I had a lot of requests from a story of my night last night, so here it is…

My fuck buddy, T, roughly pulled my shirt and shorts off.  I wasn’t wearing a bra or panties so she pushed my down on the bed and spread my legs wide.  With a smile she told me to stay still as she pulled out some rope from her bag.  She tied my ankles to the posts on her bed so that my pussy was spread.  She slowly ran a hand up my body and pushed my hands up over my head.  There she tied them to the remaining two posts of the bed and whispered “you’re mine now."  Then T left the room and I could hear her going to the bathroom; where I know she keeps all her fun toys.  I could feel myself get wet at the thought.  By the time she came back I was more than ready and begged "please just fuck me, babe."  She laughed and slowly began to peel off her panties and bra; winding her hips and throwing the lingerie on my once it was finally off her hot body.  I hadn’t even noticed what she had in her hand.  She bent over me and slowly licked and teased my tits, sucking and biting at my nipples until they were hard and swollen and sensitive just for her.  She rolled them in her fingers and tweaked them a few times; her pressure getting harder each time.  Then she pulled out two clothespins with a wicked grin.  I drew a breath; I had never done something like this before and didn’t know if I could take it.  "Remember our safe word, babe,” I moaned right before she firmly planted the first pin on my hard little nipple.  I cried out, but it quickly softened into a moan as the pleasure began to take over.  It was the same with the other tit; once the initial pain wore off it felt beyond amazing.  My nipples were constantly stimulated, but T was able to focus her hands and tongue on other areas…

T flicked the clothespins a few times to remind me she was in control before trailing her mouth slowly down my body.  Her tongue slid up and down my slit a few times and I whispered her name.  She knows just how to work a pussy; the right amount of tease and hard stimulation.  I lost track of what her mouth was doing to me because my mind was consumed with the coming orgasm.  My hips were writing, my hands trying to escape their bond so that I could grab her head and drive it deeper inside me.  When I came she didn’t slow down even for a second but took everything I gave her until I gave one last shudder and fell back on the bed, exhausted.  She finally removed her lips from me and slowly unclasped the clothespins, sending another wave of pleasure down my body.  They were sore but satisfied. just like every other inch of my body.

I waited for T to take off the restraints, but she was rummaging around with something on the floor that I couldn’t see.  When she finally sat up and saw the confused look on my face she laughed.  “I am not even close to being done with you.  You said you wanted it rough, and that is exactly what you’re going to get.  Rest up, sweetie."  She lay next to me and traced her fingers slowly around my body.  My heart rate returned to normal as I tried to prepare myself for round two.  I usually take longer breaks between orgasms and didn’t know if my tight little cunt could take it…

When T thought I was ready she revealed what she had hidden on the floor; a Hitachi Magic Wand.  I let out an involuntary moan.  I have been dying to try the wand, something T knows damn well.  She looked me straight in the eyes and said "I am going to destroy you with this.  It will not leave your hot pussy until I say so, until you have no more cum left in your body, until you are ready to pass out from orgasm.  Do you understand?"  I nodded and grabbed the rope with my hands.  She slid the wide head of the wand up and down my still dripping cunt a few times before turning it on.  Holy fuck.  I had never experienced suck intense vibrations and I came almost instantly.  T giggled like a child who had just found a new toy as she pressed it firmly to my clit as I came, my hips stretching off the bed.  I was breathing hard as she decreased the pressure; giving me a slight break but letting me still feel some slight vibrations.  She switched it to the pulsating setting that switched rapidly from low to high and pushed it back into me and I screamed out as another orgasm hit my body.  I screamed out her name, called for her to fuck me.  I was her little slut and i knew that as long as she had me tied and spread wide she was going to use and abuse me.

I lost track of how many times I came, how many different ways T used that magic little wand to make me moan.  I felt light headed, dizzy from the cum-lust I was in.  My hips weren’t grinding as hard and fast as before.  I had head of people passing out from orgasm but had never been close to feeling that before.  I refused to use the safe word though.  As the final orgasm hit my body I moaned "oh God, T, you really did destroy me."  Only then did I feel the wand leave my now soaked cunt and hear the motor stop.  T slowly licked my pussy slowly; helping me calmly come down from what felt like an orgasm high.  She wrapped herself around me and I could feel her wet pussy against my thigh.  "Untie me so I can return the favor."  She laughed and massaged my tits.  "You need your rest, my little doll,” she muttered.  “I came just watching you.  Return the favor later, when you have rebuilt your stamina."  I didn’t like that answer, but as soon as she untied me I felt myself drift off into sleep.

This morning I surprised her in the shower though, so I think all debts have been paid…

Hope you enjoyed, my sexy little followers!

Brother’s Keeper

Chapter 14: Small Victories

Tagging List:@i-can-even-burn-salad@peachy-panic@deluxewhump@arwenadreamer@whumpcereal@melancholy-in-the-morning@dont-touch-my-soup@whumpsday@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump@oddsconvert@melennui@susiequaz12@morning-star-whump@crystalquartzwhump@whump-and-other-things@mylifeisonthebookshelf@reflected-pain@hold-him-down (I hope I’m not forgetting anyone - please let me know if I am and I’ll fix it. I’m still getting used to this) 

Thanks again to the absolutely AMAZING and LOVELY @whumpcereal who has truly been a fantastic sounding board to help me get through some REALLY difficult subject matter.

This on is REALLY long, but I didn’t want to break it up and you guys not get to see Ben get a bit of aftercare after what Volkov has done to him. So, enjoy the LONG chapter.

WARNING: This chapter as well as subsequent chapters contain explicit noncon. If you prefer not to read, I’ll totally understand. Heed the tags because this gets dark. It starts IMMEDIATELY where the last chapter left off, so it’s below the cut for noncon sensitivity.

Masterlist

When Ben regained consciousness, the training gag was back in his mouth, tickling the back of his throat again; Volkov’s toy still buzzed inside him.  Ben coughed, and the toy shifted inside, but at least the gag did not seem near as troublesome as it had been. His throat felt raw and sore, but it was nothing compared to what Volkov had done. 

The blindfold over his eyes was soaked with tears.  His whole body ached and, to his horror, Volkov’s hand was on his cock again.  Ben let out a groan as the Russian’s palm circled him again and he tried to shift his hips to the side.  His throat ached with the sound of his own hoarse voice.  

“There’s my darling Malyshka.  I have a feeling you’re going to need to get used to the feeling of choking on my cock.”

Ben yelped as a second vibrator was pressed against his member.  Nonononononono!!! How much worse could this get?  How much further could Volkov debase him?

“Did you think this was over?  Oh, my sweet, innocent boy.  I told you I had no intention of holding back with you today.  I fully plan on us being here for a while.  Now, I’ve already come inside of you twice, so I need a bit of rest.  You, on the other hand, decided to be a little shit.”

Ben let out a small whimper and then bit it back.  No.  Be quiet.  Don’t engage with him. But it hurt.  Everything hurt. And what didn’t hurt was too terrible to think about.  

It wasn’t long before Ben couldn’t stop the whimpers and the wiggling.  He was painfully hard and had been for a long time now.  Volkov kept a steady rhythm, toying and teasing him with hands, fingers, and vibrator. Ben hadn’t known that pleasure could be warped this way, that feeling good could be such a betrayal. 

Ben writhed against his restraints.  His legs were sore, especially his bent knees, still splayed open and chained to the edge of the bed frame.  God, he wanted to stretch so fucking bad.  But his body couldn’t have what it wanted. Against his will, his hips bucked wildly, and he didn’t even try to stop the movement anymore.  Volkov would build up a steady rhythm, stroking him, hand going faster and faster and let Ben start fucking into his hand–Ben couldn’t help it, he couldn’t–and then he would stop, suddenly, pulling his hand away.  

Over and over, Ben was left frustrated and flushed with humiliation at what he knew he’d just been doing.   And each time, Ben felt his resolve, his fight, crumbling and eroding further and further away.  

“Would you like to come now?”  Volkov asked playfully, thumbing Ben’s slit, making him jerk with forced pleasure.  “Have you changed your mind, kitten?”

Ben sobbed.  He didn’t want to, not like this.  But god, he knew he couldn’t hold out any longer.  He nodded, utterly broken and humiliated.  

“Alright, Malyshka.  I think you’ve earned that and more.”

Warning bells rang in Ben’s ears.  What the hell did that mean?

The ring at the base of his cock was taken off, and Ben groaned in relief. Volkov jacked him with a fast, rough pace.  Ben arched his back and came hard over Volkov’s hand in a matter of seconds, the vibrator still pressed against the head of his cock.  Ben sobbed with humiliation and relief as Volkov milked the last of his orgasm from him.  

Suddenly, something was being secured around the head of his cock.  The fucking vibrator was another ring.  Ben screamed as overstimulation slammed into him.  He writhed and jerked his hips, again, trying to throw the ring off.  

“I told you, my little scholar, that you’ve earned this.  Let’s see how many we can wring from your body.”

Ben shook his head as Volkov pressed the vibrator further inside him. He knew he was in trouble as soon as the moan escaped from his lips. Volkov turned up the frequency, and so it began. 

