Calluses Pt. 03: Burst

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It was still dark when I woke some time well before dawn. The room was much colder now. He’d rolled off of me at some point during the night, left me naked and spread atop the musty quilts and pillows. His heavy arm, flung possessively across my chest, was the only thing that kept me from feeling like a discarded toy. The edges of his huge, powerful form were traced and emphasized by the faded glow of golden light that still leaked into the room from the hallway, and for a time I just watched it rise and fall with his snores.

It was a strange feeling, knowing this man had shoved his dick into my body only hours before…knowing I’d somehow opened myself to it, endured it, and had ultimately liked it…loved it, even…and now he was sleeping on his stomach next to me, snoring softly into the pillows with his bare ass exposed, as vulnerable as he’d ever be with anyone. What if I’d turned out to be a psychopath? What if I ended up doing something desperate to keep him from coercing me into any more brutal sex acts? I wouldn’t do that, of course, didn’t have it in me, but I was almost impressed by the sheer, irrational confidence of him…

Well, he is a cop.

My belly and chest and crotch were absolutely covered in dried cum, matting and tangling my body hair, tugging at my skin with the slightest movement. My ass was aching sharply, in the deepest way imaginable, while still feeling numb. It was…strangely pleasant. I could feel the dribbling wetness of the lube he’d used between my cheeks, as well as the cum that must have been coating every nook and cranny of my bowels. Two loads worth, each deposited into my deepest self, as a bull would impregnate a soon-to-be-heifer. Couldn’t forget that part.

I slowly, carefully lifted his arm off my chest. It was heavier than I thought it’d be, but he was sleeping like a log. A giant, hibernating bear that would attack and devour me if I accidentally woke it from its slumber.

I got off the bed, wincing at the low groan of the mattress springs. Whether it was the creeping cold or my own awkward sense of vulnerability, I didn’t want to be naked any longer. My first thought was to find my boxers, until I remembered I hadn’t brought any per his orders. My dress shirt was in tatters, a crumpled lump of cloth in the corner of the room, but I slipped it on anyway. Most of the buttons were gone. The collar hung open on either side of my chest, letting the cold air sharpen my nipples as the fabric grazed them, but there were enough buttons left to close it over my stomach at least.

Wearing the ruined shirt just made me feel even more awkward, because it made me think about sex. I’d never been the object of desire before, never had to think about how enticing I might look to someone in a position of such power. The torn shirt hung off my body in such a uselessly perverse way, with all the most important bits still very much accessible, making me feel like the freshly ravaged virgin I was. If I was going to crawl back into bed with that man and try to get more sleep — and I knew I’d need it — I wanted my ass covered first.

His jeans were still in a pile at the foot of the bed, as well as the pair of black boxers trapped within them. I carefully lifted the entire mound of jeans and boxers and belt, careful not to make a sound. I left the bedroom, bare feet stepping softly down the hallway, until I was back in the well-lit living room at the other end of the house.

I sat on the cold leather sofa and slipped his boxers from the jeans, the giant belt buckle clinking softly as I did. I felt like a thief, taking his property without asking — but it was his fault I didn’t have anything to wear, wasn’t it? Besides, there had been real affection in his handling of me the night before, despite all the frightening roughness of the ordeal. Surely he wouldn’t mind if I wore his boxers to keep warm, and dirty boxers at that. I smelled them, trying to guess how dirty they might be, and was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer musk of his scent — enough to make me lightheaded for a moment. Enough to turn me on, to make my belly ache for his touch…

I ignored my sudden arousal and pulled the boxers over my naked hips, glad to find they fit well enough. The thought of his dried sweat and precum rubbing against my skin was both disgusting and enticing, which made it…hot? Why was it hot? Why did I love his filthy smell so much? Why was I enjoying anything about this experience? A week ago I’d imagined I was marching into some hidden layer of hell (and in some ways it was), but now I was finding there were many confusing layers to it, that was only purely horrific on paper…he’d made me come, after all, like I’d never come before. Twice.

I shook my head. More than anything, I just wanted a shower…but that was going a step too far I felt, and the noise would likely wake him. From what little I knew of him, he would use it as an excuse to force me into another bout of fucking, taksim escort and I didn’t think I could handle more of that treatment yet.

