I am way beyond horny. Satisfied to my bones, yet aching for more at the same time. My cock still tingles every time I think about how he claimed me right there on the floor.
I roll onto my side, hug Brando tight against my chest, and try counting backward from one hundred. It does not work. I try deep breathing. Still nothing. My thoughts keep circlingback to Kirill—his strong hands, his commanding voice, the way he looked at me like I belonged to him. And I meanreallybelonged.
With a frustrated little huff, I reach over and flick on the small night light beside my bed. Soft pink light fills the room. Brando’s dark button eyes seem to watch me with quiet understanding. I smile at him and pull my sketch pad and a handful of felt-tip pens from the drawer.
“Come on, Brando,” I whisper, propping myself up against the pillows. “Let’s draw something silly.”
I start with simple lines. Me with my hair in a crazy cartoon style, wearing my lemon-yellow training top. Then Kirill, tall and broad-shouldered, slick and serious but secretly hinting at a warm expression. I give him a tiny smile because I know it is there, even if he tries to hide it. Finally Brando, looking proud on his little bicycle with floppy ears streaming behind him like ribbons.
I draw all three of us riding bicycles side by side, zooming over a bright, arching rainbow. The sky is blue with fluffy clouds, and little hearts float around us. It is completely ridiculous and childish, but that is exactly why it feels good. My hand moves faster, adding sparkles and stars and a tiny speech bubble above Brando that says “Wheeee!”
A soft chuckle escapes me.
The whirring in my head slows down.
Coloring has always been my secret calm-down trick when Little space calls but I am too wound up to fully drop. Brando sits tucked against my hip, watching me work. The felt tips make bright, cheerful streaks across the paper, and for a little whilethe heavy, aching need in my body fades into something lighter and sweeter.
“I guess I might be a little tired,” I mumble, the words coming out slowly.
Suddenly my eyelids grow heavy. The sketch pad slips from my fingers onto the blanket. I barely have time to switch off the night light before sleep pulls me under, the image of the three of us riding over the rainbow lingering behind my eyes.
Me, Brando, and Daddy…
* * *
Morning light filters through the blinds, soft and golden. My first thought, before I even open my eyes fully, is of Kirill.
The memory hits me like a warm wave. The way he moved inside me, the deep sound of his voice, the possessive way he held me afterward. I squeeze my thighs together and let out a shaky breath. My body is still tuned in, still remembering every sensation.
“I really shouldn’t…” I giggle, a hint of wild abandon in my voice as I giggle excitedly. “Or should I?”
I reach into the drawer beside my bed and pull out my dildo—smooth, realistic, a little thicker than average—and my small bullet vibrator.
Heat floods my cheeks.
I feel very naughty, but I cannot stop myself.
I know what I want and I’m going to get it right here and now.
Closing my eyes, I bring the dildo to my lips and slide it into my mouth, sucking gently while I click the vibrator on. The low buzz fills the quiet room. I trail the vibrating tip slowly down my neck, further down, circling my nipples until they tighten. Then lower, teasing over my stomach until I press it against my already hard cock.
“Oh…” I moan softly around the dildo. “Daddy…”
In my mind it is not silicone anymore. It is Kirill—thick, hot, commanding. I imagine him standing over me, watching with those intense eyes while I suck him. The vibrator presses harder against my cock and balls in alternate movements and I whimper, hips bucking and thrusting.
I picture Daddy fucking me on the floor again, growlingMineas he fills me completely and makes my body shake and spasm to his every thrust.
The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel his hands pinning my wrists, his weight pressing me down. The vibrator hums relentlessly. My breathing quickens. Within minutes the pleasure coils tight and snaps. I cum hard, my legs stiffening, a muffled cry escaping around the dildo as waves of pleasure pulse through me and I shoot my load all over the bed sheets.
“Fucccccckkkk,” I moan, the dildo falling out of my mouth as I writhe and buck my hips in delight.
I keep going, getting every moment I can out of this early morning fun. When the orgasm fades, I stare at the ceiling, breathing heavily. I glance over at Brando, who is sitting on the pillow beside me, looking as innocent as ever.
I let out a little embarrassed chuckle. “Oh my God, Brando… whatamI doing?”
I almost cannot believe how crazy I am acting. A week ago I was a normal boy with a normal crush. Now I am lying in bed first thing in the morning, sucking on a dildo while fantasizing about a dangerous older man who spanked me in a gym locker room and then fucked me senseless on my living room floor.
Now that’s an improv that’s not even remotely believable. Except for the fact that it has all actually happened.
