Big Chicago

Big Chicago part 13.….by Samayel


I suppose it could happen to anyone. Porking the daylights out of myself with a rather large toy that was intended to alleviate my desperate need for my lover…only to have said lover walk in on me. I’ve missed him frantically for days and days, but all I can do right now is turn crimson and scramble for something to say. How strange, that masturbation, which is so commonplace, can be so intimate and personal, impossible to share easily and still feel comfortable in any way.

“Don’t. Don’t move. Don’t change a thing. You’re beautiful. You know that, don‘t you?”

He’s padding across the carpet lazily, coming closer while I lie here, half full of fake cock and flushing furiously. Thank God he looks aroused. Fuck humiliation. Fuck embarrassment. He’s home! He’s really here, and my skull is pounding from my pulse, words on the tip of my tongue, hungry to free themselves and vent what I’ve felt. Can anyone believe that I’m crying?

“I…I missed you…so much. You can’t even guess. This…this was just to…to make it bearable.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. You have nothing to explain. I’m not saying that I’m not a little surprised, but you’re beautiful like this, same way you’re beautiful no matter where you are or what you’re doing. Don’t take it out. Let’s celebrate how much I’ve missed you too…thoroughly.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and full of intensity, looking at me the way I love to be looked at by him. Full of naked admiration. Desire. He wants me…any way he can have me…and that turns me on more than is healthy, but that’s just part of who I am. His hand pushes mine away from the base of the toy, nudging it just a little deeper, while I lean up, into the kiss I’ve been waiting for for what feels like days and days on end. He smells like soap and shampoo, but not the stuff I remember. His safe house must have a place for him to clean up before he comes home. He’s clean, and strong and perfect…everything my mind’s eye recalled in detail each empty night.

I’m moaning into his mouth while that tongue plunders me ruthlessly, because he just shifted the angle of the toy and he knows he’s brushing the place inside me that aches for him. I love the feel of faint stubble across my neck. Not thick or unshaven…just the little reminder that he is very much a man…and he is very much mine. His free hand has woven its way into my hair, and his teeth are just so delicately scraping their way across my nipple. Indescribable. When all of these elements are combined with the heady knowledge that he is alive and safe and here, I can’t find words for what I feel, and then he shifts that toy again, moving it with a steady hand that isn’t afraid at all, and all I can do is whisper affirmations of desire, letting him know that every little thing he does is right.

A small shift of positions, and he’s perfectly situated for me. Just as the warmth of his mouth envelops my cock, I gasp with pleasure, stifling laughter and faint tears of happiness. How perfect a homecoming. I fill my mouth with that perfect cock, and I can feel his pace falter when I slither my tongue around the head. He punishes my temerity with a strong and steady stroke of that wonderful, wonderful toy. When it isn’t my hands manipulating it, and I already have the pleasure of that thick, hot flesh pulsing softly inside my mouth, every little move that toy makes is a tiny burst of joy.

I tense as he sucks gently at the head of my prick, lavishing the same care upon it that I do upon his, and when I tense, the thing he slides wetly into me meets resistance, but just enough to make it all the more interesting. I can’t last like this. I keep popping his cock out my mouth to gasp for air and cry out involuntarily…I’m noisy when I’m excited, and I’ve never been excited like I get for Harry. I can’t even maintain a stroking pace on his cock when I start to come. I lose control so easily, but I guess I never wanted control to start with. I want it taken from me, but only by someone who would use it mercifully…with love guiding their hand. Harry does. My hips are bucking because I’m coming into his mouth, and the head of my cock is frantically sensitive, and the toy is tapping gently in without so much as a pause in his pace. The sounds I make are guttural, more animal-like and keening than human. Reduced to howls and pants of lust and desperate release.

