"Tell me, what does fate intend for us?
Tell me, how does it bind us so precisely?"
--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Why give us insight? (to
Charlotte Von Stein)"
"I've
been offered a lot for my work, but never everything."
--
The Magnificent Seven (1960)
**********
Noah sat on the edge of the bathtub, naked, holding the
phone to his ear. With each ring he felt his heart beat
faster. He drummed the fist of his free hand against his
knee and sucked greedy, ragged breaths in through his
nose. In the bitter-bright glow of the late morning
sun--and without the dull succor of vodka and
oxycontin--Noah could feel the sad dinginess of the
bathroom in his skin: the cracked tile, the peeling
linoleum, the mold that speckled the corners of the
ceiling. The rest of the apartment wasn't much better.
Putty, super glue, and bleach could hide the problems
but not fix the underlying brokenness. Noah had tried.
On the fifth ring, someone answered. "Good morning. How
may I help you?"
A woman. Noah was brought up short. "Uh, yeah."
There was a pause. "How may I
help you?" The
woman's tone was clipped, European.
Noah realized he had no clue what he really wanted to
say, especially to someone obviously not his mom's john.
He wet his lips. "I...yeah, I found a gold coin? I think
it belongs to the person at this number."
Another pause. "One moment, please."
As he was put on hold he wiped the back of his neck with
his hand. It wasn't just the humidity making him sweat.
He counted the seconds and stared at the black mini
dress and nylons, a whore's shed skin in a pile on the
floor.
"What is your name, young man?"
"Noah Conall."
"I'm told that the coin in fact belongs to you, Mr.
Conall."
"Yeah. I guess, yeah. What I mean is...I'd like to thank
the person who gave it to me."
"Mr. Okami would like to assure you that no thanks are
necessary."
Noah took a deep breath. He felt she was playing with
him somehow. "Please. I'd like...I need to meet him. I
need to."
There was a pause on the line.
"Mr. Okami would also like to meet with you. Are you
free now, Mr. Conall?"
"Uh, yeah, now is fine."
"Very well. Please be waiting outside your building in
thirty minutes."
The line went dead with Noah's mouth open. He looked
down at the phone and exhaled loudly. The john's phone
number--
Mr. Okami's phone number, Noah
thought--blinked away. He stood up, peeling his ass from
the sticky ceramic edge of the tub, and stretched.
Thirty minutes.
Bleary, Noah turned on the shower; the pipes shuddered
resentfully. He didn't wait for the water to warm even
slightly, but stepped right under the biting spray. "
Fuck
Jesus!" he spat, hopping on one foot and then the
other as the water needled his flesh spitefully. He
stuck his face directly under the shower head and opened
his mouth. The water had a bitter, mineral tang but it
washed the taste of sleep and cum from his throat. As he
started to soap his lean body, his cock woke up. Jacking
off in the shower in the morning was almost a ritual for
a sixteen year old--he knew it and his dick did too.
The grainy soap abraded Noah's skin and filled the
shower with pungent lavender. If he wasn't on a deadline
he might've taken his time, but his dick wouldn't be put
off so easily, he knew. He planted one palm on the tile
wall and grabbed his shaft with the other. The nine
inches filled his fingers heavily, lubricated by the
lather dripping down his body. The water had warmed only
slightly, but its coolness seemed steamed away in the
boy's radiant heat. Noah stroked himself quickly,
keeping his hand near the end of his meat, occasionally
stopping to rub soap and precum together with his thumb
over the tender red flesh of his cockhead.
He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up images of
Alexandra, Jamie's twin sister, to speed things up. It
was kind of a tragedy that he had a better chance of
scoring with Jamie--ambiguous, liminal Jamie--than with
Lexie, but that didn't stop him from using the image of
her to sweeten his frequent daydreams. But he couldn't
focus. His mind kept twisting from Lexie's ass back to
the john in the shadows, the sculpted lines of his body
hinted at in the pale moonlight. His tree limb cock.
