by R. J. Moray
“You’d use my ass, too. I’d have to be ready for you, all the time, and when you wanted to use me, you’d just push me over something and slide in. And I’d take it from you, and you’d do it how you wanted and not care about me, or if I got off on it at all, and then, then you’d come in me and pull out, and I’d just slide to my knees again and wait for the next time you wanted to use me.”
Jack hummed, a low rumble of approval. “I like that, sweetheart. I really like that. Should I let you come when I fuck you?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Channon said, caught up in the fantasy. “Sir, if you want, I won’t. Or if I do you can punish me for it. It’s not about me.”
“What if I want to spank you? What if I don’t even care if you deserve it, but I just want to warm my palm on your ass?”
Channon groaned, jacking his hips up and drilling his fingers in deep, while his nipples ached and ached. “Sir, it d-doesn’t matter. If you want it you can do whatever you want to me. That’s what I’m for.”
“I’d tie you up under my desk,” Jack said, his voice warm and throaty. “Leash you like a dog. Put my cock in your mouth and leave it there while I worked. Fuck your mouth a little and then just leave it there, come in you and feel you swallow me down, and then keep my dick in you, so you knew your place. On your knees at my feet.”
It made Channon’s whole body want to clench up. He made himself relax, spread his legs wider for Jack to see. When he looked, he saw that Jack was watching him, the place where his fingers disappeared inside himself, the stretch of his hole around his knuckles. It made him moan, his muscles fluttering. Jack, Jack, Sir, please.
Four fingers? Did Jack want that? Channon tried it; the angle was all wrong, but he tried anyway and was rewarded by Jack’s soft chuckle.
“Sweetheart, do you need more than that?”
“Yes, Sir,” Channon whimpered. “Please.”
Fuck me, he thought, but that wasn’t what they were doing, no, and Jack had so much self-restraint, Channon could hardly bear it. Still—Please, Sir, please fuck me, please use me.
“Okay, that’s enough. Come up on your knees.”
It took an effort, and when he came up, he felt giddy, slick and open where he’d slicked himself open for Jack. His hands were messy—Jack offered him a wet wipe.
Then he smiled, reaching out to brush his fingers over Channon’s mouth. “I want to see you fuck yourself,” he said, and Channon felt it ripple through him, the heat of embarrassment and arousal that came with everything Jack demanded of him. “With this.”
It was one of the glass dildos, a long curve of translucent spheres, smaller widening to larger. Jack had used it on him before, but Channon hadn’t done it to himself. Now he took it, held it still as Jack slicked it with lube, and settled himself on his back again. The tip was round and cool but not cold, and it pushed in easily once he had the angle right. The second sphere eased past his rim in a smooth slide, rigid and unyielding and entirely unlike a cock. It felt clinical, artificial. Then he pushed in the third sphere, and his hips jerked up of themselves as the first slid over his prostate.
He felt rather than heard himself moan. It gathered in his chest, spilling up his throat and over his tongue. He rocked the dildo inside him, pressing down on it to angle it up and, oh fuck, it rubbed him just right. His cock jumped, quivering. He glanced down through slivered lids, past his aching nipples, and saw liquid gathered in his slit, glistening there like a bead of glass.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Fuck yourself for me.”
It was so easy to obey him sometimes, and this time Channon did as he was told. The dildo had warmed inside him, warm as flesh, but rigid, slick, delving into him and rubbing along his insides. He clenched down on it, shuddering, and fucked himself with slow, firm strokes. This could be Jack, could be Jack’s hand on the dildo, his cock—no, not his cock, not when it was shiny smooth and rock hard. But it could be Jack with his hand on the dildo, certainly, pushing the glass into him and humming as he did so.
“That’s good. Good, Channon. How does it feel?”
“I wish it was you, Sir.”
“Mmm, but how does it feel?”
“Hard. Deep. Feels like, like it’s opening me up for you.”
Jack hummed. “Is it? Opening you up? Do you feel open, sweetheart? Could you take more?”
“Yes, Sir,” Channon said, his heart in his throat because it sounded like Jack meant to give him more, and then Jack’s hand was on his, easing the dildo out of him, wrapping it in a towel. Channon protested, unsatisfied, but Jack only chuckled.
“Take this, sweetheart. You can take this now. Just try.”
