Negotiations 12
Happy New Year! Hope everyone is doing well. :)
Go back to Negotiations 11 or start at the beginning.
JUSTIN'S POV
Your Sunday goes as expected: the flight home, the unpacking, packaging your paintings and carrying them down the imposing staircase to the foyer. Brian’s nothing but helpful and thoughtful the entire day; he does most of the lifting and offers to pick up dinner from a bistro you like while you sort and organize all of the paperwork that will travel with each piece. Had you not already worked with Clive for years, you'd be a nervous wreck, but, thankfully, sending so many of your masterpieces on a journey at once doesn't make you anxious anymore.
At dinner, Brian chastises you for eating your food so quickly. "It's not healthy," he reminds you.
"I know; I'm just really tired all of a sudden," you admit. You make the wine Brian's poured for you disappear pretty quickly. “The last time we got take-out from this place, you made me eat it out of a bowl on the floor.”
Brian smiles and rolls his eyes a bit as if he’s searching through his brain for the memory. “You’re certainly the best puppy I’ve ever had,” he snarks with a smile.
“Well, I’m the cutest - by far,” you add causing Brian to raise an eyebrow in your direction.
“You roll over like a champ, too.”
Maybe the wine is going to your head, but you keep going, “I kept waiting for you to make me poop outside,” and then you crack up laughing for a few seconds before letting out a big burp.
Brian pulls his lips in and then leans forward, putting a hand on your forearm, “Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want me to get your leash?”
You start laughing again, but he’s almost dead serious, and yet, you can’t stop, “Yeah, hurry. I really gotta go.” Brian doesn’t even crack a smile; he just looks at you with an intensity that’s a little unnerving. Your laugh fades to a giggle and then just sort of peters out, echoing in your overly regal dining room. “Stop it,” you admonish him, “Stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?” he asks.
You have to think to answer him, “Like you’re waiting for somebody to pull a trigger so you can pounce on me.”
Brian’s face softens; his gaze melts a little, and his activity turns domestic - cleaning up all of the take out boxes and various trash. You follow him in the kitchen because you don’t want to sit by yourself in the dining room. After Brian stuffs everything in the garbage, he washes his hands and then turns and sees you standing there. He seems intrigued by your presence, like it must mean something important, like this isn’t your house and your fucking kitchen. He looks at you like you’re a nosy dinner guest who can’t take a hint. “May I help you?” he says.
You can’t think of anything else to say other than, "Wanna just watch Netflix and relax tonight?” And then you offer to do something because you feel like you should, “I can take the cans to the curb since it’s trash day tomorrow.” Brian shrugs and agrees.
It doesn't dawn on you until you're back in the foyer that this binge watching cannot take place in your home theater because the entrance is covered with boxed paintings. "Brian, you're upstairs?" you call from the foyer.
"Yep."
When you enter your bedroom, you grin widely. Netflix is the only thing Brian has on; his bare chest emerging from the dark sheets. "I'm serious when I say I'm tired," you warn him, and he pretends to ignore you and focuses his attention on scanning through all of the possible shows. You sigh and start getting undressed, nudging your shoes off. Brian just folds the sheet back when you turn off the overhead light and slide into bed beside him. He watches you turn the fireplace on low, and as you discard that remote, he pulls you back against him. "What do you want to watch?" he asks.
"Something dramatic, but no horror," you respond.
"Okay, no chain saws, no massacres," Brian agrees.
"Not in the mood for sci-fi."
"Noted."
"And nothing patently stupid."
"Okay, all we're left with is porn." Brian gives up and tosses the remote so it lands right next to you. You grab it and start navigating to something called Moving Art and choose the Underwater program.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s really cool. It’s literally moving art, just underwater photography with peaceful music.”
“It’s less than half an hour long.”
“You just replay it again if you want,” you say as you press the button to start the program. Brian seems interested as it starts, but it isn’t long before you’re enjoying the show while Brian’s enjoying you. He pushes your hair out of the way and makes a concerted effort to kiss every inch of the back of your neck. You try to lie still and just enjoy both methods of entertainment at once, but then Brian starts running his wide open hand up and down your torso, his fingers getting cheekily close to the base of your cock at the end of each pass. You sigh a little too much and flip in his arms; he looks a bit startled just for effect. And again, he's questioning, "May I help you?"
