The One With Submission and Need
Disclaimer: This chapter is part of an ongoing story that I will continue to add to. It depicts a number of celebrities, though I rarely mention them with specificity unless they are not very `mainstream' and well-known (can't have a reader too confused, right?). Of course everything written here is purely fictional, and no assumptions or assertions regarding the true sexualities and/or their sexual/private lives of any depicted celebrity are intended. This is just a fantasy. That I hope is enjoyed.
Comments are welcome and flattery is quite appreciated. =) Please email me at: dear.carson@gmail.com
- J.D.Carson
Chapter Two
It's close to four a.m. and I'm standing outside his gate. I don't ring the bell again, because he doesn't like that, and I know he's just making me wait. My cellphone buzzes and I pick it up to hear his voice.
"Hi, pretty."
"Hey, Illyas," I smile up at the surveillance camera set up over his main gate.
"I want you to play with your nipples for me."
I glance around real quick to find his street still asleep, and then begin rubbing my nipples through my clothes with my free hand.
"Lose the jacket and shirt. Then get into the backseat of your car."
I take off my leather jacket and toss it into my car's passenger seat. After another quick glance around, I remove my shirt as well then get into the car.
"Lie down on your front."
The line goes dead. I toss the phone to the front seat, and laid stretched out across the backseat, my legs hanging out the open door. He likes to keep me waiting and I lie there with my rock hard erection almost painfully pressed against my jeans and the car's cool leather interior. I glimpse my watch as another twenty minutes tick by, and then I feel his presence before I hear or see him. He's by the door. I can't see his face, just half his chest and down.
"I missed you."
"I can see that," he says, as he reaches between my legs and gives my cock and balls a playful squeeze.
I flinch slightly at his touch but remain in position, as he trailed his hand over the seat of my jeans, pausing just before his fingers came into contact with the skin of my lower back, then continued running his palm up my back. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on my skin while I had been waiting. The morning was just turning light and the air was cool, but my anticipation crossed with the anxiety of being found by a neighbor or jogger... My heart was racing enough to raise my body temperature quite a bit. I close my eyes tighter, enjoying the feel. His touch felt firm and strong, though he was applying hardly any pressure.
"I have someone over."
I open my eyes slowly and my jaw instinctively tightens.
"It's the cutest boyslut you'll see down these parts for at least the next couple of weeks... He was just pumping his own ass full of my hard dick when you called..."
My jaw is clenched so hard I can't open my mouth to say anything, so I close my eyes again.
"So what do you say? We can call Cowell down and let us all have a nice party? He's been hot for your ass awhile now, I hear. I'm thinking of sharing."
My eyes flicker open and I turned to look at him. "Why are you doing this?"
Illyas smiled at me. He was stoned and there was something different about him. Something open and hurt. And it unnerved me. I needed his strength more than anything. I needed his closeness and his closed-ness to keep me safe.
"Let me tell you something, pretty. When I was in high school, I was the starting quarterback for our championship varsity team. All four fucking years. The whole town loved me—you know how those smaller towns are. Well, I could've had any bitch I wanted. College girls would leave me notes on my windshield whenever I parked in town. But you know what really fucking turned me on? Having a dude bitch out for me. I had some of the cutest boys—not your malnourished twinky fruitcakes, I'm talking about the lean and carefully toned boys from the swim teams and baseball teams—those were my favorites. I mean, a cute wrestler never hurt, but they beef up within the first six months of training, then the party is all over for me. But man, were all of them just dying for me to turn their mouths and asses into pussies..."
"Illyas, what is this about? Did I do something wrong?"
"I'm in the middle of a goddamned story..."
"Sorry," I looked down at the seat.
"So there was this one boy—freshman, swimmer, medium-brown hair really close-cropped but still wavy, you know? hazel eyes that were warm and cool all at the same time... I was starting my senior year... and I would always see this kid around. Like, in the hallways, in the parking lot... He came to every single one of my games, even the away games, and he'd come watch us practice too. One time, I found a note on my locker that said: `Leave your number on the locker and I'll give you a call.' And he signed it with a little daisy bud taped to the bottom of the note. At first I didn't know it was him. I had a ton of admirers, and usually I don't follow up on shit like notes and left numbers. But it was after a really hard afternoon of training, my girlfriend was busy with her council meetings all week, and I didn't have nothing to lose. Plus, it was in the locker room so I knew it had to be a boy. And I always liked at least knowing my options, spotting the fags, even if they weren't my type or whatever. So I taped a bandaid on my locker and wrote my number on it. Then I went home..."
