by Zoe X Rider
Sitting up straight caused the bottom of the metal tube to press into the seat cushion, which caused the other end of it to press into his groin. And the fucking teeth inside were starting to irritate him like a bitch even when nothing was pushing on it. He leaned back against his arms, nudging his crotch forward.
“What’s up with the fake dick anyway?” he asked.
“Teeth,” Cris said. “I don’t want yours sinking into mine.”
Nicky let out a blunt laugh. Yeah, he’d do that. Right now he’d even volunteer to do that. Teach the fucker a lesson.
“1:26,” Cris said.
Nicky stole a look toward the dildo. Rubber or silicone or whatever it was, it wasn’t dick at least. And by the time he was done with it, it was going to have teethmarks. Maybe Cris could fuck people with it later, the gouges giving extra pleasure.
Jesus, as long as he didn’t fuck him.
The only sounds in the room were the beats of Nicky’s breath and the tick-tick-ticking of seconds going by.
It was just a hunk of rubber. He’d put worse in his mouth before.
Fuck it.
“Start the clock,” he said.
Cris grinned. “1:27 it is, then. On your knees.”
He slid to the floor in front of the couch. His bladder felt full again—urgently full. He shifted his position, trying to ease the emergency. He tried not to watch Cris’s fake cock approach but couldn’t pull his eyes away. Then it poked him, cool, insistent, and a little tacky, in the cheek. He turned his eyes upward.
“Go on. Open your mouth.”
He tilted his face away from it. Silicone or latex or whatever, it felt pretty degrading regardless. He pushed his hands against his forearms and tried to slip his wrists free.
“I thought it might be difficult for you to get started.” Cris slipped the belt he’d brought in from his shoulder and fed its end through its buckle to make a loop. The belt had holes all the way down it. Little white glimpses of Cris’s shirt flashed through them.
When Cris moved to slip the belt over Nicky’s head, Nicky rocked back out of the way.
“No fucking way.”
“You’re a dog, Nicky. Act like one and eventually you’ll get treated like one.” He grabbed him by the back of his hair and yanked him forward to slip the loop over. Leather slid past his eyes, nudged his nose, scraped his chin, and then it was around his neck. He breaths grew quick and tight as Cris snugged the leather against his throat. Cris’s knuckle bumped his throat as he buckled it in place.
The free end he wrapped around his fist.
Giving a gentle tug, he pulled Nicky’s face near his crotch. Near the black bobbing monster.
He pushed its head against Nicky’s sealed lips.
Nicky shook his chin away, glowering up at Cris. The muscles in his neck tightened against his new collar.
“There aren’t any hidden cameras,” Cris said. “No one will ever know about this. Just let go and do it.”
“Let go of what?” Nicky snarled. “My fucking sanity?”
Cris gave the belt a sharp tug. “Do I need to stop the clock again?”
Nicky set his jaw.
The fake cock bounced up and smacked him in the cheek.
Fuck.
He glared at a spot in the room somewhere beyond Cris’s left hip.
Cris gripped the dildo in his fist and dragged circles over Nicky’s lips. The dildo’s surface tugged at his skin.
You will pay for this, motherfucker.
“Clock stopping in three…two….”
Nicky lowered his jaw. It took work, like hinges that hadn’t been used in years.
The bullet-shaped cock bumped his teeth.
He squeezed his eyes shut and willed his jaw to drop further, but then his tongue rose up and barred the way, getting its first taste of the bland smoothness of the sex toy.
Cris’s fingers tugged his hair.
Opening his eyes, he looked at Cris’s thumb wrapped over the top of the cock, looked beyond that to the leather harness holding the strap-on around his hips, Cris’s silk shirt puffed and creased around it.
He wished he had his hands. He could do this, almost, if he had his hands. If he could control it.
“Just let go,” Cris said quietly.
Stifling a grunt, Nicky forced his tongue to drop back. The cock bumped dryly over his lips until it was in his mouth, its weight resting there. It had weight, a surprising amount of solidness for a ridiculous-looking sex toy that bobbed and waggled when it was loose.
