In His Command

Book 1: Don't Tell

by Rie Warren

Genres: LGBT Gay; Erotic & Steamy Romance; LGBT & Pride; Military Romance; Dystopian

Synopsis

In the dystopian future, two men discover attraction isn't just dangerous, it's deadly. Two generations ago, the world was annihilated by a series of catastrophic environmental events. The remaining survivors were driven closer and closer to big city centers-damaged but not destroyed-divvied into sixteen identical international territories ruled by the Company. Oppressive to the core, the Company has one rule in order to recoup the world's devastated population: homosexuality and deviant sexual behaviors are hanging offenses. First time offenders are last-time offenders. It is the year 2070. Commander Caspar Cannon has a stellar military reputation-and a life-threatening secret. When a revolution rips through the territories, Cannon is ordered to escort Company Executive Nathaniel Rice to a secure location. Leaving the besieged city behind, their journey becomes a minefield of sabotage, betrayal, secrets . . . and intense desire for one another. Cannon's militant self-repression takes a direct hit, his suspicions warring with passion for a man who can never be his, not while the Company remains in power. True to his mission, he delivers Nathaniel to the safe bunker where a fate he never expected awaits him. Word count: 97,000.

Release date: August 6, 2013

Publisher: Forever Yours

Print pages: 368

Sample

Chapter One

The song started softly, lilting high notes saturating the air. The pretty tinkling bells—or some such shit—got real dirty real fast, rapidly descending into rough bass that blasted through the soles of my boots, winding up to my balls. The grinding beat joined raunchy flickering strobes, light like the flashes mounted on relic cameras used only by hard-core black-market dealers in explicit art. The kind of camera that once turned on me so long ago I thought I’d put a cap on that crap.


Investing more time in that line of thinking was gonna end in a massive headache and a revisit to heartache. There’d be none of that. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I focused on the open archways, where the crowd of dancers writhed in sinuous movements. Illicit lovers moaned from shadowy corners and against the massive brick columns of this repurposed sanctuary. Sweat poured from half-naked bodies. Flash-pound. Necks thrown back. Flash-pound. Hands curling around tits, curving over cocks.


Flash-pound.


My heartbeat.

Shit, with the amount of feedback coming at me, it felt like the Company would find us by the sound waves alone.

I was on leave outside the barricades of Alpha Territory, which was a mighty feat in itself. Definitely not in my barracks, aka my two-roomer with exactly one bed—standard single, two sheets, one flat pillow—a two-burner cooktop, a mini fridge, and a standing-room-only shower. Mildew included.

Twenty-three hundred hours. September 15, 2070. But who the frig cared anymore? The months added up and washed away like so many waste-paper products recycled in the toilet. This day marked my twenty-eighth birthday, and I was celebrating it in the anonymous arms of the Amphitheater, so called as a dig against the cold, urban Company.

Hell, the Amphitheater was the closest thing I had to a home. The common link I shared with my fellow revelers was that our perverse, dirty desires were outlawed. We were shoved so deep underground by the new world order, the Amphitheater moved one step ahead of the Company, keeping off the grid, cropping up in the Territory outskirts and occasionally outside. It was a close, closed community—as much as possible given that no personal info was exchanged, no matter how familiar the face.


No tomorrows here, just next time. Unless you got hauled in for homosexual crimes.

Happy fucking birthday to me.


Since I spent most of my time on duty—and in the closet—I needed to throw some enthusiasm into my attitude. Be a peach and all that. Another drink might help me get my chipper on.

The bartender was as round as a cask of contraband hooch herself, pulling a rare bleak look as she passed me a bottle. “You hear about Jax?”

Jax wasn’t the real name of the recently captured lesbian, but one she’d gone by on account of her spirited personality. Jacked-up Jax. Bright as a brass button and energetic to boot. A real popular pal with the gals.


“Yeah.”

“Her RACE trial, what a goddamn waste of a good woman all because she wasn’t a breeder.” The barkeep planted her elbows between us, her gray spiked hair leaning left with the suggestion of grief.

Taken into custody for fucking a woman, Jax had gone through enforced rehab, her only way out to perform a straight sex act before the RACE Tribunal. Repopulation and Civilization Enforcement.

Laughs all around.


I nodded over my drink. “At least she went down fighting.” She went down because she refused the terms. Now Jax was one of many put in the ground.

“Damn straight…so to speak.”

