22. Christian

22

CHRISTIAN

I suck in a breath as my balls draw up. His tongue enters me in one, smooth glide, and I jerk against the restraints. “ Shit, oh shit, oh shit… ”

Gibson’s groan is loud enough to overwhelm the music, and I feel it vibrate inside me—in my gut. His lips suck, and he licks wet stripe after wet stripe from my balls to my hole where each time, his tongue plunges inside, thickening and lengthening until it feels almost impossible for a tongue to be so big.

I’m hypersensitive. Jerking at every new sound, new touch. Anything he does feels like everything all at once. There are his nails in my raw flesh and the unbelievable fullness of his tongue in my hole. This goes on and on. The only thing I can move, my hips—I do, I can’t help it.

It feels dirty and wrong— humiliating , but my body is inviting him deeper and deeper because it’s also so fucking good. My cock is so hard, it hurts worse than anything else.

“Your hole is a slut,” he says before devouring it again. When he takes his next breath, I hear, “I’m so fucking hard, Christian.”

“Please,” I keep begging. “Please.”

“You’re too tight to take me. ”

“No,” I insist.

“No? Have you had a cock in this hole?” he asks, giving it another sloppy lick.

“No.”

Something other than his tongue slides in. A finger.

“Oh, God …”

“I could barely fit in your mouth, Christian. I’ll have to wedge myself into this tiny cunt. I’ll tear it apart. You want that?”

“Yes,” I whimper pitifully. I want that so fucking bad. I want everything.

“It’s so pretty, too,” he says with a note of regret in his voice.

“I don’t care. I don’t. Please .”

“Slutty boy. You know I won’t be able to help myself.”

With a final twirl of his tongue inside me, he lets my ass go.

The distinct sound of his belt unbuckling makes me tremble and leak. The sounds—the opera—his zipper—the snap of a cap—the tearing of a condom packet—all loud against my eardrums like shouts of intent.

“Yes,” I growl, my voice deep again, my core locked tight to keep my ass up and open for him. He fills me with two fingers and a ton of lube. The stretch is unforgiving, the pressure making me grunt. He fucks me with his fingers maybe five or six times, before he curses with impatience, and I feel the head of his broad cock tunneling toward my hole.

It’s a noticeable difference in width. He grabs my ass cheeks again, but instead of spreading them, he squeezes them together fucking into them and nudging my hole with his crown again and again. “So fucking perfect,” he says.

A painful clench tightens my groin. “I might come.”

“I don’t care,” he says, continuing to fuck my ass cheeks. “No one’s stopping you.”

“I can’t,” I whine, my hips squirming, desperate to lower themselves and rut on something.

“ Christian . Goddamnit. You’re making this fucking impossible.” His hands slide down my back to grip my shoulders. “Shut up and take this cock.”

I press my hips back and bear down, letting his crown breach my stretched, raw ring. Another scream catches in my throat as he stills, holding me open and letting me burn.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” he breathes. “I don’t know.”

A roar tears out of me as I object to his doubt—whatever it means.

I stretch my back as much as I can, nearly dislocating my shoulders to take him deeper.

“Oh—fuck!” he shouts. “Fuck! You’re so fucking tight — Jesus .”

I swear to God, my ass goes numb. All that’s left is pressure so intense my orgasm finally feels possible. I just need a little bit— more .

When I bear down again, he tightens his grip and forces it. His hips slam into my ass. His next inhalation sounds like it jackhammers into him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he gasps, like I’m hurting him . But even as he’s adjusting, I’m giving way. I think he is ripping me apart—and it feels nothing like I expected. The flogger hurt, but this—it’s too intense—too necessary to call it painful. I’m fucking obsessed.

“Please,” I gasp, out of my mind. I sound choked, like his dick made it all the way to my throat. My body shakes, beyond my control. I’m being cleaved in two.

This is the feeling— this is it—exactly what I need.

“ Fuuucckkk …” he groans as he draws his hips back and shoves in again. Fingers digging into the meat of my deltoids, he finally breaks and starts pounding my hole.

The taper of his cock makes every deep thrust burn enough for me to notice. He’s not fast, but he’s strong. Each penetration is another, deeper impact. Even his body slapping my ass feels like a spanking. “I’ve spent days imagining what it would be like to fuck you,” he says, his words a strained whisper. “I shouldn’t have bothered. There’s nothing like it. ”

All I’ve done is be still, which adds to my shame, but I couldn’t agree more. I want him to fuck me and not let up. I want him to keep drilling into me thinking I can take it when the only things holding me in place are the shackles on the bench.

The angle has me ratcheting toward orgasm in a rush, but with his hand nowhere near my cock, I just don’t see how…and yet…

“I could get used to this.” The words sound like an afterthought, but the images it conjures are of me bent over his desk. Pressed against a wall. Riding his lap while he holds my wrists behind me. I come as he’s withdrawing again, his crown bumping over my prostate. White light explodes behind my lids.

My dick unloads in convulsive bursts. Noise floods my ears as his cock tears into me again, his hips picking up speed. They meet my raw ass in rapid slaps as fast as he swung the flogger at the peak of the pain.

“Gonna fucking come. Fuck… Fuck! ”

One of his hands moves from my shoulder to pin my neck. His cock stills deep inside me, thickening before throbbing hard. “ Mm—nunh—fuck .”

