His to Take (INCANDESCENT #1)

Chapter 1

JAMIE

“Fuck. Fuck. Yeah, r-right there.”

I thrust the dildo in up to the hilt, hips bucking against my own hand, trying to force it deeper.

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. It’s not a real dick, and there are no strong hands holding me down, forcing my legs against my chest and folding me in half as I get plowed to within an inch of my life.

I pump the dildo slower in favor of fucking myself harder, each time pulling it almost all the way out before ramming it back in. Like a real man would do. Making me take it all like a good boy. And I would. I would take it for him. I’d take anything. Everything.

“Harder. Fuck me harder,” I beg. My voice sounds choked, watery.

I close my eyes, pretending there are hands holding me down, a real cock pumping in and out of me, all hot and throbbing, full, heavy balls smacking against my skin with each powerful thrust. If I try, I can almost feel them pressed against my ass as the cock gets buried all the way inside me.

My insides convulse around it, as if greedily trying to squeeze an orgasm out of the man I imagine is fucking me.

I want him to come. Need him to come. Pump me full until I’m dripping with it, all filthy and sloppy.

Nothing but a hole to use, to please the man filling me up with his cock and his cum until every trace of emptiness within me gets chased away.

I pretend the man fucks me again, giving me no reprieve, ruining my hole.

And when my hole is too sore, using my mouth instead, making me suck his cock until I draw out the very last drop of cum from him.

And I do, taking the cock down to the root, spurt after spurt shooting down my throat.

I swallow it all, moaning at the sweet taste, craving more.

So much more. I suck him off even as he starts to go soft, just loving the way he feels in my mouth.

I shove three fingers in my mouth, moaning around them, keeping the fantasy going.

“Good boy.”

My back arches. My lower belly tightens.

I come with a scream and without a single touch to my cock, the head of the dildo pressed against my prostate, my hole spasming around the toy.

As my cock dribbles the last few drops, I fall back onto the mattress.

Pulling the fingers out of my mouth, I try to catch my breath.

Peeling my eyes open, I squint against the glow of the bedside lamp. I lift my head, glancing at the dildo sticking out between my legs. My vision blurs, and I feel a sob climbing up my throat. Then another. And another, harsh reality crashing down on me.

I cover my face as tears run down my cheeks, even though there’s no one to see me. I’m alone. Truly alone.

Once the sobs subside, I reach for the tissues, wiping my snotty face.

God, I’m pathetic. Grabbing more tissues, I clean my cum-streaked belly.

The dildo moves inside me when I shift, making me bite my lip as my oversensitive rim pulses around it.

I reach down to remove it, hesitating at the last moment.

I’ve already brushed my teeth; I can just go to sleep.

Like this. Sated and full. Not empty and alone.

Heat spreading across my face, I gently lift the covers and slip under them, then switch off the lamp, casting the room in darkness.

I settle on my side, sneaking a hand between my legs.

I push the dildo deeper, up to the hilt, so it’s less likely to slip out during the night.

A small moan escapes me as I’m filled even more.

Full. So blissfully full. Hopefully, when I wake up it will still be there.

A small comfort distracting me from real life.

I sigh, trying to focus on the feeling of fullness and not all the things I need to deal with later.

I only have a couple of weeks to move out and find a flat-share before my savings run out. All because David didn’t have the basic decency to give me more notice before he packed his bags and left—and that’s on top of breaking up with me.

I sniffle, burrowing myself deeper under the covers.

Maybe this is for the best? This place is a shoebox.

Peeling paint, mold in the bathroom and kitchen I’ve had no luck getting rid of, noise from the street, not to mention a landlord who I swear has been trying to drive us out.

David never seemed bothered by any of this.

Now it makes sense. He’d never been planning on staying, after all.

Yeah, this is for the best. There must be something better. If the stars are in my favor—unlikely, but a guy can hope—I’ll end up with a nice roommate. One who will enjoy my cooking, so I can feel a little useful. Maybe we’ll even watch movies together. I won’t be so alone anymore.

Clinging to that hope, I let myself be pulled into a restless sleep, my dreams a mocking replay of this afternoon.

6 hours ago

I stand rooted in the middle of the bedroom-slash-living room, watching helplessly as my roommate—my boyfriend—removes his things from the drawers and closet.

“You’re moving out?” The words come out pitifully small and weak. I’m surprised I even got my voice to cooperate.

David barely looks at me, too busy shoveling his stuff, mainly clothes and games, into a duffle bag.

“It’s about time, don’t you think?” he replies, just like…just like that. Like it means nothing. Like we are nothing. Like I was supposed to expect it.

Or was I? Have I missed the signs? Hints that David was getting bored of me? Fed up with me?

“I don’t get it,” I admit, feeling ashamed for some reason. “Is it me? Have I done something wrong?”

Have I made our relationship too obvious in public? I’ve been so careful, though. David had made it abundantly clear no one could know about us just yet. At first it hurt, but I got it. Having grown up in a small, rural town, I’ve had my fair share of less than positive coming out experiences.

David releases a deep sigh, finally sparing me a glance. “Look, Jamie, it’s been fun, but it’s time to call it quits. Don’t be difficult.”

“Difficult? I don’t even know what’s going on!” Okay, I need to calm down. I can’t go into hysterics in front of David, I know how much he hates when I get emotional.

“Why are you making such a fuss?” He sounds genuinely puzzled. “It’s not like we were serious.”

I stare at him open-mouthed while the ground shifts under my feet. “Not serious?” I echo hollowly. “David, we live together. We sleep in the same bed. We have sex!”

