"Please what, my sweet boy?” Sammy asked in his singsong voice.
Before Greg could reply, he sank his finger to the hilt in his clutching rectum. The poor man couldn't have formed a coherent thought if he'd been paid, Sammy was sure. He did manage to create some amazing noises, guttural, earthy, just the kind he loved to hear. He turned his hand, pressing his finger toward Greg's belly button. There it was, his prostate, that hard nut of pleasure that he knew would drive the man crazy. He pressed his finger against it, mashing it and chuckled when the man's cock head pulsed in his other hand.
"You're not answering me,” he chided. Another healthy jab at his prostate silenced any possibility of an understandable response and another throb. He stroked the hard nut, all the while polishing the slick crown in his other. He watched as Greg's nuts rose, tightened against his body, leaving only the crinkled sac for his pleasure. “Please what?"
"Oh god, oh god!” he chanted, apparently unable to vocalize more.
Sammy chuckled again, and continued jabbing at Greg's prostate. He altered his hold on the man's cock head, gently running his fingernail along the slit: back and forth, then around the circumference, varying the pressure and the speed as he went.
When he sensed that he'd taken Greg nearly as close to climax without actually letting him fly, he pulled his hands free. He immediately went to the bathroom and washed his hands. Then, he stripped. His plan was coming together, and he wanted as much freedom as he could get. Besides, his boy was free, but he was not. That just didn't seem right.
Returning to the bedroom, he smiled when he saw how Greg was squirming, trying to rub his cock against something.
He retrieved the flogger from its place on Greg's back and flicked it. “For refusing to answer me, five strokes.” Shuffling to the side, he gauged the distance and without another word, he swung. The leather strands whirred through the air, the only warning of what was to come. When the multiple strips connected, Greg's head flew back and his back arched against the sudden pain.
Sammy's strength wasn't great, he knew that, but it was enough to make the flogger sting. Long slender welts appeared across both cheeks from that first stroke. He didn't stop but swung backhand, aiming for the same spot. Another yip and new pink lines sprang to life as the flogger struck.
Greg gritted his teeth. His body tensed against the sharp bite of the leather strands. Three, four and five struck, the sound echoing off the walls and each sending his hips slamming forward. Done, he lowered the flogger to his side and reached for Greg's ass with his free hand. Hot flesh met his. Welts raised and were like tiny snakes writhing against his fingertips. With the flat of his hand, he massaged the hot cheeks, working the heat and pain in.
"Care to answer me now?” he asked, his hand moving from the warmth of his ass down the seam between his cheeks. Touching his back passage, he circled it, then again twisted his finger inside. He fucked him with it, long drawn out insertions followed by equally slow withdrawals. The flat of his palm smacked his ass, hard enough to bring a yelp from Greg.
"Yes, sir, please, fuck me.” Each word fired out hard, desperate.
"Fuck you! But do you deserve it?"
"Please, sir. Yes, please, anything. Please. I need to come. Please."
"You need nothing except what I give you.” Sammy corrected, although he had to agree. A long strand of pre-come dangled from Greg's rock hard cock. Untouched, it pulsed and swung beneath him, tapping at the horse's underside.
"Sir, yes. I know. Nothing but what you decide. Please, sir. May I come?” Gasping out the words, Greg's muscles tensed, as if by will alone he could encourage the right response.
Sammy stepped closer. The tip of his cock brushed the back of Greg's thigh. A rush, like an electric shock made him groan. He wrapped his slick hand around the shaft of his cock and dragged it across the warm fleshed thigh. His balls tightened and he knew if he kept it up too long, he'd be the one to lose control. His thighs trembled as he slid his cock down, then up, the crease of his ass. He found the soft rosebud and gently pushed ahead. He didn't enter, but he did spread the man's hole, which he clenched, tugging at the head of his cock. He gasped, but held still. “Beg for it,” he managed to say.
"Sir, please fuck me. Oh my god, fuck me. I'll make it good for you."
