Chapter 4 #2
I smile and go back to sucking. He’s right. Jean will soon be in everyone’s mouth and everyone’s skin, tasting him, smelling like him and eternizing this boy made of sun.
Hessou kneels behind him, dragging Jean’s pants and underthings down to his knees in one rough motion.
Jean gasps, stumbling forward a little—which drives his cock even deeper into my throat. I groan around it.
Hessou spreads him open.
Both of Hessou’s hands grip Jean’s hips, thumbs surely digging into the soft swell of his ass.
He makes an appreciative sound right before burying his face between Jean’s cheeks.
I hear the soft sound of Hessou breathing him in, and Jean moans out loud, spine arching.
I can feel his balls tighten against my chin.
Jean is drenched. The skin between his legs is flushed, hot and sticky with sweat, hypersensitive to every touch.
Hessou palms both heavy balls in one elegant hand and pulls them, nosing underneath.
His mouth is there, I can hear—licking, sucking, devouring—and Jean is shaking, his whole body trembling.
I draw back slightly, dragging my swollen lips off his length.
He looks wrecked already.
His hair is damp at the temples, eyes unfocused, lips parted in a dazed expression like he’s not fully here anymore. His cock twitches in the air in front of me—fat and angry red, still dripping thick ropes of slick that slide down the shaft and fall on the floor between my knees.
I hear an obscene slurp, and look around Jean to see Hessou’s mouth moving over Jean’s ass like he’s starving for it, his tongue pushing in, creating wet sounds of spit meeting heat.
Jean lets out a sound I’ve never heard before—a helpless, strangled noise, the sound of something shattering deep inside him beyond repair.
I reach up and gently stroke his cock again, pressing my thumb against the tip to smear the mess around.
“Tell me when you’re close,” I murmur against his cock. “Don’t hold back. I want to catch every drop. Nothing wasted, oui?”
Jean’s breath hitches, words caught between gasps.
“I—yes,” he says between moans. “I-I’ll… I’ll tell you… I-mmmmm”
Jean moans, his body pressing back against Hessou’s mouth in a silent plea, the first definitive moment where pure need overtakes shame.
And then his body trembles, his cock twitching against my tongue. I taste the first thick spurts flooding my mouth like molten cream. I close my eyes, desperate to hold every drop before it slips away.
I collect it carefully in the hollow of my tongue, then tilt my head to let it trickle down my chin, cupping my hand to guide the flow into the bowl. I love this. The slow accumulation. The physical evidence of his offering.
Jean’s voice breaks, but he’s careful to warn me this time when another wave nears, letting me brace for the next surge.
I catch it all.
I can hear Hessou moving behind Jean—low murmurs, the wet press of mouth, tongue and hands—but I don’t look even when I’m so curious to see it. I focus on milking my boy.
No cum comes out anymore, but Jean is still hard. Still flushed and panting, still leaking—despite everything we took from him, despite the tremble in his knees that makes him sway as he leans on my shoulder for support.
Hessou places a hand at the small of his back.
“Move there,” he says softly. “Lean on the counter.”
Jean obeys, moving slowly but without a hint of refusal. He leans over the counter, palms flat, his hips tilting into the perfect angle, and Hessou nudges his legs apart, guiding one of Jean’s knees onto a low stool to open him up.
I move closer, watching from the side as Hessou takes the porcelain dish of the cream I made earlier—the one with his own cum mixed in—and dips his fingers in. He coats them generously, then trails a thick strand of the mixture through the air before pressing in between Jean’s cheeks.
Jean moans, forehead against his arm. His back arches, his ass lifts in silent invitation, and Hessou begins to work the cream inside him with slow, circular strokes.
The sound is wet.
Absolutely obscene.
My cock aches just watching.
“That’s it,” I murmur, unable to stop my hand from stroking myself lightly through my pants. “Let it coat him.”
Hessou chuckles, and slides another finger in.
Jean takes it easily, his hole soft and welcoming from earlier teasing, and the entire image is indecent in the most beautiful way. It’s like watching dessert being filled.
“Wait,” I say, moving to the drawer where I keep my cloth pastry bags.
I grab one, made of soft cotton, and bring it over. Jean turns his head toward me, cheeks flushed, eyes dazed and trusting. I crouch and gently nestle his cock and balls into the pouch, tying it loosely at the base with a string.
“There,” I whisper, brushing my fingers over the cotton. “Now we won’t waste anything.”
Jean looks down at it, a small smile twitching on his lips despite his panting. He cups it gently with one hand, steadying himself, and rolls his hips backward, seeking more pressure from Hessou’s hand.
Such a good boy.
