FROM HIS POST at the head of the bed, Steve regarded Chenco with a lazy gaze promising danger and pleasure and infinitely expanding horizons. It was Caramela’s fantasy come to life, undressing for her man, but Chenco was the one here and now, and he was nervous.
Chenco let her slide into his skin, dropping the towel with grace and artistry, exposing his body with the confidence only she could grant. When she finished, when she returned to the shadows of his mind to watch how things played out, Chenco breathed heavily as he stood at the foot of the bed, wanting to demand Steve get this party started, knowing he couldn’t.
Steve regarded the landscape of Chenco’s nude body with a passionate rake of his gaze. “Come here.”
Chenco went where he was told, and Steve watched him, coaxing him with his finger to move closer.
Then he leaned forward and took firm possession of Chenco’s balls.
Chenco wanted to yelp and cover himself—the man had promised him exquisite pain, and he’d gone right for the part of him least interested in trying pain on. It wasn’t a painful grip—yet.
Though he didn’t flinch, Chenco had to breathe, focusing on Steve’s promise that he knew what he was doing, how all pain would end in pleasure. Chenco reminded himself Steve could navigate the dangerous waters to the land of delights. As Steve held his sac, Chenco did his best not to freak out.
Steve squeezed.
This had been the pain Chenco had wanted to brace against, soft and sharp and raw. Steve constricted nerves and pinched sensitive, delicate skin. This touch was dangerous and wrong and should be stopped, said Chenco’s balls. Yet even as the message arrived, it tangled with Steve’s contract, which challenged Chenco to let go of the urge to protect himself, to give it over in exchange for transformation.
Wait, Chenco told his balls. Let me sit with this for a bit, because I think if we hold out, we’re going to get something incredible.
Steve’s grip changed slowly, alternating between pain and massage, scrambling the signals to Chenco’s frantic brain until it didn’t know the difference. He wasn’t sure how long it went on—maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days—he only knew it began with his body tensed and ended with him breathing into the pain, riding it into waves of pleasure. While his cock never exactly got hard, he certainly began to understand what Steve had meant about getting off not necessarily being a physical thing. If he had a metaphorical cock, it was throbbing something serious right now.
He was so focused on his balls, he didn’t realize what was about to happen to his left nipple until it was too late.
It began as a lick, a quick flick of the tongue, but Chenco was so sensitized to pain he read the lick as a bite. Gasping, he started to draw away, then stopped. It had caught him off-guard—two fronts at once was a trick.
Steve grinned, his expression making it clear this was why he did it.
This was how Steve played him, always changing the assaults and sensations—as soon as Chenco got used to the lick-nip-lick-bite of his nipple, Steve pinched his backside. A hand stroked Chenco’s thigh, a loving gesture. Teeth scraped his abdomen.
Lips trailed over his foreskin—then teeth—
Fear getting the better of his determination to withstand the torment, Chenco jerked away from Steve’s grasp, then opened his eyes, ready to apologize.
The words died on his lips as he saw the delightful savagery on Steve’s face—right before he leapt at Chenco and pulled him, rolling, to the bed.
Everything happened so fast—Chenco went flat on his back, pinned, Steve’s heavy body pressing over his, rough hairy chest and thighs grinding along his wiry frame. The tormenting had him keyed up, jerking and startling at every touch, and just when he would get himself calmed down, Steve would tweak a nipple, nip at his chin, grind his pelvis.
Chenco tried to withstand it, tried to bear up, but he couldn’t hold on. It wasn’t about pain, which was what he’d readied himself for. It was that he never knew what was coming or from where. It had almost nothing to do with discomfort and everything to do with realizing Steve could and would hurt him, and he couldn’t anticipate it, couldn’t guard against it, not even in his mind. He had to hand over control, give Steve the power to decide what pain was and when and how it happened. It wasn’t long before Chenco felt himself sliding, leaking out of his composure.
“Please,” he said, first in a whisper and then in a whine. “Please—please—”
“Please what?” Steve sucked hard in the center of Chenco’s chest.
Crying out, Chenco arced into him. “Ngyh. Please—please, don’t…please stop…”
Steve chuckled at Chenco’s sternum, licking it like a popsicle. “You want me to stop?”
Chenco didn’t know what he wanted. He was starting to lose more and more of his mind every time Steve touched him. When Steve took Chenco’s nipples in his teeth, tugging at them as he moved his head back and forth in rapid motion, Chenco began to wail. Not because it hurt, but because he couldn’t stand to be lost anymore.
Steve slapped his thigh.
It was a sharp, stinging pain, and the shock of it brought Chenco up short. The second strike tingled. The third started to burn, and he gasped. On the fourth he cried out, and on the fifth he tried to wriggle away.
Laughing, a wicked purr making all the hair Chenco hadn’t waxed or shaved stand on end, Steve grabbed Chenco’s hips and flipped him over. Chenco had just enough time to acclimate to the new position when his thighs were wrenched open, knees apart, butt lifted. His libido pulsed as he imagined Steve looking at him, felt him tease Chenco’s opening with fingertips and tongue.
Then Steve’s lips brushed Chenco’s hole, and he clenched, entire body ready to bolt.
Holding him down, Steve spread him wide and took the edge of his opening gently in his teeth.
