Truth By His Hand

by Casey Cameron

  “Thank you, sir.” The words slipped out easily, even though I had no idea what I was thanking him for—for telling me, for what he was going to do to me, or both.

  He crouched in front of me, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking up—the need to see him burned in my chest just as much as my cock ached to be touched, maybe even more. Even if he was about to punish me for it, it was worth it to see the fierce light in his eyes, the subtle curve of his smile, the capable hands that held so much for me.

  “You’re so wet,” he observed, his tone detached. “You’re about to drip on my carpet.”

  “I…yeah. Sorry. I’ve—always been that way.” Bodies are just bodies and all, but I couldn’t help being self-conscious about my tendency to gush precum at the drop of a hat. Some partners had been put off by it, but some had found it really hot. I sure hoped Ellison was in the second category, because if he kept this up, I wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.

  “I’m going to have to get a towel.” He reached down to drag his finger up the length of my cock, gathering up the fluid that was threatening to drip on his pristine carpet. “Clean that up first,” he said, holding his shining finger up to my lips.

  My lips parted automatically to accept his finger, all clean skin and salt and sweet. I sucked him eagerly, swirling my tongue around the tip of his finger and scraping gently with my teeth, trying to give back a tiny shred of what he was giving me. He let out a low rumble of approval.

  I’d made him do that. My head felt light; I soared on the unexpected rush of power.

  “Good boy,” he murmured as he slid his finger out of my mouth. A moment later I was alone again, hard and wet and gasping as I stared at his couch. If this thing between us kept going on, I was going to start getting hard every time I saw concentric diamonds.

  I’d just started counting the diamonds when he returned and set a condom and a tube of lube on the cushion directly in front of me, then disappeared behind me again. The implicit promise in the objects made my cock ache.

  “Over here. Face this way.”

  I knelt on the towel he’d laid out for me, my cheeks burning. Maybe this was some kind of humiliation thing—not that it wasn’t perfectly reasonable to not want a near-stranger’s body fluids all over your carpet, but there was no reason he couldn’t be getting off on it anyway.

  The couch creaked slightly as Ellison sat down again, and the lube slid across the floor to me. “Use that. I want you to stretch yourself out for me.”

  I blew out a sigh as I picked up the tube, bracing myself for the inevitable. Not that I hadn’t ever done this before, but it was one thing to get things ready discreetly in the bathroom or with ruthless efficiency while making out with someone, and another thing entirely to do it in a well-lit room while your partner sat watching a few feet away, fully clothed.

  Still, it was becoming abundantly clear that whatever Ellison wanted me to do, I was going to do. I used more lube than was strictly necessary, but it seemed wise to err on the side of caution when anxiety was likely to make my body tense up at any moment.

  The first finger was, as always, an unfamiliar invasion—a squirmy sort of sensation that took a few seconds to get used to. But the second finger was when the party got started. Two fingers wasn’t exactly a huge stretch, but it was thick enough that it got my brain firing erratically, thinking about what it would feel like when Ellison’s cock slid inside me, how much bigger it would be.

  A moan slid from my lips before I could stop it, and Ellison let out a low hum in response. “Tell me what you’re feeling right now,” he said, and there was an edge of tension in his voice that thrilled me. Even spread out and scrutinized like this, it was a victory to know I was affecting him.

  “I’m embarrassed,” I admitted, but I didn’t stop moving my fingers, didn’t stop stretching myself for him. “I feel awkward. And you’re not even naked. It’s…I feel vulnerable.”

  “Is it degrading?” There was a smile in his voice, like he found the possibility pleasing.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I…don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “I can’t tell if I’m enjoying this because you’re degrading me, because my fingers are in my ass, or because I know you’re going to fuck me.”

  Ellison chuckled. “Fair enough. Tell me when you’re ready for me.”

  “I’m ready now.” More prep would be better, but god, I wanted to feel him in me.

