Fiction Freeze or Fold (Completed Story)

**All characters are consenting adults 20+ yo**
Gay, M/M, BDSM

Riley stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of the brick walk-up that used to be home. The late-October wind knifed straight through his thin gray hoodie and the white tee underneath; both clung to his narrow chest and flat stomach, damp with nervous sweat.

Six months unemployed. Everything gone. The landlord had laughed in his face while boxing up the PlayStation and his limited-edition sneakers. She'd taken one look at Kevin the cactus, the one Riley talked to when he was drunk and lonely, and shoved it into the box. Likely to never see daylight again.

Riley hadn’t fought the eviction. Hadn’t even shown up to court. He’d blown the last of September’s tips on vodka tonics and a smug finance bro who’d sworn he’d Venmo for the Uber home. Blocked before the bill hit the table. When Riley stumbled back, the door was already chained; he’d barely been allowed inside to grab a change of underwear.

Now he owned exactly what he was wearing: faded black skinny jeans that still made his ass look illegal, the white tee, and the cute hoodie. Phone on 8%, bill due. Wallet with one maxed-out credit card and the crumpled receipt from that ghosting douchebag. He tasted copper where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek too many times.

Just when he was about to give up waiting, Jake came out the main door, earbuds in, scrolling. Stopped dead when he saw Riley.

“Jesus fuck, Ry. You look like a crackhead’s after-picture.”

Riley flipped him off, half-hearted. “Thanks, babe. Love the support.”

Jake’s gaze raked over his greasy curls and the purple bruises under his eyes.

“You can crash on the couch a couple days,” Jake said. “Larry won’t mind.”

Riley shook his head. “Just need a few bucks.”

Jake shrugged, fished out twenty-something crumpled ones and pressed them into Riley’s palm. They stood there for forty seconds of nothing: weather, some mutual friend’s drama, anything but the obvious. Then Jake headed for the bus stop.

“Later, Riley,” he called over his shoulder, throwing a lazy wave. “Try not to suck too much dick on the way to nowhere.”

Riley’s grin cracked his chapped lips wide enough to sting. He turned and started walking. Any direction, just moving so the cold couldn’t catch him.

The next few days blurred into sleet and hunger. One morning Riley woke curled in the doorway of a shuttered Subway, knees jammed to chest. The wind clawed under the glass awning and straight for his balls.

The shelter on 12th had a line longer than pride, snaking around the block in the dark. The guy ahead reeked of piss and muttered about demons in cop uniforms chasing him. Riley tried his mom’s number again. Straight to voicemail, same as every other attempt in the past few years. Sometimes she called back. Just not often.

He blew three guys that night. Quick, mechanical trades in idling sedans that stank of pine air freshener and old cum. One guy tried to stiff him; Riley grabbed his nuts and squeezed until the cash hit his palm, then helped himself to the half-finished Taco Bell bag on the way out. Enough calories to keep the body running. Not enough to stop the shame from spreading like rot through his gut.

A boot nudged his frozen sneaker.

Riley squinted up. Late morning light, pale and merciless. Jake crouched there, close enough that Riley could smell the faint trace of his old cologne under the coffee steam. The same one from when Riley used to bury his face in Jake's neck after sex.

For one stupid heartbeat, the world tilted: he saw Jake sliding under the covers beside him, broad shoulders blocking out the cold, hands warm on Riley's hips, pulling him close like nothing had ever broken between them. The urge flared hot. Reach out, grab his jacket, drag him down into this doorway and pretend the last two years were just a bad dream.

Then the 7-Eleven cup filled his vision, cheap plastic lid fogged with heat, and reality slammed back like the wind. Jake looked warm. Clean. Untouchable. The leather jacket Riley had given him four birthdays ago still fit perfectly, hugging shoulders that used to be Riley's to claim.

“Fuck me, you really did hit rock bottom,” Jake said, not unkindly. He pushed the coffee into Riley’s blue-tinged fingers. “Offer still stands. Not asking you to go out with me. Just come stay and get warm. Nothing more than that.”

The first sip scalded Riley's tongue and made his eyes water. He hated how good it felt.

"No," Riley finally answered.

Jake stared at him. “I’ve heard stories. You've been sucking off the trolls who cruise the park after midnight."

Riley shrugged, "Warm car. Sometimes they feed me.” He tried for a smirk at his private joke, but it came out a grimace.

Jake didn’t laugh. He studied Riley for a long, uncomfortable moment, then pulled out his phone.

“If you won't come home with me, then how about this. I know a guy,” he said finally. “Loaded. Private address near the park. Likes pretty boys who are… between opportunities.” He typed, then turned the screen. A single address in Notes. “Knock three times. Wait for the intercom. When he asks who it is, you say: ‘It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you.’ Exact words. No negotiation.”

Riley barked a laugh that cracked in the middle. “You’re fucking pimping me now?”

Jake shook his head softly, eyes dropping to the snow between them for a beat too long. “No.” His voice came out quieter than before, almost rough. “I used to live with him.” No shame in his words, but the way Jake said it felt like a confession he'd never planned to make.

Then Jake reached out slow, careful and wiped away a streak of dirt from Riley's cheek with his thumb. The touch lingered longer than necessary, rough skin against cold skin, warm enough to make Riley's breath hitch. Tender. Familiar. Like muscle memory from nights when that same thumb had traced Riley's jaw after they fucked slow and deep.

Riley didn't pull away. Didn't lean in either. He just let it happen, heart thudding traitorously.

“It isn't bad,” Jake continued, steadier now but still low. “You get food, heat, a bed. Whatever you need. Hell, whatever you want... But he’s… specific.” The shrug was small, almost apologetic. He offered a small smile.

Riley snapped back, breaking the spell. Sudden. He laughed a sharp, brittle giggle that cracked into something almost hysterical. “So I just whore myself to your old boyfriend. Some rich Dom because I’m too broke for a bed? Hard pass.”

Jake stayed kneeling there. Snow on his jeans. “Or come sleep on my couch, man," he said softly. "Seriously you're going to die out here. He’s forty-five, six-four, built like he could snap you in half without breathing hard. And hot in that scary-quiet way. Your type, actually.”

“More my type than you’ll ever be,” Riley snapped, the words out before he could stop them.

Jake flinched like he’d been slapped. “Damn… man… I said I’m sorry. I meant it. I can’t stand to see you like this…” He dug into his pocket, stuffed a single fifty into Riley’s pocket like it burned his fingers. His voice cracked as he said, “Offer stands. Or don’t." Then he was on his feet, shoving the words out like they burned. "Fuck it. Just freeze, I don’t care. Up to you.”

He turned and walked away without looking back, shoulders hunched against the wind. Riley watched the shape of him recede, saw the swipe of Jake’s hand across his cheek. Tears? No, just melting snow, Riley decided. Didn’t matter.

He could have shouted. Could have jumped up, chased him. Begged. The impulse flared hot in his chest, then guttered out just as fast. His legs felt glued to the concrete. His lips still remembered how Jake’s mouth had tasted; heat and promises. But the rest of him remembered the silence that followed for months after he left. The night Jake quietly emptied his side of the dresser, grabbed his pillow from their bed, and walked out without a single word. No fight. No goodbye. Just gone.

Pride wasn’t the only thing holding him down. It was easier to freeze than to beg for scraps of a love that had already walked away once.

Riley sipped the cooling coffee and stared at the empty street. The phrase Jake had given him crept back in, uninvited: It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you. It looped, obscene and rough against the inside of his skull. He gagged a little, throat closing around the taste of it. Not yet. He wasn’t that far gone.

He still had some fucking dignity left.

Just not enough to call Jake back.

The following week the cold turned vicious. Sleet lashed sideways, teeth chattered until he tasted blood from his bitten tongue, and his throat ached deep from nights spent on his knees in idling cars. Dignity didn't keep him warm. It didn't fill his stomach. It didn't stop the shivering that never quite left.

Halfway to Jake's apartment, he stopped at a bus stop. The vehicle idled, doors open, exhaust curling white in the dark. People stepped off, bundled and hurrying. Riley stared at the lit interior, warm air leaking out, then climbed aboard on pure impulse. He sank into a seat, hood up, staring at nothing as the bus lurched forward.

Eight blocks later, he got off.

He found the house.

It sat back from the road behind a row of evergreens loaded with ice. A few streetlights, no neighbors close by. Dark windows and one steel door.

Riley stepped onto the porch. Sleet soaked through his hoodie fast; it hung heavy and cold on his shoulders. His fingers were stiff and numb, hard to move.

He looked at the brass door knocker. He’d seen ones like it in videos. For a second he just stood there, staring. His stomach was tight. He knew what he was about to say. He knew how it sounded. But the cold was worse, and the night was long, and he had no other place to go.

He knocked the way Jake had instructed.

The sound echoed into silence.

A few minutes later the intercom crackled. A deep, calm voice came through.

“Who is it?”

Riley closed his eyes. Snow melted on his lashes and ran down his cheeks like tears.

“It’s Riley, Master,” he managed, voice cracking in the cold. “I want to come for you.”

He waited, shivering violently, every inch of pride screaming at him to run.

The door unlocked with a heavy, final click.

Riley stared at it for several long moments, hesitating before he stepped over the threshold into warmth that smelled faintly of leather and control.

(Continued below Post 2)

 

[yrailed]

After months of wind that sliced like broken glass, the warmth hit him like a stranger’s hand slipping down the front of his jeans without warning. The place was immaculate: pale walls, soft recessed lighting, a single crimson runner that probably cost more than his entire old life. A fresh pine garland with red berries arched overhead, reminding him that the holidays had passed without him noticing.

“Hello?” His voice cracked, small. “I’ll… wait right here if that’s okay. It’s fucking freezing out there.”

A long, heavy silence. Then the voice echoed. Deep, unhurried, the kind that expected obedience without raising a decibel.

“State your age.”

“Twenty-four”

“Tell me about yourself.”

Riley started to stammer, then the old reflex kicked in. He straightened a little, shoulders back, and the words tumbled out like he was still the bratty little shit who used to roll his eyes at kneel selfies and tell leather daddies that “Sir” was for theater kids and Republicans. He laughed about the time he talked a stranger into bottomless mimosas at brunch, how he’d batted his lashes until the guy paid the whole tab and then ghosted him anyway. For a second he was that Riley again: cocky, sexy, obnoxious, smart-mouthed. The one who could make a room laugh or blush with one raised brow.

The laugh died in his throat when he remembered the words he’d just whispered into the intercom.

It’s Riley, Master. I want to come for you.
The memory of saying it out loud slammed him back. He pressed both trembling palms to his burning face. His fingers still stank of the rusted metal grate he’d curled up on last night.

Walk out right now, his mind screamed.

Except the last place he'd slept reeked of piss and a guy had jammed a knife under his jaw for the cash Jake had given him.

Except the thought of one more night with sleet down his collar made his balls tighten painfully, trying to hide from a cold that never quit.

He took one shuffling step forward. His wet sneakers left perfect gray prints on the hardwood. He stopped,.staring at the evidence he’d been here. That he’d crossed the line.

I can still leave when I want, he told himself. Just… see what he wants. Hear the deal. Worst case, I blow him and crash on the floor where it’s warm. One night. Then I’m gone.

The lie tasted sweet and filthy. Because some dark, traitorous part of him had been rehearsing those exact words since Jake walked away. Practicing the hitch in his voice, the way it would break when he said them. His cock twitched traitorously against the damp denim.

“Bathroom. Second door on the left. Strip. Drop everything down the chute. Shower. Shave yourself smooth except for a neat little patch above your cock. Brush your teeth until your mouth stops tasting like the street. When you’re done, dry off and wait. Take all the time you need. Riley.”

No threat. No hurry. Just instructions, delivered like he already knew Riley would obey.

Riley stood there a second longer, heart rattling against his ribs.

He glanced at the door behind him. Jake was right. He'd probably freeze to death by morning.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, loud enough for the microphones to catch. “Your house, your rules. For tonight.”

A choice. His choice. Not coercion.

The bathroom door closed behind him with a soft click. Heated floor and low golden light. He inhaled the cedar and eucalyptus and exhaled a long, lingering breath. A rain shower big enough for three or more filled one side. Mirrors everywhere. He caught his reflection and flinched. Two days since his last shower at a shelter. He looked like he felt. Something dragged in off the curb.

He peeled the hoodie off and let it fall with a wet slap. T-shirt clung, fought him, finally surrendered with a slight tear across the back. When it finally gave up, warm air kissed his tight nipples but they stiffened instantly anyway. Jeans and briefs together, shoved down skinny hips. His cock bobbed free and immediately started to thicken in the warm air, like it already knew it was home.

He laughed once, sharp and delirious. Relief so intense it felt sexual.

He flushed, washed his hands like a civilized human, and opened the cabinet.

Everything was waiting: toothbrush still in plastic, clinical mouthwash, shaving cream that smelled faintly of mint and money, fresh razors, a sealed enema bulb with a little note in black ink: Twice.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it, perfection or GTFO.”

He brushed his teeth and flossed until the water ran clear and his gums sang. He stood under the hot spray for a couple of minutes, just long enough to thaw, then stepped out to shave.

First his face, then pits. Bent around and carefully denuded the sensitive skin around his hole until it felt raw and electric. Trimmed the pubes above his cock into a perfect little landing strip because apparently that was the one place he was allowed to look like a man tonight. He thought he would look fuckable either way.

He stepped back into the shower and turned the rain head on full. The first shock of hot water ripped a broken sound out of him (half sob, half laugh). He stood under it forever this time, face tilted up, letting it scour him clean. Soap that smelled like expensive sin. He washed his hair twice, then again for good measure. He needed a haircut he realized. He scrubbed every inch of skin until it tingled.

His cock bobbed, heavy and leaking. He wrapped a soapy fist around it without thinking, gave one slow stroke, then another. The brat in him grinned.
“Yeah, I’m jerking off in your fancy shower,” he said to the empty room, voice echoing off stone.

He braced his forearm against the tile.

Bowed his head.

Stroked himself hard and fast.

Hips rolling.

Breath sucked in and out.

In less than a minute he came with a low, shattered groan.

Stripes of white splashed the glass and washes away like they’d never existed. The orgasm rolled through him so hard his knees almost gave out. He laughed again, breathless and giddy, forehead pressed to the cool tile.

“Fuck, that was good,” he panted. “Ten out of ten, would sell my soul again.”

The second time took a few minutes, but when it hit he felt completely emptied.

He rinsed off slowly after that. Reluctantly. Savoring the never ending heat.

When he finally stepped out, a thick towel waited on a warmer bar. He buried his face in it and just breathed.

When he finally turned off the water he heard a soft chime. A panel opened near the towel rack. White tee, black briefs, both ridiculously soft and obviously chosen to show every line he had.

The briefs slid up his smooth legs like cool silk, clinging instantly to every inch of freshly shaved skin. The fabric was thin black micro-mesh that molded to him like a second skin. It hugged the length of his cock, outlining every vein in sharp relief, the fat head already swollen and insistent, pushing forward until it crested the waistband and left a dark, glistening wet spot at the tip.

The pouch was so snug it lifted and displayed him. Package framed, balls cupped high and tight, the outline obscene in its clarity. Humiliating, yes. But fuck, it was hot. The way the material stretched taut across him, the way it made him look deliberately slutty, like he’d been dressed to be looked at. Touched. Used.

The white T-shirt even better, depending on the angle. Thin cotton clung to his chest and nipples like it had been sprayed on. The hem stopped exactly at the elastic of the briefs. When he inhaled, the shirt rode up just enough to show bare skin and the sharp cut of his hipbones and the faint trail of trimmed hair disappearing under the waistband. When he exhaled, it settled back.

Riley turned slowly in front of the full-length mirror. He ran a hand down his stomach, fingers brushing the exposed skin, then lower, cupping himself through the fabric. The mesh caressed against the sensitive head and he hissed softly, hips twitching forward into his own palm.
“Fuck,” he muttered to his reflection, voice low and rough. “Look at you. All dressed up like a good little slut.”

His cock jumped at the words. Another bead of pre-cum darkened the fabric.

