When You Are Mine

Sonny

I told Claude I’d meet him in his room in thirty minutes, that I needed to shower and prep. I was already hard thinking about what we might do in a few moments’ time, though I resisted the almost crushing urge to stroke myself. Instead, I concentrated on washing and stretching. Lots of stretching.

Claude was big. Not the biggest guy I’d been with, but bigger than most. And definitely big enough for me to know I shouldn’t rush my prep.

I started by telling Jenny not to watch—please—and I used the douche it had helpfully left in my shower for me. Then I lubed up my fingers, slid one in, then two, scissored them, and breathed through the stretch. I added more lube. Tried not to massage my prostate. Tried again not to massage it after failing the first time. And again. Tried at least to muffle my moans with my forearm.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, it felt so fucking good, and it had been a long time. A loooong time. If I didn’t slow down soon, I’d end up with my fist around my cock and my cum all over the bath mat. It would ruin the entire evening for both of us.

“Jenny, an intervention, please,” I whined, hoping to gods the house would hear and take some measures to stop me.

My toothbrush catapulted across the bathroom and ricocheted off my forehead.

“Thanks.”

I took the butt plug I’d accidentally stolen on Jenny’s house tour, added a little extra lube to it, and pushed it inside me. I had tried to return the plug, just like everything else I’d stolen, but I couldn’t locate the room again, and now I needed it, so I guessed my quick fingers sometimes paid off.

After dressing in clean shorts and a tee, I crossed the hall to Claude’s room. He was waiting for me at the top of the mezzanine level, his hand on the banister. He’d taken his jacket off, but was otherwise still fully clothed. The lights had been dimmed, and in the background, an instrumental “” played.

“Is this too much?” Claude said as I climbed the steps to him. “I told Jenny it might be too much, but it insisted. Literally, wouldn’t let me turn the lights on, and I still can’t figure out where the music is coming from. It said it wouldn’t bother us, though. Said it was going to keep itself preoccupied by alphabetically listing every ant colony on Stinkhorn grounds and then assigning names to each an—”

Now it was my turn to shut him up. I cupped his jaw, tilted his chin up, and brought my lips down to his. My fingers were already loosening his tie. He lifted my T-shirt over my head. No pretence anymore, no point denying we were here for any other reason. His shirt and our trousers were next, the clothing forgotten about as soon as it hit the carpet. Our mouths stayed connected the entire time.

I backed him up to the bed until the mattress bumped against the inside of his knees... paused the kiss, tilted his forehead to mine. “How do you want to do this?”

“Honestly? I want to spend five hours admiring how perfect you are, and then I want to lie on my back and watch you ride my cock.” He kissed me again... moved the kiss towards the corner of my jaw. “But I don’t think I can wait five hours.”

“Me neither.”

“So, give me a couple of minutes to look at you. Please,” Claude begged. He sat on the end of the bed, and for a while he simply let his gaze flit over my nearly naked body, his tongue gliding over his bottom lip, his breath growing increasingly ragged. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. Turn around.”

I did, and I felt the elastic waistband of my boxers being lifted away and dragged down over my ass. And then Claude’s lips were on my skin at the base of my spine—warm and wet. His tongue. The vibrations of his moans. He placed a thumb or finger against the flared base of the plug and pushed. I cried out... tried to resist the urge to back up onto his face.

“This ass is perfect,” he said. “Everything about you is perfect. You have these dimples, right here and... fuck, they are just adorable.” His voice was deep, gravelled. Sex-Claude was confident and self-assured. There was no hesitance, no reticence. It was unbelievably hot. “Tell me what you like, Sonny. What do you want me to do to you? How do you like to be touched?”

“I... want you to take control,” I said, not turning to look at him. “Full control.”

He pushed his thumb against the plug, and I whined.

I continued. “I like to be told what to do.”

Another stroke. I realised he was rewarding me with touch for telling him what I liked.

“I want... gods, I want you to use me, Claude. Do whatever you want with me. I’m entirely yours. Fuck me how you like to fuck. Hold me down and break me. Don’t be polite, just take everything from me. Tell me to take my filthy feet off the train’s table.”

