Down a Notch Read online

  Cris unfastened Nicky’s jeans, making his hips sway. It was only when the cloth started moving away from his skin that he realized he’d been leaking down there all along. Great.

  Cris yanked the denim down to his thighs.

  Nicky pressed his eyes closed, then snapped them open at the dizzy, just-about-to-fall spin that about tipped him off his feet.

  Cris gripped his hips, looking up at him. When Nicky seemed more solid, he went back to easing his underwear down, taking care not to catch it on the metal contraption. At the brush of Cris’s fingers against his thighs, a cold prickle skated across his jaw, right up to his ears. He needed to sit down. His curled his hands into fists instead and tried to think of doctor’s visits. Dental work. Recycling.

  Cris crouched on one knee, their positions reversed, the top of his head glossy as he fished the key back out of his pocket. Somehow Nicky didn’t feel like he’d become the one in control, just because he was looking at the top of Cris’s head.

  “You sure you want this off?” Cris said.

  “Fuck you.”

  Cris grinned, one warm hand clutching Nicky’s bare thigh.

  All Nicky cared about was the flash of silver between his thumb and forefinger.

  He felt immediate relief when Cris opened the cuff and slid off the metal tube. He hadn’t realized how hot it was being trapped in it until he was free. Cool air skated over his sweat-sticky skin. He felt like he’d had five pounds lifted off him, though surely the little hunk of metal wasn’t that heavy. Lying on the couch with its cuff open, it didn’t even look that big.

  On the other hand, its size had been part of the problem. His dick had been squished up in there, held back, forced into submission.

  Cris tugged his underwear and jeans back up for him, his fingers leaving shivers in their wake. When he began to work the zipper, the side of his hand bumped the front of Nicky’s crotch. His cock, finally having the freedom to fill out, started doing just that. He could feel the rush of his blood down to that extremity, like a giant pulse going through him.

  “I need to take a leak,” he said, stopping Cris before he got the zipper all the way up—and before he had a chance to think through what he was asking for.

  Cris shrugged and led him to the bathroom. He positioned Nicky in front of the toilet, fished in Nicky’s jeans for his dick, and stood there pointing it down toward the bowl for him.

  The only thing that happened was that his dick kept on growing, moving from half hard to mostly hard, expanding in Cris’s cupped fingers until it was so hard that the air currents swirling against it made his teeth grit to hold himself back.

  There was no fucking way this was gonna work.

  He said, “Yeah...I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this.” The quiet words bounced off the marble walls.

  Without a word, Cris tucked him back in his pants, the process of which only created more problems for Nicky. His breaths got quicker and shorter. He dug his toes into his sneakers.

  Cris said, “We’ll try again later. You can hold it a while, right?”

  The very words made his bladder send out alarms. How long from now was ‘later’ going to be? “Let’s do it now. Can you turn on the water or something?” His face was slicked with a skim of sweat. When the faucet came on, it made him feel parched, all that cool water running down the drain.

  Cris pulled him back out and pointed him toward the bowl, his arm outstretched. He tilted his chin and pretended to the study the ceiling.

  At least there was that.

  Nicky closed his eyes and began counting silently. One, two, three.... At fourteen, the stream finally, haltingly, started.

  It felt so good that Nicky’s eyes start to roll back. “Yeah...” he grunted as it neared its end. He squirted a few more quick shots out before stepping back so Cris could put him away, zipping his fly back up. At least the bulge in the way of the zipper this time was all flesh. He didn’t miss the cock trap one bit.

  At the thought of that wicked hunk of metal, his dick pressed against his fly. Shut up, you. Fucking masochist.

  Cris dragged him back to the living room by an elbow, asked him if he wanted some wine.

  “Fuck yes.” If he was going to spend the next few hours here, that only seemed fair.

  Cris’s soft chuckle made the hairs on the back of his arms prick up. Why did accepting a drink seem suddenly like walking into a trap?

  Cris had a hold of the leash around his neck again. Clutching it, he lifted the wine glass to Nicky’s mouth. The first splash of ran over his tongue, and Cris lifted the glass a little higher, allowing him to swallow until every last drop was gone.