The voice returned, warm with quiet amusement: “Towel down the chute when you’re ready. Then come eat. Take your time.”

(Continue below Post 3)

 

[yrailed]

After a few more minutes, Riley followed the faint glow of light down the hallway. He felt like a walking invitation, dressed to be devoured, and the thought made his stomach twist with shame and a low, unwelcome heat.

The kitchen opened up before him. It was sleek, modern, all stainless steel and marble counters that gleamed under pendant lights. Something was cooking on the stove. A bottle of red wine breathed on the island, two glasses waiting. And there, perched on a stool at the far end of the island, was him.

The Master.

Riley stopped dead, breath catching. Jake's words echoed, and fuck, he hadn't been exaggerating. Forty-five, maybe, with the kind of face that looked carved from stone. His sharp jawline shadowed with a day's worth of salt-and-pepper stubble, high cheekbones, eyes a piercing gray that pinned Riley in place without even trying. Six-four easy, broad shoulders straining the simple black button-down shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and veins that popped like they were sculpted for display. Definitely big enough to snap Riley in half, yeah.

Riley's mouth went dry. He figured the man sitting there knew every filthy thought running through his head. The man just stared at him. It felt like being stripped all over again. It was worse than touching.

Riley swallowed hard, heat flooding his face. His balls drew up tight, and he fought the urge to cross his arms, to hide. Instead, he lifted his chin and met those gray eyes. "So... you're the guy."

The Master's mouth twitched, almost a smile. His voice was the same as the intercom. Deep, calm, wrapping around Riley like smoke. "And you're Riley. Come in. Don't hover in the doorway."

Riley stepped forward, feeling his cock bob with the movement. And he knew the Master saw it. Eyes flicked down, then back up, unhurried, appraising.

Master nodded towards the stove. "Serve us. The food's ready. I prepared filet mignon, roasted asparagus with balsamic glaze, and garlic confit potatoes. Nothing too complicated, but it'll warm you up."

Riley blinked, his stomach growling at the mention. Fancy but basic steak and veggies.

"Serve... us?"

The Master leaned back slightly, crossing those massive arms over his chest, which only made his shirt pull tighter. "Plates are in the cabinet to your left. Wine glasses already out. Pour us both a glass. Half full, let it breathe. Set places here at the island. No need for the dining room tonight; we're keeping it simple."

Riley hesitated, feeling ridiculous half-naked, cock straining like a needy puppy, while this guy just... ordered him around like it was nothing. His cheeks burned, but his body responded anyway: nipples peaking under the thin shirt, a fresh bead of pre-cum dampening the briefs. The command in that voice tugged at something low in his gut, making his hips want to shift.

He moved, because what else was he going to do? Opened the cabinet and found fine china plates. Forks and knives from the drawer. His bare midriff brushed the cold marble as he leaned over to get something, and he sucked in a breath, the exposure making his skin prickle.

Riley grabbed potholders, served the juicy, perfectly cooked steak onto each plate, added the asparagus spears glistening with glaze, the potatoes soft and garlicky. The smells made his mouth water.

"Wine," the Master prompted, voice low and even.

The deep red liquid swirled into the glasses, half full like instructed. The bottle was heavy, expensive-looking label. He set one glass by the Master's plate.

Fuck. He shifted, trying to adjust without touching himself, but the friction only made it worse.

"Good," the Master said, finally picking up his fork. His eyes met Riley's again, holding them. "You may stand at the counter." The Master gestured towards a spot by the sink. "Eat there. We'll talk after you've had something in you."

Riley looked confused towards the empty stool at the end of the island. He swallowed and set his plate on the counter. Stood there on full display. Picked up his fork. Found his appetite warred with the heat pooling in his groin.

While they ate, the Master introduced himself as Eric and mentioned that Jake told him about Riley. How he might come to his door. "He didn't think there was much chance of it," Master Eric smiled. "I'm glad he was wrong." I already let him know you were here.

The man tilted his phone and Riley could see the grinning emoji Jake had sent back with the text "Thank you for taking care of him Sir"

Riley just nodded unsure of what to say. Tried a bite of meat. Chewed slowly. It tasted even better.

When Master Eric needed more wine he simply tipped his glass towards Riley. Riley stared for a moment then moved, careful not to spill as he poured. His cheeks flushed pink when Master accidentally brushed his hand with his fingers.

Master Eric waited until Riley had cleared the dishes, wiped the island, and covered the leftovers. Then he leaned back, arms crossed loosely over that broad chest, and spoke.

Riley stood there, hands at his sides, feeling small and exposed.

“Houseboy,” Master Eric said simply. “You clean, cook when I ask, run errands, take care of the place. You obey. Break the rules, there are punishments." He gestured towards the belt at his waist. "You’ll feel them. But, you have free run of the house. Gaming systems, computers, recreation room, whatever you want. You’re not a prisoner. Come and go and have visitors if you clear it with me. But whatever I say is law.”

Riley’s mouth went dry. His cock throbbed at the word law.

The man's voice stayed calm. “If it’s not for you, there’s a stack of clothes in the foyer. Jacket, boots, gloves, jeans, everything warm. All of your old stuff too, freshly washed. Phone charged. I even put a couple hundred cash in your wallet. Sleep here tonight if you want. Take them in the morning and walk out. Never come back. No strings.”

Riley’s eyes flicked to the hallway. Freedom. No rules. No one telling him what to do.

His stomach twisted. He thought of the knife. The sleet down his collar. The endless cold nights.

He looked back at the man. Those gray eyes hadn’t left him.

Riley’s voice came out small, cracked. “What if… what if I want to try it for a week? Just a week. If I hate it, if I’m miserable, I can leave." He hesitated and added hopefully, "With the clothes?”

Master Eric studied him for a long, quiet moment.

Then he nodded once.

“A week,” he agreed. “Same rules I just said. No hard feelings.”

Riley exhaled shakily. His cock was aching now, fully hard and dripping. The thin briefs did nothing to hide it. He felt ridiculous negotiating his own surrender like it was a rental agreement.

He nodded.

“Good boy,” Master said.

The words landed like a warm, heavy hand wrapping around Riley’s throat. His breath hitched sharp. His knees went liquid. Heat flooded his face, his chest, his groin.

Master leaned back slowly like he had all the time in the world. He spread his thighs just enough, the black shirt pulling tight across his chest as he settled.

“Let’s seal the deal right now,” he said, voice low, unhurried, final. “Show me your skills with that mouth.”

Riley’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack them.

He walked forward on unsteady legs. When he reached Master, he dropped to his knees without being told. The tile was cool against his shins.

This was nothing like the guys in idling cars. That was quick, mechanical, eyes on the rearview mirror, done and gone in minutes. This felt different. Deliberate. Worshipful. Terrifying.

Riley’s hands trembled as he reached for Master’s belt. The leather was soft, expensive. He unbuckled it slowly, the metal clink loud in the quiet kitchen. Zipper next. Slow drag down.

The cock that sprang free was thick, heavy, nine inches of flushed heat curving up toward Riley’s face. Veins stood out along the shaft, the head broad and glossy, already beading at the slit. It smelled clean and musky. A real man's cock. It smelled like power.

Riley’s mouth watered. He hated how much he wanted it.

He looked up. Met the Master's steady gray eyes. No rush. No demand.

Riley leaned in.

He started soft. Lips brushing the underside, a tentative kiss just below the head. The Master exhaled through his nose, a low sound that vibrated through Riley’s chest. Encouragement.

Riley opened his mouth wider, took the head inside. It was hot, velvet-smooth. Tasted salty. He sealed his lips around it, tongue flat against the slit, lapping up the bead of pre-cum like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Master’s thighs tensed under his palms; Riley felt the muscle flex, felt the restraint.

He slid down inch by inch, slow, careful, letting his throat relax. The thickness stretched his lips, filled his mouth completely. He hollowed his cheeks, sucked gently at first, then harder. Up. Down. Tongue swirling along the underside, tracing every vein.

Master’s hand moved slow and deliberate, grabbing a fistful of Riley's hair. Fingers tightly locked in.

Heavy hand.

Guiding.

Riley moaned around the cock. A low broken sound vibrating up the shaft. Master’s fingers twisted forcing Riley deeper.

Gagged once then pushed past it, nose brushing the trimmed dark hair at the base. Tears pricked his eyes from the stretch, but he didn’t pull off.

He stayed. Held it. Swallowed around the length, throat working, milking.

Master let out a low, rough sound.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good boy. Just like that.”

Riley’s own cock throbbed painfully, untouched, leaking steadily between his knees. He rocked his hips forward without thinking, chasing friction that wasn’t there. The humiliation only made him harder.

He pulled back then dove down again. Faster. Sloppier. Spit slicking his chin, dripping onto Master’s balls. He cupped them gently with one hand, rolling them, feeling their weight, while the other braced on Master’s thick thigh.

Master’s breathing changed. Deeper. Rougher. His hand in Riley’s hair guided now setting the pace. Not quit fucking his face. Not yet.

Riley’s jaw ached. His throat burned. His eyes watered. And he’d never been harder in his life.

Master’s voice dropped lower, gravel-rough. “Look at me.”

Riley lifted his gaze. Eyes were glassy, lips stretched wide around the thick shaft, cheeks flushed and wet. Master stared down at him, gray eyes dark with hunger, mouth parted just enough to show the edge of teeth.

“Beautiful,” Master said quietly. Lifted his phone and snapped a picture. “Fucking beautiful.”

Riley whimpered around the cock. He hollowed his cheeks harder, sucked deeper, tongue working the sensitive underside until Master’s thighs tensed hard under his hands.

Master’s grip tightened. Not a warning. A promise.

“Swallow it all,” he ordered, voice gravelly as his hips gave the several rough thrusts.

Riley did.

The first pulse hit the back of his throat. Hot, thick, salty. He swallowed reflexively, again and again, taking every drop. Master held him there, deep, pulsing, owning every inch of his mouth. Not letting him breath.

When it was over, Master eased him off slowly, his cock slipping free with a wet popping sound, still half-hard, glistening.

Riley stayed on his knees, panting, spit-slick chin, eyes dazed. He looked wrecked. Felt used.

Perfect.

Master reached down. Slow, careful. He took Riley's chin and turned his head side to side, finally brushing a thumb across Riley’s cheek, wiping away a strand of cum.

“Good boy,” he said again, letting Riley suck on his thumb.

Riley shuddered, whole body trembling with need, shame, and something dangerously close to relief.

Master leaned down just enough to murmur against his ear.

“Upstairs. Bedroom. Now.”

Riley rose on shaking legs, cock bobbing obscenely in the soaked briefs, and followed.

(Continued in post 4)

 

[yrailed]

Riley woke with a jolt, heart pounding like he'd fallen from somewhere high. Someone had called his name and for the briefest of seconds he was 16 again, sleeping in on a Saturday morning at his parents house. But no, the sheets covering him were silk. Sunlight filtered through heavy curtains, casting the room in a golden haze.

The intercom by the bed chimed again, and he heard his name clearly this time. Master's voice.

The night crashed back an instant later. The one-week deal. The bedroom after: Master's hands finally on him, stripping the soaked briefs and tee, pinning him to the mattress with weight alone. It had been rough, thorough, leaving Riley boneless and spent, cumming untouched just from Master's cock deep inside him.

He sat up. Naked. His cock stirred lazily at the voice, morning wood already half-hard from the memories.

He said he was awake, grabbed the top sheet and wrapped it around himself like a toga. Headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Master stood at the stove, back to him, flipping something in a pan. He was shirtless, his broad, muscled back dusted with dark hair. Gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, the outline of his cock visible even soft.

Master turned, gave a small, knowing smile. "Morning. Coffee's hot. Stand over here."

"I couldn't find anything to wear..." Riley begin.

Master cut him off. "That's alright. You won't need anything."

Riley's stomach dropped. "Why?"

Master plated eggs, bacon, and toast. Set it in front of Riley. At the counter. "House rules. Eat first. You'll need the energy."

Riley picked up the fork, but his mind raced. Naked. Alone with this man. No clothes? Arousal warred with fear and his cock hardened fully.

Master leaned on the island across from him, sipping coffee, eyes steady. "Rule one: When it's just you, or you and me, no clothes. You're beautiful naked. I want to see what I own."

Riley choked on a bite of egg. Heat flooded his face, his chest. Own? His cock jumped at the word. Scary being so exposed. Always on display. But hot too. The idea of Master's eyes constantly on him. "What if... visitors? Or I want to go out?"

Master's mouth curved. "Clothes then. My choice. You'll ask permission. We'll need to go out and get you some anyway."

Riley nodded slowly.

"Rule two every morning and night, you offer me a blowjob. No exceptions. On your knees, ask nicely."

Riley's throat tightened remembering last night's stretch. Morning wood throbbed painfully now. "Offer? Like... beg?"

"Offer," Master repeated, voice low. "Say the words. If I accept, you perform."

"Rule three is you will be clean inside and out. Always. Showers morning and night, or even more if needed."

Riley's face burned. The humiliation twisted in his gut, but his hole clenched at the memory of last night and Master's cock splitting him open.

"Other basics are address me as Master. No backtalk unless you want punishment. Chores done. You sleep with me unless I say otherwise."

Riley nodded numbly.

"And the big one," Master said, eyes locking on Riley's. "No masturbating. No cumming without permission. You earn your orgasms. Ask once. Never beg."

Riley's breath caught. He was already aching, cock tenting the sheet obscenely, a wet spot blooming. The rule hit like a gut punch. Scary, controlling every pleasure, turning his body into Master's toy. But fuck, it was all so hot. The denial, the build-up, having to ask for release. His hand twitched toward his lap without thinking.

Master's eyes narrowed. "Hand away. That's mine now."

Riley yanked it back, whimpering softly. His cock pulsed, untouched, on the edge already. Scary. Sexy. Trapped.

Master stepped around the island.

"Questions?"

Riley shook his head, voice hoarse. "No, Master."

Master continued to stare at him, brows furrowed until Riley reluctantly dropped the sheet from his body. The cool air kissed his body, nipples tightening instantly. He folded it as neatly as he could and set it on one of the stools.

Master smiled. "Good boy."

As soon as they had finished eating, and Riley cleaned up, Master said, "First chore is clean the kitchen floor. On your hands and knees. Scrub it spotless."

Riley blinked. "With... what?"

Master showed him where the cleaning supplies were kept and soon Riley prepared warm water and soap. He picked up a microfiber cloth. "With your hands. Every inch."

Riley's stomach flipped. On the floor. Ass up. Vulnerable. The thought made pre-cum bead at the tip. Scary. Humiliating. Hot.

He dropped to his knees. His cock swung between his thighs, brushing his stomach with every movement. He dipped the cloth. Wrung it out.

The position was obscene. Every scrub forward made his back arch down slightly. Ass lifted. Hole exposed to the empty air.

Master watched, sipping coffee. Like this was normal.

Master's voice dropped. "Good. Keep going. I like watching you work."

Riley's face burned. He scrubbed harder, muscles flexing, sweat starting to glisten. His cock leaked steadily now, dripping onto the floor he was supposed to clean.

"Almost done," Master murmured. "You're doing well."

Riley's throat closed. Praise. It hit like a drug. His cock jerked. His breath hitched. He finished the section near the island, then crawled to the next area, cock swinging like a pendulum.

"Missed a spot," Master said, voice low. He crouched, pointing to a faint streak of pre-cum smeared near Riley's knee.

Riley leaned forward to wipe it, ass lifting higher, thighs spreading slightly.

"Wait," Master ordered. "Clean that with your tongue."

Riley whimpered quiet. Involuntary.

Master stared at him. Waiting. Calm.

Riley's eyes widened. Scary. Hot. He nodded. Voice hoarse. "Yes, Master."

Then tongue out he lapped up the small wet spots his own cock had left. Humiliation flooded him, cock throbbing so hard it hurt.

When the floor gleamed again, Riley sat back on his heels, cock standing proud and dripping.

"Good boy," Master said softly. He stood.

Riley shuddered, whole body trembling. The words alone nearly pushed him over the edge.

Master's hand hovered above Riley's head, then dropped to cup his chin, tilting it up.

He leaned in, breath warm against Riley's ear.

