but it gives me an excuse to step away from the noise, to drop the mask for a minute. It gives me time to check on Elias.
Setting my cigarette on the railing, I text from the burner phone, Have you eaten?
I know he hasn’t, but I wonder if he’ll lie to me. On my regular phone, I watch him get out his own phone and read my message.
He replies indirectly, I’m not hungry.
I hesitate over what I want to ask, but I decide to do it. I switch to the burner phone and type, Are you angry with me?
I watch him read that. He’s sitting up now in his wrinkled suit. He’s not sure how to answer. He’s indirect again.
Elias: You could have exposed me.
I ask, What do you think he would have done?
Fired me, comes through as one text, then another says, I don’t know. And another: He would’ve been disgusted.
I frown. That’s not what I expected. Is that why he’s lying on the couch?
I type, He wouldn’t have been disgusted.
Elias: You don’t know that.
I grit my teeth and reply, Yes, I do. If he’d seen you like that, he would’ve fucked you.
Elias: He’s probably not even gay.
I stare at that, dumbfounded. I start typing, Don’t be an idiot, but I erase it. I send him simply, He’s gay.
Elias: That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me.
I’m at a loss. How is it not obvious to him?
Another message comes through from Elias: He wouldn’t have fucked me. He’s not like you.
I type, What does that mean?
Elias: You almost sound like you wanted him to fuck me.
He’s trying to sidetrack me, and it almost works, but he doesn’t get to control the conversation.
I text, Answer my question. What did you mean, he’s not like me?
Bubbles appear and disappear, but no message comes through. I check my other phone, watching Elias type and delete.
When he puts his phone down without sending anything, I text, Answer me.
But Elias doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even look at it.
Goddamn it.
Someone calls my name. I stow both phones, ash what’s left of my cigarette, and put on my lazy, rich-man smile before someone I don’t give a fuck about arrives to bore the shit of out me.
* * *
It’s almost midnight when I knock on Elias’s door, but I know he’s still up. He’s in his sweats and a t-shirt now. He’s finally showered, though he never ate, not that I saw. But I didn’t get to watch him like I usually do.
His eyes widen when he opens the door. “Andre.”
“Elias.”
“What are you—what can I … um …”
“I just wanted to check on you. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Oh. No. I was up. I’m sorry if I was … weird. I’m still, um, getting used to things.”
As I stand there, I realize why I’ve come. I’m here for an answer to my question. I can’t ask him, of course, but I find that I don’t need to.
He’s right. On the one hand, of course he is. It’s obvious that this version of me isn’t like the other, and I did that deliberately, channeling different parts of myself into my different roles.
On the other hand, for some reason, I still find myself surprised. Maybe not surprised. Unhappy.
This is the only role through which I can access him right now, but it’s the surface level role. It doesn’t give me what I really want.
But what is it that I want?
I think I want to be the other version of myself. But could that version of me walk into Elias’s apartment and talk to him? Kiss him?
Jesus, is that what I want?
It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand what’s happening.
For the first time in a long, long time, I feel afraid. None of my roles are giving me what I need, and I don’t know what to do about it.
And the things I feel like I need right now … soft things … I can’t accept.
So I do the only thing I can think of. I keep acting out my part.
I say, “You’re doing fine. Really good actually. I just … want to make sure you’re happy. With your … role.”
“I am.” He smiles, but I don’t believe it. He’s acting now too.
“Okay,” I say because that’s my line. “Goodnight, Elias.”
“Goodnight, Andre.”