by Ivy Oliver
Matt guides my hands to his neck. I rear up and fuck him, egged on by his pulse against my thumbs. Still holding him like that, I bend down and ram my tongue in his mouth as I ram my cock in his body. His voice is muffled, whispered into my mouth. It's like swallowing his soul.
“Come in me.”
I can't hold back anymore. I grab his shoulders, afraid I'll start choking involuntarily, and cut loose. He clenches me with his arms and legs and painfully digs his fingers into my back as I thrust faster, faster, faster, his moans turning into cries turning into a continuous half-scream as he arches up under me.
Somehow I keep it back, but only for so long. It's when I feel the warm explosion on my belly that I cut loose. Matt comes, blasting my stomach as a furious orgasm rips through him, turning him into a quivering mess.
My own climax is like a bomb going off, like his body is swallowing up my soul.
I flop on top of him. The heat, the stickiness, the sweat, his arms and legs stroking me, the way his ass clenches like he's trying to full wring me out.
Matt kisses me savagely, fiercely, his submissive edge suddenly fading out. He wiggles his ass.
“I didn't get to be on top,” he says. “I want to ride.”
“Who says we're done?” I growl.
I roll off of him and stare at his sweat-slick body. It's torture to keep my hands off him. The urge to manhandle him is almost like anger, but with a bubbling undercurrent of excitement and, almost, humor. Like it would be funny to grab him, whip his ass, and pound him until he passes out.
We lie there for a while. He steps into the bathroom to clean up, returns, pulls my condom off, and immediately starts sucking my cock. I nearly push him off, but the push turns into grabbing his head and guiding his movements until he's fully hard again.
He opens another condom and puts it to his pursed lips, ready to roll it down my cock with his mouth.
I catch him by the shoulder.
“I swear to God, if you make me take you to an emergency room and say you swallowed a rubber…”
He smirks with his eyes and dives. The warm heat of his mouth surrounds me as the condom rolls down my shaft. He stops halfway and has to roll out the rest with his hands.
“Come here,” I snarl.
I grab him and pull him to me, lube up my fingers, and attack his ass with them to slick him up while I suck his cock and he lays over my body, spreading lube over mine. He thrusts a little, pushing into my throat, and I stick my fingers in deep to punish him for daring to facefuck me.
Matt rises on his hands and knees, looks over his shoulder, and treats me to the glorious sight of his big, thick, muscular ass cheeks swallowing me as his warm heat envelopes my shaft. When he bottoms out, he arches back and writhes, struggling to get into position with his shins on the floor.
Hands on his hips, I guide him through a slow, low, almost gentle ride.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Why does having your cock in my ass make me like a rock? I'm so fucking hard I could scream.”
I grab his arms and pull him back. There's a mirror behind the bar. As he bounces on my dick I can see everything: His balls slapping mine, his sweet ass swallowing me, his erection flopping madly up and down, flinging bits of precum onto his stomach.
“You're a natural fucking bottom,” I tell him, yanking his arms to shove my cock deep. “You were born to be fucked.”
He doesn't argue. He leans back, finally flopping over so his back rests on my chest, contorted with his wonderful flexibility, to grind on me while I stroke his cock.
Matt sits up, panting, and turns around without rising. The sensation of him twisting slickly around me almost makes me blow another load right there. He sits there, stroking his cock, smirking as he clenches in his ass rhythmically without moving.
“Bet I can make you come just by doing this,” he whispers.
He goes at it for a while, bringing the motion of his hips into it. It's bliss. I take his cock in my hands and stroke him, watching him writhe and buck as I attack him with pleasure.
Matt blinks a few times as I pull him off me and roll a condom down his hard cock. The look on his face as I seize his shoulders and lay him down is priceless. He gasps when I straddle him and his eyes widen, his mouth forming a silent cry of shock as I slick him up and take him inside me.
He breathes hard as I easily take him to the root and clench my ass, groaning.
“Stroke my cock.”
He obeys, reaching up to caress it as I squeeze him with my ass. He slides the condom off, staring hungrily. If he could bend that far, I wouldn't put it past him to start sucking it.
Matt strokes the shaft with one hand and teases the head with the other while I ride him.
He looks…confused.
“What?” I say, “You think just because you're not the one taking the dick, you're in charge here? Get me off, boy. You better make me explode all over you. Right now.”
I thrust into his hands as he works my shaft, staring at the head more intently as I get harder and harder. He bucks and twitches under me, and I take him deep and pin him with my weight, not surrendering an ounce of control. He needs to learn that his entire body is mine, an implement of my pleasure, and he's never going to be the top here.
He groans, quivering, and I can tell he's close. His head falls back but he strokes faster, almost too fast. I let my head fall back and growl out a long, hungry moan as I unload all over his stomach and chest.
Matt grabs fistfuls of carpet and bucks, but I won't let his ass leave the floor. The pulse as he comes is magnificent, his cock throbbing inside me. I wonder if he knows how hung he is? Something tells me this tool of his was wasted on whoever he's been with before. He's the perfect twink: Smooth, cute, handsome, just a touch of the femme and a nice fat cock to play with.
