Chapter Six

Chapter Six

After dinner, Channon said good night to Nate and went to his suite. It felt echoingly empty with just him in it. He wondered how Ewan was doing and sent him a text, but he didn't get a reply right away.

Jack had told him to call once he was in bed. It was still early, really, but Channon felt that an early bedtime wasn't unreasonable.

He showered, dried off, and slipped into the bed, still a little damp. When he called, Jack answered on the second ring.

"Hey, sweetheart. How was dinner?"

Channon closed his eyes, picturing Jack on the other end of the call. In his mind, Jack was relaxed, leaning back in his office chair in his softest, oldest jeans and a comfortable T-shirt. Barefoot, his long, clean toes splayed against the rug. Channon could kneel down and kiss them, lick them if that was what Jack wanted.

"Good, Sir," Channon said. "We got Tex-Mex."

"Ah, excellent. And did Nate take care of you?"

Channon bit his lip. "Yeah. He was nice. How was Ewan?" he asked with some trepidation.

"We got along okay." To Channon's surprise, Jack didn't sound even a little frustrated. His heart rate spiked. Had Jack worked out his frustrations on Ewan with a belt?

He rubbed a hand over his chest. "Did you play with him?" He tried to sound light, but in his own ears his voice seemed wobbly.

"I…" Jack hesitated, and then he laughed softly. "You know, I think maybe I did. Not anything serious, but I did make him sit down and tell me what was wrong, and then I got him to fantasize some terrible revenge on his ex. I think he found some catharsis."

This didn't seem much like play to Channon, who said as much aloud.

"Maybe not, but there was an element of dominance about it. I fed him, as well."

Channon hummed, trying not to sound concerned. "Like, from your hand?"

"No," Jack chuckled. "At the table, like a big boy." His voice turned soft. "Were you worried about that, sweetheart?"

Channon breathed out, his anxiety draining and leaving him feeling ridiculous. "Kind of. Not really, just…I'd like it if you two were, you know. If you didn't…I mean…"

"You want us to get along."

"Yes," Channon agreed, "but more than that. I know Nate's your best friend, and Ewan's my best friend. And…you know sometimes, I…I mean, I liked it when you and Nate played with us. Both of us." He'd watched Jack flog Ewan then, and it hadn't made him feel weird. So why did the idea of it happening when he wasn't there feel so…so awkward?

Channon breathed out, trying to navigate the weird feeling in his chest. Didn't he want Jack and Ewan to get along? Maybe even play together? Wouldn't that be better than having them at odds with one another?

And he did. He just…didn't want Jack to want Ewan more than him. He didn't want to lose his Sir.

As soon as he put the feeling into words, Channon felt silly. Of course Jack wouldn't want Ewan more than him. Ewan was a brat. Jack didn't want that, not in the slightest. So there was no way. Even if Jack and Ewan did play, even if Jack did work Ewan over with a belt, it wouldn't mean anything. It wouldn't be like it was between them. Nothing in the world was like that. Channon belonged to Jack, and Jack wanted him.

Jack wasn't going to suddenly get bored of him and leave.

He's not my dad.

And because Jack wasn't his dad, Channon knew he could say this without being afraid of making Jack angry.

"I don't want you to want another sub more than me," he said out loud.

He heard Jack's intake of breath. "Sweetheart," Jack said firmly, "that's not going to happen. I'm your Sir. No one else gets to be that for you, and no one else gets to be my boy. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon sighed. He squirmed down in the bed until his head slid off the pillow onto the mattress and his face was half submerged in covers. "You chose me. I'm the one you're going to marry. I know."

"Then what's going on?"

"When we're married, you said nothing had to change. And I just…I think we should keep Nate and Ewan. Because they're sort of part of us. Like, I don't like the idea of them not ever coming over to do kinky stuff again." He wet his lip. "And I don't mind if you do things with Ewan. If, you know. He doesn't mind."

The silence on the phone was long enough for Channon to wonder if the call had dropped out, but then Jack said in a low tone, "I don't think Ewan or I want that. But, sweetheart, do you really think you wouldn't mind?"

