Chapter 7: Open Wide
The command hung in the air, a filthy invitation. Sam’s eyes, wide and glassy, tracked the thick head of Damon’s cock as it hovered just above his mouth. The bitter-salt taste of his own skin was still on his tongue. This was different. Last time, his face had been pushed down. This was an offering he had to accept.
“Don’t be shy,” Damon murmured, his voice low and coaxing. He dragged the weeping slit slowly across Sam’s lower lip, painting it with a slick, hot stripe. The smell of him—musky, clean, wholly masculine—flooded Sam’s senses. “You know you missed it.”
Sam’s breath hitched. His lips parted on a shaky exhale, just a sliver. The tip of his tongue, betraying him completely, flicked out to catch the bead of moisture clinging to his lip.
A low, approving sound rumbled in Damon’s chest. “There you go. Good boy.” He guided himself forward, not thrusting, just letting the swollen head rest against Sam’s parted lips. The pressure was insistent, a silent demand for more.
Sam closed his eyes. In the dark behind his lids, it was just a sensation. Heat. Weight. The faint throb of a pulse not his own. He opened wider, letting the crown push past his lips. The stretch was familiar, a remembered burn at the corners of his mouth.
Damon let him set the pace, for a moment. Let Sam breathe through his nose, acclimating to the foreign fullness. He carded a hand through Sam’s hair, not pulling, just petting. “See? You know how to do this. You remembered.” His thumb stroked Sam’s temple. “Now take it deeper. Show me how much you missed it.”
Sam whimpered, the vibration traveling up the shaft in Damon’s grip. He pushed forward, his throat working convulsively as the head nudged the back of his mouth. Tears welled, blurring his vision of Damon’s stomach, the dark trail of hair leading down. He felt like he was disappearing into the act, his mind going quiet and white.
“That’s it,” Damon breathed, his hips shifting minutely. He didn’t fuck Sam’s face. He let Sam fuck himself on it, a slow, shallow slide that was somehow more degrading. Sam was the one moving, bobbing his head, sucking gently because he didn’t know what else to do. The pre-cum leaking onto his tongue was constant now, a bitter drip he had no choice but to swallow.
Damon watched, enthralled, his other hand coming down to cradle Sam’s jaw, feeling the muscles work. “Look at you. Natural.” He applied the faintest pressure, guiding Sam to take him a little deeper. Sam gagged, a wet, choking sound, and pulled back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to the shining head.
“Easy,” Damon soothed, but his eyes were bright with amusement. ” He used his grip to tilt Sam’s face up, forcing eye contact. Sam’s vision was swimming, his lips slick and red. “You gonna cry for me again today, baby? While you suck my dick like it’s your job?”
“It is my job,” Sam rasped, the words scraped raw.
"And you're a hard little worker, aren't you baby." Damon cooed, thumbing over Sam's taut lips.
” He pushed back in, a slow, deliberate invasion that Sam accepted with a shuddering breath. His hand stayed gentle in Sam’s hair, a brutal contrast to the relentless pressure on his tongue.
Sam’s mind was static. The world narrowed to the weight on his tongue, the salty taste, the rough pad of a thumb stroking his cheekbone. His own desperate, half-hard interest was a distant thrum between his legs. This was simpler. His job was just to take it, to make it wet, and the singular focus made everything else—the debt, the shame, the name on the couch—blur into nothing.
“You look so pretty like this,” Damon murmured, gazing down at him with a twisted sort of fondness. He rocked his hips, just enough to slide deeper, and Sam’s throat opened on instinct. “All pink and used. Eyes wet. This is the real you, isn’t it?”
He pulled out slowly, letting Sam gasp for air, his own cock glistening with spit. He didn’t go far. He just rested the head against Sam’s flushed cheek, painting another stripe. “Bet you’re feeling so empty right now, aren’t you? Down there.” His eyes flicked down to where Sam was still exposed, legs spread. “All that work with my mouth, got you all loose and hungry, and now nothing. Must ache.”
Sam whimpered, the sound embarrassingly close to agreement. A deep, hollow throb had settled inside him, a physical memory begging to be fed. He leaned forward, seeking the heat at his cheek without thinking.
“See? You need it.” Damon guided himself back between Sam’s waiting lips, letting him suckle at the tip. “You’re being so good getting me all wet and ready for you. Doing all the hard work yourself.” He chuckled, the vibration traveling down his shaft. “Poor baby. Needed it for weeks and wouldn’t let yourself come get it.”
Sam’s eyes flew open, locking with Damon’s. His rhythm faltered.
“Yeah,” Damon whispered, his smile knowing and cruel. He pushed Sam’s head down gently, then pulled him off. “I saw the analytics on your video link. My little private show.” He tapped the head of his cock against Sam’s bottom lip. “Thirty-seven times, Sam. You watched yourself get broken thirty-seven times.”
The number hung in the air, a verdict. Sam felt his face combust with a heat that had nothing to do with exertion. He’d been so careful, or so he thought, watching in incognito tabs in the dead of night.
“What were you looking for?” Damon asked, his tone soft, conversational, as he brushed Sam’s sweat-damp hair back. “Trying to see the moment you stopped hating it? Or just memorizing the way you sounded when you came?” He pushed back into Sam’s mouth, his hand cradling the base of his skull. “Did you miss this dick so bad you just needed to see it?”
The question, soft and venomous, unraveled something in Sam’s chest. A sound tore from him, a mangled mix of denial and shame, and he tried to pull back, to spit out the truth along with the cock in his mouth. His hands came up, pushing weakly at Damon’s hips.
“Mm-mmh! Nnnh!”
But Damon just pushed forward, his grip on Sam’s skull firming, feeding himself deeper until Sam’s protest became a choked, high-pitched whine around the intrusion. His words were utterly lost, transformed into wet, pleading gulps of air.
“Shhh, I know,” Damon murmured, looking down at him with a pitiful smile. He pulled back slowly, letting Sam gasp, then pushed in again with the same relentless ease. “All those lonely nights in your dorm. Bet you touched yourself watching it, huh? Bet you came to the part where you finally shut up and took it.”
Sam whined again, a desperate, shaking noise, but his body was complying, his throat relaxing on instinct, his tongue moving to slick the shaft. The contradiction was paralyzing.
“Awwww, poor baby,” Damon cooed, his voice dripping with a false, syrupy sympathy. He finally pulled all the way out, his cock sliding from Sam’s lips with a soft, wet pop. “You needed it so bad, huh?”
Before Sam could form a coherent word, Damon leaned down and kissed him. It was startlingly sweet, a slow, deep melding of mouths that tasted of salt and shared skin. It was possessive, condescending—a kiss for a misbehaving pet who’d finally come home. Sam’s mind spun, helplessly caught between violation and this perverse, gentle claim.
Damon pulled back, thumb stroking Sam’s bruised lips. “All worked up.” He chuckled, low and warm. “Let’s get you some cock, sweetheart. You’re getting fussy, and we both know what you really need.”
He straightened up, his expression shifting from mock tenderness to casual command. He gave his own length a slow, deliberate stroke, his eyes never leaving Sam’s wrecked face. “Show me my favourite hole.”