Page 34 of A Long Con

I was having the most erotic dream of my life.

I was face-fucking Berkeley Moynihan against the mattress. He was sucking me, that was what kicked it up several notches.

I’d known this was what I’d wanted for many days now. I just thought I’d spill my load on the bed with the eroticism of the dream.

Second by second, though, I came to the awareness that it wasn’t his mouth sending me into ecstasies—it was his hand. And this was real. And just that realization was the biggest turn-on of my entire life. Berkeley was stroking my ass. He wanted me.

Pretending to still sleep, I wiggled my hips and spread my thighs. The head of my bulging cock was his for the taking. And man, did he take it.

I must’ve spurted a little precome because his fingertips were slippery, sliding up and down the underside of my cock. I caught my breath when he took my entire meat in his hand and jacked it a little. Kokami! I was going to blow my load if he kept this up! And I was still pretending to sleep!

All I wanted was for him to dive in and gorge himself on my heft. I’d had only one guy suck me in my life. Maybe I was basing all my desire on wanting to repeat that one incident. Maybe if I recited it to Berkeley, he’d get a wild hair to re-enact the stunt . . .

I groaned when he removed his hand. This probably let him know I was only faking the sleep. But all cover was blown in the next few seconds when he shoved me by the shoulder and rolled me onto my back.

“Come on, you fucking slave,” he snarled, suddenly angry with me for some reason. I was so dull from much-needed sleep that it took me quite a while to realize he was playing a role. We were enacting a scene, much like I’d done every day for years in the WWE. Except this time, the roaring, vicious Samoan Slammer was the fucking slave.

I tried raising my torso, but he slapped me back onto the pillow. “What?” I said as he whipped something out. Ah. I quickly saw he had those handcuffs with him, and he cuffed my hands in front of my springing, bouncing erection.

Yanking me by the chain, I understood I was to stand. With his free hand, Berkeley turned on the lamp on the nightstand and spanked my ass until I turned around to face the wall. Was he trying to prove how dominant he could be? I slid my bound hands up the wall until I rested my face on my fists, leaving my penis bobbing in the air, my feet spread as if begging for abuse.

Berkeley snarled close to my ear. “You think I’m not a very good Dom because I don’t like inflicting pain?”

“Well—” I wasn’t sure how to react. Did I want to goad him? Did I want to rile him to greater heights of violation? In many ways, I did. “I know why you don’t want to hurt a fly. Your brain injury. But is spanking me really hurting me?”

He spanked me lightly, caressing my ass in between slaps. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

I waxed thoughtful. “I don’t know. Is it? When you spank me, my cock tingles.” Slap. “When you slap my ass, my balls throb and get goosebumps.” Slap. “When you spank me, my nipples get stiff.” Slap.

“Oh yeah? You like this?”

Berkeley’s free hand spread my butt cheeks, exposing my asshole to the cool air. He spanked my hole! My dick jerked and jizzed when he smacked my asshole, and a few of his blows brushed my scrotum, drawing it up close to my body.

“You like having your asshole and balls slapped?”

“Oh God yes,” I grunted, my face smashed into the wall.

“You ever had your asshole spanked?”

“No. But I had my cock sucked real good in a boy’s shower once.”

This made him pause. When he renewed his spanking, he had a handful of some lubricant, and in between his smacks, he fingered a little lube around my hole. Was he going to bareback me up the ass? My breath came ragged in my lungs in anticipation of this.

“Another boy sucked you?” he asked. “In a shower?”

“Yes,” I grunted. “We were both given extra orders to run around the track. I tackled him a little illegally in football. When we got to the showers, there was no one there.”

Berkeley’s touch became lighter. I could barely hear the smacks now as he seemed to cup my ass in between fingering my hole. “He just got to his knees and blew you?”

“Basically. I was washing my groin and soaping up my dick and sort of posing, you know—”

“No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

“I was showing off for him, wondering if he wanted me.”

“Was he hard too?”

“Yeah. He was a much smaller guy, of course, like most guys are. I was talking about fucking girls, and pretending that’s why my dick was hard, and why I was kind of jacking off while talking about boobs and all, and . . . “ I’d thought about this incident every day since. Chris was a minor jock, no one who’d ever be destined for greatness like the Samoan Slammer, and I wanted to dominate him, order him around.