  Now that was service.

  Cris went to the bar and uncorked a fresh bottle with a soft pop. That’s what Nicky liked to hear. He could warm up to this, especially if his hands arms weren’t pinned behind him.

  “I had time to think in the elevator,” Cris said as he headed toward the couch.

  “You and your fucking thinking.”

  He gestured to the clock, which showed that it was coming up on eight thirty. They still had a long fucking way to go.

  “I’ve decided to give you all the alcohol you want.”

  “Sounds good so far.” He could pass out and wake up hours later with his arms free, right?

  “But you have to work for it. Have a seat.”

  Nicky dropped onto the couch—enjoying the pleasure of simply being able to drop into a seat. “I knew I should have stayed quit last time I quit drinking.”

  “You can quit now.”

  “Fuck you. What torture’d you come up with this time?”

  The corners of Cris’s mouth turned upward. “I’m going to teach you how to deep throat.”

  “That’s the last skill I have any fucking interest in developing.”

  “Maybe I have an interest in you developing it.” He arched an eyebrow.

  Nicky’s armpits were slick with sweat. He cleared his throat. “I’ve gone months without drinking before. I can make it a few hours.”

  Cris pointed his chin toward the gag on the coffee table. “You know, they make gags like that with a metal ring instead of a ball to hold your mouth open.” He looked back at Nicky. “I could do whatever I wanted with you. Nothing you could do to stop me.”

  A knot of fear tied itself up in the pit of his stomach; a whole other feeling caught him in the groin. He shifted, as little as possible.

  “But, I went with the ball.” He raised the bottle to his lips and drank, saying “Ahhhh,” as he lowered it. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  “Where are you going now?” Nicky asked as he rose.

  “Bedroom.”

  “Jesus Christ, for what now?” His heart beat hard. Was there a fucking ring gag in there too? He pressed his feet against the floor, ready to spring from the couch. Where he’d go, he had no idea, but Jesus Christ.

  Cris paid him no attention.

  Nicky tried not to think about how much better a drink would make this whole situation. He tried not to think about his mouth being forced open by a ring and things shoved in there against his will.

  He tried not to think about the liquid heat in his groin when a voice in the back of his head whispered force fucked.

  So far this evening, not a single trip to the bedroom had been a good thing as far as he was concerned. He craned his head to try to see through the doorway, but that just made his chest tighter. He looked around the room, trying to think of a way out.

  His gaze caught on the ball gag, its straps splayed. He licked the corner of his lip, where the memory of the pull of those straps lingered. He looked away.

  As Cris stepped from the bedroom, Nicky said, “This whole thing is so fucked up, I don’t have words to describe it.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” He held up a new dildo, white this time. “Okay, look at this.” He dropped beside Nicky, one leg tucked under him. “It’s got a built-in reward system.” He held up a squeeze bulb connected to
the dildo by a thin tube.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “It simulates ejaculation.” Cris pumped the bulb two or three times. Air puffed in Nicky’s face. He blinked and turned his head.

  “What we’re going to do,” Cris said, “is turn it into an alcohol distribution system. Just think of it as a drinking game.” As Cris poured wine into a glass on the table, he said, “You know, you could think of this whole thing as one big game.”

  “I don’t like the rules.”

  Cris laughed. He squeezed air from the ball and submerged it in the wine, relaxing his grip so it filled with alcohol. When he raised it from the glass, wine dripped from its sides. Cradling his hand under it to catch the drops, he turned to Nicky and told him to clean it off.

  Asshole.

  But it was alcohol—why waste it? Staring right into Cris’s eyes, he leaned forward and tongued the bulb. He had to tip his head to get the underside, Cris lifting it up for him, and when he had his mouth open wide enough, Cris dipped it right in. Not taking his eyes from Cris’s, he sucked the wine right off the bulb. When it was clean, Cris presented him with his palm, dribbles of wine spilled across it. Fuck it. He lapped the splashes off Cris’s skin. It tasted different off his palm. Earthier. Didn’t matter; it’d have the same effect, whatever he drank it off of.

