Welcome back to INPB!
Firstly, who gave me a keyboard and access to the internet? They should really take it away. ◎[▪‿▪]◎
Anyways; I want to add some warnings, but I do not want to spoil the fun for those out there who like things...uhm...dirty.
Regardless, this story is porn. Ya'll clicked on it, I just wrote it. So~ Again...if you do not like adult and suggestive undertones, skim through it, yea?
Enjoy 3
~StickyD
Chapter 15:
It had been several weeks following our altercation, and pure willpower had stalled my thoughts from returning to my nevertheless passionate feelings for Axel. My mental concentration has been stretched by our previous dispute and all that had transpired afterwards. His statements and actions were never synchronous, and there was still substantial ambiguity leftover. I dared to hope that interrogating him about his dispositions for me might help me ignore my own, yet the man's replies flummoxed me even more. When we were under the same roof, my hands eagerly sought out ways to distract themselves, otherwise the phenomenal itch to lock my fingers around his throat would triumph. The alternative leaned towards flinging my arms around his vast chest, digging my nose in his sternum, and surrounding my pathetic self in his aroma and gentle warmth. However, the two of us have been treading on eggshells with one another. This tactic of avoidance—which was a common occurrence in the beginning month of our devised reunion—was used to collect our varied opinions about each other. My feet led me to my room as soon as I would get home from school, where I would barricade myself within until it was safe to casually cavort about my house sans the redhead. I had stocked the space with refreshments to create a haven for myself, and I would find entertainment with paltry exchanges via texts from Hayner or, unexpectedly, Demyx. My conscience chastised me nightly for not studying during this interval, but the instant my fingers clutched a book and peeled the binding ajar, a swarm of theories concerning the studious fellow below would burst through my imagination like a dysfunctional cacophony. Instead, I would sprawl atop my bedspread, penning useless nonsense about my day and its never-ending daydreams.
Demyx rang me last Sunday after the sermon, whilst Axel and I shifted our gazes in the churchyard. The blonde sought companionship, and I complied easily. Skulking out my window, my aim made way to a local park. The two of us idly rocked on the metal swings, conversation dawdling in the pitch night. Axel was a touchy subject as of late. And although he was a topic I would rather circumvent, Demyx's stories about the man were too compelling to brush under the rug. Eventually, when his memories brought us to the present, he admitted that it was hysterical that I could make Axel bend to my will. It began with him stating he was impressed I got Axel to go to festivities that partook in heavy drinking. The ash-blonde announced that Axel had not frequented such events since their junior year, which had surprised me given how well Axel blended in with the slew of strangers. Dem moved on to ponder Axel's tattoos, which the redhead received to show the value of his pledge to me. The blonde was oblivious to this factor, and I felt a peculiar responsibility to have this information remain secret. Regardless, the recollection of them thrilled a sinister part of my psychology; the image of the indigo etchings reminded me that I was an everyday component of his identity now. The paint was for me, not for God, his parents, or his vow to purity and perfection. They represented his promise to surrender his anatomy to me, and although the blonde snorted at the absurdity of it all, my skin had buzzed from a worming possessiveness. Demyx commended me on the more sympathetic portion of my nature and its competence to readily assist Axel in disguising his error with an expensive purchase of make-up. Unfortunately, the shared discourse had gone stale, and we parted ways for the night. However, by the time my limbs cautiously slithered over my desk to deposit my form into my bed, Demyx had already messaged me a flood of texts. Some of the statements were grateful, while others hinted with flirty undertones. His camaraderie offered a refreshing atmosphere in comparison to the others who aimlessly flirted with me, so I went to bed wearing a comforted grin.
Aside from moderate networking, dodging the redhead and academics, my parents found time to congratulate me on my performance during the brief time I spent with them on the weekends. There was a deep twinge of remorse since my motivation to focus on studies had deteriorated to mediocre at best. My mother's lenses glistened when she revealed that she was relieved that there had been zero phone calls from . It had been five months since my parents requested the most demeaning kind of penance from me, and I reassured my mother, as she blathered on about my need to slam fists into the faces of my classmates, that he was a bully and my blows had been entirely warranted. My mother tutted at me, and my father clichély counseled: "Violence is never the answer."
Throughout the days, when I encountered myself alone with no one to chat to because Hayner and Dem were both working, I felt at a loss. The signals spurred from my addiction were dreadful. Every night, it raked my flesh and then split my bones, leaving me shivering and tattered. And the urge to go downstairs and implore the redhead to lash out at me while fucking me wildly was potent. The impulse pulled on my marrow like a two-gage syringe. Diz recommended that I concentrate on my mantras and deal with my cravings on my own. So, ultimately, before falling asleep, my fist bounced along my dick until it felt bruised and chafed. The sensual hallucinations about my childhood friend choreographed each intimate moment, and thereafter I would eventually descend into an exhausted slumber, my brain reminding me that I was deplorably ill to envision him. He irritated me; he emotionally wounded me, and each night, I vowed never to do it again. Yet, the need to conquer the redhead and give myself some type of sexual fulfillment became stronger every morning after, reaching epic proportions. The repetition was as vicious and befuddling as the utterances Axel hurled at me in the parking lot.
Another week had passed, another weekend without my keeper. The two days of respite always raced by, as if the imperial ruler of time only existed to prolong out the week and satirically pluck away those brief moments of leisure. This Monday was unlike any other. I would be arriving home later than usual because Demyx had convinced his boss to interview me for a meager position at his store. And my mother had not alerted my sitter of my intended nonappearance, and yet, my phone remained entirely silent, the redhead had not attempted to contact me. The door flew out of my grip the instant my fingers reached the rusted brass knob a half hour until six. Axel stood before the cream lacquered frame, his heavy breaths barreled out of his lungs, and his gaze fixed on mine as he assessed me. His tone was curt, his vexed orbs inspected my attire: "Where were you?"
"Job interview."
'Ah,' was all he said, and his dulcet tones, which I had not heard in four weeks, made my knees quiver. My attention was drawn to his visible distress as he scuffed his hair with his palm. His voice flitted across the living room as he strolled across the residence to the kitchen. I followed him avidly, hooked on his distinctive voice as he admonished me for not informing him of the alteration in our typical schedule. He eventually began making mediocre small talk about the day which elicited an overwhelming amount of giddiness in me. He poured himself coffee, and we resumed our discourse, although uncomfortably at first, with me tight on his wake with each and every movement. We asked each other about our classes and how the rest of the winter break treated us. Every question was being parroted, directed back at the other. Dismissing my presence, Axel made his way back to his usual perch, the sofa, before he mentioned: "The washer is finished."
As I wandered into the laundry nook and performed the work I had begun my morning with, my cognitive functions and limbs raced to operate efficiently. I routinely decorated my sheets after having too many nocturnal fantasies about Axel. I fiddled with my clothes, busily shoveling them into the dryer to prevent losing out of this fleeting moment of comfort with the redhead. My steps surged back into the living area; my attention fixed on the splendid figure in front of me. He was engaged in his studies, and his notes were strewn across the cushions and coffee table. His focus positioned on his laptop screen, and the tranquility was punctuated by the nightmarish chime of the wall clock, which indicated the hour.