“Open your mouth,” Master said.

Riley's lips parted, tongue flat, eyes up.

Master tugged his waistband down just enough. His cock sprang free. He guided himself to Riley’s waiting mouth.

Riley took him in without hesitation. Hot. Thick. Familiar now. He sealed his lips around the shaft, tongue swirling under the head.

Master exhaled through his nose and rested one hand on the back of Riley’s head. Not pushing this time. Just holding. Guiding the rhythm.

Riley sucked slowly at first. Savoring it. Then taking more, throat relaxing, nose brushing the trimmed hair at the base. He moaned around the length.

The vibration made Master’s thighs tense.

His own cock jerked untouched, leaking a fresh string onto the tile.

Master’s fingers tightened in his hair. “Good boy,” he murmured.

Riley obeyed Master's hand. Slow drags up, tongue pressing flat along the underside, then down again deep, throat fluttering. He cupped Master’s balls gently, rolling them, feeling them draw up tight.

The taste filled his mouth. Musky. Male Addictive.

His own need built with every bob of his head, cock aching so hard it hurt, but he didn’t dare touch. Didn’t dare ask.

Master’s breathing roughened.

Riley whimpered. Hollowed his cheeks harder.

Master’s grip tightened. Held him down.

Cock pulsing.

Hot spurts hit the back of his throat.

Riley swallowed reflexively taking every drop, throat working around the length until Master eased him off with a low groan. The cock slipped free, glistening, still half-hard.

Master rubbed his cock across the top of Riley's head, wiping away any remaining cum in his hair.

Riley stayed on his knees, panting, spit and cum slick on his chin, cock throbbing painfully between his legs.

He looked wrecked.

Felt owned.

Master tucked himself away, adjusted the sweatpants, then crouched so they were eye-level. His thumb brushed Riley’s bottom lip, wiping away a stray bead.

“Good boy,” he said softly. “Now listen carefully.”

Riley nodded, dazed, still tasting him.

Master pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket.

“Chores for today. Everything on this list gets done perfectly before I get home this afternoon. No shortcuts. No excuses.”

Master’s voice was calm. “I’ll check when I return. If anything is less than perfect, there will be consequences. Understood?”

Riley nodded, throat tight. “Yes, Master.”

“I’ll be gone most of the day. You have questions, text me. You may use the house as you wish. No touching yourself. No cumming.”

He finally stood, headed towards the doorway, looking back. Paused.

“One more thing.”

Riley looked up, heart pounding.

Master’s smile was small, dangerous. “I expect you kneeling in the foyer when I walk in. Naked. Hard. Ready to greet me properly.”

Riley’s cock jerked at the words.

Master grabbed a gym bag beside the door and pulled on a shirt. Moments later the front door clicked shut.

Riley stayed on his knees a moment longer, alone in the silent kitchen, body trembling with denied need.

Eventually he stood slowly, legs shaky, cock bobbing with every step.

He showered quick, not daring to linger as the hot water cascaded over his hard cock. He toweled off and found the utility room off the hallway. It didn't take him long to fold the few items that were there, including the underwear and shirt he'd worn last night.

Those he took to the foyer, planning on dropping them onto the pile of clothes there. He stared at the bench where the new clothing lay.

He ran his hands over them.

Considering.

Noticed his phone and wallet and a few other small items that head been in his pockets laying neatly in a tray next to the pile.

He picked up his phone, fully charged, screen bright. He used the password on the chore list and connected to wifi. A few Grindr notifications. And a text from Jake that simply read "Call me if you need out. I'll send an Uber."

Riley stared at it. Thumb hovered over the reply button. Then he set it down.

He flipped his wallet open next. Gasped. Tucked in it was crisp bills. Twenties, fifties, hundreds. He counted quickly. Maybe close to three thousand.

Enough to walk out right now.

He was tempted. Really tempted.

He could be out the door in five minutes. Jeans, coat, boots. Phone charged. Cash in pocket. Find a Craigslist room in the city, or crash on someone's couch for a night or two. Pick up a bar shift or something.

He picked up the new pants from the pile. Heavy denim. Tag still on them. Expensive. Soft. He stepped into them slowly, the fabric sliding up his smooth legs. Buttoned them. They fit perfectly. The denim hugged his thighs, pressing snug against his still-hard cock, the seam rubbing just enough to make him hiss under his breath.

Walking away would be so easy.

A sharp, surprised laugh escaped him. This Master, this big scary guy with the deep voice and the rules, had just handed him all this free shit. No strings attached. What a joke.

The thought that he would stay was ridiculous. Almost insulting.

He picked up the shirt, shook it out with a flick of his wrist, the cotton snapping. Goofy grin spreading wide across his face.

He was back.

Tonight he'd be hitting up that club that just opened up. Getting free drinks, getting laid, getting whatever he wanted with a smirk and a raised brow. The old cocky, pretty, untouchable Riley. No rules. No one telling him when he could cum or what he had to wear.

He lifted the shirt, ready to pull it over his head.

Then he frowned.

The grin faded fast.

Because he knew exactly how walking out the door ended.

Empty.

Alone.

Every night the same game. Smile. Charm. Fuck. Ghost.

Just bodies, booze, and the slow certainty that it meant nothing.

That he meant nothing.

He stood there in the foyer, half-dressed, cock still thick and heavy against the denim. The coat waited on the bench. Boots lined up. Hat. Gloves.

He looked at the door. It should be so fucking easy.

But he thought about last night.

Master's hand fisted in his hair. That thick cock stretching his mouth. The low, rough "Good boy" that had lit him up from the inside. Made his whole body hum like a live wire.

The way Master hadn't treated him like the fuck of the day. Hadn't told him to be out of the house before he got back.

Riley exhaled slowly. Long. Shaky.

He pulled off the shirt and unbuttoned the jeans. Let them slide back down his legs. Folded them both neatly. Placed them on top of the pile.

He picked up the phone. Opened Jake's text. Stared at it for a long second.

Hands steady, he typed: "No man. I'm good. Thanks."

Hit send before he could second-guess it.

Locked the screen. Set the phone down.

Picked up the chore list.

Walked back toward the kitchen. Naked again. Cock still aching. Heavy between his thighs.

(Continued on post 5)

 

[yrailed]

It was the next day. Riley heard the garage door rattle open and bolted for the foyer. His cock bounced hard with every stride, already thickening, balls swinging heavy. He dropped to his knees in the exact spot Master liked, thighs spread wide, back arched just enough to push his ass out, he was fully hard, shaft flushed dark, tip glistening with a fat bead of pre-cum, hands on his head.

The interior door swung open.

"I'm ready to cum," he said the second Master stepped one foot inside. "I'm staying here, but before I suck you off again, it's my turn."

He stayed perfectly positioned. Kept his knees apart and spine straight. His hands rested palms up on his thighs. His cock stood rigid.

"Haven't touched myself since I agreed to this," he added, voice low, edged with that bratty challenge. "I've been good. Did every single thing you told me."

Master paused in the doorway, gym bag still hanging from one shoulder. His studied the way Riley's cock bobbed slightly with pre-cum glistening the tip.

"That's not the greeting I'm used to hearing from a houseboy," he finally said. His voice was calm. "Usually it's 'welcome home,' or 'I'm ready to serve.' Hell, even offering a blowjob would be fine."

Riley gave a slow, deliberate eye-roll, tilting his head back slighting and letting his lips curl into a small smirk. "It's my turn," he repeated.

Master's jaw flexed once.

"Watch your tone, boy." He saw Riley's cock give a bouncing twitch. No other movement.

"Or what?" Riley challenged, grin widening. "You'll ground me?"

Master understood. "You want it, don't you. You are craving a punishment. Needing me to shut the noise off in your head. Remind you whose in charge."

Riley shuddered with anticipation of what that would mean. What Master would do to him.

Master set his bag on the floor with a soft thud. The kind of calm that made Riley's stomach flip.

"That's enough."

Riley's pulse kicked up, but he pushed one more time. "No. I want... No. I need to cum."

Master moved fast and controlled. One hand wrapped around Riley's upper arm and yanked him forward. Riley's bare knees skidded on the floor. His cock bobbed, leaking a thin string of pre-cum from the thrill of being manhandled.

Master dropped onto the foyer bench, shoving the pile of clothes to the floor with one sweep. He pulled Riley over his lap in a single motion.

Riley's world tilted. Head down, ass up, cock trapped between Master's thick denim thigh and his own stomach, the rough fabric rasping against the sensitive head with every shift. Thighs spread just enough to expose his hole, balls hanging heavy, skin already tingling.

Riley squirmed, half-laughing, half-breathless. "I've been spanked before. You going to make it hurt?"

Master's hand came down with a crack that rang through the foyer. Heat and sting exploded instantly, skin tightening, nerves lighting up.

Riley yelped, but the sound twisted into a gasp-laugh. "That all you got? I barely noticed it."

Another. Harder. Sting layered over the first. Riley's cock jerked against Master's thigh, the friction delicious and maddening. Pre-cum smeared across the denim in a dark, wet streak.

"Count them," Master said, voice low and even. "And watch that mouth."

Riley bit his lip, grin still there. "Three... Four... Ow, Fuck. That one stung."

Five. Six. Alternating cheeks, slaps building rhythm, each one louder, sharper.

"Getting tired?" Riley gasped.

Master responded by raising welts. Pink to angry red. Skin swelling under his palm. Riley's breaths came shorter. Hips ground involuntarily forcing his cock sliding slick against denim with every impact.

The burn spread. Hot, deep, radiating. His balls throbbed in time with his pulse.

But he couldn't stop.

"Seventeen... Eighteen... You're enjoying this too much, perv."

Master paused at twenty. Rubbed slow, deliberate circles on Riley's hot ass. Riley moaned with a shudder.

Then Master leaned down, breath hot against Riley's ear.

"You begged for this with that smart mouth. I'm just getting started"

He reached into his gym bag. Pulled out a hair brush. Large and wooden.

The next ten spanks came faster and targeted the tender sit-spot where ass met thigh. Pain sharpened, electric, each hit pulling a choked gasp, then a whimper.

Riley's laughter cracked. He grunted as he counted. His ass was on fire. Skin hot to the touch, every nerve screaming.

And through it all his cock stayed rock-hard and leaking. He was riding the edge as he ground against Master's thigh.

Five more and Riley's eyes watered. He blinked back tears. "Shit," he begged. "Master, ease up!"

The final five landed low and Riley broke. A sob tore from his throat and tears leaked. His body shook, ass a throbbing inferno, welts swollen and dark red, skin so sensitive even the air hurt.

His cock pulsed, pre-cum pooling beneath him. So very close to cumming. Even wrapping a fist around it and jerking once would do it.

Master put down the brush and rubbed slow, soothing circles over the welts. He was gentle as he worked in soothing ointment. "That's it," he murmured. "Let it out. Good boy."

Riley sobbed harder. Relief crashing in with the pain, the words wrapping around him like a hug.

Riley nodded through the tears, ass clenching around the shallow press of Master's fingers into his hole. "Yes, Master. Thank you." Then Riley gasped once before asking, "May I suck your cock, Master?"

"I have a better idea," Master said and unzipped his pants in one smooth motion. His cock sprang free. It was already hard from the spanking. He reached into the gym bag and pulled out a small tube of lube, slicked himself with quick, efficient strokes.

He lifted Riley like he weighed nothing, turning him so Riley straddled his lap on the bench. Welts pressed painfully against the rough denim. Riley hissed through his teeth. Master's strong arms wrapped around him holding him upright as Riley hovered, the blunt head of Master's cock and finger nudging his hole. Opening him up.

Riley sank down slowly at first, breath catching as the stretch burned sweet and deep. He adjusted slowly and relaxed his hole, but eventually took him inch by inch. Working up and down. When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against Master's, he let out a shaky moan.

Master's hands settled on his waist. "Ride," he said, voice low.

Riley did. He lifted and dropped, slow at first, savoring the fullness, the way Master's cock filled him completely. Then faster. He ground down hard, chasing the friction against his prostate. His own cock bounced between them. Slapping into Master's shirt and smearing pre-cum everywhere. Pain and pleasure twisted together until he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

Headlights from passing cars swept across them, and Riley suddenly realized the interior door was still open. Only the glass storm door was closed. Anyone on the dark street could see Riley straddling Master's lap. Naked and welted, riding him like a desperate slut, cock bouncing, leaking, face flushed.

The thought hit Riley like a fist.

Exposed.

Used.

Owned.

His hole clenched hard around Master's shaft, a broken moan tearing from his throat. His cock jerked, impossibly harder, pre-cum flowing in thick, steady streams down the shaft, dripping onto Master's jeans.

"Let them watch," Riley gasped, voice raw. "Let them see what a filthy slut I am for you."

Master's eyes darkened. His grip tightened on Riley's waist, fingers digging into the welts, sending fresh sparks of pain through him. "Filthy boy," he growled, voice rough. "You like being on display? Letting strangers see how you take my cock?"

Riley nodded frantically, riding faster, ass grinding down in tight circles. "Yes. Fuck. Yes, Master. Let them see how you own this hole."

Master's hand wrapped around Riley's cock. Firm callused palm grinding in but soon sliding slick with pre-cum. He stroked once, slow and deliberate, thumb pressing hard into the slit, spreading the mess. Riley sobbed, hips stuttering, the dual sensation of being filled and stroked overwhelming.

"Look at the door," Master ordered, voice low and dangerous. "Let them see your face when you cum for me."

Riley's head snapped toward the glass. Another car passed. The headlights washed over them, bright enough to silhouette his arched back, the way his ass swallowed Master's cock, the way his own shaft throbbed in Master's fist.

Riley moaned louder. He felt shameless. He slammed himself down, chasing every inch. Master's breathing roughened, hips bucking up to meet him, driving deeper.

"Cum," Master growled, stroking faster, thumb circling the head. "Cum now, boy."

Riley shattered.

His vision whited out as the orgasm ripped through him. Hot, thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, splattering across Master's shirt in forceful streaks. His hole clamped down hard, milking Master's shaft, pulling him deeper as wave after wave pulsed through him. He sobbed openly, body shaking, tears and pleasure mixing on his cheeks.

At the same instant, Master buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing, flooding Riley's ass with hot, thick spurts. He groaned low, hips grinding up, holding Riley down with the fist wrapped around Riley's cock as Master emptied inside him.

Riley collapsed forward, face buried in Master's neck, still trembling, still clenching around the softening cock inside him. Cum leaked out around the base, warm and slick, dripping down his thighs. His own release coated Master's shirt. It was soon smeared onto his own chest as he snuggled in. Sticky and cooling.

Master held him there, strong arms wrapped tight. One hand stroked slow circles over Riley's back, the other rested possessively on his burning ass.

Minutes passed. Riley's breathing slowed. The street outside was quiet again.

Master spoke against his temple, voice soft but firm. "Good boy."

Riley shuddered, a fresh wave of aftershocks rolling through him.

Master eased him off gently, cock slipping free with a wet sound. Cum dripped from Riley's hole, slick trails down his thighs. Master stood, adjusting himself, then looked down.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered, nodding toward the smeared cum on the bench, the floor, the scattered clothes. "Then put everything away. Scrub the floor."

He paused at the doorway, looking back.

"You may join me in the shower after," he said, voice low. "If you're good."

Riley stayed on his knees, trembling, hole clenching around the mess inside him, cock spent but still twitching.

He nodded, face flushed the same hot red as his ass.

"Yes, Master."

(Continued on post 6)

 

[yrailed]

Riley dusted the living room shelves with the feather duster, cock swaying heavy and half-hard with every slow reach. The constant nudity had stopped feeling shocking. Now it was almost normal with skin prickling in the cool air, nipples tight, and the low, endless throb in his balls turning every movement into a quiet tease.

The week was almost up.

He had to decide soon.

Stay here? Naked, denied, owned. But fed, fucked, and safe. Or walk out into the cold again.

Better than freezing to death, sure. The house was warm, the food was good, the bed was soft, and Master's cock still made his body light. The spanking had been hotter than he'd expected. Rough. Controlled. Leaving welts that still burned when he moved. A dark part of him already wanted to push again. See how much harder Master would go. Maybe pull off his belt next time. Feel that leather crack across his ass.