  Cris wiped his palm on his trousers before taking hold of the belt around Nicky’s neck. He tugged gently. “Back on the floor.”

  Nicky slid off the couch, the belt tugging at him, and got himself to one knee.

  “No, the other way. And sitting, not kneeling. Lean back against the couch.” He spread his knees to make room.

  Awkwardly, Nicky seated himself on the floor. He stretched one long leg out in front of him, cocked the other at the knee. His shoulders pressed against Cris’s legs.

  Cris unbuckled the belt from his neck and tossed it on the floor. “It’ll be easier this way,” Cris said as he tipped Nicky’s head back. Nicky wasn’t going to argue the removal of the leash. Now if he just could undo the other three belts….

  Cris’s thighs penned him in He looked back and up, his skull nudging Cris’s crotch. He wasn’t sure about this, not by a long shot, but at least there was alcohol involved, though it was going to take more than a few of those dinky bulbs to get his buzz back.

  “Ready?”

  “No,” but he let out a sharp laugh. His voice sounding edgy and strained. He forced himself to relax, which he realized was oxymoronic. He sucked in a deep breath and settled his head again.

  The dildo floated in front of his face.

  “Open up,” Cris said, “and I’ll show you how it squirts.”

  Nicky let his mouth fall open. A dark stream of wine burst from the hole in the dildo’s head and splashed over his tongue.

  Exquisite.

  He swallowed and smacked his lips.

  “Good, huh? Want more?”

  He got the feeling that the next squirt wasn’t going to be so easily come by. He opened his mouth, though. Instead of wine, the dildo touched his tongue. His throat constricted. He exhaled, attempting to calm himself. Deep throat. His throat muscles pulled tight again, just at the thought. Cris didn’t push, though; he held the dildo steady on his tongue and waited.

  “Get it wet,” Cris said.

  So we’re back to sucking cock again. He sighed and started licking while Cris moved in his mouth.

  “Okay, now open wide,” Cris said. “Stick your tongue out, and flatten it at the back. Like when you’re at the doctor and he shoves the popsicle stick in your mouth.”

  He hated when the doctor jabbed the popsicle stick in the back of his mouth. When people said they had strep, he stayed way the fuck away from them, just to avoid that visit to the doctor and his fucking popsicle stick.

  On the other hand…the thought of wine being shot straight down his throat, skipping his mouth entirely…. All the buzz with none of the taste. It would be almost like being forced to get drunk. His cock jumped against his jeans.

  He swallowed, then pushed his tongue out flat.

  It didn’t feel as comfortable as not sticking his tongue out and not flattening it in the back, but so far not so bad.

  Cris laid the dildo on his tongue.

  “Okay, now carry it into your mouth.”

  His muscles relaxed with relief that Cris wasn’t just going to shove it down his throat. He exhaled, then drew the dildo in another inch. It still wasn’t far in, not even as far as he’d let the strap-on go. Liquid dribbled over his tongue. He rolled his eyes toward Cris.

  “Precum,” Cris said with a smirk.

  He managed a weak smile around the cock. Then he took another breath and pulled it deeper in.

  “See, you’re doing great.” Cris gave the bulb another light pump. Wine trickled in. It was a trick swallowing with the plastic cock in his mouth.

  “Now just remember to keep it in the center of your mouth. When you’re ready, force your throat open like you have to yawn and then just draw it in.” He was holding the cock loosely, letting Nicky be in control.

  Nicky readjusted his head on Cris’s crotch—carefully—and breathed in without letting the cock any deeper.

  “If it sets off your gag reflex, just push it back out and take a second to relax.”

  He closed his eyes. Cris’s fingers swept hair from his forehead. It was the hand holding the bulb, and its ridged side brushed his temple, wine sloshing softly inside.

  Cris was giving him control, but not much of it. He couldn’t put his hands on the floor to push himself up. He couldn’t grab the stupid cock from Cris’s hands, ram it down Cris’s throat and say, “How do you like it, huh?”

