“Talk to me, Nicky. Body language is nice...” Squeeze. “It's very nice.” Bigger squeeze. “But it's important for you to use words now.” This time he didn't squeeze.
This time, he let go.
I throbbed.
“I want...” I started to say, “I want you,” but then I thought it would be too bold. Or was bold what the situation demanded? “I want it.”
“What is this ‘it’ you think you want? Be explicit. I need clarity, Nicky.”
I wanted that hand back on my bulge. Where was that hand? I wriggled in my seat. So dark here inside the hood.
A long beat of silence. He could wait forever. Ball in my court.
“I need to be out of control. I need to be pushed beyond my limits.”
A snort. “I'm only hearing generalities.”
“Please.”
“More. That is a direct order. I'm not here to make anything easy for you. If talking's hard for you, we talk.”
Fuck my life. He'd gone straight for my weak point.
Deep breaths. Chilly-ass polar bear. Iceberg time.
“I need you to... make me. Sir. Make me. I can't make myself... claim it.” Every word seemed torn from the back of my throat.
Another beat. If only I could see his face.
Finally: “OK. If you can tell me that much, then you're starting to understand something about yourself. You can't make yourself submit. As much as you want it, you can't make yourself do it. Nobody can do that. You need an outside force.”
I didn't want to submit. I didn't.
Is that what I wanted?
Is that what I was asking him to do?
“You want someone else to take control,” he was saying. “You want someone else to put you where you need to be.”
When he said it like that, it sounded a little lazy. But it didn't feel lazy. It felt like the hardest thing I'd ever done.
I always had to be in control. Always had to project the right attitude. Always had to be cool, calm, and collected.
Being the chilly-as-fuck polar bear got exhausting.
“I'm going to order you to do something. It's going to be something easy. Something you enjoy.”
But.
“The catch is, because I'm ordering you to do it, you're going to tell yourself you don't want to do it. That contrary instinct of yours is going to kick in, and you're going to react by telling yourself you don't want what you want.”
He saw right through me. I felt hot all over.
“You remember your safeword. You remember the signal. If you don't want this to happen, you give the sign and it doesn't happen. You got that? At any point in the process, at any possible point whatsoever...”
He thinks I'm going to wussy out. I'll show him.
That was reactive, too. Well, fuck it.
That deep voice of his was hypnotic. He was repeating himself, and it was intentional. “This is something you've wanted to do from the first time you've laid eyes on me, and now you're going to tell yourself you don't want to do it because I've ordered you to do it.”
“Bring it.” Something shifted in the dark inside of me. “I'm not afraid.”
“Suck my dick.”
“What.” It wasn't a question. It was the expected reactive response we both knew I'd have, and we both knew we had to get it out of the way.
“You heard me.” Brayden's voice was patient. Almost teacherly. “This is about sex, Nicky. This isn't about movie criticism or book analysis or the sociological implications of masculinity in a world at war. Leave that crap for Dr. Morrison's paper. This is about fucking. One man using another man's mouth for his own pleasure.”
All those fantasies about being on my knees with Brayden wedged down my throat? Sprawled on my belly with the weight of him on top of me? All those fantasies I pretended I didn't have? Sounded like they could all be coming true in the next ten minutes.
And yet I reacted in my usual contrary way. Exactly as he'd predicted. “I don't have to do that.”
“Yes, you do.” He was the chill-as-fuck polar bear. “It's a direct order. If you don't do it, you'll be punished. I'm in charge here. Not you.”
My blood felt hot inside my veins. “Punished how?”
“If you would like to find out, that can be arranged.” Funny how I could hear the smirk on his face, even when I couldn't see it.
I wasn't backing down. Not now. “I think, um, yes, you need to prove some things.”
I could hear the clunk of the locks unlocking, then the louder clunk of the door coming open. Then he was tumbling me out of the truck again. I couldn't see sweet fuck-all, so I didn't know if I was being paraded in front of a whole town full of pervs, but the silence suggested we were probably alone.