Noah thought of that mammoth shaft splitting the lips of
his mom's pussy, her mewling shrieks. Jamie next to him
on a bench at the field, watching Lexie's thighs pump in
her yellow field hockey shorts, sharing Smirnoff in a
Gatorade bottle. The way his mom's eyes rolled back and
her toes curled when she came, that huge shadowy cock
bringing her there. The ridged veins of his forearms
under Noah's fingernails.
Noah felt the pressure in his balls and abdomen and
gripped his shaft tighter. The lather had all sluiced
off his body, swirled down the drain, but he didn't need
any extra lube. His fingers playing rapidly up and down
his thick shaft, he bent over almost in half and let the
shower pelt his back, biting his lower lip and muffling
his moan as he shot his load. "Nnnnnn-
hhnnnnnnnn!"
His body spasmed, fingertips to toes, and he aimed his
cock so that he sprayed jism down into the tub and not
on the cracked tile wall. The thick white ropes of semen
met the cold water running down Noah's legs and spiraled
away down the drain.
It took him a moment to catch his breath. He toweled his
body dry, his shaggy cinnamon hair swept back in a dark,
damp helmet. His dick continued to deflate as he went
into the bedroom to change. The bed was empty; his
mother wasn't there. Noah looked over his shoulder into
the living room and kitchenette, but the apartment was
empty.
Her absence wasn't entirely unusual. Noah's mom did what
she wanted, when she wanted, and was often way for days
at a time, without advance warning. But Noah remembered
that her cash-filled clutch was still on the bathroom
vanity. He went to make the bed, but it had been
stripped, only the faded fitted sheet still on the
mattress. Maybe she had gone to get a hotel room, like
she had promised last night, or maybe she was in the
basement running the sheets through the laundry. The
clock was ticking, though, and he didn't have time to
spare to consider that shit.
Noah was already sweating again as he pulled on a pair
of boxers. His ratty black tee shirt had the word OBEY
printed on the chest, white caps on a red bar. His cargo
shorts struggled to stay up around his narrow waist, and
his threadbare black Converse were a size too large. He
gathered his phone, his wallet, and swept the gold coin
off the counter into his pocket. Because he wasn't sure
if his mom had remembered her keys, he didn't bother to
lock the door behind him.
He loped down the two flights to the street. The scene
outside the triplex was the same as any other day,
summer or winter , but he felt almost as if he was
seeing it fresh, for the first time, like his world had
been upgraded from VHS to Blu-ray. The chain-link fence
along the sidewalk played out rusty fractals behind the
jagged hewn softness of the crab grass. It rose in a
hump beside the battered maple where the concrete had
buckled under its probing roots. A couple of jays, sharp
darting twists of blue silk, muscled out the titmice and
goldfinches at Mrs. Vartanian's feeder. The humid air
flowed like syrup around Noah and carried the acrid tang
of hot tar and traffic into his nose as he breathed. His
sleepless life had been so muted, so gray.
A sleek Mercedes town car pulled up in front of the
triplex. Noah had never seen such an elegant ride, like
a living, machined creature. As he grabbed the door
handle, he saw Jamie coming down the sidewalk, sucking
down a nuclear yellow Coolata. "Fuck," he whispered, and
left the door closed. Jamie was his best friend, his
comrade, but there were rooms of his life he kept even
Jamie cordoned from. Jamie waved, and Noah waited.
Jamie lived with his family, Armenian immigrants with
various degrees of legal American citizenship, on the
first floor of the triplex. He was the same age as Noah,
a little shorter; stocky, but he carried it lightly. He
usually wore his dishwater blond hair gel-spiked, but
the heat had taken the bloom out of it. Noah could smell
he was already halfway high.
"Hey, buddy." Jamie clapped Noah on the shoulder. Noah
forced a smile; he felt like he was wearing a name-tag
that read,
Hello! I am a COCKSUCKER!
