I quiver, letting my head fall back as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Her mouth—her fucking smooth, wet mouth. It accommodates as much of my cock as it can and it feels fucking great. No. It feels better than great. It feels bad. I like feeling bad, especially after spending an hour of my life pretending to be good, pretending to be something I’m not just to keep my father happy. Fuck goodness. Fuck all of the rules. You give your life trying to be good and for what? It doesn’t matter. Karma is vindictive. She’s selective. She screws with whoever she wants, whenever she feels like it. Karma doesn’t care if a bully steals your lunch money.
In my experience, she stands on the sidelines, smiling like the bitch she is while you watch some piece of shit enjoy the salad roll you wanted. Karma has never helped me, God has never comforted me, and being good has never benefited me. I smirk. Being good doesn’t get your dick sucked, that’s for sure.
I flex my hips and her throat tightens, squeezing the head of my cock as she gags. I do it again. Unable to bite back a grin when her throat reacts the same way. The girl, Natalie, pulls back slightly. The second her warm saliva dries on the base of my cock, I want more. I want harder.
Faster.
Wetter.
As soon as we entered my father’s office, Natalie knew exactly what I wanted. Naturally, she claimed she didn’t do this often. A lie, of course. The way her hands expertly worked their way into my slacks while she kept her eyes on mine, the way she smoothed her palms down my shaft and gripped the base as she lowered herself to her knees and teased the tip with her tongue…those weren’t newbie moves. Natalie has sucked a lot of cock. Whether she means she hasn’t sucked a lot of cocks that belong to a Father’s son, I don’t know, but she’s definitely done this before. The lack of teeth is a dead giveaway. Team that with the skillful flick of her tongue around my shaft and you have yourself a seasoned professional. Not that I’m complaining. I’d take a smooth, delightful blow job over a tooth filled nightmare any day.
I run my fingers through her chocolate hair and grip the smooth strands between my fingers. I briefly squeeze my fist closed to let her know I’m going to finish this my way. I like to draw out the sensations of a blow job as much as the next guy, but time isn’t a luxury I have on a Sunday morning, and definitely not in my father’s office.
I lean back, bracing myself against the large, oak desk. Behind me, a few things scatter, but I pay no attention to them. Gritting my teeth, I again rake my fingers through her hair and squeeze. I pull her off my cock with a ‘pop’ and smirk as she inhales deeply. Her glistening green irises catch mine for a brief moment and I savor the flare in her eyes.
There’s a strange feeling that accompanies the moment before you do something bad. It’s not excitement or arousal—though those are present too. It’s a fleeting emotion—guilt, perhaps? Whatever it is, it doesn’t last long. It drowns in my dark veins, replaced by wickedness.
I glance at the door. The thought of someone catching me in the act at any moment fills me with a high I can’t get anywhere else. I love the feeling. It’s the only time I truly feel anything and it reminds me I’m not completely dead inside.
“Caleb?”
I blink a few times, until Natalie’s face sharpens. I hadn’t realized I blurred it out.
My hands grip her head, holding it firmly in place barely an inch or two from the head of my dick.
“What?”
“My hair.” She hisses. “It’s attached to my scalp.”
I take in the whitening pressure around my knuckles and ease up. She exhales as I lessen it before quirking a brow at me. I fucking hate it. That look, the one people give you when they think you’re crazy, it doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not crazy and if she’s not careful, I’ll fuck the look right off her face.
I tilt my hips forward, and she groans as the very tip of my dick brushes her lower lip. As pre-cum glistens in my wake, I slide my fingers deeper into her hair, pulling her head back until she opens her mouth. I contemplate slamming myself into her throat, but she’s wearing a fair amount of mascara. Hitting her throat will make her gag and her eyes water. I can’t have that. To regular Mass goers, I’m an angel. I don’t make girls cry by choking them on my cock.
I bite back a grin that threatens to twist my lips. I like hiding my horns underneath a makeshift halo. I should feel bad, but I don’t. In this Catholic society, I’m not the only one with a dark side.
I remove my hands from her hair and grip the edge of the desk, letting her take charge of my pleasure, for a little while.
I peer at the clock. The hands suddenly seem intimidating with every tick. We’re running out of time.
“Think you can make me come in six minutes?” I ask, nudging her with my tip again.
Her eyes burn with a challenge as she flicks out her tongue and licks me, making me shiver. “I’m only going to need three.”
I’ve never done this before, she said when I pulled her in here.
What a fucking lie.
My blood hums.
“Do it in two and I just might return the favor.”
A wicked, determined smile stretches across her moist lips. We’ll see how good she really is.
Using both hands, she holds my cock and teasingly mouths the swollen head. A heavy breath falls through my parted lips and the desk creaks as I push my body harder against it. For five torturous seconds, she teases my over engorged tip until I can’t take it anymore. Grunting, I forcefully flick my hips. Instead of being greeted by soft, warm flesh, I receive a purposeful scrape of her teeth.
“Fuck!” I hiss. “Watch your teeth.”
She pulls back enough for her lips to brush the tip once more. “Don’t force your cock down my throat and my teeth won’t be a problem.”
We stare at each other. If she wasn’t holding my cock so tightly in her hands, I’d slap her with it.
“I like it deeper.”
With a sigh, she flutters her smooth, silky tongue along the underside of my shaft before fisting the root with one hand and sucking me rhythmically into the back of her throat. I inhale sharply, my stomach muscles clenching painfully.
