Page 25 of Coach’s Son (Twin Cities #2)

His hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet Razor’s gaze. My cheeks burn under the scrutiny, my heart ticking loud enough that I’m sure all three of us can hear it over the screams of the death metal.

“Tell me he doesn’t deserve it,” Drew says, his voice spiked like barbed wire. “Tell me he’s not begging to be marked by his King.”

“Don’t give me any thoughts like that, unless you are asking for a threesome.” Razor snickers in quite a jagged manner.

My stomach lurches, bile preparing to release over his putrid face. I can’t imagine what he would like under his clothes. No offense to Razor, but he’s definitely not my type. No way in fucking hell would I engage in anything of that sort with this mohawk son of a bitch.

I would rather march back to those woods and offer myself as tribute to those starving wolves. At least their bite would be clean.

“You able to knock this out, old chap?” Drew asks, steering the conversation away from Razor’s grotesque suggestion—me hypothetically swallowing his metal rings.

Because that’s all I can picture now. There’s no way Razor isn’t pierced on his nipples, belly button, and likely his cock. Probably a whole horseshoe down there… This man looks like the poster boy for self-inflicted pain, a junkie for needles and torture.

Could you imagine accidentally swallowing a cock ring?

Ooof. I cannot.

Now that would be the most awkward emergency room visit in modern memory. Hi, yes, sorry, I choked on a stranger’s hardware—mind fishing it out? Christ.

“Alright I can take ya over at this chair.” Razor points at a worn leather vessel, probably from the heyday of the 80s. The black leather could probably use some alcohol wipes to ward off the hepatitis seeping through the rips.

With Drew’s not-so-subtle encouragement, I reluctantly settle myself into the chair. My hesitation growing with every passing second.

“Come on boy, take off your shirt,” Razor clamors, way too eagerly for my liking.

Eww. This guy gives me the heebie-jeebies. If I had half of my brain that wasn’t under Drew’s gospel, no way would I be here stripping for Mr. Mohawk McCockRing.

But then I look over at Drew—he gives me this look. Not the usual predatory smirk, but a tenderness in his eyes that practically purr, I love you. So of course I comply, freeing my back for Razor to begin his artwork.

“Good boy.” Drew whispers in my ear, causing my cock to thicken half-way, aching for more, so much fucking more.

Razor slinks behind me, his voice turning slightly wheezy. “What a precious backside you’ve got here. Unstained canvas like this doesn’t come through the door every day.” His tongue slithers in his mouth, as if he’s salivating over the thoughts behind those rings.

My stomach twists in disgust.

“Oi,” Drew says, shooting Razor a lethal glare to knock it off. “He does—and it’s all for me.”

Those words are enough to shut up Mr. McCockRing.

He angles in, the tattoo gun etching into my skin.

I shudder at the first kiss of the needle.

The first time ever having one touch my skin.

The sensation is strange, not like when you get a vaccine, but between a mosquito bite and a sliver penetrating your outer layer.

I exhale, trying to keep my body steady under the pressure of the gun.

“Oh that looks good. Add a few serpents in for my touch. And a puck alongside the S for some added flair.” Drew nods his skull approvingly as the black ink makes itself permanent on my skin.

A devilish smirk overtaking his face as I withstand the repeated buzzes.

“Doing so well, baby. Here. Hold my hand.”

He extends his palm and I welcome his touch without a second of delay, our fingers locking tight. The contact of our skin sends butterflies swarming in my head, distracting me from the needle on my spine. My chest flutters with glee.

He’s so kind to me. Drew Evans isn’t the evil bastard everyone else makes him out to be. That’s a narrative that he sort of perpetuates. Sure, he’s rough around the edges, but that’s to keep his brand on point. And to keep his fans at bay.

I cling to his fingers harder as Razor continues his artwork. My brain fading in and out of my daydreams. Drew using me. Drew fucking me. Drew spanking my ass until the skin blemishes red. Controlling all my limbs.

Reliving last night. Unexpectedly, I discovered that I loved being restrained, the thrill of not knowing what could happen… it’s addictive. To offer up control of my flesh and let them decide what to do with it all.

Relinquishing your autonomy to let God decide your fate.

And right now, Drew is my God. My deity that could choke me out and I wouldn’t twitch a muscle, I’d just pray for more. Pray enough to slightly deprive my brain of oxygen to see if this is all real life, or some fucked up beautiful dream.

Or a mesmerizing reverie that I don’t want to snap out of.

We barely make it in through the doorway of Drew’s apartment before he slaps me on the ass. The crack echoing off his marble floors.

“Good boy today. You are mine Lover Boy. Only mine. And now you bear my mark for anyone that sees your back,” he growls, pupils dilated with an unmatched hunger.

“Yes King, I surrender to you.” I whimper, aching for more, infinitely more. For every spurt of venom that he can spit down my throat or up my ass.

I crave his worship. Every part of him is a drug that I wish I could shoot up.

“Stay here.” He rumbles, glancing towards the den.

“Yes sir.”

He disappears into the bedroom for a second, before reappearing with a bundle of ropes, a gag and a blindfold. The sight makes me giddy with fear and lust.

