I hurt you because I love you
It’s the night of our housewarming party. Raf has been watching me all day with a twinkle in his eye, and I’m in the kitchen taking saran wrap off a bowl of potato salad when he walks in and corners me near the sink. He smells so good, and I bare my throat to him. A willful act of submission.
“I don’t want you to drink tonight.” He licks a stripe up the column of my throat then pets me there, tracing his fingers from my collarbone to my chin. “I have special plans for this part of you later.”
I swallow. My Adam’s apple presses against the pad of his finger.
It’s been three weeks since the night I went to work with him, and our play has only gotten better. We haven’t done anything with other people since then, though Raf promises me Micah is chomping at the bit to watch us again.
The play has been new, the dynamic somehow shifted, but I can’t pinpoint how or why. He still hurts me, still makes me beg and plead and whimper for his touch, but there’s a tenderness there that I don’t remember feeling before. Or maybe it’s always been there and I just didn’t notice it.
But I do now.
“Everyone is going to be here soon.” He steps away and my body goes cold from the loss of him. “Come and help me get dressed.”
I trail him to the bedroom, where he’s laid his clothes out on the bed. Black pants that I know will hug his ass and his cock. They’re meant to torture me all night, no doubt. A plain black t-shirt is on top of the pants, his black leather boots on the floor near the nightstand.
Raf’s in his underwear and he stands before me with his arms outstretched. I reach past him for his shirt and tug it over his head, smoothing the collar flat over his shoulders and neck. He hands me his pants and I gather the material at his feet, then he steps into the legs. I pull them up as I stand, buttoning and zipping him up. I pat his dick for good measure, and he swats my hands away with a roll of his eyes.He plops down onto the bed and spreads his legs. I fill the space and he cards his fingers through my hair.
“Verity is coming, you know.”
I nod. “I won’t treat you any differently.”
“I know.” He sighs, his attention turning elsewhere. “My boots are dirty, Charles.”
His use of my full name makes my cock jerk in my pants. My skin prickles in anticipation for what’s to come.
“Are you hard?” Raf asks, a mocking laugh coming out of his mouth. He lets go of my hair and I lean back. My dickishard, pressing at the fly of my pants. “Take it out. Take out your tiny cock and show it to me.”
I open my pants and show him my cock. It’s not small, but under his scrutiny, it feels like it.Ifeel like it is, and I try to cover it with my hand. My cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and I want to get up and walk away, but I don’t.
He scoffs, then kicks his boots toward me. “We have company coming soon. Put my boots on.”
I loosen the laces and slip his feet into the boots. I tug on the laces and pull them tight, then I rest my palms on my thighs and wait for my next instruction.
“They’re dull,” he laments, stretching one foot forward and tapping my balls with it. I wince and gasp, so he does it again but harder. He slides his boot up my erection, the thick and textured rubber sole dragging and pulling along my skin. “You should spit shine them.”
He moves so quick and my face is pressed against the leather toe of his boot before I know it. He holds me there and I stick my tongue out, laving it over the rough leather until the lights reflect in my spit. He picks his foot up off the ground and pushes it against my teeth, so I open my mouth. He shoves the tip of his boot past my lips and it’s blocking my airway, and I’m so hard for him. For this.
“You’re still hard,” he observes, sliding his boot against my tongue. “I’m fucking your mouth like this and your cock is ready for it.”
My lips are stretched wide, and I adjust my stance, opening myself up for his foot, for his appraisal, for his insults. He drops his boot back to the ground and gestures to the other one with his chin.
“That one next.”
I work the muscles of my jaw and return to my prostrate position, this time without his hand in my hair, and I repeat the same actions on the other boot.
“I bet you could come like this,” he muses. “Do you think you could?”
I nod, dragging my tongue across the crisscrossed laces.
“Fuck the floor then. Rut against the carpet like the desperate slut you are and see what happens.”
I groan and flatten my hands on the floor and pump my hips downward. The carpet is scratchy and painful against my swollen erection, but I do as I’ve been told. I keep licking at his boots, tracing over the places I’ve already been, and I fuck the carpet, pumping my hips until I find a rhythm that could get me there.
“There you go,” he says, and I know he’s noticed the change in my movements. I grind against the floor until I’m writhing at his feet, panting and moaning, and my orgasm is there, just at the periphery. The smell of leather and spit is sharp in my nose. It’s enough to make me come, and I’m about to, but his hand is in my hair and he’s pulling me up.
I slam my hips forward helplessly in the space between us, my release now out of reach. I let out a frustrated cry and I fight against him. Even though I don’t want to, I can’t not do it. My head hurts from the grip he has on my hair, and he laughs at me.
