Marked for Love 1

by Jamie Lake

  “Take a shower,” he growled from behind the shadows.

  I got up, starting to walk to him, to show him that I wanted to please him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

  “Go!” he bellowed. The sharpness in his tone terrified me. It made my heart skip a beat, and the way he left no room for disagreement turned me on. Trembling and afraid to ask questions for fear of retribution, I desperately looked around for a bathroom. Sighing, obviously sensing my fear, Buck gave me more instruction from the kitchen. “Okay, Nathan, you come back into the hallway, then take a right. Walk all the way down and the bathroom is on the left.”

  Even though he shouldn’t have been able to, I felt like Buck could see me through the darkness. Only animals should have eyesight that sharp. Still, I felt his hunter’s gaze follow me as I stumbled back to the hallway. The moon had slipped back behind thick clouds so there was no way for me to see where I was going. My right hand made contact with the doorway. I moved around its corner and fumbled along the wall for a light switch. My efforts were rewarded with a sharp, “Don’t!” from Buck, so I gave up on finding the switch and instead stumbled along the wall down the hall. Suddenly I was very afraid in this house. I could see nothing, I had no idea if someone or something else was there. I was walking in an abyss that felt harsh, unforgiving, threatening.

  “There are clean towels in the linen closet to the right,” I heard him say in a softer tone. Maybe he could sense my fear the same way a dog might sense your unhappiness. I appreciated the softer tone which made me all the more sorry for displeasing him.

  Maybe I had sucked too hard. Maybe I hadn’t done it fast enough or hard enough, or maybe it was too hard or too fast. I wish he had just given me another slap, like he did the first time, instead of punishing me like this. The insecurities inside me began crowding my mind. I’d been rejected by so many men in the past. Ever since my father kicked me out of the house, I’d done whatever I could to survive. It was hard to make it on your own. I never had a steady income, so when the sporadic work I did had slowed down, I became desperate enough to consider every option. Unfortunately, that had meant sometimes bedding men I’d never normally even give two looks at for the night, just to have a place to rest my head. I hated myself for stooping so low, but sleeping with one man was much better than sleeping on the street and risking being attacked and used by several men.

  Many of the men I stayed with had done what they wanted to me, and then after one or two times, tossed me aside, never to hear from them again. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me. Was I not attractive enough? Was I simply not any good in the sack? I tried to do what they wanted, even if it made me uncomfortable, even if it caused me pain; anything to please them, but nothing seemed to be enough.

  My friend once told me that maybe it was because I was meant to be with someone else; someone who was waiting for me: that destiny had something in store for me that I could not even imagine. And although I liked the romantic idea of that, I tried to be realistic. That was the best way to not get hurt again.

  I knew I couldn’t be that unattractive. A lot of guys hit on me, and I was used to that: especially the older guys with silver hair - they tried to pick me up. This had started well before I could admit to myself that I did not like girls in the way my father desperately wished I would. With every girl’s crush that I rejected, he grew further and further away from me. Finally, I just had to admit to myself that I was gay. This was when I was 16 years old, and despite my efforts to hide it, despite my parents' efforts to Bible-thump it out of me, it wouldn’t go away. It was a part of me, and although I tried to hate it for so many years, eventually I had to admit to myself, I liked it, I embraced it. It was who I was.

  I stepped inside the bathroom’s doorway and turned on the light. My eyes were flooded with unnatural yellow light that was all the more painful after being in the softly lit living room. Regaining my composure, I looked around. Along the right wall was the linen closet that Buck had told me about. Past that, there was a checkered marble countertop with a single sink. To my left, just past the swing of the door, was the shower, and past that was the toilet. It was a simple bathroom, definitely not meant to be the master bath, but still very nice for a guest restroom. I opened the glass shower door and turned the hot water on as high as it would go. I needed to wash the chill of this night away. Going back to the linen closet, I pulled out a thick olive green towel. Although it smelled clean, I could see pieces of dog hair still in it. This was the first proof of a pet that I had seen all night.