Channon’s fingers closed on rubber. So fucking much of it, though, and he looked down, his heart shuddering, because…fuck, it was. The big one. He could see it in his hands, the thick blackness of it, and then Jack had pushed the slick tip of it up to Channon’s hole, and he felt like he might faint.
They were doing this. Finally. He didn’t know if he should be excited or terrified.
It wasn’t just the length of the dildo—though that was intimidating enough—or even the generous girth of it, but the effect Channon was afraid it might have on him. He wasn’t allowed to come without permission, he knew that, but with something this big in him? What if he couldn’t help it? What if he just came, and Jack was upset with him, and he had to be punished? Jack wasn’t supposed to do anything that strenuous, what—
“It’s okay, Channon,” Jack said, as if he could read Channon’s doubts on his face. “Just see how much you can take. You don’t have to take the whole thing.”
“What if I can’t?” Channon asked.
“You don’t have to,” Jack repeated, but Channon shook his head.
“What if I come, Sir?”
Jack smiled. It was too fond a smile to make sense of in this context, but Channon felt it warm him anyway. “That’s okay. Try to hold out if you can, but if you come just from fucking yourself with this thing, I won’t be disappointed at all.”
He settled back, comfortable in his armchair, and gestured at Channon in a ‘go on’ sort of way.
So Channon went on. The head of the monster dildo was intimidating enough, though Channon had seen bigger online. He didn’t want to think about that right now—what was nudging up into him right now was big enough. He could take it, he was pretty sure, so he pressed in, a little, a little, letting his head fall back and his eyes fall shut, thinking soft thoughts, submissive thoughts.
Jack wants this. He wants to watch. He’s watching now. He wants to see me come on this thing, so I have to take as much as I can. For my Sir.
And, he had to admit, because the thought of it excited him.
Not just the size of the thing but the act of it, of putting himself on display with his legs spread sluttily open, of pushing something into his body while his boyfriend watched. The head of the dildo popped into him—he gasped at the sudden fullness, sweat breaking out on his brow, and then groaned as the next half inch slid more easily inside.
And it was easy. He took it slow, rocking it in gently, but his body accepted it, made space for it, his knees drawing up, thighs splayed open, hips coming up to take more. It felt like it pushed him out of his own body, up to a place where all he could feel was the soft-firmness of the rubber cock as he took it in, how the veiny ridges of it rippled over his rim and into him. The head of it, slipping over his prostate, deeper, deeper, and with each little thrust and wiggle he could feel it building something at the base of his cock. His balls had drawn up tight, his body taut with the pleasurable pressure of this.
“Tug the clamps for me,” Jack said, and Channon arched, groaning, because he had to, he had to. He tugged the chain that linked them, whining in his throat as the dull pain flared hot and sharp, but it wasn’t enough. “Harder,” Jack said, and Channon did it again, giving them a vicious yank that forced a cry from his throat.
The pain was a distraction from the sheer
, blinding pleasure of the dildo pushing into him. He knew that, knew Jack wanted him to take more of it, knew what Jack was going to demand next.
“Take them off, Channon.”
There, he’d known, and he didn’t want to suffer the excruciating pain of it. But he’d been ordered so he grit his teeth, holding the dildo in place with one hand and using the other to open the first clamp. Pain bloomed in him like a firework, a sharp spike following by a scintillating expansion that had him sucking in a breath against it. It hurt. He always forgot how much, even though he knew.
And now the second. He took that off, whimpering, and when Jack told him to rub his chest, he did it, sobbing through his teeth. Goddammit, Jack was a bastard, a cruel, beautiful bastard, and Channon felt so tight right now he could burst.
“Go on,” Jack said.
The pain paled beside the exquisite pleasure of being filled. It made him feel like a glass poured up to the rim, a little more and he’d spill over in a great, glorious mess, one more push and—oh God—it came over him so suddenly he couldn’t have stopped it if he’d tried, a warning throb and then, ah! His whole body clenched up tight, racked by waves of pure, unmatched pleasure.
It always felt good, but this time it felt glorious, like Jack had given him this, like Jack had done it to him. Jack, he thought, his throat choked up, gasping for breath as his limbs seized and his brain went to snow. Everything else meant nothing, just Jack, and the release Jack had driven him to.
