SIXTH KNOT #3
“I wish you could see how hot you look right now,” he says, hands pushing my cheeks apart in an impossible way. I feel something wet and hot and realize it’s his tongue contouring my hole, licking the blood off of it. “I’m gonna destroy this pretty shithole. How’s that sound?”
I nod, because what the fuck else can I do?
He starts again, his cock sliding back inside me, and it’s like he’s found a button connected directly to my orgasm. And I love it. I love that he’s got me tied up and spread out like a fucking feast for him to devour.
My head throbs, and the world narrows to the pounding in my ears. I can’t tell if it’s the lack of oxygen to my brain or the sheer force of his fucking that’s making me dizzy. His grip tightens, and his hips slap against my ass, the chain jingling with every move.
“You’re so sensitive, aren’t you, Kai-chan?”
I want to laugh. Maniacally. But I can’t even respond to him suddenly calling me that. I can’t. I can’t because my throat is tight, my voice is strangled by the rope and, especially, because I realize I like being called Kai-chan.
He reaches down and strokes my cock with a rough hand again, and it’s like an electric shock goes through me. I jerk, trying to get more of it, but my hips are up and useless in the air, being held by strong hands.
He squeezes harder, and I feel my orgasm building, climbing up from the base of my spine like a fucking volcano about to erupt.
“You want me to make you come like this? Like my bitch?”
I try to nod, drooling on the mattress, no voice and no thoughts. He rewards me by angling in a way his cock goes fucking deep, like he’s hunting gold.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His balls slap my taint, wet and heavy, and I know he’s going to make me come in seconds.
Second.
Orgasm detonates—white-hot freight train through my spine. Stars? Nah, fucking supernovas. My cock spurts ropes of cum across the mattress while I try to buck against his. He keeps fucking me through it, his strokes getting harder, his fingers digging bruises into my hips.
“Fuck yeah, milk my cock!” he grunts, still railing my wrecked hole, pistoning harder.
Then his dick starts jerking inside, and I feel it swell as he floods my guts with hot cum. He grunts and swears, the sound vibrating off my skin because he’s still buried inside me when he does it. I feel the pulse of it, the full-body jolt of him shaking as he unloads.
And then nothing.
He pulls out without warning, leaving me gaping, stretched, and leaking his cum down my thighs, my asshole throbbing.
My body won’t stop trembling while I hang here, lower back twisted, ass high in the air, cheek pressed sideways into the sheets that smell like dust and sweat and whatever the fuck he smoked earlier. A fucking mess.
The mattress shifts as Ryo moves away. I hear his footsteps crossing the room and then coming back to somewhere close.
The zip of his jeans, the clink of his belt.
A lighter flicks, then a drag, then smoke curling back toward me.
He’s leaning somewhere at my right—maybe against the wall, maybe the edge of the dresser—probably just staring at me while I drip and twitch in the air.
He finally speaks.
“You’re not gonna fucking die like that, are you?”
I swallow, trying to work moisture back into my mouth.
“Why? Would you be into having me dead and hanging?”
He exhales smoke with a snort.
“Probably.”
I laugh. It scrapes my throat raw.
“Untie me, asshole.”
There’s a pause. I hear the creak of the mattress as he steps closer.
He takes the spreader, and then there’s the clink of the chain.
I grunt as my knees hit the bed, my hips still aching, every muscle in my lower body spasming from the tension.
Then his hands are on my arms, tugging hard at the knots.
I twist my shoulders and stretch my arms in front of me when the ties are undone. It hurts a fucking lot. Deep, throbbing, real hurt.
He yanks the blindfold, and light floods in, making me squint. He’s standing over me, shirtless now, bleached hair sticking out in every direction, cigarette clinging to the corner of his mouth.
“You got what you wanted?” he asks.
My eyes drop to the chain still hanging there. I wipe my face with a shaking hand.
“You gonna gloat about it?”
“You gonna cry if I do?”
“Fuck, I should just kill you and then deal with Midori-san later.”
He just snorts, as if I wouldn’t do that.
“Get off my bed if you’re done whining,” he mutters and then just leaves the room.
I sit up slow, feeling my legs shaking, and pull the rest of the ropes off myself. My body’s fucking wrecked, all raw and red everywhere, and I can still feel the shape of the bindings.
This was nothing like Naoya. Not the rope. Not the rhythm. Not the aftermath.
It was good, yes. I came from taking it in my ass and I liked it.
Fuck, I liked it so much it’s disgusting.
The only problem now is what starts creeping in my brain after the high’s gone. My brain not shutting the fuck up about how it could’ve been.
I liked what Ryo just did to me. God, I did.
But I would’ve loved it if it had been him.