Page 35 of Forever Not Yours

I usually didn’t orgasm from spanking alone. Instead, I’d demand to finish in their mouths, thrusting my cock deep down a willing throat, looking down at a face that would normally be reddened and covered in tears.

Grateful. The people who took my gloved hands usually were. I wasn’t sure Bastien was grateful. He probably hated me… The blotchy skin on his arse woke me from the haze I’d sunk into. The violent redness. He was far too relaxed.

I’d lost count. So had he. Yet here we were.

I delivered one more, hoping it would be the last. His body tensed and held firm before slowly relaxing back down.

“Good boy,” I whispered, in awe of him. Of this. Of everything this was.

I threw another one, the smack of my hand against his skin making me moan out loud. If I wasn’t careful, I would come, just like this, my dick hard in my jeans, wedged against his hip as he humped me, slow, careful movements that were egging me on, holding me back.

I didn’t want it to end.

“More,” he slurred out. “Green.”

I gave him what he wanted. His body was now heavy and pliant against my lap, his legs slack against the floor, arms relaxed, fingers unfurled against his back, so pale and beautiful, like a painting against his reddened skin. He would bruise; I had no doubt about it. Feel this for days. Take it like the wonderful boy he was.

“Colour,” I checked in, since he hadn’t said a word. His fingers flexed, but he said nothing, and his breathing had slowed, almost as if he was asleep, which he wasn’t.

Floating in a haze was the way he’d described it. Lost. Oh God, he was beautiful. Stunning. I stroked his back with my fingertips, gentle movements, whilehis hips still jerked erratically. Then he stilled, went completely stiff. His back arched up, a sudden wave travelling all the way down to his toes and a drawn-out noise that seemed to go on forever before he became a dead weight against my legs. I had to hold on to him tighter, grappling with his hips, dragging him closer so he wouldn’t fall. Something wet formed on the inside of my leg. I could feel it. Wet and warm.

I don’t know why that tipped me over the edge, but it did, a moan escaping my mouth as I jerked and tensed and arched off the seat, holding on to him with everything I had as a blistering orgasm tore through me. It felt more like pain than pleasure, draining everything that I was down to something so small. This, just him and me.

“I’m right here,” I murmured in a voice that barely held. “Right here. You did so good. So brave. Took all of that like a good boy. It’s all over now, I’ve got you. Right here.”

I was shaking, and I wondered if it was from emotion or exhaustion, perhaps from both, but I lifted him up, pulled him into my arms and shifted back onthe sofa, turned him gently around, like he weighed nothing.

I was mindful of his back, resting him gently on his hip against the seat cushion so I could cradle him in my arms, his head against my chest, his face stained with tears. Oh, my beautiful boy.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you so much. You don’t need to say anything now, just rest. I’m right here, and I will stay with you. I’m so proud of you. So incredibly proud.”

He was still there, somewhere, a small smile on his face.

“Good boy.” I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, eyelids and nose, those still smiling lips. “I love you,” I repeated.

“I fucking came all over your legs, man.”

That’s when I finally laughed, the relief that flowed through me threatening to overwhelm me.

“That’s okay,” was all I could say. Then he laughed too.

“How many did I take?” he asked much later, after we’d been on the sofa for a good while and my leg was starting to cramp. It was still light outside, aperfect evening for opening the balcony door, getting the warm summer air inside. But I didn’t want to move, and we were both under the blanket, him still on his side but now leaning back, trying to inspect his backside. Flossie was asleep on my armchair. I hoped she hadn’t been watching.

His backside was speckled with red, the outline of my gloves visible in a blotchy pattern. It probably hurt. I needed to put some cream on it, a couple of drops of ointment to minimise the inevitable bruising.

“I lost count. My bad. I got carried away with it all. But no more than twenty-five.”

“Hot as fuck.”

Trust Bastien to mess with the programme. This was a serious exercise, yet he was grinning from ear to ear and drowsy, like a baby awakening from a nap. What did I know? I was the youngest sibling and had never had a baby in my life, but I got it. I truly did. It was a conversation for another day.

He was still leaning against my chest, a little wetness dribbling from the corner of his mouth as I once again kissed his forehead.

“How do you feel?”

“Do you need a colour again?” The little shit, but he was smiling. I was too.

“Just words.” I kept kissing. Couldn’t stop.

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