Chapter 26 #5
It was filthy. It was divine. Gael’s mouth was a universe of slick, hot, rhythmic sensation. He varied his pace; long, deep sucks that hollowed his cheeks, followed by quick, fluttering licks along the vein on the underside. He used his tongue to circle the crown, to probe, to worship.
Samuel was babbling, a continuous, broken stream of praise and pleas. “Oh god… yes… just like that… don’t stop… please, please…”
Gael worked him back to the edge with terrifying, humiliating speed.
The denied release from before had made him hypersensitive, a live wire.
The coil wound tighter, tighter, a spring compressed to its absolute limit.
His body was trembling violently, sweat sheening his skin, his abs clenched into a hard, quivering board.
He was so close, so fucking close, hovering on a precipice of white-hot bliss, the pressure building behind his balls, in the base of his spine.
Gael pulled off again.
This time, a ragged, devastated sob wrenched itself from Samuel’s chest. Tears of sheer, unbearable frustration welled in his eyes, spilling over onto his temples. “Please… please, Sir… I need… I can’t… it hurts…” The need was a physical pain, a frantic, clawing thing inside him.
Gael rose over him, kneeling between his spread legs.
His own arousal was a blatant ridge straining against his trousers.
He wrapped his hand around Samuel’s weeping, desperate cock again, his grip almost punishingly tight.
He began to stroke, fast and ruthless, his thumb grinding into the frenulum with each upstroke.
“You can,” he growled, his voice thick, guttural with his own barely-leashed need. “You will. You will take it. Until. I. Say.”
He took Samuel to the edge a third time.
This was the cruelest yet. The strokes were perfection, angled to hit every overloaded nerve ending.
Samuel could feel it, the inevitable, glorious crash just a breath away.
His balls drew up tight, his entire body tensed like a bowstring, every muscle screaming.
The orgasm gathered, a tsunami about to break.
Gael stopped.
He removed his hand completely and sat back on his heels.
Samuel shattered.
A ragged, broken wail tore from his throat, long and loud.
He was crying in earnest now, tears streaming freely, his body convulsing with the force of denied release.
He was a sobbing, lust-wrecked mess, completely and utterly undone.
The relentless cycle of almost-there and brutal denial had stripped him of every pretense, every shred of dignity or control.
“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse and wrecked, barely recognizable. “Gael, please… let me cum. I’ll do anything… anything you want. I need to... I need it. Please, I’m begging you… I can’t… I can’t take it…”
He was beyond shame, beyond thought, beyond any sense of self. There was only the agonizing, hollow need for release, and the man who was its sole, merciless arbiter.
Gael watched him for a long, endless moment, his chest heaving, his own desire a stark presence in the room. He saw the tears, the trembling, the absolute ruin of Samuel’s composure. A dark, triumphant satisfaction flashed in his eyes, followed by something softer, almost tender.
“Good boy,” he murmured, the praise a balm on Samuel’s frayed and screaming soul. He leaned closer, his breath hot on Samuel’s ear. “You are so good... begging so sweetly for me... So perfect.”
He lowered his head again, and this time, there was no tease, no denial. He took Samuel all the way, until the head of his cock bumped the back of his throat, and he swallowed, the convulsive, tight muscle sending Samuel into a spiraling freefall.
And then he sucked. Hard.
The orgasm hit Samuel like a freight train.
He screamed, a sound torn from the deepest, most primal part of him, as his hips bucked wildly against Gael’s unyielding hold.
Wave after blinding wave of pleasure ripped through him, molten and electric, pouring out of him in pulsing jets down Gael’s accepting throat.
He saw stars, his vision whiting out completely as he surrendered every last shuddering pulse, every drop of essence, to the man who had wrought this devastating ecstasy from his very core.
It went on and on, wracking his body with convulsions, until he was utterly spent, hollowed out.
When it was finally, mercifully over, he collapsed, boneless and liquefied, held aloft only by the steadfast anchor of the cuffs.
Gael released him slowly, swallowing one last time with a soft, slurping sound before pulling off.
He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of Samuel’s head, and kissed him, deep, slow, and thorough.
Samuel could taste himself on Gael’s tongue, salty, bitter, and he moaned weakly into the kiss.
Gael broke the kiss, his breath warm on Samuel’s swollen, bruised lips. He looked down at the wreck he’d made of him, bound, trembling, tear-streaked, and a faint, dark satisfied smile touched his mouth.
“Mine,” he whispered.
And in the blissful wreckage of his senses, Samuel could only believe it was the most fundamental, the most undeniable truth he had ever known.