Chapter 7: Taking It All
Eddie’s jaw ached, but it was a satisfying burn, like the burn in a well-worked muscle. He didn’t pull off. He let the broad, smooth head of Robert’s cock rest heavily on his tongue, a warm, living weight. He relaxed his throat, his lips sealed around the base of the glans. Saliva, thick and automatic, began to well up, pooling in the basin of his mouth. He felt it overflow, a warm trickle that escaped the corners of his lips and slid down the thick shaft, mingling with the pre-cum already gleaming there. He was a vessel, keeping the prize wet, ready, worshipped.
His mind, floating in a haze of effort and sensation, snagged on a memory. Robert’s nipples. How they’d peaked to tight, dark nubs under his thumbs. How the older man had shuddered.
Slowly, his hands, which had been braced on Robert’s knees, began to move. They slid up the dense forest of Robert’s thighs, over the hard planes of his hips, through the rough hair of his lower belly. They traveled upward, mapping the solid expanse of his torso, until his thumbs found their targets.
Robert’s nipples were indeed tight, pebbled against his fingertips. Eddie circled them slowly at first, just the pads of his thumbs brushing over the sensitive buds. Then he pinched them gently, rolling the stiff flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
Robert’s entire body jolted. “Fucking hell, Edward,” he growled, his voice ragged. The cock in Eddie’s mouth twitched, a thick pulse against his tongue.
Encouraged, Eddie varied his touch. He scratched lightly with a fingernail. He flicked. He pressed the flat of his palm against the whole pec, massaging the hard muscle underneath while his thumb worked the nipple. He leaned into it, applying more pressure, twisting.
“Oh, Christ… fuck, yes… right there…” Robert was panting now, his hips giving tiny, involuntary thrusts that pressed his cock deeper into Eddie’s slack mouth. His hands clenched and unclenched on the arms of the chair. “God, your hands…”
As Eddie’s fingers learned the language of Robert’s chest, his mouth began to move of its own accord. It was not a conscious decision. The suction returned, soft at first, then firmer. His tongue, which had been lying placid beneath the cock head, began to swirl. It traced the rim of the corona, probed the slit, then flattened to lick a firm, wet stripe up the veined underside. He was doing two things at once, and they weren’t separate acts. The pleasure he was giving with his hands was the same pleasure he was taking with his mouth. They were part of one circuit, one singular purpose: to unravel the man above him.
He wasn’t trying to be good. He was simply being, instinct and remembered pleasure guiding him. He suckled the head like it was the source of all nourishment, his hands never ceasing their torture and worship of Robert’s chest.
He felt the change. Robert’s breathing hitched, turned to sharp, desperate gasps. The thick cock in his mouth began to pulse more urgently, the skin tightening. The low groans became choked, guttural sounds. Robert was close. The edge was right there.
Eddie slowed. His mouth stilled, becoming a warm, wet sheath. His hands softened, his touches turning from sharp to soothing, palming Robert’s pecs in slow circles. He felt the tension in Robert’s thighs ease back, just a fraction. The desperate panting evened out into deep, shuddering breaths. The imminent peak receded.
Eddie waited. He counted Robert’s heartbeats through the flesh in his mouth. Then, he began again.
His mouth resumed its work, this time with a deliberate, dragging suction. His hands found the nipples again, pinching and rolling with renewed intent. He built Robert back up, quicker this time, the path now familiar. Again, he felt the coiling tightness, the choked-off swear, the telltale throbbing. Again, he gentled his movements, backing Robert down from the brink with soft lips and calming hands.
The third time was a masterpiece of control. Eddie took him so close the air crackled with impending release. Robert’s fingers were white-knuckled on the leather, a string of filthy, pleading curses falling from his lips. “Please, boy… God, I’m gonna… let me…” Eddie slowed, drawing out the denial, letting Robert hover in that exquisite, agonizing space for a long, trembling moment before allowing him to settle.
On the fourth build, Eddie didn’t slow. He amplified.
