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Even The First - PART SEVENTEEN
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Even The First - PART SEVENTEEN
Feeling Vince's hands on my skin made me feel like I was his special doll. And when he touched my hole and let his wet finger play with it, the electric feeling made me want it so much ... it was all I could do not to moan like a baby fox cub sensing it's daddy has caught meat.
"What's this?" said Vince suspiciously, noticing, at last, where the edge of Nigel's whip had cut a pale web of red and pink zebra stripes across my back. Although they still hurt, what with one thing and another - the distraction provided by being held firm by Vince - I had ceased to be aware of them. Vince said, "Let me see. Stand up. Come into the light."
I was reluctant.
"Do's you're told."
I did as I was told, unhappy to leave the warm and private comfort of his crotch where my face pushed up against his stomach and the folds of his soft fat gear. He led me by backing me towards the open kitchen door through which a dramatic flood of daylight flowed into the curtain-drawn lounge. He examined my back thoroughly, my buttocks and the backs of my thighs, tracing the feathered lines of Nigel's whip, every inch, finding every mark and blemish, noting the heat of soreness where he touched it.
"That hot? You've certainly seen some action recently. Another man has done this to you? Jeezz, who did this? This is serious stuff. This what you're into? D'you like that? Jeezz. Extreme, man. You into this? This what you into?"
He smoothed his hand across the surface of my back, picking up the ridges of each small welt.
"D'you ask for this?" he said. "Man, this is stupid. Are you crazy? Are you an idiot? Who'd let someone do something like this to them? Fuck this."
He continued tracing the marks, examining me like I was an unfortunate specimen in a clinic. Now he saw the lines on my arse. Then he held my cheeks apart to examine my anus for damage, spitting and rubbing on it with his finger; his touch sent an involuntary spasm of pleasure through my body that made me desperate. Desperate to be penetrated. Desperate for his meat.
"Is that sore?" he asked, clinically. "No, Sir. A little." "Hmmm ..."
Apparently not noticing my excitement, he turned his attention to my legs, the backs of my thighs where Nigel had also beaten me with the short crop, and my calves where he had not. When he stood up to examine my arms I felt his cock brush against me, rock hard. Now every touch of his hands on my skin excited me further, but he seemingly ignored the evidence of this, my quiet moans and still shallow breath.
"Wow. Man, you really are stupid. Why'd you let people do this to you? You must enjoy it I guess. Do you? Does that excite you? Does it turn you on?" His talk was quiet.
I didn't speak. I desperately wanted him to fuck me.
He continued searching me, turning me in the light, commenting on my wounds. "Oh you poor thing." He led me into the kitchen where a Formica table occupied the centre of the room. I stood there whilst he continued to stroke and examine me, touching me and stroking me and bringing me alive.
"How'd'you let someone do that?" He asked. "No seriously, tell me."