After scooping my bag from the entryway floorboards, my legs deliver me to the furniture he has since proclaimed his territory months ago, and my ass slinks onto the arm. His sight switches to me, and he swipes sheets and other unorganized materials from the seat near him with minimal movement. My figure creeps down the side, sliding obliquely into the now empty cushion. My lumbar rests into the arm, and my knees pull inward against my chest. In an attempt to regain my natural study habits, albeit distractedly, my hands set my book on top of my kneecaps. My vision periodically wanders from the page to explore the man directly in front of me, enthralled by his splendor. Much like the riches he was born into, his fashion sense was exquisite and ostentatious. His nails patter across his keyboard as he hunches towards his laptop, a single ankle rests atop his knee. His dense olive sweater, is coned at the neckline with a pronounced V, clinging to his collar and broad shoulders. A thin black underlayer buttons up beneath it, emerging around his corded throat and wrists. His legs are clad in restrictive charcoal jeans, with socks that adhere to the points of his toes creating a slice of flesh circling his ankles. I am nearly bursting with carnal discontentment. My addiction is clamoring to be emancipated. To relinquish control. Each day it grows worse, with my illness knowing Axel will be at home, and with a little coaxing, the redhead will most likely yield to my whims. Pampering my hungry and dire distress, precisely like Demyx stated just a week ago. My keeper appeared to be suffering scopaesthesia, and his interest was lured to mine, only for my eyes to retreat to the bland literature gripped between clammy digits.
"You're dressed well for an interview," he idly mentions, "Very conservative."
"Thanks." My sight swings to the center creases of my black slacks, then to my similarly crisp dark gray button down and cobalt blue tie, which complemented my own sapphire irises. "Demyx advised me on what to wear."
"Hmm." He hums, deadening the conversation.
It feels like we haven't spoken in ages. I'm so anxious. Maybe he is as well.
Every wrinkle of my brain is loaded with an impulse to press him morally. "Here lately he's helped me a lot; he secured me the interview, you know. I'm grateful for him; it's pleasant to have someone different to talk to, and Demy is pretty knowledgeable about these matters." Subconsciously, I pronounce his nickname perhaps too sweetly, injecting a saccharine lilt into my nervous prattling to ruffle Axel's feathers. The accent elicits a small reflex from him; the corner of his mouth twists, establishing a faint scowl.
"Quit fawning over my friend; it makes my skin crawl." He remarks, grimacing, as he leans back in his position, his heel bobbing on top of his knee, his eyes shifting towards me so he can analyze my supposition.
My orbs playfully divert to the end table, the wood strewn with weeks' worth of my father's gray-printed news clippings. "I'm not fawning; who says I'm fawning?"
"It's all in how you're talking about him." He disparages, and the inclination of his allegation cause me to sweat. "Wait—you're doing it on purpose!"
My orbs circle beneath my lashes before settling on him, and my brows arch childishly while singing, "Nooo."
"That's not the least bit comical, Roxy." He shakes his head. My dryer's buzzing signaled the end of its cycle, interrupting his addictive voice. His countenance displayed both annoyance and amusement, yet I insisted on expanding the subject.
"He is, all the same, quite fawn-worthy. You must admit."
"I'd rather not." He pouts, which is quite endearing, and it causes me to emit a raspy giggle.
"Really, is he not handsome?"
"Since I don't find males attractive, I'm not the best judge." My lip twitches as his expression dims into more of a frown. My objective, as always, was to put his exceptional patience to the test.
"Oh? What about me?" When I press, Axel grants me an even more sour look. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be able to fuck me."
"Please, Roxas." His dazzling hair spills into the cloth as the root of his skull falls against the head of the sofa. "Not this again."
"All I am saying is—"
"I'm not gay, Roxas." He proclaims with a flexed jaw.
"So why are you having sex with me, then?" My face contorted; my fingers fidgeted uneasily with the brail on the cover of my texts.
"You require help. Nothing more." As he peers at me from the side, he elongates his posture and sits up properly.
"And you're certain you are not gay?" In the hush that follows my suspicious probing, my acuity skitters above his head to the panoramic windows behind him. The rumble of a jet overhead vibrates off the shingles, and my eyes track the glittering red and white pinpoint in the onyx sky. Eventually, I grumble and lay my books to the side, adding, "Well, I am, and I believe Dem is a catch."
"Drop it."
"Why should I?" When I taunt him, my arms fold in front of my chest.
"You simply love to press my buttons." He imitates my gestures, his forearms shielding his own large ribs as he softly chuckles.
"Not at all. It's natural for friends to talk about these types of topics." My hand sweeps the space with a careless flick of my wrist, signaling that the situation was sensible. "There's no need for you to get your panties in a bunch."
"My metaphorical panties are not bunched." His head drifts from side to side, as though gob smacked by my words. "It's just difficult for me to constantly talk about these particulars with you." His visage averts from mine, instead concentrating on the hearth. He sighs, carding his fingers throughout his mane. "So, you like men? Nothing is permanent. Dem seems appealing right now, but things might change. "
"What does that mean?"
"It means that this issue you are battling is a…bizarre phase." He proposes, and I am noticeably stunned, falling deeper into the sofa and curling my fingers into the silk pillow under my right flank.
"My…sexuality…is a phase?"
"You hear about it all the time, Roxas. And, with some hard work and emphasis on your future—perhaps a little more devotion to God—you'll be steered in the right direction. Consider this..." His hand waves in the air, like mine had, to indicate the idea he was about to convey, "…A lovely lady by your side, soft and tender, heeding to your family and affection." His hand settles on his leg, gripping the muscle and indicating his discomfort, as he concludes, "Everyone wants that."
"Is that really how you view women?" I address his idea with skepticism, ignoring the last presumptuous claim.
"Ideally, sure."
"Soft," I whisper under my breath, "and tender?" Those two phrases all but typify me, the description befits Namine the most, and a nagging ache clawed at my gut. My attention is directed to the shrub outside the window, which is swinging left and right in the harsh winter gusts. "In what sense exactly? Because that can go…two ways."
"Jeez, Roxy. That wasn't a double entendre—I meant emotionally." He scoffs.
"And a man can't provide that?" My stare bounced back to him, and his lips pinched into a terse line.
The lack of response weighed heavy in the room. And the stillness irked me, so I opt to redirect the topic to issues regarding my courses. This supplied me with his undivided attention, and my imagination became motivated by the merciless temptation to take on the persona of an inexperienced schoolboy. Axel wanted a companion who was as delicate and gentle as that of a floral blossom. My hungry subconscious channeled sinful desires, a ploy, to persuade the redhead to want me as well. And when my literature no longer aligned with my questions, I conjured up fake circumstances to ask for his aid. Presenting questions on classes I have not taken since freshman year, just to keep his interest onto me. My limbs would wriggle subtly, and provocatively, while sheepishly asking for his guidance — my voice mild and angelic, my lashes and tonality trembling. The charade was entertaining, and my skin bristled as he sidled close, attempting to catch a glimpse of my scrap of paper. My body would playfully fidget with objects nearby—his silky, expensive pens, the corners of my pages, the cuff of my shirt—with faux apprehension for each inquiry and his subsequent education. Axel remained doubtful throughout, but cluelessly assisted me anyhow, playing the role of the obedient tutor, while I took on the role of a shy and oblivious student. My posture straightened, slinking across the furniture, copying his stance so I could be nearer; he smelt like his fabric conditioner, and with each breath, I scooched in towards him, delicately brushing him with my fingertips, an ankle, or a thigh. As moments passed, the naively blind man aside me grew visibly troubled. My actions were sated by thoughts of Namine's soft caresses, and my brain coordinated with her movements, delivering them to him in the same manner she had. When I pressed against him to examine his lessons on his notepad, my hand squeezed firmly onto his upper thigh so I could peek over his arm, the redhead's face flushed, and he sprang from the couch. He mentioned that he needed more coffee and politely asked if I desired a mug. I accepted, smirking to myself as his shape vanished. He looked to have a type, and it was invigorating to see him fight with his abundance of constraint. After another hour of this cruel mistreatment, with the flavor of his expert coffee-making abilities remaining on my tongue and his perspiration dampening the tiny hairs rounding his collar, my ideas raised the stakes. My hands flail with the cup in my hold, accidentally, tipping the contents on my garments, stunning us both and deflecting Axel's attention away from his lectures.