"I knocked on your door earlier, but there was no
answer," Jamie continued. "I'd have gotten you some
Dunkin if I knew you were around."
"That's cool, man, no worries. Actually, I'm kinda on my
way out right now...."
"Where to?" Jamie noticed the sedan for the first time
and his eyebrows bounced.
"I gotta see a guy about a thing."
"Right, right." Jamie knew more about Noah's
architecture than he let on. "Look me up later,
bro?"
"Yeah, definitely."
Jamie started up the walk. Noah looked. "Hey, wait up a
sec, dude." The Mercedes idled.
Jamie turned, vacuuming the dregs of the Coolata up
noisily. Noah fished the gold coin out of his
pocket and pressed it into Jamie's free hand. "Keep this
for me, yeah?"
Jamie's eyes widened. "Woah! Where the fuck'd you score
this?"
"I sold a kidney."
"C'mon, seriously."
"I'll tell you later."
I'll think up a good lie
later. "I just don't want my mom to know about
it."
"Yeah, okay, no problem. I'll keep it secret, keep it
safe."
"Thanks."
Jamie went into the triplex. When the front door closed
behind him, Noah got into the front passenger seat of
the purring sedan and sank into the leather with an
involuntary sigh. The car's air conditioning welcomed
him with supple fingers. Noah let his lanky legs splay
out as the car pulled away.
He ran his fingers through his hair and looked over at
the driver. Like the car itself, she seemed too elegant,
almost machined. He couldn't quite tell how old she was:
though her hair was stark white, and the corners of her
eyes and lips crinkled, her skin was otherwise smooth,
her eyes sharp and bright. Her hair was collected into a
bun and pierced with two steel needles that would give a
TSA agent arrhythmia.
"Good morning again, Mr. Conall," she said without
looking at him.
"I talked to you on the phone?"
"Yes. I am Mr. Okami's secretary."
"What should I call you?"
"Frau."
"Frau what?"
"Just 'Frau.'"
"Okay...." He looked out the window. Other cars seemed
to give way to the Mercedes, and they left Noah's
neighborhood behind swiftly. "Can you tell me where
we're going?"
"Dorchester. It's not far."
Noah leaned back and watched the city slip by, letting
the conversation, such as it was, drop. They passed
south into Dorchester, and Noah lost his bearings; Frau
seemed to be taking a roundabout route, and he was
certain that they passed some buildings more than once.
Apartments, strip malls, and big-box stores gave way to
larger industrial buildings, mills and warehouses that
had seen their heyday in the 1800s but now squatted
between the streets like old, beaten draft horses,
abandoned but loyal, waiting for their teamsters'
purposeful switch.
The car stopped in front of a large brick factory, a
squat, three-story edifice with many staring, square
windows. A high iron gate closed off a parking lot. On
the far side of the factory rose two pudgy smokestacks;
on one the word
LUCID was painted vertically,
the large white letters showing the grain of the brick
underneath. Frau pulled up an app on her phone, and in
response the gate slid open silently.
Noah sat up. "I've been here before."
Frau cocked an eyebrow. "You have?"
"Yeah. This is a nightclub, right? Club Lucid. Last
winter me and a couple friends tried to sneak in with
fake IDs."
Frau drove the car past the gate. "
Was will das
Schicksal uns bereiten?" she murmured. "And how
did that turn out?"
Noah grinned at her, despite himself. "The bouncer
literally kicked our asses to the curb. This giant black
dude with no neck. Scared us shitless."
Frau returned the smile. "That would be Quintus. Mr.
Okami's head of security. He's a pussycat."
She drove the car directly into the building through a
garage door, parked, and slid out. The long loading dock
had been converted into a garage and mechanic's bay, but
Noah didn't have time to look around. For a small woman,
Frau moved with purpose and Noah had to rush to keep up
with her. The needles harpooning her bun winked at him
under the fluorescent lights.
