8

-NORTH-

MAL LEADSme further into the house and I look around as we go, intimidated by the sheer wealth on display. I knew he was rich, but not this rich. Like, owning multiple houses and having someone to fold your socks for you rich. I feel so out of place with my basic clothes while he wears a silky black shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows in a way that says he's ready to get to work. Only, "work" is me.

We go into a big dining room where a long table sits surrounded by tall-backed chairs. It's pretty impressive but my eyes are drawn like a magnet to something sitting neatly on the table like a centerpiece for a very kinky dinner party. It's the handcuffs; shiny and solid, placed directly where I'll see them.

Mal walks over to the table and hops up onto it so he's sitting on the edge, blocking the cuffs from my view, legs apart, and points between his thighs.

"Stand here."

Heart racing, I do as he says. I press in between his legs, his thighs rubbing on either side of my waist, and the urge to kiss his cruel lips is overwhelming. I've never wanted to kiss a guy before. Is this what I'm supposed to do? Is this what he wants? The pull is so strong that I lean in, lips parted, to press my mouth against his. But he pulls away at the last second before we make contact and leans out of my reach, and I straighten quickly.

"What are you doing?" he snaps, irritated.

"I . . . uh . . . I just wanted to—"

"What makes you think you get to kiss me?"

My face heats and I press my lips tightly together as the urge to curl up and die ignites within me. I'm a fucking idiot, did I read this whole situation so badly? If he doesn't like me why did he ask me over here? I start to think I've got the wrong end of the stick entirely and I should just leave before I embarrass myself even more, when he speaks again.

"Strip."

It catches me off guard and I stare at him for a moment. Then my body kicks into gear and I obey him, peeling my clothes off myself slowly, feeling stupid and vulnerable. My T-shirt and jeans are folded neatly at my feet, sneakers and socks set by their side, all of it done under his judgemental eyes. I can feel them on my skin hot as the sun. When I'm down to my boxers I straighten and meet his eyes, face red hot, forcing my arms down at my sides when they want to fold across my chest. It's ridiculous because I've been in the showers with the rest of the team more times than I can count, butt naked, and I'm sure he's seen me without a top multiple times, but right now I feel so on show with him sitting watching me, fully dressed.

He gives me a tired look. "Do you not understand what strip means? All of it."

I look down at my boxers, tented over my erection, and slip them down. My cock bobs free, livid, and aching from almost twenty-four hours of teasing with the plug.

He looks down at it, lips pursed, and I swallow. I can't tell what he's thinking, whether he's impressed or not.

"Turn around and bend over," he says. "I want to see it."

I do as he says, trying not to think about what's happening.

"Hold yourself open. Both hands."

I do it, closing my eyes and tightening my jaw. I can feel the precum leaking out of me and beading on the end of my cock at the humiliation of it all. Being bossed around like this by him is doing things to me.

I wait for him to speak again, but there's only silence. I glance over my shoulder at him and see his face is flushed just like mine, his pupils blown wide. He likes what he sees. But he catches me looking and his face hardens in an instant.

"I didn't say you could look at me," he snarls.

I whip my head back.

"Stay still, and don't make a noise," he says.

Without warning the plug vibrates inside me and I jerk forward, straightening and yelping. Then his hand is on the back of my neck, gripping tight and forcing my head down, back into position. "I said don't move. Is it that hard for you to follow instructions?"

"No," I gasp. "Sorry I just—"

"I told you not to talk," he snaps, giving my head another shove until I'm almost bent fully in half, my hands still holding my cheeks apart.

I almost say sorry again and manage to stop myself just in time.

"If you can't follow my instructions by yourself, I'm going to have to make you," he says.

Before I know what's happening I feel cold metal around my wrists and the snap of cuffs closing, locking both of my hands together behind my back. He's using the handcuffs on me, the ones that have haunted me since I first saw them two nights ago, and I realize with a stab of arousal that I'm in my fantasy, it's happening, and it's so much hotter than I thought possible.

He spins me and bends me over the table, pressing my face down against the polished wood by my neck, and I fight to stifle a groan.

