Birthday Licks (3 page)

“Sorry, Sir.” God. Was he always going to screw up the
simple stuff? “That was one, Sir.”

“If we didn’t have a set number, I’d say that one didn’t
count. Don’t forget again.”

“No, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Another blow, still too light to do more than sting a
little.

“Two, Sir…three…four…” The intensity of the blows didn’t
increase, and Thomas spread them out. By the time he was saying, “Five, Sir,”
Ryan’s ass was feeling nicely tingly, but not sore.

“How are you feeling?” Thomas’ hand was still on Ryan’s skin,
petting gently over his back, squeezing the globes of his ass casually.

“Good, Sir.”

“Excellent. Another set of five. Begin at six.”

Swats six through ten were harder. The tingle became a burn.
Ryan squirmed a little bit, unconsciously trying to direct the blows to less
sensitive places. One hand, rough with calluses, warm and dry, landed in the
center of his back, pinning him firmly in place.

“Nice try, but no. Unless this is more than what you thought
you wanted. One word and I’ll stop.” Thomas didn’t sound as if he wanted to
stop. He didn’t sound as if he thought Ryan wanted him to stop.

The burn in his skin, the hand holding him down, the caress
of Thomas’ voice—all of it went straight to Ryan’s dick, which was harder and
hotter than he ever remembered it being.

“Sorry, Sir. Please don’t stop, Sir.”

“Five more, then. Eleven through fifteen.”

Eleven…twelve…

“Oh fuck. Thirteen, Sir.” Every blow echoed through his
balls, forced his dick into maddening contact with Thomas’ thigh. By fifteen,
Ryan was feeling Thomas’ erection pressing against his hip, rubbing roughly
with each heavy hit.

Things were soft around the edges now. Not tequila soft,
though the buzz was still there. No, this was a different kind of soft. As
though there were no sharp edges
anywhere
. As though Ryan had lifted a
little bit out of himself. As though the burn of Thomas’ hand on his ass
grounded Ryan more firmly in his skin than he’d ever been before.

Crazy. Irrational. So very, very real.

“Still with me, boy?”

“M’here, Sir. Please. Don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping, beautiful. Not because you asked me. I’m
not stopping because I don’t want to. It pleases me to see your ass all rosy
and tender.” Thomas shifted. “Stand up.”

You said you weren’t stopping.

Ryan bit back the protest, didn’t even whimper. He just
pushed off with his hands. His cock and balls dragged over the inseam of
Thomas’ jeans, so sensitive that even the worn-soft fabric scraped the
painfully aroused flesh.

To his surprise, Ryan wasn’t steady on his feet. Maybe the
blood rushing from his head. Maybe the pulse pounding in his ears, his dick.
Whatever the reason, Thomas reached up and steadied him until the dizziness
passed.

“On your knees, beautiful.”

Ryan dropped as gracefully as he could. Then that hand
again, guiding him to hands and knees, urging him downward so that he braced on
his forearms. The position left his ass wagging in the air. With a little less
tequila Ryan might have been self-conscious, but as it was, he was conscious of
himself only in relation to the room around him.

The air was warm, a little smoky and seemed to almost caress
his skin in gentle currents. His balls hung low and heavy, swaying as he
swayed. His cock was an iron bar, cool at the tip where the air hit the precum
collecting there. He felt every whorl of Thomas’ fingerprints branded into his
skin.

He wanted. No, he
yearned.

Thomas slid off his seat, landed on one knee beside him.
Long, rough caresses, dragging over enflamed skin, aching oh, so right.

“Set of five. Begin at sixteen.”

It hurt more now. His skin felt tender, flesh swollen and
hot. He hadn’t realized how much of the impact Thomas’ thighs had absorbed when
he’d been over the Dom’s lap. Now it was all him.

Thomas was aiming carefully, hitting the place where his
thighs and buttocks met, jolting his balls with every blow. Ryan counted, every
number more breathless, close to a whimper.

He didn’t realize he was shaking until they’d reached
nineteen, and Thomas laid his hand on Ryan’s back. The touch, firm between his
shoulder blades, grounded him. No petting, just steady support; a reminder that
Thomas was there, Ryan wasn’t alone.

“Twenty! Thank you, Sir!”

He wasn’t sure where the thanks came from.
Thank you for
understanding what I need even when I don’t
, or maybe,
thank you for
keeping me tethered to my body because otherwise I’m afraid I’d just float away
.

Whatever the source, gratitude flooded him. He felt it in
every slam of his heart against his ribs, in every throb of his flaming ass, in
every aching twitch of his cock.

“Last one, beautiful. Ready?”

Ready? Oh God. So very, very ready
.