Commiseration came in a shared stare held with painful understanding, not flappy-mouthed conversation. Our bottles clinked, and I exhaled in relief when she buttoned her lip. I was unwilling to discuss anything remotely related to my line of work.

Unlike Jax, we weren’t underground this time, and we weren’t in a cavernous warehouse; this place was open air, care of the loving touch of whoever had taken TNT to the Civil-War-era church belonging to Old History. Beautiful brick walls were half blasted away so the lamplights and halos shimmered with eerie shadows from the last, aged, live oaks caped in tendrils of Spanish moss.

Arched recesses gave way to mounds of grass—that vibrant green, fragrant left-to-grow stuff not seen inside Alpha Territory walls. The delicate church construction was guarded outside by massive stone mausoleums and great granite gravestones with the names of Wannamaker and Heyward and Rice. On arrival I’d cased the location before stepping one foot inside.

I was horny, not stupid.

Tipping back my beer, I scanned the ruins packed with hot bodies, measuring up possible threats. No such thing as a secure night off in my line of work. My reconnoiter came to a halt when I got a bead on the big blond male quaffing a longneck across from me, his back to a corner, same as mine. His eyes scanned between a couple of the arched openings until our gazes clashed and held.

He was noted from before and very much on my radar. He didn’t drop my stare or shift his feet. He had some kind of presence that tipped my guns. Including the one in my pants.

I knocked back my drink and kept my aim on the cocky man rasping two fingers across his lips. His razored hair hung straight past his chin with ends that licked a strong jaw and slanting cheekbones. He was a dirty blond, the dirty was a given from the gimme-some glint of his blue eyes and the flirting line of his full lips. His golden-tipped stubble would leave a good burn on my face, chest, and between my thighs. His shoulders filling the width of the corner he guarded, and every so often his eyes ranged around the place, scoping it out. For security, not sex.

I understood that impulse.

The Purge happened two lifetimes ago, when history was sketchy and intel questionable. Beginning with environmental hazards such as acid rain, global warming, the ice cap melting and ignored by all but the most gung-ho scientists, the Purge slowly steamrolled across the world. Unable to sustain the seven-billion-plus population, our earth finally reached maximum capacity, triggering an environmental downward spiral. The catastrophic earth-wide event was a done deal by 2020. The rest didn’t matter all that much to me anyway. What did matter was it left a huge hole in important things like leadership and government, and it did one hell of a number on democracy. The Purge ripped a new asshole right through the hands-holding, back-to-earth, for-the-people ideology of the early twenty-first century.

The Plague that followed later rounded out the destruction detail. I could calculate the damage from that one firsthand. It had cost me my family. My mother, father, and sister. I was still waiting for the next episode to hit.

Shit always comes in threes.


After the Purge, the remaining populace—the refugees—didn’t have to wait long for wake-the-hell-up time, except there weren’t all that many of them left to wakey-wakey. That’s when the Company took control. Fat corporate cats stabilized the crumbling continents by dividing them into identical pie pieces. Their solution? Cultivate the dwindling pop through legalized procreation and industrial division of labor. Democracy gasped its dying breath.

The CO’s reach? Worldwide. The number-one wage earner? Reproduction. What would get you a good old-fashioned hanging in the Quadrangle? Homosexuality, and/or any other unapproved sexual activities or proclivities.

Greed and avarice were the new rulers, freedom of worship going the same way as freedom of choice. Whatever, the CO were equal-opportunity ass-maggots.

Who just happened to pay my wage.

For people like me, love was folklore, sexual release fought for, and let’s just get rid of that whole cross-your-heart idea of lifelong mates. At least I had my military training, my Corps troops, and my weapons to keep me warm at night.

And this.

Did I say happy fucking birthday to me? Oh yeah.


Add the Class-A asshole at my back doing the breathe-heavy routine—a mere twink compared to the rugged man still watching me—and it was so not party time. Man, I was tired of babysitting. I didn’t have my fatigues on, but I was so fricking fatigued. I did have a Saturday-Night-Special throwaway tucked against the small of my back. There were a lot of things I could do without but a weapon? Call it a security blanket, the only kind I liked tucked against me.

I threatened, “You better back off, pretty boy, before I get trigger happy.”

Yeah, I had charming down pat.


I inventoried the hedonistic gasps, moans, music. The more the better, every fetish fulfilled for at least one night. Looking around the destroyed church, I took a little bit of heart that there was worshipping of the sexual kind going on.

