27. Micha #4
The knife falters as his orgasm teeters on the edge, and it moves from my skin.
I stop immediately, ignoring my own impending orgasm, and Arlo snaps his pretty green eyes open, tears forming in the waterline as I edge him at the worst possible moment.
He bucks his hips, chasing a ruined orgasm, but I squeeze his twitching cock tightly against mine so it doesn’t go anywhere.
“Fuck, fuck!” He looks down at me holding him captive before slamming his head back against the armrest.
“I told you, Arlo. You keep that knife digging into my flesh, or you don’t get to come.”
“I was right there,” he shouts, but I ignore his whiny protests.
“Knife. Chest. Now.”
His hand isn’t shaking out of fear anymore. He pushes it to my chest, hard and intentional, determined to keep it there.
“Look at you,” I laugh as I start moving, and he moans like the relief is imminent. “Look at how frustrated you are, how I fixed you. You aren’t scared of the blood and the knife anymore. I’m so proud of you, Arlo.”
The praise hits exactly where I intend, and he stares up at me like I’m his god. I’ve reworked his brain chemistry with one round of edging. I wonder what I could do with a whole day of it.
I knock the sadistic thoughts from my head and focus on the now, on the way his eyes roll as he approaches that edge again.
“You’ve been such a brave, clever boy for me,” I mock. “You want your reward?”
“Please.”
I release our cocks, ignoring his sudden cry of protest, and move back to take him into my mouth. He groans out his gratitude as I immediately suck him with quick movements. I find my own cock, jerking until my orgasm builds.
Arlo’s hand drifts into my hair, and I look up at him, finding him tracing the bloody knife edge over his stomach.
He lets it nick his skin, and I reward him by releasing my cock and grabbing his balls.
I play with them as I suck his pierced cock, and he cries out when the pleasure becomes too much.
He pushes the knife deeper into his pale skin, and his cock twitches once before it explodes into my mouth, warm cum filling my throat in spurts.
He can’t help but use my throat with pitiful thrusts as he works himself through it.
I pull back and rip the knife away from him, moving rapidly up the couch and using my free hand to grab the back of his head. He’s barely comprehending what I’m doing, still dazed with his lingering orgasm and easy to manoeuvre. I slam my cock into his mouth and put the knife to his jaw.
“Take every last inch. Gag on it, little brother.”
Tears leak out the corners of his glossy eyes as I use his mouth until I find my own release, gripping his hair to the point of pain and cutting his jaw with the blade. He takes it like I demanded until my cum shoots into his mouth.
I pull out quickly.
“Show me,” I say on rough breaths. He sticks out his tongue obediently, offering me the proof of my pleasure. “Good boy. Now swallow it and thank me.”
He follows orders. “Thank you, big brother.”
I lean forward and kiss him, hot and searing and devouring, and he matches me for every moment.
My forehead presses against his as we breathe heavily together, getting over the intensity to come back down to earth.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, not moving away. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Stay here. I’m cleaning us up. Don’t move or I’ll introduce Karma to edging. I’m sure she’d love pulling you apart with that.”
His eyes widen; he receives the threat as intently as intended. “Shit, she really would.”
I take the knife and chuck it into the sink. I’m not in denial; one round won’t cure Arlo’s fear, but we’re heading in the right direction.
After wetting a towel and grabbing some dressing, I retreat, finding Arlo lying on the couch with a sated smile and a forearm over his sleepy eyes.
“You in pain?” I ask as I dab the wounds on his chest. He doesn’t flinch.
“A bit, but I like it.”
I huff a laugh. “Of course you do.”
The blood is drying against my skin, and I’m eager to rinse it off and dress the damages, but I’m more focused on getting Arlo sorted. He always comes first—literally, seeing as I can still taste the liquid—and he always will.
After I clean him up, cover his wounds, discard his torn top into the bin, and tuck him into a blanket on the couch, I hand him the television remote and walk towards the bathroom.
“You’re leaving me?” he asks quickly, the sadness in his voice hurting me.
“I’m just cleaning myself up, pretty boy. You cut me up good too.” I point to the damage across my skin.
“Suits you.”
I smirk and retreat to the bathroom, washing away the proof of his pain to replace it with brown dressings.
When I return, he’s half asleep with some mindless rubbish playing on the television, and I sit down and slip his head atop my lap.
I play with his hair as he smiles and falls asleep, and I’ve never felt more comforted.
I don’t fight the fact I wish Karma and Soren were here too. I’ve come to terms with it, and that’s refreshing, not fighting everything I feel.
I guess Arlo and I are both healing today.