“Oh, yeah. I’d be happy to give you a blowi—a blowjob.” He corrects himself quickly. Hecanbe taught.
“I want more than just a blowjob.”
“Anal? I’m down. What else do you want?”
I want so many things.
“For now, I want you on your knees.” I snap my fingers, and he scrambles to the floor. I liberate my dick from the confines of my chinos and moments later, Adam has engulfed me wholly in his mouth and throat.Sweet Jesus.
“This is what I want,” I tell him, knotting my fingers in his curls. He leaves his hair messy around the house because I like him looking as though he’s been recently sexed up, even if it’s only an illusion. “I want your warm lips around my prick whenever you hear my special ringtone on your phone. I want to wake you in the morning by shoving my dick down your throat. I want you cradling my cock in your mouth as I fall asleep. You have an oral fixation, and I have an intense desire to satisfy it.”
He nods, looking beautifully dumb and compliant. I’d swear my cock grows another inch just staring at his trusting face.
“This is how you’ll earn your keep around here,” I tell him, tightening my hold on his hair. “And how you’ll show your appreciation for my generosity.”
I pull out almost all the way, then thrust in so deep he gags. His throat constricts around my cockhead in perfect harmony, more satisfying than my favorite Fleshlight and better than a hit of cocaine.
“You’re going to be a good little cockslut, Adam, but only for me. This town is too small for you to be whoring yourself out like a hooker in Griffith Park. People talk, and I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong sort of reputation, not to mention I can’t have you picking up any diseases.” I nod, immensely satisfied with this arrangement. “Yes, between your OCD and my germaphobia, I think it best that mine is the only dick you’re sucking. Same goes for that sweet ass. When your cherry gets popped, it’s going to be my cock and no one else’s.” I yank at his silky ringlets, and he nods furiously, my sweet bobble-headed bimbo.
I make a few more demands and call him a whore and a slut while abusing his velvet throat. I compliment his cock-sucking abilities too, which is sheer raw talent, then I empty my balls down his esophagus, fucking his face until they are good and drained, and my cock is truly spent. I drag his head away slowly, so that a thread of cum dribbles over his beautifully swollen lips and down his chin. I wipe the moisture that’s gathered at the corners of his eyes. So sincere in his desire to please, how is it possible that he’s even more attractive when rumpled and used?
“I’m going to take care of you, my sweet turtle dove, and you’re going to take care of me too. How does that sound?”
“Good,” he croaks, hardly able to speak. “Really, really good.” He glances down at his lap where a wet spot stains the front of his sweats. His spontaneous hands-free orgasm is better than any confession.
“You’ve messed your pants like a little boy,” I say and nudge his groin with my toe. His cheeks are pink with humiliation, a good color on him. “And I didn’t tell you, you could come,” I say with a savage edge to my voice despite my internal glow.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. That was just so… unexpectedly hot.” He gives me his big shelter-dog eyes, and I decide to take pity on him this time.
“I expect you to wear the same underwear for the rest of the day as a reminder that you need to work on your self-control. And tomorrow, when you go to see Jean-Pierre for your acting class, I want you to wear them then too.”
“Why?” he asks with a look of dismay, deepening the groove between his eyebrows. It’s hazardous for the beautiful to be curious.
“Because I want you to smell like semen. Better if it were my own but yours will have to do for now. If I were you, I’d get used to smelling like a dirty cum sock. I have a very high libido.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he says smartly, brazen now that he’s been allowed to come. But that’s okay. I don’t mind his chutzpah, so long as he knows who’s the boss.
“I keep all of my promises,” I assure him.
Chapter8
Adam
Cassius buys me that pair of fuck-me pumps. Patent leather, candy-apple red. He makes me wear them around the house until my feet are blistered and my calves are cramping. He says it’s to help with my balance and grace, but we both know it’s because he’s one kinky motherfucker. I don’t really mind the pain, so long as I get an orgasm at the end of it.
Now, he’s applying red lipstick to my mouth with the precision of an artist, and I’m pretty sure I know where this is headed.
“Are we doing BDSM?” I ask. I’ve been doing some searching on the internet, and Cassius ticks a lot of the boxes.
“There are definite power and control elements to our relationship,” he says, “but I’m not really asking for your consent. I’m just expecting it.”
That seems kind of wrong but okay. “Shouldn’t I have a safeword then?”
He smiles like he’s indulging me. “Sure, Adam, what’s your safeword?”
I’m realizing that I haven’t really thought this through. “I don’t know. How about ‘stop?’”
“That works for me.”
