At the wave of arousal going through me, my eyes try to close, but I force them to stay open so I can watch Elias shudder and rock. He gets up then bends down to snag his t-shirt from the floor. All the movement has the plug shifting inside him. He pitches sideways and leans against the doorframe, shuddering.
Then he turns toward the camera, showing me his flushed face and all the beautiful lines of his body. His build is lean and athletic, well-portioned. His cock is straight and stiff and perfect. Precum glistens at his tip. He doesn’t touch himself, though, not yet. He walks to the bed, cock stiff, eyes half drugged with arousal. He gets in with a soft little cry. He pulls the covers up and stuffs the t-shirt down by his cock.
Oh, baby, you don’t have to do that. You can come on the sheets.
But he’s containing everything. His cum in the t-shirt. Himself in the small space of the bed, then in the darkness as he turns off the light. As he starts to touch himself, he contains even his vocalizations, keeping them soft, cutting them off. I frown, not liking that. I know what he’s supposed to sound like.
He moaned and shouted when I fucked him. He was loud and emotional, uninhibited. This is different. Not as good.
I turn off my kitchen light so I can see the dark screen better. All I can make out is the dim outline of him shifting under the covers, but I can tell that it’s not just his hand working. He’s twisting, shuddering, grabbing at himself. He’s imagining something.
His cries start to get away from him. He keeps cutting them off, but they’re louder. Sharper.
Fuck, he’s going to come.
I leave my kitchen counter and start pacing through my darkened living room with the tablet. My cock is stiff and aching, but I don’t touch it. I just watch.
When Elias comes with a broken cry, I shudder with some kind of shadow orgasm. Then I settle on the couch and listen as he cries himself to sleep.
FOURTEEN
Andre
It’s been three fucking days since I gave Elias that prepaid card and he hasn’t used it. The balance has remained stubbornly at 10K. He hasn’t even gone to the ForbiddenX website on the new phone or laptop that I gave him in place of his old ones. He seemed pleased but a little wary, and he revealed a bit of an untrusting side when I watched him poke around in both devices, looking, I assume, for spyware. He’s proven more tech savvy than I expected, so it’s a good thing I buried those programs.
He’s actually proven more competent all around than I expected. I knew he was smart and attentive, but he learns really fast.
I’ve been learning things too, and one of those things is that Elias really likes praise. It embarrasses him, but he definitely likes it. He blushes. It makes him try even harder.
Yesterday after he put in my very late RSVP for a stupid fucking party that I don’t want to attend, I said, “Thank you for doing that. I’ve been avoiding it.” His smile was a little shaky because his hands were still a little shaky from the call, but he was so fucking happy. He likes pleasing me.
And that, I realized this morning, is the problem. He’s getting just enough from our interactions to create his nighttime fantasies.
His satisfaction is fading, I can tell. It’s taking him longer and longer to come.
I’m very annoyed with him because he knows what he needs and has the resources to get it. I’ve made sure of that. But he seems content to suffer as long as he has my approval.
Well, he fucking doesn’t have it.
He’s starting to sense it too. I’m struggling to control the shift in my mood. I love being around Elias all the time—Ineedhim with me like this—but I’m used to more time alone where I can get my shit sorted.
“Are they okay?” Elias asks.
I look up from my computer to find his worried eyes on me. I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. I’m just reading his notes. I’m … shit, I’m very obviouslyscowlingat his notes. I can feel it in my face.
“They’re fine,” I snap. At his barely perceptible flinch, I force the scowl from my face and force some of the edge out of my tone as I amend, “I mean they’re good.”
He’s still worried. “Should I … go work somewhere else?”
My scowl snaps right back into place. “You think you’re allowed to go work somewhere else?” I know he didn’t mean that in the sense of getting a different job, but I still find myself reacting as though he did.
“I only thought—”
“You fucking work there because that’s where I fucking put you, and when I have to go to this fucking meeting in fifteen minutes, you will be going with me. There is no escape.”
A breath stutters into his lungs. “Okay. Sorry.” He goes back to work, though I see him watching me from the corner of his eye.
Goddamn it.