She led him to a service elevator at the far end of the
bay. The gate clanged shut. The bronze control panel had
four buttons--
3, 2, 1, and
B1--and a
square, green glass plate. Frau pressed her thumb to the
glass, and it lit up, scanning; a small door opened on
the panel, revealing two more buttons:
B2 and
H.
She pressed B2, and the elevator descended.
It opened to a hallway suffuse with shadow, occasionally
lit by dim bulbs caged in the ceiling. Noah imagined the
weight of the earth above them, the brick, wood, and
steel bones of the building, and hunched in a little on
himself. The click of Frau's heels on the concrete floor
echoed in Noah's ears like his heartbeat. The passage
was studded with sweating duct work and the doors that
they passed seemed to have no regular pattern. Each had
a glossy keypad lock, dissonant against the gritty brick
and mortar. All of the doors were numbered.
Frau stopped. Door number seven. Noah became aware of a
sound from behind the door, a measured, exotic tune
being played on a string instrument. Frau knocked twice
on the door and turned the handle; this door, at least,
was unlocked.
"I'll leave you now," she said with a slight bow of her
head. "Good luck, Mr. Conall." She turned and
disappeared down the hallway, her clicking heels
fading. Noah hesitated, his hand hovering just
above the door handle.
Don't be a fuckin' pussy, he thought.
You
little pussy. He straightened his posture, cracked
his neck, and went in.
The room was only about as large as the unfinished
basement of his triplex. The floor and walls alike were
covered in square, once-white tiles. A few rusty drains
were set in the floor. A single dangling bulb
illuminated a radius in the center of the room, but the
walls remained indistinct. A man sat in the center of
the room, his legs gathered up under him, in worn
leather armchair. He played a koto, his fingers coaxing
melancholy mathematical trills from the strings. Noah
had only seen him before in the moonlight, but knew this
was the stranger he'd blown last night.
Noah waited with his hands in his pockets. He knew, knew
deeply, to wait for the song to end. He looked at the
stranger closely through his shaggy bangs, trying not to
seem like he was looking.
The man was, Noah guessed, in his mid-thirties. His
shaved scalp reflected the light bulb above. His face
had an aquiline, angular cast to it, fine but not harsh;
his upswept black eyebrows narrowed together under his
concentration on the mandolin. Almond-shaped eyes
suggested Asian gene play, but his skin had a dusky,
honey-brown cast to it: Tokyo via S
ão
Paulo, maybe . He wore a black pinstriped vest over a
pink button-down dress shirt, matching pinstriped
slacks, but no shoes, socks, or jacket. Almost
infinitesimal pink rosettes dotted his silk tie. His
shirtsleeves were rolled up and Noah watched the tendons
in his forearms flex as he played the mandolin. Both
arms were covered with elaborate, detailed tattoos that
disappeared into his sleeves. Muscular shoulders
stretched the shirt fabric, and his pecs strained
at his vest. Noah's eyes were drawn, despite himself,
between the man's legs; his crotch bulged monstrously.
The taste of it returned to the back of Noah's throat.
The man plucked out a deliberate coda, and the notes
lingered in the room after he set the mandolin aside. He
unfolded his legs and stood in one move, a few inches
over six feet tall. He smiled.
"Noah. Thank you for being so patient, Noah."
"You don't look like a nightclub owner," Noah mumbled.
What
a stupid fuckin' thing to say.
"Hmm. Perhaps not, but I like the energy of it. The
audacity in a room of raw, needful people." He shrugged
the thought away. "My name is Seth Okami. I'm pleased
you sought me out."
He shook Noah's hand, a grip that knew just when to stop
the pressure and then grip a little more. Noah was
surprised at how tough and calloused the hand was.
"Um. I'm not sure where to begin," Noah fumbled.
"Then let me. I have something you want, and you have
something I want. What do you want?"
