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“Get on your knees, boy,” he hisses, pushing roughly on my shoulder.
Like the good boy I am, I fall to the floor.
My knees hit the rug with a crack, Still, I wince in pain, because I know.
I know what’s coming next.
What always comes next.
I watch him unbuckle his pants. The same pants he wore to di That’s what gets him off the most, I’ve noticed. The way I listen, always listen and do whatever he says. I do whatever he tells me, because I’m his good boy. He steps closer to me. His pants slip down further past his butt to reveal his entire length to me. He brings it to my lips. “You know what to do,” he growls. There’s no use in fighting it. Fighting him. I’m so much smaller than he is. I know it would be pointless. It’s never worked in the past, so why would it now? If I let it happen, it will be over sooner. And that’s all I want every time. For it to be over as soon as possible. So I open my mouth immediately and allow him to slide inside with ease over my tongue. The taste is familiar, one I’ve come to know well. He starts thrusting instantly. Working his dick deeper into my throat. I try not to gag, but I can’t help it. I’m not any good at this, even though I’ve done it more times than I can count. Because I’m not supposed to be good at this. Because…I’m a boy and boys don’t do this to other boys. Or to grown men. Heck, I’m only twelve years old. Today, in fact. I should be playing video games with Roman after di I should be celebrating my birthday. I shouldn't have a dick in my mouth. Especially one belonging to my mother’s husband. It’s wrong, so, so wrong. But I can’t do anything to stop it. Suddenly, he pulls from between my lips. I suck in a breath and cough as he yanks me to my feet. He is quickly shedding the rest of his clothes before unbuttoning my own pants. He’s on his knees before me, yanking my pants and underwear down and off me. Before I can blink, his lips wrap around my own dick. It’s hard already and he’s barely touched me. Which means I must like what he’s doing to me. What I do to him. That’s what he tells me, at least. That’s what my health teacher confirmed for us this past semester. If it’s hard, that means I like it. But I don’t like this… He stands after he’s made sure I’m harder than a rock. But he licks the tip of my dick one last time before moving over to the bedside table. I hear him rummage around in the drawer. Looking for what, I don’t know. When he turns around, I spot the two items in his hand. A bottle, small and white. What it contains, I can’t tell from here. And handcuffs. My stomach rolls at the sight of the restraints. He hasn’t ever used those before and…I’m scared. Terrified, actually. I don’t fight him. Ever. I’m good, I always listen, so why does he want to handcuff me? Or does he want me to use them on him? My question is quickly answered when he snaps one around my wrist before tossing the bottle on the foot of the bed. “What are you doing?” I ask, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he pulls my shirt from over my head before turning me to face the bed. “Put your hands on the footboard,” he tells me, and like his lap dog, my fingers curl around the wrought iron of the footboard. Listening to his command. I always listen, because that’s what good boys do. And he said, as long as I’m a good boy, he won’t hurt me. That’s why I never fight. I never kick or scream or make any noise at all. If I do, he might hurt me and I don’t want that. He slips the second half of the handcuff around the metal before latching that side around my other wrist. Locking me in place. Sweat breaks out across my forehead. Panic bubbles up within me. It’s so much, too much, so I can’t help but break the rules and talk. Ask questions. “Please, just tell me what is happening. Why do you need these? I’m always a good boy, I do what you say.” He picks up the little white bottle, one reading lube on it. My heartrate kicks up. My senses are on high alert and my body trembles in fear, in panic. Instinct tells me to fight and run. But how can I, now that my arms have been restrained by the cuffs? Still, I try. My arms attempting to tug my wrists free from their confines. The metal of the cuffs bite into my skin, causing me to wince. But I still do my best to squeeze my wrist through the hole. It’s no use, though. I’m stuck. Helpless. I hear the cap of the bottle being flicked open. The squirting sound of the gel being squeezed out and smeared around on his fingers. His hand grips my waist, tugging me backwards. It forces my arms into an extended position. I feel the wet and cold sensation of the lube be rubbed against my buttcrack, his finger teasing my butthole. He’s done this before, when he’s had my dick in his mouth. It’s okay, Ciaráin. You’re okay. I chant those words to myself. Like if I say them enough I might actually start to believe them. His first finger enters my hole, the second quickly following. I groan softly, biting my lip from crying out. It hurts, it always does at first. But it also feels good, especially when he hits the spot inside me that makes my toes tingle. I don’t know which is worse. A moan slips past my lips as his fingertips touch that place over and over. He strokes and kneads me there until I’m pressing back against him, desperate for more pressure. My dick, it aches between my legs. Like every time, I’m mortified by how good his fingers feel inside me. When it’s so very wrong.. Why do I like this? I shouldn’t even know what this feels like, let alone have some sick addiction to it. But as quickly as his fingers entered me, they’re gone. I let out a whimper at the absence. My entire body is lit on fire by the way he’s turned me on. The sound of more lube being squeezed out set my body back on edge. Every muscle in me tenses. And then I feel it, the head of his dick, so much larger than his fingers, against my hole. I tense more, my butt squeezing together on reflex because…I don’t want it back there. It won’t fit, there’s no way. Not without splitting me in half. “You are a good boy, Ciaráin. Always such a good boy. And you know I won’t ever hurt you.” His words wash over me in a soothing tone, and for a minute, I relax again. He won’t hurt me, not really. He’s only ever made me feel so, so good.