“Uncle Andreas and Uncle Luca will be the best uncles ever,” Andreas says excitedly, kissing the top of my ear. “Please, tell me we will be godfathers too. I always wanted to be someone’s godfather.”
“Are you going to make him kiss your ring?” Bea laughs.
“Like in the Godfather?”
“Good, you are both educated and cultured. Have you seen the whole trilogy?”
“Yup.” Andreas is all over this one, starting to spill out storylines, and names and all the usual chatter. He just can’t help himself, talking about favourite actors and characters, and stroking down my chest as he almost has me falling off the side of the bed, where I am perched with him clinging to me like he… loves me.
I have to snap out of this. Yet, I don’t want to.
We get chucked out by the nurse, after both of us have had a go at holding Baby Bob. I kiss his tiny little nose goodbye, and try to think of a million things to promise him. I hope nobody ever breaks his little heart. I hope he will always be loved. I hope I can give him some sense of family, that I can be a brilliant uncle to him. I hope he gets to grow up with my dad to guide him, because I think my dad is pretty good at the whole parenting thing. I wish him a life like mine, despite all the stuff I have messed up, because all in all, right now? I’m good.
We drive Mum home, with Andreas talking nonstop in the back seat, and my poor mum is clearly falling asleep by the time I park Phoebe on the drive. She disappears inside as I hold the passenger door open, waiting for Andreas to unfold himself from the back seat.
“Phoebe needs the Andreas treatment.” He sighs and huffs, smoothing down his jeans. “There is a half-eaten Snickers bar in the back, that says best before 2018. When did you last actually... valet her? You’re a professional, Mr Germano. My client would be deeply distressed finding his car in such a state.”
All it apparently takes, is his voice to hit that managerial pitch, and my cock goes into red alert. I grab my junk in defeat and Andreas laughs, slamming the car door shut.
“You’re terrible. We are not fucking on your front lawn. I’m not into public sex, or anything like that. That is a hard limit for me. No sex in public places, especially not when someone who I suspect is your father is watching us from the window.”
“Save that thought, though,” I blurt out. “I think the customer might be most upset at the sloppy valeting Phoebe has received from Mitchell’s hand car wash.”
“Oh.” Andreas says, his voice going a little high-pitched.
“Yeah. The customer will demand compensation.”
“Will the customer accept compensation in kind?”
“The customer might, but he will be unavailable to redeem this offer until later tonight.”
“Fuck!” Andreas squirms and turns around, obviously adjusting himself away from my dad’s prying eyes. He’s the nosiest gossipmonger ever, no doubt providing minute-by-minute commentary to my mum who will be running around trying to find some clean pyjamas, and her dressing gown, and demanding a last cup of tea.
“Can we just…?” I shouldn’t even suggest it. But I still do. “If you help me prep lunch, and we get the meat in the oven, then shall we pop over so you can… ehr... get some clean clothes from your flat?” I can barely get my voice to sound normal, with my head already making up scenarios what I could demand. I want him to blow me. I want to tug at his hair, make him go deeper. I want to feel him squirm as I fill his mouth. I want. Fuck, I’m a sick bastard.”
“You’re already in the scene.” He says softly, “I can see it in your eyes. What deprived fantasy is going on in that head of yours?”
He reaches up and pulls me in. Hugs me, as his hands roam over my back.
“We need to talk about things like… stuff you don’t like...”
“We need to talk about a lot of things.”
“You need to say stop if I go too far. You need to tell me what too far is.”
“Don’t hurt me for real.” he says, suddenly surprisingly confident. “Don’t injure me. Don’t put me in danger, in any way. Don’t humiliate the real me. Just the fantasy me. And if I say stop, I mean it.”
I have to breathe. Take it all in. Stunned by the words coming out of his mouth. It’s too much responsibility. Too much freedom. Too much to take in.
“You have really thought about this, haven’t you?” I feel breathless. Lightheaded. Very-much aroused, yet in awe of his honesty.
