Trapped in the Outback Pt. 03

"Please."

"I can't hear you," he said softly, while psychedelic music swamped my dulled brain. It was hard to speak. I was stoned on whatever he was doing to me.

I wet the inside of my mouth. "Please," I said again, still a whisper. I didn't want to use my full voice. Was afraid I'd wake myself up.

"Good boy," he said. He kissed me softly, then moved back behind me.

I heard the distinctive sounds of him tearing open a condom packet, rolling a condom on, lubing himself up.

A slick finger traced circles against my entrance, then slid inside, greasing the inside of my passage, preparing me to take him. I let out a soft moan, please keep doing that.

By the time I felt him position himself against my nearly-virgin hole, I was completely still and compliant under his hands. He knew what he was doing, and I hung my head between my arms and let him do what he wanted.

He eased himself into my lubed hole slowly, and I let out another moan. As scared as I was, it was distant now. I tried to relax, tried to remember how to take a cock, but honestly, I was so stoned on his dominance, even my tension was pleasurable.

I expected him to use me hard; he just seemed like he would. But instead, he went slow, getting me used to having him pushed inside me, all the while talking to me, telling me how good I was, taking his dick, his huge dick in my tight little arsehole.

Maybe there was some pain; there usually was, an ache inside, a burn at the entrance, which was why I generally avoided going this far with my hook-ups. But maybe I'd just been with the wrong guys. If there was pain now, the numbness in my brain turned it into pleasure.

I started that moaning he liked so much, as his cock seemed to expand, filling me completely. Getting impaled like that, on all fours, in such a submissive position—I can't explain to you why that's worse that being on your knees and sucking cock, it just is. You can't see the guy's face, you can't control what happens to you. But with Deacon, all of that was the hottest thing I'd ever experienced.

He fucked into me a short way, lubed up again and went in further, and I just let him fuck me, feeling distant from it all, except for that feeling of being controlled and dominated by a stronger man's cock.

Until he adjusted his angle, and hit a place inside that woke me out of my trance.

I licked my dry lips and rasped, "Fuck."

"What's that babe?" he asked softly, running over that spot again.

"Fuck me. Please fuck me." I realised I was panting hard, on the edge again.

And although he was fucking me, he got what I meant.

"Yeah?" He pulled out further and slid back in again, hitting that spot, and I threw my head back and started making animal noises I'd never made before in my life.

"FUCK me!"

Then, and only then, did he do what he'd clearly wanted to do all night.

He didn't porn-slam me exactly, but he picked up his pace and drove in deep. This time, I felt every inch of him pushed up inside me.

"Oh, fuck yeah, you hot, little, fuck."

His grunts and the slapping of flesh on flesh were loud against the music, and soon he'd turned me into a moaning whore.

I pushed back against him, feeling him drive right up into my insides, and gritted my teeth, wanting more.

"Fuck, Deacon, I'm coming, fuck, fuck."

"Yeah, you are!" He slammed into me, and the pressure turned into a surging explosion.

I drove back onto him and let out a pained groan as I exploded all over the bed. Feeling my arse clamp around him, he made a noise low in this throat and grabbed my hips, thrusting in hard and fast until he slammed home and pumped his cum deep inside me.

God that felt amazing, I felt dizzy.

He held me tight against his body as he jerked inside me, my involuntary tightness milking every drop from his balls, and then pulled out with a happy sigh.

I collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and doped up on endorphins.

He discarded the condom, then released my hands from the headboard.

"You alright?"

He handed me a bottle of water and I gulped a third of it down. Honestly, I was ready to black out for a few hours.

"So you enjoyed yourself?" he asked, and it amused me that as confidant as he was, he still needed to hear it.

"Fucking amazing," I said, rolling onto my back. "I can't believe how much effort you went to just for a fuck."

He sat on the side of the bed and took the water bottle back from me. He took a swallow and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not just a fuck." He capped the bottle and put it back on the nightstand.

He put a hand to my hair and stroked above my ear as I put my hands back up to the headboard, stretching my arms above my head. It felt so natural now.

"How long's it been since you fucked the same person twice?"

I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling, thinking. "A long time."

"Shift over."

I did, and he lay on his back beside me, his arm folded under his head.

"I don't want this to be a one-time thing." He glanced sideways at me. "That night I saw you at the pub, I was going to ask if you wanted to get a drink—but I wasn't sure if you were straight or gay. You looked queer as fuck on stage—but you were with a girl, and the two of you looked close."

"Yeah, she's a good friend," I said.

"But that's all?"

"Yeah, that's all. Trust me, we won't be fucking any time soon."

I closed my eyes. It had to be four in the morning, and I was exhausted.