"You are not even making an effort to watch this, Brian."
"It's unbelievably beautiful, but then so are you, so I'm torn," he chides. He urges you on your back so he can cover his body with yours, and then he just stares at you the way you stare at a big piece of cheesecake before you eat it. The back of his hand rolls down your face. He kisses you, and your body is very okay with it while your mind is getting riled up. You stop him, holding him back a little, "What's going on? Are you freaking out because the tables turn tomorrow?"
Brian looks perplexed, "Um, that's tomorrow. Tonight is tonight."
"I think you don't know how to relax."
"Maybe," Brian offers; he rolls off of you onto his back as he continues, "But don't lay there are tell me that that's all you want--to teach me how to relax."
"What does that mean?"
His face is turned toward you, and he's more serious than before, "Bottoming is bottoming. Submission is something else. Do you know what you want?"
You feel a little feisty as you roll on your side, your free hand gesturing as you talk, "Do you always know what you want? Did you know exactly what you wanted when--?"
He interrupts you, turning on his side, "When I pulled you across my lap?"
"Right."
"I thought I did, but I was mostly just going with it. At first, all I thought about was how I was feeling when you wanted more, but then...I saw what was happening to you and that became so much more important to me."
The conversation takes a turn that neither of you bother to acknowledge when you ask him in a calmer tone, "What did you see in me?"
Brian inches toward you, his hand brushes your arm, "Well, first, I saw another virginal opportunity, a chance to introduce you to something that you'd never experienced."
"Okay and then what?"
Brian takes his time before responding, "Well...I saw you take flight even though you were still over my knee, so the next day I googled it so I could understand what was happening, and I began to understand how your pain threshold could rise so fast--"
Out of nowhere, your phone chimes loudly with a new text; the noise scares both of you. You roll away and grab it, mostly to turn the ringer off, but then you realize the message is from Clive so you roll on your stomach to read it. Brian sidles up right next to you; you can feel his breath on your face as he says, "Put that fucking thing away."
"Hang on one second. It's work, okay? I'm just confirming."
Brian grunts displeasure and then kisses your shoulder. You finish your response and make sure he sees that you're turning the sound off. You cross your arms under your head and lay your head down to face him. He's stroking himself and staring down at his cock. A quick glance at the television and you see a huge shark swimming close to the camera. You decide that it and Brian are probably not that different, both carnivorous opportunists above all else. Brian looks up at you with pupils black with arousal, "I'm going to blindfold you."
"Okay," you say softly as Brian reaches underneath his pillow and pulls out a long black silky scarf. He ties it around your head and guides your head back to its perch on your forearms. Without sight, you become acutely aware of Brian's breathing and his weight and position on the bed. The music from the documentary stops, and you hear the spit-click as Brian turns off the television. He's close again, whispering in your ear, "Don't do anything you're not told to do." His skin is warm as it aligns beside yours, and then you feel the singular pressure of one finger tip as it lands between your shoulder blades and begins a slow but purposeful descent down your back.
Over and over, the journey repeats itself, a single fingertip down your back and back up again; Brian finally speaks as it stops at the base of your neck. "Don't," is all he says...at first. You feel the pressure again and this time, the fingertip goes lower and lower until it acknowledges the cleft between your cheeks. Again it stops and Brian speaks, "Spread your legs." You smile, moan, and start to oblige him, but you're stopped with a vicious slap to your ass and an admonishment, "Learn to listen, Justin." The pressure point moves back to your neck, and the entire routine begins again, earning you two more hard slaps this time for the same infraction. You're aroused and confused, and then you realize that it's a complete sentence, "Don't...spread your legs." Every time the sentence ends, you stifle a moan of displeasure. No ropes, no cuffs, and yet, he's immobilized you.
And still, it continues at least ten more times, and you want to scream every time he tells you what not to do. Your body starts to hump the comforter in frustration, and Brian presses a full palm on your bottom, "Stop that."
This is torture; you can't even whine with your eyes because you can't fucking see him.
Brian moves in closer, his leg pinning you down as he whispers in your ear, "I need to spank you tonight. You need to be punished."
You want to grow six more arms and grab him with all of them, but you lie still and break only one rule--speaking--as you ask, "For what?"