I think I'll keep him.
He relaxes under me panting, his lightly sculpted stomach pulsing with short, sharp breaths. I keep him in and contract my muscles in rippling waves, making him moan—and get hard again.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“I bet you think you're a good lay,” I say, pinning him with my weight in his lap and my hands on his shoulders.
“I like to think so,” he purrs.
“You're a good fuck toy but you have a lot to learn if you really want to please me. You do, don't you?”
He nods.
“Say it.”
“I want to please you.”
“You want to be my little pet and take my cock whenever I wish.”
“I do.”
“You've been waiting for this your whole life.”
“I have.”
He runs his hands up my chest, tugging at the hairs.
“I'm your little bitch and I want you to fuck me senseless until I pass out.”
“Deal,” I say, leaning down to kiss him.
The next hours become a blur. One position flows to another. Now he's on top, his cock bouncing as he rides me, thrusting me into him faster than I would ever dare, harder, deeper. The more submissive he grows the harder I become, and the more he takes it like a fucking man. Then he's under me, pounding back as I ram down, or we're on our sides, twisted up a dozen different ways, me in him, him in me. When we run out of condoms we use each other's mouths, with me fucking his, before I throw him on his back and devour him until he loses control and bursts.
When it's done, he walks and carries himself differently, looks at me differently, like he's never seen me, or even the world itself before. From when we climb in the shower to when we climb into bed, he only takes his hands off my body when he has to.
The next morning, I wake up with my cock already hard and in his mouth. He won't leave the bed until I'm satisfied.
Joke's on him, I'll never be satisfied, but if I'm going to keep him as a pet, I need to make sure he's well taken care of, so I let him rest.
Long years of waking early and running for days on little sleep leaves me with little need of it. A mattress like t
his is so soft and cozy it becomes uncomfortable, like sleeping on an ever-shifting marshmallow. I let Matt sleep off the exertion until noon when I clamp my hand on his ass and shake him awake.
Every movement he makes is seductive, even when he dresses. The little bastard won't stop trying to get me in him. He even bends over at the waist to grab his pants and thrusts that perfect ass and cock and balls at me and looks a little disappointed when I don't take advantage.
Almost randomly, without seeming to really think about it, he looks at me and says, “I feel so slutty.”
“That a bad thing?” I say, raising one eyebrow.
“I fucking love it,” he says, grabbing me through my pants.
“Sooner or later we have to go back to the real world,” I say.
“Yeah, but not yet. There has to be something in this town I can do legally, and we have all day and night.”
11
Matt
I will never use the phrase “better than sex” ever again, not after yesterday. I still get a rush thinking about it. I thought I knew what cravings are, what addiction is, what it means to need something. I need Lucas like I need air, I need his body like I need food and water and rest.
That said, if I were still going to say something is better than sex, I'd say that about this.
Screaming down the highway at a hundred and ten, Lucas is utterly focused on driving the Ferrari that he rented with my money. It turns out she's all ours for a whole day.
On a straight away, he pushes the car dangerously fast until I'm gripping the sides of the seat with white knuckles, my heart pounding in a wild, roller coaster rush. When we take a curve, I actually scream out loud. He laughs, loudly, one of the few genuine laughs I've gotten out of him since I met him.
“Where'd you learn to drive like this?” I shout over the road noise.
“Part of the training,” he shouts back.
“What part of your job requires driving an exotic sports car?”
Lucas laughs. “Sometimes you fight, sometimes you run. If all you master is fighting, eventually you lose. If you master fighting and running, you've got it all covered.”
I can't help but grin.
“We need to get back soon,” I sigh.
“What?” he shouts.
“We need to go back soon!”
He nods.
“Yeah.”
Once we hit the Strip again, the exotic car isn't so much fun. At least, in and of itself, it isn't. We get a lot of attention from tourists as we gradually roll back to the rental outfit to return it.
The exhilaration is still fading as I climb into the Tahoe, yawning. Lucas cranks the air conditioning and we set out for the set.
Sometime along the way, I fall asleep, and he shakes me awake as we pull up to the security guard, Carl. He looks absurd, sitting next to a little hut in the desert as if you couldn't just go around him.
After we park and dismount, I look around the quiet film set. Judging by the motor pool, a lot of the cast and crew headed off to Vegas for some entertainment over the weekend.
Nick, being the director and all, is stuck in the no fun zone. He's at the caterer's tent, eating a tuna sandwich on rye, one of many the caterers left behind as they, too, retreated from the desert for the weekend, provisioning those who remained behind with wrapped up sandwiches and fruit and the like.
Nick looks up from the script looking ten years older.
“So, you're back,” he says, largely ignoring Lucas. “I'm amazed you managed to make it to Sin City and return without something fresh on your record.”
I smile. “Nice to see you, too, Nick.”
Taken aback, he blinks a few times.
“How's Jim doing?”
Nick rolls his eyes. “I'm happy to report that Lord Monstrothis is back on his feet. Figuratively speaking. The medics had him stay in the hospital all weekend and he had the nurses calling him that goofy name.”