  “Good.” I heard him stand up; his belt clinked, and raw desire spiked through me. “I don’t want to wait any longer to use you.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered through gritted teeth. How was this something I was into? Five years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined those words ever doing anything for me, but here I was literally dripping on the floor because someone wanted to use me at both ends and maybe hurt me while he was doing it.

  Maybe it was time to admit I was more of a pervert than I thought.

  Ellison stepped in front of me, totally naked and—fuck—absolutely gorgeous. All his skin was on display, smooth except for a light dusting of hair across his chest and lower belly, and I drank him in. I wanted to lick the salt from his skin, kiss my way down the trail of hair that led to his cock, worship his body for hours. I wanted to cup his ass and pull him close to me, to feel every inch of that skin against mine.

  But here I was, on hands and knees on his floor, fucking myself with my fingers while he watched. He might not allow me to touch him at all, for all I knew. Maybe he would make me beg for it.

  He took his cock by the base and stepped close to me. “Get up here and swallow my cock.”

  It was a struggle to keep my fingers in my ass as I straightened up, but I managed—he hadn’t told me to stop, after all. If I hadn’t been shaking and unbalanced already, I might have dived forward, I was so eager to taste him, to feel him fill me.

  A helpless moan escaped me as he slid into my mouth. The taste was familiar, exactly as I’d remembered almost every time I’d jerked off these last two weeks. I worked my tongue around him and flexed my lips, making wet, sloppy sounds as I tried my very best to undo him without using my hands.

  “Mmm, that’s it. Good boy.” His hand settled again in my hair and I pinched my eyes shut, the words settling deep in my chest, making me absurdly warm and pleased. I wanted to be good for him. I wanted him to be proud of me.

  He didn’t allow me long at all before he abandoned gentleness entirely, fucking my throat while I kept fucking myself with my fingers, pulling out only long enough for me to gag and catch my breath before pushing his way back in. There was no end to it, no guarantee it would ever end. I was just there for him to use, and I floated in the simplicity of being his. Of knowing I didn’t have to worry about him enjoying himself. Anything he wanted from me, he would take.

  With a ragged groan, he drew his cock out of my mouth and slapped me with it, leaving a wet smear across my cheek. I turned toward it, trying to taste him again, but he pushed me away. “So eager,” he said, his voice thick with approval. “But I don’t want to come until I’m in your ass. Are you ready for me?”

  “Yes, sir.” I was more than ready. I wanted him so badly I felt like I might die of it.

  My body and mind were so primed for this that even the rustle of the condom wrapper made me shiver. Ellison put his hand between my shoulder blades and pressed down firmly. “Face down, ass up.”

  I barely had the presence of mind to wipe the lube off my fingers before I pressed my cheek to the floor. I wondered if he might punish me if I made a mess on his carpet, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answer to be yes or no.

  There was no time to settle that debate, though, because a moment later the head of Ellison’s cock was rubbing circles over my hole. I pressed back without thinking of it, desperate to feel him in me, but he pushed my hips forward again and gave me a quick swat on the ass. “You’ll take what I give you,” he said
sharply.

  I nodded, my cheek scraping against the carpet, though I had no idea if he saw. He teased my hole, dragging the head of his cock up and down but not pressing in; I wanted to writhe and buck against him, but it was perfectly clear that the more I moved, the more I tried to rush it, the more he would make me wait. Control was his right, not mine.

  When the head of his cock finally pushed past my rim, I nearly sobbed with relief. I’d expected him to go slowly, to draw out the tease, but instead he buried himself deep in me in one slow, relentless slide.

  My hands curled, my too-short fingernails failing to catch the carpet as I scrabbled for purchase. “Fuck—god yes,” I gasped as his hips drew flush against mine. He was in me—finally in me—and I reveled in the perfect fullness of my body accepting his. His cock throbbed, making me groan and shudder under him as the deep, heavy craving I’d been feeling since that night in the garage was pushed away, replaced by a hotter, more frantic desire for him to move. I wanted him to make me feel every inch of him.