Brian laughs a little deep in his throat, and again, you can feel his breath on your face, "That information will only be disclosed when you're across my lap."
By withholding this information, Brian knows he's motivating you, and as soon as you make an attempt to get up, he does as well and helps you in your blind state to get positioned correctly over his lap. A warm, liquid pleasure overcomes you every time you're here; it has the ability to make you drunk in mere minutes if you don't try to fight it. "I want to know the reason," you tell him.
"In due time. Just relax."
The next thing you feel are Brian's hands very slick on your body as a scent you recognize begins to circle around you. It's that massage oil from the sex club. Iceberg. You moan as he touches you, first lightly like he's getting to know you, and then his hands are heavy and everywhere. "Spread your legs," he says, and you resist at first but Brian doesn't even scold you; he just reapplies the oil and slides his thumb down your crack, his touch making it impossible for you to do anything but what he wants. The intimate massage goes on and on; it travels down your legs, between them and even to your feet and between your toes; sometimes Brian pays attention to your shoulders and upper back without ever taking a hand off your backside. Your cock gets heavier and heavier, and eventually you can't keep it from resting on Brian's legs, and when he feels your arousal there, he praises you, "Good boy."
You moan his name because the whole experience is becoming overwhelming, "Brian." You try to position your dick so that it can slip between his thighs because you're afraid to touch yourself in front of him. Surprisingly, he lets you get away with this little maneuver for a minute or so, so long that you start to wonder if you can come like this, and then out of nowhere something buzzes and stings the fuck out of the spot where your ass meets your leg; you scream out in pain. Brian rubs the spot and urges you to, "Shhh." You're recovering from the pain, trying to figure out what happened, when you feel it again on the other cheek. This time you yell, "Fuck!" and jerk away from him, but Brian yanks you back and holds you firm.
"Do that again, Justin, and we'll start all over."
"Why am I being punished?" you ask, your eyes searching the blackness behind the blindfold like there's an answer there.
"Because you took me on a business trip with you just to show me what a well-rounded little whore you are." You have no clue what to say to this and your silence seems to elicit sympathy from Brian, "I know you can't control your slutty tendencies; that's why you have me to help you."
“My slutty tendencies?” you ask, although you probably shouldn’t. “Is this a lesson in irony?”
"Oh, you’re such a clever little twat. Are you going to hold still for me now?" he asks you, his hand passing over your forehead like you're a child in bed with a fever.
You swallow, "Yes, sir."
"Good, because if you don't, the next time you feel that sting will be somewhere you absolutely won't want it." His hand is cupping your balls as he says this; he raises you up so your cock can't sneak a little friction between his legs anymore. "See what a slut you are?"
You get this game now; you play along, "Yes."
You gather the bedspread in your clenched fingers as Brian begins running his hands all over you again; anytime he stops for a second, you freeze and wait for the burn. The telltale zap goes off, but there's no shock with it, instead, it’s just the beginning of a long and erotic spanking--one that involves a long run of Brian's hand showing no mercy in an overly tender spot. As the minutes pass, you feel a delicious shame co-mingling with a sensation that the pain is over-powering the pleasure, that the soreness is almost too much. You feel Brian tugging at your blindfold and you tug back which earns you a, "Stop that," as he pulls the scarf away. He says nothing as he runs a finger under your wet eye, an acknowledgement that you're in too much pain. "You're okay," he says, "I'm going to fuck you until you don't feel that anymore."
Your body doesn't have to move, only Brian's does, and he's fast getting behind you. "Reach back and show me where you need my cock," he tells you. You balance yourself on your forehead as you reach back and spread your bottom open for him and moan when he teases you with a kiss and a tender pass of his tongue.
The fuck that follows is nothing like that.
It's rough, almost brutal. It's one sided and punctuated with Brian's grunts and dirty talk, and then you feel something weird, something wicked with another buzzing sound. It doesn't take you long to realize Brian's wearing a vibrating cock ring. Every time he pushes inside you, he holds you deep so you can feel it. It's amazing--the sensation makes you feel like your orgasm is running up ahead of you, and every time you breathe out, "I'm gonna come; I'm coming," Brian laughs and starts pounding you again. His denial feels cruel after several rounds, and you start to beg him, "Please...let me come. You can fuck me all you want, just let me come."
