I didn’t keep him waiting for long. I just built him back up from the high he’d gotten close to earlier. One vibration at a time. Slowly. I wanted him to start confident, to breathe through it and tell himself that he could take it. Maybe it made me softer. Maybe it didn’t make me as kinky. But a harder way would deprive me of too much. Of his eyes as the vibrations grew stronger. As the pressure, the need to thrust, the need of its clit to thicken and enlarge when it couldn’t, all dawned on him. Slowly. As a train crash he was witnessing while unable to put a stop to it.
“Santos, please, please, fuck?—”
The babbling started soon after that. The writhing. The unshed tears and the abuse of his bottom lip, which he kept biting as if that was going to fix everything.
All I was doing was pressing on a couple of buttons, keeping a hand on his thigh so that he didn’t even think of changing positions. Of protecting himself or making himself less vulnerable than he was now, curled up for me. All for the taking. For the viewing. My viewing.
“Fuck, fuck, I can’t, oh fuck, it’s so, I’m going to?—”
Tears leaked out of his eyes. I didn’t know that he was fully aware. Ever hated crying in front of anyone, even me. I leaned forward anyway, kissed the two salty drops away. Didn’t question why the taste felt so good on my tongue.
“Your clit can’t come caged like that, princess?” I nosed his jawline. “I thought good girls came when their pussy is fucked like yours is.”
More expletives and pleas followed.
They made me fucking high on that power I was getting more and more acquainted with.
I upped the strength of the vibration to the highest setting and grunted as I rutted against his plugged ass. Against his pussy.
The one I was tormenting right now.
The one that had me wishing I’d found a way, or the courage, to come here sooner. More often. Something.
“Fuck,” Ever could barely enunciate the simple words, biting on his lip and straining his neck, tilting his head back as if that would help keep all the pleasure at bay. All the pressure. All the heat. “Fuck, fuck, Sir, please, please, more, I don’t know, I, please?—”
A thin tendril of cum quickly stained his cage, sliding off the open sides while he was left a wrecked mess.
For all of five seconds, I counted in my head before his eyes widened, and all the bliss that came over him after we fucked was replaced with utter horror.
“I’m sorry.” Ever swallowed, shifting back to a seated position that pulled him farther from me. In this moment, it was the only thing I registered. The only thing that bothered me and that I focused on. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
Oh.
Right.
“Does it help when you call me Sir?”
He wasn’t the only one holding his breath, or the only one trying to read the person in front of him.
“I mean, you don’t want me to. It’s not… I know that, I…”
“You can.”
The words left me out of breath before I recovered. Before the truth in them settled deep in my bones, and I moved back to hover my body over his.
“But you said you’re not from the start. I…”
“I want you to.” I wanted him to stop feeling out of words, too, to stop questioning things. I had a part there. I’d been the one who had been just as stuck on a particular label as he’d been. “Call me Sir, Ever.”
His eyes searched my face for the longest two seconds of my life. I’d never quite understood the audiobooks that went on and on about all the emotions that glittered and showed in someone’s gaze. I did now, as brown orbs almost trembled with the same kind of anxiety that had to be taking hold of him.
“Yes, Sir.”
thirty-two
Santos
Is it bad that I don’t use she/her when thinking about you in my head?
