Page 23 of Devil May Lie

As if it should matter to him what Madden thought about his person.

It shouldn’t.

There was nothing binding between them, no reason for Berga’s subconscious to treat him as someone special or important.

He settled in the tub, laying back to rest his head against the wall as his hands roamed across his chest in an attempt to prepare himself. The water automatically stopped once it was full, the low echoes of his movements cutting through it the only sounds in the heated room. Recalling the way Madden had tweaked his nipples, he gave it a try, disappointed when it didn’t do much for him.

Berga pinched the rosy bud and twisted, letting out a gasp as his hips jerked at the first sting of pain. His dick twitched between his thighs, and he let his eyes slowly shut, giving into his imagination as he continued to pinch and pull at his nipples.

Madden had used his teeth. Teeth would be so much better, that stabbing pain, the quick burn that faded into pleasure…Too bad Berga couldn’t bite himself.

One of his hands trailed lower, dancing across his abdominals until he felt the root of his dick. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he gave a single pump. It felt nice, but again, nothing like how when the Mad King had touched him here.

His own hand had always been good enough, and stubbornly, Berga found himself determined to prove that hadn’t changed. He kneaded his crown until sticky fluid leaked from his tip, fondling his chest all the while. Then he picked up the pace, stroking himself with fast, tight motions that had water threatening to slosh over the rim of the tub.

His balls drew up and he felt that spot in his lower stomach tighten, but it wasn’t enough. As soon as he got close to orgasm, the pleasure fizzled. He remained hard, but couldn’t seem to reach that peak.

He’d never needed penetration before. This had always done the trick, just a quick handjob to reach completion. He’d never had to fantasize to get off, so why…

Berga pictured Madden’s hand on him instead, thought of the way the Mad King would grin arrogantly at him as he made him moan. He’d refuse to let Berga’s cock go until he came for him, that was a certainty. Then, he’d reach lower and—

With a growl of frustration, Berga moved onto his knees, bracing his upper body over the edge of the tub. His right hand continued to pump, but his left wandered back, seeking that place between his cheeks. The second his pointer finger prodded against his hole, he hissed, a spike of ecstasy washing over him, spurring him to further things.

His finger worked past that tight ring, corkscrewing in and pressing in as deep as he could get it in his twisted position.

It wasn’t enough.

Not nearly.

He made a whimpering sound as his bitterness grew and thrust in a second finger. The stretch was amazing, but it still lacked the depth he needed. When he tapped against his prostate, he went wild, rocking back into his hand, the other fisting his dick.

It still wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

He needed—

Desperately, Berga pulled out only so he could search the bathroom for something to use. Literally anything that could touch those hidden places deep inside of him. There was nothing, however. He didn’t keep much here, just shampoo and—hairbrush.

He clambered out, uncaring about the water he dripped all over the place, and snatched the brush from its place in the holder next to the sink. His body was practically screaming for release now, and he only managed to fling one leg over the edge of the tub before he succumbed to the craving.

The handle of the brush was only a little wider than two of his fingers had been, and he wished for the burn of being stretched past his limits. This would have to do though, he couldn’t waste time searching for something bigger, not when he was this desperate.

Berga shoved the entire handle into himself, moaning as he removed his hand and ground down against it, using the flat top of the bathtub ledge to push the brush as far in as it could go. He quickly started thrusting into his other palm, his cries of pleasure echoing against the cement walls of the room.

If Madden were here, he’d force him down and fuck him brutally, unapologetically even. He might laugh and breathe against the curve of Berga’s ear and tell him how pretty he looked bent over for him.

Tell him he’d only look better if he was also wearing the Mad King’s come.

Finally, the orgasm crashed over Berga, cock spurting out over the wooden finish as his ass clenched around the brush handle. He rode the waves, unwilling to stop until he was completely spent and his body started to reject the intrusion.

Pulling the brush free, he tossed it into the trash can and then dropped back into the bath, splashing water all over the place as he attempted to catch his breath. Everything was buzzing, his skin, his heart, his head. It was pure bliss, momentarily clearing his mind.

Until it didn’t.

His gaze wandered to the silver trash bin and he grimaced. Had he really just fucked an object? Not only that, but he’d actually needed it to achieve completion.

Good Light.