Taste of Power by: Krazytop Note: Erotica is not a how-to manual. If you don't know, it's always best to ask. ;p ---
Part III
"I'm not sure I should be doing this."
The warmth from his muscles flows into my palms.
He smirks at me, leaning back against the couch, pulling me with him. I fall between his pectorals; the tight, sweaty skin rubs against my face. I pull my head back and breathe, but the sweat infiltrates my nose. I close my eyes and focus.
"The others think we should shun you—that you could never be one of us," Chris says. "But I just think that's cruel."
"And this isn't?" I ask.
I knead his thick, supple pectorals, feeling them rise and fall in my hands.
"If it is, you can choose to stop—can't you?"
I slide my hands through his abdominal hills. Warmth and life emanates from his body to my fingertips, and then back again.
"I'm not sure," I say. "If you wanted—could you stop trying to impress your friends? Could you go to school wearing a dress and a flowery bonnet? I dunno if you can be free when you are so predictable. How do you know for sure that you have any control at all?"
Anger flashes in his eyes, displaced quickly by levity. "Shut up, bitch."
I look at him. Calmness invades his features; he seems himself again. The fuzzy cusp of hair at the edge of his neck makes little spindles of light that fracture in the air. His golden brown eyes are shimmering. Those dimples make me shake.
Chris grips the back of my head and makes me look into his eyes. "You need some kind of demonstration...of control?"
He sinks deeper into the couch, pulling me with him into his chest. I'm afraid to move. My heart is thumping so hard it hurts. I don't know if I could move out of his grip if I wanted. Why is he doing this to me if he, especially if he is straight? Why is he getting mad?
"Travis—are you in love with me?" he asks.
Time passes. I'm not sure what to do.
"Yes, Chris."
"May I ask why?"
"When you walk into a room, the atmosphere lights up like fire. You have a spirit—a will—that is so contagious, so pure, so consuming, so timeless—that it makes me melt into you. And when that happens--I just want to be part of what you are."
"Even though you question my control over my own life?"
"I question everything, Chris," I say. "But despite everything--you are one of the nicest guys I know."
Chris laughs. "I would say—I am just nice enough so that people let me be mean to them."
He pauses before he continues.
"Let me be clear, Travis. I fuck girls, not guys, and having you even thinking about me like that undermines who I am. Everyone thinks I should beat you half to death. I'm barely nice enough not to heed their advice. And you are going to tell everyone I did beat you up. After today, you are to never come back here or talk to me like that again. But before you leave, you get one chance. It's now or never."
"One chance at what?"
He grabs my hand and slides it down his chest, through the gorge of his muscles, and slowly places it against his shorts. I feel the pole strengthening underneath and resist the urge to gulp.
I feel my frustration mounting. Chris talks like his life is planned, like he is some clever minimalist, but really he just doesn't understand himself, and thus doesn't really understand what he is doing. What does he mean that he is straight? What if his girlfriend saw him now?
I don't know what to do, but my gut tells me to play along.
I lean in and suck on his chest. "I want you, Chris." I taste the salt.
I feel his hand grip the back of my head.
My tongue slips into his belly button; my lips drag across his abs.
"You don't have to win me over, Travis. You can just--go for gold."
"It's all gold," I whisper.
He chuckles, holding me into his flexing chest.
I feel around for the button on his jeans. He rises off the couch and his jeans start to slide down.
I can feel his cock hardening under his white silk boxers. I stare at it, frozen in place. He grabs me by the back of the head and smears my face around the silk. I nuzzle into the fabric enveloping his pole, and we rest like that for a time, waiting for someone to make the first move.
He pets my hair, cajoling me to take the plunge.
Finally, I drag my tongue up the silken shaft. I suck softly.
"Fuck," Chris whispers.
I look up. Chris's tongue is at the corner of his mouth. He bites it softly. His eyes look like molten clay; anger flickers within them again. His eyebrows bend.
I find the waistband of his boxers and stretch them away from his body. His cock flips out. I gulp. I pull his boxers low enough so that his balls are exposed.
"Like what you see?" Chris asks, chuckling. He pulls me into him, smearing his balls over my face.
I lean in and suck them one at a time, my tongue rolling gently between them.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Chris says under his breath. The heat from his cock is pressing into my forehead.
I swallow the sweat off his balls. It tastes like rare meat. I suck softly and moan. My hands find his flexing ass but he bats them away, making a clicking noise.
