Page 15 of Collin, Episodes 10-12 (The Residency Boys #4)

A single hand worked the back of the gag.

His sir was holding his face in one hand, but the gag was loose now.

His sir’s other hand remained buried inside of Collin, still stroking that place inside him.

Or was it only a few fingers? He felt so soft and open.

Whatever his sir chose to put in him would be accepted.

There were dim words. The meaning slid past him, but he understood. He let the bit go. A hand took it away, someone’s hand. His sir was still holding him, tipping his chin back.

Kissing him.

Collin arched into his sir’s mouth. Soft, large lips, gentle nibbling teeth, firm tongue.

He opened, eager, soft. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, but then he was being eased, his body gentled and calmed as his sir controlled his body, held him back from pushing.

The kiss slowed, and the hand holding his cheek brought him down by degrees.

He leaned into it, his head falling below his shoulders.

His sir rubbed his face, probing at the muscles above and below his teeth.

He let his mouth fall open, and fingers stroked his tongue.

He lowered his bottom jaw, making room for them. They slid in, probing his throat.

He wanted that. He wanted more of his sir. Having his sir outside of him was too far away. He swallowed around the fingers, trying to take more of them until they were there, filling him up, so there was no emptiness, not even room for air.

He was looking up at his sir. Strong, soft, dark-brown eyes gazing straight back into his.

Nothing else was clear. The world was hazy for new reasons, unimportant ones.

How was he looking up? It didn’t matter.

He must have raised his head as he swallowed down the man’s fingers.

His throat and lungs squeezed tight, searching for air.

“Breathe for me.” The fingers drew back, pressing down on his tongue, still deep in his mouth. He pulled in air, and his sir’s fingers followed back down into his throat, claiming space inside of him there as much as they continued to do behind him in his hole.

“You’re being the perfect milk boy, kitten. You’re leaking for me now. All that cum is dripping down now.You haven’t cum in days, like a good milk boy, saving it for his sir.”

His sir pulled back his fingers again, giving him more air. He stroked over Collin’s tongue. “Lower your head now, pet. Relax, breathe deep. Slowly. There. Like that. I have you.”

Collin’s eyes slid shut. His sir’s hand was in his hair, massaging his scalp. He let his head hang between his arms. His fingers were loose and curled against the wood of the table.

“So good for me, kitten.” Lips pressed against his shoulder.

He wanted to lean into the warmth that was his sir and never leave it, but he wanted to obey more.

And obeying meant staying here just like this.

That pressure in his groin remained. He blinked open his eyes as if he were drunk and moving under water.

His cock, decorated with a bronze chain wrapped behind the head and pulled down by three bronze-colored weights, hung soft and stretched out above a silver platter.

A line of white cum seeped from his slit to a puddle on the silver platter.

Milked. His sir was milking him. He wasn’t hard. He wasn’t orgasming. There was no pleasure. And yet his sir was taking his cum.

Just as he said he would.

His stomach flipped. He wanted to lay at this man’s feet. He wanted to be on the ground on his belly. He wanted to be below this man, to hide, to roll over and submit.

But he was too far gone, too weak, and too spaced out to even cry. His soft open hole pulsed timidly around his sir’s fingers.

“I have you, Collin. My little kitten. Chin up, darling.” His sir coaxed his face upward. “One more time with the gag. We need it, don’t we?”

Collin arched toward him, pressing his lips against his sir’s, begging. Little desperate whimpers bubbled up from deep inside.

But he wasn’t alone. His sir’s tongue was in him, and his tongue was in his sir, and the end of one body and the beginning of the other was lost. He was swallowing down saliva, and he didn’t know if he was drinking his sir or himself.

Breath by shared breath, their mouths eased apart becoming separate bodies once again. His sir held Collin’s chin in the palm of his hand. He pressed in with his thumb on one side and his fingers on the other between Collin’s lower and upper jaw, holding Collin’s mouth open.

“Richard, the gag, please,” his sir said.

Mr. Reevesworth stepped into Collin’s range of vision, strong slender hands bringing the gag around the side of Collin’s head from where it had been hanging.

He slid the bar between Collin’s lips. His sir pressed it back deeper toward the back of Collin’s mouth, farther than it had been before, spreading his lips wide.

Collin’s tongue thrust against it, out of room and confused, then slid under it, licking with the tip at his sir’s hand.