The desperation in Greg's voice was sweet music to his ears. He eased forward just enough for the head of his cock to pop inside the warm dampness of his hole. Both men gasped. Sammy took hold of Greg's hips and refused to allow him to push back. Sweet agony ensued. The gentle clutching of the man's anus around his cock head made him pulse. His gyrations became more desperate, more difficult to control, but control them he did. His balls tightened, and he dragged up thoughts of anything dull to keep from shooting.
"Please, Sammy, dear god man, fuck me. This is driving me crazy,” came the desperate, gruff plea he'd hoped to hear.
Eyes fixed on their joining, Sammy replied, “You beg so nicely. I love a needy man. You'd do pretty much anything now, wouldn't you?"
"Damn you!” Greg cried and strained to push himself back onto Sammy's cock.
Holding tight for several thundering heartbeats, Sammy finally relented and allowed his cock to sink slowly into Greg's anus. Gritting his teeth, he fought to keep from just slamming into the man's hot, clutching hole. He tightened the hold on his hips and much too soon his pubes pressed flat against the still, hot ass. He held still, reveling in the snug fit. He wriggled his own bottom, but had to stop a moment later when he felt his control slip.
"Damn me?” he chuckled when he could take a deep breath.
Greg glanced back at him, smiling. “Bastard. You're killing me."
Sammy withdrew, leaving just the tip inside. “Damn me?"
"No, Sammy, please!” Greg wriggled his ass, obviously trying to urge him to keep going. “Please..."
Relenting, he eased himself forward and began that slow build-up they both loved. Greg was stretched, but he took care not to hurt him. Minutes of careful stroking, and only then did he increase his speed. From the slow easy swing of his hips, to slamming his hips against the beautiful ass before him, Sammy rutted like the two-backed beast they were. The slapping of flesh on flesh echoed around him. His breath came in short sharp gasps, his pleasure soaring. Time stood still, and all there was was the sheer bliss of his cock and Greg's ass. His hands on the man's hips. The harsh breathing coming from them both. That urgency, that breathless ache, his balls churning, he cried out and then he exploded into a million pieces. He slammed ahead. Hips slapped butt, and another fiery stream of come erupted from him, sent deep into Greg's bowels.
From somewhere he heard a scream. The roar of some animal nearby.
Eyes focused, his world returned and he became aware of Greg's voice, his roar of triumph as he too spewed his come, shuddering with bliss at each pulsing ejaculation, the throaty gasp, “Yes, fuck yes.” Sweat covered him. It didn't matter. He laid forward, his belly on Greg's back, the last pulses of his climax answered by the clenching of his ass. Cheek to muscular back, he took a deep, shuddering breath. “Damn!"
He eased out of Greg and quickly pressed his palm against the distended anal ring. It pulsed and clenched, shrinking with each heartbeat. Releasing Greg took only a few minutes. It took nearly as long for the man to find the strength to rise. In that time, Sammy went to the bathroom, returning with a damp towel. He lovingly wiped the lube from Greg's ass and thighs. Tossing the towel into the hamper, he helped his lover to the bed.
Snuggled in each other's arms, he asked, “Are you all right?"
Silence for a moment made him wonder if he'd taken it too far. Finally, Greg answered, “Yeah, I'm fine. That was damn intense, though."
"Yes, it was."
They laid in silence for a moment, and then Greg said, “I love you, Sammy.” He shifted until he could look into Sammy's eyes and then went on. “I hated knowing I loved you at first. Jean needed me. I needed you."
Sammy tried to pull h
im close, but he held his ground. “I've been trying to find the right time and the right words to say this. When Jean was alive, I felt that I should spend all my time with her. She needed me so much, and I loved her with all my heart. I betrayed her though. I fell in love with you.” Tears streamed from his eyes, but he ignored them. “She died, and I should have been there. I knew she wasn't going to last long. I knew she needed me. And I loved her. I loved her so much."
"Greg, it's all right,” Sammy said in a soft voice. He stroked the man's hair and hugged him as close as he could. This was it. This was why Greg had been so quiet and haunted. He felt guilty for falling in love while Jean had still been alive. “You can't order the right time to fall in love. Jean was unconscious. She wouldn't have known if you were there. For the last two weeks of her life, she wasn't aware of anything but the drugs. Honestly, you didn't take anything away from your love for her."