I noticed the frayed black corner of his wallet protruding from the pocket of his jeans. I paused, listening closely to the sounds of the house. The wind was groaning lowly against the side of the house, dead branches shifting and sighing out in the darkness. I could just hear him snoring down the hall, still fast asleep.

I took the wallet, letting my curiosity overwhelm my sense of self-preservation. It was small and black and ordinary. I opened it. There was his driver’s license, denoting his status as a cop – the police chief, no less. His face was handsome in the photo, but very stern. No emotion — just a direct glare above the straight grim line of his lips. No hint of the sadistic sexual predator I knew him to be, or anything but calm, civic-minded authority.

I rummaged further. As I’d guessed, he was old enough to have actual, physical photos inside. A woman. His wife? She was beautiful, blue-eyed, blonde, and proper, but the photo was old. Must have been taken in the nineties, judging by the quality and the fashion sense, along with some photos of a young black-haired, blue-eyed boy with a hesitant smile.

So he had a son. A son with black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. A son that was likely around my own age by now…

I didn’t like where those thoughts were taking me. Not one bit. I closed the wallet and pushed it back into the jeans. I didn’t want to think about the raging erection that had suddenly filled up the boxers I was wearing, or how shallow my breathing had become.

I slowly crept back down the hallway, the door of the bedroom looming like the hungry maw of some cosmic beast, drawing me back into its gullet with its undeniable siren’s call. I set his jeans down at the foot of the bed and slowly crawled back into it, blood pumping in my ears, doing everything I could not to wake him. He kept snoring.

I turned onto my side, facing away from him, wrapping the shirt around my chest as I crossed my arms. It was still cold, but I didn’t dare lift the quilt we were lying on top of. The wind began to howl outside, making me feel even colder. I wished I’d remembered to find my socks before getting back into bed…

After some time I found myself inching my back closer to his body. His warmth. Whatever my reservations, I knew I was stuck in this situation, and I needed to sleep. And to sleep, I needed to be warm. We’d both been naked and all over each other not that long ago — there wasn’t any point in avoiding contact with his skin, as long as it didn’t wake him.

The small of my back was resting against his hip now. His heat was like a blazing fire, warming my spine. In time he shifted in his sleep, the thick meat of his naked thigh pushing into the crack of my ass, warming me there as well. It felt safe, especially with the fabric of the boxers between his flesh and mine. It was enough to finally lull me into the deep, black sleep of exhaustion.

There was a spark somewhere in the inky black as I woke to the wet, invasive sensation of his mouth around my nipple, his prickly beard raking across the bare skin of my chest…and the firm, hot presence of his huge dick at my hip. I was dazed, barely awake, but that was quickly changing. Electric jolts shot up and down my body as his mouth grew more eager. I was gasping through my half opened lips, and I couldn’t know how long I’d been doing that. I opened my heavy eyes.

Cold sunlight drifted through the closed curtains, bathing the bare walls in soft white hues. The room had taken on new life in the light, revealing a couple of framed, silver-signed 80’s hair band posters, the only things that marred the plain walls. An old wooden dresser sat next to the door to the hallway, and there was a sizable pile of dirty wife beaters and crumpled socks in the corner by the master bathroom. The place smelled heavily of pleasant, potent musk, much of it surely my own.

I was lying in his naked lap, splayed on my back, spine arched, arms flailed to either side in their sleeves. He’d pushed my tattered shirt up around my neck at some point, not bothering to unbutton it. It was covering my mouth and nose, blocking most of my view of what was going on below, making the raw physical sensations all the more intense. One of his big warm hands held my covered shoulders in place while the other hand engulfed the naked pec he was suckling on. I grunted shyly in my growing surprise, trying to put my mind back together. “What time is it?” I asked, breathless and groggy, and immediately felt silly.

He raised his eyes to me as I stirred, and his mouth left my hard nipple cold in the morning air. “Early,” he said gruffly. My shirt fell away from my face as his big hand left my blushing chest, and I watched as it roamed down my rib cage, across the tender flesh of my stretched stomach, and over my naked çapa escort hips. He ran his fingertips over the pink length of my engorged morning wood, making me squirm…but there was a clear, empty hardness in his eyes. My stomach sank, though I was too tired to know exactly why.