Smack

The hit makes me cry out in surprise as fire spreads through my ass.

"What the fuck?"

I wriggle, bucking my shoulders away from the table, but his strong arm holds me down.

"You know how to make it stop," he says.

The safeword. Baseball. It's on my lips, but I close my teeth around it. He waits, giving me a chance I'm not going to take. After a pause he spanks me again, jerking my body against the table and my cock swings between my legs.

He keeps going until my ass is burning and numb at the same time. Sweat drips down my body. When he stops, my eyes are streaming and my aching cock is leaking even more. My whole body hums with energy.

"This is what happens when you don't follow my instructions," he says. "Understand?"

I keep my mouth shut, catching myself just in time, and nod. That must pass his test, because he lets go of the back of my neck, and I hold still.

"That's better."

After a moment, I feel his fingers toying with the tip of my cock, smearing the slickness there over my head, stroking the pad over my slit. It's a struggle but I still don't move or make a sound. I follow his instructions, and he's rewarding me. My chest burns.

Then his fingers close around the shaft and squeeze hard. His warmth presses against my back as he leans over me. My hands press into his belly.

"Don't come without my permission, or I'll have to punish you again."

My hairs stand on end, and I jerk my head once.

He turns on the butt plug and it vibrates inside me, pressing on my prostate, and my skin crawls with the need to squirm. He puts the remote down, but the plug keeps on vibrating. Is he trying to torture me? How the fuck am I supposed to not come with this grinding inside me. Sweat prickles over my skin. He leaves me there for a moment, letting me stew, and it literally takes all of my physical and mental strength not to move as the buzzing spreads jangling pleasure through my body.

"Why did you come here?" he says.

I pant into the surface of the table. I'm not allowed to talk. Is he trying to trick me so he can punish me again? As appealing as that sounds, I don't think my ass can take it, it's already burning. So I don't reply.

I hear a huff of breath and then he says.

"You can talk if I ask you a question."

"Because you told me to," I say.

"Why did you take that video of me?"

I hesitate. It's hard to think with the pleasure of the plug rippling through my body, making my head dizzy with need.

"I . . . I don't know."

Another huff, and I cut him off before he can reply. "No, I mean it. I don't know. I just saw you and . . . I couldn't help it. I had to."

He's quiet for a while and I wish I could see his face. I wait for him to reply, but whatever he was digging for he seems to have found.

After what feels like hours he pulls me off the table by my neck and shoves me into a living room. He gets me up on a wide low coffee table, it's top made of crystal-clear glass. He pushes me on my knees, head and shoulders down, ass in the air.

"Lift up your head."

I really try to, but with my hands secured behind me, and all my weight pressing down on my shoulders, my muscles clench and my back strains, but I don't go anywhere. My abs are good, but not that good. I open my mouth but then hesitate. Am I allowed to speak again? He hasn't asked me anything. But I don't want it to seem like I'm disobeying him. I try again, but it's no good.

"I . . . I can't do it," I say.

I tense, expecting a spank on my raised ass; not only did I speak, I failed to follow an instruction. But there's only silence, then the sound of him walking away. I want to turn my head to look, but that counts as moving without permission, doesn't it?

He comes back, and his fingers curl under my shoulder. I'm lifted slightly, and something soft slips under me—a cushion that pads my head and shoulders against the hard glass table top. Is he trying to make me comfortable? It's so out of character for him that I look up at him, and he frowns.

"I don't want your sweaty face marking my table," he says.

Oh, ok.

And there was me thinking he was actually being nice to me. This is Mal Blackwood, I remind myself, of course he wouldn't be nice to you. You're only here because he enjoys tormenting you, and for some reason, you get off on it.

Before I can get too disappointed, he crouches next to the table and slides his finger into my mouth, and I close my lips around it, sucking. He freezes. He didn't tell me to suck it, and I worry that he's going to tell me off, but then he starts to move in slow pumps, before another slides in and I relax. I don't want him to tell me to stop.

