by R. J. Moray
Channon’s mouth was dry. His throat felt like it was full of sand. They were talking about him and his kinky preferences like he wasn’t even there. Or like he didn’t even matter. Just furniture, fuck, that’s exactly what it was.
“Does he like puppy play?”
“We’ve never really tried it. I think he’d enjoy some of it. Giving up responsibility. Petting and wrestling. Cock worship.”
“You could breed him,” Tom said, and Channon felt his whole body tense up. “Get him on a bitch.”
“I think I’d rather have a stud puppy mount him up,” Jack said, as if they were discussing modding a car. “See someone hold him down and take him.”
“You don’t need puppy play for that,” Tom chuckled. “Isn’t that the plan for tonight?”
“Pretty much,” Jack said, his voice warm with amusement. “I like watching him take a cock. Either mine or someone else’s. Or someone else’s and then mine. It’s hot. He’s got such a nice tight ass. I like seeing it filled.”
“Good to know.” Tom sounded as dry as Channon’s tongue. “He’s looking eager for it. Look at that cute little cock standing up to attention.”
It took everything Channon had not to moan. He could feel his dick stiff at his crotch, hot at the tip like he was leaking, God, maybe he was leaking on the floor. Thirsty, Jack said when he got like this. A thirsty, hungry little hole. God, he felt empty. He was still a bit damp and he felt wet between his ass cheeks. He’d touched himself a little in the shower, knowing what was coming, but he wasn’t ready for a cock. Fuck, he wanted one, though. He hoped they’d ease him into it, if Tom was really as big as Ewan had said. Was he? Channon didn’t know if he wanted that or not.
God, he wanted something, though.
“He likes cock in his mouth, too,” Jack said, and Channon shivered, hearing the arousal in Jack’s voice. Jack was getting hard. Channon just knew it, could tell when his Sir wanted him even if Jack nearly always held back. He liked making Channon wait, that was for damn sure. And he was right. It was always better if they waited. Delayed gratification. Edging. Orgasm denial. Fuck, Channon wanted it all.
This was why Channon wasn’t allowed to come without permission. All his orgasms belonged to Jack, to his whims. Sometimes Jack wanted Channon to wait for days, or a week. Sometimes he wanted to push Channon right to the brink and back him down again, over and over, until Channon begged him for relief. Sometimes he got it then. Sometimes Jack just snapped that fucking cock cage on him and made him wait a whole extra hour, facedown in Jack’s crotch and unable to do anything about it.
Sometimes Jack gave him that orgasm and ruined it. That usually made Channon cry. Jack loved making Channon cry.
Tonight, Channon had no idea what Jack wanted, besides his obedience. Maybe he’d get to come. Maybe he wouldn’t. In any case, Jack was making the rules and Channon’s job was simply to obey them.
“I figure we can start there,” Jack said, and Channon tensed for a moment before forcing himself to relax. They were going to start, any second now, and he needed to let whatever was going to happen just happen. Be good. Be perfect. Be Jack’s, and belong to Jack, and make Jack proud.
“All right.”
Channon kept his head down, refusing to look up. the boots that crossed into his line of sight were a shock—Jack went barefoot inside and usually insisted that his guests do the same. Boots in the playroom…Channon swallowed hard, not sure why this affected him so badly. They were just boots, heavy black leather motorcycle boots. They were well-polished and clean. Channon stared at the toes, so black and so shiny. He kept very still, waiting for an order.
“Does he like leather?” Tom asked.
“I don’t really know. Try him.”
The hand in Channon’s hair was big and broad, as strong as Jack’s but somehow more…insistent. It tugged him forward until his face was pressed up against the calf of one boot. “Do you like leather, boy?”
Channon worked his throat, deeply conscious of the scent of leather and polish filling his nose. “I…yes, sir.”
“What do you like about it?”
God, it was hard to think. Channon wet his lip. “The smell, sir.”
“And?”
“It’s smooth. And it looks…dangerous.”
“What about the taste?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Channon admitted
He realized what was about to happen a fraction of a second before the hand on the back of his head shoved him down. His mouth was mashed into the toe of one boot, that hand holding him there. “Lick it.”