My arm brushed against the hand of a woman lying on a bare plank of wood. Her legs were limp, her body relaxed, her neck rolling from side to side as her Dom plinked one more clothespin to the tissue of her breast. Her tits bloomed from the hard wooden fetters. Drugged up on endorphins, the girl didn’t move a muscle when his palm meandered under her short skirt and up her thighs until her sudden gasp meant his fingers hit home.

Barkeep served the recognizable mouth breather behind me while he tried to help himself to me. Gripping my beer bottle so tight it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter, I barely moved my lips as I spoke. “Go get yourself another daddy to play with, boy.”

As always, the kid had a death wish, because he continued to hang on my back like a damp rag. I ignored him to sweep the scene, stopping at the regulation fucking going on west of me. A top-heavy brunette presented her nipples while she bounced up and down the dick that had escaped the fly of her man’s trousers. He clamped over those popped-out buttons like his life depended on it. Probably did.

Her gray spikes perking up with her eyebrows, the barkeep gave a low whistle that sucked in her round rosy cheeks. “Back in the day, I used to have my pick of the fillies. Nice rack on that one. But she ain’t your style.”

I confirmed with a nod.

She chortled and bent her head close, mentioning the hanger-on practically drooling down my back. “Neither is he, huh?”

He sure as hell wasn’t. Neither was getting flogged, roped up, or—in general—groped. But I did come to get fucked. I simply wanted to find a man, never ask his name, find us a nice private bit of hillside, and make like a jack-off curtain. Get laid. Then get on my way.

That was all the relief I could expect.

The whole hypocrisy thing was carving a canyon straight through my chest. Putting down the few unorganized rebels when I should have been one of ’em. Thing was, my job was the only way to stay out of the breeding program and keep my feet firmly on the ground instead of buried underneath, because no goddamn way would I go before RACE to prove myself a hetero by doing a woman. Just…no. Besides, only way to bring the Company down was from the inside. And since that wasn’t gonna happen either, I made do with the lose-lose situation.


The swish of a flogger sounded; fat slaps of soft leather landed on flesh. The blindfolded man on the cross shivered; tears of sweat tracked down the indent of his spine, dripping into the cleft of his ass, gorgeous taut globes crisscrossed with pink welts. Thrown into a sharp relief of shadows and light, his muscles bunched and relaxed, bunched and relaxed while his low moan was promptly quieted by the precise smacks of the flogger’s handle against his heavy balls. Resuming his strong balletic strokes in a left, right, left, right rhythm, every once in a while the Dom dipped to his ear and caressed the heated marks on superior muscle.


Working around the St. Andrew’s Cross, another station of wanton worship, I regained the vision I’d lost. Still shouldering up the corner, still on the same beer. Pencil Dick was my steady shadow, but I was so into the other man—hard-core into him—PD and his heavy panting just became more background fuzz.

I was staring at the attractive piece of fuck-me across the way with no subtlety at all when fingers slid over my hips, planted on my crotch, and stroked my big hard one to pole position.

Big Blondie across the way took it all in without a wince.

His blatant disregard combined with the boy’s hands on my dick flipped my switch. “Fuck, Leon!”

The insolent bastard pulled me back to his groin. “Mais, I never tought I’d hear dem words from you. That an invitation?”


His voice was girlish but his dialect guttural, an accent he put on with the same ease as his inevitable come-ons. The distinct mother tongue a holdover from his ancestors, most of whom had been wiped out during the Purge when it hit the southern deltas of the former United States.

I caught his wrists in one hand, pinning him against a column. “The only invitation you’re gonna get is the one to your own funeral. Now, keep your hands off me.”

He did that ridiculous bullshit. Dropped his eyelashes, pouted his lips, and nagged like we were the Mr. and Mrs. “Mais, I get it. You still hankerin’ after dat tall drink of jizz over dere?”


That got my back up. Hankering? Not in this lifetime. “Fuck off.”


No way was I all het-up because Blondie had made his first appearance in two months. Not that I was counting. As for pining, only one guilty of that was Leon.

“I only see you at the T’eater every month or so. You walk da big walk, but you never let loose.”

Again with the whiny wifey routine. I cranked the neck of his shirt in my fist. His eyes were soft, as if he thought I was about to kiss him. I cursed and let him go. “Listen. You’re cute but too frigging young for my tastes. And I don’t do brunettes.” I stalked away, grumbling, “You need to lose the desperate, boy.”

At the bar, I made a damn point to stop the massive observation of Captain Cock Hardener in the far corner. So when a voice came across in a deep southern drawl right beside me, I went haywire inside.