Lucas snorts derisively.
“The prop guys are reworking the suit now. They're adding in a hydration and cooling system so he won't pass out if we don't strip him out of the stupid thing every half hour.” Nick shakes his head.
I sit down opposite from him, and Lucas sits a couple of feet away on the bench, casually listening.
“You don't seem super excited.”
“I'm not. The cost overruns on this project are ridiculous. I wanted to go straight through and have the second unit do work while you were resting, but your mother insisted I stop everything and practically chase everyone out over the weekend. Honestly? I'll be stunned if we actually get everyone back. Especially since the only talent on this set who takes this seriously is Sandy.”
“Cost overruns?” Lucas says.
“This bout of generosity from our producer, sending everyone off to relax and recover at the casinos? It's running up another six grand on the tab. The amount of money being funneled through this set is goddamn insane, and I've never even heard of half these vendors and contractors before.”
Lucas moves closer, turning around to lean on the table. “Show me.”
Nick slides his paperwork across the table. “See? The stupid egg incubator set is made out of foam rubber and the carpentry is about two steps above a kid's balsa wood toy set. Nobody in the biz would do work this shoddy, even to take advantage of somebody like Margot. Yet look at the cost for the set. She spent two hundred and fifty grand on it, to a contractor that I've never heard of before.”
Now I'm interested, too. Something I heard Sandy say when I was lying in a cheap motel in a stupor, trying not to barf pancakes everywhere. It's stuck in the back of my mind, like trying to finish a song that's stuck in my head.
“Do directors usually deal with the budget?” Lucas asks.
Nick shrugs. “Formally? No, but a director has to work within it. People only hear about budgets for huge blockbusters and when there's overruns. Studios tolerate that if it's a sure return—hell, it's free buzz if it makes the news. People want to see where all that money went. But if you're doing a smaller production, an art film, horror, whatever, the studios look for directing talent that brings it in early and under budget. It is a business, after all.”
“Do you know how much she's spent so far?” I ask.
“Well, the projected budget for this movie was five million. We blew past that before we shot one scene, and the soundstage work will double that. Conservatively. The way we're spending money like water, I wouldn't be surprised if this thing ended up costing somewhere in the eight-figure range. Shocked, but not surprised. If that makes sense.”
Lucas and I look at each other. No, Matt, now is not the time to get lost in staring at his sharp, handsome features and soulful eyes. He gives me a short, quick nod.
Then he shrugs. “It's not my business how she spends her money.”
“She's paying me generously,” Nick says. “Part of me says, don't worry about it. Part of me says, if anyone ever sees this disaster, any chance I have at a career is shot. Part of me says this whole thing is fucking weird and I don't know how I got into this.”
“Any other parts?” I say.
He shoots me an annoyed look. “That about covers it. As long as no one gets hurt, I don't care…but Jim has me worried about safety on this set. There's a lot of corners being cut.”
“Corners being cut, budget is not,” Lucas muses, clearly thinking something over.
“What are you thinking, big man?” Nick says.
“Nothing. At least, not enough to make an accusation. A fool and her money is enough explanation for me.”
“How well do you know my mom?” I ask Nick.
He shrugs. “I know her through Sandy, if you can believe that. Sandy's been trying to go legit for years, doing a lot of bit parts. I met her while I was doing some second unit shoots for Killer Space Whales IV.”
“Killer…space…whales?” Lucas asks, slowly.
“Four?” I add.
Nick shrugs. “They paid me. They al
so paid her pretty generously, as I recall. They wanted a lot of nudity from extras, and the valley is full of women who get naked for money, so you put one and one together.”
Speak of the devil. Sandy saunters over to the cooler to grab a sandwich and a bottle of water and joins us.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your secret film career,” I say. “You never told me you were in a killer space whale movie.”
She actually blushes a little. “I've had a few little parts. After this I'm going to be in a couple of scenes in a premium channel show. I don't have a speaking part,” she sighs. “I'm not there for the audience to hear me deliver a soliloquy.”
“Yeah?” I say.
She shrugs. “These big dramas all want to do the tits and dragons thing. They bring the dragons, I bring the tits.” Sandy grins at her joke.
“You certainly do,” Nick says, side-eyeing her.
To my surprise, Sandy gives him a warm, coquettish look. In her baggy flannel shirt with her glasses on, she looks like a librarian with a kinky side. The two of them give one another a surprisingly long glance before it breaks.
“I was just telling these two about cost overruns,” Nick says.
“I was telling Lucas about that before,” Sandy says.
“You were?”
“You were too busy trying not to lose your grip on the bed and fall off,” she says.
Nick shoots a look at her. “Hold on to the bed?”
“He was drunk, and I was fully clothed. Why does everyone think I want to go all cougar on him? That would be too damn weird.” She looks at me. “I mean that in a good way.”
“Yeah, it would be too weird. I mean that in a good way, too.”
“This is the weirdest job I've ever had,” Lucas sighs.
“Well, it's not my money,” Nick says, standing. “Not my problem.”
