by Quin Perin
“Excellent.” Eduardo folded up the paper and dropped it on the end table. “Then there’s nothing to punish you for today. Oh dear, does that disappoint you?”
It sort of did. He’d been so proud of having been good for a change that it hadn’t occurred to him until just now that if there was nothing for Eduardo to punish him for, then maybe there was nothing for them to do. Eduardo would send him home, and this would all be over. No release, no catharsis. Maybe being good wasn’t so good after all.
But Eduardo tipped his chin up and smiled into his eyes. “When you don’t need to be punished, you get a reward.” Jake liked the sound of that. “I’m going to have you take another stab at that kink list. This time, I want you to highlight everything you’d considered a reward. And remember, it’s okay for you to enjoy your reward even if it’s not something someone else would enjoy. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Like a scene?”
“Exactly like a scene. Anything you want except a spanking or corner time. Why not a spanking or corner time?”
Jake wet his lips, thinking on it. “Because those are for punishment.”
“That’s right.” Eduardo accompanied his smile with a kiss for Jake’s nose. “I don’t want any association between punishment and fun. You aren’t meant to enjoy being punished, just like I don’t enjoy punishing you. I do it to help you, because you need it. But I am a Dom, and if you’ve been good, and would like me to hurt you, there are other ways I could do that. Or it doesn’t have to be pain. Rewards can be pleasure too. Since I don’t have your list of ‘yes, pleases’ yet, I’ll have to wing it for tonight.”
Eduardo tapped his chin as if considering what Jake’s reward would be. Jake knew what he wanted, of course, what he’d been waiting for, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it—that sweet, plump bulge nestled into Eduardo’s shorts. It made his mouth wet.
“Is there something you’d like to ask for?” Eduardo said. Lightly, like he was teasing.
Jake swallowed and raised his eyes. “Can I suck you?”
“I’d like that.” Eduardo’s fingers tangled in his hair, and he gave a gentle pull, just enough for Jake to anticipate what was to come. “I have a feeling you’ll be good at it. Do you want me to tell you what a good cocksucker you are while you suck me?”
Jake nodded, eager for the praise, and Eduardo cooed at him in appreciation. “That makes me so happy. I can’t wait to have your mouth on my cock and to tell you how good it feels. Go on, Jake. Take it out.”
Jake reached into Eduardo’s shorts and down under the briefs beneath them to find his cock. It was soft, but hardening, a handful already. It would be a good thick one, perfect for choking on.
He held himself back from stuffing it straight down his throat, reminding himself to take it slow. This was his reward. He got to play with the thickening length, appreciate its growing weight. He’d had an idea Eduardo was packing, but the full extension was more than he’d expected, reminding him that Eduardo didn’t get off on punishing him. Eduardo wanted him to be good. And now he had been good, and so this—this lovely hard cock—was all his.
The scent of Eduardo was more intense without layers of cloth in the way, arousing rather than reassuring. The deep musk of it played over Jake’s tongue like something tangible, like a flavor he could lick up, and he worked at flushing out every drop. Lots of smooth flesh to suck and lick and relish, Eduardo’s hands steering him only lightly, allowing him to explore at his own pace.
Not until he’d been nibbling around the shaft for several minutes did Eduardo say his name with a groan. “Come on, big guy. Gimme a little love. Show me what you can do.”
Jake rose higher on his knees to position himself over the knob he’d made shiny and wet, and then he swallowed it—all the way down to the root in a single gulp, the way he’d been trained oh-so-many-Doms ago. It was a good skill, one that had Eduardo gasping and rocking, his hands rougher now in Jake’s hair, issuing commands at last.
Jake liked that he’d driven Eduardo past the point where he could pretend this reward was only for him, that he’d compelled Eduardo to start taking for himself. He curled his fingers around Eduardo’s balls and let Eduardo do the rest, accepting the forceful thrust of Eduardo’s cock into his mouth and down his throat—almost too big and too fast even for his honed technique, but he loved it. Loved accommodating. Loved working hard and doing well.