God, but I love him! There is no one, anywhere, who has ever made me feel like this. So desired, and not as a trophy, or a prize to be collected, but as a lover, to be pleased and sated because I deserve nothing less. It’s my pleasure that matters, and he hungers to give that satisfaction to me. When the shuddering subsides, and some tiny shred of self control is left to me, I’m nuzzling the swollen flesh in my hand, brushing it across my cheek and kissing the shaft with an affection that is entirely sincere. How I adore his cock. Neither tragically small nor painfully large, but a fine, thick, perfect fit for a queen who’s had as much experience as I have. I love Harry, all of him, but right now I need this!

“Pleeease…Harry! Don’t…don’t make me wait anymore! Fuck me….now…god, please! I…I can’t wait another minute!!”

I can hear that throaty chuckle from him. He has a cruel streak. He really does. The toy keeps flirting…in…out…almost out, then in just a little before he pulls it away entirely and rolls to his right. I have no idea when he cracked the edge of the foil around that condom, but it’s the most joyful sound I’ve ever heard while I shudder with relief, hearing him rip the rest of the package open, knowing that, already wet and ready for him, my wait is almost over. I’ll be connected to him, filled by him, feeling him hot and alive within me again…so very, very soon!

He relents. My god is a merciful one. My Harry. His fingers brush against the slickness already inside of me, the condom already came slick with its own lubricant in that tiny wrapper. I’m clenching my teeth and whimpering because I am so desperate to feel him in me, and that pause he makes while he steadies my trembling legs and moves into place is entirely too long!

And then he’s in. I’m pierced by the sword of his cock, a willing victim and a cheerful sacrifice to the gods of lust. I can feel every perfect and pulsing inch of him inside of me while I make small delirious noises that almost sound like laughter. No drug compares to this. One of my hands is in that thick, dark hair, and short as it may be, I just want to caress the skull that hides the mind of the man I adore. The other hand is on his chest, savoring the feel of soft dark fur and hardened muscles just beneath my fingertips. My lips curl in a crazy sneer, eyes bright and feverish while I deliberately pinch a nipple between thumb and forefinger. It’s a challenge, and not a subtle one, and he answers it…majestically.

Can a person describe the actual fucking of a lifetime? Can utter savagery be confined by petty verbs and adjectives? He knew he wasn’t hurting me…because the sounds that came from me all cried out for more. When I clenched fingers tight and hard into his skin, gasping out staccato pleas for more and more and more, he knew that he couldn’t go too far, or do wrong in my eyes. The hard crack of an open palm across the cheek of my ass simply made me beg all the harder and throatily whimper my approval. The calloused hands that wrapped around slim hips were strong enough to pull me into every powerful stroke. The wet slap of his balls against the slick and sweaty skin of my backside while he held my legs up in a high and perfect ’V’, my ass suspended several inches above the bed.

Victory. Never has ‘V’ stood for it more.

My face muffled by a pillow while his hips slap hard and fast into me, his cock hammering into my body like the thunder of the gods while I bite my fingers, coming into the sheets while he slams into me again and again. It isn’t about the perfect place inside of me now, and it isn’t about gentleness or kisses and poetry. It’s about the crazy, mad, intoxicating freedom that comes from surrendering yourself completely to someone you trust with all your heart.

The soft, wet pop as he slides out of me and turns me over yet again. I think he came earlier. I don’t know for sure. I don’t remember, and honestly I don’t care. My knees are being pinned to my chest, ankles back almost to my ears, and he slides back into me deep and fast, from an angle that allows ever last micrometer of his cock to press all the way into me. My cock went limp…who the fuck knows how long ago. I’m far past the point of traditional orgasms being possible, physically too spent to come that way again, but the beauty…the dark, malevolent perfection of the prostate orgasm…is that exhaustion means almost nothing. He fucks me until I’m screaming his name in the dark, clenching hard around the thickness that tunnels into me over and over again, soaked in the sweat that drips off of the both of us.