“I hate bein’ hit on.”

I glanced left and confirmed Blondie’s stance. Hands loose on his hips, leg cocked, me in his line of fire. This was the man I went home to, fucked my fist to, climaxed long and loud to since I’d first laid eyes on him five months ago. And yeah, even though I’d frequented the Theater a few times since then, the only thing I’d picked up was a beer bottle. I hadn’t had a blow job in ages, given head for longer than that, and I’d deflected all the “let’s-fuck” invites with the same one-liner I’d just played to Leon: You’re not my type.

Jesus. Leon was right. I was pining.

Aaand Blondie hates being hit on. Great. Fucking fantastic, in fact. Guess I wouldn’t polish up my smile for him. I took a swill, then went with my usual tight-lipped grimness. “Yeah.”


Smooth as bourbon, that was me.


“Can I get you a drink?”

When I turned to him, I caught his suppressed smile. My own was somewhere in the region of my heart, speeding that shit up. “You hitting on me?”

“Yep.” His grin widened across the masculine lips I focused on, figuring out how quickly I could get him below me, my dick between those lips until I was rooting against the rooftop of his mouth, aided by what I didn’t doubt would be his talented tongue.

My smile spilled out after my, “Okay.” Okay? What the motherfuck was that? This wasn’t my SOP.


I canned my grin.

We drank, side by side. We watched each other. A spear of longing stabbed down my stomach and hit my balls, setting alarm bells off in my brain.

Swiping my hand over my crew cut, I fell back to comfortable territory. “How do I even know you’re legit?”

The man took a moment, his look suspended somewhere below my hips, where all my juice brewed. An eyebrow lifted in direct time with my swift erection. His eyes rose to my mouth before pinpointing on my glare.

His voice was that same deep drawl, combined with the husky tone of hunger. “You always interrogate men tryin’ to pick you up?”

“You trying to pick me up or set me up?”

A chuckle jostled those big shoulders. His mutter of, “You’ve got no idea,” was hidden behind a deep draft of his beer.

I made ready to move on, swearing myself to oblivion for even thinking about possibilities beyond my reach. But his fingers on my neck, stroking upward over my throat, held me in a sexual trance I couldn’t break.

He was leaner and taller than me, but I could tell his muscles matched mine. And no fucker did that. I would break Leon in two. Not this one. Only…damn. He had something I couldn’t put my finger on, but I wanted to. And my mouth. Sealing around his cock.


“See that?” He slid behind me, right where I never let anyone stay as long as I could draw a breath or my SIGs.

I steeled my impulse to pat him down—for more than just sidearms—the soft stubble of his cheek gliding against the clean shave of mine. My heart jackhammered; something in my leathers grew steelier than my instincts.

The corner of his lips nearly tasted mine when he spoke. “Over there.”

Over there was a table upon which a black-haired woman lay as an all-you-could-eat meal. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist while a lithe little number rolled their breasts together, gyrating their bare pussies in slow undulations. The muscles in her thighs trembled. The moans of the mountee were buried under the all-natural cleft of a voluptuous redhead kneeling in front of her face. Kisses were traded between wet loins and mouths and back again.

I stood my ground when he stepped closer, circling strong arms around my waist, rumbling, “That’s nice, isn’t it? Reckon if I wanted, I could go on up there, get my cock out, and slide right into one of those warm, wet pussies, starting with that pretty lady on the bottom, get her good and hot first.”

Normally the idea of a man on top of a woman hardly got more than a “do what you gotta do, dude” from me, but the idea of him fucking a female rankled me all the way to my nads. My hands clamped over his, ready to tear the teasing asshole off me, but Blondie held tight and continued with the mindfuck that kept me erect and enraged.

“Then I’d slide out and go to work on that sweetie on top. Bang her until the table rocked, and I’d wanna mouthful of the redhead’s cunt at the same time.”

His harsh, sexual words in that soft accent had my teeth grinding, my muscles locking down, my legs rocking, and my dick ready to rocket off.

“That’d be hot, if I was into it, right?”

“Whatever you say,” I growled.

His low chuckle sweeping across my straining neck, he brought me right against him. I felt his raging arousal for the women. He laughed again when I craned away, one step from doing him the favor of dislocating his arms from his shoulder sockets.

“But that’s not hot, big man.” He shifted, seating himself fully against my ass. “You are.”

My head dropped, and I groaned when his lips slid up the back of my neck, brushing into my buzz cut.