My crossed ankles drop off the couch, my black socks settling on the area rug, so that my silhouette can stand directly ahead of him. My figure turned slightly to the side, and my arms removed my necktie with clement speed before unbuttoning my top with equally calibrated grace. He steadies his breathing, and I fixate on his close observation. Still playing the role of a shy schoolboy, my vision flits to the left, my lower lip pouts upon my craven murmur, 'Don't look,' while leisurely stripping for the enticing gentleman on the lounge. When I slip the clothing off my shoulders, his pen slides from between his fingers. My lips parted, letting out a quiet scripted whimper, to display my fake disappointment with the ruined dress shirt and shining tie. His brow furrows as he detects the weak sound. His gaze strays to the side, attempting not to ogle at my exhibition and ignoring my bare chest. My fingers migrate to my zipper as my other hand discards the items onto the table, and they do not stop until my legs are nimbly floating out of the cloth, revealing me in only my elastic boxers and knee length stockings. His sight is lured to my form as though he has now put two and two together. His jaw cocks to the side, his mouth slack, his tongue nestled against his molars, and he evens a sweeping palm across his chin as his eyes survey my deceptive baiting.
Axel counters my performance in an unexpected maneuver, extending his torso and lowering his foot to the floor. He casually removes his sweater, needling his tresses as it cascades over the dark fabric lining his shoulders. His behavior is astonishing, leading me to believe that the obstinate man has fallen prey to my rendering and is attempting to return the seduction. Yet the moment ends as swiftly as it began, with him simply providing me with his shirt in a firmly clinched grip. "What were you expecting?" He eludes snidely, a single tidy brow tilted coquettishly. He quips while smirking, "Gutter brain."
His knuckles are white within the green folds. My hand confiscates his offering before lavishly adorning my prickling naked body. "I don't need this; I have stuff upstairs." I sulked, dejected since my strategy was swiftly derailed.
Axel tuts, his fingertips direct the material of his sleeves to cuff at his forearms, the tendons stretching beneath his pale skin. "You appear to be distracted enough as is. I'd hate to interrupt our lesson for such a little item of apparel." He sinks onto the sofa, his verdant orbs twinkling with merriment. "Wouldn't you?"
Shit. He catches on quick.
The awareness that this play was a journey that should have been avoided chastises my thoughts. My priority should be on my mantras and Diz's potential pride in my commitment to escape the clutches of my addiction. Yet, with Axel peering at me as if I were the most sumptuous cuisine ever placed on his dinner table, my resolve was corroding. My libido has been melting all evening from his spellbinding voice, fragrance, and fleeting touches. This determination of mine was challenging to oversee. As usual with Axel, it was obviously splitting. My performance resumes as my muscles softly drop beside me and my head flees from his thin-lidded spectating.
"Why are you acting so strange?" He questions. "You're not the meek type."
"Whatever do you mean, Axel?" My neck steadily pirouettes to regard him, my lashes fluttering as my glance drifts away from him to dance about the room coyly. My hands were fidgeting with the shirt's very long sleeves and hem, which enveloped my torso all the way to my thighs.
"You've been unusually charming and...bashful," he continues to question, "What are you playing at, Roxy?"
The usage of the moniker reinforced the sense that Axel was once again at ease in my company, parachuting straight through my wits. "I though you favored the timid and sheepish types?" I ask, my lashes batting at him again.
Poking fun at the redhead was riveting, and my childish goading would not stop. It is recklessly rousing him with queries about his preferences. At each response, he is forcing air through ballooning nostrils, and I find myself unable to stop snickering since his countenance is plainly confounded. He slaps his book shut and crashes on top of me. His weight binds me to the cushions, and his forearm locks my skull to the seat, pressing me down against my throat. This impulsive reaction causes me to bust out in raucous laughter, exacerbating his frustration and uncertainty. The last time we struggled like this, it was fueled by a combination of desire and outrage, spurred by our need to communicate two distinct views to one another. This time around, it was playful and light. Trying to capture his equilibrium and knock his towering bulk aside, I flailed under him, jerking my hips and looping my legs round his limbs. He will not budge, and before I can roll him over, he grabs my creeping leg and wrenches it away. I buck just as he clutches my ankle, anticipating his next move, causing him to waver again. My hands shoved hard at his chest to release myself from beneath him. He stumbles back onto his haunches, and my feet propel me atop him on the sofa; my landing does not stick, and within a few minutes we engulf each other in uncomfortable stances, tussling for supremacy. Axel always maintained the upper hand, much as I experienced when we were kids.
Once upon a time, we stood evenly matched. Axel lived down the street until I reached the age of eleven. During that small amount of time that we had limited space between us, we spent almost every waking moment together. Our parents said we were joined at the hips. We were of the same stature for most of that time. We shared clothes, toys, books, games, movies, food, beds, and even showers. Everything, nothing was spared from the other. With so much time in between, we would occasionally fight and then instantly patch things up by the time we were walking to the bus stop in the morning. Given that we were so evenly matched, these bouts periodically turned into tussles in which we would blast our muscles across each other for hours on end. One of us would be forced to say 'Uncle' from exhaustion. These juvenile confrontations faded with age, but we still found ourselves grappling in the yard, on the trampoline, and in the dining room. Nowhere was safe, our enthusiasm for play was tangible. He was fourteen when we jointly loaded up the moving truck and then rambunctiously rearranged his belongings in his new room. Around this time, when Axel entered puberty three years before me, his slender figure transformed into something intimidating. His after-school programs and soccer pushed his hormones to the limit, and the soft skin along his stomach, biceps, thighs and calves tightened into lean muscle, and his bones gripped along his corded flesh. He still sought a good brawl, as predicted, and it was during this time that he began to conquer me. I shiver at the thought today, but I was choked with venomous jealousy at the time. I resented the fact that he was older, wiser, and so addressed more respectfully by everyone surrounding us. Scarcely did I realize that it was his mature intellect, not his long limbs and commanding size, that made him so admirable.
He pinned my shoulder down and slammed his hand into the side of my face, trapping my right cheek against the cushion as he loomed over me on his knees. When we were preteens, he advised me, 'If you command the head, you dominate the body.' Yet the man above me misjudged my limber shape, and his biggest blunder was failing to control my legs. His splayed thighs allow my knees to tuck upward after another powerful push of my hips. My heels collide with his toned pectorals, and my legs spring outwards, knocking my competitor off me. He falls on his ass, landing on the drab carpeting between the sofa and the table containing a variety of school supplies. Axel stares at me from the floor, puzzled, heated, and equally wowed. The barrel of his chest swells as the back of his hand swipes at the rolling droplets on his temple. His elbow rests on the table's hardwood top before mirroring its pair on the floor. His legs are parted, both bent upward at varying scales, and he winces from the discomfort of planting on his rear. When my framework adapts off the sofa, it groans. I moisten my lips as I carefully and discreetly tiptoe over his sprawled limbs.