Channon did. It tasted like leather. He licked it again, leaving a wet stripe on the smooth surface, and Tom grunted, loosening his grip.
“You can worship it for me.”
It had never occurred to Channon why anyone would want to lick a boot, but now…something in the way he was forced to do it, something about the humiliation of it, prickled him somewhere deep. He put out his tongue and lapped at the leather, licking his way over the ankle and up the inside of the calf, his gaze dragging up to Tom’s knee, the inside of his thigh, the bulge nestled between his legs.
Fuck, Channon wanted to know what was in there, if it was really that big. If it would fit. If he could take it.
“Good boy,” Tom said, and Channon shook a little, weakened by it. “Now, worship me here.”
He caught Channon’s hair in his hand, tugging him up between his knees, until Channon was nose-to-bulge with his crotch. Sheathed in leather, a zip bisecting the round hump of it, Tom’s cock seemed large but not intimidating. Channon breathed out, relieved, and when Tom urged him forward Channon went with it, tongue out to lick over the taut leather. He couldn’t feel a lot of what was going on underneath but he knew it was there, lurking, a mysterious quantity. He wanted to know more, wanted to take it all into his mouth. He wanted to suck on it, show Tom that he was a good boy, show Jack that he could be good for Jack’s guests, that he wasn’t afraid or nervous or anything.
He kissed the lump beneath the leather, mouthing over it until the crotch of Tom’s pants was shiny with saliva, and he felt satisfied in himself when Tom eased him back onto his heels and reached for his belt.
It came open with a jangle, and the sound of the zipper was loud in the silence of the playroom. Then it was down, and Channon’s breath stopped in his throat because Tom was naked under there and Channon could see him, finally.
He was thick. That was the first thing Channon thought, so thick, and it made his throat clench because fuck that was a lot of cock. Long, too, and lengthening as Tom slid a hand over it. Then that hand returned to Channon’s hair and he was pulled forward.
“Go on, boy, you can kiss it. I can see you want to.”
Channon did want to, but his heart was hammering in his chest. That was so much cock and he wanted it but it made him feel weak inside, like his guts were gone to jelly. God, he wanted it though.
“Go on, Channon,” Jack said, low and commanding, and that was it.
Channon ducked his head, pressed his lips to the soft skin at the base. He let his mouth fall open, let his tongue come out to taste. Tom was salty, sweaty, musky, and Channon wanted it.
But he’d been told to kiss and nothing more, so he pressed another kiss to Tom’s hot flesh, and another and another, working his way up to the head.
There was liquid beading at the tip. Channon’s breath was shallow and hot, and he glanced up over the fat head to see Tom watching before pressing his mouth to it, feeling the smear of precome on his lips.
“Jesus,” Tom breathed.
“Worship him,” Jack ordered.
Channon worshiped with his tongue, lapping at Tom’s skin. He was uncut, his foreskin soft and unfamiliar. Channon was uncut himself, sure, but Jack wasn’t, and most of the dick in Channon’s mouth was Jack’s. It wasn’t much different, really, but the differences all stood out sharp. Tom was so thick, his crotch hairier than Jack’s, his musk stronger, more animal. Rougher. Raw. Chan
non didn’t know if he liked it as much or if it just turned him on because it was different, because it felt dangerous. An unfamiliar cock and his mouth all over it. God, he wanted to wrap his lips around the head and suck. But not yet, he wasn’t allowed, he was being good.
He licked down to Tom’s balls, sucking them each in turn, rolling them in his mouth. He loved the feel of balls, soft and delicate, knowing they were full of come, wanting it in him. Was it normal to want come like that? He’d asked himself this before, wondered if he should, if it was weird. Slutty. Dirty. Wrong.
Except even if it was, it was the good kind. The kind of slutty that made Channon feel hot and eager, like what it would be like if Jack knelt down behind him right now and fingered him open, pressed home in him, and ordered him to suck Tom’s cock while he fucked his way in.
Dirty. Wrong. But the good kind of wrong that was perfectly right.
“Go on, Channon, you can have him in your mouth.”
