Chapter 4: Uncle Richard.
I woke early and left Jason in bed, admiring his body, which was not entirely covered by the sheet. "Fucking hell," I muttered to myself, "I took all that inside me, not once but…," as I viewed his morning wood. He was deeply asleep as I crept downstairs, slipping my nightshirt on to stand in the kitchen. "Coffee," I muttered to myself as I went outside and sat on the porch at the back, smoking a cigarette, thinking about what had just changed my life forever.
The mist clung to the Bluebells like lace, the scent of damp earth and tobacco mingling as I exhaled. Jason’s laughter from yesterday echoed in my skull, that unselfconscious, full-bodied sound I’d never heard from him before the kilt. He was happy, and so was I, even though I was having a loving affair with such a young man. My chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with nicotine as I challenged my logic and... my morality. "Was I wrong?" I asked myself. "He's old enough to be my son," I reminded myself.
The screen door creaked. Jason padded out barefoot, wearing the nightshirt I had given him as a gift, the hem barely grazing his knees. “Thought I smelled cancer,” he grumbled, still sleep-soft as he collapsed into my lap, his erection tenting the thin fabric obscenely.
I passed him the cigarette wordlessly. He took a drag, wincing at the bitterness, but didn’t hand it back. “Uncle Richard texted mum,” he said finally, blowing smoke toward the tree line. “Arriving at noon.”
The unspoken threat hung between us. Jason’s knee bounced in a nervous tic as I placed my hand on it to calm his nerves, feeling the warmth through cotton. “We’ll handle it,” I said, as I lit another cigarette. "It will be fine, and you have me to get in the way if necessary."
Jason stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, then turned to me with sudden intensity. “Prove it.”
I knew that look. I knew the way his breath hitched when I slid my hand across his cock, the fabric dampening immediately. Jason’s hips jerked forward, his fingers digging into my wrist as I teased him to full hardness in broad daylight.
Jason froze, enjoying the moment. “Steve," he muttered, "Make love to me. I want to feel you inside me. I even brought the lubricant."
"It's a bit chilly out here for a morning fuck this early," I suggested.
Jason laughed. "It’s never too early to have a fuck, and I don't care if it's chilly. Take me here on the porch. We have our nightshirts, and once we start, it might get quite steamy, making them redundant."
The morning chilled air curled around his bare legs as he bent forward, gripping the railing with white-knuckled intensity. His nightshirt revealed the outline of the smooth curve of his arse. I traced the crease where thigh met buttock with my thumb, feeling him shiver despite his bravado.
"Beg me," I murmured against his nape, tasting salt and sleep as I lifted his nightshirt. Jason turned his head, our lips brushing in a kiss that dissolved into shared breath as I smeared some lube on my shaft and then, slowly, I pressed forward, muttering, “Not too cold, I hope.”
“Get on with it and warm me up, for Christ’s sake,” he begged, imploring me to deal with his morning horniness.
The dawn chorus swallowed his gasp as I pushed in, the tight heat of him drawing a groan from my chest. The porch boards creaked beneath us, an obscene counterpoint to the wet sounds of our joining. Jason arched his back, pushing himself onto me with desperate urgency, his nightshirt now rucked up around his shoulders as I moved tentatively at first.
"Harder," he demanded through clenched teeth, his fingers scrabbling at the weathered wood. I obliged, gripping his hips hard enough to leave bruises, each thrust rocking him against the railing.
Jason reached back blindly, grasping my thigh to pull me deeper, his breath coming in punched-out sobs. When I wrapped a hand around his leaking cock, he came with a shout that startled birds from the trees, his release streaking the porch in pearlescent arcs as his cock emptied itself after a night spent replenishing his own stock.
“Wow, so much, Jason. I’m impressed.”
As Jason groaned through his orgasm, shooting even more of his seed as I massaged his cock, I managed to continue thrusting in and out of him for a couple of minutes, feeling my climax building all the time, and then I followed, my own stock of fresh cum offloading into him as I climaxed. Four or five heavy spurts of my cum pumped into him each time I thrust forward.
