Chapter 33
Tristan
And, of course, there’s Nick.
I’m starved for him.
I still don’t know the rules and boundaries of what a friendship looks like with a coworker when you’re also planning on letting them tie you up and use progressively large dildos on your ass.
Is there a how-to book for that?
I spend my day off with Dad and Bobbie. I’m slowly adjusting to living at home again, and I’m beginning to understand their routines. They enjoy each other’s company and like going on walks or to bookstores and cafés.
They have a comfortable life, but there’s a bittersweetness to it: the lingering knowledge that there’s a timer running out. That Dad is losing pieces of himself, of his memory.
I know Bobbie dreads the day that Dad might wake up and not remember her, or wonder where his first wife, my mother, is. She’s mentioned that fear to me only once, but I can see it in her eyes whenever Dad has a memory lapse.
The night before my next shift, I sleep fitfully, dreaming of what might be in store for me. My need for release is growing strong—I’ve been obediently saving myself up for Nick, and I can’t wait to let it out.
I know that I might need to wait even longer, survive another shift with these blue balls, but I’m willing to do it.
? ? ?
“Today,” Captain Hyun says, “We’re going to be running a drill at St. Aaden High School. Routine stuff, and remember how they struggle with their evacuation times.”
“This should be fun,” Nick says next to me, leaning close to whisper in my ear.
We haven’t said a word about the completed BDSM checklist, which I slipped to him when I first got to work that morning. He just nodded and tucked it into his pocket, like it was something for him to treasure later.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“The teachers love to ogle,” he replies with a grin.
He’s not wrong.
An hour later, we’ve completed the fidelity check of the high school’s fire drill—they did not do a good job with evacuating on time—and I’ve been ogled no less than four times.
I gather that Vinnie and Charlie have a competition for who receives the most lustful glances from the teachers.
“I have a feeling today’s gonna be a slow day,” Nick says when we’re in the ambulance again, driving back to the station.
“You think so?”
I’m going over some of the paperwork we need to complete after a drill, certifying that we did everything correctly, and I’m only half listening to him.
“Yeah,” he says. “I was thinking of doing some reading in my room.”
“Whatcha reading?”
“Your survey.”
I’m immediately paying attention. “Oh!”
“You should join me.”
He cuts a sly look in my direction, and I feel the heat rise in my neck, the pulse of blood thrumming through my body.
“Okay, I will.”
? ? ?
I sit on Nick’s bed while he sits, facing me, in his desk chair. He is silently reading through my survey, taking his time. I’ve already finished reading his, which he handed me as soon as I slipped into his room.
There had been a small part of me that feared what I might find in Nick’s survey.
I have a wide range of interests that I want to explore, but there are a few things that do not appeal to me (for instance, I wrote a bold NO THANK YOU next to “scat play” on the survey).
What if, I wonder, Nick wants something that I didn’t? Will he be satisfied if we don’t do that thing? Will I be willing to do it for him?
I don’t need to worry.
Nick’s survey results reveal that he is the perfect complement to me.
Wherever I am submissive, he is dominant.
Everything I want done to me, he wants to do to me.
According to the paper in my hands, we fit.
And it scares me.
Finally, Nick finishes reading mine. He folds the paper carefully and sets it aside.
“So?” I whisper.
His dark eyes meet mine, and his full lips form one word: “Perfect.”
Now that I know that his interests include things like restraints, orgasm denial, paddling, and breath play, even the sound of his voice is enough to arouse me.
He continues, “I’ve been thinking about this. I was worried, at first, about us being coworkers, but then I figured, BDSM is all about consent and negotiation and honesty, so there shouldn’t be any gray area here.”
“Right.” I agree—the same thought has crossed my mind.
“That being said, I think we need some safe words.”
Before Nick, I’d never needed a safe word. But I’ve been thinking about it recently, and decided on a simple (and probably completely unoriginal) solution.
“Green means you’re good, yellow means slow down, red means stop.”
He nods. “Easy enough.” He hesitates. “Now, of the things you wrote here, what do you want—”
I cut him off. “I don’t want to make any decisions here.”