He laughed, stroked his thumbs over the divots in my lower back. “Do you like praise?”

“Yes,” I whined. “But I prefer punishment.”

“Oh, fuck, Sonny.” He spun me back round to face him and freed my cock from the front of my boxers, letting them drop to the floor with the rest of our clothes. He stared at it, at the sticky trail of precum that had been building since I stepped out of the shower thirty minutes ago. “Look how slick you are for me.”

I motioned to touch myself, to wrap my fingers around my length and swipe the head clean, but Claude caught my wrist in his hand and pinned it by my hip.

“We’re not touching your cock tonight,” he said.

“At all?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Let’s see if we can find another way to make you come.”

“Oh,” was all I could say in return.

A prostate orgasm? I hadn’t had one of those since I’d discovered the magic button in my much, much younger years. And that had been an accident. A complete fluke. The product of overeagerness and the inability to stop or slow down. I didn’t know if it was even still a possibility to come without friction to my cock.

I’d wager my fist would be wrapped around my dick before the end of the night.

Claude’s fingers dug into my ass cheeks and pulled me closer to him. His nose and mouth butted against the flesh between my cock—which he pointedly ignored—and my hip. He closed his eyes and inhaled, holding the scent of me in his lungs and then slowly releasing it.

“I need you on the bed,” he said, standing up and stripping his underpants off.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and looked up at him, waiting for his next command. Fuck, why was it so hot to be bossed around like this?

A smile ticked the corners of his mouth. “Ass up. Let me taste you.”

I needed friction, needed to jam the heel of my palm against the head of my cock. I gritted my teeth, but my hand twitched towards my dick. Claude clocked it. He raised a brow. Tsked .

He leant down... planted his lips next to my ear. “Would you like me to tie you up?”

“Holy fuck.” The words slipped out, but I was already obsessed with the idea. “If I touch myself, you’ll punish me by tying me up?”

Claude didn’t respond, not with words. A smile ticked the corner of his mouth. I took it as a yes.

Without sparing a second more to think it through, I wrapped my fingers around the base of my cock and roughly stroked upwards, crying out at the instant relief the friction brought.

Claude’s grin tripled in size. “Disobedient little fae.”

I would have been grinning back, but I was too far gone for that. My breaths were coming out as pants, my chest heaving. I held my wrists in front of his face, ready for him.

He seized them and knotted them together with his discarded tie. Then he guided me on my knees—like a rider pulling a horse—up the bed, knotting the other end to the headboard. I folded onto the mattress, my head pillowed on my arms, my knees underneath me, my ass in the air. I rolled my hips, whining when the plug rocked inside me.

Apparently satisfied with a job well done, Claude moved onto the bed behind me. His fingers traced lightly up my thighs.

Okay, coming without touching my dick was looking less like a remote possibility and a lot more like an inevitability.

The anticipation alone had me dangling alarmingly close to the edge already.

Claude snaked one hand around my hip. The other found purchase on the end of the plug. He tugged it gently, experimentally, and my body responded without instruction from my brain, clamping down on it before he removed it all the way.

“Relax. I’m not going to take it out until I’m ready to fuck you,” he said. But despite this, he pulled it hard enough that the rounded bottom of the bulb popped out. Lube oozed from my hole and dripped down my balls.

Claude eased the plug back in, and I whined.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

He pulled it out again and pushed it in, and repeated. Continued this assault for gods knew how long—a minute, an hour, half a century. He was mostly silent, except for the occasional throaty groan, but even if he had been speaking I wouldn’t have heard anything over the blood roaring in my ears, the trembling of my own body.

I couldn’t move my head, but from the moans he made and the rocking of his body, I knew Claude was fucking his hand. It was the single hottest moment of my life.

I needed more, though. Needed to be fuller. Filled up by him.

And then all I felt was emptiness, as he took the plug away entirely. He replaced it immediately with something much softer and warmer.

Claude’s lips and tongue danced around my entrance, so teasing and gentle, before dipping inside me. Instead of being fucked with the plug, I was being caressed. Lovingly. It made my heart feel stupid and weird.

