Calluses Pt. 03: Burst

It was still dark when I woke up some time before dawn. The room was much colder now; he'd rolled off me at some point during the night, left me naked and spread on top of musty quilts and pillows. His heavy arm, flung possessively across my chest, was the only thing that kept me from feeling like a discarded toy. The edges of his huge, powerful form were accentuated by the glow of the dull, golden light from the hallway; for a time I just watched it rise and fall with his snores, a sleeping mountain range.

It was a strange feeling, knowing this man had shoved his dick into my body only hours before...knowing I'd somehow opened myself to it, endured it, and had ultimately liked it...loved it, even...and now he was sleeping on his stomach next to me, snoring softly into the pillows with his bare ass exposed, as vulnerable as he'd ever be.

What if I'd turned out to be a psychopath? What if I ended up doing something desperate to keep him from coercing me into any more brutal sex acts? I wouldn't, of course, didn't have it in me, but I was almost impressed by the sheer, irrational confidence of him...

Well, he is a cop.

My belly and chest and crotch were absolutely covered in dried cum, matting and tangling my body hair, tugging at my skin at the slightest shifting movement. My deflowered asshole was swollen, cored out, aching in the sharpest, deepest way imaginable, yet still feeling numb. I'd never given much thought to that part of myself before, but now I was aware of every fold of every wrinkle, felt the pang of every wounded twitch. It was strangely...pleasant. Like a concentrated post-workout buzz. I could also feel the viscous wetness of lube and cum coating the inside of each butt cheek, gumming up the rim of my asshole, and that wasn't quite as nice. I knew it was only a fraction of what he'd so thoroughly fucked into me, soaking into every nook and cranny of my bowels even now; two loads of a grown man's jism, deposited directly into my deepest self, as a bull would impregnate a heifer...

I had no idea how to feel about that. He'd never said anything about going bareback, much less cumming inside me...but it was already done, and I wasn't about to tell him to wear a condom next time.

Next time...

I gulped, suddenly nauseous. I slowly, carefully lifted his arm off my chest. It was heavier than I thought it'd be, but he was sleeping like a log...or rather, a dangerous, hibernating bear that would attack and devour me if I accidentally woke it from its slumber.

I got off the bed, wincing at the low creak of the mattress springs. Whether it was the creeping cold or my own shameful sense of vulnerability, I didn't want to be naked any longer.

My first thought was to find my boxers, until I remembered I hadn't brought any per his orders. My dress shirt was in tatters, a crumpled lump of cloth in the corner of the room, but I slipped it on anyway. Most of the buttons were gone, but there were enough to close it over my stomach at least. The torn collar hung wide open on either side of my chest, letting the cold air wash over my nipples as the loose fabric grazed them, both nubs instantly sharp and tingling down into my groin...

I refused to think about his mouth, but it didn't help. Wearing the ruined shirt made me feel even more awkward than simply being naked, because it made me think about sex. I'd never been the object of desire before, never had to think about how enticing my body might look to someone with such total power over me. The torn shirt hung off my shoulders in such a uselessly perverse way, all the most important bits still very much accessible, making me feel like a freshly ravaged virgin. If I was going to crawl back into bed with that man and try to get more sleep -- and I knew I'd need it -- I wanted my ass covered first.

His jeans were still in a pile at the foot of the bed, as well as the pair of black boxers trapped within them. I carefully lifted the entire mound of jeans and boxers and belt, careful not to make a sound. I left the bedroom, bare feet stepping softly down the hallway, until I was back in the well-lit living room at the other end of the house.

I sat on the cold leather sofa and slipped his boxers from the jeans, the giant belt buckle clinking softly as I did. I felt like a thief, taking his property without asking -- but it was his fault I didn't have anything to wear, wasn't it? Besides, there had been real affection in his handling of me the night before, despite all the frightening roughness of the ordeal. Surely he wouldn't mind if I wore his boxers to keep warm, and dirty boxers at that. I smelled them, trying to guess how dirty they might be, and was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer musk of his scent -- enough to make me lightheaded for a moment. Enough to turn me on, to make my belly ache for his touch...

I ignored my sudden arousal and pulled the boxers over my naked hips, glad to find they fit well enough. The thought of his dried sweat and precum rubbing against my skin was both disgusting and enticing, which made it...hot? Why was it hot? Why did I love his filthy smell so much? Why was I enjoying anything about this experience? A week ago I'd imagined I was marching into some hidden layer of hell (and in some ways it was), but now I was finding there were many confusing layers to it, that was only purely horrific on paper...he'd made me come, after all, like I'd never come before. Twice.

