“What, ready to talk?”
I pull back to look up at him, and his pupils are just as blown as I’m sure mine are. I want him to feel as batshit insane as I do. Unclenching my hand from his shirt, I drag it down towards the waistband of his joggers. I wouldn’t have pegged Dean as the type to keep himself shaven, but he’s damn near religious about it. He likes to feel clean, and since he sweats a lot, he refuses to deal with wiry pubes saturated in perspiration. There’s the littlest bit of downy, golden fur that descends from his navel to the top of his groin, but it’s plush and hairless beyond that. Without a bush obscuring the base, his cock looks like a fucking…baby’s leg or something. He won every scratch-off of the genetic lottery.
I wrap my hand around him, barely any pressure, and set a painstakingly slow, gentle pump. His breath gets heavy, and a shudder takes him by the shoulders. He’s watching my face intently through low lashes.
“Will you…make me feel good?”
He huffs a laugh, dragging the tip of his tongue across an incisor. “Only if you remember that you asked for it.”
This is how, forty five minutes and a lot of generous preparation later, I find myself in a much more humiliating position than I was anticipating. I can’t tell you when, where, or why Dean procured a pair of handcuffs, but they’re tight around my wrists and looped through a gap in my headboard. I don’t even think they’re prop cuffs for kink play, I’m pretty sure they’re the real deal, which is even more of a mystery.
“Come on, Sam, do it right. Stick your ass out, arch your back.”
“This isn’t–nngh! ‘s not what I had in mind!”
“Tough it out.”
Where did he even find anal beads in this town? Did he order them online? When? God, has he used them before on someone else? He’s definitely acting like some worldly, experienced ‘Lord of Kink’ all of a sudden. He’s generous with the lube, to the point it’s damp and oily down to my knees. He didn’t even let me see the beads, so I have no idea how long the string is, but they’re starting to feel endless. They feel like fucking golf balls, and the stretch and pressure is pitching a tickling heat through my stomach. My guts feel like the hot, bubbling water in a jacuzzi, seeping outwards into my limbs.
He keeps stopping to spread my ass apart and admire his handiwork, which makes me embarrassed enough to flush down my back. There has to be at least ten beads stuffed in my hole, forced through the muscle by his thumb, and it’s beginning to feel unbearably full.
“How…many left?” I gasp into the pillow, grinding the cotton case between my front teeth.
“It’s a secret.”
“Dean, fuck! It’s too much!”
He strokes soothingly up and down my spine. “Just a few more, Sammy, you can take it. Your pussy swallows ’em up so good.”
My stomach aches, like I’m pregnant with a bunch of eggs. My hole is so hypersensitive, it spasms and clamps down involuntarily. Each time I tighten up, preventing him from inserting another bead, he rains a stinging slap against the bruised bubble of my cheek. I’m assuming it’s bruised, as many times as he’s struck it.
“Loosen the fuck up.”
My answer, a sob or whimper, is usually something like, “I-I’m trying!”
Finally, finally he says, “last one, baby.”
I almost break down, because I can’t imagine there’s room for anything else in my body. It feels like my bowels will burst any second. I yank against the cuffs and attempt to curl away, but he pins me by the lower back, forcing me to maintain that dramatic arch. “Dean, don’t, it’s too full! Please!”
“You can do it.” He’s rubbing the last bead against my swollen, stretched muscle, increasing the pressure. When it pops through, I heave a shattered noise into my pillow. I can’t fucking believe they all fit. There’s so many, they clink together inside me with the smallest movement or flex. If I tighten up at all, it stimulates my prostate to hell and back. I can’t stop twitching, and my cock is puddling precum on the sheet.
Dean is such a bastard, because now that they’re all in, he makes it his mission to edge me to the brink of insanity. He forms a tight seal just beneath the head of my cock, cinching it off in his fist. With his other hand, he massages my thighs, ass, and back. His mouth follows similar patterns: sucking, biting, licking. He drags his tongue from between my balls, all the way up to my hole, spearing it through until he can lick the last bead. The pillow is uncomfortably damp around my face from how much I’ve cried and drooled into it, but this is way, way too much.
I guess I should just be grateful he hasn’t tried to force his cock in next to the beads. That definitely seems like something he’d try to do, and I’d safeword his ass in a heartbeat. My back jumps with stifled sobs. “Please, please let me cum, I’m–hah! Dean, fuck, please!”
He doesn’t answer right away, as he’s sucking on my hole like he can vacuum the beads out if he tries hard enough.
“Dean!” I’m frustrated to goddamn tears.
When he does pull back, the next words out of his mouth make me want to snap his neck like a toothpick: “I’ll let you cum if you tell me you love me.”
I can hear the grin in his voice. I crane my neck, but I can’t see him through my hair. “Is this really how you wanna fuckin’ hear it?!”
“You’re so goddamn stubborn, I bet this is the only way I’ll ever hear it.” He scoffs.
“You unbelievable–hngh! God, fuck, stop!”
He’s pushed two fingers in to join the beads, deliberately flattening the hard spheres against my inner walls. My prostate lights up like the Chinese New Year, and my vision spots. I thrash against my confinement, desperate to get away from the overstimulation, but there’s nowhere to go. If I safeword him, I won’t get to cum. Scraping my teeth across my bottom lip, I manifest the words. It doesn’t feel right to say them like this, or at all. “I…”
He tightens around my cock, adding a third finger. “Mmph, shit–!”
“Say it like you mean it, too, Sammy.”
I have to. I have to say it. I’m afraid I’ll actually die if he keeps edging me like this. My heart is hammering hard enough to encroach on ‘attack’ territory, surely. My brain is replaced by cotton candy, melting to sweetness in my head. Every muscle is so tight, something’s bound to snap like a rubber band.
“I-I…I love you, Dean, I fucking love you, so please–!”
“I love you too, baby.”
My mind can’t catch up to the sudden, violent onslaught of sensation. He frees my cock, but then–
Without warning, he viciously yanks the beads out of my ass, every single one. I cum so fucking hard, it feels like static is spraying out of my cock. My nervous system fries, and I’m not even sure if I make a sound or not. I lock up, then slacken with a black out, eyes rolling to whites. Upon coming to, it’s one confinement traded for another. The cuffs are gone, but I’m ragdolled in Dean’s lap. My face is pillowed against his throat, and my legs are splayed wide around his hips. He’s rubbing up and down my back, ribs, nape, scalp. It feels…good, until it doesn’t, because his cock is lodged in my abused guts like a pike.