For the next two hours, Ben’s body was nothing but Volkov’s plaything, trapped in a brutal cycle of unwanted pleasure, orgasm, and unforgiving overstimulation. Volkov pumped the vibrator in and out; he changed the setting on the cock ring so that Ben couldn’t tell when the next pulse was going to come; he punished Ben’s cock with his relentless strokes. And he counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Eventually, Ben lost track. He couldn’t hear Volkov’s tally. He’d retreated inside of himself, and still it wasn’t enough. By the end, he was a writhing, babbling mess. 

Volkov wiped his fingers, sticky with Ben’s forced seed, down Ben’s chest before reaching to take off the blindfold so he could get a better look at Ben’s desperation.  A slow, toothy smile slid onto his face at the sight of Ben’s brown eyes, pupils blown wide from exertion.  “There’s my lovely boy.  All fucked out, aren’t you?  Had enough yet?” 

Ben sobbed, desperately nodding his head.  His normally floppy brown hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his cheeks weren’t pink–they were beet red from exhaustion, stress and need.  His nostrils flared, and he sucked in air through his nose in heaving gasps.  

“I bet you have at least one more inside you just for me, don’t you?”

Ben shook his head.  God please let this be over!  

“I think you do.  You want it to stop, you have to earn it.  Are you willing to earn it?”

Ben nodded as tears streamed down his cheeks.    

Volkov’s already broad grin broadened even more.  “Good.”  He pulled the silicone training gag out of Ben’s mouth.  “Show me what you learned last time.  Take me all the way down.”  He unlocked the chain holding Ben’s cuffed wrists to the headboard, leaving his wrists bound in front of him.  

Volkov was already half hard, and he helped Ben get to his knees. Without realizing it, Ben reached for the vibrating ring around his tip; he couldn’t handle both at once. No way.

It was the wrong thing to do. Volkov struck him hard on the cheek, opening up the cut on his lip again and sending him back to the mattress.  Ben yelped with the force of the blow.  

Volkov grabbed his hair with one hand, unclipped the short clasp between his wrists with the other, and then wrestled Ben onto his stomach.  Ben struggled weakly as his arms were manhandled behind his back and clipped back into place.  Volkov dragged him back to a kneeling position, and Ben screamed as his arms were yanked up and secured to the top of the headboard.  Ben whimpered as his hair was pulled back and he stared up with wide eyes at Volkov.  

“I really thought you were smarter than that, Little Scholar.”  They stared at each other, both panting.  “Did I give you permission to do that?” Ben squirmed in his hold as the vibrator around his dick whined suddenly higher.  

Volkov shook his head with his hair.  “I asked you a question,” he growled dangerously.  

“Nghh,” Ben gasped, shaking his head as best he could.  

“All you’re meant to do right now is be my fuck toy.  Do you understand?” Volkov gave his hair another viscous shake.  

Ben squeezed his eyes shut and nodded furiously.  How the hell had he ended up here, prisoner to this mad man?  

“You belong to me.”  Shake.  “I own you.”  Shake.  “You are MINE!” Volkov screamed the last word into Ben’s ear.  He knelt on the bed in front of Ben and lowered him down towards his crotch, letting his shoulders strain behind him.  “You better fucking make me happy or we’ll just keep going for a few more hours.  Well, you will.  I’ll settle down and take a long night’s sleep and you’ll spend the night writhing with an even bigger vibrator up your ass and your cock in a cage.”

Ben whimpered as Volkov pushed his mouth on to his cock for the second time that night.  

Volkov slapped him to get his attention.  “Use your fucking tongue.  Make it good.”  Ben had never had a blow job.  He actually found the idea of mouth to genital contact rather revolting.  However, in this instance, his sense of self-preservation overcame his revulsion.  He obeyed, using his tongue to please Volkov, lapping against Volkov’s wet tip. 

Alexsei used him for several minutes straight, pushing balls deep into Ben’s mouth more than once, but he lacked the intensity that he had earlier in the evening.  It was slower, more measured, to draw out Ben’s suffering. Ben wasn’t just being fucked; he had to participate, to perform.  Volkov admired the clearly painful tension in Ben’s shoulders and arms, the way his hands flexed and trembled with each thrust into his mouth.  

Ben’s arms ached, the muscles spasming and trembling painfully behind him.  And there was always the taste and texture of Volkov on his tongue.  He had no idea how to truly give a blow job, so he just kept his tongue moving, hoping desperately that it was enough.  He breathed through his nose, smelling sweat and sex, but there was no thought to what he did with his mouth.  He blanked his mind as best he could, his only thought, keep moving.  

So he did, he flicked his tongue over Volkov’s member, swirled it around, stretched it out and pulled it back.  He had no energy to hold back his tears or stifle his trembling or the small cries that left him when Volkov would yank on his hair, wanting him to change angles.  At least Volkov was letting him breathe this time.  

Volkov pulled out of Ben and shoved him roughly down onto the bed with his ass still in the air, body twisted so he could get access.  Ben wanted to cry with relief when his wrists were freed from the head board, but he didn’t have the chance. Volkov entered him without warning, without preparation, and only one tiny cry escaped Ben as he was pounded from behind. 

Ben managed to clamp down on every sound he wanted to make except pained, breathy grunts.  He was doing well, until Volkov reached around his abdomen and started stroking his sore, sensitive cock.  Ben jerked and writhed, now moaning as Volkov’s hand moved at a punishing pace.  Volkov came again after a few minutes, and Ben, still sobbing, spilled over his hand a few minutes later.  

Volkov shoved Ben to his back on the bed, holding his knees apart and playing with the head of Ben’s cock, polishing it with the palm of his hand until Ben was thrashing and screaming.  Before it could fall into pleasure once again, Volkov finally released him.  

He grabbed Ben by the hair, pulling his face closer and backhanding him for the third time that night.  Ben slumped back to the bed sobbing, bruised, and bloody.  

“Don’t you ever pull that shit with me again, you little prick.” Volkov wrapped his thick hands around Ben’s throat just above the collar.  He squeezed, and Ben gasped. There was no air.  “You’re fucking mine!  Do you hear me?  MINE!” Volkov kept squeezing.  Ben saw spots, then the edges of his vision grayed out.  Ben tried desperately to suck in air, but nothing could get past the constriction around his throat.  He felt himself losing consciousness, slipping into darkness.  Tears flowed freely from his eyes and back into his hair.  

Then, everything went black.  

*!*!*!*!*

Volkov stared down at the fucked out toy beneath him.  Little bastard didn’t want to scream? Fine.  That could be arranged.  He checked to make sure Benjamin was breathing.  Volkov ran his fingers along the fresh marks just coming up.  He’d have a lovely ring of bruises tomorrow.  He undid Ben’s cuffs and put him in the recovery position before ringing for Dmitri to carry him back to his cage. 

He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Ben, and then another of Ben’s face.  He made sure he documented the sweat, blood, and tears staining his face, and the filth that still stuck to the boy’s body.  This way, he’d never have to forget how ruined Ben was after this first time–and neither would little Benjamin or his brother.  Before putting his phone away, he took a picture of the bruising around Ben’s neck.  He’d get some rest and then send these pictures to Jake in the morning.  

Volkov waited for his underling to take Ben away, with the instruction that the boy’s muzzle be put back on. If Benjamin would not scream, Benjamin would not speak.  Volkov then crawled back into bed and slept like a baby.  It was the first time he’d been able to work out all the tension in his body in a while.  Fuck, it felt good.  Next time he’d consider keeping Benjamin here so that he could wake up next to him and fuck him as soon as he woke up again.  

*!*!*!*!*

When Ben came to, he was still bound, hands in front of him now. He wasn’t on the soft bed anymore. Not that he wanted to be.  The ring had been taken out of his mouth, but it had been replaced with the tight muzzle.  He was back in his cage.  Despite everything, Ben breathed a sigh of relief and lay his head down on the cold floor of the cage.  It was over.  It was finally fucking over.  

For now, a voice in his head supplied.  

Ben stretched with relief at the realization that his ankles, while chained together, were no longer strapped to his thighs.  His dick throbbed painfully between his legs and his backside felt like he’d been ripped in two; the ache was so deep he felt like it might never go away.  But, damn it, he survived.  And he hadn’t screamed when Volkov had fucked him. Not once.

Ben smiled under his muzzle.  If it was the last thing he did, Ben swore to himself that he would never scream while Volkov used him  Sure, he might make Ben scream during other tortures, but not that.  Never.  He could do it.  He could keep that one tiny piece of himself alive in this hell hole.  He would.  

Alone and locked away, Ben let himself cry.  He’d earned it, hadn’t he?  The tears pooled beneath his cheek, and still he cried.  He cried for home, for his lost future, for the person he’d been only two weeks ago. He cried for Zoe, and he cried for Jake and his parents.  Ben cried for himself and what had happened to him over the last two weeks, and what had just happened to him in the last few hours. He cried for what would certainly happen again.

With the exhaustion of his tears came a quiet peace.  Not a relief, but a reprieve.  Ben didn’t fight the sleep that pulled his eyes shut.  So what if he had a nightmare.  He lived in a nightmare.  Sleep was a welcome disconnect from reality.  And Ben welcomed it with every fiber of his being. 

*!*!*!*!*

Something brushed near his cage, and Ben gasped awake with a near scream.  His eyes shifted around–was it Volkov? Had he already come back for more? He wasn’t ready. Not yet..  Ben sucked in smothered breaths through his muzzle.  

“Easy!  Easy, Ben.  It’s just me,” Andrei said from the door of Ben’s cage.  

