by Clare London
But it was all I wanted to do, to take the thick, blood-red flesh into my aching mouth, and suck out his seed. I put my hands either side of his hips, and plunged down on him. Fuck, I had so little control, his cock struck the back of my throat and I gagged.
He gasped, and his laugh was ragged. “Steven, you’re too fast, there’s plenty of time. Take me slowly. Taste me, savour me.”
I eased up, but the desperation was unabated. Inside my mouth, the soft, wrinkled skin stretched around the swelling organ. The pre-come had a sharp taste on my tongue. Each time I ran my lips up to the tip, suckling the hard knob of its head, his hips bucked against me and I knew I pleased him. He moved as if he were fucking my mouth, teasingly, adoringly. Like no part of my body had ever been fucked before.
My lips drew him in and I rocked with the rhythm of his thrusts. My head swam and I thought I might pass out here again, silently and unnoticed, still sucking on his cock. I realised with a shock that I wouldn’t have minded in the slightest.
But then Eliot moved, sliding his dick out of my mouth. “Sit back up, Steven. I want to see your cock, begging for me. I want to see you.”
I wriggled back up on my shaky knees, staring into his face. I felt very flushed. My lips throbbed with the memory of his cock inside them, a bead of his come still sticky at the corner of my mouth.
“Just us,” he said, his eyes hot on me. “Just you.”
He held my gaze and lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking firmly on his fingers. Drawing them in and out, saliva glimmering its trail from his lush lips, wetting the fingers along their length and licking in between. His eyes were wide and greedy—there was a look in them of total desire, of total possession. Like he knew I would do whatever he wanted. Whatever he commanded.
“Steven, lie back and open your legs. I want to show you what pleasure I’m going to take from you. What pleasure I’m going to give you. I want to touch inside of you—make you cry out with it.”
I did just that. It was as if I watched some other man, some other time and place. But it was really me. Me, a man who dropped quickly to the sheets, spreading his legs wide and high, offering himself up to the other. I felt a shiver of lust creep from my balls to my arse. I felt it tease at my hole, encouraging it to throb, to ache. The muscles clenched and relaxed, and the pucker begged for a touch. I had never felt such a way before in my life.
His hand stroked over my side, but there was no longer any pain from my wound. I tried to remember if it had been troubling me when I woke up, or whether these hot caresses were just distracting me now.
I tried to remember anything at all, but all I could concentrate on was him.
“You were hurt, yes.” Eliot acknowledged my thoughts again, although I was sure I hadn’t spoken aloud. “But it’s much better. It won’t worry you when I take you.” His voice was mesmerising again, tugging at my sluggish responses and soaking through any last vestige of resistance or distress. “I want you to enjoy it, Steven. You will enjoy it. You’ve been waiting for me, too.”
Then he knelt between my legs, and his smile overpowered me. He felt for me with quick, damp fingers, up between my outstretched legs, finding the entrance with no hesitation. My flesh tensed in anticipation of him. My thighs strained to encompass him. A single fingertip teased slowly into my asshole.
I sucked in a shocked, delighted breath.
“You’re wanton, aren’t you?” The amusement was back, underlying his whisper, though there was plenty of delight in his tone, too. “It will take very little to prepare you for me. You want me. You’re mine.” One finger, then two slipped inside me, clutched inside the tight channel, moving slowly but firmly to stretch me. “Steven,” he hissed. “Such a smooth, beautiful way to touch you.”
I heard his satisfied groans as he thrust the fingers back and forth, a preliminary parody of what I knew he wanted to do to me in reality. His other hand cupped my balls, gently manipulating them, rolling them against his palm.
“Please…” God help me, I whimpered.
He laughed. “You don’t need to beg me, though it’s exciting to hear. This is what I asked for—this is what we’re both here for.”