And then I say the words that I’ve been dying to say.
“You have my consent to do anything on that list.”
With those words, something shifts between us. Even though we’ve kissed, even though he’s held me to a wall and I’ve felt the pressure of his cock against my ass, the truly sexual aspect of our relationship has remained hypothetical until now.
But now, I’ve given my consent.
Now, we both know the full extent of the things we want to do together—things that others might call filthy or depraved, but are simply what we want, and what we’ve consensually agreed to give each other.
“I want to fuck you,” Nick says. “I am going to fuck you. And I don’t want to use condoms.”
I expected this—his survey mentions “breeding kink.” Excellent! Mine does, too.
“I’m on PrEP,” I say immediately.
“Me, too.”
“I haven’t slept with anyone in over a year,” I add.
“I have, but I get tested regularly. I’m negative for everything. I can show you my results, if you like.”
“I trust you,” I say.
There’s one more thing I need to bring up, though it makes me nervous. But we agreed to honesty, and I need to practice that.
“One more thing. I know we’re just hooking up, not like a relationship, but I just wanted to say that I’m not going to be sleeping with anyone else. I’ve never really been interested in non-monogamy. No judgment if you are, but I should probably say that that would be hard for me.”
Nick stands, walks to the bed, bends down, and takes my face firmly in his hands.
“Tristan,” he says, “the only person I’m interested in fucking is you. And I would like to do it roughly, repeatedly, and in as many different despicable positions as I can imagine.”
Dear god, I might cum in my pants right now.
“Get on your knees,” he says in a low, dark voice.
I sink to my knees on the hardwood floor of his room. He strokes my cheek.
“I like what you wrote on your survey,” he murmurs. “You just want to be told what to do, don’t you, Tristan?”
I nod eagerly up at him. Yes, he gets it. That’s exactly what I want.
At some point, when I was filling out the kink survey, I realized exactly what appealed to me about BDSM: the clear rules and boundaries.
I’ve always been someone who likes having clear expectations, obvious paths from A to B to C, and sex with Warren—with anyone—never felt like that. BDSM sounds right. Being submissive just is what I want. What I need.
And Nick is here to give it to me.
“You just want to be used however I want to use you, huh?” Nick continues.
Fuck, I do. “Yes,” I say, and the word comes out like a small gasp as all the emotions within me fight together. Desire, and a little bit of fear—not of Nick, never of Nick, but of the unknown.
I’m eye level with the bulge in the front of his pants, and I wait greedily as he undoes his belt, unzips his fly, pushes his waistband a few inches down, and reaches his hand into his underwear.
“I like seeing you like this,” he says, “On your knees, waiting for me. Obedient.” He strokes himself, the details hidden by cotton. “Do you know how often I’ve imagined this since we met at the Anvil?”
I shake my head.
He pulls his cock from his underwear. “Every goddamn day.”
My eyes widen as I take in the sheer presence of his cock. It’s huge. Long, thick, veiny. A perfectly shaped head, a straight shaft, and heavy balls.
He strokes it unhurriedly, and I ache to lean forward, to kiss it, to lick the drop of precum that drips down the head, to take as much of his cock in my mouth as I can, and then more, if he makes me.
He must see the hunger in my eyes because he takes another step closer, finally closing the distance between us. “You want it, don’t you?”
I nod piteously.
“Hungry for some cock?”
Another nod. He has no idea how much I need this. I had no idea how much I needed this.
My reservations aren’t gone, but they’re temporarily on pause. Everything in my brain that told me it was a bad idea to hook up with him because he’s my coworker, or that it was too soon to move on after Warren, is silenced.
I didn’t do anything to silence those voices—Nick did.
His soft, firm commands quieted them. Or, at least, I know that I no longer have to listen to the anxious voices.
Instead, I can listen to him. I want to listen to him. I don’t have to obey the anxious voices in my head.
I have to obey Nick.
I get to obey Nick.
I want to obey Nick.
He takes his cock and brushes it against the side of my face. I let out an audible groan, which surprises me.