Moments later, I collapsed against his sweat-slicked back as we both gasped for air. Jason turned his head, capturing my lips in a messy, sated kiss. "Told you," he panted smugly, "steamy," as the rising sun painted his flushed skin gold, our mingled breaths fogging the crisp morning air.
I dropped out of him and pulled him into a hug, his back resting against my chest with my arms wrapped around him, holding tight, not wanting to let go. We remained like that for a while, gazing over the background view with the trees, mountains and the whitewater river providing the calm between us.
Jason turned and kissed me, his hands holding my face as he stared into my eyes. It was a beautiful moment until Jason chipped in, "I'm hungry. Can we have breakfast? And afterwards, can we walk together, home? It's a nice walk, and I have to be home for Uncle Richard's arrival, and it will be the first time I wear the kilt in front of someone else besides my mum."
"Only if you pull that nightshirt back down," I replied, smiling.
Jason groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "Fine," he sighed, pulling the fabric back down over his body to rest just above his knees.
Breakfast was simple, bacon, eggs and toast, but Jason devoured it with the same enthusiasm he'd shown last night. Watching him eat was its own kind of pleasure, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the smear of butter at the corner of his mouth that he licked away absently.
After breakfast, we went upstairs and showered off the remains of our nighttime and early morning activities.
Afterwards, I put him in the middle of the room and dressed him. First, I slipped the nightshirt, now a dayshirt, over his head. Then I took the kilt and wrapped it around his waist, buckling it twice at the hips.
Jason hesitated in front of the mirror. "Do I... look okay?"
"You look perfect," I assured him, adjusting the fall of fabric over his thigh, but don't forget your t-shirt.
The walk was slow, deliberate. Jason kept touching the hem of his kilt, unused to the swing of fabric around his legs. Birds darted between the trees, their songs punctuated by the crunch of gravel underfoot. Halfway to his mother's cottage, Jason stopped abruptly. "Steve," he said, voice tight. "What if Uncle Richard...."
I caught his hand, squeezing. "Then we handle it. Together."
Jason exhaled, nodding, and we walked on. The cottage came into view, smoke curling from the chimney, Sarah's old pickup parked haphazardly with a car parked just behind. And then, leaning against the porch railing, a tall man in a waxed jacket turned toward us. His smile faltered as his gaze dropped to Jason's kilt.
"Well," Uncle Richard said, voice too light, "aren't you full of surprises, Jason?"
Jason's grip on my hand tightened immediately, hearing his uncle's voice.
Sarah appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. "About time," she called. "Richard brought venison. You're staying for lunch, Steve," and from the tone, it wasn't a question.
Richard's smile didn't reach his eyes as he stepped forward. "Let's have a proper look at you, nephew," he murmured, reaching for the kilt's hem.
Jason's knuckles went white around mine. Sarah cleared her throat sharply. "Richard. Hands to yourself."
The air crackled. Richard froze mid-reach, then laughed, a sound like breaking ice. "Of course," he said, stepping back. "Just... curious."
Jason exhaled shakily. Sarah met my eyes over their heads, her gaze sharp. "Come inside," she said firmly. "All of you."
And just like that, the game began.
Lunch was nice, venison stew with dumplings that melted on the tongue, crusty bread still warm from the oven. The conversation flowed easily at first, catching up on town gossip and the latest drama at the local bar. Sarah dominated the chatter, her sharp wit steering the dialogue away from dangerous waters. But Richard’s gaze kept flicking to Jason’s lap, where the kilt draped loosely over his thighs, his posture deliberately open. Every time Jason shifted, the fabric slid just enough to tease the possibility of exposure.
Richard’s knife scraped loudly against his plate as he leaned forward. “So,” he said, voice slick with false casualness, “how did you two meet?” His eyes darted between us, lingering on Jason’s flush.
Jason stiffened, his fingers tightening around his fork. Sarah’s teacup clinked as she set it down with deliberate force. “Steve’s been helping Jason with his… wardrobe issues,” she interjected smoothly, shooting Richard a warning look.
