Taste of Power

Taste of Power by: Krazytop ---

Part XV

Chris leans close and nibbles my lip.

His cock slaps my abdominals as he looms over me, nestling in.

He grips his shaft and prods my ass with it, tightening his fist, making depressions in my skin like raindrops pattering on the water.

Then he finds my hole. He opens his mouth, feigning surprise, raising his eyebrows.

"Chris," I whisper.

He plunges his cock inside.

I gasp—the shock on my face looking sillier than his, I'm sure—and he tongues my open mouth.

He humps my ass with a casual, controlled flair. He builds up—he explores my body with his palms, groping my pectorals, grating my nipples, gripping my hips.

"Take it," he whispers, his lips just past mine. I can feel the sparks as he speaks, tickling me.

"Fuck me," I moan.

"Don't be bossy."

"Please..."

"Okay, slaveboy."

My body is melting; my dick is rock solid.

I run my hand down my legs, which I had been holding up in the air for him. Once I reach my thighs, I let go of one leg and encircle my dick with my fingers, sighing.

Chris bats my wrist away. "No hands, remember?"

"I thought that just meant I couldn't touch you?"

"NO HANDS," He breathes, blowing in my ear.

"Yes—sir."

His abdominals clap against me as he rocks back and forth. At first, he is positioned on his knees, with his legs slightly spread, but as he builds up, he lifts his knees off the bed, bringing his legs close together, and funneling all his weight into his thrusts, burying his cock as deep as it will go down my hole.

"Fuck," I whimper, palming my tense thighs tightly. My dick is throbbing; every fiber of my being is screaming to reach out and clasp it, to convert that infernal itch into a flood of pleasure; I bite my lip, shrieking inside my head to control myself.

With Zane, my wrists would be locked down and that would solve that. This time, Chris just expects me to obey.

My dick is flared and bulging, desperate for touch.

I clench my eyes shut and shake my head.

Chris growls.

He presses his hands against mine, interlocking our fingers, squeezing my skin. Through them, he conducts my thighs, contorting my body so that my legs fold up against my chest. My knees dig into my shoulders. With my legs folded up, Chris moves his hands to my ass, spreading my cheeks, making my hole as accessible as possible.

He rams his cock deep inside.

"Shit, Chris," I whimper.

I know I'll leave red imprints of my hands on my skin, but I can't help it. I have to hold on to my flexing legs for dear life. I can't let go.

I can't touch my pusillanimous dick.

Once upon a time, I'd focus on the romance of it, but Zane fractured that aspect of me. I know I am to focus on being the perfect sheath for his shaft. On being a pleasure burrow.

Chris hunches forward and gnaws at my nipple.

"Hell," I whine.

He swirls his tongue around and sucks hard. Then he bites down.

I buck into the air; my dick grazes his chest.

The contact is more than satisfying—it's consuming.

I moan, punctuating his next few thrusts by arching my back and whipping my lower end up, grinding my dick against his torso, feeling a forbidden spark etch through my body.

"You want to please me, don't you?" Chris asks.

"Yessir."

Chris grabs my ass with one hand, and pushes on my abdominals with the other. "Get a grip on yourself. No wonder Zane's so authoritative with you. You need discipline."

He slaps my ass, and I cry out playfully, before he chews my lips again.

"Shut up," he sighs. "And don't let this thing become a distraction."

He bats at my dick; it bounces back and forth before falling to a strained rest, snaking directly up my chest.

"Yes—master."

I flex, pulling on my thighs, stretching my body open.

He drags his lips along my shoulder. "My turn to make a mark."

He clamps down on my neck and slurps hard.

"Fuck," I whimper, writhing around.

"Shhh," he breathes, plunging in again and again.

"I'm yours, Chris. Your faggot."

Chris cocks an eyebrow.

I grab Chris's wrist and bring his hand to my lips. I slurp his palm; then I bite down softly on two fingers before gulping them into my mouth.

"Fucker," Chris groans. As I amplify the pressure, Chris counters by cupping my head for leverage and sucking gingerly on my neck. He wallops me harder, his body clouting mine as he lances deep inside.

