Page 51 of Beguiled
Murdo poured a thin stream of the glistening oil over David’s groin. The viscous liquid slid over him, warm and slow, like honey. It trickled down his scrotum, past the soft patch of skin below his sac and farther still, right down into the tender groove that led to the entrance to his body. The oil slid slowly all the way to his hole, where Murdo caught it with his waiting fingers, gathering it up and spreading it over the tight muscle.
His fingertips were blunt, the slippery oil allowing them to tease the edges of David’s hole and dip fleetingly inside, making David twist and moan with the brief pain and deeper pleasure that exploration brought.
Murdo must’ve tossed the bottle aside, because now his other hand, also slick with the oil, worked David’s shaft in counterpoint to those exploring fingers, while David held back his trembling legs. After only a minute or so, David was crying out desperately, half in protest at the prospect of climaxing so soon.
“I’m going to come!” he gasped.
“No, you’re not,” Murdo replied, easing his hand from David’s cock. “You’re not going to come till I’m inside you.”
That promise alone was nearly enough to finish him off, till Murdo distracted him with a new sensation, his finger entering David’s body, then withdrawing and reentering. The slight pain of the first thrust removed the threat of immediate release, but it wasn’t long before David was growing used to the sensation, then craving it, his hips moving in time to the thrust of Murdo’s hand.
Then there was more, moreheft.David wasn’t sure how many fingers Murdo was using on him but it was more than one, and it felt good. His body was stretching, accommodating Murdo’s demands with an ease that astounded the tiny part of his mind that was still able to think.
The pleasure Murdo was giving him now was coming from somewhere deep inside him, somewhere unreachable, yet vital, that he was sure he’d never known about before Murdo. He wanted to tell Murdo that, but when he tried to speak, all that he could get out was, “Murdo—God—”
Murdo’s fierce, glittering gaze did not waver as he watched David writhe.
“I think I’m going to—please, you have to fuck me—” he begged.
Murdo said nothing, but he withdrew his fingers from David’s body and reached for the bottle of oil again, this time letting the greeny-gold stream trickle over his own cock before stoppering the bottle and tossing it aside. He worked the hard, tumescent flesh of his shaft for a few moments, biting his lower lip against the easy pleasure. Then he moved forward, shifting on his knees till his prick was pointed at David’s hole.
“Keep your knees pulled back and bear down when I press into you,” he said. Then he pushed.
“Christ!” David gasped.
The bulbous head of a prick felt very different to a finger—or even a few fingers. Fingers were nimble, flexible. This was brutal and blunt, a battering ram made flesh, and the first sudden stretch was a painful, shocking intrusion.
“Sorry,” Murdo hissed. “Just wait—breathe for a while.”
David swallowed and did as he was bid, breathing slowly in and out, while Murdo stayed very still, the head of his cock lodged inside David’s passage.
After a minute, the pain began to ease, though David still felt alarmingly full.
“All right,” he whispered, though his erection had wilted. “You can move now.”
“Do you want me to stop?” Murdo gritted out. “I’ll stop.”
“No. Do it. I’ll tell you if I can’t go on.”
Murdo began to slowly move again, pushing his hips forward in small increments, until at last he was fully seated inside David.
“God, you feel good,” Murdo murmured, dropping his forehead to rest against David’s. “I never thought—” He broke off, leaving the sentence incomplete, reaching instead for David’s wilted shaft to coax him back to hardness. As he worked David’s cock with his hand, he pulled back his hips, just a very little, before carefully easing back into David’s passage, making the tiny rocking movement a little bigger each time.
Slowly, relentlessly, pleasure began to build again. Slowly, David grew more used to the sensation of Murdo’s prick inside his body. And then, after a dozen or so of those careful, searching jabs of his hips, Murdo thrust again, and this time there was a jolt of pure, searing pleasure, as though Murdo had pierced that vital, secret place David had felt earlier deep inside his body. The sensation was so intense it made him gasp and clutch at Murdo’s arms.
“Jesus!”
Murdo’s smile unfurled, secret and delighted. Rare and beautiful.
“There it is,” he said.
And then he was drawing out farther and pushing back in, piercing that spot again and again with meticulously accurate thrusts. David twisted and squirmed, unable to control the guttural, begging sounds coming from his aching throat. And then, too soon, too soon his body was surrendering to the inevitability of orgasm. He called out Murdo’s name as his climax roared through him, purging him, his seed spattering his belly in helpless pulses.
Seconds later, Murdo was following him. His powerful hands clutched hard at David’s hips as his rhythmic movements grew suddenly jerky and graceless, an unholy cry on his lips as he emptied himself inside David’s body, then slumped forward to rest his forehead on David’s chest.
They lay there, silent, for a long time, damp flesh cooling in the night air. At last, one of the candles guttered out, sending out a thin stream of smoke like a prying finger, and Murdo rose, crossing the room to the armoire where he poured water into a ewer and washed himself briskly.
That taken care of, he dampened a cloth and brought it back to the bed, ignoring the hand David held out for the cloth and sitting down on the mattress to tend to David himself.