His mouth sank down, taking more of the thick length, his throat opening in a determined, gagging swallow. His head bobbed in a faster, deeper rhythm, spit flying. His hands left Robert’s nipples and clamped onto his hips, holding him steady as he fucked his face with relentless hunger. He was no longer exploring. He was claiming. Driving.
Robert’s control shattered. A raw, roaring shout tore from his throat, a sound that seemed to shake the books on their shelves. His body locked, every muscle corded, and he erupted.
The first spurt hit the back of Eddie’s throat, hot and bitter-salty. The taste was intense, profoundly organic. Eddie swallowed reflexively, and to his surprise, he didn’t recoil. He welcomed it. The second and third pulses followed, flooding his mouth, and he swallowed them too, greedily, feeling the completion in the act. It felt right. It felt like sealing a pact. He milked Robert through it, sucking gently until the throbs subsided, until Robert’s cock was just a softening weight on his tongue, spent.
He held him there, letting his hands soften their grip on Robert’s hips and slide around to stroke his lower back, his sides, the heavy muscles of his chest, just as Robert had done for him. He gentled him down, his mouth a soft, warm haven until the last tremors faded.
Slowly, he released Robert’s cock from his mouth with a final, tender kiss to the tip. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his own breathing uneven. He looked up.
Robert was a ruin of pleasure. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and chest. His eyes were closed, his face a mask of stunned release. He looked younger, unguarded.
Eddie rose on shaky knees and, with a careful movement, climbed into the large armchair, onto Robert’s lap. But this time, he was the one offering comfort. He turned, settling his back against Robert’s broad chest, and pulled Robert’s arms around him. He took one of Robert’s big hands in his and stroked it. With his other hand, he reached up and stroked Robert’s hair, his bearded cheek, his shoulder. He held the man as Robert’s breathing slowly deepened, as the powerful body behind him went lax and heavy with satiation.
A long, quiet time passed. The grandfather clock ticked. The fire settled.
Finally, Robert cleared his throat. His voice was husky, worn thin. “Well, my boy. You really are a quick study. That was the best first blowjob I have ever received. And I have had a fair few in my vocation.”
Eddie just smiled, a warm, quiet satisfaction blooming in his chest. He leaned his head back against Robert’s shoulder, taking the praise into himself.
“You not only improvised,” Robert went on, his words coming slowly, “but you remembered past lessons. How I like my cock touched. The nipple work. And the edging… that was a superb touch. You could have finished me in half the time. And you didn’t.”
“Thank you,” Eddie said, his own voice soft. He stayed nestled in Robert’s lap, enjoying this reversed closeness, this mutual satisfaction that felt deeper than any quick fuck.
“Did you enjoy it?” Robert asked. The question was curious, open, not looking for reassurance.
“I really did,” Eddie said, the truth of it surprising him anew. “Which surprised me. I did wonder if I might just want to get to the end. But once I understood what you were trying to teach me, and after experiencing the pleasure you gave me… I almost didn’t want it to stop.” He paused, considering the other revelation. “And I did think I would end up spitting your cum out. But it felt right to swallow it. To complete the cycle. Hell, to enjoy it, even.”
“Excellent work,” Robert murmured. He turned his head and kissed Eddie on the mouth, a slow, tasting kiss that was all softness and shared flavor.
As they broke apart, both of their stomachs grumbled loudly, one after the other, a comical, grounding interruption in the serene room.
Robert chuckled, the sound vibrating through Eddie’s back. “Right. Let me make us some lunch. A rather late lunch at 3pm. Then I must see you off—the girls are due back at 4pm. We can discuss our schedules over food, and how we’ll move forward with all of this.”
He gave Eddie a final squeeze, then gently pushed him from his lap. Robert stood, his naked body moving with a loose, sated grace. He walked to a section of the bookcase, ran his finger along a specific spine, and pulled. With a soft click, a section of the case swung forward, revealing not a passage, but a compact, fully tiled wet room.
“But for now,” Robert said, gesturing inside.
