BYOP

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BYOP

As I pace in front of his office door, I struggle to remember the exact words I had prepared to say.

It’s something I’ve always hated about myself—whenever I get nervous, my mind goes completely blank.

“Come in.”

Fuck fuck fuck. No. I’m not ready, fuck!

Jared so owes me.

I take a deep breath and straighten my spine, trying to appear confident when I enter the room.

It’s hard keeping my cool around him. He’s stone cold—the epitome of what every boss should be. He never gives anything away, and he sure as hell knows how to get what he wants.

He spares me a glance, pale green eyes passing over me like a bug on a sidewalk. And, if I was a bug on a sidewalk, it’s likely he wouldn’t even spare me the time to crush me under his boot.

It’s sad really, because he’s definitely my type.

All I want is a big, sexy man who’s not afraid to rough me up a bit.

But my boss? It’s like Mr. Phoenix stepped straight out of my fantasies. I love the way he bosses me around, but on what earth could we ever happen?

None. No earth. Zero. Earths.

But that doesn’t stop me from daydreaming.

And man, do I daydream.

Now’s not the time for that though. No, now is a time for seriousness and a whole lot of hoping. I need rent money by tomorrow, and I get paid in four days. There’s no way my landlord is going to let me pay late again.

“What is it, Mr. Rouge?”

I fight the urge to say “um”.

“I’m here, actually, to request an advance on my next pay-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Mr. Rouge.”

My heart sinks. No, no, please don’t stop me. Dammit.

“Tell me, Marcus, how long have you been with Phoenix Enterprise?”

I bite my lip, attempt to hide the goosebumps that appear at his use of my name.

What was the question?

“Three months, sir.” I can’t help but stare at my feet in embarrassment. I don’t even know why I thought this would work. There’s no way a competent person like him would even consider giving a newbie a paycheck advance. It’s like, rule number one of being the boss.

My feet shuffle on the floor, the only sound in the room. This realization causes me to peek up at him, our eyes meeting for the second time since we’ve met.

I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to mask my obvious attraction to the older man as he seems to study me. It’s so unnerving—he’s scrutinizing me.

After the short pause, he continues. “There’s no way I can give you an advance this early, Marcus.”

I bite my lip distractedly. How the fuck else am I going to get this money? I already sold the extra couch for last month’s rent.

The only other thing I could think of . . . I haven’t done it in forever . . . last time worked out fine, I mean—

“Mr. Rouge, I have a meeting in five. I can’t help you. Please get back to work. Speaking of which, can I have you take this to Tamara at the front desk? Thank you.”

I got this, I’ll be fine.

He pulls out a manila folder, reaching over his desk to hand it to me. I take it, and purposefully skim my fingertips across his hand, just because I ’m curious to know what it feels like.

I swear, I shit thee not, fireworks just shot up my arm.

I couldn’t help but gasp, and I can’t even tell if he heard it because he’s just giving me that intimidating stare, so I snatch the folder and rush out of there before I make a fool of myself.

But how was that not making a fool of myself?

Ugh.

I make my way to the front desk, handing Tamara the folder. Tamara and I have become pretty good friends these past few months; she’s the only one here that ever bothers to make friends with the interns. She’s really pretty, too, so don’t know why on earth she’d ever hang around me, but I can’t complain.

“How’d it go?” A dark eyebrow rises in question.

I give her a dejected look. “Kill me.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’ll be okay! If you need to borrow I can help you out, as long as you pay me back?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but I’ll let you know. I appreciate it, Mar.”

“No problem, sweetie. Don’t be shy.”

As I’m walking away, distractedly attempting to plan out tonight’s events, I almost miss her calling my name. “Sorry, what?”

“Marcus, you need to get with it,” she teases. “Lunch tomorrow?”

I nod in reply, and return to my desk, prepared to spend the next four hours doing my usual grunt work.

. . .

It’s already eight thirty, and I’m running out of time.