Chris leans back and his big cock slides down the side of my face slowly, massaging my cheek.
"Blow me."'
I open my mouth and Chris's left nut slides out. I stare into his cock. It sinks under its own weight, pointing at my chin. The tip looks like a fat pink light bulb. Instead of a filament, there is a slit, and it's leaking.
My heart is running so fast I can't tell the beats apart anymore.
I circle my hand around the shaft and pull it into my open mouth. I close my lips around it and suck.
"Oh fuck," Chris growls. His knees buckle.
I focus on that beautiful head. I siphon the precum out, sucking slow and swallowing. I roll my palm to jack his cock, pumping more precum into my mouth. The sweet glaze ensnares me. My eyes fall closed as I moan.
"No hands, asswipe," Chris says, slapping my hold away again. "If I wanted to jerk off I would do it myself. I want some fucking head."
I pull off slightly. "How am I supposed to get you off?"
"You figure it out," Chris growls. He puts his hands around each side of my head and pulls me in. I gag. He pauses. I look up. His eyes have narrowed so that they reflect less light and hold more shadows. His smile is gone. His tongue sneaks out and plays with his top lip. He raises his eyebrows and I see the fire in his eyes again.
"C'mon, Travis," he says. "Awaken your dreams."
I moan. My throat opens and more of his cock climbs inside.
Chris's voice rolls deep. "Yeah," he snarls. His grip tightens on my hair.
He slides his cock in till his balls slap my chin. "Fuck yeah," he whispers.
I gag again and he holds me there, waiting.
"That feels good," Chris whispers.
My contracting throat slows till it's just a vibrating passage. His cock slides in and out freely.
Chris chuckles. Sparks dance across my skin as I hear the joy in his voice. He laughs again, massaging the back of my neck playfully.
"I can't believe it!" he says triumphantly. "My whole cock. No one..." He starts pulling out and slamming in faster.
"Fuck yeah, cocksucker," he growls. His voice softens. "Fuck yeah."
His balls smother my chin, the sweat running down my neck in beads that bulge into strands as he goes on and on.
The world is interwoven fire and darkness. My eyes fold into his abs, then blind in the light. I feel dazed, lost, spun into Chris.
He snarls. His grip on the back of my head tightens. He starts slamming in harder now. I can hear his balls splattering against my moistened face. It stings a little.
I whimper.
My sweat mingles with his as it drips down my body.
His hands migrate from the back of my head to my shoulders, which he softens like butter. He finds the front of my neck, tracing the imprint of his cock there and making me gag again.
I look into his eyes, determined not to pull back. The light in the gold moves calmly at first—then it grows, glinting, sparking. I want to make him smile. I want it more than anything.
I suck and swallow, using my tongue to circle his shaft and to help draw it in.
"FUCK!" Chris shrieks.
He grips my hair again, twisting it hard.
Suddenly, I am at his mercy.
Chris pounds my face, chafing my throat. Harder, faster, fire, darkness, mind, body—all belong to Chris—to his moment.
The smell of his sweat is hanging in the air. I bask in it.
"Oh fuck," he growls. "You're fucking unreal."
I whimper as his pace begins to race my heartbeat.
He snarls and flexes; his pectorals grow mammoth; the sweat shimmers on his sculpted golden body.
I trace my hands over his muscles, making him shudder and soften and buck into my sucking throat.
With a jolting burst of power, he throws me off of him. I topple onto the floor on my hands and knees.
"Chris," I whimper.
"Don't you have any fucking discipline? I said NO HANDS, ASSWIPE. Do I need to tie them up?" He smirks at me.
I say nothing.
Chris's eyes change as he looks into mine. He starts laughing again. "Wait...you want me to. Does that turn you on? You really want me to take over, don't you?"
My mouth opens and I shake my head slightly. "This is pretty much as turned on as I get."
"Don't lie," Chris says, brushing my lip with his thumb.
He steps out of his clothes completely, and for a moment, I marvel his naked body. "I'll be back in a minute," he says, shaking his head at me. "Strip down to your boxers."
Chris disappears behind the bottle racks. I peel off my clothes, my mind numb. The precum stain in my boxers is so big it looks like I pissed myself. I feel cold. I shiver, flexing and shifting for warmth. I stay on my hands and knees, determined to stare at the couch until I hear him return.
He's carrying twine. He gets down behind me and pulls my hands behind my back. "Tell me if it hurts," He whispers. His breath on my ear makes me shiver.
