Page 16 of Bear’s House

“Good boy,” I murmured. “Taking Daddy so well. So open for me.”

He gripped the rope and shook. His whole body trembled under my hand, his ass pushing back against my fingers, letting out desperate gasps. I worked him open with two fingers, then three, curling them just so every time I pressed in, watching the way his back arched and his thighs tensed and his face pressed harder into the wood. He was such a good boy.

When I was sure he was ready — more than ready, dripping pre-cum and shaking and making those broken little sounds with every curl of my fingers — I freed myself, lined up, and pushed inside him in one long, slow stroke.

Mikey came apart. His body went rigid for one perfect second before he collapsed against the table, boneless and shaking. I fucked him in long, deep strokes, giving him low praise between each thrust, telling him how good he was, how perfect, how Daddy had him, Daddy wasn’t going anywhere, and Mikey took it. His ass flushed dark red against my hips, the cane marks standing out, and every time I bottomed out he made that same shattered sound.

JJ watched from his side of the table. His blue eyes were dark, fixed on where my cock disappeared into his brother, and his breathing had gone shallow, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Sawyer stood a few feet back with his arms at his sides and his throat working, watching Mikey come undone.

I kept going. Slow. Deep. Letting Mikey feel every inch, every second, until his trembling turned to shivers. His face was pressed into the wood, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged and wet, and when I finally stilled inside him, he made moaned.

I came deep inside him. I pushed all the way in and held there, my hips flush against his marked skin, and let it take me. My hand pressed flat between his shoulder blades, feeling the fine tremor running through him, and I emptied myself with a groan I couldn’t quite swallow. Mikey made a sound and his body clenched around me, like he was trying to keep every drop.

I stayed. Didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just kept my hand on his back and my cock buried in him and let the warmth spread between us. I could feel the aftershocks running through him in little ripples, each one drawing another soft, helpless sound from somewhere deep in his chest.

“That’s it,” I murmured, my lips close to his ear. “Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s right here. You took it all so beautifully, baby. Every single thing. You’re perfect. You’re my perfect boy.”

He nodded against the table.

I leaned down, my beard brushing his ear. “You with me, baby?”

He nodded. His fingers loosened around the rope, and he went completely soft against the table, thoroughly used. I was still inside him, still close, one hand flat between his shoulder blades, when Sawyer spoke.

His voice was steady. Or he wanted it to be steady — I could hear the effort behind it, the careful control.

“Can I fuck JJ? Please, Daddy?”

I looked at JJ. He lifted his head from the table, turned to look at me over his shoulder, and his blue eyes were dark and clear.

“Yes,” he said.

I nodded.

“Sure. JJ was so good too. He was so brave and didn't brat at all, and he took every stroke without a single complaint. Not one word of protest, not one bratty comment. That’s my good boy. That’s my brave, perfect boy.”

JJ’s face pressed harder into the wood, and I saw the flush crawl up the back of his neck, spreading to the tips of his ears. His fingers tightened around the rope, and he made a pleased sound, almost a purr.

“You did so well, baby,” I continued, keeping my voice low and warm. “Every single stroke. You held still, you took your breath, you didn’t fight it. Daddy saw all of it. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

He nodded against the table and his hips shifted just slightly, like he couldn’t quite help himself.

“Good boy,” I said again, because JJ could never hear it enough. “Such a good boy. And now your brother’s going to take care of you, and you’re going to be good for him too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he whispered, and his voice was rough.

Sawyer moved to JJ’s end of the table. He reached for the lube. JJ was still bound, wrists secure to the table, his ass marked with the parallel lines of the cane, flushed dark red. Delicious.

Sawyer’s fingered him. One, then two, working into him. Sawyer had always been careful, even when he wanted something badly — and JJ’s hands tightened on the rope, his hips pushing back against Sawyer’s hand.

“Please,” JJ said, his voice rough against the wood. “Sawyer, please—”

Sawyer didn’t make him wait. He freed himself, lined up, and pushed inside in one firm stroke that made the table creak and JJ’s back arch and the rope pull taut against his wrists.

The pace was different from mine. Faster. Less patient. Sawyer’s broad hands found JJ’s hips and gripped hard, and JJ took it the way he took everything: loud. His head dropped. His forehead pressed into the wood, and the sounds coming out of him were completely unfiltered, a string of gasped pleas and half-formed words that dissolved into moans every time Sawyer bottomed out.

I kept my hand on Mikey’s back. He was still soft against the table, still breathing hard, but his eyes were open now, watching his brothers over his shoulder with a drowsy attention.

Every thrust drove a new sound out of JJ. He was close — I could see it in the way his thighs trembled, in the way his breathing had gone shallow and desperate — but Sawyer got there first.