At this point, Illyas grabs the back of my hair and tugs for me to get out of the car. I shiver slightly from the release. I had been lying face-down across the backseat for close to an hour. Like the spineless bitch I am, I automatically cross my arms in front of me, trying to cover my bare chest... perhaps from the chill of the air, or stupidly, from Illyas' sight. I have always been self-conscious about my body, I don't know why. When I was having problems with the booze and the meds... I put on so much weight... But since the final season of the show wrapped up, I've been in the gym keeping it all together. I actually have a pretty nice body now... not exactly ripped, but toned enough to not see any hang of excess. Nice enough for Californian beaches and paparazzi invitations. But still, in front of men... my body has always felt... like nakedness. Like my stiff nipples would tell the whole locker room or steam room how hot I was for their cocks...
"Pull down your pants."
I look about—I am standing in front of him, partly behind the opened car door, shirtless, and on his driveway.
"I don't think... I don't think I want to do this anymore," I stammer, not looking up at him, with a chill running yawningly down my spine once I'd said it.
"You're pathetic, you know that, Matthew? You're a pathetic little boyslut who gets hard from this shit."
He glances down and loosely gestures, and I look down to see the bulge in the front of my pants. When I looked up again, I received the hardest slap across my face than he'd ever delivered in the three months we had been seeing each other. It spun my face to a side and I grabbed my burning cheek with both hands.
"I said pull down your pants, Matthew."
His voice was low, his tone was calm. There was something in his eyes that I didn't understand. He always had it when we `played'. It was a mix of fire and... ice. It was devastatingly sexy. It made a reflection of me dance in his eyes. I'd never understood it, but it was like a triple-shot of tequila when you haven't had a taste of cock in awhile, and you just need a liquored-up excuse to get down on your knees. I wonder if all these rough-talking top guns have the same look in their eyes. Most of the guys I've been with have been faceless men in an adjacent stall, who just wanted their rocks gotten off. They were desperate, just like me. I wanted cock stuffed in my holes, they needed more than their own hands coaxing their cum fountains. No... they probably didn't have what Illyas has in his eyes. Illyas was far from desperate. He seemed to have gotten his way through his entire life; boys or girls were not even commodities to him, we were just entertainment services that can be left standing in the cold once we provided what we were there for. What he had in his eyes... it was something like power... raw power. It was fiercely subtle, and I was as always, mesmerized.
My hands quivered down my arms and my sides, down to my belt buckle which I undid, and then pulled my jeans to my knees. My cock drew a clear outline in the wet material of my white cK boxer-briefs (one of Illyas' requests... I'm particularly more of a flannel boxers kinda' guy), and it shamed me for some reason, to see the crude image of my uncontrollable urges and needs.
"That night... it was about... 10 o'clock. I got a call from him, a saccharine sweet voice on the end of the line that nervously said, Can I meet you right now?' When I picked him up... it was that boy... that cute little thing that had been stalking me since the start of the year. Lemme' tell you, Matthew... this boy was the most beautiful thing I had seen then. He had a good height, was extremely nicely proportioned, finely toned all over... He had the body of maybe a junior or senior swimmer... but his face... goddamn, his face... He brought boyish good looks' to another level. Cheekbones, chin, jaw-line... it was beautiful. But with that softness... he looked like a goddamn angel. Makes sense, really... Mormon boy...