“Fuck, I knew you’d be good at this. You’ve got a mouth just made to be fucked. Where’s all that sass now, huh? You’re on your knees and taking it and you love it. Love being used.”
He did. It was difficult to get into this mindset—he could only do it for a master worthy of it—but it brought him to a place more calming even than his mindfulness exercises. Everything inside him was settled and at peace. He existed only for this.
“I’m going to give you my load now, Jake. Swallow it for me? Be my good boy?”
Somehow Jake managed to nod. Not a lot of movement, but enough for Eduardo to notice because he clenched down hard on Jake’s head, thrusting himself deep, and blasted down his throat, his cock pulsing so hard Jake felt it like a heartbeat in his mouth.
He spluttered, a little out of practice, and immediately the cock was gone. He swallowed the last traces of come, then sought out whatever more he could find on the slowly softening cock in front of him.
“Okay?” Eduardo asked.
“Mm hmm.” Happy.
“Now for my reward, I get to make you come.” Eduardo patted the couch next to him, and Jake got himself up onto it, his legs shaky from how long he’d been on his knees and how turned on he was. All his blood was in his cock, which stood up straight from his body like a pole.
Eduardo pulled a tube of lube out of the end table and slicked up his hand. He worked Jake over with a stroke worthy of a professional, all the while murmuring about how good that blowjob had been, about how hard he was going to make Jake come in return. He did, too. Jake shot like a fountain—come everywhere—but Eduardo only laughed and fetched a wet cloth to wipe him down with.
He went away with the cloth and came back with Jake’s clothes, and after a moment’s consideration, Jake put on his boxers but nothing else. Clothes said time to go home. He wasn’t ready to go home, and Eduardo didn’t make him. Instead he pulled a blanket over the two of them and turned on a movie.
“Can Earl sit with us?”
Eduardo beamed at the question. When he summoned Earl over, Earl tried to climb up onto them like he was a lap dog. Jake knew how that felt—wanting to be smaller than you were—so he helped hoist Earl up until he made a semi-comfortable flop across both their bodies.
“Earl was pretty rough when you got him, huh?”
“He’d been through a lot.” Eduardo’s fingers scratched around Earl’s ears the way they so often did around Jake’s. “He had good reason not to trust anyone, but dogs aren’t so different from people. They need someone they can count on, need rules they can live by.”
“I guess that’s me too.”
“I know. But I’ve got you now. You’re going to be okay. Just like this big guy here.”
“Why would you want me though? I understand wanting a dog.”
“But not wanting a sub?”
“I don’t see why you’d want either one if they’re trouble. There’s easier dogs out there.” And easier subs.
“I like Earl’s spirit. I like making broken things better.”
Aw.
Eduardo was sweet. Maybe foolishly optimistic, but sweet.
“As for you,” Eduardo said with a more wicked grin. “I’m hoping we’re going to have some fun together once you’ve got your need to fight authority under control. You want to submit, I can see it.”
Jake nodded.
“And I’m going to help you do it. I like your spirit as much as I like Earl’s, but it’s time for you to meet your master.”
Jake leaned in harder against Eduardo’s side, confident he’d met his mast
er and that his master could bear the burden that was him. He rubbed Earl’s belly and let Eduardo rub his and promised himself that tomorrow would be another good day.
Connect with T.M. Chris
Newsletter
Website
Bookbub
Amazon
Goodreads
Facebook Page
More
Claim your
FREE READS
by T.M. Chris
Watch and Learn
K.C. Wells
One
“Fucking is a dying art.”
“Say, if you really wanna clean my bar top with your tongue, I can go with that.”
That brought Chris Levinson down to earth with not just a bump, but a resounding smack. He gave the bartender a ‘What the fuck?’ glance, which apparently cut no ice with Bill, as his badge proclaimed.