My feet position me above him, in the gap among his separated legs. We are both struggling to breathe, and he is peering at me with the hearty expression of a warrior. Recollections of our previous battle resurface in my head, and this time I let my brain marinate on the passionate picture. All the while, Axel and I are staring each other down, our gazes growing mutually ardent as our eyes explore every ridge of each other's figure. His breath hitches as my teeth pluck at my bottom lip. His focus shifts to the modest gesture, and my cock spasms against the tight cloth encasing it as his tongue sneaks out to damp his own lip. His billowing sweater tents against the motionless surrounding fabric, and his sight strays to the commotion. My elbows bow and my hands encase my pelvis in a haughty stance in front of him. His lips part and he begins to speak, but in the time it takes for a heart to quell a single beat, one of my feet intersects with his sternum, silencing him. His attention falls to my hosed toes, and they begin to progressively apply pressure. My motivation is no longer centered around attempting to play the innocent type.
"You're giving me whiplash, Roxy." My foot continues to dig into his chest, and his tantalizing anatomy dips for the carpeting as he chuckles, "Do you want me or not?"
Axel's vertebrae strike with the floor as my knee lunges outward, and I scoff, "I want you…to fuck me."
"I've got eyes, Roxas." His dark brows crease as he throws me a quizzical look, his glance relocating to the bulge beneath the top that my physique is showcasing for him. "What I need to know is…if it's genuinely what you want," he adds, lifting his eyes to mine.
While I smirk, my head lolls across my shoulders. "As predicted, small sentiments are endowed with such seamless charm. You're so egotistical." He winces as I bend forward and apply added stress to his sternum. "You know, narcissism is a sin as well."
"Jeez, Roxy, I simply don't like watching you lash out at random." He casts a quick glance aside before returning his gim-lit lenses to me, his demeanor arrogant. "Are you sure you're not going to cry again, hm?"
"Fuck you," I snap, "I'm entitled to be flawed on occasion; try it sometime."
"You see, Roxas, I have a credible reason for my apparent mistrust in your—"
My waist slants, my foot immediately climbs from his chest, and the incline of my sole latches against the knob in his neck, stifling his accusations. I grin down into his aghast expression as his lids expand. "Let's get one thing clear, pretty boy...I've always appreciated you supplying me with this exquisite body." The assailment relaxes, slipping from his neck to his collar, lifting and dropping into the plains of his breast and oblique muscles with mesmeric coercion until it reaches his gleaming belt buckle. My view was locked on him until my socked foot hit his spectacular endowment. Upon crudely stepping onto his caged cock, he inhales a sharp breath, and my orbs dart to his pained visage. "Stop wallowing in what happened. I was having a shit day—filled with shit ideas—move on." His dick spasms against my hold, and my footfall becomes firmer, driving further into it.
His nose wrinkles, his fingers jitter, and despite his obvious pain, he growls pompously, "Seemed...hgn...important to me."
My brows knitted and I glared at him. My foot slips off his throbbing dick, and he sends out a relieved sigh before my calf pumps out, my foot striking the underside of his chin. It cements his jawbone to his teeth with lethal force. His head tilts upward, and he peers at me through setting lashes, less startled and more fascinated, his hands ginning up to the floor alongside his ears, palms up, symbolizing surrender. The sudden entrapment slackens, and I relinquish control over him; rather, my body sinks, and my ass crashes on his hips. He monitors my calculated maneuvers with enthusiasm, dissecting me and questioning my intents, like a bird imprisoned in a cage. Buckling over him, our breaths intertwine, and my palms wrap his wrists, covertly anchoring him to the floor, and I offer him a sultry expression before proclaiming, "Fuck me or you're useless."
"Was I so useless when I was teaching you—what was it—ninth grade biology?" He implores, tilting his head and shifting his gaze behind me. "Hah, I am not blind." He chuckles, and my brows strain at the snarky underlayer in his steady timbre.
"Yes, but it was effective, nonetheless. Your eyes remained hooked on me." My fingers cheekily stroke his wrists, and my groin cycles back and forth along his waist. "You were eating up my little performance. Would you prefer something else? Something more docile"—my tongue runs along my bottom lip hungrily—"No, no, what was the term you used"—I humor—"effeminate?"
My posture clambers away from the close contact, sitting stark straight, and my arm flies out to the tabletop, snagging my tie with the velocity of a wild animal. Finally, his countenance fractures as I return to looming above him, his intellect homing in on my intentions. He begins to fidget, reaching across to claw at my grasp on his wrist. But my hand drops the ribbon in his scattered hair to drop down and seize his swollen erection brutally. My grip twists, cruelly tugging on the appendage, and he hisses. "Rox." His drive to resist me evaporates, and my free hand gathers, albeit clumsily, both of his wrists and leads them to the leg of the wooden table. He bats his lashes and lurches his head toward the furniture, pursuing my actions. My other palm steers towards them, securing the connection with deft effort, threading the accessory around his cuff and the oak dowel. For a few moments, his panicked attitude transforms into one of expectancy as he waits.
"Prissy and subservient, is that what turns you on, hm?" I resume my one-sided inquiry.
Climbing to my feet, my stature resets to its former position now that Axel has been successfully tethered. When he adjusts his head to establish direct eye contact with me, my lids become heavier with need. He glares, his arms outstretched over his head, his fiery crimson tresses spindling across the carpet, complementing the hue of his cheeks. His breast lobs, his thighs sag on the floor, and his dick shimmies at the seam of his jeans and he spits out through gritted teeth, "You gave a good effort earlier, however, you're by no definition any of those things."
"Hmm, no, I'm not." My expression maintains that of a triumphant conqueror besieging his prey, and my hands skim across my angles, commencing at my hair. "But I turned you on anyway." My consciousness needs more of a spectacle; I wish to witness him unravel, yearn for only my body. Nothing, not even an inch of his thoughts could be elsewhere, except on me. My fingertips weave my hair, migrate to my cheeks, vigorously rubbing and dragging at my skin, my thumb capturing on my lips, and my mouth suckling on the pad. My eyes roll for a spell, and I whimper into the act. My palms curve around my neck before traversing every inch of my chest and kneading my little mounds, and my throat lets out another libidinous moan for only his ears to hear. My touch drifts lower to my stomach, hips, and thighs, lasciviously caressing the musculature. I showcase my pelvis and taut abdomen by lifting his shirt. My palm coils at my hip, my fingers brush at my navel, plucking the small hole, only to delve deeper onto my dick, provocatively massaging at the rigid member, while shimmying my ass along the influence, all the while mewling wantonly. My strokes develop more vigorously as his sight remains anchored on my shameless display of sexual desperation. My thumb tucks inside the band of my underwear and meticulously brings the item down from my hips, peeling the tight cloth away from my dribbling cock. My arousal weighs loosely between my extended limbs, and a line of shimmering precum threads from my rosy slit to the inner cotton of my boxers as the they drag down my thighs. "Nhgn, I'm wet." I purr and his throat convulses from a heavy swallow.
My leg flicks the garment to the right, and my hand continues fondling my flaunting cock. My one hand binds the hem's fibers to my clavicles, while my other palm pinches and grinds slovenly on the bobbing meat of my dick. My thumb stimulates my tip, running light caresses along the skin below the head, and then circling my narrow urethra. A droplet of my come beads out of the tip, and the pad of the digit swipes at the pearly substance. The digit pries apart the little hole, and my larynx broke out a rising caterwaul as I pinched and tugged open the slim prickhole, impishly toying with the gush of fluid oozing out the opening. At the sight, his nostrils flex and his pupil's flare. When he wiggles against the constraint, his arms buckle against the band and a harsh growl vibrates his voice chords, "Untie me, Roxas. This isn't fun for me."