It took Ben’s eyes a moment to settle on Andrei, for him to grasp that it was justAndrei, and no one else.  His chest heaved, but he couldn’t get air; he felt like he was hyperventilating.  It was a far greater response than it should have been. A panic attack probably, but knowing what it was didn’t make it stop. 

“Breathe, Ben.  Breathe.  In and out.  You’re okay right now.  You’re okay.”  Andrei spoke calmly as he opened the door of Ben’s cage.  Ben jumped and pressed himself to the back of the cage, like a frightened animal.  

“Hey, easy.  Okay.  Okay, I’ll leave it shut.  Is that okay?”  Andrei closed the door and sat back on the floor.  

Ben met Andrei’s eyes.  They weren’t the steel gray of Volkov’s.  That helped.  He focused on Andrei’s gentle, soft brown eyes.  He breathed through the panic.  Eventually his gaze drifted down, and he could see Andrei’s mouth was moving.  His breath was still frantic in his ears, and he couldn’t quite hear. But still, he kept trying to  focus on Andrei’s lips, trying to focus on his words.  

“In… and out…  In… and out.”  Andrei nodded at Ben.  “You’re doing great.  It’s okay.  We’re not in a rush.  Take your time.  I’m sorry I scared you when I took the cover off.  I should have warned you.”

Ben nodded.  He understood him.  

“Is it okay if I open your door now?  You don’t have to come out yet.  It’s just you and me, kid,” Andrei’s voice was soft and gentle.  

Ben nodded again; he remembered his  rules. Andrei held the cage door open for him, and he crawled toward it.  

“You don’t have to come out yet if you need a few minutes.”  Andrei sat criss-cross applesauce on the floor next to the door, arms resting casually on his knees as he waited for Ben.  “I’ll tell you the plan for the morning while you get your bearings.  Vol- He’ll be down later.  Wanted to sleep in.  He said you could too.  Would you prefer to keep sleeping or get cleaned up?” Andrei frowned as he took in the sight of Ben’s battered and bruised body, his filthy skin, the blood still on his face.

Ben lay at the doorway of the cage.  He didn’t know what to do.  He felt gross.  He knew he’d been laying in dried sweat and blood and other bodily fluids all night.  He looked up at Andrei, eyes pleading to be told what he should do. Ben didn’t want to choose; that never worked out for him. Not here. Whatever Andrei decided, Ben just wanted it to involve the least amount of pain possible.  

“I promise I won’t do anything without your consent first.  And I swear, I’ll be as gentle as possible.  But you really do need to get cleaned up. I came in early so it would just be us and no Dmitri or Ilya.  Is that okay?”

Ben nodded and crawled towards him.  The effort it took to move his body even this far was exhausting.  

“I’m strong enough to carry you.  I have everything we need at the table.  Is it okay if I assist you?”

Ben collapsed on the floor in front of Andrei and nodded his consent.  

Andrei was very careful as he slowly pulled Ben up.  “Let me know if I’m hurting you.  Okay?  I’m not trying to, but I need to assess your injuries as we go.”

Ben nodded.  Andrei lifted him up and swung his arm over his shoulder.  He carried Ben over to the table and helped him lay down on his side.  Ben was aware that Andrei turned something on, there was a whirring sound and heat started to flow over him.  A heater.  Andrei had turned on a heater.  Ben nearly giggled as the warmth flowed over him. 

“Is that better?” Andrei asked.  

Ben nodded.  

“Is it okay if I take off the muzzle, Ben?  It’s only for a little bit.  Volkov ordered that you wear it all the time, and you’re forbidden to talk.”  Andrei leaned in close to him.  “But he’s not here right now.”

Ben nodded again.  

Andrei removed the padlock and carefully undid the buckle.  “Easy, easy,” he spoke calmly as he pulled it from Ben’s face.  “I’m sorry in advance for when I have to put this back on.”

“‘S’okay,” Ben replied flatly, his voice rough.  

“What did you do to have him forbid you from talking?”

Ben shrugged, but a shudder ran through his body.  He moved his fingers to his throat as he recalled Volkov squeezing and squeezing there.  Ben clenched his eyes shut at the memory of Volkov’s eyes looking into his as he strangled him.  

“Hey, it’s okay.  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.  You’re okay.  He’s not here right now.  You’re not there.  Focus on here, okay.  My voice, the table underneath you.  Your heart rate, your breathing.”

Ben nodded, like he forgot he could talk for a moment.  

“Is it okay if I start cleaning you up?  I’d like to start with your face and then assess those bruises on your throat.”

“‘S’fine,” Ben said, voice raspy and harsh.  He coughed and then winced in pain at the burn in his throat.   

“You can keep your eyes closed if you want.  It might help you relax.”  

This time, Ben didn’t want to talk, so, again, he nodded and closed his eyes.  

Andrei was true to his word and very gentle.  He cleaned Ben’s face and neck with a warm sponge.  His fingers were light as he probed at the bruising along Ben’s trachea.  

“Ben, would you mind opening your mouth for me?  I… I need to see if there’s any internal damage to your throat.”  Andrei waited patiently, watching how Ben’s eyes rabbited around the room, as if her were still trying to make sure that Volkov wasn’t there.  When his eyes settled back on Andrei, he nodded slowly and opened his mouth.

“Thank you, Ben.  I’m going to put my hands on your chin and shine a light down your throat, okay?”

Andrei moved very slowly and paused before he touched Ben, waiting for Ben to acknowledge him.  Ben opened his mouth wider in agreement.  Andrei held on only as tightly as he needed to in order to steady Ben’s trembling.  He shined his light down Ben’s throat and took note of the deep internal bruising that he observed there.  Andrei turned the light off and Ben closed his mouth, his face flushing with embarrassment once again.  Fuck that bastard.  He must have been so brutal with the boy to leave bruising like that.  Andrei swallowed, and not for the first time, he was grateful that he could.

“You’re going to be okay.  You’ll be sore for a few days; you should conserve your voice when you can.”

Ben laughed.  “L-like I h-have a ch-choice,” he rasped as he fought back tears;he’d cried enough yesterday.  “W-why do you, you care anyway?” Ben’s voice was thin and unfamiliar to his own ears. 

“You… well, you remind me of myself.  Just a bit.”

“Volkov torture you too?” Ben couldn’t keep the hard edge of sarcasm out of his voice.

Andrei’s hands kept on. “Not physically, no.  But do you think that this is what I saw myself doing when I first became a doctor?”

Ben shrugged again.  

“May I move lower down your back, Ben?  Some of these stitches will have to be done again, but it has to be cleaned first.”

“Fine.”

“When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a doctor.”  Andrei kept his voice even as he talked.  “Kids from my part of Russia don’t often have the means or ability to go to school, let alone become doctors.  I was determined.  I sought out every scholarship and program I could find.  I got my undergraduate degree and my graduate degree, but when I was ready to go to medical school, there was nothing left.  I had exhausted all my resources.” 

 Andrei dumped the warm water from the bucket and filled it with fresh water so he could continue cleaning.  

“I heard about a brilliant philanthropist who was known to help people who were… promising.  I’d worked hard to get the opportunities that I had.  This was just one more thing to work hard at.  It took me six months, but I finally got a face-to-face meeting with one Alexsei Volkov.  He had billions at his disposal, always wore bespoke suits, and had an ear with the Kremlin.  And he’d agreed to meet with me.  I was a hopeful fool.  I was utterly smitten with the legend of Alexsei Volkov.  I bought everything he sold me, hook, line, and sinker.  

“He agreed to put me through medical school, free of charge… with one small caveat: I had to come and work for him for a period of time after I graduated.  He assured me I would be helping people and putting my medical degree to good use,”

Andrei paused and moved to Ben’s front.  “May I clean your chest?”

Ben didn’t speak but rolled back to give him access.  Andrei’s voice was calm, grounding.  It was the most anyone had talked to him since he arrived here.  At least the most talk which wasn’t threats and manipulation.  At least he hoped this wasn’t manipulation.  But what reason would Andrei have to lie?

“Anyway.  It was my dream.  And I would get to work with Alexsei.  I willingly agreed and unknowingly signed my life away.  I got my degree and had a job as well.  It went well for the first year or so.  Then he had me accompany him on a trip to the Philippines.  It wasn’t a regular business or humanitarian trip.  I… saw things.  I saw Volkov do things… He made me participate and do things… Things I never thought I’d do…”

Ben giggled bitterly, still not fully processing everything.  “Like helping someone that he’d fucked into unconsciousness?”

Andrei frowned.  “Sort of.  By the time we got back to Russia, I knew what he was.  And I knew I’d never be able to leave him.  He knew it too.  Forced me to break up with my girlfriend.  Kept me from contacting my family.  I haven’t talked to them except for a five minute phone call here and there maybe three times over the last five years.”

Andrei looked at Ben as he finished cleaning his upper torso.  “Like I said, do you think this is really what I wanted to be doing with my life?  Volkov routinely shows me pictures of my parents, siblings, nieces and nephews.  It’s not because he’s being nice.  It’s a threat.  He’s letting me know he knows where everyone I care about is.”

Ben swallowed.  “I… I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Ben.  Just wanted you to know why I’m here and why I care.  I hate it here too,” Andrei whispered conspiratorially.  “But I do what I can to help ease the suffering of those under his thumb in far worse conditions than me.” 

Yeah, because helping Volkov draw out my torture and making sure I’m alert and concious is so fucking compassionate, Ben thought, bitterness coloring his view of the doctor once again.  