I’ve hit a new low, I’ve decided. But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

I’m surfing Craigslist ads —I know—on my laptop, sitting in my sweats with only dwindling hope and a wedgie to keep me company. My odds aren’t looking good; some of these ads are real sketchy looking, and I’m contemplating getting a dating app that’s clearly not for dating, when a certain ad catches my attention.

“Looking for a pale guy with black hair to put on panties and show me a good time—pay is $300”

I’m a pale guy with black hair who likes wearing panties and desperately needs three hundred bucks! There can’t be much competition here. I just hope this ends up working out okay, because the last thing I want is to lose my apartment and get abducted in the same night.

Am I being irresponsible? Sure. But, as mentioned before, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

I pull the laptop closer to me and start typing.

“I’ll put on panties for you, sir”

Around fifteen minutes later, I’m downloading Tinder when I get a message.

“212 North Hudson Ave. BYOP”

The fuck? North Hudson is in that neighborhood for rich bitches. And the hell is “BYOP”?

“BYOP?”

“Bring your own panties”

I glance at the top drawer of my dresser. Shouldn’t be a problem.

“Be there in 20”

With that, I shut my laptop and get to work.

. . .

I decided to go with this really lacy garnet pair, figuring it would complement my skin tone. I also added a little eyeliner and mascara, aiming for a striking look I’ve only ever seen on commercials.

I sit in my car, clad in only the panties with a long trench coat to cover myself.

The house is enormous. There’s a garden that stretches all the way from the gate to the door. Even in the dark, I can still see the beauty of the flowers. The house itself looks like it belongs next to a beach—a soft sandy color with a dark brown roof, complete with solar panels. You’d think the solar panels would throw off the look, but it doesn’t.

I step out of the car, tucking my keys and phone into the inside pocket of the jacket. My boots are almost soundless when they thump against the sidewalk. I was going to wear heels, but I didn’t know how far I could go with this man.

I triple check the house number—212 North Hudson—before taking a relaxing breath and stepping up to the door.

I knock before I can rethink anything, stepping back and reminding myself to keep my head up.

I can do this.

I’ve done it before and it turned out fine.

I can do this.

When the door opens, I am sure. I cannot do this.

Standing in the doorway, dimmed lighting from the house illuminating his silhouette, stands my sexy as sin boss.

Mister. Fucking. Phoenix.

"Shit.”

He blinks in surprise. “What?”

“I mean, n-not shit. I mean . . . hi?”

Fuck my life so hard.

A moment of silence.

“Maybe I should—”

“Come in.”

He opens the door wider, stepping to the side and into the light. His chest is bare, covered in a light layer of dirty blond hair, which trails down his chest and disappears into his loosely hung sweatpants.

Sweet Jesus on the hood of a Mercedes Benz he’s so fucking hot.

I can feel the blush coming before it appears, know there’s no way I can not blush, realizing I’ve been staring at him for a solid few minutes.

He’s raising his eyebrow again, face seeming stone cold but from the glint in his eye I can tell he’s smiling. Laughing at me.

Bitch. You’re lucky you’re hot.

“Unless that makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, no!” Shut up Marcus, you sound way too eager. “I mean . . . I’ll come in.”

He nods his head to his house, beckoning me in. After only a brief hesitation, I cross the doorstep, making sure I don’t touch him. I just need a minute.

He’s too much for me.

Jesus. I’m in my boss’s home. In only panties and eyeliner. I am unprofessionally dressed in front of my boss.

Sure, I’ve low-key been dreaming about this moment but now that it’s here I have no idea what I should be doing. Should I be seducing him? Playing innocent? Leaving and pretending this never happened?

The door clicks shut softly behind me, making me jump and turn to face him. This time, the corner of his mouth turns up in amusement.

“What, don’t do this often?”

“D-do what?”

His puts his hands on his hips, making himself seem that much bigger and making me feel so small . . .

“Do you not remember what you came here​ for?”

I can feel my blood rush to my face, even reaching the tips of my ears. I try not to look at his chest.