I shook my head. More than anything, I just wanted a shower...but that was going a step too far I felt, and the noise would likely wake him. From what little I knew of him, he would use it as an excuse to force me into another bout of fucking, and I didn't think I could handle more of that treatment yet.

I noticed the frayed black corner of his wallet protruding from the pocket of his jeans. I paused, listening closely to the sounds of the house. The wind was groaning lowly against the side of the house, dead branches shifting and sighing out in the darkness. I could just hear him snoring down the hall, still fast asleep.

I took the wallet, letting my curiosity overwhelm my sense of self-preservation. It was small and black and ordinary. I opened it. There was his driver's license, denoting his status as a cop - and not just any cop. He was the goddamn chief of police; the biggest cop in Meter PD, just like he'd said. Chief Pruitt. That was his name. His face was handsome in the photo, younger, but very stern. No emotion, really -- just a direct glare above the straight, grim line of his lips. No hint of the sadistic sexual predator I knew him to be, or anything but calm, civic-minded authority.

I rummaged some more, opened the wallet right up. As I'd guessed, he was old enough to have actual, physical photos inside - more than one of a single woman. His wife? She was beautiful, blue-eyed, blonde, and proper, but the photo was old. Must have been taken in the nineties, judging by the quality and the fashion sense, along with some photos of a young black-haired, blue-eyed boy with a hesitant smile...so he had a son. A son with black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. A son that was likely around my own age by now...

I didn't like where those thoughts were taking me. Not one bit.

I closed the wallet and pushed it back into the jeans. I didn't want to think about the raging erection that had suddenly filled up the boxers I was wearing, or how shallow my breathing had become, so I didn't.

I crept back down the hallway, slow and careful. Listening. The pitch black door of the bedroom yawned like the hungry maw of some cosmic beast, drawing me back into its gullet with its undeniable siren's call. He was sleeping where I'd left him, still snoring softly. I set his jeans down at the foot of the bed and slowly crawled back into it, blood pumping in my ears, doing everything I could not to wake him. He kept snoring.

I turned onto my side, facing away from him, wrapping the shirt around my chest as I crossed my arms. I was still cold, but I didn't dare lift the quilt we were lying on top of. The wind began to howl outside, making me feel even colder. I should've remembered to find my socks before getting back into bed...

After some time I found myself inching my back closer to his body. His warmth. Whatever my reservations, I knew I was stuck in this situation, and I was desperate for sleep...but to sleep, I needed to be warm. We'd both been naked and all over each other not that long ago -- there wasn't any point in avoiding contact with his skin, as long as it didn't wake him...

The small of my back was resting against his hip now. His skin was like a blazing fire, heating up my spine. Eventually he shifted in his sleep, and the thick meat of his naked thigh pushed firmly into the cleft of my ass, warming me there as well. It felt safe, somehow, especially with the fabric of the boxers between his flesh and mine, enough to finally lull me into a deep, black sleep of exhaustion.

***

I was stumbling through the darkness, lost in the maze, pulling my clothes around my body, but they just wouldn't stay on. The walls were frozen, sticky with ice, so cold they hurt to touch, but I had to touch them. I had to find my way out. Heavy footfalls shook the carpet under my bare feet, red light flickering around the corner.

Something was coming...

There was a spark, somewhere off in the inky black...and then I woke to the wet, invasive sensation of his mouth, clamped down around my left nipple. His prickly beard, raking across the bare skin of my chest...and the firm, hot presence of his huge dick at my hip.

I was dazed, barely awake, but that was quickly changing. Electric jolts shot up and down my body as his mouth grew more eager. I was gasping through half-opened lips, and I couldn't know how long I'd been doing that...how long he'd been...

I opened my heavy eyes. Cold sunlight drifted through the closed curtains, bathing the bare walls in soft white hues. The room had taken on new life in the light, revealing a couple of framed, silver-signed 80's hair band posters, the only things that marred the plain white walls. An old wooden dresser sat next to the door to the hallway, and there was a sizable pile of dirty wife beaters and crumpled socks in the corner by the master bathroom. The room smelled heavily of pleasant, potent musk, barely any of it my own.