Andrei sighed.  “This is gonna be the hard part, Ben. I need to clean and inspect your lower half.  If you’d like, I can start with your feet and legs.”

Ben nodded.  He knew this was coming.  His face flushed red with embarrassment at his condition–but then again, maybe Andrei had seen worse.  Andrei changed the water again and then sponged off Ben’s feet and legs.  As he got high up onto Ben’s thighs he had to change the water more frequently.

Ben was okay when Andrei was washing his feet.  His breath caught slightly as Andrei cleaned the filth from his lower legs.  He shut his eyes tight and felt his heart rate increase when Andrei cleaned his legs just above his knees and inspected the chaffing from the restraints that Volkov had put on him to hold him open.  He bit his cheek to hold in his sob as the memories started to pour over him, through him and a soft groan escaped his lips.  

“Ben, do you need a breather?  I have to do the hard part now.” 

Ben swallowed.  “No.  I can… I can do this.  You won’t hurt me.”

“You sure?”  Andrei rubbed at Ben’s tense calf muscles.  “You seem tense.”

Ben gasped and his legs flexed at a sudden vision of Volkov rubbing his legs in a mock massage while he lay screaming and begging for him to stop from behind his gag.  

“No!  I’m good.  I just… I fucking need this to be over!” Ben said through gritted teeth and harsh breaths.  “Please.” Ben’s chest was heaving.  “Please just finish.”

“Okay, like you said, I won’t hurt you, but some of this may be uncomfortable.  If you need me to stop, I will.”  Andrei checked his watch.  “We still have time.  There’s no rush.”  

Ben gasped in a breath, it was stupid to be so emotional about a promise like that.  But no one here had yet given him the option to say no.  Andrei was holding that out to him like a lifeline.  He was seen.  His pain and trauma were seen.  It was a small thing, but to Ben it was massive.  He blinked rapidly as tears flooded his eyes.  

“No.  I want it over with,” Ben said, breathing slightly more calm than a few moments before.  

Andrei repositioned him and started working.  

Ben winced and hissed as the parts of his body that had endured the most trauma were cleaned and probed.  He tried not to cry, but as the flashbacks started coming more quickly he gripped the edge of the table harder and harder.  Ben squeezed his eyes shut and tried to do as Andrei told him.  Focus on the feel of the table beneath him, his breathing, his heart rate, the sound of Andrei’s voice.  But Andrei wasn’t talking now.  

“Hey.  Hey, Ben.”  Andrei’s hands were on his face.  “Hey, let’s take a break.  It’s okay.  You’re so strong.  I can see it.  You’re so very strong, Ben.  You’re doing so good.  I know this is hard.  I’m so sorry that this is happening to you.  Shhh.  Shhh…”

It wasn’t until Andrei started shushing him that he realized he was crying, deep heaving sobs he’d been trying to hold in but that couldn’t be contained.  

 Andrei took his hand, and Ben gripped onto it like it was a life preserver.  “You’re okay.  It’s over.  It’s over.  You’re not in that room.  You’re not in that bed.  It’s okay.  Shhh.”

But it wasn’t over.  It might never be over. Ben knew that Volkov was going to do this again and again and a again.  He was going to come in here and drag him back to that room, to that bed.  He’d do what he did last night as often as he wanted.  And knowing Volkov, that would be frequent and Ben wouldn’t put it past Volkov to have even more evil surprises and tortures to inflict on his Malyshka.  Whatever the hell that name actually meant.  

Ben’s heart was in his throat.  There was no air in the room.  It didn’t matter how kind Andrei was, Volkov was a monster that was going to use him in any way he wanted.  This was all an illusion.  Neither Ben nor Andrei had any power here.  

“Breathe, Ben.  Breathe.  It’s okay.  I’m sorry.  I should have realized you were in distress.  I should have stopped.  I was just trying to finish and get it over with.  I’m sorry.”

Ben’s hair was sweaty again.  He held desperately to Andrei’s hand as he rode out his tremulous emotions.  

As his breathing calmed, he kept his eyes shut but told Andrei, “Please.  Please finish.  I need it done.”

“Okay.  I’ll finish.  And then I’ll help you get rinsed off.  We’ll wash your hair.  It’ll be okay.”

Andrei was gentle but quick.  Ben had to bite down on the leather around his wrists as Andrei examined him, and he realized Andrei was trying to see if Volkov had torn him and how badly.  As Andrei moved his gloved fingers out of him, Ben let out an agonized cry that he had held in since the night before. 

“Okay.  All done.  All done.  Hard part over.”

Andrei turned from him and tossed his gloves in the garbage.   The damage wasn’t too bad.  Andrei was honestly surprised that it wasn’t worse.  He’d seen Volkov do so much worse, and to people even younger and more defenseless than Ben.  He took a moment to take a few steadying breaths himself.  He fucking hated this part of his job.  He hated that he knew exactly what to look for, what kind of damage Alexsei liked to inflict.  

He hated that he knew Ben would be okay because that meant that Volkov would drag him back to that horrible room and do this again, and maybe worse, sooner than Andrei would like.  Maybe he could buy the kid some time, but it wouldn’t be much.  If the damage were worse, he could bargain for more.  But fuck if Volkov didn’t learn from his past mistakes as well.  Sick bastard.  

He grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to Ben.  

“Drink.  It’ll help.”  Ben sat up as best he could, shivering slightly from the fear and humiliation that kept rolling through him.  He sipped on the water.  It did seem to help, and Ben found that he was ravenously thirsty.  He finished the bottle of water within a few minutes.  

“Th-thank you,” he managed to whisper to Andrei.  

“You’re welcome.  Is it okay to get you rinsed off now?  I’ll help you stand.  You must be sore and exhausted.”

Ben nodded, wiping at the tears that still kept coming.  

“It’s okay, don’t try to hold it in.  I know it’s hard.”

Ben couldn’t handle it anymore. Maybe Andrei saw what other people suffered, but he had no idea what it was to be in Ben’s shoes. “Stop saying that!  You don’t!  You see all the medical stuff, but you don’t actually know.  You don’t know what it’s like to have what he did to me done to you, for hours.  Hours!  I wanted him to stop.  He wouldn’t stop!”

“I know.  It’s what he does.  You must have got angry last night.  All I can say is I’ve never heard of him getting so furious that after a first time, he orders them muzzled.  Hold onto that.  It’s what will help you survive,” Andrei challenged.  

“I-I just want it to stop,” Ben’s voice cracked with desperation, “and it’s not… It’s not going to.  He’s going to do it again and I don’t want him to.”

“He is.  We both know that.  I’m sorry.  Like I said yesterday, god, I wish I could do more.  But I promise you that I will always be here afterwards to help you.  I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Ben barely heard him. “I’m so tired,” he whimpered.

“I know.  Come on.  Let’s get you rinsed off and your hair clean.  It’s still all sweaty.  You can relax, sleep even if you want.  I’m not gonna touch anything that hurts for a while.  I’ll have to redo your stitches, but I can give you a local anesthetic.  I told you the hard part was over, and I meant it.”

Andrei helped Ben sit in a chair under the shower nozzle.  He turned the nozzle away from Ben until it was warm.  All the leftover bits of filth and sweat were washed away.  Andrei tilted Ben’s head back, supporting the base of his skull with one hand and directing the water over his scalp with the other.  Ben kept his eyes closed, and Andrei noted the almost peaceful expression on the boy’s face.  He turned off the water and lathered up some soap in his hands. Ben had longish hair, especially when it was wet; Andrei combed his fingers through it, but it took a minute for Andrei to work out all the dried blood and other fluids.  He massaged Ben’s scalp, knowing how much tension it might help release. 

Ben didn’t talk, but Andrei watched as the boy’s breathing calmed to a slow, steady pace for the first time since he took him out of his cage.  Andrei turned the water on and rinsed out the soap.  Then he repeated the process.  He didn’t need to, Ben’s hair was clean of all the offending material, but he knew the boy could use someone touching him that wasn’t threatening, wasn’t harmful.  He needed human contact that was free of pain.  And so he gave it to him.  He washed Ben’s hair three times before he finally turned off the water.  

He got a towel, and unlike Dmitri who liked to pull hair and hurt, Andrei was very soft as he toweled Ben’s hair dry.  

“Come on Ben, let’s get you dressed.  You’ll feel more like a human being once you have your clothes back on.”

“Hmm.  Yeah,” Ben replied sleepily in his ragged voice.  

Andrei helped him up again, and Ben leaned heavily against him as they walked back to the table.  Andrei helped him get dressed and then eased him back down onto the table.  

“Andrei?” It was the first time Ben had called him by name.  “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Ben, what do you need?”

“What… What does Malyshka mean?”  Ben lay on his stomach with his eyes closed.  He didn’t see the frown on Andrei’s face.  

“It means babe or baby, like a… um… term of endearment.”

Ben’s face twisted in disgust.  “I thought it was something like that, fucker.”  Ben settled his head back onto his arms and took a deep breath.

Andrei smiled.  “He is.”

“Can I have your permission to inject you with some pain killers?  They’re local for your back, so I can do the stitches.”

Ben lay with his head pillowed on his arms.  “Yes.  Do what you have to.  I just don’t wanna hurt.”

“It’s okay, Ben, I’ve got you.  I’m not gonna let it hurt if I can help it.”