He wraps it around my left hand, looping the twine under, then does the same to my right. Finally, he ties them tight, double-knotting them. He pulls the other end till my skin is pinching. I whimper.
"It's really tight," I say. "It hurts, Chris."
I feel him breathing at my ear again. "Good to know," he whispers. He tongues my ear and I scream out. He covers my mouth and I suck on his palm softly.
"You are my fucking bitch," he whispers.
I nod and kiss his hand.
He stands up and circles me. My thighs are shaking.
When he stops, I am awestruck at the man before me, who appears golden in this light.
The perfect fuzz of his hair; the glittering eyes, lit like amber now; the contorted eyebrows, raised like crowns above them; the smile stretching wide, bent with passion; the dimples, little imprints, like ripples of power at the edges of his face.
His pectorals rise as he breathes, glinting with rings of my drool, and casting a shadow on us. In it, I see the sweat glitter on his abs, the sheen stretches upward, over the lines of definition on his biceps, and into the fuzz of his pits.
I swallow.
My gaze drifts to the well-trimmed fuzz below his navel. From it protrudes the scepter that commands my attention.
My eyes half-close. I groan as I lean in. Chris catches my head with one hand and I swallow at air, whimpering, as he deprives me of his cock.
He laughs again.
"I don't know Travis," he says, his voice growing dangerous. "Maybe I should just make you leave now."
"No," I whine, my voice cracking.
"Why not?"
"Because I love you," I say softly. "Because you are my dream guy. Please, Chris."
"Now you are begging?" Chris says, his eyebrows bouncing in a flash.
My breathing is uneven. I sink to the floor and kiss his feet.
"If that's what it takes," I say. I kiss up his leg. I cringe as my movements strain my wrists. I try to hold them still. I curl my tongue out towards his balls but he pushes my head away with his hand.
I'm shaking. I won't cry. I'm not pathetic.
"Please, Chris. Please let me be your bitch."
Suddenly Chris's breathing cracks through his nose—like a dragon cycling fire. "And when you dream about being my bitch—how does the fantasy go?" he asks.
My heartbeat is wild. I don't know the first thing about talking dirty. I look up into Chris's eyes, then down his gilded, flexing body. I catch my breath--and improvise.
"I want to clean every inch of your body with my tongue," I whisper. "I want to worship you all day and all night. I want you to use my holes for your pleasure whenever you want."
"Holes?" Chris asks.
I bite my lip and nod.
My voice breaks again. "I want you to put your pleasure above mine. I want you to push me to my limits. I want you to surprise me."
The words rattle out of me. I don't even know if they are true, but they feel right.
Chris looks at me, his eyes blazing.
"You sure you want that?"
"Please Chris," I whimper.
"Please what?"
"Please fuck my holes. They soften at the thought of you. Please Chris. Please make me your bitch. That's why I wrestle in the first place—I want guys on top of me---dominating me, emasculating me. Every time I see you work out--I wish it was me you were pumping. I want you. Please Chris. Please stud. Please be my dream guy. Please let me get off on your hot body, on your hot soul. Please. Oh god."
I look into his eyes. I can't stop the single tear from running down my cheek.
"Please," I whimper. "Please. I'll never disobey you again. I deserve this pain in my wrists. I need to learn how to obey a guy like you, Chris. Please teach me how to be your bitch. Please."
I feel Chris's hand run through my hair.
I fall into his feet, kissing them, muttering `please' between marks. He lets this go on for minutes, and I get lost in them.
Then, suddenly, he flips me onto my back and collapses on me, pinning me in an instant—and snarling. I'm powerless, my hands tied behind my back; all I can do is writhe around, while he shows me who is in control.
His warm, sweaty body envelops me. He slides up till his cock is at my chin. He flexes his arms and looms over me, his cock swinging over my face.
"Open your mouth," he says.
I obey.
"I'm going to do some push-ups," he says, his tone of voice hanging low.
He bends down and his cock swings close. I kiss the head. I close my eyes and moan at the taste, swallowing immediately.
He is hanging above me again, waiting.
I remember what he is waiting for. "Please," I whisper.
He does another slow push-up and I catch his cock in my mouth again, briefly, before he pulls it out again.
"Please Chris," I whimper.
Another push-up. Another taste of his cock.
"Please," I say softer.
Another. I crave his leaking cock; I suck desperately when it falls into view.
"Please," I say, my voice breaking.
