Page 23 of M.M. Scrooge
“Now lie back.” Tristan trails a finger along the inner edge of my knee, down my thigh, and to my groin, where he cups my junk in his palm. The rubber of his glove feels odd, but the warmth of his hand is nice.
I do as I’m told and lie back. I’m not comfortable, exactly, but the terror recedes to a dull fizzle below the surface. The hand on my dick is pleasant enough. The first tendrils of interest spark at the contact. I stare at the tiled ceiling. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
Tristan cups my balls, rolls them, gives them a gentle massage. I’d like to watch, but his brown head lodged between my thighs obscures my view of what his hands are doing. He wants me vulnerable, and he’s achieved it. That’s how I feel. On my back on this hard table, completely bare, my nipples pebbled, and my thighs spread wide like some eager queen ready to be plundered.
His touch stays gentle, continuing to rouse my interest. I tuck an arm beneath my head for a better view, but I still can’t see much.
“You’re doing so well,” he croons. “I thought this would take longer. I’m pleased to see you accepting your punishment like a good boy.”
Yeah, this isn’t so much punishment, but I won’t tell him that. My cock chubs, and that pleasurable sense of fullness and sensitivity calms my nerves. Whatever he’s got in mind? I’m beginning to get on board. And I like the praise. Goes straight to my heads.
Yes, both of them.
Tristan glances up from his ministrations and catches me watching. Our eyes meet. Though shame coils in my gut, it’s not the only feeling there. I’m intrigued, and Tristan is as handsome as ever, grinning up at me from between my splayed legs.
“Very nice, Max.” He gives my hardening cock a few swift pats. “Such a grower. I remember that about you. Come on, big boy, give me the rest of it.”
Shit. I preen. I do have a thick, fat cock, and I’m as proud of it as any man would be. And it’s getting stiffer by the second. Tristan’s rubberized hands feel novel. Too much friction as he fists my length and strokes, but I’m not going to stop him. I like it. The weirdness of it. The unique sensation of gloves on skin.
Tristan leans away from me, grasping the other table and rolling it to within easy reach. Various instruments rattle and clink. I jerk, and a shiver of nerves tightens my chest. Sex toys don’t sound like fucking silverware. What’s he got there?
I lift my head, but Tristan squeezes my balls a little harder. “Down, boy. Don’t ruin the surprise.” I consider disobeying him, but so far, it’s been okay, and I settle, which ends up being a fine choice when his hand returns, it’s covered in lube.
He slicks me up, and a groan escapes my lips. Fully hard now, my dick has been convinced this is a good idea and is extremely interested in the proceedings. Tristan was always talented with his hands. A second joins the first. Two fists are better than one, especially when they glide up and down my cock, stroke the length of me, tease the crown.
“Yes,” I mutter, my eyes fluttering closed. “Fuck yes, like that. Mmm.”
Tristan’s breathy chuckle is a welcome addition to the white noise of the machinery around me. I could almost forget the setting. The odd medical equipment. The dome lights. All of it.
His fingers dance along my shaft, varying the motions, making his next move unpredictable. The urge to thrust hits, and I go with it, rocking my hips to get more of those skilled hands. His touch is anything but clinical.
A low delicate throb begins in my balls. My toes flex and curl as Tristan picks up the pace. I lace my fingers behind my head, settling in, enjoying the rising tide of lust. Totally ready to be swept under.
Tristan stops, lets go of my dick, and leaves me hanging.
I open my eyes and whine in protest, humping my cock into the air. “Don’t stop.”
“Oh, I’m not.” He’s rummaging through the objects on the table. “We’re just getting started, but you were getting a little too carried away. Someone needs to rein you back in.”
As much as I want to come, he’s right. No sense in getting ahead of myself. And these stirrups could be good for something. Tristan would look awfully pretty in them. “What do you say we switch places, and I’ll give you the fuck of your life? For old time’s sake. Huh?”
“Pfft.” He smirks, selecting something and stealthily keeping it from my view. “Nice try, but no. No fucking for you, Maxie boy. Time to get fucked instead, but don’t worry. I’ll make it good.”
Oh, well. It was worth a try. I’m in a much calmer mood, and I’ve got a great hard-on I’d like to put to use, but if Tristan wants to fuck me, that’s fine. I can take it. And as a doctor, he ought to know good and well where my prostate is. He’s probably not lying when he says he’ll make it good.
His brown eyes pin me to the table with a heady gaze. “Ready?”
“Shit, bro, you gonna prep me first? I always did you a solid before I fucked you.”
His chuckle keeps me on edge. “You know what? There is something I’m forgetting.” Relief expands my chest. “But not that.” And deflates just as quickly. Tristan rises from his stool and comes to stand beside me. “You really ought to have a proper view for this next part.”
He adjusts the table so I’m propped up enough to watch, which I’m fine with, but my posture is awkward. I’m curved like a hook, and my ass isn’t as open like this—I’m not sure how he’s planning on fucking me in this position but whatever. Tristan is running this show, even though I could run it better. Pity we aren’t in opposite places.
“There, that’s nice. You can watch as I fuck some sense into you, Max Scrooge. Teach you a lesson in vulnerability.”
His words go in one ear and out the other. Less talking, more fucking. My dick’s leaking a puddle of precum onto my abs while we wait. I wrap my fist around myself and give a few good tugs, but Tristan slaps it away.
“Nuh-uh, you don’t. Hands off, or I’ll restrain you. This table is equipped for that, should I find it necessary. But I don’t think you’ll like being bound. Am I wrong?”
