Straight Shooter (Rear Entrance Video, #3)

by Heidi Belleau

  Austin recoiled a little. He hadn’t really thought about that. He supposed he didn’t have a right to be jealous, but on the other hand, he kind of was anyway. “Well, it would mean you’re getting more pussy than me,” he joked.

  Puck grabbed him by the hair, yanking him close. “Don’t talk about her that way, understand me? She told me you came here. You scared the shit out of her. She thought she was gonna have to call the cops.”

  “So . . .” Austin grunted in pain, lifting onto his tiptoes as Puck kept on tugging. “I take it that you are sleeping with her, then?”

  His back hit the wall. Puck’s free hand closed around his throat. They were up close and personal, now: Austin could feel the gust of Puck’s breath on his face, could practically hear the grit as he bared his teeth. “Not anymore, I’m not, but I still respect her, which is why I don’t let little bitches like you talk about her that way.”

  “Sor-ry!” Austin rolled his eyes.

  Wait, not anymore?

  “Not yet, you’re not,” Puck said. “You’re just lucky she thinks your cluelessness is kind of cute in hindsight, because otherwise your complete lack of boundaries would be a deal-breaker. That’s why you’re going to spend tonight proving how sorry you are.” He leaned in, and Austin thought he was about to kiss him, but then he turned his head a couple degrees and bit Austin right on the cheek. As Austin shouted and twisted in pain, Puck leaned forward, his body hard and heavy, and whispered, “But here’s the fun bit: we’re going to do it without me punishing you.”

  Shit. Fuck. He had no idea what that meant. No idea what Puck planned to do to him—make him do?—and no idea whether that statement meant that this meeting wasn’t the Dom-apology Austin had thought it was going to be.

  He should ask for clarification. He should demand an apology from Liam for his point-blank refusal to accept what Austin needed from him. He should . . . he should . . .

  Puck’s hand was cupping Austin’s cock through his jeans, the heel of his palm rubbing firmly down the hard length of it, and suddenly Austin didn’t give a shit about punishment anymore. He bucked and moaned, then flushed in shame.

  “Ready to prove yourself to me, kiddo?” Puck asked, pressing their foreheads together.

  Austin shut his eyes, and God help him, he nodded.

  “Very good. You can start by stripping down and showing me the jock you’re wearing for me.”

  No question there, no Did you remember to wear a jock like I asked?

  Because Puck didn’t ask for favours, he made demands. And he expected to have them followed.

  Austin was no exception. Still crushed to the wall by Puck’s broad chest, Austin’s shaking hands moved to his fly, which he unzipped. He shimmied until his jeans were pooled around his ankles. Puck’s big hands closed around his hips, holding him there like guys held cute, tiny girls, and then he pulled Austin’s shirt up over his head.

  And then he walked away.

  Speechless, panting, Austin stepped out of his sneakers and jeans, left his shirt on the floor, and followed.

  The condo’s huge windows were all open, and a cool night breeze was blowing through the living room. Austin was covered in goose bumps by the time he found Puck: sitting on his couch, legs spread with the windows at his back, like the king in his castle, and here was Austin come in from the cold begging.

  Austin wrapped his arms around himself.

  “You know, you’re revealing more than you’re hiding by doing that,” Puck said casually. “Maybe I can’t see those hard little nipples, but I can see how vulnerable you feel.” He licked his lips—slowly, obscenely. “I like it. C’mere.”

  Austin forced himself to drop his arms to his sides as he walked forward. Puck, meanwhile, openly fucked him with his eyes, mouth curved in a wicked smirk.

  “You have a real nice body, kiddo. You wax your chest?”

  Fighting the urge to cover himself again, Austin shook his head.

  “Missed out on a few parts of puberty, huh? That explains your balls.” Puck’s leg shot out, the bare sole of his foot rubbing against Austin’s dick. He pushed it from side to side with his toes.

  He wasn’t wearing boots. Wasn’t wearing any of his bondage wear, actually, only a low-slung pair of grey sweats and a sleeveless workout top. Like one of those guys at the gym who stared too long and made everybody around them feel uncomfortable, like meat on display, assessed and measured.

  It was different from his usual look but just as threatening and intriguing.

