4. Cain

4

Cain

I still remember the first time Lars came to heel. The rush it gave me to have a guy so strong and authoritative bend to my will. I’d never had that before. My entire existence involved being used as a punching bag. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally. I was too big for anyone to risk hitting me. Six foot eight at the ripe old age of sixteen was intimidating.

Lars lived down the road from me. His mother was one of my father’s many victims. She came by our house to pick up whatever toxin my father was selling. She stood shaking by the kitchen door while her fingers scratched deeply into her flesh, adding to the scars protruding along her arms.

At moments like this, I was relieved my mother injected between her toes and only did enough smack to keep herself level. She would’ve gone over the ledge, but my father caught her chasing the dragon a few years ago and beat her so badly it set her straight. Sort of. She moved from heating and inhaling heroin to shooting it between her toes. Less messy and a hell of a lot more undetectable. So you could say that Lars and I already had something in common. Two junkie mothers.

One Saturday, Julianna Morgan, Lars’ mother, had been in such a rush to get high that she hadn’t even told Lars where she was.

“You’ve seen my mom?” he asked.

His voice startled me. I was lost in the music, tinkering with my grandfather’s busted-up guitar. I loved music and had no issues creating rhythm, even with rocks and sticks. But the guitar was a different beast. The sounds I pulled from the instrument were offensive to my ears.

“You mind?” Lars asked.

He held out his hand, and I gave him the guitar. He hoisted the instrument to his chest and strummed. My heart jumped as I gazed at his fingers gliding effortlessly along the neck as he plucked the strings, making life-altering sounds.

“Where did you learn to play?” I asked.

“My dad had one. When he died, I picked it up and messed around. I hear melodies in my head and used the guitar to get it all out.”

“Maybe you can bring your guitar over sometime, and we can mess around.”

Lars’ face fell, and he quickly shoved my guitar in my face. “Can’t. My mom sold it a few years ago to buy crack.”

I couldn’t look at him. I had issues talking to the kids of the junkies who came by. It was hard being civil to people when you knew your father was the reason their lives had gone up in smoke.

My gaze flickered between the guitar and Lars before I shoved the instrument back at him. “Take this one. The ax isn’t my thing, anyway.”

Lars shook his head. “No. My mom would pawn it. She pawns anything if she can get a few bucks for it.”

“You can keep it here. My mom’s too scared to touch any of our things. My dad would kill her.” I shoved aside to make a place for Lars to sit.

“Your dad doesn’t touch the stuff, huh?” Lars asked as he sat beside me on the cement steps.

“No. My mom used to be clean, too, but curiosity got the best of her.” I shrugged. “Guess one good thing came out of her being a junkie. I stay the fuck away from it.”

“I feel that,” Lars said. “So, you play any instruments?”

“Yes, the drums.”

“We should jam sometime. I’ve got a friend, Trevor. He’s a talented keyboard player. His dad’s fucked up.” He chuckled. “We should call the band Junkie Prodigy.”

I gazed at him and smiled. Something about Lars drew me to him. He had a way about him that made me comfortable. It was foreign to me. Everyone in town knew who I was: the giant kid whose father supplied everyone with a poison to snort, inject, or smoke. They made up their minds about me without even speaking to me. I’d spent my whole life hiding in the shadows, avoiding other people. None of them understood me, and I didn’t care to put myself out there to get ridiculed. But here was Lars, giving me an olive branch, and I couldn’t help taking it.

“Wanna meet here on Wednesday?” I asked. “I’ve got a shed out back. No one goes there.”

I’ve had many people suck my cock over the years, and hands down, Lars Morgan is the best. He doesn’t suck my dick; he worships it. Lars isn’t interested in reaching the destination as quickly as possible. For him, it’s all about the ride.

The lash of his tongue is the trees sweeping by on an open highway. The gentle nudge of his teeth is the wind blowing across your face on the back of a motorcycle, teasing excitement and fear. Yes, Lars’ mouth is a fucking exclusive rock club that has all the patrons clamoring to get inside.

I hold his head, relishing his gagging sounds. “Remember the first time I did this, and you puked? You’ve come a long way since then, haven’t you, my pathetic fuck boy? You’ll do anything to choke on your master’s cock.”

It was Lars’ idea to call me Master. We were fucking one night, and he screamed that he was a toy for his master to use. I never thought I was into it, but I quickly grasped how hot I found it as I came deep in his ass.

I hold the back of his head with one hand and trace the intricate tattoos on his right shoulder covering the violent burn marks along his flesh with the other. Reminders of the past he tried and failed to conceal.

“My beautiful boy,” I whisper, not wanting him to hear.

Lars lets me touch and kiss his scars, but he never talks about how he received them. Wounds forged in battle that the soldier wants to forget.

I tug on his hair, yanking his head back. His soulful amber eyes meet mine, begging me to provide what he needs. Sometimes, the sex is about the love we share, but at times like this, it’s about me putting Lars in his place. Lars has mentioned on more than one occasion that my dominating him has kept him away from drugs. I’m not sure how that’s true, but after a session, he’s more level and has control of his emotions.

Lars moans on my dick as my palm lands on his cheek, slapping him across the face. “Keep sucking, fuck boy. Show Daddy what a whore you are for his cum.”

Lars brings his fingers to my face. I bend to suck them, layering them thick with saliva. He clutches my ass and hollows his cheeks, sucking me like a damn hoover. He parts my ass and presses the tip of his index finger to my asshole, seductively teasing me before he plunges inside.