The last blow cracked over him like lightning. The skin of
his ass was on fire, stretched tight, felt like one more touch and he’d
explode. His cock was no different, except maybe even hotter, harder, every
touch—the anticipation of every touch—dragging him closer to an orgasm he
thought would be as obliterating as dying.

“Twenty-one! Thank you…thank you…” The words trailed off,
incoherent even to his own ears.

Thomas was kneeling next to him, petting him, smoothing his
hands over Ryan’s back, soothing him. The Dom cupped the back of Ryan’s neck,
squeezed gently, easing some of the tension gathered there. Long fingers raked
through his hair, lifting the sweaty ends and baring Ryan’s skin for puffs of
cool, cognac-scented breath.

Ryan was shivering, shuddering, so full of sensation and
emotion he was literally vibrating with it.

Thomas shifted, prepared to stand, and the need rocking Ryan
exploded.

Close Your Eyes

He didn’t ask permission, didn’t even consciously decide to
move, but as Thomas stood, Ryan pushed up on his knees and turned.

His arms were around Thomas’ thighs before his brain
processed his movement, and by then it was too late to make requests. And
besides, the need to touch, to worship with hands and mouth, was overwhelming.

He pressed his face against Thomas’ thigh, rubbed sweat and
tears into the soft denim. Thomas’ erection was there, right there, and Ryan
lifted up enough to rub his cheek over the thick, heavy length.

Thomas shuddered, the first sign Ryan had seen that the Dom
was anywhere near as affected by their play as Ryan was. It inspired him, and
Ryan opened his mouth over Thomas’ cock, mouthing it through Thomas’ jeans,
tracing the length with his teeth, just enough to feel through the fabric.

“Fuck, beautiful.”

Thomas’ voice was low, more rough than smooth, and his hand
wound through Ryan’s hair. He didn’t pull, not exactly, but he definitely took
control of the moment, pressing Ryan’s face even tighter into his crotch,
directing Ryan’s mouth to his cock-head. Ryan was happy to oblige, desperate to
oblige.

He opened wide, rubbing with tongue, scraping with teeth,
getting the fabric wet and sucking at the faint taste of precum that began to
soak through the material.

So good. Thomas tasted so good. Hot and spicy and the
bitter-salt of tears. Ryan wanted more, needed more.

“Please.” It didn’t even sound like his voice. His voice
wasn’t that raw, shameless cry. He was scrabbling at Thomas’ belt now, fumbling
with the buckle even as Thomas fucking crammed Ryan’s face against his cock.

He struggled for a delirious moment, high on the pain still
throbbing across his ass, the scent and taste of his Master. When Thomas
tightened his grip and began to drag him away, Ryan struggled, frantic at the
thought of losing the intimate contact.

“Stop.” Thomas’ voice might have been a bit ragged, but the
command was sharp and clear. It froze Ryan in place as surely as if he’d been
poleaxed, and allowed Thomas to step back and put some distance between them.

Thomas watched him for a long while. Long enough for Ryan to
begin to squirm. Long enough for his high to even out, for him to recognize it
for what it was. He’d only danced on the edges, but fuck if that wasn’t
subspace. And double fuck if he didn’t want back there.

“Why did I tell you to stop?”

Ryan might have believed the lack of emotion in Thomas’
voice if he hadn’t seen the hard-on trying to burrow through his zipper. Or the
flush rising in his cheeks.

“I didn’t have permission, Mas—” Thomas’ narrowed eyes
showed that he’d caught the slip even before Ryan’s foggy brain did. “Um, Sir.”

Thomas nodded.

“Display position. Kneeling.”

It was agony, nearly impossible, but Ryan locked his hands
behind his back, straightened his spine with jerky movements and ended up with
his head raised but eyes trained on the floor. Fuck, his cock ached. His ass
ached. Every inch of skin cried out for Thomas’ touch. But that wasn’t what
Thomas wanted, so Ryan would wait.

“Very nice.” It was ridiculous the rush of pleasure those
two softly spoken words gave him.

“Here is how it goes, with me at any rate. Unless you’ve
been directed not to speak, generally you are allowed to ask.” Thomas’ smile
was wicked. “In fact, generally you’re encouraged to beg.”

Ryan wondered if Thomas realized he was pressing the heel of
his hand against the base of his erection.

“With me, you may ask. Then I will say yes or no. That’s up
to me, not you.” Wicked eased into pure evil, and Ryan wanted to lick the
dimples that appeared in Thomas’ cheeks.

Thomas went silent for a while, so Ryan took a chance and
asked.

“Sir, let me suck your cock, please?”

“We didn’t discuss sex, beautiful. Do you just want to suck
my dick, or do you want me to fuck you?”

Would you? Would you really?
Because it was so far
beyond what Ryan had dared wish for that the mind boggled.

Thomas must have read something on his face, because his
smile somehow got softer without losing even a hint of the wicked intent that
had Ryan’s cock practically dripping precum.