  Under the hot water, I lathered up the soap between my hands. I was still hard; I couldn’t help myself. There was something about him: something about that man that turned me on like I hadn’t been turned on before.

  I imagined him inside the shower with me as I soaped up my slender, toned chest and abs, the soap gliding down every surface until it reached my hardened cock and balls, finally swirling down the drain. I could almost feel him behind me, lathering up my cheeks and my insides, slipping his long, coarse thick fingers inside me, pushing their way inside me. He would use the full weight of his body to keep me pinned to the wall of the shower. I’d be able to feel the rough tiles against my chest and cock. The grout between the tiles would rub against my cock, causing me sensations of rough pleasure. He would keep one hand on my shoulder to keep me in my place; he’d bite the back of my neck, and I'd be feeling the fullness of his cock behind me as it rose and beat the inside of my cheeks over and over. His dick would dominate me. He would pound me, striking my balls harder and harder, punishing me for giving him just a moment of hesitant disobedience, until my hole begged for him to come inside me.

  With that fantasy in my head, I reached my hand behind my back and took a firm grip of my right cheek. With my soapy left hand, I reached back and started to finger my ass. First I went slowly, warming myself up, then I thrust my fingers in harder, just like I imagined he would do to me. With every thrust, I imagined he was back there, owning me, teaching me my place, fucking me.

  I let go of my ass cheek and used my right hand to encircle my long and thick cock. Many men had told me they liked the look of it, large and pulsing, in contrast with my boyishly pale skin and soft, pink nipples. They liked sucking on my mushroom head and my bite-sized balls. They liked the way I moaned uncontrollably until it morphed into a scream. I could be brought to pleasure for hours if a man had the right kind of patience. By the time I blew, my throat would be so sore from moaning and screaming that it felt shredded.

  I imagined this man, Buck, bringing me to that kind of pleasure, and I couldn’t control my need to jack off. I was just getting started, lathering up my dick with slow strokes when - BANG! I jumped and screamed in the most unmanly way possible. Through the glass of the shower doors, I saw something’s darkened silhouette lurking right outside the bathroom doorway.

  I frantically wiped the soap out of my eyes, first with my right hand, then with my left, when I realized that the soap on my right hand was only making it worse. Through the rivets in the glass, Buck looked like a morphed, broader, scruffier version of himself.

  “Time for bed,” he said, in the gravelly voice that I recognized, the sound reverberating off the tile floors.

  “Oh,” I said. I wasn’t used to someone telling me what time I should go to bed. After all, I was 21 years old. But there was a big brother, someone almost like a sexy older uncle quality he had that made me want to obey and please him. “Okay,” I replied, rinsing myself off and cracking the shower door open just enough to grab the towel, all of a sudden incredibly self-conscious about my nakedness.

  This whole situation was strange, I knew. Even in all the times that I had to beg for places to sleep, I had never gotten myself into a situation like this. Hitching a ride from a total stranger, coming to his house, giving him a blow job. He seemed controlling and he seemed dangerous. At times, I felt like I should run away from here as fast as I could, or maybe I should do whatever I could to
stay with him. The instability of terror and thrill was both a turn on and gave me that fight or flight feeling I didn’t quite know what to do with.

  I half expected him to demand that I get into bed with him. It was both a relief and a disappointment when he yelled from somewhere else down the hall, “There’s a blanket and sheet on the couch.”

  “Okay,” I said, sighing. Maybe it was better this way. There was no guarantee that he wouldn’t destroy me with one thrust.

  “Sleep tight,” he said tenderly, and for some reason, those words stayed with me. Maybe he felt badly, taking advantage of me after him giving me a ride. Maybe he felt as lonely as I had over the years of giving myself to men for the hope of a glimpse of love and partnership. As it turned out, most of them already had partners, or worse yet, wives and children, and I always felt like the third wheel. I felt like I was the guy you can get off with, but can never bring home to Mom. It made me feel used and abused, and although I tried to pretend it didn't bother me, it crushed me every time.