He pointed to the centerpiece, the St. Andrew’s cross, and dragged his mouth to my ear. “That’s what I like.”

The scene had varied, same Dom, different play pawn. A regular on the scene, the man must’ve had one in every pocket of his drawstring leathers. Now he wielded a quirt, and he broke a sweat, as did I.

Yeah, not going there either, so goodbye, sweetheart.


The only torture I dealt in was the kind I doled out, and it wasn’t kinky. It was all about getting the canaries to sing. “You into BDSM?”

“I’m talkin’ about cock.”

Fuck.


“I like the way his sub’s gets wider at the base. See that? See how hard he is? Imagine suckin’ that down your throat. Nice hook to it, too. Mmm.” His fingers triangulating my groin, he asked, “You like to suck cock?”


I was blown away. This shit didn’t happen to me. Sure, the “Hit-me-up, big boy” came hot, heavy, and often when I was at the Amphitheater, but my brisk “Go get fucked by a goat” glare took care of that. I was the aggressor.


His light finger work remained outside my blast zone. “What I really wanna see is yours.”

Well, he could see my cock, suck and get fucked by it, but first, I needed to show him I wasn’t some piece of fluff to be toyed with. I was a damn commander, not a cherry. Disengaging from him, I strolled to the Dom, feeling Blondie’s bemused stare drilling into my back with every step. I waited for the downstroke of the Dom’s whipping arm to have quiet words him.

You wanna be aggressive? Watch this.


I should’ve been doing more than jacking sub cock, but there weren’t a whole lot of other options. Most were paired up, tripled…Fuck, it was an all-out orgy. I certainly wasn’t gonna bend Leon over and bang him for Blondie’s pleasure. Although, if this was for his pleasure, there were probably better ways to go about it.

Whatever. It wasn’t as if we’d traded rings, not even cock rings for that matter.


Given the nod, I dropped to my knees, stroking the rigid length at face level and cupping the sub’s sacs. While his master was getting his swing on, I took a double-handed grip on that thick, virile flesh, keeping an eye on Blondie with every upward sweep and swipe across the tumescent cap. Coming down hard and fast, the quirt’s lashing clashed with the slow piston of my fists. We stretched the sub to the breaking point of pleasure and pain until sweat dripped, precome curled from his tip in thick teardrops, and his neck pulled back for a silent scream. Another slash, another full-length squeeze up his slick shaft, and the sub lowered his stance, spreading his legs, looking for permission to pour his semen into my palms.

Blondie’s eyes lost that hazy, lazy look. They were crystalline, possessing astonishing violence I knew from the occasional view in the mirror. He stormed toward us, fists clenched at his sides. I jerked faster, slipping up and down the rock-hard rod, relishing Blondie’s reaction.

He beckoned me away, his features stark. I took my time finishing up by polishing the flat of my palm around and around the dome of the sub’s cock. On my feet, I heard the distinct smack of cock to stomach followed by the wet suck of a palm to shaft. A fast report of lashes landing on flesh merged into untamed shouts when the sub released his seed all over the ground.


I wiped my hands on my leathers, glad at least the other man’s cock hadn’t been in my mouth. It would’ve been disrespectful to Blondie.

Hello, conscience, long time no see.


Stalking past the table of females in flagrante, steering away from Leon watching my exit, I motioned Blondie outside with a jerk of my head.


Beyond the escarpment, feathers of a warm breeze blew the steam from my frustrated stomp. A hand on my shoulder clenched and released and Blondie was so close when I spun around, his breath whirled over my forehead, a sweeter warm breeze than the one played by the trees.

He didn’t move back; instead he dipped his knees enough so our mouths were level, and his words were hot and pissed off. “You put on that show for me?”

“Nah. Just got tired of talking.”

His hands on my hips reeled me in. “How’d you like it if I pulled a stunt like that?”

“I don’t know. Did I blink and miss our Joining Ceremony?”

“Damn it!” My mention of the Company-approved marriage act unsettled him for all of a second or two. “Only cock you should be touching is mine.”

Double that.


A group of young men and women trudged past. Their uniform was black on black from their hair, kept long and uncut, to their clothing, shabby and unusual. Their heads were down as if in prayer, the murmurs they exchanged too quiet to make out. Worn lace and silks and shawls rustled in their wake like ghosts, leaving me with the bad whiff of Nomad in my nostrils.

With my hand clasped in his, Blondie led me farther away. His steps were precise, his eyes roaming. Mine did the same. The blank, black forest surrounded us, so different from Alpha.

