My Home Is With You [LGBT+]

Twenty One

I TILT MY HEAD to the side and let Max suck and lick, bite and mark.

"Max," I whisper breathlessly.

"What's wrong baby boy?" He asks huskily.

I press my lips against his. With little hesitation he shoves his tongue inside my mouth, exploring everything I have to offer.  It's getting hot and how I wish I could fan myself.  His hands sneak under my tee, gently touching everything he can.

I gasp as his thumbs brush over my nipples.  The stimulation odd yet arousing as they stiffen in pleasure.

"Wait," I whimper, "Max."

"What's wrong baby?" He repeats.

"More," I beg.

"More?"

"More, daddy," I nod, biting his lower lip which is now kiss swollen and red.

"How much more?"

His question makes me pause.

There's that tilt to his head that makes him look like a curious child. 

His eyes, though, are pools of dark arousal and anything but innocent.

They hold a promise of pain and pleasure and I want it all.

"Anything, everything," I gasp.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"  I respond eagerly.

"Kaleidoscope."

"Wha-What?"

"If you're scared, if it's too much, if you want me to stop for whatever reason, just say kaleidoscope."

I nod my understanding.

But he's not satisfied with that.

He grips my chin and looks into my eyes, "Do you understand?"

Another nod.

He growls in what I can only assume is frustration.

My eyes widen as he slips from beneath me.  His hands are tortuous as they tug down my sweatpants to reveal nothing but skin.

"Commando?" He questions.

"Always," I blush, "at least at home."

He licks his lips like he wants to eat me alive, but he holds back.  That's not how I will learn.

I realize that very soon when he suddenly flips me so I'm over the arm of the sofa, my ass exposed for his hungry eyes to see and devour.

His hand is warm, and the touch makes me squirm.

It's only then that I realize cool metal wrapping around my wrists.

I can only gawk at the sight of handcuffs, heart skipping a beat.

The sound of skin against skin is not enough to jolt me out of my surprise, but the sting against my right buttock is.

"Say it, baby boy," another slap, "I need to hear you say it."

The sting only grows with each time his palm lands on my skin, a whimper spilling from my lips as I refuse to answer.  Each hit is consistent yet punishing, and I can't speak over the whimpers and moans escaping my lips. I can't concentrate.

The pain hurts in a good way.

Every time his hand comes down, my hips lurch forward, and my achingly hard erection rubs against the leather.  It's dry and uncomfortable until precum dribbles from my tip and smears against it.