Noah paused.
What do
I want?
"I slept last night. For like ten hours. I never sleep.
And I had a dream for the first time ever."
"And you want that again." Not a question.
Okami's eyes were a gelid shade of hazel that Noah had
trouble meeting. "Yeah, I...yes." Though that wasn't
quite true.
I'm tired of being broken, he
thought. He couldn't say it aloud.
"I can give that back to you. If you truly want it, and
are prepared to pay for it."
"What do
you want?"
"I admire beautiful things."
Noah had expected something more vulgar. "I'm...I'm not
sure what that means."
Okami tilted his head a fraction. "I'm a sort of
collector. A collector of Noahs. I want to add you to my
collection, to make you a diamond among the scattered
heaps of coal that litter the world. You're beautiful,
but not yet perfect. I'll perfect you. I'll take care of
you, give you everything you need." He paused. "I'm not
an altruist, though. It won't be easy. I'll use you as I
like, take whatever delight in you would satisfy me, for
the rest of your natural life. That life would belong to
me as much as this building, this koto. I may, as your
training goes on, let you play on a long leash, maybe
someday so long that you'll seem to have a life of your
own. But you'll always be mine, Noah. The diamond in my
collection."
Noah swallowed. Words like
beautiful and
perfect
weren't often in his triplex vocabulary. Or
leash. "What
if I said no? I can just get up and walk out of here?"
"Yes," Okami lied. "I'll call Frau, we'll shake hands,
and she'll take you home. But if you say 'yes' now, 'no'
is no longer an option."
Noah exhaled loudly. "Can I talk about it with my mom?"
"She has no objections."
"What?"
"I've already discussed it with her, Noah. In fact, I
think she's just a little bit jealous. This kind of
opportunity doesn't just fall out of the sky everyday,
for people like you."
"Yeah." Noah looked down at his shoes.
Beautiful.
Perfect. He thought about the life waiting for him
back home--or rather, the life that
wasn't
waiting for him. Carrying that half-life in his bones,
tired and dreamless. How much was he willing to give for
something better, to
be something better? Would
he really let another dude fuck him? He didn't think
this guy would be satisfied with a handjob. But he'd be
able to escape from that fucking apartment. And actually
sleep more than twenty minutes a day, to not be so
goddamn tired every second of his life; to actually
dream....
He ran his hand across his face to brush his hair aside.
A minute ticked by, the only sound in the room Noah's
breath. "Okay. Okay, Seth, if you can really do all
those things for me, I'll be what you want."
Okami inhaled deeply, a breath to close his eyes. "Very
good." He stepped up to Noah and cupped his face. His
thumb tapped Noah's full lips. "My name isn't yours to
use so freely. 'Sir' is appropriate; quaint, but
efficient."
"Sir," Noah breathed into Okami's thumb. Okami leaned
down.
Just like kissing a girl, he tried to tell
himself,
just like kissing....
It wasn't. Okami's lips had electric heat to them.
Pressure that yielded only reluctantly. He used his
thumb to part Noah's lips and he slid his tongue, a
warm, slick predator, into Noah's mouth. Noah kept his
eyes shut, but he knew that Okami was staring into him,
staring through his eyelids into him.
As he broke the kiss, Okami pressed something into
Noah's fingers. Noah opened his eyes a moment later. He
could still feel the heat fading from his lips. He
looked down at the folding knife in his hand.
"Your clothes. Cut them off."
Noah flicked the knife open. He pulled his tee shirt
away from his skin and flayed it awkwardly, the knife
sharp but his movements dull. Strips of fabric fell to
his feet. His cargo shorts were tougher; he jabbed the
point of the knife too hard and swore under his breath
when it bit his thigh. The frayed shorts fell away from
his legs and then, more delicately, his boxers. A thin
line of blood trickled down his thigh. He balanced on
one leg and started to pull off his sneaker.
"
Cut them off. We're going to have serious
problems if you can't remember what I tell you."