He wriggled even closer, taking hold of my knees, and hitching my legs up around his hips. His damp cock bumped against my groin, nudging against my own arousal, and I moaned in agonised anticipation. His eyes held mine, and there was a look of such joy and triumph in them that I was fascinated. For a second I couldn’t hear my heart beating as I waited. Waited, with terrible, tormenting suspense and hunger for him to enter me. To take me.
I thought my mind was unravelling. I’m a guy who doesn’t give it up this easily, aren’t I? Yet my need was so strong it swamped me. I worried suddenly about lube, and how long it had been since I’d last been fucked. I wondered how I could raise the subject of using a condom, and then worried again whether I’d be clumsy or naïve and he’d laugh at my attempts at sex, or whether it’d all come back to me like riding a bike, or so the saying goes.
I felt like a nervous teenager all over again.
Then the warm throb of his cock touched at my hole, and all my worries were overwhelmed with the pure, unadulterated lust that swam in waves throughout my whole body. I arched up so high that I thought I’d hear my back would creak in complaint. I was desperate to reach out to him, to draw him into me. To be his. Not that I didn’t care about anything else—but I knew that only he had control of this, that nothing was to be left in my hands.
I found I was more than happy to surrender to that.
He licked lips that were already sumptuously thick with our kissing, with caressing all of my body. “There’s no need for concern, Steven. None of it really matters.”
What did he mean? Had he read my mind? Had I cried out something aloud?
“Relax, Steven.”
Hardly anyone ever called me by my full name, or so I seemed to remember, but from Eliot, it was a seductive, sibilant sound. I wanted to hear it, again and again. I watched him slick his cock, massaging the remains of my saliva and his pre-come all over it. Then his hands returned to my hips and thighs, spreading me even farther apart. The swollen flesh of his dick pressed at me again, probing at my entrance.
“It will be very, very good,” he whispered.
It was an invasion, despite my eagerness and his careful preparation, but it wasn’t something I resisted. It was exhilarating, like a triumphant conquering. The head of his cock forced me apart, and the shaft pushed in. It had, indeed, been a long time since I took anyone inside me but I welcomed it without any further question.
Strangely enough, my worries never materialised. There was no severe physical pain, no failure, no ridicule, no insecurities. I knew, without a doubt, that I’d never have found this sensation anywhere else but with Eliot. I felt the initial discomfort, and then I relaxed and opened for him, and he sighed aloud with his pleasure.
“Will you beg now, Steven?”
Shamelessly, I did. I reached for him, tugging his head down toward me so I could kiss him, mimicking with my tongue the thrusting of his cock into my body. I bent my legs up high against my chest, tilting the angle so he could slide even deeper, so he could torment my sweet spot. He had an unerring instinct for it.
“Shit. Kiss me, Eliot. Do me, do it harder.” He pushed deeper and I groaned. “Fuck me!”
“Strange language!” He laughed, but his eyes darkened, and he forced in even farther. He rocked in and out of me, and I felt the smooth, sweat-damp heat of his chest against mine as he slid back out each time, hesitating as if testing the sensation himself, relishing it. Every touch to my body felt exaggerated and enhanced: the tensing of the muscles in his thighs as he gathered his energy and thrust back in; his soft balls slapping against my ass; the tickle of his pubic hairs against my own thick cock as he ground up close to me.
We were one together.
I knew I was out of my head. I knew this was strange, but it was as near perfect as I believed it could be. I
’d never had such sex before.
Eliot spoke, again as if he read my mind. “You are perfect, Steven. You’re a beautiful lover. You’re what I desire more than anything. We belong together, doing this.”
“I…let me to come!” The throbbing suspense in my groin was agony, but my cock was trapped between our bodies, neglected and begging for the right touch. “God, Eliot. Make me…let me…”
“Wait, love,” he said.
He licked at his drying lips. I saw the individual beads of sweat on his forehead, the faint line of veins at his temple. He slowed his pumping for a second, breathing shallowly. I felt the thickness of his cock inside me, filling me, and I marvelled at it.