Ben winced a few times as he felt the needle going into the abused sections of his back.  Andrei tossed the needles and medication away.  He’d put it all in the incinerator once Ben was asleep again; Volkov would be angry if he found out that Andrei had spared Ben any suffering.  

Once Ben’s back was numbed, Andrei worked quickly.  He restiched the cuts from the whip that had split open and made sure they were disinfected once again.  

“Okay, Ben.  I’m all done.”  He gently touched Ben’s shoulder and smiled as a soft snore left the boy’s mouth.  

Andrei gathered up all the supplies and evidence of drugs and gentle treatment and then walked down to the incinerator at the end of the hall.  He tossed all of it in and kicked the furnace on.  By the time he returned to Ben, he was curled up on the table, sleeping soundly.  Andrei checked his watch.  He still had time before Volkov and his men would be down here.  He took the muzzle and set it on the prep table.  He’d let Ben sleep as long as he could before he had to wake him and put that god awful contraption back on his face. Still. It was evidence that Ben was the fighter Andrei knew him to be.

“Bravo, Ben,” Andrei whispered, letting a gentle hand smooth Ben’s wet hair away from his face. “Whatever the hell you did to make the old man so mad… Bravo, kid.  Bravo.”

ok real talk on multiple orgasms

i want to know how to have multiple orgasms. am I just not capable of it ?? is that what it is ?

what’ll happen is I’ll play, eventually have an orgasm, then feel so sensitive afterwards it takes like hours for it to go away. i want to be able to have them one after another, but maybe my body just doesn’t work that way?

or is it a case of practice makes perfect? becuz half the time I’m exhausted after one session and then I fall asleep and the other half I try to keep playing but it’s way too over stimulating or it’s kinda like a numb feeling and I don’t get any pleasure from it.

feel free to comment or reblog with ur opinions/advice!

An oldie with A-A that I don’t believe I ever posted. I miss her.

‘Crazy’ in Taiwan’s Office

This is part 2 of the recent rendezvous in Taiwan’s office.

We pick up the action immediately after part 1. She was briefly throwing it back at me while I stayed still.

But I tend towards a more “vigorous” interaction. So I start really giving it to her, hard, with all of the optional accessories: ass slapping, hair pulling, throat grabbing, etc.

Usually during these sessions, she loses track of…pretty much everything that’s happening to her. Resulting in a lot of moaning, gasping, grunting, squealing, cries of “No!” and “Yes!” and calling out to God, with no awareness of the sounds she’s making or who else can hear.

It’s pretty great.

Taiwan’s Office

A couple weeks ago, Taiwan and I only had time for a quick rendezvous in her office.

We had met there before…but this time was a little different because…

1. There was clearly an event being held on the floor above.
2. We fucked primarily in her actual office, with her perched on or bent over her desk.

This has always been a fantasy for her. And she was loud, and she came a lot.

The recording starts after I’ve already enjoyed her perched on the desk, and I’ve just turned her around and bent her over.

UPDATE: This is part 1.

Part 2 will be posted in a day or so.

About 30 minutes in to our latest session, I shift Taiwan into doggy style.

She said later, “i could feel you got more excited when you took me from behind.”

And “tbh…i have no idea how i look when you take me from behind, but just feel it escalates to another level…”

She’s right.

This snippet is of the last few minutes of a nearly hour long session. Taiwan has been on top, riding through orgasm after orgasm for quite a while.

This is not her preferred position—she says it embarrasses her—but once she gets going, her body can’t resist rocking and grinding without a break. She really is an insatiable slut, as she admits at one point.

At the final stage, she is very loose, very wet from a dripping pussy and sweat, and even I am ready to cum. Very rarely do I cum when being ridden—this is maybe the third time in my life that it’s happened.

My first rendezvous with a sexy, curvy, horny friend from Tumblr.

K came into town to see her boyfriend. We had tried previously to get together while he was at work—finally made it happen this time at a hotel near his apartment. And it was amazing.

Here’s a five-minute snippet fairly early on in our 50+ minute fuck session. About 11 minutes into it, I’m really hitting her spots—including some deep ones that even she didn’t know about. Around 12:30 and 13:30 the orgasms come crashing in.

A lot more here—I’ll try and post some of her other orgasms, and more details, in a follow-up.

I move Taiwan into doggy style, with me standing next to the bed…and take her hard for several minutes.

Pulling her by the hips…by the hair, HARD…with many slaps to that big round ass as she cries out and cums over and over and over….

First clip from this past weekend: fucking, leading into fingering, with much squirting.

Nani’s third and last child certainly came as a surprise once she was able to take her baby in, less dizzy and drained from the pain that overtook her in the last couple hours. The trance from her three favorite sister-lovers’ singing, the warm lapping water, the hours of gentle lazy soothing sex was only able to stave the pain off so much. Sized as babies should be, all the fingers and toes, including the two webbed ones on each foot, the murmurs & fusses already melodic. Yet, the rarest of creatures, an oddity, albeit a pretty, no gorgeous one that washed her with love months before she opened up and pushed him out with her sisters help, whom she wanted months before she conceived. The emptiness, exhaustion from the birth flooding with love as she took in the warm deep eyes, already thick lashes, wide nose, lips like petals, chubby hand already curling around her finger…

But a differently shaped swelling, a particularity, between the thighs. He came out a he.  

Bren-don, her throat called out with the still synchronized beats of their hearts. That’s her baby’s name. His eyes met hers briefly, fluttering, throat hhhing back, as if understanding and agreeing. The sisters sung back, surprised but calm at it being a boychild, still fussing over them with strokes, occasional kisses, firmer rubs, over their bodies, hair. Him on her breast and tummy, still slick with her, the two of them breathing together. He latched onto a nipple, suckling softly, singing back what he could mimic of her songs, mixing in a couple repeated random notes of his own, when he wasn’t drinking. Her baby… It was just as strong as with her two daughters.

Zora stayed with her when the others left, cutting the umbilical cord, watching over, picking up the song when she nodded off, preparing the afterbirth for when Nani woke.

Male sirens are so rare, most pods (sized mostly depending on closeness to water, from two sirens to four dozen, with overlap from mixing families, travelling, making friends, lovers, sisters in spirit, switching groups) don’t even have the one. Many sirens never met a male of their kind. One, maybe two, out of a hundred births managed to be male. The reproductive system so hostile to the sperm of the human males necessary to choose to help them create children—even when males were born, they were sterile—almost always, only select, stronger x chromosomes managed to get far enough, pulled in by the ovum awaiting it.

That is, if the men were lovely, giving enough lovers to stay with her through the fortnight within eighteen days needed of hours upon hours of passion: so many crests that crashed, touches, massages, licks, sucks, pressing together, grindings, particularly on, with her clitoris, vulva. Worshipping her with his whole body, acclimatizing her to him, his skin, sweat, hair, saliva, dick, semen… over days, both lost in pleasure, rutting helplessly… It all would wear down the membrane shield to allow entry, induce ovulation, making her insides more hospitable, showing he was, or they were (like most sirens, she was partial to threesomes, foursomes…), worthy of being chosen to help her start a child.

The membrane would only dissipate partially on its own for twice yearly bleeding and fully for the usually two or three times in their blood years when their body prepared to birth. With the blood cycle’s womb contractions and before childbirth got too intense to think of lovemaking, sharing pleasure, with yourself, the other sirens, with humans, male and female, helped. Same lovemaking, although not needed nearly for as long. And still gladly, protractedly engaged in.

Brendon is the first in the flesh boy-siren in her memory, she thought as she woke, him still nestled on her, mouth on her nipple but relaxed, sleeping, both sticky. She slowly snacks on the meal Zora made. She submerges them both back in the water, gently washing the slick off him with Zora’s help, and he, still used to living, sleeping, breathing in her womb blood, sleeps through it.

The existence of them before this was only story, a queer, desirous idea; she couldn’t help wondering about the sex after her mom, aunt, first told her of them even before she got her first moon blood all those years ago. Apparently, they all were suited to be lovers, as good as the other sirens, as open as what only some human males let themselves be… Or at least, so the tales went.

—

When your mom took you and your younger sister on a trip along much of the Hawaiian coast, you didn’t think you’d come across a male siren, but you did. You didn’t imagine you’d actually experience just how true those stories about boy-sirens were either, even though you spent hours wondering, especially when arousing yourself, fantasies, often as part of self-pleasure or in dream, but you sure did. Many were favorites. And, Goddesses, did he love showing just how true they were…

—

It was a four week trip, to celebrate your sister, Daria’s, first blood and to remind you to please wait on creating a child. Makani was your eighth and latest human male lover (twelfth human overall) and the second lover you opened with (the first was a woman, a few years older, wild, delicious, careful, Etienne, after your third boy, Liam, helped things along). And the first that you thought you might want to pick to actually start a child with, although feeling too unready. Too soon. He, Etienne, Liam, Matthew, James, Tamara were especially favored, ones you craved deeply to and could stay lovers with off and on (mostly on) for months. Plus, it was too dangerous this young. You should find a second, maybe third, lover first anyway that you’d want to help start a baby (what humans called paternity, fatherhood—terrible invention really, would be unknown, and your system would have more varied selection). Your mom was eager to second that notion, reminding you that you ought to wait until you’re at least twenty-one.

