Snowed In

by August, Adira

  Cam had continued working him with both hands. One finger outlining his asshole, dipping inside and withdrawing to massage and circle and dart in and out: a swift, soft fucking.

  Cam’s other hand stayed on Hunter’s cock, held in the vee of Cam’s fingers running firmly up and over, squeezing the slick head, retreating, stroking to the base. The process repeated. Never tight enough. Never fast enough.

  Hunter’s concentration was on not moving, so every keening groaning guttural sound of his suffering and lust and frustration poured out. Finally the tears ran as his body vibrated with the need to move and the effort to stay still.

  Cam felt Hunt’s legs stiffen, saw his sac draw tight and knew he was about to come in spite of the absence of the tight strokes that he’d usually need to get there.

  Flipping open the top of the cooler, Cam scooped up a handful of snow and slapped it between Hunter’s legs.

  He gasped; his head came off the sheet. The rod came down on his ass and thighs until he shoved his head back down.

  Cam dropped the rod and slathered the icy mess around Hunt’s balls and up between his cheeks, not allowing it to reach and cool the several bright red welts. Instead, Cam spread Hunt open and filled the valley with the slush, forcing it into his hole. In all of this, Cam did not allow the cold to contact Hunter’s cock.

  While his hand and fingers were thoroughly chilled, Cam thrust his thumb into Hunt’s asshole and lightly stroked the bundle of muscle and nerves covering his swollen prostate. Hunter sobbed, and Cam put his free hand, cold and wet, over Hunter’s upturned palms. He wrapped his fingers around Hunt’s hands, kept his thumb inside Hunt’s ass.

  “Slow. Slow down … relax … good job … shhhh … okay … good … good boy …” Cam soothed Hunter until he quieted and his breathing normalized. Cam felt him relax. “There you go … yeah … take a minute … then we’ll start again.”

  Thursday, December 1st

  12:37am

  Cam kept Hunt across his lap for another forty minutes. It was harder to control his arousal the second time. Hunt was primed, swollen, anticipating Cam’s moves.

  Cam retrieved the silky smooth tiger maple buttplug from his bag. He knew Hunter still felt humiliation from anal play, especially when he was exposed to Cam’s sight. He had Hunt fold his arms across his upper chest, to give Cam access to his nipples.

  Alternating right nipple to left, fingers pinching, rolling, flicking the hard, extended nubs, Cam’s other hand twisted, rocked and fucked him with the round, oiled head of the plug. His avoidance of cock and balls kept Hunter from coming while maintaining the frustration, shame in pleasure, and urgent aching need to come that comprised Hunter’s personal cocktail of sexual agony.

  Hunter mewled and huffed, choked and groaned and finally wailed in despair. But he did not move. He gave Cam no further disobedience to punish.

  But Cam hadn’t come, either, and his own erection ached and throbbed. Finally, he pulled Hunt against himself, against his raging hard-on, and ground and thrust. When he was about to shoot, he picked up the rod.

  With every thrust, the rod struck cheeks or thighs. Hunter’s short barking grunts pushed Cam closer until he clutched and clenched. His cum arced up, the thick hot stream falling back onto Hunter’s ass, pooling around the plug, running down his crack.

  Hunter cried out again when Cam removed the plug. But he did not come.

  “Get up.”

  Sweating and shaking, Hunter managed to get to his feet, facing Cam. His shaft was huge and dark red. Cam could see the fast pulse in the swollen vein that ran a crooked path along the side and ducked underneath.

  “Go upstairs. Toilet, douche, shower. Dry your hair. Drink a bottle of water. In that order. Wait for me at the foot of the bed. You understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Cam waved him toward the stairs.

  He waited for a few minutes until he heard the toilet flush. Grabbing his crutches, he went to the downstairs bathroom and stripped. His pants were wet from melted snow, sticky with precum from them both. Cam cleaned up, and when he heard the upstairs shower running, heused his lift chair to get to his loft bedroom.

  It was hard for a Dom to make a powerful entrance getting off a lift chair and onto crutches. Normally, he wouldn’t give a fleafuck about image; his power was himself and he knew it. And he knew Hunter responded to who he was, and that had never changed.