Noah's heart thumped. "Sorry. Sir," he added quickly. He
had to chop at the tough Converse canvas, hopping in a
circle, but those too he cut away.
He stood there naked, at the edge of the circle of
light. Okami walked around him, examined him. He reached
out and traced patterns in Noah's freckled chest,
connecting them, drawing his finger from one freckle to
another, traveling from nipple to shoulder to the small
of his back. He brought his finger down, brushing the
light strawberry dawn that covered Noah's round ass.
Noah stiffened and involuntarily clenched his glutes,
the muscles bunching. Like swiping a credit card, Okami
slid his finger between the hard cheeks.
"Don't move." Okami walked off to the side of the room,
partly obscured by shadow. Noah heard a motor hum. Steel
rattled above him, and he looked up to see a large
industrial pulley spinning on the ceiling, playing out
two thick tendons of chain down behind him. When the
chains dangled almost to the floor, the motor went dead
and the pulley stopped. Okami returned with a long metal
pole with blunted hooks at either end, and half a dozen
leather straps like miniature belts.
"Put out your arms, Noah, like this." Okami held out his
arms wide, making his body into a lower case
t.
Swallowing dryly, Noah mirrored him. Okami laid the pole
on Noah's shoulders and along the length of his arms,
and used the leather straps to quickly bind the pole to
Noah's arms at the wrists, elbows, and collar-bone.
After double-checking the buckles, he threaded the end
of each chain to one of the two hooks on the pole. He
returned to the shadows and the motor started again,
turning the pulley in reverse and retracting the chains,
eventually tightening the slack until Noah felt himself
being lifted up. Okami stopped the pulley when Noah's
feet were a couple inches above the tile. The weight of
his body made the leather cinch even tighter, pinching
the color out of his flesh.
Noah was sweating.
Okami was undoing his tie as he walked back into the
light. Noah watched him strip, laying each article of
clothing on the back of the armchair. Noah guessed him
to be around 230 pounds or so of solid, machined muscle.
From his wide, squared shoulders his traps arched, his
thick neck the keystone. His pecs were two thick slabs
of cinder block brushed with fine black hair. His
stomach was smoother, paved with cobblestone abs divided
with creases so deep you could lose spare change between
them. The tattoos on his forearms continued all the way
up to his shoulders, both arms as finely inked as a
cathedral's ceiling. Veins ran like computer cables
straining his swollen biceps. He tugged his pinstriped
slacks down past the thick Doric pillars of his legs; he
wore no underwear, and when he turned to drape them on
the chair showed the two hard globes of his ass. He
squatted down to slide a metal briefcase out from under
the chair, his haunches bulging. He sat the case on the
chair and flicked the latches open.
When Okami turned around, Noah's eyes were drawn by the
swaying of his flaccid, pendulous cock. Like his lips
the night before, his mind couldn't quite wrap itself
around the massive tool. Though still soft, it had to be
as long and as thick as Noah's cock at its hardest. It
sprouted from a dense forest of black pubes, curving out
over a fist-size dangling ball sac. Noah's heart skipped
a beat.
"You had some trouble with it last night," Okami said.
"Frankly, I'd be disappointed in you if you
didn't."
Noah blinked and looked up. He didn't recognize the
device Okami was holding: it looked like an ergonomic
diadem, a semi-circle of stainless steel with various
supporting filaments and hinges. Thin plates and
fine-toothed gears were attached where the circle broke.
Okami began to fasten it to Noah's face, sliding the
plates between his teeth. He made adjustments on the
custom spider gag so that it firmly cradled Noah's jaw
and neck. By turning keys connected to the gears the
front plates expanded, incrementally spreading Noah's
mouth open.
"Is that comfortable?"
"Uh, ah ah," Noah nodded.
