Once a Nerd Ch. 12 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 12

... fuckin' done anything." He sounds somewhere between amazed and strangled, like he's barely holding it together. He squeezes my right cheek roughly, and I groan into the bit of comforter I've caught between my teeth. The rounds of my ass havenever felt so sensitive before, as it's not a place on my body to see excessive, pointed stimulation. Now, Dean simply grabbing at it puts a boil in my lower stomach.

"You're soaked, you know that? I can feel it dripping down my leg. Did it feel that good?"

Realizing he's right, I want to shrivel up and die. The rosy hue of shame burns in my face, chest, nape, all down my back. I'm blushing with my whole body, and if that doesn't make everythingso much worse.

He spreads my ass apart with the one hand, and humiliation is a coagulant in my throat when he breathes a short, excited laugh. "Your hole looks so needy, Sam. It's never been neglected like this, huh?"

"God, Dean, just—stop fucking around!" I beg, straining against the clamp he's got me in.

"You think you're in a position to say shit like that?" To emphasize said position, Dean fastens the hook on my legs, dropping more weight through his forearm. "I'll fuck around all night if I want to."

The pad of his thumb bears down against my hole, and for the longest time, he does little more than apply a light, scrubbing pressure. To keep those despairing noises at bay, I focus singlemindedly on cycling breath through my nose. He's always, always looking for a reaction. He ...

... gets off on watching me fall to pieces, and the longer I can deprive him of that, the better I'll feel about all of this. Predictably, those convictions fly out the window when he sinks into me.

My hips twitch back of their own mind, and Dean's not deaf to the relieved gasp whistling through my teeth. When he pops out, hand vanishing, you'd think my entire world had gone up in brimstone and hellfire.

I twist angrily in his grip. "Dean, fuck—!"

He laughs, and my nerves settle at the snick of a lid—lube. "Christ, relax, Sam. I promised you'd like this."

"This...fucking position is—it's—"

"Deal with it, okay? It'll be worth it. You know what to do if you want me to let you up."

I do. It's one word away. If I spit our safeword at him, he'll stop. He'll let me go. But, as he spreads my inner muscle with an increasing number of fingers, we both know I won't. Not over this, anyway. Ultimately, I trust him. If he says it's worth it, I trust him enough to persevere through this act of abasement. Dean's never failed in making me feel good. He excels at it, and for this play in particular, he put effort into learning the right way to do things.

Besides, it's over now.

He's stretching me as thoroughly as ever—dragging his fingertips against my walls, stimulating my prostate until I'm trembling through the sweet, twanging build-up of an orgasm. He's about to burst too. There's no way he won't fuck me after—

"How'd it feel earlier? Was it too hard?"

"Hah? Nngh, ...