Channon swallowed. "Yeah?"

"Because I think you really would," Jack said gently. "I think you'd mind a lot. And there's no way in the world I'm going to risk that, just for a chance to play with someone who, up until recently, couldn't stand the sight of me."

Channon rubbed his chest again where it ached. "Until recently?"

"Well, I think we did okay tonight. It's new, so give it time."

"Is he still at our place?" Channon asked.

"Ours? No, we're at Nate's."

Oh.Channon tried to reimagine Jack at Nate's and failed. His image of the place wasn't strong enough.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?"

"I'm okay," Channon said, a little embarrassed at himself. "But…Nate and Ewan. I don't want to lose them when we get married."

"Then we won't," Jack promised. "We'll work it out. This isn't just about you wanting Nate's cock in you, is it?" Jack asked teasingly. "Because you know, you can have that. I'd love to see that again."

It startled a laugh from him. "No! I mean, I don't mind. I like when, you know. When you invite people to do that. But I'm not just, just yearning for it or anything."

"Mmm. I think I know whose cock you are yearning for."

Channon felt his cheeks flush. "Yours, Sir."

"Oh, that goes without saying. But I think you want someone bigger."

Okay, they had officially veered away from the ‘big feels' part of the conversation to the ‘big feels' part. A familiar heat rose in his cheeks, and he knew he was blushing. "Sir, I don't need any dick except yours."

"You're allowed to want it, though," Jack said magnanimously. "I want you to."

Channon squeezed his eyes shut, squirming back into his pillows. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"In that case," Jack said in a low, suggestive tone, "I want to know how naked you are right now."

"Um, totally?"

"I think I'm going to need proof, sweetheart."

Channon wriggled under the covers. "What kind of proof?"

"How do you think you could prove it?"

"I could…send you a selfie?"

"That's right." Jack's voice dripped with approval. "Go on, then. You can crop your face out if you want."

Because Jack knew his body well enough to recognize it anywhere, and Jack knew Channon would never lie to him. "Yes, Sir. One sec."

Channon pushed the covers down, his pulse running a little fast. A naked selfie. Nudes. That was what Jack wanted.

He knew from experience that body selfies were harder than they looked—harder to make them look good, anyway. Channon laid one hand on his belly and focused on that rather than his junk (though the junk was definitely still in frame). He took a burst of pictures, trying not to think too much about it.

One of them seemed okay. The top edge showed his throat and his mouth but nothing more than that. The bottom went all the way down to his thighs. Was it good enough? Channon quickly slapped a filter on it, warm and faded, and sent it before he could lose his nerve. Then he deleted the nudes from his phone.

"There, Sir," he said, a little breathless. "Is that what you wanted?"

Jack chuckled softly. "Let's see." His phone chimed. "Hmmm. That's exactly what I wanted. Good boy. But your dick looks lonely," he added in a smooth, low tone. "Touch it."

Channon slowly let out his breath. "Yes, Sir," he said, sliding his hand down and curling it around his dick.

"Tell me what you're doing, Channon."

The command slid into him, forcing compliance. Channon licked his lips. "Just holding it. Just…squeezing a bit."

"Slide your foreskin over the head. Jerk off with it."

Channon did as he was told, feeling himself thicken. "I'm…I'm doing it, Sir. I'm getting hard." It was so easy to get hard when Jack told him what to do.

Now Jack said, "Is it good?"

"Yeah, but…" Channon teased himself, fingering the underside of the head through his foreskin. "Not like when you do it."

"Maybe you need lube," Jack suggested. "There's some in your toiletries bag."

Channon sat up, feeling restless and surreal. There was lube in his toiletries bag. "Got it, Sir," he said.

"You know what to do."

Channon tucked the phone into his shoulder and was about to lie down when he hesitated. This might get messy. At home that wasn't such a problem, but this was a hotel. People had to clean up after him. Self-consciously, he grabbed a towel and spread it out.

"Ready, Sir."

"Describe it to me."

Channon exhaled, closing his eyes. "I'm lying on my back, on a towel, on top of the bed covers. Naked. I've got the lube and, and I'm hard, Sir. I wish you were here," he added for the sake of honesty.

