Email address: email@example.com
Website: The Ferret Cage
Things are so much easier when you have the key. I slide into
the cheap motel room closing the door soundlessly in the darkness.
My vision adjusts slowly, but my hearing knows what's going on
right away. I can hear their breathing from here, course, deep,
warm, broken by little forceful gasps as one moves against the
other just right. It's a sweet sound, innocent, precious; I almost
hate to ruin it, almost.
I step around the short wall dividing the tiny entryway from the
rest of the room and let the senses I can still use make up for
the lack of sight. Again I hear breathing, its pace quickening,
she's closer than he is. I can hear the slap of skin on skin,
and the tangled rustle of bodies entwined in sheets. The odor
of sex soaks the air; it's alternately sweet and pungent, arousing.
I stand for awhile, smelling, listening, and almost imagining
I can feel the subtle vibrations of their movements through the
floor. Finally, my eyes adjust. They're moving smoothly together,
sliding and thrusting. He's on top; his lean hips and ass barely
covered by the sheet. I lick my lower lip and leer in the darkness,
Shedding my clothes is neither easy nor entirely soundless. So
many little things aren't these days. I catch her eye peering
over his shoulder, past the tight curls of hair. She moans twice,
loudly, filling the small room with sound as I finish undressing,
and slink forward, good girl.
He squawks mightily and tries to twist around when he feels the
gun at the back of his head. I push hard, forcing the barrel into
his scalp; he gasps and settles right down, good boy. A second
push silences his demands for answers, whiney bastard.
He starts again as I get into the bed behind him. Her eyes just
about glitter as I slide into place. She's enjoying this as much
as I am. Boy-toy in the middle isn't. I can see that in the clenching
muscles in his shoulders. They're broad and well defined, not
bony and angular like I expected. I trail the gun down his spine,
from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. I let it hover
and then trace along his skin, moving slowly lower. I can feel
the softness of his skin through the drag on the barrel. To his
credit he only flinches when the gun nose snags the sheet and
drops beneath, sliding through the cleft of his ass.
"Please don't," he says. I know what he's thinking and
entertain the idea for a moment, enjoying it, before letting it
slide away. We swivel together, hip to thigh, as I lean forward
to whisper in his ear. A shudder runs through his smooth firm
body as my hard cock presses against him.
"I don't want to hurt you," I lie softly. His eyes shift
to the left trying to look at me in the darkness. I move to the
right, letting my crotch grind into his ass as I turn, and set
the gun silently on the floor. Her eyes follow my movements, tracking
every detail, even now evaluating, and calculating. I'd swear
she was the old bastard's spawn, not him. She has his eyes if
nothing else, and I suspect she'll have mine on the end of a blade
if I'm not careful.
I slide my hand, now free of the gun; up over his hip and then
down between the two of them. I can feel him, still in her, large
and still hard. I'm not surprised. Sometimes you can just tell
what people are going to kink on.
He starts to protest when my hand slides back between his ass
cheeks and probes for his opening. She's quicker, covering his
struggling mouth with her own, swallowing his words in a flurry
of tongue and lip. She wraps her arms around his chest and grinds
against him. He twitches, breaks the kiss and groans sharply when
I find the spot.
"Keep fucking," I order. He tenses, and trembles as
I slither back up his body, letting my full naked weight fall
on him. My lips press close to his ear, my words are more breathed
than spoken. Words for him, and only for him. "There's more
than one way to break a man's spirit." Suddenly his fight
is gone, released and flown, like a caged bird. He seems to whither
I lean over and take the lube from the nightstand. He turns to
follow my hand; his eyes wide, and a little frightened. He should
be. This is nothing, a prelude; much greater buggery lies ahead,
for him, for her, for the world, and in the end for me.
Her hands move up his back to stroke the nape of his neck, it's
a gentle, simple thing, calculated though it is. I apply the lube.
His skin around the tight muscle is smooth and unmarked, a virgin.
He shudders as one finger enters. She is whispering to him now,
lover's words, just loud enough for me to hear. The second finger
draws a gasp and then a moan as I begin to thrust. The long, rangy
muscles in his back flex with each stroke. I lean down and kiss
and bite at each as it moves.
She pulls him close again, her lips brush his once, and then devours
them. It's a sweet and bitter victory when he begins to respond
to me. I enjoy my conquests, but I prefer them on my terms, in
my own time. Sometimes assassin, sometimes whore, I'm not sure
which makes me feel less human. Still, when his moans begin to
escape their pressed lips I smile, I know he's ready.