My body hums with electricity. I lap on his fingers like I'm starving. The fingers push in deeper, and I open my mouth to allow him more access. He adds a third finger and starts pressing into the back of my mouth, dangerously close to my throat. If he goes any further, I'm going to be gagging on him, and I mutter around his fingers in warning. He spanks my ass for the noise, and the vibrating plug jolts against me, and my spine stiffens.

"Keep quiet while I play with you, fucktoy."

Oh shit. I hold in a groan and he fucks his fingers into my mouth harder.

"Swallow around them," he says.

I try my best to but only end up gagging, and my eyes water.

"If you can't take my fingers, there's no way you can take my dick," he says.

It feels like a threat. I can take them, I want to shout. I suck with renewed vigor, desperate to show him I can do it, desperate for the chance to taste his dick.

After a while, he pulls his fingers out, and I don't know if I've done a good enough job for him to let me suck him off. My eyes light up when he unzips his pants.

"Is this what you want?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, not caring how wrecked I sound.

"Why did you come here?"

This again? I want him to hurry up and fuck my mouth already, let me taste him. "Because I wanted to," I say.

"And why did you record me?"

"I was curious," I say, hoping that's enough this time.

He raises an eyebrow. He doesn't look convinced. "You're going to suck my dick," he says. "And I don't want to feel any teeth, or you know what will happen."

I nod vigorously.

He pulls his cock out, and I forget how to breathe. The first time I saw it on the field, it was a long way off in the dark, and the second time in the showers I was too shocked to really take it in. Now, with it inches away from my face, I can see it in all its glory. Long and thick, its head dark and smooth. I can't help but imagine how good it'll feel inside me.

I lick my lips. They're wet with my spit, feeling swollen and already raw from his finger fucking. I realize what that was now, he was getting me used to it, to the sensation of something big pumping into my mouth, because of course, I've never had a cock in my mouth before.

Does he know that? It occurs to me that I know almost nothing about him, and I don't think he knows anything about me either. Up until yesterday he was entirely uninterested in my existence. Does he know I'm not gay, that this is my first time with a man?

Maybe you can ask him after you suck his huge man cock, says a small voice at the back of my head sarcastically.

Ok, maybe I have some self-reflecting to do, but now isn't the time.

He presses in close to me, his cock drawing close to my lips, and my mouth waters as I lick at the tip. I want to take the whole thing into my mouth, but when I reach for it he backs his hips away, only letting me have access to the very end. I whimper before I can cut it off, and get rewarded with a slap to the ass. My dick twitches, and I have to take a moment to just breathe and try to keep myself from boiling over as my legs shake and my core tenses.

"Don't you dare come before I tell you to, fucktoy," he says.

Shit, that'd be so much easier if he stopped saying things like that. I nod helplessly, open my mouth again, and he allows me to suck at the tip, tasting his precum.

I want to beg him to let me have more, but I control myself, and he rewards me by inching closer, pushing his whole head into my hungry mouth. It's so much bigger than his fingers, and my lips stretch around it as I suck it in, obscenely grateful for the honor.

Malcolm Blackwood is allowing me to suck on his cock, something that up until yesterday I didn't know I wanted. Funny how quick things can change, because right this second, there's nothing I want more.

I suck hard, taking him into my mouth as far as I can, and he starts to thrust. His dick knocks against the back of my throat, and it constricts as I gag around him. His hand twists in my hair and his movements become jagged, and then the next moment he's grunting breathlessly and his cum is filling my mouth, flooding down my throat.

I lose myself and I swallow it down a second before he tells me to. But again, he doesn't punish me, too caught up in his orgasm to care.

He groans and bends forward until his forehead rests against my back, sticky against my skin. His breath huffs between my shoulders. For some reason I thought he would last a lot longer than that, I only just started really sucking before he came. He's usually so . . . self-controlled. And I made him lose it, which is just the fucking sexiest thing.

I keep sucking the cum out of his dick, until he pulls it out and straightens, pushing his hair out of his face, looking flustered. I grin up at him with wet lips, enjoying this new side of him, and he frowns.

"Don't look so happy with yourself. I haven't finished yet."

As if that's a bad thing.