Self-conscious panic snapped him out of his lustful daze, and he grabbed his jeans, wrestling them from Judith’s grip roughly and stepping away from her. His cock had suddenly lost interest. His traitorous leg chose that moment not to work as it should, and he stumbled a little in his retreat. He caught his balance on a nearby counter, holding his jeans up around his hips, and stared at Judith, still on her knees, alone and naked in the middle of the kitchen floor.
She stared at him in shock, and her arms came up to cover her breasts.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He snapped.
“I – I only wanted to see you naked too. You’ve seen me naked plenty of times, and I –”
“You don’t get to control the scene,” Michael snapped. “I didn’t say you could pull down my pants.”
Judith lowered her eyes to fall on the discarded shirt on the floor, and she pulled it closer, scrambling to find the bottom hem and pull it on over her head. It was inside-out, but she didn’t seem to care. A sob escaped her, and Michael instantly felt like an asshole.
“Judith –”
“I could hear you all the way to our room. What’s going on in here?” Tristan rushed into the kitchen, and his eyes fell on his wife, huddled half-naked and sobbing on the floor. “Judith?”
“Judith, I’m sorry,” Michael said, pulling up his fly and buttoning his jeans. He reached for her.
“Red,” Judith cringed away from him. “Red.” She scrambled to her feet and ran for the door.
“Judith!”
“Red,” Tristan growled and blocked his path.
“I’d never hurt her!” Michael said.
“And yet she’s crying,” Tristan said. He turned and headed in Judith’s direction, leaving Michael behind.
Alone.
At that very minute, Judith and Tristan could be packing their bags, preparing to flee his house and never come back.
And for what? Vanity?
So, would he let them just flee from his house?
What would he be willing to do to keep them?
~*~
How could I be so… Judith didn’t even know what to call herself. Stupid? Naïve? Presumptuous? Foolish?
Embarrassed… Vulnerable… Hurt… those emotions she had in spades.
She fled for the guest room where she and Tristan had been sleeping. She slammed the door shut in her wake and rushed straight for the bed, hoping to hide under the covers. She just felt so exposed; she needed the bulk of the duvet around her. She’d worry about over-heating later; for now she needed the duvet.
She pulled the duvet over her head and curled up in a tight ball. She gave a loud sniff. Damn, I should have grabbed a roll of toilet paper.
The door opened softly, and Judith refused to surface. “Judith?” Tristan asked softly.
The door clicked shut behind him, and a moment later she felt the duvet lift and the mattress dipped. “Come here,” he said gently. He lifted her onto his lap, cocooned in the duvet and all, and wrapped his arms around her. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and rocked her like a child.
She clenched a fistful of his T-shirt and cried against his chest.
“What did he do?” He asked. “Should I go kick his ass?”
“No, but… I’m embarrassed. I thought he was as into it as I was, and I overstepped. He didn’t like it.”
“And he shouted at you? I’m going to kick his ass,” Tristan growled.
“No, Tristan – can we please just leave?”
A soft knock at the door drew both of their attention, and a moment later the door creaked open. “Judith? Tristan? Please, may I come in?”
“She doesn’t want to see you,” Tristan said.
“Please. Please allow me to apologize.”
Judith lifted her eyes to the door, and saw Michael looking uncertain, eyes cast down, arms folded across his abdomen. When he raised his eyes, her stomach flipped, and her nurturing instinct whispered to her. “Okay,” she whispered.
He stepped inside, and Tristan’s arms tightened protectively around her.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said softly. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I think you deserve an explanation.”
“Go on,” Tristan said.
Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He unbuckled his jeans, and not making eye contact, he pushed the denim down to pool around his ankles.
“What the fuck,” Tristan breathed. Judith pushed the duvet away from around her shoulders and sat up straighter on Tristan’s lap.
“You’re an amputee?” Judith asked softly.
They’d never seen Michael without long trousers or shoes. The most they’d seen of what was under his pants was his hips. Now, his jeans pooling around his ankles, Judith could see that his left leg ended at the knee, and that the stump was sheathed in a prosthetic limb.