He wiped down the frames, cloth gliding smooth over glass.

Master wasn't the problem at all.

The day after the spanking, they went out for the first time since he arrived. Riley dressed in the clothes from the foyer, peeling off the tags one by one. Everything fit like it had been tailored for him. His favorite brands, exact colors, cuts that hugged his thighs and ass without pinching, shirts that skimmed his waist just right. Snug where it mattered, loose where he liked it to breathe. Just like the underwear and shirt that first night, it all fit perfectly.

He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and had to admit he looked good. Better than he had in months.

After a quick stop at the barber, Master took him to a restaurant. Upscale, hushed, white tablecloths and quiet jazz. Reservations in a small alcove, open on one side, far enough from other tables that no one could hear low voices but close enough that servers passed regularly.

Riley squirmed on the hard wooden chair, welts still hot and tender, every shift grinding fresh stings into his ass. Master sat across from him, calm, watching with that steady gray gaze, smirking when Riley hissed at a particularly sharp rub.

Halfway through the first course, Master leaned forward just enough. “Unzip. Cock out. Now.”

Riley froze. Heart slammed against his ribs. He glanced around. The alcove felt exposed when servers drifted past. Another table was clearly visible across the way. No one close. But close enough.

“Now,” Master said, voice low, unhurried.

Riley’s fingers shook under the tablecloth. The zipper sounded obscene in the quiet room. He worked his cock free, already half-hard from the welts and the command. Thick, flushed, tip slick and shining.

“Napkin on your lap. Nothing else.”

Riley casually draped the thin linen over himself. It did almost nothing. His cock throbbed beneath it, tenting the fabric in what felt like obvious pulses. The green cloth clung to the head where pre-cum soaked through, darkening in a slow, spreading stain.

“Scoot your chair back,” Master said. “Enough so you can reach the table. But far enough back to be seen.”

Riley obeyed, inching the chair backward until the napkin was fully in view from the side. Thighs trembling, he gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. Every server who passed made his pulse spike. He was convinced they could see the outline, the wet spot, the way the cloth shifted with every heartbeat.

Master took a slow sip of wine, eyes locked on Riley’s face. “Eat.”

Riley tried. The champagne chicken breast was tender, the broccoli crisp, the potatoes buttery. He barely tasted any of it. Every bite was a distraction from the way his cock strained, the way the napkin clung and shifted, the way his ass throbbed against the chair he no longer dared move on.

By dessert, the napkin was soaked through, clinging transparently to the swollen head. A slow drip of pre-cum had started trailing down the shaft, pooling at the base. Master’s smirk never wavered.

And fuck, it made everything sharper. Hotter. The food might not have been what he craved, but the constant, heart-pounding risk of being seen lit him up from the inside.

Riley’s thighs trembled harder. His cock pulsed visibly under the ruined napkin.

He’d never felt more exposed.

Or more alive.

Later, in the alley behind the theater, Riley dropped to his knees and sucked Master off. Quick. Filthy. Master's hand fisted in his freshly cut hair. Then again at intermission. And yet again in the car while traffic crawled. Three loads down his throat in a few hours.

It had all been hot in the moment. No denying that.

But now, alone in the quiet house, dusting picture frames with his dick swinging, the thrill felt thinner.

Hollow.

What did he really have with this man?

Jake had known him once. Maybe fucked him once. That was it.

No shared jokes, no late-night talks, no stupid inside stories about a cactus named Kevin. Just rules, welts, and cum.

Riley's hand stilled on the frame.

He was safe here.

He was wanted here.

But wanted for what?

A warm hole, a pretty mouth, a body to mark and fill?

His cock twitched, sure, but the ache in his chest was heavier than the one in his balls.

He kept dusting. Thoughtfully.

He picked up one frame. Hadn't noticed it before. Small, cheap black plastic. Not fancy like the other stuff. Curious, Riley looked closer at it. The man in the picture made Riley's heart stop.

Jake.

Wild hair, long and messy with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was standing in the middle of a crowd that looked like it belonged in a fever dream. Everyone was in heavy makeup, fishnets, corsets, platform heels, feather boas, smeared lipstick and glitter. One guy in the back wore a gold speedo and angel wings. Another had a wedding veil and a whip. Jake himself had thick eyeliner, red lips, a ripped fishnet shirt hanging off one shoulder, and that reckless, party-boy grin Riley saw on him only when he was truly happy.

Riley stared, stomach twisting. Jake had said more than once how he found smoking disgusting. Wouldn't even touch weed the few times Riley had brought any home. This Jake looked nothing like the quiet, steady man he knew. This was a few years before they'd met, probably around the time Riley graduated high school.

The whole scene looked like some kind of deranged costume party or a bad drag show gone off the rails. Riley couldn't wrap his head around it. Jake in fishnets and eyeliner? Jake, the guy who wore a full suit and tie to the office?

Riley's knees buckled. He sank to the floor beside the couch. He clutched the frame in both hands. The vacuum cord tangled around his ankle, but he barely noticed. The photo blurred as memories flooded in, sharp and sweet, pulling him back to when things were easy. Back when thought he had it all figured out.

***

Just a year ago, in the tiny apartment they shared, Riley stood at his easel shirtless in grey sweatpants. Cut off raggedly at the knees to make shorts in the summer heat. The fabric hung loose and soft on his hips, low enough that the waistband rode beneath the sharp cut of his hipbones, clinging just enough to outline the curve of his ass and the thick line of his cock when he shifted his weight. Paint smudged his flat stomach in streaks of red and black. He daubed cadmium red across the canvas, building a chaotic face staring out over city lights and shadows.

He stepped back, tilting his head, a slow grin spreading as he took in the effect. Thought about keeping it for the wall, but knew it’d sell fast at the next gallery pop-up. Money was money.

The door banged open. Jake kicked it shut behind him. He raised his arms displaying takeout bags from their favorite Thai place. "Honey, I'm home. I knew you'd forgot to eat again." That boyish grin flashed. The same one that had hooked Riley two years ago.

Riley glanced over his shoulder, smirk already curling. "About time. I was this close to ordering pizza on your card."

Jake laughed warmly and set the bags on the rickety kitchen table. "Bold move for a starving artist who doesn't eat cheese. What's the masterpiece? Looks like a Rorschach test on acid." He paused, eyes narrowing at the canvas. "Wait. Is that me?"

Riley rolled his eyes, but the grin stayed soft, playful. "Who else? 'Urban Decay.' Brilliant, right? Unlike your boring-ass audit job. Did you bring any happiness to the world today?"

Jake crossed the room, dodging a stack of sketchbooks, and wrapped his arms around Riley from behind. His chin rested on Riley's shoulder, breath warm against his neck. "Saved the world from tax fraud, maybe. But honestly?" He pressed a slow kiss to the side of Riley's neck, lips lingering. "The only happiness I'm interested in is yours."

Riley melted back into him, head tipping just enough to give Jake more skin. "Smooth talker."

Jake hummed against his throat. "Besides, I brought something better than takeout."

He let go, pulled a small potted cactus from one bag. Red bow tied around the pot. Set it on the windowsill. "Figured you needed a survivor. Low maintenance. Like me."

Riley snorted, leaning back into Jake's chest, feeling the solid heat of him. "A cactus? Romantic. Flowers too cliché?"

Jake nuzzled his ear, voice dropping low. "Flowers die. This guy's tough. Like you."

He turned Riley around, hands settling on his bare waist, thumbs pressing into the sharp V of his hips just above his pants. Their lips met. Soft at first, but then hungry. Jake's tongue slid in slow, deliberate, tasting like coffee and want, curling against Riley's in a lazy drag that made Riley's knees dip. Riley's fingers curled into Jake's shirt, pulling him closer. A quiet moan slipped out as Jake nibbled on him, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

The kiss broke wet, breath mingling, both of them flushed.

"Plus," Jake murmured, voice rough, "I got these." He pulled away just far enough to reach into the bag, revealing a small bouquet of daisies and lavender wrapped in brown paper. "Cliché on purpose."

Riley's grin softened. He took the flowers, inhaled. Fresh, earthy. "Okay, fine. You're forgiven for being late." Set them in the mason jar vase on the table.

His phone buzzed a Grindr notification and Jake laughed as Riley picked it up.

"What's this one like?"

Riley snorted, holding it up, revealing a shirtless torso and cheesy line.

"Look at this headless wonder."

Jake leaned over, eyebrow raised. Their usual game. "Hmmm... I'm horny. Maybe I should invite him over. Give you more time for your art."

Riley's eyes sparkled. His hands slid under Jake's shirt, tracing abs. "Only if I get to watch you squirm while he fucks you." He gave Jake a quick kiss, pulling back. "Or better yet make him watch us."

Jake chuckled, pulling him tighter, lips brushing Riley's. "Greedy. That's why I love you." The kiss started soft, then Riley nipped his bottom lip, teasing.

Riley tugged Jake's tie loose. "God, you look like such a corporate drone. Lose this before I burn it."

Jake grinned against his mouth, unbuttoning his shirt. "And you look like a starving artist cliché. Shirtless and paint everywhere." He stopped, idea forming. "Maybe I'll tie you up with it."

He pulled Riley's hands behind his back, loosly looping to around his wrists.

"Fuck, that's hot," Riley breathed.

Their laughter mingled, hands roaming. As Jake started to push Riley towards the bedroom, Riley laughed and grabbed the cactus from the window sill, the tie falling to the floor. "What was that guy's name on the profile?"

Jake shrugged, "Kevin, I think. Why?"

Riley giggled, holding up the cactus. "C'mon Kevin. You get to watch us fuck."

Jake pushed Riley back toward the bedroom door, laughing. "Enough talk. Put that mouth to better use."

***

A few mornings later, Riley woke first, rolling toward Jake, arm and leg hooking over him like he was claiming territory. His morning wood pressed insistently against Jake's thigh. Once. Twice. A slow, deliberate bump.

Jake cracked one eye open, half-grinning. "Again? You're going to make me late for work."

Riley nuzzled into his neck, teeth grazing skin. "I want to make Kevin jealous."

Jake glanced over at the nightstand. Riley had painted the headless torso onto the pot and Jake had insisted on gluing googly eyes on. "Can't watch us otherwise," Jake had said, laughing. Riley told him he didn't know anything about art. Jake kissed him stupid in reply.

Jake's grin widened. "Okay. Anything for Kevin."

Riley pushed up, straddling him in one fluid motion. Jake gave an exaggerated grunt as Riley settled, their cocks sliding together. Hard and already slick at the tips.

"You think you can handle me this morning, old man?"

Jake tried to shove him off, laughing, but Riley pinned his wrists above his head, leaning down until their noses brushed.
"Old man?" Jake echoed, voice rough with sleep and want. "I'm twenty-seven, asshole."

Riley rolled his hips, grinding slow and filthy, their lengths trapped between them. "Same difference. You've got that whole responsible-adult energy." His voice dropped husky. "It's disgusting." He leaned in, lips ghosting Jake's ear. "Show me what you've got, corporate drone."

Jake raised an eyebrow, but his hands flexed under Riley's grip, muscles tensing. "Bossy little shit."

Riley released his wrists, sliding down Jake's body. He grabbed the lube from beside Kevin, slicked himself fast. He lined up, sank down in one long, slow, gentle slide. Both of them groaned. Jake's head tipped back, throat exposed, and Riley's nails dug into his chest for balance.

"Fuck," Jake breathed. "You feel..."

"Shut up." Riley started to push inside Jake. Slow at first, savoring the feel of Jake on his cock. The heat between them. Then thrust faster, rolling his hips in tight circles, pushing deeper just to watch Jake's eyes flutter. "You don't get to talk unless I say so. Beg for it, babe. Tell me how bad you want my cock."

Jake's fingers dug into Riley's thighs. "Please," he rasped, voice wrecked. "Fuck, Riley. Please. Fuck me harder. Use me."

Riley giggled, then raised his hand triumphant. "That's better." He picked up speed, slamming down. Sweat slicked their skin, the room filled with wet sounds, ragged breaths, the creak of the mattress.

"I'm close," Riley gasped. "Going to fill you up."

"Not this morning," Jake said and with a sudden twist flipped them. His strong arms easily pinned Riley beneath him. It was his turn now and soon he thrust deep, hard, but never rough enough to hurt. "You're mine," he growled against Riley's neck, lips brushing the pulse point. "Say it."

Riley arched, laughing breathlessly. "Oh yeah. You own me."

Jake settled on a steady, punishing rhythm. Every thrust deep, deliberate, hitting that spot every time.

Riley wrapped his legs around Jake's waist, heels digging into the meat of his ass, pulling him deeper with every thrust. Their mouths crashed together. Messy, open, tongues sliding hot and slick, laughter breaking into ragged moans against each other's lips.

Jake’s hand found Riley’s cock, wrapping tight around the slick shaft. He stroked in perfect time with his hips. Long, firm pulls from base to tip, thumb dragging over the swollen head on every upstroke, smearing pre-cum in a glossy sheen.

Riley’s breath hitched hard, hips stuttering as the dual sensation slammed into him. Jake’s thick cock dragging against his prostate with every deep thrust, and the tight, twisting fist milking him relentlessly.

Jake’s rhythm faltered for the first time, hips snapping harder, deeper. “You feel so fucking good,” he groaned against Riley’s mouth. “So tight. Mine.”

Riley’s eyes locked on Jake’s. Dark. Wide. Full of raw adoration. That look alone pushed him over.

"Fuck...Jake..."

He came first. Sudden. Shattering. White heat ripped through him, cock pulsing in Jake's fist. Thick, hot ropes shot from his cock, splattering across Jake’s chest, his throat, the underside of his chin. His hole clenched hard around Jake, milking him. His vision whited out for a second, pleasure so sharp it almost hurt, every muscle shaking with the force of it.

Jake groaned low, hips stuttering. He pulled out just enough, tilting his cock toward Riley's face. Hot, thick spurts hit Riley's chin, spilled down his neck in warm, sticky trails. "Fuck, Riley..."

Jake buried himself deep again, cock pulsing inside as he came again, flooding Riley with heat. His groan vibrated against Riley's throat, hips grinding slow, possessive, riding out every last pulse.

They finally collapsed together. Sweaty. Hearts hammering. Jake rolled to the side, pulling Riley against his chest in one fluid motion. Neither of them cared about the mess they'd made of the bed and each other. Riley nuzzled into his neck, still panting, one leg hooking over Jake's hip like he couldn't bear an inch of space between them.

Riley pressed a lazy kiss to Jake's collarbone. "Goddamn," he breathed, voice wrecked and happy. "Next time..." He gasped for air.

Jake's laugh was breathless. His hand slid down Riley's back, resting possessively on the curve of his ass. "Next time what?"

"Next time," Riley managed, voice lazy and smug, "I'm tying you up. Keep you begging."

Jake chuckled, fingers tracing slow circles on Riley's back. "Maybe I should be the one tying you down."

Riley snorted. "You should just take the day off and we'll spend it in bed together then. I'm not going anywhere if you're not."

Jake's hand stilled for a beat on Riley's spine. His voice dropped, almost serious. "I mean it, though. I like the idea of keeping you. Not just in bed. Like... forever."

Riley went still. Just for a second. Then he snuggled closer, pressing a soft kiss to Jake's jaw before pulling back with a laugh. He poked Jake's ribs. "Don't get sappy on me. You'll ruin the afterglow."

He reached over, snagged Jake's phone from the nightstand. "Now call in sick, cause lovesick is a kind of sick, right?"

Jake caught Riley's wrist, pulled him back in. Their lips met again. Slow this time. Deeper. Jake's hand slid up to cup the back of Riley's neck like he never wanted to let go.

The kiss lingered, warm and quiet, until Jake finally broke it, forehead resting against Riley's.

"Forever's not a joke to me," he said softly.

Riley's grin softened, but he still played it off, thumb brushing Jake's cheek. "Yeah, yeah. Call in sick first."

Jake grinned. That reckless, party-boy grin Riley loved to see. He reached for the phone.