We’ve gone through condoms. More than one, but I can’t recall with any accuracy how many we really used. He missed me every bit as desperately as I missed him, if the matter can be gauged by his performance. I’ve been sore like this many times over the years, but never so pleased by it. The feel of my body thrumming and pulsing, bruised and sullen after lovemaking that smoldered hot and steady when it wasn’t erupting like lava and scouring away all thoughts other than those of lust. That discomfort that ignites an almost crazed and feverish need for more. So painfully, violently aware of the absence of him inside of me where he belongs.

I am very much his equal. His opposite number. His doppelganger. For all the vigor he possesses, all the power to plunder and conquer and satiate, I can match him with a need to be sundered, taken and pleased. I can provoke him, prod him past his limits, bring forth from him a capacity to give that he didn’t even know he had. Whatever he gives, I can take, and I demand more than he imagined.

I am the Moon to his Sun. Endlessly chasing and being chased. Born to die in fiery glory. We aren’t fucking. This isn’t a bedroom. This is a church, a hallowed place, and this is an act of worship. We venerate one another, like pagan gods, until there is no strength left in us.

Sunlight doesn’t reach in here. The faint blue of the digital clock beside the bed is the only real light. Dawn is coming. The world is waking, but we haven’t yet slept. I’m on my side, in front of him, with his flagging cock buried inside of me while we gently grind against one another, too weak to push any harder than this. Utterly spent. This is how we drift to sleep…fused as one…locked together, his arms holding me close, speared upon the wealth of his desire for me, writhing faintly even as consciousness slips away. Bruised by ardor out of control, still full with him inside of me, whispering words of love…content at last.

We sleep, and wake again, stirred by the reactions of our own bodies. I’m half hard again, my cock and balls cupped in his sleeping hand. He’s as hard as stone inside of me, twitching restlessly in slumber while my eyes flicker open sluggishly, gummed by tears of joy and ecstasy from the night before. I very deliberately exploit this comfortable opportunity. Slipping a hand over his to keep it in place. I love the calloused feel of it against the most sensitive parts I have. Writhing against his lap, stretching and flexing, making myself comfortable despite a soft undertow of soreness that encompasses me inside and out. Wrapping his hand around my cock and pumping myself back and forth against the shaft of the cock inside of me. Purest luxury…and I know enough now to not fear for the sheets. Not after all that we did on them last night!

He wakes quickly, even exhausted, and I know it when the hand tightens carefully around my cock, stroking of it’s own volition, and his hips move subtly, matching my motions and making a perfect rhythm. I’m allowed to make noise now that isn’t a silent and solitary use of his engorged flesh, and when I keen and come across his hand, watching the white dribble over his knuckles, I pull his hand free and lick each finger clean myself. He’s chuckling softly. He must have plans.

I find out how right I was about plans when he pulls away just long enough to get out of bed, then picks me up bodily, ankles over his shoulders, his arms around my waist, and pins me to the wall before he fucks his way to the finish line, filling last night’s final condom with his come before kissing me good morning.

He left a note in the kitchen last night, telling the girls to enjoy a morning off. They’ll be out picking up groceries and mail for a little while. It’s just us in here, enjoying the giddy feeling of being alive and together and fabulously horny. I almost passed out in the shower, fucked into a state of confusion, suspended by the fine body behind me and the support of arms like iron, flopped against the wall and grinning like an idiot while hot water pours down both our bodies, sluicing away the sweat and lube, come and spit and latex smells of sex. I can’t stop smiling while I dry myself. He takes the towel away and pats me dry and I just relax and let him pamper me.

I’m not really an empty-headed sex toy, but it’s hard to break the comfortable and sensual silence between us. He is so very clearly glad to be home, and I made him that way. He isn’t ashamed to say it either. We don’t speak of serious things, not yet, not when we need so badly just to enjoy being near each other, close enough to reach over and touch when we please, savoring the physical reminder that we really are here, together again.

He makes me breakfast, in spite of my naughty, wicked, deliberate habit of wearing his pajamas. If we hadn’t indulged ourselves so wildly last night and again twice this morning already, there’s no way he’d have managed to pay attention to making food. The amazing thing is that he’s quite good at it. He’s used to being served, and yet he can make a light breakfast quickly and easily. Coffee and juice and toast with exquisite preserves spread across it. Grapefruit and cantaloupe, eggs with diced green and red peppers and cheese. Slivers of ham and bacon.