The room was efficient and clean. A large rain-head shower, a bench, shelves stocked with simple, masculine toiletries. Robert turned on the water, steam quickly billowing.
They washed quickly, practical. Robert soaped Eddie’s back, his hands firm and thorough, rinsing away the sweat and spend. Eddie returned the favor, lathering the coarse hair on Robert’s chest, his own hands now familiar with the terrain. It was intimate, but not erotic—a necessary reset, a shared cleansing. They both took care, a point of quiet pride, to ensure they were impeccably clean, inside and out, ready to re-enter the world.
They toweled off, the thick cotton rough on sensitized skin. Dressing in silence felt strangely domestic. Eddie pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, the familiar fabric strange on his new body. Robert donned soft grey sweatpants and a fresh white t-shirt that stretched over his chest.
Without a word, Robert led the way out of the study, through the quiet hall, and into the large, sunlit kitchen. The ordinariness of it was jarring, and perfect. Sunlight slanted across a massive oak butcher block island, warming the air.
Robert pulled open the industrial fridge, its interior humming cool and bright. “What do you drink, son?Beer? Soda? Sparkling water? We’re well stocked.”
“Just water, please,” Eddie said, his voice still feeling fragile. “Still.”
Robert nodded, retrieving two bottles of cold artesian water. He passed one to Eddie. Their fingers brushed. Robert held the contact a half-second longer, his knuckles a rough, solid presence. Eddie felt the connection like a pulse in his wrist.
Then Robert moved to the counter, pulling out a cutting board, a serrated knife. He opened a lidded container, revealing a block of cured smoked ham. The rich, salty scent filled the kitchen. He sliced thick, translucent slabs. He placed them carefully on two plates.
His hands moved with the same efficient confidence he’d shown in everything else. He arranged layers of roasted red pepper from a jar, cool green avocado half-moons, crisp baby arugula, pale paper-thin slices of red onion, and generous dollops of a coarse-grained mustard. It was open architecture, a vibrant, protein-rich pile on toasted sourdough.
“So, looking ahead,” Robert said as he worked, his gaze on his task. He reached over and squeezed Eddie’s shoulder, a warm press of palm against his t-shirt. “I’m thinking with the speed you’re absorbing things, a consistent routine would be massively beneficial.”
Eddie took a bite of the sandwich. The flavors burst. The sharp mustard. The creamy avocado. He nodded, chewing.
Robert squeezed his bicep. “If you have the time, of course. Two or three times a week, maybe? Coming here, working with me. Our focus being your exercise routine, but of course, other lessons will creep in, no doubt.” His smile was both warm and salacious.
Eddie looked at the intricate, layered food before him. He saw time. Consideration. He thought of his bare apartment, his simple, horny routine now fractured and rebuilt. “Three times,” he said quickly. “If that’s okay. I’ll make the time.”
Robert turned his head and pressed a light kiss to Eddie’s temple. Electricity, clean and non-sexual, zipped down Eddie’s spine. His throat tightened.
“Good man.” Robert placed the knife in the sink. “What’s your work schedule like?”
“I have Sundays and Wednesdays off,” Eddie said, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth. “On the early shift, usually done by four. The only standing evening thing I’ve got is Mondays. That’s when I meet my friends for food. We rotate the host, sometimes potluck, you know.”
“Friends are very important. Good, keep that.” Robert said, clapping his back lightly. “So Sundays work. And Wednesday afternoons—I have a thing in the morning. Two P.M would work perfectly. And a Friday evening, straight from work?”
Eddie took a long drink of water, watching Robert. The man who had just emptied him, just drowned him in sensation, now mapping out his life’s week, slotting into it like something long expected.
“I’ll make it work, no problem.” His voice was low, earnest. “I’m… grateful. For the time. The care.”
“It’s easy,” Robert said, his hand stroking up and down Eddie’s flank. “When someone is willing and curious. That’s the best kind of student. I’m happy to make the effort.”
They ate in a comfortable silence for a few moments, punctuated by the sharp clicking of plates.