He sat on one of the kitchen chairs and pulled me into his lap. I felt silly, being the bigger of us but with his cock hard and forcing up underneath my legs, I was so aroused ... With one arm round me and the other playing with my chest, he kissed me. "You turn me on, you idiot," he said with a smirk. He lit a cigarette and smoked it, looking at me thoughtfully. "You know you look great but these marks, to think of you tied up and some guy beating you ... man. But it turns me on." He kissed me. "Turns me on, thinking you'd like that, like you'd like me to do that. Would you?" He took a drag. I didn't answer. "Mmmm so sexy. I'd like to fuck you right here in the kitchen, over the worktop." He took a drag and laughed, his left hand gripping my flesh, holding me steady. "Why don't you then?" I asked. "Seriously? I doubt know where you've been man. Your shitter might have had all sorts. How do I know?" "I'm clean, I promise," I said. "Yeh I know, but there again," he took a drag, "I don't know, do I? not for sure." "Aren't you willing to take a risk?" I said putting my hand on his face and kissing him whilst he exhaled slowly into my mouth. "Man ... it's just that ... I've had enough of all that disease and clinics and stuff." "Please," I said, "don't say ..." He took a drag and smiled. "You want it dontcha? You want my cock. You should see your face. You're classic. Classic fag. So hungry for it. But you're not the one in control here." He took his cigarette from his lips, drawing it brightly, and held its glowing tip close to my nipple so that it heated with a small glow of orange-red. "Want me to?" he asked. I didn't speak. He grinned and took another drag, and then again put the tip close to my rock-hard nipple. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to flinch - but I didn't want to get burnt. Just when I could feel it, just when I thought he was going to stub it out on me, he took it away and took a final drag from it before thumbing it out in an ash tray on the floor. I felt relieved, and disappointed. "What'm I going to do with you, hey? You're jus'so ... vulnerable. You take everything so seriously. How'v'you survived? "You're weak willed aren'cha? You've got exploited. Why'd'you let it happen? Don'cha think you gotta fight back, babes, take responsibility? That's the thing: You don't fight back. How'd'you make it?" "I didn't make it," I thought. I said, "I didn't make it." "True. You let people walk all over you. You let yourself be owned, like a machine. You were just a fuck-boy, somebody's plaything, weren'cha?"
He stroked the stiff tip of my nipple and then kissed it. Then he kissed me; the kiss turned into a snog and, still snogging, he slid me off his lap down onto the hard Lino floor. I lay on my back, admiring him, his he's white body, his narrow features and determined stare, as he knelt between my spread knees wiping spit onto his dickhead and rubbing it up the gap of my arse between my leg and my balls, against my hole, testing it. I wanted it so much. I was moaning again like a cub. "D'you want it yes? Yes?" "Yes," I said. "Ye. Want daddy's prick up it's shitter. Want it up your shitter?" he asked, massaging his poke with one hand and my hole with the other. "Yes Sir." "Yes what?" "I want your poke up my shitter, Sir." "You think you deserve it? Have you been good?" I didn't answer "I'd like to own you. Would you like that?" "Yes Sir." "Bet you would. Would you like me to own you?" "Yes Sir." "Bet you would." He stared at me like that for some time, then he said, "Pity."
By now his prick was standing up even harder that I had ever thought possible, and I was staring at him, watching his eyes as he stared at me, rubbed it, rubbing his spit into it, and I was just waiting for it. He leaned in and snogged me again, his hard dickhead brushed against my crotch, and then he was pressing it in and rubbing me with it.
"You like that," he said. "You like daddy's cock, don'cha." I said yes. Then he snogged me some more, laying the full force of his body against mine, gripping me in his strong arms and letting me wrap my arms and legs around him like we were two animals playing in the forest.
By kissing me he made me feel like I was better than other men; more attractive, more valuable, more fuckable.
"I want you to ..." I said "... I want you to fuck me ..." "Hey man, who's in charge here?" said Vince.
He grinned, like he wouldn't fuck me after all, then said, "Spread." I lifted my knees up to my chest and spread my legs wide presenting myself for him openly. He pressed one hand down on my thigh, steadying himself, and with the other he held the hard tip of his dick down and fed it into my anus, shoving it, closing his eyes and directing his face towards the ceiling like he was having a religious experience.
"Oh God. Oh God," he said as he proceeded fucking me. "Oh God that's good. Oh I love this."
His banter was silly.
Feeling around and squeezing my scrotum and down to my hole, sliding his prick in against his fingers, and spreading my legs and then removing and then re-introducing the pointed tip of his erection into my arse - I think he spat on it - he worked it inside me quickly and began riding hard. Spreading his hands all over me, sometimes he knelt up and jabbed consistently, but mainly he was arched over me, like a plank, pressing down on my neck with one arm, choking me, with the other supporting himself on my chest, griping one pec like a woman's breast.
"I guess you like that," he said.
I couldn't speak. But I liked that.
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END OF Even The First - PART SEVENTEEN
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