Chicago, by the way, is practically a giant shrine to the notion of pork as a way of life. Hog Butcher To The World they call us. I personally think that the key to peace in the Middle East is getting everyone there to try a breakfast with bacon, sausage and ham. I accept that there are reasons for religious observations that determine diet, but I think shortchanging themselves of a breakfast worth waking up to is a major contributing factor to violence. A breakfast with no bacon or ham or sausage? Who wouldn’t be fit to kill after a life like that?

I lure him off by the hand after breakfast, after savoring the quiet clean up together, dragging him down the hall and into ‘the music room’. The first thing he sees is the paintings.

“Well…will you look at that.”

So matter of fact, but I can tell he’s impressed, unsure of what to say while he peers at them one after another.

“I didn’t even know that you could paint. These are wonderful. I see a little artistic license at work though…I’m pretty sure I remember that moment, and I know I was wearing a shirt. Hah! It’s brilliant! We should hang this in the study. If you want to, of course.”

He moves to the self-portrait I did, and I can’t help but blush a little. I hadn’t really thought about him seeing that one. It was done quickly, almost out of instinct, and it’s brutally honest…a reflection of a self opinion that probably isn’t very healthy. Me, up against a wall, pale and skinny and naked. Sickly and unkempt, obviously hopeless, waiting for violation. The ’F’ burnt into the flesh of my ass is much larger and clearer than in real life. The memory of it will always loom larger and brighter in my mind than the real scar, now faded, ever will. He keeps staring at it, silent and strange, while I stare at the floor and wonder what he must be thinking of me for making such a thing.

“Do you want it gone? I can make arrangements…with the best. You wouldn’t have to live with that anymore. You shouldn’t have to. If you want that removed…we can make it happen.”

I hadn’t really thought of it. Scar removal is normal these days. A laser scalpel and some careful healing afterwards. This one last reminder of where I’ve been could be gone. He’d make it go away, forever.

“God, yes. Harry…you can’t even imagine how much I want it off of me. Whenever it can be set up…yes, please. I don’t want to think of then, or of him, ever again. That shit shows up in my dreams enough as it is.”

He steps back, sliding an arm around my waist, and I just curl in and get comfortable.

“Then it’s as good as done. Doc Snape is incredible. Trust me when I say he does good work. He did all mine. I can’t have any permanent marks, tattoos or disfigurements in my line of work. They increase the odds of being ID’d too much. I took a bullet in Afghanistan, and another a year ago. He cleared the scars for both, and he was the one who got rid of the scar I had on my head when I first started working for the Phoenix Corp. It was from the crash my parents died in. Used to look jagged…like a lightning bolt on my forehead. From a chunk of glass. Gone now, and he can do the same for you.”

It’s the first time he’s ever spoken of getting hurt doing what he does, and I can’t suppress the chill that runs down my spine, even while the rest of me is intoxicated by the idea of kissing this filthy fucking scar goodbye. When you carry a mark like this, you get used to it, and it becomes a part of you. I feel like I could actually shed my skin and move on, leaving that place and time behind me forever. Of course, the image of a bullet tearing through his perfect flesh just destroys my elation on the spot. He is perceptive. He pulls me a little tighter when I shiver, kissing my head.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be trying not to let that kind of thing happen. We work almost surgically now. Always by surprise. Most of the time, they don’t even know what the hell just happened before they’re out of the picture. You don’t worry about me. I always come back. Understood?”

“Yeah. Understood. It’s…still getting used to this stuff. God. I don’t come from a world of bullet wounds. It doesn’t seem real, here, but it still bothers me. I know you’ll be okay. Ron swears by it, too, and I‘m willing to take his word for it. He‘s really looked out for me lately. You were right. He‘s a pretty good guy.”

