And then we’re at the bar again. A bottle of water this time. Cassius nurses me like a baby and most of it dribbles out of my mouth and splashes onto my naked chest, sizzling against my skin. There are a few other men around us, and they laugh too, probably at me, but I don’t care. I feel so good, so high, so beautiful, cut like a diamond, razor sharp and gleaming. Cassius speaks to them in his low, even rumble, inviting them back to his house for a private show. There are body shots next, cool liquor being poured down my throat, tongues on my chest, tickling my nipples, tracing up and down my spine. Someone squeezes my ass, and I want their hands on my dick. It must be my own fingers groping me then because Cassius slaps my hand and tells me I’m not allowed to touch his property.
Then the mask comes off and the harness too, and we’re back in his car with the top down. The wind feels good in my hair. Refreshing. I’m sticky all over from the dancing and body shots. Sweat and saliva clings to my skin like the humid valley air.
“How you doing over there?” Cassius says, his hand cupping my cock and balls through the thin fabric of my shorts.
“Fucking fantastic.”
“I invited some people back to our place for the afters. They want to see what the most beautiful man alive looks like when he comes.”
“Bomchickawahwah,” I laugh, giddy and wasted.
And then we are in the hot tub, naked—Cassius and a few other guys who are all tattooed and aged by hard living. Bikers or maybe biker-adjacent. They have scars and beards and hungry eyes. Will I be sucking them off tonight? Cassius always follows through on his promises. They touch me all over, squeezing and prodding, tugging on my dick, massaging my balls, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough. It feels good—so fucking good—just what I needed, to be desired, to be adored.
“I need it in my mouth,” I say, and then my face is shoved down to Cassius’s groin. I inhale his spicy scent like it’s a line of cocaine, then blow him for an infinite amount of time while he sits on the edge of the pool chatting with the other men. Their deep voices go round and round, maddening because why are we talking when we could be fucking? Cassius is holding court, and I’m his cock-sucking cum dumpster. I come once in the water from the influx of sensation, but I don’t say a word. I keep that shit to myself. He must figure it out though because he grabs my soft dick and reprimands me, calls me a greedy whore, and I laugh while trying to repeat the wordwhorein his posh accent.
And then I’m bent over at last with Cassius inside me, fucking me good and deep.Raw.The word echoes in my mind while he electrifies my entire nervous system. My skin writhes like a snake over muscle and bone, shedding itself until I’m nothing but meat. Not even a body but a whirlpool of heat and sensation. There are other noises too, of skin slapping skin and wet sucking sounds. The men are jacking themselves or jacking each other. Someone else has a dick in their mouth. Another man is bent over getting railed from behind.
“Twinsies,” I say to him, and he giggles like he’s high on helium. We’re organisms in a tidal pool trying to breed before the tide comes in. So much semen, we’re practically swimming in it. I must say that out loud because Cassius laughs heartily so that his dick jumps inside me and promises to shock the jacuzzi tomorrow.
My orgasm, when it comes, feels like it’s ripping me apart from the inside, and my brain goes offline for a while. When I come back to, I’m lying naked in Cassius’s bed and he’s feeding me small squares of dark chocolate. Bitter and sweet, it melts on my tongue and slides down my throat, and I think to myself,I prefer the taste of your cum.
“That was fun,” Cassius says, and the sound comes from all around like an echo chamber, so loud that his words are all I can hear.
“Did I get the part?” I ask. Eyes on the prize.
Cassius nods, smiling like a madman. “You nailed it, my love. You were the star of the show.”
Chapter13
Cassius
How do we express love to one another?
Is it through long, overly saccharine monologues delivered from beneath a balcony under the pale light of the moon?
Is it diamond trinkets from Tiffany’s and flashy new cars?
Is it enduring yet another tedious holiday with your beloved’s toxic relations?
Or is love arranging an impromptu orgy with a few friends? Getting my boyfriend high as the Sierra Nevada, making him feel truly beautiful and desirable, then ravishing him in front of an audience of adoring fans? Cooking my fucked-out future husband a gourmet breakfast while he sleeps off his hangover and then delivering it to him in bed, alongside a blowjob?
“Damn,” he says right after ejaculating in my mouth. “Good morning to you too.”
I rise and point to the glass of orange juice on his tray. “I squeezed that myself, so I expect you to drink all of it.”
“Yes, sir,” he says with a smug smile. “Did last night really happen or did I only dream it?”
“That depends. What do you remember?”
He recalls the events of the night before, more or less in their correct order, and classifies our guests as bikers, which I can see how he might have drawn that conclusion.
“They were leather daddies and a couple of house twinks. Do you remember their names?”
“Tom, Dick, and Harry?” he says with a grin, though there were actually six of them, not three.
“Close enough. They signed non-disclosure agreements, so you don’t have to worry about the press finding out.” That’s the only way to do it these days. Even before Adam, I made all my fuck buddies sign NDA’s. One can’t be too careful.
“When did they do that?” he asks, mentally reviewing his timeline.