My mind fades as my body takes over. The only thought I cling to is the imprisonment of my superfluous dick.

Otherwise, I let go.

"C'mon, pussyboy, show me what you got," Chris mutters.

My straining ass softens, and Chris emits a little groan.

"Hell, Travis..."

I flex my gluteus maximus, clamping my sheath around his shaft.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Chris says, his voice breaking. "Slow down."

I taunt him with my ass, savoring the shocks jumping across Chris's face as my tunnel grapples his cock over and over.

"I said, SLOW DOWN!" he growls. He grips my neck, pinning me tight against the bed, whipping his cock out of my ass in a quick lashing motion. I gasp reflexively at the sudden emptiness.

Chris catches his breath. "What the fuck was that?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. He releases my neck and flashes a half-smile. A cloud moves out from in front of the moon, and a bar of moonlight streams through the window, painting Chris's sweaty body with silvery light.

I cling to him. Then, after a moment, I nuzzle into his armpit and lap.

"Don't worry; I'm gonna finish fucking you." He rolls me onto my stomach and lowers his voice to a whisper. "No more Mr. Nice Guy."

He palms my ass, spreading it with both hands.

His cockhead prods and prickles me, and then, he slides it all the way back in.

I groan, pushing out.

"Fuck yeah," Chris says. He pads my ass cheeks and then builds up, packing my ass with thrust after stinging thrust.

He tongues my ear. "I care about you, you know. You aren't just some gay boy to take things out on. You are a troublemaker...but you are worth the trouble. You are worth fighting for."

A hint of romance sneaks back. "I care about you, too, Chris."

I love you.

But I couldn't bring myself to say it. Not after I'd said it to Zane too.

Would it mean anything?

And would he say it back?

Can I fall in love...anymore?

Chris wraps his arms around me, snarling. "Fuck."

I get the sense the moment has passed. In fact, it may have confused or alienated him, because his compassionate side snuffs out.

He's a brute.

He paws at my ass and grinds his cock in deep.

"You are my slave pussy tonight," he says, gripping my neck for leverage.

"Yes master," I breathe.

His thrusts build up to frenzied hammer strike.

I'm having trouble catching my breath as it is—but then, he reaches under me and grips the base of my forbidden dick.

Sparks.

I whimper, pushing my ass back into him. The moment of mercy is gone. He releases my dick and squeezes my balls, reining me in, pulling my ass high into the air.

I'm still discombobulated, whining, as Chris grabs the back of my head and twists it toward him.

"Shut up," he says, his eyes glimmering. Then he leans forward—and kisses me.

I moan and whimper into his mouth; he smothers my noises; he tongues me down.

Harder and harder he pounds me—his slave pussy—until my mind is empty and my body is helpless.

He releases me from the kiss, turning my head back and pinning it into the pillow.

"Fuck yeah," he says. He holds my neck for leverage as he crams his cock into me. "Fuck."

He hastens; he hardens; he toughens up.

I'm on the edge.

I still—love him.

He's making—my dreams come true.

Except—one.

And--I'm afraid.

I'm afire—with a deep blaze that reaches the core of me.

Light flashes in front of my eyes; for a moment, it is day time; the sun breaks up clouds at the end of a storm.

My numbness dissipates and I feel his warm, firm cock entrenched inside me, and it feels like heaven. He holds me tight as he delves into me.

I let out a cracking moan; I push my ass up till it claps against his abdominals; and then—I shoot forth, volley after volley of cum, right into Chris's prim sheets.

My quivering hole braces his shaft, clenching down.

This time, Chris doesn't pull out.

He whips himself up, crashing down on me over and over, till I wonder if my ass might bruise.

"Fuck yeah," he growls, pounding me to the point of no return and then some.

Maybe he is still mad about Zane. The way he crushes me, it seemed like he is either mad about something, or just kind of...losing it.

"Fuck..." he says, chewing my neck. "Fuck..."

The sound of his body clapping against mine reverberates around the room.

"Fuck...fuck..."