He teased my hair with his free hand, and I felt myself falling asleep.

"But I got your attention tonight, didn't I?" he said.

I snorted. "Yeah. You could say that."

Sleep was pulling me down. The room was warm, the music was soothing, and his hand in my hair was bliss.

*

I woke the next morning to find Deacon's face inches from mine.

"Morning, babe." He tapped my nose. "How's my horny fuckboy?"

He put his hand around my morning boner and I groaned. Awake for three seconds, and he was already at it.

He shuffled closer to me on his stomach and kissed me. His lips against mine woke a sensitivity in me that made me grow even harder in his hand.

He broke the kiss and stroked fingers down my chest. Somehow, the way he touched me, made me feel sexy as fuck.

"Mind if I suck you good morning?"

I shook my head.

"Didn't think so."

He went to work, and ten minutes later I jerked my load into his mouth with a happy groan.

He ran his tongue up my shaft in a long sweep, then got off the bed. He held out his hand.

"Come take a shower with me."

I rolled off the bed, wobbly on my feet, and followed him out into the lounge, then into the bathroom, which was the next door along.

Like the rest of his place, the bathroom was spotless, and surprisingly roomy.

He pressed me up against the wall of the shower and slid his hard cock through his hand as he soaped me with his free hand. I found myself just staring at him, aroused, even though I wasn't quite ready to get hard again.

He licked water from my face, and I kissed him, loving the feel of his tongue against mine. Loving his presence that held me against the wall.

He put a hand on my shoulder and I grinned as he pushed me to my knees.

I pulled his hard cock towards my mouth and licked water off the end of it, then took him in deep as I could.

"Yeah, that's fuckin' awesome."

I looked up at him while I serviced him, and he put a hand against the back of my head and pulled me onto his cock.

"I could start every day like this. You taking my load in the shower."

I gave him a look and he laughed.

"Oh, come on, you like being my bitch-boy. Admit it."

Yeah, I did. Every time he insulted me I felt a twinge in my balls, and I knew if he kept it up, I'd get hard again.

"Right, you're gonna learn to take me properly, without being drunk."

He cupped the back of my head and pulled me against his groin. I made a noise of protest as his cock slid deep, invading my throat.

"Fuck, yes," he bit his lip. "I'm close. When I come, keep it in your mouth."

I put my hands on his thighs, just resting them there so I could push away if I needed to, and did my best to take him. He held my eyes as his cock twitched and pulsed against the root of my tongue, my jaw practically unhinged to take him that far.

"Fuck that's hot! You okay?"

I nodded. I wanted to do this. For him, I wanted to do this.

I couldn't breathe properly, no matter how hard I tried to relax around his cock, but I let him stay there as long as I could before I started pleading with my eyes.

With another growl, he released the pressure on my head, and I went back to sucking.

I bobbed my head on his dick, increasing my suction, and was rewarded with a growl of happiness as he flooded my mouth. He pulled back to make sure I didn't lose any of it, and held my head in place while he spurted his load.

I pressed my lips together as he pulled me to my feet.

"I'll have that back, thanks."

He put his mouth to mine and I let his tongue force my lips open.

We swapped his load back and forth in a filthy tongue fuck, and then he took as much of it as he could into his own mouth and swallowed it down.

I'd never done anything quite that filthy, and knew something in me was being altered every moment I was with him. He was too much like my ex, but with something else dangerous added. A new ingredient that I was afraid I was already addicted to.

He put a hand on the back of my neck and gave me an evil grin. "That was a first for you, yeah?"

I nodded.

"I wonder what else I can make you do?"

Make me do.

Since I had no idea myself, I just gave him a look that invited him to find out, and he put his hands either side of my face, and gave me his own look of lust-filled affection.

"I think it's time I made you that meal," he said. "And then we can go get my truck and sort out your car."

He turned off the shower and got out, tossing me a towel as I followed him out.

He tied his towel around his waist. "Right. Let's sort you out with some clothes."

"I have clothes—"

"Yeah, you can't go out in those, babe, it's going to be thirty-five degrees by midday."

I followed him back to the bedroom and he insisted on giving me fresh underwear, a pair of his shorts, a green beach t-shirt, and a pair of 'thongs', which, thank fuck, turned out to be flip-flops.

"How am I going to get these back to you?" I asked.

"I guess you'll have to come see me again." He grinned.

His t-shirt was loose across the chest and shoulders on me, and I had to pull the drawstring tight on his shorts to get them to stay up. They smelled of washing powder, and I fancied, a bit of him.

"I look ridiculous."

"You look cute!"

"Cute? Really?" Cute. FFS.

"Oh sssh, sssh," he mocked me, pulling my head against his chest. I shoved him away and he laughed his arse off.