Richard’s smirk widened. “Oh, I’ll bet he has.” His foot brushed Jason’s under the table, a touch too deliberate to be accidental. Jason recoiled like he’d been burned, his knee knocking against mine in silent distress.
The air thickened. Sarah’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. “Richard,” she warned, her tone dripping with venom.
Richard held up his hands in mock surrender, but his gaze never left Jason. “Just making conversation.” His fingers drummed against the tablecloth, a rhythm too quick, too eager. “You know, Jason, I’m pleased you have come out and found someone. That’s all I’m going to say.”
I cleared my throat, cutting him off. “More stew, Richard?” I offered, ladle poised over the pot.
The tension crackled like a live wire. Jason exhaled shakily, his shoulders relaxing fractionally as I shifted closer, our arms brushing. Richard’s smile turned brittle, but he held out his bowl.
“Why, thank you, Steve,” he purred. “Such a… generous host.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed. Outside, a crow cawed, the sound slicing through the silence as Jason’s knee pressed against mine again, steady now.
Lunch was finished as I stood, brushing crumbs from my jeans. “I should head back,” I said, nodding toward the trees beyond Sarah’s kitchen window. “I have to work on my manuscript.” The lie tasted bitter, but Jason’s relieved exhale made it worth it when I asked him, “You coming?”
Sarah waved a dismissive hand. “Go on then. Jason. Go with Steve and Uncle Richard, and I will clear up.” Her tone brooked no argument, a neat trick, giving Jason an escape route disguised as courtesy. Richard’s fingers twitched against his whisky glass, his smile tightening as Jason bolted up like a shot deer.
Outside, the afternoon sun dappled through the oaks, painting Jason’s pale thighs gold where they emerged from the kilt. He paced the gravel path, kicking at pebbles. “He kept staring,” Jason muttered, rubbing his arms as if scrubbing off residue. “Kept finding excuses to brush against me when Mum wasn’t looking.”
I caught his wrist mid-gesture, stilling the frantic motion. His pulse hammered under my fingers. “You handled it,” I said, tracing the ridge of his knuckles. “Kept your cool. Now, let's walk home to my place...our place.”
Halfway home, Jason stopped mid-stride. "Fuck, I left my cellphone charging in mum’s kitchen," he declared.
I chuckled, glancing at the treeline where afternoon shadows stretched long across the path. "Pop back and get it then. I'll wait here."
When Jason didn't return after fifteen minutes, the birdsong suddenly felt too loud, the rustling leaves too insistent. My boots crunched twigs with increasing urgency as I retraced our steps, until a choked sob sliced through the forest calm.
Rounding a grand old Oak, the scene crystallised with horrifying clarity. Richard had Jason pinned face-down over a fallen tree trunk, the kilt wrenched up around his waist, one hand fumbling with his own belt while the other clamped over Jason's mouth. Jason's thighs trembled violently, his fingers clawing bark as Richard hissed, "Always knew you wanted this, you slut. You go with other men but not me, and now you're going to get it."
I moved before thought registered. The tackle sent Richard sprawling into Bluebells, his startled grunt cut short as my fist connected with his jaw. Jason scrambled upright, kilt falling back into place with a shudder, his breath coming in ragged hitches. Richard wiped blood from his lip, eyes flashing with something feral. "Interfering bastard," he spat, lunging towards me.
Richard tripped mid-charge, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. Richard rolled onto his side, panting, his waxed jacket smeared with earth. "You'll regret this," he wheezed, but the threat rang hollow as I stared at him.
"Jason, go and find a suitable switch, will you, while I discuss how many strokes he fancies taking."
"You wouldn't dare," Richard shouted.
"Oh, I do dare, and you are going to agree," as I slapped his face hard while Jason disappeared to seek that which I had just requested.
Richard groaned, holding his hand to his cheek, eyes darting between me and the woods where Jason had vanished. "You're insane," he spat, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Not insane, Richard. I just don’t like men who force themselves on men. It’s all about consent, and I’m insisting upon your consent to teach you a lesson. Now, take it like a man before I get really angry,” I declared as I delivered more slaps across his cheek.