“I wasn’t lying. There’s a reason I trust him completely. He’s never let me down. Good to hear you two are getting on alright.”

We stroll back down the hall, arm in arm, cuddling even while we walk. I love that I have a man who doesn’t push me away for clinging. I am not the fickle creature of the night when I am in love. I am not cold and powerful and made of ice. I am needful, insecure, hungry for constant proof that I am desired and not alone. He feeds me what I need most, the steady assurance that he wants me, here, now, in every way, sexual and otherwise.

“What to do with our day? I had some notions about tomorrow. Maybe a quick flight up to a resort town in Michigan. Beaches, sand dunes, maybe a swim in the moonlight. They don’t have any world class eateries, but the atmosphere is perfect. Best part…the place is supposed to be a gay Mecca. The population is used to gay couples. Minimal hassle, maximum comfort. Ron can have the Cessna prepped by tomorrow morning, and we could be there a couple hours after we step out of here. Sound good?”

“Hmmm. I don’t know…no high end dining, you say? Well…I don’t usually compromise on food, but if it has you, with me, then there isn’t anywhere in the world I’d rather be.”

“Tease. You can’t wait to get out of here, can you?”

“You caught me. Guilty as charged. I’ve been here missing you so much I thought I’d implode. Are you sure you can leave town for more than a day?”

“Oh yeah. Trust me. I was pissed about having to leave last time, so I exercised a little ’judgment’ and hurried a few targets that were on the slate for later. All approved from above, mind you, but it’s enough to say that I made it clear about wanting at least the rest of this week to myself. They don’t usually call me in right after a session like the one in the pen. I was supposed to have a couple of weeks to rest. This time I made sure they know I plan to be out of town for a little while. No calls until we get back…I promise you that. I do have to drop into my office later today, but it will only be a couple hours at most. Strategy session for future targets. Nothing I can’t do and come back home fast, alright?”

I stay light-hearted, sounding like I find it all very blasé, but it’s very surreal to hear him speak so openly to me about what he does. He’s been killing people. Real, used-to-be-alive people. He’ll kill more, again, when he leaves me, whenever that moment comes. My happiness, my intoxication with him, being here, and so close to me, is tempered by that sobering reminder. Still, that he says things like this…it means he trusts me. When you think about it, it’s amazing that a man like him could trust anyone. He really believes in me. Not in a convenient, nothing serious on the line but a broken heart, kind of way. He believes in me in spite of the huge risk he took bringing me here. I mean to be worthy of that…whatever it takes.

“Thank God! Even Superman has a Fortress Of Solitude to fall back on when he needs a break. Call me greedy, but I want to steal you away, all for myself, and leave a message telling the world to fuck off instead of calling back later. We’ve never even been in the library at the same time. I want you to pick out your favorites, and read some of them to me.”

He smirks. “And what will you be doing?”

“Don’t think it crass, but I’ll be lounging on the couch with my head in your lap. Resting…of course. Unless something comes up and disturbs my place. Then I suppose I’ll have to take matters in hand and put things to right. I just want to hear your voice, and hear the things you like the most. How’s that for a way to kill the afternoon?”

“Absolutely perfect.”

And it is.

--------------------------------------------------------------

What a perfectly marvelous day. Never minding the blow job I rather enjoyed giving him in the library. Call me sluttish if you will, but Keats got me a bit excited. Well…in all honesty…it wasn’t Keats. It was hearing Harry read Keats while I was separated from his cock by a thin layer of cloth. It certainly didn’t bother Harry much either! Of course, to return the favor, I read sonnets by Arthur Rimbaud while Harry sucked me off to good effect. I always admired Rimbaud in particular. Only a teenage schoolboy while he wrote his greatest works, drunk on absinthe and who knows what else, all the while shacked up with a married, male poet twice his age. The nineteenth century had its share of famous queers, but little Arthur Rimbaud broke the mold. Passion for life excites me, even echoing through centuries, written on the printed page, it still makes my breath catch. Or perhaps that was the moment I came in Harry’s mouth, hand clenched on his head while my hips bucked automatically. Hmm…either way, I enjoyed myself.

