Christmas Eve
Brad chewed his lips. The panic swirled in his jumpy stomach as his frantic eyes checked and rechecked everything was in its designated place. Why the hell did I agree to this again? Twelve months ago was I running around like a headless chicken, trying to arrange a party for people I don’t really know?
No, I fucking wasn’t.
No, he’d been quite happily ensconced in his office working on his IT projects, eating crap, and listening to Christmas music while Princess kept him company.
The bell chimed twice, breaking his quiet internal meltdown. To Brad, the noise sounded like it was spelling out his doom. The tiny inner critic that had been berating him told him to stop whining like a big baby. Explaining in a voice that sounded far too much like Martin’s, that twelve months ago, he’d been lonely, barely existing in the real world. A world that was colourless and as bland as a bowl of old porridge.
The pale wintery sun filtering through the windows caught his attention when the light reflected off the sparkling coloured Christmas lights that hung around the kitchen. It reminded him of the brightness that now completed his life. A life filled with laughter, friendship, and, more importantly, love.
Brad sighed loudly, knowing he wouldn’t change a thing. Though it didn’t mean he had to like it or that he’d been conned into this party.
No siree, it doesn’t mean that at all.
His lips pursed as he glanced at the hallway, praying he would keep it together and not kill Martin before he got to the fun part of the evening when everyone left.
He wiped his hands down his grey trousers, hoping it didn’t leave a sweaty mark. Pasting a smile on his face, he prayed it looked genuine. He walked out into the hall. He winced with each step. As he strode forward, his arse had him wanting to groan, but whether that was in pleasure or despair, he couldn’t quite decide.
He silently cursed Martin and his sexy fucking ways. This was all his fault. How he had fallen for it, he’d never know. Didn’t he know better than to agree to anything when Martin was driving him wild?
Yes, of course I do!
But did that stop him from agreeing to this madness? Nope.
His mind seemed determined to remind him exactly how he’d got into this mess. Memories flooded his brain, causing him to pause at the front door while his mind replayed the night from two weeks earlier, in vivid technicolour.
Brad lay spread-eagled across the bed. His wrists and ankles were tied to the bedposts as Martin walked around the bed, surveying his handiwork.
Brad tried not to squirm under Martin’s desire-laden azure gaze. The heat of his caress tingled over his naked body. Tiny shivers shot up his erection, making the cock ring tighten. Brad sucked his lips in between his teeth to stop himself from begging.
Fuck.
They’d hardly got started, and Martin already had him on edge, and the gleam in Martin’s eyes told him that whatever he had planned, it was going to last a long time.
He’d learnt to gauge when Martin wanted something extra, like tonight. So he’d lain down on the bed, allowing Martin to do as he wished with him.
There was an air of mischief about him tonight, almost as if he had a sign above his head flashing a warning that he was up to something. Brad’s thoughts were confirmed a second later when he watched Martin go to his toy drawer. His arse pulsed in anticipation. His cock leaked onto his stomach, totally on board with what Martin held up to show him.
Brad felt his heart rate increase when Martin made a show of switching it on to make sure it worked before walking to the bedside cabinet. It was only then that Brad spied the can of squirty cream.
Oh dear God, love us and save us!
Brad hadn’t realised he spoken out loud until Martin laughed.
“There is nothing godly about what I’m going to do to you. And I’m sure as hell no one is going to save us.”
Martin’s raspy chuckle slid over his skin, making his sac tighten and his balls ache. The urge to beg was back with a vengeance. Brad tried to relax his taut muscles when Martin mounted the bed, kneeling between his spread thighs.
“Now where to start?”
Brad knew it wasn’t a question he needed to answer. He kept quiet, waiting not so patiently for Martin to start tormenting him. He’d guessed straight off it was going to be torture time when Martin lubed up the dildo.
Brad shivered when the cold lube spread over his hot pucker. His hole clenched as if trying to suck the dildo in. Brad found his hips lifting when all Martin did was tease his rim.
“Tut, tut. We’ll have less of that. I’m in charge, baby.”
Martin’s sexy rasp had his backside move of its own accord. Brad’s body was unwilling to listen when it knew what it wanted.
Delirious pleasure coursed through him as Martin switched on the dildo, making it pulse at his hole. He held it at the rim, teasing him as the vibration skittered up his sac and into his cock. It bounced with joy, adding to the mess that was cooling on his stomach.
Martin tormented him for what felt like hours before he finally took pity on him and pushed it in deeper. Brad moaned. His body strained for more when Martin made sure it didn’t connect with his gland.
Brad wiggled, hoping to make it slip deeper.
“Stop that. Do you want me to spank you, baby?”
“Anything… please give me… more… I need it.” Brad panted, his body craving more. “Please… don’t tease me… I’ll do anything.”
Hot breath ghosted his lips as Martin leant forward, his pelvis grinding down on Brad’s cock. He mewled as his cock slid against Martin’s. Silky steel erections clashed together when Martin gyrated his hips, increasing the pleasure building inside Brad’s hole, but still it wasn’t enough.
“You’ll do anything for me?”
The question hardly registered, but Brad was past caring. He just wanted Martin inside him, now. He nodded when he found his mouth too dry to speak. The flare of what looked like triumph didn’t penetrate. His befuddled mind couldn’t get to grips with why Martin would look triumphant when he wasn’t inside him, yet.
“Will you host a party for me, baby, on Christmas Eve? Hmm, will you do that small thing for me, here in our home?” The question didn’t register when Martin’s tongue slid over his lips. Brad groaned, wanting more. He lifted his head, trying to mesh his mouth to Martin’s. Martin pulled back at the last second, instead nipping at his jaw while his hips continued to do a slow grind against him, making the vibrating plug slip a little deeper.
Brad felt his eyes cross before rolling into the back of his head when the dildo hit his spark plug and lit up his backside.
“Will you do that small thing for me, baby?”
Brad whined. He nodded again, uncaring what he agreed to. All he wanted was for Martin to never stop.
“Brad. Brad, why are you standing staring at the front door? It won’t answer itself.” Martin’s voice, no longer sounding raspy or sexy, interrupted his thoughts.
Brad blinked his eyes back into focus. His face heated when he glanced down at his trousers and sighed. He avoided making eye contact with Martin, convinced his wayward thoughts were written all over his face, showing off his predicament. A predicament that seemed to have collided spectacularly with his zipper. He mentally slapped himself at the prospect of opening the front door with a raging boner and giving Martin’s guests an eye full.
Brad wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, he yanked at his hair, spinning on his heel away from the door. “No, it won’t answer itself, so you better do it.” He threw the angry retort over his shoulder, not daring to look at Martin fully when his brow wrinkled.
Brad stomped back to the kitchen to find his fight club. A fight club his friends had started, all because his cock hadn’t listened to sense. Sense that had flown right out the window when his brain failed to engage and had left his cock in charge.
On the twelfth day of Christmas what did my true love give to me?
Brad rubbed his face, his mouth forming into a grin. His dimples winked to life when he stepped into the kitchen thinking about exactly what the twelfth day of Christmas would give him, later when the party was over.
Now all they had to do was get there without another disaster, and that, it would seem, was easier said than done.