Page 48 of Kane

My cock hardens, and I try my best to ignore it. Instead, I focus on washing my hair, then my body.

But it doesn’t help, because my mind betrays me like it always does, and I tell myself just a little stroke won’t hurt. Something to take the edge off.

Just enough to breathe…

I wrap my hand around my cock and close my eyes, guilt and shame swirling inside of me as relief blooms in my muscles. My thumb slides over my swollen cockhead, slipping through a mixture of warm water and sticky precum.

Which makes me think of Ryder and his hard cock beneath me, his rigid thrusts as he tried to be good.

Tell me to come and I’ll do it.

Those words reverberate in my skull, ricocheting like a kamikaze bullet.

“Oh, fuck…” I growl, caught between pleasure and pain once more.

My free hand finds my lips, tracing them in earnest. I let my mind wander to the memory of my thumb pressed over that pouty bottom lip of his. His tongue grazing the edge like a tempting siren.

I should stop here. I really should.

But as I slide my thumb in deeper to my mouth, imagining my tongue is his, I find an unrelenting need to disobey my own rules.

Which is something I’ve never done.

I like rules. There’s a comfort in knowing a limit exists, that there are lines that can not and will not be crossed. I think that’s what drew me to this lifestyle so many years ago. Knowing I could connect to people in this way, even if it didn’t make sense to others was like a balm to my soul.

It was never about the sex.

It was about devotion and order, and unwavering permanency.

Rules are not meant to be broken any more than wild animals are meant to be caged.

And yet here I am, one hand stroking my cock, with my fingers in my mouth, chasing pleasure that no longer belongs to me like a tiger chases a rabbit through the brush.

I slide my fingers out of my mouth, letting them traipse down across my solid chest as my head falls back and I give in to this new desire, this unfathomable need.

For it’s not permission I need.

It’s forgiveness.

“Tell me to come and I’ll do it,” I mutter aloud, tasting the words on my tongue like hot caramel.

There is no sound but that of the dripping water, of my heavy breathing.

“Tell me to come and I’ll do it!” I cry, my balls tightening as the thread spins tighter; faster and faster.

I ball my fist and hit the tile. Hard enough that it sends a sharp pain through me like a lightning bolt. My fingers and hand shake as a loud, frustrated growl escapes me; echoing amidst the water and my racing heart.

“Come for me,” a voice whispers, like the devil on my shoulder urging me to sin. “Come for me, Kane.”

I swear with my eyes closed, even as I imagine his voice, his solid body behind me, pressing me into the tile, it’s like he’s really here.

I can almost feel his breath on my skin, his soft touch along my hand, guiding me.

“Be a good boy for me.”

I come hard and fast, nearly falling forward from the sudden rush.

My head feels hazy; the room spins.