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For it? No. His body was opening for Jack, as if Jack were the one pressing all this silicone into him. Because that was exactly what was happening. Channon’s hands might be the ones holding the thing, but it was Jack who was pulling his strings.
“Stop touching your cock,” Jack said, and Channon stopped. He clutched the dildo with both hands. “Tell me how it feels.”
“It’s so big,” Channon gasped, lifting his hips off the bed and feeling the length of the thing flex inside him. He was sweating, droplets bursting out of his pores as he rocked the dildo into himself. The overwhelming fullness made his throat thicken, his body tightening compulsively with a delicious, unbearable ache.
“Can you take it?” Jack asked.
“Y-yes,” Channon confessed. “But…Sir, I think…”
Something this large had an effect on him that was impossible to ignore. He was wired, his body straining against the urge to come. He wanted to let go, give in, let it crash over him. But he knew what Jack wanted, and he was trapped between the inevitability of the orgasm building in him and obedience to his Sir.
“Sir,” he gasped, trying not to clench. “It’s so much.”
“You’ve had bigger,” Jack said again, low and insistent.
Channon shook his head. His eyes were watering. “But I came, Sir, it made me come, and I can’t…Sir, it’s going to happen…”
“You’re going to come?”
“Yes, Sir,” Channon breathed, holding the dildo still because if he moved it, it would happen. “I’m trying, but—”
“Then come,” Jack ordered.
Channon whimpered, sliding the dildo the last inch inside him and feeling it go deep. His body spasmed. It was beyond his control. He started to shake, breathing in punched-out little gasps as his balls drew up and his cock jerked, spilling in hot spurts on his sweat-slick torso. He groaned, unable to help it, mindlessly hitching his hips to press the dildo in as deep as it could go. God, it ached. It took him down, drowning him in it.
When it was over, he collapsed on the bed, wrung out and useless. He could barely think, his mind and body wiped by the wash of pleasure that ebbed through him.
His phone had slid down the pillow. It took him an effort to hitch it up against his ear. “Sir?” he slurred.
“That sounded good, sweetheart,” Jack said thickly. His voice was rough. He sounded turned on. Channon wondered blearily if he’d been jerking off. But when he asked as much, Jack laughed ruefully. “Not in Nate’s spare room. No, I’ll save it for when you get home and come on your face.”
If Channon could have laughed at this he would have, but he was wasted. Such a waste. Just flesh.
Usually, this would be when Jack took advantage of his uselessness to fuck him hard and rough, and Channon would be able to do nothing but take it, be nothing but a receptacle for Jack’s come.
Well. He’d have to wait for that.
“Is it still inside you?” Jack asked.
Channon groaned. “Yeah. I’m a mess.”
“Take a photo for me.”
Oh god, of course he wanted that. Channon wiped his hands on the towel and took a really obscene photo of himself. The angle wasn’t great, but dildo was clearly visible stuffed all the way inside him, and he figured that was what Jack wanted to see.
“Beautiful,” Jack said. “Maybe we should have someone take dirty photographs of you some time. Make a set of them. Victor could show them in his gallery.” Channon made a weak sound of protest, and Jack chuckled. “Maybe not. But I’d like the photos, nevertheless. You can take it out and clean up, sweetheart. Leave the call connected, I’ll wait.”
When Channon was clean and dry and safely snuggled under the covers, Jack told him he’d done a good job, had been perfect. “I’m so pleased with you,” Jack said, and Channon wriggled in sleepy contentment.
“I love you, Sir.”
“I know, sweetheart. I love you so much. Looking forward to having you at home.”
“So you can come on my face?” Channon asked with a yawn.
Jack laughed. “You’d better believe it.”
Epilogue
