Page 13 of Man On

"Oh, you like that, don't you, Lane?"

"N-no," he stammers, but his hand doesn't stop.

"Yes, you do. You like being my dirty little slut behind closed doors, don't you?"

I laugh, probably too loudly, when he makes the sound again, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. This is too good.

"Stop, Noah," he pants. "Let's just get this." Grunt. "Over with." Grunt. "Please."

Lane Blakely is so desperate to be controlled that he waits for me to tell him when he can finish. Sometimes I let him off easy and get it over with in a few minutes, other times I drag it out and see how long he'll hold back. I've had him almost in tears and begging for me to let him come, which is funny, considering he's the bigger of the two of us and the only one touching his dick.

I love it.

"Well, since you asked so nicely, and neither of us wants to get caught with your pants down, I'll let you come." He releases a breath, but I hold up a hand. "When you tell me you get hard for your big brother, and then beg me to let you come.”

"Go to hell.” He almost stops stroking, but he's too far gone to walk away. He groans like he's in pain, slowly running his fist up his shaft, twisting the head in the palm of his head, and then stroking back down, spreading pre-cum with each pass. His angry red head peeks out with each downstroke and I wet my dry lips.

As much as I want to watch what it looks like when his cock erupts, I lock my eyes on him. His steely glare is both angry and desperate, but I hold his gaze, reminding him who's in charge here. He'll do what I say, or I won't do this at all. And as much as he likes to pretend he doesn't like it, he needs this. He needs me.

"Come on, Lane. Say it and you can come."

His brow furrows, and he closes his eyes for a moment, his strokes slowing down.

"I-I—" he shakes his head like saying the words out loud might burn him.

"Come on, Lane. Who makes you hard?"

"Y-you d-do."

"Does anyone else make you as hard as me?"

"N-no," he says, shuddering.

"Say it," I command him.

"You m-make m-me hard."

"One more time."

"You make me so hard! Please!" he says again, with more conviction this time. His eyes are screwed up, his fist moving furiously. Soft fap fap fap sounds fill the space until it's all I can hear outside of Lane's small grunts and moans.

"You're goddamn right I do. And do you ever come as hard as you do when I tell you to?"

"God, no." He says it like a prayer, like it's the honest truth, even though he doesn't want it to be. "God help me, you make me come so hard."

"Show me," I tell him, tossing him a dish towel I found folded on a rack. "And say my name when you come."

"F-f—" He stops the curse from coming out of his lips, but he can't help but do exactly what I tell him to. "Noah!"

My name falls from his lips like a cry for mercy.

"Good boy," I say, breathlessly, as if I were the one that just came all over myself rather than the one who reclined back and watched.

Before I can do something stupid, like act on the impulse to catch every drop of cum in my hand and use it to jerk myself off because I'm harder than I think I've ever been in my life, I wink and escape. I keep the bag of chips, using it to shield my painfully hard erection while I search for a bathroom or somewhere private.

CHAPTER 4

LANE

---