“Who are you?”

      The words burned his brain, which throbbed in an unrelenting tattoo against his skull. He swallowed, tasting bile, and knew with sickening certainty the voice would come again, no matter how hard he tried to shove it aside and suffocate it until he could hear it no more.

       “Who are you?”

      “Your slave.” The words erupted in his mind. Words said in his voice. Words that opened the floodgates of revulsion. Fear and panic swelled as he felt hands sweep over his chest.

      He lay still and quiet, hoping that the words and memories would fade, along with the touch, but they rushed back, smothering him.

      His heart was racing, his skin sweating, yet he felt chilled as the hated memories came back.

      “You know, this is all you’re good for—fucking.”

      No. He tried to say it, to scream it in his mind, but no sound emitted from his lips.

       “You like this. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be hard. Wouldn’t be leaking your seed, anticipating what we’re going to do to one another.”

      He shook his head denying it. Hating that the truth could not be hidden. But it couldn’t. His cock was hard and throbbing, screaming for the release he had begun to crave with frightening regularity.

       “Open your eyes and watch me.”

      No, he couldn’t. It was dirty. Sinful. Unnatural.

      But it felt so damn good, the devious little voice in his head whispered. And it did. No matter how shameful it was, he had never felt anything so good. And if he kept his eyes closed, he didn’t have to see what was happening. Didn’t have to watch the person between his thighs, sucking his cock deep into a hot mouth that knew how to get him off every time.

      He was so close, he could feel it in the way his cods tightened up in the palm that handled them. He felt it in the way his seed raced up his shaft. And then it stopped. That hot sucking mouth and probing tongue abruptly abandoned him.

      He cried out and reached for his prick, holding it out, offering himself, pleading and panting as he stroked his swollen cock with his hand. Even with his eyes closed he could feel those lascivious eyes watching him masturbate. Harder. He could hear the word whispered in a harsh rasp of growing arousal. Yes. He liked it hard, and his lover liked watching him toss off with ferocious jerks, spewing his seed over his palm.

       “Beg me to take you in my mouth.”

      No. He wouldn’t. But the word please was pulled from his lips before he could stop it. He was humiliated that he had shown such weakness and need—such perversity to want this—with this person. Yet despite that, he wanted the mouth on him, finishing him off, drinking him down and dry.

      He felt the swipe of a tongue as he continued to stroke himself, the tongue teasing him with its elusive touch. “You aren’t going to tell. Are you?”

      It was a demand, not a question. No. He wouldn’t tell. Couldn’t. He hated himself for what he was doing. Hated the person who was once again pulling his cock so deep, sucking him until he had nothing left to give.

       “No one would believe you if you did, you know. They would believe me, not you.”

      Yes. He knew that. No one would believe it, no one would understand.

      “Open your eyes,” the voice demanded.

      He was loath to do it, to confront the wickedness and shame that played out between his spread thighs. But he was at the mercy of that mouth, and the hands that strayed to his buttocks, pulling them apart in time to the ravaging mouth on his cock. A finger slipped inside at the same time his cock was pulled deep, and the first spurt of come shot from his cock.

      His eyelids flew up, and their gazes met. He was shocked by what he saw looking up at him. Despite all the times they had been together, the image still stunned him. Indignity flooded him, mixing with the pleasure he felt at seeing his cock being so greedily sucked as he continued to fist his hand up and down his swollen shaft, milking himself.

      Dirty and unnatural. A slave to desire. A prisoner in a prison of his own making.

       “You want to come, don’t you?”

      He wanted to, yet he despised admitting it.

       “You hate me for what I do to you, but you can’t resist, can you? You can’t bring yourself to put a stop to our illicit meetings because you like what I do to you. You like these lessons I’m teaching you.”

      He was panting, anger and desire curling within him. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, he chanted in his mind while a hot tongue glided over the swollen head of his member.

      He hated this, lying here at his prick’s mercy, but he could not move away, knowing how degraded he would feel after. He could not think about that now. All he could think of was coming and spewing it all over, making his sinful, secret lover feel a measure of degradation at his hand.

      He came, pulsing in long powerful spurts. The low moan at once inflamed, yet angered him. His lover should have been dishonored by what he had done, but instead the act had aroused.

       “My turn.”

      He found his body handled, moved to how his lover desired him. His lips were against a straining sex that pressed against his open mouth. He licked and sucked as he had been taught, listening to the growing sounds of pleasure. His cock was hard again, and his lover worked it, tugging and pulling hard.

      He felt eyes on him, watching him. Felt that greedy gaze devouring his body. A hand smacked his buttock, stinging him before a finger traced his opening, and plunged in.

      “You are such a dirty, sinful boy,” his lover moaned.

      He bit down, angry and mortified. He felt his lover fall apart and he came once more, empting into a hand that refused to release his cock.

      Dirty. Sinful. He could never erase the taint. The smothering feel of his body being consumed with his unnatural lust, with his sick perversions.

      He had a secret. A secret he must hide. A secret he wished he could hide from himself.