Nineteen was too soon for you too, but Goddess, could you get thinking crazy thoughts during sex—need his dick inside too, he’d help you start a beautiful, loving baby—after eleven days within two weeks, especially when you open… You had to pry yourself away from Makani, not fuck with other humans for a few days, only sirens, so you could, uh, recover. So the ova could dissipate, you could close back up. If your rational thoughts did get subsumed by your passions in that way during that time, you could take plants that would induce abortion, but it’s obviously better not to get pregnant in the first place (and seldom done outside of being young, very rare rape by a man during a time of opening, health concerns).

—

The first young man you picked on the trip became too hurried, rushed, rough. You kind of forgot the lessons, rushed in, too needy to share sex, didn’t see how he danced, touched, kissed when things where heated, but not intense. He lost that seeming easygoing friendliness, just a veneer, but you were aroused, full clitoris/vulva throbbing just from the sight of him. Gorgeous. But it became apparent there was no sensuousness, no promise of hours, days of waves of pleasure, orgasms, humping, rocking, stroking, kissing, sucking, tonguing, squishing, rolling around, grabbing, panting, moaning, anything and everything… No curiosity, desire to learn when you tried to show, tell him. You could tell he wasn’t worth getting deeper with, let alone naked or alone.

You ended it quick, having to change to a dangerous, back off melody to slow and confuse him, let you slip away from him. You wish human women had these abilities too, all of it.

Siren songs can soften, embolden, amplify what’s shared between them, what’s under the fakeness, rules, roles that mostly men and teen boys put on each other, young boys, girls, women. They especially influence adolescent boys and men, opening them up to their sway, gentle power. But they can only do so much, can’t create something not there, make something not there for them for them. Mostly working on the already pliant, eager, even if they don’t know how they can offer themselves to you, or felt like they needed to hide that impulse to surrender before, they want to learn, to be like sirens with them. With you.

Sirens didn’t dash men (and women) on the rocks, lure them to their doom, they opened them up to their selves, to them but only if they wanted them, to each other too, to desire, lust, love, pleasure, music, dance, touch, water, eagerness, orgasms… hours and days of them all… It wasn’t sirens’ fault men’s patriarchy couldn’t handle that, had to twist it.

—

You pleasure yourself until you’re wrung out, glans sore, cunt aching, tender, panting, soon after in the ocean. Memories of several lovers helping along the… eight orgasms: Makani, Patrick, Tamara, James… Going for a couple more when you’re in bed in the trailer because Daria and Mom are luckily still at the celebration.

—

Swimming for hours, hands and feet wrinkling, alone and with Mom and Daria. Drinking just enough to get tipsy, especially the fruity or salty or woody stuff. Dancing, coming in your swim shorts a couple times with one of them, but he has to pick up and comfort his sad, just dumped friend. Sweet boy.

—

You go to a rave about two weeks in. You wish you could try ecstasy, but it’s too hard and intense on sirens, drives your kind temporarily rather mad. You share a joint with this male-male couple. You love and they love that they can be so openly affectionate at raves. Celebrating Chris’ twentieth birthday. (George is your age.) You love watching them. Fuck. Gorgeously sexy. You hope you’re not being creepy, in part because they say they’re gay.

You’re stroking the skin of this beautiful girl, Roselani, as she grins at you, moving into it eagerly, nuzzling. Edge of seventeen like the song, literally with a birthday Monday, making you more careful with her. She kisses your shoulder as she leans on you, so you hum more, eyes moving between the couple and her. It’s her first rave (snuck out from strict Christian parents); she wanted to try E too, but was shy, worried, so you sung to her to give her small similar sensations, feelings, of what’d be like. You can feel her unfurling, swaying under your lapping waves. It makes you picture her vulva like petals, spreading them… What a fitting name…

Picturing the four of you naked, in twos, threes, fours, all these configurations, ways of lovemaking… Your mouth, neck, nipples, punani (another fitting name), thighs, skin… craves all of them. You can sense the boys opening more too. Chris makes you think of sea anemones, salt and sand and fish in his scent, on his skin, George of vines growing on a tree, wet earth, blood coloured berries, butterfly wings. If George didn’t smell so human, you’d think him a nymph. And Chris his merboy?

Turns out, by gay, they don’t mean Kinsey 6. Chris, is pretty outright bi—even better, you probably even prefer it to straight guys too. George tells you he thinks he’s 75/25 tilted towards guys, stroking your wrist as his boyfriend shyly, gently kisses you. You think of flowers again as your lips, tongues, play.

You invite them to the beach, blankets in tow, skinny-dipping, sharing pleasure quickly melding into outright fucking, as it often does, there’s seldom clear lines, in the water. Making out, grinding on each of them, thigh, tummy, hip, dick or vulva, respectively, them grinding back. The guys making out as you rock into the lighter one, George, from behind, building… Sirens find it easier to come in water, and you do three times, pants and moans giving way to singing the second and third times, once as Chris rocks to his first between your labia and thighs as you french, still coming like a teenaged boy, keeping going until you come again.

And that’s just before you wind up on the blankets, helping Rose to two orgasms, first one not coming until over an hour in, encouraging her to say and show what works for her best, to try things she has been too shy, shamed, boxed in to do, some things she couldn’t even think of before tonight. Inviting her grind against your and Chris’ mouths, hands, thighs, genitals, knees, tummies, breasts, bums… George kissing her through it, offering a thigh, his dick and balls, belly, hands shyly playing with her beautiful vulva too after a while, urged to go gently on her clit, licking the taste off his fingers before going down on her too… Blooming poppy flower, protective cover bursting to show pink and red ruffled petals, dripping from the rain. Her and their moans, gasps, pants, begs, shy eager asks… all like song to you. Love hearing, seeing, feeling, tasting, smelling them, their desire, pleasure, orgasms… George has one as you jack him, play with his balls, he loves firm handling of them, while grinding on his thigh, you five more throughout the night, and don’t forget Rose’s two more and Chris’ second…

The nymphs have a king sized bed, and you four taxi down and fall into it, having an only 3 hour round the next day, in between fruit and granola and coconut milk. Roselani leaves for the bus home, and you can only stay a couple more hours with them before you’re really late to meet your mom and sister. You tell them some of the details of your first human foursome as you hike, fascinated also by the gorgeous, vibrant, stunning flowers, trees, fruit, birds, waterfall, swimming in the water there too….

Daria looks forward to turning sixteen so she can give humans a try. She, like other sirens generally, has been playing sex games with the similarly aged since she was little, but… not humans. Not males. “Especially the males. So many pretty boys here, especially the locals…” Smiling more at ones that have dark chocolate eyes, hair, brown or more mixed skin, plush lips, limbs muscled from dancing, traditional skirts… You’re getting distracted too.

—

Three weeks in, you see him. You soon wish it happened sooner, or your trip were longer.

You take the fawn in, breath caught, heart and clit and lips pounding, and when your eyes can just see his two webbed toes on each foot in his flip flops, part of you thinks “siren?”

A woman about 30 years older, shorter, that looks a lot like him appears, in black sandals—her feet seemingly confirming your wonder. She probably is (humans rarely have webbed feet), so maybe he is too?

He sings to her and she smiles, and you wish you were talking to him minutes ago. So you start now. She looks at you, warm even before the recognition sparks in her. You trill your hello, and those plump lips part, his tongue flicks out. Oh boy. Pounding between your legs turning to painful ache, moisture, thinking about pressing your front along his, kissing him, tongues playing, rocking on him, needy… in front of who is probably his mom, the passersby even.

She grins at you both. “Should I leave you two to it? Give me a call when you want to meet back up, k, baby? Or when our cord gets too stretched,” she asks, giving a squishy hug.

“I’m twenty, mom…” he sighs. Then squishes back again, kisses her with a mwah. “But I still feel it stretch.”

“Have fun, honey.”

He mmms, and you can feel it in your lower belly, your cunt. Even his lovely “Bye, Mom.” His seeming the a momma’s boy just adds to his appeal. (You’re still not over that being an insult with humans.)

—

His apparent mom smells faintly of siren (it lessens after menopause, but it could also be because she fucked or was otherwise very physically intimate with a siren). He smells a lot like siren up close, but sweeter. A bit less ocean, but even more music, electric too. Virtually sure, you ask straight up “Siren?” adding a bit of song to it.

“Yeah, darlin.”

“You sure are a rare one, huh?” Then feeling stupid, “Goddess, you’ve probably heard that lots.”

He just smiles, kind and shy. “I hear there’s only one other, on this island anyway. Haven’t met him yet. Hope to.”

You hope so too. Especially if you get to see it. And join. But you’ll settle for seeing it.

Your tummy growls, and you’re more than prepared to push it aside for even the whisper of sex with him (although you are so also down for food during sex) but he says “Dinner? I know some places.”

—

He is quite probably the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen—must be the gentle allure at work too. Maybe even the most beautiful person, female or male, siren or human. He holds at least as much sway over others as any other siren. He even catches the eye of a lot of straight seeming men. “And a lot more than eye,” he giggles when he sees you notice the third man with a woman linger his gaze, his touch in one case.

To be fair, all three of those women looked too. Something pulls on you with the third couple, and you wonder if he feels moved towards them too, briefly imagining them with you, with him, with you both. If he feels as much like his tide is coming into yours as yours does with him.