"Cum inside me, Chris," I whisper. "Mark me."

He covers my mouth, but the damage is done. His eyes flash; he hammers me; I suck his hand; he buries his cock till his balls rest on my skin, and then he collapses on me, his mouth inches from my ear.

"Fuck," he whispers one last time.

Then, his cum pulses deep inside me, in a stream that never seems to end.

Slowly, my eyes droop and our hearts slow. I sigh, rolling my tongue around Chris's palm as he holds me tight. We fade into the bath of moonlight, and then into nothing at all.

I curl into Chris's chest and he holds me, running his hand through my hair slowly.

"Was that okay?" he asks.

"It was like a good dream," I say.

"I wasn't too hard or too soft?"

I nibble his nipple in ascent.

He flexes, inflating his pectorals and wrapping me up.

I didn't know exactly what in the world makes a god like Chris anxious, but I want to take the weight off his shoulders. He gets short of breath again—his tight refractory period is otherworldly—and he continues to stroke my hair before gripping it tight. He guides me down his hilly pectorals, through the canals of his sweat-drenched abdominals, and to his shiny, recovering shaft, which curls into the air and catches the moonlight.

"Ready for round two?" he asks.

I roll my tongue around his growing shaft, stealing a glance into his glimmering eyes before he buries my face in his balls.

--

I can't focus on studying for the Winter Exams. Partly, I'm exhausted from lack of sleep and from a general feeling of being overwhelmed. I'd been deprived time to process everything, and I think I need more down time than the average person in the first place.

The last wrestling practice before the holidays is much the same. Coach surprises me as I work the weights.

"I see you lost the earring."

"Yessir," I say, pumping out another rep.

"Then it's your lucky day. Damerae is back from his ankle injury, and he wants his spot back."

Coach's expression is blank. I sense he is still disappointed with me.

"Today?" I ask. "Can't wait till January?"

"Today," he repeats. He beckons for me to follow him and we make our way across the hall.

I try to calm my breathing as Damerae and I hover on opposite sides of the mat. I can't beat Damerae, can I? I look into his face. Chocolate skin, fuzzy hair—he wore it in longer dreads the rest of the year, but he cut it short during wrestling season, so that it just barely peeked out of his headgear now. Pure eyes, focused and unclouded.

I had yet to have a statement win. I got lucky at the Storm Meet, and my fight with Eduardo I won on a technicality. I needed to prove myself.

Prove you are a faggot, Zane seems to whisper. I look around, but he is nowhere to be seen.

What is wrong with me?

My heartbeat builds up, and the echoes of Zane are replaced by flashes of Chris. I try to get images from the night before out of my mind, but somehow, the thought of him soothes me.

Damerae's arms entangle with mine, we stand across from one another, locked in place.

I can't win like this. He's stronger than me.

Chris said to cultivate talent. What does that mean, exactly? If Damerae is stronger, I can't win a battle of strength. I have to do something creative—something that has a little finesse.

I grit myself, copying the move I'd seen Zane try against Chris the other day. I suddenly change directions, pulling instead of pushing, swinging both of our bodies to the mat.

We struggle; there is a lot of rolling around and flexing and grunting—but ultimately, it seems—I still cannot pin him down. No matter how I wiggle and worm, he alters tact, making the game about strength again, and overpowering me.

I'm outclassed, aren't I? Not just in terms of strength, but in terms of skill as well.

I'm inferior.

Maybe my position isn't meant to last.

In a desperate vie for positioning, my foot grazes his ankle, and Damerae cries out.

If push comes to shove...

I drag my foot against his, flexing out with my last burst of strength, and Damerae taps out.

A wave of guilt rolls over me--I milked his injury to win--but at least I didn't punch him in the face like Eduardo might have done. What weak consolation. Damerae always strikes me as a fierce competitor, but he also always plays fair.

I cling to the JV spot—Calvin thumps my back—but the win has a tainted quality.

Damerae nods at me before taking his ankle in his palm, grimacing and rolling it under his thumb.

As soon as the bell rings following my last exam, I bolt out of my chair.