Then Robert wiped his hands on a cloth. “Your own father,” he began, his tone shifting, softer, investigatory. He leant on the island, facing Eddie, “Do you see him? I realize I've never asked.”
Eddie froze.
The pickle he held turned to brine in his mouth. He swallowed, hard. The beautifully arranged food looked suddenly like props in a play. He studied the knife scar on Robert’s thumb.
“He’s gone. Passed when I was twelve,” he said, forcing the words out.Neutral. He aimed for it anyway. He stared at a knot in the wood. “It was an overdose. I found him.”
There was no pause.
Robert was across the island in an instant, his large hands gripping Eddie’s upper arms, pulling him away from the stool and into the solid wall of his chest. A deep, engulfing embrace, one that arrested thought.
The scent of him—laundry soap and warm skin—was everywhere. Robert’s arms wrapped around him completely. Eddie was locked in.
“That is huge. And awful.” Robert’s voice was a muffled rumble against his ear, thick with real emotion. No fucking joke. “I am so, so sorry, Edward. For him. For you.”
The words acted as a solvent on something inside Eddie’s ribcage. The careful neutrality he’d stored inside himself like poison began to slough off. His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, came up and gripped the back of Robert’s t-shirt, bunching the fabric. He rested his forehead against the firm muscle of Robert’s shoulder.
Noise threatened behind his eyes.
The immediate sexual urge quickly died. That deep gut-desire to twist comfort into heat—the learned behaviour of a lonely boy for a decade—stirred briefly and then subsided, a spectral habit now he was becoming aware of as the fraud it was. Robert had shown him how to hold two things at once, need and action don't always have to collide. He could let this be just this. This acceptance.
He breathed in the wool-and-cotton scent of Robert’s shoulder.
“It’s what it is. Thank you,” he whispered into the fabric, just the jagged truth of right now, no before.
Robert’s hand stroked big circles on his back, rhythmic and steady.
After a minute, his breathing calmed. The plates of food on the island sat forgotten.
“And your mother?” Robert asked quietly, his chin still resting on Eddie’s head.
“Moved away four years back,” Eddie said, his voice clearer now, his head still pillowed against Robert. “It's a long drive. Calls sometimes. Maybe once a year? She needs… well. Space.” He gave a short, dry huff. “I’m an only child. Not in touch with any cousins or anyone. So… yeah.”
The big hands stilled on his back.
“Edward,” Robert said, and the word in his mouth meant something stronger than Eddie ever had. He pulled back, his expression ferociously gentle. His thumbs were on Eddie’s cheekbones, holding his gaze with an absolute, undivided focus.
Eddie blinked. Felt heat spread to the rims of his eyelids.
“You are welcome. You are always welcome here. In this house. In my arms. You are welcome to share. Or not. You are welcome just to be, Edward. This house is your house. Whenever. Join this family, should you feel comfortable wanting to. The offer stands. We’d be better for having you near.”
It was the honesty of it that did it. No sugar-coating about holidays and big gatherings. Just belonging. Participation. Abiding by the unstated rules. Being near. Not an addition but an integration into the fabric. He meant it.
The tears were immediate this time, hot and stupid and leaking fast. They welled, trembled, and fell silently over his cheeks, salt in the pink indentations left by the sandwich tomatoes.
“Thank you,” Eddie choked, wiping them away with the heel of his hand but it was pointless.
Robert just brushed them away himself, calloused thumbs streaking them across Eddie’s skin.
Then he leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t like any of the kissing in the chair. It was warmer, slower, imbued with something beyond curiosity. A soft, reassuring pressure, sealing lips on lips. Clean water taste. The faint hint of mustard and rye. When Robert’s tongue slid gently against his own, it was about talking. A comforting, communicating slide. Claiming him again, but this time into a tribe, not a body.
They breathed each other’s air for a long, suspended moment.
Then Robert tucked Eddie’s face into the crook of his neck, lips close to his ear, his voice a resonant promise rumbling directly into his skull. “We’re going to achieve something wonderful here. You know that, son.”