***

A few weeks later, the party room in a trendy queer bar on 12th was packed for their second anniversary. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, throwing warm gold over mismatched tables and their chosen family. The room was decoreted by their friends, who now passed pitchers of sangria and small plates of food.

Riley was in his element. Jake had unbottened his shirt halfway down his chest during the ride over and Riley left it that way. He leaned back in the booth, one arm slung over the back, telling the bouncer story with full theatrical flair. His arms were waving, voice pitching up on the punchline about the guy believing Jake was his "heartbroken straight friend" who'd just been dumped.

Jake jumped in right on cue, grinning wide, leaning forward with his elbow on the table. "I had to sell it, man. Told the bouncer my 'girlfriend' just left me for her highschool crush. He bought the whole sob story. Tears and everything."

The table roared with laughter. Riley picked up the thread seamlessly, turning to Jake with a wicked grin. "And then this asshole here starts fake crying on my shoulder like we're in a damn soap opera." Riley screwed his face up like he was trying to cry, but kept giggling. "'She was my everything.' Meanwhile, I'm trying not to laugh so hard I piss myself."

Jake laughed, throwing an arm around Riley's shoulders, pulling him in close. "You loved it. You kept whispering, 'Keep going, babe, he's eating it up.'"

Riley leaned into him, pressing a quick kiss to Jake's jaw. "Joke was on him. My 'straight' boyfriend got laid twice that night."

The table lost it again. Cheers, whistles, someone yelling "Get it, Jake!"

Jake squeezed Riley's thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles, eyes sparkling as he looked at Riley. "Worth every fake tear."

Then the custom cake was brought out. Chocolate with white frosting, piped in loopy script across the top: Riley + Jake Forever. A single red candle sat in the center. The table cheered when it arrived, phones out.

Riley laughed, rolling his eyes. “You guys are so extra.”

Jake didn’t laugh.

He stood up instead. Pulled out a lighter and carefully lit the candle.

The table quieted. Another of their friends, Sarah, quietly stood behind him, grinning wide. She held a bag.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” Jake started, voice steady but thick. “About how you crashed into my life like a fucking hurricane, all sass and paint on your face and zero filter. You make me laugh every single day. You make me better. You make me want things I didn’t know I wanted.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black box. Opened it. He revealed a simple platinum band, thin and plain.

Riley stared. His grin faltered, turned uncertain.

Jake dropped to one knee. The table gasped, then went dead quiet.

“Riley,” Jake said, voice cracking just once. “You’re the brat who stole my heart. Marry me? Let’s make this permanent. Be my husband."

He looked hopeful. Sarah stepped forward. She was grinning happily. "Sarah brought her stuff. She can make it official right now in front of our friends."

Somebody said how romantic it all was and some glasses clinked.

But the bar noise faded to a dull roar in Riley’s ears. The candle flickered. Friends leaned in smiling, some already tearing up. Phones were still recording.

Riley’s mouth opened. Closed. A nervous laugh escaped him. Sharp. Too loud.

“Babe,” he said, trying to keep it light. “Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Jake didn’t move. Just looked up at him, steady, hopeful. “I’m serious.” He said it slow as confusion crept in.

Riley’s grin slipped. His chest tightened. Damn, he wanted to say yes. There was a million reasons to say yes. Hell, Jake was the only one to really believe in him.

But then fear hit. Sharp. Cold. Familiar. The same fear that had kept him from ever saying “I love you” first. The same fear that had made him push people away before they could leave. Get close.

He looked around at the table. Friends watching. Waiting. Phones still up.

Riley swallowed. Laughed again. This time brittle.
"We’re not… that’s not us.”

The silence was deafening. A few phones lowered. Friends looked away, desperately wanting to be anywhere else.

Jake’s face changed. Slow, like a crack spreading across ice. He looked like he was going to pitch over. Sarah grabbed him. Helped him to his feet. He pocketed the ring without looking at it.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice cracked on the word, barely audible. Sarah rubbed his back for a moment. Comforting him.

Someone coughed.

The candle kept burning. Riley + Jake Forever.

Riley tried to smile. “Come on, sit down. It’s not a big deal.”

But Jake didn’t sit. Looked sick and stumbled backwards. Sarah reached for his hand. He pulled away.

“Riley...?” He whispered softly.

He stared for what seemed forever. Then turned and walked toward the exit. Wiping at his eyes. Shoulders hunched.


***

One by one their friends started to awkwardly disperse, murmuring quick goodbyes. “Talk to you later, Ry,” “Call us, okay?” Someone blew out the candle. The little red flame sputtered and died. Sarah gathered up the cake, invited anyone who wanted to come back to her place. Voice careful.

Riley couldn’t breathe in that room anymore.

He pushed himself out of the booth. Pushed through the crowd. Through the door. Outside. Chilly night air. Slapped his face like a wake-up call he didn’t want.

He walked. Fast. Aimless. Past alleys that smelled like piss and garbage. Daring anyone to step out with a knife and finish it. One guy in a hoodie eyed him from a doorway. Riley stared back, chest tight. Took a few steps toward him. Fists balled. The guy looked away. Riley's breath came out shaky, fists still clenched, but the fight leaked out of him.

He didn't feel relieved. Stumbled away.

Instead his mind kept spinning over the last hour. How to make sense of it. But most of all the same fear held him down. Smothered him.

The cold sank into his shirt, his skin, his bones. His phone buzzed a few times. Probably Sarah. Or Jake. Hell, could be anyone. Didn't matter. Didn’t check. Just kept walking until his legs burned and the streets blurred.

Eventually he used Uber. Some stranger in a Prius pulled up, didn’t ask questions. Riley slid into the backseat, pressed his forehead to the cold window, and stared at the city lights streaking by like tears he refused to shed.

He didn’t know what he’d say when he got home.

The apartment was dark when he entered. He went into the bedroom. Felt relief for a moment when he saw Jake, sitting on the edge of the bed. Then he saw elbows on knees, head in hands. Shoulders shaking just enough to see.

Riley's stomach dropped.

He crossed the room, sat beside him on the mattress. Close. Tried to wrap an arm around Jake's shoulders, tried to tease the tension away like he always did.

Jake shrugged him away. Almost shoved.

"Come on, babe," he said, voice light, forced. "It was a joke. Right? Let's fuck and forget it. I'll make it up to you. Ride you so hard you forget your own name. Or you can ride me. Whatever you want, we'll do it. Even let you tie me up for real if that's what you want."

Jake didn't move.

Riley leaned in, lips brushing Jake's ear. "Come on. Don't be like this."

Jake lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red, wet, shining in the dim light from the bedside lamp. Tears tracked down his cheeks, silent, steady.

He tried to speak. Choked on the sounds.

Riley's forced grin faltered.

Jake stood without a word. Walked to the dresser and started packing. Methodical. Quiet. He hesitated and stepped towards Riley. Riley held up his hands for a hug, a small smile forming. "Yeah, come here."

But Jake just took the pillow from his side of the bed.

Riley watched, stunned, mouth open.

"What the fuck?" Riley's voice cracked. "You're leaving over this? What the fuck?"

Jake didn't answer. Didn't look at him. Just kept folding, zipping, moving like Riley wasn't there.

Riley stood up, grabbed Jake's arm. "Jake. Talk to me. Say something."

Jake gently pulled his arm free. He slung the bag over his shoulder

"I love you," Riley pleaded. "Fuck it all. I really mean it. You know I do."

Jake hesitated for just a moment. Searching Riley's face, desperate for anything more. For Riley to say something else. Anything really. Riley's lips parted, like he was going to speak. But didn't. Just stared.

Jake walked past Riley without touching him, without looking back.

The door opened.

Closed.

The lock clicked.

Gone.

Riley stood in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the empty space where Jake had been. The silence rushed in. He shivered. Felt cold. No laughter. No teasing. No breath beside him in the dark.

He turned. Kevin sat on the nightstand, googly eyes staring back. Absurd. Innocent. He picked it up. Sank onto the bed. Curled up on Jake's side. The sheets were still warm from where he'd sat. He stared at Kevin.

"What did I just do?" he whispered.

The cactus didn't answer.

He balled up the sheet in his fist. Buried his face in it. Smelled Jake's scent.

And soaked his tears into it.

***

Riley blinked. The memory snapped shut like a door. He was back on the living room floor. Naked. Clutching the photo frame. Vacuum cord tangled around his ankle.

He looked at the picture one last time. Brought the glass to his lips. Kissed it. Tasted of dust and cleaner. He didn't care.

Then set the frame down carefully.

Picked up the duster.

Kept cleaning.

The scar of that night lingered. Raw. Familiar.

But he didn't stop.

He couldn't.

Master would be home soon.

If Jake had never existed the choice he faced would be a no-brainer. Definitely stay. Be owned. Be safe. Be wanted. Like he'd told himself over and over throughout the week.

But his confusion had nothing to do with Master. It had everything to do with the ghost still living in his chest.

And he still had no idea what he was going to do.

(Continued in Post 7)

 

[yrailed]

Riley stood in the center of the living room, torso bent forward at the waist, knees soft, every muscle locked and quivering. His wrists were cuffed behind his back, the cold metal pressing just enough into his skin to remind him he had no say. Clamps bit into his nipples, the short chain between them weighted with a pair of small lead balls that hung heavy, dragging downward with every shallow breath and sending sharp, stinging pulses through his chest. His ankles were linked by an eight inch chain, keeping his feet close together, stance narrow and unsteady, forcing him to shift his weight constantly.

A thin rope ran from the snug wrap around the base of his balls down to a ring on the ankle chain, pulling them taut. The setup was simple and vicious. He could choose to straighten up even slightly to ease the ache in his nipples and knees, and the rope tugged his balls downward, stretching the sac tight and sending dull, throbbing pain deep into his groin. When he bent lower to relieve the pull on his balls, and the nipple weights swung more freely, yanking harder on his chest and his knees and thighs would start to burn again. He hovered in the narrow middle ground, sweat already slicking his naked skin.

Master circled him slowly, gray eyes taking in every twitch, every bead of pre-cum that stretched from the tip of Riley's cock. He reached over occasionally and batted at Riley's shaft with light, open-palmed swats. Playful and mocking. Watching it bounce and swing before slapping it again. "Looks like you're trying to fuck the air," he said, voice low and amused.

Riley's breath hitched each time. He was grateful the ball gag was gone. The drool it had forced out earlier was already pooled beneath him, mixing with the mess his cock kept making. The constant drip felt humiliating, filthy, and he hated how much it turned him on.

Master hit the button on his phone. The vibrating plug buried deep in Riley's ass sped up from low hum to pulsing throb. It ground against his prostate relentlessly, waves of heat radiating through his core. Riley moaned, knees buckling slightly, the rope yanking his balls hard as he dipped. Pain shot through him, mixing with the vibe's buzz, his cock jumping and leaking more.

Master's cock sprang free from his shorts, thick and heavy, already hard from watching Riley squirm. He stepped forward, guiding the head to Riley's parted lips.

"Suck it, boy," Master ordered.

Riley opened wider, tongue out, taking him in deep. He sucked eagerly, bobbing as much as the position allowed, moans vibrating around the shaft.

To take him deeper without hurting himself, Riley had to stay perfectly balanced. Knees bent just right, back curved forward, ass pushed out to keep the rope slack. If he straightened too much to get leverage, the nipple weights swung hard, yanking sharp pain through his chest. If he straightened, the balls rope stretched tight, burning his sac. Kneeling was not allowed. He worked within the narrow range, lips stretched wide, throat relaxing as Master slid in deeper.

Master's hands came to Riley's head. Gentle at first, fingers threading through sweaty curls. Then firmer. He guided Riley's rhythm, pushing forward slow and steady, filling his mouth, then his throat. Riley gagged softly, eyes watering, but kept sucking. Master groaned low, hips rocking now, fucking Riley's mouth with controlled thrusts.

"Good boy," Master growled, voice rough. "Take it all."

Riley moaned around the thick shaft, the vibration making Master buck harder. Riley adjusted his stance to breathe, only to pull the rope or swing the clamps, fresh pain spiking through him.

Master's breathing roughened. His grip tightened, hips snapping forward. Deeper. Faster. Face-fucking Riley with steady, demanding rhythm. Riley's throat worked, swallowing around the length, tears streaming down his cheeks from the stretch.

Then Master stopped. Abruptly. Simply pulled his spit covered cock out of Riley's mouth and stepped back.

He stared at Riley. Brows furrowed. Arms crossed.

Master reached out. Trailed one hand down Riley's spine. The aftermath of yesterday's belt was brutal in a way that felt almost careless. Cruel for no reason. Master knew he had let it go too far, and Riley had pushed him there. The skin across Riley's ass was a deep, angry red, mottled with overlapping stripes that had swollen into raised, angry ridges. The color deepened to purplish-black at the center of the worst ones.

Riley had begged for it. Begged Master not to stop even when the skin broke, even when the pain turned sharp and bright instead of the warm bloom he usually chased. Master had given it to him, stroke after stroke, until the belt left more than marks. Then he stopped anyway, said the ass was too raw for more, voice firm. Riley had still begged. Not to cum, but for the belt. Raw need. Like the pain was the only thing loud enough to drown out whatever was screaming inside his head.

Today he'd begged again. Master studied him now, hand still resting on one welt. It felt like Riley was using the pain to punish himself, and Master was only the tool.

He gave the welt a small, sharp slap. Riley gasped, hips jerking forward, cock bobbing hard. He tried to lean into the touch. Tried to be into it, the way the restraints made his body sing with need, the burn in his nipples and balls twisting into that dark, filthy pleasure. "

"Fuck. Thank you, Master," Riley gasped.

"Since when do you constantly thank me, boy?" Master asked, voice quiet but edged. "Since when are you so eager for me to hurt you?"

Riley swallowed, throat working. "I want you to, Master," he said, voice rough. "I want you to use me however you want. However I deserve to be used. Please let me suck your dick some more. You deserve to cum."

Master shook his head, No. Reached down, removed the nipple clamps. The blood rushed back in sharp, burning waves that made Riley cry out, body jerking. The weights clinked to the floor. Master resisted the urge to give each nipple a good slap as the pain subsided.

Instead, he adjusted the restraints. Loosening them slightly so Riley could walk, but not fully. Every step would still tug his balls. Finally, he uncuffed Riley's wrists, re-cuffing them in front.

The vibe in his ass stayed in, but Master turned it down.
Riley straightened the best he could, panting, cum and spit slick on his chin, cock still hard and aching, balls tender from the rope, hole clenching around the plug.

Master said. "Kitchen. Now."

He led the way from the living room. Didn't even order Riley to put the toys away or clean up the drool and cum first.

When they reached the kitchen, Master calmly said. "You're going to wash vegetables."

Riley nodded, breath short. "Yes, Master."

"Wash the lettuce. Romaine. Every leaf carefully in the sink. Then the cucumbers and carrots. You will stroke those like you wish you were allowed to stroke your cock. Rinse them thoroughly. Understood?"

"No Sir."

The restraints made every step awkward, ass clenching around the buzzing plug with each hobble. Cold water cascaded over the romaine heads as he separated the leaves one by one, rinsing under the stream. Bending forward to reach the faucet pulled the chain taut, stretching his balls. Water splashed his hands, dripping down his arms. The cool rivulets left good when they splashed his bare chest, easing the burning in his nipples.

Master sat on a stool. Arms crossed. Thoughtful.

Riley's hips jerked involuntarily mid-rinse, pre-cum dripping from his cock onto the floor in slow, shiny drops.

Master noticed. "You leaked. Clean it up. Now."

Riley carefully put down the vegetables, dropped to his knees. The chain between his ankles clinked. The handcuffs made the motion clumsy. He bent low, ass up, and licked the small puddle from the tile. His own taste filling his mouth. "I'm sorry, Master. Sorry for making a mess."

"Good boy," Master said. "Back to work."

Riley's cock leaked faster now from the humiliation. He rinsed the next romaine leaf, but the vibe ramped up again. It pulsed higher, vibrations rolling through his core, making his thighs quake. He gripped the sink edge, hips bucking once, another drop of pre-cum hitting the floor.

"Again," Master ordered.