Jack made a soft, pleased sound. "Oh, I bet you do, sweetheart. But you're going to have to make the best of it. I want you to lube up."

"My dick? Or…"

"Or?" Jack prompted, clearly enjoying himself.

Of course he wanted to make Channon say it. "My asshole."

"Both," Jack said firmly. "Jerk yourself off and get your fingers inside. Tell me how it feels."

The door was locked, right? Channon resisted the urge to get up and check it. It was self-locking. He was pretty sure. "Yes, Sir," he said.

He squeezed lube onto his fingers and slid them over himself. The lube was cool but warmed quickly. It had that familiar scent, the one that made him think of Jack. He confessed this as he slicked up his cock, moving his hand slowly.

Jack chuckled. "I smell like lube?"

"Lube smells like you," Channon said. "Like…you're the reason I need it."

"Mmm, I am. How's your hole?"

Channon slipped a hand down to stroke a finger between his cheeks. "Tight."

"Shy?"

"Maybe." He teased himself with a fingertip. "I…I need a sec."

"Take your time, sweetheart. Tell me what you're doing."

"I'm touching it." The first inch of finger slid in without resistance. Then he had to ease it deeper, and the angle was difficult. "I'm in past, uh, the first knuckle."

"Good boy," Jack murmured. "Keep going."

Channon fingered himself, one hand moving shakily over his cock, listening to Jack's breathing over the phone. Was Jack jerking off? Channon thought not. He wondered if Jack liked what he was hearing.

"I'm, uh. Two fingers," Channon said, not wanting Jack to get bored.

"How does it feel?"

Channon licked his lips. "It's not as good as when you do it, Sir."

"That's all right. If I can't be there with you, though, I want to know you can take care of yourself."

Of course. "I can, if you tell me to."

"That's my boy." He sounded pleased. "Get your fingers as deep inside you as you can. Try for a third."

The third took a little while, but Channon managed it. Doing it himself made everything more difficult, but Jack's low reassurances helped. Soon, Channon breathed, "That's as far as I can reach," into the phone, and Jack hummed with pleasure.

"Good boy," he said, and then. "Hold on a moment."

Something rustled over the line. A muffled sound was followed by another. Voices? Was Jack speaking to someone?

Channon held still, the fingers of one hand buried in his ass and the other wrapped around his cock. He stroked himself, slow as dripping molasses, feeling the warmth and heat pooling between his thighs as he waited for Jack.

Then Jack said, "All right. I'm back."

"Everything okay, Sir?" Channon asked breathlessly.

"Ewan's going to bed."

Channon had forgotten about Ewan. He clenched around his fingers, wondering if he was selfish for forgetting. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He asked if he could say hi. I told him you were busy," Jack said with amusement.

Oh…god. Ewan probably thought they were doing exactly what they were doing.

And it didn't matter. Channon reminded himself that Ewan had seen him do far worse. And if things went the way Channon half-hoped they would, Ewan would certainly see him like this one day.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"Good, Sir," Channon said. "I, uh. I kept jerking off."

Jack hummed. "It sounds like you're ready for your present." The words didn't immediately make sense. "Wipe your hands and open the box Nate gave you."

Oh. That. Channon had forgotten about it entirely. He wiped his hands and reached for the box. Black, sleek, unlabeled—it was intimidating. Whatever it was, Jack clearly had a plan.

Warily, Channon opened it. He sucked in a breath, eyeing the contents with alarm, but no real surprise.

Nestled inside some molded packing foam was a dildo. Of course. It wasn't as big as the biggest Jack had bought for him, not the enormous one Jack liked to tease him about. It was still huge, though. Huge and somewhat realistic, with fairly realistic balls at the base. The color was a few shades lighter than Jack's own, the head blushing pink, veins ridging the length of it.

Channon breathed out. "Uh. I think I know where this is going, Sir," he said weakly.

Jack laughed. "Yeah, sweetheart, that's going in you. You'll have to thank Nate tomorrow for delivering it."