  Austin’s shoulders slumped when Puck finally put his foot on the ground again.

  “That’s enough play for your dick tonight, I think.”

  What?

  “Oh, don’t give me that puppy dog look, kid. You’re supposed to be proving how sorry you are, remember? Me letting you shoot your load is hardly any kind of penance. Now get on your knees. Ass in the air.”

  Austin did as he was told, feeling more exposed than he had before. Somehow the jock made him feel more naked than actually being naked, and those full-length windows weren’t curtained. The room was full of hazy moonlight. He didn’t think anybody in nearby buildings could see, but that thought didn’t do much to comfort him.

  There was something plastic on the floor. Sturdier than a garbage bag. One of those painter’s sheets? An outdoor tablecloth? He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, it reminded Austin of movies about mob murders, ones where the victim would walk into a room lined with plastic, knowing that soon the whole thing would be splattered with his blood.

  Austin shuddered when Puck’s hand touched his lower back. He hadn’t seen the guy come over. He’d had his eyes closed. Hadn’t even realized it.

  “You look sexy in that jockstrap, buddy. Nothing nicer than a bitch with his worthless dick hidden and his slutty ass on display.” His dry hand slid down the crack of Austin’s ass, not really lingering. The touch was almost clinical, which made Austin shudder harder. “Now, I seem to recall that me and your hungry little boypussy have some unfinished business, isn’t that right?”

  Austin whimpered.

  “Answer me, Austin.”

  “Yes,” Austin gritted out.

  “Yes, what? Answer with a full sentence.”

  “Fuck you,” Austin spat. He knew what Puck wanted from him, but he wasn’t going to say it. Puck was lucky Austin was letting him call Austin’s ass that.

  Puck didn’t strike him. “Wrong answer, Austin. You have one more try, and after that, you can leave. Your call.”

  Austin’s heart sped up at the thought of being sent away. He had zero doubts Puck would follow through on the threat.

  Why couldn’t the guy just spank him and get on with it?

  Because there’s nothing wrong with you.

  Puck was sticking by his resolution not to punish Austin with the pain he’d asked for. Other punishments, sure. Send him away? Sure. But cause him pain and, regardless of intentions, he’d be playing right into Austin’s craving.

  “What’s it gonna be?” Puck asked.

  Austin blew out a breath, muscles absolutely twitching with tension. He wanted to explode outward, rage and flail and scream and punch shit, but at the same time, he didn’t want to do any of those things. All that energy returned to his body until he was a quaking, shaking mess. Every word was a battle. “Yes, you and my h—my hungry boypussy have unfinished business.”

  Puck’s voice softened, turning sweet and soothing on a dime. “That’s it, buddy. That’s good.” His hand massaged Austin’s hole, not too hard but not lightly either—there was definite intention there.

  Austin moaned in abject pleasure, but not at Puck’s touch. No, it was the sound of his voice; it was the way he was praising Austin.

  Austin was a team player. He was obedient. He craved this.

  Approval.

  “We’re going to try something new now,” Puck said. His hand began to rub circles on Austin’s ass cheek, just firm enough that as he moved outward, Austin felt himsel
f being spread open for a second before Puck’s hand shifted the pressure and hid him again. And then the circles slowed and that spread moment stretched out, longer and longer on each round. It was almost hypnotizing. The pace, the motion, the cycling of emotions from baseline anxiety to acute humiliation and back again. Around and around and around. “That’s it,” Puck praised. The tension drained from Austin’s body as the strange massage continued, as Puck murmured to him. “Getting nice and loose for me, aren’t you, buddy?”

  “Yesss,” Austin hissed, letting his cheek rest on the plastic material covering the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head. He barely registered the clicking sound of a squeeze bottle being opened, not until Puck’s other hand was between his spread ass cheeks smearing him with warm lube.

  “Feels nice, doesn’t it? Nice and wet and ready, just the way you’re meant to be. One day I’ll be able to do this to you and sink my cock right inside you without the slightest bit of resistance. We’ll train your ass, won’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Flying pretty high for me now, aren’t you, kiddo?”

  “Yes,” Austin said, mostly because right now he wanted to agree with Puck about everything.

