Blind Spot, CH 04 (Patreon)

Simply looking at him makes his box vibrate, setting off a chain reaction I’m reluctant to stop, but concerned about letting get out of control. Even the box containing lust reacts, and it should be silent after the night of sex we had. Less has sated me for months before. It makes me want to take him again, and this one I silence.

That is a distraction I do not want at the moment.

I run a finger over his chest; smooth, except for the occasional scars. Goosebumps spread around my touch. He lets out a soft moan, that makes his box glow brighter. I bring it back to a reasonable level. No matter how much I enjoy the reaction he engenders in me, I will not let it control me.

“Morning,” he whispers, smiling.

Control is difficult to maintain, other boxes join in, and they chisel away at my desire to keep control.

“Afternoon,” I reply, feeling my lips curve up in a smile of their own accord.

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

I can’t answer him, my eyes drawn to the scars on his rising chest. My finger traces another down to his stomach. I don’t intend to speak, but like the smile, the words come on their own.

“You’re beautiful.” It’s a statement of a fact, this way his skin is damaged ads to—

He backs away as if I had just pulled my Desert Eagle. That’s the wrong analogy with him. I can’t think of something that would put the fear I see in his eyes right now. I still all the boxes before I lunge after him to make it go away. I will not be controlled.

His ass slides on the concrete floor and he winces to a stop. “What…what are you going?” his voice trembles in a way that matches his eyes. This isn’t the fear for his life that acts as a turn-on for him. Again, I can’t work out what it is as he searched my face.

I move to set, crossing my legs. “I’m admiring you.” I search for clues of my own on his face and his body to understand why he flees from me.

“Stop it.” There is a hint of desperation. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

He motions to me. “That.”

I silence the irritation at his vagueness. “You need to explain.”

He rubs his face, sighs. I want to reach for him.

I quiet his box.

“Do you have any idea what men like you see when they look at me?” now there is anger.

I don’t point out there are no men like me. I see determination, deadliness, strength, and sex. But those are what I see. Not what he has experienced. I shake my head.

“They see a small guy. A weak one that needs to be handled with kid’s gloves.” He wraps his arms around himself. “They see my skin and they don’t want to break me anymore.”

I look him over. How can anyone look at him and think that? Have other men been blind? No, they would have to be dumb to miss how his body responds when grabbed. The shiver that runs through him as I tighten my hand around his arm, leg, or neck. The moan as I dig my fingers in his flesh. Only the stupid would misunderstand those.

“And?” I ask.

He glares at me. “Do you see me in any of their bed right now, well on their floor? No. I’m here, with you.”

I still the box containing my anger. It reacts to the idea he thinks I’m like anyone else he’s been with. “Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re saying that so long as I am not under the impression I have to be gentle with you, I can do anything I want to you.”

“Yes.” The word is soft, filled with relief.

I nod. “I can use your body any which way I desire.”

He nods.

His breathing is heavier.

His excitement, and his cock, his rising. I motion him closer with a finger and he obeys. I place a hand on his chest and force him back on his back forcefully. There is little padding on the bedroll and his eyes close in pain as his head hits it.

I lean in and whisper close to his ear. “So there is no confusion. Your body is mine?” I make it a question, allow him to keep some control.

“Yes,” he whispers needily.

“I own it?” my whisper is more demanding.

“Yes.” His breathing is shallow, his cock trembles, and a bead of precum appears.

“I can do whatever I want to it.” This is a statement. His last chance.

He bites his lip as goosebumps form over his body and nods.

“Then understand this.” I nibble his earlobe. “I am under no illusion as to how you want to be treated. But that is no longer something you have control over. I will treat you any which way I desire, and you are never to move away from me again unless that is part of the rules I set at the time. Do you understand?”

A shiver joins the goosebumps and when it reaches his cock, the precum drips onto his stomach. He nods.

I trace a scar on his side with a finger. “This isn’t me being gentle with you.” When I reach the end just below his pectoral, I move it to one going down to his stomach. “This is me learning your body, finding out where each of your triggers is. This is me, learning how to bring you to the edge without using your cock, your ass, or pain. You will show me how you react to each of my touches. You will hold nothing back.” I lick his neck.

He moans.

I get to my knees and the sudden motion catches him by surprise and he looks at me. Good. I don’t want any misunderstanding.

“This isn’t only for today. Do you understand that?” this new scar going from his navel up to his ribs is nastier. Not caused by a knife, something jagged. “When you leave tomorrow, your body will still be mine, when you are back in Phoenix, I still own it.”

