Page 61 of A Long Con

“And you?” I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. “You didn’t want any release?”

Berkeley clamped down on my hip with both his thighs, rubbing his erection against me like a dog. He swiped my dick faster now, each tiny movement like the abrasion of blissful sandpaper against me. “No. Why would I? It’s not enough to see four guys ejaculate at once? I smeared it all over Sam’s face and chest, and I licked some off his nipples myself. I took a few nice sucks of his dick, too. No one minded. Everyone was lost in his own little world, spewing their spunk on Sam’s face.”

“Ah!” I was truly choking now. Berkeley had already tantalized me—bound me, told her the homoerotic story—and now he was rubbing his erection against my bare hip as he stroked me off. I realized that this was all about me. BDSM wasn’t all about the dominating parties taking what they wanted and giving nothing. Was this the “forced orgasm” I had read about?

“Oh, please, Berkeley!” I was genuinely begging now. “Please, Berkeley, please take me up the ass.”

That did it. Berkeley gasped and froze. All of his slick moves were out the window, no doubt surprised by my plea. He stopped pumping my cock, standing upright with a new interest in mind.

I’d won. I’d succeeded in convincing him to stop humiliating me.

But now it was just possible I’d be humiliated even more, by allowing another man to bareback me while I sobbed with gratitude. My life had come full circle. I was finally being true to myself.

I couldn’t believe Royal was finally begging for it.

Maybe it was the locker room story, which had made jizz flood my balls, too. That had been when I’d realized there was no going back—I was truly gay, and should stop attempting to fake it with girls.

Now, watching my two hundred pounds of Samoan dynamite bound within an inch of his life, utterly helpless, I reached for the flat rope and let him down a few inches so he could kneel. My synapses were misfiring like the fourth of July as I grabbed the lube from the nightstand and kneeled behind him. Squirting the stuff down his shapely ass crack, I fingered his hole.

His channel was a cock virgin. Yeah, I’d never speared him before. We were saving it for our wedding night, but it seemed perfect now, with him bound like a book, his pectorals bursting from between the bindings.

I placed my cockhead against the hole and nudged slightly.

He even spread his knees a little. “Oh, yeah,” he groaned, so deeply it resonated down my prick.

To spice it up, I slapped his ass. “Mm, good,” I marveled. His rosy red aura hugged his body, even glowing pink where I spanked him. How had I landed such a drop-dead musclehead? Me, a skinny artist from Queens? The Artsy Dodger on the lam from the feds? My free hand rubbed the back of his skull, massaged his scalp through his thick gingerbread locks. I gave another thrust of my hips, and it was like voom, his swollen pucker sucked up my cock.

I bent over his strong, tawny back and murmured, “You know I love you, you fucking musclehead.”

“I know,” he grunted. “Fuck me raw, you black Irish Apollo.”

So I did.

I just speared him the way I had other men, taking a fistful of the bindings between his shoulder blades and using it as a sort of harness. Only this ass was mine, these beautiful deltoids and obliques were mine, and nobody else would ever shaft this ass like I was now doing.

To enhance Royal’s experience and make his channel squeeze me even tighter, I reached around and fisted his prick. “That’s good, isn’t it, babe? You like being fucked like this don’t you?”

“Oh God yes,” he blurted. “I’ve wanted to be fucked by a man my entire life. I’ve waited so long for you. Just ream me, Berkeley. Your juicy cock is filling me. I want to leak your come while I do chores for my brothers. I want them to know you’ve nailed me.”

Holy mother. His rod was pulsing and rigid in my fist, and I jacked him even harder when I knew I was about to explode.

Holy mother. Wave after wave of pure ecstasy flooded my groin and I gave myself up to it. Surrender inside Royal’s searing hot channel was sheer bliss. His cock jerked and twitched inside my hand, but my eyes were squeezed shut. Shades of crimson, burgundy, colors of Navajo sandstone washed over my inner eyelids. I gasped for breath when I became light-headed.

“Holy shit!” I cried as my hips lunged. He was still uplifted so lightly by the pulley, I could thrust inside him and balance his entire pelvis on mine. His juicy ass compelled me to smack him a few more times as I finished blowing my load. It was then that I saw he’d blasted a savory load against the nightstand. Great globs of his spunk streamed down the wooden drawer a good four feet away. That was my man.

I took some hungry bites from the back of his neck before releasing the pulley rope to allow him to collapse. My cock still shuddered inside his meaty ass, and he barely seemed to notice when I slid out and let him topple sideways to lean against the mattress. My fingers made quick work of untwining all the different artistic lengths from around his ribcage and pecs. He was exhausted, completely played out, I knew from past experience.

Standing, I shrugged into my bathrobe and made it to the kitchen without running into anyone. Turk and his men still shouted in the backyard, although they’d seemed a mile away during our scene. I poured a sloppy glass of milk and careened back to our master suite, only crashing into one wall from lightheadedness.

Royal was rubbing his own shoulders. He looked up at me like an injured animal. Dizzy, unsure what had just happened. “What did that locker room story have to do with binding? You said that was how you got interested in binding.”

I grinned as I handed him the milk. He took it with a dazed look I’d seen often before on subs. “Compression support of the thigh. After we were done with Sam—well, most of the other guys split—I wrapped his cramped thigh. I found that was the most erotic part of it—the aftercare.”

“Aftercare?”

“Right. After a scene you need to do the proper aftercare, or you might get subdrop. If your body chemicals drop too fast after a scene, you might feel low, or sort of bluesy, thus the milk. Drink.”

I swear, that melting smile was the most genuine expression I’d ever seen on that beloved face.