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Tuesday, September 9, 2014

WHIPPING BOY: Bad Things EXPLICIT excerpt

When Xavier let himself into Carson’s room—not bothering to knock, of course—Carson was sitting at the table by the window, doing something on his computer, which he immediately closed.
Puta Madre Maria, it did something to him, the way Carson got to his feet and stood there, silently looking at him, just waiting to submit to whatever he said, whatever he did. The bulge of his stiffening dick already deliciously obvious.

“Get undressed.”

Fuck, that trembling, aroused obedience. Xavier had never known anything like it.

No need to bark orders. All Carson needed was to know what he wanted. So he spoke softly. “Get on the bed. On your hands and knees.”

Jesus Christ, the sight of him, so anxious, so willing. So fucking hard.

This time, Xavier'd had time to prepare. An experiment. A little push, to see what else would open up, what other facet of Carson’s soul could be brought out of shadow.

Each wrist drawn in, under Carson's body, and tethered to his ankle. Startling, how animal, how dehumanized a man could look, just by forcing his body into a slightly unnatural contortion. Knees splayed wide. Ass unavoidably lifted to display all the delicacies of his undercarriage, especially when Xavier slowly pressed down on the small of his back, getting that perfect curve and making Carson’s cheeks spread that taunting, extra little bit.

He didn't blindfold or gag him. With his weight tipped forward like that, his face was pretty much buried in the pillow. Half smothered, half gagged. Unable to see Xavier.

“Were you impatient, waiting for me tonight?” he asked quietly, forcing Carson to strain to hear him as he ran just the tip of his finger lightly down the shallow furrow, over his defenseless hole, thrilling at the tremor running through Carson’s body. “Wondering when I’d come? If I’d come?”

He set the things he’d need on the bedspread, near Carson’s foot. Climbing onto the mattress behind him—hell, it took his fucking breath, the way Carson went stone still in nervous anticipation—he laid his hands on those two gorgeous round cheeks. Even though his asshole was right there in plain sight, he spread him open a little wider, relishing the gasp and shudder he knew Carson would give him.

Xavier plucked up the riding crop he'd bought that afternoon, at the sex shop inevitably located in every urban downtown. For a moment, he felt the whip teeter on his palm, getting a sense of its weight and balance, then grasped the handle and whiffed the length back and forth through the air. A flimsy toy compared to the one he had at home, but it would do.

Xavier ran his hand over Carson’s hard dick, his hanging balls, his exposed hole, drinking down the nectar of Carson's stiff, trembling suspense, wondering if he'd guessed the significance of the sound the crop had made as it had sliced through the air, or whether it was pure suspense making Carson's body quiver like that. Then he brought the leather tip of the crop down on the luscious left cheek of Carson’s pale rump, good and fucking hard. So hard, Carson didn’t just gasp. He squealed, hitting a weird high note as he sucked in his breath. And after, there he was, trussed up, ribs going in and out like a bellows. Xavier waited, watched the flame of red spread over his smooth skin, watched the in-out of Carson’s breaths alter from startled alarm, to the halt and gasp of anxious anticipation. And Carson's sweet cock, engorged to the fucking limit.

His own wasn’t exactly limp.

A little more cruelly, he struck the other cheek. A few seconds later, a blotchy red mark emerged. But even better, Carson’s neck and ears were scarlet. His face, too, probably, but it was hidden in the pillow. Pain. Humiliation. All those capillaries dilating, competing with his cock for blood.

Xavier sank his fingers into Carson's hair, pushed his face down into the pillow, and hit him again. Again. Got him crying and squirming more and more desperately, cock beautifully obscene, ruddy, veins swollen, and, puta pene maravillosa, cockhead seeping.

When the twelfth strike hit its mark, Xavier tossed the crop aside and pounced on Carson with all the cruel hunger of those twelve weeks of doubt, and the vicious want ripping through him with every stinging whack of the crop against Carson’s rump, red and throwing off heat like a frying pan. He grasped both cheeks, spread him wide, and settled his mouth over Carson's hole, sliding the flat of his tongue over his pucker in one long, slow stroke, Carson’s startled cry making him fucking crazy.

“This is how I like you, Carson. Ass in the air and spread wide like you’re begging me to get in there and eat it. To stuff your hole with my hard dick.”

He reached under, got hold of Carson’s cock, and drew it back, between his legs, until he had his hole, his balls, and his leaking dick all in a nice, neat all-you-can-eat buffet line. When he licked, sliding his tongue over that engorged, seeping crown, pressing down between his balls, over his taint, over his hole, and up along the fuzzy furrow of his ass, Carson writhed and moaned so beautifully, Xavier could hardly fucking bear it. He went on eating, teasing and probing his hole, sucking his balls, nursing at his plump cock head until Carson whimpered his need to come. Then—fucking beauty—Carson groaned into the pillow, convulsing, coming. Already. Crying and bucking, knuckles white, lashed down by his feet. Xavier licked, sucked, drank, swallowed. Delicious. He could have gone on eating him forever.

Instead, not even waiting for Carson’s warbling sighs or tremors to stop, he rose up, got a condom on, greased up his hole—his cock rearing and twitching at the feel of Carson’s sphincter grasping at his finger, at the grunting noise he made as Xavier slowly penetrated him—and got in there. Fucking God, Carson was tight. A tormenting strain, every time, working his dick into the cruel grip of him. And so fucking worth it.


Was it too much? Riding him now, in that precarious post-orgasmic moment when everything—body, brain and soul—is at its most sensitive? Xavier bent over him, slid his arm around his neck, bracing against his chest so he wouldn’t really choke him, just give him that thrill of danger, of being taken. Now he could see him in profile, mouth wide, animal grunts shaking out of him every time Xavier plowed into him, brows knit. Body quivering in his arms. Total surrender as Xavier fucked, as he came, growling and clawing, sinking his teeth into the firm flesh just inside Carson’s shoulder.


http://www.amazon.com/Bad-Things-Varian-Krylov-ebook/dp/B00MW6UA9G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1408954203&sr=1-1&keywords=bad+things+krylov

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