Richard screamed, “Okay, okay, stop. I agree.”
I smiled, saying, “Good decision. Now, strip and lie over that tree trunk.”
He hesitated, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle, until I threatened him again with my boot this time. "Now," I growled. The waxed jacket hit the dirt first, followed by his shirt. Then his pants pooled around his ankles like a coward's surrender as he draped himself over the substantial trunk, pale buttocks clenched tight above trembling legs.
"I said, strip, and that includes your pants and those disgusting underpants," I stated in a manner that left nothing for debate.
Jason returned with a perfect willow branch, its green length supple and unbroken as Richard kicked his shoes and the remaining garments to lie back over the trunk.
The raw fury in Jason’s eyes as he handed it to me made my chest ache. This wasn't just punishment; it was education. This man was going to learn an important lesson. I stripped the switch with my pocketknife, the blade biting through bark with satisfying precision. "This," I told Richard as I tested the whip's hiss through the air, "will be the last time you touch Jason. Agreed?"
I didn’t hold back as the first lash split the silence like gunfire. Richard's scream sent crows exploding from the treetops. His back arched, fingers scrabbling at damp wood as scarlet welts bloomed across his flesh. Jason stood rigid beside me, jaw set, watching each stroke land with grim satisfaction. By the sixth strike, Richard's cries had dissolved into choked sobs, his thighs slick with urine where they pressed against the trunk as he pissed himself.
I provided another six strokes that landed in various places above and below his buttocks. Through the screams and crying, I noted he pissed himself again and decided he needed another six strokes just to get the point, and why this was happening.
I finally tossed the bloodied switch aside, allowing Richard to collapse off the trunk, falling onto the ground like a desperate and defeated man, crying like a child. Jason continued to watch as I said, "I think you got the point, Richard, but just in case you didn’t, I will provide more inspiration for you," as I undid my pants, taking out my cock through the fly hole in my Hanes briefs.
I aimed my flow directly at his head to start. My urine hit him mid forehead, and swaying my cock left to right, I moved down his body, eventually dribbling the last of my release into his groin.
Stepping back, I looked at him as Jason took a couple of steps backwards. Richard was speechless, distressed and totally defeated as I tucked myself back in and did up my pants as he remained slumped over in the dirt, his skin mottled with welts and shame. "Go home," I told him as I took Jason’s hand without looking back. "And if you ever touch Jason again...well, I figure you can imagine."
The threat hung unfinished as we walked away, carrying all of Richard's clothes, leaving him naked and humiliated with the challenge of explaining what happened. The Bluebells trembled in our wake, their petals brushing our ankles like silent approval, and once out of sight, I grabbed Jason in a hug. "I'm here for you....I'm here," as for the second time, Jason cried into my pullover as I held him.
We had just arrived home as Sarah's pickup skidded to a halt inches away from us, gravel spraying everywhere. Her door flew open before the engine died, revealing her pale face beneath a wild halo of grey-streaked hair. "What the fuck happened?" she demanded, her gaze darting between Jason's tear-streaked face and the bundle of Richard's clothes in my arms. “Not 10 minutes ago, I saw Richard climb into his car naked and bloodied and tear away as fast as he could without even saying goodbye.”
Jason opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I stepped forward, handing Sarah the wadded clothing. Her fingers closed around the waxed jacket sleeve, dropping his other clothes onto the bench seat as comprehension dawned as she recognised the fabric. When she shook it out, Richard's cellphone tumbled from the pocket, landing atop his urine-stained pants, shirt and underpants that lay on the ground.
Sarah's knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. Without a word, she threw the clothes into the truck bed, through the windows, not wanting to touch them again and looked at her son, with tears in her eyes. "Did he....?" as she climbed out of the pickup.
Jason shook his head violently. "Steve stopped him."
