Oscar B.A. Chapter 20
It's obvious what happened next: Harry came back into his room and right back into my life.
Not that he'd really left.
For a fleeting moment, as I'd climbed the twisting square stairway to our dorm floor, my body still aching in places I didn't know could ache, I'd had a taste of freedom.
Told myself that greater things were on the horizon and Harry and I were done. A mantra repeated, over and over until I'd believed it, ensconced in Aston Martin leather.
Richard: the only man for me. Me: finally doing the right thing.
But, when Toby had opened the door, seducing me with undeniable logic and carnal beauty deep inside rich, hazel eyes, I'd cast away my good intentions quicker than he'd dropped to his knees.
And by the time I shot a thick, white line across Harry's reddened hole, Toby deep inside his throat churning spit into glistening, falling tendrils, I'd convinced myself not to worry. That the plates spinning wildly above my head weren't about to fall and crash at all. That I could keep them twirling.
Don't be such a pussy. You can do this. Everything will be fine.
Better than fine. As the three of us fell into a naked, sweaty heap on Harry's single bed, our bodies entwined like thicket, our scents hot and heavy on the air, I realised:
I can keep Harry.
Have my fun with his slim, twinky body, tight, nineteen-year-old hole and keen mouth, and then let Toby take over when it all gets too much.
I'd be free to pull random excuses out of my arse to make the most of every moment with Richard, safe in the knowledge Harry was being kept preoccupied by our charming new friend.
A decision that grew and grew, strengthening by the second, as my balls refilled, Toby and I swapped places, high fiving each other on the way, and the three of us began again.
This will work, I thought, my legs jolting as Harry sucked my cock clean of its white, whipped-up lube and arse-juice coating.
I can have my cake and eat it, I decided as Toby took position and slid inside; my cum his lube.
He'll be none the wiser, I convinced myself, staring down at Harry as he gazed up from all fours; his body shaking to the rhythm being drummed into him from behind; his bright blue eyes rolling to the back of his head; his mouth full; his fist beating between his legs.
That Sunday night, me, and Harry well and truly shagged out, Toby stayed over. The three of us smoked weed and chatted about how excited we were at the prospect of being a thruple, messing around with idle hands and mouths until Harry called a time out, rolling onto his back, red, sore and full.
Eventually they fell asleep and I stumbled back to my room, an extreme exhaustion never felt before weighing down my bones and muscles until I collapsed onto my bed, passing out within seconds.
A niggling feeling in my stomach writhing. Easily ignored. Way too tired.
Over the following week, the three of us met up four times. Twice too many for my liking but each one necessary.
Both Toby and I needed Harry to believe I wanted Toby there. Needed him to believe I would be ok if the two of them hung out without me because Toby's such a great fucking guy with absolutely no ulterior motives whatsoever.
Worked a treat.
As Friday and my dinner with Daddy Dick rolled around, Harry was so busy giggling in Toby's arms, streaming South Park and eating takeaway pizza he didn't even notice I'd left his room to get ready.
And the worst part? The more he fell for our ruse, the less I cared about him. The more blinded he became, the less respect I could scrape from the bottom of the barrel.
Pathetic.
Changed into my favourite fuck-me jeans I threw my shirt over my shoulder and walked back next-door. Stood topless in front of them both – their faces lit up by the laptop screen - and moisturised mine with Harry's more expensive brand. Spritzed myself with his aftershave.
Still completely oblivious.
Pulling on my tight, forest green polo I pictured myself in his position and almost laughed. Couldn't comprehend how quickly and readily he'd been and was willing to swallow our bullshit.
All so he could ignore reality.
Harry didn't seem to care that his boyfriend was all dressed up for a late-night study session, or wonder why he would be gone until late the next day. Didn't think to ask what I was studying for or why I wasn't taking a bag with me.
In my eyes, Harry had already changed from the annoying twink I occasionally enjoyed, to a foolish, weak little boy who deserved to be strung along. Someone so scared to be alone they didn't care who they used.