  I sighed. The house smelled old and like wet dog, and I kept wondering when I’d hear or see a dog. There had been those hairs in the towel and that smell: the kind you get from the dog running outside in the rain, then coming inside and rolling across the carpet. Maybe Buck kept him outside, only letting him inside occasionally, but he had to be pretty quiet and very patient to wait out this storm.

  I left my wet clothes in the bathroom, draped across the top of the shower doors so that hopefully they’d dry a little for morning. Naked and suddenly very cold, I made my way back down the hall in the dark. Every crack of wind against the side of the house made me feel as if something had moved right beside me, just out of reach in this dark hallway. Skittish, I was thankful when I made it back to the living room. Just like he'd said, Buck left me a clean sheet and a big blanket on the couch. I thought about closing the drapes, but decided that I’d rather have a little moonlight rather than no light at all. I tossed and turned, as I just couldn’t sleep: I was way too horny. After a while of being up, my eyes adjusted to be able to see a lot more than before. I could clearly see the two chairs we had sat on across the room. Above that there was a banister on the second floor that looked out over the open living room. There were two bedroom doors. I imagined that the one on the left, closest to the staircase that snuck up the side of the living room, was Buck’s. The door was shut tightly and I thought I could hear muffled snoring coming from that side. I kept thinking back to our time together in the living room, and I wondered if I’d done something wrong to make him angry. Or maybe he just didn’t feel my gratitude for the ride, for him letting me stay. I had to fix that. I had to show him how grateful I was, one way or another. I couldn’t let him think that I was some unthankful prick, willing to use a man for a ride and a place to sleep, but not willing to say thank you properly.

  I got up, wrapping myself in the blanket to cover my nakedness and protecting myself against the dropping temperature. This old Victorian house got cold at night. My bare feet creaked along the wood floor and up the carpeted stairs as gently as I could manage. I made my way up, slowly enough to avoid being heard. For some reason, I needed to go to him all the way, not have him come to me. I stepped in front of the door I knew lead to his bedroom and slowly twisted the knob. It didn’t creak, and the door didn’t make a sound as it slid open. I tried to search for the bed, but it was pitch dark in there. I only hoped I wouldn’t wake him or startle him as I climbed into bed with him, naked. I stepped inside, closing the door behind to keep any more of the moonlight from coming in the doorway. Just a small line of light barely shone through the door crack. If his room had a window, the drapes were closed tightly, because there was not an ounce of light coming from anywhere else in the room.

  I had heard his heavy breathing before, but now I heard nothing but silence; nothing but my footsteps getting closer to the center of the room; nothing but...

  And then suddenly, I lofted into the air. Moving with alarming speed, I was pinned on my back to the bed. Someone or something was on top of me, holding me there with unforgiving force, pushing my face to the side so that I couldn’t look at it. I could barely see anything at all.

  “What do you want?” Buck’s voice growled.

  He brought his face just inches from mine, looming over me like a specter, unrelenting in his hold on me. His breathing, his grip, the snarl in his voice, told me he was angry. He had an animal’s fury pulsing through him.

  “I’m sorry,” I blubbered, “I was cold and I just...”

  “Liar,” he said, the pressure of his weight on me, and the fullness of his muscular hairy body made me sink into the bed even further.

  “I -- I just wanted to show you how grateful I was...” I heard myself saying.

  His face got even closer to mine, and I could feel his beard against my cheek. He was smelling me, inhaling my scent, the whiskers of his facial hair sending electricity down my body. I could hear him breathing, and I could feel from the heaviness of his cock on my crotch, that he was completely naked, just like me.