Chris. I'm going to spend every waking moment of Winter Break I can with him.

I'm torn between excitement and determination.

He's who I have always wanted--and I get to be with him--to be intimate with him.

I'd give the world for him.

I reach the cover of the forest, leaves crunching under-toe.

He didn't want to give me a ride. He worries my note is still in everyone's mind, worries about what it will look like.

That is one point for Zane. He doesn't give a damn what it looks like.

Chris will come around though.

He's got to.

I make my way into the cellar, the stairs creaking.

The last couple times I came for Chris here, Zane's eyes caught me first.

But not today. It's just Chris on the couch, legs splayed, shirtless, flexing, consumed by whichever video game he is playing.

I sit down next to him, before leaning into him, draping my arms around him and holding tight.

"Hey--you are going to make me lose," Chris says, his voice cracking a bit.

He tries to push me off of him, but I hold on tight.

Chris sighs, pausing the game. "Fine. But you owe me."

I kiss Chris on the cheek, before whispering in his ear.

"Anything."

"Yeah?" He asks. The amber flecks twinkle in his otherwise brown eyes. He arches out and falls sideways on the couch, twisting so he lands splayed on his back. I'm pulled into his chest, face-first.

I lick the sweat between his pectorals, feeling them rise and fall as he breathes.

"Fuck," he whispers.

He grips the back of my head. Egged on, I nibble his nipple.

He growls, slapping me. "Sorry," he grunts. "Just hurt a bit."

"Don't be sorry," I whisper.

I kiss down his chest, tracing the contours of his abdominals, which flex against my tongue and lips.

I gnaw on his jeans, finding the imprint of his cock and wrapping my lips around it.

Chris strokes my hair. "So when we are alone like this--I can call you my bitch, right?"

I unzip his jeans. "When I'm this turned on--you can call me whatever the fuck you want."

I find the slit in Chris's boxers and fish out his cock, licking my lips.

Chris pushes my head down till half his cock is buried down my throat.

"How about cocksucking bitch?"

Supple warmth radiates my pouched out cheeks as I peer up into Chris's deep brown eyes.

"How was your day?" Chris asks.

I lie on his chest, gathering my breathing, swallowing again so his cum doesn't dry in my throat.

When his words register, I burst out laughing.

"What?" Chris asks.

"It's just--wouldn't that part usually come earlier?"

Chris shrugs, stroking my hair. "You think there's something wrong with our priorities?"

As Chris's cock shrinks a bit, a rogue bead of cum sits on the slit. I lean in and suck it clean.

"Godddamn," Chris says, clutching tighter. He makes me look into his eyes. "I'll be ready for round two sooner than most. I recover quick. But you are going to have to give me a sec."

He pulls my head off his cock and pushes my face back into his chest.

"How was my day..." I repeat back, almost in a trance. "I've been feeling guilty," I admit. "About the way I beat Damerae. It didn't seem fair."

"Everyone's always bending the rules as far as they'll go. You are handicapping yourself if you don't."

I want to push back against what he is saying, but the way Zane grabbed Chris's balls flashes into my mind.

Chris moves his hands down my back. "People don't like the absolute enforcement of rules, because it feels totalitarian; it makes it harder to check if the rules are dumb. To sweep out your own path. But being too cavalier about rule-breaking is also frowned upon, because it sounds two-faced and opportunist."

"So to avoid sounding two-faced...you lie?"

"More like, just don't talk about it in public."

"And how do you know you AREN'T two-faced and opportunist?"

"I don't. I just try to be slightly less than my competition."

"You don't really believe that. This is your weird way of being humble. You are a good person. You are the best person I know."

"You really want to be able to win the hard way?" Chris asks, his eyes alight. "You practice, every day, in that room right over there, like I did, when my father trained me."

"You would train me?" I say, hugging Chris. "One on one?"

Chris shrugs. "Gotta do something between blow jobs."

I try to focus on my stance. Chris circles me, the imprint of his cock clear through his silk boxers, a film of sweat glinting on his chest. Cool air knicks at my ass, framed by my blood-red jockstrap.