Nicky backed his tongue toward his throat, protecting that area, but Cris didn’t push in. He drew his hips back a little, teasing the cock out until its head rested on Nicky’s teeth.
He prayed that that would be all there was, but Cris eased his hips forward again.
“Come on, suck it.” His voice was thick. It was that thing that got all the girls going.
Jesus Christ, it was the exact thing he’d husk into the microphone. Come on, suck it. The chicks going crazy, and probably half the guys too.
Saliva pooled under his tongue. The corners of his mouth were damp with it. His upper lip, though, was drying in the room’s air. He had a goddamned rubber cock sitting in his mouth, his upper teeth balanced against it.
Cris’s fingers dug into his hair. “Suck it.”
Damn it. Closing his eyes, he rolled his lips down over his teeth. The cock tugged as it pulled back, then pushed back in, but his spit was starting to slicken the head up. He pulled back far enough to wet his lips, and then Cris pushed back in—farther this time. Nicky’s tongue rose up, fighting it. His teeth pressed against its sides.
“Yeah, that’s it. Now show me how you like to have your dick sucked.”
His breath hitched. Fucker. His toes curled in his sneakers. Pain flashed in his groin where the metal tube confined his thickening cock. Fucker. He would not let Cris manipulate him into getting turned on by this. With a growl, he sunk his teeth into the dildo.
“So uncouth.” Cris pulled back, but Nicky clenched his jaw and held fast.
Cris jerked his hair, hard. Then harder again.
With his eyes watering from the sharp pull, Nicky twisted his teeth around the cock like a dog on a bone and pulled his body back, bringing Cris with him. He let go, finally, sneering, and turned his head to flick flecks of rubber from his teeth.
Cris hauled back and punched him in the mouth.
That, he had not expected.
He shook out his chin. Licking his lip, he tasted blood where Cris’s ring had cut flesh. It stung, but his pride stung harder.
Cris grabbed the leash and jerked it forward. “That’s not how we do it. Try again.” Grasping the back of Nicky’s head, he shifted the pockmarked dildo to Nicky’s face again. “I’m not going away.” He twisted his wrist until the leash pulled taut, dragging Nicky’s neck almost against his hip.
The cock lay across his cheek. He tried to turn away, but the only way he could was into Cris. His split lip throbbed. “This is some fucked up shit,” he said. His cheek moved against the dildo’s strap.
“You’ll wake up tomorrow wishing you could do it all over again.”
“Go fuck yourself.” His knees dug into the floor. He shifted, but Cris’s hold on the collar kept him from going far.
Cris’s hip bumped his head. The dildo pressed against him.
“Suck it like you were made for it,” Cris said lowly.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Cris dug his fingers into the back of his head.
Shit. He turned his forehead against Cris’s hip, chewing the inside of his cheek. His dick hurt. It wanted out of that tube. And right now, if Cris produced the goddamned key, he didn’t think they’d be able to get it off. Images of his swollen cock, trapped in that metal casing, flashed behind his eyelids.
His dick crammed in there like one of those Chinese finger traps.
Somehow the thought of not being able to get his cock out of it didn’t help the situation on
e bit. He bit into his cheek as his cock tried to wedge itself in tighter.
He moved his arms, his hips, trying to take his mind off it, but it only made the metal teeth bite into him, which brought his thoughts right back down there. It was one big aching throb, like a toothache in his groin.
Cris let up a little on the leash so he could nudge the dildo against his mouth again, making the sting in his lip blossom afresh. He stared at the glossy black shaft. Beyond it, he could make out a bulge in Cris’s trousers, pushing against the strap-on.
The tube got tighter. His cock and lip pulsed in tandem.
“Nicky?” Cris said.
Fuck, he wanted this to be over. He swallowed thickly, feeling the swallow against the belt at his throat, and that didn’t help any, either. “What?” he rasped.
“Do this, and I’ll take it off you.”
He lifted his eyes.