A wooden march led us to a trio of tombstones. With a lowered head, he contemplated the stones whose inscriptions were mostly rubbed out with age and neglect. I made out the first letters of one name: HARM. A fitting warning given the way Blondie’s frown drew his fair eyebrows together.

Shaking his head, moving out of the semicircle, he called back, “You like kink?”

“I like sex.”

“You get it much?” In the faint glimmer from rigged halo lights, I saw his cheeks flush. “’Cause it looks like you do.”

“You digging for illegal activities or offering?”

“I’m askin’ you a question. Those lips gonna loosen up for me?”

“No.” I was adept at denying myself. I’d done it all my life. All around us Spanish moss clung to the corkscrewing limbs of oaks sprouting with resurrection ferns. There was an old tarmac road parting the ruins from a rare lake whose surface shimmered under the moon. “I’m not answering any questions.”

The side of his mouth drawn in, he nodded. “Right. I got it.” He backed away, his eyes no longer vigilant but aimed at the ground.

I watched his retreat, powerfully aroused by him, feeling as lonely as I’d ever been. A combo that couldn’t be beat.

He jumped at the sound of impact when I brought my fist down hard on my thigh.

“Gonna regret this,” I muttered as I walked forward, sweeping my fingers across that strong jaw, rough with golden whiskers, and lifting my mouth.

“Oh Christ.” He moaned as my lips fastened on his. Curling his fingers around my ass, he fed from my lips. That was the only way to describe his hunger, our in-and-out lunges chasing the other’s tongue.

When my jacket dropped, so did any pretense of being a coldhearted, coolheaded warrior. I trapped him in my arms as he ran his fingertips around my waist once, twice, before dragging them inside the leather, molding my ass within broad palms.

“Yeah,” I rasped, crashing the rigid lengths of our cocks together.

With each roll across each other, he grunted and I moaned, pulling his bottom lip between mine. I shoved my hands into his hair and twisted the lengths between my fingers, angling his head to better fit the way I wanted to kiss him. With nothing but pure greed.

We parted by a paper-thin divide. Our lips plinked, pressed, pursued. Teased.


He stroked down my ass, his fingertip circling the star of flesh, pressing and drumming. “You like that, big man?”

My stomach clenched so fucking hard, cramps of lust ran all the way to my cockhead and down to my tightening balls. “Hell, yes.”

“Mmm, bet you do.” He made his way up my chest, tearing into my shirt. “Look at that.”


His palms rubbed up and down; then he did the same with his cheek, sending a smattering of kisses and seditious words onto the aroused nubs of my nipples. “Goddamn. You smell like sex, right here. Bet your cock smells even better. I’m gonna get every bit of you wet.”

He sucked on my pecs, gnawing away at the hard edges of muscle, meting out sexy punishment on my tight nipples. When he bit the sinews of my ribs and again at my stomach, I pushed him lower.

Working me out of zippers and buttons, he said, “Gonna make you come so hard.” He yanked my pants down my thighs, intent on my cock, which was so erect it was swollen at the tip.

A howl of need came from deep within my chest as I threw my head back.

He kneaded my sac and smirked up at me. “Feel good, honey?”

“Yeah,” I gasped. “But this’ll feel even better.”

His face between both my hands, I took him directly to the tip of my dick, letting him get no nearer than a tongue swipe away. Cranking his hair in one hand, I worked my fist up and down my cock, right in front of his face while his tongue lapped my head, capturing the trail of moisture from the slit on top. My teeth gnashed at the torture I inflicted on myself, and I spread my feet to brace myself. I wondered how long it would take him to beg, or if I’d blow my load all over his face first.

In the end, all it took was a wisp of his hot breath over me. I gave in, my muscles shaking. Throbbing in every region of my body, I pushed my pelvis out, brought his head forward, and fucked slowly into his mouth. The softest licks of flat tongue, the deepest suction down his throat. His lips were a strained oval around me, his eyes dark, blue and hooded, hooked on mine. Saliva coated my cock as he sucked me quickly in and out until I was familiar with every surface of his mouth, the stricture of his throat, the pointed pleasure of his tongue.

I stood on the balls of my feet to exploit the downward angle of his throat to a better degree. Far fucking better.


Between my meat and his full mouth, his dirty talk did me in when he drew back for a breath, the tease of his tongue touching me as he spoke. “Fuck yeah, honey. Fuck my face. Wanna feel you come in my mouth.”

Didn’t have to tell me twice. I was used to followin. . .