My nose got pushed against the trunk of a tree with a strong scent of vanilla. Ponderosa pine. A tall tree with a straight trunk—a natural post ready-made for his kinky purposes. He unsnapped the circle of steel from around my left wrist long enough to separate my arms and pull them high over my head. Then he cuffed my wrists together again. Something got clipped to the cuffs—probably the stout chain—and now my hands were secured high overhead. There must be an iron ring set somewhere in the trunk, placed there specifically to hold men in place.
I heard the snick-snack of scissors.
“Oh, hell no,” I said.
He held the scissors poised at the hem of my shirt for a minute.
My legs weren't secured or shackled, so I could have twisted around and given him something of a fight. For some reason, I didn't much feel like it. “This is an important piece of concert memorabilia,” was all I said.
“Mmm hmm.”
Evidently, I had to say the safeword if I wanted to preserve the T-shirt. Well, fuck it. I was tired of that shirt anyway.
The heat of his big body seemed to ripple into my flesh even where he wasn't touching me. I was almost disappointed when he finished cutting the shirt away. Grasping my shaggy hair in his hand, he tucked it off my neck and over my left shoulder, leaving me bare and exposed down to my low-rider jeans. The meaning of so much bare back didn't escape me.
“What is this?” I asked. “You can't whip me. That's completely ridiculous.” I twisted and turned, hoping to somehow squint down into my nose opening to see out, but the hood kept me as blind as any cave bat.
“You are poorly trained. In fact, you're indistinguishable from someone who is completely untrained.”
“I'm not trained. Nobody trains me.”
“That's a situation which has gone on for entirely too long.”
I felt something coiled rubbing all up and down over my back. Some kind of whip. He was making a deliberate effort to warm up my flesh.
Scary. And, yet, thrilling too.
This situation was bullshit. It was completely out of control. Again, I thought about kicking out with my legs or just plain turning around so my back was against the rough bark of the big pine.
“You can call this off at any time,” Brayden said. “It's entirely up to you.”
“Fuck you.” I wasn't afraid. I was tough.
The first few strokes were light taps. More warm-up.
“Come on. This is ridiculous. I feel stupid.”
“Patience, grasshopper. Soon, you won't have time to feel stupid.”
The force of the blows grew stronger.
“Ow! Come on! That really hurt.”
“It's supposed to hurt. You only learn when it hurts.”
“That's a bogus philosophy.” Except, of course, it was my philosophy. The ice baths, the sleeping on the floor, the seeking out of danger...
Fuck this guy. I didn't care if it hurt. I wasn't going to scream. I clamped my mouth shut and told myself to relax and let it happen. If you relax, it doesn't hurt as much.
Yeah, right. Good luck with that.
Brayden had a deft hand with the whip. I could tell from the way it invariably snapped out to connect with a different area of exposed flesh each time. I could feel the
heat of the red stripes that formed across my shoulders and upper back. I refused to acknowledge the impact of the blows, well, I tried to refuse to acknowledge it, but I suppose I may have grunted and twisted, and he seemed to read me perfectly.
About the time it might have become too much, the whip struck much lower, at my ass and then my upper thighs and then my ass again. One, two, three, snap snap snap. My jeans provided a certain layer of—I don't want to say padding, exactly—but they somehow spread out the sensation of impact so it became more of a glow than a sharp sting. It would probably be inaccurate to describe the feeling as pain at all. It was more a strange kind of warmth. Fiery and yet arousing. I didn't mean to wriggle my butt, but yeah.
My cock kept knocking into the rough bark of the pine and, again, my jeans protected me enough to keep me from getting scraped up. I even thought I could bounce myself there, not too hard. Strategically, as it were.
So, nope, not getting hurt.
What I was getting was harder and harder.
This shouldn't be exciting, but it was. Oh, and I was probably screaming by now too. I don't want to talk about that.