Cris cradled his chin, his thumb stroking his jaw. His hair had slid forward. Those soul-eating eyes had darkened—softened. “Suck the strap on,” he said, “then I’ll go get the key.”
“And the rest?” He moved his tightly strapped arms.
“The rest comes off at one twenty-six...or in the morning before I check out, depending on how cooperative you are.”
Or he could not cooperate and wear this thing for the next fucking week. He didn’t think he could wear it for the next ten fucking minutes without losing his mind. He pushed his forehead against Cris’s stomach.
And airports—what about airports? His blood chilled as he imagined Cris refusing to remove the thing for the security check-through. The fucking wand beeping in front of his crotch. The pat down. The “What do you have in here?” and “Please accompany us behind the screen.” The stifled laughter. The Internet posts spreading like wild fire.
He wanted the thing off. Yesterday.
His dick tried to get thicker. The steel walls of the tube pushed back. He clenched his fists and bit down on his own teeth. “It fucking hurts, you know,” he said with the fucking dildo pressed against his jaw.
“So, I imagine you want it off sooner than later.” Cris stroked his hair. Kneaded his shoulder.
Fuck.
His cock pulsed, like a limb losing circulation. He wondered if you could get a gangrene dick from this.
He twisted his wrists as far as they would go in the belts.
“Well?” Cris said.
“Fine.” His chest felt like he had a steel band around it. He couldn’t draw in but shallow breaths of air. “It’s a deal. You’d better not fucking break it.”
“Scout’s honor.” Cris held two fingers up.
Nicky drew back, and the dildo moved in front of his face. He stared at it, panicky all of the sudden. “Cris?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t move it, okay? Let me do all the work?”
He waited for an answer.
“All right.” His voice almost wistful. “If that’s how you like it done to you.”
He didn’t know about that; he just knew he didn’t want that thing shoved down his throat. He wet his lips, looking at it. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth. He slid his tongue under the head and closed his lips around it. His split lip had swollen. It was almost like a knot pressing against the hard rubber.
Shutting his eyes, he began to work the head, getting it slick with spit, sliding it across the curve in his tongue....always reversing direction before it could make it anywhere near the back of his throat.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Cris murmured. “Show me how you like it done.”
The steel teeth dug in. He squeezed his eyes shut harder and tried to think about their itinerary for the week. Michael’s toiletry line-up. Anything but what he was doing. The actual act of sucking the dildo wasn’t so bad—kind of like sucking a spit-flavored lollipop. He slid his tongue under the soft curves of the head, then engulfed it. The ache in his lip was like touching his tongue to a battery terminal, and he found he didn’t mind it. He tightened his grip on the cock, feeling the knot beat like a heart. He sucked as he pulled back, breathed as he pushed forward, twisted his head to reach different areas of the dildo.
“Yeah,” Cris breathed. “That’s it. That’s it.”
Please stop fucking talking. Because that was a problem. Cris’s voice made his cock try to jump in the metal tube, and when it did, the teeth bit in harder. Wincing and taking the cock back into his mouth, he wondered how long he’d have to do this for. He should have negotiated that shit. He began counting in his head, as a distraction and to set a limit: If Cris didn’t stop him before he reached twenty-five strokes, he was calling it quits. Fuck him. He pressed against the bottom of the shaft as he slipped up it, and hollowed his tongue around it as he pushed forward. Fifteen, sixteen….
“Fuck yeah,” Cris said. “Suck it like you mean it. Suck it like you fucking love it.”
Taking as much into his mouth as he dared, he made a tight seal and pulled, drawing Cris’s hips forward, drawing Cris onto his the balls of his feet.
Twenty-three....
He did a quick stroke, then a long lingering one. Then he let the head slide off his lower lip as he sat back onto his heels.
“Wow,” Cris said quietly.
Nicky cocked an eyebrow.
“All right. A promise is a promise. Back in a sec. I need to get some shoes on.” He unfastened the strap-on as he wandered back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, he emerged, black biker boots treading across the carpet. He had something dangling from a hand. Straps hanging from something in his fist.
Nicky didn’t like the look of this at all. He pressed back against the couch.