My lashes quiver, my stomach squirms at his keening manner, and my palm seeks my discarded boxers, winding the fabric between a fist. My figure lowers itself onto my knees, and my body snakes upward, crawling until my ass is sitting on his chest. His gaze is fierce, wild with hunger for me, and my teeth tug on my lower lip. His glare is formidable, crazed with desire, and my cheek twitches. My reach launches at his face, slowing only to jam my underwear between his teeth. In an act of defiance, he throws his head around, and my two fingers thrust the cloth farther into the socket. I snigger and return onto my heels, delighted with my handiwork. Standing above him again in nothing but my socks and his too-large shirt, it swaddles me in his scent as my steps circle his wriggling silhouette. I maintain an attentive eye on him as he squints at me. My chest resonates with a celebratory chuckle as he grunts and groans, wearing himself down.
"This isn't fun?" Parting my legs, my feet lodged themselves at the peaks of his hips. "Liar—you're so easy to read." One sole lifts from the floor, my toes hovering expertly over his cock before kneading the tumescent thickness. They catch the swell of his head and spread to drag along the shuddering stem. The girthy package was emanating so much warmth that the simmering temperature through the rough cloth reached my skin. I pushed the length up and down, mesmerized by his expressive hefty gasps and groans as I torment his member. My contact is enticing, and the image of being in Axel's situation causes my cheeks to overflow with drool. I carefully grind my heel on the captive erection, victimizing my keeper even more. My palm skirts across my hip, merging with the linen tent above my own aching dick. When I ball both my hands into the fabric, pumping at the hardness fervently, my skull falls to my shoulder blades, and my toes curl fiercely onto his own erection. "Mmm, you have such a big dick." My foot creeps unsettlingly over his cock's imprint, and his lenses tumble into his lids. "I'm hungry for it…ahgn…I wanna gag on it."
His lids broaden, lenses clouded with lust as they dart towards me. When I croon, my lip wrinkles at the corner, "It's too bad you're not attracted to men. Otherwise, I would swallow you right now." He breathes out an anguished moan that carries to my feverish dick, making all the cells in my anatomy scatter. "If you want…" My tone is airy, and my legs send me to kneel above him, "…I can pretend to be a girl for you." With a gruff growl, Axel strains to answer. My knees drive me across the width of his body, planting my ass onto his trembling hips, as my fingers slowly remove each of his buttons from their slots with fake innocence. "Is that a, yes? If that's the case, I can't have a dick, can I?"
His gaze is jammed full of questions, but ignoring him, I slide myself into alignment on his lap, saddling over his waistline, my arching spine facing him. My new position conceals my dick, granting the illusion of a lovely blonde thing perched on top of him. "Now we can play pretend, baby." I slyly conclude, my voice undulating with a sing-song quality. I sneak a glimpse past my shoulder and notice his brow frill at the pet name. My palms felicitously slide along the sculpted ridges of his thighs. My hand explores his exquisite anatomy, rolling his muscles and tickling all his vulnerable points. "Oh? Do you mind if I call you that?" I nudge, and he scowls, his expression stressed. "What about Lea?" His head jerks dramatically, and he immediately groans in despair. "You dislike that name as well? You're no fun." I say steeply, with a misguided pout on my face. My fingertips skimmed along his straining member, teasing the junction of his thighs. I observe him fidget and take deep breaths through flaring nostrils as my toes cuddle the narrow of his stomach before burrowing beneath the slope of his back.
It appears that my addiction has a co-conspirator. Indeed, a new dependency flourished amid its predecessor. Screaming along my cortex, brandishing my flesh, pitifully groveling for Axel from the inside out. My pragmatism is flung into chaos the instant my eyes lay upon him. The man was culling all my senses. I'm hopelessly obsessed with Axel; I yearn for the overindulgence of his sex, casual banter, and scathing sarcasm. My nerves are bare; they shudder at the picture of his palms ruffling my hair, fingertips splitting my lips, his tongue soothing the soft palate of my mouth. I will never be able to erase him from myself. He is braided into the fibers of my lungs, embossing his name within my throat; his name is a sacrosanct clarion call for possession, and I might choke on the profound bliss of his existence. I want to melt into his core, become one with all his cells, and paddle through his blood vessels. My heart flutters and my essence bubbles with rising yearning as I watch him battle with his bindings and the ligament in his neck beat.
"So, your tastes are soft and tender?" My fingertips ultimately go to chart the line of his arousal as I strive to embarrass the man underneath me. "Mmm, that's a shame…because I'm such a dirty girl." My fingers compress the head of his dick, which is nestled below his pocket, and the length's base plumes against his zipper. "A mischievous little imp ready to suck down your pretty cock," I describe, "Nnngn, Axel, you make me so needy."
My thighs extend further, and my weight is hoisted above his hips. My objective is to immediately undo his belt, and my stride slows as my thumb and fingertips snag his zipper and carefully slide the jagged metal apart. His breathing froze, his attention heightened by my insatiable want to feel his exposed cock. My thumbs scooped onto his lapels, ripping his pants away from the summits of his chiseled pelvic bones. My body unfolds, drawing his garment to the tops of his thighs, and his shirt glides partially up the spheres of my ass. Axel groans and his length leaps at his hip upon the spare glimpse of my nudity. My vision is lured to the sight of his dick wincing in his spandex boxers, and my tongue wipes away the drool teasing my gums. "Hgnn, your dick looks tasty." My fingers unfasten from his jeans, and I return to his solid abdomen; it winces beneath my gravity, and my fingers trace to the hemline of his underwear, tearing away the material and connecting it to his jeans. His stiff manhood lunges against his waist, the apex bolting at his navel, and I coo, "Oh—fuck yes—such a good boy…your dick is nice and hard for me."
There is no halting the saliva racing throughout the crooks of my teeth as I ogle at the mammoth of a third leg, and my thumb faintly taps the undulating head, causing him to inhale sharply. I redirect my attention to him, the look of decadence on his face matching mine as I coyly ask, "Would you like me to touch it?" and his head whips vigorously in answer. My legs wriggle around his waist; my moist arousal, perineum, and hole playfully grind over his throbbing length; and his muffled baritone groans from the indecent activity, ricocheting across the room. My knees wobble as my butt flounces back and forth, rubbing his desperate cock along my most sensitive areas. Our juices quickly form a puddle on our nethers, lubricating his flinching shaft for me. "Oh no—I can't touch you with my dirty-boy dick." My lower half is still swinging flagrantly, and Axel is whimpering behind me. "How about I fuck it with my fist instead, hm?" I offer as my head tilts back and I peer flirtatiously across my shoulder at him. Regardless of my claim, my body continues to gyrate unashamedly against him. His irises vibrate and he whines, the sound and sight pleading, as though he is contesting against my actions or my words, however with his mouth stuffed, the supposition will remain unknown.
