Page 63 of Sicken of the Calm
“Is it sore?” he asks, voice softand quiet.
“No,” I say. The inside of me isa little achy, but the rim has barely had to stretch most of the day, and there-application of lube during the day has helped keep me from any sort ofchafing.
I hear the sound of the lubeuncapping and it jolts me a little. I hadn’t even seen him grab it, too caughtup in the feel of him. When his fingers return, they’re wet, spreading the lubearound the rim carefully. I squirm under the ministrations, my place on his lapsomehow adding to the helplessness, the lack of control, the trust involved. Imake a small sound as he takes hold of the plug’s base and pulls it slowly out,stopping half-way, so that my hole is stretched at the widest point of theplug, before he presses it back in, grinding it in close.
“Oh, oh,” I’m saying, my hardcock half-caught between my abs and the comforter. I try not to rub itpurposefully, but it’s too hard to keep still as Ezra keeps repeating themotion, fucking me with his brand of cruel patience.
By the time he pushes it in forthe final time, I’m a shaking mess, the torture of the day’s delayed pleasuremaking even this tease seem unbearable. His hand disappears for a moment,although the other is still at my hip, and when it comes back it’s without thewet traces of lube, probably wiped on his shirt. The hand kneads my ass cheeks,more tender than harsh, and I suddenly remember why I’m draped over his lap. Itense up in anticipation for the hit, but Ezra moves his hand to the small ofmy back, pressing his thumb against a knotted muscle.
“Relax, Joaquin. I’m not going todo anything you don’t want. The moment you want, we stop,” he says, voice calm.I nod jerkily, letting the meaning of his words go through me. Nothing trulybad can happen in this moment. I’m safe in his hands.
I let my muscles loosen, leavingthem as relaxed as I can in the situation, even when his hand returns to myass.
“Colour?” he asks.
“Green,” I reply.
My pulse is thrumming as his handleaves my skin. There is a moment of suspended animation, of animal fear mixedwith human excitement, and then his hand strikes me across one of my cheeks. Igasp, body jolting, tensing. This isn’t a light smack on the ass for show inthe middle of a porn shoot. It’s a blow with intent, the sound of it crackingaround us, a sudden, stinging pain that turns into a grainy, aching burn. Ican’t say if I would like it if I weren’t already turned on, even if it wasEzra, but in combination with the already desperation-edged pleasure and thepsychological helplessness of the position, the pain of the hit is like nothingI’ve felt before. It lights not only the nerves impacted by Ezra’s hand, butall across my body, mixing with the pleasure until I don’t know which is what.The blanking power of it is intoxicating.
“Colour?” Ezra asks again.
“Green,” I reply immediately.“Green, Ezra, please,” I say, feeling the same urgency that takes over when hestarts fucking into me maddeningly slow, needing more of that sensation thatjust went through me.
“Count with the hits,” he says. Inod into my arms, blabbing out ayeah, yeah, holding myself still forthe next smack. When it comes, it’s somehow better than the first, fanning theflames of an already roaring fire.
“One – I mean, two,” I choke out.Ezra hums slightly before his hand hits me again, three, again, four, five.Like always, the counting is the anchor that lets me drift under without fear.
The hits, previously landing ondifferent places, start overlapping each other. It hurts more than expected,feels better than I imagined. Each smack has me moving with it, shifting theplug inside me, making my cock rub against the bed, an almost intolerablemixture of what should have been opposing sensations as the hurt increases.Instead, they just seem to build on each other, making me gasp and bite at myown arm, moaning out the numbers now.
When we hit fifteen he stops,kneading the now incredibly sore skin of my ass. I stumble over my own breathand then groan as he grabs the plug again, fucking me with it as slowly andmethodically as before. As if that weren’t enough, Ezra’s other hand comes underme to grasp my hard cock, pulling at it with the same maddening pace. Thepleasure has a new edge now, the blinding redness of the pain making me shake,my hands grasping and pulling at the sheets. I don’t know what noises I’mmaking anymore. I’m so close to coming, even that is a hurt.
“Ten more,” he says, handsdisappearing from my cock and the plug. “Colour?”
“Green, please,” I whine, but hedoesn’t even let me finish my plea, the next hit smacking ruthlessly across heatedskin. I forget to count and he has to remind me. I grunt out a sixteen,seventeen, eighteen, the numbers slurring in my mouth. He wraps his hand aroundmy dick again on the next hit, and I can barely get the nineteen out. I don’tknow if I want this to stop or go on forever, and the lack of autonomy todecide either has me slipping.
My mind is blank. I don’t know what’sworse, what’s better, the pain or the pleasure, or if it’s the combination ofthe two. I start feeling like I’m me but not me. Like I’m the sensation but notthe burning skin or the aching muscles. My mouth keeps counting but that, too,seems out of my control.
“Ezra,” I say instead of atwenty-two. I think my eyes are wet, but I can’t hold on to enough awareness tobe sure, knowing only the ransacking sensation the I’ve become.
“Joaquin,” Ezra says, a prompt,and I choke out the number.
I don’t know if I feel the nextthree hits. They happen, but I’m somewhere else, in a light and warm place. Ionly know I’ve reached twenty-five because the plug inside me is suddenly takenaway, and the aching emptiness has me crying out. It’s replaced by Ezra’s fingersonly a moment later, however. I’m definitely sorer, now, but the ache getsswallowed up by the unimaginable pain-pleasure burning across my ass. Thefingers are careful, but I groan loudly as they press against my prostate, hisother hand squeezing the head of my dick.
For a moment, I think I’m coming.Nothing else could feel this good. Yet, when the sensation fades, I’m stillhard in his hand. I’m saying his name, over and over again, but even thatcrumbles in my mouth as I feel him shift over me, and then the wetness of histongue drags against the no-doubt red skin of my ass.
I can’t take it. I can’t take anymore.
“Please, please,” I beg, and hemust hear a difference in my pleas because he rubs the wetness left on my skinin what would be a soothing press of his hand if it didn’t bring so much painand pleasure.
“Ok, baby. You’ve done so good.You’re so good. Come for me, now,” he says, deep and sweet, and starts movinghis hands again, fingers slipping back in and fucking me as the other pulls atmy dick with intent.
For a few moments, I think Ican’t actually come. That the sensations are so much that this unbearably goodfeeling will keep growing until it rips me apart, but then the levee breaks. Icome with my whole body, the pleasure of it as merciless as the pain from hishand. As big as the sensation is, it’s almost like I’m watching it happen fromdeep in the water, warm and still all around me even as the storm tearseverything apart above.
I’m left there for a while. Idon’t have a body, barely a mind. I’m the ringing of a bell, the crunch ofleaves underfoot, the lapping of waves on a shore. I’m the mindless atoms that makeup everything, as small and interconnected as anything in the universe.
I surface still spread acrossEzra’s lap. He’s bent over, nose buried behind my ear. I can feel the warmth ofhis breaths as his hand runs through my hair. I don’t think I’ve ever feltsofter, or calmer. Even the pains and aches of my body are secondary to thefeeling inside me.
Still, with everything I have, Iwant a little more.
