Page 15 of Collin: Episodes 4-6
He dropped his head to Mr. Reevesworth’s shoulder, trembling. Sensations pulsed inside him, the uppermost a satisfaction so perfect it was bitter on his tongue. His hole beat in time with his heartbeat around the cock still inside him even as it half-softened.
Mr. Reevesworth’s arms moved just enough to let him breathe. They stayed locked together, both gasping for air, their hearts beating hard, a duet of drums behind their ribs.
Mr. Reevesworth slowly moved them apart just enough to guide them both down into a supine position on the bed. His cock slipped out of Collin’s hole. Collin complained without words, just a sound of loss in his throat. Mr. Reevesworth pulled him down to lay halfway on his chest, halfway on the bed. Then he reached down and pressed three fingers back into Collin’s channel.
“Better, boy?”
Collin nodded against the man’s shoulder. Words were still beyond him. Mr. Reevesworth’s hands glided over their skin. He moved them and ran his hands down Collin’s belly and down to his groin. His fingers lingered there, exploring Collin’s caged cock and trapped balls.
“Oh, pet.”
Collin lifted his head and looked down. Mr. Reevesworth was rubbing cum between his fingers. “It looks as if we milked the cum from you after all.”
That wasn’t possible. He hadn’t orgasmed. He rubbed his face and shook his head, looking again. It was undeniably smeared across his groin. It couldn’t have come from Mr. Reevesworth. His load was still coating Collin’s guts on the inside, an odd sensation that made him want to go to his knees.
Mr. Reevesworth kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, Collin, the things that I will teach you.”
“But I didn’t cum.” Collin whispered.
“We milked it out of you.”
Collin closed his eyes and flopped against Mr. Reevesworth’s chest.
Mr. Reevesworth laughed. “You are not curious, pet?”
Collin shook his head. “Sleepy. Teach me sex magic later.”
“Hmm…is this when your inner brat comes out, post coitus?”
“I’m not a brat.” Collin nipped at Mr. Reevesworth’s shoulder. He tasted good. So Collin told him so. He dragged more of his tongue over Mr. Reevesworth’s skin.
Mr. Reevesworth’s head dropped back on the bed. His mouth opened in a full-bodied laugh. “Oh, Collin.”
Collin fell asleep, though it couldn’t have been for long. Mr. Reevesworth held him through it, covering him with the loose end of the comforter as the sweat cooled on their skin. But in time, there was a need to wash. Collin obeyed the prompt to return to the bathroom and rinse off. Mr. Reevesworth entered the shower with him. They soaped up together, touching and sharing, then rinsing. Collin went back for more soap to clean himself between his legs, but Mr. Reevesworth took the bottle away from him. He turned Collin and made a motion down toward his own hip. Collin frowned. This didn’t make sense.
Mr. Reevesworth widened his stance and bent forward, wrapping one arm around the back of Collin’s waist and then standing up himself. Collin’s arms windmilled. As Mr. Reevesworth stood, his grip pushed Collin into an angle at the waist, as if he was about to be spanked. Eyes on the floor, head hanging down, ass upturned.
It was proprietary in the extreme. Collin spread his legs so as not to fall, but he was nearly on his tiptoes already. His arms felt weird and useless. He stifled his complaints in the back of his throat and wrapped one arm around Mr. Reevesworth’s leg.
Mr. Reevesworth said nothing and simply held him tight until Collin stopped moving. Then he spread Collin’s ass and rubbed soap and water over his hole. He was thorough. After another rinse, Mr. Reevesworth sank two fingers into him and held them there.
Collin shuddered and hung his head, eyes closed. There was no need for this. He knew it. But he let go of Mr. Reevesworth’s legs, letting his head and arms hang loose, and inched his legs apart the centimeter or so more that he could manage and waited.
Mr. Reevesworth moved his fingers back and forth, deeper and deeper. Then he pulled them out and returned, this time with three fingers, covered in slick.
Collin’s thoughts disappeared into a cloud of white static. He was nothing but the place where he was being taken and explored. Those fingers twisted and spread and kneaded against his swollen prostrate. The muscles in his thighs quivered, but he stayed quiet and waiting.
Mr. Reevesworth drew him upright and slowly slid his fingers out of Collin. But he did not wash away the slick. He left that in Collin’s channel.
Collin’s face flushed, and he dropped his eyes to the floor of the shower.
Mr. Reevesworth had just prepared him to be taken again. He was going to leave the bathroom already lubed and ready to be claimed.
Wanted. The sensation crawled through his skin and up into his face. Stripped open, raw, and available. He crept closer, pressing against Mr. Reevesworth, wordlessly seeking comfort. How could he desire something that also terrified him?
Because without Mr. Reevesworth’s protection, everything that he currently was, everything that he was submitting to, could be derided.
Mr. Reevesworth cupped Collin’s face in his hands and kissed him. “What color are you, pretty boy?”