It lasted forever, and not long enough, and when Channon washed up on the shore of it, he was sticky and useless, naked on the floor and stuffed full, his legs spread wide and wanton. When he blinked his eyes open, blearily, he could see Jack watching him with a sharp, vicious smile.
“Good boy,” Jack said, and Channon shook with how good it felt to hear that now, when he felt so, well, slutty.
Jack told him to ease the dildo out and put it aside, and then coaxed Channon up into his lap.
“I’m messy,” Channon slurred.
“I know, sweetheart. Here, I’ll put a towel on my knees, if it makes you feel better.”
It did. He did. Channon curled up in his arms, with Jack’s kisses scattered over his face and soft words in his ear.
“I think I have a size kink,” Channon sighed.
Jack chuckled, rich and low. “You think?”
“Is it bad?”
“I wouldn’t have bought that dildo to fuck you with if it was bad,” Jack said, sweeping Channon’s hair out of his eyes. Channon decided to take Jack’s word for it, burrowing into his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Channon asked.
“I’m extremely fucking horny,” Jack said, “and I think we both need something to eat and a nap on the sofa. But other than that, I’m good.”
Channon murmured agreement, too exhausted for more than that. He wanted to ask if it was okay that Jack hadn’t come, hadn’t spanked him or done any of the things he normally liked. But Jack sounded content, and Channon wasn’t going to argue with him about that. Not now he knew his Sir would be honest with him. Not now he didn’t have to worry about what Jack wasn’t telling him.
It felt infinitely better, like Jack trusted him with his secrets. That was something Channon wasn’t about to betray, not ever. Jack’s trust meant more to him than the world.
❧
Later, on the sofa, Channon pushed his face up under Jack’s jaw and mumbled, “Sir?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I know we just…and it’s greedy, but…”
“What is it?”
“Can we really do that? How we talked about?” He bit his lip, eyes closed while the fantasy played out behind his eyes.
Jack made a pleased sound, and when he spoke Channon could hear the smile in his voice. “That thing where I keep you like a sex slave? Yeah, we can do that.”
“And…the other thing. The one you said would take planning.”
Jack chuckled and kissed his hair. “We can do that too.”
“Good,” Channon said, snuggling down into Jack’s chest. “I’d like that.”
“I like that you’d like that.”
“I like that you like it too, Sir,” Channon said, because he did. That was what all this was about, wasn’t it? Whatever they liked, and how much they both got off on the other one liking things. Like an echo chamber, each layer of pleasure doubled because it was shared between them, one way or another.
“When I’m better, okay? Something to look forward to,” Jack said, and Channon sighed, happy instead of resigned. When Jack was better—Please get better, I believe in you—they could do all kinds of things.
“I can wait,” Channon said, because for now they had this, and this was more than enough for him.
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Dear Reader,
This was a strange episode, I know. Not a lot of action, not a lot of kink. But I hope the relationship dynamics work for you, because it's been so important to me for Channon and Jack to reach this point. I've been planning it for ages. Just like I've been planning what Jack is now planning for Channon next episode ;)
(Oh, and in case you missed it in the last episode, Marco is fine. Jack will most certainly have asked Cynthia to send a fruit basket and make sure he's taken care of. No worries.)
I'd like to thank Jennifer for all her help editing this episode, and for informing me that Americans do not refer to their friends as 'good value' (at least, not in the way I meant). Any remaining errors are my fault entirely. And I hope you caught the Monty Python reference, for serious nerds only ;)
If you liked this episode, it would be great if you could leave a review. They help me out immensely. Don't forget you can email me ([email protected]) or follow me on twitter @robinmoray, tumblr, facebook, and at my website.
See you next time,
❤ Robin
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About the Author
Robin Moray started writing at the age of twelve. Those stories tended to have a lot of elves in them, and woodland rangers who were secretly exiled princes. Robin spent years in academia, studying literature and history, and then embarked on a career in the private sector, playing with spreadsheets and day-dreaming of adventures with wolves and witches and magical pacts. Robin's first book, Bonded to the Alpha, was written in two months but benefited from nearly twenty years of practice. Since then Robin has been devoted to writing fantasy, horror, science fiction, and romance, in all kinds of combinations.
You can find Robin in the following places:
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❤
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