It turns out to be a masochistic request on your part, and one that Brian grants because he knows you'll regret it. Feeling the vibration after your orgasm is ten times worse, and Brian knows it; he can feel your body tightening up. He slaps your ass and tells you to repeat the words, "I'm a whore," over and over again to, “Distract yourself.”
You do as he says and the words become a rhythmic chant that coincide with every deep dive Brian’s cock takes. Brian's whole body twists when he comes inside you, and yours follows suit because you've essentially become overcooked pasta at this point. He collapses on your back mumbling moist words behind your ear, "God, you little whore, you little cock-hungry piece of ass. That was fucking amazing...Jesus."
You’re exhausted and half panting when you ask him, “Me being a ‘whore,’ this is a good thing?”
He knows you’re half-teasing when he answers, “It’s fantastic. Don’t change a thing.”
Moments later, the cock ring is set free and lands beside your hand. You pick it up to feel it because it's still buzzing. You examine it and ask, "Where'd you get this, Brian?"
"At the drugstore in New York when we were buying condoms."
"Ah," you sigh, "So it's a souvenir."
Brian holds you close so he can stay inside you as he rolls the two of you on your sides. "I suppose so."
"So, I'm the whore in this scenario when you were the one buying a pink glittery vibrating cock ring in secret at the Duane Reed?"
Brian laughs, and you like it because you can feel the gesture in your body, too. "In my defense, it was the only color they had."
"Okay, well, in your offense, I'm pretty sure this was made and marketed to straight men and their whore girlfriends."
"Oh, it definitely was, but you're a little effeminate, so I think it's okay, and it was on clearance for two dollars, so you should like it.”
“I love how you encourage me to be a whore and are offended when I’m also thrifty.” The cock ring putters out and dies in your hand. “Well, you got your two dollars worth,” you tell Brian.
"If it's a crime to know what helps you bust a nut, then lock me up and throw away the key," Brian declares.
You turn to look at him, your tongue poking in your cheek, “Be careful what you wish for, Brian Kinney. Tomorrow isn’t that far away.”
Negotations 13
Go back to Negotiations 11 or start at the beginning.
JUSTIN'S POV
Your Sunday goes as expected: the flight home, the unpacking, packaging your paintings and carrying them down the imposing staircase to the foyer. Brian’s nothing but helpful and thoughtful the entire day; he does most of the lifting and offers to pick up dinner from a bistro you like while you sort and organize all of the paperwork that will travel with each piece. Had you not already worked with Clive for years, you'd be a nervous wreck, but, thankfully, sending so many of your masterpieces on a journey at once doesn't make you anxious anymore.
At dinner, Brian chastises you for eating your food so quickly. "It's not healthy," he reminds you.
"I know; I'm just really tired all of a sudden," you admit. You make the wine Brian's poured for you disappear pretty quickly. “The last time we got take-out from this place, you made me eat it out of a bowl on the floor.”
Brian smiles and rolls his eyes a bit as if he’s searching through his brain for the memory. “You’re certainly the best puppy I’ve ever had,” he snarks with a smile.
“Well, I’m the cutest - by far,” you add causing Brian to raise an eyebrow in your direction.
“You roll over like a champ, too.”
Maybe the wine is going to your head, but you keep going, “I kept waiting for you to make me poop outside,” and then you crack up laughing for a few seconds before letting out a big burp.
Brian pulls his lips in and then leans forward, putting a hand on your forearm, “Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want me to get your leash?”
You start laughing again, but he’s almost dead serious, and yet, you can’t stop, “Yeah, hurry. I really gotta go.” Brian doesn’t even crack a smile; he just looks at you with an intensity that’s a little unnerving. Your laugh fades to a giggle and then just sort of peters out, echoing in your overly regal dining room. “Stop it,” you admonish him, “Stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?” he asks.
You have to think to answer him, “Like you’re waiting for somebody to pull a trigger so you can pounce on me.”
Brian’s face softens; his gaze melts a little, and his activity turns domestic - cleaning up all of the take out boxes and various trash. You follow him in the kitchen because you don’t want to sit by yourself in the dining room. After Brian stuffs everything in the garbage, he washes his hands and then turns and sees you standing there. He seems intrigued by your presence, like it must mean something important, like this isn’t your house and your fucking kitchen. He looks at you like you’re a nosy dinner guest who can’t take a hint. “May I help you?” he says.
