Not without knowing I can control myself and I won’t fuck up a bunch of lives in the process. Not only the three of us, but George has kids to think of, we all have careers to think of, and we have a goddamned state to think of.
Maybe if I hadn’t learned they’d tried breath play I could ease up a little.
Now?
I know I have to remain vigilant.
Meanwhile, the men are caught up in their own little world. From what glimpses I get of George’s face, he’s smiling in a way I haven’t seen him smile in over two years.
I watch George’s grip ease in Declan’s hair, massaging now, rubbing. He’s still whispering to the boy, though, and whatever he’s staying is drilling right through Declan’s brain and into that deep, dark well of need that lays beneath his surface.
After a couple of minutes, George sits up again, playfully ruffles Declan’s hair, checks the boy’s hands, and then scoots back to where he was. After feeling Declan’s feet, he resumes beating him.
Okay, so George isn’t so far gone he’s forgetting basic safety. That eases my mind a little.
There’s nothing gentle or tender in this part of their play. I’m seeing a different side to both men now, and I’m not sure how to decipher my feelings about that. Even if I was in there with them, I’m not sure that there’s a place for me right now. The brutal honesty between them in this moment is darkly beautiful to behold.
If I was there, they both might hold back. George might not go as hard on Declan as Declan and George apparently both need, and Declan might not respond as honestly, afraid of hurting my feelings.
I don’t want to take that from either of them.
Ellen always griped that George held back with her. I never saw the bad kind of bruises on her, ever. Even when she talked about them scening, the most I ever saw on her—and yes, she showed me—was the faintest handprint on her ass
Hell, I left darker marks on her than that.
Declan, however, is literally going to be black and blue by the end of tonight. That’s fair, because George can hit harder than I can and has a lot of anger and anguish to work out. Built-up shit that he’s had no way of ridding from himself until now.
Thank god he didn’t turn to hard-core drinking. I don’t know how I could have pulled him back from that.
I hate myself for withholding the Xanax because I wanted the ability to allow him an easy escape path if there was no way for me to pull him back from the edge. I would’ve “accidentally” left it on the kitchen counter one night, made sure he had plenty of booze in the house, and hoped for…
Well, an end to his pain.
Thank god I don’t have to do that now. You havenoidea.
George takes another break from beating him. I can’t see what he reaches for, but then I hear the sound of him pulling on a glove and the unmistakable sound of lube being squirted onto a finger.
Declan’s already moaning when George’s finger seeks his hole. “I know, baby,” he says. “I’m going to fill that for you in a little bit. I want to play, first.” He rests his other hand on Declan’s lower back as if soothing a skittish horse.
The boy’s no stranger to having his ass filled, though, but George earns bonus points from me for being as gentle and tender in this moment as he was brutal just a little bit ago.
I’mno stranger to Declan’s needy whines as George lubes and loosens him. Declan’s going to need it, too, if George is about to fuck him. George takes his time and I can imagine how he would’ve sounded with Ellen. This is tender George, the nice guy, the worst parts of the sadist sated and tucked mostly back into his hole.
By the time he works Declan up to three fingers, he’s teasing him.
“Those aren’t safewords I’m hearing, are they, boy?”
“No, Sir.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No, Sir. Please don’t stop!”
“You’re not about to come without permission, are you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Aren’t you glad I put that on you first?”