“Um . . . yes.”

Is he really going to go through with this? I’m his employee! Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod—

He strides towards me, exuding an aura of power that sends shivers down my spine.

He takes my jaw in a firm hold, tilting my head up and forcing me to look at him.

He strokes his thumb softly against my cheek, the pad pressing into my skin and seeming to massage my face. I close my eyes, letting the sensation entice my body into a state of relaxation. I feel myself melt into his touch, enjoy the warmth and solidarity in the way he holds me.

He pulls me closer, continuing to caress my cheekbone. I can feel his breath on my face, can feel his presence all around me, enveloping me, but I can’t open my eyes.

Nobody’s ever touched me like this, so gently but so protectively, like he’s shielding me from the world and giving it to me at the same time.

His lips touch mine and I inhale sharply, anticipating whatever he’ll give me but still unsure of what it might be. Will he kiss me softly and surely like he holds me? Will he lose control? Will he bite me or will he suck on my tongue until I’m moaning into his mouth . . .

Please, please, please . . .

Why won’t he kiss me?

I force my eyes open, instantly meeting his in a power play I quickly lose. I settle for the bridge of his defined nose instead.

“Why . . . Mr. Phoenix—”

“Marcus, you’re so pretty.”

Pretty?

His thumb crosses my cheek to part my lips.

"Eyeliner? Why don’t you wear that every day?”

A giggle escapes my lips. I’m embarrassed, but he’s smiling. “You’re so fucking hot.” He seems to study me for a moment, contemplating his next words.

“Every time you walk into my office, I imagine you splayed on my desk. Or maybe you’d be on your knees, relieving all my stress with those gorgeous lips wrapped around me . . .”

No fucking way. I mean, it almost makes sense . . . the Craigslist ad seemed completely tailored to me.

“Mr. Phoenix—”

“Luke, sweetness.”

“L-Luke?”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

It’s barely a whisper but I’m sure he hears it when he gives me a small smile. “I’m trying to figure out if this is real. For fucks sake, Marcus, you’re wearing eyeliner. And panties. In my foyer.”

I go to bite my lip, but I forgot his thumb was there.

Something flashes in his eyes, sending a jolt of fear through me that makes me want to bolt and simultaneously locks my muscles in place. He grips my jaw again, pulling me towards him so his lips graze my ear harshly.

“No biting.”

“Yes sir!” I squeak.

The submissive action confuses me—I’m usually much more confident in these situations, but the fact that my boss, Mister God-damned Phoenix, is admitting to having been attracted to me just like I’ve been to him, is completely blowing my mind.

He aligns his front against mine, the bulge in his black sweats very prominent as it presses against my own thickening erection. Is he commando? My long coat provides a barrier between the warm skin of his torso and my own chest, and I attempt to contemplate whether or not I’m okay with that.

My cock strains against the thin lace of the panties, and I can’t help the desperate jerk of my hips.

My body heats up immediately—my panties suddenly uncomfortable as I start leaking in anticipation. He splays his hand across my back, pressing a large palm into my body and smoothing his way down my spine, finally stopping when he’s cupping my left cheek through my jacket.

He laughs, the sound echoing in my ears as he gropes me. I suppress a moan at the rough handling.

“Sir, huh?”

My face is in flames. “W-well at work! Y-y-you—and the m-message—” Stop fucking stutteringbe sexy—

“I like it.”

I like it too.

He lets go off my ass, letting my heels hit the ground again. His hands tug at the belt of my jacket, pulling me impossibly closer and forcing his knee between my thighs.

The invasion of space has me anxious, despite knowing that the exact reason I’m here is to wear panties for this man and call him “sir”. My superior has always had the uncanny ability to completely throw me off.

I don’t usually stutter—he’s my boss . . .

“Marcus . . .”

God, my name on his tongue—I swear he just tongue-fucked my name right in front of me.

He leisurely unties the knot of the belt, eyes capturing mine. “If you get uncomfortable at all, just say ‘water’, and I’ll stop, okay?”