  But tonight, Hunt needed as much Dom as Cam could conjure up for him. He donned his standard jeans and leather belt and white dress shirt: what he always wore at the club. He used the dresser mirror to make sure his hair was it’s usual carefully constructed wild-ass mess.

  He passed on socks or shoes and went to work stripping the comforter and pillows from the bed. He ran the restraint chains up over the headboard inside the corner posts and laid them, with the restraints attached, on the mattress.

  The shower went off, and a few minutes later the hair dryer came on. Positioning himself just inside his gym, Cam left the door open a crack, giving himself a view of the bed and bathroom door beyond.

  Shortly, Hunter appeared in the bathroom doorway—sleek, nude, graceful. He paused for a moment, staring at the bed. Cam had been there. But Hunt hadn’t been told to look for him or think about him or wonder what would happen after the black leather restraints on the white sheets were strapped around his wrists.

  He’d been told to wait at the foot of the bed which was a straight shot from the bathroom door. Hunt walked directly to it and stopped. He had not been told to kneel or face a certain direction. He dropped his head and waited.

  Cam slipped quietly back into the bedroom. At the head of the bed, he laid his crutches on the floor and tucked them under the bed frame. Leaning back against the wall, he crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Hunter.

  “Turn around.”

  Hunter complied without raising his head. His muscled back was unmarked, his well-defined buttocks striped on both sides with thin red welts. There were more stripes on his thighs. He stood perfectly still. Perfectly obedient.

  “Turn around and look at me.”

  When he did, Hunt’s eyes went to the white shirt rolled halfway up Cam’s forearms, the jeans that Hunter knew molded to his ass and loosely cupped his package. He thought incongruously what a good job someone had done with the alterations that hid the cast, but still allowed Cam to get his pants on, while also noticing the prominent bulge next to Cam’s fly.

  An image flashed so real in his mind, his mouth watered: Cam sitting on the end of the bed. Hunt on his knees, precum trickling down his throat. Cam’s fist in his hair, a hand on the back of his neck …

  “At my face, not my crotch.”

  Hunt’s eyes flicked up, and the base carnality and animal need in them caught Cam’s breath. Cam noted the pulse in Hunter’s sternal notch, his stiff cock and wet lips. Cam had wanted so much to spend this time they had together, the time of the storm apart from the world, making love to Hunter Dane.

  He wanted to bind him with pleasures and flog him into ecstasy and fuck him until he passed out.

  Now, Hunter waited. Compliant, desperate and aroused simply by Cam’s appearance. Cam hungered to throw him down and slam into him.

  For a few moments, he gave himself over to a primal hunger so acute he strained the buttons of his fly and his vision narrowed to the tall figure in the lamplight. Somewhere in the dim recesses of his mind, he wondered when, if ever, he would give in to the voracious need to use this man without regard to anything but his own need.

  But this was not that time, if it ever came. As much as he might want it, Cam knew it wasn’t what Hunter needed him to do.

  “Lie face down, as far up the bed as possible. Arms out to the sides.”

  Hunter crawled along the mattress until he felt the wooden headboard against the top of his skull and lowered himself. Stretching out his arms out, he turned his head to keep his eyes on his Dom.

  Cam pivoted off the wall, lean
ing against the side of the tall bed. He strapped the near restraint around Hunter’s arm, close to the shoulder. Slipping two fingers between leather and skin, he checked to make sure the tight band around the lower part of the deltoid above the biceps allowed for blood flow.

  The chain fed through a metal loop on the restraint. Cam took the S-hook at the end and attached it to a link high enough to raise Hunter’s shoulder and arm off the mattress.

  Dropping one knee next to Hunt’s ribcage, Cam leaned over and did the same to the other arm. He opened his nightstand drawer and took out a blindfold. There was nothing Hunter needed to see, and everything to feel.

  Hunt’s head hung down; he had not been told to raise it. The restraints forced his shoulders back and his arms out with no support, nothing to hold onto. The angle of the chains kept him pressed into the headboard. Cam leaned over him and slipped the stretchy black band, wide and soft, over his eyes.