“Out here? In the living room? Your neighbors could see us through the windows…”

“Perfect for me. You’ll love it,” Drew snickers, his hands fumbling with the ropes. “Now stand over here.”

His eyes point toward steel clamps hanging from the beams and I obey his command, standing in place under the clamps as he fleshes the ropes through, wrapping around both of my fists. He pulls the rope taut, leaving no chance of escaping and then pulling the rope tight to extend my arms in the air.

My pulse skitters as he covers my orbits with the plush blindfold.

“Safe word is mouse. Okay?”

I nod my head rapidly, my cock growing profusely, eager for the unknown. Eager to be owned.

Then he gags my mouth and I bite down, hands quivering in anticipation.

He drops my pants with force, slapping my bare skin like I’m a misbehaved deviant needing his punishment.

Jesus Christ, do I need it.

And fuck, each strike stings and radiates pleasure through me. A joy to receive his penance. It’s like Christmas morning, experiencing the gift of behaving for your God. A benediction at last.

He takes turns alternating between cheeks, left then right. I can feel the blood rushing to both from the heavenly spanks. My ass burns almost as much as the signature carved into my back.

Then he stops, leaving me to wonder what is next. My body aching from the void of his attention, unable to see what is coming.

Will he shove his cock inside? Find a whip to chastise me further?

Then I feel it, his sacred tongue to wash away all of my worries, to temporarily alleviate all of my burdens. To offer me his salvation.

Today, his tongue is rough and ravenous, on a mission to deliver rapture. And Christ is he succeeding. I gape my hole for him, offering every bit of my pink flesh to be used to his desire.

“So obedient and willing today,” Drew purrs in between his jabs.

I nod my head vigorously, unable to manage a comprehendible word from the gag grinding between my teeth. But my body answers for me, trembling in divine surrender. I am his untainted canvas, at his disposal. An unblemished body aching to be painted.

He slides up my backside, tongue worshiping each indent of my spine. “Ready for your King’s cock?” he teases in my ear.

My cock throbs in response, already primed to shoot my milk, like a trigger-happy maniac that can’t control their rabid foam.

Drew’s teeth clamp down on my neck, fingers tickling my hips, I’m in heaven. A vortex of pleasure and agony. Of course, his teeth sting, but my heart loves it. Loves how he blesses me with another mark.

A man not afraid to claim his real estate. A true testament to his character.

He lets go of my neck, forcing a gasp from my lips. Sure to leave a hickey, for all the guys to see.

Then I feel his girthy crown, prodding my pink flesh, embracing the sloppiness he’s made of me down under.

I brace for his impact, my wrists taut against the ropes, the metal clamps creaking from the weight.

“Stay still baby,” he growls into my ear. “Relax your hole, it’s your King’s now.”

I do me best to obey, reducing my breathing to a turtle’s rate, allowing myself to soak in his presence to soothe my pulse.

“Good boy…” he purrs into my nape as he shoves himself in, the shock hits the same as the first time. The immaculate curvature bending my ass to his form.

I whimper through the gag, as he advances inside me. His pace slow and teasing, akin to a blood moon settling in the darkness of night.

At last he buries his blessed cock all the way, his fuzzy bush prickling against my bare cheeks.

I could stay like this forever, chained to the ceiling, eyes blacked out to the world, mouth silenced. Stuffed by a deity. Not giving a fuck if the whole building next door is enjoying the show. Surely standing in their windows with their jaw to the floor if they are.

It doesn’t get any filthier than this.

But I would do anything for my savior.

“You love your King’s prick, don’t you?” he rumbles into my ear, lurching his length forward for a brutal thrust. “You bloody slut.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” I mewl into the gag, my cock performing a volley of seizures. A firestorm of cum preparing to cream the den.

His pace turns vicious, a cruelty that I love. Cock thrusting in and out of my ass, determined to ruin me for good.

And may I be blessed with the pleasure of being destroyed by this viper. Lucky enough to say that my hole was offered and wrecked by Drew Evans.

“I fucking love you.” He husks in a low voice.

Those words overtake my brain, sending an overload of euphoria—dopamine and serotonin—down my brainstem. Flooding me with harmony and joy. My cock explodes, spurts like shooting stars. My lips quiver as I try to whimper.

“I love you so fucking much Lover Boy, you are my one and only. No matter what. The only one to bear my name. You’ll have me branded into your back until the day you die.”

His words are a graceful chorus to my ears, my entire body floating on cloud nine. I would be levitating in the air, if the ropes weren’t around my wrists.

He jabs his prick inside, releasing an earthquake of seed. The world explodes inside my ass, sending his cream as deep as he possibly can. Kissing my nape with his venomous lips, utterly soft and delicate, a panther’s tongue tasting what’s left of me.

The best moment of my life, I could perish right now and be completely satisfied. There’s no way life can possibly go up from here. No place in the sky to soar higher than this mountain peak of bliss.

The gag comes loose from my mouth, eyes seeing the room unfold before me. In front, my cock is still throbbing, puddles of thick milk lie on the marble. Cream forged from our love.

My body becomes weak, limbs losing their strength, ready to hibernate and recoup next to my man. The thoughts in my head tread to a standstill.

“I love you too.” I whisper before my vision fades to black, meaning the words with every fiber of my heart.