Out of control. Completely out of fucking control.
A tear probably ran down the side of my face. A sex tear, not a crying tear. A single tear that expressed... something.
I don't know what. But something.
The whip thumped to the ground. He'd dropped it, and now he was working his big hands all over my bare back with some kind of cooling cream. I felt hot and cold all over, a confusing sensation.
Even though the low-riders were meant to be tight to show off the shape of my ass, he had no trouble shoving a big hand down to rub some of the cream into my globes. The fabric tightened in front, forcing me to feel again how hard I was.
The zipper had already started coming down, and he reached around front to finish the job. With a tug and a yank, he had my jeans and my briefs down to mid-thigh.
“Come,” he said.
I'd been fighting the urge so hard that I couldn't let go for a moment.
“Now, Nicky. Now. It's a direct order.”
I gasped and jerked. “Fuck. Oh. Fuck!” I felt as if I were undergoing convulsions. If not for the chain securing my arms overhead, I would have slumped to the ground from the intensity of my release.
“I'm proud of you,” he said. “You were very strong. I didn't think you'd hold out as long as you did.”
The reactive side of me felt the words more keenly than a blow. Patronizing son of a bitch, I told myself.
A soft towel or T-shirt came out of nowhere to wipe up. His touch was whisper light on my sensitive skin.
He was taking care of me, pulling my pants back up, and I realized my little flash of anger was completely irrational.
“Your strength is beautiful to me.” His deft fingers zipped the zipper.
I didn't dare to breathe. Didn't dare to move.
Then he reached up tall, and I felt him unclipping the chain, then unlocking my wrists. The cuffs were gone, and my hands felt unnaturally light all of a sudden. They were free. If this was freedom.
“Shake out your arms.”
The blood rushed in all pins and needles. Another confusing sensation.
“What have you learned?”
I shrugged. I'd showed him something about myself in my willingness to accept pain at his hands, but it didn't make it easier to talk about that something.
“Tell me why you were punished.” He touched a stripe on my reddened shoulder. “Talk to me.”
Breathe. Swallow. You can do this. It's just words.
“I said I wouldn't suck your dick.”
“Mmm-hmmm. Why did you say that?”
“To, um, I was curious to see if I could take your punishment.”
“Mmm hmmm.”
I could feel him walking around me. Circling me. Something about the way the air moved around my naked upper body.
“Come on.” He took hold of my right arm and began to walk me in what I presumed to be the direction of the truck.
“Wait,” I said. “I want to do it now.”
“You want to do what?”
“Suck your cock.”
“You want to beg to suck my cock?”
“Yes, um, please let me suck your cock.”
“I'm not sure I'm convinced.”
“Oh, come on, you know you want me to. Please, um, please let me do it.”
OK, I was shit at begging. It still did something to me, though, hearing those words forced out of my mouth. Hearing the evidence of my own need.
Need.
Why did I need this?
Why did I need him?
We had reached the truck, and he was helping me climb inside, one big hand pushing on my ass to lift me up and into place. The seat leather caressed the hot spots on my back. It should feel painful, but it didn't. Indeed, the burn felt positively pleasurable when he bent over me to strap on the shoulder harness.
Then the warmth of him was gone, and a moment later I could hear him settling into the driver's seat. We were leaving before I got what we both wanted.
“Please,” I said. “Please.”
“I'm right here,” he said. “If you can find me, you can have me.”
Chapter Nine
Why did he strap me in like that? It all had to be undone. I felt around for the shoulder lock and then the lap belt release. Pop, and pop, and all that crap was out of my way again.
With my hands free, I could reach back and unbuckle the hood, but somehow I didn't dare. He wanted me blind in the dark, and I wanted to give him what he wanted.
So. I wriggled around the stick and felt around to get his fly open. With the sense of sight taken out of play, I had no choice but to focus on the other senses—the salty taste of skin, the musky scent of male arousal, the overflowing thickness of a shaft too fat to let me close my fingers around it.
