Page 19 of His Pet

Justin

The whores of Babylon have nothing on me, I’m sure my father would say. He would be right.

I didn’t have a choice in sucking Cameron’s cock. I’m sure that every handbook for kidnapped people says to do what your captor says, but this is an entirely different matter. I bet none of those handbooks cover the topic of getting an orgasm in reward for good behavior.

I should refuse. Cameron offered to stop, and he sounded sincere, but I’m weak and pathetic and stupid and did I mention pathetic? I want to come. Worse, I want Cameron to make me come, because he’s so damn good at it. That’s why I don’t protest when he shifts me on his lap so that my back is against his front and my legs are splayed wide. His cock is warm and soft under my ass, its size still impressive even when it isn’t erect.

I’m all sticky with cum, but when I try to wipe my chin, Cameron grabs my hands. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he orders.

I leave the cum be even if it itches as it dries and put my arms where he wants them. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, but not even that stops me from subtly rocking my hips, my cock smacking my abs in a desperate call for attention.

“You want it badly, don’t you?” Cameron teases, but he strokes me again.

I let myself get lost in the sensation. He’s right, I do want it badly. Badly enough to humiliate myself by begging my captor for an orgasm. Not to be released, but to be allowed to come.

When Cameron kisses my cheek, I tilt my head to capture his lips in a heated kiss, which I’ll hate myself for later. For now, though, I pretend that this is normal, that Cameron is a man I hooked up with while on a quest to explore my newfound attraction to men. I pretend that everything that’s happening is consensual.

Which it kind of is.

Fuck, what am I doing?

My doubts don’t make me stop. If anything, they make me lean into the act more. My neck aches from the awkward angle, but I keep attacking Cameron’s mouth. “Faster, please,” I beg, thrusting into his hand, but he maintains the infuriating slow pace.

Cameron chuckles. “Easy, pet. We’ll take it slow, let you feel every second of it.”

He swipes his fingers through the mess of cum on my chest, but instead of making me lick it off, he trails that hand down my body and between my cheeks. I suck in a startled breath when he circles my hole, tensing instinctively. His other hand continues the slow strokes on my cock, giving me something to focus on other than the imminent threat to my anal virginity.

“Relax,” he says. “I won’t hurt you.”

He did promise that, and despite him being an evil kidnapper, I believe him. I have to believe him because if I didn’t, I’d go crazy with fear before he even touched me.

I force myself to relax, decidedly focusing on the hand on my cock and not on the one that’s lower, touching things that shouldn’t be touched and setting alight nerve endings I had no idea existed.

Fuck, why does it feel so good?

I’m close, but Cameron is expertly keeping my orgasm just out of reach, slowing down and even stopping his stroking every time I get near the point of no return. It’s exquisite torture that makes me mindless with need and helps me forget how wrong this all is. He keeps teasing my asshole too, slow circles around the rim like he’s giving me some kinky massage. Once his cum dries up, he fetches a lube kept handy in the coffee table drawer.

The hand stroking my cock sometimes slips lower to fondle my balls, which are already drawn tight. Cameron squeezes them so hard it hurts, except the pain doesn’t really register as pain but as a strange, spicier kind of pleasure.

I cry out and arch into his touch, wanting him to continue and needing him to stop. If I come from his touch, what does that make me? Some sick pervert who gets off on getting raped? Because this isn’t a scene we’re playing out for fun. This is real. I haven’t consented to any of this, so how can I be enjoying it?

“No, please,” I whimper, tears once again streaming down my cheeks. In direct contrast to my words, I thrust into his fist, fucking into it like it’s a sex toy.

I’m not tied up. Why am I not fighting? I should fight, yet all I manage is repeating “No, please” until the words lose all meaning. All while I chase my orgasm like an animal in heat.

“It’s okay,” Cameron says. I barely hear him over the sounds of my own moans. “Kiss me, pet.”

I do, because I have to do what he says. Not because I want to lose myself in the kiss. Then his finger slips inside of me. I instinctively tighten around the intrusion, then moan at how good it feels. There’s none of the pain I expected, just lots of pleasure, made even better when that finger starts fucking me in time to his stroking my cock.

I catch myself chanting “please, please, please,” the “no” forgotten somewhere along the road, along with my dignity.

Cameron’s deep, velvety voice sounds in my ear. “There you go. It feels good to let go, doesn’t it? To not have a single worry in the world aside from obeying and pleasing your Master?”

He’s not wrong, it does sound good. At the same time… “But…”

His finger curls, stroking and searching, until it hits a spot that has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Whatever I was going to say is lost to this fresh wave of pleasure.

“Fuck, please, please, I can’t,” I let out between quick breaths, completely overwhelmed. “Please?” Cameron doesn’t respond, and I despair, convinced he’s going to torture me more, but then I remember what he wants to hear. “Sir! Please, Sir, may I come?”