"Coach has been soft on you. Letting bad habits creep back in."

He pushes down on my shoulders. "Get lower," He growls. "You are a bit taller than the competition to begin with, it doesn't bode well to start with your center of gravity any higher than you have to."

Chris finishes his circle, getting into position opposite me. "Stagger your feet more."

I move my right foot forward, sparks jumping along my nerves.

"Make a move," Chris says.

I barrel toward him, leaning down, hoping to ram him.

Chris catches my head in his palm, before twisting to the side. "Keep your head up," he growls.

He shoves me head-first into the mat; I buck up; he gets just behind me in the referee's position.

I can feel his cock through his boxers, brushing up against my ass.

Chris chops at my elbows with one arm while reaching between my legs with the other.

I buckle my arms, but it was the other move I should have worried about: He grips my thigh; I wriggle, he clenches my balls. I hear a pitter-patter on the mat; Chris has stretched his legs out behind him, he's shuffling in a circle, twisting me; I have nowhere to go; I collapse forward in a heap on my stomach, my legs spread wide apart, my ass pulled up slightly by his grip on my balls.

"The fuck was that?" I croak weakly, whimpering.

Chris throws all his weight on me, constricting my whimper out of existence.

"Spiral ride," Chris says. "Want me to teach you to do it? To beat it?"

"Yeah," I whisper.

Chris lets me up; I get in the referee's position behind him.

"Don't get any ideas," he says, his tone creeping up and back down. "Swing at my elbows with one arm, and reach for my thigh with the other."

I make the motion, swinging out, then sculpting Chris's lithe leg muscle in my palm.

I stretch my legs back, scuffling around in a ring, trying to push Chris down...

He puts his weight on one foot, moving like he is going to stand; I pull him back into me; he reaches an arm over, locking my head in place, pushing me backwards.

I force him forward, trying to get him onto his stomach; he changes tack, rolling forward, pulling me over his shoulder, slamming me onto my back.

I try to catch my breath; Chris climbs on top of me, straddling my chest, my arms tucked under his legs, locked against my sides. I try to wiggle free, to no avail.

"I don't think I can replicate that," I mumble.

Chris's silk boxers stretch across my field of vision. Centered amongst them is the outline of Chris's thick shaft, the fabric stretched thin by the bulbous cockhead. Chris puffs out his chest, his towering mass of muscle looming over me. "You going to tap out?"

"My arms are stuck."

"Then how are you going to admit defeat?"

I lean forward, bridging the gap between us, before planting my lips on the outline of his cockhead. I suck softly, moistening the silk.

Chris laughs. "You can't tap out--so instead you've gotta `suck out'?"

I nod, prodding his boxers with my tongue, looking up into his big brown eyes, which take on an amber sheen in the light.

Chris pushes his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down his legs, exposing his cock, which flips out, curling to full mast.

I lunge for it, but Chris catches my head in his palm, running his hand over me, clutching the back of my head. "Did you want to suck my cock, bitch?"

I nod, stifling a moan.

"Beg for it."

"Please," I say softly. "Please Chris. You beat me. Let me suck out."

He pulls my head in, granting me license to cork my cocksucking throat.

"Why does he have to stay out so dang late?"

Since vacation started, I'd spent every waking moment with Chris. Since working on the spiral ride, we'd reviewed the cradle, the snake, and the penetration step, among others. Some times, he cleaned up my form in moves I already favored, other times, he introduced something new. It invariably ended with me pinned between his legs, `sucking out' for mercy.

As much as I practiced, I couldn't help feeling that I'd never be as strong, as fast, or simply as GOOD. If that weren't enough, I worry he uses my lust to weaken me more than to strengthen me.

But do I even--mind?

Sometimes, as I am about to lose, I shift onto my stomach, but Chris hasn't fucked me since the day he beat Zane.

Zane's laughter echoes in my mind.

Once a faggot, always a faggot.

"His grades haven't suffered," my dad says. "His report card was spotless as usual, save some snarky message from Mr. Andrew. What's wrong with that man?"

