about his money.
From the way Michael had lived so far, careless and on the edge, and from how he gave himself in sex, it wasn’t so difficult to conclude what kind of relationship he craved. He needed to be somebody’s priority. He wanted someone to keep him in line, to protect him from himself, to fuck him ruthlessly and take care of him with tenderness. He was asking me to do it because I was the one around while he couldn’t trust a soul and felt the most vulnerable in his life. Sex and physical pain were his outlet, his coping mechanisms. He could wake from a screaming nightmare, jerk off the next minute, and come like a geyser. When I’d beaten him up with a fucking dildo, used his body, and told him to sleep in our drying cum, an almost invisible, soft smile had played on his lips. Happiness. Fucked out and sore, he could sleep in peace. Make it through another day.
A sea of red flags stormed in my mind. At the same time, I cherished the idea of him needing me in a different way. I wanted to take care of him, to see the content, sleepy smile on his face after I fucked him, to know I made his monsters go away…
“It’s dangerous for you, Mikey.” It was the simplest, most obvious argument. I was only trying to convince myself, even though I already knew I would fail. I wouldn’t be able to stay away from him.
“But it’s too late,” he murmured against my throat.
He knew, as did I. We already wanted each other too much to deny ourselves. If I stopped now, I’d go insane with needing him. I want to take care of you, my sweet boy. I want that so much.
“You will stick to the rules. And you won’t provoke me when I need to focus,” I told him sternly.
You’re an idiot, Nowak. This boy is going to ruin you.
“Yes, Daddy.”
God. Why was it so fucking beautiful to hear him say that to me?
I’m a good boy
Michael
It was fun testing the waters with Vincent, trying how much power I could have over him. The push and pull between us and the sexual energy in the cabin made me so excited all the time I was actually almost happy. The emotion felt so alien at first and then completely natural. Of course, no danger could reach me when I was Vincent’s, right?
The next day, after dinner, Vincent sat in the armchair, drinking tea and reading. I did the dishes, hung the towel, and stepped in front of him.
He raised his eyebrows at me.
“Please, Daddy.” I knelt and ran my hands up his thighs. “Will you let me suck on your cock?”
He didn’t say anything, just spread his legs wide, sinking lower into the armchair, and returned his attention to his book. I grinned. Vincent was fun. It was like he had a direct connection to the most primitive parts of my brain, knowing exactly what to do, what to say, and when to stay quiet to make me need him like I needed water.
I settled closer to him, kneeling between his legs, opened his fly, and pulled his cock out. He was half-hard in my hand and stiffened further when I squeezed. I nuzzled his groin, reveling in his scent.
I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around his glans, nipping, pulling all the tricks I knew. He tasted divine. Salt and man and the unique flavor of Vincent. After a while, he put his book aside and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His hand cupped the back of my head, guiding me, and I followed.
I moaned with my lips stretched around his impressive girth, my erection straining in my underwear, wetting it with precum. His hand on my nape was so fucking hot, forcing me to take him just a tiny bit harder than was comfortable. Perfect.
Then he pushed my head down, his cock tore into my throat, and he came, drowning me. I choked on his cum and coughed a little, but didn’t pull away. Heat surrounded my aching dick and balls, and it felt as if Vincent was touching me everywhere. Frenzied and breathless, I licked and sucked the cum from Vincent’s skin, wanting to get as much of his essence inside me as possible. As if eating his cum would make me belong to him more. Vincent’s hand tightened on my scalp, and he thrust up