This makes me laugh, which startles him, but thankfully seems to help restore some of the confidence I seem to be lacking so far tonight. He gropes my ass again, harshly. “What?” He’s teasing me, but I know it’s a legitimate question.

“‘Water’? Why not ‘red’?”

“Oh, so you know how this usually goes then?”

This makes my blush return will full force. “N-no.” Yes.

“Then why ‘red’?”

I feel like I’m being interrogated as a primary suspect of third degree murder. I want to take the jacket off—I need air—but I keep it on and instead settle for pressing my hands against a firm chest and attempting to push away, even just a little.

He lets me go, but not very far. Our hips are still aligned with one another; the only thing separating my chest from his bare one being my trembling hands.

I’m almost afraid to be touching him. My fingertips are feather light against his skin—the sensation of feeling him has my heart pounding wildly behind my rib cage. His chest rises and falls steadily underneath my hands.

“I-I, ah—”

“‘Water’, because I’m a phoenix. A phoenix is made of fire. If you need to put me out, use water.”

I scrunch my nose up. “Bit cheesy, sir.”

He grins. “But you’re going to remember it that way.”

I shrug—he’s not exactly wrong.

He’s giving me space, but not too much—just enough to let me get used to his touch. This, coupled with his charming laugh, has me relaxed again.

And then he’s removing my coat.

It falls to the hardwood floor with a quiet thump.

I’m a bit nervous—again, I’m clad only in panties and fucking eyeliner—but I’m not scared. It’s more like pure anticipation now—I’ve been wanting my boss to really boss me around for so damn long . . .

The warmth of his hand first appears on my navel, causing me to jump. He is undeterred, however, skimming the backs of his fingers up the center of my chest, across my collarbone, to my shoulder. I’m still kind of stunned—don’t really know how to handle this situation just yet—

Suddenly, he pushes my shoulder to shove me to the ground.

I land on my hands and knees, face level with his pelvis.

My eyes immediately stray to the erection barely concealed by the flimsy sweatpants. Now that it’s in front of my face, I feel compelled to put my mouth all over it.

My mouth waters—tongue scraping against teeth to distract it from the delicious sight of my boss’s length.

But he steps aside, walks past me and into his living area.

My eyebrows furrow, and I wonder if I’ve broken any of the rules regarding casual sex, but he quickly clarifies. “Don’t move.”

My head turns to watch him cross the room and enter a living area. He reaches for a box on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf, sparing me a glance.

He smiles, but it’s short lived. “Turn around, Marcus. Don’t move.”

I face the door again, kneeling with my hands between my legs in an effort to feel less vulnerable. I know that’s not quite how this works but despite being given a safe word, I’m still very unsure of how serious my current situation is. Is he going to freaking dominate me or was it just because I’m obviously weirded out that he’s my boss?

I can hear him rummaging around, and eventually padding along the hardwood floor back to my spot by the door.

I can feel him behind me, but I have no idea what on Earth he’s doing. Is he getting lube or what?

“Hands and knees, Marcus. Arch your back,” he says, as if he says it every day.

I lean forward, holding myself off the ground with trembling limbs. Dammit, I need to calm the hell down . . . it takes everything in me not to look back at him, but above everything else I just want to be good for him.

“There you go, just like that . . .”

When I arch my back, all I’m aware of is my ass in his face; the only thing in the way of him seeing every single part of me being a barely-there pair of scarlet colored panties. They might as well be a thong, in all honesty.

Once again, he harshly gropes at my ass cheeks, spreading them and—holy shit he just bit me.

“Ow! Luke—mmh . . ."

“Sir.”

“Sir-r! You said—you said no biting—”

“I’m afraid you misunderstood, Marcus.” His finger trails down my crack through the panties, tracing its way down until he reaches my balls. He grips them firmly in a quick moment that has me jerking away in fear. I dare not move. I wince as my cock twitches, forcing pre-come from my slit.