Sarah exhaled sharply through her nose, then surprised us both by yanking Jason into a bone-crushing hug. Over his shoulder, her eyes met mine, dark with gratitude and something fiercer.
"I dispensed a little country justice," I murmured. "I think he got the point."
"Let me guess," Sarah suggested as she smiled.
"Don't guess. I gave him a kicking followed by eighteen strokes of a switch personally selected by Jason, and then I pissed all over him as a final insult. I'm actually amazed he made it back to his car so quickly."
"Fucking hell, Steve. Is that all?" Sarah stated. "That shit bag is my brother no more, and if I had caught him, he'd probably be castrated by now. Fucking bastard...."
"Mum, language."
"Sorry, darling, feeling a bit... angry and upset," Sarah acknowledged as I pulled Jason closer into another hug. Sarah watched us with narrowed eyes, then abruptly grabbed Jason's chin, turning his face to inspect the faint tear tracks. "You love him, don't you?" she declared.
Jason took my heart as I watched him nod his head in answer to his mother's question as she climbed back into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to make the suspension creak. Before the window rolled up, she fixed me with a look that could strip paint. "Keep him safe. It seems my son has chosen you and, putting the age gap to one side, I'm pleased, but it's not going to be a simple relationship to publicly have known around here, but fuck'em, we'll deal with it, the three of us."
She looked like a woman possessed as the engine roared to life. Jason stepped forward to say something, but she was already reversing in a spray of gravel. We stood in the sudden quiet, the only sound the distant caw of a crow as we watched her race towards the highway.
Jason's fingers found mine. "I hope she doesn't find her brother. God help him if she does, that’s all I say," as he squeezed his hand. The afternoon sun painted his kilt in warm tones, the fabric swaying gently as he shifted from foot to foot. "Come on," I said, steering him toward the house. "Let's get you cleaned up."
Inside, I ran a bath while Jason sat stiffly on the bathroom stool, staring at his knees. Steam curled around us as I knelt before him, working loose the kilt's buckles with careful fingers. His breath hitched when my knuckles brushed his thigh accidentally.
"Look at me," I murmured. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry as he met my gaze. I cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the hollow under his eye. "You're safe and....its not logical, it's not the natural order of things, but.... I love you too."
Jason leaned into the touch, exhaling shakily as I parted his kilt to view yet again his magnificent cock, flaccid and five inches of wonder waiting to be woken. "Can we make love, Steve? I need you."
Outside, the wind rustled the Bluebells, a soft, persistent sound, like forgiveness, as I nodded, slipping my Hanes briefs down my legs. As Jason remained sitting on the stool, I massaged some lubricant onto his cock, his huge, beautiful cock that continued to provide me with awe and desire as I straddled him as he sat there, kissing him with the true passion that comes with love.
Jason groaned against my lips as I lowered myself onto him, his hands gripping my hips like anchors. The stretch burned, almost eight inches of him filling me, pressing against places that made my vision blur each time we made love. His breath hitched when I rocked forward, our chests brushing, his heartbeat wild against my ribs.
The floor was cool under my feet as I moved, each rise and fall drawing ragged noises from us both. Jason’s fingers dug into my flesh, his pupils blown wide as he watched where we were joined, mesmerised by the slick and sliding motion as I moved. When I clenched around him experimentally, his head thudded back against the wall with a gasp. “Steve,” he choked out, “I love you.”
I silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his moans as my pace quickened. Water dripped from the tap into the tub, each drop counting out the rhythm of our coupling. Jason’s thighs trembled beneath me, his control unravelling as I took him deeper, his hips jerking up to meet my downward strokes.
The mirror fogged with steam, obscuring our reflection, but I didn’t need to see; I could feel everything. The way his cock twitched inside me when I scraped my nails down his chest, the hitch in his breath when I whispered filth against his ear. His orgasm crashed over him suddenly, his back arching off the stool as he spilt into me with a broken cry.
