Page 27 of The Club

I’m already mostly hard again. God, I want to fuck. The need has never been this strong. It rages through me. But I look around and consider the options. There’s a rack with a swing. I like that. I like the spanking bench and the x-cross.

But I’ve already tied him up tonight. I want to watch him move. He’s the one watching me, however, as I finish my circuit of the room.

He hasn’t moved from where I handed him his drink. He’s still sipping it. He looks totally depraved standing there with his face bruised and his cock already hard, the g-string still pointlessly on. That weighted stretcher is tugging his balls low and cum is running down his inner thigh.

His body is gorgeous. Lean and muscled, well proportioned. His face is fucking beautiful. All the men always wanted him at the Island. Angel, they called him.

He’s hardly that.

He’s psychotic. Murderous. Whorish.

If I could love anyone, it would be him.

There’s a semi-circle of normal couches, but I bypass them and settle into one of the black tantric chairs. It’s curved like a double wave, with one low crest and one high crest. I lean back against the high wave and start stroking my cock.

Rafael’s eyelashes lower. He bites his lip. When he reaches for his cock, I shake my head. His hand falls away, but he looks worried. He’s so afraid of denial.

I will use that against him but only when it serves me. I beckon him. He obeys.

“Take off the g-string.”

He does, pushing the straps down and stepping out of it.

“Sit on the low curve,” I tell him. “I want to look at you. Position yourself so you can lean back. I need to see your balls.”

“Do you like them like this?” he asks as he gets in position, his ass just below the crest of the wave. His legs are spread, his weighted sac on full display.

“Definitely.” I stroke myself a few more times. “Did you like coming with that weight on your sac?”

“Yes, but I mostly liked having you in my ass.”

He’s so shockingly honest sometimes. “Then come here.”

As he scoots down, I hold my cock ready. When the mushroom tip presses against his hole, he lets out a sigh of relief. He lowers onto me. He’s well stretched, open for me. He glides on easily, but he takes it slow like he wants to feel every inch. That means I feel it too, the slow, hot sheathing.

When his ass is flush against my pelvis, he shudders. He still has his drink. He sips it while I start exploring him with my fingers. I’ve never really gotten to do this before. In fact, when I fucked him on his couch two nights ago, that was the first time I’d had sex face to face.

Not counting the Island, of course.

I stroke the delicate, taut skin of his sac, marveling at the fullness of his balls below the wide metal ring. His stomach is contracting, his cock twitching. A bead of precum forms at his slit. I sweep it away with my thumb, which I bring to my mouth for a taste.

“Mm,” I hum appreciatively.

He sets his drink aside and starts to fuck himself on me. I invited him. This is less dominant, more casual. I’ll need it rougher to come, but I do want to watch him lift and plunge on my cock for a while.

It’s hot as fuck. My heavy shaft stands rigidly upright, appearing and disappearing as he works himself. His balls hang low under the stretcher and his cock juts high. I stare at the veiny underside and flared, purpled tip.

I don’t touch him. I just watch and enjoy my drink and wait for him to need more. I know he will. I’ve seen his toys, his machines. He won’t come like this. But he’s enjoying it for now.

When I see the first hint of his frustration, I tilt my head, curious. I watch that frustration build. I watch him get angry. I wonder what he’ll do about it.

He goes for my throat. I almost wish that I could endure it, just to see what it feels like, but I can’t. I react instantly, twisting out from under him. My cock pops free of his ass as I grab his wrist. He fights, not as hard as he could but hard enough that I have to get my arm around his neck and squeeze as I get behind him, smashing him into the high curve of the couch as I slam my cock into his ass.

His fingers whiten as he grips the leather. He can’t breathe. I’m too angry to care.

“Is that what you want?” I grit out as I thrust hard inside him. “Hm?”

I yank him upright, forcing his back to bow. It has me hitting his prostate. He screams around the constriction at his throat, the sound choked and garbled.