He put on some music, and I sat at his kitchen table, with sunlight streaming through the lounge windows, as he cooked a full English breakfast for us both.

As I ate, I felt his gaze on me.

"I like that collar on you."

Christ. I choked on a mouthful of sausage. I'd nearly gone out in public wearing a bloody dog collar.

I dropped my cutlery and unbuckled it. I dropped it on the table, those silver letters shining in the morning sunlight.

For a moment I considered that four-letter word, then picked up my cutlery and started eating again.

"I was right though, wasn't I?" he asked, pouring out orange juice for us both.

I chewed and considered the collar some more. Swallowed. "Maybe."

He gave me a lopsided smile and got up from the table. He disappeared into the bedroom and came out with a necklace in his hand. A rolled-leather choker with a metal tag hanging from it.

He handed it to me, and I read the tag. It was engraved with the word "Free" on the back of the tin tag. The same as the collar on the table.

I looked up at him. "You had this made?"

"Yeah," he said. "I had a feeling."

I was getting one myself.

I put it on as he sat back down and tucked back into his breakfast, leaving me to wonder what this all meant.

After breakfast, he washed the dishes while I dried, and then we set off down the country road to pick up his truck.

The sun was warm, and when I looked up, the sky was hard blue against the muted green of the gum trees. As we crunched sun-warmed leaves under our shoes, I breathed in the clean air and was happy I'd taken the risk of driving out into the unknown.

Deacon wasn't psychotic, he just liked to play, and he was fucking good at it.

I glanced over at him as he stripped apart a dead leaf, and he caught my look.

"It's nice out here, eh?"

I nodded. "Better than living in the city."

"Dunno how you can stand it. Stinks of car fumes, and all the noise."

"Yeah, mate, have you not noticed how noisy the fucking countryside is out here?"

He laughed. "Yeah, good point. It fades into the background after a while."

"Fucking killer goats," I grunted.

"I love how scared you are of goats," he said. "Did you fall into a cave full of goats as a child?"

I shouldered him sideways. "Piss off!"

He staggered a couple of steps into the road and made goat noises at me.

"Cock."

We ambled up the road at a leisurely pace, chatting and teasing each other, and then at some point his fingers loosely hooked with mine.

Holding his hand felt weird to me, as a mildly sexually-repressed introvert, but it seemed natural for him. He wasn't self conscious or worried a carload of Aussie yobs was going to come up behind us and beat us to death.

He squeezed my fingers as if he'd read my mind. "Relax. It's fine."

"What'll happen if 'the boys off the farm' see you holding hands with a skinny little music twink?"

He laughed out loud and nearly choked. "Fuck's sake." He gave me an exasperated look. "I've blown half the guys I work with, straight or not. They're my mates, and frankly, I could beat the shit out of half of them. If anyone gives us shit, I'll deal with it."

The metal tag on the choker bounced against the V of my collarbone as we walked, and the tension did eventually drop away. It was just so nice to be out in the fresh air. He was right, it was going to be hot.

It was a couple of Ks to the neighbours where Deacon had left his truck, and as we walked up the drive to the house, there was a middle-aged farming type chopping wood out the front of the barn.

He stopped and raised a hand in greeting as Deacon and I came up the drive.

I expected Deacon to drop my hand, but he kept that loose grip until we reached the man, then moved his hand to my shoulder.

"Patrick, meet Jaxon."

Patrick shook my hand.

"Nice to meet you. Lovely day for a walk." He squinted up at the blue sky. "Going to be bloody hot though."

"Yeah, I figured I'd pick up the truck and take Jax to check out the train at Emerald Lake."

I looked sideways at him. That was news to me. But, just quietly, I did love trains. I supposed I could call in sick.

"Well, it's a great day for it," said Patrick. "Keys are in the truck. Have fun, boys!" He gave me a wink, and went back to his chopping.

As I climbed into the passenger seat of Deacon's truck, I was well confused.

"I thought we were hooking up," I said. "Now we're going on a picnic?"

He nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world, and started the truck.

"Need to get new tyres on your car, but I figured we'd do that in the afternoon. We'll collect your wheels and take 'em into town."

"New tyres," I said. "Not retreads."

He glanced at me. "Of course."

When I finally drove away from his place that night, well fucked, and with two new tyres, still in his clothes, with the taste of his mouth in mine, I didn't know if I'd see him again. For all I knew, taking a steam train ride was how he ended all his hook-ups. But somehow, I didn't think so.

And you know what? He just texted me. And fuck me, I can't describe how seeing that text makes me feel. He wants to get together again on the weekend, and this time I get to keep my tyres.

Fucking awesome, fucked up psycho. I might just fall in love.