Come to think of it; she’d wondered why he walked with a limp. He’d answered that it was an old injury, and not wanting to pry, she’d left it at that.
“How?” Tristan asked.
“Motorcycle accident,” Michael said. He made no move to pull up his jeans, leaving them around his ankles and standing awkwardly like an amateur on the stage at Open Mic Night. “I was crossing an intersection when a car ignored a red light and hit me from the side. I went flying, I collided with the traffic light, and the impact ripped my lower leg off at the knee. They couldn’t reattach the limb.”
“And this is why you yelled at Judith. You wanted to keep your amputated leg a secret. How long did you think it would be before we’d find out?”
Michael just nodded. “I feel… self-conscious about my leg. I’d rather forget it ever happened. And I didn’t want you to see me… differently. I had a girlfriend who couldn’t handle it.”
“You didn’t trust us to love you as you are,” Judith said. Michael’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, and he gave a nod. “Michael, we trusted you with our safety. With our bodies and minds. With our secrets.”
“I know,” Michael said. “I’m sorry.”
“Men,” Judith muttered and struggled free from her cocoon. “Vain, insecure creatures. Come here.”
Michael’s expression registered shock, relief, hope. He reached for his denims that were still puddled on the floor and pulled them up his thighs so he could walk to the bed, but didn’t fasten them. When he reached the bed, he allowed Judith to grab his hand and pull him onto the bed.
Judith and Tristan arranged him so that he lay between them. Tristan spooned against his back, his arms around Michael, and Judith curled up against his front, her face snuggled into his neck.
“I’m sorry,” Michael whispered.
“You’re forgiven,” Judith whispered back. “Now don’t do it again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled, and that smile released the last bit of tension in Judith’s heart.
~*~
Tristan awoke with an elbow to the face. It had still been early afternoon when they all lay down, but the stress of their confrontation had been draining, and they’d all fallen asleep.
He recoiled and scrambled upright, only to see Michael struggling to get out of bed. “What is it?” Tristan asked.
“Where’s my leg?”
“Over there, against the wall,” Tristan said. “I removed it after you fell asleep; I figured you probably don’t normally sleep with it on.”
“No, I don’t,” Michael admitted, “but then I usually have my crutches close.”
“Okay, where are those?”
“In my room.” Michael stared longingly at the bathroom.
“Oh, good grief – just ask. You want to go to the bathroom?”
Michael nodded, and Tristan got out of bed first, then offered Michael a hand. “Come, I’ll help you to the bathroom, then I’ll go find your crutches.” Michael looked hesitant, but Tristan just cleared his throat and looked pointedly at his hand and wiggled his fingers.
Michael scooted to the edge of the bed using his arms and
leg, then planting his foot on the ground, he accepted Tristan’s hand to pull him upright. Tristan lifted Michael’s arm to wrap around his shoulders, and wrapping his arm around Michael’s waist, acted as a crutch.
Once Michael was seated on the toilet, Tristan headed for Michael’s room to retrieve his crutches. When Tristan returned, Michael was rubbing hard at the muscles of the stump. Tristan stood the crutches up against the sink where Michael could easily reach them, then gave Michael some privacy and closed the door behind him.
“I never suspected,” Judith said softly. “He’s so fiercely independent; I guess he refused to admit to a disability.”
“I think he just refused to believe that his disability made him less able – and set out to prove he didn’t need anyone.”
The toilet flushed, and a moment later the bathroom door swung open and Michael crutched out.
“Hey,” Judith smiled.
“Hey,” Michael mumbled and looked down, but Judith stood and steered Michael to the bed. Tristan took his crutches and stood them up against the wall between the bed and the bedside table before lying down beside Michael on the bed.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Judith murmured, and headed for the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.
“So,” Tristan pitched his voice intimately and held Michael’s hand. “What have we learned from this experience?”
Tristan could see the turmoil behind Michael’s eyes, but the doctor held his tongue.