When the girls return, it’s time to shuck the pajamas and get dressed. Harry dresses nicely, since he’s headed for ‘the office’ for a couple of hours. I already have my own plans. I stay in my, or rather our, pajamas, since I feel like lazing about today. At least until he leaves. Then I need to put a little plan in motion. Actually, my only second thoughts are almost indecent. I mean to meet him at the door when he gets back and inspire a good hard fucking from him, but in truth, my ass is more than just a little sore. It’s kind of a turn on, and kind of an annoyance at the same time. Ah well. I’ll make up my mind long before he gets back.

Maria brought mail, and there’s an envelope for me. Therese is making us lunch before Harry leaves, and I just love the differences between us while we wait in the kitchen, sprawled and lounging in our chairs. Harry is neat and sharp and freshly clean shaven, dressed in his usual spin on black suit and tie. So formal! I, on the other hand, am clad in his oversize pajamas, with a barrette that doesn’t really match keeping my bangs out of my face, sloppy and giddy and blissfully a mess. I really feel comfortable like this. He likes me anyway I am, and I actually believe it. With Harry, I can be a mess, (albeit a damn sexy one!) and he still wants me. That…that is happiness.

Doctor Snape. The word is back on all the tests he took, and he did a lot of them. There’s shit on here I haven’t even heard of, and I’ve heard of a lot! No one can say the man isn’t thorough. But the best part, the part that makes my heart leap, is that I’ve come back negative for any and all sexually transmitted diseases. My mind is made up now…Harry is gonna hit this booty when he gets back, whether he knows it yet or not!

The only nasties I ever caught were curable, and that was pure luck in operation. We’ve used condoms for the serious fucking, and there have been certain acts that I’m sure we avoided for all the same reasons, even though we never spoke of it. Not anymore, The gloves are off, so to speak, and with a clean bill of health, I can do any damn thing I please with him. As long as we don’t sleep with anyone but each other, and I feel surprisingly secure about that, we can do anything we desire…risk free.

Some people may think monogamy is passé, and I suppose I might have been one of them, but these days, in the age when a scythe-wielding reaper looms every good fuck, having one person and one person only, who pleases you in every way, is a blessing of incalculable worth. I’m clean, he’s clean, and all I can suddenly think of is the feel of his naked flesh, his bare and living cock, warm and perfect inside my body. Letting him fuck his hot come into me with joyous abandon, taking every drop for my own instead of letting a cheap piece of latex steal what is rightfully mine!

Oops. My eyes must have glazed over. Everyone in the kitchen is looking at me, and under this table there’s a bump in the pajamas. Time to put the slut away and let the princess shine until the time right to shift gears. My bad.

“Dee? You okay, love? You look a little…off.”

“Oh…yeah. I’m fine. It says here that I have low blood sugar and I’m slightly anemic. I’m supposed to take some vitamins for it all, and he sent along a list of ways to balance my diet. I’m supposed to have another check up in a week or so. He’ll swing by whenever you set an appointment for me. Also…all my blood tests came back negative. Isn’t that lovely?”

He can’t possibly mistake the smile on my face for anything else. He knows what I’m thinking. Clean and healthy. No condoms. Fuckfest to celebrate the occasion, coming his way very soon. I love that he can stay subtle and understated, just smirking over the rim of his coffee cup.

“That’s nice. I suppose we ought to celebrate that…somehow.”

Christ! Even Maria and Therese know a hint of what’s going on. Maria is stifling a giggle, because she’s more than sensitive enough to pick out the vibe in this room right now. Therese is rolling her eyes with mock irritation over the practically teenage hormones we must be putting out.

Oh, Harry. Talk of Blaise and other things can wait awhile. Tomorrow we’re bound for a resort town, and time alone together, but tonight…tonight we’ll celebrate this…my way.

TBC!!!