"Born with a pretentious rose up his butt, thorns and all," my mom says.

Did Chris think it was too gay?

"I don't think it is drugs," my dad says.

"You mean Travis or Mr. Andrews?"

"Travis. Mr. Andrews is still up in the air, as far as I'm concerned."

Maybe my ass just isn't hot enough?

My mom laughs. "If Travis were on drugs, we'd see it in his eyes."

I roll my eyes, then clear my throat and step into the room.

Mom serves macaroni and tuna.

"How are you?" My mom asks, testing the waters.

"Pretty good," I offer.

"Sheila tells me you seemed to have a good time at the New Years' Party."

"Yeah," I offer. Chris and I didn't stay too long. It was mostly just another excuse to spend time out of the house. Of course Chris had me act like I barely knew him. I ended up spending most of the evening playing Big Bang Brothers with Calvin's older brother, who returned from college for the holidays. He had always been nice to me, and, crucially, didn't seem to know what was going on with my drama, which in it's own way was kind of nice.

I don't want to risk a good thing. Even if what's happening with Chris isn't a purely good thing—it isn't exactly as I imagined it—it's nothing if not exciting.

My dad raises an eyebrow when I explain I'm going back to practice wrestling with Chris and Calvin, who I added to the story to quell suspicion. They don't fight me on it. In fact, my mom seems downright happy that my friendship with Calvin may rekindle.

If she only knew the half of it...

After dinner, I voyage through the forest again. Fully clothed.

A warmth courses through me—and for a moment, I don't feel the croaking frog song echoes my pain. Instead, they are egging me on.

I DID beat Eduardo, I DID beat Damerae, I DID win the Storm Meet for my team.

And now--I have the best trainer in the world.

I don't have to feel guilty, do I?

I can celebrate a victory with Chris, right?

For the first time in a while I let myself smile, thumbing the shark-tooth necklace. I pause, leaning against a tree and closing my eyes. I suck in the smell and flavor of the forest and feel the world stand still, at least for a moment.

Then, something changes. Shadows fall on me, and I feel a bit cooler. The forest musk gets stronger, more animal, and suddenly, I feel sweaty skin on my lips.

I open my eyelids, wriggling, shocked; slicing green eyes, red-head Mohawk, tips mottled with black dye—Zane. I scream out; but Zane pulls me in by the back of the head, muffling my voice in his sweaty armpit.

"Shut up," he says, his eyes sparkling--and I fall quiet.

I push him backwards; he pushes me in retaliation, and I slam into the tree.

"How many times am I going to catch you with your eyes closed?" Zane asks, smirking.

"You shouldn't be here."

Zane yawns. "Not now, cunt-face."

"Chris won fair and square. It's over."

Zane curls his lip. "Faggot pussy position."

"Zane—" I whimper.

"Don't make me say it twice."

"Zane—"

Zane lands a blow to my stomach. I can tell he held back, yet still, it makes me double over. He pushes me down to my knees.

"Faggot pussy position," he says again calmly.

I sink forward, putting weight on my hands, feeling the leaves crumple beneath me; then I lie flat on my stomach, arching my ass into the air.

"Let out that ass."

I bite my lip.

"NOW!"

I unbutton and unzip, rolling down my jeans and boxers, exposing my ass to the forest air.

Zane sinks down behind me, reaching under and groping my dick through my jeans. "You have a boner, faggot."

"Zane," I whisper. "No..."

"Don't worry, punk." He slides something thin and smooth between my ass cheeks, making a little wall there. "Do me a favor and deliver this to Chris," he says. "Don't take it out before you get to him. It's for his eyes only."

"Okay," I croak.

Leaving my boxers pushed down, Zane pulls up my jeans, zipping and buttoning them, the item still tucked safely between my ass cheeks. Then, he kisses the hill of my ass through the fabric and pushes my face into the leafy dirt, getting clumps of grime stuck to my face. "Gotta go faggot. Sorry I couldn't fuck you."

Afraid to move, I lie there, clenching my eyes until I am sure he is gone.