“Yes.” No hesitation, no doubt.

I smile at him and as I keep his box under control I notice one glowing.

A box I have never seen before.

I wrap it in chains before I can give into whatever is forming. I will study it later.

I move my fingers over his skin and listen to his reaction as goosebumps spread around them. I note where his breath catches. Where it released in a slow hiss. I am alert for the tightening of muscles, and I test the area with different touches. Which arouses him, which causes pain, which causes him to suppress a need to move away. One makes him squirm and attempt to hold back laughter. Another makes him whine and when I stop I see the need in his eyes, the unvoiced desire for more.

His neck is sensitive, but it is from his need for pain, the need for his life to be in danger. Caressing it doesn’t make him move away, but I can already notice his cock softening. That stops with only my fingers wrapped around it. The slight pressure and he pants. More and he would be fully hard again.

This is not something that happens naturally and boxes react demanding I know who hurt him, who hurt Alex in such a way that he became mis-wired. How young did he have to be? I am glad he does, but whoever did this to him needs to die.

They need to die slowly over weeks of pain.

I add chains to that new box and force it into silence.

I ignore his cock, balls, and ass. I know how to use those to make him cum. I want to know all the other ways I can make it happen.

I lick the palm of his right hand, and his moan is exquisite. I suckle on his fingers, lick them under and over until he is panting. His hands are precious to him. They are how he enacts vengeance.

I fix my eye on his. Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve done this before, Alex. The missing girl may have been the first time we met, and I might not have found evidence of your other acts of vengeance, but I suspect there have been many others before.

What you did for those girls, Alex. Detective Moya is wrong about you. You are no hero. You are an avenging angel. You are Alex the Angel, while I am simply a monster.

This is why it can’t last.

I move down his legs. The muscles are tight under the skin. I have seen him use them as weapons. An expert trained him, not to defend himself, but to attack. Did they know he would use those skills to kill? Would they appreciate how good he is at it?

His feet are sensitive, but in the way everyone’s are. Our ancestors needed to know what they walked over, to feel the terrain, the bones break as they crushed their enemies. But Alex doesn’t hold them with the same reverence as he does his hands.

Which doesn’t mean he is unresponsive to my touch. He squirms, pants, and lets out a soft moan when I lick the underside. But his cock doesn’t jump the way licking his finger caused.

“Turn over.”

He takes a second to react—sensory overload, then he rolls onto his stomach.

There are more scars on his back than his front, with the long ones from his tail bone to above his shoulder blade at the forefront. Only his arms are devoid of scars. I wonder at the story behind that scar, but I won’t ask. Something like this is something he must tell me when he is ready.

Or my investigation of his past reveals.

He isn’t a mark I need to question. All I am required to do is enjoy him.

And I do.

I enjoy the contour of his back, the roughness of the scars under my fingers, the goosebumps. The sound of his moan as I slowly lick the length of his back. He barely had knots in his muscle. He is a man not bothered by what he does or what life attempts to do to him.

When I find one, I work it out of the muscle roughly, and he gasps, then whimpers, but the sound is laced with pleasure.

If you have not already taken your revenge on who did this to you, Alex. One day, you tell me why they are still alive. Then I will make them pay.

I kiss the back of his neck, nip at the flesh, and then bite.

He shudders and moans. I am reminded of when I drew blood, and the temptation to do it again is strong. To hear him gasp, see the pleasure in his eyes afterward. The way he came at that moment.

I silence that box.

“Raise your ass,” I whisper in his ear.

Languidly, he pulls his knees under him as I move behind. The ass goes up. The flesh tightens, turning them into near-perfect globes; they are stretched apart enough to show me his ring.

I plunge in, lick it, and am rewarded with a “Oh my God!” as I force the ring apart with my tongue.

Rimming is an act I use to get a man ready, to loosen him up before I use lube. But the way Alex reacts makes me want to continue even once I know he’s ready.

I take control of myself back. I straighten, spread his knees apart, and move between them. I rub my cock between his spit-slick cheeks and he moans in anticipation. Boxes respond to the need in that sound, but I control them. I have taken him dry and hard before. This time I will take my time with him.

I push in slowly and he opens for me. His body relaxes as if this is where he belongs, on my cock, and has been waiting his entire life for this to take place.

Once hilted, I bend down over his back and wrap my arms around him. Now I am the one who is comfortable, as if he fits perfectly under me. I straighten and bring him with me. The gasp as the motion pushes my cock deeper makes me smile.

