Chapter 11 #3
I take him in my mouth, inch by slow inch, focusing on his piercings.
The first barbell slides over my tongue, and I groan around him.
The cool metal is a stark contrast against the heat of his skin, sending a jolt straight to my core at the sensation.
My tongue traces the smooth, spherical beads, feeling the slight ridge where they meet the bar.
Then the next one and the next. Each one is a new discovery, a new thrill as the metal easily glides over my tongue, creating a unique friction against my tastebuds.
It’s a bit overwhelming, and I pull back slightly.
The metal presses into my bottom lip before I take him as far into my mouth as I can again, this time with more confidence, my tongue dancing along the entire length of his ladder from base to tip.
His hand tightens in my hair, and I can feel the tension in his thighs where I’ve moved my hands to steady myself. He’s letting me set the pace, letting me explore, and the trust he’s showing me is more intoxicating than the taste of him.
I’m obsessed with every single part of this.
My world narrows to the weight of him in my mouth, the feel of the steel beads rolling over my tongue, and the low grunts he’s making above me.
I try to take more, to see how far I can go, but I hit my limit and have to pull back, gagging and gasping for air.
A string of saliva connects us, and I’m panting, my jaw aching in the best way. John’s dick is so hot.
“Easy,” he says in a low, rumbly tone. “You’re trying to swallow me whole.”
I look up at him, and when I blink, a tear slips down my cheek before I even realize my eyes have started to water. “Sorry.” I hate that he needed to stop me. I want this to be so good for him.
He shakes his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Don’t be sorry, Princess. Just want you to breathe.” He uses his grip on my hair to guide my head back, changing the angle, but this time it’s different. He’s in control. “Open up. Let me show you.”
That sounds amazing, so I do. I drop my hands into my lap and let him set the pace; he holds my jaw exactly where he wants me and thrusts in and out of my mouth.
Like this, I can stop worrying about if I’m doing something wrong.
He’s completely in control and it allows me to just relax and enjoy it.
The frantic energy in my chest settles into a sense of purpose as though I’m exactly where I should be, combined with a deep desire to please John, to learn exactly what he likes best. His cock fills my mouth, and with the hypnotic slide of his ladder against my tongue, I start to anticipate his movements, swirling my tongue around each barbell as it passes.
His soft grunts and the salty taste of his precum make me think he’s enjoying it too, and as I gaze up at him through my lashes, I catch a look of awe on his face that I’ve never seen from him. I can’t believe that I did that; that I’m the reason John looks so enamored right now.
I never want this to end. The ache in my jaw is still present, a constant reminder of how much I’m stretching for him, to make this as good as I possibly can, and I love it.
John mutters, “Fuck, Chad. Your mouth… so fucking good.” His praise hits me like a drug, a jolt of lust going straight to my own neglected cock which twitches in return.
I moan around him, trying to show my appreciation, and the vibration has him groaning, “Fuck,” as he continues to thrust into me.
His movements become more erratic, and I can feel him getting close as his fingers tighten in my hair again.
John pulls back suddenly, leaving my mouth hanging open, empty and wanting. I look up, dazed and confused. My lips are slick, but I’m not ready to close my mouth or for this to be over. Before I can ask, he’s pulling me up by my arms and guiding me back onto the bed.
“Lay on your back, so your head is hanging off the edge,” he instructs in that hot as fuck growly tone, and I hurry to obey.
“Color?” John looms over me, cock glistening with my saliva, and I just can’t get over how amazing it is that this is finally happening. That John is showing me this side of him, and somehow, it’s even hotter than I’d dared to hope for.
“Green,” I confirm.
“Fuck,” he growls, not waiting any longer before he guides his dick back to my lips.
This angle is different. Deeper. He slides in, and I can feel him hitting the back of my throat.
His Prince Albert piercing is a constant, thrilling reminder of exactly who’s inside of me.
Each time it happens, my cock jerks, and I’m leaking like crazy.
He strokes my cheek as he fucks my throat, the soft caress at odds with the force behind his thrusts in the best way.
“Breathe through your nose, Princess. Let me in, and if it’s too much, slap my thigh.”