“I know myself, and I know what turns me on. I have spent a lifetime trying to find someone to give me what I need, without making me feel like a freak. I don’t worry about it, I won’t let anyone shame me, and I have let people take advantage in the past, hoping that they understood what I was asking for. People never do, and before I know it, they have gone too far, and I get too scared to say stop. I promise you, it’s not a place I ever want to be in again, especially not with you. But I trust you. You won’t hurt me, you said so.”
“I won’t hurt you. Ever.” I promise.
“Then, let’s go in and meet your dad, so I can fanboy all over him and ask him all kinds of weird questions whilst you get your whatever lunch-meat-thing prepared. Even that sounds dirty. Can we come up with a meat scene? You can be some mean butcher or something. No, hang on, that might be... messy. Scrap that. So, we're cooking. And having a meal? Will there be presents? Do you think the petrol station on the A road will be open? Does your mum like chocolate? I mean, I could probably buy her a pint of milk and a meat pie, but that would be like the crappiest present ever. If I make gift cards? Would that be acceptable? I could, like, draw out the store logo and what I am getting them. I want to get Bea this jumper I saw online, it says Mummy Power in all glitter and stuff.”
“When did you have time to Google that?”
“Told you, I had lots of time when I was making your breakfast this morning, Your Highness.”
“Don’t.” I warn.
“Oh, absolutely. We have to do the Prince and the servant. Or the King and his consort.”
“You are... impossible.”
“No.” he says, looking me straight in the eyes. Stroking my cheek. Kissing my lips. “You are perfect and wonderful and so handsome and… perfect. You know that, don’t you?”
I don’t know what to say back to that. I’ve never been so confused in my whole life. Yet, I—in the strangest way ever—feel calm. He calms me, just by looking at me. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect how he would make me feel. All this confusion, yet he’s still here, and I let myself sink back into his arms.
Andreas
I had a plan, and now it’s gone completely to hell. I was going to get him to wait in my tiny hallway, so I could a) make the bed, and b) get cleaned up and get a nice jockstrap on. That was as far as the plan had played out in my head, and after that I couldn’t quite decide on the valeting fiasco scene, or a new one that had popped up in my head when I was peeling carrots in the Germano kitchen.
I officially love my new father-in-law. I also love how Don Germano declared that I was the son-in-law he always wanted. A young man who knew a thing or two about cars, and also took an interest in cooking. He says I can do no wrong now, and must immediately marry his wayward son. Don Germano speaks perfect English, but he put on this fake accent, waved his tea towel around the room like a lunatic and it’s kind of hilarious how hard he tried to put me at ease and make me feel at home.
I met Anna, who was still delirious with lack of sleep, and then I got roped into building an IKEA cot with Luca, which in a way was the perfect way to spend Christmas. Mama Germano, whose name I never figured out, never stopped kissing my cheeks and calling me darling.
Anna is just like Luca, grumpy and serious, and then suddenly she declared she adored me, which made me insanely happy. We laughed. We checked on the meat. Luca and I kissed under the plastic mistletoe, and everyone gave us a blow-by-blow never-ending account of Bea’s labour, to the point that we all had to beg Anna to stop with the grizzly details. And we managed
to build one perfect cot, complete with mattress and bumper. Although I googled the bumper thing, and Luca and I agreed to disagree on its safety record. I might speak to Bea about it and see what she thinks, because she is the Mum-expert person after all. Baby Bob needs to be safe, and I take my Godfather duties very seriously.
Then Luca's dad made us assemble a huge Tiramisu and we packed all the Christmas food into little plastic boxes, and crammed ourselves into two cars, and then we weren’t allowed to all sit with Bea, so she left Baby Bob with the nurses, and we all had Christmas Dinner in the hospital waiting lounge. If anyone would have told me I would have had the best Christmas dinner of my life sitting in a hospital waiting room, then I would have told them they were crazy. But that was one amazing dinner, and the company was just perfect.
