Save Me

Chapter One

A.N. NEW STORY, as promised. This is the final book in the FM Trilogy (they're all stand-alones though), called Save Me. It'll be sexy and depressing (the best mix imo lmao). I hope you guys like it!

This story is the story of Isaac Attenborough, about the boys he meets along the way, the boys he destroys, or the boys that try to save him. I hope you like it. As usual, the story does include sexual content, which is why it's rated Mature, but it isn't about sex. Sex just happens, as it does in life. Hope you enjoy the story!

"I'm crazy and I don't pretend to be anything else."

-Rihanna

♔ Chapter One ♔

He moaned loud, when I fucked him.

My hands ran over the surface of his bare, naked skin, feeling the shivers of his body against mine, and I loved it. The way my fingertips trailed hard over his body, down his back and around to his dick to stroke it playfully, this was what I lived for. The feel of another boy's skin against mine, the sounds, the smells, everything about it. It consumed me.

His name was Hedley, not that I cared about him at all. His arms were thrown over my shoulders, while I fucked him faster. He liked to scrape his nails along the skin of my back, clawing at it, begging me to fuck him harder, so I did. His body was small, and light, and hanging off of the edge of my hips, making it easier for me to manipulate him, to own him.

Hedley wasn't anyone that I knew really well, to be honest. A guy I'd fucked a few times, who didn't mind it being too rough, who let me do whatever I wanted without a care in the world. That was really the only thing I liked about him. He was a lot more open than the other guys I fucked, so I liked fucking him more.

The other guys, they were either too soft or too gentle, or expected things from me that I just couldn't give them. Relationships, requited love, all things I couldn't find in me to give away anymore; things that wholeheartedly made me sick to my stomach.

At the end of the day, they all meant nothing to me. Hedley, in a way, meant more to me than the others, but that was just because I could stand his company more. Some boys would be pushy or whiny, too hopeful, too stuck in their own heads.

I'd imagine they had this idyllic dream where they could build some kind of life with me, but the sour reality of it was, I wasn't built to love, to be loved, to be happy, and that was just the way it was. None of them really meant anything to me. I didn't even really like them, they were just fucks. Distant, blurry fucks.

Blurry faces, blurry bodies, blurry everything. Even the sex was kind of a blur to me, in the moment. He was just something I could shove my dick into and fuck hard and fast and then leave right after. I stopped giving a shit about people a long time ago, if I ever really did.

The way I saw it, people were just there for me to fuck with. Their bodies were built for my pleasure, and in a way, their pleasure too. I was never greedy or selfish with sex, I always made sure they got out of it exactly what I did. But whatever the case, boys existed purely for me to play with them - or, at least, that was how I liked to see it. They were mine to touch, mine to fondle, and mine to toss aside. Mine to control.

It was fun pretending that I was in control, that the power was mine, even though deep down I knew that the power was no-one's. The power was a phantom thing, an illusion I'd created for myself as a way of releasing everything I felt inside, because it was better to release it than to feel it.

Plus, it was a whole lot easier that way, wasn't it? Passing your self-hatred onto other people. When you despise yourself so much, when you hate everything that you are, everything that makes you you, it becomes a lot easier to throw the hatred back onto other people. To take out your anger on other lads, on their minds and on their bodies. It was easy to taint their souls, to destroy them the way I had been destroyed, because misery loves company, and well, meet misery.