Bound and Bent: Ten Tales of Serving Him
Page 23
"I can't wait," he hissed, yanking the plug out in one sharp movement. I squealed, whimpering at the burst of delight, then emptiness. That last sensation didn't last long. Firmly, I felt his hands on my hips, the tip of something warm prodding my hungry asshole.
Oh god, he's going to fuck me!
"Try to relax," he said, his voice raw with intensity. He was worked up as well, I could feel it through his fingers, how he shivered where he held me tight. Because of the toy, I was prepped and ready more than I would have ever been to take my first dick.
My flesh yielded as he shoved forward, puckered entrance giving way, letting his thickness penetrate inwards. He was scalding, thrilling me with how each inch of him seemed to take forever to fit inside. Fuck, he's filling me up, I'm going to split in two! Panting, I hung my head, shaking as my boss sank his cock towards the root.
His palm crawled down my back, under my argyle shirt, caressing the muscles that were spasmodic. "Calm," he said flatly, "or this will hurt."
I didn't doubt him.
Corvac thrust into me the last few inches, his soft pubic hair brushing against me. He stretched me to my limit, my asshole rippling over his length, my voice a pathetic whimper. Pumping my cock like an expert, as if he knew my body better than I did, he began to withdraw. The way his shaft slid backwards, tugging at my insides, it caused me to hiss through my teeth.
The ridge of his cock-head teased me, almost sliding out, all of my fibers vibrating with conflicting distress and delight. I want him out of me, but I... I also want him inside! Why am I acting like this?
My wish was granted either way, Corvac shoved his whole length back into my ass in one rough thrust. Squealing, out of control, I felt my brain turning to mush. "God, that's perfect," he moaned behind me, fucking me over and over. I'd have called him terrible, selfish, any number of things, but the way he jerked my cock made it impossible to find any words.
Deane took me to the peak I had reached many times while he'd teased me, his palm rubbing over my sensitive tip. My lower belly tingled, balls heavy, aching as my climax finally rolled over me. I was going to cum, and I had no choice in the matter. Somehow, that was exciting.
Shouting, I tossed my head, eyes squeezing shut. As if sensing my impending orgasm, maybe feeling how my cock swelled in his hand, Corvac began pumping my asshole more roughly. Our flesh slapped, crisp and obscene sounding together.
Oh god, oh god, I'm...!
Hot semen spurted out, pouring down my length, over his hand. Still, he stroked me, squeezing down through my rippling pleasure. Inside of me, deeper than he had any right to be, Deane's prick flexed. He was throbbing, clearly on the verge of release. "I'm going to cum in this greedy asshole," he panted, promising me in his cruel, intoxicating way.
His hand left my exhausted manhood, moving to hold my hips. Those last few thrusts, they were hard enough to rattle my teeth; I didn't know which of us was being louder. Gasping, Corvac gripped me tight, leaving behind bruises. Inside of my rear tunnel, he twitched, then pulsed as the orgasm spread through his body.
A sensation I'd never experienced before, the rivulets of his cum filled me, packing me with thick pearly essence. My muscles tensed, elastic, threatening to snap... and then I slumped, exhausted from the whole scenario. Still buried to the hilt in me, Corvac leaned down, brushing fingers over my neck as he murmured. "Did you enjoy that, Miles?"
"Shut up," I scowled, not wanting to admit how amazing he had made me feel. Like he could read my mind, he only chuckled, tracing his hands down my ribs. Holding me, he grunted, withdrawing his spent cock carefully. When he sat back, I took it as my cue to move as well. Shifting, settling back onto my seat, I glanced over and caught a glimpse of Deane's manhood. He held it in his fist, the surface shiny, ruddy.
I can't believe that was inside of me.
My asshole quivered, recalling the sensation of being so filled. Catching my eye, he grinned at me, reaching down to tuck his cock away, zipping his pants. "What, you want more already?"
