Page 29 of Knox's Boy

He groaned, the sound ragged. "You’re a sadist," he whispered, as if it weren’t the highest compliment. I could picture him on the other end of the line, sprawled out in his messy room.

He moaned into the phone.

“Mmm, that's right. Keep going. Good boy.”

He gasped and whined. There was a hunger in him, I could listen to it, and it almost made me lose control. I let my own voice drop, keeping it low and even.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” I said, and my own hand trembled.

His breathing grew ragged. “I’m stroking it, like you said. It’s so… fuck, Daddy… it hurts a little. I want to come so bad.”

“That’s not your decision,” I reminded him, letting the threat of denial hang between us. “You do what I say. You wait for my permission.”

He whimpered, softer now, and I let him have a moment of comfort, praising him for patience I knew he didn’t really have. “Good boy,” I told him. “That’s it. Take it slow. Don’t rush.” My voice dropped to a growl. "Slower. Tighter at the base. Now drag up, yes, like that." I closed my eyes, picturing his fingers obeying every command. When his breath hitched, catching on a sob, I pressed the phone closer. "That sound. Make it again for me." He did, a broken little noise that vibrated straight through me. "God, you sound perfect when you're desperate."

Each time his breath quickened, I'd order him to slow down, to pull his hand away completely. "Count backward from twenty," I'd command, listening to his shaky numbers dissolve into whimpers when he lost track around fourteen. Then I'd let him start again, his voice cracking on every third word.

“Are you going to make me beg to cum? Because, fuck, I'll do it, I'll do it right now, I'll beg so pretty you can't say no, Daddy, please,” he said, desperation evident, trembling.

“Go ahead, then, ask me nicely for it."

"Please," he whispered, voice catching. "Please, can I…"

"No. Try again."

"Daddy, please let me cum." His voice cracked on the word 'cum.'

"Hmm. Not quite there yet."

A whimper, then: "I need it so bad, Daddy, I've been good, haven't I? Please, I'm shaking, I can't…" His words dissolved into a ragged breath. "Please, Daddy…”

I let his ‘please, Daddy’ hang in the air until his breathing grew ragged. "Not enough. Tell me exactly who gets to decide when you cum." His voice broke in a sob.

"You do, Daddy." I waited another beat, savoring the soft whimper that escaped him.

"And why is that?" The phone rustled as he squirmed.

"Because I'm yours," he whispered.

It did something to me, listening to him like that. For years I’d trained myself to hide, to never show vulnerability or open desire, but with Florian it all came pouring out.

I could tell when he was truly close, his voice gone hoarse, the words crumbling into nothing but desperate little whimpers. I made him hold still, made him wait, just a few seconds longer, just until he thought he might break.

When I finally gave him permission, his breath caught, then broke into a strangled gasp. The phone clattered against something hard, his teeth, perhaps, before a raw sound tore through the speaker. I listened to the ragged catch in hisbreathing, the little hitches that slowly evened out as I murmured into the phone.

"That's it, little boy. You're so good for me." His soft "mmm" in response was barely audible, the word "thank you" slurring at the edges as exhaustion pulled him under.

“Stay with me for a second longer. How are you feeling? Do you need anything from me?” I asked.

I wanted to be there. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to see the way his eyelashes tangled together when he fell asleep. I wanted him in my bed, in my house, in my life.

He didn't answer me directly. He just said, "Daddy?" he mumbled after a long silence.

"Yes, little one?"

He didn't answer at first. I thought he'd fallen asleep. Then, quietly: "You'll see me again, right? In person?"

I closed my eyes. "Nothing could keep me away."