"Hmm." Okami turned the keys again, forcing Noah's mouth
open wider, painfully stretching his jaw wide to the
point where Noah thought the bone might crack. He
sputtered and tensed his fingers helplessly.
"You'll wear this several hours a day, until you can
take my cock with
relative ease."
"Ah uh ah."
"Don't bother." Okami patted Noah's shoulder. "You don't
have anything to say right now that I need to listen
to." He retrieved the folding knife and crouched down in
front of Noah. He ran the dull edge of the blade along
the length of Noah's penis; Noah couldn't quite see it,
but felt a chill in his gut.
"Now that's a big swinging dick, eh, boy? A locker room
display model. No, no--don't thrash, Noah. I keep all my
knives sharp."
Okami used the blade to shave away a square of Noah's
spice-red pubes above his cock and ran his finger along
the stubble. Then he leaned in and flattened his tongue
against Noah's belly, licking from just above the root
of his cock to his navel. He flicked Noah's belly button
like he was trying to swipe away the lock screen on an
iPhone. He pressed his nose up against Noah's flesh.
"Oatmeal and lavender. From an eye-level shelf at
Walgreens, I imagine. A luxury for a Southie whore."
Noah didn't disagree but under his heavy lids his eyes
still flashed.
Okami retrieved from the briefcase a solid iron signet
ring, too large a ring for a man's finger, holding it
with a long pair of pliers. He held the ring out so that
Noah could see the insignia deeply grooved into the
iron: a trilobite, an inch long, identical to the one on
Okami 's business card. "The easiest way to let others
know that you belong to me is that you'll simply tell
them so." He took the last item from the briefcase. A
butane chef's torch. "Obviously, that won't always be
possible."
He turned the torch on, and the flame ignited with a
faint
whoof. A piercing cobalt spearhead
flickered. He held the insignia to the flame, and the
black iron began to blossom orange.
"Ya ah ah...."
"This will hurt a bit."
Okami set the torch down. He reached around Noah and
grabbed one of his ass cheeks. Then he pressed the
glowing signet into Noah's flesh above the base of his
cock.
"
Aaaayyeeeeeeee!" Noah's high pitch shriek
gurgled as spit bubbled in the back of his mouth. He
thrashed his legs as the searing pain shot through his
body. Okami held him steady. The scent that flew up into
Noah's nostrils made his mind flash jaggedly to the
fourth of July, charred hot dogs on the grill. Okami
remained icily still, but his cock began to swell.
Tears slid down Noah's cheeks and along the curves of
the jaw stretcher. An eternity later Okami pulled the
ring away and set it on the floor to cool. The trilobite
on Noah's skin smoked a second more, indelible, eagerly
angry red. Noah bobbed his head wordlessly.
Okami stood and licked away Noah's tears and spit. Noah
saw the savor in Okami's eyes. He felt Okami's thick
cock sliding up along his stomach, could actually feel
it waking. Hungry.
Okami moved behind Noah and ran his fingertips tenderly
along the sides of Noah's torso, from his armpits to his
waist. Noah giggled dissonantly. Okami kneaded Noah's
butt with his thumbs.
"This is the kind of ass they write poems about, boy.
They fight wars over beautiful creatures like you. Have
you given it up before, or will I be the first?"
Noah shook his head, no.
If you don't count
strap-ons, anyways, he thought.
"I wonder," Okami murmured. He inhaled deeply and rested
the full thickness of his cock between Noah's cheeks.
"Full disclosure: you'll never like it. Oh, you'll come
to
need it, to
crave it. You don't
believe me, but you'll even beg for it. But you'll never
truly
like it."
He guided his swollen cock head between Noah's cheeks,
resting it at the entrance to his teen cunt. Noah tensed
involuntarily. "That's not a good idea, boy."
Okami wrapped his hands around Noah's throat and pushed
his mammoth tool in. Unlubed. Noah's eyes bulged and he
grunted wetly as Okami slowly but relentlessly drove his
wrist-thick cock in deep. The pain made his branding a
moment earlier seem insignificant. He imagined he heard
himself tearing.
