“Was that weird for you? Having a mom who was so famous and sort of, um, hated? Her character at least?”
“It was a little strange to have a celebrity mother, but not that unusual. I went to an elite private school where the students all had some connection to money, fame, or power. My teachers were very nice to me too. They were afraid of my mother’s wrath, Heather Hunter’s that is, as they should be. Her fury was awe-inspiring. Now,” he taps one ass cheek lightly with the ruler, “back to the script.”
We keep reading and Cassius continues thwacking me with the ruler whenever I fuck up, which is strangely arousing. The band of my underwear sits uncomfortably against my hard dick, and I really want to stroke it. Finally, I can’t take it anymore.
“I need a break,” I tell him.
“For what?”
“I need to go jerk off.”
Cassius looks me up and down, eyes lingering on my junk. Yeah, he likes that. I stand up a little straighter.
“Fine, but let me watch,” he says at last.
Just when I thought this couldn’t get any more embarrassing. “You can’t. I have a method.”
“What kind of method?”
“If I tell you, will you make fun of me?”
“Probably,” he says with a shit-eating grin. He loves to fuck with me, and there’s really no way to win an argument with him because his logic is just so sound. I should probably just surrender now. “Come on, Adam,” he coaxes, tickling my sides a little. “There are no secrets between friends.”
He’ll probably catch me at it if I stay here long enough, so I might as well get it over with. “I like to jack off in front of a mirror. Watching myself, that’s the only way I can get off. I know it sounds really conceited but that’s what does it for me.”
Cassius’s head tilts as if contemplating it, and when he crosses his arms, the ruler goes away too. That’s a relief.
“I can accommodate you.” He places one hand at the center of my back to escort me to the hallway, all the way to the end of it, to his mother’s bedroom. He gave me a tour of the house already, but we didn’t linger in here for too long. To be honest, it felt a little haunted.
Now he invites me to come inside. It’s decorated lavishly with a huge canopy bed that looks like something a queen would spend the day wasting away in. Satin draperies pool on the carpeted floor, and the walls are covered in a silk floral wallpaper that Cassius says was popular among interior decorators at the time. Everything in the room is white, or some variation, even the carpet, which Cassius corrects me in saying isn’t white butivory. The wallpaper isn’t white either, it’slinen. And the furniture isbone. But the coolest thing in my opinion is a curio of vintage Barbie dolls, all dressed in fancy ball gowns. Cassius told me before he’s held onto them for sentimental reasons, as opposed to their resale value. Still, what an icon.
“Wait here,” he says and comes back from the adjoining bathroom a moment later with a towel, also white, which he lays over the fancy upholstery of a throne-like chair. “Take off your underwear and sit,” he says with a wave of his hand.
I strip down to nothing and take a seat. I’m not too shy about being naked. I used to have to change in front of my brother all the time, then in front of my teammates, and with all the modeling I’ve done, there’s really no room for modesty. This position makes my abs look like a pack of doughy bread rolls, but I tell myself I’ll be working out in Cassius’s home gym after lunch. My dick looks good though, semi-hard and pulsing with arousal. Cassius drags over a free-standing mirror that’s larger than me and angles it so that I have a perfect view of my man spread.
“Are you sure I should be doing this here?” I ask. It’s a little weird masturbating in his mother’s bedroom, deceased or not, in her chair, in front of her mirror with her beautiful Barbies all watching me. “Isn’t this like walking on a grave or something.”
“My mother isn’t buried in this bedroom,” he says drily, which I guess means it’s okay? He comes to stand behind me, hands on my shoulders gently massaging while I grip both arms of the chair like I’m on a plane preparing for takeoff. “So handsome,” Cassius says in a low rumble. “Rest one leg over the arm. I want to see your crack too.”
The positioning is a little awkward, but I’ve done weirder stuff for art directors and photographers. Cassius steps away and returns with some massage oil, which he drizzles liberally over my dick. The scent is nice. Jasmine? It slides down my balls and coats my crack.
“Grab your dick,” Cassius says, startling me. I sometimes forget what I’m doing when he’s around. I tug on it a few times, appreciating the familiar weight of it. “Finger your hole too. Time to start loosening you up down there.”
“Why would I possibly need to do that?” I say, hoping he’ll take advantage of me sooner, rather than later. I don’t do much butt stuff on my own—I’ve never had enough privacy for that—but it’s hella hot with him watching, so I part my cheeks and locate my hole with my middle finger. Feels nice. Gross when I think about what I might accidentally encounter if I dig too deep, but the rim is soft and super sensitive.
“That’s very good,” he murmurs. He reaches down to cup my pecs like they’re a pair of tits, then skates his hands lower over my abs. His eyes are intently focused on the mirror, and I worry he’s repulsed by my stomach rolls or the way my thighs look a little too thick in this position. Without my modeling shoots, I haven’t been fasting as much as I should, which reminds me that I need to get a scale as soon as possible. I’ve probably gained a shit-ton of weight from all my stress eating.
“Tell me, Adam, what do you see when you look in the mirror?” Cassius says.
“Honestly? Right now I look kinda gross.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. You look beautiful. Youarebeautiful.” He’s so convincing I almost believe him. Almost. “And terribly slutty. Like a very expensive fuck toy. Or a high-paid escort for a man who gets off on watching other men use his boy. Make that prick weep for me, dove. I want to see it shine like a freshly glazed donut.”
I focus on my strokes while my middle finger probes my asshole. I like the way it clenches around the pad of my finger. I want all my muscles to stay tight. Nothing loose or flabby anywhere. Nothing extra. Cassius kneads my chest and tells me that with my good looks, I could play a debauched prince or a brothel’s best whore. A superhero with homosexual leanings. My finger gets sucked inside my body while the rim throbs and clenches, trying to push it back out.
“How do you think our lessons are coming along?” he asks. I don’t know how he can think about that right now but whatever.
“I think they’re helping.”