"No," I scowled, imitating him, redressing quickly. The golf cart felt far too small, his nearness distracting. "I didn't want any of that, I--" My sentence was halted by a pair of lips, firm, confident. He kissed me lightly, so that even through my dazed fog, I burned for more.
Corvac pulled away, his mouth a tilted smirk. "Sorry, you were saying?"
Unable to speak, my cheeks hot as fire, I turned away uncomfortably. This reaction just made him laugh again, the sound of the engine turning on blocking it out. "Careful, your expressions make me want to do more things to you, Miles. Luckily for you," he said, steering the cart around the bush and back towards the club house, "we have all the time in the world."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, didn't I tell you earlier, in front of my colleagues?" He feigned confusion, glancing at me quickly. "You're my new personal assistant, Miles. I'll need you around me all the time. The projects I like to work on can be... quite involved and time consuming." Noticing my stunned face, he smiled, shrugging offhandedly. "It's only natural."
Staring at him, digesting this information, I tried to keep my voice calm. "Will I still be getting paid the same? And will I..."
"Your job will be the same as before, just with more duties tied to me, as well as... other things, as you should now grasp. But you're right, it's more work, I'll make sure to get your raise to HR right away." He wasn't mocking me anymore, yet I was still unsure how to handle this news.
More money, but... more time with him? Staring at the side of his hard jaw, the curve at the edge of his grin, I thought of how he had kissed me. It had been brief, too brief, and feeling that way made me uneasy. Something is wrong with me, I know that. Even so, maybe...
Corvac shot a look at me, black eyes sparkling, causing me to look away in a rush. My heart throbbed, chest tight as a drum.
Maybe this won't be so terrible after all.
***
If you enjoyed this read, check out the second installment:
Punished by the CEO
Ever since meeting the powerful CEO, Deane Corvac, Miles's life has been turned inside out.
After being forced to take part in perverted yet arousing instructions, the young man thinks he's ready to fight against whatever might come next.
He could never have seen himself becoming hungry for more of the wild, sexual demands that Deane forces on him.
Alone with his new boss in Paris, can Miles make sense of the intense desires another man has started inside of him? Or will he simply crumble under the demands, no longer able to fight the lust Corvac creates?
Punished by the CEO is 9,000 words of BDSM, orgasm denial, rough blowjobs and anal bead fun!
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Prison Guard Sex Slave
Gia Vanna
Copyright 2014 Gia Vanna
Harris "The Hammer" is one of the meanest prisoners in the UK system. He hasn't seen daylight for over a decade and he's spent his time honing his massive body in the gym.
Jack, a nervous young officer, is unhappily married. Being near Harris stirs feelings that he doesn't understand, and when Harris tells him to do something, his body seems primed to obey - and that's not the way it's meant to be.
Is Jack just another hunk of fresh meat for Harris to conquer? When Harris's games turn dark, Jack finds he can't refuse, and there's only one way that can end...
***
Officer Jack Rowson held the telephone receiver away from his ear, and made a face. At the far end of the wing office, his colleague Bill started to make suggestive moves with a banana, and Jack had to look away, suppressing his smile.
"Yes dear. Yes. I'll sort it out. Of course. No, don't worry. Yes..."
His wife continued to witter. Eventually Jack started to pretend to strangle himself, and Bill got the hint. He came closer to Jack and shouted "Jack, there's trouble on B-wing!" which
gave enough plausible excuse for Jack to finally terminate the call.
"Thank you." Jack sighed and pushed his floppy blond hair out of his face. "I work full time, she works part time – so why do I have to be the one to sort everything out? She's driving me crazy, Bill."
Bill shrugged. At thirty-five, he was older than Jack by about a decade, and already divorced. "You made a mistake right at the start, you know. If you hadn't been so masterful and all that, she wouldn't have kept on expecting you to be in control now."
"Huh." Jack was afraid that Bill was right. He'd done all the right things, lived up to society – and Helen's – expectations of a "real man", and faked a confidence he had never really felt. And now he was trapped in this lie of dominance, and it was wearing him down.