“I can’t wait!” I cried.
“You will,” he replied in that voice of command I’d heard before. He lifted himself up on one arm above me, his muscles taking his weight with their strength. He was panting heavily now, his eyes wild with passion, his cock still buried inside my ass. My own eyes were wide open. I felt very vulnerable, scared, even. But so fucking fabulous, I was flying.
He mouthed my name with his rich lips. “Steven.”
Then he reached down with his free hand and took hold of my desperate cock.
“Hard,” I groaned. “Hard! Please!”
“Come for me, love. I want to see you come.”
“I want to feel you. Inside me.” I moaned, arching up again. “Come inside me.”
His hand moved up and down my shaft, torturously slow. It tugged at my tight skin, and his fingers brushed over the wet tip. He pulled back from me, then plunged back in with a grunt. His fucking started again, the thrusts matching the pumping of my dick.
I cried out—a single, keening thread of a cry—as my climax approached. I swore I felt his fingerprints burn a brand on my flesh. He was absorbed into me: his cock, his groin, his stomach, chest…all tight up against me. I watched him, fascinated, but I knew both our faces would be equally contorted with the agony of concentration, of abandonment to the sensations.
I fell first. Fell from the greatest height, though I was flat on my back and crushed underneath him. But it felt like a leap from the highest cliff face, and about as terrifying. There appeared to be no control—not over the overwhelming rush through my body, nor the moan torn from me as my whole being concentrated in this single, pumping place. The come burst out of me like something angry and bold, splattering hotly onto his hand, and dripping its offering back down onto my stomach.
I had never come so hard and so fantastically in my life. Never known such physical satisfaction: such a feeling of utter completion!
He was seconds behind me in coming. I felt the tension in his body, responding to the sudden, instinctive tightening of my ass muscles. He was quieter than I was—who wouldn’t have been?—but his whole body shook with the force of his climax. He gave soft, mewling cries of pleasure as he pumped once, then again and again, until the final, fierce burst thrust deep inside me. He gripped me brutally as the ecstasy drained out of his limbs, but I felt no anger, no pain. It was part of the experience.
I was exhausted, muscles aching and protesting, ass stinging after the extraordinary joy of him inside me. Every nerve ending was raw, exposed. My heart cried as if it had tears, my mind whirled. My senses were sharper than ever, and everything looked and smelled keener than before.
I’d never felt so alive in my life!
* * * *
I lay on the large bed, watching Eliot slide seductively out of his clothes, and I knew it was another night. I just had no idea of the specific passage of time. I couldn’t have said what happened after Eliot fucked me the first time, because I genuinely couldn’t remember. I knew there’d been many other times—that night, the next night, many nights after—and they had always been as exciting. I was so frequently naked that I rarely remembered being dressed. The room was always warm, the drapes always drawn closed. There was no sound except our panting breath; no other senses except awareness of each other.
I had no further idea of where I was. Or who he was. But it never seemed to matter.
I remembered occasional intentions about making my way home. I thought that there were things I had to discover about my journey here, about my life elsewhere. There was something always nagging at the back of my mind, calling to another Steven Macklin, a young man who’d never been here before, who’d never met Eliot.
But I couldn’t connect with that image of myself. It was as if I’d always been with Eliot. His voice would call me to him, and his hands would open me for him, and my mind would fill with only that. Night after night.
“You say I was your gift. Gift from whom?”
Eliot lay down on the bed beside me, now as naked as I was, smiling at me. “I asked, and you arrived. I deserved a gift, and I chose for someone like you to come to me.”
I sighed. There were never any proper answers, yet I couldn’t seem to do any better with the questions. “Who did you ask? Like Santa Claus? Like God?” My voice broke a little.
He shrugged. He shifted to lie between my legs, and I felt the sensual caress of his hands along my thighs. The reaction it set up in my nerves was excruciatingly good.
