Page 40 of Little Boy Toy

His terrible British accent made me laugh every time he tried to mimic Veruca Salt’s voice.

Every day Kendry made me wonder at myself. I decided I had been missing some real gold by spending my years avoiding the littles playroom.

“Mercy,” I said to him, and took his mouth in a full open kiss.

Kissing, touching, even giving each other the eye—all of it was dangerous territory for us. Dangerous in that it easily led to major distraction. If I could make Kendry come all day long, I would. But the boy needed to be fed and to sleep. And he had his job, as did I. As it was, we spent a lot of hours of every day making out.

I still hadn’t asked him for full on penetration, and maybe I never would. He hadn’t said a word about it. He was no virgin, but that didn’t mean a thing. If he wanted it, I hoped he would tell me. If he didn’t, that was fine, too. It was never a deal-breaker for me, which was rare among guys in the kink world.

A huge percentage of gay men I knew believed it didn’t count as real sex if there wasn’t penetration. I thought that was a bit narrow. There were also plenty of gay men who didn’t prefer it. Did that mean all of them were left out in the cold living a celibate un-orgasmic life? Of course not.

I’d had some partners, one who lasted a year with me, who never said they didn’t like it, but avoided it and the subject after the initial weeks of “honeymoon” dating. It was as if they had put out only because they assumed I expected it.

Yeah, a lot of us had issues.

I didn’t want any of that with Kendry. A couple times I had licked down his back toward his crease, and he’d eagerly lifted his hips to be pleasured that way, but I’d never gone further mainly because it made him come pretty quickly, especially if I got his balls involved in the sucking and licking, too. After that sort of treatment, he’d go down for a nap for at least half an hour and wake hard, wanting me to suck his cock. The constitution of youth kept me busy. I wasn’t old, but I was only good for about three times a night. Kendry could come six times a day if he wanted to.

I took great pleasure in all of it.

Kendry assessed his arrangement of clothes.

I’d invited him to bring over a couple of suitcases of things since we were spending so much time at my house. He now owned half my closet space. What I really wanted was to have him move in but it was far too early to push that on him. I wanted Kendry sure and relaxed and feeling completely safe before I popped that question.

“Hmm, what should I wear?” he asked, pulling out a hanger with a nearly sheer white top and tight, lime green shorts.

“Those are short,” I commented.

He turned to me. “Problem?”

His little ass cheeks could hang out all he wanted. When at home. Or just one-on-one at gay-owned diners. But at the club? I suddenly felt a bit possessive. That rarely happened to me and I was somewhat shocked. I immediately thought of those guys who’d called Kendry ace, and who talked as if he wasn’t worth pursuing at all. I wanted to show Kendry off on my arm but at the same time they didn’t deserve those ass cheeks on parade.

Kendry came to me and touched my arm. “Zale?”

I blinked to clear my mind. “What?”

“You were really faraway for a second. What were you thinking? Is there a problem with these shorts?”

Caught.

I gulped. “You should wear whatever you want.”

He stared at them, then looked back at me. “Are you sure?”

I smiled. “You’ll get a lot of stares.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No.”

He must not have believed me, because he added, “I promise I won’t look at anyone but you all night long. We can have drinks—juice for me—and read. And I can hold your hand as we walk through the club to let everyone know you’re mine.”

“Am I?”

He frowned a question.

“Am I yours?” I clarified.

“Beyond any doubt,” he replied, and began to climb me again.

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