|"Lucid Training," Chapter Two.
I really appreciated hearing from several of you who read the first part of this story. I'm glad that you enjoyed it, and, to be honest, hearing from readers really gets me off. It motivates me to keep writing. Please drop me a line, those of you who wrote before and those of you who didn't. My email is firstname.lastname@example.org. Say anything you wish--if you liked it, if you didn't, if you have suggestions, ideas, naughty thoughts. I hope that you enjoy the next chapter.
NB: It took me longer than I had planned to pound out this chapter. Thanks for your patience.
Boilerplate (i.e., the cover-my-ass section): This is a work of explicit sexual fiction. If it's illegal for you to read this, don't read it. Don't assume that, because I write about something, that it's okay to do in real life. Any resemblance to real people, or to reality in general, is coincidental. Don't try anything you're about to read at home. All rights reserved.
"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?"
"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?"
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."
"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."
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?"
"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 São 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."
"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.