Riley dropped, licked it clean, apologized through gritted teeth. His cock bobbed untouched, veins standing out, head slick and purple from the constant tease.

Master stood and circled behind him as Riley resumed washing. Now the cucumbers, long and thick.

"You're distant," Master said, voice low. "Why?"

Riley's breath hitched. "Nothing, Master."

"Liar." Master pulled out his phone, held it up. "We should set up an OnlyFans. Stream this. Let them see my houseboy work. Tied, plugged, leaking while he rinses vegetables for me."

Riley froze, cucumber in hand, water running cold over his fingers. The camera lens stared back. The thought of strangers watching him as he stroked cucumbers like they were dicks made his hole clench so hard around the toy that it drove the ridges against his prostate in sharp, hungry pulses. The idea of being exposed like that sent a filthy thrill straight through him.

"Master. Please no," Riley begged. "Don't stream it. Fuck, that's hot, imagining them watching me like this. Naked, hard and yours...but just don't. Please."

"Could get you a hood to wear. Make you earn that way."

Master's thumb hovered over the screen. The vibe hit max. The buzzing relentless against his prostate, making Riley's thighs quake. He leaned forward over the sink, ass clenching, cock pulsing, pre-cum dripping in steady streams now. He dropped the cucumber, hands gripping the edge, water splashing his bound wrists.

"You leaked again," Master said. "Clean it."

Riley dropped to his knees, chain clinking, and licked the puddle. He only tasted shame. "Sorry, Master. Sorry for the mess."

The vibe didn't stop. Riley stood again. He trembled.

Master's free hand wrapped around his balls, firmly squeezing. "Truth I let go. Lie and I squeeze harder. Why are you distant?"

Riley gasped. "Please, Sir. It's nothing really. I'm happy to be yours."

Master squeezed in slow, rhythmic pulses. Firm. Release. Firm again. Each one rolling deep into Riley's gut like a fist closing and opening inside him. The pattern matched the vibe's buzz, syncing pain and pleasure until Riley couldn't separate them. His stomach lurched, nausea hot and sudden, knees threatening to give.

Master held the next pulse longer. Three full seconds until Riley's vision spotted and a low, broken whimper tore out of him. Then release. The sudden relief was almost worse.

"Try again," Master commanded.

"Jake," he gasped. "I... found a picture. Of him."

Master kept a firm grip, thumb pressing the base where the rope wrapped. "The one in the living room?"

Riley didn't answer.

Master squeezed again. Harder this time. Vise-like. The pain spiked white-hot, making Riley's balls feel like they were being crushed inward. Riley's whole body locked, breath punched out of him, tears spilling instantly.

He nearly folded, only Master's hold on his nuts keeping him upright.

"Keep prepping," Master said. "And talking."

Riley rinsed blindly. Carrots slipping in his bound grip.

"Please Master, I don't want to talk about it."

The squeeze was instant. Fierce. Unrelenting. Master's fingers dug in, compressing the sac until the pain felt like it was splitting him open. Riley cried out, body jerking as the agony tore through him.

Master held it for four seconds this time. Long enough for Riley to taste bile. Finally, he relaxed the grip to a steady pressure.

"More," Master said.

Riley's knees nearly buckled. He spilled the rest: the proposal, his shitty response, the cactus watching him cry alone. Tears mixed with water on his face, body shaking from occasional hard squeeze when Master wasn't satisfied with the answer.

At last, Riley collapsed against the sink. Tears streaked his face. Not from the pain in his balls.

Master released the restraints, pulled the plug free, then gathered him up. Sat on a stool, Riley in his lap, holding him close.

"You're safe," Master murmured, fingers carding through his hair.

"And wanted. For more than your body."

(Continued Post 8)

 

[yrailed]

Meatloaf detonated from the nightstand, belting “Bless My Soul”. The Rocky Horror anthem tore the room apart.

Jake didn’t open his eyes. For a second he was twenty again with a life of sticky floors, smeared lipstick, and voice hoarse from singing too loud after midnight. Too late. Always too late.

The song kept charging ahead, all bombast and borrowed nostalgia. He groaned and rolled into the sheets, tangled and damp, the air sour with last night’s sweat. His hand swept the nightstand by memory alone, tipping a water glass, brushing a tissue, until he found the phone and killed the sound.

The silence that followed was the kind that settled in before morning and stayed.

Jake stared at the ceiling. Hairline cracks ran through the plaster, branching and uneven, like something that had tried to hold together and failed. The room around him was narrow. No pictures. No clutter worth naming. Just a mattress, a nightstand, and a bulb dangling from a cord that hummed if he left it on too long.

Boxes lined one wall. The top one sat open. Paintbrushes poked over the edge. Bristles were clean and their handles wiped down. Tubes of paint were sealed, labels facing out, arranged by color.

Nothing else in the room looked like that.

His cock was hard. Morning wood tenting the thin boxers. Insistent and heavy. Jake reached down, hand sliding inside the waistband. Fingers wrapped around the warm shaft. Tight grip from the start. No gentle tease. He went rough. Dragging the skin back hard enough to make the head flare. Thumb pressed into the slit, smearing the bead of pre-cum like he was trying to force it out faster.

He closed his eyes. Breath came short and sharp. Hips lifted off the mattress. Fucked into his fist with short, jerky thrusts. The rhythm built fast. Punishing. Each stroke pulling the skin taut, the head rubbing raw against his palm. Pre-cum slicked the entire shaft, making every downstroke wet and obscene. He squeezed harder at the base, holding, letting the ache build in his balls until it bordered on pain.

He edged closer, the coil in his gut winding tighter. He could feel it right there, the point where one more stroke would tip him over. His hand sped up, brutal, fist flying, hips snapping up.

There was movement beside him. A shift of weight. Warmth against the mattress that had not been there a second ago.

He stopped.

Completely.

Hand frozen mid-stroke. Fingers still wrapped tight around the slick shaft. He let go. His cock bobbed helplessly. Flushed. Glistening. Twitching with the denied orgasm.

A long string of pre-cum stretched from the tip to his stomach.

He exhaled. Shaky. Ragged.

He squeezed his eyes shut, breath catching. “Not today,” he said, barely louder than a thought.

He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, feet finding the cold floor. He rubbed his face with both hands, dragging himself awake. “All right,” he said, softer now. “All right, Larry. Guess I should get moving.”

He stood, stretching his back with a wince. “Big audit today. Warehouse corp. The glamorous one. Inventory discrepancies, missing pallets, numbers that don’t want to line up.” He snorted under his breath. “I’m going to be buried in spreadsheets until my eyes bleed.”

The room did not answer him. It never did. Still, he kept talking.

“Might stop for coffee on the way. The good kind. Extra shot. Maybe two.” He glanced back at the bed. “You know what I mean, right?”

He reached for his phone, thumbed open his to-do list. Added Review Q3 reports. Added Call supplier re discrepancies. The screen lit his face in a pale wash, too bright for this hour.

Jake moved to the corner where his clothes lay. Tossed there after he took them off. Hadn't taken anything to the cleaners in a while. Or even used the laundry downstairs. He hesitated, then picked through it until he found a pair of slacks he had not worn in a while. They were creased. Once. He stepped into them anyway.

A shirt came next. Pale blue. Wrinkled. He buttoned it wrong the first time, cursed quietly, started over. Stared at his suspenders. Decided against them. The tie was still looped where he had left it yesterday. He tightened it around his neck. The tail hung too long. He tucked it into his shirt and sighed.

“See,” he said to the empty air, trying for humor. “Still making an effort." Then quieter. "You always said I overdressed.” A pause. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I should find a job where it’s always casual Friday.”

He glanced at the mirror propped against a box by the wall.

The man looking back at him was trying. That was the best he could say. Dark circles under his eyes. Stubble that needed more than a rinse and a promise. His hair stuck up in places that used to be deliberate. He smoothed it down with a comb, straightened the tie until it was passable.

Good enough to be seen. Not good enough to be looked at.

He sat back down on the bed, careful of the other side. “I might go out tonight,” he said, quieter. “Sarah’s been on me about it. Says fresh air would do me good. Or a drink. Or both.” A breath. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll meet somebody.”

The weight shifted closer.

Jake reached out without looking, fingers sinking into soft fur. A low, vibrating purr answered him, steady and sure.

Larry lifted his head, blinking up at him with mild interest, whiskers twitching. Orange fur, neatly groomed. Jake scratched under his chin and the purr deepened, smug and approving.

“Hey,” Jake said, voice dropping. “Don’t judge me.” He smiled, small and crooked. “I know. I know. I’ve been broody.” His hand slowed, thumb brushing along Larry’s jaw. “But I think I’m ready. Or at least ready to try again.”

Larry bumped his head into Jake’s wrist, claiming more.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Jake ignored it. Continued petting Larry. Finally, when it wouldn't stop incessantly beeping, he picked up up. Meaning to silence the alert.

He’d gone a little wild on Grindr a few months back. Faces and torsos and names that blurred together. Bodies that shared his bed and were gone before the light changed. He never blocked anyone. Never told anyone no. It felt wrong to close a door, even a small one.

He didn’t want to be the person who rejected. Didn’t want to hand someone that quiet, precise hurt.

The screen held a single line.

He read it. Then read it again.

His grip tightened. The words blurred.

Jake set the phone face down and pressed his forehead to Larry’s fur, breathing him in. Clean. Familiar. Alive.

“I guess I’m calling in sick today...” he said finally. Choking on the words he added, “...because lovesick is a kind of sick..."”

Larry purred on, unbothered.

Jake closed his eyes. Wiped at them. The words echoing where they always did. Old. Sharp. Still his.


***

Riley finished loading the dishwasher, the last fork clinking into place. Naked as always, skin still flushed from the shower, cock hanging half-hard, heavy with the morning's denial and the cool air kissing his balls. He wiped his hands on the dish towel, then wrapped it loosely around his waist, letting it drape low so the top edge barely covered the base of his shaft. The towel tented obviously where his cock pushed against the thin cotton.

He turned to Master, hip cocked, one eyebrow raised, trying for the old bratty spark.

"How's that for clothes?" he asked, voice light, teasing.
Master looked up from his phone. Eyes flicked down to the towel, then back to Riley's face.

"Oh, now," he said slowly, "that's just asking for it." His tone was calm, but the edge was there. Quiet. Dangerous. "You know the rule about clothes."

Riley pushed his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, shifting his weight so the towel slipped lower, exposing the top of his cock. "But isn't it cute, though?"

Master set the phone down. Stood. Walked over, slow steps that made Riley's pulse jump.

"Yeah," Master said, voice dropping. "Very cute. Your dick shoving it all out like that. Almost obscene."

He reached down, hooked a finger under the towel's edge, and tugged sharp. The fabric pulled tight across Riley's cock. The head pressed against the cotton like it was trying to break through. Clearly outlined.

Riley sucked in a breath, cock twitching hard.

"Now take it off," Master said, "if you ever plan to cum again."

Riley's pout deepened, but his eyes were bright, hopeful. He let the towel fall, the cotton whispering to the floor. His cock sprang free. Fully hard now. Tip slick.

Master didn't step back. He stayed close, towering, looking down at Riley like he was deciding something.

"Pick it up," Master said. "Take it to the laundry. You got pre-cum all over it."

Riley bent slowly, ass pushing out, knowing Master was watching. The towel was damp where it had pressed against his leaking cock. He straightened, holding it in both hands like an offering.

"Chores list today, Sir?" he asked, voice still pitched playful, testing. "Or you finally gonna let me slack off?"

Master didn't answer. Just looked at him. Long. Steady. Unreadable.

Riley's smirk faltered. The air shifted. The teasing felt thin now, forced, like he was trying to pull a reaction that wasn't coming.

Master stepped closer. One hand came up, cupped Riley's jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

"You're not in trouble, boy," he said quietly. "Stop performing."

Riley swallowed. The words landed soft, but they stung.

He tried one more time, voice smaller. "I thought... maybe you'd want a blowjob or something. Quick and dirty. Right here."

Master's thumb traced Riley's lower lip. "No."

Riley's stomach dropped. The rejection was simple, calm, final.

Master's hand dropped. He stepped back.

"Get dressed," he said.

Riley blinked. "Sir?"

"All of it. Underwear. Shirt. Jeans. Boots. Everything."

Riley's mouth opened. Closed. "We're... going somewhere?"

Master didn't answer. Just nodded toward the hallway. "Now."

Riley hesitated, then moved. Pulled on the jeans. Dark and fitted and hugging his thighs and ass like they were made for him. The denim pressed against his still-sensitive skin. When he stepped back into the kitchen, fully dressed for the first time in days, he felt oddly covered. Vulnerable in a different way. Master looked him over, slow appraisal from boots to face.

"Good," he said.

Riley swallowed. "Where are we going?"

Master leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes locked on Riley's. "It's been a week since you knocked on my door. You asked for a week to decide."

Riley went pale. His stomach dropped like lead. "Please, Sir, don't kick me out. I'll do anything. Whatever you say. I'll try harder. Just tell me what you want me to do."

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Master finally spoke, voice low and even. "I want you to be happy. I want you to want to be here."

"I do want to be here," Riley said softly, stepping closer, voice cracking on the edge.

"But you aren't happy, are you?"

Riley stared at the floor. At the boots on his feet. Then looked up, eyes burning. "I'm trying to be. I'm happier than I was before I got here. Out there. Freezing. Alone."

Master's gaze didn't waver. "But not like you were a year ago."

Riley looked like he'd been slapped. Hard. Straight across the face. He sucked in air, chest heaving. "I'm sorry. I..." he trailed off, fists clenching at his sides. Then the words burst out, heated, raw. "What do you want me to say? That I'm a survivor? That I'll take this over the street any day? Yeah, I will. But happy? Fuck, no. Not like that. Not like with him."

Master nodded slowly, like he'd expected it. "That's the truth I needed."

Riley's voice rose, charged now, frustration spilling over. "So what? You gonna throw me out because I'm not grinning ear to ear while I scrub your goddamn floors? Because I miss what I broke?"

He snatched the dishtowel from where he'd dropped it earlier. He pressed it to his eyes for a second, quick, rough, like he could blot out the sting before it turned into tears. The faint dampness of his own pre-cum brushed his skin. He didn't care.

He lowered the towel, knuckles white around the fabric, and looked up at Master again. Eyes bright, wet, but not quite spilling yet.

Master stepped closer. Close enough that Riley could feel the heat rolling off his body. The familiar pull that usually made his knees weak. But this time it felt like gravity he couldn't escape.

"No," Master said, voice steady but intense. "I'm not throwing you out. But you need more than this. More than me."

Riley shook his head, eyes stinging harder. "I don't. I can be what you want. Just tell me and I'll become it." His voice cracked on the last word, almost a whimper. He twisted the dishtowel tight in his fist like it was rope keeping him from falling.

Master's hand came up, cupped Riley's jaw. Firm. Riley's breath hitched.

"You deserve to be happy," Master said, thumb brushing Riley's lip. "Not just surviving."

Riley’s eyes burned. He leaned into the touch, just a fraction, like he couldn’t help it. "I’m trying," he whispered. "I’m trying so fucking hard."

"I know," Master said softly. "That’s why I’m not letting you hide from it anymore."

That's when he heard the knock at the door.

Three loud knocks.

Master turned toward the intercom. Pressed the button.

"Come on into the kitchen," he said, voice even.

The front door opened. Closed. Footsteps. Slow.

Riley's stomach lurched. He took a half-step back. Eyes went wide. "Please, Sir. I'll just leave. I'm not going with anybody else. Not getting passed around."

Master didn't answer. Didn't even look at him.

The kitchen doorway filled with a familiar silhouette.

Riley blinked hard. Once. Twice. Then staggered back until the counter dug into his lower spine.

Jake stood there.

“Hi,” Jake said. Simple. Quiet. Voice rough around the edges like he’d rehearsed it and still wasn’t sure it would come out right.

Riley’s throat closed. He stared. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

The silence stretched until Master spoke.

"Talk to him." He glanced at Riley. "And to be clear. No, I'm not kicking you out. You can choose to stay. You've been a good boy for me."

Riley exhaled in a shaky rush, relief flashing across his face. His shoulders dropped a fraction.

