Page 11 of His Incubus Husband

His vision was blurry. He saw movement and light, but the shapes tumbled and glittered, not making any sense.

His cock was in heaven, though.

Slick heat slid up and down his length, and even though he could barely move, his limbs weighing a ton, the sensations were blissful.

Spreadeagled on a soft bed, his cock in the best place, he groaned and grunted. Small hands stroked his chest, cupped his balls, caressed his thighs, and the silky flesh loved his cock, up and down, up and down, faster and slower, always to the root.

He whimpered when the heat was gone, air cooling his wet shaft.

“No…” he mumbled.

Then something sweet-smelling brushed his lips, and he opened on instinct. He sucked like a babe and moaned when creamy milk filled his mouth.

He drank, his hard cock aching.

All too soon, the delicious teat was ripped away from him, and he whimpered.

But his cock was in heaven again. A tight hole massaged it, an even tighter channel pulsated around the crown, his knot began to swell, and Oswald lost himself.

For the rest of the long night, he didn’t regain full consciousness. He was trapped in a mindless state of desperate arousal, knotting into the sweetest hole of all so many times he should have been wrung out and dead.

The last thing he remembered was a drawn-out swollen nipple deep in his mouth, big like an animal’s teat. A blue-eyed angel gazed down at him, smiling. Fingers carded through his hair, and he sucked like a baby, filling his belly with the magical poisonous milk. His chafed dick hurt between his legs. A soft hand caressed it, and he whined, sucking harder…

When he woke up late in the afternoon, he ached all over as if he’d run a marathon. The bed was a mess, with the pillows strewn across the floor and sheets stained with bodily fluids. The room smelled of rut and heat.

The creature that called himself Valentino was long gone.

2

THE BENCH

Dirty Dick’s was a seedy club, living up to its name. It sat near the docks, between two dilapidated warehouses and behind a squat building of unidentifiable purpose. It looked like a place where you could score drugs or lose a kidney.

When a beautiful young omega entered on a Thursday afternoon, every eye in the room watched him make his way to the bar.

“Can I speak with the owner?” he asked the bartender. The man stared with his mouth open, then he jabbed his thumb to the left.

A tall, bearded alpha rose from behind the counter. He wore an open checkered shirt over a dirty tank top, revealing a sizable belly. He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned over the countertop. His beady eyes ate up the omega with undisguised lust.

“That’s me. How can I help you, gorgeous?”

The owner’s name was Robert Emanuel Shortle, but he went by Big Bobby. He’d run the underground club for nearly a decade and had gained quite a reputation. Balancing just on the edge of what was legal, he offered the raunchiest, riskiest entertainment and services, everything from BDSM live shows to private orgies. Compared to the more upscale establishments downtown, the performers at Dirty Dick’s were exposed. There was no separate stage and no security. Just a circle in the middle of the room made up of alphas who were used to touching and taking whatever and whenever they wanted.

“I’m looking for work,” the omega said, pasting on his most seductive smile.

Big Bobby licked his lips, his eyes on the boy’s nipples in the transparent top. “I don’t need more personnel.”

“That’s not the kind of gig I’m after. I do live performances.”

Big Bobby threw the rag into a sink and rounded the bar.

“Follow me to my office.”

The cramped back room held a torn faux leather sofa, two metal chairs, and a narrow window, barred for security. The air was thick with the stench of stale cigarette smoke and mold. Only the desk was impressive, a solid piece of carved wood—left behind from the golden old days when this place served as an illegal gambling joint.

Big Bobby sat behind the desk and folded his arms on top of his belly. His uninterested sneer was fake. He was drooling into his beard.

“Your name?”