“You will not bite me. I, on the other hand, can do whatever I please to your body, and you’re going to take whatever I give to you.”

Fuck . . . all the blood in my body seems to rush to my head in a dizzying moment. The discomfort of the soaked lace sticking to me is uncomfortable—I fight the urge to shift around as he gently massages the cleft of my balls, eventually loosening his grip.

I mistakenly take this as an ‘OK’ to move, and I’m instantly met with a harsh slap on the ass.

I jolt forward, away from his hand, but he wraps an arm around me and holds me in place.

"Ahh! Ow-w, Lu—Sir—” I choke on his name, completely was not expecting that at all—I think he wants to top the shit out of me—I think I want that too?

“Shh, Marcus. Relax. I told you not to move, pup. When you don’t do as I say, you get punished.” He says it like he’s explaining bedtime to a five-year-old.

His words nearly fly right over my head as I focus on the pain. My skin is on fire, stinging and throbbing . . .

And then it starts to fade into a pleasant kind of heat, nerves seeming to hum instead of sting . . .

I try to focus on breathing, absorbing the new sensations and letting a tingly kind of warmth wash over me and send goosebumps racing across every inch of my skin.

“Such a good boy, Marcus. So pretty.” I hear him take in a rugged breath as he smooths his hand over my blighted skin. “See? It feels better when you’re relaxed, doesn’t it?”

It does. ”Mmn."

I think I might do just about anything for him to call me a good boy again . . .

He massages my abused skin, presses a single, feather-light kiss at the base of my spine.

Then, I hear suspicious, slick noises from behind me.

“W-what are you—”

For some reason, the thought of him actually touching me there is nerve-racking, and makes me tense. I’m no virgin, but with him it feels like I might as well be, like no one before him was ever a thing—they never made me feel like this

His cold, slippery fingers are running against my entrance, spreading the lube around the area with a steady hand.

He really isn’t very patient, is he?

I’m hit with an onslaught of anxiety at the familiarly uncomfortable sensation. The anxiety settles in my stomach, but I can’t ​seem to pay it much attention as his finger pushes into me.

My entrance flutters around his finger as he presses against my walls, forcing his way in only to drag himself back out.

God, it’s so good . . .

His teeth scrape against my cheek, before going over the area again with his lips to soothe the sting.

He goes on to leave a string of bite marks across the sensitive skin of my ass, adding fingers until there are three in me. I don’t need this much preparation—I do like it a bit rough—but I can’t really complain when his fingers are giving me a high unlike any other.

“I-I’m fuckin’—nngh—” I roll my hips into his fingers, which have curled to press against my walls even harder. A shudder runs through me, drowning me in pleasure and causing me to drip onto the hardwood floor. “I’m readyyy . . . Sir, please? I want—it—”

He says nothing but removes his fingers from me, going out of his way to press against that damn spot and make me melt into the cold floor.

Whoa.

I bite my lip, wiggling my ass in his face just to test him. I realize my mistake right away though, and await the slap on the ass that never comes.

I can’t tell if I’m upset by that or not.

He pushes down on my back, forcing me to arch it as much as I possibly can, digging my knees painfully into the floor. He strokes his two fingers, drenched with lube, down my member lightly, toying with me.

My dick twitches at the sensation, and I bite back a moan. I hear a snap again—he’s using the lube again—before I feel something begin to prod at my entrance. He pushes the panties aside, just enough to where he can have unhindered access to my hole.

I attempt to look back, but the palm of his hand is quick to shove my face back into the ground. I groan, completely turned on by the manhandling.

“Don’t test me, boy.”

Ooh. Kinky.

I smirk playfully back at him. He rolls his eyes, shutting me up by pushing something into me.

"Mmn . . . Sir-r . . .”

The heat is unbearable—I know it’s going to be tough holding back. The fact that he used a plug means he’s not even close to done, and that I really need to pace myself. The last thing I want is to end up coming and him having to punish me in that kinky way of his. He could spank me really hard, maybe even give me a cock ring? Make me wear it to work?

