Page 42 of The Cartographer

Ah, yes. A concern a lot of people have, though I wasn’t sure if Hart was so self-conscious he’d be one of them.

“Well, I will be putting my fingers and my cock up your ass. So is there sometimes shit involved in this process? Yes.”

He groans and not in a sexy way, returning his face to where it had been obscured by the down of the pillow.

Before he can protest or try to roll over and stop this before it starts, I continue. “However, you don’t need to worry, for a bunch of reasons. First, I’ve seen more bodily effluvia in my line of work than you’ll see in your lifetime. Piss, shit, tears, vomit, blood, saliva, sweat, breastmilk, some things I won’t name. I’ve literally seen it all. So the odd smear of poop isn’t going to bother me. Second, I’ll be wearing a condom when I fuck you and I’ve got finger cots for before that. They’re like condoms for your fingers.”

I press against his slick hole to emphasize my point and also to see how tense he really is about this. Not bad. “Third, it’s not going to turn me off if that’s what you’re worried about. The idea that you’re literally letting me inside of you is far too hot to let anything wither the hard-on I currently have for you. I could go on, but that should be sufficient.”

He nods into the pillow. I could press him more, browbeat my acceptance into him, but the best thing to do is to prove it. He’ll believe me if I prove it. So I add more of the lubrication to my finger, slicking it over his cleft until he’s about as slippery as I can get him from here. Then it’s time to ease inside.

I press gently but insistently at his entrance until he relaxes enough to let me in, and then I work my way forward by an inch, enjoying the sight of my finger inside him and knowing no one else has ever had the privilege.

“That’s good, Hart. You’re doing really well.” I lavish him with more praise while I keep working in, adding more lube whenever my path feels anything but slick. Back and forth, easing him into the feeling of being penetrated and the movement of being gently fucked. When he’s taking me inside easily, his deep breaths getting shallower, I check in with him again.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine, sir.”

Oh, this is better than I’d hoped for. Some of the bottoms I know tell me this makes them feel delightfully submissive. Perhaps that’s how it’s affecting Hart. That usually comes hand in hand with making them feel intensely vulnerable as well, so I’ll need to keep that in mind. I’ll have to hold him carefully. Demonstrate his trust isn’t misplaced, and if he shows himself to me, I’ll treasure him.

“Fine?”

“Good, sir. It feels good.”

“Who’s making it feel that way?”

“You, sir.” He’s practically panting now and does that ever make me hard for him. “You’re making me feel good.”

Damn straight.

That’s when I choose to cover and slick a second finger to ease inside of him. He’s so slippery inside now that it’s not so difficult, but I still go slowly and add more lube because I’m not taking any chances. I want to earn his pleasure and, more importantly, his trust. He tenses slightly but not for long, especially when I murmur encouragement and kind words. Slutty for praise—I’ll have to remember that.

“It’s two, Hart. You can take it. Breathe for me.” I settle a hand on his lower back and feel for the expansion of his torso as he does as he’s been instructed. He loosens around my fingers, though he still feels wonderfully tight. He’s going to feel phenomenal on my cock.

After a few minutes during which he slips back to panting and clutching the linens, he begins to press back against me, and I take that as an invitation. I don’t always do three before I fuck someone, but with beginners, usually, yes. The third is the most work, but it somehow goes easier, likely because he’s horny as a sailor docking after a six-month voyage. Except he’s gone his whole life without feeling this, not six months.

“That feels good,” he volunteers, and the simple words swell my head and my heart. Gratitude, desire, trust. It’s all there in that most basic of sentiments.

I completely withdraw my fingers, stripping the cots off and discarding them on a tissue I’d left on the bedside table before taking up a condom and rolling it over my dick—so hard, it’s near to bursting. “Then this is going to feel even better.”

Before I penetrate him, I rub still more lube over the condom, because I wasn’t lying when I said you can never have enough lube. I wipe my hands off on a hand towel so I’ll be able to grip him while I press inside of him, and then it’s time. Resting a hand on his hip, I use a hand to help work my hardness inside of him. Mother of all things holy does he feel divine. Tight and hot and slick. I push gently and withdraw, going deeper with each tender thrust until I’m two-thirds of the way inside.

“All of you,” he pleads, his voice tense and desperate. “I want all of you now. Please. I’m ready, I swear, just…please fuck me.”

Though I don’t generally take kindly to orders, this is one I’m glad to follow. I dig my fingers into the flesh of his hips and push the rest of the way inside of him, not stopping until my hipbones are resting flush against his ass. If that’s not heaven, I’ll happily go to hell.

I have to grit my teeth against the urge to spill inside him already because this ishisfirst time, not mine. When I’m firmly under control, I draw out and then fuck deeply back inside of him, enjoying the feel of him around me and the way he presses back. After a few more measured strokes, I change the angle and Hart cries out, much as I’d thought—had hoped—he would.

“Problem?”

“What the fuck was that?”

I press inside him again, hitting the same spot, and he bucks against me, all self-consciousness gone. “That?”

He gasps his response, all tight muscle and heat surrounding me. “Yeah, that.”

“That, my friend,” I say, punctuating with another thrust and driving a desperate gulp out of him, “is your prostate.”

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