Greg pulled away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows on knees, he lowered his head into his hands. “I betrayed her. I was with you."
Sammy scampered around to sit beside the weeping man and once more put his arms around him. “You didn't betray anyone. Don't you think she'd have wanted you to be happy?” He took Greg's chin in his hand and forced his face up, his eyes to focus on his. “She was so worried that you'd be alone. We used to talk about that when I first took her case. She knew you better than you know yourself. You're not the kind of man who does well by himself. She worried you'd bury yourself in grief. I think she'd be very happy that you found someone."
"But—"
"But nothing,” he interrupted. Leaning forward, he kissed the tears from those blue upon blue eyes. “I love you, Greg Jackson. And, I was so afraid you'd never be able to say those words to me."
Blinking back his tears, Greg looked as if he was going to deny what he'd said. He didn't though. He cleared his throat and said, “I do love you, Sammy. I can't believe how lucky I am. First Jean, the only woman I've ever been able to love. And now you."
"Yeah, now me. The flaming gay in the purple suit."
Greg chuckled, a soft uneasy laugh that he couldn't keep up for long. “Yeah, I love you. Flaming gay and all, Sir."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Continuing Education by D. Musgrave
[Back to Table of Contents]
Also by D. Musgrave
Blood Creek Haunting
"The War Within” from
413 Remembrance Lane
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Chapter One
Stephanie pulled to a stop at the flashing red street light. It was the only traffic light in town and was the hub of activity for Birch Grove. She loved the feeling of connectedness, living in a small town. The only real drawback was the limited choices that Birch Grove provided—not only in shopping, but in companionship. Still, it was more relaxed, more comfortable, than her years in Chicago. It also helped that the number of students in her English classes were smaller. She had more time to spend with each student and could make a larger impact on the kids’ lives.
Driving through the intersection, she glanced in her rear-view mirror. What she saw nearly caused her to veer into the parallel-parked cars lining the street. Steering back into her lane, she glanced in the mirror again. This time she was sure. There was only one car like that in the area—Nicolas Adamson's.
Nicolas was the most talented student she'd ever had. Despite his rough edges and boyish reluctance to let his friends see his writing abilities, she saw through his insecure machismo. She'd managed to break through his façade and helped him flourish as a senior in high school. His talent had earned him a full scholarship to St. Louis University, based solely on his writing portfolio.
It'd been four years since she'd seen the black 1970 Chevelle. In that time, Stephanie had managed to convince herself that her attraction to Nicolas Adamson was purely academic. Seeing that hot rod in her mirror brought back all those fantasies she'd pushed away. She couldn't see his face through the glare on his windshield. Still, she imagined how he must have changed in the time he'd been away at college.
Repeatedly glancing from the road to her mirror, she felt the familiar tingle between her legs. It made her thighs shake and nearly caused her to mash the gas pedal to the floor. Never once had thoughts of any other man produced such an effect. There had been men, for sure. Many who were willing to give up everything for her. She always came to the same conclusion—if she didn't feel it, it wasn't going to last.
Another intersection came up and Stephanie slowed to a stop. There was no cross-traffic, but she didn't drive through. She knew that once she did, Nicolas would turn to the right and disappear. The ring tone of her cell phone made her jump. She pressed the answer button.
"Steph? Where are you?” It was her best friend, Eva. “I've been waiting for thirty minutes."
"Sorry,” she stammered. “I'll be there soon. I got distracted.” With a sigh, she drove through the intersection. She stared in the mirror, barely hearing Eva's rant.
"We only have a few hours before the party. I know you want everything to be perfect."
Stephanie curtly replied, “I said I'd be there soon.” She cut the connection. Driving away slowly, she watched Nicolas’ car. It stayed at the intersection longer than she expected. She mentally willed him to follow her. He didn't. The black Chevelle turned right. She saw him looking at her through the driver's side window, and then he disappeared behind a hedge row.
