Free The Flesh Cartel - Episode #7: Homecoming by Rachel Haimowitz, Heidi Belleau Page A

his hand. The dildo would have to wait. “And make it good for me.”
    The alternating threats and encouragements seemed to have done the trick. Still with his hands clasped and his back rigidly straight, Douglas bent at the knees and waist and thrust his ass back, seeking Nikolai’s hand. Nikolai waited, palm up, until his fingertips brushed against that sweat-slick skin.
    “That’s it. Just about there,” he coaxed, and after a little bit of slipping up and down, Douglas finally pushed back, Nikolai’s middle finger hitting his hole first and breaching easily.
    A slow stretch, and the other two fingers followed.
    “Make it good for me,” Nikolai reminded, and Douglas moaned on command, the sound muffled and sweet and just a little bit frightened, which gave Nikolai an extra thrill.
    The second knuckle. The third. Nikolai’s hand was flush with that perfect, stretched ass, now. Another moan, and Douglas began to move, timidly at first as if he were afraid of losing the fingers so painstakingly found, and then faster, especially when Nikolai gently crooked his fingers.
    “Sit up, back straight,” Nikolai ordered, and Douglas lifted carefully from his crouch, still holding Nikolai’s fingers in his ass as he returned to his old position. Nikolai curled his free hand around Douglas’s lube-slicked erection, squeezed, gave the boy a nice tight hole to fuck. And he would fuck it: Nikolai wouldn’t be jerking him off tonight. Douglas’s moan at the contact was much louder than the others, free of artifice. Sweat popped on his flushed skin again, giving him an enticing glow. He fucked forward into Nikolai’s hand, back onto his fingers. Back and forth, from pleasure to pleasure like a quick game of tennis. Panted hard. His thighs trembled. Behind his back, his fingers clenched and tangled around each other, white-knuckled. He bared his teeth around the plug, screwed his eyes shut. Exhausted as he was, he looked ready to blow any moment.
    But he didn’t.
    And for a time, Nikolai took advantage of that fact, basking in the sight of his boy toiling for him, working so hard to earn his pleasure, moaning and arching and fighting so valiantly against his own exhaustion and his base need to climax. It wasn’t just enjoyable to watch, it was downright intoxicating. There was nothing like this, nothing like this power. This power to give and withhold pleasure, this power of watching a man bend his will to your own, all in a desperate bid for a scrap of your approval.
    And just now, Nikolai approved wholeheartedly. He ached to draw the scene out longer, keep his boy on the edge until his needy, pleading whimpers filled the whole house, but even he had to admit that Douglas had given enough today. If he pushed the boy any harder, he’d fail through sheer exhaustion, and that would be just as much Nikolai’s fault as Douglas’s.
    Time to let this end, then.
    “You can come whenever you’re ready Douglas. Your master gives you permission.”
    Two strokes after that, and Douglas was done, coating the inside of Nikolai’s palm and sobbing with pleasure as he rode out his orgasm.
    Or was it pleasure? Nikolai withdrew his hand from the boy’s clenching asshole, grabbed his shoulder, and turned him. Tears streaked his face, big fat ones, and snot ran down from his nose. Nikolai’s first urge was to slap the boy—he’d said no more crying, said it twice —but there was clearly something more at play here, and until he knew exactly what it was, he’d be a fool to act in haste. So he withdrew the plug and offered up his hand to be cleaned. Douglas cried the whole way through licking up his own hard-won cum.
    “Tell me,” Nikolai said, softly, and combed his newly clean hand through the boy’s hair.
    Douglas hiccupped in reply. Shook his head. “Nothing, sir, it’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
    “You’re lying, Douglas,” Nikolai said flatly, and didn’t even bother to voice a threat. The boy shuddered at the tone,