"Hey," he managed, voice small.

Jake stood just inside the doorway, hands in the pockets of that leather jacket. He looked tired around the eyes. A weird, crooked smile touched his mouth.

"Jacket looks good on you," Riley said, almost reflexive. "But weird over your suit."

Jake shrugged, one shoulder lifting. "You were always the one with fashion sense. Not me." His eyes softened. "But those clothes look real good on you."

Riley glanced down at himself. Everything fit. Everything snug and just how he liked. And the realization hit slow.

"You?" he asked, voice cracking on the word. "You bought these, didn't you? And left them here for me?"

Jake nodded once. "When it first started getting cold. When I asked you to stay with me. I wanted to give them to you then. Wasn't sure what to do after... everything. If you hadn't come here, I would've taken them to you anyway. I was really hoping you'd go someplace. If not with me, then at least someplace safe. With somebody I trusted."

Riley's throat worked. He looked away, then back. The kitchen felt smaller.

Master spoke quietly. "Let's go to the living room."

He led the way, footsteps even on the hardwood.

Riley followed, Jake a half-step behind. The hallway felt longer than it ever had.

In the living room, Master Eric sat in his recliner. Feet flat. Present, but not looming.

Jake took one end of the couch.

Riley hesitated. Looked toward Master and understood immediately. The chair was chosen on purpose. He was not meant to sit there.

He took two steps toward the couch, then veered at the last second and dropped into a stiff wingback chair that did not forgive poor posture.

“So,” Riley said quietly. “Why did you say you trusted him.” He looked at Jake. “You were his houseboy?”

Jake shook his head. “No. I lived here for a while, though. He was the theater manager where I worked.”

“The picture,” Riley said, pointing. “That’s you.”

Jake picked up the frame. A small smile. “Yeah. Frank-N-Furter. College days. I told you some of it.”

Riley snorted weakly. “You definitely skipped parts.”

“I wanted memories,” Jake said. “That’s all.” He hesitated, then added without thinking, “We should go to a showing this fall. I bet I could still…” He stopped. Reality caught up. “Right. Sorry. I mean, a bunch of us could go. Sarah and the others.”

Eric snorted. “Always room on the cast for alumni.” He glanced at Riley. “And I’m always happy to have a new virgin.”

Jake laughed before he could stop himself. “Yeah. Virgin Riley.”

“It’s okay,” Riley said after a moment. “Maybe we could do something like that.” He looked at Jake. “You could bring your new boyfriend.”

Jake let out a sharp laugh. “Who. My cat.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving Riley. “What makes you think I moved on any more than you did.”

Riley frowned. “What do you mean.”

“I mean I have spent months trying to take care of you from a distance,” Jake said. “Even when you didn’t want me to. I burned through my savings doing it.”

Riley turned to Eric, confused. “You were paying him.”

“God, no,” Jake said quickly. “Eric did me a favor. I hoped you two would get along.” He took a breath. “I hired a lawyer. The eviction. The cops. You really think that firm sent you one of their top lawyers for free?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I got your stuff back too. Most of it. It’s in boxes in my apartment. Which is also my kitchen and living room. Bathroom is literally in the closet.”

Riley stared at him. “I didn’t deserve that.”

Jake shrugged, tired but certain. “I didn’t care. Still don’t. I just want you safe. I want you happy. Even if it’s not with me.” A pause. “You will always be special to me.”

Riley hesitated. Swallowed. “How about…” He faltered, then pushed through, embarrassed. “Kevin?”

Jake blinked. Then a corner of his mouth lifted. “He’s alive.” At Riley’s look, he added, “In his pot. Sitting in the only window I have. Gets more sun than I do.”

Riley let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh.

Jake shrugged again, softer this time. “That’s why I really did all of this. Can’t let Kevin die in a box.”

Riley smiled. Small. Wet-eyed. “You’re impossible.”

The room settled around them.

Then Jake spoke again, quieter. “Your mom called me. A couple of weeks ago.”

Riley’s head snapped up. “Why.”

“She lost your number. Said she wrote mine on a prayer card once.” Jake hesitated. “No change. Church stuff. Your parents are fine. I didn’t tell them we broke up. I just said you weren’t home. They said they would pray for you.”

“I’m sorry,” Riley said. “That you had to deal with that.”

Jake nodded. Eric stayed silent.

Riley looked down. Then up. Then down again. When he looked up this time, his eyes were wet.

“I am sorry too,” he said. “That I didn’t say yes. I wanted to. Every part of me was screaming to say yes.”

“Then why didn’t you,” Jake asked gently.

“Because I was scared,” Riley said. “And I lied.” His voice shook. “I said no, but it wasn’t true.”

Jake waited.

“My parents,” Riley said. “They screamed. Threw things. Dad cheated. Mom prayed harder. They stayed together anyway. Miserable. Trapped.” Tears spilled freely now. “They called it love. I was terrified marriage would do that to us. That I would ruin what we had.”

He looked at Jake. “I should have trusted you. Trusted us. I was wrong.”

Jake reached out slowly, like Riley might bolt.

“I never wanted to trap you,” he said. “I just wanted to keep you.” His voice broke. “I never stopped.”

Riley stood. Crossed the room on shaking legs. Dropped to his knees in front of Jake.

“If you still mean it,” he said, looking up, voice raw and small, “then yes. I want to marry you. I don’t want anything else.”

Jake’s breath caught. For a second he just looked at the man who’d once bolted from the same question. Then he reached down, fingers sliding into Riley’s hair, not gentle, not asking. He closed his fist at the scalp, firm enough to sting just right, and used the grip to pull Riley slowly up off his knees and into his body.

Their mouths met.

It started careful. Lips brushing, testing, like they were both afraid the other might vanish again. Then Jake tilted Riley’s head back with that same hand in his hair, deepening the kiss until it turned hungry. Tongues slid, teeth grazed, breath shared in short, desperate pulls. Riley’s hands scrambled up Jake’s chest, fisting the leather jacket like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

Jake broke the kiss just enough to drag his mouth along Riley’s jaw, then lower, to the soft skin under his ear. His voice came out low, rough, certain.

“You’re mine now, boy.”

Riley made a small, broken sound. Half whimper. Half moan. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, cock straining painfully against the unfamiliar denim, the thick seam pressing right where he was already leaking. The denial he’d worn so casually under Eric’s rules suddenly felt unbearable. He wanted to grind, to beg, to be told no and made to take it anyway. But Jake’s grip in his hair tightened, holding him still, keeping him exactly where he wanted him.

“Not yet,” Jake murmured against his throat, lips brushing skin. “You don’t get to come until I say. Not until I’ve got you home. Stripped. Reminded who owns every fucking inch of you.”

Riley’s knees buckled a fraction; Jake caught him, one arm banding around his waist, possessive and unyielding. Riley pressed his face into the crook of Jake’s neck, breathing him in. Leather. Faint cologne. The same warm skin he’d once taken for granted. His cock throbbed helplessly. Trapped. Aching.

He nodded against Jake’s shoulder, small, frantic. “Yes, Sir,” he whispered, the title slipping out.

Jake exhaled, shaky with restraint. His thumb stroked tender along the nape of Riley’s neck before he eased back just enough to look at him.

“Good boy.”

Riley’s eyes fluttered closed at the praise. A fresh bead of pre-cum soaked through the denim; he could feel the wet spot spreading.

Eric stood quietly from the recliner. Walked to the door. Paused. Just long enough to meet Jake’s eyes over Riley’s shoulder, a small nod of acknowledgment, nothing more.

Then he left.

The door closed without a sound.

Jake rested his forehead against Riley’s, still holding him close, still fisted in his hair.

“I’ve got you,” he said again, softer this time.

Riley nodded, tears on his cheeks, smiling through them.

He snuggled in harder. Held Jake tighter. Whispered, barely audible against Jake’s throat: “Forever.”

This time, neither of them ran.



(Continued on post 9)

 

[yrailed]

<Epilogue>

Riley lounged on the back deck of their overwater bungalow, legs stretched out on the cushioned chaise, the warm teak under his bare feet still holding the day’s sun. The lagoon stretched out below, waves soft against the pilings. Palm fronds rustled overhead, carrying the faint salt-sweet scent of the ocean. Paradise. Actual, postcard paradise.

Three months married.

The platinum band on his left ring finger caught the golden light every time he moved, a quiet, constant reminder that felt heavier and more perfect than anything he’d ever worn. No more running. No more doubt. Just this. Jake + Riley: Forever. Sealed in metal.

He wore nothing but the tiniest black speedo the resort gift shop had dared to stock. The fabric hugged him like a second skin, stretched taut across his hips, the front pouch already straining because thinking about Jake did that to him now. Always had, really, but marriage had turned it into something deeper, hungrier. His cock lay half-hard along his thigh, the outline clear and shameless. He shifted deliberately, letting the nylon chafe just right against his balls, a low hum of pleasure rolling through him.

They’d barely left the bungalow since check-in. The king bed inside was wrecked. Sheets twisted. Pillows scattered. Faint scent of lube and cum still lingering in the cool AC air. They’d fucked. Slept. Fucked again. Ordered room service. Laughed until their sides hurt. Then fucked some more. Normal honeymooners probably saw sunsets and snorkeled and shit like that. They saw each other. That was enough.

Riley tipped his head back, closing his eyes against the breeze. “We should probably make an appearance on the beach at least once,” he called lazily toward the open sliding door. “You know, at least pretend we’re functional adults who leave the room. Lie on white sand. Sip cocktails with little umbrellas. Be seen.”

Jake stepped out a second later, shirtless, low-slung navy swim trunks slung on his hips, the deep V of his pelvis disappearing under the waistband. He carried a small tray with two tall glasses. Rum runners with coconut cream swirling lazy. Condensation had already beaded on the sides. His wedding band clinked on the glass as he set it on the low table between the chaises.

“Went to the tiki bar by the infinity pool,” Jake said, voice easy, warm. “Bartender asked if we were newlyweds. I told him three months and still couldn’t keep our hands off each other. He laughed and comped the second round.”

Riley’s grin spread slow and wicked. “Smooth.”

Jake’s eyes dropped to him. Lingering. Appreciative. Possessive in that quiet way that always made Riley’s stomach flip.

He handed Riley the drink, then sank onto the chaise right beside him. So close their bare thighs pressed together, heat bleeding between them. Jake’s hand settled immediately on Riley’s knee, thumb stroking lazy circles up the inside of his thigh.

“Right now,” Jake said, voice low, “I like the view from here better.”

Riley took a slow sip. He savored the cool liquid as it slid down his throat. He set the glass down, stretched deliberately, arching his back so the speedo rode lower, exposing the sharp cut of his hips, the dark trail of hair disappearing under the fabric. His cock thickened visibly, pushing harder against the nylon, a dark spot blooming at the tip where pre-cum had already started to soak through.

“Beach is literally right there,” Riley teased, nodding toward the private stretch of white sand curving around their bungalow. “Waves. Sunset. Romantic shit.”

Jake’s hand slid higher, fingers tracing the elastic edge of the speedo, dipping just under to brush the sensitive skin at the base of Riley’s cock. The touch was light. Teasing. It sent a jolt straight through him. Riley’s breath hitched, hips shifting forward on instinct.

“The beach can wait,” Jake murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed Riley’s temple. “You in this thing? Looking like that? Fuck, Ry. I can’t.”

Riley laughed, but it came out breathy, ragged. Jake’s fingers slipped fully under the waistband now, knuckles grazing the full length of him, thumb pressing slow circles over the leaking head through the damp fabric. The speedo clung transparently to the swollen tip, every vein outlined, obscene and perfect.

Riley turned his head, catching Jake’s mouth in a slow, deep kiss.

No rush.

Just them.

Married.

Safe.

Wanted.

“I love you,” Riley whispered against Jake’s mouth, the words slipping out easy now, no fear behind them. “Like stupid, can’t breathe without you love.”

Jake’s forehead rested against his, eyes soft and fierce at once. “I know. Same. Every damn day since I met you.” His hand tightened just enough around Riley’s cock. Possessive. Reverent. “You’re mine. I’m yours. No doubts. No running. Just us.”

Riley’s throat tightened, chest full in a way that had nothing to do with the heat building between his legs. He nodded, small, smiling through the sudden sting in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Just us.”

Jake kissed him again. Deeper this time. Slower, then pulled back. Just enough to look down at where his hand was working Riley through the speedo, fabric slick and stretched to breaking.

“Strip it off,” Jake said, voice dropping to that dark, commanding register that always made Riley melt. “Slowly. Right here. Let me see every inch of what’s mine.”

Riley’s cock jumped hard against Jake’s palm.

The lagoon breeze cooled the damp spot on the fabric.

"Out here?" Riley whispered, but his hips rolled forward instinctively, chasing the pressure. The back deck of their overwater bungalow was mostly secluded. Lush tropical foliage screened one side and the lagoon stretched out behind. Distant laughter drifted from another villa. A boat motor hummed somewhere far off. Anyone paddling by in a kayak, or glancing from a neighboring deck, could catch the show if they looked hard enough.

The thought made Riley's cock surge, straining the speedo to its limit. The outline was obscene. The big vein and the flared head pushed against the stretched fabric like it was trying to tear free.

"Yes. Right here," Jake repeated, voice dropping to that dangerous timbre Riley knew too well. "Show me how bad you want to be seen, boy. Or I'll just go for a little walk without you. Maybe that bartender is interested..."

Riley caught Jake's hand. His grip was firm. Serious. "No more Grindr games. Okay? I mean it. We don't need that anymore. No swiping each other to get jealous. No fake profiles to make the other one hard. Just us."

Jake's eyes softened instantly. The teasing edge vanished. He turned his hand in Riley's, lacing their fingers together so their wedding bands clicked quietly. "I know. I was just playing. But yeah. Just us." He leaned in, lips brushing Riley's temple. "No more games. We've got the real thing now."

Riley exhaled, tension melting out of his shoulders. A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Good. Because Kevin the cactus is the only third wheel I want in our bed. And even he stays on the windowsill."

Jake laughed low, warm. "Poor Kevin. Named after that headless torso. But you turned it into our thing."

"Exactly," Riley said. "Our thing. Not some app's thing."

Jake squeezed his hand once more, then released it. His voice dropped back to command. "Then show me, husband. Strip. Slowly. Prove it's just us."

Riley stood slowly, legs shaky, facing Jake so the low deck railing framed him like a stage. The humid night air kissed his skin, raising goosebumps despite the tropical heat. He hooked thumbs into the waistband, dragged it down inch by torturous inch. The nylon peeled away from his shaft with a wet sound, dragging over the sensitive underside, catching on the ridge of the head before he paused halfway down. His cock bobbed free at the tip, flushed dark and glistening.

He grinned, wicked and needy, then tugged the fabric back up just enough to cover the head again. Teasing. Testing.

Jake's eyes darkened to near-black. "Don't play games unless you want to be punished out here where everyone can hear you beg."

Riley swallowed hard, cock jerking visibly under the half-lowered speedo. He pulled it down again. Slower this time. Let the waistband snap lightly against the base as it cleared his balls. The speedo dropped to his ankles in a damp heap. He stepped out, kicked it toward Jake with one bare foot.

Then he arched his back, hands sliding up his own chest to pinch his nipples. Hard. He thrus his hips so his cock pointed straight at Jake, pre-cum stringing from the slit to the deck boards below. The lagoon breeze cooled the wet tip, making him shiver and leak more.

Jake stood in one fluid motion, drink forgotten on the table. He closed the distance, one hand fisting in Riley's hair to yank his head back, exposing his throat. The other hand wrapped around Riley's shaft. Firm. Thumb smearing pre-cum in slow circles over the head.

"Look at you," Jake growled against his pulse. "Hard and dripping for strangers who might see. My perfect little exhibitionist slut." He stroked once. Slow. Deliberate. Squeezed at the base, cutting off the building orgasm. "No coming yet. Not until I say. Not until I've fucked you raw inside, where you can scream my name without holding back."

Riley whimpered, knees buckling. His cock throbbed helplessly in Jake's fist, denied and aching, balls drawn tight. The risk. The possibility of eyes on them only made it worse. No...Better.