It should have rated as the weirdest Christmas ever, but instead, it was what it was. We had no presents, because, well, the Germanos all said they would do them when Bea was back home. Perhaps on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps. And nobody made me feel like I was not supposed to be there, which was… comforting in a weird way. I smiled. I laughed. I held Luca’s hand when I felt unsure of what on earth I was doing, and he hugged me when things became a bit weird. Because they did, and I’m still a fool. I’m the captain of the Ship of Fools, because I’m in over my head here. Twenty-four hours after getting hijacked, and bribed, and threatened with violence and death by a pregnant woman I had never met, I am now being mauled by her oversexed brother, who has apparently struggled with an intermittent erection since before lunch.
And I’m not exactly helping myself, rubbing my back all over him as I am putting the key in the door of my flat, and Luca already has his hands down my jeans, cupping my arse and making me feel slightly nauseous, as the belt is cutting off the blood supply to my stomach. It doesn’t help that I had two portions of Tiramisu. And a full Christmas Dinner. This was apparently the English one, and tomorrow they are doing Italian Christmas all over again. And Luca says there will not be a single piece of pasta in sight, despite me pleading for lasagne. Instead there will be home-made bread, antipasti and Italian olives, that Luca says will have me orgasming at the table. I doubt it, but I will definitely give the roast pork with fig sauce a go, because that? Might just do me in. I don’t think I have ever eaten this much food, despite it all being served in plastic takeaway containers.
“Luc…” I moan, as he licks a line up my neck, and my skin is suddenly prickled with delicious goosebumps of anticipation.
“I told you to look after my car,” he grumbles in my ear, as his fingers are unbuckling my belt. “I told your supervisor that I was quite specific with the care of my car, and I spotted not only one, but two scratches on the bonnet. I spoke to your supervisor, and he said...”
“I’m so sorry, Sir—” I squeak out, cut off as his hand grips my dick. He strokes and I let a deep moan escape. He’s... ridiculous and I’m so bloody easy. One stroke and I am all over this like a sex-starved slut. He can call me that too, in this fantasy. I’m seriously not only sailing the Ship of Fools, but I’ve made myself the captain of it, as well, and probably making another mess of it, pushing him to play along, which at this rate? It could easily go straight to hell.
“Your supervisor promised you would compensate me for the sloppy job done. I feel I should teach you a lesson, but he said you would ensure I received a thorough apology. So, what have you got to say for yourself, Mitchell?”
He grips my chin, with force and pushes me away so I can see his face. He struggles not to laugh, and I let a giggle slip.
“You should tell me off for that giggle.” I suggest. “It sounded slutty.”
“Are you wanting to be a little slutty for this one?” He questions softly.
“I think I am very slutty. Inexperienced. I might need some guidance. I’ve never sucked a cock before.”
He swallows, like I have hit a little nerve ending of arousal.
“Your supervisor...” He says sternly, clearly trying to recompose himself. “...said you should perhaps compensate me with… pleasure.”
Dirty. He’s too bloody good at this, as he leads me into the living room and pushes me down on my sofa, with my trousers wide open and my dick sticking out, hard and neglected, just begging for my hand. I don’t touch it though, because I am enjoying the show in front of me, where he is dropping the coat from his shoulders with an arrogant shrug, and unfastening his own belt with steady fingers.
He drops them to the floor, stepping out of his shoes and then the jeans, with almost perfect elegance. He truly becomes someone else when he’s like this, and I can suddenly feel blood in my ears, roaring through my head as he slowly kneels over me. His nipples are erect under the t-shirt he’s still wearing, and I sneak in a cheeky stroke of his stomach. Just a feel of his skin, the hardness and the warmth.
“Slouch down a bit,” he demands, and I shuffle my arse until his cock is right in front of my face. I can smell him. I can almost taste him on my tongue. Feel him as he uses his cock to stroke my skin. Just gentle movements across my face as he speaks. “Have you ever sucked a man's cock?”
“No.” I whimper. “I would very much like to, though.”