“I don’t believe in God, Steven. I just wish, and someone—something—grants it to me. I can’t explain anything more than that.”
He was below my hips now, lips at my groin, lapping my balls with his slick tongue. He always made it good for me, he delighted in that, but now he wanted me again, and I was to be ready for him. That was the way of it, every time.
“And why do you dress in that weird way?”
He shrugged. I felt the vibration against my thighs. “They’re only clothes, Steven. Yours are strange, too. But it doesn’t really matter here, does it? I want you to be naked for me all the time. I like to watch the light of evening move across the room, reflected on your bare skin. I like the way your hair falls across your shoulders when you shake your head underneath me. I like to see your sweat. Your shivers. The way that your arm cradles your head when I suck your cock, the way that your strong legs clutch around me when I thrust inside you. The tension in your buttocks when I take you from behind…”
I was hot in a way that a volcano itself wouldn’t have understood, yet I persisted in questioning him, in distracting him. I looked down at his flushed face. “And you live all alone?”
I saw the creases on his forehead when he frowned. “Here it’s just you and me, that’s true. And I have been alone, in myself, in my heart. For a long time.” His lips tightened around one of my balls, sucking it gently into his mouth. “But now I have you.”
“In this weird old house.”
“It’s not old, Steven. My family had it built in my grandfather’s time.”
“So why the olde worlde style?” I snapped. “And what’s the story behind your family? Why aren’t they here, why don’t I meet them? It’s like you’ve been abandoned here.”
Eliot paused in his caresses. I felt him tense up. “Steven, they’re away. They left me here to look after the house while they left to find help. I don’t want to talk about–”
“To find help?” I interrupted him. “What’s wrong? What kind of help?”
He sighed. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, for maybe the first time since I’d met him. “It hasn’t been easy for them. I have always been different. It’s like a second sight—I am aware of far more than they are. I am able to…see things in people. Their needs, their desires. Rather than celebrating this, it makes people nervous.”
“Second sight? How the hell does that work?” I didn’t know what answer to expect. Did I believe him? Did that kind of thing really go on in today’s modern world? Or was this all some kind of trickery?
“My father built this house to give us…” He glanced up at me, his lips still hovering at the soft skin of my upper thigh. His eyes were strangely, pitifully sad. “To give us privacy. To give us protection.”
My heart contracted. “What from?”
“From ever
yone in the town.” His voice hardened. “I could not find a place there. There’s no one like me. And I have needs too, you see. I can feel their desires and their hunger, but when mine match them, when I reach out to them…” His eyes were dark. “When I thought to find friends, all I found were traitors. Traitors to me, and traitors to their own desires. No one would accept me, calling me a corrupter, when I just sought comfort. I just wanted them to admit the truth. To share it with me. But they called my ways an abomination, a crime.”
What was he talking about? Did he mean being gay? Sounded like he’d been out, but the closeted town couldn’t cope with him. Struggling with what he called his “awareness”, he hoped at the least it would help him connect with like-minded men—only to find that his need for companionship was detested as strongly. Even from my short time with Eliot, I’d learned how open he was, how easily he expressed what he wanted. He probably came over as some weird sexual predator, rather than a sheltered young man looking for friends. Hell, I’d thought the world had moved on some small measure, that such persecution happened only in small wayward villages.
Or in history books.
“And so my parents made me come here. Made me stay here. Now they have also gone, for a while. They say they hope to find a tutor for me, to help me.” He frowned, as if struggling to find the right words. “To help me assimilate into society.”
I pulled up on my elbows, staring down at him. It was the first time he’d ever spoken of his family. “A tutor?” I was pretty sure there was no tutor who could treat Eliot’s particular condition. Maybe they were seeking a doctor or psychologist. Or a gaoler? Had his family left him here for good, ashamed of him—fearful of him? I didn’t know whether I should be scared or sorrowful. A beautiful young man like Eliot, loving and needy.
