34. CHAPTER 34
Itold him to leave me alone, but just like his brother, he does whatever the fuck he wants. He wouldn’t let me run. He refused to listen to my bullshit excuses about why I’m no good for him, and I’m relieved. I need his strength. I need his fight.
I need his discipline.
The second Carey stops my truck in the driveway, even before the ignition is off, I’m out of the cab. Door slammed behind me, I storm towards the porch without a word. Not since I called him Sir, has either of us spoken. There’s no need. We both know what’s about to happen.
Waiting at my front door, I hear the keys jangling behind me as Carey spins them around his finger.
Up the stairs and onto the porch he walks, his presence radiating against me.
I look towards the door handle, expecting him to reach around, but instead, he barges against me.
My hands fly up to smack against the door. One of Carey’s hands is on the wood beside mine, all power, no tension, as the other slowly slides the key into the lock. Without turning it, he reaches for my stomach, holding me as he presses his chest firm against my back.
My forehead falls forward against the door, and I look down. To the boards of the porch and the shop slippers still on my feet. Neither of us changed out of them. They’ll need to be cleaned.
Carey grinds against my ass and I squeeze my eyes shut because I’m already so turned on, so hard, so fucking terrified that this is all happening outside on the street where I live.
Where everybody knows me.
Where Ring Camera footage is impossible to deny.
“You think the neighbors are watching?”
“I-I don’t care,” I stutter at how hot the thought is.
“Fuuuuuck” Carey exhales in my ear, his hand slipping dangerously close to exactly where I need him to be. But I can’t move, I can’t beg, I have to wait like a good boy. “You want it exactly like we talked about?”
“Yes, Sir,” I confirm, but nothing happens.
“Do better.”
“Plea—” I stop and swallow because my mouth is already so dry. “Please, Sir. I want it just like we talked about.” This time I'm rewarded with another grind of Carey’s massive cock against me. “I want you to make me hurt, I—”
I’m silenced by his burning hot lips as they press against the shell of my ear. “In order for that to happen you need to open the door, Tek. Unless you want everyone on the street to see how much of a slut you are.”
Both his hands grip at my hips.
I turn my face so Carey can see how fucked up I already am for him, and reach for the handle.
As the door slowly opens inward, he gives me a predatory grin. “You gonna keep being a good boy, or do you want me to drag you over the threshold like a caveman?”
The truth is, I don’t care how it comes as long as I’m stripped of all dignity and used until my mind is clear and free. “I just want you to make me forget.”
Carey goes still.
“No,” he says, and it feels like a slap on one cheek and a kiss on the other. “I’ll take you to the brink, but I’ll never let you go… This time… This time I need you to remember.”
“Okay… Alright—I mean, yes, Sir.”
“And what’s your word?”
“F—” Like I’ve been punched, I falter. But it’s my word. I chose it. “Fireworks.”
“Good. Now, you know the last thing I wanna hear.”
I bite my lip to stay as present as I can.
“Say it.”
My stomach starts to swirl, but it’s not with dread or guilt. It doesn’t ache. It feels good.
It feels like freedom.
“Say it,” he repeats.
“I trust you.”
I can feel Carey’s lips form a smile against my skin.
With the front door open my lounge room is right in front of me, but, unsure if it’s by my choice or his, I remain still. Locked in this perfect purgatory of internal and external. I want the world to see us but I need to know what’s in store for me inside.
“Caveman it is,” Carey smirks before sinking his teeth into my neck. Then, as I gasp, he pushes me with all his strength, sending me stumbling forward onto my living room rug.
My foot catches, and I fall to my knees.
My hips jar, and my hands sting.
Looking over my shoulder, I watch Carey shut the front door, but not lock it.
When he turns back to me, he’s like a god; wiry and sun-bleached with a face made for trouble. And I just stay there, frozen, on all fours as he stalks towards me.
Grabbing my shoulder, he tosses me aside, flipping me off balance.
I shuffle back from him until I hit the wall, and he laughs down at me.
He tsks, “Pathetic,” And plants his foot in the center of my chest—his slipper still on, wet around the edges. All the dirt from outside is so close to my face, and I grunt as my body lights up with the purest, filthiest thrill I’ve ever felt.
Lifting his foot, Carey runs the damp side of the slipper down my cheek. Then he tells me to, “Kiss it,” and I turn my face to press my lips into the slightly scratchy fabric.
A wave of euphoria washes through me.
If I can do this, I can tell my parents.
When my lips linger too long, Carey barks at me to stop, and forces my head back against the wall.