I walk delicately the rest of the way to Chris's house, wondering if I'd let my guard down too much. It was as though every time things threatened to sort out, I got a reminder of my naiveté.

"Are you okay?" Chris asks.

"Just saw Zane," I murmur.

Chris's expression darkens; then, he catches me off guard by pecking me on the cheek. I blush all over and follow him down the stairs. He collapses back on the couch, spreading his legs wide and tucking an arm behind his head. "What happened?"

I bite my lip, swiveling and unbuttoning my jeans. I slide them down.

"What is that?" Chris asks.

"Zane put it there," I say.

"Did he—"

"No, all he did was shove that up there."

"Good," Chris says, massaging my ass.

I lean forward, clutching my knees. Then, Chris reaches in and grabs it, making me cringe at the funny smearing sensation dragging along my skin.

I turn back. It's an envelope, with a bit of brown crust.

I blush deeper.

"Did you read this already?" he asks.

"Zane said it was for your eyes only."

"Good," Chris says, running his hand through my hair. He tugs on my necklace, pulling me down to my knees.

He tows me to his crotch, where I brush my lips against the outline of his cock slowly.

He bides his time looking over the message, stroking my hair as I lose myself, nibbling and sniffing the bulge in his jeans.

Suddenly, Chris crumples up the note and tosses it behind the couch.

"What's it say?" I whisper.

Chris unzips his jeans, thrusting slightly into the air so he can pull them down, along with his silk boxers. His balls flop out and his cock swings up, jabbing me in the face.

"He wants a rematch. Zane feels I had home court advantage. The agreement was only for the holidays, after all."

"Who cares?" I say, smacking my lips against his balls. "You don't need to win me in some game."

"He's raising the stakes. Loser gets their picture taken kissing the winner's feet."

"Can't you just have me kiss your feet?"

I slide down Chris's jean leg, but he pulls me back up, the silver chain digging into my neck.

"I'm doing this," Chris says.

"Why? You don't have to prove anything."

"This conversation is over," Chris says. He guides his cock through the ring my lips form. He grips my head with both hands, keeping me from wriggling away impulsively when I gag. He slams my head down, then fucks my throat hard.

His voice is low and dangerous. "This needs to happen. Let it happen."

The contractions in my throat slow.

"Motherfucker," Chris says, his body clapping against my face. Chris clenches my hair, growling as he thrusts in again and again. "People need to learn their lessons."

I close my eyes as he builds up, his hard cock inflating my cheeks on its circuitous way down.

He pulls my hair till it hurts. "You can do it, bitch. You can take it without gagging."

I was too far gone to fight it, too far out of sorts to even know if I wanted to.

MNMPWAH.

"That's it, Travis," Chris says, talking over my slurping noises.

I can sense that he is close.

I'm getting to know him in new ways.

I tighten my lips and draw in, worming my tongue around his cock.

Nails grate my hair. Deep grunts. Veins jumping.

"Fuck yeah, cocksucker," he mutters.

He inhales, his pectorals protruding above me, blanketing me in shadow. He stomps one leg after the other.

"Let it happen," he breathes.

I moan, stacking pressure, absorbing blow after blow to the face.

"Fuck...FUCK. FUCK!"

The underwater sensation blossoms as Chris grips my ears, disorienting me.

I steal a glance at his face, my eyes glazed over.

He smiles down at me, his gold eyes glittering, as he flexes out.

He grunts, his cock jumping. For a moment, I can't breathe, even out of my nose. I thrash as he grips the necklace tight, his smile gone.

He holds my head down as his hearth jumps in anticipation of its next creation.

Suddenly, it's as though I'm kissing a whirligig in a storm.

He strokes my face with one hand, holding me in place with the other. Calm floods through me, and my struggling deteriorates. I gulp, then gulp again and again till it's done.

The glint of his half-smile catches my eyes, and he sighs faintly. I nuzzle into his thighs, lapping the lingering sweat from his balls.

He cradles my head as my mind melts away.

--- Feedback keeps me in the mood to write and brainstorm and is always appreciated. :) email: krazytop@gmail.com tumblr: krazytop.tumblr.com