But anyway... I took him to the football field that night, made him follow me under the bleaches, where I asked him what the fuck he wanted. He was shivering because he was naked. I had made him strip in the car and walk naked across the field. I told him that I was sick and tired of little faggots like him trying to seduce me into letting them suck my fat cock. I yelled at him, in his face, `What the fuck do you cocksucking faggots want from me?!' And what happened next was beautiful. He started to cry. Like... his eyes looked right at me, welled up with tears, and then just streamed down his face in two little rivers. Then he puts a hand on each of my shoulders, runs it down my chest—the whole time looking right into my eyes—then gets down on his knees in front of me. I'm standing there, under the bleaches, with this beautiful naked boy kneeling at my feet... I still can't get the image of it out of my head... The light over us made a gold halo at the crown of his head. His hair was so soft... I couldn't help myself and was fingering his golden crown... He was still looking up at me...I'm telling you, it was beautiful. He leant towards my crotch and nuzzled at my basket. Then he undid my jeans and gently pulled out my dick that was by then, pretty goddamn hard..."
Illyas adjusted his package casually. Then looks back at me from his recalled fantasy.
"You're quite the pretty one yourself, you know that, Matthew?"
He holds my jaw in one hand, gripping at my chin, and adjusting my head so I had to look right in his eyes. A soft warm tongue darted from his mouth and flicked at my lower lip, then his other hand went behind my head and started guiding me onto my knees. I followed the guide and found myself on his driveway, kneeling, half-naked with my jeans crushed between my knees and ankles, and in the chill of the slowly brightening morning.
"I know you want to know what happened next with Brandon and I, but... You just needed to get a little more comfortable..."
I nod, my head spinning while my hands strain against imaginary restraints to touch myself.
"So Brandon... that's his name... Brandon has my dick in one hand, and he starts stroking real slow. I closed my eyes because the sight of him there, his skin turning pink from the blood I was making course through his veins... his lips moist and half-parted... God, he was a sight. And what he did next... I don't know who he'd been getting off with or whatever, but I had never had my cock sucked the way he sucked me off that night. The head of my cock was between his lips the next time I looked down, and he was playing with its mushroom helmet, letting it slip into his mouth then out again... When he slipped my dick entirely into his mouth... I think it was then when I couldn't take it anymore. He was so beautiful, so fucking pure and innocent looking, and here he was with another man's meat down his throat.
So I ripped my cock out of his mouth and pissed all over his pretty face. And he blew his load right there and then. See... he was a bitch just like you. He really got off on being a real slut, a real cum-eating pisspig whore... When I asked him to blow my offensive line-up once, he cried his little eyes blood red because he said he wanted to be just mine and no one else's. But he did it anyway. Knelt in the center of a circle jerk that got `out of hand', if you know what I mean... At one point his pretty cupid lips were stretched around two cocks at once, as the two jocks laughed and spat in his face. It was beautiful. And he was doing it all for me."
Illyas was staring off somewhere I couldn't see, his eyes glazed with a memory that must really have been exquisite because this strong overbearing man was really taken somewhere else with it. His hand is stroking the back of my head now, absentmindedly.
"You see, Matthew... When I say I want my friends to fuck your underused ass, it's not a question."
He turns to look at me.
"It's what's going to happen. And you'll do it. And you'll love it. And tomorrow morning, even though your ass will be too sore to sit on, and your throat will be burning, and your eyes are still pink from all the cumshots aimed there... You'll be kneeling on my driveway again, naked as the dawn, begging me to use your body all over again... How bad do you want to swallow my cock now, Matthew? You can't change who you are."
Illyas brought my face to his crotch and just one whiff of the rich fullness of his smell was enough to tilt my world. Everything swayed for one moment and my eyes shot up into my skull. I moaned, but it sounded more like a whimper. My lips parted and, my eyes closed, I lean forward and began tracing the length of his cock with my tongue, kissing at the denim, sucking at it. Illyas' stroking of my hair urged me on, and I carefully undid his pants. Greeted by another wave of his musky scent, I nuzzled my nose into his crotch and bush before even taking his cock out. I just pulled the waistband down an inch to feel the heat of his skin on my face. Then I lowered the waistband further and started snuggling my face into his warm crotch. He pulled his cock out and I kept nuzzling my face into it, his cock leaking precum across my cheeks.
"I know you want it bad, bitch."
