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I rub my legs between the sheets as I wake up, feeling the soft cotton run across my skin. So soft. Ahhh…. I open my eyes slowly, blinking as the sun pours through the window, basking the entire room in its glow, and getting in my eyes. I clamber out of bed with my arm over my eyes and head to the old wardrobe, with its dark, heavy wood, clawed lion’s feet, faux-Greco carvings across the whole thing. It’s a huge wooden monstrosity, but years of familiarity have made it oddly comforting, besides, its an “heirloom” which means that 150 years ago one of my ancestors had it made, and no one’s wanted to throw it out since. I open its doors and pull out my bathrobe. My mother had it made for me and it is amazing soft, made out of god knows what materials, probably silk and cotton, and fashioned in the style of the Scottish tartan of my mother’s clan. It doesn’t really matter that my mother’s Scottish forbears came to America nearly 300 years ago, dirt poor, and on the run from the British for rebelling… again. What matters is that there are Standards to be Maintained, and Maintaining Standards means not forgetting Where We Come From. Quite frankly, I don’t bother disagreeing with her when she pronounces capital letters, because that is impressive and frightening, and not worth battling. Besides, she isn’t here right now, nor is my father, which is why I am wandering through this old house wearing only my bathrobe and slippers and walking up to the (former) servants’ quarters, where last light night I left a certain adorable asian twink in a rather interesting predicament.
I walk into the room and gasp at the sight, my bathrobe tenting up as I stand behind Liam, seeing his hands uselessly clenching, his feet balling, his exhausted legs twitching as he struggled to lift himself up off the cock shoved in his ass and to give his poor, throbbing cock a break from the constant shock running through it. He lifts up an inch, only for his fatigued legs to give out, and, with a gentle ringing of the bells affixed to his collar and nipple clamps, he collapses once again, the cock plunging into his ass. A new spring of tears form in his eyes, the droplets run down the already salty paths across his face, and another quiet muffled scream parts from his mouth.
I pull the cord electrical cord and watch as he stiffens in surprise and relief. Apparently, he didn’t hear me come in. His hands relax and color returns to his knuckles as the constant, torturing shock has ceased to run through his cock. I sit on the edge of the stool behind him and press my body to his, wrapping my arms around his trembling torso and feeling him shudder at the touch. “Just sit still,” I whisper, “this will hurt a little.” And with that, I gently unclip his nipple clamps, letting them fall to the floor with a thud and a slight ringing. He twitches in pain as the blood returns to his nipples and screams into the gag again, although all I can hear is a muffled and sexy moan. My rock hard cock presses against his back, and I gently rub his nipples, bringing back feeling into his abused chest, and in contentment and his exhaustion, he leans back against me, sobbing in ragged breaths of pain and relief. His cock is still hard, and throbs insistently with every heartbeat. For hours it has been teased and tortured with no relief, and I gently wrap my hand around it, stroking it softly and slowly.
“Do you still want to cum?” I whisper into his ear, his eyes closed and his jaw slack, in exhaustion, in pleasure, I don’t know. He gives a small, insistent nod, and I slowly move my hand giving one, two, three more strokes before taking my hand away.
He rolls his head over to my face and gives me a look with his half-lidded eyes, the dark circles under them belying his absolute exhaustion, as if to say, “You can’t be serious, just stop teasing me.” I smile back, and pull myself off the stool. Working quickly, I unlock his ankles and the chain holding his wrists to the stool. He continues to sit there, his head bowed forward, too tired to push himself up. I lift him up and slowly ease him off the cock that had been buried in him for the last ten hours. His body is covered in dry sweat and tears, and his legs tremble beneath him, unable to carry his weight. He leans against me. I unbuckle his gag and toss it aside. I’ll clean this stuff up later.
I pick up his exhausted body in my arms and carry him into the bathroom down the hall. I lay him in the bathtub, his smooth copper toned body on the smooth white porcelain. Too tired to resist me, I unchain his wrists and his collar before tossing them aside and turning on the water. As the hot water slowly fills the tub, he falls asleep, his head resting on the edge of the tub, gently snoring as the light pouring through the clear water forms webs of gold across his skin. I take the bar of soap in hand and gently work my hands over his body, exploring every crevice and every smooth length of skin he has, lathering and rinsing, washing away his exhaustion and sweat, leaving behind clean, sweet smelling skin as the tub slowly drains.
He wakes up as I stand him up, but dozes against my shoulder as I towel him off. I pick him up and carry him into his room, I think of it as his room now, and lay him down in the bed, tucking the blankets around him and watching him drift off into never never land.
It’s several hours later when he stumbles into the kitchen with a blanket wrapped around him. I’m sitting in the adjacent breakfast room, reading the news on my laptop while staring at the window at the birds on the feeder. A male cardinal is pecking at the seeds, his red feathers glowing in the sun. I turn to Liam.
“Did you sleep well?”
He stares at me, “You raped me last night.” It is not a question or an accusation, just a simple confirmation of fact.
I nodded, “You enjoyed it.” I added.
He nodded thoughtfully, “How much of it was a dream? … I mean… I can’t find any of the things I remember.”
I nodded. An awful lot of nodding going on this morning… afternoon, I correct myself, looking at the clock. “After you fell asleep, I cleaned everything up and locked it in the trunk.” He stood there thinking for a couple seconds.
“You hungry?” I ask. He smiles, “Pancakes are good.”
I take the hint, and fifteen minutes later we sit across the table from each other with a mountain of steaming strawberry pancakes between us, maple syrup (the good stuff from Vermont, not the synthetic crap everyone uses these days) running in amber streams on top with a small fluff of whipped cream on top, the aerosol can it came in beside the plate.