God, Nate had brought this through TSA? Channon couldn't imagine doing that. The thought of it was face-burning.

"Get comfortable," Jack prompted. "This is going to take a while."

It did. Channon propped his hips up on a cushion with the towel over it and worked the thing in slowly. Every inch of it felt like three, and he had to stop and breathe and listen to Jack's encouraging reassurances.

"You're doing so good. Such a good boy. You can take it. I've seen you take bigger than this. No need to rush."

Channon didn't rush, but time seemed to run slow. It felt like hours as he rocked the dildo in, feeling his body open up for it.

For it? No. His body was opening for Jack, as if Jack were the one pressing all this silicone into him. Because that was exactly what was happening. Channon's hands might be the ones holding the thing, but it was Jack who was pulling his strings.

"Stop touching your cock," Jack said, and Channon stopped. He clutched the dildo with both hands. "Tell me how it feels."

"It's so big," Channon gasped, lifting his hips off the bed and feeling the length of the thing flex inside him. He was sweating, droplets bursting out of his pores as he rocked the dildo into himself. The overwhelming fullness made his throat thicken, his body tightening compulsively with a delicious, unbearable ache.

"Can you take it?" Jack asked.

"Y-yes," Channon confessed. "But…Sir, I think…"

Something this large had an effect on him that was impossible to ignore. He was wired, his body straining against the urge to come. He wanted to let go, give in, let it crash over him. But he knew what Jack wanted, and he was trapped between the inevitability of the orgasm building in him and obedience to his Sir.

"Sir," he gasped, trying not to clench. "It's so much."

"You've had bigger," Jack said again, low and insistent.

Channon shook his head. His eyes were watering. "But I came, Sir, it made me come, and I can't…Sir, it's going to happen…"

"You're going to come?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon breathed, holding the dildo still because if he moved it, it would happen. "I'm trying, but—"

"Then come," Jack ordered.

Channon whimpered, sliding the dildo the last inch inside him and feeling it go deep. His body spasmed. It was beyond his control. He started to shake, breathing in punched-out little gasps as his balls drew up and his cock jerked, spilling in hot spurts on his sweat-slick torso. He groaned, unable to help it, mindlessly hitching his hips to press the dildo in as deep as it could go. God, it ached. It took him down, drowning him in it.

When it was over, he collapsed on the bed, wrung out and useless. He could barely think, his mind and body wiped by the wash of pleasure that ebbed through him.

His phone had slid down the pillow. It took him an effort to hitch it up against his ear. "Sir?" he slurred.

"That sounded good, sweetheart," Jack said thickly. His voice was rough. He sounded turned on. Channon wondered blearily if he'd been jerking off. But when he asked as much, Jack laughed ruefully. "Not in Nate's spare room. No, I'll save it for when you get home and come on your face."

If Channon could have laughed at this he would have, but he was wasted. Such a waste. Just flesh.

Usually, this would be when Jack took advantage of his uselessness to fuck him hard and rough, and Channon would be able to do nothing but take it, be nothing but a receptacle for Jack's come.

Well. He'd have to wait for that.

"Is it still inside you?" Jack asked.

Channon groaned. "Yeah. I'm a mess."

"Take a photo for me."

Oh god, of course he wanted that. Channon wiped his hands on the towel and took a really obscene photo of himself. The angle wasn't great, but dildo was clearly visible stuffed all the way inside him, and he figured that was what Jack wanted to see.

"Beautiful," Jack said. "Maybe we should have someone take dirty photographs of you some time. Make a set of them. Victor could show them in his gallery." Channon made a weak sound of protest, and Jack chuckled. "Maybe not. But I'd like the photos, nevertheless. You can take it out and clean up, sweetheart. Leave the call connected, I'll wait."

When Channon was clean and dry and safely snuggled under the covers, Jack told him he'd done a good job, had been perfect. "I'm so pleased with you," Jack said, and Channon wriggled in sleepy contentment.

"I love you, Sir."

"I know, sweetheart. I love you so much. Looking forward to having you at home."

"So you can come on my face?" Channon asked with a yawn.

Jack laughed. "You'd better believe it."