“Yes, Judith and I see your amputation. And yes, it changes how we see you.” Michael’s eyes snapped to focus on Tristan. “You are so much stronger, braver, and more determined that we ever could have imagined.
“We’d never have guessed about your leg if not for this morning’s episode. There are no handrails in the bathrooms. No ramps. You haven’t let it slow you down. There is much about you we can admire.
“But we are now together.” Tristan continued. “You need to lean on us from time to time. Hell, you’re a Dom – you could order us to carry you around on a sedan chair if you wanted, and no-one would think it were strange.”
“That’s not how it works,” Michael chuckled weakly.
“I know – you’re forever taking care of us. Don’t you think we’d like to take care of you?”
Tristan cupped Michael’s cheek and kissed him. Tristan noted that he’d apparently surprized his lover, but a moment later, Michael kissed him back.
It was a tender moment, as tender as any he’d shared with his wife. Michael’s lips were soft and pliant, his tongue shy, and in the intimacy of the moment, Tristan felt like his heart would burst with affection.
The toilet flushed, and a moment later the door opened. Tristan looked up to see Judith lean a shoulder against the doorframe, a small smile playing on her lips. “Finally,” she said. She ducked back into the bathroom and returned with a tube, which she handed to Tristan, and while she leaned down to kiss Michael, Tristan read the label. Lube.
“In case you were wondering, I love you both. With –” she pecked Tristan on the mouth, “or without” a peck on Michael’s mouth, “all your limbs.”
Tristan smiled, and wrapping a hand around the back of Judith’s neck, he pulled her down for a longer kiss. “And I love both of you too.”
“Then it’s settled,” Judith grinned. “I’ll give the two of you some more privacy, and whip us up a late lunch; we never did have breakfast. No rush.” Judith pushed away from the bed and sauntered from the room, casting one last flirtatious glance over her shoulder. “In case you were wondering,” she said, “that means you get to make love to my husband, Doctor McIan. See you both at lunch.”
Tristan turned back to Michael, whose eyes were still riveted on the doorway where Judith had disappeared. He put a finger to Michael’s cheek and tipped his head to make eye contact. “Eyes on me, Doctor,” Tristan murmured.
When Michael’s eyes met his, Tristan leaned in for another kiss. His hand slid down Michael’s ribs to his hips, and Tristan groaned as their erections grazed each other through Tristan’s jeans.
Michael broke the kiss. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He asked.
“Yes,” Tristan said seriously. “I trust you.”
“Well, in that case: Strip.”
“Yes, sir,” Tristan murmured, grinning wide and handing the reins of the scene back to Michael. He rolled off the bed to land on his feet, and purposefully pushing the shyness away, he slowly thumbed open the button of his jeans, and pushed the zipper down. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them slowly down his hips, his cock springing free.
Before he could push his jeans all the way down, Michael crawled over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. Gripping the waistband of Tristan’s jeans, Michael tugged on them to pull Tristan closer and a little off-balance; Tristan could feel his heart-rate spiking with excitement at the possessive manoeuvre. Michael pushed the denims all the way down, and Tristan held on to Michael’s shoulder for balance as he stepped out of them to stand naked before him.
Michael looked up at Tristan, wrapped a fist around Tristan’s erection, stroking slowly from root to tip, then back down to the root. Tristan closed his eyes with bliss, so totally missed the sight of Michael sucking the head of his cock into his mouth.
“Fuck,” Tristan gasped. Michael’s hands had left his cock, gliding instead to his ass. Michael gripped Tristan’s ass cheeks, his fingertips grazing Tristan’s hole, and Tristan’s cock tightened to painful proportions.
“Don’t you dare come yet,” Michael murmured.
With effort, Tristan resisted the urge to climax and looked down at Michael. Michael may be the one in a lower position, and the one giving the blow job, but no-one could mistake him for being submissive; he radiated authority.
“You’re overdressed, sir,” Tristan managed. He took one step back, then helped Michael to stand. Tristan knelt, and while Michael held on to his shoulder for balance, Tristan stripped Michael’s jeans off over his hips.