Man, no way.

So, I suck it up—tightening every abdominal muscle I can in an attempt to bring myself off the brink a little bit.

Fuck this plug is big. I’d been distracted before on just not coming but now . . . damn.

“That’s it . . . good.”

His praise allows me to relax even more; his hands gliding across my thighs and pushing them further apart.

"Nngh . . .” I moan into the hardwood floor.

He gives me time to get used to it, breathing heavily behind me as he takes his time fucking me with the toy.

God, it’s torture. The toy, when seated fully inside me, sits right aside my throbbing prostate, yet never quite gives me the pressure I need to really get something out of it.

A whine sounds in the room, and it takes me a moment before I realize it was me.

“You’re doing so well, Marcus. You ready to get started?”

Am I ready to get started? Oh my god.

Another weak whine escapes me, and I think Luke takes pity on me. He places his large hands across my chest, lifting me up until I’m leaning back against his chest, sitting atop his deliciously thick thighs with my legs on either side. He moves slowly, taking pity on my poor, full ass.

A variety of obscene noises escape me, and for a moment I worry that I’ve embarrassed myself, but now that I’m in this position, I can feel the large bulge pushing into me. I shiver.

What the hell is bigger, his dick or the damn plug? He’s fuckin’ huge.

He rubs my chest, from my collarbone all the way down to skim across the light layer of hair that surrounds my cock.

It’s soothing—I quickly relax again, grow used to the sensation of feeling filled completely.

He nuzzles my jaw—kisses it and makes his way to my lips where he captures them in a short, captivating kiss. ”Mm . . . I’m gonna move us, alright?”

I moan in protest—I definitely do not want to go anywhere with something up my butt—but he quickly quiets me with another kiss. ”Shh, it’s alright.”

I emit a single, low whine, but allow him to turn me around gently and lift me in a way that doesn’t really change my position at all. He’s carrying me like a child, my panty covered dick sandwiched between our bodies and making me squirm at the contact.

I light smack to my upper thigh stills me, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck so he can carry me up the stairs.

He takes me into his bedroom, sitting on the large, gray sheeted bed with me still on his lap. He rubs my back, before gently pushing me away from him.

“I want you to lay across my lap, Marcus. I’m going to spank you. Are you alright with that?”

I bite my lip—really don’t feel like moving—but nod, hell bent on making this man so damn happy with me . . .

He grips my hand in his firmly, helping me stand and maneuver myself so that I’m kneeling beside him to lay myself over his thighs. My erection is now pressing against the side of his thigh, and I feel like if I get a single ounce of friction I’ll pass out.

His hand smooths over my ass and thighs, making me breath just a bit harder. “What’s your safe word, Marcus?”

I try to hide my smile, but I can’t be sure if he’s seen it. “Water, Sir.”

He groans, gripping my cheek really tightly in his hand before slapping it, seeming almost as if he’s lost a bit of the control he’s maintained throughout the night.

“Ah! Ow . . .”

I shiver as the sting melts into a familiar heat, throbbing beneath my skin and quickly feeding my addiction. I want more.

I let my forehead fall onto his leg as he once again smooths over my skin with a warm hand.

“Count them.”

He doesn’t give me time to reply as he slaps me again. It’s not as hard as the first. “One, Sir.”

He swings again, landing on the opposite cheek. “Two, Sir.”

Each time he swings, it feels like he’s holding back. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as I want it to. He spreads them out, giving attention to the entirety of my ass and also the tops of my thighs.

The heat is causing me to melt into his thighs. I loosely grip the fabric around his calf with a weak hand, everything that’s not Sir fading away, out of mind.

“Ten, Sir.”

I want more—I hope he knows that, but I’m dismayed when he doesn’t continue.

"Mo-ore—please—”

“Shh.”

I bite my lip, turning my focus to enjoying what Sir has given me, like a good boy should. I shouldn’t be greedy . . .

And then, I feel it. The cool, smooth wood a temporary remedy for the stinging sensation in my skin, as it glides across my ass just as his hand did.