When Warren and I were together, I was rarely verbal during sex. It just didn’t excite me enough to produce a response like that.
But one touch from the warm, velvety skin of Nick’s shaft against my face? I’m practically panting.
He rubs his cock from my cheek to my jaw, to my mouth, running its head over my lips, painting them with his precum. My tongue darts out, almost involuntarily, to lick it up.
I’m hungry for more.
I move, reaching for him, wanting to pull his cock into my mouth, but he catches my wrist. His grip is firm, unyielding, pinching my skin.
“Wait,” he chides. “Not yet.”
Not yet?
Does he not know that there is one thing I suddenly need more than oxygen, and it’s to have him in my mouth? To take him, to taste him, to be used by him.
“Not until I tell you to,” he murmurs.
He makes me be patient. He strokes himself while I kneel before him, admiring the beauty of his cock, lusting for it to be inside me.
He doesn’t let me touch myself, though my cock is aching to be free, to be touched. My mouth wants to be used.
“Open up,” he commands, and I stare up at him, at his handsome, chiseled face, as he takes his cock and guides it into my mouth.
I close my lips around his head, swirling my tongue around him, tasting the sweet saltiness of his precum, the muskiness of his skin.
He mutters something low and dirty that ends with good boy. A thrill of electric arousal courses through me. I want to please him, want to be the thing that brings him to completion.
I’ll be his tool, his toy. Whatever he needs.
Strong fingers lace through my hair, guiding me, controlling my speed.
He thrusts further into my mouth. It is an invasion, but one that I welcome.
My jaw aches as I struggle to take more inches of him. I seriously don’t know if I can fit his entire cock in my mouth—it’s so big, so thick, so long. I don’t care. Even if it hurts, I’d welcome the pain, the discomfort
He can choke me with his cock, and I’ll thank him for the pain.
His cock hits the back of my throat.
I cough around it, tears springing into my eyes. He murmurs words of encouragement as he fucks my throat, guiding the bobbing of my head with his strong hands. The tears start to roll down my cheeks.
But there’s no way I want this to end.
“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, “you’re being so good, so obedient.”
I want to reply, but there’s simply no way I can speak with eight inches of cock in my mouth. My moans and tears are enough of an answer.
Sweat beads on his forehead, veins bulge in his neck, as he grips the sides of my head, fucking my throat harder.
“You like this, don’t you?”
I’m choking on his cock, but I manage a groan of undeniable pleasure.
“You like being a mouth, being a hole?”
I nod frantically, heedless of the tears on my cheeks, the spit dripping down my chin. He’s using me, and it’s perfect. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
“So…fucking…good,” he groans. “I’m going to cum in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow it all.”
I will, yes, yes I will. I want to, I need to. I want to do everything he tells me, to obey perfectly, to make him feel good.
“Fuck,” he gasps, and then he’s cumming, hot bursts of cum shooting into my mouth, down my throat.
I choke, gag, and swallow as much as I can, though a bit of his cum, mixed with my own spit, drips down my chin.
He doesn’t take his cock out, doesn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. He pushes himself, still hard, deeper into my mouth.
“So fucking perfect,” he whispers, and uses two fingers to wipe the cum and spit off my chin
He raises the fingers to his lips and sucks them clean.
Only then does he pull his cock from my mouth, bend down, and kiss me.
I melt beneath it.
I am already liquid from being used, but now I am like vapor beneath his touch.
I don’t, can’t, have any desire to resist as he shoves me onto the bed, his weight fully on me as his mouth crushes against mine.
His tongue swirls in my mouth, his teeth nip at my lower lip, his hand travels beneath my pants, grips my hard length—cool fingers against flesh, and god, it feels so fucking good.
“Ah—” I cry out involuntarily, the suddenness of my orgasm catching me wholly by surprise. Cum shoots from my cock, making a mess of our shirts.
Nick kisses me through the waves of my orgasm, his firm hand stroking each drop of cum from my cock.
All the while, he murmurs dirty, delicious praise against my lips, telling me how fucking good I am, how obedient, how sexy.
And all the while, I think about just how fucking perfect this is.