Bill shrugged. “Well, you’ve been drooling over that kid for that last half hour. I figured you might as well do something useful with your tongue.” His eyes sparkled. “Or… you could go over there and just talk to the guy. I hear that approach works pretty well too.”
“You obviously took up bar-tending because you failed as a comedian, right?” Chris gestured to his empty glass. “I’ll have another. And get him another of whatever he’s having,” he added, pointing to the young man at the far end of the bar.
Bill quirked his eyebrows. “Finally gonna make a move, huh?”
Chris could’ve told Bill he had it all wrong, but decided in the end he wasn’t worth the breath. He waited until Bill placed the full glass in front of the young man before raising his own.
The guy stared at him, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
Chris took that as his cue to move. He slid off his bar stool, picked up his glass, and walked unhurriedly to the far end of the bar, where the young man was watching his approach cautiously. When Chris reached him, he perched on the empty stool beside him and put down his glass. He said nothing.
The younger man looked him up and down, then tilted his head to one side. “Do I know you?” Pale blue eyes focused on him, that frown still evident.
“No, but after seeing you in that same damn spot every Friday night for the past month, with that same expression, I couldn’t take anymore. I had to find a way to talk to you.” Chris didn’t believe in beating around the bush. He was too long in the tooth to be indulging in small talk.
Mr. Blue Eyes lifted his eyebrows. “What expression would that be?”
Chris went for the jugular. “The one that says you’re not happy.”
He gave a blink, then recovered, smirking. “And who are you, the Happiness Fairy? You gonna sprinkle some fairy dust and take all my troubles away?”
“I’m the guy who’s gonna sit next to you and listen while you tell me what’s on your mind. Because something sure is.” Chris’s gaze flickered around the rest of the bar, where all types of men indulged in drinking, chatting, flirting or in some cases, making out. Of course, no one batted an eyelid at the latter.
This was New York, for God’s sake.
“Maybe I’m just having a bad day,” the young man suggested.
Chris shook his head. “It’s not just today, though. I told you, I’ve watched you for the past four Fridays. You sit there, you drink. Occasionally you dance. Sometimes, you flirt. And at the end of the night, you leave with a guy.”
The man stiffened. “Something wrong with that?”
“Fuck no. At least half the guys in this bar are here to hook up with someone. Me included. Not a thing wrong with that. What gets to me about you is that you’re clearly looking for something and you can’t seem to find it.” He smiled. “Now, we could go on like this all night, back and forth, or you could tell me your name, I’ll tell you mine, we’ll have a drink, and we’ll talk.”
Chris couldn’t miss the amusement dancing briefly in those pretty eyes. “Talk. You just wanna… talk.”
“It’s a start,” Chris said with a shrug. He took a drink of his beer.
After a moment, the guy picked up his glass and took a drink. When he put it down, he met Chris’s gaze. “What the hell. My name’s Zac.”
Chris smiled. “That’s better. I’m Chris. I’m forty-two. I’m getting it out there now, because I know you’re gonna ask at some point. No boyfriends. No partners. Not interested in that. Been there, done that. Plenty of guys out there, just looking for a good time.”
Zac expelled a long breath, and to Chris’s mind, it was a release of tension. He leaned against the bar, his spine less rigid. “I’m twenty-two. No boyfriend. No partner.” He paused to take a drink. “And seriously considering taking a vow of celibacy.”
Okay, Chris hadn’t expected that.
He chuckled. “At twenty-two? Wow.” Then he regretted his reaction. Judging by Zac’s expression, he was deadly serious. Chris cleared his throat. “Okay. That’s not something I usually hear from a guy your age, so I’m guessing there’s a story behind it. Well, why don’t you tell me?”
Zac regarded him steadily. “What it all boils down to is… I’ve come to the conclusion that fucking is a dying art.” He took another drink.
This time Chris met his words with a slow nod. “Okay. Not saying I agree with you on this one, but I’d sure be interested to know what brought you to this particular conclusion.” He downed a mouthful of beer before continuing. “Can I ask questions?”
“Sure.”
