I’m protecting his identity by keeping them anonymous. Iknowthey won’t say anything outside of our protected circle. That’s not the kind of people they are.
Gently, I pull his mask from his head and then lift the eye mask. I had the foresight to set some things next to the bed before anyone showed up. Reaching for the cloth in the bowl of cool water, I wring it out and then gently wash his face.
His eyes flutter open when I finish, but his pupils are still blown. I smooth the cloth through his hair for the second round, leaving a little more water in it.
“Feeling okay?” I ask.
His smile is dazed as he nods. “Yeah.”
“Was it everything you hoped it would be?”
He nods again. Felton presses his face into my leg, wrapping his arm around it like he’s hugging a pillow. His hand brushes dangerously close to my straining dick. Fuck, I need to come.
I’m torn between having enjoyed the show and strange feelings of jealousy and possessiveness. The jealousy I could write off as something easily explained. Wealwaysgroup fuck together. I was there, but it wasn’t the same thing. We didn’t need to communicate that out loud to know that they felt the same way. I could see it in their faces when they looked at meafter Denny’s turn. Because that was my turn next, and I didn’t take it.
But possessiveness? The growing feeling that I wanted to pull him away from them and fuck him myselfwithoutthem? I can’t quite explain that away. Is it because I’ve been trying to protect him? Because I’m trying to help him get into a better place? Maybe because we’re becoming friends?
Felton sighs contentedly and I look down at him again. I’ve never seen his face so serene. Sex for Felton means something different than it does for a lot of people. He’s not just flying high right now. This isn’t just a euphoric, fucked state of tiredness.
He feelsgoodabout himself. This moment has brought him peace. Is it the act of sex itself that facilitated that or something else? I know the things he’s told me and I’ve put some pieces together. But seeing it for myself adds another layer of clues to solving the puzzle that is Felton Badcock and getting him into a better place mentally.
Felton definitely enjoyed the whole thing. There’s no doubt about that. He loved being used, over and over, I suspected he would. He hasn’t exactly said it outright, but only because he hasn’t worded it in that specific way. I have no doubt in my mind that he would rather be used during sex than worry about himself.
It wasn’t until Kroy got him talking a little bit that I might have pinpointed what he really thrives on during sex. In a twisted way, this ties in with his father and the man he’s shaped Felton into with his constant shit talking.
Felton has very low self-worth. His confidence is exactly zero. There were little glimpses of what Felton needed when Denny, Zenia, and Carson commented, but Kroy truly unlocked what Felton needed.
He doesn’t need to feel good physically. This is entirely a mental game for him. Which I’d gathered over the last few weekswithout putting it together entirely when we talked about his ReachMe account.
This is about other people telling him he’s doing something right. Even if it’s all superficial. He’s not letting someone down right now. They like what he’s doing. They like how he makes them feel. He likes the way he imagines they’re looking at him and thinking about him.
If I have to wager a guess, this is the only point in his life where negativity doesn’t penetrate.
His father has had a hand in shaping this part of him by criticizing virtuallyeverythingabout Felton and how he lives his life, Felton’s sex life is the one place his father hasn’t been. It’s no wonder that Felton finds safety there. He’s never heard the voice of his father in those moments because his father hasn’t ever been in those moments.
Honestly, knowing this, it’s rather remarkable that Felton isn’t a major slut. Like, he totally could be. Especially if sex is the one place where he can turn off the pressure, negativity, stress, and disapproval that he’s lived with his entire life.
Still, he manages to be careful and selective, even in this aspect of his life.
My fingers are still running through his hair softly as I stare at his face. He’s asleep. Still wrapped around my leg. Even though I’ve been lost in thought, my cock is still hard.
Sighing, I gently disentangle myself from Felton. His eyes flutter and his grip tightens. “Sleep,” I murmur. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Felton lets me go. I grab a blanket from the closet and wrap him up before placing a bottle of water next to him. Closing the blinds, I leave the room and head to my bathroom for a shower.
It’s incredibly predictable that I jerk myself under the spray of water and maybe even less surprising that I’m picturing the entire gang bang again while I do. Only this time, I’m takingFelton too. But unlike every other group fuck we’ve done, I’m last. I take him with his mask off so he can see me fucking him.
If I were ever to freak about a change in my sexuality, it would have been the first time we took a guy. There’s something almost comforting that the experience happened with my closest friends. In a way, I think because we all went through it together, we inherently understood that this was okay. It was okay to be turned on by a guy. It was fine to enjoy it.
I’m thankful that the moment happened a while ago. It means that the unsettling feeling in my chest can be focused on without compounding on a sexuality crisis.
Felton’s gender isn’t a concern. It’s that he’s Felton. He’s incredibly vulnerable right now, and his confidence is shit. I know how much he’s struggling.
I, under no circumstances, should be turned on by this man. I’m supposed to be supporting him.
Once dressed, I peek into the spare room where Felton is still asleep. He looks relaxed. Peaceful, so I close the door quietly and let him sleep it off.
I’m surprised to find that my four friends are still here, sitting where I left them in the den when Felton arrived. They’re in various states of dress and dampness, so I guess that they all passed through the guest shower.