He did know it. Knew it because the evidence was written now not just on his skin, but in the reconstructed architecture of his loneliness.
“I believe you, Daddy,” Eddie said, the words thick but utterly clear. He lifted his head from Robert’s shoulder, looked directly into his eyes—the authority, the care—and leaned in for another kiss, not given, but taken.
Eddie broke the kiss, his forehead resting against Robert’s, breathing in the shared air. His heart felt both swollen and light, a precarious balloon in his chest.
“Alright,” Robert murmured, his voice a low scrape of gravel. His hands gave Eddie’s shoulders a final squeeze. “Got something for you before you head out.”
He turned and walked back towards the study, his bare feet quiet on the polished floor. Eddie heard the soft click of the door, then Robert’s receding footsteps. A minute later, he returned to the sunlit hallway carrying a plain, unmarked cardboard box, sealed with brown tape.
“Something to practice on,” Robert said, his smile knowing, a spark in his tired eyes. He held the box out. “But don’t open it until you get home.”
Eddie took the package. It had a substantial, dense weight. He raised an eyebrow.
Robert just winked, a quick, affectionate gesture. “Trust me, son.” He pulled Eddie into one last, brief embrace, all warmth and pressed cotton. “See you Wednesday.”
The box sat on the seat next to him like a passenger. Eddie drove, one hand on the wheel, his eyes flicking to it every thirty seconds. Its plainness was a provocation. Practice on what?
The quiet country road unspooled before him, lined with trees casting long afternoon shadows. The layby appeared on his left, a familiar gravel pull-off overlooking a scrubby field. It was the same spot he’d pulled into the night before, frenzied and lonely, to jerk off thinking of Robert with Mary-Jane. The memory felt less important, but still something he wanted to understand.
He signaled, tires crunching on gravel. He killed the engine. The silence was absolute.
His fingers found the edge of the tape and peeled it back with a dry rip. He lifted the flaps.
Nestled inside, on a bed of crumpled paper, were three clear silicone dildos. They were graduated in size. The smallest was modest, maybe five inches and slender. The middle one was thicker, more substantial. The largest was a monster—a near-perfect, transparent replica of Robert’s own cock, nine inches of thick, veined silicone.
Eddie lifted it. The weight was shocking, a dense, fleshy simulation. His own cock, exhausted, attempted to twitch in his jeans.
Beneath them was another toy. He pulled it out. It was a single piece of pale pink silicone, tube-shaped. One end was a pair of feminine lips, parted in a soft ‘O’ with soft teeth and tongue. The other end depicted a vulva with a puckered anus underneath. A small bottle of lube completed the set. A folded note rested on top.
He opened it. Robert’s handwriting was firm, slanted.
For you to practice your oral skills. Don’t force anything, take it easy, no damaging your throat. Use a little lube on the dildos, lots of lube on the other thing. Enjoy, son. Love, Daddy.
Eddie giggled, a high, surprised sound that bounced around the silent car. He looked at the array of sex toys on his passenger seat, then out at the empty field. The absurdity was profound. The care was undeniable.
He put everything back in the box, carefully, and drove the rest of the way home with a strange, giddy warmth blooming behind his sternum.
For the next two days, the box lived under his bed. And for two days, Eddie found himself drawn to it like a planet pulled into a new orbit.
He’d come home from work, shower, and then sit on the edge of his mattress, pulling out the toys one by one. The smallest dildo became a constant companion. He took it to work, and during his breaks, he’d lock himself in the single-stall bathroom. He’d sucker the clear silicone to the tiled wall, smear a drop of lube on the tip, and practice.
His jaw learned to relax. His throat learned to open. He learned to breathe through his nose, to swallow at the right moment to suppress his gag reflex. He watched himself in the smudged mirror in his home bathroom, his cheeks hollowed, his eyes watering, as he took the entire length with ease. A quiet pride settled in him each time.
