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He’s probably right, of course. He could hurt you— really hurt you—and where would that leave either one of you two? Slowly, carefully, he eases his fingers out. The absence of him is tremendous. Your hole gapes around nothing. Your heart is slamming like a jackhammer. Kai gets up off the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t move.”

Like that’s a choice you could willingly make right now; ha.

You hear him in the bathroom washing his hands.

Who knows; maybe he’s giving himself one of his pre-game pep talks.

Only, instead of plowing quarterbacks, he’s telling himself that he can deal with his fucked-up boyfriend.

He doesn’t want to run out into the storm and get the fuck out of Los Angeles and never come back.

He will follow the playbook and see the game through ‘till the end.

You take the opportunity to fully gather your hair away from your face. You are so, so hot. The sweat—your face is soaked in it. You’re breathing deeper than usual. You’re a starfish on the bed, unable to move. This whole time, your cock has been hard as a rock.

Kai comes back into the room. Looks briefly out the door at the raging weather; his immense body limned by the lamplight and the jagged, irregular lightning. Kneels down by the bed.

“You good?” he says. And then, with concern, “You’re crying.”

“I’m good,” you say. “I swear.”

You can feel it now, the water streaming from your eyes like they are broken. Not sweat. Tears.

“Ster…” Kai says warningly.

“Jesus Christ.” You slam your eyes shut, like you could forcibly cut off the font of tears. “If you stop now, I’m going to kill you. I w-won’t ask for anything else weird. Just what we talked about. Please.”

You’re half expecting him to put his foot down. Instead, he leans in tenderly. Pokes his tongue out, and carefully (so carefully), licks each one of the two streams of tears coursing down your cheeks.

“You wanna get fucked?” he asks.

It almost hurts to draw a deep breath. You nod frantically.

“Yeah,” you say.

His face is a closed shutter. Getting back on the bed, he slaps your outer thigh so hard that it almost makes you jump up like a singed cat.

“Sixteen,” he announces. “Face down, ass up. Now.”

Your limbs are unsteady enough that he has to manipulate you into position like a sex doll. He gets a pillow under your cheek and hauls your hips up, bracing your knees apart.

“Wide open for me,” he says. “Gonna take it so well, aren’t you? You just need it so bad.”

The little moan that escapes you clearly isn’t good enough, because he pulls his arm back and backhands the meat of your ass. The cry that splits your mouth somehow coincides with another roll of thunder, almost drowning it out.

“Seventeen,” you manage.

As if that’s some kind of cue he was waiting on, Kai takes himself in hand and lines up with your hole. You’re so stretched from his fingers that he slides in easily, impaling himself to the root in perhaps two-and-a-half thrusts.

His fingers were wider, but his cock is longer.

It’s always a little overwhelming getting fucked by him, and, now, you feel flayed open.

Raw. Kai’s holding you down, pinning you in place with his massive size.

His thrusts are long and generous, his balls slapping your ass on every in-stroke.

It feels amazing, but there is also a certain numbness in your body.

He’s moving along, fucking you harder as he gets into it, but you are already not sure if you are going to come.

You feel overstimulated and overly hot. You think that you might be broken.

Clearly, your survival instinct isn’t working correctly.

Your body has it all backwards. Wanting to get hit. Not able to finish.

You barely register blows 18, 19, and 20 as they land on your thighs, although you count them out obediently with a thick tongue that feels too heavy for your jaw.

“Touch yourself,” Kai grunts.

Your hands feel oversized and tingly, like you’re going to have trouble holding onto your dick.

You take yourself in hand and start stroking your foreskin over your shaft.

There’s a lot of pre, and the going is easy, but you’re nowhere near where you should be, mentally.

Your climax feels like a finish line on another continent.

Your legs, strong and toned from near-daily workouts, are shaking.

Against the pillow, your eyes leak and leak.

There is a steady stream of punched-out noises escaping your throat, gurgling sighs forced out by Kai’s cock.

He slows down. You know the rhythm of his body well enough to tell that he’s trying to wait for you, changing positions to stem off his own climax for a while.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, with surprising evenness.

“I can’t,” you gasp, a thin and wobbly whine. Somehow, it’s all you can manage.

Kai reaches down and pulls you up on all fours.

Gets a big hand around your throat. His fingers find your carotid artery like they’re playing a flute and delicately, carefully press down just enough to lightly restrict your airflow.

Your vision goes spotty, and it’s not from the choking—it’s the pulse of desire that’s been corralled and padlocked in a box, no longer safely contained.

He redoubles his thrusts, and panicked, feverish endorphins flood your brain.

“Two,” you whisper, half-strangled.

“What?” He leans closer. You are going to either sweat to death or pass out. Either one sounds good at the moment.

“Two more,” you say, the words burning. “Twenty-two.”

Your arms are barely holding you up. Your whole body seems like it’s trying to shake itself off the bed.

The last two slaps aren’t particularly hard, but they are enough to knock you off balance.

Kai comes down atop you, covering your whole body.

You are a pancake against the mattress, totally pinned.

His whole hand wraps your neck, and his dick is buried in your ass.

The prone position has you convinced that this is it, this is how you will die. It will be a good way to go.

Something inside you lights up at the thought, because you become keenly aware of the friction of the covers against your dick, of the burn of Kai’s cock.

And you’re climbing that mountain, arousal pumping your veins full to bursting, making you see exploding stars behind your eyelids.

And then, improbably, you are coming with an animal howl, spurting all over the duvet through an orgasm that is more painful than euphoric.

Your perineum cramps and your whole body shudders uncontrollably.

Almost immediately, you black out a little.

Not so much that you don’t feel Kai pull out and come all over your throbbing hole or rubbing the cum into your crack with his fingers, but enough that your eyes close and, for several soggy, distended minutes, there is nothing but a warm void and the distant sounds of the storm outside.

Some time later, while Kai is wiping you down with a soapy cloth, you stir enough to open your eyes.

It must be two in the morning at this point.

The warmth of the cloth feels good, along with the ministrations of Kai’s gentle hands.

After, he pushes the soiled duvet down to the footboard and wraps you up in cool cotton sheets.

Gets you a glass of cold water and makes you drink it all as he solicitously takes inventory of the evidence of his hands on your skin.

To his relief and your disappointment, the slap marks on your face are all gone.

Your ass got the worst of it, raised red lines marking where his fingers struck you and bite marks from his teeth.

One spot on your left buttock is mottling in a developing bruise.

You’re already imagining poking it for days and remembering how it got there.

Kai kisses the marks, and holds you close.

“Did that work for you?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Thank you.” And, quickly after: “Was it okay for you?”

Kai’s silent for a long moment. “I could have lived without it,” he says briefly. “But it’s okay. I’m glad it made you feel good.”

You want to explain that it wasn’t necessarily about feeling good so much as dealing with other kinds of unmet needs. But it seems moot at this juncture. Tight in the circle of his arms, you fall asleep to the sounds of thunder and rain. You’ll be very sore tomorrow, but you won’t mind.