Jake released his hair just long enough to scoop up the discarded speedo. He balled it in his fist, still warm and wet from Riley's body, then pressed it to Riley's lips.

"Open."

Riley obeyed instantly. Jake stuffed the damp fabric between his teeth, gagging him lightly with his own pre-cum-soaked speedo, then grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bungalow door.

"Inside. Now. Before I decide to bend you over the railing and let the whole resort watch me claim what's mine."

Riley stumbled after him, gagged and leaking. Heart hammering with equal parts fear and filthy want.

Jake pushed the door open.

He shoved Riley back onto the bed. Followed him down. Bodies aligned. Skin on skin. Cocks sliding hot and slick together. Jake pinned him. Perfect.

"You know what I brought?" Jake murmured, voice a low rumble against Riley's neck as he backed him up, teeth grazing the pulse point hard enough to leave a faint red mark. "Something to keep you exactly where I want you."

Riley shook his head, the fabric in his mouth tasting salty and musky. His cock throbbed against Jake's. Begging for friction.

Jake reached for his bag on the nightstand, rummaging one-handed while keeping Riley pinned against the edge of the mattress. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. They were sleek, black metal lined with soft leather cuffs for comfort. The chain between them looked short and unforgiving. He dangled them in front of Riley's wide eyes, letting the light from the bedside lamp glint off the steel. "A late wedding present from Eric. Said these are better than tying you up with my necktie. More... permanent."

Riley's breath hitched, a muffled moan escaping around the gag as his cock jumped, smearing more pre-cum across Jake's leg. The thought of his week with Eric mixed with this honeymoon bliss. He felt a fresh wave of heat through him. He wanted it. Needed to be owned like this, exposed and helpless. Under Jake's control.

"What's that?" Jake teased, leaning in to nip at Riley's earlobe. "Did you say, 'Put them on me, Sir'?"

Riley hesitated for a split second then nodded frantically, holding his hands out, wrists together like an offering. His eyes burned with that mix of bratty challenge and raw need, cock so hard it ached, balls heavy and tight.

Jake didn't waste time. He grabbed Riley's wrists in one rough yank, pulling them above his head as he shoved him fully onto the bed. The sheets were cool against Riley's heated skin, but Jake's body followed, straddling him, knees pinning his hips down. With a swift motion, Jake looped the cuffs through the slatted headboard and snapped them shut around Riley's wrists. Click. Click. The sound felt final. The leather hugging tight enough to bite if he pulled too hard.

Riley tested them immediately, tugging against the restraint. The chain rattled softly, giving him a few inches of play but no escape. His arms stretched taut above him, chest arched, cock jutting up obscenely from his body, leaking steadily now, a shiny trail pooling on his abs. He was exposed. Utterly, deliciously trapped. The knowledge made his pulse thunder, his muffled groans turning into needy pleas.

"Good boy," Jake growled, eyes raking over him like he was a feast. "Look at you. Cuffed and gagged on our honeymoon. Still think you can tease me out there on the deck without consequences?"

Riley bucked his hips, cock brushing Jake's stomach, seeking any contact, but Jake shifted back, denying him. Instead, he slid down Riley's body, mouth trailing a scorching path. Kissed the hollow of his throat. Sucked hard on a nipple until it pebbled and throbbed. Then went lower. Tongue dipped into the ridges of his abs, lapping up the pre-cum there like it was nectar.

"Turn over," Jake ordered, voice edged with that dominant bite that made Riley's toes curl.

Riley obeyed as best he could with his wrists bound, twisting his body until he was on his stomach, ass up slightly, face pressed into the pillows. The cuffs pulled his arms straighter, the position forcing his back to arch, presenting himself like a gift. Jake's hands spread his thighs wider, exposing everything. The curve of his ass, his heavy balls, his cock trapped beneath him against the sheets.

But Jake wasn't done teasing. He kissed along Riley's spine, down to the small of his back. Then nipped at the ass cheeks, spreading them just enough to blow a hot breath over his hole. Riley shuddered and ground down into the mattress. "Not yet," Jake murmured. "First, I want you mindless."

He flipped Riley back over with ease, settling between his legs. His mouth hovered over Riley's cock, breath ghosting the shaft, making it twitch and weep more pre-cum. Jake's eyes locked on Riley's as he finally leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside from base to tip, slow and deliberate, savoring the salty taste.

Riley's hips jerked, a garbled "Fuck" muffled by the speedo, his body straining against the cuffs.

Jake chuckled, the vibration humming against Riley's skin as he wrapped his lips around the head. He sucked lightly at first, tongue swirling over the slit, drawing out more pre-cum like he was milking him. Then deeper, inch by inch, taking him into the wet heat of his mouth, throat relaxing to swallow him whole. His hands pinned Riley's hips to the bed, preventing any thrusts, forcing him to take it at Jake's pace. Agonizingly slow.

Up and down, Jake worked him, cheeks hollowing on the upstroke, tongue pressing flat against the vein on the down. He hummed around the length, the sound sending shocks through Riley's core, building that coil tighter and tighter. One hand slid lower, cupping Riley's balls, rolling them gently, then tugging just enough to edge the pain-pleasure line. His other hand teased higher, fingers circling Riley's entrance. He pressed but didn't enter. Left with a promise of more.

Riley's world narrowed to the heat, the suction, the restraint. His wrists burned from pulling at the cuffs, thighs trembling, muffled moans turning into desperate, animalistic sounds. He was so close. Teetering on the brink. Cock throbbing in Jake's mouth. Pre-cum flowing freely. But Jake knew him too well. Just as the edge sharpened, Jake pulled off with a wet pop, hand clamping tight around the base.

Jake smiled, slow and predatory, wiping his slick lips with the back of his hand.

“Did you just say, ‘Please fuck me’?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and hunger. “Of course, anything for my husband.”

He flipped Riley again in one swift, possessive motion. Riley's wrists twisted in the cuffs with a metallic clink and his body arched face-down into the pillows. Riley’s cheek pressed into soft cotton, breath coming in hot, muffled bursts around the soaked speedo gag. His ass lifted instinctively, knees spreading wider on the sheets, cock trapped beneath him, grinding helplessly against the rumpled bedding with every tiny shift.

Jake knelt behind him, hands kind and reverent as they spread Riley’s cheeks wide. No preamble, no tease this time. His tongue dove in. Hot. Wet. Relentlessly circling the tight ring before spearing inside. Flicking him with slow, deliberate thrusts. Riley moaned brokenly, hips jerking back to chase the intrusion, cuffs rattling against the headboard like a desperate rhythm.

“Stay still,” Jake growled against his skin. A sharp slap cracked across one cheek. The stinging heat bloomed fast. Then another on the other side, harder, making Riley’s cock leak fresh pre-cum onto the sheets. Jake soothed the burn with his tongue again, lapping deeper, opening him up until Riley was trembling, ass clenching around nothing, begging silently with every push back.

Jake pulled away just long enough to grab the lube from the nightstand. He coated himself generously, stroking once, twice, eyes locked on Riley’s flushed hole. Then he pressed the blunt head against him, not pushing in yet. Just holding there. Letting Riley feel the stretch. The promise.

“Beg louder,” Jake ordered. “Let me hear how much you need your husband’s cock.”

Riley’s muffled cry was garbled but unmistakable. “Fuhhhk… pleashhh… harrrder…” The words slurred around the gag, desperate and filthy. His hips rocked, grinding his own cock into the sheets, the friction maddening but nowhere near enough.

Jake pushed in slow. Inch by thick inch. Finally, he bottomed out, hips flush against Riley’s ass. The stretch burned so good Riley’s eyes rolled back, a long, wrecked moan vibrating through the gag. Jake held still for a heartbeat, letting him adjust, then started to move. He used deep, rolling thrusts that dragged over every sensitive spot inside, filling him completely.

Riley’s cock smeared pre-cum in sticky trails across the bedding with every forward rock of Jake’s hips. The friction was brutal. Rough cotton against his leaking shaft. No mercy. No rhythm he could control. He tried to thrust back harder, to fuck himself onto Jake, but Jake’s hands clamped on his hips, pinning him in place.

“Greedy little slut,” Jake rasped, voice strained with restraint. “You don’t get to set the pace. You take what I give you.”

He picked up speed. Harder. Deeper. Each thrust slamming home, balls slapping against Riley’s. Riley’s muffled pleas grew frantic. “Harrrder… pleashhh… fuhhhk meee…” Tears slipped down his cheeks, soaking the pillow. His cock throbbed untouched beneath him, grinding desperately into the sheets, the pressure building again, terrifyingly close.

Jake leaned over him, chest to back, one hand sliding up to fist Riley’s hair and yank his head back just enough to growl in his ear.

“You’re so fucking tight for me. My perfect husband. Gonna fill you up, mark you inside and out.”

He fucked him relentlessly now. Short, brutal snaps until Riley was shaking, ass clenching around him, body screaming for release. Jake’s own control frayed; his thrusts turned erratic, hips stuttering.

Then, without warning, he pulled out. Slow. Deliberate. Leaving Riley empty and whining, hole fluttering around nothing.

Jake flipped him onto his back again, cuffs clanking as arms stretched overhead. Riley’s cock stood flushed and dripping, veins pulsing, pre-cum pooling in the dip of his stomach.

Jake straddled him in one fluid motion, knees bracketing Riley’s hips. He reached back, slicking more lube over Riley’s shaft with a firm stroke. Once. Twice. Made Riley buck and sob through the gag.

“Time to ride my boy,” Jake said, voice wrecked. He lined himself up, then sank down. Slow at first, taking Riley inch by inch until he was seated fully, ass flush against Riley’s pelvis.

Riley’s eyes flew wide. A strangled, ecstatic sound tore from his throat around the gag. Jake’s heat. His tightness. Fuck, it was overwhelming. Jake rolled his hips once, experimental, then started to move. Slow grinds at first, then rising and falling, riding him with deliberate, punishing rhythm.

Every downward stroke dragged Riley’s cock over Jake’s prostate, making Jake groan low and filthy. His own cock bounced hard against Riley’s stomach, leaking steadily, untouched.

“Look at you,” Jake panted, hands braced on Riley’s chest, thumbs circling his nipples. “Fucking your husband like the desperate slut you are. Feel that? That’s me owning you. Every inch.”

Riley’s hips snapped up instinctively, trying to thrust deeper, but Jake controlled the pace. Slow when Riley needed fast. Hard when he needed gentle. Edging them both mercilessly. The cuffs rattled with every futile pull; Riley’s muffled cries turned raw, pleading. “Pleashhh… comin’… gonna… fuhhhk…”

Jake leaned down, lips brushing the gag, voice a dark promise.

“Not yet. Hold it. For me.”

He rode harder. Faster. Ass clenching around Riley’s cock on every upstroke, milking him ruthlessly. Sweat slicked their skin, the ceiling fan doing nothing to cool the furnace between them.

Riley was gone. Body trembling. Cock throbbing inside Jake. So close he could taste it.

Jake’s rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as his own orgasm built.

“Fuck. Riley. Gonna come on your cock...”

He slammed down one last time, grinding deep, and spilled hot across Riley’s stomach. Thick ropes painting his abs, dripping down his sides.

Riley’s vision whited out at the sight, the feel of Jake clenching around him, marking him with cum. Jake’s hand shot down, clamping vise-tight at the base of his cock.

“No,” Jake growled, still shaking through aftershocks. “Not until I say.”

Riley sobbed. Loud. Broken. Body arched. Denied again. Cock pulsing uselessly in Jake’s grip.

Jake collapsed forward, forehead to Riley’s, both of them panting, slick with sweat and come.

“Good boy,” Jake whispered, kissing the corner of the gag, tasting salt and desperation on Riley’s skin. “So fucking good for me.”

Riley whimpered, whole body trembling. Cock still brutally hard, wrists raw from pulling at the cuffs, ass still clenching around the memory of Jake inside him, come still drying sticky on his stomach. Owned. Wrecked. And so fucking far from done.

Jake’s eyes burned with that dark, possessive hunger that always made Riley feel small and safe and filthy all at once. He swung one leg over Riley’s chest in a fluid motion. Reverse straddle. He positioned himself so his heavy, leaking cock hung right over Riley’s gagged mouth, balls brushing the soaked fabric.

“Sixty-nine,” Jake ordered, voice gravel-rough. “Now. Suck your husband while I empty you.”

He yanked the speedo gag free in one rough tug. The wet nylon slapped against Riley’s chest. Before Riley could even gasp a full breath, Jake lowered himself, feeding his still dripping cock past Riley’s swollen lips. Thick. Hot. Salty with pre-cum and the faint taste of his own ass from riding him moments ago.

Riley opened wide, greedy, taking him deep until the head bumped the back of his throat. He moaned around the shaft. Vibrating. Desperate. His tongue swirled the underside, sucking hard like he could pull Jake’s soul out through his dick. His wrists strained against the cuffs, metal clanking, helpless to grab Jake’s hips, to pull him deeper. All he could do was take it. Worship it.

Jake groaned low, the sound rumbling straight down Riley’s cock as he sank his mouth over him in return. No tease this time. No edging. He swallowed Riley to the root in one long, wet glide, throat constricting, nose buried against Riley’s balls. One hand cupped them, rolling, tugging just enough to sting; the other wrapped the base, stroking in time with the brutal suction.

They found the rhythm instantly. Primal, synced, and filthy. Riley’s hips snapped up, fucking Jake’s throat; Jake’s hips rolled down, fucking Riley’s mouth in shallow, controlled thrusts. Wet slurps and choked moans filled the bungalow, louder than the lazy ceiling fan, louder than the distant ocean. The cuffs pulled Riley’s burning muscles, adding that perfect edge of restraint.

Jake’s tongue flicked Riley’s slit on every upstroke, then plunged back down, humming deep so the vibration shot straight to Riley’s balls. Riley retaliated. Sucked harder. Hollowed his cheeks. Let his teeth graze just enough to make Jake hiss and thrust deeper. Sweat streamed down Riley’s temples from the angle.

Riley broke first.

His body locked. Spine arched off the bed, thighs quaking, cock swelling impossibly thicker in Jake’s mouth. A garbled, wrecked “Jaaake...” tore from his throat around the thick shaft filling it.

Jake didn’t pull off.

He sucked harder. Relentless. Greedily throat fucking Riley's dick. Swallowing every pulse as Riley shattered. Hot, thick spurts flooded Jake’s mouth; he drank it down like he was starving, milking Riley with tight pulls and slow swirls until every last drop was gone, until Riley was shaking, oversensitive, whimpering around Jake’s cock.

The second Riley started to come down. Jake thrust once, hard, burying himself to the hilt in Riley’s throat.

“Swallow me,” he growled, voice breaking. “All of it, husband.”

Riley obeyed. Gagging. Choking. Sucking like his life depended on it. Jake’s hips stuttered. Once. Twice. Then he came with a low, animal roar that vibrated through both of them. Thick ropes painted the back of Riley’s throat. He swallowed frantically, greedily, milking Jake with his tongue until Jake was shuddering, spent, hips jerking with aftershocks.

They stayed locked like that forever.

Cocks softened in each other’s mouths. Breathing grew less harsh. Bodies still slick with sweat, come, lube, tears. The room smelled like sex and salt and tropical heat.

Reluctantly, Jake pulled off with a wet gasp, swung his leg back around, and reached up to uncuff Riley’s wrists. The metal clicked free; Jake caught Riley’s hands before they could fall, rubbing slow circles over the red marks with his thumbs, kissing each palm like an apology.

Riley surged up. Weak. Trembling. He pulled Jake down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. They tasted each other. Cum. Spit. Sweat. Lazy and deep and filthy-sweet. Tongues sliding slow, sharing what was left.

Jake collapsed half on top of him, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving in sync.

“Mine,” Jake whispered against Riley’s lips.

“Yours,” Riley breathed back, voice hoarse, wrecked, happy. “Forever.”

The ceiling fan spun lazy circles above them.

Outside, the lagoon whispered against the pilings.

Inside, two husbands lay. Tangled. Spent. Marked. Claimed. Completely fucking satisfied.

No more running.

Just this.

Always this.

<The End>