I place myself at his entrance and press, hard, just to show him
that I'm still in charge. He whimpers as the taut muscle stretches
and resists. There's something oddly sweet about a man when he
finally gives up that most precious part of himself. I apply more
lube and push again.
He cries out and buries his face in her neck, moaning sweetly,
when I finally penetrate. He's tight, even more than I expected.
It almost hurts us both. His lean body shudders, as he spreads
his legs trying to reach some accommodation with my intrusion,
I doubt that it helps.
"Please," he whispers against her skin, his voice thin
and reedy. "It's too much, I can't . . . "
She cradles his head against her breasts, a smile gracing her
over-full lips. She's enjoying this. It's something she'll regret.
Having that black-lunged bastard for a sugar daddy doesn't make
you invulnerable, just easier to track by the stench. She's a
user, a whore for power, ruining herself and anyone else she can
in her climb to that pinnacle. I know the breed well. I was the
one who left her an opening, in the old bastard's graces and in
I lean down, wishing we were alone.
"I'm sorry," I tell him and oddly, for once, it isn't
a lie. I move against him again, feeling soft tissue spread under
protest. He stifles a scream when something inside gives. It's
never easy the first time for a man; it wasn't for me. It isn't
He gasps again, as I finally trust in completely. I run my hand
over his shoulders, kneading and smoothing, urging him in whispers
to relax. I listen to his soft muffled cries each time I move
inside him. He's all the things you'd expect of a virgin, hot,
tight and sweet, I'm damned with each stroke, damned and lost.
I keep telling myself that it's my job, I keep telling him that
It seems like hours that we move together like this. My body plunges
into his, his body writhes beneath and around me. Her body, all
angles and slack skin, moves beneath us both. She's grinding in
syncopation to his smothered cries, rocking her hips against him,
hard. Eventually her head files back as she gives out a silent
open-mouthed gasp. Not much of a show really.
She quickly slides out of the bed, winks at me and saunters into
the bathroom, he hardly seems to notice that she's gone. I fold
myself over his body, letting him support us both, I have no other
way, and reach around for his cock. It's still hard, and long,
and slides easily in my fist. I pull back drawing the foreskin
tight around the head and get the first gasp that I don't think
is from pain.
I pump his cock gently at first, enjoying its considerable heft
in my hand. There's something incredibly erotic about the sheer
weight of it. Longer than mine, and thicker. I wonder for a moment
if he has to keep the damn thing strapped to his leg to keep it
out of the way. I wonder if Mulder ever noticed.
He shifts and raises his hips; it's a little easier with her out
of the way. I encourage him with licks, small bites, and words
of sweet smut whispered into his ear. He moans loudly as I begin
to pump his cock in earnest, no longer stroking into his ass,
just kissing the back of his neck and whispering the most obscene
things I can imagine. It seems to work.
He moves against me slightly, encouraging me to continue. He'd
never allow himself to actually ask for it, he will, in time.
I stroke in to him slowly, trying to be gentle. He's moaning again,
softly, in small expelled gasps, moaning for me, and with me.
Our pace quickens, as the world in my thoughts dwindles down to
just us, no conspiracy, no power games, not even the woman's anger
driven lust. There is only us, and the soft thresh of skin on
skin, eased by blood and sweat.
His moans become louder as he approaches his climax. Stretched
muscles inside contract and squeeze around my cock. I stroke furiously,
both of us ignoring his pain as we rut together. Finally with
one more gasp and a string of profanity he explodes into my hand.
Thick ropes of semen cascade out and around my hand. He quakes
beneath me as I continue to pump him through his orgasm. The extra
pressure finally sends me over the edge as well.
We lay like that, bonded together, until she returns, fully dressed.
Her eyes are cold, and appraising, as she looks us over. Apparently
satisfied she turns and scuttles out the door. She's off to make
her report no doubt, the bitter resentful son humiliated and put
in his place at last.
I pull the sheets over us and yank him back when he tries to pull
away. I'm not ready to let go of this, not yet, maybe never.
* * *
Later, I wake as I feel him climb back into bed. He hasn't run.
hasn't tried to kill me. I'm not surprised, I can always tell
that about people, kinks are a specialty of mine. I reach for
his cock and stroke it to hardness. He doesn't shy away. I can
feel him looking at me in the darkness; he lays there propped
up on one elbow for a long time, as I stroke.
"Why?" he asks, his voice full of wonder as I roll onto
him, slick myself with lube, and straddle his hips, guiding his
hard cock to the sweet breach of my body.
"Because," I say as I press my weight against him.
"The first one was for him." I gasp, and smile when
I impale myself.