He's as bad as me.
`Right, that's me off,' I said, happy with my reflection after a final half-spin in the mirror above Harry's sink.
`Cool. Enjoy your books,' Toby said, his devious stare locked on mine, above and behind Harry's head.
`You going already?' Harry said, lifting his head from Toby's chest and frowning.
`Yup. Got to dash.'
`Wish you didn't have to go,' he said, reaching out both his arms but not moving an inch; his eyes fixed on the screen.
`Me neither,' I said, leaning down and planting a kiss on his cheek; my stare still glued on Toby.
I mouthed the word "enjoy". Toby winked and lifted his hand before rubbing the tip of his middle finger against the tip of his thumb. Rolling my eyes, I nodded and stretched back up into Harry's view.
`You two have fun.'
`Oh, we will,' Toby said.
`Pics,' I said before turning on my heels and leaving.
In the car park, I heard Richard's car before I saw it, grumbling like an almighty beast.
Under the late spring night sky, it was practically invisible, bar its thin red lights and dimmed headlamps. In the driver's seat the silhouette of a broad, tall man with a thick head of hair turned toward me.
Right on time.
Running up to the car I yanked open the passenger door and threw myself against the warm leather. Instantly reached up and around Richard's after-shave-scented shoulders, pulling him in for a long, hard kiss: tongues and hands exploring as much as they could in such luxuriously cramped confines.
`Someone's in a good mood,' he said, thirty seconds later; the car already dark again.
`I missed you,' I said, the excitement of merely being in his presence making my cock pulse rock hard between my legs.
`So have I, boy,' he said, reaching down to his crotch, undoing the top button of his jeans one-handed and pulling open his button-fly in a single movement until his white cotton-coated bulge was in full albeit dimmed display.
Then, without a single word, he put his hand around my neck, dug his fingertips so hard if I hadn't been gagging for his dick it would have hurt, and pulled my head down until the sweet scent of fresh underwear swamped my nostrils.
`Hope you're hungry,' he said.
Then for the next fifteen minutes he drove, and I blew. Didn't see, or frankly give two short shits where, just sucked.
Sucked and slurped and swallowed rushing spit as his huge, dustbin lid hand stayed firm on the back of my head, keeping me out of view and stretching my throat wider and wider; every second a glorious, jostling dream.
It wasn't until the car stopped, the engine cut and, with one last ruthless push he forced every inch of himself inside my mouth, did I return to earth.
Groaning deep and loud he blew, no pull out, straight into my stomach, forcing me to swallow every hot drop before I wrenched my head back, spluttering for air.
Sat up right in my seat again, my cheeks red, my hair a mess and my windpipe clogged, I noticed we were in a car park.
`Wow,' Richard said, tucking his cock back into his undies and doing up his jeans in the dark of the car. `You're amazing.'
`Thanks,' I tried to say, coughing up a wad of his load before opening the car door and spitting it onto the gravel outside.
The car light burst into life, illuminating every line of Richard's strong, handsome face. He looked worried.
`You alright?' he said as I slumped back and shut the door.
`Fuck yeah,' I said, wiping my mouth and fixing my hair in the flip down mirror; another, yellower light brightening my red face as the main bulb faded out. `Just got you caught in my throat, that's all.'
`Sorry handsome,' he said, his hand back on my neck but half the strength as before. `I haven't blown since I last saw you. Couldn't resist. Hope it wasn't too much.'
Chuckling I turned in my seat and smiled my most devious smile. Said, `Daddy can fuck my mouth whenever he wants.'
Grunting and smirking he said, `Good boy.'
`Is this Fennuccio's?' I said, my focus now on the string of gold fairy lights above the entrance to a large nineteenth-century manor house lit by expensive lighting at the far end of the car park.
Nodding he made a noise like he approved and said, `It certainly is. Have you been before?'