  He wasn’t moving, though, and it was getting harder and harder to keep myself from thrusting back against him. His hands rested lightly on my hips, but he wasn’t squeezing, wasn’t taking.

  “More, I—more.”

  “You want me to fuck you?” He draped his body over my back; his body heat seemed to seep into my bones. “Beg me.”

  “Please.” My tongue stumbled over the word. It wasn’t that I’d never said “please” in bed before, but I knew he wanted more than that, and I wasn’t sure I knew how. Adults didn’t beg for things. But if I didn’t do something, he wouldn’t move. With other guys I might’ve assumed at this point he’d fuck me anyway—once they’re in you, it’s generally a foregone conclusion—but somehow I knew with unfailing certainty that Ellison would stop if I didn’t follow his orders.

  “Please,” I croaked, pinching my eyes shut. “Please fuck me—please.” As the words came out, they started to feel a little smoother, a little more natural. This was something I could do for him. “I want you to fuck me. Please, let me…feel your cock pounding into me. I’ve been wanting it so long. God, please, Ellison. Please, sir.”

  “That’s better,” he murmured. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.”

  And then—oh thank fuck—he started to move, fucking me with deep, powerful thrusts that finally chased away the tight, burning ball of need in my chest. It was everything I’d wanted: his hands holding my hips still, his cock filling me. All sorts of helpless, embarrassing words began to tumble from my lips. I begged for more, harder, deeper; I thanked him over and over again; I told him how good he felt and how badly I’d wanted him. As the pleasure spiraled upward, I even told him that I’d be thinking about this every time I jerked off for the next week, and I couldn’t even bother to be embarrassed by the admission. It was all too good to do anything but ride the sensations he drew out of me.

  Then he hitched himself up and changed the angle, and I nearly screamed as he hit my prostate. My cock jerked so hard it hit my belly, leaving a wet smear on my skin. Useless, nonsensical syllables poured from my mouth as he pounded into me relentlessly, sending cold tingling sparks up my spine with every snap of his hips.

  “Do you want to come, River?” Ellison’s breath was short, his voice rasping as he kept up his pace. I thrilled at that tiny loss of control, that little shred of proof he was enjoying this as much as I was.

  “Yes—fuck—I’m close,” I gasped out, shuddering under his assault.

  He wrapped his fingers around my cock, and another broken sound tore from my throat. I wanted to fuck into his fist, to grind back against him, to rock my body between his cock and his hand, but he wanted me to stay still, and…I wanted to be good for him. I whimpered, willing myself into stillness with gritted teeth.

  “Yes, fuck, yes, yes.” My voice was growing high and thin as he thrust into me and stroked my cock, the pleasure so intense it was nearly torture.

  “You’d better ask me.” he growled.

  Panic welled up in me as his grip tightened on my shaft; I had no idea if I could hold back. The words fell out of me in a rush of air, fast and pleasure-slurred. “Please—please can I come? I’m so—please—”

  “You may.” He swiped his thumb over the head of my cock and I was gone, my cock spilling in long pulses onto the towel as his thrusts grew shallow, rocking relentlessly against my prostate. His sure fingers stroked me through it, wave after wave of hot ecstasy rolling over me.

  When I was done, he grabbed hold of my hips, squeezing so hard I wondered if he was going to leave marks. I almost hoped he did. It only took a few more thrusts before he stilled and let out a low moan as he came. Every hot pulse of his cock inside me drew another shuddering gasp from my lips, until I was a helpless, quivering mass beneath him, barely managing to hold myself up and avoid falling into a pool of my own cum.

  With one last groan, he slid carefully out of me and said, “Stay.” I whimpered—partly at the loss of him and partly because holding myself up was rapidly turning into a monumental task, the carpet growing unbearably rough under my cheek and my knees beginning to ache.

  A moment later, his sure hands were helping me up—or upright, anyway, since he didn’t seem to have any interest in getting me off the floor. He swabbed me off quickly with a washcloth, although there wasn’t much to clean up—most of the mess had ended up on the towel underneath me. God, there was a lot of it—I hadn’t come that hard in a long, long time.