“I’m gonna... just need to...” Claude said, stopping his ministrations. A slight rustling told me he was unwrapping a condom and rolling it on himself. Then the squelch of the lube as he slicked himself up. The mattress bounced. His hand grabbed frantically at my hip.

I mustered the strength to look over my shoulder. Claude’s face glistened with sweat and lube and his own saliva. His hair stuck out at odd angles. His cock was in his hand.

“I can’t wait any longer, Sonny. Need to... fuck you now... right now,” he said.

My cock ached. Throbbing and painful and furious at the lack of attention. I was loving every second of it.

“Are you ready for me?” He nudged at my hole with the head of his cock, evidently forgetting my request to “not be polite and take whatever he wanted from me.”

“Yes. Please. Fuck me, I can’t... need it so bad.”

Gently—as gently as a man of his size could be—he sunk into me. Pushing and pausing and pushing again. Crying out. Cursing. Testing my tolerance bit by bit before sheathing himself entirely.

I couldn’t lie. It fucking hurt. Tears streamed down my face. I buried it in the pillow and yelled through gritted teeth. But Claude waited for me, didn’t move before I was ready. A fucking gentleman.

“Let me know if you need me to stop,” he said, his voice strained, like it was taking everything for him to hold back.

I nodded. Couldn’t formulate real words. But the pain was subsiding, the stretch more than bearable. Now I needed him to rock. I needed to be fucked, and fucked hard.

I couldn’t tell him because speaking was not an option, so I rolled my ass to show him he could move.

“Fuck, Sonny, you’re amazing.” He looped his hands around my hips and pulled out slowly. Pushed in again. Harder this time. Faster. Until his pace built and built and he was fucking me into the mattress.

He snatched a throw cushion and shoved it under my waist. His hands grabbed at my flesh, my hips, my shoulders, my hair.

All I could manage was the smallest rocking of my hips to steal the teeniest amount of friction. Essentially fucking the cushion. My stomach was slick with precum. I gripped the tie as though it was my only tether to the moment. As though the second I let go, it would all be over.

But it would be over soon, anyway. I was so close to that edge, Claude’s cock hitting that exact spot over and over and over. Driving me little by little to the point of falling head first. My legs were numb, my whole body shaking, stomach muscles screaming from holding back.

“Claude, I’m—oh, gods, I’m—”

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Break for me. Let me watch you come.”

I couldn’t delay it any longer. I pushed my face into the pillow and screamed out my release. Wet warmth erupted under my stomach, soaking the cushion beneath me, probably destroying it.

Claude fucked me gently through the last of my orgasm. “That’s it. Fuck, Sonny, you’re so... Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck—”

He stilled... Held my hips firmly. His cock swelled inside me, pulsated with his climax.

After a few moments, he pulled out of me and undid the tie around my wrists. Then he eased me onto my side, pulling my wrecked body into his big spoon. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my shoulder, my neck, my ear.

“You did so good,” he whispered as he traced circles on my hip with his thumb.

I still couldn’t muster any words, so I simply closed my eyes and let his warmth pull me under like a rising tide.

Eventually, he leaned up onto his elbow and ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m going to get rid of this condom, and I’ll be back to clean you up. Don’t go anywhere.”

Not that I had anywhere to go, or even planned to stand up. Pretty sure my legs had stopped working, anyway. Plus, everything down there was so... slimy.

Claude came back moments later with a damp facecloth, rinsed through with warm water—making my insides cramp with something achy and undefinable—and he wiped down my stomach, my thighs, my hole. Then he carefully, and without any further words, dried me with a clean, soft, fluffy towel. He tossed the ruined pillow onto the floor, unfurled a different, much larger towel over the wet patch, and climbed into bed with me.

He lay on his back and held his arm out, inviting me into the gap. I didn’t think. I just snuggled into him again, my head on his chest.

“Sonny?” he said, his voice a whisper.

“Yes?”

“I . . .” Claude hesitated. “Thank you.”

That hadn’t been what he’d planned to say.

I knew because I felt those exact words on the edge of my lips, too.