  His personal darkness, anxiety and arousal, acutely attuned Hunt’s senses. The mattress depressing. The drawer closing. A hand under his hip tilted him up. Something placed beneath. Allowed to roll back, his erection slid across a smooth, pliant surface. Plastic or rubber. Something he would slick with precum, he was sure. Something that would sink into the mattress top if he tried to get relief for his dick he was sure would soon be tight to bursting.

  Cam moving over him. The heat of his body close to the skin of Hunter’s back. His voice close behind Hunter’s head.

  “You can move your arms but do not touch anything with your hands. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Hunter said.

  “I only want to hear one thing from you tonight. I do not want to hear moaning or grunting or screaming or any other thing but a single word.”

  This surprised Hunt. Cam always wanted his sounds. And, in fact, refused to allow Hunter to suppress them.

  “From this moment on you only say one thing: my name. Do you understand?”

  Hunt hesitated … then, “Cam.” His head pulled back by the hair. Warm breath at his ear.

  “I am all there is.”

  His earlobe between Cam’s teeth, sucked and pulled and bitten until Hunter cried out.

  “Cam!”

  “Don’t disappoint me, Hunter,” Cam whispered. “You promised.”

  CAM MOVED TO THE END of the bed. He gripped each of Hunt’s legs just below the knee and pushed. Hunter’s legs bent, and his ass popped up. The lift of his shoulders kept his back curved into the mattress, his butt presented, with his asshole facing the ceiling.

  “Hold.”

  Cam ran his hands over Hunt’s backside and down the curve of his body and up the slope of his back. “Beautiful. Remind me to put you in this position when I decide to paddle you, sometime.”

  A rattle of chains was Hunter’s only response as his arms flailed briefly in his humiliation. Cam’s jeans tightened even more.

  He settled on his stomach between Hunter’s legs, making sure Hunt felt the fabric of his shirt against his skin. Being the only one nude, exposed while Cam was shielded by his clothing, would increase Hunter’s sense of powerlessness.

  Cam trapped Hunt’s thighs between his biceps and his chest, locking his elbows in. His hands easily reached Hunter’s buttcheeks. Cam traced the welts with his fingers and was rewarded with a quiver of flesh and the sound of his name.

  “Cam … Cam…”

  Cam spread the smooth ovals apart, lowered his head, and licked Hunter from taint to tailbone with one firm stroke of his tongue. He tasted of bodywash and a musk unique to himself. Controlled by position and submission, Hunter reacted with a deep intake of breath but did not say Cam’s name.

  Cam gently scraped and sucked the smooth skin at the juncture of cheeks and sacrum. He followed the incurved coccyx down and in with his tongue, pressing firmly, knowing the nerves that served every part of Hunter’s ass and genitals, radiated out beneath.

  A shudder ran the length of Hunter’s body; but still, he did not speak.

  Cam smiled into Hunter’s warm skin. Hunt’s resistance only fueled Cam’s excitement, knowing it was an attempt to disconnect himself. A barricade of silence against what was being done to his ass and that he could not stop it.

  Cam allowed no barriers. Hunter would say Cam’s name a thousand times that night before Cam was through with him. He would accept, acknowledge and know.

  Cam raised his head, released his hold and crossed his arms over the small of Hunt’s back. Cam hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Turning his head, he rubbed his bristly cheek over the welts the rod had left. Chains rattled. Cam switched sides and rubbed harder. “I own you, Hunter. Did you forget?”

  Hunter’s body jerked underneath him, his lungs working like bellows. But he did not answer.

  “I guess you did.” He opened Hunter again. His beard scoured the tender flesh inside. Pressing the globes of Hunt’s ass against his face, he rubbed Hunter raw, only pausing to speak.

  “Mine - always mine. ... Every time you clench, every step you take ... every chair you avoid, you’ll feel me here. … Wherever you are ... I own you.”

  Holding Hunt open, Cam covered the deep cleft with his mouth, using the flat of his tongue on Hunter’s asshole, massaging, stroking, circling. Hunter trembled beneath him, but he could not clench while Cam held him in position.

