Page 40 of Various Intentions
Vincent whimpered.
“And maybe not.”
For an hour I had Matteo suck and lick Vincent to the point right before orgasm, then stop before Vincent tipped over the edge. In the past, this game had sometimes resulted in a pre-emptive result, because Vincent was so responsive, and I didn’t always stop Matteo in time. But today, Vincent performed admirably as he was brought to the brink and back so many times.
By the time an hour was up, they were a sweaty, exhausted mess, quivering with unspent desire and likely frustrated beyond measure. I had just told Matteo to stop, yet again, and Vincent let out a desperate wail as his dick swayed helplessly over his belly and Matteo panted above him.
“No. No. Please…” Vincent whimpered. “Please.”
I moved close and peered down at his flushed face. “Do you think you’ve been a good boy?”
“Yes. Oh yes.”
“Do you think you deserve an orgasm?”
“Yes. Please, yes. Please, Sir.”
“Matteo?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Do you think Vincent should be allowed to come this time?”
Matteo peered down at Vincent’s taut form and smiled.
“I suppose we could allow it. If you think so, Sir.”
“Hmm. Sure. Why not? But I’m going to make him ask you nicely.”
“Matteo, make me come. Please, make me come. Please, please,please.”
Matteo and I exchanged an amused gaze before Matteo bent to his work.
Vincent clutched Matteo’s head as his lips parted on a gasp. Matteo ramped up his throat work and brought Vincent close again.
“You going to come, Vincent?” I asked.
“Yes. Yes! Oh. Fuck! Fuck. Ah!” Vincent choked on more curses as he emptied into Matteo’s mouth, holding Matteo down to take it all. Matteo swallowed everything and circled Vincent’s hips with his powerful forearms, consuming his pleasure like a benign incubus.
* * * *
The play party we’d RSVP’d to was on Friday and provided a much-needed escape after all the heavy shit we’d gone through.
I had decided to completely Dom out for this, and bring Vincent and Matteo as my official subs. It made sense, since that was the dynamic we enjoyed, but we could have attended as an informal polyamorous unit and participated—or not—as we wished. Even in a more formal representation, there was always room for flexibility at these events—or, at least, at the events I’d attended. I liked the trappings of the lifestyle sometimes, but I had no interest in rigid roles or uncompromising traditions. To me, the heart of a kink lifestyle existed in the souls and emotions of the practitioners, not in the physical trappings, titles or rituals.
The parties I chose to attend were safe places for queer people to explore identities and fetishes in a positive way. As long as everyone treated each other with respect and a lack of preconceptions, the evening would be a success.
This particular party, calledBlast the Heat, a Midwinter Fetish Celebration, was being hosted by a prestigious queer kink club, which had a great reputation for safe, respectful and well-organized events. They had rented the basement and first floor of a heritage building that used to serve as a church. I had to admit, the thought of kinking it up in a former church did tickle my irony-bone in a very good way. To me and to many people in the lifestyle, kink served as a sensual form of worship and a vehicle for transcendence. The location wasn’t as incongruous as it seemed, even though most religious people would have an issue with my reasoning.
After getting dressed, I waited downstairs for Matteo and Vincent, drinking some water as I doubted I’d want to have the bother of enjoying refreshments at the event. We were attending for the kink, not the food. I’d selected a pair of snug black leather pants, with a dark plum button-down, untucked. Overtop, I wore a velvet blazer in a lighter purple shade, that I’d ordered online a few weeks earlier. Not the traditional Dom trappings, necessarily, but I felt they gave me the stature I needed and the class I wanted. I felt attractive, my dysphoria hovering in the background while I got ready. Once we were on our way, it would disappear entirely.
Matteo came down shortly after I did, dressed in the outfit Vincent and I had chosen for him.
“Hello, you naughty little boy. You’re late for school,” I said with a salacious smile.
Matteo grinned and blushed, then bowed to me when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “So sorry, Sir.”
He wore a pair of navy, knee-length cotton shorts with pleats at the waist, held up with suspenders over a short-sleeved white button-down. A classic black bowtie, white ankle socks and black loafers finished off the outfit.