The stick poked me here and there, but I ignored it to focus on the way my mouth cupped itself over his plum-sized arrowhead. My hands stacked up, one of them at his base, the second in the middle of his shaft. I could feel the silken skin stretched hard over pulsing veins. Taste the leakage that smeared itself across my taste buds. My cheeks hollowed inside-out, the better to suck the saltiness out of him.
How did he not pop almost right away? Where did he get that kind of self-control?
I unwrapped the hand grasping him at mid-shaft. My left hand. The palm tingled where it had been touching his thick flesh. I'm right-handed for a lot of things but, for this, I prefer my left hand and I don't even know why. This was the hand that knows exactly how to feel for a man's taint, the better to massage the crucial spot with the pad of my thumb.
Fuck, he felt huge. My mouth stretched wide and down to take more of his upper shaft, while my right hand vibrated open and shut around the base.
He grunted, then moaned.
I was getting to him.
Guess what, Dr. Brent. I'm not entirely untrained.
His cock lifted and adjusted its position to tap my throat again and again. My breathing, which was entirely through my nose, sounded ragged in the confined space of the truck's cab. How could a man be this big and not explode?
The thumb alone wasn't doing it, so I put three fingers together to rub into his taint. I felt a telltale gathering of energies in his long shaft. A sort of bunching up in preparation for the pounce.
His moan was louder now. He tried to say something, but it wasn't entirely clear what it was.
“I'm there,” maybe. Or, “I'm here.”
The exact words didn't matter. I could taste what was about to happen. He didn't have to tell me anything. Maybe he was trying to give me a chance to back off or safeword or whatever the fuck.
So not gonna happen.
My throat opened. My cheeks turned inside-out.
“Ahhhhh.” He gasped, and his legs thrashed against my face while his cock did that garden-hose spit-and-spin inside my mouth.
This was
happening. This was the real deal. Me in a dark hood, bent over to suck off a horny dom. Giving pleasure, instead of just taking.
My back tingled. My throat did too. My lips were singing.
A hand on my bare shoulder told me I was a little too rough for the aftermath. Could I open my mouth any wider? I did, a millimeter or so, no more, and he slipped easily from between my lips.
I sat up. How could I smell all that spunk when he'd spewed it almost directly into my belly?
Maybe it was the hood and the dark amplifying everything. My back felt warm. My blood did too. My cock was stiff again, squirming in my jeans.
I was afraid he'd say something. Order me to talk. Order me to spell out my feelings. It wasn't the time for that. It was the time for quiet. The time to hold onto what I was feeling a little longer, without trying to describe it in any way.
His hands came out of the darkness to strap me in my seat once again. I could feel them at the shoulder harness, then the lap belt, and then one hand squeezing affectionately on my left shoulder.
Is that what he felt for me? Affection?
A simple blowjob in the dark shouldn't create this kind of intensity between two people.
“Such tests create a unique bond between the person being tested and the person administering the test. I'm not sure you're ready for that.”
His hand found the tent in my jeans. He rubbed there, not hard.
Always leave them wanting more, isn't that what they always say? Well, fuck, you're very damn good at doing that, Professor Brent.
I'm not sure how long it took to break the silence, but I was the one who broke, not him. “Please. Please.”
Fingers on the zipper, fingers in my fly. He pulled my stiff shaft out, squeezed it a couple of times to test its resilience, then just left me standing there.
Teasing son of a bitch. There I was, all poked and puffed and standing tall, and somehow he wasn't touching me anymore.
Was he looking and laughing? Oh, of course, he was. That superior smirk. That way of looking into my soul with those golden eyes. Blind and hooded, and I still knew exactly what he must look like. He would enjoy seeing the evidence of how much I wanted him. He enjoyed watching me tremble with need. I'd given him so much power over me, and my body didn't want to take it back.
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