“Both, Sir. You taste so good, but I haven’t been fucked in
so long…”
And never, I think, by someone who really knew what he was doing…

“Did you bring…stuff?” A glint in those dark eyes as Thomas
deliberately mimicked Ryan’s earlier words. Only he really did mean sex stuff.
Supplies.

“No, I…” Hadn’t dared hope for sex. Hadn’t really dared hope
for anything.

“Then I guess it’s good we’re at The Mask.” Thomas reached
casually into a bowl situated on a low table. Condom. Pillow pack of lube. If
he hadn’t been so focused on keeping his position and not shooting like a
thirteen-year-old, Ryan would have collapsed with relief.

“Open my pants and take out my dick. Show me what you can do
with your mouth.”

Ryan was moving before Thomas was finished speaking. He
struggled a little with the belt buckle, and a little more with the button
fly—denim wet with spit and precum didn’t want to cooperate—but then it was
easy. Easy to lift the waistband of Thomas’ boxer briefs so that the head of
his cock could surge free. Easy to peel jeans and briefs down together to hang
on the Dom’s hips, baring the v-cut of his hips, the pale, tender skin where
thigh met groin.

It was beyond easy to bury his face in Thomas’ crotch, to
breath in the scent of salt and sweat and sex.

“I’m waiting.”

Ryan had been lost in the moment, lost in the sensory
overload he got from touching, smelling, flicking his tongue out and tasting
Thomas. His Master’s words called him back, though. They reminded him that he
wanted to give Thomas something as remotely meaningful as what Thomas had given
him.

He started with the condom because, as much as he felt like
he’d known Thomas forever, they were at a sex club and that alone was reason to
be doubly careful. Thomas was uncircumcised, something utterly unique in Ryan’s
experience, and he toyed with the velvety cowl of flesh, playing peek-a-boo
with the flushed head of Thomas’ cock, drawing a low sound of enjoyment he felt
in his own dick, before carefully setting the condom against the damp, weeping
tip.

He rolled it on slowly, taking the time to pet Thomas’ cock,
to learn the texture of the veins along the shaft. It was beautiful, his
Master’s cock. Long and thick and with just a slight curve lifting toward his
navel, and Ryan ached, literally
ached
to taste it, and he resented the
hell out of the fact that he was about to get a mouthful of latex instead of a
mouthful of salt and sex.

Then there was no room for resentment. There was no room for
anything but the sensation of Thomas’ hand on the back of his head, Thomas’
fingers knotting in his hair. Thomas’ voice, low and gravelly when he muttered,
“Now, boy,” and Thomas’ dick, pulsing and alive against Ryan’s tongue and then
stretching Ryan’s mouth, filling him up with almost as much sensation as his
burning ass.

He took Thomas deep, because this was something he loved.
This was something he’d practiced, was good at. He sucked hard, hollowing his
cheeks with the effort of it as he dragged his mouth the long, curved length,
then wrapped his hand around the shaft, squeezing, twisting, jacking hard and
fast as he concentrated the suction at the tip.

Thomas’ hips jerked, his hand tightened and he gave a little
grunt. Ryan felt his own dick swell, the knowledge he was pleasing his Master
as effective as a hand on his flesh.

He lifted off for a moment, took a breath and shifted his
jaw. “So good, Sir,” he muttered, dragging in another breath and dropping down
fast, engulfing Thomas’ cock to the root.

“Fuck.”

Thomas’ voice was strangled, his hands twisting in Ryan’s
curls. Ryan took it as approval, let it inspire him to take Thomas deeper, to
bury his nose in surprisingly silky pubic hair and swallow around the swollen
head of his cock.

“Enough.” Thomas sounded gruff, breathless. Perfect. “Hands
and knees. Give me your ass.”

He hated to give up that perfect, luscious cock, but Ryan’s
body was obeying before his mind had even processed the command. Back on his
elbows and knees, ass high and open, dick practically levitating it was so
fucking hard.

Please, please, please…

Thomas’ hands covered his ass, fingers spread wide,
squeezing the burning flesh. Ryan’s breath froze in his chest as the top of his
skull threatened to lift right the fuck off. Then the trapped breath was
whistling out and Thomas’ thumbs were digging in. Into his asshole, first one, then
the other, then both, slick with lube Ryan hadn’t even been aware of the Dom
opening, twisting and spreading and opening him so damned right that every atom
of his being cried out to be possessed.

Please.

He didn’t know if the word made it outside his head because
he wasn’t really hearing anything past the roaring in his ears. But Thomas must
have somehow heard it, or was reading his mind again, because he was pressing
the thick head of his cock against Ryan’s aching hole, pressing slow and hard
and undeniable, and Ryan was stretching and burning and it hurt so fucking
good.