He was naked. I was lying in his lap, splayed on my back over his thighs with an arched spine, arms flopped on either side in their sleeves. He'd pushed my tattered shirt up under my jaw at some point, not bothering to unbutton it. The cloth was bunched over my mouth and nose, blocking most of my view of what was going on below, making the raw physical sensations all the more intense. One of his big warm hands held my covered shoulders in place, while the other engulfed the naked pec he was suckling on...squeezing the meat of it now, gorging on everything between his knuckles.

I shivered and grunted stupidly, lustily, trying to put my mind back together. "What time is it?" I asked, breathless and groggy, and immediately felt silly.

He raised his eyes to me as I stirred, and his mouth left my hard nipple cold in the morning air. "Early," he said gruffly. The shirt fell away from my face as his big hand left my blushing chest, and I watched as it roamed down my rib cage, across the tender flesh of my stretched abdominals, and through the dark bush between my naked hips. He ran his fingertips over the pink length of my engorged morning wood, making me squirm...but there was a clear, empty hardness in his eyes. My stomach sank, though I was too tired to know exactly why.

"I'm gonna tell you a story, Mikey," he said softly, kindly even. There was something low and sadistic in his voice that made me extremely uneasy, made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. "You gonna listen?"

I nodded, sick to my stomach, and he smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was this shopkeep in a village. He had a wife and kids, and they were pretty well-off -- rich, even. Nothing crazy, but they got by just fine. More than fine, really, because he had something very special, something he began to take for granted..." His voice was smooth and clear, that of a practiced storyteller, and I found myself listening intently despite the creeping fear.

"This thing he took for granted was a hen. A beautiful hen that laid an egg every single day -- but not just any egg, see. Agolden egg. It kept his family well fed through the lean times, kept his business afloat when most everybody else was going under...but he wasn't satisfied. He wanted more...thought he was entitled to it..." He traced the base of my cock as he spoke, light fingertips massaging the soft vein of my erection, keeping the rest of it hard. "So...you know what he did to that hen?"

I shook my head slowly, carefully, watching his hand glide over my naked crotch.

"He killed it." He slapped my cock to emphasize this, making me flinch in his lap. "He thought he could get all the golden eggs in one go, the greedy bastard..." His hand was closing over my taint, my balls, squeezing them between his rocky knuckles until I grunted at the dull pain. "But do you know what he found, when he cut that hen open and spread her guts around...?"

"Nothing?" My voice was small, trembling.

"That's right. Nothing. Now all he had was a dead chicken, and what good is that compared to a steady supply of golden...fuckin...eggs?" He tapped my balls with each word, making me wince and squirm under his gaze, spreading my own guts around. "Tell me..."

"Worthless," I almost whispered, every nerve in my body telling me to run.

He nodded solemnly. "That's right. Worthless." He rested his hand on my throat, feeling my rising pulse beneath his heavy palm. "You can guess what happened next, smart boy like you. His money dried up, and his family starved, and he was left with nothing in this world, never saw another golden egg for the rest of his miserable life." He grinned. "So what's the moral of this story, Mikey? Think you can tell me?"

"I, uh..." I swallowed, mouth suddenly quite dry. "Sometimes it's best to...to be happy with what you've got."

"More or less..." The warmth was fading from his voice, becoming colder...harder. "Now, for the eight million dollar question...how does that apply to you and me, here and now? Hmmm? How is it relevant to our situation?"

I was sweating against him now, my cock softening as the dread expanded into my guts. "I...I'm not sure..."

The hand cradling my shoulders gripped me just the slightest bit tighter, thumb stroking my tense muscles through the fabric of the bunched shirt. The hand at my throat drifted back down the length of my body until it vanished beneath my hips...only to reappear holding something soft and black, raising it for me to see. He held the boxers I'd been wearing when I fell asleep, which he'd obviously removed before waking me. His boxers...

"We had a real nice time last night, don't you think? I thought so. I was real fuckin happy with you, boy...happier than I've ever been with any other bitch. You don't even know how good you had it, how nice I was gonna be to you this morning. You had a golden fuckin egg...but you obviously took all that for granted." He rubbed the crusty boxers against my jaw, my throat, watching my lips tremble. "I didn't say you could wear these, did I?"

I shook my head again and glanced around the room, every muscle tensing.