It was eleven o'clock and the prisoners had been locked up for three and a half hours so far. Yet the wing was never really silent. There were shouts, echoes, bangs, the clang of metal gates and the rattle of keys and locks.
"I'd better get back," Bill said, knocking back the dregs of his instant coffee and leaving the cup in the sink. "Time for your rounds, too."
Jack swallowed nervously. He'd worked in the prison for over two years, and night shifts were usually a time of relative peace and reflection. But there was a new man on the wing, and he'd arrived with a reputation. Jack had locked him up after the evening meal, and there had been something deeply unsettling in the way that the enormous murderer had held eye contact with the young officer.
Bill didn't notice Jack's reluctance. With a cheery wave, he wandered out of the office and away through the wing, disappearing back to his post.
Jack took a few deep breaths and stood up. He made sure his crisp white shirt was tucked in, and his shoes were tightly tied. There was something about being smartly dressed in uniform that made him feel a little more confident.
It wasn't enough, really, but it was a start.
His belt was tooled up with keys, radio, baton and the tool for cutting down attempted suicides. He had been trained in all manner of self-defence. But not for the first time, he wished he worked in a US prison or jail where he'd get to carry a gun. UK prisons seemed far too trusting.
Especially when you had a man like Harris the Hammer newly arrived on your wing.
Jack walked down the wing, his footsteps echoing. The floor was polished to a rich shine – it's all the cleaners did all day. Clean and polish. He flipped the observation panel in each cell door and checked the state of the occupants.
Men were sleeping, huddled on narrow beds under scratchy blankets. Some were moving, furtively masturbating. A few were sitting on the edges of their beds, still awake, still brooding.
Jack's palms were slippery as he neared the cell of Harris the Hammer. He opened the panel and nearly swallowed his tongue as the broad face of Harris filled the narrow plastic window. Harris grinned.
"Officer, I've a problem with the ventilation in here. I can't get the slider thing on the window to work. Got no fresh air. It's not right. Can't sleep like this, can I?"
Exactly what Jack had been dreading.
He shook his head and called through the door, "We'll sort it out in the morning, Harris."
Harris loomed closer to the plastic strip, pressing against it. It was a four-inch wide gap, reinforced and blurry. He was six inches taller than Jack, and as wide as two men, with the muscles honed from long years in prison gyms. "You can come in and sort it out now, Mr. Rowson."
Jack shuddered at the way Harris said his name. This was not a man to get on the wrong side of. He hesitated, looking at the keys in his hand.
It would be stupid, insane, and against all prison rules to enter this man's cell.
Jack's radio blipped reassuringly. And Harris was right – if his ventilation wasn't working, it was going to be a miserable night.
He was a convict. He was lying.
And yet Jack found himself unlocking the door and stepping inside. Harris moved back only one step, so that as Jack walked into the cell, he was right up against the prisoner's body and inhaling warm sweat and musk.
"Uh – right." Jack's voice squeaked and he flushed. He tried again, faking a deeper tone. "Right. Let's look at your window. Show me the problem."
Harris moved only fractionally, so that Jack had to squeeze past him in the tiny cell. Jack tried not to look at the prisoner, but Harris had his grey eyes fixed on Jack's face.
Jack turned the dial to operate the slats in the barred plastic window. "Here you go. There's nothing really wrong with it; it's just a bit stiff."
Suddenly he felt the warmth of Harris's body as the big man slid up close behind him. Harris's breath tickled the back of Jack's neck as he whispered, "stiff?"
Everything was loaded into that one word. Jack didn't dare move. He stood stock-still, petrified, as Harris sniffed slowly across Jack's skin, lightly brushing his lips over his neck and ears. Jack tensed, waiting for a touch of Harris's hands, wondering where he'd touch him, and feeling his cock move in his pants just at the suggestion planted in his mind.
And Harris stepped backwards, suddenly releasing Jack from the corner, and Jack fled from the cell with the blood roaring in his ears.