“I’m gonna tell you a story, Mikey,” he said softly, kindly even. There was something low and sadistic in his voice that made me extremely uneasy, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. “You gonna listen?” I nodded, sick to my stomach, and he smiled.

“Once upon a time, there was this shopkeep in a village. He had a wife and kids, and they were pretty rich. Nothing crazy, but they got by just fine. More than fine, really, because he had something very special, something he began to take for granted…” His voice was smooth and clear, that of a practiced storyteller, and I found myself listening intently despite the creeping fear.

“This thing he took for granted was a hen. A beautiful hen, that laid an egg every single day – but not just any egg, see. A golden egg. It kept his family well fed through the lean times, and kept his business afloat…but he wasn’t satisfied. He wanted more…though the was entitled to it…” He traced the base of my cock as he spoke, light fingertips massaging the soft vein of my erection, keeping it hard. “So…you know what he did that that hen?”

I shook my head slowly, carefully, watching his hand glide over my naked crotch.

“He killed it.” He slapped my cock to emphasize this, making me flinch in his lap. “He thought he could get all the golden eggs in one go, the greedy bastard…” His hand was closing over my balls, my taint, squeezing them between his rocky knuckles until I grunted at the dull pain. “But do you know what he found, when he cut that hen open and spread its guts around…?”

“Nothing?” My voice was small, trembling.

“That’s right. Nothing. Now all he had was a dead hen, and what good is that compared to a steady supply of golden fuckin eggs?” He tapped my balls, made me wince under his gaze. “Tell me.”

“Worthless,” I muttered, every nerve of my body telling me to run.

He nodded solemnly. “That’s right.” He rested his hand on my throat, feeling my rising pulse beneath his heavy palm. “You can guess what happened next, smart boy like you. His money dried up, and his family starved, and he was left with nothing in this world. What’s the moral of this story, Mikey? Think you can tell me?”

“I uh…” I swallowed, mouth suddenly quite dry. “Sometimes it’s best to…be happy with what you’ve got.”

“More or less,” he grumbled. The warmth was fading from his voice, becoming colder…harder. “Now, for the eight million dollar question…how does this moral apply to the here and now, hmmm? How is it relevant to our situation?”

I was sweating against him now, my cock softening as the dread expanded into my guts. “I…I’m not sure…”

The hand cradling my shoulders gripped me just the slightest bit tighter, thumb stroking my flesh through the fabric of the bunched shirt. The hand at my throat drifted back down my body until it vanished beneath my hips, only to reappear holding something soft and black, raising it for me to see. He held the boxers I’d been wearing, which he’d obviously removed before waking me. His boxers.

“We had a real nice time last night, don’t you think? I thought so. I was real fuckin happy with you, boy…happier than I’ve ever been with any other bitch. You don’t even know how good you had it, how nice I was gonna be to you this morning…but you obviously took that for granted.” He rubbed the crusty boxers along my jaw, my throat, watching my lips tremble. “I didn’t say you could wear these, did I?”

I shook my head again, glancing around the room, muscles tensing as if he were about to beat me.

“I sure didn’t. You didn’t even ask if you could wear them…just helped yourself to my shit, like the spoiled little cunt you are…and now all you’ve got is a worthless pile of chicken guts. What do you say now?”

I began to blubber out some kind of apology – and he immediately pushed his boxers between my open lips. “Go on — open up boy,” he ordered. I did, and the giant wad of dry cotton burst into my mouth. He didn’t stop until they were stuffed behind my teeth in their entirety, and I was too startled to resist. The bulge of rank black cloth was all I could feel, taste, smell. The stale, musky scent of dried crust from both our crotches was so strong I choked on it, dry heaving, panting loudly through my nose. I couldn’t spit them out, couldn’t close my mouth. He’d gagged me.

“You want them? You got them.”

His fingers appeared at my balls, which had retracted a bit up into my body from the morning cold. He slapped the fuzzy pink mound of my scrotum, along with both of the small, vulnerable orbs beneath. It was light, controlled — and more than enough to get my attention.

I grunted bakırköy escort into the boxers at the fiery pain that followed. “WHAT THE FUCK,” I tried to shout, but it came out of my nose as nothing but angry, muffled grunts. I was kicking my legs without thinking, hands suddenly pushing against his shoulders, trying to get myself out of his lap.

