His dick slides down my throat, and he holds himself there for a few seconds before pulling back and doing it all over again.
He likes when I deep-throat him.
Good thing I enjoy it too.
I swallow around him, feeling drool hit my chin and chest, his movements relentless, purposeful.
He’s needed this, and I’m giving it to him.
I let my eyes open, and I stare up at him.
He’s watching me intently, his pupils blown out, his cheeks red, his chest heaving. He moans, his gaze locking with mine, and I feel the twitch in his cock.
And a moment later, spurts of cum explode across my tongue.
I swallow them down, wanting to consume as much of him as possible. My solitary star, my beautiful butterfly.
When he finally pulls out, I have cum dripping down my chin, and I swipe at it, still not moving from my place on the floor.
“I broke the rules,” he whispers, looking slightly ashamed, but more than that, relieved.
I lean my face against his thigh, grinning up at him. “Rules were made to be broken. It’s more fun that way.”
He laughs and then reaches down, his hands tugging me up. I push myself to my feet and tower over him, our naked bodies inches apart, but he doesn’t touch. He keeps his hands to himself, but I can practically feel the neediness vibrating off him.
Fuck, I can’t wait until he gives in to it.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says eventually.
He reaches for a towel and haphazardly dries himself off, tossing it onto the counter when he’s done and moving past me.
I follow like the dog I am, curling up next to my owner on the bed and pressing my nose to his arm.
He doesn’t move me away, just surrenders to it, and that alone makes me sleep like the dead.
I dream of things I don’t want to remember, things I wish would stay locked up inside my compartmentalized mind.
But I can’t wake up. I think I’ve been programmed not to, to endure it.
That’s what I was bred to do. To accept pain and hardship. To use both to make myself stronger.
I’m in the graveyard, my fifteen-year-old body bruised and beaten, starved as I let my hands claw against the sides of the mausoleum. I’m weak, tired. I want to give up, to give in, but the stubborn part of me can’t. It doesn’t want to let him win.
I push forward, the stifling scent of decay and dust making my throat hurt and my eyes water. I’ve been down here for hours, searching for a way out.
“Don’t come home if you fail.”
I refuse to fail. My brothers are counting on me. He’s harder on me than most, trying to mold me into something I don’t want to be.
And still, I persevere. Even when all hope is lost.
I find my way to the end of the small room and let my hands wander around, in search of what, I don’t know. But when I find it, relief pulses through me. I pull myself up and out of the mausoleum, my arms screaming at me as I claw my way up to the earth.
And when I lie on the wet grass, the moonlight glittering down on me, I see it.
An iridescent blue, almost silver, against the stars.
My screaming arm reaches up, and it brushes past me, reviving me.