You can’t think of anything else to say other than, "Wanna just watch Netflix and relax tonight?” And then you offer to do something because you feel like you should, “I can take the cans to the curb since it’s trash day tomorrow.” Brian shrugs and agrees.
It doesn't dawn on you until you're back in the foyer that this binge watching cannot take place in your home theater because the entrance is covered with boxed paintings. "Brian, you're upstairs?" you call from the foyer.
"Yep."
When you enter your bedroom, you grin widely. Netflix is the only thing Brian has on; his bare chest emerging from the dark sheets. "I'm serious when I say I'm tired," you warn him, and he pretends to ignore you and focuses his attention on scanning through all of the possible shows. You sigh and start getting undressed, nudging your shoes off. Brian just folds the sheet back when you turn off the overhead light and slide into bed beside him. He watches you turn the fireplace on low, and as you discard that remote, he pulls you back against him. "What do you want to watch?" he asks.
"Something dramatic, but no horror," you respond.
"Okay, no chain saws, no massacres," Brian agrees.
"Not in the mood for sci-fi."
"Noted."
"And nothing patently stupid."
"Okay, all we're left with is porn." Brian gives up and tosses the remote so it lands right next to you. You grab it and start navigating to something called Moving Art and choose the Underwater program.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s really cool. It’s literally moving art, just underwater photography with peaceful music.”
“It’s less than half an hour long.”
“You just replay it again if you want,” you say as you press the button to start the program. Brian seems interested as it starts, but it isn’t long before you’re enjoying the show while Brian’s enjoying you. He pushes your hair out of the way and makes a concerted effort to kiss every inch of the back of your neck. You try to lie still and just enjoy both methods of entertainment at once, but then Brian starts running his wide open hand up and down your torso, his fingers getting cheekily close to the base of your cock at the end of each pass. You sigh a little too much and flip in his arms; he looks a bit startled just for effect. And again, he's questioning, "May I help you?"
"You are not even making an effort to watch this, Brian."
"It's unbelievably beautiful, but then so are you, so I'm torn," he chides. He urges you on your back so he can cover his body with yours, and then he just stares at you the way you stare at a big piece of cheesecake before you eat it. The back of his hand rolls down your face. He kisses you, and your body is very okay with it while your mind is getting riled up. You stop him, holding him back a little, "What's going on? Are you freaking out because the tables turn tomorrow?"
Brian looks perplexed, "Um, that's tomorrow. Tonight is tonight."
"I think you don't know how to relax."
"Maybe," Brian offers; he rolls off of you onto his back as he continues, "But don't lay there are tell me that that's all you want--to teach me how to relax."
"What does that mean?"
His face is turned toward you, and he's more serious than before, "Bottoming is bottoming. Submission is something else. Do you know what you want?"
You feel a little feisty as you roll on your side, your free hand gesturing as you talk, "Do you always know what you want? Did you know exactly what you wanted when--?"
He interrupts you, turning on his side, "When I pulled you across my lap?"
"Right."
"I thought I did, but I was mostly just going with it. At first, all I thought about was how I was feeling when you wanted more, but then...I saw what was happening to you and that became so much more important to me."
The conversation takes a turn that neither of you bother to acknowledge when you ask him in a calmer tone, "What did you see in me?"
Brian inches toward you, his hand brushes your arm, "Well, first, I saw another virginal opportunity, a chance to introduce you to something that you'd never experienced."
"Okay and then what?"
Brian takes his time before responding, "Well...I saw you take flight even though you were still over my knee, so the next day I googled it so I could understand what was happening, and I began to understand how your pain threshold could rise so fast--"
Out of nowhere, your phone chimes loudly with a new text; the noise scares both of you. You roll away and grab it, mostly to turn the ringer off, but then you realize the message is from Clive so you roll on your stomach to read it. Brian sidles up right next to you; you can feel his breath on your face as he says, "Put that fucking thing away."
"Hang on one second. It's work, okay? I'm just confirming."