I step back, letting the image settle in my mind: Jean bent over, holding himself, body smeared with cream and sweat, flushed pink. Hessou behind him, working inside him, murmuring low words I can’t quite catch.
I want to taste it—all of it.
I lean in beside Hessou, looking down at what’s left in the porcelain bowl.
The cream is nearly gone, and Jean is filled with it—not just inside, where Hessou’s fingers are buried to the knuckle, but smeared all over him, glistening down his thighs, dripping from his swollen, stretched rim each time Hessou’s fingers withdraw.
It’s beautiful.
I step in close behind Hessou, sliding my arms around his waist. My cock presses against the curve of his ass.
“Not so fast,” I murmur. “Watch.”
My hand closes over his wrist, slowing his rhythm. He’s pushing too directly, his instincts focused only on preparation for fucking. I guide his fingers to circle instead, dragging in lazy spirals around Jean’s loosened rim, teasing the nerves. Jean’s hips twitch at the lighter touch.
“There. Let him ache for it.”
Hessou breathes out through his nose, half a laugh, half a sigh.
He’s not used to being the student.
But he lets me lead. Lets me guide his hand like we’re piping meringue into delicate shells, pressing the cream deeper with controlled pressure. I dip my fingers into the porcelain again, coating them, then hold them up to his lips.
He opens his mouth to receive my offer.
My fingers push into his tongue, and I watch his cheeks hollow to taste what he’s just fed Jean.
“Good?”
He hums around my fingers, licking between them, and I feel his cock throb against my hand as I palm him gently with the other hand.
Then I kiss the curve of his neck, dragging my lips just under his jaw before whispering into his skin.
“Finish filling him, mon apprenti.”
He laughs and I know he’s rolling his eyes, but he still dips back in for more, this time mimicking my pace—spreading first, coaxing the tender rim open, using the pads of his fingers to work the thick cream deep inside.
Jean moans from the counter, hand still clutching the pastry bag tight to his cock and balls, chest rising and falling fast. He’s shaking, but he hasn’t asked us to stop. If anything, his back arches more with each careful press.
I reach around Hessou, sliding two fingers beside his into Jean, feeling the stretch for myself.
The inside is so impossibly warm and messy it makes me dizzy.
We work him together, wrist to wrist, cream squelching between our fingers.
My breath hitches, and I drop a kiss to Hessou’s shoulder, murmuring like a lover and a chef at once.
“Slow. Don’t waste the corners.”
He grins, half-lidded, aroused and obedient. And when he gets it right—a perfect curl of fingers pressing the last of the cream deep inside—I hum my approval against his skin and lick the sweat from his jaw.
“It seems you can be hired.”
“I’m an expensive worker.”
“Worth it,” I murmur, leaning to kiss the curve of his smile.
In front of us, Jean’s hand trembles where it grips the edge of the counter.
He’s trying to behave, to hold still for us, but it’s obvious his body won’t cooperate. His hips twitch. His thighs clench. His cock, still cradled in the pastry bag, jerks visibly with every wet push of our fingers inside him.
Hessou hums, delighted.
“We’re going to dry him before we even fuck him.”
I smile, licking a spot of cream from my knuckle.
“Then we should stop teasing and make use of him properly.”
I lean forward, brushing my lips against Jean’s shoulder blade.
“Is it too much?” I ask, brushing a hand down his spine. “Say so and we stop. But you’re doing beautifully.”
Jean just shakes his head, face buried in the crook of his elbow.
“I-it’s not bad,” he murmurs. “It’s just…”
His explanation shatters into a shudder as Hessou slides his fingers out, letting the thick cream slip down his inner thighs.
“Your body wants to come again already, doesn’t it?” I ask, pressing my cheek to the curve of his back, before kissing the soft skin of his ass. “So greedy.”
He makes a small sound.
“I want to try something,” I say, moving to the sideboard.
There’s a shallow bowl of berries I picked up this morning in the market—late summer fruit, plump and colorful: raspberries, blackberries, currants.
I hold a raspberry between my fingers and show it to Hessou.
“What do you think?”
He smiles slowly.
“Juicy.”
I press the raspberry to Jean’s hole and let it rest there, watching how beautifully red it looks against his skin, held in place by the clench of his muscle, before I gently push it inside. His hole is already soft, open from all the cream, and the berry slips inside with a slight squelch.
Jean moans, shifting his legs, breath stuttering.
I press another, watching it disappear past the pink swell. Then a third.
Hessou’s hand covers mine.
“Let me.”
He takes a blueberry and presses it against Jean’s hole with his thumb, guiding it deeper.
Jean’s breath quickens, but he doesn’t stop us.