He flicks the slipper off his foot then rams it back against my chest, his heel jabbing into my sternum.
His foot drags down.
I watch his toes curl as he mashes his sole into my abs. Then, just as the pain starts to wane, he drops lower until he’s grinding on my cock.
The pressure is like a see-saw of too much and not enough as he rocks his foot against me.
My fingers claw at the carpet.
My head slams back against the drywall.
A full-bodied, ugly and involuntary sound rattles out of me.
I feel so fucking small.
He increases the pressure until I’m seeing stars, until I’m almost frightened he’ll actually hurt me. Then he lifts his foot, and, for a moment, I’m weightless.
I breathe in deep.
My head spins.
His foot comes crashing back down again, this time on my face.
The smell that has seeped into the thick cotton of his sock is salty sweat.
I let out another wretched sound, one that says thank you, more, and fuck, all at once.
He slides his foot down, his toe tracing the ridge of my jaw before hooking behind my neck to drag me closer.
“You want this?” he asks, looking down his nose at me.
I nod, then quickly correct myself. “Yes, Sir.”
“Tongue out,” he instructs. I comply, and he drags this whole foot, from heel to toe, over my tongue.
Shameless and desperate, I reach for his ankle, but he pulls it back out of reach. “Not yet.”
I cower.
My balls ache.
This is pure bliss.
“More?” he asks, rotating his foot right in front of my face.
“Yes… Yes, Sir.”
Carey peels off his sock and drops it on my cheek like a used condom.
Leaning forward, he spits on his own foot then brings it to my mouth.
Slippery and wet, he traces around my lips with his big toe.
“Open up,” he commands. And I do, letting him push his toes in until my lips are straining and the taste of him fills my whole mouth.
He laughs as he flexes his foot, forcing my mouth even wider.
“You look good like this, Oppa.”
I shudder, my fingernails scraping at my thighs.
My own heels drag back and forth on the rug around Carey’s leg.
The sock falls from my face to my shoulder.
He digs deeper, his toes wiggling against the back of my tongue until I gag and saliva is dripping down my chin.
Unintentionally my hips jerk, and I seize—my eyes squeezing shut because I’m terrified he’ll take his foot away from me.
“It’s okay,” he says, soft and condescending. Then retreats, taking his foot back until his toes slip free of my lips and he’s dragging thick spit from my mouth and down my neck until he’s back against my chest.
I want to tell him it’s not fair. That I didn’t mean it.
That one small slip up shouldn’t warrant this kind of punishment, but as I sit there silently festering, doing my best not to squirm, he smiles at me.
All teeth. All cocky control as he pins me with his foot and stares at me with those fucking misaligned eyes, deeming every argument I could make completely irrelevant.
“It’s okay,” he says again, wiggling his toes against my throat. “You can touch, now.”
At first I grip tighter to the denim covering my thighs, assuming it’s a test. But when his head dips to the side, I move. Slowly.
My right hand reaches for the hem of his chords. Just like his slippers, they’re wet and cold from the snow, and I push them up to bare his calf. Gripping his flesh with my left hand, I curl the fingers of my right around his ankle and look at him with misty eyes.
“You’ve got one minute.”
So eager it would be humiliating if I didn’t feel so safe, I jerk his foot up and wrap my lips around his filthy heel like I’m starving for it.
The first taste shoots through me like lightning.
Licking and sucking, I work the ball of his foot, then the arch, then his toes until I’m tasting him with every breath.
Then, as soon as it started, Carey pulls his foot back.
The sensory shock of all, then nothing, is made even more jarring by Carey kicking off his other slipper, peeling off his other sock, then squatting in front of me.
At eye level, he rocks his head from side to side, cracking his neck as his forearms rest casually above his knees.
Sock in one hand, he takes the other from my shoulder and balls them together before shoving them in my mouth.
It’s an all consuming fullness.
A sign of utter disrespect.
After a soft kiss against my forehead, Carey stands back up and strips his torso bare.
“Get up!” He barks, his voice back to pure command.
I scramble to my knees.
My head swims as Carey holds my eye contact, then starts palming his dick right in front of my face.
He unbuckles his belt, pops the button of his pants and unzips the fly.
I bite down on the cotton wedged between my teeth as he removes his pants and underwear.
I watch Carey gather the spit in his mouth then let it drip down onto his perfect cock that I still haven’t been given permission to look at. Then, like he’s twisting the knife already in my back, he starts pumping.
His scent is everything.
He’s so close his fist bumps against my chin.
“You want this?” he asks with an infuriating nonchalance.