With one palm firmly planted on his thigh, my other hand circles the girthy root of his cock, his hair tickles the border of my wrist, and my grasp slowly rises along his thick shaft. My fingertips are unable to connect, making my head tingle with delight and my hole clench at the prospect of me whorishly riding his dick into ecstasy. "Ngnn, sooo big. Such a perfect dick. I wanna feel it inside me." I increase the pace, my dirty deed glossy with his pre-cum, and my own cock leaks onto my inner thighs, soiling his happy trail. The thick veins pulse under the remarkable column of flesh, my hand applying pressure at the base and loosening along the rod. My fist stiffens firmly on his bulbous head, only to casually lay claim until it meets his hilt. The tempo causes his quads to spasm, his toes to curl, and his lungs to lurch. His balls constrict, and before he can cut loose, I grasp the thickness of his base, fully subduing his release. "Nuh-uh. You don't get to come yet." My attention shifts behind me, and he tosses a glimpse at his wallet on the arm of the couch, alluding to the package of latex I know is secreted inside the suede flaps. My memory can only tally on one hand the few occasions Axel has chosen not to wear protection—in the kitchen, and the night he declared my body his—but his necessity for it is charming. My eyes form shrewd slits, and my chest rattles with a dry snigger. I neglect his quiet plea and redirect my attention to the endowment in my palms, fisting the flesh while I croon, "You're gonna squirt all that yummy come deep inside me." He lets out a guttural whine beyond me, and I initiate his torment over and over. Repeatedly, my hold would agilely pump his length, gradually boosting the force administered, causing his slick length to startle and quiver in my grasp. His balls would tighten, and my manipulations would cease in order to yank him away from the edge.
"Wanna see my pussy?" His nose curls, and his mouth jerks around the cloth. My knees scooch my hind to his diaphragm, my chest gravitates downward, and one hand drops behind my tailbone to spread my ass, displaying my hole. My ring winks at him, tauntingly, and Axel's pupils enlarge and his skin fevers scarlet. A single finger stirs the wrinkled skin, circling the tacky tissue and tapping at the twitching pout with the pad of my fingertip, pattering the wetness there. "I'll stretch it open for you." I continue, my speech breathy with expectation. Axel stares avidly, his optics sparkling vividly, while my middle and forefinger split apart my hole. The two digits lift, poke, and open the hole in frantic measures, tempting me and the redhead, who is shivering with ardent longing. A lone finger slinks past the snug crease of tissue, my knuckles curling and wiggling along my steamy insides, and a moan slips past my lips. My finger retracts, my hole suctioning along the appendage's bony curvature. Tormenting my keeper further, my two fingers swirl aggressively at my entrance, plucking and raking at the melty pucker. He has a tortured expression, and the sight has my voice keening. Two fingers go well within, and my wrist belligerently pumps the intruders. My thighs shake, and my ass connects with the jaunts. Apart from his loud groans and my high-pitched mewls, the sound of me disgracing my inner walls sloshes between us, and his cock springs gloriously. "Aghnn…that sounds so filthy." His hands jerk at his restraints, and his dreamy stare flicks from my face to my shaking limbs, to my dirty escapades on my moist hole, back to my visage. He is riveted by me, and my gasp is heady with yearning. "Good boy…mmmgn…watch me…hahh…fuck my tight pussy for you." His hips arched slightly, as if he recognized my vocal expressions and their cause; my fingers inflicting pleasure on my favorite sensory bulb, and he wanted to be a part of it. My pace accelerates, my enflamed member recoiling against his heaving stomach, staining the shirt. "You look hungry, pretty boy. Wanna feel my how wet I am?"
Axel's chin juts, and he squints at me, my intonation stimulated his interest more than the inquiry itself. My shoulders shake as I bellow laughter. My fingers gently pull from my hole, curving at the rim to emit a provocative pop. My knees scuttle along his broad silhouette as my ass hovers over his throbbing cock. Reaching below my fingers, I pull on the tip, aiming it at my dribbling opening. The fluid drips down his package, and the hefty appendage almost twitches out of my hand. Directing my plush hole atop him, my other hand pulls at one globe, my finger forcing my entrance wider for his head to probe into, and I gasp. My field of vision is pulled betwixt my thighs to the stretch from his head being consumed by my compelling ring. My heat suckles him, and my gaze detects vivid green from behind the firm pillar of tissue. His gaze is wild and elated with awe, and my frame hardens as my pelvis drops towards his. His length gradually digs apart my insides, burrowing into my narrow walls, and my voice evokes a smoky, searing moan as the depth increases. His hilt meets the seam of my ass; his limbs quake frantically as I hold his pulsing erection within me. My palm elaborately massages the swell beneath my navel, and his toes flex inside the fabric confines of his socks. His hips hastily jerk into my figure, and both of my palms fall to my flanks, seizing him. My weight increases its gravitational influence, pressuring him to remain stationary.
"Not so fast, pretty boy," I reprimand, "My little hole is gonna warm you up." With my invocation, his dick jumps against my belly button. "Ngnn…it's so deep inside." My sight falls behind me, his glare is icy, and his body is utterly immovable save for the deeply entrenched twitching of his muscles. My inner lining contorts, and my asshole coaxes every inch of it. Mimicking a throat tremoring, only considerably better, judging by the redhead's features being painted with sheer delight. "You like having your cock warmed?" My rim constricts his base as the length soars and taps along my molten walls, and my throat hums, vampily purring, "Hngn—don't worry—I'll massage this big dick for you." My hips shift slightly from side to side, and my tunnel fondles his shaft. He grumbles in desperation before choking on a gasp, his breath lodged in his throat. My insides mock the handsome man; my ass lifts scarcely a millimeter as my lining twists and contorts around his prodigious dick. The appendage jerks and ambles along every velvety furrow of my insides, its vast girth making my insides hyper vulnerable to all his reactions. "Ohhh—ngnn fuck yeah—feel that? It's so tight…ahgn…and wet around you." He is snarling behind me, and my hand shoots towards my ass, stroking my rim as it skirts over his thick base, which is precariously forcing my opening wider. My slickening hole spills onto his taut stomach, and the sticky fluid webs along my ass and his flesh. "Mmm, I'm dripping all over your cock."
My patience, originally inspired by harassing him, unravels. When the remainder of his shaft is gripped by my inner walls, my hips tilt forward and my fingertips discern the supple bend of his shaft. My pelvis retreats to devour his hilt, then forward to siphon his length. "My insides are going to gobble up your big dick, Axel." My utterances are becoming exceedingly vile, degrading the troubled man, and the impulse to command his figure and make him mine is irresistible. "You like that—is my pussy tasty, Axel?" My knees propel me above him, and I smack my ass back onto his length. His hoarse groan is mingled with the searing impact of our flesh. My body bounces, extending every time my hole lingers over his attentive member. Axel is marveling at the immorality of the scene as the viscous liquids adorning his waist form cascading narrow lines. My rythym becomes wicked and sinful; my cock hammers against my belly, and our breaths drag through the oxygen around us. My moans are obscene, as are the wet skin on skin smacks and the sloppy noises of my ass eating his heavenly dick. His hips thrust upward, matching my cadence, hunting for the further recesses of my core, aware that this kind of strength play will have me spewing. "Oh yes…that's it…fuck it into me—fuck my little pussy—stir me up…oh fuck…" My orgasm sweeps through my balls, and my fist claws into the rich linen of my top, ringing my dick beneath it and restraining my mounting release. The transient notion that my charges and phrases may have struck a tipping point for both the redhead and me is quickly swept aside. His expression implies that this behavior was something only our warped brains would appreciate. My lower lip trembles, his cock goads the little bundle hugging my confines, and my mind drifts into a blank fog. "Hgn—ahhgn…breed me, Axel." I muttered vulgarly, my vision ignited with striking colors, my arousal thrumming inside my clutches. My inner walls flinch and compress his probing rod with fortitude; my mind no longer regulates my torquing mewls; my reflexes are only focused on humiliating, not him, but myself. Eating the scene up. "I wanna…hahhh…feel you…oh God…smother my pussy with your come."