Fucking hell.
“That’s it,” I encourage her, rocking my hips into her mouth. “Suck it just like that.”
Natalie moans, sending toe curling vibrations over every inch of sensitive flesh. One of my hands find her head again and I rake it through her hair, gripping tightly as she bobs up and down in perfect, cum-drawing strokes.
She can lie all she wants, but the girl has phenomenal oral skills. Cock sucking little whore. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I smile.
The world needs people who love giving blow jobs and, holy fuck me, does she love it. She devours my cock with vigorous enthusiasm—as if I taste like Heaven. Surely it’s a close second. I mean, I put a lot of work into it. The entire area is manscaped to perfection, not a single dark hair curling out of place. I’m circumcised, washed, and all one color. There is no fifty shades of peen going on down there. The Garden of Eden doesn’t have shit on my cock and no naughty, tight bodied babe is going to be kicked out for sucking on the forbidden fruit, either.
Natalie’s mouth slides over my cock. She grips and jerks my shaft in one hand while cupping my heavy balls with the other. She works me over proficiently, sucking me closer to the edge every time her wet, warm mouth draws me deep into the back of her throat. I thrust harder into her mouth when she traces her tongue along the protruding veins that line the underside of my cock.
Unable to keep up with the way I fuck her mouth, she drops her hands to my thighs and I push it, pressing the very tip of me further into her tight throat. She doesn’t gag.
“You never do this, huh?” I tease, groaning when she gives me access to her throat again.
I push deeper and she still doesn’t gag.
“I bet this is all you do.”
Natalie moans deep in her throat, sending vibrations up my shaft and into my balls. I glance at the clock. I wish I could draw this out. I wish I could push myself to the edge over and over again, only to reign it back in at the last second, but I’m running out of time.
A tight, pressure builds up in my cock and barrels towards the tip. I grit my teeth, willing it back down for a few more seconds—just a few more swirls of her tongue. I shiver as she sucks me to the back of her throat.
Game over.
I thrust my hips against her face with animalistic vigor. My fingers tighten in her hair, my toes curl in my shoes. I push hard, desperately willing my release to hit me so this beautiful fucking torture subsides and spills down her throat. She gags and my mouth parts as her slick throat tightens around my head. It’s all I need. Fire consumes me. It taunts me, promising me all of the orgasms I want when I’m dragged down to Hell.
So I give in.
I stamp my express ticket to the Underworld for the one hundredth time. Groaning, I shoot my load straight down her throat and without protest, without a gag, she swallows it all and licks my cock clean. I have my cock back in my pants before she has the chance to stand up and fix her hair.
She glances at the clock.
“Looks like we ran out of time…” She pouts. “Reschedule?”
“Love to,” I say, blowing out an exhale. “But I have few more important things to do first.”
Natalie scoffs, her face pinching into a scowl. Uh-oh. The last thing I need is an emotional broad screaming my sins to everyone in the church. I step forward and reach out to her.
“That’s not what I meant—”
She swats me away and turns around. “You’re a fucking asshole!”
“Natash—” Oh, fuck.
She whips around, her once cute and friendly face now contorted into a furious glare.
“Natalie.” I quickly state, my hands outstretched in front of me. “I meant to say Natalie.”
“Ugh!” She snaps, throwing her hands. “You are such a fucking prick!”
With a final huff, she storms from the office.
Well…shit.
I watch the door for a small eternity, but she doesn’t come back. Why would she?
A smile manifests. Does she think that is fucking news to me? She’s not the first girl to call me a prick—or an asshole—and I’d bet my entire life savings that she won’t be the last.
I zip myself up and sit against the desk. The urge to have a cigarette creeps over my brain and nags at my lungs. Tomorrow marks my second month smoke free, but most days it feels like I quit only yesterday. I slip my hand into the pocket of my slacks and pull out a chewed lollipop stick from this morning. I slide it between my lips and grind it between my teeth. When the craving to burn my lungs subsides, I stroll towards the open door, not too eager to get back to everyone else.
I’ve never been comfortable with farewells. What’s the appropriate etiquette anyway? A hug? A handshake? A nod of the head? People switch it up so often it’s hard to keep track.
I peer through the slit in the door and watch the litter of people as they leave the church. My father stands by the entrance, shaking hands and offering hugs to anyone who wants one. My brows draw in of their own accord and I can’t straighten them. Even from here the adoration they have for him can be seen. Hell, it can be smelled, that’s how thick they lay it on. I wonder if they’d still admire him if they knew how much he hates his own son. He often preaches about forgiveness, but where’s my fucking forgiveness? It’s not like I could have prevented what happened. I was only eleven and I lost something that day, too. I’ve spent every day since then trying to make it up to him. I don’t give a shit about church or praying. I do it for him and still I see resentment in his eyes—not that he’d ever admit it. Here, at the church, is the only place I see him smile…and it’s the only reason I show up on Sundays.
For years I’ve lived with an emptiness in my heart. What started off as a small, black hole all those years ago has consumed every inch of my being. It eats at me. I’m rotting from the inside out and I don’t have the capacity to care anymore. I used to fight it, for my father's sake, but now I want it to devour me until he is happy. Until he feels I’ve got what I deserve…and I know I deserve eternal darkness.
On the inside, I’m a demon consumed by petty temptations and devoured by grief, but in the presence of everyone else, I’m the son I was always supposed to be—the one who’s first in line at the pearly gates.