Liam lets the blanket drop from his shoulders as he shovels the steaming flapjacks dripping with gold onto his plate. The blanket reclines across the chair and wraps around his legs, leaving his torso bare and his delicious skin open for my eyes to feast upon. I stab a couple pancakes with my fork and place them carefully on my plate before switching the fork to my left hand to pin them down and carefully carve morsels with the knife in my right hand. Across the table, Liam was nearly bends over the table, shoveling the pancakes into his mouth, devouring them like an exhausted, starving boy who hasn’t eaten for at least a day. The towering mountain is gone in minutes, and we both lean back in our chairs, sated and relaxed.
Liam stretches his arms above his head, his skin a dull copper in the glow of the light bulb (Compact Fluorescent, gotta be eco-friendly). He had wiped the syrup from his mouth, but a dab of whipped cream still sticks to the front of his nose. I chuckle at the sight.
“What are you laughing about?” he asks quizzically, leaning forward again. I lean forward and wipe the cream away, then lick it slowly, sensually off my finger. He smiles, and I can’t help but notice the blanket around his waist has tented.
“Got something for me?” I tease. He blushes, and turns his head aside. I stand up from the table, grabbing the whipped cream as I do, and walk over to his chair. He grabs the front of my bathrobe, though whether to hold me back or bring me closer, I don’t know. I suspect he is unsure as well. I wrap my arms around him, and kiss him, burying my tongue in his mouth.
His other hand grabs my bathrobe and I half-drag, half-carry him from his chair, his blanket falling away, and through the breakfast room, dining room, across the main hallway, and into the living room before sitting down on an ottoman. He leans against me, his body draped over mind, our lips still locked together. I pull our mouths apart. He opens his mouth to protest, and I fill it with whipped cream, before setting down the can I had carried with me from the breakfast room. As he closes his mouth to swallow, I tear the bathrobe belt from my waist and throw it over his neck, it’s two ends falling evenly down his chest like an untied tie. “Shh…” I whisper as I get off the ottoman and pin him chest down onto it below me. I pull my bathrobe belt underneath his arms and tie the ends together behind his back, straddling his waist with my naked thighs. I grab his arms and pull them behind his back, cinching them tightly to the bathrobe belt, leaving his arms pinned behind him.
I toss him back onto his back, shaking the whipped can as I do, straddling him with my unfastened bathrobe flowing open, our hard cocks pressed together. He grinds against me lightly and I moan beneath my breath. Damn, he makes me hot. I squirt the whipped cream onto his nipples, already hard in the cool air of the room, making tiny dollops stand on top them.
I lean over him, my hands buried in the ottoman on either side, supporting my weight as my body hovers over him like a bird of prey about to devour a defenseless meal. I lick the cream from his nipples, tasting its sweet sugar and sucking them gently. He moans and twists against his bonds, inadvertently grinding his cock against mine again, and the sweet tingle of sex warms my body. I slide my body down his torso, caressing his soft copper skin beneath my fingers, feeling his heart beat faster against his rib cage, and his panting breath. As my mouth creeps closer and closer to his raging hard on, I twist onto the ottoman, my legs on either side of his torso, my hard member throbbing above his lips. My own mouth hovers over his cock, and the soft bathrobe flows over both of us, hiding the lewd sight from the rows of disappointing eyes painted on the portraits around the room, every face vaguely resembling my own, twisted with the serious frowns of people bored at the amount of time it takes to paint their likeness on canvas to last for centuries and stare down on their progeny congregating formally in this room, and, in this case, having hot, sweaty sex with an asian boy. Fuck you, ancestors.
The soft tartan bathrobe flutters around us as our bodies move together. I lick his hard cock, tasting it, feeling it pulse in my mouth as my tongue swirls around it. I cup his balls in my hand and ran my other hand around the base of his shaft as I push his cock as far back in my mouth as I could. I slide it slowly out and then plunge it in again, hearing him moan and holding his pelvis down as he thrusts into my face. My own cock throbs insistently and I push it against his lips. He opens, obediently, and my cock slides in. We thrust against each other, each tasting each other’s cocks, feeling the other move inside us. His mouth is skillful, he teases me and brings me to the edge, but no matter how I thrust against him, I cannot get the stimulation to push me over the brink. His body tenses beneath me, and I swallow his cock, tasting his cream as he shoots it into my mouth, his body shuddering as he does. I swallow it all, and stand up, pulling my cock out of his mouth. Standing over him, I stroke my cock hard, and come, my cream shooting over his face and chest.
I kneel down, and kiss him gently on his forehead.
“Had fun?” I ask.
“Lots. Now can you untie me please?”
“Awww, but you look so cute all trussed up on your back like that…”
“Yes, but my arms are falling asleep.”
Liam sits up, and tugs at the belt holding his wrists to the middle of his back.
I sit behind him and chuckle as I untie the knot. He rubs my cum off his face as I wrap my arms around him and kiss him gently on the shoulder.
“We need to do the dishes.” I whisper to him.
“Or more specifically, you need to do the dishes. I cooked.” I tie my bathrobe up again and walk into the kitchen, not bothering to see him get up and follow me. Sitting at the table, I open my laptop again as he enters the room, his beautiful body completely naked. I toss him an apron.
“Put it on and get to work.”
“Yes, master” he smiles, and I chuckle when he turns to wiggle his ass at me teasingly as he gathers the dishes.
It’s been a good day.
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