  “Hold on to that,” Puck said, and then there was a sharp, unyielding feeling, a pressure, an intrusion, and his curved index finger was right inside of Austin’s ass.

  Austin’s hands balled into fists. He tossed his head back and forth on the plastic, growling through clenched teeth. Pushed back, wanting that finger out out out, but somehow in the process only opened himself more. Puck was down to the second knuckle inside him now, the pad of Puck’s finger massaging him from the inside, crooking and rubbing. Firm. Searching.

  “How’s that feel?” Puck asked softly.

  “Nngh.” Which, garbled as it was, was pretty accurate to how Austin felt right now.

  He didn’t know.

  Scared? Full? Good? Flying?

  Not pain, anyway.

  As the finger inside him continued to stroke, Puck’s other hand reached between Austin’s trembling thighs, right inside his jock to roll and tug on his balls. “That’s it, kiddo. Nice and relaxed. Don’t clench, don’t flex, just relax. Nice and loose and open for me.”

  Puck’s finger withdrew, but only for a second or so, and then the pressure was back, and two fingers stretched past Austin’s resistance. Another tug on his balls, another slippery rub up and down his inner walls, and Austin was moaning, broken and needy.

  The whole time, Puck didn’t once touch his dick, and Austin didn’t ask him to, either. He liked this open, receptive place, this place where he didn’t have to fight or think or struggle or worry about how he looked to anyone. To preserve it, he’d go along with whatever Puck wanted from him. He wouldn’t argue, and he wouldn’t make any demands.

  And anyway, whatever Puck was doing in his ass was starting to feel damn good.

  Because you’re a fag. He’d seen Puck saying that in his videos, saying fags didn’t need their dicks because the only place they got pleasure from was their hole. Well Austin still loved having his dick sucked, but maybe the truth wasn’t that his ass—boypussy, that’s what Puck wanted him to call it—was the only place he could feel pleasure, but that it was the only place he deserved to feel pleasure. He arched and twisted, crying out as Puck’s fingers dragged across a particularly sensitive spot.

  “Don’t clench,” Puck reminded, and pulled his fingers free. Austin found himself whining, wanting that feeling back. Puck didn’t give him it though, just crouched behind him and rubbed his ass and thighs, gentling him. “Nice and loose. Loose and relaxed. Don’t want you shooting your load, now, do we?”

  “Wh—” The mind-fog haze of lazy pleasure lifted, leaving Austin blinking and shaking his head in shock.

  “You’re doing this to apologize, remember? You’re doing it to prove yourself. It’s not supposed to get you off.” Puck sounded almost disgusted at the mere suggestion of such a thing. “But it’ll make me happy with you, and isn’t that even better?”

  Part of Austin screamed Fuck no, asshole, I’m not your toy! but it was drowned out by the whispering fuckdoll fag part of him that kept repeating Yes yes yes yes.

  “Yes,” Austin moaned.

  Puck’s fingers slid inside him again. Homed in, this time, on that spot that made him shiver with pleasure and fucking stayed there, rubbing it over and over again, up and down, then in sweeping little circles. Fuckdoll Austin started to make little yelping crying noises, intense pleasure ratcheting up inside him.

  All the while, Puck rubbed those soft circles on his lower back, chanting softly, “Nice and loose. Nice and relaxed.”

  And the more he said it, the more his voice blurred in Austin’s head, until the words weren’t words anymore, just waves of sound washing over him, following the currents of Puck’s touch inside and outside of his body.

  The yelping turned to one long, low moan. Austin’s whole body turned to liquid, and speaking of which—

  His eyes popped open. “I need to piss,” he said. Bad. Like, right now. Like, the pressure had suddenly built and was already releasing.

  Puck didn’t leap away from him in disgust. He kept up his assault of hypnotizing pleasure. “No you don’t, buddy. It just feels like that. Come on, now, let go. Nice and loose for me. Let go.”

  Austin didn’t want to refuse him. Couldn’t, even if he did want to, even if he tried. Something inside him broke, and suddenly his cock was fucking leaking, not piss like he thought, but a steady stream of cum. Dripping out of him pleasurelessly, not shooting like it should. Soaking the fabric of his jock. Puck kept rubbing that spot inside him, but now his other hand moved to Austin’s cock, pulling downward on it, his tight fist bringing more dribbles of Austin’s cum with it.

