Page 25 of M.M. Scrooge
“How’s that?” Tristan asks when the rod is nearly fully enveloped within my flesh.
How’s that? “Fucking fantastic.”
“I had a feeling you’d like this. Being vulnerable isn’t bad, you know? It can be good. It can feel good. Like sounding feels good.”
Sounding, right, this act has a name. I knew that.
The raging storm of my emotions saysyes, this is good, give me moreandno, oh my god, too much, I shouldn’tat the same time. It’s confusing. And addicting. The intensity of it, the bizarre pleasure.
Tristan swirls the sound in my hole, twisting one way, then the other. He fucks me with it, in and out. I stare, helpless, cock pulsing with need until he stops and catches my gaze.
“I want to see you fuck yourself with it, Max. Thrust your hips. Ride it for me so I can watch.”
My jaw goes slack. I hadn’t thought of that, but the idea is appealing. And frightening. Tristan holds the metal steady, half inside me, half out, and waits, eyes sparkling with vigor.
I squeeze my glutes and give a tentative thrust, driving my cock up, forcing the metal in. When that feels amazing, I do it again. Harder this time. Deeper.
Fuck. I could come like this. If he’d just fist my dick a little, I will. I want it. But can I even come while it’s inside me, filling me up? A prickle of apprehension tells me busting a load like this might hurt, but the growing need convinces me not to care.
I’m writhing on the invasive bit of metal like a goddamn whore. If Tristan wants a show, he’s getting one. My shame knows no limits. If this is what vulnerability feels like, I could give it a try more often.
“Please.” The entreaty escapes my lips on a heaving breath.
Tristan’s smile holds promise. “Very good, Max. So polite. Please, what?”
The sounding rod dips deep into my cock, and I pause, keeping it there, basking in the pressure. But I need… “Take it out. Make me come.”
He tuts. “I have a better idea. Let’s leave it in and make you come. Hmm?”
“Fuck. Will it hurt?”
“It’s…” Tristan twirls the rod and takes over fucking me with it now that I’ve stilled. His other hand, which has merely served to steady my penis and maintain the appropriate angle, wraps enticingly around my shaft. “…intense. You can handle it.”
My abs flutter and tense. I’m not as sure as he is.
“Or”—he pauses until I shift my attention from my cock to him—“I could propose a compromise.”
Compromise has an immediate appeal. “Yes, that. What is it?”
“Tell me when you’re coming. I’ll hold the sound while the ejaculate builds up. Then I’ll remove it quickly. The extra pressure is like an explosion. Very intense. You might interpret it as painful, but the pain can be exquisite if you let it. You just have to trust me.”
I repress a cringe at the word trust. Can I trust Tristan? I’ve learned it’s best not to trust anyone but myself. Safer that way. My brain shorts out as my balls tighten and my desperation builds.
Tristan strokes my cock in rapid succession, fingers teasing my crown, and caressing that ball of nerves on the underside where crown meets shaft. Fuck. I can’t think. But I could give trust a try. I want to.
“Yeah, Tris, I trust you.” Thank god he’s an actual doctor. It makes it easier to hand him all this control.
“Very good. But I want you to watch. Ready?”
Beyond ready. I’m craving it. Need it like breathing. “Yes.”
His talented hands work overtime, one making adjustments to the rod, keeping me on edge and unable to guess his next move. The other jacking me with expert precision, swiftly bringing me higher. Up and up until I can hardly stand it.
Keeping my eyes open becomes a challenge. The rising tide sweeps me up, and it’s all I can do not to squeeze them shut. But I stare at the metal rod in my slit, at my fat head flushed purple with need, at Tristan’s clever hands and their skilled dance.
Not enough becomes too much in a heartbeat. “Gonna come.”
“Do it. Give it to me.”