Okami didn't stop until he had buried his entire shaft
to the hilt, his balls smacking the undercurve of Noah's
ass. His cock bulged obscenely against Noah's stomach
from the inside, the outline of it visible like a snake
trying to slither its way out of Noah's tummy. Okami
held it there for several heartbeats before sliding it
out. The pain was almost worse, if possible.
Okami slid all of his length out but the head. His
fingers gripped Noah's neck tight enough to bruise but
still allow him to suck down the bare minimum of oxygen
consciousness demanded. He thrust in again, harder this
time, re-ripping Noah. Noah's body thrashed in the
harness, rattling the chains; his toes curled inches
above the tile. Okami's breathing grew louder as he
longdicked the bound teenager's boypussy.
Noah's vision swam as Okami rode him hard. Sweat dripped
down his back and between his cheeks, mixing with his
blood to make a lube that helped Okami ram his cock
harder but only served to increase the agony. Okami
plowed him over and over. Time lost meaning. Every
muscle, every nerve ending in Noah's body screamed. His
face flushed beet red from the exertion of remaining
conscious, and from the shame that blossomed from his
gut. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
You knew it
would be exactly
like this, he thought.
Don't
fuckin' pretend otherwise.
Okami took Noah's thighs in his hands and started to
rabbitfuck him, pounding his ass even harder. His
monster cock pistoned in and out, stretching his boy's
hole beyond all natural limits. Noah shuddered in the
harness and lowed like a wounded cow, his screams
echoing in workroom number seven. Okami's mouth was set
in a hedonistic animal rictus, his nostrils flaring. His
muscles were tensed and striated and sweat flew from his
torso onto Noah's back like hot oil spitting from a
griddle.
Noah felt every inch of Okami's dick slamming into him,
over and over and over. As he screamed the jaw stretcher
vibrated and shot jolts of pain through his teeth.
Please. Please, I'm ready for it to stop now....
It didn't stop. Okami's body was overclocked and he
fucked his new boy, kept fucking him until Noah could
only sag in the harness, the screams strip-mined from
his throat, snot and spit and tears crusting his face
and neck. It would never stop.
Okami wrapped his huge biceps around Noah's chest and
pulled him close. Noah felt Okami's hard nipples poking
his shoulder blades. Their sweaty bodies were one. He
bit Noah's shoulder, grinding his teeth into the flesh
and muscle like a Viking attacking a mutton leg. Noah
gurgled. Okami rammed his dick deep up into Noah's gut
one last time and bellowed, his teeth staying buried in
Noah's shoulder.
The cum burst out of his cock in a flood. It burned
Noah's ravaged, raw guts; he felt it coat his insides as
his new owner bred him. Okami's ass clenched with each
spurt, bucking his hips and driving his jism home,
forcing Noah's body higher into the air.
In the rape pain and the cum shame, Noah hadn't noticed
that his own dick was hard. He spat his own load onto
the dank tile floor, several ropes of teen seed that
arched through the air. There was no pleasure in it, but
there was release, a warmth of pent-up friction as his
clenched muscles and battered psyche unspooled. His
chest heaved. He mewled awkwardly, softly.
Okami pulled his slowly deflating cock out of Noah's
hole. His shaft was slick with blood and sweat and cum.
It dripped out of Noah's gaping cunt and ran in rivulets
down his taut legs.
Noah heard Okami's steady, deep breaths behind him. He
swung limply in the harness, each breath, each beat of
his heart making him twitch in pain. His thick cinnamon
hair masked his face.
"It will never get easier." Okami walked towards the
door. "Sleep well, boy."
"Uht?" Noah tried to twist his head around. Okami turned
the light off and closed the door behind him. The
filament in the dangling bulb shone like a slit in a
serpent's eye, then faded. The darkness was complete.
Noah was alone.