Channon whimpered, lipping up Tom’s length to take in the blunt head of his cock. He licked at it, teasing his tongue down under the rim, making his mouth tight, careful of his teeth. Tom hummed in his throat, then the hand on the back of Channon’s head pressed down. Not hard or far, just down, and Channon took as much of Tom into his mouth as he could.
There was so much of it. Channon felt it nudge the back of his throat, and it made his ears ring with a kind of weird sensory deprivation. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to suck but he didn’t have permission, and the hand on his skull was gentle, insistent, pushing him a little further, a little more. Then there was a tug and he was up again, inhaling sharply through his nose while he could.
“Suck him, Channon. Show him how much you love cock in your mouth.”
Jack’s voice sent rough shudders down Channon’s spine. He braced his hands on Tom’s thighs and dipped down, sucking as best he could but Tom was so fucking big, just this thick weight in his mouth, pressing his tongue flat, filling his throat. Channon couldn’t help his whimper. He wanted more. He felt deafened by the roar of blood in his ears, scorched by heat in his throat rising up to creep over his face. He felt sweaty and desperate, wishing he could be good for Jack, for Tom, wanting to be perfect and knowing he couldn’t take it all, not without choking. He did choke himself a little, baked off to try again, gaining a fraction of an inch each time, until he was so full he felt like he was dying. His cock pulsed, threatening, and he squeezed his thighs together, aching and desperate. If only Jack would fuck him now, just take him, and Tom could hold his face where he wanted and fuck his mouth and Channon would come apart between them, he just knew it.
And then there were hands in his hair, easing him up and off. “Easy,” Tom breathed. His voice was shaky. Rough. Channon felt a burst of pride. He’d done that. He’d made this intimidatingly manly Dom with his silver-shot beard and his floggers and his horse dick breathless. Channon felt giddy and light, flush with success.
“Channon, I need a color.”
What? Channon blinked, twisting to look for his Sir. Jack had come up behind him, and he was frowning like Channon had done something wrong. “Sir?”
“Color,” Jack snapped.
Channon licked his lips. “Green, Sir?”
Jack’s expression softened, and he smiled a bit. “You went somewhere for a second. Wanna tell me where you went?”
It took a moment for Channon to realize Jack must have called out to him and he’d missed it. He flushed hot, scorching down his throat and across his chest. “I was…it’s just…a lot of cock. Sir.”
Tom let out a bassy chuckle. Jack grinned. “It sure is. Were you trying to take all of it in your throat, sweetheart?”
It made the flames in Channon’s cheeks burn even hotter. “I wanted to, Sir.”
“That’s a bit ambitious,” Jack said, but he sounded pleased. “You’d need to practice.”
“I’m not against it,” Tom drawled, and when Channon glanced at him he’d stretched out in the chair, his arms looped up behind his head. His dick was still out, still hard, this great heavy thing bobbing at his crotch. Channon wanted to get his mouth on it again but he felt…he didn’t know. Embarrassed over his enthusiasm.
But Jack looked pleased, and more than a little wicked, so Channon figured it was all right.
“How about you take it another way?” Jack suggested, tangling his fingers in Channon’s hair and pulling him up until his head rested on Jack’s leg. Jack’s smile was upside down but warm, and Channon felt it melt into him like praise. “I want to see you spread your legs for it.”
The wet needy sound that came out of Channon’s throat should have been embarrassing, but Jack’s grin widened into something sharp and hungry, and Channon couldn’t bring himself to be anything less than excited. Nervous, sure, because that was a lot and Ewan had said, but…
Channon bit his lip. “Sir?”
“Yes, Channon?”
“Do you think I can take it all?”
Something flickered across Jack’s face, but then he tightened his grip on Channon’s hair until it stung. “I think I’d like to find out.”
Ominous. Channon’s heart rattled against his ribs, but then he was on his feet, dragged across the room to the spanking bench Jack had pulled out from the wall, and Jack shoved him up onto it, forcing him into place and buckling him down. Channon let it happen, the leather cool against his chest, his wrists and ankles buckled securely. And then Jack clipped a chain to his collar, anchoring his throat to the bench.