His eyelids flutter against his lids, and his torso hammers with a reverberating roar. His legs curl upward, gaining traction, as his cock bursts through my loose ring and jabs in and out of my lining with bloodthirsty celerity. My steady form rattles violently from his primal efforts, and in order to regain control of the man, my feet emerge from beneath him and perch atop his breast. My thighs flatten over his pelvic ridges, arresting his movements, and one hand returns to my ass, yanking the muscles aside, and Axel's focus swings to my insatiable hole. My hips glide carelessly atop him, my arm directing my motions between his legs. The sound and sight of it slurping up and spitting out his cock had him howling beneath his gag and his wrists wrenching helplessly against its bonds. "Hah, watch me, Axel—watch me eat up this fat dick—aghhn…and fuck myself until I come." Axel is puffing, his face grim, his forehead knotted, and his appearance wallowing in intemperate misery. My movements lead his length back and forth across my prostate, and my toes curl on top of his pecs, dragging on his open shirt. "I'm going to...come on your dick—ngnn!" I whine faintly, and my fist breaks away from my neglected member. The nagging sense of electric heat liquifies my limbs; my head falls forward, and I cry thoughtlessly, "Ohhh—I'm com—hahh—I'm gonna—fuck—coming!"
He groans once my channels surrounding him clamp down, my insides molding his invading cock, and my dick pours ribbons upon ribbons of my spend into the cloth, trickling onto his bare thighs. My vision is splotchy when my pelvis continues to ride through my thought eroding climax, my gasps are punctuated by broken screams. My muscles relax, and my hands clasp onto his knees while his body resumes violating mine, my voice chanting sporadic compliments. "Your dick" —the head of his cock nudges deep inside me—"So perfect"—it tugs along my convulsing walls—"You fuck so deep"—my tone turns into a soprano wail—"Dive your cock...ngnn...into my tummy, Ax—that's it—right there! Yesss!" My hand releases the fevered flesh of my cheek, and his hips slap into them, stinging the tissue. The rock of his thrusts is merciless; even in his shackled state, my addiction is placated, but my personal ailment for the redhead is not. This is a risky game for me to be playing, but I submit to it willingly. "Come in me—come inside me—ahhn yea…shoot it deep inside my little pussy." His hypnotic noises have become feverish and predatory, making my skin bristle and my soul vibrate. His cadence is that of someone who has a strong desire to own. The image of it has me careening like a heathen, "Fuck...hahh...don't stop! Breed me—I wanna slurp up all your come—fill me—fill me to the...ngnn...brim!"
He sounds distraught, his frame shudders, and he pounds into me again before the sensation of surging heat coats my tunnels. Sitting up, my ear drums detect his labored huffs behind me. My fucked-out gaze falls on him, tracing his features from his fluttering lashes to the veins in his forearms that are taut against his pale skin. Sweat layers his temples, his hair a chaotic mess, and his dark orbs twitch with despondent weariness. My incisors pinch the edge of my bottom lip as my limbs scoot along his lax form to confront him. My body advances towards his head on my hands and knees, enticed by his jaded and battered countenance. My spread tights lay across his collarbones, my arm extends beneath me, and my fingers make contact with each of the fabrics binding him. The knot around his wrists and the drenched, crumpled material dangling from his slack spit-stained jaw. I slowly pull the garments free one by one, and Axel barks, "Roxas! You're sick—"
"Hgn…fuck me with that sharp tongue of yours, pretty boy." I interrupt, and his expression morphs from afflicted to apprehensive, as his hands roll to work out the kinks. Coasting along the distraction, my body abruptly twirls above his throat, swiftly lowering onto his mouth before he can protest. He chokes on his forming words, and my hole twitches, provoking him against his glowering mouth. His tense muscles relax, his will clearly submits to me as it always does, and his lips tentatively hum at my flesh. He laps at the puckering hole, separating his lips to knead and suck at the mess he created. My stretched hole squirms for him, and he groans. The sinking liquid feeling in my stomach and the prospect of more to come send a nefarious chill down each of my vertebrae. My hole spills gooey nectar over his lips, and he growls against it, the vibrations spreading to my dick, his ravenous efforts becoming more relentless with his kisses to my rear. His tongue laps at the leaking flesh, and then his mouth rubs haughtily into the tissue, licking it and showering the ring with its touch. "Ngnn…taste it—drink it up." The sound of him sipping in reaction among my cheeks has my insides jerking, seeping out more of his release.
His fingers bite into the skin of my ass, and he draws my rear closer to his face, causing my posture to sway and my palms to collapse against his abdomen. He inspects the harm his cock has inflicted to my rim with a single finger. It was gaping from his vast breadth, and his come was streaming copiously, traversing along the velvety grooves from deep within. His finger twirls over the shallow tissue of my inner walls, generating a sloppy sound that sputters through the air, and my moans turn into weeping mewls. "Mmm, Rox." He says my name like a prayer, and two thick digits scissor the flailing hole, bounding against the tense and rubbery folds, teasing me. As he groans hungrily into the task, his fingers return to dig into the muscles of my cheeks, and his tongue flicks around the revealing, debauched flesh. His fluid gushes, anointing his starving tongue, as his thick appendage explores the walls, parting the slippery, lurid seams.
My tone swoons as I praise him, "That's it, pry my pussy open with your tongue," as it wiggles along the tissues, twirling at my messy insides. My spine rotates so that our gazes can clash; my palm dives into his jumbled tresses, smothering his face into the valley of my ass. Axel's length stiffens and jerks in my peripheral vision. He stills his tongue, his eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge, and my hips roll onto the stiff intruder. My toes flex against the strands of his hair as he resumes pulsing the appendage in and out. My crown grinds against the bare flesh of his chest, and my panting becomes fervent. "Faster—ahhn—yesss! F-fuck my little boy pussy with your mouth! O-ohhhfuccckoh—God—I'm g-gonna—"
Stringy torrents of cream erupt from my slit, flinging across his chest, and the tip of my cock drags the sloppy mess across his tempered skin. The residual liquid smeared onto his exposed nipple, while flowing along his pulsating abdominal muscles, accumulating in his navel. My body crouches downward, and my tongue delves into the tiny hole like some depraved freak to scoop up my own spend. My tongue and mouth greedily mop up my come from his torso, and hot liquid spurts on my cheek. When he comes without being touched, his member twitches frenetically. Tossing my hips around him, my limbs ascend his shape, putting us face to face, my head floating in front of his. We resemble each other, his face painted as filthy as my own. My fingers hook his jaw, compressing the bone, and he opens his mouth willingly. My lips purse, and the bitter, dense liquid in my mouth pours into his. His orbs quake, before reverting into the back of his head, and his throat rumbles with a mellifluent groan. My mouth overlaps his, my tongue greedily penetrating his garbled mouth. My lips cease their quick onslaught on his swollen mouth, and my words dust along the flesh, "Mmm, we taste so sweet together."
