“Hot tub,” he says with a smug smile. Thinking about him and Elliot alone in the hot tub, I am conflicted. Have I invited the fox into the henhouse?
“And what were you two doing in there?”
He rolls his eyes at my sharp tone. “You’re the one who invited him here and left me alone all day. You don’t get to be jealous now.” He yanks off his barely there half-shirt and tosses it aside, not even bothering to look where it lands because he knows he’s not the one who will be picking it up later. Brat.
“I’ll be jealous whenever I want.” I squeeze his jaw so tightly that his lips pucker. “You have five seconds remaining.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” he asks far too brazenly, so I smack him across the face, hard. The result is immediate. His nostrils flare and his pupils dilate with arousal. His golden head dips in submission. “Sorry, sir.”
“Unzip my pants.”
He reaches out to do so, and it’s an effort to free my cock from the confines of my trousers. Long and thick, my birth father assures me this is his one blessing to me. It’d be hard to prove otherwise, unless I surveyed the prisoners and guards where my father is currently incarcerated at Kings County Prison.
“What’d you buy me?” Adam asks, pumping me a few times with a sure hand.
“Something fitting for a whore,” I tell him, and he licks his lips.
“I can’t wait to see it.”
The door opens then because Elliot can’t be left alone for even five minutes or take a fucking hint. Adam turns to look at him, and I grab him by the hair. “What did I say, slut?”
He lowers his face to my groin obediently and takes my dick into his throat, all the way to the root. No teasing, no warmup, just straight to vacuuming my cock, which I appreciate. His blue eyes stare up at me as if asking for forgiveness. Granted. I adjust my posture so I can make him bob on it like a real pro. Elliot watches, eyes narrowed.
“Sorry to interrupt whatever this is,” he says snidely.
“You’re not interrupting.” I tell Elliot evenly. “Adam will be occupied for the rest of the evening. You can have him tomorrow, if he’s not too sore, though I suggest you make better use of your time. Good light, like my patience, is fleeting.”
Elliot crosses his arms but doesn’t offer any reply. I expect him to turn and leave but he only adjusts his posture so that his erection isn’t quite so noticeable. I smile at the absurdity of our situation.
“I saw you hit him,” Elliot snivels, like he’s going to do something about it.
“Stick around and you’ll see much more than that.”
“He’s not an object,” Elliot says.
Adam’s lingual efforts flag because he’s distracted by our conversation, so I fist his curls at their roots and hiss, “If you can’t make me come in the next three minutes, you’re going to be a very sorry slut.” Wisely, he redoubles his efforts, and I say to Elliot, “When you tell Adam to sit a certain way, to unbutton his shirt, to turn his face toward the light, you’re treating him like an object to capture whatever mood or sentiment you’re trying to sell. The difference between you and me is that I celebrate Adam’s utility rather than making him feel ashamed about being a beautiful bimbo with a banging body. Bit of advice to you, Elliot, if you want to get the most out of Adam while you’re here, don’t pussyfoot around. Otherwise, your artwork is going to be fit for a county fair and not much else.”
Elliot offers some snappy retort but I’m unable to concentrate properly because Adam’s efforts are finally paying off. I take his head in both hands and thrust so deep my balls slap against his chin in a harsh rhythm. The edges of his canines graze the sensitive skin of my shaft, and even that is working for me. “Fuck yes,” I shout as Adam’s face turns red and tears slip out the corners of his eyes as if pleading with me to finish before he loses consciousness. “Good bitch,” I praise. Cum shoots like liquid lightning from my dick, coating his throat and tickling his tonsils. “Stay,” I command, and Adam continues to nurse me with his watery blue eyes staring placidly up at me. My ego balloons with a sense of superiority. I fucking own this beautiful cum-sucking slut, my man-whore and future husband. Would I strap him to a bed to keep him here? Break his ankles? Maybe. I can’t really say for certain because I’ve never felt this way about a lover before. Slowly, I realize Elliot is still droning on.
“I’m sorry. Were you saying something?” I ask Elliot, while my hands now play idly in my boyfriend’s jungle of luscious curls. He leans into the touch, practically purring around my softening cock. Adam said they might make him cut his hair for the role of preppy schoolboy. What a fucking shame.
“I said,” Elliot huffs with self-importance. “The relationship between an artist and his muse is a partnership, not a dictatorship. It’s a mutual respect we have for each other, to acknowledge one another’s boundaries and create a safe space for us both to work.”
I nearly laugh out loud. I’m certain that Jonathan, Nikolai, and Louis might offer a different opinion, but pointing out Elliot’s habit of filming his models without their knowledge or consent feels like too easy a victory.
“We each have our own methods,” I say diplomatically and nod at the patio where his empty canvasses are littered about. “Maybe inspiration will strike tomorrow. Say good night, Adam.” I pop him off my dick and prop him up like a ventriloquist’s dummy.
“Goodnight,” he says with the throaty rasp of a true cockslut before I shove his face against my groin again.
Elliot glares at me once more before pivoting with a dramatic flounce. I make Adam spit-polish my balls to give him something to do while I contemplate Elliot’s sexual repression. How much freer would he be if he could only give in to his base desires? How much better would his art be as a result? I’m not generous by nature, but even I can see the benefits to helping out an old friend.
“Elliot needs our help in getting through his artistic block,” I say to Adam when I’ve pulled him off my scrotum like a bloodthirsty tick.
He leans back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the front of his sculpted forearm. His cheek is still pink where I slapped him. Pretty as a picture.
“He’s a little uptight, huh? I tried to loosen him up with drinks, but I think it did the opposite.”
“We’ll work on him,” I conclude.