While Tristan was kneeling down to remove Michael’s jeans, Michael grabbed a fistful of Tristan’s hair and jerked on it, making Tristan’s breath hitch and his cock, already primed for take-off, twitch painfully. “You’ve gotten far too comfortable giving the orders, haven’t you,” Michael said silkily.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tristan panted. Sorry; not sorry.
“So what do you have to say for yourself?” Michael tightened his fist.
Tristan opened his eyes and captured his Dom’s. “Make me.”
~*~
Chapter 21
Challenge accepted.
If he’d seen uncertainty, fear or shame in Tristan’s demeanour, Michael would have backed down, but he saw nothing but desire and mischief burning in his submissive’s eyes, which called to something primal in Michael in turn.
Michael twisted his fist in Tristan’s hair. Tristan’s eyelids fluttered for a moment before fixing on Michael’s again. “Open,” Michael prodded at Tristan’s lips with his cock, and never breaking eye contact, Tristan opened his mouth.
Michael fed Tristan his dick in one smooth glide until the head lodged in Tristan’s throat. Tristan tried to jerk back – could have broken loose if he’d really tried – but Michael kept his hand in Tristan’s hair firm, holding for a moment. The moment Tristan stopped struggling, Michael retreated, and Tristan panted around the cock in his mouth.
Bracing the end of his stump on the edge of the mattress, Michael pulled Tristan to his feet by the hold on his hair. Tristan rose to his feet, neck bent at an awkward angle, and allowed himself to be shoved onto the bed; before he’d finished bouncing belly-down on the mattress, Michael had straddled his thighs, just below Tristan’s ass, and pinned him to the bed with one arm twisted sharply behind his back.
“Do you submit?” Michael growled in his ear.
Tristan jerked under Michael, testing his hold, and finding it implacable, relaxed. “Yes, sir,” Tristan groaned. “I submit.”
>
That old god-like satisfaction welled up in Michael. “Good boy,” Michael murmured and released his hold on Tristan’s arm. Michael stroked gently down Tristan’s spine and watched goose-flesh ripple across his skin. “Tell me your safeword.”
“Red, sir,” Tristan groaned. “Red, everything stops. Yellow, I’m nearing my limit.”
“Good boy,” Michael repeated. He reached for the tube of lube Tristan had left on the bedside table, then shifted downwards to kneel between his thighs. His hands stroked over Tristan’s ass and upper thighs, detouring to cradle his balls gently from underneath, before sliding up over his taint to rub gently at his entrance.
Tristan flexed his hips, and Michael flipped open the cap of the lube and squeezed out plenty of gel. He dabbed it onto the dark star of Tristan’s anus and slid his finger through the slickness to massage the rim. “God, that feels good,” Tristan moaned and flexed his hips again; Michael watched in delight as goose-bumps prickled up his spine and across the surface of his buttocks.
“Yeah?” Michael slipped a finger into Tristan’s ass, trying to push some of the lube inside with it, then added another finger. “Ready for more?”
“Yes, yes please, sir,” Tristan babbled. “Please more, sir.”
Michael slowly slipped his fingers out of his lover, drawing out the sensation, then reached for the lube again. He squeezed out another generous dollop and smoothed it over his cock, then wiped his hands on his discarded shirt.
He took his dick in his hand and played in the lubricant residue around Tristan’s ass with the head, before gently, relentlessly, pushing inside.
Michael’s heart nearly melted when his cock first breeched Tristan’s ring. The faint resistance of the tight muscle suddenly relaxing to let him in had always been his favourite moment in ass-fucking. The trust required to let him in when he could so easily hurt his lover, humbled him.
Tristan flinched, and when Michael still felt some friction, he withdrew and added more lube to the tip of his cock before trying again. He placed a calming hand on Tristan’s lower back and gently pushed inside again, this time feeling nothing but a smooth glide until his groin pressed against Tristan’s ass.
Michael Page 22
