Tender gangster

Compensation

The body is burning. And the soul is burning too.

Humiliated me? I hope you're happy now. Your superego is satisfied for a month ahead.

Trying to smoke. Clicking the lighter. But instead of smoking, you cover the fire with your palm. As if the flame that rages inside and creeps over the surface of the skin is not enough for you.

Stripped to purple strains chest. The eye falls on the healing ointment that Pete left for you. It seems to cool the skin... or heal wounds.

You don't know how long you've been sitting on a ledge in the shower like this, in your underwear.

Turning the door handle. A figure walking with a confident gait. If only you could punch him... for all the pain, your trampled pride and cracked heart. But instead, fuck it!, you let him get very close. Kinn unscrews the cap from the tube and squeezes the contents into the hand, first rubs it between his palms, and then begins to apply the ointment gently to your body. So simple. Without a single word. As if there was no last night between you in a red-hot stupor. No cold, sobering harsh reality of the morning. Not the guy that Kinn invited into his bed in front of you. Nor his order for punishment, because of which a tired body is scarred.

"Don't bother yourself, sir. Who am I that you should condescend to such a thing," you are talking through your teeth, and the tears on your cheeks are just like muddy drops.

But Kinn continues ... continues not to apply the whitish mass, but to caress you with healing touches of his soft palms. And then something happens that knocks out the remnants of mind: leaning over your chest, Kinn begins to cover your shoulders with tiny kisses, following the collarbone, the top of your strong chest.

"Why?" you wheeze over the top of his head, and you want to cry like a child again: well, what the fuck does he allow himself all this, and you can't take it and push him away with all the nonsense. Yes, so that he flew against the wall. Crumbled the expensive tile and realized once and for all: your body is taboo.

"Are you uncomfortable?" the languid look from under the brows is obviously intended to finish off.

"What? Haven't you had enough of your boyfriend today? Not enough for you? Decided to compensate?"

Having stopped showering your body with kisses, Kinn straightens the skirts of his marsala-colored gown and, without a bit of stew, says in an indifferent tone:

"I didn't get a boner on him."

"Why so?"

"I only got turned on because I was imagining you all the time."

If he's lying now, he's doing it very convincingly.

"You're all lying!" you twitch, but his hands still remain on your shoulders.

"I'm not lying. And... I'm sorry. I know I hurt you. And more than once. And I can't promise I won't do it again.… But you just try to understand, Porsche: when I hurt you, it means I don't want the others to make it a hundred times more painful."

"Fuck you!" you drill him with your gaze, and Kinn instantly bites into your lips with a greedy kiss.

You resist, you bite the soft lips in response to the blood. Because you want him to feel the pain, too. But after tearing himself away from your mouth, Kinn licks droplets of blood from the corners of his, and then — and you don't have time to blink — he is on his knees at your feet. In one fell swoop, he pulls off your boxers right to your ankles, which makes your cock with a slippery tip almost hit him on the nose. The thought of it makes you lose your mind for a moment and grin. But as soon as the tip of Kinn's tongue begins to circle in the tense groin, all the fleeting relaxation disappears. Involuntarily clutching the fingers to the back of his head, you don't know what you're doing: either you're trying to push him away, or you're grabbing him tighter as a support.

And again that look from under his brows. And you realize that you want to see Kinn staring at you, that you want to feel his hands sliding up and down your stomach before he lowers his face and covers your cock with his lips.

You have to bite your own hand to keep from moaning too loudly when Kinn wraps his lips around the tip and licks it, and his tongue is so rough and soft at the same time.

His eyes are closed now, as if he himself is experiencing pleasure. It's like he's doing this not just for you, but for himself.

A sudden thought flashes through your head — how many times has he done this before? How many were there? And was Kinn really like that with everyone? Did he get the same visible pleasure when he was with someone else?

But when Kinn goes even lower, taking your hot flesh even deeper and moaning hoarsely, you decide that you don't care. You simply push every jealous thought into the background, close your eyes and revel in the warm moisture of Kinn's lips around your penis. His fingers squeeze your hips, his hair tickles your stomach. Small white dots flutter before your eyes when Kinn, lifting your cock higher, presses his tongue to his underside, and you spread your legs, allowing him to get comfortable between them.

It's like he fits in there perfectly.

One of Kinn's hands goes down to stroke your balls, his fingers are both light and hard at the same time, and this causes a wave of goosebumps in your very nature, a pleasant tingling spreads all over your tummy, up to your chest.

You bite your knuckles and grab his shoulder with your other hand. In order not to fly away, soaring from the kaleidoscope of sensations, and Kinn grabs you tighter by the hips and presses you to him, and you realize that you have never felt so protected, so surrounded by care, so absolutely sure that he will not let go, that he will take care of you and give what you you want to. At least for these few minutes, the illusory will be true.

Exhaling noisily, you stroke Kinn's shoulder to give him at least a little intimacy and comfort in return, which he gives you. You get dizzy when a barely noticeable stubble on your chin — probably shaved in a hurry? — scratches your groin, and you hope that tomorrow the skin there will still burn. Yes. Let the rest of the body heal, but that's where Kinn will imprint himself, making the skin slightly irritated. And let it remind you of your mutual moment all the following lonely days and nights.

It's accelerating. The shower room is filled with booming wet sounds, and your mutual groans and wheezes seem to bounce off the fragile tiled walls. A few more frisky mouth movements, and you fill it with your hot cum.

"Damn it!.."

"Mhm... what's up, Porsche?"

"You could have let it... to the floor…"

He gets up from his knees on his own, his hands slide over your waist:

"Why? I don't like when there's something extra on the floor."

You laugh, not fully realizing what just happened.

Although… What now? Considering that Kinn was the one who "opened" your ass. For some reason, you think about it with such disdain, but even with your mind you understand that someone for whom sex with a man, with his boss, would be unacceptable, in the end, would not get such pleasure from a blowjob. Kinn's mouth works perfectly. And you start calculating again how much he practiced... however, his voice interrupts your calculations:

"That's funny. So many times I've looked down on it… And it was the first time I did it to someone… I mean, you."

"Seriously?" you're almost whistling, but you stop in time: this is too much.

"Seriously."

Son of a bitch... what a don of a bitch you are, Kinn!.. It's like you don't understand how your confession makes me crazy!..

Your lips. Without asking. On his lips. You feel your own taste. Also for the first time. Mixed with his hot saliva.

But this time, Kinn breaks the kiss first. With his usual self-satisfied self-control, he nods briefly:

"Okay. Come to your senses. Let's assume that it was... um... compensation."

He hasn't been with you for at least ten minutes. And you are just sitting and sitting on this cold ledge and still can't stop flicking the lighter.