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"Yes, what?" His tone was sharp. Thomas closed his eyes, his heart tripping as his cock jumped.
"Yes, Master. "
"Good. I'm going to keep massaging your stomach. I like the way it feels, the ridges of muscle under my palm, the way they tighten up further, every time I rub lower, get closer. I can see your cum leaking out of the slit, your balls drawn up, wanting me to cup them, squeeze them. You want your Master to touch your cock, don't you?"
Thomas groaned, his hand convulsing on his stomach. He wanted more than that.
He wanted Marcus' touch, rough and brutal, gentle and teasing. He wanted his ass filled. He wanted to be pumm
eled, hear Marcus growl, his hand gripping Thomas' hair, yanking it back to grip his throat with his teeth as he thrust and thrust, knocking Thomas' knees out wider, reaching down and collaring his balls as he slapped against his ass, again and again.
"Are you. . . touching yourself, Master?"
"Would you like that?"
"Yes. " God, yes.
"Tell me what you'd like. And I'm not touching your cock until I decide it's time. "
"I want to take off your shirt. Rip it off. One button at a time. Put my mouth on your skin. " Bite you, suck on it as if I could eat you one bite at a time and finally not be empty, empty. . . "God, I love your body. " But more than that. "I love the way you breathe faster when I touch you, when you're getting hard and I know you're going to fuck me, I can see it in your eyes. Not asking me or coaxing me. You're just going to fuck me, and that's the end of it.
"I want to get on my knees, watch you open your pants, take down your underwear and force your cock into my mouth. Hold my head so you can thrust in hard, smell your come, wanting you to jet into my throat almost as much as I want it in my ass. I want you everywhere, Master. In every way. "
"I'm touching you now. " Marcus' voice was rough, thick. "I'm moving my hand down and fisting your cock. Pumping it in my grip, making your ass come up off the ground. Spread your knees out wide so I can see your balls, finger your ass if I want. " Thomas obeyed, his hand working himself, Marcus' hand in his mind, those green eyes close, his lips, his long, lean body.
"I sent you something. I know you have it there, in your studio where you can lock it up. Have you used it?"
"No. You didn't - "
"Say that you could. Good slave. "
Though part of it was Thomas not wanting to use it alone. He'd thought often of that box since it had come.
"Get it," Marcus said.
Reluctantly, Thomas rose again and went to the locked cabinet. His shaking fingers had some trouble with the combination padlock, but then he opened it, removed the box. He'd only taken a brief glance at it, but now he swallowed. It was a vibrating plug of daunting diameter and length with a bottle of warming lubricant. "Pet?"
"I'm here. "
"It's my size exactly. You can take it. "
"It looks different. . . detached. "
"Grease it up. I want you back on that carpet with it up your ass in five minutes. "
"You aren't moonlighting as one of those porn stars, are you? The ones who make molds of their cocks and sell them in catalogs?" Even as he made the joke, Thomas' hands were moving over the texture, putting on the viscous liquid. It was about the right size. If he closed his eyes, he could just imagine. . .
"You imagining it's my cock you're lubing up?"
"Yeah. "
"I thought so. Your voice started to get all low and sexy at the end. You practically purr like a tiger when you're about to get off. Makes me harder. Rub me, Thomas. Let me feel your hands. Am I good and slick? Hard enough for you?" Thomas nodded. "Yes, Master. "
"Good. Get down on the floor again. Keep that phone near. I want to hear your groan as you take it. God, you have a fine, tight ass. Best I've ever had. " Thomas didn't want to touch that, the mixture of jealous and possessive heat the comment evoked in him. He went back to the rug and lowered himself. Putting his feet on the side of the cabinet so his knees were raised, he began to take the greased dildo.
"Rub it against your cock and balls first. I want to feel your cock against my cock. " Thomas grunted huskily as the friction made his cock jump, convulse.
"Yeah, that's it. " From the cadence of Marcus' breathing, he knew Marcus' hand was working himself. He was probably sprawled on his couch with his paperwork and an open bottle of wine, the lights of New York spread in a panorama before him while Thomas was in a shed in a quiet field in North Carolina, surrounded by the smell of paint, canvas and old lumber, a silver star and black sky domed over it all. It didn't matter. Thomas' eyes landed on the last painting.