“Count these also. Start from one.” His voice is all I can hear, grounding me.

I grateful for the instruction, a bit thrown off by the change in pace. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’m definitely excited for it.

He lifts the paddle from my skin, letting the suspense hang in the air and make me squirm. Just as I’m getting restless, he slams it down on me.

"Ah! Ahhn—nng—” That was definitely harder than the last ones. The paddle forces the plug in just a tad further as it comes down, where it pushes against my sweet spot and causes a rush of heat to run through me, and escape through my swollen cockhead. “On-ne . . . Sir.”

The heat that spreads is much different—much more intense, dizzying . . .

He swings again landing just beneath my cheeks. My vision blurs. ”Two, Sirrr . . .”

Everything is warm, so warm . . . “Three, S-Sir . . .”

He doesn’t stop at ten. “Eh- hhn—Eleven . . . Sir.”

He begins to mumble praises in my ear, telling me I’m a good boy, that I’m doing so well, that I’ve made him happy . . .

He lays his free arm across his thigh to cradle my head, leaning down to whisper in my ears, nibble at my neck. “Eight . . . teen . . . Sir . . .”

“Feel good, baby?”

"Hnnn . . .”

“Almost done, Marcus, you’re doing so well.”

Slap. “Nineteen . . . Sir . . .”

“Such a good boy, Marcus . . .”

The last slap resonates in my ears, louder and harder than the rest, as the final hit should be. “Twenty! Twenty, Sir . . . twenty . . .”

He tosses the paddle, pulling me up into my earlier position against his chest.

“You did so well, Marcus, I’m very proud of you.”

Proud of me . . .

He grazes his knuckles against my painful hard-on, as I lay dazed against his warm, strong body. My hands on his back feel each muscle as it moves, and I moan at the feeling of being surrounded by male.

“Yo-you . . . smell nice . . .”

I can feel his smile against my cheek. “Thank you, Marcus.”

He continues to stroke my erection, issuing a weak groan from my lips.

“This looks painful, sweetheart.”

"Mmph . . .”

“You need help with this?”

"Mmn.”

“Ask nicely, Marcus.”

"Nn—hh—y-yeah . . . Sir . . . please . . . need . . .”

He pulls me closer against him, my nipples brushing against his chest and sending shocks down my body. He wraps one hand around my aching member, releasing it from its lacy confines and pumping me quickly, skimming his thumb over my leaking slit. He pauses for a moment to make quick work of himself, also, pulling his dick out of his pants and holding it against mine to jack them off together.

His other hand grips the thin fabric of the garnet panties at my back, pulling it up to force the plug into my prostate again, keeping it there and driving me insane.

It doesn’t take me long. I’m writhing on his lap, grinding into his hand, his cock—”Gon-na . . . Sir, I—”

“come only when I do Marcus.”

I’m shaking like I’ve overdosed—holding back for even a few seconds is a challenge—

"Now, Marcus.”

His hand pumps faster and faster, pushing us off the edge.

"Yes, Marcus—so hot—”

"Mmph—”

Black spots dance across my vision as we come together, my eyes rolling back in euphoria, letting the ecstasy consume my already weak body.

I let him carry all of my weight because I know he’ll catch me.

. . .

He’s laid us down, with me curled up in his side, his hand caressing my head, brushing my hair back as we catch our breath. The warmth that surrounds me is infinitely comforting—I want to fall asleep—

But I want to see him more.

My eyes open slowly. I blink a few times, try and make the image clearer.

He’s smiling at me, still brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Enjoy the high?”

His voice is gruff, kind of like he’s just woken up only not as strong. It’s super sexy.

I want to say yes, want him to know how high he made me feel, but I’m too tired.

He smiles. “Sleep, Marcus.”

I don’t want to, afraid it’ll be a dream . . .

“Sleep.”

I close my eyes, snuggle further into his side to the point where I can barely breathe. Maybe for just a little while . . .

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