I rode him through it, slowing to gentle rolls that drew out his pleasure until he was whimpering from oversensitivity. Only then did I let myself tip over the edge, my release splashing his stomach as I clenched around him one last time. Jason’s arms came up around me, holding me close as we both gasped for air, the scent of sex and lavender soap thick between us. I stood up, his cum dribbling from me as I lifted him, and climbed into the hot bath, almost creating a tidal wave as we slipped into the water.
The bathwater had gone cold by the time we finally finished kissing and cuddling. Jason pressed another kiss to my shoulder as I reached past him to pull the plug, his voice drowsy with satisfaction. “Love you,” he murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world. "Can I snuggle next to you this evening on the sofa while we watch The Lord of the Rings. I need you close this evening."
“One condition,” I said, “you take my friend Hugo for an extended session of play time.”
Jason’s grin was instant, wicked and eager, his fingers already twitching against my thigh. “You mean the proper kind this time?” he asked, breath hitching at the memory of our last experiment with the toy. “No interruptions, no stopping halfway?”
"Nope, the full monty promising more fun than even you will be able to cope with," I stated. “Until the battery dies, which is about sixty minutes."
Jason's toes curled against the cast iron, his breath hitching audibly as he leaned forward, water sloshing around his waist as the bath emptied. "Sixty minutes of uninterrupted torture?" he breathed, the word ‘torture’ curling into something filthy between his teeth. "You’re going to kill me."
"That's the whole idea," I confirmed.
The bathroom tiles were cold underfoot as we stepped out, Jason dripping trails of water behind him while I reached for the towel rack. His skin was still flushed pink from the heat, steam curling off his shoulders as I tossed him a bath towel.
He caught it with a lazy grin, running the fabric down his chest with exaggerated slowness while I turned to the drawer where the Hugo2 waited, black silicone gleaming under the vanity lights, its curved tip already glistening with lube I’d prepped earlier.
Jason arched an eyebrow when he saw my grip tighten around the toy, his thighs pressing together reflexively, but he didn’t protest when I nudged his hips toward the counter. “Eager?” I murmured against his damp shoulder blade as he bent forward, hands braced on the marble, his breath fogging the mirror without responding.
The toy slid in with obscene ease, Jason’s groan vibrating through his spine as I twisted it deep, letting him feel every ridged inch before putting the remote into my pocket. “There. Ready for later. In the interim, walk with it and enjoy the feeling while we have dinner,” I ordered, swatting his ass hard enough to leave a handprint.
Dinner was roast chicken with rosemary potatoes, Jason shifting uncomfortably in his chair every few minutes, his fork clattering against the plate whenever the toy shifted inside him. He shot me a glare when I smirked at his squirming, but the flush creeping down his neck betrayed his enjoyment. “Bloody sadist,” he muttered, stabbing a potato with unnecessary force. I just leaned back, swirling my wine, and watched his fingers tighten around the stem of his glass when the vibrations kicked on for a teasing three-second burst.
The lounge fire crackled as we settled on the sofa, Jason curling against me like a cat seeking warmth, his nightshirt covering the base of the toy nestled between his cheeks. The opening credits of *Fellowship* rolled, the Shire’s idyllic hills filling the screen as I pulled the remote from my pocket and thumbed the dial to its lowest setting. Jason’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into my thigh as the toy hummed to life inside him, subtle but insistent. “Sixty minutes,” I reminded him, kissing his temple as his hips twitched. “And we’re only on level one.”
By the time Gandalf arrived at Bag End, Jason was biting his lip raw, his knuckles white where they gripped my thigh. I increased the intensity incrementally, just enough to make his toes curl against the sofa cushions, and smirked when he whined into my shoulder. “Focus on the film, sweetheart,” I murmured, running my fingers through his hair as his hips jerked helplessly against the rising pulse between his legs. “Or don’t. Either way, you’re cumming and not just once until the timer runs out.”
He came the first time, a sharp, shuddering gasp, when the Hobbits hid beneath the tree roots from the Black Rider. His orgasm splattered his stomach beneath the thin cotton of his nightshirt, his body clamping down around the toy in rhythmic clenches that had him whimpering. I didn’t let up. Jason’s breath hitched in disbelief as the toy kept vibrating, his oversensitive nerves alight again before Frodo even reached Bree. “Steve,” he begged, voice cracking, but I only kissed his temple and twisted the dial higher.