And then Thomas was in, in,
all the way inside
and
his jeans and belt buckle were scraping against the backs of Ryan’s thighs and
the top of his head
was
lifting off. Purple and gold and green streaked
the black behind his closed-tight lids because Thomas’ cock, his perfect,
thick, curved cock was stabbing against Ryan’s prostate and Ryan was clenching
down with every muscle in his body trying to obey Thomas’ grunted, “Don’t
come.”

Ryan had told Thomas sex was all good, and he believed it.
This? This wasn’t like any sex he’d had in his life. It wasn’t like any sex
he’d imagined. And the last word he’d ever use to describe it was good.

Cataclysmic. Nuclear. Mind altering and Earth shattering.
But not
good
.

Thomas was still gripping his ass, hands clenched tight on
his cheeks, holding them open. Ryan swore he could feel the Dom’s eyes on
him—on them—on the visual of his cock spreading Ryan wide, and Ryan taking him
in.

Then those hands were moving, pressing hard on blazing skin
before running up Ryan’s back.

“Don’t come, boy. Not ’til I tell you to.”

Ryan gritted his teeth, held his breath, tensed up. He did
every fucking thing he could think of to keep the orgasm back, to keep body and
soul together until his Master said it was okay to let go. Thomas helped,
stroking his back with long, hard sweeps that grounded him, that kept Ryan in
his skin just enough to hold on for one. Moment. More.

And Thomas wasn’t even moving yet.

And then he
was
moving, pounding in hard, pulling out
slow, pausing so his cock-head stretched Ryan’s rim, then slamming back in in a
delirious rush.

Ryan braced himself on his forearms and pushed back into
each thrust. His ass ached, the places where Thomas’ belt and zipper rubbed
against the abused skin felt chafed raw. Each scrape of fabric or metal or
leather over flesh was another streak of color behind his eyes, scarlet and
crimson agony that was so tightly tangled with the ecstasy Ryan couldn’t tell
them apart.

Thomas bent over him, chest to back, soft cotton and buttery
leather pressed to Ryan’s sweat-slick skin, and the contrast ripped through
him. Orgasm was coming. It was undeniable. Except his Master had told him not
to come, and Ryan was desperate to obey.

“Please,” he whimpered, this time making sure the word was
out loud.

“What do you need?” Every one of Thomas’ words was
punctuated by a hard thrust, a guttural noise. He was fucking Ryan in 3-D
Technicolor, stereo surround sound, and Ryan was loving it.

“Help me. Gonna…” Gonna come. Gonna explode. Implode. Gonna
lose his fucking mind, shoot it right out of his dick with the spunk boiling in
his balls.

“Don’t.” Thomas’ voice was almost as raw as Ryan’s own.
Could the Dom possibly be feeling half of what Ryan did? The thought was heady,
and just ratcheted Ryan’s arousal that much higher.

“Do. Not. Come.”

This time the words were accompanied by a rough hand on his
balls. A hard grip and a sharp tug.

“Fuck. Sir, that…” Another sharp tug and the orgasm backed
off, no longer
rightthefuckthere
, but still glimmering purple and gold
at the edges of his vision.

“You ask. I give.” Oh fuck, Thomas was giving. Giving hard,
punishing thrusts that filled his body with sensation, filled his head with
white noise, white light.

Thomas was speeding up, bottoming out with a fast and dirty
grind that rubbed his cock over all the most sensitive places inside Ryan, then
pulling all the way out to the rim, only to slam in hard and do it all over
again.

Every thrust forced a low sound from Ryan’s chest, and every
sound seemed to push him closer to climax. He would have begged, wanted to beg,
but words were completely beyond him. He was in a place with no thought, no
language, nothing but sensation and the knowledge that his Master would hold
him together.

“Soon, beautiful.” Thomas’ voice was ragged, and the words
meant less than the tone.

Then Thomas was slamming in hard, harder than ever, and
staying there, hips jerking gracelessly against Ryan’s screaming ass, dick
pulsing in his hole, the spray of his cum hot even through the latex of the
condom.

“Come!”

And thank fuck, thank God, because he was coming whether he
had permission or not. His arms buckled and Thomas rode him down, one arm
clenched tight around his chest, the other somehow controlling their fall.

The Dom was still hard and full inside him, that luscious
cock grinding over his gland even as Thomas’ hips twitched in aftershocks.
Every twitch, every throb echoed through Ryan’s body, passed from Thomas to him
and back like an electric current. The splash of his own cum, striping his
chest, even hitting his fucking chin when Thomas’ cock hit his prostate hard,
was another sort of jolt. It was as if his entire body had become one raw,
exposed nerve, experiencing his Master’s orgasm every bit as intensely as his
own in a feedback loop that felt as if it would never end.