  When he came back, he sank onto the couch behind me with a sigh; for a moment the only sounds I could hear were his slowing breath and my own heart beating.

  “What…do you want me to do?” I asked, hesitant. Surely he couldn’t want me to just keep kneeling here with my back to him.

  “Whatever you want,” he said, a smile in his voice.

  “Whatever I wanted” gave me entirely too much leeway. I wanted to touch him all over. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to put my head in his lap and ask him about his day. I wanted to ask if maybe someday he would let me fuck him. I was paralyzed by indecision, and it was made all the worse by the creeping feeling that some of the things I wanted might be entirely off-limits.

  Still, there was one thing I was pretty sure would work. With creaking knees, I staggered to my feet and retrieved a sizable throw pillow from the armchair in the corner. Like I had at the party, I dropped it at his feet, but this time I didn’t bother staring him down. I just sat down on the pillow, tucked between his legs, and rested my head on his inner thigh, one arm wrapped around his calf in the world’s weirdest hug.

  “You like that, don’t you?” Ellison said as his fingers came to rest on the side of my head. “Being at my feet?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod that sort of mashed my face against his thigh. The hair on his leg tickled my nose, but I was unbearably hungry for his skin, for his warmth, so I forced it down and just enjoyed having him against me.

  “Why is that, do you think?” His fingers started up a familiar path, stroking to the back of my head and then up to the top just like he’d done at the party. At this point it had been long enough since my haircut that I was used to the length; the maddening urge to double-check everything had faded, but I didn’t say anything. Maybe it was silly, but this was something he was doing for my sake, something he’d remembered about me and about what I liked, and I couldn’t help but treasure that.

  “I wish I knew,” I said, settling in more comfortably under his touch. “It’s just comfortable. It feels…safe, I guess. Warm. Like…” I groaned in frustration, turning my face toward his skin.

  “Like what?” God, sometimes I wished he would just let things lie. I was getting tired of uncomfortable realizations.

  “Almost like I’m a pet or something. Not literally, but like…like I’m treasured.” My cheeks were burning hot as I pinched my eyes shut, pressing against him. “Like I’m precious to you.”

  Was that too much? “Precious” was a strong word�
�too intimate to say about someone on the second date. Would he think I was reading too much into his actions?

  He hummed vaguely in response, which did nothing to ease my fears that I’d come off as clingy and overly-attached. Still, he didn’t stop stroking my head, so I did my best to convince myself I hadn’t fucked things up too badly as the drag of his fingers over my scalp slowly eased some of the tension out of my body. After a while I was able to drift along in it, simply enjoying his touch for the uncomplicated carnal pleasure it was.

  “I hardly know anything about you,” I murmured as I dragged my fingers through the soft hair on his calf, lulled into introspection by his soothing fingers.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “I’m not sure.” It wasn’t exactly an answer that kept the conversation moving, but the real answer was “everything,” and even like this I still had enough self-control to hold back that admission. With an inward wince, I said, “What do you do for a living?”

  There was a brief pause before he answered. “I’m a professor of human sexuality and gender studies.”

  Laughter bubbled up from my chest and came out through my nose in an undignified snort. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Nobody ever is,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t figure out why.”

  “Not a clue,” I said, grinning. “Am I about to be the subject of a lecture?”

  Ellison let out a quiet laugh. “No. I very rarely cover BDSM in class, and when I do, it’s only in the vaguest possible terms. There are parts of my private life my students really don’t need to know about.”

  I liked hearing that—and the weird part was, it wasn’t because of the potential embarrassment if next semester’s focus was “Dominating River.” Well, it was a little bit that, but mostly it was just knowing there was this little part of him I got to see that wasn’t on display for the world. Another thing just for me.

  Well, me and the entire BDSM community, if Mariah’s enthusiasm about him was any indication. That kind of put a damper on the feeling.