So… are most boys, men not… straight, period. Or is it… because he’s a siren? Most of those you’ve been drawn to, and all but one that you’ve had sex with, their being attracted to guys sometimes or more than sometimes, having dreams and fantasies, usually having different kinds of sex with them, especially as particularly curious eager adolescents, comes up. Maybe those men are more like you, sirens than the straight ones. You don’t know how representative that is, or if more open men get picked by female sirens, or if it’s you, or if men are open with sirens in ways they can’t be with others, like most men are into both deep down but hide it…

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

Goofy, infectious, and musical. And theatrical. Expressions, hand gestures, voice, bounding with energy and a big streak of femininity. He missed a lot of the repression, shame, demeaning humans get (especially from older human males), and most of what he did get didn’t stick. Colourful electric guitars. Make up. Colourful flowers, mixed with vanilla. Performing for the crowd, wanting to please people, and you sense that before he tells you he’s in a band. Drama kid, but mostly with his mom and sisters, too anxious to really do it with others. Mixed also with soft cotton, soft skin, soft hair, soft touch, soft lips… A whole lot of soft. Red, orange, yellow, pink, blue, lavender, all sorts of colours of warmth too. Faint scent of used leather, lace, satin, velvet. Sweat. Plumeria and hibiscus and piano bursting on his arm, taste of them gentle on your tongue. Your senses overlapping more than they do with humans and female sirens.

Those eyes, and his lips. Goddess, those lips were made for kissing, sucking, worshipping cunt. You want to play with his shaggy hair, gentle, with little tugs, scratches on his scalp, stroke his hair as softly as it looks, as he licks, sucks, swirls… over it, just right. Teasing, making you crest and crash, easy and serious, soft and firm, as you rock back more often than not…

You wonder if it would be different or the same as two females if you both sang a sex (lust, passion, desire, pleasure…) song together.

You don’t register much of the meal other than that it’s quite good and that there was some talk of names, ages, family, plus those things that flash through you. And you did pay attention to most of it, you swear: mom is Nani, he’s Brendon, two sisters (Kara and—another K name), you both like a lot of the same music—and his whole fucking body is a gift from the Goddesses and his mom (bless her), there to please and be pleased, make love, fuck, help climax, kiss and grind and everything endlessly. Usually it’s easier to concentrate on things other than just sex. Not a lot easier, but still.

—

You’re going to come out with it… “I wanna hold your hand” you softly sing.

His hands are even softer than they look, and you brush your thumb over the one you have clasped. Imagine how they’d feel between your legs, stroking your neck, shoulders, breasts, tummy, thighs… You wonder if the rest of his skin is as baby soft, wanting to press all of him against all of you, and melt and grind and roll and… Wet, vibrant, warm, needy, passionate… You’d be so soft together. And muscled. He’s got his share of those too, mind.  You want to kiss, suck, caress, rub, grind your cunt… all over him. Plumeria, orchids, sun, ocean water, grainy sand, throb of bass and drums, sangria, throb of heart beats and necks and breasts and cunt and dick…

You wonder how male sirens taste, their skin, lips, penises… Wait, do they have penises? Yeah, according to the tales they do… And balls. Do their genitals look, taste, smell, feel the same as humans? Probably much the same but even better, if you do play the sirens’ own praise song there.

You’d get lost in 69ing with him… Your senses getting more mixed, intense… Fuck, being in each other’s mouths… Watching him slick with your saliva and vulva juice, slipping in and out of your mouth, mouthing over his balls, rubbing that delicate skin where balls meet anus… Him licking, slurping, sucking, up and down, side to side, over your whole cunt, focused on the glans, or the glans and inner lips… The best mushroom you’ve ever tasted, absolutely intoxicating scent of a phallic flower…

You’re both singing, hands still entwined, arms or thighs sometimes brushing, and you’re not sure who started it, or who is copying whom, or when you got on the same page, but it’s, fuck… You need… The words and music entwine in your communicating, notes sometimes supplanting but meaning words.

“Goddess, you’ve got to be able to tell how much… I… need… Bren?”

“I—yeah… Can you tell how much I want to too?”

You press along him, sway into him, breathing him in, grinding a little. Honey.

“Know how much I want to pleasure you? Need to… feel, see, taste, hear… help you feel good, come, for hours….” You interrupt him with long slow kisses, with tongue, hands stroking down his back to that juicy for a boy’s ass of his. You want to kiss, lick, massage, rub your front down it, his butt too, rock your vulva along him… To all of him.

You’re so close to the water now, as if by mutual need, somehow at a spot there’s no one around, and you two are jogging toward it. Stripping as you go. Pulling him into kisses when he’s in underwear and flip flops, before moving away to get naked and closer to the shoreline. You want to look at him, take him in before he gets in, so you do, showing yourself off too. The beginnings of sunset just add to his beauty.

“You’re gorgeous too,” he murmurs.

He’s smaller there than a human, and it takes a second to register the fact it’s bifurcated: the tip split in two, and you’re thinking about it rubbing over both sides of your clit at once, your glans fitting between it, sliding down your labia, maybe your inner lips would kind of fit between it too, back up, fitting back together…

You cup his balls, surprised to find them lighter, smaller, like half a ball each almost—it makes sense, you guess, considering he’d be sterile. Your body, skin, blood, genitals, throat, calling to his. Stroking over his soft skin—softer than on a man, even a woman’s labia—there and his dick, fucking his thigh, gasping into his mouth, hands gripping his hips, ass as you come, hard, desperately, noisily. Blue, red, purple bursts of colors, berries on your tongue, hand drums in your mind, heart. Your cunt has been aching for a couple hours and it’s been more than enough teasing. You know there will be more time for teasing later anyway.

As he pulls away from you, you’re aware of precum (you think) on your tummy and side, and before you can grab at him to pull him back along you he’s on his knees, your leg hooked over a shoulder. Hand on your ass to hold you up, sucking, tonguing noisily, panting, moaning. It conjures a song that you manage to get out some of alongside your needy moans and sighs and notes, but it’s him seizing up, shuddering, more intensely than you tend to. And from going down on someone too, apparently. A few human male lovers could get like that too from using their mouths there, two of them often.

“Yeah,” he says, flushed, breathy, embarrassed and proud sounding at the same time, gazing up at you, nuzzling your mound, thighs. “Happens a lot. Guess male sirens are the most… sensitive? And not just from this, either—although this? Fucking awesome. A fave.”

He gets back to it, and in seconds of suckling at your clit like you moan for him to, of you fucking his mouth back, you’re climaxing, trembling, light headed… Your bottom halves are now in the water, seeing sparkles, him seeing them too. He’s rocking his knuckles over your closed vulva, which spreads as you open your legs as you picture it in your head, making him brush more directly over your clit: shock waves, but not quite. Blue clitoria flower trembling from the vibrations of him playing guitar. He thumbs gentle circles like you ask and in seconds, another crash of waves within you. He cups the whole thing, rocking, and you do the same, all of his sex fitting in your hand, to his gasps. You kiss him, over and over, and he’s fully hard now, fingertips brushing over the two tips. Satin panties.  You slide down to his balls, and he gasps, whines. Not sure if you’d rather them on you or him, or if you’d be able to keep them on either of you long. But red satin panties. And sheets. Velvet blanket. Warm bath. Lavender and vanilla bath bomb.

“Um… so like. I dunno if it’s me or males like me, but… Uh, these are pretty much as sensitive too.”

“Mouth and balls, huh?” you say, kissing him, licking his lower lip, sucking on it as he moans, another two spurts of pre-cum, this time on his lower belly. You want to lick it.

“And… nipples are pretty erogenous too, but not as much as the others. And um… my ass.”

You moan, grinding against his hand, moving down to lick his slick up, a faint sweet taste. You mouth where thigh meets groin, his balls, lingering, sucking, licking them—they, the skin, must be as sensitive as the length of his dick. Fuck, you love seeing everything slick with your boy lovers, the balls move too within the scrotum with changes in arousal, not just his shaft, feeling them, and he’s no exception. You wonder how he’d like a vibrator on them, settle for humming with them in your mouth, them pulsing a few times. More slick to lick up, both tips in your mouth at once, tongue swirling around both as he babbles, rocks into your mouth, inner cheek rubbing against them a couple times, and he’s coming again—the crescendo of Let’s Live for Today—but… it’s just the same as the pre-cum.

Maybe that’s why you’re instinctively more oral on him back than sirens are with human males (getting a lot more than giving), more like sirens are with each other—like you knew even before you tasted it that he’d taste yummy when he came. His dick, balls, are faintly salty like human males, mixed with a similar sweetness that’s in siren and human females, a mushiness. Golden delicious apple.

He’s still mostly hard as you rub his tips along either side of your labia, clit, and mmmm. You’re both singing, more than your usual moans, gasps have been. There’s like a pulse that pushes the tips against you, again and again, subtle but distinct. You move his dick and your hips together, still feeling those pulses, both of you slick, and you’re coming again.

Slide down his length—not even four inches now—to his balls, and you instinctively rock, his length trapped between your mounds and bellies as you nudge into his balls. “’m, I can take it. They’re like, harder…” he says, leg going up over your lower back, bringing you down firmer. They feel harder now compared to the lightness of before. Harder than a semi. The heat of a humid rainforest…

Before your brain registers it, he’s pleading, getting his other leg over your shoulder, shifting you two so you’re on your arms grinding, bouncing in little thrusts, mostly on his balls, the top halves of his dick just tapping against his lower tummy, and what, how… You’re shaking, sweating, so close, and he actually beats you to it, grabbing your back, ass, and you manage to see his dick pulsing up and down against his belly before your eyes and arms slip, his leg sliding off. He squishes you to him, sucking on your neck as you get your rhythm back, panting against your neck, licking. Delicious sexy talk: he wants to see you come, come until you can’t anymore, do you know how amazing your orgasms look and taste and smell and feel and hear, to come all over him, he needs your juices… You open your legs some more, rock faster, and you are. Panting, you trace fingertips over his lips and he sucks them in, moaning softly, both gently swaying into each other, rubbing together.