Chenco screamed—it didn’t hurt, not yet, but it would, it would hurt, and it was all he could think about. When Steve thrust his tongue deep, Chenco cried out as if he’d been impaled roughly with a metal plug. His sensors were broken now, his brain short-circuited, and he couldn’t get away. When a real nip came, he shrieked and clawed at the sheets.
With almost no warning, he began to cry.
There wasn’t much pain, not really, only the uncertainty of when the pain would come and to what degree. His brain didn’t care. His brain spun and spit and made him howl, drew up every curdled bit of tension inside him and projected it out of his mouth. He cried, sobbed as if he were being beaten, no longer able to fake it, no longer able to be strong. He could pull the edge of his emotions back, keeping the tide at bay but only just.
As if this was what he’d been waiting for, Steve changed.
Oh, he still tortured Chenco, still teased and tormented his backside, his thighs, his hole—but he stroked Chenco’s skin reverently too. He nipped and poked and scrambled Chenco’s senses, but he petted too, and as Chenco tipped toward the edge, Steve crooned between tastes of Chenco.
“Let it go, baby. Let me have it. Don’t hold back. I want you undone all the way.” He licked, long and wicked, down Chenco’s crack. “I got you. I’ll catch you when you fall.”
Chenco tried to fight. He didn’t want to fall, not like this. This wasn’t part of the deal—he’d signed up for pain, but not for this, not to be exposed like this—
Steve kissed the crease of Chenco’s leg at his thigh, nuzzling the line of skin with his nose.
A deep, cracking sob broke out of Chenco, and his whole body went rigid as he resisted.
Steve sucked and nipped, dragging the flat of his tongue down Chenco’s taint. He thrust his tongue inside a few times, then whispered against Chenco’s wet, heated skin.
“Dance for your papi.”
Chenco danced.
It was a dance of pain, of loss, of sorrow—he slammed back into the memory of the trailer, when he realized he had to go, when he knew everything had changed and would stay changed forever. Steve had instructed him to put the pain away, but it all returned now. He was homeless. Even without the gangs, the trailer would go, and not to him. Cooper had promised to fuck him over in death, and he had. Chenco had worked hard for his life, sweat blood and tears, and yet it was gone. Taken by his father, the parent he had dreamed since he was a little boy would someday love him.
He cried. Oh, how Chenco cried.
When the physical pain returned—blows to his backside, his thighs, rough grips at his nipples—he sighed, relieved, because thank God, at least he had something to focus on other than how lost he was. As the pain went on it began to burn, a sweet, aching yaw lighting a tiny flame inside his darkness and spreading through him, grounding him, showing him the way. To what he wasn’t sure, but it was better than darkness, and he followed it.
All the while he struggled, Steve held him. Grounded him with whispers and with his touch, sometimes soft, sometimes sharp. When Chenco had agreed to step into Steve’s sadism, he’d expected floggers and benches and ropes, titillating games and kinky thrills. He had not expected this, to be drawn so into pain, to be fucked by it—not by blows or bonds but by the pain itself, his own pain.
To be released.
This was no game, no kinky giggle. This was more reverent than a church service, more personal than any priest-led confession. This was closer to the bone than putting on a dress and wig and makeup and releasing his inner queen.
This was only the first time of playing this way, the barest introduction to a whole new world.
When Chenco felt Steve move behind him, felt the cock nudging his hole, felt Steve’s hairy chest and thick pectorals rubbing along his back, his body crowding as he prepared to enter, Chenco shut his eyes. He reached back to clutch at Steve’s neck and released the deepest, heaviest breath he had in him. When Steve thrust inside, unleashing a new burn, Chenco sobbed, finding a new pit from which to pull the pain.
Steve bit down on the back of Chenco’s neck, holding him still like a dog beneath his thrusts, Chenco let go, and when Steve growled and laved the skin caught beneath his teeth with a rough, rude tongue, Chenco flew away.
There was pain, there was rough fucking, there was everything that had been, but now there was space and light and freedom. Oh God, so much freedom he started crying again, and he couldn’t stop. He exploded, he turned into light, he danced with stars.
He danced for his papi all across the pain, so happy, so grateful, so free.
He lost time, somehow—the shift was subtle, a fuzzy burn on his brain, a space between being fucked like a dog and lying tangled in Steve’s arms, surrounded by his heat and scent and strength, accepting soft kisses and strokes and the widest, brightest smiles he’d ever seen on the other man’s face.
“Oh, honey.” Steve nuzzled Chenco’s ear as he kept petting, never ceasing his gentle and grounding attentions. “Sweetheart, you were so amazing. So brave, so wonderful, so beautiful.”
It was amazing, Chenco tried to say, but he could only make a soft sound, his hand grasping weakly at Steve’s rough jaw.
“Shh. Take it easy. You went in hard, deeper than I’ve ever seen anybody go on their first try. Take a minute to find your feet, baby. Just rest. There’s no rush. I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed another kiss on Chenco’s forehead. “You’re safe, cariño. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Okay, Chenco tried to say, but still couldn’t. The rest, though, he fought for, swallowed several times and made his lips shape to say the words. “Thank you.”
This earned him a kiss on his lips, slow and full of tongue and teeth. “It was my pleasure.”
Chenco smiled.