“Stop complaining, boy.” He slapped my balls again, harder this time — then again — hard enough for me to hear it.

The pain immediately turned into swollen, blossoming agony, and I wailed mutely against the odious gag as tears filled my eyes, blurring the room into a pure, red-tinged fog. My spine went rigid, and I collapsed back into his lap. I stopped kicking my legs. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think as the roiling spike of agony consumed me. In moments it was fading, though the bedrock of the pain remained, sticky and pulsing in my guts. His long, fat cock was hard and heavy against the meaty flank of my buttocks, and his face was split into a satisfied smirk.

“Shhhh…” he cooed. He firmly pushed my knees apart, even as I flinched and whimpered at his touch, wide awake and afraid of him. The aching pain was horrible, unending, and I was terrified he’d keep going — but I let him spread my trembling thighs. I let him catch my watery blue eyes with his, pleading in a throaty, muffled whine, keenly aware of his control over me.

He smiled warmly, running his other hand through my sweaty hair, massaging my scalp with his strong, thick fingertips. “I know, I know…that part’s over, for now. You’re doing real good. Keep those legs spread, boy…”

Somehow my cock was hardening. On some level, beneath the fear and the pain, I was disgusted with myself…but at least he liked what he saw. His big fingers pushed my dark pubes aside as they firmly encircled its girthy base, and it bobbed stiffly as he fondled it, lewd and swollen. It was visibly expanding as it flexed in his kneading grasp, chasing its own pleasure. It felt very, very good, even as the roaring ache from my cowering balls spread and settled over my loins, rolling deep inside my belly.

I knew he’d go back to slapping my poor balls if I did anything else to resist him, knew the fingers running through my hair could easily become a fist. I didn’t think I could handle any more of that. I could only let him have his way, arms limp beneath my shoulders, mutely watching my body respond as he did what he pleased. My nipples were hard and red, chest blushing deeply between them. The fur of my pecs and belly was darkening, as I sweat profusely despite the cold air.

His body was like a furnace against mine, massive and powerful, utterly dominant. Its sinews flexed like mountain ranges as he bent over my prone form, watching each and every twitch I made, for any sign of refusal. Our pale skin seemed to fuse as he pulled me further into the heat of his lap, our tense muscles blending with the stark white of the room beyond. My cock throbbed, a creature with a mind of its own.

“Thought I’d been clear enough with you, boy…thought you understood your place here, especially after how fuckin perfect you were last night. But I guess you need me to fuckin spell it out for you…” He smiled crookedly as he played with me. “While you’re here, you belong to me. You’re my fuckin slave. You can beg and complain if you want, and I’ll even like it when you do…but in the end you’ll do everything I tell you to do, and nothing else.” His voice was deep and booming now, pushing my thoughts back down beneath him as his hands told me how horny my body was. “You get dressed when and if I say you can get dressed. You especially don’t go touching shit that doesn’t belong to you. That’s about as naughty as it fuckin gets, college boy, and I can’t let that go without a little discipline. You understand all that? Huh? You want me to be happy with you again?”

I nodded my head and grunted through the boxers, thinking I did.

“Good boy.” His fingers left my hair. “Then pay attention.”

He lunged forward and shoved his meaty forearm down onto my neck. He took hold of my left nipple in his calloused fingers, twisting it cruelly. In the same motion, he squeezed my cock hard — too hard. He glared down into my face as I choked on the sharpness of the pain, snorting desperately through my nose. I was pushing his arm away from my throat in seconds, the animal in me trying to end the attack on my nipple. He just twisted harder, squeezed harder, and pressed his weight down into my throat until I gave up.

I wheezed loudly through the gagging boxers as my eyes bulged, jaw clenching madly as I ground my teeth into the foul cloth, all thoughts washed out of my ears like dirty bathwater. I could feel the meat around my nipple straining and stretching as he pulled it away from my body – pinching it hard, grinding it between callused fingertips, shocking my senses right out of me. I was kicking my legs as he mercilessly crushed my cock in his other fist, hot tears now pouring down my cheeks. He pushed his knee harder up into the base of my spine, lifting me higher and throwing my lower half off balance, until my legs had no leverage at all, just as useless as my arms.

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