Page 66 of Collin: Episodes 10-12
He kissed the base of Collin’s spine. “I’m going to take your cum now, pet. Stay with me like this. Just breathe, in and out. I’m going to milk you now. Such a good little milk boy for your sir.”
From far away, he heard Damian whisper, “He looks blissed out, sir, like he’s not even here.”
“Because he’s not,” Mr. Reevesworth answered.
His sir settled his right hand on Collin’s thigh. Two fingers of his left hand settled against Collin’s soft entrance. “Open your flower for me, kitten.”
Collin arched his back, pressing back against his sir’s fingers, taking them into his body. They sank into him like they belonged inside. A sense of accomplishment settled inside him. He pressed a little more. His sir’s hand on his thigh tightened.
“Good pet. No, that’s enough. My precious pet. Settle now. The rest is mine. All you have to do is give it up. Still, still. Just like that. Good boy.”
He rolled his fingers against the gland inside Collin, the one that made the world white and fuzzy when he was being fucked by his master. But this wasn’t fucking. This was something else entirely.
“Posture. There you are. Pretty pet. I love you like this. Your chest looks so pink and tender. Such a soft, well-behaved cock you have. Settle. Just drift, pet. Listen to my voice. Nothing but my voice, kitten.”
As his sir spoke softly, his words taking on a gentle cadence, his fingers continued pressing against the gland inside Collin’s hole.
Collin drifted. Neither awake nor asleep. His breath passed in and out of him, deep and slow. His sir’s fingers moved in his channel so easily he wondered why his sir did not merely press his entire hand inside and stroke him. Pressure built slowly. Should he be concerned? And then the thought was gone, wiped away by his sir’s hand petting him, moving over his ribs, rubbing circles under his belly. In the distance, someone drank coffee and there was the smell of French toast. Through half-lidded eyes, he observed Damian sitting on the ground between Mr. Reevesworth’s knees. None of it held him. It was all the same as water flowing past. The only anchored point was his sir, and the only sensation that held him was his sir’s touch.
A single hand worked the back of the gag. His sir was holding his face in one hand, but the gag was loose now. His sir’s other hand remained buried inside of Collin, still stroking that place inside him. Or was it only a few fingers? He felt so soft and open. Whatever his sir chose to put in him would be accepted.
There were dim words. The meaning slid past him, but he understood. He let the bit go. A hand took it away, someone’s hand. His sir was still holding him, tipping his chin back.
Kissing him.
Collin arched into his sir’s mouth. Soft, large lips, gentle nibbling teeth, firm tongue. He opened, eager, soft. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, but then he was being eased, his body gentled and calmed as his sir controlled his body, held him back from pushing. The kiss slowed, and the hand holding his cheek brought him down by degrees. He leaned into it, his head falling below his shoulders. His sir rubbed his face, probing at the muscles above and below his teeth. He let his mouth fall open, and fingers stroked his tongue. He lowered his bottom jaw, making room for them. They slid in, probing his throat.
He wanted that. He wanted more of his sir. Having his sir outside of him was too far away. He swallowed around the fingers, trying to take more of them until they were there, filling him up, so there was no emptiness, not even room for air.
He was looking up at his sir. Strong, soft, dark-brown eyes gazing straight back into his. Nothing else was clear. The world was hazy for new reasons, unimportant ones. How was he looking up? It didn’t matter. He must have raised his head as he swallowed down the man’s fingers. His throat and lungs squeezed tight, searching for air.
“Breathe for me.” The fingers drew back, pressing down on his tongue, still deep in his mouth. He pulled in air, and his sir’s fingers followed back down into his throat, claiming space inside of him there as much as they continued to do behind him in his hole.
“You’re being the perfect milk boy, kitten. You’re leaking for me now. All that cum is dripping down now. You haven’t cum in days, like a good milk boy, saving it for his sir.”
His sir pulled back his fingers again, giving him more air. He stroked over Collin’s tongue. “Lower your head now, pet. Relax, breathe deep. Slowly. There. Like that. I have you.”
Collin’s eyes slid shut. His sir’s hand was in his hair, massaging his scalp. He let his head hang between his arms. His fingers were loose and curled against the wood of the table.
“So good for me, kitten.” Lips pressed against his shoulder.
He wanted to lean into the warmth that was his sir and never leave it, but he wanted to obey more. And obeying meant staying here just like this. That pressure in his groin remained. He blinked open his eyes as if he were drunk and moving under water. His cock, decorated with a bronze chain wrapped behind the head and pulled down by three bronze-colored weights, hung soft and stretched out above a silver platter. A line of white cum seeped from his slit to a puddle on the silver platter.
Milked. His sir was milking him. He wasn’t hard. He wasn’t orgasming. There was no pleasure. And yet his sir was taking his cum.
Just as he said he would.
His stomach flipped. He wanted to lay at this man’s feet. He wanted to be on the ground on his belly. He wanted to be below this man, to hide, to roll over and submit.
But he was too far gone, too weak, and too spaced out to even cry. His soft open hole pulsed timidly around his sir’s fingers.
“I have you, Collin. My little kitten. Chin up, darling.” His sir coaxed his face upward. “One more time with the gag. We need it, don’t we?”
Collin arched toward him, pressing his lips against his sir’s, begging. Little desperate whimpers bubbled up from deep inside.
But he wasn’t alone. His sir’s tongue was in him, and his tongue was in his sir, and the end of one body and the beginning of the other was lost. He was swallowing down saliva, and he didn’t know if he was drinking his sir or himself.
Breath by shared breath, their mouths eased apart becoming separate bodies once again. His sir held Collin’s chin in the palm of his hand. He pressed in with his thumb on one side and his fingers on the other between Collin’s lower and upper jaw, holding Collin’s mouth open.