When you schluck apart, you’re still close enough to kiss, for his hands to play with your hair as he tells you the colors of your coming, mostly reds, blues, purples, pinks, reminding you how much you want to play with his—so soft, your soft lovely boy—grinning dopily, almost dazed, at each other. “That’s my girl. Like peaches…” he sighs, mouth grazing over your neck to settle on your nipple, sucking as he gets a thigh between yours for you to lazily rock on. He’s… where’d he go?

“It, um, retracts… When it needs a rest from all the awesome sex. Or generally when nothing sexy is happening.”

“Does, huh?” you smile. “Well, these nipples don’t play peek a boo,” you giggle, referring to both you two’s nipples, running your palm, fingertips, thumb over the little pebbles. He sighs, mmms contentedly, gasps, mouth on the other.  You shift, and he loses your nipple, instinctively going to suck it again, but you shift down, rub your breasts together, kissing him, rubbing the nape of his neck as he moans, mouth shifting to his neck—another prime erogenous zone for you both—then nipples. Your teeth graze it and he carefully tugs your hair. Electric. Your stroke down his back, ass, circling, massaging, hands and water wiping the sand away.

“What part of you should I rub on next, hmm?”

“What part of me do you wanna come on next?” he asks, eyes heavy, warm.

You slowly tongue a nipple while rubbing the delicate skin between his cheeks. His hands slides down your back, lightly scratching the small of it, adding to the shivers and tickly but achy arousal, making circles with his fingertips—warm breeze and endless massages and fucking and syrupy tanginess—and you want to make love with this boy until the oceans dry out.

You shift up to his neck, shyly on the earlobe because that’s kind of a weird spot for you but he leans into it, moans deep, and his hand slips between your cheeks too, massaging… “Can’t decide if I wanna screw your nipples or ass next?” you pant out low in his ear, aching to come again..

“Fuck. Please. Goddess knows we’ve got lots of time for both…”

You sure do. You grind on his nipples, slide up to his mouth, back and forth until you come twice more. You look back because you hear it, and guess who’s come out to play again? He’s carressing, stroking over himself, rocking into it. So you reverse yourself, lean over to suck, tongue him down some more. Unlike with male humans, you love him coming in your mouth, suck and swallow it all down; he’s got a nectar taste to him that has you seeing yellow and pink and orange. Why don’t human males taste like this subtle sweetness? Precum in men can taste nice, often little taste, but not even sweet like this.

He massages over what he can get to as you just lay on him, panting, nuzzling his dick and balls, breathing each other in, him lazily nosing, mouthing your vulva back. Breathing now mostly in sync.

You do that tip around clit thing again, then go back to rubbing your vulva along his shaft… Kissing him silly before you come again, riding it out.

You get another massage, on your belly, mostly in the water this time, him going under to get at the front of your pelvis, vulva, caressing you into bliss, then more seriously into ache. Makes you need him, that you’re getting tired, exhausted fading in importance, giving him a massage back, cunt rocking along whatever parts your hands aren’t covering. The only thing that would make this better would be a proper bed and oils. Flavored oils. Fuck, all the crazy ways you could slip, slide, rock, grind, massage… together. You especially want to scissor the fuck out of him. When you’re less sleepy, anyway. Not that most ways to scissor are high effort.

Even this precious boys feet are erogenous, especially the webbed toes… The back of his knees. Inner thighs, small of his back, side of the neck like you, but his back generally too. Hips. Including with nibbles, teeth scrapes. The nape too, which you discover as you’re sucking, licking, biting lightly on his neck, shoulder as you screw on his bum, desperate to come, sore with the need “Such a good boy.” The orgasm overtakes you, and you slide onto his back, cuddling him close, recovering from dizziness, needing snuggles and squishes and nuzzles. Fluffy clouds in the sky. A sunset. Smell, sight, sound of a crackling fire.

Soon after, he’s moving under you to get on his hands and knees, legs spread. “More?” He doesn’t have to ask you twice. He adjusts with you, spreading to get his ass in the best position, and you get him by the shoulders, hips, to press him close to you, fucking in short, firm humps. He’s almost as noisy as you (mostly from you also fucking his balls), rocking into it.

“Bet you’d come from this if you hadn’t come so much already,” you moan out, guttural, fucking faster onto him.

He moans helplessly, reaches down, strokes himself about four times, and is doing just that, adding even more to your wantneedplease. You can’t decide whether to stroke that penis and scrotum of his until he’s cresting again…. Or make him wait a bit, till you come a couple more times, then go down on him again, or kiss, lick, his ass while you stroke his dick and balls… You tell him most of it.

“Or if we had a bed, could just hump it a few times… oh, fuck, and I’d be done for. But your ideas? Even better.” Turning to a plea to come all over his ass, let him hear it, please, as you started panting you were close, and it became two orgasms in a row.

“Can’t be upright anymore, dear Goddesses,” you pant, hands inviting him on top of you. His dick slots between your thighs, labia, to your joy, and you two grind together, him coming in seconds, you following a couple minutes later.

B’s dick retracts again, but you keep grinding on his hip, thigh, breasts, balls scissoring and otherwise, the area between thigh and groin or bum, depending on how positioned. Hetero scissoring is weird, usually unimaginable/unimagined to most humans, even at first to some of your lovers, but certainly not to him, the minx. Very nymphy too. He keeps using his mouth, hands, thigh, ass, foot. All until… you think your clit broke. Glans especially, but probably the hood and bulbs too. Or is on vacation or in clitoris and vulva recovery hospital for the next couple hours at least. Glans too sensitive for fucking, he does give gentle smoochies, massages, licks to the rest of your vulva, especially careful on the inner lips. Wrapped in red velvet.

The sun starts to rise, several hours after you started, and he invites you home for more. After some food and a nap, and clit recovery, do you ever take him up on it.

—

You love everyone you have sex with, albeit in somewhat different ways, some probably deeper than others, but you think you love him most. At least so far. You think it after you shower together, kissing, giggling, humping, squishing, washing each other, until your fingers and toes wrinkle up, when he’s going down on you in the bathroom, fingers in his hair, until you’re sloppy slick again. By the way, he loves the detachable showerhead too, especially on his genitals, anus, thighs, scalp, even bumcheeks… It makes you want to find a waterfall with him later. As you straddle him, rocking on his ass, massaging him back with oils, still slick yourself, crying it out as you come. Again. As he’s straddling you, your legs spread to open up, grinding his balls and your upper cunt together, both coming a couple times before he collapses, dizzy, for kisses and now lazy rocking. Both drifting off like that briefly, before schlucking apart for food, soft songs, switching between feeding each other, playing with yourselves, humping, hands on the other, going down on each other, sucking each other’s tastes off the other’s fingers and genitals and all over…

—

A couple days later, you wish you had months together. You make love for hours, even more days than you have together with only breaks for eating and naps, if anything, more insatiable than you normally are, with other sirens even. You’ve had so many orgasms your womb, vulva, especially the bud, ache. His penis has reached the point it won’t erect, or even be softly limp, staying retracted to a little nub for the last couple hours as he kept helping you feel pleasure, orgasms, even when you kiss, stroke, lick, rub your cunt over his hips, scrotum, nub, balls, nipples, buttocks, back, webbed toes, mouth…  You knew guys would still be into all sorts of things, on you and them, limp, but he’s still up (well in) for all sorts too also when retracted, even going easy on the nub that one can just tell is really halved when it’s hiding away.

You manage to remember your plans with your mom and sister for that museum, calling and briefly talking while you rock on his offered thigh, his lips trailing over your shoulder, collarbone, neck before you have to break it off to moan and beg him to not stop sucking softly there, grinding firmer until you come again. You’ve lost count of the orgasms.

He massages your belly, hips, thighs, pelvis, outer furry vulva when you’re sore from all the sex, aches in much of it. Turning into stroking your inner flesh, just to feel good, still avoiding the glans. Back and forth over the areas, as you nibble on berries, eyes slipping shut, nodding off.

You wake about an hour later, and you stink of sex. The two of you. You love it. Don’t want to shower. You nuzzle against his backside, rocking, stroke down his front, but this ass fucking doesn’t stay the one way. After you come twice, sleepily but eagerly, you go on your belly, wriggling, inviting him to climb aboard, rocking into the bed while he humps between your thighs and over your cheeks. Followed by some more sleepy scissory fucking, vulva to scrotum, and bits to thighs, then his face buried between your thighs like it was his main meal, even though you two really should eat. An actual meal, that is.

“Pussy is my favorite food…” he sighs.

—

You’re supposed to leave the next morning, so you call your mom, asking if you can stay, at least skip out on the next town, that you’ll head back home with them in a couple days as planned. You resist the urge to go into great detail why. You’ve met someone. Yes, of course you’ll get his number, but really, you want to keep making love for the next couple days if you can help it.

And such a rarity, even by siren standards, really should be thoroughly enjoyed. This siren should be fully appreciated for how wonderful he is.

“Wait, siren? He?”