"I sure didn't. You didn't even ask if you could wear them...just helped yourself to my shit, like the spoiled little cunt you are...I gave you an inch, and you took a mile, and now all you've got is a worthless pile of chicken guts." He shook his head sadly, oozing disappointment. "Anything you wanna say for yourself?"

I began to blubber out some kind of apology -- and he immediately pushed his boxers between my open lips.

"Go on -- open up boy," he ordered. I did, in shock, and the giant wad of dry cotton burst into my mouth. He didn't stop until they were stuffed behind my teeth in their entirety, and I was frozen, too startled to resist. The bulge of rank, crusty black cloth was all I could feel, taste, smell. The stale, musky scent of both our crotches was so strong I choked on it, dry heaving, panting loudly through my nose. I couldn't spit them out, couldn't close my mouth. He'd gagged me.

"You wanted them? You got them."

His fingers appeared at my balls, which had retracted a bit up into my body from the fear and the cold. He slapped the fuzzy pink mound of my scrotum, along with both of the small, vulnerable orbs beneath. It was light, controlled --

I grunted into the boxers at the fiery pain that followed, making me sick. "WHAT THE FUCK," I tried to shout, but it came out of my nose as nothing but angry, muffled grunts. I was kicking my legs without thinking, hands suddenly pushing against his shoulders, trying to get myself out of his lap.

"Stop complaining, boy." He slapped my balls again, harder this time -- then again -- hard enough for me to hear it.

The pain immediately turned into swollen, blossoming agony, and I wailed mutely against the odious gag as tears filled my eyes, blurring the room with red-tinged fog. I stopped kicking my legs as my spine went rigid, and I collapsed back into his lap. I couldn't move, couldn't think as the roiling spike of nauseating agony consumed me...already fading somewhat, though the bedrock of pain remained, sticky and pulsing in my guts...

His long, fat cock was hard and heavy against the meaty flank of my buttocks, and his face was split into a satisfied smirk.

"Shhhh..." he cooed. He firmly pushed my knees apart, even as I flinched and whimpered at his touch, wide awake and afraid of him. The aching pain was horrible, unending, and I was terrified he'd keep going...but I let him spread my trembling thighs. I let him catch my watery blue eyes with his, pleading in a throaty, muffled whine, keenly aware of his control over me.

He smiled warmly, running his other hand through my sweaty hair, massaging my scalp with his strong, thick fingertips. "I know, boy, I know...that part's over, for now. You're doing real good. Keep those legs spread..."

Somehow, my cock was hardening up against his wrist. On some level, beneath the fear and the pain, I was disgusted with myself...but at least he liked what he saw.

His big fingers pushed my dark pubes aside as they firmly encircled its girthy base, and it bobbed stiffly as he fondled it, lewd and swollen. It was visibly expanding as it flexed in his lewd grasp, chasing its own pleasure, now fully engorged. His kneading was deliciously, undeniably pleasurable, even as the roaring ache in my cowering balls spread and settled over my loins, rolling deep inside my belly...

I knew he'd go back to slapping my poor balls if I did anything else to resist him, knew the fingers running through my hair could easily become a fist. I didn't think I could handle any more of that. I could only let him have his way, arms limp beneath my shoulders, mutely watching my body respond as he did what he pleased. My nipples were hard and red, chest blushing deeply between them. The fur of my pecs and belly was darkening, as I sweat profusely despite the cold air.

His body was like a furnace against mine, massive and powerful, utterly dominant. Its sinews flexed like mountain ranges as he lorded over my prone form, watching each and every twitch I made for any sign of refusal. Our pale skin seemed to fuse as he pulled me further into the heat of his lap, our tense muscles blending with the stark white of the room beyond. My cock throbbed, a creature with a mind of its own.

"Thought I'd been clear enough with you, boy...thought you understood your place here, especially after how fuckin perfect you were last night. But I guess you need me to fuckin spell it out for you..." He smiled crookedly as he played with me. "While you're here, you belong to me. You're my fuckin slave. You can beg and complain if you want, and I'll even like it when you do...but in the end you'll do everything I tell you to do, and nothing else." His voice was deep and booming now, pushing my thoughts back down beneath him as his hand told me how horny my body was. "You get dressed when and if I say you can get dressed...and you especially don't go touching shit that don't belong to you. That's about as naughty as it fuckin gets, college boy, and I can't let that go without a little discipline. You understand all that? Huh? You want me to be happy with you again?"