  He couldn’t say anything with the stupid thing in his mouth. He pushed at it with his tongue, and Cris let it draw back out as far as his teeth. He opened his jaw wide around it and drew in another breath.

  His throat tightened.

  Jesus, he couldn’t do this shit.

  When he started to turn his head to escape the dildo, Cris caught him and turned him back, the bulb pressing against his temple—wine shooting across his upper lip, dribbling down his cheek.

  Damn.

  He dug the edge of his heel against his floor. His jeans were getting crowded again. At least it didn’t hurt this time. He licked his lower lip; his tongue bumped the plastic cock. Cris lowered it a little more.

  Fuck.

  He had to admit, though: he was getting thirsty again.

  Thirsty, and hungry to be helpless—as much as he feared it at the same time. It was like standing on the ledge of a roof, toes hanging out over nothingness. Just a twitch of your muscles, and the ground would be coming up fast.

  He took another deep breath and realized his nipples were hard, sensitive to the room’s air. With his dick, they made a matched set. He clenched his hands behind him and moved his foot again, going for leverage this time. Flattening his tongue, he pushed forward.

  Let’s get this fucking over with.

  When the cock was seated, he drew it slowly in.

  His eyes closed.

  A rush of heat swept through him.

  He lifted his head and slid his throat toward the end of the cock.

  He forgot the instructions Cris had given; he just pulled it in while moving his head forward—and his throat muscles clenched. He coughed and thumped his head back down, bringing a pained chh out of Cris when his skull connected with his crotch. He wasn’t about to feel bad about it; if he hadn’t had him tied up with his fucking head in his lap, he wouldn’t have gotten his dick thumped. The plastic dildo banged against his upper teeth. Even with the head-to-the-crotch, though, Cris managed to make sure the dildo stayed at least somewhat in Nicky’s mouth.

  Nicky pushed his heel against the floor, feeling like he his ass was about to slide out from under him.

  Spit from the cock drew a line down his chin; air started drying it on contact.

  His chest heaved.

  His jeans wer
e stretched so tight at his crotch that every breath made his head fuzzy.

  He leaned against Cris, swallowed with the rounded head of the dildo dragging against his lip, and tried to catch his breath.

  “That wasn’t terrible for a first try,” Cris said, nudging his head over a little.

  “Give me a sec,” Nicky said. He blinked at the ceiling, the cock a white blob at the edge of his vision. He swallowed again. Hitting his gag reflex hadn’t been the most fun thing he’d done all week, but his mouth was craving to try it again.

  “Okay,” he said in a moment. “Okay.” He opened wide and pushed out his tongue. When he carried it in this time, he paused for a few seconds, breathing through his nose. Pushing the cock against the roof of his mouth so he could swallow spit around it.

  On the third swallow, he lifted his head a little, and the cock moved farther in.

  Another few breaths, until his neck muscles start to complain, and he pushed forward again.

  The cock started to trigger his gag reflex, and he pulled back, just enough to clear it.

  His face beat hot. This was a stupid fucking idea.

  Yeah? Tell it to your dick.

  He shifted a leg, freeing up some room in his jeans. Then pushed forward again, opening his throat. A stream of wine hit the back of his tongue. Reflexively, he tried to swallow.

  His throat opened and the dildo slipped in.

  He didn’t know whether to panic or celebrate. He heard the pftb-pftb of Cris emptying the bulb and felt alcohol run right down his throat, a warm trickle he didn’t get even a taste of.

  His cock felt fit to burst out of his jeans.

  Ducking his head back, he used his tongue to force the dildo out of his mouth. He tipped his head against Cris’s crotch. Cris had a goofy smile on his face.

  “Not fucking bad for your first try.” He popped the bulb off the tube and plunged it into the glass of wine. “I can’t believe you made it that far. That was the hard part.”

  “More?” Nicky asked. He’d been hoping the once would be enough.

  “Come on. Last time you were too busy freaking out to enjoy it.”