  He smelled every part of me: first my neck, then he licked and bit it. The pain was sharp and quick and I knew it would leave a mark, but for some reason I was okay with that. Then he smelled my hairy armpits and said, “Mmm,” as he licked the side of my body with his whole tongue. The hot sensation, which was followed by the cold breeze, made me moan and whimper again for him. As he tilted his head and ran his whiskers across my stomach into my crotch, I had to let out another moan. “Uuuugh,” I said. I knew my voice was high pitched at times, although I tried to make it lower; but the pitch seemed to turn him on even more. He immediately smelled my shaft, tracing his tongue over it, giving it long licks from base to tip, nibbling on that soft spot between my balls and shaft, and I groaned some more.

  “Oh, God, yes please,” I said. “Oh, fuck yeah,” I said. It felt insanely good.

  He flipped me over so quickly that my body and stomach smacked hard against the bed. Now he towered over me and I was helplessly subject to his will. He got even closer: his massive thighs pushing me down into the mattress with his body weight. Before I could realize what was happening, he lifted my thighs in the air with both hands so that he had full access to eat out my shaft and ass from behind.

  I was in ecstasy. There he was, this intimidating, unbelievably macho man on his knees, chowing down on my shaft, flashing his tongue around the circle of my hole, tempting me. He was biting and sucking as if he were biting into a melon, moaning and saying, “Mmm, fuck, you taste good,” and I’d never felt a sensation like that before. His hands were gripped on either side of my hips, with my ass held right up to his face, and then his tongue dipped into my hole, and I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. He drew out, circled around the outside of it, and moved up and down my shaft, his voice rumbling. The vibration of it and the prickly sensation of his beard were like a thousand cocks pushing themselves inside every G-spot I had. He dipped that long, talented tongue in there again, circling the rim first, then shoving its way inside as he bit the outside of my cheek.

  I screamed. I couldn’t help myself.

  “Mine,” I heard him say. “You’re mine, right?”

  I was panting so hard and apparently didn’t answer him quickly enough, because he bit me even harder and sharper.

  “Yes,” I screamed, afraid that another hesitation would warrant more punishment.

  His grip softened and he seemed pleased with that answer. “Good,” he said, allowing my hips to fall back down to the bed.

  He bent over me, both hands on my back, slightly caressing me, slightly holding me in position. “Are you ready?” he asked me in his low bass voice.

  “For what?” I asked him, trying to catch my breath.

  “For this...” he said, and as he did, I felt the force of his big, thick tool slide into me, nice and slow and steady. He had to do it that way or with its size, it would have ripped me apart; but with all that he had me do to suck and moistur
ize it, it slid right in like butter.

  I moaned, my high-pitched moan.

  He lowered himself over me so that he could speak softly into my ear. “I love it when you moan like that.”

  And for once, I felt comfortable and safe with my voice; for the first time in a long time, actually. I could feel his pubic hairs against the rump of my ass, and I knew then that he was all the way inside me.

  He began swiveling his hips, slowly at first, but as my moaning increased, he got even more excited, pounding me harder, swiveling faster. The effort caused him to drip with sweat as his hip movements got faster, more rhythmic, and more intense. He was just so huge, so in control, totally dominating my body. I’d never felt such pain and pleasure before.

  The weight of his manly body on top of mine made me feel so safe and secure. It was as if he’d be there to protect me if he needed to; like he’d do anything to keep me safe, as long as I was a good boy and did what I was told.

  And I was more than willing to obey. Anything to be able to enjoy this.

  He pulled out just long enough to turn me over on my back. He brought his hands to either side of my waist and got himself up in a push-up position. In this position, he slipped his cock inside of me again. I could see him better now as my eyes had adjusted, and I saw that handsome face, that tender but masculine face. He looked down at me and caught my stare. He looked at my sweaty face and his hand stroked the side of my cheek. His hair was sweat-soaked and his eyes seemed greener, almost as though they glowed in the dark.

  “I’ve been waiting for you a long time,” he said tenderly. “I’ve been following you.”

  “Following me?” I repeated, perplexed.