`No, but I've wanted to go for a while,' I said hiding my excitement; the Michelin-star restaurant I'd dreamt of being taken to ever since I'd learnt it existed looking better than I'd hoped.
`Excellent,' he said, his tone irrefutably devilish.
`Oh yeah?' I said, turning in my seat for a better look at him; my eyes now adjusted to the darkness.
`Mmhmm,' he said turning to face me and running the back of his hand down my left cheek. Then he took hold of my jaw and twisted my head to the side. `Yesterday ... I was thinking about what I wanted to do to you.'
`Anything,' I tried to say, my neck and shoulders relaxing under his grip.
Submission rolling. Chills rushing down my spine. My balls throbbing. The saltiness of his load lingering on my tongue.
`I decided I'm going to treat you to the finest food and wine in the county. Take you home and ply you with cocaine.'
I moaned quietly. Said nothing.
`Then,' he said, leaning in so close I could smell the toothpaste on his breath, `You'll earn it ... I'm going to use you like a fucking whore.'
The last sentence, whispered into my ear, fired shockwaves of sordid pleasure through my body, into my groin and up my already solid cock.
Without moving he dug his fingers deeper into my face and kept talking: `I'm going to tie you up and tenderise you with the back of my hand until pain and pleasure become one and you beg for more.'
Then, for a full second, a flash of something animal flickered across his eyes and his grip on my jaw flared painful. Fear and panic tightened my chest like a blast of icy wind but, before I could register it, he let go, smiled wide and real and kissed me soft and kind.
`Wow,' I said, frozen in place by surging chemicals; fear and panic now a fizzing beat in my groin.
`What?' he said, reaching to the back seat and scooping up his jacket.
`You're so fucking hot.'
Dinner was delicious, even though the portions were laughably tiny.
Not that I was surprised. Fennuccio's was one of the fanciest restaurants in all of England with prices to match, so the food was always going to be a poncey gastronomical joke opposed to a proper feed.
But I wasn't complaining: if Richard was going to do half the things I was fantasising about, an empty-ish stomach was a bonus. Not that that stopped me from ordering three courses with matching wines.
Everything about the meal was just as I'd imagined. Stylish, smart and succulent. Richard loved that I loved it too. Ate up my appreciation like the guinea fowl on his plate.
Ravenously.
In his eyes I was a sexual object, there's no denying it, but the more we talked the more he began to see me as something else. Like I was no longer just a fit lad he'd found on Grindr, but a diamond in the rough.
I could see it in the way he smiled and laughed and touched my hand now and again. Or in the way he nodded approvingly at my food choices, genuine, appreciative surprise in his eyes.
How he would lean in slightly and look at me without saying a word; a kind smile growing across his handsome face.
And, even though there were times when I wished he would shut the fuck up, blathering on about his annoying sister or the day he'd had in the office, while still giving no real indication to what he actually did, I felt something too.
As I gazed at his espresso-coloured irises, pretending to care about what Janice had let slip at the photocopier about the top secret deal he couldn't tell me about, I couldn't stop thinking what a great couple we would make.
Thought about the holidays he could take me on or what it would be like to move into his apartment. About the life we could have together and the parties we'd throw.
Two hours later, buzzing from four lines of cocaine the size of garden slugs, sat naked on his bed, I still felt the same. Smiled to myself as thick, itchy brown rope was being tied around my wrists so tight there was no hope of escape.
Grinned at the thought of waking up with him as he stood in front of me, fully dressed in the outfit he'd worn for dinner: dark blue jeans and a white shirt showing off every muscle and bulge of his body.
Then he took off his watch and placed it on the bedside table. Cracked his knuckles. Cracked his neck. Reached out both hands and placed them on my shoulders.
Said, `Do you trust me?'
`Of course,' I said, the words leaving my mouth before I realised I'd said them.
`Good boy.'
Then, raising his right hand across his chest until his fingers and thumb were in line with his head, he beat me.
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