As his groans turn to heavy panting, both our cocks jerk at the same time causing us both to grunt in sync.

Sliding himself out, he releases my neck and goes quiet. I no longer feel him anywhere, and suddenly, I’m freezing.

“Sweet, sweet, Christian,” he whispers, pressing his mouth to my hole once again. He licks and gently sucks, soothing the raw, overstretched ring of muscle. I’m dizzy. Shivering. Nothing feels real. Even his depraved kisses feel like they might be a dream—not something he would actually do—nor would anyone.

As his mouth continues to lap at my sensitive opening, the restraints on my ankles loosen. It’s over. Tears pour down my face, but there’s no sob to go with them. I feel emptied out. Like I’ll float away when he unlocks my wrists .

His tongue runs over my balls, and his hand wraps around my softening cock, pulling it between my legs to kiss and suckle.

I whimper, utterly useless. Helpless.

He sighs heavily letting my dick go. “Let’s get you off this thing.”

I can’t tell whether I want that or not. My safe word is on the tip of my tongue.

But he’s unlocking my wrist cuffs, rubbing the chafed skin beneath the restraints. “Chest up,” he says softly.

I manage to get myself back up to kneeling before his arms are around me and he’s helping me down. So many endorphins are flooding me, I can no longer tell what hurts and what feels good. It’s like I’ve lost all connection with my body. My legs shake so badly, I can barely hold myself up.

Somehow, he’s got me on the bed, beneath the covers. He climbs in behind me and pulls my back to his chest, curling around me while I shiver at all the sudden warmth.

“Christian, you were perfect. So, so good.”

I close my eyes and replay the words. Or maybe he says them again and again.

I clutch at his arms around me and work to get my bearings. The opera goes on, and I find myself wishing for a song I knew the words to. As it is, I’m stuck in my head while my body continues to float. At least I’m getting warm.

After some time has passed, he loosens his hold. “I need to clean you up.”

I don’t object. Not because I feel dirty, or because I know nothing could possibly cleanse me, but because I forget how to say no. This is how she felt. This is exactly why she died while I watched and did nothing.

I deserve to be cold and covered in dirt and filth. I deserve this.

I startle at the feel of his hand on my ass. He’s spreading something on me. There’s a cloth. There’s a liquid or a gel on my skin where the burn marks are—my ass and the backs of my thighs. There’s his breath as he blows on it.

This part feels good, which makes it wrong by default.

Nothing makes sense.

“I need you to drink some water for me.”

I turn to my other side and take the bottle he’s offering. I get about half of it down in one gulp before handing it back to him. Sleepy now, I rest my head on my arm and close my eyes.

“Leave room for me,” he says, his voice further away. “We need to be close after that.”

Something inside me must understand this. That his body might make mine feel more real. I make plenty of room for him.

I wish I didn’t want the closeness so much. I wish I could turn him down and slip away undetected, continue to deprive myself of the comfort. But I don’t have the strength to resist. I wake up as he rearranges me. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I lay my cheek on his bare chest. I’m still naked, but he has on pants.

With one hand, he strokes my head, running his fingers through my hair. “This okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how you feel.”

“Tired.”

“Is the pain bad?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mm. You’re not back yet, are you? Have you eaten?”

I honestly can’t remember. I like feeling his hands, though. The one in my hair and the one on my arm. Stroking and steady. I hear his heart. Pounding. I’m so fucking out of it.

“What’d you do to me?” I murmur.

“What you needed, I hope.”

I’ll have to think about that later.

“Try to appreciate the way you feel right now, Christian,” he says. “Don’t try to come back too soon. ”

“Okay,” I whisper, nestling my head against him, trying to gather more of his warmth into me.

At some point the music changes to something less dramatic, more contemporary. I think it’s old Coldplay, which is exactly what I would expect Gibson to listen to, and it makes me smile.

I shift toward him, wanting to get some pressure off my hip. My top leg slots between his, the way it did in Rome, and he readjusts, sliding down to lie beside me rather than propped against the headboard. An ache spreads through my backside with all the movement, and I groan softly.

“More water?” he asks.

“Whatever you think.”

“Are you getting sore?”

“A little.”

“Finish this, then.”

I drink the rest of the water and lie back down, still half on top of him. “You don’t need to be anywhere do you?”

“I’m all yours,” he says.

I lift my head, and our eyes meet. He looks as exhausted as I feel. I press my lips gently to his. He makes a quiet sound and chases my mouth as I pull away. It’s irresistible, so of course, I kiss him again.

Our mouths open slowly, taking a long, lingering taste of each other. His face is clean. His breath is minty. His lips are soft and luscious—his tongue wet and lazy.

It’s different than we’ve kissed before, and my dick likes it too much. I roll my crotch against his thigh, and he grabs hold of my face, catching it in his grasp and deepening the kiss for a long moment before pulling away.

“Are you always so affectionate?” he asks.

I shake my head, hoping he won’t be able to resist doing it again, either. Kissing him feels so fucking good. So wildly unpredictable. I never know what I’m going to get, and that makes it a risk every time .

“Dangerous,” he whispers.

“I’d be easy to take advantage of right now,” I tell him.

His eyes flash darkly. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You want to know what it’s like?”

“What what’s like?”

I roll my body—my cock—against his leg again. His eyes widen. “Really?”

I close my eyes and press my open mouth to his again, shamelessly humping his leg and silently begging for more.