His eyes are closed. He has a hand behind my head and a hand holding his raised shirt to his chest. His perfect abs are revealed, lightly covered in a soft thin blanket of neatly trimmed chest-hair. I watch them tighten with his breathing as I begin to clean his cock with my tongue. I taste another man on him, but in that moment I couldn't have been concerned. The veins of his thick rod were pathways my tongue needed to follow, and they led to his large circumcised cockhead. I swirled my tongue in circles around the beautiful knob, French kissing his cockhead and feeling waves of pleasure rushing to my head.
"He still comes to me whenever he's in town. I like it best when he's just come off the stage, his beautiful skin glowing like alabaster, the sweet smell of his sweat shining off his boy body. And he comes straight to me with that radiance in his eyes, wanting my cock shoved up his tight hole. Needing it the way all you slut cocksuckers need it. He's a Mormon charmer, my Brandon, a real gentleman. All please's and thank you's. A grateful fuckhole... now that's gotta' be my one weakness. He comes to me for my pleasing, my pleasure. When I tell him I have company he asks how many cocks he has to take before he can stuff my cock up his ass. He has no shame. I think that's his power. He's married to a real pretty girl... but writes songs about me. He's a hot little shit now... but he's always ready to beg for a rough fucking. You could learn a thing or two from him."
I continued sucking at his Illyas' cockhead, a third of his 8 and a half inches sliding in and out of my mouth. Hearing him speak of this boy like he did sent shivers up my spine. And though my mind told me to get up off my knees, to turn away from this place where all my insecurities are commanded to the surface... my knees only shook harder and stayed in place, on the cold concrete of this man's driveway. My hands were timidly hovering at the sides of his ass, only grazing his denim jeans when my cocksucking enthusiasm had me lose my balance on my knees. Sometimes he didn't like me touching him, but this morning he didn't mind as my hands clamped down on his side, my fingers flailing at his waist, my thumbs digging into his hipbone—when he thrust his full manhood down my throat. I choked and gagged on his meat, but it seemed to make him grow bigger in my mouth. His cockhead was twitching in the back of my throat, his balls pressed to my chin. I shook my head, trying to pull my face from his crotch, but he had both hands on the back of my head now, and the pressure only increased the more I struggled.
Illyas pulls out of my mouth, his dick coated with my frothing spit, letting me cough and sputter and take deep breaths. I manage to catch my breath while still looking at the concrete.
"I... I want you, Illyas."
"I know. But that's not enough. For either of us."
My voice caught in the back of my throat, strangled by my own tongue and its taste for fat hard cock and leaking precum. My averted eyes look up, finally, pausing to take in the wondrous size and sight of this man's meaty rod... then I look up into his face. His expression had softened.
"Get up."
I did as I was told.
"Take off your pants. Strip naked. Down to your socks."
My head asked in a panic—`Here? On your driveway?'—but my fingers rushed to obey. I kick off my loafers and without a glance around towards the street and the neighboring front gates, I removed my pants from my calves and my briefs from my body. Slightly embarrassed by my huge painful erection that sprang free from the soft wet cotton, I stand naked in this man's driveway, his eyes picking off my skin.
"Get in the car."
I shoot him an uncertain look and he nods to the passenger seat of my BMW. I get in and sit, my naked ass revealed to myself all the more as it pressed against the cold leather, my balls feeling the pressure and my cock tightening. Illyas gets into the front seat, chucking my discarded clothes onto the floor at my feet, and relaxed into the chair. Then he turns to me and smiles. I blushed at his fully-clothed body, my hands clasped in my lap. Illyas reaches over into the glove compartment and takes out a bottle of lube. Handing it casually to me, he says:
"Now turn over, face the backseat, and lube up your asshole so I can watch you."
I squirmed at his request, but did as he told me to, getting up onto my knees on the seat, my face pressed against the headrest as I used one hand to spread my asscheeks and the other hand to apply the lube on my puckered hole.
"Spread it nice and thick. Coat the insides... Fuck yourself with your sticky fingers."
I closed my eyes to follow his instructions. After everything that had happened, my stiff dick was throbbing against the seat's backrest.
"Illyas..."
"Call me `sir', fuckwhore."
A part of me gritted my teeth but couldn't dare show it.
"Sir..."
"Yes, bitch?"
"Please fuck me."
My eyes were closed tight but I could hear the smile on his face.
"Not till you've entertained my guests."