The second orgasm hit him during Aragorn’s introduction, messy and uncontrolled, his thighs trembling as he soaked the front of his nightshirt completely. Rivulets of cum dribbled down his inner thighs, soaking into the cotton beneath him, but the toy never stopped.
By the third, somewhere between Weathertop and Rivendell, he was moaning and groaning, his body wrung out and shaking, his fingers clawing at my arm as he choked out fragmented pleas between gasps. “Too much, I can’t, oh God....”
The remote buzzed in my palm as the timer finally expired, the toy going mercifully still inside him just as Elrond’s council began. Jason slumped against me, boneless and panting, his skin flushed from collarbones to forehead.
I lifted his nightshirt and pulled the toy free slowly, watching his exhausted shiver, and pressed a kiss to his damp temple. “Told you you wouldn’t survive,” I murmured, stroking his side as his breathing evened out. His only response was a drowsy, sated hum, his limbs heavy where they tangled with mine, the scent of sex and sweat mingling with the woodsmoke from the hearth. Outside, the woods were silent under the moonlight, our little kingdom, undisturbed as he finally fell asleep, his head on my lap as I stroked his hair.
My own arousal hadn’t abated, twitching impatiently beneath my nightshirt, but I let it simmer, knowing there’d be time later, electing to sound my urethra, chasing an orgasm that I knew my body wanted.
The stainless steel rod glinted in the firelight as I poured lube over its length, the cold metal sending a shiver up my spine before I even began. Jason’s drowsy weight against my thigh anchored me as I parted my legs wider, the first inch slipping in with a practised twist. The stretch was immediate, electric, a sharp, perfect burn that made my breath stutter. I bit down on my lower lip, pressing deeper, the rod’s smooth glide punctuated by the occasional twitch of my cock around it.
The film continued, but my distraction was clear as I moved the sound in and out of me. Jason stirred faintly against me, his eyelashes fluttering at the quiet, wet sounds, but exhaustion kept him asleep even as my breathing grew ragged. The rod hit that sweet spot inside, the one that made my thighs tremble, and I had to press my free hand against the sofa arm to steady myself. In, out, in, deeper, each movement precise, calculated to drag the pleasure higher until my balls drew up tight, until the pressure coiled unbearable at the base of my spine, demanding exit.
When I pulled the sound free at last, the release was volcanic. Cum arced up my stomach in thick, pulsing streaks, splattering across my chest and dripping hot over Jason’s sleeping fingers where they rested on my thigh. My back arched off the sofa, a choked groan tearing from my throat as the last spurts painted my groin. The fire crackled, indifferent, as I slumped back, spent and sticky, the rod slick in my shaking grip as I focused again on the film, laying the sound on the coffee table beside my glass of whisky.
I chuckled at the thought that I had finished a journey, as Frodo was starting one, while Jason murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, nuzzling closer, his cheek pressing into the mess on my stomach.
I huffed another laugh, too sated to care, as I watched the film. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed midnight, its deep tones reverberating through the quiet house just as Jason’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. A text notification lit up the screen. Sarah’s name, followed by a string of emojis I couldn’t decipher from the angle.
Outside, an owl hooted in the woods, its cry carrying through the cracked window as the closing credits started and lifting Jason's head from my thigh, I stood, allowing my nightshirt to drop, absorbing my seed that lay drying on my skin as I turned the TV off.
I felt the breeze of damp earth and pine, coming from the kitchen window. I walked over, closed it, and, turning back, I looked at my sleeping beauty. Finding my strength, I scooped him up and carried him to bed, cradled in my arms.
Strangely, Jason didn't wake as I covered him with the duvet while muttering, "Sleep well, my love," and I climbed in beside him, thinking, "What a fucking day," smiling at the memory of the thrashing I had provided Uncle Richard.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