He leans back, resting his head against my shoulder, turning it enough to nuzzle my ear. The sound that escapes his mouth as I rock in and out of him is almost a purr. I take his hard cock in my hand, the precum slicking it enough stroking him is easy and he groans.

I am slow with this too.

I have no intention of letting him cum quickly. This needs to keep us both sated until his next visit, and while quantity will accomplish that, quality is more reliable. It’s important he be sated since I have plans for him.

I thrust and stroke gently, sometimes stopping as I hear him getting close, and he catches his breath. When I start up almost immediately he is moaning and groaning. He tightens his ass around my cock in what feels like an attempt at taking control away from me.

He fails.

I stop multiple times, and each one the sounds he emits are needier.

“How are you enjoying me being tender with you?” I whisper as my hand moves up and down his cock. My cock thrusts in his ass.

“It’s good,” he answers, “really good.” The words are slurred. He is getting high on sex, again.

I listen to his body, adjust the rhythm accordingly. “Do you think about me when you jerk off?”

“Fuck yeah. How you fucked me last weekend gets me off each time. I’ve jerked off every day thinking bout it.”

“That stops now,” I order.

“Oka—what?” He tenses and his ass tightens on my thrusting cock. “You want me to stop thinking bout you when I jerk off?” the slurring is gone. Burned off by the shock.

“No. You are going to stop masturbating completely.”

“Fuck that.”

I slam my cock in hard enough there is pain in his gasp. “Your body is mine,” I growl. “Say it.” I slam my cock in again.

“Yours,” he swallows. “It’s yours.”

I slow down, lick his ear. “I decide when you cum. Not you.”

“You—” he pauses to catch his breath. “—you’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking? You’re always in my head. I dream of you, of the thing you do to me.”

“I’m not asking anything of you,” I whisper. “I am telling you. I’m not going to cage your cock and make it impossible for you to jerk off; I’m not that nice. You’re going to obey me because you know if you don’t, I will punish you. Remember, I just spent as long as I needed learning your body. That information isn’t only so I’ll make you cum. I will torture you with it if you disobey me.”

“Promise?”

Chains break under the strain of the mysterious box and my chest swells. It takes too many breaths to take control back.

“Don’t that this lightly. If I have to do this. You will not enjoy the result. No matter how much I enjoy you, I can find ways to hurt you in ways you will not want to happen. I can always find a way to make that happen. Don’t make me do it.” I kiss his neck. “I wouldn’t enjoy it.”

His body relaxes against me and he gives himself back to the sensations of my hand stroking his cock, my cock moving inside him.

“I don’t know if I can,” he whispers.

“You can,” I whisper back. I will make you feel each and every orgasm you are giving up this week when you return next weekend.”

“That’s going to be a lot of sex for just two days.” He smiled. “I jerk off a lot at those memories.”

The thought of two days of sex with him without stopping makes too many boxes glow for me to fully control. “I think a lot of sex will be a good thing, don’t you?”

He makes a sound that could be agreement, or just giving into more of the pleasure. “That’s not going to be anywhere near enough time if you’re going to take this long to make me cum each time.”

“That isn’t something you need to worry about. This was an indulgence. Give the boxes some of what they’ve wanted since you arrived.”

“Boxes?” the word stretches. He’s high again.

“Don’t worry about it.” They are influencing me more than I expected. “Just worry about cumming.” I pick up speed, both in my thrusting and stroking.

His breaths come harder, his moans are spliced with curses. My name is mentioned often. Sometimes in unflattering ways, and I respond by fucking him harder.

I don’t inflict pain. I want him to cum purely from the pleasure. I need to know he can; that he isn’t so broken pain is a requirement. His scream starts as my name, then becomes incoherent. His body is a bar I hold in place as I fuck him through his orgasm.

The first jet goes to eye level, the nit pools on my still hand on his cock. I feel it pulse. I spread my fingers to give the cum somewhere to go.

He melts back against me. His head lolling on my shoulder. He pants, eyes half-closed. I take my hand off his cock and raise it to his mouth. I don’t have to prompt him. He licks it clean, then suckles on my fingers with a satisfied sigh.

“You haven’t cum,” he whispers.

“I will.”

I lay us on our side and thrust again, holding him against me. I don’t bite him. I don’t grab him. I do nothing to elicit sounds other than what me fucking him causes.

I don’t even imagine myself hurting him.

I have sex with him slowly and gently, so I can prove to myself that I, too, am not so broken I need to cause pain to reach orgasm.