Chapter 23 Elias #2
It’s strange for me to be so assertive, but it feels entirely natural in this context. Whatever he allows me, I can do. I don’t have to set boundaries for myself.
I’m so free.
He’s leaking in my mouth, twitching and pulsing. But he’s not thrusting into me, not moving at all.
My own cock is leaking and twitching too. I can feel it. I can see it when I glance sideways at the mirrored wall.
When I tug his balls, he lets out a rough groan and starts fucking my mouth, finally giving me what I’m asking for. I choke and gag. Tears leak from my eyes. He pulls harder at my collar and starts forcing his way deeper.
Fear flashes through me, lighting me up. I push back at him even as I tug harder at his balls. He starts to groan harshly, fucking my mouth until I lose awareness of everything except his cock and his dark, looming presence.
His balls draw up and tighten in my hand, then his cock kicks at the back of my throat. I choke on his cum as it pumps into me. I start to thrash. I can’t breathe. I can’t swallow.
Andre pulls free, releasing me. I pitch forward between his feet, catching myself on my hands, coughing as cum drips from my mouth to the hardwood floor.
Andre walks away. When I start to push myself up, he orders, “Stay like that.”
I settle back into my position on all fours, but I raise my head, blinking tears from my eyes until my vision clears. Andre is standing behind his desk, opening a drawer. He’s already zipped his pants and looks polished and put together, like he didn’t just come down my throat.
He pulls out a black box and lifts its lid. From inside it, he draws out a bottle of lube and a purple silicone rod of anal beads with a flat base. He walks back to me. He kneels behind me. I turn my head to watch in the mirror.
He’s calmer now, which means he’ll be less forceful but maybe more cruel.
He pumps lube onto his fingers. I can see him in the mirror, so I know he’s about to touch me, but I still jump when his fingers press against my hole.
I relax as he massages me. I moan when he pushes into me.
My stiff, aching cock twitches up and hits my belly.
I keep watching in the mirror. The scene is filthy.
I’m naked and collared. Precum is threading down from my hard cock to the floor.
Andre, fully clothed, is silent and businesslike behind me.
He withdraws his fingers and pumps more lube, using it to slick the toy, which he then starts pushing into me.
I whine as each new bead pops into me, pushing deeper, opening me wider.
I’m gasping and quivering by the end. I’m hoping to feel the toy slide in and out, but I’m not really surprised when Andre stands up and simply leaves it there.
“Stay,” he says.
He walks away, vanishing into the bathroom. I dimly register the sound of the faucet, but I’m mostly focused on myself. Waves of arousal roll through my body. My hard cock aches for touch. I need movement. I need to be fucked.
But that’s not going to happen. He’s punishing me.
Andre emerges from the bathroom with a towel. He uses it to clean up the cum that spilled from my mouth onto the floor. He doesn’t touch me.
He takes the towel back to the bathroom then emerges again, this time going to his desk. He sits. He jogs his mouse to wake up his computer.
I whine as I realize that he’s really going to leave me here. This isn’t the kind of punishment that I want. I huddle down, settling back onto my heels with my forehead on the floor. It shifts the toy inside me. It presses my stiff dick between my thighs and abdomen.
“I can’t see you like that,” he says. “Sit up.”
I do what he says. Maybe if I’m good, he’ll reward me.
But the minutes drag.
“Please,” I whisper.
“It’s way too early for you to start begging. Don’t you dare,” he warns as my hand goes to my cock.
I don’t know how long I can sit here. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Something bad, maybe.
But then Andre says, “The inbox is crammed with emails. Deal with it.”
The bizarre command hijacks my brain, freezing the impulses that were about to seize it.
I stare at him, uncomprehending. Emails are not part of this reality.
Andre’s sharp blue eyes flick up to mine.
“Get up,” he orders. “Get to work.”
There’s no disobeying him when he’s looking at me like that, so I get to my feet. I’m disoriented as I walk to my desk. I thump down in my chair, whining as the beads press deeper. Shakily, I turn on my computer.
As I start going through the inbox, I become aware of myself in a way that I don’t like. This work is part of a different reality, and I don’t like it intruding on me right now.
That’s why he’s doing it, of course. I see those cruel, electric blue eyes flicking to me.
I see his satisfaction in my torment, and I realize that this isn’t new.