  Hunter’s arms flailed wildly, the tension in his shoulders becoming unbearable, but with his back bowed in, he couldn't risk a power move to get away from the torture of thumbs on skin beaten and shredded and the thrill of—

  His thoughts scattered as Cam’s rolled tongue pushed into him, the silken underside sliding against the interior of his sphincter. The thought was unbearable, of the tongue flicking in and out of—him. The shame was his cock throbbing, pouring hot liquid, wanting it deeper. The feeling of streams of heat and energy along nerve paths into his balls, into his cock, up his spine was ecstasy.

  Everywhere, it was everywhere, he was everywhere inside him, he was-

  The tongue opened, a rougher surface driving in and out, fucking, fucking his - “Caaaammmm!” Hunter cried out the name as submission overwhelmed him, arms slack, he hung bowed and helpless.

  Cam thrust into the slightly sour depths of his sub, curling up, the tip finding a part of the muscle covering Hunter’s prostate. Pulling back, working the rim, thrusting again.

  Hunter wept his name, “Ca-cam … Cam …Cammmm …”

  The litany went on, an eloquent declaration of extreme arousal, a plea for release, an acceptance of Cam’s domination and power.

  Cam angled his head just enough to allow himself to breathe and, keeping his tongue deeply inside his sub, kneaded his sore buttocks.

  Hunt choked on his own breath, and Cam moved one hand underneath to tease his slick glans, rub a knuckle along the underside of his cock, squeeze his balls in a quick tight torment and then gently stroke them underneath.

  Cam worked his sub deftly, knowing what Hunter loved and hated and responded to most deeply, and Hunter cried and huffed and called Cam’s name. Camden Snow was a very strong man, and he kept his mouth and tongue working, his hands moving, his sub insane with need and pain until he feared Hunter would come on his own.

  Cam stopped and moved himself up and over Hunter’s body, dragging his tongue the full length of Hunt’s sweat-salty spine to the nape of his neck. He buried his throbbing length to the root, with no resistance, and unstrapped the restraints.

  Hunter collapsed beneath him.

  Cam wrapped Hunter in his arms and his good leg and his thick strong cock. He rested his cheek against the side of Hunter’s head.

  “Who do you belong to?”

  “Cam,” came the exhausted whisper.

  “Where am I? Say the other words now.”

  “In me … everywhere.”

  “When am I in you, Hunter?”

  “Always.”

  Cam flexed his hips and fucked Hunt slowly, steadily.

  “Cam …” Hunter bre
athed.

  And fell asleep.

  4:30am

  In the pitch black and dead quiet, Cam lay awake with his arms wrapped around Hunter, who had his head on Cam’s chest, an arm around his waist, and one leg thrown over Cam’s thigh. But he breathed evenly, peacefully, deeply asleep.

  Cam didn’t want to sleep; he wanted to be there if Hunter tensed and shifted into a nightmare. Lying there, Cam marveled that Hunter slept so soundly with the prongs of the collar pressed into the side of his neck.

  But Hunt had slept through more than that. After he’d fallen asleep, Cam continued his slow, steady fucking, using his fingers at the base of his shaft to help himself get off. He’d gotten the protective mat out from under Hunt and the comforter off the floor to throw over him.

  Cam went to pee and clean up, wishing again they’d been able to have the simpler, easier, sexier time he’d planned. But Camden Snow was acutely aware that someday, when Hunter was overwhelmed with the care of a Huntington’s patient, he also would wish he’d chosen someone simpler and easier and by that time, surely sexier.

  Cam cleaned himself with a wet wipe and washed his hands.

  As he stripped off his jeans and shirt, he thought if the day went well, there was still time for the kind of snowed-in retreat he wanted. Albeit Hunter’s ass would have to be handled with care. He smiled in the dark, finding his way back into bed. He did rather like handling Hunter’s ass with care.

  He’d no sooner laid back against the pillow than Hunter swarmed over him, remarkably still asleep. Cam had held him close, stroking his hair, kissing him gently on the forehead until he relaxed and his breathing deepened.

  The plan had been to make him come at the end, but the falling asleep aborted that plan. Cam would take care of it in the morning. Something reassuring. Something for Hunter before the last phase of the plan began.

  While contemplating the best way to bring his lover to orgasm, Cam drifted off.

  9:40am