Dropping behind him on the couch, straddling Nicky’s shoulders, Cris held a black rubber ball in front of his face.
His gut doing a summersault, Nicky ducked aside. “What the fuck?”
“I have to go to the lobby to the get the key.”
“And?”
“I have to leave you here.”
“I’m not fucking going anywhere.”
Cris sighed. “Play along.”
“You’re changing the deal. That wasn’t in the deal.”
“Who’s in a position to modify the deal?”
“What’s this fascination with shoving things in my mouth?” Nicky asked.
“I don’t want you nosing the receiver off the hook and calling anyone,” Cris said. “Open wide.” He brought the ball closer. “I’ll only be gone five minutes.”
“And then you’ll take this off?”
“Right away. Cross my heart.”
Nicky made no move.
Cris said, “I could be halfway to the lobby already if you weren’t sitting here arguing with me.”
“Fuck you,” Nicky said, but after a long scowl, he straightened. Cris put the ball against his mouth. After drawing his lips back for one last grimace, he let his jaw muscles relax. Cris pushed the ball into his mouth. Nicky made a soft chh sound as Cris’s knuckle hit his lip. His tongue licked the ball’s underside.
The straps pulled at the corners of his mouth.
He bit the ball, clamping it between his teeth.
As soon as Cris finished fastening the buckle, he swung off the couch and strolled toward the door. “Back in five,” he said with a wave.
“You fucking better be,” came out as “Oo uh-ig eh-er ee.” What he wanted to yell was, “Don’t fucking leave me like this.” Fear had a hold of him by the balls. His forehead broke out in sweat as the door latched shut.
And he felt fucking ridiculous, trussed up in leather with a ball forced between his teeth.
He slid his legs out from under him and leaned against the couch. The glass of wine mocked him from the coffee table.
Fucking Cris. If he hadn’t shoved this thing in his mouth, he could get at the wine, even if it meant sucking it out of the carpet fibers. And the wine—the wine would help keep the panic at bay.
He couldn’t choke like this, could he?
What if he th
rew up?
From where he sat, he could see the clock. Three minutes passed, slow as shit. He tried pulling his hands free. He leaned his chest against his knees and hoped there wasn’t a line at the front desk. He wanted the fucking thing off. Both fucking things. His attention drifted back to the wine glass. There were a couple swallows left. God, what he wouldn’t give for them.
He sucked at the ball, trying to keep from drooling all over himself. It didn’t do much good. A weird, sickening thrill worked its way through the deepest parts of him. He was helpless here. Even if he could pick up the phone and dial someone, he couldn’t tell them to send help. He shifted a little to look for the phone anyway. There it sat, next to the couch, its coiled cord dangling over the side like a cat’s tail. He crawled forward a little, and the effect was like heaven and hell all at once: the chafe of the metal teeth, the compression of the tube, the weight pulling on him—all while little hits of hot pleasure shuddered through his groin. The confusion, packaged up with a heavy dose of fear, stopped him right where he was.
He bit down on the ball to try to swallow, staring at the phone. Knowing it was useless. The swallow reminded him he had a belt around his throat. He could be dragged around the floor by it, forced to try to keep up with his knees.
Another shudder of pleasure rocked him, and he wasn’t even moving.
A soft, choked noise came up from his throat, guttering out against his tongue.
After a few, another choked noise squeezed from his throat. He closed his eyes, head bent. Cock aching.
A soft snick came from the door.
He cut his eyes toward it, watched Cris walk back in.
“Ready?” Cris asked, flashing a tiny key as the door fell shut.
Nicky wanted to growl, put on a bluff show, but he didn’t dare make a sound for fear that it would be another one of those choked sobs.
Cris got behind him and unbuckled the gag.
Nicky spit it from his mouth as soon as the straps loosened.
The impressions the straps left behind dug at the corners of his mouth.
He dragged fresh air into his throat.
“You need to stand up for the rest,” Cris said. He helped Nicky to his feet, where Nicky tipped his head back, his tongue exploring his mouth, thankful to have its freedom back.