His sir laughed. “Precious, precious boy.” He stroked Collin’s nose with his thumb. “Just a little more now, pet. Richard, shorten the chain, please, just a few links. I want him in posture again.”

As he spoke, he rolled his fingers around in Collin’s hole and pressed down on his prostate.

The weak, stuttery, submissive feeling flooded Collin again.

His eyelids fell, and he was putty in their hands as the chain on the back of the bar gag strap shortened, drawing him up.

There was no slack now. The shortness of the chain behind his head kept him in posture but with his head bent forward and down.

Drool collected on the gag at once, growing heavy, wet strands stretching toward the table.

His sir ignored it this time. He stroked down Collin’s throat and then between his arms to his nipples, dragging a finger across one bruised nub. Collin shuddered but only lightly.

“Close now, kitten. Let’s take you down one more time. Just a little more to milk out of you. But you have to give it up to me. Your hole is almost dry. Dry milk boys can’t give their sirs their cum. They need to be wet.”

His sir eased his fingers from Collin’s ass. A syringe full of lube replaced them just for a moment, and then the fingers were back but more this time. Collin bore down, ready to help get them inside.

“No, pet. Hush now. Posture. Just like that. You’re loose.

Very loose. Arch your back, push your chest. Just like that.

Think about keeping your ass pointed up.

Good boy.” He ran his hands down Collin’s ribs and rubbed more circles on his stomach.

“Your hole should always be visible when in posture, pet. Think about that when you’re in this stance.

You have to keep your back arched, just like this, so it can always be seen unless it’s plugged.

Good boy. You’re close. Very close pet. Do you feel it?

Do you feel empty inside? Smaller? Drained? ”

Collin whimpered into the gag. He was all of those things. He was dizzy with them.

“You’re giving up your cum so well, my precious boy. My plate is swimming in it.” He rotated his fingers a few times and rolled them around the gland inside.

It was almost too much. Collin was so tender there now. He wanted to hide his hole, but he also wanted to lean forward and offer it up and beg for more, as much as his sir would agree to put inside him.

His sir drew his fingers out slowly. Collin’s opening spasmed, bereft. Slick and soft but without any comforting cum to prove he’d served his doms well.

Please, please, please. Someone just use me. Please. But he couldn’t speak. All he could do was let his hole flutter in the empty air. An invitation ignored.

His sir’s hand drifted down between Collin’s legs and wrapped around Collin’s cock. He circled the base of it with his thumb and forefinger and pulled down, stripping Collin’s cock like Collin had seen him strip a piping bag. Cum pulsed out of Collin’s slit, and the world swayed in his vision.

“That’s the last of it, boy. You’re all milked out. Such a good, drained little pet for me.”

Empty. He was so empty. Needy. Tears prickled in his eyes. He’d been naked and on display so long he couldn’t really feel it but he felt something else that felt like naked. Desperate . He lifted his hand and knees, one after the other, as if he could walk or run in place.

His sir pressed kisses against his shoulder. “Still, pet. Be good for me. Be still.”

Collin shivered, but he stopped. His sir stroked his head, scratching his scalp lightly. “I know you feel odd. But you can do this for me. Posture, kitten.”

His body returned to place on its own. He blinked back tears. His sir was right in front of him now. He had the silver dish in his hand.

“Eyes on me, pet.” His sir set the tray down and reached up, unhooking the chain from the back of the bar gag but leaving the gag in.

“Rest your forehead against my chest. Good boy. Your neck must be sore.” His fingers massaged into muscles Collin hadn’t even realized hurt.

Bit by bit, they loosened. Collin moved his head up and down, stretching into the therapeutic pressure.

Mr. Moreau stepped back only a foot or two. “Keep your eyes on me, boy.”

As if he could do anything else. Mr. Moreau pulled the bench from earlier around the end of the table and sat down, facing him.

Mr. Reevesworth handed him a cloth napkin wrapped around a knife and fork.

Mr. Moreau laid it out like a place setting, right between Collin and himself but with the arrangement situated for his use.

“Richard, pancakes, please.”

“Of course, mon loulou.” Mr. Reevesworth held out a plate of small thin pancakes.

Mr. Moreau took three and laid them side by side in Collin’s cum on the silver dish.

Forget aching bones, forget the floaty empty feeling inside, Collin could not look away from his sir. What was this?