“If you had done a better job on the car, I might have let you,” he booms, painting my lips with his slit. Slow movements that want me to just open my mouth and suck him in. I don’t though, but I cheekily move my hand to give myself a little stroke, as he slaps my arm away with almost brusque force.
I love it. My dick loves it.
“Don’t,” he warns. “You need to learn. Pay attention.”
“Yes, Sir.” I moan. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
He likes that, his cock twitching in his grip. My own is straining, begging for some kind of relief. A stroke. A touch.
Not yet. Oh, god, I’m enjoying this.
His slit strokes my face, leaving a trail of warm wetness on my skin. Taps my cheek, almost like he wants to slap me. I’d let him. Because that, right now? It would be... hot.
“I’m sorry for the scratches. I was not paying attention.” I beg. “You should punish me for that. You said you would teach me a lesson.”
“I’ll teach you a lesson, but I’m going to take my time and enjoy this...” He’s all stern. Tense. Fisting my hair as he pulls my head back. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?” He asks, his grip on my hair making me wince.
“Yes...” I moan. “Yes, I think I need... punishing. Slapping. Perhaps.”
“No, baby, no,” he coos, then immediately sharpens his tone. “That would be far too lenient for the damage you caused.” Then he slaps me. Not hard, but the shock rumbles through me as he follows it up with a slow gentle stroke against my skin. “That okay?” He whispers, “Please tell me if it’s too much.”
“Oh, god, yes, do that again.” I urge, bracing myself.
“Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not too much.” I almost beg. Well, who am I kidding? I am begging, opening my mouth, trying to get his cock inside, as he slaps the other cheek to get me away.
“Please... Please, let me suck your cock!” I beg, putting on my most desperate voice.
“Don’t be so impatient.” He roars back at me. Then his voice is calmer. “That’s enough. Now open your mouth. I’m going to let you off gently this time, so I’m going to let you suck my cock. Go gentle. No teeth.”
Ah. I know what he wants, as I suck him enthusiastically. Sloppily licking around the head, letting a drip of saliva spill from my mouth as I look up at him.
“Dirty, dirty boy. Lick up that spit.” He wipes it from my mouth and makes me lick his finger clean, before shoving his cock back in my mouth. “Suck it, and suck it good.”
I do, looking up at him again as I try to take him deeper, only to almost burst out laughing as he sucks in air and fists my hair.
He’s so gone, his face all red and twisted in a grimace of pleasure. He’s not going to last long like this.
So, I bite down. Ju
st innocently staring at him as I do it, and he responds just as I hoped, by jerking my head back and tugging at my hair.
“Oh, fuck, that’s so hot.” He moans as I open my mouth. Close it. Laugh at his helpless attempts to stay in character when all he wants to do is laugh. Moan. Shove his cock down my throat.
“You can go deep. I have hardly any gag reflex, and anyway, if I do gag, it’s more of a turn on. Just shove it in there and I will smack your leg if it becomes too much.”
“Good…,” he mumbles.
“I’ll be good,” I reply.
“Don’t use your teeth,” he demands, as I open my mouth and stare at him.
His fingers grab my hair again, just the right side of too hard, forcing his cock into my mouth as I breathe through my nose and try to relax.
It’s never easy doing this, and I need to get into a rhythm. Relax and breathe. Let him fill me and then just go with the movement. But he’s big, probably the biggest I’ve had. I think, as he pushes a little bit further in.
“You can take it. Just relax.” He demands. “Open up and take it all. Be good for me, and open wide. A little more. Less than an inch. Just open up, baby.”
He pushes. I gag. Try to smile through the strain of him, at the term of endearment, instead of the stern words he should have used. Water pooling in my eyes as I retch and squirm. He doesn’t let go. Pushes against my face as his pubes are against my nose and he’s everywhere, his scent all around me, my throat spasming, and I claw at his legs.
He pulls back.
“More.” I croak.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Come in my mouth, just like that. Keep doing it. I’ll probably come from it too, if you let me touch myself.”
“You can touch yourself. Make yourself almost come.”
Ship of Fools Page 11