The largest one was a conquest not to be defeated in one battle. He’d oil it up, feeling its ridiculous girth in his hand. The first attempt ended with him gagging violently, barely an inch inside his mouth. The second day, after a long, patient session of breathing and gradual pressure, he managed another inch. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that promised a deeper satisfaction. He left it on his bedside table, a gauntlet thrown.
The fleshy toy was for kissing and fucking. He’d lube the holes generously, stretch them open with his fingers first, then sink into them. The sensation was different from his hand—a consistent, slick resistance. He’d fuck the mouth, then flip it over and sink into the other openings, alternating until his thighs burned. But his favourite thing, the thing that surprised him, was after he came. He’d lift the toy, still dripping with his own spend, and press his lips to the silicone mouth. He’d kiss it deeply, tasting himself, turned on anew by the mess and the intimacy of it.
Between these sessions, his mind churned. A new ease moved through his days. He looked mechanics in the eye. He didn’t slouch. He felt, for the first time, like he occupied his own body fully, without apology. He belonged in the world. Robert had given him that.
But the need was a constant undercurrent. It shifted shape hourly. Sometimes it was a deep gratitude, a remembered warmth from Robert’s embrace that made him smile at his greasy hands in the garage bay. Other times it was a raw, jagged impatience—a physical ache to be back in that study, to feel that mouth, to have those hands on him. He wanted Mary-Jane, too, her laugh, the scent of her hair, the unknown territory of her body. The frustration of waiting annoyed him. His own anticipation felt like a teenager’s.
By Wednesday lunchtime, the nerves set in. He ate a sandwich he didn’t taste, his stomach a tight coil of excitement. He drove to Robert’s house, the familiar route now etched with significance.
He rang the doorbell at 1:58 PM.
The door swung open almost immediately. Robert stood there in a short, dark blue silk robe, tied loosely at his waist. His gaze drank Eddie in, hungry and warm.
“Goodness, I have missed you so much,” Robert growled, his voice thick.
He didn’t wait. He reached out, grabbed Eddie by the back of the neck, and pulled him fiercely across the threshold. His other hand found the knot of his robe’s belt and untied it in one smooth pull. The robe fell open.
Eddie was crushed against the solid, naked heat of him. Robert’s strong arms wrapped around him, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other splayed across the small of his back. Eddie’s face was buried in the coarse hair of Robert’s chest. The scent of him—soap, clean skin, pure male—flooded Eddie’s senses.
Eddie turned his face up, eyes wide. Robert used his foot to kick the door closed behind them, the click of the latch loud in the sudden quiet of the hallway.
Without breaking the embrace, Eddie scrambled out of his clothes. Shoes kicked off, jeans and boxers shoved down in a frantic tangle, t-shirt pulled over his head and discarded on the polished floor. He was naked in seconds, pressing every inch of his skin against Robert’s.
Robert gathered the loose fabric of his robe and wrapped it around both of them, a silken cocoon containing their sudden, naked heat. They stood there, locked together in the dim hallway light. Eddie’s cock, already half-hard from the anticipation, swelled fully against Robert’s thigh. He felt Robert answering, thickening against his hip.
They just stood. Breathing each other in. Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. The simple, profound delight of their bodies reconnecting was its own language.
“I missed you too, Daddy,” Eddie whispered into the hollow of Robert’s throat. “More than you could know.”
Robert’s hands came up, framing Eddie’s face. He tilted it upward. His eyes, Eddie saw, were wet, shining with an emotion that stole the air from Eddie’s lungs.
Robert leaned down and kissed him. It was nothing like the hungry, teaching kisses of the study. This was gentle. Soft. A slow, searching press of lips that spoke of two days of absence and a deep, complicated fondness. It was a homecoming.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Eddie’s. “Good,” he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of a chapter.
Then he took Eddie’s hand in his. His grip was firm, certain. He turned and began to lead him, naked, down the familiar hallway towards the study. Eddie quickly bent, scooped up his discarded clothes in a bundle, and followed, his hand secure in Robert’s, his heart hammering a frantic, joyous rhythm against his ribs.