I nod in understanding, but it’s not too much. Not even close. I relax my throat as he pushes in even deeper. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming. I’m completely at his mercy, but again, I can’t deny how powerful I feel knowing that I’m the one bringing out this side of John.
“Fuck, I’m close,” he mutters through his erratic breathing. I close my eyes, drifting into a state of bliss as I give in to everything I’m feeling. “Oh fuck, I’m…”
He moans as his cum floods my throat, and I have no choice but to swallow it down.
His salty release overwhelms my senses, and I’m in such a haze, so consumed by him and so focused on enjoying the taste of him, I barely register what’s happening as he pulls back, wasting no time before he nearly tears my pants off.
Then his warm, wet mouth is sucking me to the back of his throat, and I’m done for.
My orgasm hits me like a freight train. John barely touched me, but I was so worked up after he fucked my face that there was no way I’d be able to hold back if I wanted.
I cry out as my body arches off the bed, and I come with waves of pleasure so intense I nearly black out.
I didn’t even know it was possible to come this hard.
My breath evens out after a few long moments, but my mind is still unfocused, enjoying the post-orgasm high. I can’t even care enough to be embarrassed that I lasted maybe thirty seconds.
“How are you feeling?” John asks, helping guide me to lay against him where he’s now propped up on the bed. “I’m sorry, I probably should have held back a bit more than that for your first time.”
“No, that was perfect,” I say through a yawn, nuzzling further into his hold. “Holy shit, John. I swear I’m not drunk, but that orgasm was so good I might as well be.”
“It’ll wear off soon,” he murmurs into my hair, and I don’t know if I imagine him kissing the top of my head, but I’m choosing to believe he really did it.
We’re quiet for a moment, but I want to know what he’s thinking, how it was for him. “So…” I trail off, suddenly afraid to ask, because what if it wasn’t as amazing of an experience for him as it was for me? What if I ask, and he decides to tell me it was a one-time thing?
“You did so good for me, Princess,” he whispers, and this time, I’m sure he kisses the top of my head. His words melt into me, leaving me all warm and fuzzy inside.
It’s addicting. I don’t care what John wants to call this thing between us, or how many houses I have to buy to keep doing it, but I need more of this feeling.
His praise is worth whatever hoops he wants me to jump through.
His complete attention on me, the desire in his gaze, and the way it makes me feel like I’m important to him because of who I am, not just the privileged life I was born into.
He shifts us so we’re lying properly in the bed with my head against the pillows. I miss his touch, but he pulls a blanket up over me, and it feels so nice.
John shifts away from me entirely, and a tiny strike of panic hits me, but then he’s back, helping me sit up and pressing a glass of water into my hand. “Drink,” he instructs, “slowly.”
I do as he says, and the cold liquid feels amazing sliding down my throat. I have a few small sips, then he takes the glass back.
“This part”—he motions to me—“the blanket, the water, me making sure you’re okay, is called aftercare.”
“I like it,” I whisper. “I like you taking care of me.”
He lets out a sigh, and I sit up, feeling more alert now.
“We should’ve had this conversation earlier, but I couldn’t think straight.
” He shakes his head and takes another big breath before he continues.
“Aftercare, it’s part of this. Part of our agreement.
It’s about responsibility and safety, not feelings. ”
I nod slowly, trying to process what he’s saying. “Not… feelings,” I repeat.
“Right,” he confirms. “Not feelings. I do this for anyone I…” He trails off as if he’s seriously considering each word before he says it. Finally he continues. “Anyone I have an arrangement with. Do you understand the difference?”
I think I do. The logical part of my brain, the part that isn’t floating miles above the earth, understands the distinction he’s making and the promise I made before we kissed.
But the rest of me, the part that’s melting into his mattress and soaking up his praise like a sponge, doesn’t care about the logic. It just knows I feel safe. It knows that everything about tonight feels right, and I want to continue to do this with him.
Forever, if that’s an option.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “I understand.”
I don’t, not really. But right now, as my eyes flutter closed, wanting to please him feels more important than anything else in the world.