Page 45 of His Incubus Husband

Minutes went by, and Tino didn’t move. Maybe if he were a good boy, Oswald might fuck him after all. Or maybe…

Maybe Oswald had something else in mind.

Tino would wait. His husband wouldn’t torment him for nothing.

He pushed with his ass, letting more slick pour out. His ass cheeks felt cold where his shorts were getting increasingly wetter. The scent of a horny hole slowly filled the entire bedroom.

“Tino, get up.”

His pulse surged, and he jumped up, standing by the bed like a little soldier.

“Yes, my dear?”

Oswald lay on his back, legs crossed, head supported by a mound of pillows, his book open on his chest. He didn’t look up from it.

“I almost forgot. You must go to the downstairs living room and refill the decanters. If my guests can’t sleep tonight, I want them to be able to have a drink of their choice.”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Tino’s heart thrashed wildly, excitement bubbling in his veins.

“Yes, my dear. I will do it right away.”

Slowly, he walked over to the armchair and reached for his robe.

“Leave it. You can go as you are.” Oswald’s tone was cold and resolute.

“My nipples are showing, and my panties are wet,” Tino murmured softly.

Oswald hummed thoughtfully. “Yes. Your hole reeks all over the place.”

“Should I wash myself?”

“I said go as you are. Now,” he said and turned a page in his book.

“Yes, my dear.”

“And be quiet. You wouldn’t want to disturb our guests, would you?”

“No. I’ll be careful.”

“Good.”

Barefoot, wearing only the baby-blue erotic lingerie, Tino padded through the long hall and down the grand staircase. The scent of fresh slick and young, eager flesh drifted with him.

He entered the dark living room and lit the lamp by the bar. He left the gaudy chandeliers off, but they glittered in the weak yellow light of the single lamp. The room stood still, looking even larger when it was empty and quiet. The leather sofas and low chairs were in slight disorder after the dinner party. The alphas had had their drinks in here, and a few dirty glasses still sat on the tables. The staff would come and clean the room early in the morning.

On the bar lining the wall next to the door stood eleven crystal decanters on engraved trays stating the origin and age of the bourbon. They were Oswald’s favorites. He owned many bottles of each, and when one sort ran out, he chose a new one and had the tray polished and engraved with the new name and age. The decanters were only half empty, but Tino would carefully and slowly refill all of them.

He would try to be quiet. Mostly.

The sound of a metal tray clattering on the table could alert the guests to his presence. With what he was wearing and how he smelled, he should avoid being found alone when his husband was reading upstairs. Maybe Oswald was already asleep?

Heart pounding, Tino lifted the first crystal decanter from its tray and set it on the table. He opened the cabinet and pulled out the correct bottle. He had to double-check. He wouldn’t want to embarrass his husband and cause him to offer the wrong drink. Lifting the metal tray, he squinted at the engraving. Yes, he had the correct bottle. He set the tray back.

A loud clang echoed in the empty room as the metal hit the wood.

Oops.