“There,” Jack said, satisfied. There was a sudden flash of pain and Channon yelped, jerking away from it—Jack had slapped him hard on the ass. “Look at you, so perfectly unmarked. It’s a shame not to paint you up a bit. Drip a little wax over all that smooth skin.”
“Welt him up with a crop,” Tom said, sounding like he agreed. He was behind, so Channon couldn’t see him. Was his dick still out? Was it just there, standing up out of his pants and waiting?
“He hates the cane,” Jack said conversationally. “He looks so good, though, with perfect cuts up his thighs.” Channon pressed his lips together, squeezing his eyes shut. were They were just going to talk about him like this, driving him crazy? Or would they do something?
This was the moment Ewan would have acted up, he realized, would have goaded them into something out of sheer tension. But Ewan was a brat, and Channon really wasn’t, so Channon just set his jaw and waited, trying to be perfect and still.
Something cool and slick slid across his asshole, and Channon’s whole body tried to jacknife up off the bench. Someone chuckled. He thought it must be Tom.
“And you’re sure he doesn’t like flogging?”
“Well, I’ve never let Nate at him. Maybe he would from Nate.”
Tom snorted. “I’m better than Nate.”
“You really want to flog my boy, don’t you?”
“I want to flog his balls,” Tom said, and the finger stroking Channon’s hole pressed inside, a slick, insistent violation. Channon breathed, relaxed, let it happen. “I want to bring him to the point where he doesn’t know if he’s going to come or cry.”
“Why not both?” Jack asked. His finger—Channon was sure it was his—worked its way in, fucking Channon gently, then withdrew to tease around the rim. “Sobbing through an orgasm, too wrung out to care anymore.”
“Mmmm. Delicious.” A hand cupped Channon’s balls, squeezing firmly. Channon tried to breathe normally but that hand tightened and tugged, twisting a little, and it was a constant effort to force his muscles not to tense up.
Something flicked sharply against one of Channon’s testicles and he felt all the air rush out of his lungs. For a moment he felt giddy, and then there was a sharp pressure, a fingernail digging into his sack, and his throat went tight around a high-pitched keen he couldn’t seem to swallow.
Tom chuckled. The hand on his balls slid up, knuckles pressing firm into his taint, and then up to push into his hole. Two of them now, two fingers, two hands
, both of them inside him, God, that was so fucking wrong.
He panted, tried to relax, felt the slip and slide of fingers pressing into him. Two, then three, a slow, painstaking stretch, and the occasional flick to his balls as his breath dried up and his pulse throbbed loud in his ears. He felt hot and exposed, weak and fragile, and his hands curled into fists as tight as he felt stretched around their fingers.
Four, that was four, and Channon whined high in his throat. That was enough, wasn’t it? He didn’t need more than that, surely.
“Relax,” Jack said, as a hand ran down Channon’s spine, sending tingles in all directions. It came to rest on the rise of his ass, thumb pressing down in his cleft. “Channon, just loosen up, can you do that?”
Channon felt his face wrench up in a grimace. “I’ll try, Sir.” It was going to hurt. They were going to split him open. He couldn’t, he—
“Soft, sweetheart go soft for me. Breathe with me.”
Channon thought soft thoughts, breathed in slow and out slower, and again, and then, with his lungs full, he felt the blunt pressure of something big and thick pressed up against him.
“Good boy,” Jack said. “Breathe out, slow as you can.”
It felt like the first time. When Jack had coaxed his hips up and pressed into him on prom night, had taken what was left of his virginity and sealed Channon to him irrevocably. It felt momentous, a broad, solid weight pressing against him, the pressure building until he was sure something would give.
And it did. There was a moment of, God, no, that’s not going to— and then Channon’s body gave way. It felt like he was being opened up, filled with firm heat, his body making room for the intrusion of something huge, something monstrous. He cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, and for moment his whole body locked, squeezing down on the thing in him. It hurt. Fuck, it was too much, he couldn’t—
“Channon? It’s okay.” A hand stroking his shoulders, two hands, three. One tight on his hip.
“You’re all right, baby. Just relax.”