“That’s it, fuck hole, right there,” I groan. “You’re such a good boy. You want your reward, don’t you?”

Lars doesn’t answer. Instead, he bobs his head, forcing my cock to hit the back of his throat. He wants me to come in his mouth, but he needs me not to give him what he wants.

Pulling his hair, I lift him from my dick and shove him on the ground. Lars goes to get up, but I shove my foot against his chest, holding him down. Bending, I grip his throat so tight that he gasps for air. I don’t let up. I use more force until his skin turns red. “Next time you act up, I’ll suffocate you until you pass out. Don’t let your emotions run amok. I call the shots, fuck boy, not you.”

Removing my foot, I lift him by his throat and toss him on the bed. The bed creaks as I climb on, caging Lars between my knees. “You think I’m going to let you get off with a measly little blow job?” I caress his face tenderly, my version of the calm before the storm. “Oh, no, baby boy. I’m going to tear into that ass. Show you what happens to little bitches when they talk out of turn.”

Lars unbuckles his pants and pulls them down. I hold back a chuckle. He knows he’s in for it and craves the punishment. It levels him. Lars has derailed and needs me to set him back on the tracks. To make him believe he has control. After twelve years, I know this man’s body as well as mine. Ticks, tells, and burning desires.

I open the cupboard over the bed. Finding places on a bus to store lube is tricky, but we manage.

Lars glances at the bottle and tries to roll over, but I grip his sides with my thighs. “Nah. Tonight, you’re gonna look at me while I pound into your ass. You’re going to learn that you’re a little bitch, and I’m the master. I’m gonna put you in your place, baby boy.”

I move off the bed and hand Lars the lube. He takes the bottle and tilts his head.

“Up to you, baby boy. You can grease up that fuck hole or scream from the burning pain when I go in with only my spit.”

Lars groans at the language I hurl at him. His cock is rock hard as he lifts his legs over his head and pops open the lid. He squirts the lube down his ass crack and circles two fingers around his puckered asshole, working the liquid in. I stroke my cock as the anticipation of being buried balls deep in his ass creeps along my spine, building with need.

“Clean off those filthy fingers, fuck boy. Show your daddy what a dirty whore you are.”

Lars growls, but he’s not on the verge of breaking. Not yet. He parts his lips and sucks the two fingers deep. I grip his ankles, lift his legs higher, and line my cock up with his ass. Without warning, I glide in with one thrust.

“Fuck,” Lars moans.

I flip up his mask, needing to see all of him. “Don’t hide from me, fuck-boy.”

He enjoys fucking in the masks. Under that veil, he isn’t Lars Morgan, a kid from the wrong side of the tracks with a junkie mom. Behind the mask, he’s Satan, the lead singer of Gutless Void, the top-selling alternative rock band in the world. When he wears the mask, he’s the boss. But in the darkness with me, he’s Lars with all the vulnerabilities.

“That’s it, baby boy. Tell me how good it is to be my pathetic hole to fuck.”

Lars opens his mouth to speak, and I spit directly into it. You’d think it would make him mad, but Lars simply closes his mouth, relishing my spit. His hand moves to his dick, and he slowly strokes himself.

I laugh, lean in, and whisper in the shell of his ear, “Such a dirty boy. No matter what you do, how much money and fame you achieve, all you’ll ever want is to be my pathetic fuck-boy. I bet you dream about me fucking your worthless ass, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Lars pants.

I grip his throat, constricting his breath. Lars enjoys the sensation of suffocation. The first time we found out was by accident. I freaked out, but he told me he’d never come so hard and that he wanted to try again. I thought he was crazy. I was shaken that I could’ve caused actual harm. But I wanted him to have what he needed, so I read everything I could about breath play to ensure we were both safe. I became a professional strangler for Lars.

I watch his skin morph from red to blue, suffocating him as my cock mercilessly pounds into his ass.

I lift his head off the bed. “Look at your dirty ass getting fucked. This is who you are. Not some rock god. All you are and all you’ll ever be is my fuck-hole. A receptacle for my cum.”

Lars’ hand quickens along his dick, and he shakes with every vile word I utter—the degradation fuel to run his engine.

“Next time we go on stage, I want your face covered in cum underneath that mask. You’ll be sniffing it while you sing your little heart out.”

“Gah,” Lars moans as his body stiffens. He releases, shooting himself in the face.

I grip his hands as he wipes off the semen and pin them by his head. “No. You’re gonna sleep with it on your face. Wake up with it caked on your skin.”

I abandon Lars’ throat, and he sucks in a breath. “Don’t forget, baby boy. I control it all, even every breath you take.”

I lick his lips, collecting the cum before probing his mouth with my tongue. Lars opens for me, kissing me back, swapping his cum back and forth. I pull back and spit into his mouth. “Swallow, baby boy.”

Lars does as he’s told, pushing me off the ledge into paradise. I pull out and move to the bed, using his face as target practice, covering it with cum.

I wrap my arms around him and kiss the top of his head. “Feel better?”

“Yes, man. Thanks,” he whispers as he attempts to get off the bed.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get all this jizz off my face.”

I grab him by the waist and pull him toward me. “I wasn’t kidding. You’re sleeping with that on your face. Maybe you’ll think twice before putting my business on blast next time.”

Lars nods and drops back to my side as the orgy outside the door lulls us to sleep.