Sighing, she looked back to the road. Focus, she told herself. Hosting the monthly Black Forest Dungeon club party was a huge deal and she had a ton of things left to do.
The rest of the drive to the house in the country was a blur. It was all she could do to keep from constantly checking her rearview mirror. All the fantasies she'd managed to suppress, came flooding back. One above all else was the most jarring—Nicolas, dressed in nothing but a leather harness, his face buried in her crotch.
* * * *
Stephanie checked herself in the full-length mirror one last time. The leather bustier pushed up her breasts perfectly. It made her B-cup breasts look like they were at least a C. Her hair was pulled back tightly in a neat bun. Not a single strand out of place. The dark eyeliner and bright red lipstick complimented her strawberry blonde hair.
She smiled and walked out of her bedchamber into what had once been the basement of the old farm house. It had been transformed into a full-blown BDSM dungeon—an exact replica of the one where she'd learned her craft in Chicago. Not only had she earned a degree in English, she'd learned she was a Domme, and discovered the comfort of her dominance.
Stepping onto the dais, at the far end of the dungeon, she settled into her throne. She glanced at the ornate wall clock. It was almost time for her guests to arrive. She knew they wouldn't be late.
As if her thoughts had signaled the guest's arrival, the doorbell for the dungeon rang. No matter how many times she'd heard the recording of the huge cathedral bell, she still got a chill.
Stephanie assumed a stoic pose as a line of her guests formed to her left. It consisted of Dominants with their submissives at heel. Some of the submissives were clothed, some naked. Many of the Doms wore differing accoutrements of leather, but some were dressed in expensive business suits.
She crossed her legs, the black leather boot shone in the light from the wall sconces. Eva took the cue and stepped to the front of the receiving line. She stood to the side of Lady Stephanie's throne and began her task of announcing each person. As each approached the dais, the submissive would kiss the toe of her boot, and the Dom would kiss the black onyx ring on her right hand. Being the Grand Mistress had its perks.
Her mind drifted as each couple paid their respects. The reading of the names faded into a general buzz. Even with her eyes open and her head nodding, her mind returned to thoughts of Nicolas. She imagined him, kneeling on the empty pillow to the right of the throne. He would be wearing a leather harness and matching buckle collar. S
he pictured his body glistening with a light coating of oil. It was the fantasy. The one she'd thought was gone from her mind.
A soft touch on her left shoulder jarred her from the mental movie playing in her head. She glanced at Eva. The reception was done. Eva smiled. “Lady Stephanie, the guests have been announced."
Stephanie nodded and uncrossed her legs. She stood and scanned the room full of her guests. Everyone was in the same places they had been the month before, and every month before that. She smiled. People were such creatures of habit, even in BDSM play. “Welcome, and thanks for attending the Black Forest Dungeon Club's monthly social. Tonight we have a special celebration. The spring equinox is approaching and in honor of the natural event, our harem of unattended submissives will be presenting a ceremony in honor of the season."
Polite applause filled the room and Stephanie waited patiently for it to die down. She chided herself for feeling less than excited about the evening's events. She prayed her indifference wasn't obvious. Looking to Eva, she nodded and took her seat. The wall sconces dimmed, leaving a single fixture in the middle of the dungeon's ceiling, glowing. It looked like a full moon, creating a circle of light on the floor.
A hushed murmur spread through the audience and Eva paused, letting the sound fade. When all was silent as night, she pressed the remote control button for the stereo. Soft music flowed from wall speakers. It was New-Age music infused with the sounds of a forest teeming with wild life, chirping birds, the rustle of leaves in a breeze, and the baleful howl of a lone wolf.
Stephanie sat back in her chair, letting the comforting music infused with the mating call of the wolf, flow through her. From the edges of the room, several women dressed in wolf costumes, danced around the circle of light. They tentatively touched the circle, but remained out of its glow. Slowly approaching from the far side of the room was a man dressed like a male wolf. He stalked around the women, stopping behind each to sniff.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. VI Page 19