***
Jack usually slept well when he was on nights. He could roll into bed in the early morning, and sleep the day away. This time he was restless, and still tired when he arrived in the mess before the next shift.
There was the usual banter and chat between the officers as they debriefed and handed over. Jack found it jarring. He couldn't get Harris out of his mind. He kept remembering the man's wide shoulders; how he had loomed over Jack; his intimidating presence.
Was this how his wife felt? Did her small stature make her feel slightly threatened by Jack? And is that what she wanted?
Jack felt a thrill run through him as he imagined himself at the hands of someone bigger and stronger than he was. Someone in control. Someone to take charge. Harris...
Christ, what was he thinking?
"You all right, Jack?" Bill called across the noise and the bodies sprawling in easy chairs.
Jack realised he was frowning. He re-composed his face and forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... a headache."
A woman sniggered and shouted, "That's my line!" and there was a general hubbub. Jack ducked out of the door, aware there were catcalls behind him. All he wanted to do was to get to the wing office, check the day's records, and get on with his shift. And get it over with.
There was no way he was able to avoid Harris. Jack just knew, deep in his belly, that Harris would call him into his cell again. He thought about how he could get out of it. He could swap wings, perhaps. Refuse to go in. Go home sick.
He stayed. He stayed in the wing office and wondered about avoiding Harris and also knew that he would go to the cell – because a tiny part of him wanted to.
What was it? Curiosity, perhaps. Did he want to be overpowered by the prisoner? And what did that mean? Did he hate himself and think he deserved abasement, or was he looking to be overwhelmed? He couldn't work it out. Things were no longer straightforward.
Jack walked down the wing like an automaton, drawn to the grey cell door as if Harris had thrown a line and was dragging him in. Step, step, step. Bang as he flipped open the observation panel.
"Good evening, Mr. Rowson." There was Harris, right up against the plastic, just as Jack had known he would be. He was pale – he hadn't seen the sun for a decade. But his face was clean shaven and remarkably unlined. Jack knew from the notes that Harris was thirty-two, and up for parole soon. He also knew he'd been refused parole before. Harris was institutionalised, a product of the prison system, and master of the small world he now inhabited.
"Everything all right...Harris?" Jack said, trying to put a nonchalant tone in his voice.
"Well, no, it's not. I need you to step inside again and take a look at something."
A dozen plausible refusals flooded Jack's mind. Even as his lips were framing an excuse, his hands wer
e unlocking the cell door, and he stepped inside, just as Harris commanded.
Harris was wearing a white vest that showed his expanse of muscle to its best advantage. He wore prison-issue grey tracksuit bottoms, and his wide feet were bare on the hard floor. His thick arms hung relaxed by his sides. He knew he was in charge and had no need to flaunt it.
Jack felt perspiration prickle all over his skin. Harris smiled and there was something genuinely warm there. He was still a human being, after all. Jack kept his face straight and said, "What's the problem tonight?"
Harris inhaled deeply, letting his broad chest swell. Instead of answering Jack's question, he moved forwards, into Jack's personal space. Their faces were just inches apart. Harris looked down at Jack, still smiling. Jack's attention was focussed on Harris's face so when he felt a hand on his groin, he jumped in alarm.
Harris laughed, showing his teeth. "Steady," he murmured in his low, deep voice and Jack froze. The prisoner's fingers probed his cock through the material of his trousers, and Jack felt himself stir in response.
Harris grunted in approval as Jack's cock uncurled and hardened. To Jack's horror, Harris unzipped his fly and drew out his stiffening shaft. Jack started to lift his hand to stop him, and Harris caught it in his free hand.
Jack felt himself melt at the feeling of being held and trapped by the huge man. He suddenly realised that he was totally at someone else's mercy. It wasn't his responsibility any more. Harris could do what he liked. Jack was powerless and it wasn't his fault.
A flood of the strangest relief washed over Jack and his cock was now fully hard and throbbing in response.