SANTINO
He’s killing me. Hayden is killing me and I won’t regret a single moment of it.
I don’t think I’ve ever had my prostate played with. I would’ve remembered if I had. Because this is like mainlining cocaine and heroin and meth all at the same time. It’s fucking euphoric.
My fingers dig painfully into the backs of my knees, not just to hold my legs up, but also to keep myself from coming too soon. I'm already inching so close to the edge, I need to do everything I can to stave it off.
Hayden’s got three fingers in me. Which isn’t quite as thick as his cock at full mast, but it’s pretty damn close. And every time he pushes at my prostate, fireworks go off behind my eyes.
He licks a path across my taint, his tongue wiggling back and forth over the seam running down the middle, then pops my balls one at a time into his mouth for a quick suck. When he finally gets to my dick, I’m almost scared of how it’ll feel.
His tongue swirls around the angry, purple head, licking up pre-cum leaking from my slit. Then he gradually feeds my cockinto his mouth. So hot. So wet. The tight suction has me shaking uncontrollably.
I hit the back of his throat, but that doesn’t stop him. He swallows and I slide right down. His nose is flush against my pelvis. His fingers are tapping away at my prostate. He swallows in time with the taps and the dual sensation is driving me out of my mind. No one’s ever done anything like this to me before. He’s ruined me for anyone else.
Hayden starts up a rhythm between his fingers and his mouth. Bobbing and thrusting and swallowing and tapping. It’s a non-stop onslaught of pleasure pulsing through my body that completely scrambles my brain.
I hear someone screaming. I think that someone is me.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, Hayden rubs his thumb on my taint a few times and presses. The pressure on my prostate from another angle sends a different kind of pleasure coursing through me. Now he’s coming at me from three directions and it’s too much.
He thrusts his three fingers as far into my ass as they’ll go, pressing on my prostate from the inside. His thumb pushes from the outside. He swallows my dick down like his throat is giving me a massage. Altogether, all at the same time, it sends me flying over the edge.
My entire body goes taut as I explode in Hayden’s mouth. My vision goes white. My ears ring. Every cell lights up as pleasure rushes at me like a tidal wave. There’s no way to escape it. There’s nowhere to hide. It crushes me under its intensity and I’m fucking ded.
I black out.
I’m not sure how long I’m out for, but when my brain decides to start working again, I find Hayden lying half on top of me. His face is pressed against my neck and his short, fast breaths are hot against my skin. He’s tense and rigid and not in a good way.
“Babe?” I brush my fingers through his hair, trying to get a better look at his face.
He clings to me tighter, burrows even deeper.
“Babe, what’s wrong?” If he’s having another one of those attacks, I’m going to feel like the biggest jackass in the entire world. Here I am, getting my rocks off so hard I passed out while Hayden’s struggling through a mental health episode.
“Is it the voice?” I ask, my heart sinking as he gives a few jerky nods. Guilt sits like a rock in my stomach, wiping away every last trace of pleasure still lingering in my system. I start second-guessing everything.
I shouldn’t have kissed Hayden at the tailor shop. I shouldn’t have kissed him when we got home. I shouldn’t have pushed him to have sex. I should’ve stopped when he couldn’t get it up. I shouldn’t have let him go down on me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I clutch him to me, pressing kisses everywhere I can reach. Our sweat cools and I reach for the blanket to keep us warm.
My guilt morphs into anger at the unfairness of it all. Why does the darkness always seem to strike right when he’s feeling good? Like it wants to give him a taste of happiness before stealing it away again. What kind of sadistic shit is that?
Why is this happening to Hayden at all? He did nothing to deserve this. He was just living his happy life, spreading joy wherever he went. He’s a good person. Why did the depression pick him?
But then, there’s never any logic to this type of thing. No matter how much evidence or proof there is, no matter how unreasonable the thoughts are, it’s hard to argue against feelings that intense. The shit Mom used to say when she was at her worst made absolutely no sense. Even now, sometimes she’ll get stuck in these loops where her fear overrides all common sense. Like being afraid she’ll lose me forever…
I push the thought away. Hayden’s shaking. He tries to smother the sound of his crying, but a sob or a hiccup manages to get through every once in a while. He keeps muttering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” but I don’t know what he could possibly be sorry for.
So I whisper back every encouraging thing I can think of. “You’re good, babe. You’re fine. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Everything’s going to be alright.”
Staring up at the ceiling, I hold Hayden until his breathing gradually evens out and he falls asleep. Carefully, so I don’t wake him, I ease myself out from under his lax weight.
My phone is in my shorts pocket, abandoned on the floor. I dig it out and tap a quick message to Sebastian.
Santino
Yo, where we at with the therapy appointment for Hayden?