He’s been my tormentor from the beginning, arousing me, threatening me with exposure when he knew all along.
Even when I came on the floor of his penthouse bathroom, he knew. He’s the one who made it happen.
I cry out when the toy starts vibrating. My hand jerks, hitting the mouse and sending it skidding across the desk.
I glare at him, suddenly angry, but then I see how dilated his pupils are. I see that he’s affected too. So I decide to play along. I can’t hope to hide now, and it helps me to remember that I don’t want to. I won’t go back inside the cage of myself.
So I stand up to retrieve my mouse. I let Andre see how swollen and hard I am. I let myself pant and moan. I couldn’t have stopped it anyway, so I stop myself from being ashamed of it. If he doesn’t want me to be this way, he can stop.
I get back to work as best I can. But as I sort of read through the emails, flagging a few as important, I rock and moan and shudder—and Andre watches me. He goes very still.
Then he gets up from his chair. I pretend to ignore him, even when he grabs the bottle of lube.
He walks around the work station and pulls my chair back from the desk. He pulls me out of the chair entirely and bends me down over the desk.
I hear his zipper. I hear the lube. Then I feel the vibrating beaded toy being drawn from me.
I close my eyes in relief. I moan when I feel the press of his cockhead.
He pushes into me, opening me wider than the toy.
He feels a thousand times better. He’s real and human, and he needs this like I do.
He’s already come once, so he’s unhurried as he fucks me against the desk. I, however, need release. I need it now.
I chase the rhythm. I push back against him. I tighten on his cock. I’m so close, but he’s not hitting me right.
I start squirming under him. He knows how to make me come. He’s doing this on purpose.
He grabs my collar and holds me still, not letting me arch into the position that I want. Angry, I buck against him. I slap my hands on the desk. He starts fucking me harder because he likes when I fight, when I’m upset.
The angle still isn’t quite right, but I might come anyway if he keeps pounding me. I moan louder.
Andre pulls me up abruptly by the collar, choking me. He goes still inside me.
“Why should you get to come?” he grits out by my ear. “You lied to me. You ruined everything. You’re one of them, and you made me—”
He cuts himself off, breathing harshly. I don’t understand what he’s saying. I can’t think enough to figure it out.
“Please,” I beg.
“No,” he says, and pulls out of me. He bends me down on the desk again and shoves the still-vibrating toy back inside my ass. He grabs my chair and maneuvers it under me, forcing me to sit. I cry out as the toy jars inside me. I almost come. Almost.
“Get back to work,” he orders and leaves me, returning to his own desk. I hear his zipper. The vibration turns off.
The computer screen blurs in front of me. Tears start running down my cheeks. I swipe at them, but more fall. I start shivering.
I just sit there.
“Get to work, Elio,” he warns.
I burst into tears at the name. I don’t want to go back to being Elio. I don’t like what he’s doing.
I slide out of my chair and onto the floor.
I crawl over to him on my hands and knees.
I’m afraid he’s going to ignore me or push me away, but he rolls his chair back.
He turns toward me. I don’t look up at his face.
I’m afraid of what I’d see. I put my hands on his knees. I need him to touch me. I need it.
I close my eyes and shudder in relief when his hand settles lightly on my head. I rest my face on his thigh. He’s breathing hard. He’s upset. But he lets me stay. His hand rests more heavily.
I start to feel better.
Andre alerts suddenly, but I don’t know why. I’m not tracking anything but him. Then I hear a knock at the door.
Andre leans forward over me. He checks something on his computer.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. Then, “Get under the desk.”
I don’t respond fast enough, so he starts pushing at me.
“Under the desk,” he orders. “Stay there and be quiet or, I swear to fucking god, you will not enjoy the consequences. You are not getting away from me.”
I crawl into the shadowed space. The front of the desk goes all the way to the floor, so I can’t see out and no one can see in. No one but Andre.
He scoots closer, crowding me and blocking me. A drawer slides open. I hear the metallic slide of a gun’s chamber being checked then the thump of the weapon onto the desk. A rustle of cloth tells me that Andre has covered it.
The knocking continues. Andre hits the button to remotely unlock the door. I hear it open then close, then heavy steps thud across the floor. Something about the tread makes the hair rise on the back of my neck. It’s … familiar.
“How the hell did you get up here?” Andre demands.
“Take a guess.”
At my father’s cold, familiar voice, my blood freezes.