Brian grunts displeasure and then kisses your shoulder. You finish your response and make sure he sees that you're turning the sound off. You cross your arms under your head and lay your head down to face him. He's stroking himself and staring down at his cock. A quick glance at the television and you see a huge shark swimming close to the camera. You decide that it and Brian are probably not that different, both carnivorous opportunists above all else. Brian looks up at you with pupils black with arousal, "I'm going to blindfold you."
"Okay," you say softly as Brian reaches underneath his pillow and pulls out a long black silky scarf. He ties it around your head and guides your head back to its perch on your forearms. Without sight, you become acutely aware of Brian's breathing and his weight and position on the bed. The music from the documentary stops, and you hear the spit-click as Brian turns off the television. He's close again, whispering in your ear, "Don't do anything you're not told to do." His skin is warm as it aligns beside yours, and then you feel the singular pressure of one finger tip as it lands between your shoulder blades and begins a slow but purposeful descent down your back.
Over and over, the journey repeats itself, a single fingertip down your back and back up again; Brian finally speaks as it stops at the base of your neck. "Don't," is all he says...at first. You feel the pressure again and this time, the fingertip goes lower and lower until it acknowledges the cleft between your cheeks. Again it stops and Brian speaks, "Spread your legs." You smile, moan, and start to oblige him, but you're stopped with a vicious slap to your ass and an admonishment, "Learn to listen, Justin." The pressure point moves back to your neck, and the entire routine begins again, earning you two more hard slaps this time for the same infraction. You're aroused and confused, and then you realize that it's a complete sentence, "Don't...spread your legs." Every time the sentence ends, you stifle a moan of displeasure. No ropes, no cuffs, and yet, he's immobilized you.
And still, it continues at least ten more times, and you want to scream every time he tells you what not to do. Your body starts to hump the comforter in frustration, and Brian presses a full palm on your bottom, "Stop that."
This is torture; you can't even whine with your eyes because you can't fucking see him.
Brian moves in closer, his leg pinning you down as he whispers in your ear, "I need to spank you tonight. You need to be punished."
You want to grow six more arms and grab him with all of them, but you lie still and break only one rule--speaking--as you ask, "For what?"
Brian laughs a little deep in his throat, and again, you can feel his breath on your face, "That information will only be disclosed when you're across my lap."
By withholding this information, Brian knows he's motivating you, and as soon as you make an attempt to get up, he does as well and helps you in your blind state to get positioned correctly over his lap. A warm, liquid pleasure overcomes you every time you're here; it has the ability to make you drunk in mere minutes if you don't try to fight it. "I want to know the reason," you tell him.
"In due time. Just relax."
The next thing you feel are Brian's hands very slick on your body as a scent you recognize begins to circle around you. It's that massage oil from the sex club. Iceberg. You moan as he touches you, first lightly like he's getting to know you, and then his hands are heavy and everywhere. "Spread your legs," he says, and you resist at first but Brian doesn't even scold you; he just reapplies the oil and slides his thumb down your crack, his touch making it impossible for you to do anything but what he wants. The intimate massage goes on and on; it travels down your legs, between them and even to your feet and between your toes; sometimes Brian pays attention to your shoulders and upper back without ever taking a hand off your backside. Your cock gets heavier and heavier, and eventually you can't keep it from resting on Brian's legs, and when he feels your arousal there, he praises you, "Good boy."
You moan his name because the whole experience is becoming overwhelming, "Brian." You try to position your dick so that it can slip between his thighs because you're afraid to touch yourself in front of him. Surprisingly, he lets you get away with this little maneuver for a minute or so, so long that you start to wonder if you can come like this, and then out of nowhere something buzzes and stings the fuck out of the spot where your ass meets your leg; you scream out in pain. Brian rubs the spot and urges you to, "Shhh." You're recovering from the pain, trying to figure out what happened, when you feel it again on the other cheek. This time you yell, "Fuck!" and jerk away from him, but Brian yanks you back and holds you firm.
"Do that again, Justin, and we'll start all over."
"Why am I being punished?" you ask, your eyes searching the blackness behind the blindfold like there's an answer there.
"Because you took me on a business trip with you just to show me what a well-rounded little whore you are." You have no clue what to say to this and your silence seems to elicit sympathy from Brian, "I know you can't control your slutty tendencies; that's why you have me to help you."