  Milking me. He’s milking me.

  No other description of the motion. No other word for how it felt.

  Humiliating. Horrible. A defeat, instead of the triumph coming usually felt like.

  And all the while, Puck murmured to him “That’s it, buddy, that’s my boy, let it all go, let it all go.”

  Let it all go.

  Let it all go.

  Body slumping forward, Austin did. Let go of everything, as surely as he’d let go of the tension in every single one of his muscles.

  It didn’t even bother him when the tears started.

  At some point, Liam cleaned his ass, but not his dick in the cold, sticky jockstrap, a decision Austin didn’t argue with. Then he wrapped Austin up like a burrito in a fuzzy fleece blanket printed with the Canucks logo, helped him to his feet, and got him to the couch, where he immediately collapsed in a pile of shivering and sniffling tears. He thought that now there’d be more of that awkward cuddling and pillow talk like the first time, but instead Liam tossed himself onto the other end of the couch, pulled Austin’s blanket-wrapped legs over his lap, and turned on the TV.

  Really? That was it? He’d teased and tortured Austin to the point of coming in his pants and crying, and now they were gonna watch TV?

  Okay, so yeah, Austin had been the one to draw the line on cuddling with the whole I’m not gay! flip out, but still. Couldn’t Liam see he was a fucking wreck right now? His hands were actually vibrating, and his body was running hot and cold at the same time. He was pretty sure his eyes were still leaking tears, even though he wasn’t really crying anymore.

  Liam fiddled with the remote for a minute or two while Austin shook himself to pieces, and right when Austin was about to curl up into a ball on the couch and start wailing in distress, Liam patted and rubbed his legs through the blanket and turned toward him. “You watch Olympic hockey, kiddo?”

  The question surprised him so much that he almost forgot how shitty his body felt coming down from its high. “Uh, yeah, who doesn’t?” he replied. His eyes flicked down to where Liam was still rubbing slow, easy circles on his legs, the touch no more sexual than the massages he got from the sports therapist. It felt good. Relaxing. Sa
fe. Austin slumped back into the corner of the couch and sank deeper into the warm hug of the blanket. The trembling slowed.

  “How about a classic, then?” Liam smiled, his eyes twinkling in the reflection of the television. A DVD booted up. “Twenty-ten winter Olympics? Gold medal game?” He looked so eager, like an excited kid.

  “Is it really classic if it’s only been a couple years?” Austin asked with a sceptical raise of his eyebrow.

  “Maybe not, but I didn’t want to date myself by showing something from the twentieth century.”

  “How old are you, anyway?” Austin asked with half an eye on the familiar game. He’d watched it on TV live, with his dad and stepbrother. The game had been heart-pounding, epic, an overtime win—everything that was good about hockey, but that wasn’t even the best part. The best part was after Canada had won, when the whole city had roared. Tens of thousands of cheering voices. In the streets, in their condos, in their cars listening to their radios, in malls watching on electronics store TVs, on stopped buses watching on smartphones.

  “Thirty-five,” Liam replied. “Does that bother you?”

  Austin shook his head. “Nah. Where were you, when Canada won gold?” He reached out of his cocoon of blankets to gesture at the TV in illustration.

  “Davie Street with my buds, pissed fucking drunk.”

  “You have a lot of friends on Davie Street who like hockey?” Austin asked, mostly joking. “You’d think on Davie Street the only hockey fans would be more into women’s hockey, if you get my drift.”

  “I’d slap you upside the head for stereotyping, but I was down there in 2002 for the Salt Lake City games, and I tell you, it was a good damn day to be a woman who loves hockey as much as she loves pussy.”

  Austin laughed, life and strength returning to his body, and sat up enough to list in the other direction, nudging Liam’s shoulder with his own playfully. “What about you? Hockey ever get you laid?”

  When Austin didn’t retreat to his own end of the couch, choosing to lean against Liam’s warmth instead, Liam dropped an arm around his shoulders. “Maybe,” he teased. He rubbed Austin’s upper arm briskly.