David makes a face like he just smelled something unpleasant, the sight of it piercing right through me. I feel the familiar sense of shame accumulating in my stomach, and I taste acid.

“Yeah, that was a mistake. I was wrong.”

“Wrong? About what?”

“I thought I could be attracted to guys, but I can’t.”

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

“You’re not serious, are you?” I challenge him. “You’re not attracted to guys? You’re not attracted to me? Is that why I have your dick in my mouth on the regular? Because you aren’t attracted to guys?”

Despite the heavy skepticism, I can’t disperse the cloud of doubt hanging over my head.

The one that’s always followed me. Like when David would insist we have sex with me facing away.

When he’d spend the whole blowjob watching me through his camera instead of looking at me directly.

Every time I’d get told to keep quiet and not make any noise.

Every time he’d avoid touching my dick like it carried a disease.

“Keep it down,” David hisses, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Having sex and being attracted to somebody are two different things.”

While that might be true, I was never told this is what we are to him. Fuck buddies.

“And let's face it; a mouth is a mouth. A hole is a hole.”

Cold dread sweeps through me, and to my horror, I feel myself welling up.

“So I was just an experiment to you?” I hate how weak my voice sounds. I hate that I’m letting him know exactly how much this affects me.

David has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Why is it such a big deal? Plenty of guys experiment.”

“Usually both parties are notified when that’s the case.”

“To be fair, I honestly thought I could do it. You’re, you know…” he waves a hand. “Pretty. Have delicate features. Jesus, your legs have less hair than some girls I’ve met.”

My lunch threatens to come back up. I quickly swallow down the bout of nausea. For a moment, I’m twelve again, covering my ears to drown out the humiliating remarks from my classmates.

In the next second, I’m fourteen, crying when six boys corner me in the changing room and pull down my pants and underwear to see if ‘I’m a real boy’.

I used to hope puberty would take care of the problem, but no such luck. Over the years, I got a little taller but never buffer. My features never got sharper. I gave up on growing a beard when I turned twenty. I would always be too lean, too soft. I would always be ‘not manly enough’.

“I see.” I don’t even know what else to say.

“I might have stuck it out a little longer, but you freak me out, man,” David says. “That thing is not normal.”

Blood freezes in my veins. I don’t have to ask what ‘that thing’ is. He’s made it very clear.

‘I’m kinky, but not that kinky.’

‘You should have yourself checked out by a professional. This is an illness.’

‘It’s disgusting. You need to get help.’

“I know,” I admit, defeated. I know how weird it is, how unnatural. “I tried my best not to ask.”

“Even when you didn’t ask, I could tell you wanted it. I could tell how desperate you were,” David says, that grossed out expression back on his face.

My stomach plummets, but I nod. I can’t blame him for finding it disturbing, but I wish he’d told me earlier! I could’ve done something about it, taken care of it else wise. I could’ve kept it at bay, done a better job of hiding it. Then maybe it wouldn’t have come to this.

No, it still would’ve. My…fetish is one thing, but there’s nothing I could do about David apparently not being attracted to men.

Shame overtakes me, mixing with anger.

“What am I supposed to do now? It’s not like I can find a roommate.

” Hard to share a studio with a stranger, unless I resort to offering couch-surfing, which I’d rather not.

There’s no way I can afford to pay the rent myself.

It was never 50/50—with David still studying and only working odd warehouse jobs, he barely managed to scrounge up 30%, but it was better than nothing.

I couldn’t even demand it from him, since he never officially lived here.

We left his name out of the lease at his request and, being so stupid and na?ve, I never thought to question it.

David zips his duffle bag up and throws it over his shoulder, his guitar over the other. “People move in and out all the time. You’ll find something easily. You should be happy. Haven’t you bitched about this place and wanted to move elsewhere for months now?”

Yeah, because between the street noise and the landlord who always finds an excuse not to carry out a repair that needs doing—like the heater not heating—I’ve had enough. But that was when I thought we’d have two incomes to cover the rent. Ish.

“Wait.” Something occurs to me. “Where are you going to go?”

My gut tells me the answer before David does, but it doesn’t make hearing the words any less crushing.

“Where do you think?” He looks at me like he can’t believe I even need to ask. “Nat’s.”

My fingernails dig into my palms. I’m grateful for the pain, grounding me when the whole world seems to spin around me.

“You told me you were just friends.” That was the response whenever I questioned why their group study sessions extended into late evening. David would get angry whenever I did, so eventually I stopped asking. He always came home to me, after all.

“We were. And then we were more.” He shrugs. “It kinda happened.”

“Have you—” My voice catches. “Have you slept with her?” While we were together goes unsaid, since David has already denied us being in that ‘kind of relationship’.

“No, we’ve been holding hands and stargazing,” David spits out. “What the fuck do you think?”

“Right.” I close my eyes. Something like resignation sweeps through me, hollowing out my stomach. Suddenly, I’m really tired. And panicking. Since we’ve never used condoms, I make a mental note to get tested soon. “Sorry for getting confused.”

David sighs, as if this whole exchange is exhausting for him. As he passes by me on the way to the door, the familiar, overpowering scent of his AXE spray hits my nose.

“I hate this. You’re making me feel like the bad guy.

” He opens the door, hovering for a few seconds.

“If you find anything that’s mine, just throw it in a bag and shoot me a text.

I’ll come pick it up.” He starts closing the door, then pauses, rummaging through the pockets of his jeans.

“Almost forgot.” He throws the apartment key on the floor. “See ya.”

Then he’s gone.

And I’m alone.