Another. He teases me, dropping his cock into view but pushing back up before I get at it. I kiss at the air, moaning.
"Oh please," I say. "Oh please, Chris. Please make me your bitch. Please fuck me."
Chris gets up suddenly, then lounges on the couch again, his legs spread wide apart. "Crawl over and get it."
I awkwardly roll to my stomach, taking two tries to rise to my knees. Unable to put any weight on my hands, I almost fall forward. Somehow, I steady myself, shuffling toward him, nuzzling between his legs.
I lean forward—and wrap my lips around the bulb of his quivering cock.
Chris snarls, grabbing my head with one hand and humping my face without restraint. Without mercy.
"Fuck yeah, Travis. This can't be good for my ego. Knowing I'm--your fucking dream."
I close my eyes. Sweat pours out from Chris's body. I wish I could suck it down, but I'm occupied. I can't beg anymore. He isn't giving me time.
I'm a hole--I'm a bitch—I'm a goddamn territory.
He owns my body; he owns my soul.
Shouldn't he have a bit of an ego?
I moan.
"Fuck yeah, cocksucker," Chris says.
His balls are hurting my chin, his abs flex tight around my closed eyes; my wrists bruise; I'm stiff on my knees in nothing but my boxers.
"Fuck," Chris growls.
I can feel his flexing muscles press into me from all sides; his palms harden around me; his biceps curl tight; his pectorals hang above me; his abs are in my face.
"Fuck," he says again. In my mind's eye I see his face. That stupid fuzz, those golden eyes, those perfect teeth, and those hidden dimples rising. A touch of pride makes me warm, that I could be the one to make that boy smile.
Chris is snarling again; his grip tightens on my hair; he pounds in again, and again, and again.
"Fuck yeah, bitch. FUCK YEAH."
His grunting and growling grow louder; he slams in and out so fast and so hard that it hurts; the friction flays and makes me feel alight; I am lost in the light and darkness; I am lost in the hot sweat; I am lost in the god above me.
FUCK YEAH! I'm close, Travis."
He collapses; his cock is balls-deep in the throat he opened and claimed. I close in on his cock, smacking my lips around the shaft in anticipation.
I steal a glance up into his soft brown eyes, that take on an amber glint as he grins from ear to ear. "Be a good bitch—swallow."
His balls draw up, then slowly, I feel the power. One, two, three, four; I lose count; the sweet, strong taste fills me. I drink down all I can; the rest leaks out onto my face. I swallow over and over. When he stops shooting, I suck what I can from the head and moan.
He lets me hold his cock in his mouth for a while, running his fingers through my hair with one hand, using his cum as finger-paint with the other. Eventually my face has a mask of cum.
His cock slips out.
"I love you, Chris," I say softly.
He squints. He looks at me like he has never seen me before.
He gets up to his feet, flicking some of the sweat off his body with his fingers.
He pulls me up by the twine still around my wrists.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
He pulls me to the cellar door, kicking it open.
"You are going to make me leave like this? I am in nothing but my boxers! My hands are tied!"
"I can't have you thinking I am nice, now can I?" Chris says, flashing a half-smile. The anger returns to his eyes again.
"Please Chris," I say. "I can't be found like this. This isn't funny."
Chris's expression softens. He bites his lip, like he is considering. Then suddenly, he pushes me outside. "I have a girlfriend, Travis. You knew what you were getting into. You knew it wasn't real...just a fantasy, nothing more."
"Chris," I whimper.
"Begging isn't going to work this time," Chris says. "You have to learn that I am not the guy you think I am. I can't be with a guy. I just—can't."
The amber tinge appears in his eyes again and he brushes through them with his knuckles.
"Good luck, Travis," he says softly. He shivers slightly as he closes the cellar door.
The reality of the moment hits me. I'm cold; I'm outside; my hands are tied; I'm in nothing but my stained boxers.
I see the forest up ahead and I sprint until I am under its cover.
I try not to let the panic hit me. Chris isn't thinking straight. It's not his fault. He's confused. He's not a cruel person, not really.
I feel warm thinking about his smile. It soothes me.
I'm going to figure this out. Not just being mostly naked in the woods at night—but the real problem.
I hear Chris's voice echo inside my head. "After today, you are to never come back here or talk to me like that again. But before you leave, you get one chance. It's now or never."
I am going back, goddamn it. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, or the night after.
Chris will love me.
And whatever he does—I'll just make the best of it.
--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com