“How many guys have you been involved with?”
Zac snorted. “Is that a euphemism for fucked? Hooked-up with? Screwed? Because involvement implies a degree of connection, and I’ve never had that.”
Something inside Chris clenched at those matter-of-fact words. Before he could get another word out, however, Zac plunged ahead.
“Sorry if that sounds harsh, but hey, I kinda got the impression we weren’t dicking around here. I thought you wanted to hear the truth, rather than some prettied-up version of it.”
“You got that right.”
Zac gave a satisfied nod. “That’s why I’m still here. It’s refreshing not to have to wade through a load of bullshit.”
“And forgive me. I assumed you were gay. For all I know, you’re bi.”
Zac shook his head. “Nah. You had me nailed right. I knew I was gay from the age of fourteen. But you asked a question, so let me answer it as fully as I can. I got laid for the first time when I was sixteen. He was a jock on the school football team, and I was his little experiment, only not a very successful one. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing.”
“None of us do at that age,” Chris remarked. “The hormones take over and it’s mostly a case of ‘yay, there’s a hole.’ I take it the experience wasn’t good?”
Zac winced. “Can we say, ‘where’s the lube’?”
Aw fuck. Chris’s ass contracted just thinking about it. “Ouch.”
“Let’s just say it was a while before I even thought about doing it again. And definitely not with him.”
“So… next guy.”
Zac nodded. “And I topped. It was… kinda meh. Mind you, we only had like ten minutes to do it. Can’t even remember why now. And then I sorta got into a pattern of crappy dates and even crappier sex.”
“What was bad about them, specifically?”
Zac huffed out a breath. “I guess I just haven’t been lucky with my choice of guys. I mean, it didn’t take me long to work out I was a bottom, and I really thought things would get better. But… no one ever seemed to take the time to… arouse me, y’know? It was like foreplay was a dirty word. And when there was some, it was never enough. And don’t get me started on their stamina. Three minutes, tops, and they were done. Meanwhile, I’m lying there with my knees at my ears, waiting for the fireworks to begin. Only, they didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even get my fuse lit.” His face fell. “Is it so much to ask? To want a guy to take his time with me, make it good for me? Is this it? Does no one know how to fuck anymore? Or is it just that we’ve a
ll watched too much porn and think that’s how it should be? Only it never is, because porn is a fantasy.”
Zac took a breath, and Chris was right there with him. But he wasn’t finished with the questions.
“So, bit of a more personal question here,” Chris began, but Zac cut him off with a snicker.
“I don’t think we could get more personal, do you?” He sipped his drink. “What do you wanna know?”
“Forget about it not lasting very long… while they were fucking you, did you enjoy it? Did it feel good?” Chris had a hunch this was key to Zac’s dilemma.
Zac stared into his glass. “Not really. Didn’t seem to matter if I was topping or bottoming—the result was the same. I kept waiting for that moment they tell you about? You know, when it starts to feel really good?”
“And it didn’t come,” Chris guessed.
Zac’s gaze met his. “No, it didn’t. Which kinda told me I need more practice.”
It told Chris something else entirely.
“These guys… Can I ask if they were your age? Older? Younger?”
Zac pursed his lips, frowning. “Mostly my age.” Chris smiled, and Zac narrowed his gaze. “What?”
Chris gave a casual shrug. “The remedy just seems obvious to me. Stop dicking around with boys, and find yourself a man.” Not that he thought Zac would fare any better if he was getting fucked by an older guy, but someone Chris’s age and experience would see what Zac apparently could not. And although Chris would love to be the one who had Zac writhing on his cock, barely holding on as Chris brought him again and again to the edge, his instincts told him that wasn’t what Zac needed.
Then he became aware that Zac had gone quiet.
Zac’s lips twitched. “And I suppose you’re the man who’ll put it all right, hmm? Ever thought there’s a reason why I haven’t been with a guy your age? Maybe because it would feel too much like fucking my dad, that’s why.”