“My slutty tendencies?” you ask, although you probably shouldn’t. “Is this a lesson in irony?”
"Oh, you’re such a clever little twat. Are you going to hold still for me now?" he asks you, his hand passing over your forehead like you're a child in bed with a fever.
You swallow, "Yes, sir."
"Good, because if you don't, the next time you feel that sting will be somewhere you absolutely won't want it." His hand is cupping your balls as he says this; he raises you up so your cock can't sneak a little friction between his legs anymore. "See what a slut you are?"
You get this game now; you play along, "Yes."
You gather the bedspread in your clenched fingers as Brian begins running his hands all over you again; anytime he stops for a second, you freeze and wait for the burn. The telltale zap goes off, but there's no shock with it, instead, it’s just the beginning of a long and erotic spanking--one that involves a long run of Brian's hand showing no mercy in an overly tender spot. As the minutes pass, you feel a delicious shame co-mingling with a sensation that the pain is over-powering the pleasure, that the soreness is almost too much. You feel Brian tugging at your blindfold and you tug back which earns you a, "Stop that," as he pulls the scarf away. He says nothing as he runs a finger under your wet eye, an acknowledgement that you're in too much pain. "You're okay," he says, "I'm going to fuck you until you don't feel that anymore."
Your body doesn't have to move, only Brian's does, and he's fast getting behind you. "Reach back and show me where you need my cock," he tells you. You balance yourself on your forehead as you reach back and spread your bottom open for him and moan when he teases you with a kiss and a tender pass of his tongue.
The fuck that follows is nothing like that.
It's rough, almost brutal. It's one sided and punctuated with Brian's grunts and dirty talk, and then you feel something weird, something wicked with another buzzing sound. It doesn't take you long to realize Brian's wearing a vibrating cock ring. Every time he pushes inside you, he holds you deep so you can feel it. It's amazing--the sensation makes you feel like your orgasm is running up ahead of you, and every time you breathe out, "I'm gonna come; I'm coming," Brian laughs and starts pounding you again. His denial feels cruel after several rounds, and you start to beg him, "Please...let me come. You can fuck me all you want, just let me come."
It turns out to be a masochistic request on your part, and one that Brian grants because he knows you'll regret it. Feeling the vibration after your orgasm is ten times worse, and Brian knows it; he can feel your body tightening up. He slaps your ass and tells you to repeat the words, "I'm a whore," over and over again to, “Distract yourself.”
You do as he says and the words become a rhythmic chant that coincide with every deep dive Brian’s cock takes. Brian's whole body twists when he comes inside you, and yours follows suit because you've essentially become overcooked pasta at this point. He collapses on your back mumbling moist words behind your ear, "God, you little whore, you little cock-hungry piece of ass. That was fucking amazing...Jesus."
You’re exhausted and half panting when you ask him, “Me being a ‘whore,’ this is a good thing?”
He knows you’re half-teasing when he answers, “It’s fantastic. Don’t change a thing.”
Moments later, the cock ring is set free and lands beside your hand. You pick it up to feel it because it's still buzzing. You examine it and ask, "Where'd you get this, Brian?"
"At the drugstore in New York when we were buying condoms."
"Ah," you sigh, "So it's a souvenir."
Brian holds you close so he can stay inside you as he rolls the two of you on your sides. "I suppose so."
"So, I'm the whore in this scenario when you were the one buying a pink glittery vibrating cock ring in secret at the Duane Reed?"
Brian laughs, and you like it because you can feel the gesture in your body, too. "In my defense, it was the only color they had."
"Okay, well, in your offense, I'm pretty sure this was made and marketed to straight men and their whore girlfriends."
"Oh, it definitely was, but you're a little effeminate, so I think it's okay, and it was on clearance for two dollars, so you should like it.”
“I love how you encourage me to be a whore and are offended when I’m also thrifty.” The cock ring putters out and dies in your hand. “Well, you got your two dollars worth,” you tell Brian.
"If it's a crime to know what helps you bust a nut, then lock me up and throw away the key," Brian declares.
You turn to look at him, your tongue poking in your cheek, “Be careful what you wish for, Brian Kinney. Tomorrow isn’t that far away.”
Negotations 13