My fingers finish unwinding the remaining linen cuffs cinched at his wrists, his flesh purpling from his constant struggle with them. His hands capture my ass, and his torso elevates from the ground, his furious maneuvers guiding my weight underneath him. We spent the remaining hours of the night making up for weeks of imposed estrangement. My need to have him artfully paint himself shameless and sullied drove my aching efforts. He eagerly etched these notions all over my skin; fucking into me with raw, unfettered vigor, each time sharing the flavor of the other's essence before repeating the activities. Hours of forgiving each other with robust thrusts, spread limbs, quaking muscles, and ardent adulation. Our nails marked each other's skin like shallow blades, and our teeth pierced like icy stalagmites, melting away at the rushed flurry of balmy kisses. Legs bend and bow; arms loop and hurl around shoulders and scalps. We needed each other more than we wanted each other. Our names became poetry, read to one another like an immodest incantation, tumbling from parched throats. We expended our ball's ability to produce sperm and even still entwined and sank into each other's sex as though we had been fools to run from it for so long. By the time my joints felt like gelatin, my body combated his advances, with fingertips that grappled with the floor, dredging up vitality to flee from him, crawling desperately towards the stairwell, but his grip domesticated me, looping my ankles and apathetically forced me to its dedicated home in his embrace. We clawed and slammed into one another until we both had nothing left to give. Time did not matter; nothing else mattered as we forgot everything else in existence except for our bodies.
"I kissed Xion." When my gaze sweeps the ground, recounting litter and my grubby white sneakers as they roam the fairgrounds with my favorite companion, my voice reveals the remembrance. We're cruising the Winter Carnival united, our strides guiding us to the rides before the sun lays to rest beneath the horizon. The photons warm our frosty cheeks, and our gloved hands gouge holes in our coat pockets as we pass along the clay footpaths.
"Did you now?" My attention lifts from the dirt to his face when he sounded pleased. Axel appears stunned, with another nebulous feeling stashed away underneath lock and key. I'd sooner split my own bones from muscle to have access to said key. His countenance is neutral once more, behaving regal and careless, as he wonders aloud, "How was that?"
In a desperate effort to locate another subject to focus on, my sight deviates from his appealing profile. My eyes adjust in the spectrum of hues embellishing balloons, tents, tables, and streamers. It was Saturday, and the kids were happy to be free of the day-to-day boredom, with plush animals cuddled under their arms, smiles on their cheeks, and the vapors of their hot breath dispersing in the air. My mind wanders back to the dance as I watch a jubilant band of adolescents' scurry around the park. The experience with Xion wasn't wholly negative; it didn't affect who I was at my core. The kiss did, however, confirm my sentiments for the guy walking opposite of me. I fire him a sidelong glance and sarcastically acknowledge, "Well, contrary to your preconceived notions about teenage gayhood, the kiss with her didn't awaken anything."
His lashes fly upward, and his gaze lingers there, as if he were translating his thoughts in the clouds before enjoining, "Hmm, and when did this occur?"
"At the dance."
"What happened to not feeding her false hope?" He ponders, and one brow tweaks.
"It was the first and final time," my words are tinged with derision, "Trust me. It won't be happening again."
"Hmm…shame." He mutters nearly under his breath, as if it were a transient assertion.
We attempted a few carnival games after searing our flesh on rusty coasters and other adrenaline inducing attractions. The sun had fully set beneath our feet, and the cool breeze blew over the warm and rich odors of greasy deep-fried goods. While Axel's nose and scarf were powdered with funnel cake powder, my hands were doused in popcorn butter. He chucked his food into a nearby bin after a few problematic cocaine quips from me, earning a scowl from the redhead. With the moon floating above the vast plain, the revelry had been raised to a staccato octave. There was a deal more congestion and commotion, pop stations blared at each ride, and plenty of screams shot off the screeching rides. The stale winter air merged with the medley of colognes and perfumes, and the flickering lights clouded all the bodies crammed between aisles and booths.
While I was about to hurl the last hollow ring atop a bottle, a figure leaned in and purred a startling boo, only to veer away. My throw was a misfire, and Axel guffawed smugly, as my remaining toss was a failure, ensuring him to prevail. The melliferous laughter fell dry beside me, and my vision skimmed through the clumped ashen heaps of residual snow as it centered on a decadently exquisite brunette. Terra was partnered with Aqua and another individual I had not encountered yet. His palm gripped mine, and he drew me into an embrace before presenting me to his friends—and, unintentionally, to Axel. Aqua complemented my appearance, prompting Axel to pink, while admitting that I reminded her of an old friend. I quickly suggested if they wanted to accompany us through the park after we had spent time growing accustomed with each other. We squeezed in a circuit around spectacles, and Terra lingered by my side the whole time, occasionally stroking his fingers over me, my exposed wrist, or my cheek. During those moments, Axel's sight was resolved on him. After growing weary from too much competition, Axel and I decided to leave the group. We gulped hot chocolate; the rich flavor and warmth enveloped our tongues and scalded our freezing lips.
The fibers of his thighs contract when his foot feathers between the pedals. My skin prickles as it defrosts, and the heat is tuned to its highest setting. My attention is drawn to the blipping yellow paint caked along the dark asphalt. The dash voiced and unvoiced a pleasant buzz of tunes, and the placid interlude becomes static as a gnawing guilt itches my throat. Axel had no idea of my reunion with Hayner during the break. An element of my morality doubts if he would care or not. We merely kissed, but the need to do more captivated us as we placed the controllers down and ruminated on each other's features. Axel likely would not mind, and the notion both reassured and flustered me.
"Hayner was over a few weeks ago." I confess this so that my nerves will not overtake control. From mentioning our old acquaintance, his canny lenses flickered to mine, disclosing a dubious sentiment. Axel restores his attention to the road, his grip on the steering wheel hardening. "We didn't have sex."
As he contends with his inner thoughts, his brows scrunch towards the bridge of his nose, and his stiffened knuckles ring against the leather, sampling the flavor of his discarded words, instead settling on a playful question. "Good for you?"
"He helped me figure out some ideas for temporary employment. Although ultimately it was Demyx's connections that landing me one." I proceed, endeavoring to come up with an adequate justification for why the matter was brought up at all. I fault it with my goals rather than my curiosity to witness Axel's reaction. "I'm trying to save some money."
"A wise decision." He directs a crooked grin towards the winding road.
"I want to contribute to my parents' tuition savings. I plan to cover the majority of my living expenses."
"That's…very mature of you." With an impressed expression, his eyes darted from the windshield to brief me.
"Thanks?"
"I'm just—"
"I want to serve as school counselor." In my eagerness, I interrupted him. A new curiosity was sparked at his attention, it was fed by the need to gain his opinion on my optimistic ideas. My body lurches in the seat excitedly, confronting him, and my hands curl into fists at my chest, vibrating with enthusiasm. "I want to help kids like me."
He flashes a polite smile that is both wistful and positive and then his features transform into those like the clever and faultless guy who first invaded my abode months ago. "You're still a long way from being able to help others." He counsels, his visage pivoting to me for a brief second, his final words targeting me. "Focus on your own rehabilitation first before you fully devote yourself to healing others."
His utterances stung; they had a nasty edge to them. My mind tried to dismiss the impression as hysteria, but the silence that ensued indicated that he may have imparted the curt connotations on purpose. My muscles stiffened from the impulse to oppose him, to challenge him for further data about why he was so suspicious of my potential. My desired trade was chock-full of individuals who had their own personal demons; my own maladies suited the criteria. So, I stymied my vitriolic comments, hoping to prevent the eventual catastrophe that my childlike tolerance might cause in our relationship.
I had so much fun writing this. Roxas bullying Axel was prime entertainment for me. Hope ya'll liked it.
PS: I am in no way kink shaming, but I am not into feet. This is as far as my pleasure for foot-stuff goes. Hope it was subtle enough for others who share my apathy for the fetish. And for those of ya'll who are into that...*raven simone* "Ya nasties." Jk 3 Love you just the way you are.
See you next time:3
~StickyD